Fatherhood, Football, and Other Contact Sports
Title: Fatherhood, Football, and Other Contact Sports - 1/16
Author: dylan_dufresne
Pairing: BB/DM
Rating: PG-14, maybe. Series ranges from PG to NC-17.
Word Count: 120,000+ for series. Incidentally, it’s the longest series I’ve written to date. Go me!
Summary: Moving day for Billy doesn’t go quite as expected.
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated as it’s my drug of choice. Thanks to my dear beta, frojane, for her nitpicking and expertise. I would be lost without you. Last, but certainly not least, thank you to the very talented loki_girl for the lovely banner.
Disclaimer: Not at all true in reality. This is my imagination at work.
A/N: *waves* Hello again. This is another AU fic. It’s actually based on a book I read years ago and quite enjoyed. To cover myself, I’m going to call this an adaptation, even though there are soooooo many changes to the story and I’ve written it in my own style.
A/N 2: Since I don’t want to make you suffer, I’ll be posting a new chapter every morning, Monday to Friday, but only if you want me to, of course. Hee. Enjoy!
Chapter 1 - Moving Day Chaos
After over a decade away from his beloved homeland, and countless bouts of homesickness, Billy Boyd has returned to Scotland. Standing in the driveway in front of his house and pulling a deep breath into his lungs, Billy smiles at the knowledge that he’s finally home.
Watching the movers haul the last of the boxes into the house, Billy consults the checklist clutched in his small hand and realizes that they’re almost done. In another few minutes, it’ll be complete. After a very busy week, filled to overflowing with car trouble, bad weather and a cranky, four-year old cat, it’s almost over. Tonight, Billy will sleep in his own bed. In Glasgow.
All things considered, the move has gone relatively smoothly. Dr. Billy Boyd, the ex-husband of Dr. Abigail Taylor has managed to move from London to Glasgow without a single mishap. Billy’s not including the burst radiator hose outside of Sheffield, because that could’ve happened to anyone, even Abby. However, as a result of the delay, Billy has arrived a day later than planned, partially because traveling with an inquisitive, seven-year-old, excuse me, seven-and-a-half-year-old boy means stopping at nearly every possible detour along the way.
With some serious cajoling and the promise of double time pay, the moving company has agreed to deliver Billy’s furniture early this afternoon instead of tomorrow. Considering he’s supposed to start work as the newest physician at the Glasgow Sports Medicine Clinic tomorrow morning, the last thing Billy needs is to have all of his worldly possessions locked up in a warehouse somewhere on the other side of the city, no matter how beautiful it is. The utility company, however, has proved far less helpful and so far nobody has shown up to turn on the electricity or water.
Focusing his attention back on the movers, Billy watches as the younger of the two men lean over to check the canvas strap that holds the ancient upright piano on the dolly.
“Is this an antique?”
Smiling, Billy remembers the countless hours it had taken to refinish the instrument that he and Abby had bought at an auction, the expense entirely too extravagant for two medical students on a very limited budget. The cost hadn’t mattered to Billy, as he’d fallen completely in love with it at first sight, as it reminded him of the one his grandmother had owned when he was just a wee lad. In those days, Abby had occasionally found his enthusiasm romantic, or so it seemed, and not an embarrassment.
“No,” he murmurs with a fond sigh, aching to reach out and touch the worn instrument. “It’s just very old.”
“My mum has one kinda like this,” the mover adds, his brow furrowing in thought. “She’s got it covered with one of those lacy doily things and pictures of all the relatives and grand kids.”
“I keep pictures on mine, too,” Billy offers, thinking to himself that only photos of Cameron remain these days. Fortunately, there is a large supply of those in Billy’s collection.
“Aye, I guess everyone does that with pianos all right,” the mover agrees cheerfully, looking back over his shoulder. “Are you ready there, Danny?”
Determining that the grunting response from the man at the other end of the piano must indicate a yes, especially since the large instrument is now starting to make it’s way down the sloping ramp, Billy breathes a sigh of relief and draws a line through the listing on his inventory sheet. Mission accomplished. He can finally begin to relax.
Just as Billy’s congratulating himself on passing his first test as a single parent in a new country, a shadow, a wee bit under four feet tall appears around the corner of the yellow and black moving van. Where a young face should be, there is a huge single eye of a neon green swimming mask and a snorkel upward from where a mouth would normally be located. Long, black rubber flippers flap noisily against the pavement, and there is a pop as the snorkel and cherubic mouth are separated.
“I’m all ready to go swimming, Dad.”
Back stiffening, Billy scans the immediate vicinity and arches an eyebrow. “Cameron, where is Merry? Aren’t you supposed to be watching him?
A second after the question escapes Billy’s lips, he hears a grating yowl, the high sound unmistakably belonging to a rather distressed cat. A series of sharp barks that undoubtedly garner the attention of the entire neighborhood immediately follows the feline complaint.
“Cameron, catch him!”
Unfortunately, Billy’s warning is much too late. A flash of creamy and charcoal fur darts between his denim clad legs, followed immediately by one somewhat larger, the color a mix of milk and dark chocolate. The animal pursuing the fleeing cat knocks Billy clear off his feet, and as Merry makes a beeline for the open moving van, Billy opens his mouth to shout out a warning.
Looking up from his position, sprawled on the pavement, Billy can only stare as things happen in slow motion. Helplessly, Billy watches his frightened cat spring through the air and land on all fours atop the upright piano with feline grace. The barking dog is marginally slower, but still swifter than the movers as it collides with the back of the man’s knees. A colorful string of words that would make a sailor blush fill the air, the young mover falls off the ramp, arms wind milling wildly, and to Billy’s stunned fascination, his beloved piano rolls smoothly down the ramp and onto the pavement. Continuing unrestrained down the small hill, the piano picks up speed, heading directly for a jet-black convertible Porsche parked at the curb.
“Dad, it’s going to hit the car!”
“Oh no it won’t,” Billy assures his son, scrambling to his feet to chase down his runaway piano. “When it hits that bump, it’ll slow down.”
The young mover is still cursing a blue streak, his foul language competing with Merry’s wild, indignant howling and the furry dog’s enthusiastic barking. Billy has almost caught up with the dolly when it hits the rise in the concrete, flinging Merry through the air in a long, high arc. A few seconds later, the cat lands spread-eagle on the hood of the highly polished car, his long, sharp talons making a screeching sound against the metal, like fingernails on a chalkboard.
Sadly, Billy’s prediction proves false as the bump only causes the dolly to slow on its inevitable collision with the Porsche. He’s a mere six inches away, his small hands outstretched, when the sound of crunching metal blends with the shattering of wood. Stopping dead in his tracks, Billy can only stare in horrified dismay at the pile of mahogany that was once his beloved piano.
“What the bloody hell is going on out here? World War III?”
The loud, irate shout has Billy spinning around to view a slender man striding furiously towards him. Clad simply in a pair of faded, cut off denims, riding very low on his narrow hips, a man with sun-streaked, tousled blonde hair and flashing blue-grey eyes crosses the lawn to where Billy is standing. If the blistering expression on his face is any clue, Billy decides he probably isn’t from the Neighborhood Welcoming Committee.
“What the hell do you wankers think you’re doing?” he demands as he finally stops, less than three feet away from Billy.
Before Billy can answer the heated question, the glinting pair of eyes cut to the rumpled fender of the Porsche.
“Aww, shite.”
Dragging his fingers through his hair, tousling it even further, he rolls his eyes toward the heavens above. “Wasn’t yesterday’s match enough? Do you have to add insult to injury?”
Dropping almost gingerly to his knees, he runs his long, elegant fingers over the crumpled metal. “Why me?” he murmurs with a shake of his head. “Of all the houses on all the streets of Glasgow, why do I get the Demolition Twins for neighbors?”
“Billy and Cameron,” Billy corrects, hoping that he looks a great deal calmer than he feels at the moment.
The man’s expression, as he drags his rueful glance away from his car, is blank. “What?”
“Billy Boyd,” Billy offers, holding out his hand in what he hopes the other man will take as a conciliatory gesture. “And my son’s name is Cameron.”
“You have a son?”
For the first time since he’d come storming out of the back garden, his interest turns to Billy. Definitely not a bloke barely out of his teenage years as he’d thought at first glance, Dominic Monaghan determines. Curious and appraising blue-grey eyes move from the top of Billy’s ginger head, tracing every curve and plane, down to his small, scuffed, trainer clad feet. The journey takes significantly longer on the way back up to finally meet Billy’s mossy green eyes. No, this pleasantly disheveled individual is definitely not a boy, but a man, albeit not really his taste. Seeking an appropriate word to describe him, Dom finally comes up with enigmatic. That fits rather well, he decides, his expert eye taking another leisurely tour of Billy’s fit body. For now.
Tennis, baseball, basketball players, and even a golfer, Billy has had his share of professional athletes as patients, all men and women in peak physical condition, their bodies hard and well toned. However, this man, whose gaze seems to be searing through the thin cotton of Billy’s t-shirt, as though he can actually see Billy naked, is a wee bit different. From his challenging stance, to the rock hard strength of his smooth chest, tanned to a luscious, golden bronze, to the muscled, yet lean columns of his long legs, he is almost rawly masculine. That said, it seems that there could be something else there as well, beneath the surface, something that defies simple description.
The urge to smooth down his wild hair and pluck at the t-shirt clinging to his damp skin is strong, but Billy resists the impulse, finding it somehow too inviting a gesture to make before this stranger. The individual before him the type of athlete who is gorgeous, oozing sexual confidence because he knows it, and feeds off it like oxygen, using it to get whatever or whoever he wants. Billy’s seen dozens of athletes just like him. Maybe more. But still.
Finally, Dom’s gaze slides to Cameron, who’s managed to capture Merry and is now holding the wriggling cat against his t-shirt clad chest, his eyes wide, green saucers behind his swim mask.
“So the midget planning to go deep sea diving is yours,” Dom deduces. “You don’t look that old. What were you, a sixth-form groom?”
The mockery in Dom’s voice is unmistakable, and it’s very clear to Billy that it’s not meant as a compliment to his youthful looks.
“The midget, is a seven-year-old boy,” Billy replies, tone icy with sarcasm. “And I don’t see that my age when I married is any of your business.”
Dom’s answering smile is deliberately provocative, clearly meant to frustrate and annoy. He’s obviously had lots of practice at this and is very good at it, Billy decides.
“Sorry, it’s just difficult to believe a grown man could behave so irresponsibly,” Dom replies cooly, his crooked mouth curling into a smirk. “I hope for the safety of the neighborhood, your wife keeps you on a tight leash.”
Bristling, Billy pulls himself up to his full height of five-foot-six-and-a-half-inches and glares. “I beg your pardon?”
“Of course you do,” Dom counters. “And not only do you owe me an apology, don’t you think that it’s time to let me in on what you’re going to do about fixing my car?”
Despite being only marginally taller that Billy, Dom manages to look down at him, his crossed-arm pose unmistakably arrogant.
As furious as Billy is becoming, knowing full well the bastard of a man in front of him is baiting him every step of the way, Billy also accepts the fact that his piano has smashed into his car. Surely his own insurance will take care of the repairs. Opening his mouth to tell the man that, suddenly a ball of chocolate fur gallops up, tail wagging happily, a long red tongue hanging out.
“I suppose that thing belongs to you?”
Billy stares as the other man reaches down and affectionately scratches behind the energetic dog’s floppy ears, resulting in a vigorous tongue bath of love and appreciation to one of his hands.
“This animal is a registered Springer spaniel,” Dom corrects after patting the dog’s head and standing fully upright again. “And yes, Griffin belongs to me. He was a gift for my birthday last year.”
Billy’s gaze moves slowly from the dog to the various pieces of wood and wire that had once been his beloved piano. Why should Billy pay anything to fix his car, when his monster of a dog had caused all the problems in the first place?
“I’d say you’re a wee bit confused,” Billy states finally. “ The question here is what are you going to do about my piano?”
One dark eyebrow slowly climbs Dom’s forehead before crashing down to join the other. “Bloody Hell! You’re not only a menace, you’re downright certifiable! Why should I do anything about your piano? After all, my car was packed at the curb, innocently minding it’s own business, when your battered old hunk of wood attacked it!”
“After your dog attacked Merry!”
“Merry?”
“My cat,” Billy fires back, jerking his head in the direction of the small feline cradled in Cameron’s protective embrace, whose creamy fur is still standing on end, as if caught in an electrical storm.
Sighing, Dom runs an exploratory finger over the now scratched hood of his car. “Well, that explains this bit of vandalism. Claws.” Glance flickering over to the animal in the boy’s arms, Dom’s eyes narrow. “I don’t like cats.”
As if on cue, Merry hisses in Dom’s direction.
“Well, then, you’re even,” Billy retorts with a shake of his head. “He doesn’t like you either.”
This confrontation has become ridiculous, juvenile really. They’re acting like small children, squabbling from opposite sides of the sandbox, and from the bright interest in Cameron’s eyes, Billy realizes that his son is as amazed as he is by his strange behavior. This is definitely not the example Billy wants to be setting for his young, impressionable son.
Just then, the scowling man before him flings his long-fingered hand across his chest and Billy attempts not to notice for a second time that his skin is tanned to a deep, tantalizing shade of gold. Just as Billy silently vows not to be affected by the teasing line of sparse body hair disappearing below his seductive navel at the band of his low slung denim cutoffs.
“Oh, come on,” he replies sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “You’re breaking my heart here, mate.”
“Not bloody likely,” Billy fires back. “You don’t have one.”
As their eyes lock, the antagonistic mood is suddenly broken by the older of the two forgotten moving men. “Hey, I know you. Dominic Monaghan, yeah?”
“Right,” Billy’s neighbor responds, not blinking or moving his focus from Billy’s face.
“Saw the match yesterday and I can’t figure out why the papers keep clamoring for Morgan. As far as I’m concerned, you are the Rangers, Dom!”
To Billy’s amazement, Dominic Monaghan’s face breaks out into a wide grin and he laughs, a cheerful, lively sound.
“Well now, here’s a bloke who knows his football.”
“We’re so sorry about the accident, Dom,” the younger man adds apologetically, joining his partner. “It just got away from us. But don’t worry, our company will make things right.”
Billy’s jaw drops in shock as Dom waves off the assurances lightly, like a mosquito. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Accidents happen. It’s no big deal. I shouldn’t have been parking on the street anyway, but we had a big party last night, after the match, and I never got around to moving it back into the driveway.”
Smoldering with irritation and fury, Billy decides that the truth is more like Dom wouldn’t have been able to stand on his own, let along drive.
“I sure hope we didn’t disturb you too much, Dom. We had to get this done right quick because it’s a rush delivery.” The older man wipes his brow with a sweat darkened handkerchief before shoving it back into his pocket.
Turning to glance ruefully at the ruined Porsche again, Dom then realizes that he’d yet to take the window sticker off the newly purchased car. Keeping his temper under control is a wise thing to do at this point, because these days, Dom needs all the fans he can get. There sure isn’t any point in alienating these two by getting pissed off about something that was clearly an accident.
“That’s okay,” he assures them with a wry grin. “I had to come out to move my car anyway. Don’t worry about.”
The static of a radio in the cab of the van fills the air as the movers are instructed to return to the warehouse for their next assignment if they’ve finished unloading.
“We’ll have our boss call you about the car first thing tomorrow morning,” the older of the two movers assures Dom one more time as he closes up the rear of the van and bolts the doors shut.
“Fine. No problem.”
“Well, if you’ll sign here, we’ll be on our way,” the other says, passing Billy a battered clipboard and a scratched up pen that’s clearly seen better days.
“What about my piano?”
“Don’t worry, it’s insured,” the mover replies. “You paid for it when you signed the contract in London.”
Since Billy’s chances of getting his beloved instrument back in one piece again are zip to nil, Billy neglects to mention that he’d rather have his piano than the money. Sighing heavily, he reluctantly signs the form.
“Should be about a hundred pounds,” the older mover calls over his shoulder.
“What?”
“The insurance company. They’’ll send you a cheque in about six weeks or so. I’m guessing it’ll be for around a hundred pounds, if you’re lucky. Enjoy your new house.”
“A hundred pounds?” Billy stares after them, utterly speechless as the garish, yellow and black van drives off down the hillside and out of sight. Turning on Dominic Monaghan, Billy’s exhaustion, frustration and aching body make his words rash.
“How come your dog causes all the bloody trouble, but they fall all over themselves for you and all I get is a hundred lousy pounds.”
“Simple,” Dom says with a careless shrug. “I’m a star.”
That much is true. Or at least it used to be, Billy admits inwardly. Dominic Monaghan, Midfielder and Captain of the Rangers, has been the golden man of football in Glasgow for years. Billy, along with the rest of the UK, has read about the injury that had sidelined Dom for most of the previous season. Though Billy doesn’t follow football all that closely, he’d idly wondered if Dom was actually going to defy the medical experts and play another season. Apparently, he’s going to try.
“I see,” Billy says finally, shaking his head sadly. “So that makes everything you do just amazingly brilliant, yeah?”
“Hey,” Dom objects, lifting his hands in surrender. “Don’t forget, I’m the innocent bystander here. After all, you did smash up my brand-new car, which in some circles would be considered a hanging offense. Not to mention the fact you single-handedly have shattered the peace and quiet of our lovely neighborhood. It is a Sunday, you realize.”
“I know,” Billy replies with heartfelt frustration. “Believe me, the power company has made that perfectly clear.”
For a moment Billy frowns, eyeing the rather large house next door, wondering how Dom had been able to hear the commotion from indoors. “I was told this is a newer neighborhood and that these homes are virtually soundproof. The Estate Agent assured me they were built that way for energy conservation.”
Amazingly enough, Dom appears honestly embarrassed and shoves his hands into the back pockets of his low slung denims, causing them to hug his flat belly even tighter. It takes all of Billy’s self control and then some not to react to the truly spectacular and delectable sight.
“Yeah, they are,” Dom surprises Billy by admitting it. “But it doesn’t do much good if you’re sleeping outside, now does it?”
Gazing at Dom’s face before focusing on his disconcerting, blue-grey eyes, Billy can tell that under normal conditions, they’d be devastatingly gorgeous and infinitely dangerous. On this day, however, the whites are veined with red lines, like an atlas. It must have been one hell of a party next door last night. It’s quite possible, perhaps even likely, the neighbors are already annoyed with Dom, Billy considers.
“Perhaps next time you’ll try crawling indoors,” Billy offers dryly before turning back toward his own house.
“Next time be a little more considerate and I won’t have to,” Dom counters briskly. “Besides, crawling is definitely out. Bad knees.”
Pausing in mid-stride, Billy turns back, but this time his gaze is purely professional as he drops down into a crouch to study the scars crisscrossing Dom’s right knee. Whatever else Dom is, arrogant, rude, un-neighborly, the man’s legs are enough to make Billy cringe, and maybe even cry.
“I’ve never seen legs in worse shape,” he says a few moments later, shaking his head.
The expression in Dom’s eyes seems oddly impersonal now, giving Billy the feeling that the seductive gleam and overwhelming charm is more automatic than due to the fact that he just might find Billy ever so slightly more appealing than he did a few moments ago. Of course, that’s completely ridiculous, Billy decides. Why would a famous football player be interested in an approaching middle-age father with an energetic boy to raise, when he likely has no problem whatsoever finding someone to share his bed with on a daily basis?
“That’s what they all say,” Dom agrees cheerfully, tossing his hair out of his eyes. “You’ve no idea how many women can’t wait to take me home and play nurse.”
Exactly what Billy thought, and while Billy frankly resents Dom’s nakedly masculine confidence, he doesn’t believe Dom is exaggerating. With the exception of his battered knees, Dom is a magnificent physical specimen. His centerfold in a popular woman’s erotica magazine had been the subject of many a conversation and appraising look with the female staff at the hospital in London where Billy had worked until moving back to Glasgow.
“Dom? Can I have your autograph?”
Now standing beside his father, Cameron looks up at Dom with undisguised hero worship in his eyes.
Surprising Billy by remembering his son’s name, Dom replies, “Sure, Cam. Are you a Rangers fan?”
“Kinda. I’m really a Man U fan,” Cameron confesses. “My mum and my step-dad took me to a couple of matches last season, before the wedding, but I’ve seen a couple of Rangers matches on television. I remember that I saw Rangers play against Hearts one time, but you were out. Morgan was playing for you. He was pretty good. Rangers beat them.”
At the dark look flashing across Dom’s face, Billy realizes that the subject of his replacement is a rather sore one, but he can’t stop Cameron’s next words.
“Is Morgan taking your place on the team? Or is your knee all better?”
“No to the first. Yes, to the second,” Dom says in a grim tone, his expression making Billy wonder how much is raw determination and how much is medical fact.
“My mates back home are never going to believe that I live next door to Dom Monaghan!”
“Did you know that I grew up in Manchester?” Dom adds, this time a genuine smile turning up the corners of his crooked mouth. “Moved there when I was about your age. I watched a lot of Man U matches when I was growing up. I was there with my Dad when they won the FA Cup Final in 1985.”
“Really?”
Cameron’s young face wears an expression of absolute bliss, making Billy realize that his son has just discovered something positive about the hard-fought move to Glasgow. While he doesn’t appreciate how Dom had come storming over like an hot-tempered, cranky child, he has to be thankful for his effect on Cameron.
“Why don’t you put Merry in the house?” Billy suggests, casting a wary eye at the squirming cat and the bright brown eyes of the dog as he looks to begin round two. “ Then you can get your ball for Mr. Monaghan to autograph.”
“Great idea, Dad,” Cameron agrees instantly, running towards the house at full speed. Both men are silent as they watch him leave.
“Dad,” Dom murmurs, rubbing his crooked jaw. “ That’s still a bit hard to believe.” His gaze cuts quickly to Billy’s left hand, but the Scotsman is faster, shoving it into the front pocket of his denims. “So, you and his mum?”
Billy is unable to stop the amused smirk that spreads across his face. It’s time for a wee bit of piss-taking, with that opportunity laid out for him on a silver platter. “Of course. Didn’t your father ever tell you about the birds and the bees?”
“Nope. I learned all that mushy stuff from Mary Jane Marshall in the back seat of her dad’s car.”
“And I’m certain you were a very fast learner,” Billy retorts, finding Dom’s teasing grin both irritating and boyishly attractive in a way that causes heat to pool in his belly. “So you shouldn’t have to ask the question in the first place.”
Dom finds himself wondering why he’s so bothered at the knowledge that Billy had been married in the past, and quite possible be at the moment as well. After all, it’s not like Billy is his type or anything. Sure, he appreciates both the female and male forms, in and out of bed, but Billy just isn’t like what he normally goes for in a bloke.
He’s small, but quite fit, his ever so slightly receding hair a fascinating shade of ginger, the top layer dusted with just a hint of gold. The strands are short enough to be off his collar, but not too short either. It’s simple, not boring. Then there is his face. Billy’s eyes are rather nice, Dom decides, a warm and inviting mossy green, now that he’s not yelling indignantly about his shattered piano. Things don’t get really dangerous until Dom’s eyes come to rest on Billy’s mouth, specifically, the filtrum and the sensual bow of his cherubic lips.
There is a large spark of intelligence about Billy that Dom isn’t used to in his lovers. Lovers? Forget about it, Monaghan. A bloke with an ex-wife and a kid? He’s obviously straight.
The mystifying expression in Dom’s eyes as they settle on Billy’s face make him feel decidedly uneasy, and belatedly Billy realizes that he’s holding his breath. This is ridiculous, he chides himself mentally. The bloke is a womanizing bastard whose IQ is likely smaller than the measurement of his neck size. What does he care what Dom thinks of him? Besides, it’s clear that he’s definitely not Billy’s type. After what happened with Abby, Billy’s decided that his type right now is no type. Fatherhood is complicated enough without adding a new relationship to the pile.
“Dad?”
Cameron’s reappearance at Billy’s side, now dressed in only forest green swim trunks with snorkel gear for accessories, shatters the oddly unnerving silence.
“What is it?” Billy asks, his fingers sliding through Cameron’s hair in a brief, yet familiar and comforting gesture.
“I can’t find my ball.”
“Don’t worry about it, Cam,” Dom assures him with a crooked smile. “Rangers haven't put me up for transfer yet. I’ll be around at least until you get unpacked. I’ll make sure you get an autograph, yeah?”
“Thanks, Dom.” Cameron’s expression is a combination of relief and awe. “Dad, can I go swimming like you promised? I’m all ready.”
“Not until the man shows up to test the water,” Billy answers him apologetically. “Probably tomorrow.”
A pang of guilt twists in Billy’s belly, knowing that he’d blatantly used the pool as a bribe to make Cameron feel more enthusiastic about leaving his friends and school in London. Although Billy feels like an evil monster from the stories his Mum used to tell him as a lad, he must admit that he doesn’t know the first thing about taking care of a swimming pool.
“Aww, Dad. Nobody ever checks the water in the pond at the park and I’ve never croaked of nothin’ yet.”
“Of anything, Cameron,” Billy corrects absently, feeling the intense blue-grey gaze on his damp back. “Haven’t croaked, I mean, died of anything, yet.”
“See?” Cameron presses on with endearing, childish logic. “The pond’s filled with all sorts of slimy stuff, tadpoles, fish, water skippers. I didn’t see noth-, uh, anything like that in the pool.”
“The slimy things in the pool are too small to be seen by the naked eye, Cam,” Dom interjects into the conversation, backing Billy up, much to his surprise. “Want me to show your step-mum how to check the pool?”
A long, uncomfortable silence stretches out and Billy winces internally as Cameron’s small, cupid face falls. Feck, he feels like screaming, Not now! Please, not after all that’s happened this week, this year, and then some. Hasn’t he been through enough?
In his attempt to shelter Cameron from the fact that his mother finds him less than enjoyable as a full-time experience, Billy has brushed over far too many canceled afternoons, rescheduled outings and missed weekends together. Pushing aside his own pain, Billy has thought it more important that his son believe he has two parents who love him equally. Even if it’s a damn lie.
That mistake had came home to bite Billy in the arse when he was offered the opportunity to move back to Glasgow. Following that, there was two seemingly endless, painful months of scowling, sulking and temper-tantrums. When Billy received a phone call from Cameron’s teacher, informing him that the normally sweet, easygoing youngster was behaving no better at school, Billy had given in and promised that Cameron could spend Christmas with his mother in London. And Abby’s perfect husband. With that promise, and the lure of a swimming pool in the back garden, Cameron had finally given in, much to Billy’s relief.
“My mum lives in London with Michael,” Cameron replies flatly, his eyes downcast. “Dad’s not married.”
So, Billy is single after all. Interesting. Brow arched, Dom’s blue-grey eyes move to Billy and he nods thoughtfully.
“Well, the offer still stands; I’ll teach you instead if you like. This is a pretty big place for your dad to be handling all alone, yeah?”
Looping a long arm around Cameron’s narrow shoulders, Dom leads the way in the direction of the back garden before Billy has a chance to speak. Billy’s irritation flares at the suggestion that he is some delicate flower who can’t function without a mate. He’s not a tragically dumped, useless spouse, someone who’d been traded in like a car, for a newer, flashier version. The truth is, it’s much more complicated and painful than that. Frankly, he’s done just fine for some time now and can certainly continue to survive as a single parent of a very special boy. It’s what he fought for, more than willingly sacrificed for, because Cameron is all he wanted. Now it’s very clear what roles he needs to fill for Cameron’s sake, not that there was much doubt before.
“I’ve hired a pool service,” Billy calls after them as he follows them, albeit at a slower pace. “It’s really not necessary.”
Looking over his shoulder, Dom shrugs. “Don’t worry about it, Billy. I’ll be right back.”
As Billy watches, Dom strides across the garden to a gate in the six foot high fence separating the properties.
“I didn’t see that gate the first time I was here,” Billy complains as he steps up onto the patio, unreasonably disturbed that Dom has such easy access to his back garden.
“The place used to belong to a friend of mine,” Dom explains. “We built the gate to make things easier.”
“I’ll bet,” Billy mutters under his breath, picturing romantic nocturnal visits.
“Viggo was a defender for Rangers. He had to sell his house when he got sold to Celtic,” Dom enlightens Billy, his dancing eyes letting Billy know that he’d read the Scotsman’s expression and thoughts.
“Viggo Mortensen? I’m living in Viggo Mortensen’s house?”
Cameron’s eyes widen behind the ridiculous mask he’s been wearing practically since he’d woken up this morning.
“The one and the only,” Dom calls back over his shoulder as he disappears into his own yard.
“Wow, Dad. Think about that.” Mouth forming a perfect O, the young boy stares around the yard, whispering as if it’s a shrine.
“Hmm. Yes, think about that,” Billy murmurs to himself, having only a vague familiarity with the name, but relieved that the idea of living in his house gives Cameron enormous pleasure.
Taking advantage of Dom’s absence, Billy escapes inside the house to the loo, trying to take a moment and clean himself up a wee bit as it’s been a very long day. Perhaps it’ll give him a chance to regain his composure as well. While he loathes to admit it, Dom’s presence is making Billy feel decidedly off balance. Also, while denims and t-shirt are practical for moving, the beads of sweat trickling down his back and dampening his waistband are less than appealing.
“Just look at you, Billy Boyd,” he criticizes his reflection. “You’re grubby, sweaty and these clothes should’ve been tossed in the bin months ago.”
The air is stale and rather stifling inside the house as it’s been vacant for more than six months, and Billy reaches inside the shower to twist the taps, hoping that perhaps the fates will smile on him for a change and make water magically come out. Of course, this is despite the fact someone from the water company has yet to make an appearance.
“I’ve got water over at my place.”
Billy glances over his shoulder to spot Dom leaning casually against the door frame to his loo, not even trying to disguise his appreciation of the view Billy bent over is giving him. Surprisingly enough, Billy fails to notice the blatantly sexual look in Dom’s now smoldering eyes.
“Look, Monaghan,” Billy says tiredly as he straightens up, quietly wincing when his lower back protests. “I don’t know what kind of open-door relationship you had with your defender friend, but as of now, consider things changed.”
Belatedly, Billy regrets his abrupt tone, but not the words, so he remains silent as Dom’s eyes darken dangerously.
“Hey, don’t get so worked up, yeah? Your son sent me to find you so you can learn how to test the chemicals, too,” Dom explains, lifting his hands in a gesture of self-defense. “Cam says you’re pretty good at stuff like that.” There is a light question in his tone.
“If I can light a furnace or the cooker without burning down the house, I suppose I can learn to detect algae in a swimming pool,” Billy agrees, meeting Dom’s gaze with a challenging one of his own. “After all, how hard can it be? If a football player can do it?”
In two small steps, Dom is standing nose to nose with Billy, their chests, Dom’s enticingly bare, mere inches apart. With his hands on either side of Billy’s shoulders, it’s as effective as if a mountain has sprung up in Billy’s path.
“I think this is right about the time where I let you know that I’m not that fond of thick footballer remarks,” Dom says in a tight voice, eyes half-slitted.
At Dom’s sudden proximity, Billy can’t hold back the sharp intake of breath, or how his green eyed gaze flares with unmistakable lust.
“Then we’re even,” he manages to say, a bit unsteadily, lower lip trembling ever so slightly. “Because I’m not ecstatic about your interfering with my parenting.”
The sexual tension swirls about them in the small room as it dawns on Dom that Billy’s not nearly as straight as previously thought. Not even close. Internally, Billy curses himself for not having more self control. He was doing just fine until Dom practically pinned him to the wall and plastered their bodies together from head to foot. How is anyone supposed to be able to resist that? The urge to close the distance and taste the tender skin of Dom’s pouty lower lip is immense, but Billy forces it away, pulling his libido and emotions back under control. Enough damage has already been done for one day.
For a moment, an image rises in Billy’s thoughts, of Dom sliding his long fingers and tanned hands under his t-shirt, exploring and teasing his trim body. How incredible would it feel just to indulge in the touch of another after more than three years? To strip away the damp clothing sticking to his skin and feel a tongue against his own again? The way Dom is looking at him has just confirmed that Dom does indeed like to play on both sides of the field, as it has been extensively rumored. It’s been a long time since Billy was overcome with the thought to just throw caution and logical reason out the window. And just like that, the seductive image is gone, and order is restored.
When Dom sees the change in Billy’s eyes, he pulls back a few inches and rubs his crooked jaw thoughtfully.
“You know, if we’re going to be neighbors, we ought to forge some type of truce or something,” he suggests.
“Or we can just stay in our own houses,” Billy suggests pointedly.
Ignoring Billy’s words, Dom wonders what it is about this Scotsman that both annoys and intrigues him all at the same time. “It’s gong to be hard for this old dog to learn a new trick, but I’ll try if you will.”
While Dom’s deep, blue-grey eyes are merely complacent, his lop sided grin and the obscenely long tongue now wetting his lips is expertly disarming, forcing Billy to swallow hard. Flexing his arms, Dom dips closer for a moment, bringing their lips within a breath of each other and then pushes off the wall, turning towards the door, affording Billy a close view of his spectacular back and the sexy dimples just above the curve of his arse. The arrogant bastard did it on purpose, of that, Billy is sure.
“For the sake of peace,” Billy finally agrees, rubbing the nape of his neck and exhaling slowly. “Now let me out of here.”
“If you’re going to swoon or something, Billy, warn me so I can catch you,” Dom says with a satisfied smirk.
Knowing that Dom is laughing at him now, Billy’s eyes narrow. “Move it, Monaghan, or I just might test that new knee of yours with the toe of my trainer.”
Deliberately pressing close enough so that their bodies touch as Billy exits the loo, Dom dips his head to murmur in Billy’s ear.
“That wasn’t funny, Billy.”
“Neither are you, Dom,” Billy replies coolly. “Neither are you.”
* ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *
The sun beats down through the clear roof of the pool house and onto the back of Billy’s neck as he dangles his bare feet in the cool water, knowing that if Cameron wasn’t here, he’d be stripping off his jeans and sliding into the turquoise depths, not worrying about algae and pH and all those other important items in Dom’s portable test kit.
“Water’s okay,” Dom announces after making both Billy and Cameron do the tests three times in order to make certain they’d learned.
Remembering all the advanced chemistry classes he’d taken in medical school, Billy had nearly laughed as Dom lead him through the procedures at an excruciatingly slow pace.
“The pH is a little high, but I’ve got some acid over at my place I can give you.”
“Thank you, but I’ll get my own,” Billy replies, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tense muscles.
“You don’t believe in neighbors borrowing from one another?” Dom asks, arching an eyebrow.
“Not really,” Billy replies, dipping his toes into the water one last time before rising to his feet. “It just makes for complications.”
“And you’re a bloke who doesn’t like complications.”
“Right,” Billy conforms, nodding firmly.
It’s a warning, and they both know it. A flashing neon sign in the middle of the darkened city would be less obvious.
Billy is surprised at the sudden flash of heat that sears through his body as Dom’s steady blue-grey eyes meet and hold his for a long, quiet moment. Desperately, Billy tries to blame his increasing vertigo on the sun overhead and the long trip, but he knows the source of warmth is coming from something much nearer. Dangerous, that’s what Dom is. A dangerous man, Billy warns himself. Despite his display of enticing, boyish charm, Billy knows that Dominic Monaghan is nothing but trouble with a capital T.
“Hey, Dad, Dom! Watch me go off the diving board!” Cameron calls, bouncing with excitement at finally being allowed into the water.
“It’s Mr. Monaghan,” Billy corrects automatically, his gaze moving to his son.
“Let him call me Dom. All the kids do.”
“I don’t believe in children calling adults by their first names,” Billy counters. “It’s not respectful.”
“Then we shouldn’t have a problem,” Dom replies.
“Oh?” Billy’s arched brow invites an elaboration.
“Yeah, since I’ve got the distinct impression you don’t put athletes in the same category as adults. Can he swim?” Dom asks under his breath as Cameron walks out to the end of the short, fiberglass board.
“Like a fish. And you’re wrong. I happen to like athletes.” Professionally, Billy means, but realizes a moment later that Dom is determined to take it the wrong way.
“Terrific. This might turn out to be a friendly neighborhood after all,” Dom says with a suggestive smile and waggling of his eyebrows.
It’s automatic, Billy knows that it is. “You know, you’re right,” he surprises Dom by admitting it freely.
“I am? About what?”
“You are an overgrown adolescent. And if you don’t quit drooling over me like I’m your own personal smorgasbord, I’m going to call your mum to take you home,” Billy replies sweetly and smugly, extraordinarily pleased with himself.
“You know what, Billy?”
“What?” Billy asks, arching an eyebrow.
“You get far too uptight about the little things,” Dom announces firmly. “I think you need to cool off.”
Before Billy can open his mouth to respond, Dom’s strong hands are at his waist, pushing him into the water, clothes and all. As Billy bobs to the surface, he bites back the stream of curses and insults just begging to be uttered, none of them remotely appropriate to shout in front of his son. He would, however, need to yell them at Dom’s back, because he’s sauntering out of the pool house towards the gate in the shared fence, closing it behind him with a decisive bang.
* ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *
Chapter 2
Author: dylan_dufresne
Pairing: BB/DM
Rating: PG-14, maybe. Series ranges from PG to NC-17.
Word Count: 120,000+ for series. Incidentally, it’s the longest series I’ve written to date. Go me!
Summary: Moving day for Billy doesn’t go quite as expected.
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated as it’s my drug of choice. Thanks to my dear beta, frojane, for her nitpicking and expertise. I would be lost without you. Last, but certainly not least, thank you to the very talented loki_girl for the lovely banner.
Disclaimer: Not at all true in reality. This is my imagination at work.
A/N: *waves* Hello again. This is another AU fic. It’s actually based on a book I read years ago and quite enjoyed. To cover myself, I’m going to call this an adaptation, even though there are soooooo many changes to the story and I’ve written it in my own style.
A/N 2: Since I don’t want to make you suffer, I’ll be posting a new chapter every morning, Monday to Friday, but only if you want me to, of course. Hee. Enjoy!
Chapter 1 - Moving Day Chaos
After over a decade away from his beloved homeland, and countless bouts of homesickness, Billy Boyd has returned to Scotland. Standing in the driveway in front of his house and pulling a deep breath into his lungs, Billy smiles at the knowledge that he’s finally home.
Watching the movers haul the last of the boxes into the house, Billy consults the checklist clutched in his small hand and realizes that they’re almost done. In another few minutes, it’ll be complete. After a very busy week, filled to overflowing with car trouble, bad weather and a cranky, four-year old cat, it’s almost over. Tonight, Billy will sleep in his own bed. In Glasgow.
All things considered, the move has gone relatively smoothly. Dr. Billy Boyd, the ex-husband of Dr. Abigail Taylor has managed to move from London to Glasgow without a single mishap. Billy’s not including the burst radiator hose outside of Sheffield, because that could’ve happened to anyone, even Abby. However, as a result of the delay, Billy has arrived a day later than planned, partially because traveling with an inquisitive, seven-year-old, excuse me, seven-and-a-half-year-old boy means stopping at nearly every possible detour along the way.
With some serious cajoling and the promise of double time pay, the moving company has agreed to deliver Billy’s furniture early this afternoon instead of tomorrow. Considering he’s supposed to start work as the newest physician at the Glasgow Sports Medicine Clinic tomorrow morning, the last thing Billy needs is to have all of his worldly possessions locked up in a warehouse somewhere on the other side of the city, no matter how beautiful it is. The utility company, however, has proved far less helpful and so far nobody has shown up to turn on the electricity or water.
Focusing his attention back on the movers, Billy watches as the younger of the two men lean over to check the canvas strap that holds the ancient upright piano on the dolly.
“Is this an antique?”
Smiling, Billy remembers the countless hours it had taken to refinish the instrument that he and Abby had bought at an auction, the expense entirely too extravagant for two medical students on a very limited budget. The cost hadn’t mattered to Billy, as he’d fallen completely in love with it at first sight, as it reminded him of the one his grandmother had owned when he was just a wee lad. In those days, Abby had occasionally found his enthusiasm romantic, or so it seemed, and not an embarrassment.
“No,” he murmurs with a fond sigh, aching to reach out and touch the worn instrument. “It’s just very old.”
“My mum has one kinda like this,” the mover adds, his brow furrowing in thought. “She’s got it covered with one of those lacy doily things and pictures of all the relatives and grand kids.”
“I keep pictures on mine, too,” Billy offers, thinking to himself that only photos of Cameron remain these days. Fortunately, there is a large supply of those in Billy’s collection.
“Aye, I guess everyone does that with pianos all right,” the mover agrees cheerfully, looking back over his shoulder. “Are you ready there, Danny?”
Determining that the grunting response from the man at the other end of the piano must indicate a yes, especially since the large instrument is now starting to make it’s way down the sloping ramp, Billy breathes a sigh of relief and draws a line through the listing on his inventory sheet. Mission accomplished. He can finally begin to relax.
Just as Billy’s congratulating himself on passing his first test as a single parent in a new country, a shadow, a wee bit under four feet tall appears around the corner of the yellow and black moving van. Where a young face should be, there is a huge single eye of a neon green swimming mask and a snorkel upward from where a mouth would normally be located. Long, black rubber flippers flap noisily against the pavement, and there is a pop as the snorkel and cherubic mouth are separated.
“I’m all ready to go swimming, Dad.”
Back stiffening, Billy scans the immediate vicinity and arches an eyebrow. “Cameron, where is Merry? Aren’t you supposed to be watching him?
A second after the question escapes Billy’s lips, he hears a grating yowl, the high sound unmistakably belonging to a rather distressed cat. A series of sharp barks that undoubtedly garner the attention of the entire neighborhood immediately follows the feline complaint.
“Cameron, catch him!”
Unfortunately, Billy’s warning is much too late. A flash of creamy and charcoal fur darts between his denim clad legs, followed immediately by one somewhat larger, the color a mix of milk and dark chocolate. The animal pursuing the fleeing cat knocks Billy clear off his feet, and as Merry makes a beeline for the open moving van, Billy opens his mouth to shout out a warning.
Looking up from his position, sprawled on the pavement, Billy can only stare as things happen in slow motion. Helplessly, Billy watches his frightened cat spring through the air and land on all fours atop the upright piano with feline grace. The barking dog is marginally slower, but still swifter than the movers as it collides with the back of the man’s knees. A colorful string of words that would make a sailor blush fill the air, the young mover falls off the ramp, arms wind milling wildly, and to Billy’s stunned fascination, his beloved piano rolls smoothly down the ramp and onto the pavement. Continuing unrestrained down the small hill, the piano picks up speed, heading directly for a jet-black convertible Porsche parked at the curb.
“Dad, it’s going to hit the car!”
“Oh no it won’t,” Billy assures his son, scrambling to his feet to chase down his runaway piano. “When it hits that bump, it’ll slow down.”
The young mover is still cursing a blue streak, his foul language competing with Merry’s wild, indignant howling and the furry dog’s enthusiastic barking. Billy has almost caught up with the dolly when it hits the rise in the concrete, flinging Merry through the air in a long, high arc. A few seconds later, the cat lands spread-eagle on the hood of the highly polished car, his long, sharp talons making a screeching sound against the metal, like fingernails on a chalkboard.
Sadly, Billy’s prediction proves false as the bump only causes the dolly to slow on its inevitable collision with the Porsche. He’s a mere six inches away, his small hands outstretched, when the sound of crunching metal blends with the shattering of wood. Stopping dead in his tracks, Billy can only stare in horrified dismay at the pile of mahogany that was once his beloved piano.
“What the bloody hell is going on out here? World War III?”
The loud, irate shout has Billy spinning around to view a slender man striding furiously towards him. Clad simply in a pair of faded, cut off denims, riding very low on his narrow hips, a man with sun-streaked, tousled blonde hair and flashing blue-grey eyes crosses the lawn to where Billy is standing. If the blistering expression on his face is any clue, Billy decides he probably isn’t from the Neighborhood Welcoming Committee.
“What the hell do you wankers think you’re doing?” he demands as he finally stops, less than three feet away from Billy.
Before Billy can answer the heated question, the glinting pair of eyes cut to the rumpled fender of the Porsche.
“Aww, shite.”
Dragging his fingers through his hair, tousling it even further, he rolls his eyes toward the heavens above. “Wasn’t yesterday’s match enough? Do you have to add insult to injury?”
Dropping almost gingerly to his knees, he runs his long, elegant fingers over the crumpled metal. “Why me?” he murmurs with a shake of his head. “Of all the houses on all the streets of Glasgow, why do I get the Demolition Twins for neighbors?”
“Billy and Cameron,” Billy corrects, hoping that he looks a great deal calmer than he feels at the moment.
The man’s expression, as he drags his rueful glance away from his car, is blank. “What?”
“Billy Boyd,” Billy offers, holding out his hand in what he hopes the other man will take as a conciliatory gesture. “And my son’s name is Cameron.”
“You have a son?”
For the first time since he’d come storming out of the back garden, his interest turns to Billy. Definitely not a bloke barely out of his teenage years as he’d thought at first glance, Dominic Monaghan determines. Curious and appraising blue-grey eyes move from the top of Billy’s ginger head, tracing every curve and plane, down to his small, scuffed, trainer clad feet. The journey takes significantly longer on the way back up to finally meet Billy’s mossy green eyes. No, this pleasantly disheveled individual is definitely not a boy, but a man, albeit not really his taste. Seeking an appropriate word to describe him, Dom finally comes up with enigmatic. That fits rather well, he decides, his expert eye taking another leisurely tour of Billy’s fit body. For now.
Tennis, baseball, basketball players, and even a golfer, Billy has had his share of professional athletes as patients, all men and women in peak physical condition, their bodies hard and well toned. However, this man, whose gaze seems to be searing through the thin cotton of Billy’s t-shirt, as though he can actually see Billy naked, is a wee bit different. From his challenging stance, to the rock hard strength of his smooth chest, tanned to a luscious, golden bronze, to the muscled, yet lean columns of his long legs, he is almost rawly masculine. That said, it seems that there could be something else there as well, beneath the surface, something that defies simple description.
The urge to smooth down his wild hair and pluck at the t-shirt clinging to his damp skin is strong, but Billy resists the impulse, finding it somehow too inviting a gesture to make before this stranger. The individual before him the type of athlete who is gorgeous, oozing sexual confidence because he knows it, and feeds off it like oxygen, using it to get whatever or whoever he wants. Billy’s seen dozens of athletes just like him. Maybe more. But still.
Finally, Dom’s gaze slides to Cameron, who’s managed to capture Merry and is now holding the wriggling cat against his t-shirt clad chest, his eyes wide, green saucers behind his swim mask.
“So the midget planning to go deep sea diving is yours,” Dom deduces. “You don’t look that old. What were you, a sixth-form groom?”
The mockery in Dom’s voice is unmistakable, and it’s very clear to Billy that it’s not meant as a compliment to his youthful looks.
“The midget, is a seven-year-old boy,” Billy replies, tone icy with sarcasm. “And I don’t see that my age when I married is any of your business.”
Dom’s answering smile is deliberately provocative, clearly meant to frustrate and annoy. He’s obviously had lots of practice at this and is very good at it, Billy decides.
“Sorry, it’s just difficult to believe a grown man could behave so irresponsibly,” Dom replies cooly, his crooked mouth curling into a smirk. “I hope for the safety of the neighborhood, your wife keeps you on a tight leash.”
Bristling, Billy pulls himself up to his full height of five-foot-six-and-a-half-inches and glares. “I beg your pardon?”
“Of course you do,” Dom counters. “And not only do you owe me an apology, don’t you think that it’s time to let me in on what you’re going to do about fixing my car?”
Despite being only marginally taller that Billy, Dom manages to look down at him, his crossed-arm pose unmistakably arrogant.
As furious as Billy is becoming, knowing full well the bastard of a man in front of him is baiting him every step of the way, Billy also accepts the fact that his piano has smashed into his car. Surely his own insurance will take care of the repairs. Opening his mouth to tell the man that, suddenly a ball of chocolate fur gallops up, tail wagging happily, a long red tongue hanging out.
“I suppose that thing belongs to you?”
Billy stares as the other man reaches down and affectionately scratches behind the energetic dog’s floppy ears, resulting in a vigorous tongue bath of love and appreciation to one of his hands.
“This animal is a registered Springer spaniel,” Dom corrects after patting the dog’s head and standing fully upright again. “And yes, Griffin belongs to me. He was a gift for my birthday last year.”
Billy’s gaze moves slowly from the dog to the various pieces of wood and wire that had once been his beloved piano. Why should Billy pay anything to fix his car, when his monster of a dog had caused all the problems in the first place?
“I’d say you’re a wee bit confused,” Billy states finally. “ The question here is what are you going to do about my piano?”
One dark eyebrow slowly climbs Dom’s forehead before crashing down to join the other. “Bloody Hell! You’re not only a menace, you’re downright certifiable! Why should I do anything about your piano? After all, my car was packed at the curb, innocently minding it’s own business, when your battered old hunk of wood attacked it!”
“After your dog attacked Merry!”
“Merry?”
“My cat,” Billy fires back, jerking his head in the direction of the small feline cradled in Cameron’s protective embrace, whose creamy fur is still standing on end, as if caught in an electrical storm.
Sighing, Dom runs an exploratory finger over the now scratched hood of his car. “Well, that explains this bit of vandalism. Claws.” Glance flickering over to the animal in the boy’s arms, Dom’s eyes narrow. “I don’t like cats.”
As if on cue, Merry hisses in Dom’s direction.
“Well, then, you’re even,” Billy retorts with a shake of his head. “He doesn’t like you either.”
This confrontation has become ridiculous, juvenile really. They’re acting like small children, squabbling from opposite sides of the sandbox, and from the bright interest in Cameron’s eyes, Billy realizes that his son is as amazed as he is by his strange behavior. This is definitely not the example Billy wants to be setting for his young, impressionable son.
Just then, the scowling man before him flings his long-fingered hand across his chest and Billy attempts not to notice for a second time that his skin is tanned to a deep, tantalizing shade of gold. Just as Billy silently vows not to be affected by the teasing line of sparse body hair disappearing below his seductive navel at the band of his low slung denim cutoffs.
“Oh, come on,” he replies sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “You’re breaking my heart here, mate.”
“Not bloody likely,” Billy fires back. “You don’t have one.”
As their eyes lock, the antagonistic mood is suddenly broken by the older of the two forgotten moving men. “Hey, I know you. Dominic Monaghan, yeah?”
“Right,” Billy’s neighbor responds, not blinking or moving his focus from Billy’s face.
“Saw the match yesterday and I can’t figure out why the papers keep clamoring for Morgan. As far as I’m concerned, you are the Rangers, Dom!”
To Billy’s amazement, Dominic Monaghan’s face breaks out into a wide grin and he laughs, a cheerful, lively sound.
“Well now, here’s a bloke who knows his football.”
“We’re so sorry about the accident, Dom,” the younger man adds apologetically, joining his partner. “It just got away from us. But don’t worry, our company will make things right.”
Billy’s jaw drops in shock as Dom waves off the assurances lightly, like a mosquito. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Accidents happen. It’s no big deal. I shouldn’t have been parking on the street anyway, but we had a big party last night, after the match, and I never got around to moving it back into the driveway.”
Smoldering with irritation and fury, Billy decides that the truth is more like Dom wouldn’t have been able to stand on his own, let along drive.
“I sure hope we didn’t disturb you too much, Dom. We had to get this done right quick because it’s a rush delivery.” The older man wipes his brow with a sweat darkened handkerchief before shoving it back into his pocket.
Turning to glance ruefully at the ruined Porsche again, Dom then realizes that he’d yet to take the window sticker off the newly purchased car. Keeping his temper under control is a wise thing to do at this point, because these days, Dom needs all the fans he can get. There sure isn’t any point in alienating these two by getting pissed off about something that was clearly an accident.
“That’s okay,” he assures them with a wry grin. “I had to come out to move my car anyway. Don’t worry about.”
The static of a radio in the cab of the van fills the air as the movers are instructed to return to the warehouse for their next assignment if they’ve finished unloading.
“We’ll have our boss call you about the car first thing tomorrow morning,” the older of the two movers assures Dom one more time as he closes up the rear of the van and bolts the doors shut.
“Fine. No problem.”
“Well, if you’ll sign here, we’ll be on our way,” the other says, passing Billy a battered clipboard and a scratched up pen that’s clearly seen better days.
“What about my piano?”
“Don’t worry, it’s insured,” the mover replies. “You paid for it when you signed the contract in London.”
Since Billy’s chances of getting his beloved instrument back in one piece again are zip to nil, Billy neglects to mention that he’d rather have his piano than the money. Sighing heavily, he reluctantly signs the form.
“Should be about a hundred pounds,” the older mover calls over his shoulder.
“What?”
“The insurance company. They’’ll send you a cheque in about six weeks or so. I’m guessing it’ll be for around a hundred pounds, if you’re lucky. Enjoy your new house.”
“A hundred pounds?” Billy stares after them, utterly speechless as the garish, yellow and black van drives off down the hillside and out of sight. Turning on Dominic Monaghan, Billy’s exhaustion, frustration and aching body make his words rash.
“How come your dog causes all the bloody trouble, but they fall all over themselves for you and all I get is a hundred lousy pounds.”
“Simple,” Dom says with a careless shrug. “I’m a star.”
That much is true. Or at least it used to be, Billy admits inwardly. Dominic Monaghan, Midfielder and Captain of the Rangers, has been the golden man of football in Glasgow for years. Billy, along with the rest of the UK, has read about the injury that had sidelined Dom for most of the previous season. Though Billy doesn’t follow football all that closely, he’d idly wondered if Dom was actually going to defy the medical experts and play another season. Apparently, he’s going to try.
“I see,” Billy says finally, shaking his head sadly. “So that makes everything you do just amazingly brilliant, yeah?”
“Hey,” Dom objects, lifting his hands in surrender. “Don’t forget, I’m the innocent bystander here. After all, you did smash up my brand-new car, which in some circles would be considered a hanging offense. Not to mention the fact you single-handedly have shattered the peace and quiet of our lovely neighborhood. It is a Sunday, you realize.”
“I know,” Billy replies with heartfelt frustration. “Believe me, the power company has made that perfectly clear.”
For a moment Billy frowns, eyeing the rather large house next door, wondering how Dom had been able to hear the commotion from indoors. “I was told this is a newer neighborhood and that these homes are virtually soundproof. The Estate Agent assured me they were built that way for energy conservation.”
Amazingly enough, Dom appears honestly embarrassed and shoves his hands into the back pockets of his low slung denims, causing them to hug his flat belly even tighter. It takes all of Billy’s self control and then some not to react to the truly spectacular and delectable sight.
“Yeah, they are,” Dom surprises Billy by admitting it. “But it doesn’t do much good if you’re sleeping outside, now does it?”
Gazing at Dom’s face before focusing on his disconcerting, blue-grey eyes, Billy can tell that under normal conditions, they’d be devastatingly gorgeous and infinitely dangerous. On this day, however, the whites are veined with red lines, like an atlas. It must have been one hell of a party next door last night. It’s quite possible, perhaps even likely, the neighbors are already annoyed with Dom, Billy considers.
“Perhaps next time you’ll try crawling indoors,” Billy offers dryly before turning back toward his own house.
“Next time be a little more considerate and I won’t have to,” Dom counters briskly. “Besides, crawling is definitely out. Bad knees.”
Pausing in mid-stride, Billy turns back, but this time his gaze is purely professional as he drops down into a crouch to study the scars crisscrossing Dom’s right knee. Whatever else Dom is, arrogant, rude, un-neighborly, the man’s legs are enough to make Billy cringe, and maybe even cry.
“I’ve never seen legs in worse shape,” he says a few moments later, shaking his head.
The expression in Dom’s eyes seems oddly impersonal now, giving Billy the feeling that the seductive gleam and overwhelming charm is more automatic than due to the fact that he just might find Billy ever so slightly more appealing than he did a few moments ago. Of course, that’s completely ridiculous, Billy decides. Why would a famous football player be interested in an approaching middle-age father with an energetic boy to raise, when he likely has no problem whatsoever finding someone to share his bed with on a daily basis?
“That’s what they all say,” Dom agrees cheerfully, tossing his hair out of his eyes. “You’ve no idea how many women can’t wait to take me home and play nurse.”
Exactly what Billy thought, and while Billy frankly resents Dom’s nakedly masculine confidence, he doesn’t believe Dom is exaggerating. With the exception of his battered knees, Dom is a magnificent physical specimen. His centerfold in a popular woman’s erotica magazine had been the subject of many a conversation and appraising look with the female staff at the hospital in London where Billy had worked until moving back to Glasgow.
“Dom? Can I have your autograph?”
Now standing beside his father, Cameron looks up at Dom with undisguised hero worship in his eyes.
Surprising Billy by remembering his son’s name, Dom replies, “Sure, Cam. Are you a Rangers fan?”
“Kinda. I’m really a Man U fan,” Cameron confesses. “My mum and my step-dad took me to a couple of matches last season, before the wedding, but I’ve seen a couple of Rangers matches on television. I remember that I saw Rangers play against Hearts one time, but you were out. Morgan was playing for you. He was pretty good. Rangers beat them.”
At the dark look flashing across Dom’s face, Billy realizes that the subject of his replacement is a rather sore one, but he can’t stop Cameron’s next words.
“Is Morgan taking your place on the team? Or is your knee all better?”
“No to the first. Yes, to the second,” Dom says in a grim tone, his expression making Billy wonder how much is raw determination and how much is medical fact.
“My mates back home are never going to believe that I live next door to Dom Monaghan!”
“Did you know that I grew up in Manchester?” Dom adds, this time a genuine smile turning up the corners of his crooked mouth. “Moved there when I was about your age. I watched a lot of Man U matches when I was growing up. I was there with my Dad when they won the FA Cup Final in 1985.”
“Really?”
Cameron’s young face wears an expression of absolute bliss, making Billy realize that his son has just discovered something positive about the hard-fought move to Glasgow. While he doesn’t appreciate how Dom had come storming over like an hot-tempered, cranky child, he has to be thankful for his effect on Cameron.
“Why don’t you put Merry in the house?” Billy suggests, casting a wary eye at the squirming cat and the bright brown eyes of the dog as he looks to begin round two. “ Then you can get your ball for Mr. Monaghan to autograph.”
“Great idea, Dad,” Cameron agrees instantly, running towards the house at full speed. Both men are silent as they watch him leave.
“Dad,” Dom murmurs, rubbing his crooked jaw. “ That’s still a bit hard to believe.” His gaze cuts quickly to Billy’s left hand, but the Scotsman is faster, shoving it into the front pocket of his denims. “So, you and his mum?”
Billy is unable to stop the amused smirk that spreads across his face. It’s time for a wee bit of piss-taking, with that opportunity laid out for him on a silver platter. “Of course. Didn’t your father ever tell you about the birds and the bees?”
“Nope. I learned all that mushy stuff from Mary Jane Marshall in the back seat of her dad’s car.”
“And I’m certain you were a very fast learner,” Billy retorts, finding Dom’s teasing grin both irritating and boyishly attractive in a way that causes heat to pool in his belly. “So you shouldn’t have to ask the question in the first place.”
Dom finds himself wondering why he’s so bothered at the knowledge that Billy had been married in the past, and quite possible be at the moment as well. After all, it’s not like Billy is his type or anything. Sure, he appreciates both the female and male forms, in and out of bed, but Billy just isn’t like what he normally goes for in a bloke.
He’s small, but quite fit, his ever so slightly receding hair a fascinating shade of ginger, the top layer dusted with just a hint of gold. The strands are short enough to be off his collar, but not too short either. It’s simple, not boring. Then there is his face. Billy’s eyes are rather nice, Dom decides, a warm and inviting mossy green, now that he’s not yelling indignantly about his shattered piano. Things don’t get really dangerous until Dom’s eyes come to rest on Billy’s mouth, specifically, the filtrum and the sensual bow of his cherubic lips.
There is a large spark of intelligence about Billy that Dom isn’t used to in his lovers. Lovers? Forget about it, Monaghan. A bloke with an ex-wife and a kid? He’s obviously straight.
The mystifying expression in Dom’s eyes as they settle on Billy’s face make him feel decidedly uneasy, and belatedly Billy realizes that he’s holding his breath. This is ridiculous, he chides himself mentally. The bloke is a womanizing bastard whose IQ is likely smaller than the measurement of his neck size. What does he care what Dom thinks of him? Besides, it’s clear that he’s definitely not Billy’s type. After what happened with Abby, Billy’s decided that his type right now is no type. Fatherhood is complicated enough without adding a new relationship to the pile.
“Dad?”
Cameron’s reappearance at Billy’s side, now dressed in only forest green swim trunks with snorkel gear for accessories, shatters the oddly unnerving silence.
“What is it?” Billy asks, his fingers sliding through Cameron’s hair in a brief, yet familiar and comforting gesture.
“I can’t find my ball.”
“Don’t worry about it, Cam,” Dom assures him with a crooked smile. “Rangers haven't put me up for transfer yet. I’ll be around at least until you get unpacked. I’ll make sure you get an autograph, yeah?”
“Thanks, Dom.” Cameron’s expression is a combination of relief and awe. “Dad, can I go swimming like you promised? I’m all ready.”
“Not until the man shows up to test the water,” Billy answers him apologetically. “Probably tomorrow.”
A pang of guilt twists in Billy’s belly, knowing that he’d blatantly used the pool as a bribe to make Cameron feel more enthusiastic about leaving his friends and school in London. Although Billy feels like an evil monster from the stories his Mum used to tell him as a lad, he must admit that he doesn’t know the first thing about taking care of a swimming pool.
“Aww, Dad. Nobody ever checks the water in the pond at the park and I’ve never croaked of nothin’ yet.”
“Of anything, Cameron,” Billy corrects absently, feeling the intense blue-grey gaze on his damp back. “Haven’t croaked, I mean, died of anything, yet.”
“See?” Cameron presses on with endearing, childish logic. “The pond’s filled with all sorts of slimy stuff, tadpoles, fish, water skippers. I didn’t see noth-, uh, anything like that in the pool.”
“The slimy things in the pool are too small to be seen by the naked eye, Cam,” Dom interjects into the conversation, backing Billy up, much to his surprise. “Want me to show your step-mum how to check the pool?”
A long, uncomfortable silence stretches out and Billy winces internally as Cameron’s small, cupid face falls. Feck, he feels like screaming, Not now! Please, not after all that’s happened this week, this year, and then some. Hasn’t he been through enough?
In his attempt to shelter Cameron from the fact that his mother finds him less than enjoyable as a full-time experience, Billy has brushed over far too many canceled afternoons, rescheduled outings and missed weekends together. Pushing aside his own pain, Billy has thought it more important that his son believe he has two parents who love him equally. Even if it’s a damn lie.
That mistake had came home to bite Billy in the arse when he was offered the opportunity to move back to Glasgow. Following that, there was two seemingly endless, painful months of scowling, sulking and temper-tantrums. When Billy received a phone call from Cameron’s teacher, informing him that the normally sweet, easygoing youngster was behaving no better at school, Billy had given in and promised that Cameron could spend Christmas with his mother in London. And Abby’s perfect husband. With that promise, and the lure of a swimming pool in the back garden, Cameron had finally given in, much to Billy’s relief.
“My mum lives in London with Michael,” Cameron replies flatly, his eyes downcast. “Dad’s not married.”
So, Billy is single after all. Interesting. Brow arched, Dom’s blue-grey eyes move to Billy and he nods thoughtfully.
“Well, the offer still stands; I’ll teach you instead if you like. This is a pretty big place for your dad to be handling all alone, yeah?”
Looping a long arm around Cameron’s narrow shoulders, Dom leads the way in the direction of the back garden before Billy has a chance to speak. Billy’s irritation flares at the suggestion that he is some delicate flower who can’t function without a mate. He’s not a tragically dumped, useless spouse, someone who’d been traded in like a car, for a newer, flashier version. The truth is, it’s much more complicated and painful than that. Frankly, he’s done just fine for some time now and can certainly continue to survive as a single parent of a very special boy. It’s what he fought for, more than willingly sacrificed for, because Cameron is all he wanted. Now it’s very clear what roles he needs to fill for Cameron’s sake, not that there was much doubt before.
“I’ve hired a pool service,” Billy calls after them as he follows them, albeit at a slower pace. “It’s really not necessary.”
Looking over his shoulder, Dom shrugs. “Don’t worry about it, Billy. I’ll be right back.”
As Billy watches, Dom strides across the garden to a gate in the six foot high fence separating the properties.
“I didn’t see that gate the first time I was here,” Billy complains as he steps up onto the patio, unreasonably disturbed that Dom has such easy access to his back garden.
“The place used to belong to a friend of mine,” Dom explains. “We built the gate to make things easier.”
“I’ll bet,” Billy mutters under his breath, picturing romantic nocturnal visits.
“Viggo was a defender for Rangers. He had to sell his house when he got sold to Celtic,” Dom enlightens Billy, his dancing eyes letting Billy know that he’d read the Scotsman’s expression and thoughts.
“Viggo Mortensen? I’m living in Viggo Mortensen’s house?”
Cameron’s eyes widen behind the ridiculous mask he’s been wearing practically since he’d woken up this morning.
“The one and the only,” Dom calls back over his shoulder as he disappears into his own yard.
“Wow, Dad. Think about that.” Mouth forming a perfect O, the young boy stares around the yard, whispering as if it’s a shrine.
“Hmm. Yes, think about that,” Billy murmurs to himself, having only a vague familiarity with the name, but relieved that the idea of living in his house gives Cameron enormous pleasure.
Taking advantage of Dom’s absence, Billy escapes inside the house to the loo, trying to take a moment and clean himself up a wee bit as it’s been a very long day. Perhaps it’ll give him a chance to regain his composure as well. While he loathes to admit it, Dom’s presence is making Billy feel decidedly off balance. Also, while denims and t-shirt are practical for moving, the beads of sweat trickling down his back and dampening his waistband are less than appealing.
“Just look at you, Billy Boyd,” he criticizes his reflection. “You’re grubby, sweaty and these clothes should’ve been tossed in the bin months ago.”
The air is stale and rather stifling inside the house as it’s been vacant for more than six months, and Billy reaches inside the shower to twist the taps, hoping that perhaps the fates will smile on him for a change and make water magically come out. Of course, this is despite the fact someone from the water company has yet to make an appearance.
“I’ve got water over at my place.”
Billy glances over his shoulder to spot Dom leaning casually against the door frame to his loo, not even trying to disguise his appreciation of the view Billy bent over is giving him. Surprisingly enough, Billy fails to notice the blatantly sexual look in Dom’s now smoldering eyes.
“Look, Monaghan,” Billy says tiredly as he straightens up, quietly wincing when his lower back protests. “I don’t know what kind of open-door relationship you had with your defender friend, but as of now, consider things changed.”
Belatedly, Billy regrets his abrupt tone, but not the words, so he remains silent as Dom’s eyes darken dangerously.
“Hey, don’t get so worked up, yeah? Your son sent me to find you so you can learn how to test the chemicals, too,” Dom explains, lifting his hands in a gesture of self-defense. “Cam says you’re pretty good at stuff like that.” There is a light question in his tone.
“If I can light a furnace or the cooker without burning down the house, I suppose I can learn to detect algae in a swimming pool,” Billy agrees, meeting Dom’s gaze with a challenging one of his own. “After all, how hard can it be? If a football player can do it?”
In two small steps, Dom is standing nose to nose with Billy, their chests, Dom’s enticingly bare, mere inches apart. With his hands on either side of Billy’s shoulders, it’s as effective as if a mountain has sprung up in Billy’s path.
“I think this is right about the time where I let you know that I’m not that fond of thick footballer remarks,” Dom says in a tight voice, eyes half-slitted.
At Dom’s sudden proximity, Billy can’t hold back the sharp intake of breath, or how his green eyed gaze flares with unmistakable lust.
“Then we’re even,” he manages to say, a bit unsteadily, lower lip trembling ever so slightly. “Because I’m not ecstatic about your interfering with my parenting.”
The sexual tension swirls about them in the small room as it dawns on Dom that Billy’s not nearly as straight as previously thought. Not even close. Internally, Billy curses himself for not having more self control. He was doing just fine until Dom practically pinned him to the wall and plastered their bodies together from head to foot. How is anyone supposed to be able to resist that? The urge to close the distance and taste the tender skin of Dom’s pouty lower lip is immense, but Billy forces it away, pulling his libido and emotions back under control. Enough damage has already been done for one day.
For a moment, an image rises in Billy’s thoughts, of Dom sliding his long fingers and tanned hands under his t-shirt, exploring and teasing his trim body. How incredible would it feel just to indulge in the touch of another after more than three years? To strip away the damp clothing sticking to his skin and feel a tongue against his own again? The way Dom is looking at him has just confirmed that Dom does indeed like to play on both sides of the field, as it has been extensively rumored. It’s been a long time since Billy was overcome with the thought to just throw caution and logical reason out the window. And just like that, the seductive image is gone, and order is restored.
When Dom sees the change in Billy’s eyes, he pulls back a few inches and rubs his crooked jaw thoughtfully.
“You know, if we’re going to be neighbors, we ought to forge some type of truce or something,” he suggests.
“Or we can just stay in our own houses,” Billy suggests pointedly.
Ignoring Billy’s words, Dom wonders what it is about this Scotsman that both annoys and intrigues him all at the same time. “It’s gong to be hard for this old dog to learn a new trick, but I’ll try if you will.”
While Dom’s deep, blue-grey eyes are merely complacent, his lop sided grin and the obscenely long tongue now wetting his lips is expertly disarming, forcing Billy to swallow hard. Flexing his arms, Dom dips closer for a moment, bringing their lips within a breath of each other and then pushes off the wall, turning towards the door, affording Billy a close view of his spectacular back and the sexy dimples just above the curve of his arse. The arrogant bastard did it on purpose, of that, Billy is sure.
“For the sake of peace,” Billy finally agrees, rubbing the nape of his neck and exhaling slowly. “Now let me out of here.”
“If you’re going to swoon or something, Billy, warn me so I can catch you,” Dom says with a satisfied smirk.
Knowing that Dom is laughing at him now, Billy’s eyes narrow. “Move it, Monaghan, or I just might test that new knee of yours with the toe of my trainer.”
Deliberately pressing close enough so that their bodies touch as Billy exits the loo, Dom dips his head to murmur in Billy’s ear.
“That wasn’t funny, Billy.”
“Neither are you, Dom,” Billy replies coolly. “Neither are you.”
* ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *
The sun beats down through the clear roof of the pool house and onto the back of Billy’s neck as he dangles his bare feet in the cool water, knowing that if Cameron wasn’t here, he’d be stripping off his jeans and sliding into the turquoise depths, not worrying about algae and pH and all those other important items in Dom’s portable test kit.
“Water’s okay,” Dom announces after making both Billy and Cameron do the tests three times in order to make certain they’d learned.
Remembering all the advanced chemistry classes he’d taken in medical school, Billy had nearly laughed as Dom lead him through the procedures at an excruciatingly slow pace.
“The pH is a little high, but I’ve got some acid over at my place I can give you.”
“Thank you, but I’ll get my own,” Billy replies, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tense muscles.
“You don’t believe in neighbors borrowing from one another?” Dom asks, arching an eyebrow.
“Not really,” Billy replies, dipping his toes into the water one last time before rising to his feet. “It just makes for complications.”
“And you’re a bloke who doesn’t like complications.”
“Right,” Billy conforms, nodding firmly.
It’s a warning, and they both know it. A flashing neon sign in the middle of the darkened city would be less obvious.
Billy is surprised at the sudden flash of heat that sears through his body as Dom’s steady blue-grey eyes meet and hold his for a long, quiet moment. Desperately, Billy tries to blame his increasing vertigo on the sun overhead and the long trip, but he knows the source of warmth is coming from something much nearer. Dangerous, that’s what Dom is. A dangerous man, Billy warns himself. Despite his display of enticing, boyish charm, Billy knows that Dominic Monaghan is nothing but trouble with a capital T.
“Hey, Dad, Dom! Watch me go off the diving board!” Cameron calls, bouncing with excitement at finally being allowed into the water.
“It’s Mr. Monaghan,” Billy corrects automatically, his gaze moving to his son.
“Let him call me Dom. All the kids do.”
“I don’t believe in children calling adults by their first names,” Billy counters. “It’s not respectful.”
“Then we shouldn’t have a problem,” Dom replies.
“Oh?” Billy’s arched brow invites an elaboration.
“Yeah, since I’ve got the distinct impression you don’t put athletes in the same category as adults. Can he swim?” Dom asks under his breath as Cameron walks out to the end of the short, fiberglass board.
“Like a fish. And you’re wrong. I happen to like athletes.” Professionally, Billy means, but realizes a moment later that Dom is determined to take it the wrong way.
“Terrific. This might turn out to be a friendly neighborhood after all,” Dom says with a suggestive smile and waggling of his eyebrows.
It’s automatic, Billy knows that it is. “You know, you’re right,” he surprises Dom by admitting it freely.
“I am? About what?”
“You are an overgrown adolescent. And if you don’t quit drooling over me like I’m your own personal smorgasbord, I’m going to call your mum to take you home,” Billy replies sweetly and smugly, extraordinarily pleased with himself.
“You know what, Billy?”
“What?” Billy asks, arching an eyebrow.
“You get far too uptight about the little things,” Dom announces firmly. “I think you need to cool off.”
Before Billy can open his mouth to respond, Dom’s strong hands are at his waist, pushing him into the water, clothes and all. As Billy bobs to the surface, he bites back the stream of curses and insults just begging to be uttered, none of them remotely appropriate to shout in front of his son. He would, however, need to yell them at Dom’s back, because he’s sauntering out of the pool house towards the gate in the shared fence, closing it behind him with a decisive bang.
* ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *
Chapter 2