Instant Family (Silver Oak Medical Center Book 4) Read online

  Allen's shoulders slumped. Was it with relief or disappointment? Brantley had no way of knowing. That was the whole problem. He had no way to know what anything meant with this man. Everything was a mystery. "It's up to you, obviously. You're the one taking the risk."

  Delancey held up a hand. "Hold up. Are you seriously telling me that you don't have a guest room, Allen?"

  "Of course I have a guest room, Delancey. Talk to your husband. He's stayed in it a time or two." Allen snorted. "Who wants a beer? I could use a beer."

  "Sit down, Allen." Delancey waved a hand. "Powell, do you have a guest room?"

  "Well yes, of course I have a guest room. Oh." Brantley blushed, heat suffusing his body for more reasons than simple embarrassment. "Of course. Foolish of me."

  Allen snorted again. "Your virtue's always safe with me, Brantley." He headed off to the kitchen, presumably to get that beer.

  Brantley followed him. "I didn't mean to imply anything."

  Allen rested his head against the top part of the fridge, face in the top shelf. "Of course not. You're under a lot of strain right now." He stood back up with a big, fake grin smeared across his face and handed a beer to Brantley. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to get snippy with you. Having Parris here was a little jarring, that's all."

  "I can only imagine." Brantley fished in his pocket for his keys and the beer opener on them. "She's not exactly a pleasant person to have to be around." He swallowed. "Look, Allen, I don't mean to seem ungrateful. I appreciate your willingness to help me here. I do. I'm just… this is a big deal. Not just for me. I'm a little bit uncomfortable with it. We don't know each other. I don't know your dog. You're going to be bringing home a baby. All I know about your dietary habits is that you insist on putting crushed red pepper on just about everything and I have no idea if I can live with your cleanliness levels."

  Allen shook his head. His grin looked a little more genuine and less forced this time, which had to count for something. If Brantley thought about that grin, he'd get distracted, and that wasn't what he needed at all. He needed to be collected. He needed to be rational. He needed to be a damn professional about this. "If this were a real relationship, I'd tell anyone trying to force us to move in together to go straight to hell. It's a dumb idea, except in extreme situations. Here's the thing. We're not in a real situation, and this is about as extreme a situation as it gets. We won't be living together forever. You must have had roommates in college, and during your residency, right?"

  Brantley opened both of their beers. "Of course."

  "Think of it just like that. No shenanigans, no funny business. Just two guys living together. We don't even have to pretend we're sharing a bedroom. We've got a perfect excuse. We wouldn't have considered moving in together this early, but since ICE is considering sending you back to Jamaica over something so minor, we felt we had to. We still wanted our privacy, and since my job requires me to get up at all kinds of odd hours to go deliver babies and such we decided it would be best if I had my own room."

  Brantley held his breath. It sounded plausible. Of course, his own plea for asylum was perfectly plausible, in that it was true. It had taken twenty years for them to reject it. Maybe this would work, and maybe it wouldn't. "Do we have a choice?"

  Allen pressed his lips together, and then lifted his beer to them. "There's always a choice." He took a sip. "It might not be a palatable choice, but we still have a choice."

  Brantley rolled his eyes. Going back to Jamaica to die wasn't just unpalatable. "Fine." He massaged his temples. "Which house do we choose?"

  Allen grabbed a third beer and brought it back out to the living room. "Obviously I'm partial to this one. It has all my stuff in it, and it's near things I know. I suppose you're feeling the same way about your place."

  "More or less." Brantley followed Allen back out to the room where Delancey sat and wondered if he'd somehow been transported into another dimension. This couldn't be his life, not really.

  Roommates. Just roommates. If he thought about it that way, he wanted to scream a little bit less. "Okay. So let's sit down and hash this out. Maybe Mr. Delancey can mediate for us."

  "That's what lawyers are for." Delancey beamed at them. "And then later I can mediate the division of assets, too!"

  "Hush, you." Brantley glared at him. "There aren't going to be any assets to divide. ICE will make its determination one way or another long before that would become an issue."

  Allen's eyelid twitched, just a little. "Right. Moving on. So. This condo is about nineteen hundred sixty-two square feet. Brantley's is about nineteen hundred sixty-six square feet. I have one full bath more than he does, while he has a bigger lot. From my place, it's about an eighteen to twenty minute drive to work on any given day."

  "From my place, it's about a fifteen minute drive to the office." Brantley sat down and tried not to let his head spin too much. "Um, we overlook a golf course?"

  "Beach and nature trail for Sadie." Allen sat back with a smug grin on his handsome face.

  "I have to say, facilities for the dog make a compelling argument, but I'll admit I'm biased." Delancey winked. "Harvey would love the nature trail."

  "Okay, but your house is attached to another. Mine stands alone. The only reason it's considered a condo is that it's part of an association, and they handle the lawn maintenance." Brantley crossed his arms over his chest and stuck his chin out. "Plus, you have no groceries in your refrigerator, just beer and crushed red pepper."

  "The crushed red pepper isn't in my fridge." Allen clutched at his chest. "Seriously, you're going to pass on this sweet deal just because I didn't do any grocery shopping?"

  Delancey lifted his eyebrows. "It's not like it's forever. It's just until ICE is off your back. It makes you look like a doting boyfriend. Which, according to the rumor mill, you could stand to get some help with."

  Brantley frowned. "What exactly is that supposed to mean? We go out on two dates per week. I let him kiss my cheek."

  Delancey shook his head and closed his eyes. "Seriously, man. Just… pack up some clothes and file a change of address with the post office. You'll be glad you did." He turned his head to look at Allen. "Are you sure about this?"

  "As sure as I can be." Allen shrugged. He looked away for a moment, and then that fake smile came back. "Come on, Brantley. I'll show you to your room."

  Brantley followed Allen up the stairs. One of the bedrooms had a crib in it, as well as a regular sized bed. The other one just had a bed in it. "I can move the crib if you like the other room better," he said. "She'll be in a bassinette in my room when she first comes home, so she won't bother you."

  Brantley's mouth went dry. He hadn't been alone with Allen in a bedroom yet. He hadn't thought about it. He couldn't tear his mind away from the thought of the bed, all made up right in front of him. What would it be like to bring Allen over to that bed right now and make that resigned martyrdom crack?

  That was the wrong way to think. That wasn't even the kind of thing Brantley usually wanted. He wasn't that kind of guy. He wiped his hands on his trousers. "Um, thanks, I guess."

  Allen let out a little laugh. "I know. This couldn't be more awkward, could it?" He sighed, just a little bit, and headed toward the stairs. "I wish it could be better for you."

  Brantley watched him go. Somehow, Brantley didn't think he was the one who needed it to be better.

  Chapter Five

  Allen watched the week tick by with a growing sense of dread. He didn't want Friday to come, and he definitely didn't want Saturday to arrive. They'd agreed Brantley should move in the weekend after Parris' visit, and each day that ticked by brought Allen closer to the point of losing his mind.

  He didn't want this. Not at all.

  At least this wasn't going to be permanent. They didn't need to make room for a bunch of different furniture. The stuff Allen had would be good enough, even if Brantley tended to turn up his nose at it. Allen wouldn't be offended by that. They weren't friends. They weren't l
overs. They were two guys trying to get through a bad situation.

  He called Janine on Sunday to give her advance warning. She was, predictably, unenthusiastic. "Allen, you've been with this guy for three months and you haven't brought him by to meet anyone from your family. Now you're shacking up with him? This is a bad idea. It's a terrible idea. You need to rethink this."

  "I know. I know it's a terrible idea." Allen closed his eyes and gave thanks to whatever benevolent spirit had guided him to choose to make this disclosure by phone. "The thing is, Immigration is giving him a really hard time. They want to see him moving in with his boyfriend of three months to prove he's really gay. So it's awkward and unpleasant, and neither of us is really comfortable with this right now, but we kind of have to do it."

  "Jesus Christ." Janine let out a long sigh. "I can't even begin to tell you how messed up that is. I mean really, Allen. But I guess I can't stop you either. Not with a sword like that hanging over your heads."

  "I know." Allen sat down on the couch. It was close enough to the truth that he could probably get away with it. He couldn't have pulled it off face to face. Janine knew him too well. The phone covered a multitude of ills. "He's keeping his condo, just in case."

  "Nice that he's got faith." She let out a little harrumph, and Allen cringed. Poor Brantley wasn't exactly getting off to a great start with anyone from Allen's circle.

  "It's not like a relationship that starts this way has a lot of potential, you know?" Allen exaggerated his sigh so his sister would understand his aggravation. "I mean there we are going along, building something good, and along comes ICE to interfere. You can't let something develop naturally when there's a gun to your head. You just can't. We're hoping for the best, but neither one of us has a lot of illusions."

  "I'm so sorry, Allen." Janine went quiet for a moment. "Let me know if there's anything I can do."

  "I will. Thanks, Janine."

  The days passed too quickly. Allen did what he could to stretch them out, but nothing helped. When Friday night rolled around, Brantley showed up at Allen's house with a couple of suitcases and such a stiff back that Allen wondered if he'd ever walk comfortably again.

  "Okay." Brantley took a deep breath. "I guess we're doing this."

  Allen narrowed his eyes at his supposed boyfriend. He tilted his head toward the black, unmarked SUV he was sure thought it was being discreet and screwed up his mouth, just a little, before forcing himself to smile and hug Brantley. "Fake it, Brantley," he hissed. "They're watching."

  Brantley bowed his head and sighed. Then he put his bags down and gave Allen a perfunctory hug. When they parted, though, he was smiling. "Better?" he asked, through gritted teeth.

  "Much." Allen led the way into the condo.

  Brantley put his things away while Allen and Sadie returned to the living room. Brantley could have his privacy. It was fine. If Brantley never wanted to come out of his room, that would be fine too. They didn't need to interact, if Brantley didn't want to.

  Brantley emerged from his room half an hour later. "All right then. What do you want to do for dinner?"

  Sadie perked up at the idea of dinner.

  Allen laughed. "Do you feel like hitting up that Italian place up the road? It's nearby, and it's convenient."

  Brantley crossed his arms over his chest, but his lips twitched into a tiny smile. "You still haven't done any grocery shopping, have you?"

  Allen's cheeks got hot. "There's not a lot in here, no."

  Brantley shook his head, which sent his dreads cascading over his shoulders. He was a beautiful man. "Okay, we can eat out tonight, but Allen, you're a medical professional, man. You know it's not healthy to do that every day. We've got to eat at home, more often than not. How do you stay in such good shape when you're eating restaurant food all the live-long?"

  Brantley was already heading for the door. Allen rushed to catch up to him. "Seriously? You want to critique my dietary habits?" He headed for the passenger side of the car. "They're obviously not hurting me."

  "Not now." Brantley slipped behind the wheel of his Volvo and started it up. "Give me the address of this restaurant you like so much."

  Allen typed it into the Volvo's nav system, and Brantley pulled out of the driveway. Allen didn't comment about the SUV that followed them. Either Brantley knew and wasn't saying anything, or he didn't know and didn't need to.

  They decided to eat at the restaurant instead of getting takeout. That surprised Allen, considering Brantley's resistance to anything public, but he'd take it. They had a relatively relaxed conversation, too, talking about their workday and any particular challenges they'd faced. After dinner, they headed back home and settled in on the couch, just like they would on a typical date night.

  Tonight wasn't typical. "So," Brantley said, after Allen got them beers. "I guess we should come up with a plan. Iron out all of the details of daily life and such."

  Sadie hopped up onto the couch between them. Allen scratched her head, which she rested in his lap. If any of the ICE crew stopped in, they wouldn't have to explain why they were sitting so far apart; Sadie was their excuse. It wouldn't be their fault. It would be the dog's. Would it be the end of the world if they sat a little closer, though?

  "I guess so. No point in getting irritated with one another over trivial stuff." Allen tried to force himself to relax. "I guess we can each be responsible for our own bathrooms, and alternate cleaning the one down here. I'll get it on Sundays, you get it on Wednesdays?"

  "Sounds good." Brantley nodded and looked down at Sadie. "Are you going to tell her to get down?"

  Allen scoffed. "No. She's fine where she is. She likes to cuddle in the evenings." He gave Brantley a look he hoped the doctor took as quizzical and not terribly challenging. "Can we agree to be grownups about things like taking out the trash and stuff? You know, if it's full, take it out. That kind of thing."

  "Of course." Brantley waved a hand. "I'm not comfortable picking up after the dog, though. That's just not sanitary."

  Allen chuckled to himself. "She's my dog. I don't expect anyone else to take care of her. Although someday you might find someone you love, Brantley. And he might have a dog of his own. Or a cat, or a goldfish, or something. You might find you want to help out with things like that. You might want to start a family with him, and you'll be expected to change diapers." He raised an eyebrow. "What do you think you'll do then?"

  Brantley's handsome face twisted. "Well, I mean I'm sure we'd have come to an agreement before he took on a dog. Or a child. Or a cat or a goldfish or a pet lobster or what the hell have you."

  Allen couldn't help but feel a little pang at that, but he could ignore it. "I just had an image of you trying to walk a lobster on a leash. It was kind of awesome. I think that's the pet for you, buddy."

  Sadie made an offended sound, deep in her chest, and snorted all over Brantley. Then she hopped down onto the ground.

  Brantley curled his lip and wiped his arm on the couch. "At least she's not on the couch anymore, I suppose."

  "That really bothers you that much?" Allen shook his head.

  "It's not done. She's an animal. Animals don't go on furniture. Would you let a goat get up on the couch? Of course not. So why do you let a dog get up there?" He rubbed at his face. "Whatever. It isn't my house, I'm not staying here long, I'm not going to try to change the way you live or anything." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Anyway. Can we agree that the person who cooks doesn't need to clean up?"

  Allen froze. "Cooking. Right. I figured we'd just do take out or frozen dinners."

  Brantley blinked at him, face blank. "That's got to be the most unhealthy thing I've ever heard. Are you kidding me? Are you going to tell me you smoke, too? Is your pillow made of asbestos and do you fluff it up good and proper every night before you go to sleep? Do you lie in a tanning bed for six hours every day, buck naked?"

  Allen leaned back so his head rested on the top of the couch. "Everyone has his own talents, Brantley. An
d I'll have you know there's never been a bug in my kitchen. Not a one. So maybe leave your judgment at the door?"

  "You won't need to worry about bugs and mice on the oncology ward. You'll have enough on your mind. Don't you worry, though. I'll treat you for free." He stood up and crossed his arms over his chest. "No. I'm going to cook. You're going to eat, and you'll learn to cook for yourself so you're not dead by the time you're forty. And that's all there is to it." He wiped his hands against each other, like he was dusting them off. "We'll go to the grocery store tomorrow. How does an omega get to be your age and not learn to cook, for crying out loud?"

  Allen rolled his eyes. "You sound like my mother. I can't wait for the two of you to meet."

  Brantley stood up. "She sounds like a wise woman. A man who can't feed himself isn't going to get very far in life."