By Chance (Courtland Chronicles) Read online

  And that was it—Eric’s last shred of control shattered, crumbling into dust. He thrust all the way in one long lunge and started moving, balls slapping Nick’s ass. Nick moaned loud enough to be heard in the next fucking county and thrust backward, meeting Eric with equal force. A few more erratic strokes was all it took before orgasm slammed into Eric like a fist, knocking him into free fall.

  He opened his eyes to find himself glued to Nick’s heaving, sweat-soaked back. “You okay?” He rolled off, relieved to see that, aside from breathlessness and a bright pink flush from chest to forehead, Nick seemed none the worse for their vigorous fucking.

  Except for wincing as he very gingerly lifted off the pillow and eased onto his back. “A little sore, but nothing I wasn’t expecting.”

  Eric bit his lip. “Sorry. Sounded like you were enjoying it, though.”

  “It was great, but…” Nick gestured at his limp cock. “I lost my hard-on right before the end.”

  Damn. He’d wanted so badly to get Nick off while he was inside him, but that’s what he got for letting himself lose control. “It happens. And it’s got nothing to do with whether it feels good or not. Sometimes you can’t get over that last hurdle.”

  “Well, you’ve gotten me over plenty of hurdles lately, so I’m not too worried.”

  “Of course not. You were perfect.” And next time he’d be perfect. He’d make sure of it.

  Chapter Nine

  The next few days passed in a heavenly, lust-soaked haze. Between sex, sleeping in, sex, stretching out on the living room couch for long naps, sex, taking breaks for meals, and more sex, Eric was starting to feel positively debauched. Nick might have been a late bloomer, but he was certainly catching up now. Eric hadn’t been so sore since he’d lost his own virginity at sixteen.

  Nick rolled out of bed before sunrise every morning to take care of his chores, leaving Eric to wake up alone. This morning he took his time carefully stretching out the knots and kinks in his muscles before heading downstairs for coffee and the local paper. He sat at the kitchen table idly flipping the pages and staring out the window at the frost-covered driveway, until the stomp of boots on the kitchen porch jolted him from his reverie.

  “Hey.” Nick came through the door, stopping to give Eric a quick kiss on his way to the coffeepot. “How long have you been up?”

  “Not long. Honestly, I should probably just stay up there all day, naked and spread-eagled.”

  “I like the sound of that.” Nick plopped down in the chair opposite Eric’s, waggling his eyebrows. “So, you wanna?”

  “Easy, tiger. We’ve still got a couple days left to fuck our brains out. I was wondering what you wanted to do for dinner tonight.”

  Nick shot him a puzzled look. “What’s wrong with what we’ve been having?”

  Eric sighed. “Not that I mind simple meals, but I’m getting a bit tired of canned soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.”

  “There’s not much else I know how to make. But I suppose we could hit the diner in town, if you want.”

  “I was thinking of something a bit more romantic. What’d you say to a couple rare steaks, tossed green salad with vinaigrette, garlic mashed potatoes and a nice bottle of wine?”

  “Sounds great. Who’s going to cook it?”

  “How about me?”

  Nick’s mug froze halfway to his mouth. “You can cook?”

  “Spend your childhood hanging out in the kitchen with the housekeeper, and you pick up a few things.”

  “Wow. Well, sure, if you want to do it, I’m not going to object.” He slouched back in his chair. “Except we don’t have any of that stuff in the fridge.”

  Eric grinned. “I’ll make you a grocery list.”

  * * *

  It took Eric most of the afternoon to prepare the meal, in between emergency calls to Estellita and shooing Nick out of the room. He’d forgotten how time-consuming boiling, peeling and mashing potatoes could be, and mixing the perfect vinaigrette was a lot trickier than Nick’s mom’s copy of The Joy of Cooking made it sound. But with sheer determination and a generous helping of elbow grease, he prevailed.

  Nick poked his head in again, so Eric put him to work setting the table. “Smells great. Is it ready yet?” he said, sitting down. When Eric shot him a sharp look, he added, “Did you want me to do something else?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. I want you to go upstairs and get dressed.”

  Nick peered down at his plaid flannel shirt, faded jeans and work boots. “I am dressed.”

  “Not for dinner, you’re not. You can at least put on slacks and a sports coat—and a tie.”

  “Oh, c’mon, you’re kidding me!”

  “I’ve spent all afternoon fixing this meal. If you can’t spare ten minutes to make yourself presentable, I guarantee you won’t be getting any more fucking tonight.”

  Nick rolled his eyes, then headed upstairs. Eric poured himself some wine and sat down at the table, tracing patterns on the placemat with his fork. He was about to go see what was taking so long when Nick’s footsteps finally came clump-clumping downstairs. “Do I look okay?” he asked nervously.

  Eric swung around in his seat, and froze. Nick looked a lot better than okay—he looked positively edible. He didn’t recall seeing that dark gray suit in Nick’s closet, but it showed off his powerful build far better than the baggy work shirt he’d had on. His black dress shoes gleamed like polished glass, and he’d even combed his hair. He looked like a hot business exec, instead of a college kid playing dress-up for his boyfriend.

  “Eric?” he prompted. “You gonna say something?”

  “Um…wow.” They both burst out laughing. Eric got up to give Nick a more thorough once-over, nostrils twitching at the scent of Paco Rabanne. “You really went the extra mile,” he added appreciatively, wrapping his arms around Nick’s waist.

  “I wanted to look nice for you.”

  “And you do. I’m impressed.”

  “Good.” Nick grinned. “So can we eat now? I’m fucking starving.”

  Eric hadn’t realized how hungry he was himself until that first bite of steak hit his tongue, tender and juicy. The mashed potatoes had the exact right amount of garlic; the salad was so light, it was barely a whisper on the lips. Not bad, considering it was the first meal he’d prepared in almost a year.

  After, they retired to the living room with their wine. Eric was ready to collapse on the sofa, but Nick had other ideas. He lit the fire already laid in the fireplace, put on a CD of cool, melodic jazz, took off his jacket and tie and held out his hand to Eric. “May I have this dance?”

  Eric tried to hold back his bemused smirk, but it was a losing battle. “You dance?”

  “Yeah, I took a ballroom dancing class with my mom last summer. It’s helped my moves on the gridiron too.” He crooked his finger. “C’mon. Your date’s waiting.”

  Eric stepped into his arms, bracing to get his toes mashed. But to his joy and relief, he discovered Nick was quite light on his feet. With a contented sigh, he laid his head on Nick’s shoulder as they swayed in a gentle slow dance.

  “Thank you for dinner,” Nick whispered. “Nobody’s ever done that for me before.”

  Eric smiled. “It was my pleasure.”

  They ended up on a pile of blankets in front of the fire, curled together in a happy, naked, post-orgasmic tangle. At last Nick said, “Too bad we have to leave in a couple of days. I could really get used to this.”

  “Me too.” Eric sighed. “Thanks for inviting me. It’s been a lot of fun.”

  “Sleeping, eating and fucking. That’s the life.” They both laughed. “Well, it’s not like we can’t do this back at the dorm, except for the home-cooked meal part.”

  “What would you say if I told you I was thinking about getting an off-campus apartment next fall?”

  “Sounds great. Will you invite me over for dinner every now and then?”

  “How about every night?”

  Nick looked at h
im, dawning realization writ large in his wide green eyes. “I can’t.”

  “Why not? We’re living together now. Might as well make it official.”

  “But everybody thinks we’re just roommates, except for Ally. Coming out as a couple…well, that’s different.”

  “Why would anyone have to know? They’ll just assume we’re roommates off-campus as well.”

  “Eric, c’mon. With all the time we spend together, me not having a girlfriend, you being all out and proud…” He gave Eric a pointed look. “You really think anybody’s going to believe we’re just roommates?”

  He was right, though that didn’t make it rankle any less. In fact, now Eric couldn’t believe he’d actually suggested going back in the closet as a solution. He’d had enough of lying to himself, pretending everything was fine so his mother wouldn’t go to pieces again. He wasn’t about to fall into the same trap with Nick.

  “We’re hardly the only gay couple on campus,” Eric replied a touch more sharply than he’d intended. “This is the nineties. It’s not that big of a deal anymore.”

  “Maybe not for you. But I’d have to come out to the team and I just…” Nick rolled onto his back with a heavy huff of breath. “It’s bad enough having Hobart harassing me. I can’t take the whole team joining in.”

  “Then quit the fucking team. You don’t even like playing anymore. With your grades, they won’t yank your financial aid.”

  “And how am I supposed to explain it to my folks? Eric, I can’t…”

  Tell them about us. No, of course he couldn’t. And rationally, Eric knew it was too much to expect, when they’d only been together a few weeks. Which didn’t make his heart hitting the floor any easier to bear.

  “Look, I’ll think about it,” Nick murmured. “But I need a little more time, okay?”

  Eric just nodded and squeezed his eyes shut.

  Chapter Ten

  They got back to the city late Sunday afternoon and grabbed some dinner in the dining hall before trudging back to their room to unpack and collapse on the couch. The five-hour train ride, along with the burgers and fries they’d just scarfed down, had left them both drowsy.

  At last Nick sat up and stretched, forehead crinkling as he glanced at Eric’s desk. “There’s some messages on the machine.”

  Eric sighed, the hangover from their idyllic week in the country quickly evaporating. “It’s probably my mother. I told her I was going out of town, but I forgot to call from the farm to give her the phone number.” He heaved to his feet with a groan. “Better see what she wants.”

  He leaned over the desk and hit the ‘play’ button. “Eric, darling, I haven’t heard from you in a few days. Please give me a call. Talk to you soon.”

  The machine beeped.

  “It’s me again. Hope you’re having a wonderful time with Nick, dear. Remember, I get worried when I don’t hear from you. Call me, all right?”

  Beeeeep.

  “Eric, I really need to talk to you. Something’s happened, and I…” Heavy, racking sobs, paired with the distinctive gurgle of liquor sloshing into a glass. “I’m not feeling well tonight. Please call. Why won’t you call me?” There came a loud thump and crash, and the line clicked off.

  The machine beeped again.

  “Mr. Courtland, this is the intensive care unit at Mount Sinai Hospital. We have you listed as the emergency contact for Elizabeth Courtland. She’s been admitted in critical condition. Please get in touch with us at your earliest opportunity.”

  The machine beeped once more, followed by dead air.

  Blind panic nearly made Eric’s knees buckle, until Nick’s hand closed around his arm, calming and steadying him. “It’s okay, I’m here,” Nick said. “Let’s get to the hospital.”

  * * *

  They sat in the waiting room for over an hour before a doctor ushered Eric into the ICU.

  “When was she admitted?” he asked. “I didn’t receive the hospital’s message until a little while ago.”

  The doctor consulted the chart she was holding. “They brought her in this morning. One of the hotel maids found her collapsed in the bathroom.”

  Oh, God. If he’d only been home to answer her calls. “Will she be all right?”

  “Physically, she’ll recover. We’ve stabilized her heart rate and blood pressure. She’s been drifting in and out of consciousness, but that’s not unusual. Emotionally, she’s still very shaky. I see here that your mother has a long history of suicide attempts?”

  Eric nodded, hands bunching in his pockets. “There was another incident at Christmas, but she’d just started seeing a therapist. I thought she’d be okay.”

  “Can you give me her therapist’s name?”

  Damn it, why he hadn’t he asked her? “No, I’m afraid I… No, sorry.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll make a note to ask her myself the next time she’s awake.”

  The nurse showed him down the corridor to his mother’s room. Eric’s throat tightened at the sight of her lying there, hooked up to an array of monitors and IVs.

  There were bandages around both her wrists, dotted with seeping blood. Eric dropped into the nearest chair with a gasp. Her previous attempts had been obvious pleas for attention. She’d always made sure to time them so she’d be discovered before she’d absorbed too many pills. But this was different. This time, she’d really wanted to die.

  He sat at her bedside until she finally stirred. “Eric?” Her voice sounded raw, scratchy. Eric gave her some water and held her hand until she could continue. “I, I tried to get in touch with you, but you weren’t answering your phone.”

  Talk about twisting the knife. “I’m sorry, Mom. I should’ve given you the number where I’d be.” He swallowed hard. “What happened? You were doing so well the last time we talked. I thought the therapist was working out. How did this—”

  “I had lunch with Dorothy Gannon yesterday. You would’ve been proud of me. She sat there downing one drink after another, and all I had was a club soda.” A tiny sniff. “Then she let it slip that your father…well, apparently he’s living with another woman.” She picked listlessly at her bandages, her eyes welling up. “I didn’t believe it. So last night I called his apartment, and a woman answered.”

  “How do you know she wasn’t the housekeeper?”

  “I’ve spoken to his housekeeper before. She’s sixty if she’s a day. This woman was younger. Much younger.”

  Eric wasn’t surprised. He knew his father’s tastes. He liked them young, pretty and not very bright—which, sadly, had probably been a good description of his mother back in the day.

  “Mom, you’ve got to stop this. You need to let him go,” Eric implored. “He’s not coming back, you know that. Forget about him and move on.” Grasping her hand, he gave it a tiny squeeze. “I don’t want to lose you. I love you too much. You have to get well. You have to do it for me. All right?”

  She burst into tears at last. “I want to, but everything hurts so much. It’s too hard to get through the day, when it all seems so empty and pointless. Your father’s got his own life, you’ve got yours. What do I have? An empty house full of old paintings and a bunch of charities that only keep me around for a donation. If I died tomorrow, no one would notice.”

  “I would.”

  “You’d get over it, just like your father has. I asked the nurse to call him, but he’s refused to come see me. I can’t really blame him. Apparently he’s had enough.”

  A red haze of rage washed over Eric’s field of vision, his hands curling into fists. He’d often fantasized about punching his father out, but now he longed to tear the man apart, very, very slowly.

  “I’ll talk to him,” he said in the calmest tone as he could muster.

  “No, don’t. If he doesn’t want to be here—”

  “I said I’ll take care of it.” He stood, leaning over to give her a kiss on the cheek. “I want you to concentrate on getting well. Promise me?”

  She gave him a wa
n smile. “I’ll do my best.”

  Nick jumped to his feet the moment Eric stepped back into the crowded waiting room, but when Eric tried to lean into him for comfrt, Nick pulled away. What the hell? All he wanted was a little warmth and affection to help get him through this ordeal, and Nick was too fucking scared even to give him that?

  “You’re exhausted,” Nick said, his gaze darting toward the door. “Why don’t we head on home?”

  “Fine,” Eric snapped, marching from the room with Nick trailing behind him, asking questions he couldn’t bear to answer. Finally Nick got the message, and a stony silence descended. It went on until they got back to their room, at which point Nick had to block Eric’s path to the kitchen to get his attention.

  “Look, I know you’re going through some serious shit here, but don’t shut me out, okay?” He tried to slide a hand onto Eric’s shoulder, but this time Eric shrugged him off.

  “You’re a fine one to talk about shutting people out,” he spat. “Now you decide it’s okay to touch me, with us safely tucked away where no one can see?”

  Nick flinched. “Eric, you know this isn’t easy for me—”

  “Oh, don’t give me that. My mother just tried to kill herself, and you couldn’t even let me lean on you!” With that, he marched into the kitchen, banging cupboard doors as he searched for herbal tea and a clean mug.

  He could feel Nick looming in the doorway, his gaze boring into his back, but he didn’t turn around until he’d filled his cup with hot water from the screaming kettle.

  “I’m really sorry,” Nick said softly. “I’m just not used to us being affectionate in front of other people yet.”

  Eric yanked out a chair and sat down heavily, placing his mug on the table. “What’re you so afraid of? You think all those people waiting in ICU were going to take one look at us, then run out and call your parents? I’m sure they had more important things on their minds.”

  “I know, I know, it’s stupid. I’ll figure out how to deal with it. But for now, just tell me what I can do to help.”

  If it were only that simple. “You can’t,” Eric replied curtly. “Your family’s not like mine. There’s no way you could understand.”