Love And The Real Boy - Coming About, Book 2 by J.K. Hogan Page B

hand over Rich’s hair and down to the back of his neck until Rich looked up. His eyes were a bit red and puffy, but they were dry. Patrick picked up a glass and handed Rich the other one.
    “What’s this?” Rich asked.
    Patrick had the absurd desire to kiss the line of confusion that formed between his brows. “This, my good man, is one of the finest Irish whiskeys money can buy—or that I can afford, anyway.” He tapped his glass against Rich’s and raised it up. “ Slàinte .”
    He waited until Rich took a dram before he knocked his own back in two swallows. While Patrick relished the burn, Rich came up coughing.
    “Christ, what is that, battery acid?”
    “You’ll not blaspheme in my home. That there is pure ambrosia, mate. ’ave another dram or two…she’ll start goin’ down smooth.”
    Patrick was touched that Rich had chosen to share the story of his tragic childhood with him. He couldn’t fathom a kid surviving so much, basically on his own, while taking care of his little brother.
    Once the takeout arrived, Patrick made sure Rich got some food in him, and because the man deserved it, he kept a watchful eye on Rich while getting him completely, blissfully drunk.
    When Patrick dropped Rich off at his house the next morning, there was a man sitting on the front steps. His folded arms were resting on his knees cradling his head, so they couldn’t see his face, but even with the crouched posture Patrick could tell the man was huge. And he looked like he’d been there for quite a while.
    Rich wasn’t looking—he’d been staring out the window on his side of the truck the whole ride from Blue Ridge to Ballard—so Patrick decided a little good-natured ribbing was in order.
    “You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend. I’m hurt!”
    Looking over in surprise, Rich answered automatically. “I don’t…” He trailed off when he saw the man on his stoop. “Who in the hell is that?”
    The stranger must have finally noticed the lorry idling on the street, because he looked up. While he had a scruffy two-day-old beard and his expression was haggard, Patrick could see that he was beautiful. Who the fuck was this guy? Not that he was jealous or anything…not at all.
    Patrick heard a sharp intake of breath beside him, and he looked over at Rich. His eyes were luminous and wide as saucers, and his face seemed to have lost all pigmentation. He really looked like he’d seen a ghost.
    “Jesus Christ,” Rich breathed. “It’s John-Michael.”
    “What? That’s him ? How did you find out where you live?”
    “I guess the PI told him…”
    “Isn’t that like illegal or unethical, or something?”
    “Something…” Rich said absently. “I’ll consult the Better Business Bureau once I’m done picking up the pieces of my life.”
    Patrick gave a halfhearted laugh, because he kind of felt like Rich might be serious. But how bad could it really be? Surely they should be happy to see each other after all this time—though maybe it would be hard for Rich, having all his horrible childhood memories thrown back in his face.
    “Do you want me to stay or go?” He placed a hand on Rich’s shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze. “Whatever you need.”
    Rich was staring out the window, panting; he didn’t even look at Patrick. “Thanks for the offer, but this is…kind of family business. I think it needs to be just me and him.”
    “Aye, then. Don’t worry about the boat today…just call if you need anything.” Before thinking better of it, Patrick leaned over and gripped the back of Rich’s neck, pulling him for a quick, hard kiss.
    Rich nodded, but didn’t say another word before getting out. Patrick watched him stand on the curb; his hands were in the front pocket of his thin hoodie, and his shoulders were hunched against the blows he surely felt were coming. He stared at his brother, breathing hard, for several minutes before he seemed to draw up the courage to approach.
    Patrick swallowed down