The door opened.
“Sorry. I got hung up on the phone.” Kennedy was bare-chested, though he had gotten as far as putting on jeans and shoes. His blond hair was dark from the shower. He moved away from the door, and Jason stepped inside.
The room was the twin of his, right down to the rustic ship’s wheel over the bed and vintage black and white boating photos. Kennedy’s carryall sat open on the table. The navy-blue bedspread did not have a single wrinkle, so Kennedy had not been napping.
A brown leather travel frame on the bedside table caught Jason’s eye.
Two photos. One was of a much younger and smiling Kennedy holding a dark-haired man in a playful headlock. The other was of the same dark-haired young man gazing solemnly out at the world.
It was kind of like getting gut-punched. Unexpected and paralyzing. For a second or two it was impossible for Jason to think past his immediate, visceral reaction.
One thing for sure, this frame and these photos had not been anywhere in sight in Massachusetts. But here they were prominently, pointedly on display in Kennedy’s room now.
A reminder? For whom?
Kennedy was in the bathroom, hastily giving his chin a pass with his electric razor, and saying, “You look like you’re feeling better.”
Jason continued to study the photo. Shock had given way to a cold sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The guy in the photo with Kennedy looked superficially like himself. Dark hair, light eyes, angular face, and thin build as Crazy Kyser would have said.
Kennedy flicked off his razor and reached for the bottle of Escentric Molecules Molecule 03. The distinct scent of vetiver together with ginger, sandalwood, cedar, mellow balsams, and musk floated into the room where Jason stood.
Jason said, “Not your brother, I’m guessing?”
Kennedy’s brows drew together, but he followed Jason’s gaze, and his face went instantly expressionless. “No.”
He had to ask. It had to be addressed. To ignore it would be the weirdest thing in an already weird situation. “Is he the reason you don’t want to pursue anything else?”
“Yes.” Kennedy’s voice was oddly quiet.
After a moment, Jason said, “I see.”
Maybe his anger wasn’t reasonable, but it was real. This he had a right to be upset about. Sam had lied about not being involved with anyone, and that was not okay. Jason would never have slept with him—well, probably not, he hoped not—if he’d known Sam was involved. Committed.
Kennedy was watching him—warily, it seemed to Jason, but there was also a stoic line to his jaw. He expected Jason to be angry and hurt, and he was braced for an outburst.
Pride came to Jason’s rescue. Pride and cold logic. Did he have a right to be angry? Sex, a few late-night phone calls, and the promise of a future dinner date where they would probably skip dinner. That was the extent of his “relationship” with Kennedy, if he wanted to get technical about it. There had been no commitment between them. If Kennedy had broken any vows, it was to the guy in the photo, and for all Jason knew, they had an open relationship. Or maybe they’d been separated at the time.
Who the hell knew?
Why the hell did it matter so much to him? It shouldn’t.
The bottom line was Kennedy did not want to have a relationship with him, and really, it didn’t matter why. Why didn’t change anything.
“Ready?” Jason asked briskly, and had the satisfaction of seeing Kennedy’s surprise.
It didn’t stop Jason feeling that his still-beating heart had been ripped out of his chest, but it was a tiny comfort to be able to defy Kennedy’s expectations.
“Yes.” Kennedy grabbed his shirt off the hanger on the back of the bathroom door—steaming the wrinkles out of his shirt. Jason knew that trick too.
Kennedy buttoned up his shirt in record time and pulled on the black suit jacket he’d worn in LA. He hadn’t packed much, but he’d been prepared for a variety of scenarios, it seemed. But then he was always prepared for a variety of scenarios.
They walked in deadly silence down the hall.
“Did you want to eat here or find another place?” Kennedy asked when they reached the hotel lobby.
“I don’t care. I just want to eat and go to bed.” Jason heard the echo of his words, mentally winced, and corrected, “Sleep.”
Kennedy said nothing—not about to touch that with a ten-foot pole. He led the way to the empty dining room with its picturesque view of the nighttime harbor.