Talking It Out Read online

  Contents

  Also by Robin Moray

  About

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  TALKING IT OUT

  His Boy Next Door 32

  By R.J. Moray

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright ©2019 Robin Moray

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  First Electronic Edition

  Also by Robin Moray

  (Up-to-date listing at robinmoray.com)

  Bonded to the Alpha series

  Bonded to the Alpha

  Loyal

  Claimed

  Mated

  Mallory Witches series

  Something Wicked

  The Omega Colony series

  Changed: Mated to the Alien Alpha

  As R.J. Moray

  Novellas

  Finding Elliott

  Serials

  His Boy Next Door

  (Channon Beaumont series)

  Season One

  Season Two

  Season Three

  A Collar For His Brat

  (Ewan McKinney series)

  About His Boy Next Door 32 : Talking It Out

  So much has changed since Jack and Channon first met. Channon's grown into his confidence, no longer paralyzed by indecision and self-doubt. But his anxieties still plague him. And when he thinks Jack wants a future that can't include him, he panics.

  Jack's trying not to smother Channon, giving him space to breathe. But when he sees his boy struggling he can't just let it go. And when Channon brings up old fears and desires, Jack finds himself confronted with a truth he hadn't admitted even to himself.

  He's too old for new kinks, isn't he? Or is that exactly what he needs right now?

  This book is episode 32 in an ongoing serial, and contains acts of an adult and sexual nature. Read at your own risk.

  Chapter One

  “Happy Birthday, Mr Nash.” Channon held out the gift in both hands. He held it steady, despite his nerves, and tried to look confident.

  Jack’s dad took it with a faintly perplexed frown. “Thankyou, Channon.” He inspected the flat rectangle carefully, as if it held some great mystery. “Well. This looks too good to unwrap.”

  Channon tried not to grin. “You should, though. Or it’s a waste.”

  Very carefully, Mr Nash unpicked the tape, leaving the red and gold wrapping intact. Channon tried not to watch his expression too closely.

  “Traditional Thanksgiving,” Mr Nash read aloud. He flipped the cover, leafing through the pages. “This is a recipe book.”

  “I know you already have Thanksgiving nailed,” Channon said, “but it’s got recipes from different states and I thought…it’s interesting?”

  Mr Nash opened it up, flicking through the glossy color photos. “Cranberry salad in jello,” he said, sounding thoughtful. “Thankyou, Channon. That is interesting.”

  Channon breathed out in relief. He hadn’t expected Mr Nash to throw the book in the trash but still, giving Jack’s dad a birthday present he’d picked out himself wasn’t the easiest thing in the world.

  “Are you looking forward to the Apple Festival?” Mr Nash asked, setting the book down on one of the end tables in the Nashes' family room. He looked and sounded so much like Jack that Channon always had this urge to please him, though in a decidedly non-kinky way. It made talking to him a little nerve-racking, but still, Channon had to try.

  “I mean…yeah, but I don’t really know what an apple festival is,” he admitted. “I’ve never been to one before.”

  “You’re a city boy,” Mr Nash said, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. Channon nodded. Kingston wasn’t as big as Santa Rita, sure, but it was definitely more urban than Coleridge. “Well, maybe you’ll enjoy it. I hope you like apples,” he added, smiling a little, “or you’ll be sick of them by sundown.”

  Privately, Channon didn’t think that was possible, but it was a sentiment Jack echoed in the car on the drive to the festival. “Trust me, Channon, as many apples as you’re thinking? Double it. Then double it again. More than that.”

  “Maybe I’m thinking of infinite apples,” Channon said, and Jack snorted.

  “That’s not possible. Your brain would run out of ram and you’d blue-screen.”

  “What’s a blue-screen?” Channon asked, opening his eyes very wide.

  Jack shot him an amused look. “We still have blue-screens, Channon, but nice try.”

  Channon tried to imagine infinite apples. It wasn’t exactly possible. “What do you do at an apple festival? Eat candy apples?”

  “Yep.” Jack swung into a field that had been re-purposed as a parking lot. “And apple pie, apple fritters, apple pancakes, apple cider—”

  “Apple cider?” Channon asked. Jack flashed him a grin.

  “Yeah, sweetheart. Do you wanna press your own cider to take home?”

  Oh. “Can I?”

  Jack reached across the console to squeeze his hand. “Sure you can. Let’s go pick some apples.”

  ❧

  The festival was, Channon found, more appley than he’d imagined. It was held in a field next to an orchard about half an hour’s drive from the Nashes’ house, and it was probably the most rural place Channon had ever been. The sky opened up wide overhead, the clouds bright, and the air smelled of what Jack called, “Petrichor,” but really it was just wet dirt.

  Everything at the festival was apple-themed, from the fliers to the tickets to the papier-mâché decorations. Every stall sold apple products: apple jellies and apple relish, cookies and cakes, pies and tarts. He saw three different people dressed as apples, one that seemed to be official and two that might have just been cosplay. And a lady playing the ukulele, in a green suit hung with apples like Christmas baubles.

  Jack took Channon’s hand and held it, and Channon let himself be led around to gawk at the produce and entertainments on offer. He was pretty sure he saw people double-take at them, but no-one said anything, so Channon relaxed and tried to enjoy himself.

  “Did you want to bob for apples?” Jack asked.

  Channon eyed the plastic tubs and the crowd of children around them. “I mean…you get wet, and you just win apples. I could buy an apple.”

  “That’s not in the festival spirit,” Jack chided him, but he squeezed Channon’s fingers all the same.

  Apparently an apple festival was an excuse for Jack to feed Channon treats; they had blintzes and apple-blackberry tart, and then Jack carried the basket for Channon while he stood on a ladder picking apples right off the tree.

  “This,” Jack said, “is an OHS nightmare.”

  Channon rolled his eyes, too happy to care. The weather was good, clouded but dry with enough wind to ruffle his hair and make him glad he’d worn his coat. At the base o
f the ladder, Jack looked good enough to eat in tan and black, his hair tousled up loose and soft. Channon leaned down to run his fingers through it and Jack smiled.

  “Am I a mess?”

  “You’re gorgeous,” Channon said, and the look of pleased surprise on Jack’s face made him wonder if he never said it out loud, for all he was always thinking it. “You’re the hottest guy here.”

  Jack huffed out a laugh. “You’re biased. And your sample size is too small.”

  “It’s objective. I can take a poll, if you like.”

  “Of hot guys at the Apple Festival?” Jack ran a hand up the back of Channon’s calf, stroking him through the denim of his jeans with one strong thumb.

  “Of people who think you’re the hottest guy at the Apple Festival.”

  Jack grinned. “You’re taking your time with those apples.”

  Channon dropped an apple in the basket. “You’re distracting me. I’m pretty sure this is your fault.”

  Jack squeezed him, his eyes narrowing. “Careful. You wouldn’t want anyone to think you were being bratty, would you?”

  Channon shook his head, biting his lip on the smile that threatened to come out. He wasn’t bratty. But sometimes…he did feel cheeky. It wasn’t the same at all.

  The air stung his lungs, chill and crisp, the ripe apples were fragrant in the sun that made it through the clouds. Channon breathed it in and thought he could definitely handle living out here somewhere. Have an orchard. Pick apples. Maybe one day he’d have a house some place like this. Maybe he’d have a garden. He didn’t know anything about gardening, but maybe he’d like it.

  So long as there was wifi, anyway.

  Picking apples while Jack steadied his ladder with one hand made Channon feel strange and warm. Not aroused. Not just in love, either, but something else, something that curled in his gut, digging in deep like the roots of a tree. He wanted…something. This. Something like this, anyway.

  “I think that’s enough,” Jack said, smiling, “or you’ll overflow the basket.”

  “Can we make cider?” Channon asked. “Did we get enough?”

  “There should be plenty. And I bet you Mom has empty bottles in the car.”

  Jack paid and carried the basket while Channon ate an apple. It was more tart than he was used to, but still good, the flesh crisp and pale inside.

  “You’re going to be sick of apples by sundown,” Jack said, eyeing him with a smile.

  “That’s what your dad said.”

  Jack groaned. “Oh, great. I’ve turned into my father. Kill me.”

  “I like your dad.” Channon hooked an arm around Jack’s waist, tucking his hand into one of Jack’s coat pockets. “He’s nice to me.”

  “But he listens to bluegrass,” Jack said, grinning into the sky.

  Channon opened his mouth to confess that he didn’t really know what bluegrass was, but Jack stopped so suddenly that Channon nearly blundered into him.

  He looked up. Jack’s expression had stilled, gone stony. Channon shivered and leaned up against him. “Sir?”

  When Jack met his eye he seemed somehow unprepared. For a moment he was silent, lips parted, like he wanted to say something. Then he sighed. “It’s fine. Take this.” He handed the basket over. Then he draped an arm around Channon’s shoulders, his fingers settling warm and strong against Channon’s neck. When he smiled it seemed grim, pulling lines around his eyes that Channon normally didn’t see.

  “Jack?”

  “It’s fine. Come on.”

  Channon went with him, but the weight of Jack’s hand was heavier than usual, not the comfort it normally was.

  The Nashes were ranged around a picnic table set up under a tree near a fenced-off area where the kids were making scarecrows. Jack’s parents were there, along with his brother and a handful of aunts and uncles and cousins Channon barely knew.

  “Hey, Chan,” Christopher Nash called from the table. “Did Jackie make you pick all those?”

  “No,” Channon said, setting the basket down next to a folding chair. “I made him hold the basket for me though.”

  Chris grinned, and offered Channon a bottle misted with condensation. “Cider? Or are you sick of apples already?”

  Channon eyed the bottle warily. “Is it alcoholic?”

  “Channon doesn’t drink,” Jack said, wrapping himself around Channon possessively.

  Chris didn’t even bat an eyelid. “Neither do you, these days. Health nut.”

  “I just like to look good naked,” Jack said, obviously trying to get a rise out of his big brother.

  It worked. “Ugh, gross.”

  “I think it’s pretty cool,” Channon piped up, earning himself a squeeze and a chuckle in his ear.

  Chris made a face. “Nope. TMI, guys.” He took a swig from the bottle and then pointed with the neck of it. “So, Jessica’s over there talking to Zelda. I think she’s showing off another baby bump. Or she’s put on weight. Either way, I’m not congratulating her until she says for sure. Go find out.”

  “Why would I care if Jessica’s pregnant?” Jack asked, but it came out stiff, just like his arms around Channon’s torso.

  Chris gave him a weird look. “Because. It’s what normal people do. Plus, Gloria’s going to want to know.”

  “Your wife can ask her herself.”

  “Don’t be a dick,” Chris said, frowning in a way that made Channon restless. “Just go talk to her. She’ll tell you. Everyone likes to tell you when they’re having a baby.”

  Jack breathed out, close to Channon’s ear. “No.”

  For a moment Chris just stared at him, and then his mouth curved into a smirk. “You’re not scared of her, are you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Jack snapped.

  “You are. Fuck. You’re nearly forty, little brother. You should really have got over the whole ‘girl-cooties’ thing.” Chris gestured with his bottle. “I’m just saying, even Aaron has a girlfriend now. It’s like he’s discovered a whole new world.”

  Jack didn’t say anything to that. Channon tilted his head to look at him, and found Jack’s expression pinched in unhappiness. He wanted to touch Jack’s cheek and ask if he was okay, but he couldn’t, not in front of people. Instead, he said, “Are you still hungry? Your mom said she had ham sandwiches.”

  Jack breathed out. “Yeah. I’ll grab you one.” He kissed Channon’s hair. “Wait here.”

  “You can grab me one, too!” Chris yelled after him. Then he turned to Channon with an unimpressed look. “Is he being weird about the Jessica thing? I thought we were over that.”

  “I don’t know what the Jessica thing is,” Channon admitted. He glanced over at Jack’s cousin, who was talking to a pretty red-haired woman Channon thought he recognized.

  “Sure you do. I saw him introduce you at Thanksgiving. Weight off my goddamn mind, that’s for sure. She’s still friends with Zelda, so it’s been awkward. I figured if he was up to introducing you then they’d finally buried that hatchet.”

  Oh. Channon blinked, trying to remember. “I think I met her. I guess. I don’t know about the ‘thing’ though.”

  When he turned back Chris had an odd look on his face. “You don’t?”

  “No?”

  Chris looked deeply uncomfortable. “Fuck. Okay. Look, it’s not a big deal, it’s just…I mean, Jack was going to marry her, a long, long time ago. They didn’t break up on good terms, and it’s been awkward because Jess was like family. You know?”

  No. Channon didn’t get that at all. He took a deep breath because his stomach had done this terrible swooping thing, and maybe he’d had too many apples today but, no, that wasn’t it.

  “Jack didn’t mention it,” he said. “So I guess it’s not a big deal.”

  “Yeah. That’s right,” Chris said, but Channon didn’t believe it.

  ❧

  Later, Jack realized he should have been paying more attention. His mom had taken Channon into the dining room to show him old photo alb
ums because Channon was far too polite to refuse. Jack hadn’t gone with them because he didn’t particularly want to look at old photos of himself. They reminded him too keenly of what a little prick he’d been back then, so full of himself and self-righteous. Puritan in so many ways—fuck, how far he’d fallen from that high horse.

  He was instead admiring the digital model of the universe Brayden was showing off on his tablet when the word, “Jessica,” caught his attention. His head came up automatically, turning to look through the French doors to where Channon sat at the dining table, bent over an album.

  Why was his mom showing Channon pictures of Jessica?

  He’d tried to eavesdrop on them, but Brayden demanded his attention and he, reluctantly, gave it. Brayden was so quiet, and Jack worried about him, the youngest in a family of extroverts. He tried to make sure Brayden knew he was the focus of Jack’s whole attention whenever he could, because he deserved it as much as his brother and sisters.

  So Jack paid attention to Brayden’s explanation of the relative size of galaxies and tried not to think too hard about what his mom was saying to Channon.

  He fought the urge to ask about it all evening, battling with himself over whether or not he’d be making it into a bigger deal if he did.

  In the end, however, he didn’t have to. Channon found him in his room—their room—and wrapped his arms around Jack’s waist.

  “Sir, can I ask you about something?”

  Jack felt it in his chest. “Of course, sweetheart.” He sat down on the bed, his own childhood bed in his parents’ house surrounded by the remnants of his teenage years, and pulled Channon into his lap.

  Channon was too big to really fit there, but he settled on Jack’s knee, leaning into him heavy and warm. He seemed only a little anxious, which Jack counted as a plus. Now he tipped his face up to Jack’s, his eyes big and green and trusting.

  “Is there a Jessica thing?”

  The phrasing took Jack by surprise. “What?”