Third You Die (Kevin Connor Mystery) by Scott Sherman Read Free Book Online

been married before we got back together (after a brief fling in high school). The only good thing to come from that union was Rafi (his “real” name, as Tony’s Italian heritage might have suggested, was “Raphael,” although no one called him that unless they were very cross with him). Tony always maintained the only male he ever had sexual feelings for was me. Much, much more importantly, he also told me I was the only person, of any gender, he’d ever truly loved.
    Somehow, we both counted on that being enough to see us through his ongoing process of accepting life as half of a same-sex couple. Because, despite the fact that he’d finally admitted to me that he had a son, and even letting me into the boy’s life, part of him still held back.
    Which is why, as far as Rafi was concerned, his dad was just my friend. Even worse, Tony had Rafi thinking this was his apartment and I was the roommate. Which meant, on the nights Tony had visitation, I slept on the couch while Tony shared my bedroom with his son.
    The activist in me thought this was an unforgivable betrayal of everything in which I believed. An ugly cover-up born of homophobia and self-hatred to which I should never have agreed.
    But that political part of me was eclipsed by the simple truth that I’d been in love with Tony Rinaldi since I was fifteen years old, and he was the lanky pony boy two years my senior who lived down the block. He was the sexiest goddamn thing on two legs back then, and he’s only gotten better with age. I’d walk on hot coals for Tony, take a bullet, crawl across broken glass, insert whatever cliché you want, I’d do it for this complicated man who held my heart.
    I’d even participate in this terrible, soul-crushing, and painful farce in which Tony, the most honorable man I knew, lies to his own son about his love for me.
    I knew it hurt Tony, too. It wasn’t in his nature to act like this. To mislead his own flesh and blood. I also knew he felt guilty asking me to aid in that deception.
    “God, Kevin,” he’d said. “He’s only five years old. He’s my son . How can I tell him about this? About us? His mom and I just separated a few months ago. Just give me—give him—some time. Can you do that for me?”
    “Of course,” I’d told him. “We’ll know when the time is right.”
    The problem was, that time seemed right to me from the start, but Tony didn’t seem to find it particularly imminent. Tony had been brought up as hetero as they come. His family, co-workers, and friends were old-school Catholics. For years, he regarded the few months in high school in which we’d fooled around as a bizarre detour from his otherwise straight path.
    As far as I knew, he hadn’t told anyone about us. It was a Herculean effort for him to admit his feelings even to me. What would it take for him to tell the rest of the world?
    In the meantime, we were building a life together on a shaky foundation of half-truths and denial.
    I thought of Rafi’s arms squeezing the air out of me. I had the terrible feeling that, one way or another, these Rinaldi boys were gonna be the death of me.
    Love hurts.
     
    Three hours later, with Tony’s tongue halfway down my throat and his hands gripping my denim-covered ass as I straddled him on the couch, I was feeling a lot better.
    Rafi had fallen asleep twenty minutes earlier in my bed. His light snores were like a reverse alarm—as long as we heard them, we knew we were safe.
    Tony snuck out to help me make up the sofa bed where I’d be sleeping. We got distracted.
    “Mmmm,” he moaned into my ear. “You feel so fucking good.” The growl in his voice almost had me coming in my pants.
    I answered him by grinding deeper into his lap. “You like that?”
    “Yesss,” he hissed. “I wish . . .”
    “What?” I licked him from his ear to the base of his neck.
    “Aw, man,” Tony groaned. He grabbed my hips and pulled me even closer, crushing our absurdly covered erections against