Weight of Silence: (Cost of Repairs #3) Read online

  Weight of Silence

  A.M. Arthur

  Briggs-King Books

  Contents

  Blurb

  Copyright Page

  1. Thanksgiving Day

  Chapter 2

  3. Christmas Break

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Also by A.M. Arthur

  About the Author

  Blurb

  Weight of Silence (Cost of Repairs #3)

  Gavin Perez is fully aware that he's kind of a cliché. He works a dead-end job, shares a trailer with his waitress mom, has an abusive, absentee sperm donor, and he's poor. So color him shocked when middle-class, white-bread Jace Ramsey agrees to hang out with him. Granted, Gavin is trying to make it up to Junior McHottie for dumping a bowl of cranberry sauce on him at Thanksgiving dinner. And boy does Jace forgive him, over and over again…until he goes back to college and stops returning Gavin's calls. Oh well. Life goes on.

  After living through the semester from hell, Jace Ramsey doesn't want to do anything more complicated than sleep through winter break. He has no idea how to come out to his family, never mind tell his parents he wants to quit college. He also has zero plans to socialize while he’s home, but Gavin's ready forgiveness draws them back together—both in and out of bed. But Gavin is out, and Jace knows he won't be able to stay in the closet much longer.

  Gavin isn't good enough for Jace—at all—but Gavin simply can’t stay away from the younger, haunted man. Something happened to Jace during those weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Jace trusts Gavin with his body. He might even trust Gavin with his heart. But can he trust that a devastating secret that’s eating him up inside won’t destroy everything—and everyone—he loves?

  NOTE: This book was previously published under the same title. It has updated cover art and has been re-edited. 3700 words of new content has been added, including a brand-new epilogue.

  Copyright Page

  Weight of Silence

  Copyright © 2013 by A.M. Arthur

  Second Edition © 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without the express written permission of the author.

  All characters and events in this book are purely fictional and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names.

  Cover art by Lyn Taylor

  Briggs-King Books

  To K.A.M., for having the right duct tape when I needed it.

  1

  Thanksgiving Day

  At precisely 1:21 p.m., Gavin Perez dumped an entire serving bowl’s worth of cranberry sauce on the most adorable boy he’d ever seen. Gavin knew the exact time of the saucing because his mother had just asked him for it (the time, not the sauce), and the only reason he wasn’t looking in front of him was because he’d glanced down at his cell phone.

  Head down + Push door = Disaster.

  He couldn’t blame his mother. She’d asked an innocent question. Gavin should have stopped walking long enough to check his phone and answer her question. Should have. Did not. Usually did not and/or could not. They’d never had the money for an official doctor’s diagnosis, but Gavin had all the major traits of adult hyperactivity.

  Plus he’d read a bunch of books on the topic. After twenty-three years, he figured he knew a heck of a lot about himself, including his incurable need to multitask from waking to bedtime. He also had a long mental list of mishaps and accidents caused by his need to be on the move and going at optimum speed. The cranberry sauce collision just jumped to the top of said list.

  And to be fair to himself, the incredible cutie he’d sauced hadn’t seen him either, or gotten out of the way. They were both trying to go through the same door at the rear of the diner—Gavin into the back room and Cutie Pie out of it and into the dining room. The door had a wide window at eye-level, probably to prevent such accidents during regular business hours, and neither of them had used it.

  Gavin had stopped short the moment he realized he’d caused an accident, and Mama ran right into his back, which nearly made him ram into the door a second time. He grabbed it as it swung back at him, ignored Mama’s curious squawk, and peeked around the corner.

  Cutie Pie gaped down at the huge splotch of red goo clinging to the front of his white dress shirt. Most of the sauce was still in the bowl, but some had dripped to the floor and onto his shoes. He hadn’t even looked up yet to see who’d dressed him up like a Thanksgiving turkey. But in a diner as small as Dixie’s Cup—and with so many people rushing around getting food out to the counter—they’d already drawn a small audience.

  “Dios mio,” Mama said. She’d inched around Gavin to see what had stopped him. “Oh dear, that’s going to stain.”

  “My mother made this from scratch,” Cutie Pie said to the bowl of sauce.

  “Most of it is still in there,” Gavin replied.

  He thought it sounded helpful, but Cutie Pie gave him a sour look. “It splashed all up on my shirt. Do you think people want to eat cotton fibers with their cranberry relish?”

  “Sorry.” That sounded horrible, even to Gavin’s ears. “I mean, I’m sorry about hitting you with the door.”

  “My fault, too.” He gave the cranberry relish such a forlorn, kicked-puppy look that Gavin was struck momentarily speechless—and that didn’t happen often.

  “Look, dinner doesn’t start for twenty minutes,” Gavin said. “I’m sure we can find some canned sauce somewhere.”

  “On Thanksgiving Day?”

  “No need,” Mama said. “We have some in the stockroom. We can doctor that up and use it for today.”

  Cutie Pie blinked. “Why does Dixie have canned cranberry sauce in stock?”

  “For Barrett’s Gobbler Panini. It’s a lovely sandwich he does on special once a week.”

  “Oh.”

  Gavin gave himself a mental head-knock. Ever since Dixie had splurged on a Panini press two months ago, her night cook Barrett McCall had been experimenting with combinations. The Gobbler had been a success from the first day. Mama had called Gavin in to taste test it before it went public, and he’d called it “Thanksgiving on a bun”.

  Barrett had corrected him and said it was “Thanksgiving on ciabatta”.

  “Great. Problem solved,” Gavin said.

  Mama ushered the three of them into the small, cramped back room of the diner. She took the bowl of ruined sauce from Cutie and stuck it in the large industrial sink, then disappeared to root around for the canned sauce.

  “Half the problem is solved,” Cutie said. “I need to change.”

  There is absolutely nothing wrong with you, sweetie, very nearly popped out of Gavin’s mouth. That would have been incredibly embarrassing. The simple fact that Cutie Pie was here helping out with Dixie Foskey’s annual Thanksgiving Feast meant she knew his family, which meant Gavin should know him too. After all, Gavin’s mom had worked for Dixie for over ten years and Cutie Pie was awfully familiar.

  “I mean, my shirt’s ruined,” Cutie added.

  “Not necessarily,” Gavin said.

  “So big red spots on white shirts are fashionable now?”

  The light-hearted tease gave Gavin hope that he hadn’t made a total disaster of a first impression. “Well, maybe in a hipper town than Stratton,
but we can save the shirt.”

  “How?”

  “Take it off.”

  “Hey, Jace, what’s—oh.” A brown-haired girl stopped in the backroom doorway, eyes wide as she took in the pair of them. “What the hell happened to you?”

  “Minor accident,” said Cutie Pie, whose name was apparently Jace.

  Light bulb!

  Gavin knew exactly who they both were now. Jace and Rachel Ramsey, twins, college sophomores, children of Keith Ramsey, local police officer. The Ramseys had been staples of the diner for years, and Gavin had seen Jace dozens of times before without getting lost in the dark shaggy hair, the wide brown eyes or the dimples that wanted to say hello even when he wasn’t smiling.

  College had been good to Jace Ramsey.

  “But we’re going to fix it,” Gavin said, giving Rachel a bright smile.

  “How?” she asked. “With blindfolds?”

  “Cute. No.”

  Gavin rescued the ruined cranberry relish from the sink, grabbed Jace by the wrist, and dragged both items around to the small bathroom. He ran the water in the sink until it warmed up, then pulled the stopper and dumped half the cranberries into it.

  “Take your shirt off, please,” he said again.

  Jace gave him a dubious look but unbuttoned his shirt. Gavin reined in his instinctive need to check him out—ogling while trying to be helpful was rude—and took the shirt once Jace had stripped it off. Gavin shoved the whole thing into the pink water, which enticed an adorable squeak of protest from Jace.

  “Trust me,” Gavin said.

  “Do I have to?”

  “It’s too late now.”

  When the sink was half-full, Gavin turned off the water and swirled the shirt around in it. He realized too late he should have been using gloves, because the water quickly stained his cuticles pink. After a minute of soaking in silence, he released the stopper.

  “There should be a hair dryer in that basket of stuff beside the toilet,” Gavin said. “Can you find it and plug it in?”

  Jace hesitated, then turned around to rummage. He bent over, instead of squatting down, and the narrow room gave Gavin a lovely view of his ass in those black linen dress pants. An ass that was connected to a trim waist and a lean, smooth back… Nope.

  Gavin snapped his attention back to rinsing out the shirt. The white material was now stained pink all over, instead of only on the front, and by the time the rinse water ran clear, Jace was back with the hair dryer at the ready.

  They tag-teamed the shirt until the newly pink fabric was dry enough to wear and only smelled slightly of fruit.

  “That was kind of brilliant,” Jace said after he’d put the hair dryer away.

  “I was an accident prone kid. Sometimes you have to get creative when there’s no money to buy new clothes.” Gavin wasn’t ashamed of growing up poor. Most people in Stratton knew him and his mother, and they also knew his father was a deadbeat asshole who Gavin had vowed to kill if he ever laid a hand on him or his mother again.

  Jace eyed the shirt but didn’t put it on. He didn’t seem to know where to focus his attention—the shirt, the floor or Gavin. The bizarre nervousness made hopeful little butterflies spring loose in Gavin’s stomach. He hadn’t actually lucked into meeting someone his own age in town who was—

  “Hey, you guys coming?” Rachel asked. She appeared in the doorway, and her thin eyebrows shot up when she saw the shirt in Jace’s hands. “Wow, you fixed it.”

  “Kind of,” Jace said.

  “It’s all one color now. I call that fixed.”

  “It’s pink.”

  “Yeah? So are roses and baby butts. Suit up, bro, I’m hungry.”

  Gavin laughed before he could stop himself. He liked Rachel already.

  Jace gave him a look that seemed to say, “Don’t encourage her,” then put on the shirt. Gavin didn’t say it out loud, but he allowed himself a moment to appreciate the fact that Jace looked very good in pale pink. It lightened up his brown hair and made him even more boyishly adorable than he already was. Gavin, with his mixed Mexican and Hawaiian heritage, never had the complexion for pastels.

  “All you need is a black string tie,” Gavin said once Jace buttoned back up and presented himself for inspection. “And maybe a jacket to sling over your shoulder. It’s very Sinatra.”

  “Great, I’m channeling a dead singer,” Jace said. He was smiling though, which gave Gavin hope that he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself.

  “A dead singer who had men and women falling all over him.”

  Jace’s eyebrows jumped. “And probably a mafia boss or two puppeteering his entire career.”

  “A man who knows old Hollywood.” Gavin had to mentally stop himself from falling head over heels into insta-crush with Jace. “Where have you been my whole life?”

  A clever comeback failed Jace, and Rachel turned away with a soft giggle that made the hairs on the back of Gavin’s neck prickle. Gavin had come out to his mother when he was fourteen, and he’d never been shy about his sexuality around his peers. A small town like Stratton left him with few dating options, which mean frequent trips into Harrisburg for more exciting weekend entertainment than watching his straight friends get laid. But Jace Ramsey, who Gavin had always considered a straight WASP from the suburbs, was actually blushing over Gavin’s comment.

  Jace + Gay = Too good to be true.

  “Anywho,” Gavin said, “they’re probably ready to start serving out there.”

  “Yeah, we should go.”

  And they did, out into a diner full of people chatting in small groups. Dixie had begun the Thanksgiving Day tradition more than ten years ago when she found out her recently hired waitress Lucìa and her son Gavin didn’t have money for even a basic Turkey Day meal. She invited them to eat with her and her nephew Schuyler, who was home from college with a roommate who couldn’t afford the trip home to be with his own family. The following year, Dixie held the dinner in the diner and invited more people. By its fifth year, Thanksgiving at the diner was a tradition, with more than a dozen families coming to eat. Most contributed some sort of side dish or dessert, and all the food was set up at the counter buffet style.

  Schuyler Rhodes, local art teacher and snazzy dresser, was in his usual spot at the far end of the counter, ready to carve the first of two turkeys. Several other folks were lined up with him to help serve different dishes that included sweet potatoes, cracker dressing, cornbread dressing, several different kinds of vegetables, macaroni and cheese, and a green bean casserole that Barrett McCall had deconstructed and remade from scratch.

  Deconstructed for the fun of it, he’d told Gavin earlier that morning, to which Gavin had rolled his eyes. His own culinary endeavors extended to frozen dinners and instant rice. The microwave was his best friend in the kitchen. He was the only person he knew who could burn water.

  Jace and Rachel rejoined their family—Keith and his wife, Becky, and their older sister Lauren. The five of them made a perfect middle-class unit, with their nice clothes and matching brown hair and smiles. Gavin was used to sticking out in a crowd, but for some reason, today his unique look and the thrift store dress shoes made him feel uncomfortable. He hadn’t felt so uncomfortable in a crowded room of people since he’d presented an eighth-grade science project in front of an auditorium full of his classmates.

  Gavin joined Dixie, Schuyler, Barrett, Mama and their overnight cook Old Joe behind the counter to serve. Gavin had volunteered to serve this year when Rey King bowed out of the entire dinner. Apparently he’d gone to New Mexico with his boyfriend to spend time with Samuel’s family; but nice guy (and fantastic chef) that he was, he’d left a cold broccoli slaw behind to be served to Dixie’s guests.

  A new bowl of cranberry sauce sat next to the other cold salads. Gavin glanced down the line to Mama and she winked.

  After a piercing whistle quieted the room, Dixie stood up on a chair to address everyone. Her wild, frizzy white hair was tied back beneath a pilgrim
hat-printed bandana, and she was wearing her favorite turkey apron. “Hey, everyone,” she said. “Welcome. As always, we’ve got some new faces, and we’ve got some old faces. We’ve also got some really old faces—” she pointed at herself, and everyone laughed, “—and a few faces who aren’t here this year. But now that we’re together under one roof, let’s celebrate what we’re thankful for and eat some fabulous food.”

  Dixie went on to say a brief grace, which Gavin tuned out—he didn’t see much point in thanking someone who never seemed to pay much attention to him or his mother—and then it was time to serve. He chatted with everyone who came through the line. Even if his mother didn’t still work here, he’d been a busboy all through high school, so he knew pretty much everyone anyway.

  The Ramseys came through with their plates and Gavin doled out spoonfuls of their chosen vegetables. Jace was last, and he couldn’t seem to look Gavin in the eye, which Gavin found incredibly endearing. Jace did, however, manage to ask for a little extra of the candied carrots and creamed spinach, which Gavin filed away for future reference. He never knew when favorite foods might become useful information.

  Once the line was down and everyone else was served, the servers grabbed plates and helped themselves. Gavin loaded his with turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, and as many of the other sides as he could handle without it all spilling onto the floor. His somewhat plump mother always bemoaned his bizarre metabolism and ability to eat anything he wanted and still stay thin as a rail. Gavin blamed it on being tall. And hyperactive.

  All of the tables had been arranged in the center of the diner as one long, continuous line so they could eat community-style. Gavin was mildly disappointed that Jace was sandwiched on both sides by his sisters, so Gavin took a seat near the far end with Mama, Schuyler and Barrett.