No Good Deed - Marie Sexton Page 0,87

up,” Charlie said. “I wanted to make potato salad.”

“I’ll make the potato salad. They’ll expect you to bring dessert.”

Charlie had been baking a lot less lately. Not that he didn’t still enjoy it, but it had often been about filling empty hours, or a way to keep his mind off his problems. He had fewer of both, these days. He’d even managed to drop a couple of pounds, although he knew nobody but him would notice the difference.

“Fine,” he said, pulling Jonas close. “But first…”

“Yes?”

“I think we should have a good morning one more time.”

Less than two miles away, Warren had a similarly good morning with Taylor before falling back to sleep. By the time he woke again and showered, Taylor was already up.

Pictures hung in the hallway. One of a lily, taken by Phil and given to Taylor. A picture of Riley. Photos from Warren and Taylor’s wedding. And on the end, another gift from Phil—one he’d given to every couple in the group: two photos matted together in a single frame. On top, the original photo of Warren, Gray, Charlie, and Phil, taken at a BDSM party so many years ago. And below it, the new one taken on Warren’s wedding day, the four of them standing in the same positions as before. But this time, they all wore tuxes and smiles.

Warren found Taylor bustling around their new backyard, setting up tables and chairs in the grass. Their patio was only about six feet square, but the yard itself was huge. The first thing Taylor had done was recreate the circular memorial garden from their old lawn. Other than that, he hadn’t planted much yet, but he spent a lot of free time planning and sketching, coming up with one scenario after another. He was happier than Warren had ever seen him.

“Should we put the food on this table?” Taylor asked. “Or that one?”

Warren laughed. “Honey, it’s a barbecue, not a wedding. Nobody’s going to care.”

“I’ll care. I want it to be perfect.”

To some extent, Warren understood Taylor’s excitement. Yes, it was only a barbecue with their closest friends, but somehow, it also felt like the beginning of their new lives. Phil and River still lived in their cabin in Golden, but everybody else had moved in the span of less than two months. Gray and Avery lived about midway between Phil’s house and Denver proper, where most of Gray’s security jobs were. And almost exactly midway between Gray and Phil was the neighborhood where Warren now lived. Charlie and Jonas were only a couple of blocks away. Taylor’s dad would be just as close once he moved in July.

“Gravy’s here!”

Warren chuckled. At first, he’d sworn off calling Gray and Avery by one cutesy little name, but it was starting to stick.

Access to the backyard was more limited here than at their old house. They’d have to get used to people using their front door. But in this case, everybody knew to come through the house to the back. Although knowing Phil, he’d still ring the bell.

Gray and Avery arrived with beer and bags of chips. But they weren’t alone.

“This is Duke,” Gray said proudly. Duke looked like some kind of shepherd mix, with tall ears and attentive eyes. He was clearly in that adolescent stage—almost fully grown, but with ears and paws somehow still too big for his lanky body. “Duke, see Warren? Kill, Duke. Kill.”

Duke looked up at Gray, head cocked in confusion, tongue lolling and tail wagging.

“They don’t actually teach them that,” Avery said, handing the chips to Taylor. “Don’t let him fool you.”

Gray laughed, patting Duke’s head. “No, they don’t. But if you have any explosives in the house, Duke will find them. Eventually. In theory.” He sighed. “He’s still in training.”

“Can we pet him,” Taylor asked. “Or is he one of those working dogs?”

“He’s not working today,” Gray said, rubbing Duke’s ears. “Today, he gets to be a regular old dog.”

Watching Taylor with Duke, Warren wondered if a pet wouldn’t be good for him, the same way his flowers were good for him. Having external things to take care of helped him deal with his own issues.

Taylor enjoyed his job at the rehab center. Warren worried the daily pressure of working with addicts would break his spirit down the road, but for now, Taylor loved it. He hadn’t had a really bad day since moving. The last time he’d felt the blackness swirling around him, he’d called his therapist before picking up a