Sibling Rivals

By Summer Devon

Love and heartbreak abound in Devon’s fast-paced slice of romantic and family life. The plot is rich in detail and subtle in message, and Peter’s relationship with Colin is thoroughly and playfully sexy, joyfully leading readers through a truly romantic journey toward happiness. –
--Publisher’s Weekly STARRED review.

As the designated slacker of the family, Peter Stevens was accustomed to being eclipsed by his “perfect” older brother, Mark. But when Mark came out to their parents one Christmas vacation, it was his turn to be the black sheep.

Even more surreal was Peter’s brief encounter with his brother’s boyfriend, Colin. The unmistakable sparks between them shook the foundations of his confirmed heterosexuality. Years later, when they meet again as graduate student and professor, that bone-deep attraction is still there.

Thanks to the emotional scars Mark left behind, Colin has had his fill of Stevens men. Having Peter stay in his apartment shouldn’t be a problem though, as he knows the younger man is straight. But when Colin realizes the electricity sizzles both ways, he can’t resist indulging in a passionate affair.

Yet some old flames stubbornly refuse to die. This time, Peter refuses to step aside— and when an emergency brings the family together again, Colin must decide if it’s worth the risk to trust another Stevens brother with his heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K Rothwell
• Release date: Apr 4, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370501168

Summer Devon

About the Author Summer Devon is the alter ego of Kate Rothwell who also writes under her own name.  Summer writes m/m books of all sorts. Many of her titles are co-written with Bonnie Dee For more information about Summer/Kate, go to http://katerothwell.com or http://summerdevon.com.  Summer can also be found at https://www.facebook.com/S.DevonAuthor

Book preview

Sibling Rivals

Love and heartbreak abound in Devon’s fast-paced slice of romantic and family life. The plot is rich in detail and subtle in message, and Peter’s relationship with Colin is thoroughly and playfully sexy, joyfully leading readers through a truly romantic journey toward happiness. –

--Publisher’s Weekly STARRED review.

Smashwords Edition

Sibling Rivals

Copyright © 2017 by Summer Devon

THIS IS A REPRINT

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Sibling Rivals

Summer Devon

Chapter One

Peter’s parents heard about the ice incident from a college official. Some tightass called right before Christmas to report a student had covered the Abraham Lincoln statue with a layer of ice. Sure, yes, the layer was thick—it had taken hours of work and gallons of water. But come on. Who cared? The parents of Peter Stevens, of course.

Nineteen was pretty damned old to have to be lectured about something so trivial, but Peter didn’t care enough to point that out. He’d been here often enough to know that the serious talk would only be extended if he protested.

So the first night of Christmas break started with Peter in his traditional hot seat at the dining room table, hands folded on the polished wood, a feigned look of interest and regret on his face. His mother’s scolding drowned out the Christmas carols playing in the background.

He had indulged in the ice incident to let off steam during finals and to celebrate his decent GPA; for once he got good grades, but he didn’t pipe up to point that out. No need to interrupt his mother’s flow.

Your brother managed to get through four years of college, perfect grades and certainly never a complaint from any school administrator. I don’t get why you thought you needed to spray a statue—

The doorbell rang. Saved by the bell, Peter wanted to go to the door but his father eyed him. He stayed put.

His mother hurried off while he and Dad remained silent to hear the happy greetings. Above the sound of a violin-drenched version of Away in a Manger came the happy voice of his brother, Mr. Mark the Perfect, who had come home for the holidays.

Mark strode into the dining room, smelling of snow and too much Old Spice. I hear you’re in trouble again, Goofus, he said.

Fast work, Mom.

Well, I got to provide entertainment for y’all, he said.

Mark didn’t smile.

We’re done with the drama now that you’re home. Peter spoke to Mark but grinned at his father who gave a fleeting grimace, or maybe it was a smile in response.

Was Mark too cool to hug? Didn’t matter. Peter pushed away from the table and grabbed his brother, thumping him hard on the back.

Mark, usually the first to back off from physical displays, squeezed him back and kept his arms wrapped tight. When Mark finally let go, Peter noticed the guy who stood in the doorway, still dressed for outside in a dark blue pea-coat, yellow scarf and black knit cap. Mark’s friend Colin had ruddy cheeks and a pink nose, making him look cute, like a Christmas caroler on one of the pictures currently cluttering the mantel, the cards that fluttered to the floor nearly every time Peter walked past.

Colin had visited the house back in August and he’d seemed as buttoned up and quiet as Mark—more polite and thoroughly English.

Mom, Dad, Pete, do you remember Colin? The formal way Mark spoke made a small alarm sound in Peter’s head, but he only said, Yo, and nodded a greeting at the guy.

Colin’s smile came and went fast. I’ll go move the car off the street, shall I? I’m afraid the snow is coming down quite hard now. And, ah, I’ll fetch our gear.

Thanks. Mark watched until Colin had gone out the front door then he turned back to the family.

Okay, then. He squeezed his hands together as if rubbing away the cold. No time like the present. Mark was as grim as the parents had been a few minutes earlier during the frozen statue lecture. He sat down at the table. Would it be okay if we all sat down?

Hell. He looked too damn serious, a guy facing a distasteful but necessary task. You’ve been home five minutes, dude, Peter protested. Not even.

Their mother waved her shushing motion at him and turned to Mark. "Wouldn’t you rather go into the family room? We’ve already had dinner but I can heat up the leftovers.

Are you and your friend hungry?"

No. This is good. I’d like to talk.

Peter tried to catch Mark’s gaze, but Mark was pretending to be fascinated by the holly and red candle centerpiece.

In silence, they dragged out dining room chairs and sat. Their mother and father exchanged worried glances.

Peter drummed his fingers on his thighs and hoped his brother would announce something like I got fired from my great new job or I got you guys a fabu Christmas gift.

But Peter knew what was coming.

Shut up, shut up, STFU. He directed thought rays at his brother. Don’t do it.

Is something wrong, honey? Their mother raised her hand to her mouth. She’d lost so much weight lately, the green and red holly bracelets that used to stay put, clinked together every time she moved.

Mark had always claimed he didn’t want to live dangerously; he said that Peter was the fool who liked to lob bombs at their parents just to watch them lose it.

Mark turned out to have been a big fat liar.

Nothing’s wrong, but it’s time. I have to tell you guys the truth. He finished in a rush, Colin is my lover. I’m gay.

Peter had guessed at his brother’s preference years ago, but his jaw dropped. Because WTF? Why would Mark tell their parents?

It began. Crying, yelling, yada yada. The familiar noise washed over Peter, but for once it wasn’t aimed in his direction.

He watched his brother’s pale, drawn face and wished the waves of anger were aimed at him. Peter was used to their parents’ disappointment.

Colin came in the front door again but wisely stayed out of the dining room. Peter caught a glimpse of him walking swiftly to the back of the house and the family room.

The noise created by Mark’s announcement died away after a couple of minutes, but the disapproval didn’t.

Their father only glared and muttered. Unlike their mother, he didn’t have a religious objection to gay people. He just didn’t like them.

Their mother stopped weeping. Perry Como filled the silence until she blew her nose. She unsteadily rose from her seat at the well-polished oak table. Mark, I think we have to ask you and your…your friend to leave.

Crap, no, Mom, they can’t. It’s snowing out, Peter said. The roads are a mess.

She folded her arms over her skinny chest. They can’t stay in this house together.

Peter balanced his chair back on two legs, her least favorite of his habits, but she didn’t even seem to notice. He let the chair fall with a clunk. Fine, how about put one of them in my room? I’ll chaperone them and make sure there’s no gaytime hanky panky.

Peter, Dad said sharply.

But his mother took the suggestion seriously. For tonight, Colin can sleep on your floor. Only for tonight. The roads are supposed to be clear by morning.

Mom. It’s Christmas, Peter began.

All the more reason. I won’t allow this business to ruin the season. She touched the glittering cloth holly sprig she’d pinned to her shoulder. The holly bracelets clinked.

Later on, we will discuss what to do.

We will discuss what to do, the ominous phrase usually directed at Peter. It had always meant punishment, but they couldn’t very well lock twenty-two-year-old Mark in his room.

Christ. They could lock him out of the house though.

Mark opened his mouth to say something but after a moment only shook his head and quietly stood and walked out of the room.

His brother wouldn’t fight but Peter didn’t mind. Mom, listen—

No. She shook her head. This has nothing to do with you. I’m not going to allow you to be involved.

But I am involved. I mean, Mark’s my brother.

No.

It’s the freaking holidays—

His father slammed the table with his fist hard enough to knock over one of the red candles. Enough, Peter.

Another word and it would get physical. Ho ho happy goddamn holidays. Peter crossed his arms and glared at his father until his parents left the dining room. They must have headed up to their bedroom, avoiding the family room and Mark and Colin.

The parental voices were loud. Peter wondered what the hell they could be arguing about. They’d presented a pretty unified front when it came to poor, dumb Mark’s big reveal.

He wanted to escape to his room too, but Mark ought to have some sort of family, so he grabbed a beer and went to find the two lovers facing the television, not really watching the Grinch sliding down chimneys. Someone, probably Mark, had turned off the Christmas music.

Mark screwed up his face and pointed at the beer. You’re only nineteen.

Yeah, well, there’s not much chance Mom and Dad’ll be out to yell at me. He raised his bottle and drank most of it down, then burped loud and long.

Oh so very charming, Mark said, the way he always did, so that was good.

Colin only cut a glance to Peter and gave a brief smile. His straight dark hair was longer than Peter remembered, but otherwise he looked the same, maybe a little scruffier. So far he hadn’t said much but he’d been pretty quiet the other time Mark brought him home.

Why had he agreed to come along on this nightmare of a visit? Lending support to Mark, probably, though the two of them sat at opposite sides of the big room. Hardly lover-like.

Mark, why’d you do it? Peter asked, quiet enough so only he’d hear. Why did you bother trying to get them to understand?

Mark picked at the arm of the sweater he wore, a dark red thing their mother had knit for him. Because I love my parents. Colin says that family should understand, he said after a long silence.

Colin says. Boy, Peter now recalled he was sick of that phrase Mark had used a lot. He could hear a difference though. This time the words sounded dipped in acid.

Mark went on, I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I hope they’ll get used to the idea and remember that they care about me too.

Peter wasn’t sure why he’d brought it up. He didn’t need to give Mark shit. "Maybe you’re right about them getting used to the idea. Their next batch of shouting probably won’t be as bad. I mean what can they do? Call