A Beautiful Disaster Read online

  The pay he demanded for organizing this conference had covered the deposit on the hotel for his big Chessie Con. Brenden preferred it to work out that way instead of digging into his savings or the money on loan. Dakota moved around the living room, humming to himself as he rustled around in his belongings. Brenden crossed his fingers that some unpacking would happen before Dakota jetted off to DC.

  Brenden added going to the liquor and grocery stores to his to-do list. He needed a good bottle of wine for dinner, and Dakota did like a beer in the evening. He picked up the phone and dialed his contact at the hotel. Work first, then on to the more interesting calls. Afterward, he could turn his attention to dinner. Something Dakota would love. He was a big fan of Brenden’s homemade Italian cooking. All those recipes took time, but they were worth it, and he could juggle his schedule around for Dakota.

  An incoming message reminded him of the job at hand. He’d spoil Dakota. After the call and smoothing over the most recent glitch.

  Chapter Two

  DAKOTA NEEDED a new plus-one. Geek Wars got the most downloads when he managed to get good guests on the podcast, especially ones with opposing viewpoints, but over half the time it was him and his ex-partner, Ed. He missed playing off Ed even though he’d only been gone a month. Their chemistry worked well together.

  Dakota had stand-ins before. He loved it when Jackie had time to get involved. She was as passionate about her opinions as Dakota and didn’t back down when he got agitated. Felipe was another good foil. And when he pitted the two against each other, well, there was a reason why Jackie had designed the logo with its dueling man and woman in geek getups.

  Ed had moved to Savannah and was getting hitched. What was it with everyone deciding they’d met their soul mate? It was ridiculous. Dakota never understood the need for another person to make an individual feel complete. He was happy without all the complications and need for compromise. He had enough compromise living with Brenden. But that was okay because his anal-retentive foster brother looked out for him. And he amused the fuck out of Dakota. That kind of compromising he didn’t mind. Most of the time.

  None of that solved his long-term problem. He could use substitutes for a while, but he needed to think about finding a new full-time partner. After he finished moving in, though. And after their Kent Island show. Then he could do a serious search before the Annapolis Con. By the time that rolled around, Dakota wanted to have the new member in place to help him promote.

  Dakota set the last box down on his worktable and surveyed the room. The podcast was awesome, but what if he did an occasional video episode as well? He could cross promote. If he did video, he’d have to decorate the space. He could move all his geek paraphernalia here. Dakota shook his head and turned to unpack his audio equipment. One task at a time. That’s what Brenden tried to drill into his head.

  His plus-one. Well, while he was living here, he could drag Brenden onto a podcast or two. Brenden got heated over many topics. They could discuss the bullshit with Captain America being a part of Hydra. If Dakota played devil’s advocate…. Dakota grinned slyly. Yeah, that would be entertaining. Sometimes Brenden made it too easy. He needed to find a foil for Brenden so he could mediate the exchange that was sure to blaze.

  He set up the equipment, double-checking all the connections and wires, then testing them. He didn’t like shifting his gear around. He had a smaller audio recording setup for when he did interviews on the road or live episodes at cons. The equipment he had for his studio was the best he could buy with the funds he’d saved. He’d bought a new lock for the door and an alarm. He was insured, but he didn’t want the aggravation of having to repurchase any of this. This wasn’t just a side hustle. He sometimes ended up using his own equipment for his temp jobs and the occasional DJ gig. This was a long-term investment.

  By the time he finished, Dakota’s stomach growled, and his lack of sleep was catching up to him. After he’d moved the rest of his shit yesterday, he’d gone to a bar in DC and met with his hookup, then dealt with that crazy job today, and unpacked his gear. That was enough for any man. He wanted dinner, a cold beer, and a relaxing evening needling his wingman.

  Dakota spied Brenden through the kitchen window as he walked through the deepening gloom in the backyard. The man wasn’t pretty. Felipe was pretty. Brenden’s eyes were set a little too close together. And his hairline was screwed and had started to recede soon after college, which was why he shaved his head. Smart choice. The style suited him, gave him a certain serious sexiness that the black hipster beard added to. It was his mouth that really got Dakota going, though. The way he smiled. The prissy line it got. And the way he got all snarky in that cool tone that implied he didn’t give a fuck when Dakota knew damn well he did.

  Ah, Brenden. When Dakota’s aunt and uncle decided they needed to foster another young man to help Dakota cope, it had been the best thing that ever happened to him. Even if he’d had a meltdown over his arrival at the time. He’d gotten Brenden out of it. Without that man, Dakota didn’t even want to contemplate where he’d be in life.

  He opened the kitchen door to the scent of garlic, basil, and oregano and groaned in delight. “That smells like heaven. What’cha cooking?”

  Dakota stopped by the stove and lifted the lid on the pot of spaghetti sauce loaded with ground beef and Italian sausage. He loved the way Brenden made it from scratch in a giant pot with plenty of leftovers to freeze. He always insisted Brenden save him a couple of servings to take home with him. Brenden stood at the counter spreading butter and minced garlic on slices of crusty bread. A pile of shaved Parmesan and Romano sat in a bowl. He was going for the full shebang.

  “I figured what the hell,” Brenden said with a quick glance over his shoulder. He pulled the cork out of the red wine bottle and topped off his glass. “Welcome home.”

  Dakota opened the refrigerator and snagged a Corona, popping the top off before clinking the bottle to Brenden’s glass. “To new starts.”

  Brenden smiled, though his gaze was strained. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “So how’d it go today?” Dakota asked, jumping up to sit on the counter. Brenden gave him a disapproving glance but didn’t say anything. The man had learned to pick his battles. There were two ways to get at Brenden when something troubled him. Offer a friendly ear and exercise patience or bug him until he snapped. Dakota preferred a light application of both tactics.

  Brenden shrugged, sliding the bread onto a sheet before putting it into the oven. “Everything is lined up for the mycology convention. I fly out Wednesday. No more issues there.”

  “I don’t give a damn about mushrooms unless they’re psychedelic. You know what I’m talking about.” Brenden’s hedging proved he was gnawing on a mental bone.

  “You need to lay off the drugs.” Brenden faced him, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the counter.

  “And you’re changing the subject.” Dakota pointed the bottle at him. “It’s just weed, on occasion. I don’t go crazy like I did as a teenager.” He’d been an out-of-control little SOB then, and Brenden had been a too-controlled dweeb, both of them still reeling from their own tragedies. Add in teenage hormones and them both coming to the then shattering realization they were gay, well… it had been a rough transition. “Maybe you need to hit a bong with me,” Dakota retorted.

  “Deviant enabler.”

  “Spoilsport narc.”

  They grinned at each other, and Brenden shrugged again, his smile fading. “We signed Steven Amell today.”

  “Wow, that’s huge!” Dakota cocked his head, mystified by Brenden’s expression. “Why aren’t you excited? You love the DC shows. Arrow is one of your favorites.”

  “I am excited. I want you to post the announcement tonight.” Brenden turned toward the boiling pot of water and added fresh spaghetti. “I’m nervous,” he admitted in a low voice.

  If Dakota hadn’t been waiting for such a response, he would’ve missed it. Brenden hated to
show any weakness, and Dakota considered it a privilege that Brenden trusted him enough to do it with him. He contemplated several responses and discarded them. Brenden would deal better with the bare truth. “Of course you are. You’ve done big conventions before and you’ve pulled them off, but this is your first big convention for something that matters to you. On top of it, you’re investing a good chunk of your own money.”

  “Not just my money. You loaned me a hefty amount, too, as did Evelyn and Trev despite my protests.” Brenden closed his eyes as he stirred the pasta, and Dakota could practically hear the stress screaming in his head. It had taken months of nagging to get Brenden to take the money their foster parents offered.

  “It wasn’t a loan, dumbass, it was an investment.” Because he believed in Brenden and he knew the man could pull it off. The problem was, he wasn’t sure he wanted it to be as successful as some of the big cons were. Brenden could handle juggling all the drama and work of a big con; he’d done it countless times. But if he wasn’t having fun with his own creation, then what was the fucking point?

  “An investment that might not pan out.” Brenden grabbed the colander and stuck it in the sink. Trust the man to think of all the worst-case scenarios first.

  “Sometimes shit happens.” Dakota took a sip of his beer as he eyed Brenden’s grimace of exasperation. “Why the hell are you doing this, Bren? You don’t need the money. You don’t need the rep. It’ll be taking you away from every part of the con you do enjoy.”

  Brenden grabbed the potholders and shook his head, muttering under his breath, “I’m a masochist.”

  Dakota eyed the soft curve of Brenden’s ass. The man wore business casual dress while working at home. He had issues. “Well, then there are easier ways to torture yourself.” He gave Brenden a wicked, sunny grin when he turned a questioning eye at him. “You could let me tie you up and make you beg for mercy. I promise you all the masochism you can handle.”

  Brenden’s ears flashed red, a reaction that always delighted Dakota, but his hands remained steady as he poured boiling water and pasta into the colander. “I think living with you qualifies.”

  Dakota dearly loved him, but the man needed to get laid by someone with a kinky bent. It would strip away that prissy air, that’s for sure. He’d had more than one fantasy-fueled night imagining what he’d do with Brenden, given the opportunity. Not that Brenden would ever bend his personal rules to allow it to happen, but there was no harm in a little midnight imagining.

  “You’re probably right.” Dakota hopped down and tossed his empty bottle into the labeled recycle bin. “And I’ll be an angel and not go digging for an argument since this is our first night together and you were so nice to make me this.”

  “I’d appreciate it,” Brenden said dryly and pulled out the garlic bread as Dakota dished himself a huge helping. “It’s the little things. Seriously, though, today was a good day, and I do need to enjoy the victories and not worry about maybes. There are situations I can plan for, but if I get too wound up, the first hiccup is going to send me into hysterics.”

  Dakota grabbed himself another beer and sat at the kitchen table. Brenden had made it up with new linen and place mats with a badass Daredevil design. “Let’s air it out. What’s the worst thing that can happen? Realistically speaking. The bullshit in Louisville a couple years ago wouldn’t happen to you because you’d thoroughly vet a space before you signed anything, and you sure as hell wouldn’t show up the first day without inspecting it again. So let’s check off showing up to a venue only to find it an absolute wreck.”

  Brenden grimaced as he twirled spaghetti around his fork. “That was a fiasco in every way. I guess I can’t say I worry no one will show, because people in this area love to go to a con. And I can’t even say I fear all the stars will back out last minute because I have a rep for paying on time. There’s a lot riding on this, not just you and me and what the family put in. I want it to be a success. Not just for us, but for all our friends and the people we’ve worked with over the years who are buying into this crazy dream. If it’s not a success for the vendors, too, then it’s a bust.”

  Brenden had a hell of a way of showing it sometimes, but he gave a damn a lot more than he let on.

  “Remember that first show we put on in that dumb-ass rinky-dink hotel that only attracted a few diehards? It was a bad mix of cranky old men and smart-assed kids.”

  “For the record, we were two of those smart-assed kids.” Brenden swirled the wine in his glass and took a sip.

  Dakota waved that aside. “We had no artists, and the only vendors were comic book guys. Two who despised each other.”

  Brenden gave him a reluctant smile. “How could I forget the almost brawl that ensued? You got a black eye over it.”

  “Almost brawl?” Dakota snorted. “That was a full-on D&D-worthy melee. Anyway, we made enough to cover the rest of the money we owed the hotel, not a single damn dime to put toward another show. You remember that pompous bullshit you told me?”

  “It wasn’t pompous.” Brenden stabbed his fork in Dakota’s direction. “And I see what you’re getting at in your usual heavy-handed way.”

  “Nuh-uh, you’re not getting off that easy.” Dakota got up to snag another slice of the garlic bread. Brenden didn’t cook often, there wasn’t much of a point when you were a bachelor, but when he did, he went all out. “What did you say?”

  Brenden rolled his eyes. “That it wasn’t a failure, it was a setback. And all setbacks have a lesson to teach if we’re willing to learn from it.” He paused and pursed his lips. “Okay, that was a little pompous, but it’s still true.”

  “The thing is, you sat down and made a list of what worked and didn’t. You went and talked to the vendors. At other shows, you’ve made sure to get feedback from the attendees. I’ve watched you take that philosophy and learn and adapt. So the first show might not be wildly successful or maybe it will. But what I do know is that whatever the outcome you’ll pick up that fine ass of yours, apply what you’ve learned, and move on.”

  “I don’t know how the hell you go through life so supremely unconcerned about anything,” Brenden muttered.

  “’Cause I’m that good.” Dakota gave Brenden a quicksilver grin at his sour expression. “And I live in the moment, target what I want, and go for it. If I don’t get it, it wasn’t meant to be, so I move on to the next thing.”

  “One of these days….” Brenden broke off with a shake of his head.

  “You always say that and never finish it.” Dakota nudged him under the table. “Carry through with your threat.”

  “It’s not a threat, it’s a prediction.” Brenden eyed the rest of the wine in his glass and downed it. “One of these days you’re going to want something you can’t have and it’s going to drive you nuts.”

  “Whatever,” Dakota scoffed. Though sometimes his desire to kiss the sense out of Brenden came close to making him mental. Still, he shrugged it off. Brenden made his views on that subject clear, and Dakota respected that boundary most of the time. Didn’t mean he couldn’t tease him with the idea on occasion. “What do you say we stretch out on the couch with the rest of the beer and wine and binge-watch Game of Thrones?”

  “Can’t.” Brenden met his gaze with a rueful turn of his mouth.

  “What do you mean you can’t?” Dakota straightened as he glared at Brenden. “You’d better not tell me you’re working because I’ll kick your ass.” This was his time, dammit. There would be plenty of other evenings for Brenden to work himself into a knot with his to-do lists.

  “I have a date.” Brenden frowned with irritation at Dakota’s expression of bafflement. “I do date, you know. I may not be as popular as you, but it has happened.”

  “I never implied no one would want you. I said you needed to get laid.” It didn’t mean he wanted to watch Brenden doll himself up to go get his freak on with another dude. At least not tonight.

  “Well.” Brenden wiped his mouth with his napkin and
got up, taking his plate with him. “Wish me luck.”

  Dakota propped his chin on his fist with a sulky gaze that Brenden ignored. He wanted to entice Brenden into staying. He had a good chance to do it; he might even offer to clean the kitchen. Then he studied the tired lines around Brenden’s eyes. Once Brenden left for Chicago, he’d have no fun. He deserved a night out. Hell, he’d clean the kitchen anyway because it would make Brenden happy.

  “Good luck.” Dakota lifted his beer bottle in benediction. “Here’s to lustful dates and unbroken condoms. Love you, Bren.”

  Chapter Three

  SUNDAY FAMILY dinners had always been a madhouse. From the first one right after Brenden came to live with them. Now it was tradition. It was his foster mother’s way of attempting to meld the families. It had stuck despite the fact Brenden stayed with them less than two years. Which proved time and distance didn’t matter with real families.

  Once he walked through the doors he’d be welcomed, loved, and harassed in equal measure. Which was far different from the cold interactions with his birth father. Brenden preferred the boisterous exchanges here. At first the drama revolved around Dakota and Brenden, who couldn’t get through a meal without an argument. Evelyn and Trev’s sons added to the noise level. They were almost a decade younger than their cousin Dakota and totally secure about their place in the family, and they let it show.

  Then there came a point when they all had to outdo one another. There were times when Brenden felt bad for his foster mother, outnumbered by squabbling testosterone that showed their love for one another by mouthing off as much as possible.

  This would be Dakota’s first night at a Sunday dinner in ages. He usually managed to get away with one excuse or another, even if Baltimore wasn’t that much of a hike. Brenden wished he could come up with one acceptable to Evelyn Nye. She knew exactly when his plane landed and expected him to make an appearance. And no one did affronted fury like his foster mother. In that way, she reminded him of his own mom. When she got pissed, her Italian roots blazed through.