Turning off the water, Warner O’Brian stepped out of the shower. He grabbed a towel from the rack and quickly dried himself. Warner rubbed over his hair as he peered into the mirror.

Seeing the bruise fading on his right cheek, Warner sighed and shook his head. The proof of his father—Walter O’Brian—backhanding him was nearly gone. At least it wasn’t tender anymore.

Warner slung the towel around his waist, then stood still for a moment…listening. When he didn’t hear anything, he eased the door open as quietly as possible. He’d remembered to oil the hinges the past weekend so they no longer squeaked.

Which is why dear ol’ Dad hit me, or so he claimed.

After all these years living with the man, Warner knew he didn’t actually need a reason to hit him. If it hadn’t been the squeaking hinges, he would’ve made something up. When Walter was awake, Warner tried to be out of the house.

Crossing to his room, Warner hurried inside, closing and locking the door. He tossed the towel into his laundry basket, then chose a pair of navy-blue slacks and a light blue button-down. After laying his work outfit on the bed, Warner went to his dresser and pulled out a pair of white briefs.

Warner dressed quickly.

After slipping his black-sock-clad feet into his black trainers, Warner placed his wallet in his back pocket. He returned to his dresser and once again opened his underwear drawer. Digging in the back, Warner retrieved his small tube of concealer, his lip gloss, and his eyeliner. Once he’d done up his face, hiding the fading bruise, he put his lip gloss in his pocket and the other items away.

Grabbing his keys, Warner crossed to his bedroom door. He paused again and listened, hesitating. After a hard swallow, he eased out of his room, closing the door silently behind him.

Then Warner hurried from the house and into the morning sunlight. Getting into his car, he quickly locked the door before blowing out a relieved breath, allowing the tension to drain from his shoulders. Warner started the car, put it into gear, and headed off to work.

“Two more weeks,” Warner whispered, anticipation filling him. “Two more weeks and I’ll have enough for first and last months’ rent, as well as a little extra. I can hardly wait.”

With those thoughts running through his head, Warner tuned the radio to his favorite soft rock station and started singing along. He knew he couldn’t sing for shit, but that didn’t stop him. He loved singing. Well, Warner loved music in general, even if he had no talent for singing, dancing, or playing an instrument.

Warner would be the first to admit he wasn’t the most coordinated person. That had been the first of many issues that started his father having problems with him. The man who’d donated half his genes to create him had wanted a big brawny son who could follow in his athletic footsteps—football specifically.

The fact that Walter had ended up with a slightly plump, uncoordinated son pissed him off. Add in that Warner was gay—there was just no hiding it after his mother had introduced him to make-up at the age of thirteen—and Walter washed his hands of him. That had been fine when Warner’s mother had been alive.

“I miss you, Mom,” Warner whispered, feeling the pinpricks of tears behind his eyes. “Shit.”

Blinking quickly, Warner returned to singing as he finished his drive to work. He’d been working at Rosewood Estate Winery for nearly three months. His father insisted on taking half his pay for rent, which made saving up to move difficult, but he was almost there.

Finally.

“Can’t wait until I don’t have to walk on pins and needles every day.”

Seeing the sign for the winery ahead, Warner found himself looking forward to his shift. He worked as a server on their covered patio restaurant. Their menu was limited, but what food they offered was excellent. That was a good thing since Warner had never had a waiter job before, but he was forever grateful that Marion Cooper had taken a chance on him, and he worked extremely hard for her.

Warner parked his sedan in the employee lot and hopped out. Eager to start his shift, he hurried inside. After greeting Kelly, who stood behind the tasting counter, Warner went into the back.

“Morning, Warner,” Marion greeted when she spotted him. A smile curved her full pink lips as she watched him clock in. “Can I talk to you for a minute, honey?”

“Good morning, Marion,” Warner replied. He still felt a little funny calling his middle-aged boss by her first name, but she’d insisted. “Sure.” Stopping beside her, Warner cocked his head. “What can I help you with?”

“Oh, I just wanted to talk to you about your position.”

Warner couldn’t help the way his eyes widened as he felt a gasp escape him. “Did I do something wrong?”

Oh, god. No. I need this job.

Marion eyed him for a second. Then it was her turn for her eyes to widen. “Oh, goodness, no.” She rested her hand on Warner’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. “I’m so sorry, honey. That was a horrible way to begin. You’ve certainly done nothing wrong.” Smiling again, Marion told him, “You’ve done everything right. I just wanted to know if you’d be interested in expanding your abilities?”

A relieved breath left him in a whoosh. “Oh.” His unexpected heartrate spike slowly began to settle. “What do you mean?”

Indicating the main floor, Marion told him, “Did you know that Kelly’s moving?”

Warner shook his head. “No. I hadn’t heard that.” Unable to keep his curiosity to himself, he asked, “Where’s she going?”