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"If you love someone, let them go. If they return to you, it was meant to be. If they don't, their love was never yours to begin with."

Brendan McKenzie scoffed and balled up the card along with Aaron's photo. It'd been three years since his lover - the man he'd thought was his soul mate-”had left, and Brendan was tired of waiting and hoping, only to be disappointed in the end. Aaron had made his choice. Brendan could live with it, would have to live with it.

He still hated it.

"'It is better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all'," he read, picking up a postcard. "Ha. Anonymous has obviously never had to deal with either."

Tearing the postcard in half, he threw it in the burn pile. He made quick work of the rest of the box, electing to keep only a few items. After he was done, Brendan sat on the fieldstone surround of the cold fireplace and started to build a fire. Feeling his pockets for a lighter, he swore, stood and went to search the junk drawer in the kitchen, retrieving a book of matches instead. He swore again when the doorbell rang.

"It's fucking midnight! What the hell?" Brendan stomped to the door, and yanked it open. "Harden! What the fuck do you want? And why didn't you just walk in?" He scowled at the dark features of Harden Langford, his best friend since third grade…and the cousin of his former lover. Harden's parents had named him after a grandfather, and it had given his friend no end of trouble.

"Thought it'd be better to knock this time," Harden said indicating a scruffy looking man standing near him. The other man stood slightly behind and to the left of his friend and stared at the ground, his hands behind his back. Brendan recognised the submissive stance immediately. This one was different. If he wasn't mistaken, the submissive had been abused. "Garrett's home, so he can't stay with me," Harden continued.

Brendan blinked and stared in disbelief at the dishevelled man as Harden's words finally sunk in. This wasn't just any submissive, abused or not. Brendan's scowl deepened. He recognised Aaron Langford, his ex-lover and partner, through the stringy, dirty blond hair and shaggy beard. The once bright, smiling green eyes were dull and lifeless. The smaller man had lost weight since he'd left - that much Brendan could tell even with the baggy clothes he was wearing.

"No." Brendan shook his head. His stomach clenched and his throat tightened. The last thing he needed or wanted in his life right now was Aaron. Responsibility be damned. He wanted nothing to do with the man who had ripped his heart out. Brendan blew out a breath and shoved a hand through his hair. He'd finally agreed to go out with Matt Carson, the good-looking office manager from the financial services firm that shared a floor with the advertising company that Harden worked at, after the man had pursued him for months. He'd spoken with the man several times and had a sensed a natural submissiveness in Matt that appealed to him on a certain level. Eventually, he would make a great sub. Aaron was a complication he didn't want or need.

"Brendan, he's only been in town a couple of hours and he has to stay somewhere," Harden implored. "Garrett can't stand him. He wants him dead and refuses to allow him in the house while he's around."

"The streets?" he suggested. "That smells like where you picked him up from. And what makes you think he is welcomed here or that my opinion is different than Garrett's?"

"He's family. My family…we're all each other has."

"He's not my family," Brendan ground out, ignoring the pleading invading his friend's voice and eyes. Brendan knew Harden spoke the truth. Both men had been kicked out of the house and disowned by their entire family the day they'd come out. They'd been closer than brothers since then. At least until Aaron left them all and headed for New York City.

"He's your soul mate."

Brendan shook his head. "No. He's. Not. He made his choice. Three years ago he walked away from me, from us and what we had together. He walked away from you."

"He'll die on the streets. It's just a couple of days. Garrett leaves on Monday."

"Hotel."

Aaron's eyes open wide, his face paled and Harden shook his head.

"It's not my problem, Harden. Put him in a shelter, a hotel, or a gutter. I don't care. But he's not staying here. He's no longer welcome," Brendan replied, steeling his heart. Having Aaron under his roof would be torture, especially when he knew Aaron didn't want him. Dating simply wouldn't be possible with his ex-boyfriend living under the same roof. He had a real date planned, not just a hook up with a submissive from the club, and he had hoped to get lucky with Matt tomorrow. An idea that had lost its appeal when combined with the reminder of Aaron living with him. Staying, he corrected himself. Aaron wasn't welcome.

"When did you become a cold hearted bastard?" Harden asked, balling his fists, testifying to the fury and worry running through his best friend.

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Colton Greenleaf pulled his Jeep Wrangler Safari to a stop in front of the sprawling two-story ranch house butted up against the setting sun and inhaled deeply. Rest and relaxation in the cool mountain air was just what the doctor ordered - or in this case, the Physician's Assistant, Colton thought, smiling to himself. He planned to do just that for the next few weeks while he waited to hear if he got the job as a P.A. in the trauma centre at the Medical Centre of Louisiana at New Orleans on the outskirts of the French Quarter. Graduating with a four-point-oh from Duke University's Physician's Assistant programme and high scores on the PANCE, the Physician's Assistant National Certification Exam, in addition to his volunteer work, would hopefully help him secure the job.

For now though, he had at least two full weeks of carefree idleness - something he hadn't enjoyed since he started college almost seven years ago. The only thing that would make the next few weeks better would be getting laid, but that wasn't about to happen when he was three hours from Casper, forty - five minutes to Cody and fifteen minutes to the small town of Buffalo Heart Springs, which boasted a human population of eighteen hundred and seventy-six, and a livestock population of easily five times that.

"Evening, Colt," a low male voice said, the sound was familiar and sent shivers through his body, straight to his cock. "Welcome home."

Damn. Of all the people he had to meet now. He should have realised that the man would be still here and wandering around. He willed his erection away and failed.

"Hiya, Hawk. And it's Colton." He prayed he sounded calmer than he felt. The older man had been the source of most of Colton's fantasies since Hawk had shown up on the ranch two weeks after his sixteenth birthday, slipping into Colton's thoughts during classes and late night study sessions even when he was on the other side of the country. Colton had a feeling that he could be on the other side of Pluto and still be affected by the gorgeous man. "Thanks, it's good to be here. Missed it." Missed you.

"Long drive?" Hawk asked, smiling though concern laced the older man's voice.

"Yes. Stayed at a hotel about an hour this side of Lincoln last night. Drove the last eleven or so hours today," Colton replied, trying to replay the lectures, scenery, the women in his cohort, anything to soften his erection. It was a losing battle. Hawk's voice thundered through his body and enveloped his cock, hardening it. Colt could only hope his parents weren't home. He'd forgotten to call when he'd stopped in Shoshoni for gas and food to let them know he would be home tonight.

Hawk raised an eyebrow. "You look beat, Colt, let me give you a hand."

"I was going to leave it until morning, but thanks."

"Go see your folks, I'll start bringing it to your room," Hawk suggested.

"But - you - you don't have to. I can get it. I just wanted to wait until morning when I could unpack and put things away," Colton stammered. He hated it when the ranch hands tried to help him out, it made him feel weak and inferior. He was pretty sure they didn't mean to, but it didn't change anything.

"If you don't want your mom's help in the morning, I suggest starting tonight," Hawk replied, giving him a knowing smile. "I won't even peek."

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Swords clanged together as two armoured men fought in the centre of a large, roped- off area. Dean Hudson sat in the bleachers with his sister and her three children watching the by-play, his gaze on the knight in the maroon tunic with a dragon painted on it.

"Uncle Dean?" a young voice called out. A small hand tugged on his shirt.

"What is it pumpkin?" he asked, pulling his five-year-old niece onto his lap.

"Is that what you did when you were in the Ma'eenes?" she asked, pointing to the knights.

"No, we weren't lucky enough to have swords," he smiled. "They didn't even give us horses."

"That's not nice of them!" she said, hands on her hips, looking indignant.

"Jennie, you're not supposed to ask Uncle about that," Dean's nine-year-old, nephew scolded.

"Todd," Dean's older sister Carla warned her eldest son. "Dean, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dragged you here."

"I've never been to a Renaissance Faire before. Besides, it beats staying home and drinking." Dean shrugged, turned his attention to his niece. "Look, pumpkin, I think that's the Queen." He indicated a middle aged woman in a heavily beaded, dark-green velvet gown.

"Queen Isabella Savoy." Carla wrinkled her nose. "Ethan and Sean call her a fun-hater and a micro-manager."

"I see. And who again are Ethan and Sean?"

"Ethan's in the maroon and white tunic with the dragon on it. He's fighting Lord Darken, Sean, in the green and yellow tunic," Carla said, pointing to the two combatants before naming the rest of the men in the fight ring.

"Everyone has a different name?" He shook his head. "How do you keep them all straight?" His gaze wandered back to Ethan. Dean had seen him without a helmet on and recognised him from the photographs his sister had sent to him while he was in the desert. Familiar memories tugged at him. Refusing to acknowledge them, he became acutely aware of his surroundings. He hoped the sights and sounds of the faire would keep the memories at bay for a while longer. Now was not the time or place to relive that hell. Smiling, he prayed Carla wouldn't notice. She deserved to see him happy, deserved a day of fun.

His sister shrugged. "From hanging around them, I know all of the Knights of Steel and a good portion of everyone else here-”the ones dressed up anyway. All rennies, the people who do this all of the time, adopt a different name and persona. If you're observant and patient, you can see scenes unfold just below the surface of the show for the public."

Dean nodded and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wanting to bolt. The crowded open area of the faire set his nerves on edge, and he longed for peace and quiet and solitude. Jennie wriggled out of his lap, and he waited for her to climb down to the bench in front of them to join her two brothers before he edged away from Carla.

Dean rubbed his sweating palms on his jeans, thankful the breezy day spared him the awkwardness of explaining why he wasn't wearing shorts. He hadn't worn shorts since before his last deployment, when his body and life were changed forever. It was a day like any other, but one he would never forget the day of his last patrol. Two years later, he was looking at an uncertain future as a disabled vet who couldn't stand on his own two feet without the aid of a cane.

He watched the maroon-clad knight, Ethan, round on his opponent, swing his sword and drive the man to his knees. Kicking him in the chest, he raised his hands in celebration as the man toppled backwards. Half of the crowd cheered. The other half booed. An armour-less man dressed in a black and white tunic bearing the colours and crest of the entertainment troop rushed forward to help the defeated knight to his feet.

"Honour her majesty!"

One after another, the armoured men dropped to one knee, heads bowed in the direction of a short, round, blonde-haired woman, who despite her smile, looked as though she'd just tasted something disgusting. Ethan stuck his sword into the dirt, removed his helmet then knelt on one knee.

Dean inhaled sharply. Long, light-brown hair was tied at the nape of the man's neck, and beads of sweat ran down the sides of his face. His angular jaw gave way to the subtle lines hidden beneath armour.

"Ethan's gay, by the way, and single," Carla whispered in his ear. "I thought you might like him."

"You told me in one of the letters you sent me. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to play matchmaker," Dean said good-naturedly, hugging his sister.

"Why shouldn't I want my brother to find true love?"