He smelled like strawberries, an innocent summery scent that flooded over and through me, evoking memories and images of a time not so long gone. I felt myself smiling, pulling him closer to taste his porcelain skin, the skin that smelled like strawberries.

He murmured his apologies and promises to my neck, but I took no notice of them. I was overcome by the sweetness of the delayed reunion. His words didn’t matter, he was there, here, mine again.

The sky darkened as we sat together, fingers laced through hair like silk, tongues in mouths that tasted like wine.

I pulled back to look at him, robbed of my breath by his beauty. He’d let his black hair grow and it was cut stylishly around his high cheekbones and snow white skin. His eyes were glistening like the bottomless lakes of the highlands where I’d taken refuge, one minute blue, the next a bewitching shade of green. In shape and colour they were his brother’s eyes, but the emotion, intelligence and compassion in them were all his own. And those lips, pink like roses but full of his own masculinity. I kissed them again, tasting tears and wine but above all, him.

“Oh Michael,” I sighed as he kissed my hair. His heart was racing, hammering away beneath the flimsy skin of his shirt. I’d missed that, just feeling his heart beating, quite content that it was beating for me.

“I’ll never leave you again Adam, I swear,” He vowed, trailing his fingers through my hair, along my jaw and down my neck as if making sure I was really there. His finger tips were like ice but my skin was on fire, set alight by my love for him.

“You don’t just have me to make promises to these days,” I said, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet.

We walked through the night together, to the hotel where I was staying. He followed me to my room in silence, and stood patiently while I rummaged for the key.

The door opened without complaint, revealing a champagne themed room (not my choice) with a king sized bed and very little else. Two people I loved very much were sitting on the carpet in front of the wide screen TV, both watching “Peter Pan” with identical expressions of delight on their beautiful faces.

Fay looked up as we entered, his smile widening when he laid his bright eyes on his brother, Michael, who was standing nervously behind me.

“Hey cutie,” I smiled as a greeting, kneeling on the carpet in front of person number 2 - a beautiful girl with golden hair and summer sky eyes.

“Dada!” She gurgled, toddling into my open arms. I lifted her easily, resting her on my hip as I turned to face Michael. He held a hand out to her, and was surprised when I placed her in his arms.

She looked up at him, politely curious. He looked down at her, tenderness and affection filling his eyes.

“Adam, she’s gorgeous!” He breathed, amazed when she smiled widely as if knowing he was complimenting her.

“She really is. Gabrielle, this is Michael. Michael, this is Gabrielle. My…our daughter.”

----

A year doesn’t sound like a very long time. A year ago, Michael and I had been together and very happy, preparing to set off with my band, The Best Deceptions.

We were leaving the eternal summer of Los Angeles to return to a place I had banished from my memories - my home, Nebraska. It had not been an easy decision to make. I was now into my early twenties and hadn’t gone back to Nebraska since I fled at the age of fifteen. I ran away from that Hell, hoping to leave the grief, oppression and shame behind. Of course I couldn’t leave those things behind, but in Los Angeles I found some sense of peace, some happiness. In Lose Angeles, I had found Michael Adams, half brother to Anavrin rock stars Fay Adams and Matt Harris.

The time came for The Best Deceptions to record their third album, which we had already decided to produce ourselves. We were going to record it in LA, but then I got some unexpected news.

My father had died.

I do not remember tears, just my mother’s letter, begging me to come home. At least for a little while. The same family had disowned me, unable to love me because of their devotion to Catholicism. Now they needed me, although I could not begin to guess why.

I was torn. Part of me, the son and brother wanted to be there for them. But deep down I was still the boy they had rejected, the boy they had condemned, the boy they could never love.

It was Michael, mature beyond his nineteen years, who persuaded me to go back, at least for the funeral.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye to my father,” he’d said with sadness in his eyes. “You should get to say goodbye to yours.”

We’d been lying in bed together. I was lying flat on my back, gazing at the ceiling. He was lying beside me, propped up on his elbow. I looked at him, taking in the silvery stars of moonlight shimmering through his midnight sky hair.

“It’s complicated,” I replied quietly, tearing my gaze from him.

“Isn’t everything?” He smiled his softly sexy smile, trailing his hand down my chest.

“Not everything. I love you, that’s not complicated,” I grinned flirtatiously. He laughed, rewarding me with a slow kiss. I didn’t want him to pull away, to talk about my family or the past. I want him to keep kissing me, to never stop kissing me.

“You’ll have to talk sometime,” He murmured as I tilted his chin back to kiss his neck.

“I will. In the morning,” I shrugged. He made a vague noise of protest. “Or I could just stop, if you’d prefer.” I pulled my body away from his.

“I didn’t say that!” He giggled, pulling the sheets over us.

Our mouths met in the dark in a head-on collision, driven by lust and desire and love. I pushed Michael’s long black fringe away from his face and neck, breathing gently against the exposed skin. We kissed for a long time, our chests rising and falling together.

“This is why my family disowned me,” I told him when we separated to catch our breath. “Because of something as beautiful as this, because they couldn’t understand,” I mumbled, kissing his neck and collarbone, flicking my tongue over his nipples, laying feathery kisses over his stomach.

“Was it worth it?” Michael asked, shoving me off him so that he could take over. He dug his knees into my sides, snapping me out of my day dream.

I pulled him down for a deep kiss, tangling my hands in his hair. His skin was soft like velvet against mine, his skin and his heart and his body, mine for as long as I wanted them.

“It really was.”

The morning dawned and I was woken up by Michael nibbling softly on my ear. I stretched in his arms, feeling the warmth of the sun on my bare skin. Fay was already awake, I could hear him singing downstairs.

“Morning,” Michael beamed, kissing me quickly on the lips. I closed my eyes and smiled, taking a moment to thank God (I turned my back on my family, not my faith) for another day I could spend with my beautiful boy.

After breakfast, Michael began his persuasion again. I was reluctant but not stubborn, I listened to what he had to say because I value him and his opinions. He wanted me to go to Nebraska, he even offered to come with me.

Would he have pushed me so hard if he’d known? Michael and I did go to Nebraska together, but we left separately. Something so insignificant as a visit to my family ripped us apart, kept us apart for a year.

Would I have gone, if I knew then what I know now?

I think I would have.

In fact, I know I would have. Some things are worth risking everything, everyone you’ve ever loved for, as I was about to find out.