What If... I Remember?

By Heather Mar-Gerrison

Something was buzzing next to my head. I frowned and tried to block the noise out. I opened my eyes and realised what the noise was. Groaning I reached for my phone.
“Mr Mancini?”
“Um, yeah.” I replied trying to stretch out my cramped muscles and get my head in gear.
“Can you come to the hospital, we have just brought a young man in, who keeps asking for Ben Mancini. We found your name in his phone – do you have a brother or ah, a close friend, sir?”
“Colin?” I asked incredulously. Colin was my best friend and the only person I knew who would ask for me.
“We don’t know the man’s first name, yet sir – he’s delirious with pain and is really quite confused – but not about you. He gave us your number.”
Sitting up I rubbed my eyes and glanced at the clock. It was well past ten. I’d had two beers so I couldn’t risk driving there. “I’ll have to get an uber. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Which hospital is he at?”

I found myself gazing down at a very familiar face. My heart started beating wildly in my chest. I'd been working for him and his lover, installing bathrooms and a kitchen for them both. This guy, currently lying unconscious in the bed was Mr Ethan Farrell. He was the younger of the two and was a totally spoiled brattish guy who had point blank refused to pay me for the work I'd completed because he'd changed his mind on the colour of the tiles. I was currently in dispute over money with him. His face was bruised and he had little cuts all over it; tubes up his nose and down his throat. He’d been in an accident obviously – but he hadn’t asked for his lover, John Jamieson. No. He’d asked for me... and that was surprising, certainly - and very, very intriguing...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heather Mar-Gerrison
• Release date: Aug 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463103630

Heather Mar-Gerrison

I love to write M/M romance and as a sucker for a HEA, you're guaranteed one in my books. #happyheatherafters

Book preview

What If... I Remember…?

(What If #5)

Heather Mar-Gerrison

Smashwords Edition

Heather Mar-Gerrison Copyright 2018

Revised Edition 2022

Awesome front cover design courtesy of Shutterstock

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanically, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work.

Prologue

Ben

"Fucking bastard!" I exclaimed as I reversed at top speed all the way down the driveway of my latest job. "Stuck up, rich-fucking-baaaaastarrrrrd!"

Screeching to a halt at the end of the impressive driveway and slamming it into first gear roughly, I pressed my foot a little harder on the accelerator and pulled out, passing a dozen or so cars that were on the lane back to the main road. It was only then that I noticed the blue flashing lights behind me and it was then I also realised that I was well over the speed limit. Well wasn’t this just my fucking lucky day?

Being a generally mild-mannered and law-abiding citizen, there was really only one option, even though I did very briefly fantasise about flooring it and trying to get away. With a massive defeated sigh, I pulled over.

Having a little difficulty getting her off the ground today, sir? The police officer asked me sarcastically.

Biting my tongue in order to not get myself into any more trouble, I just stared forward and nodded abruptly.

Can you step out of your vehicle and blow into the bag, sir.

I rolled my eyes; as if I was going to be over the limit at this time of day, when I didn’t even drink much anyway. Seriously? Still, he was only doing his job, albeit in that slightly bored manner that they were so damned good at – as if I was a complete idiot and he was the fucking King or something…

I got out of the van and stood dutifully while he explained to me, as if I were an utter moron, how to blow in the bag.

I blew. I had nothing to be afraid of. As I knew it would be, the reading was negative.

That’s one thing in your favour, son, the officer said, looking slightly less fearsome now that I’d at least proved that I was sober, it doesn’t, however, excuse you for doing ten miles per hour over the speed limit.

Only ten? Phew. What a relief… I nodded, feeling my face turning red as cars slowed and the occupants of the cars all had a good look at the guy being reprimanded by the law. Yeah, I’m really sorry about that – I, uh, lost concentration I guess.

The police officer wasn’t a bad guy – he was just doing his job and I wasn’t enough of an arsehole to not realise when I was being a thrown a life-line.

I’m not going to give you a ticket today, son – I can see you’re a hard-working guy and everything else seems to be in order, so just remember to keep to the speed limits in future or it’ll be a different story next time.

I nodded and thanked him again. It was true. I was a hard-working man. I was struggling to make ends meet since my wife, Julie, had walked out on us. I was paying child-minders extortionate fees that I didn’t want to pay. Hell, I didn’t want the kids being brought up by child-minders. I’d rather stay home myself than that. But what I really wanted was for their mother to come home and look after them – only she’d had a very early mid-life crisis or something and had run off with some bloke she’d met in the school playground (yeah, I know – it’d be amusing if it wasn’t my wife – and my life that had gone down the crapper) and had left us without a backwards glance.

I knew the woman he was married to. She’d been as shell-shocked about the whole thing as I was – but neither of us wanted to be anything more than acquaintances and I certainly didn’t want to burden her with my children when she already had three of her own.

On reflection, I’d been kidding myself that Julie and I had been happy – obviously I was very wrong about that and I felt guilty about it, too...

I’d been aware that I was attracted to men before we’d even started going out with each other, but I’d buried those feelings and had thrown myself headlong into falling in love with her instead – and I’d done a bloody decent job of it, too. We had two beautiful children between us, Joshua and Amanda, and I loved them to pieces. Our sex life had dwindled to barely nothing which was disappointing but kind of a relief too, since it occurred to me that I actually didn’t fancy her and was climaxing only when I squeezed my eyes shut and imagined that she was a really hot guy... Yeah, I know... It really couldn’t last.

Anyway, maybe she guessed that I wasn’t quite as straight as I’d always made out, or maybe I’d simply been working too much and neglecting her or maybe I just didn’t pay enough attention, or maybe she just fell out of love with me. I didn’t know and now that it had been a fair old while since we’d even spoken to each other – I didn’t much care, either. She’d gone. She didn’t have any plans to return and I had full legal custody of our kids so I was at least confident on that score.

I will admit that my confidence had been knocked by the whole thing and I hadn’t embarked on anything more than the odd date since. I’d concentrated on my kids and their wellbeing – and that meant working a whole lot harder for the extra cash needed to pay for their care.

That was why I was so totally bummed today. Mr Farrell, fucking dickhead extraordinaire, refused to pay me for the work I’d done at his super-posh town house – not that it was even his house. It didn’t belong to either he or to Mr Jamieson, his partner – but the tenancy agreement was in Mr Jamieson’s name. I wouldn’t mind but it was three fucking storeys tall and must have been worth well over a million and yet he was refusing to pay me the last eight hundred quid he owed. What an arsehole.

Mr Mancini, the job has not been completed to my satisfaction. He bit off, sashaying kind of sexily around the kitchen island, a beautifully crafted piece of kit that I’d only finished for him a few weeks back.

I felt my heart start to quicken – mainly with annoyance at his tone but I’m not gonna deny that his booty looked pretty damned good in his tighter-than-tight jeans. I beg your pardon? I asked politely as I finally managed to avert my gaze.

He shrugged, I don’t like the colour of the tiles now. He tossed over his shoulder at me before turning around and giving me the full force of his stare. His eyes were the most unusual shade of silvery blue – absolutely stunning. I did wonder if he wore coloured contact lenses – they really were an incredible colour.

I took a deep breath and counted to at least twenty-five, trying my best to rein in my temper. Mr Farrell might have been the most annoying little piece of shit, but he was delicate-looking and I had no desire to frighten him by yelling in his perfectly moisturised face. With respect, Mr Farrell, I said stiffly, the colour of the tiles has nothing to do with my workmanship.

He flicked his perfect hair away from his forehead with a slim, long-fingered hand. I want them taking off again and replacing with white ones, he said, lowering his stupidly posh voice to a sexy little whisper. It might have worked on his stupid boyfriend when he did that, but it sure as fuck wasn’t going to work with me. Once that is done, I shall pay you your eight hundred pounds. He eyed me with a mocking sneer.

I shook my head. He had to be deliberately winding me up. I couldn’t do all that for the same amount of money. It would take hours to take them all off again and replace them – and that was without the extra cost of the replacement tiles. Surely, he knew that? Better check… It’ll cost you a lot more to take them all off and replace them. I can’t be doing that for nothing.

He shrugged a slim shoulder, Then you’d better leave now. I’ll have to get another contractor in. He stared at me in that maddeningly challenging way of his. "One who knows what he’s doing."

He might have been kind of beautiful for a guy – but my God, he was one bitch from hell and that kind of made him ugly... Actually, no it really didn’t. The little fucker. Annoyingly, he was still beautiful.

Still, there was no arguing with the annoying little bastard and I was sure if I stood there for a second longer, I’d lose my shit and smack him one – so I did the only thing I could do. I turned around and I left – leaving the door wide open because I knew that would wind him up. He was paranoid about his thousand-pound Bengal cat getting out of the house but I already knew that the very beautiful, very friendly, Mr Twinkle was fast asleep, upstairs on Mr Farrell’s soft, fluffy, top-of-the-range feather pillow. I wasn’t that cruel.

I’d been working for Mr Farrell and Mr Jamieson for a couple of months and Mr Twinkle and I were firm friends. Cats either like you or they don’t and this fine specimen (pretty much like his owner) was absolutely beautiful. He was a silver-charcoal Bengal cat with blue eyes –