Love Turned Blue

Love Turned Blue

By Evan Gilbert

After a strained and unfulfilling marriage to a woman, contractor Slade Thompson has had some very hot sex with some very hot men. But none of them have come close to giving Slade what he really wants—love and commitment. When he meets auto mechanic Bruno Ross, Slade finally finds a man who desires a dedicated relationship as much as he does. But Slade’s thirteen-year-old son Kent is spiraling out of control as he struggles through the emotional fallout from the divorce. It’s too bad Bruno doesn’t like kids, and isn’t at all sure he wants to be around a hostile boy who blames his gay dad for tearing his family apart.

Bruno has baggage of his own. He broke up with Davis, his partner of eleven years, only five months before he met Slade. It quickly becomes obvious that, despite his strong feelings for Slade, Bruno hasn’t quite broken his emotional ties to his past with Davis. Mutual desire—no matter how strong—might not be enough to hold their budding romance together.

Chapter 1

SLADE THOMPSON sat at the desk in the little office he rented at the back of a Huxtle Paint store. It was shortly after 6:00 p.m. on a mid-February Wednesday evening. When he’d returned to his office this afternoon, the air outside had been hovering around fifty degrees, balmy by Chicago winter standards. There was a winter storm warning in effect for tonight, however, and the temperature was expected to begin plunging at any moment. The store had closed early to allow its employees time to get home before the snow hit. Slade was the only person on the premises, hunched in the warm glow of his office lights as he organized business receipts for his accountant. He was a contractor who specialized in painting and home repair. He’d operated for years out of the detached garage behind his house, but then came the divorce and his wife got the house, so it had been necessary for him to find a new base of operations.

His business had been expanding at that time, requiring him to purchase more equipment and take on employees. Renting office and storage space at the back of a Huxtle Paint store was, in his opinion, a stroke of genius. (His friends called it a no-brainer.) The rent was reasonable, and Huxtle Paint personnel referred many a customer to him. When the economy soured a couple of years ago, business began drying up as people reined in their spending. He wound up having to lay off his three employees, one after the other. Now he was back to a one-man operation.

He’d had only one job today, finishing up the interior painting of a new house in one of the suburbs. It had taken all of three hours. The rest of the day he’d spent piddling around the office. There was nothing really keeping him here now. He still had plenty of time to get his records together so his accountant could file the tax returns. With the threat of a major snowstorm hanging over the region, he should have run to the supermarket like everyone else to stock up on milk, bread, and other essentials before shutting himself away in his apartment.

But he didn’t like going home these days. Home was empty and lonely. His ex-wife was bitter, as was his thirteen-year-old son. Neither had so much as sent a greeting card his way in the four and a half years since the divorce. Last year, he’d carried on a friends-with-benefits arrangement with Mark Burkes, one of his former employees, but that relationship had been strained from the start, weighted almost entirely toward the benefits side of the equation. Mark was hot and cute, like a lot of guys in their early twenties, and he was definitely good in bed. It was out of bed where things became lacking.

After work, they’d usually head to Slade’s apartment for long, rough sessions of sex, each turned on after hours of watching the other toiling away in erotically loose, paint-splashed jeans. That was fun, but Slade wanted more than sex, no matter how hot. He wanted companionship, a partner. He wanted someone to cuddle, someone to cook for, someone to go with him to the movies and to the bowling alley. Mark seldom spent the night, often taking off within minutes of their shared orgasms, and Slade could only occasionally coax him into something like a Sunday afternoon snuggled on the sofa to watch football games. His feelings for Mark had started growing. Mark had taken it in stride when Slade laid him off, expressing his understanding there was no other choice in the current economy. Despite no apparent ill will, he gradually began distancing himself from Slade. The sex between them tapered off before finally ceasing altogether. On those days Slade had brought Mark home with him, his apartment had life in it—if only for a few hours. Now the place felt as flat and unappealing as a cold pancake.

Cruising tonight was out, even if Slade felt up to it. The city was shutting down and taking cover. Not even the rent boys would be working their usual spots with a powerful storm bearing down. As much as he didn’t want to go home alone, Slade decided to pack it in. He turned off the scanner he’d been using to upload copies of his paper receipts, then shut down his computer. He stuffed the scanned receipts into the top drawer of his desk and left the rest in the neat piles he’d organized in front of his scanner. Maybe he’d come in tomorrow to finish the chore if the streets weren’t too bad. God knows he’d have nothing else to do.

He got up, pulled on his jacket, tucked his baseball cap tightly on his head, and turned off all the lights except the one in his office foyer. When he stepped outside, he shivered. The temperature had dropped considerably, and the wind gusted heavily from the west. Clouds flowed across the night sky in swift gray masses. Just as he was locking the door, he heard footsteps behind him.

Oh, you’re leaving.

Slade turned. There were two men approaching him, apparently having come around the front of the paint store. He felt no apprehension; the one in front was too well dressed to be a mugger, and the other carried a couple of plastic bags bearing the logo of Central Ace, the hardware store down the street. I’m not gone yet, he said, glad for the diversion. Can I help you guys?

I noticed the light in your office when we were on our way to Central Ace and decided to stop by on our way back, said the man in front. He was the shorter of the two, slender, wrapped in a thick gray wool coat, and he flicked a tiny, polite smile, squinting against the relentless wind. I hoped to talk to you about some painting I need done. That is, if you’re with Slade Thompson Contracting.

I’m Slade Thompson, Slade replied. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, holding the cap on his head with his other hand. Let’s get out of this wind. We can talk inside.

He followed the two men into his office, shut the door, and turned on the lights again. They stood in front of his desk, waiting.

Let me take your coats, Slade offered as he pulled the cap off his head.

We won’t keep you, said the man in the wool coat. I know you’re trying to get away before the storm hits. So are we. I’m Davis Grainger and this is Bruno Ross. Davis extended a hand gloved in black leather.

Slade shook with him, noting the aristocratic air about the man. A professional, no doubt, probably a lawyer or doctor, judging by the black slacks and the dress shirt and silk tie peeking out from the collar of the coat the man wore. He was closing in on fifty, Slade guessed, his narrow, tan face showing lines around the eyes and mouth. He didn’t set off Slade’s gaydar, which was fine, because he wasn’t Slade’s type. Slade gave him a businesslike smile and turned to the man named Bruno.

Now this was Slade’s kind of