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  Riptide Publishing

  PO Box 1537

  Burnsville, NC 28714

  www.riptidepublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All person(s) depicted on the cover are model(s) used for illustrative purposes only.

  Clickbait

  Copyright © 2016 by E.J. Russell

  Cover art: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm

  Editor: Carole-ann Galloway

  Layout: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at [email protected].

  ISBN: 978-1-62649-494-7

  First edition

  December, 2016

  Also available in paperback:

  ISBN: 978-1-62649-495-4

  ABOUT THE EBOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED:

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  After the disastrous ending of his first serious relationship, Gideon Wallace cultivated a protective—but fabulously shiny—outer shell to shield himself from Heartbreak 2.0. Besides, romance is so not a priority for him right now. All his web design prospects have inexplicably evaporated, and to save his fledgling business, he’s been compelled to take a hands-on hardware project—as in, his hands on screwdrivers, soldering irons, and needle-nosed pliers. God. Failure could actually be an option.

  Journeyman electrician Alex Henning is ready to leave Gideon twisting in the wind after their run-ins both on and off the construction site. Except, like a fool, he takes pity on the guy and offers to help. Never mind that between coping with his dad’s dementia and clocking all the overtime he can finagle, he has zero room in his life for more complications.

  Apparently, an office build-out can lay the foundation for a new relationship. Who knew? But before Alex can trust Gideon with the truth about his fragile family, he has to believe that Gideon’s capable of caring about more than appearances. And Gideon must learn that when it comes to the heart, it’s content—not presentation—that matters.

  For Gordon, who came out to me in 1975 because of David Bowie.

  Clickbait:

  A provocative, sensationalist, or otherwise eye-catching link meant to entice visitors to a particular website. Provides enough tempting information to pique curiosity, but not satisfy it, without exploring the linked content.

  About Clickbait

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Acknowledgments

  Also by E.J. Russell

  About the Author

  More like this

  Geekspeak: Hero

  Definition: A large, attractive image on a web page, intended to telegraph the site’s content; usually the first visual encountered by a site visitor.

  Alex Henning bolted upright in bed, blinking in the dark. What the . . .? Had he been jolted awake by a real noise or a dream noise?

  The dim light filtering in from under his bedroom door hadn’t changed. The windows were dark, without a hint of dawn. Hell, his clock’s red numbers read 4:17. Since he’d only gotten to bed a little after one, he had no business being conscious. But . . .

  There it is again. A faint scrape and a soft double thump from downstairs, as if—

  “Shit.”

  He launched himself out of bed. Didn’t bother to throw on sweats or a shirt, just flung open his bedroom door and barreled downstairs.

  “Aw, fuck me.” The front door stood open, a brisk breeze sending it bouncing between the doorstop and that uneven patch in the floor. He made a mental note that he had to fix that, in the two seconds before he raced out onto the porch.

  His father stood at the bottom of the steps, his steel-toed work boots partially laced over his pajama bottoms. Alex’s balls tried to retract, both from the bite of the November wind and the idea of what could have happened if he hadn’t heard that damn noise. Dad, at large in the neighborhood, getting lost in the dark, or—Jesus—wandering out in front of an oncoming truck. Their little side street might be empty this time of night, but the crazy traffic of McLoughlin was only a few blocks away.

  His dad didn’t have his coat on—not that Alex did either, not to mention shirt, shoes, or pants. He was clutching something in his hand as he peered around in the wan glow of the streetlights.

  Keys. Car keys.

  Ice washed through Alex’s gut, making his insides as cold as his naked chest and feet at the picture of his father behind the wheel of a car. He shoved down the instinct to rush his dad like he’d rushed countless quarterbacks back in high school, and padded slowly down the stairs.

  No sudden moves. Don’t startle him. Two steps more. One step. Alex wrapped his hand around his dad’s arm and blew out a shuddering breath.

  “Hey, Ned.” Gotta remember. Don’t call him “Dad.” Since his father never recognized Alex anymore, it only confused and upset him. Don’t even think of him as “Dad.” “Whatcha doing out here? Little early for our walk.”

  “I . . .” Ned blinked up at him, his silvering eyebrows pinched together over his nose. For a second, a spark of recognition flared in those faded brown eyes, and Alex held his breath. Would Ned remember he had a son? A daughter? A wife? Or remain stuck on endless replay of a time only he could see?

  “I . . . know you, don’t I?”

  Hope fluttered in his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, you do.”

  “Hank, isn’t it? You’re on the night crew.”

  Jesus Christ, hope sucks. Alex forced a grin, despite his disappointment. I’m on the night crew, all right. Morning, noon, and evening too. Their whole family was. “That’s me.”

  Ned chuckled. “Out of uniform, aren’t you? The foreman won’t like that.”

  “It’s not time for my shift. Yours e
ither.” A shiver rattled Alex’s teeth. “What say we go inside?”

  Ned glanced around again. “I could swear I parked my truck here. Have you seen it, Hank? Blue Chevy?”

  ”Can’t say I have, but I’m a Dodge man myself. I’ll help you look for it later.” They wouldn’t find it though. That truck had thrown a rod when Alex was four, on the way to pick up his new baby sister from the adoption agency. His dad had run six blocks to flag down a cab so they wouldn’t be late. “Come on. Let’s get inside. Warm up a little.”

  Alex tugged on Ned’s arm, urging him back onto the porch. Thank God Ned didn’t struggle. A big, mostly naked, black dude dragging a frail older white guy into a house? Not footage he wanted to see on the nightly news.

  He led Ned inside and closed the door, throwing the dead bolt with a vicious twist. Damn useless thing. He’d pick up a bunch of double-keyed locks today. Install ’em on all the doors before he left for his shift this evening.

  Beside him, Ned tensed and edged a step closer. “It’s that lady again,” he whispered from the corner of his mouth. “In a nightgown.” The mingled indignation and wonder in his voice wouldn’t be out of place in a junior high cafeteria.

  Alex turned around. His mother, Ruth, stood at the foot of the stairs, her shoulders hunched forward as if she were trying to curl into a ball. So wrong. His mom had always been a posture drill sergeant. She ducked her head, knotting the belt of her bathrobe around her waist, but pain pinched the corner of her eyes, and the smile she tried so hard to wear in Ned’s presence wobbled.

  Alex had to turn away. “Well, she lives here. She’s allowed.”

  Ned shook his head, jaw set in a familiar stubborn line. “It’s not right.” He dropped his gaze to the floor and shuffled his feet before peeking up at her from under his brows. “I mean, I think you’re really pretty . . .”

  She made a sound, half-laugh, half-sob, that caught in Alex’s chest like a barbed fishhook. “You always say that.”

  “Not right for us to be in the house alone together if we’re not married, though.”

  Alex gripped Ned’s shoulder. “You’re not alone. Remember? I live here too. It’s all good. She’s . . . ah . . . the housekeeper. Remember that killer meatloaf you had for dinner?”

  “Meatloaf?” Ned blinked. “Not hungry. Why is it dark? I’m tired.”

  Thank God. “Let’s get you settled upstairs, then.” Alex led him toward the stairs, the heart-barb digging deeper in his chest when his mom scuttled to one side out of Ned’s line of sight.

  He guided Ned into the bedroom, to his side of the queen bed that he slept in alone—his mom had slept in his sister’s old room since the first time Ned had woken in the night and not recognized her.

  “Here. Let me help you out of those boots.”

  “Not a child,” his father grumbled.

  “I know. But no harm taking help when it’s offered, right?”

  “I guess.” He coughed. “Thirsty.”

  Alex glanced at the glass on the bedside table. Dang. It was empty. “Hold on. I’ll fill this up. Won’t be a jiffy.” He scooted down the hall to the bathroom, sloshed water into the glass, and raced back. As quick as he’d been, though, Ned was faster. He had his boots on again and was halfway to the bedroom door.

  “Dad. C’mon, man. Sit down.”

  Ned sat on the edge of the bed and accepted the water. “Heh.”

  “What’s funny?”

  “You called me Dad.”

  Shit. “Sorry.” At least Ned was amused this time, not angry the way he sometimes was when Alex tripped up like this.

  “You know . . .” Ned’s voice was wistful. He took a sip of water and set the glass on the bedside table. “I always wanted a son.”

  Alex’s vision blurred as Ned settled back on the pillows. “Yeah. I know.”

  Alex gave the blankets one last tug and switched off the light. Then he took the damn boots downstairs and hid them in the pantry, behind the potatoes.

  When he turned around, his mother was standing in the kitchen doorway, her arms wrapped tight across her stomach, her robe’s frayed hem brushing the toes of her slippers.

  “Is he . . .?”

  “Yeah. He’s fine, other than deciding he’s a vampire or some shit. What’s he doing awake at this hour anyway?”

  “The new medication. It affects his sleep cycles.”

  “Tell the fool doctor to change it back, then.”

  She sank into a chair at the table. “The old one made him too sleepy. He had barely any energy, and his lucidity—”

  “You’re a nurse—”

  “Retired.”

  “You still know more than half those idiot doctors at the VA.” Alex yanked open the refrigerator, pulled out a jug of orange juice, and slammed it on the counter. “Tell ’em to fucking figure it out.”

  “Language, Alex.”

  “Sorry, Mom. I’m only . . .” He ran a hand across his head, his skull trim still surprising after all his years with cornrows.

  “Tired. Worried. Sad. I know, honey.”

  “If I hadn’t—”

  “Alex.” Her voice was as sharp as it had been in his crazy high school days. “His condition is not your fault. The connections between head injuries, stroke, and vascular dementia haven’t been proven.”

  He braced his hands against the counter. “Exactly. ‘Not proven’ means nobody knows for sure.” If he hadn’t sneaked out to piss around with his first boyfriend instead of painting the porch trim like he’d promised, his dad would never have been up on that ladder. Wouldn’t have fallen off and ended up in the hospital with a skull fracture. Wouldn’t be huddled in his bed now, his family nothing but strangers.

  The exasperation on her face was familiar from his dumbass high school days too. “Would you feel better if I said it was your fault?”

  His stomach jolted. “No.”

  “Well, then.” She stood and padded over to him. “Your father has a degenerative disease, honey. You didn’t cause it, and you can’t fix it.” She squeezed his arm and let go. “None of us can.”

  “I know.” He picked up the juice jug, his fist tight around the handle. “Tonight was my fault though. I should have changed those locks months ago. Or put an alarm on the door. If I—”

  “Alex. Don’t.”

  He fumbled a glass out of the cabinet and dumped in the juice. “Is Aunt Ivy right? Are we fooling ourselves that we can handle his care?”

  “Ivy has opinions, I’ll grant you, but that doesn’t mean she knows what’s best.”

  “That’s for sure. That nursing home she’s pushing is as depressing as a fucking prison.”

  “Language.”

  “Sorry.”

  “But I agree about that place—I would never allow it. However, she does have a point. Good care costs money. If—” She cleared her throat. “When the time comes, we might need to sell the Pettygrove house.”

  His sister’s home?

  “No way.” Not if Alex could help it. Her apartment had been the last project his dad worked on before he’d gotten too sick to handle the tools. His gift to Lin, to compensate for her leaving school for his sake. If Alex could pick up a few more extra shifts, maybe . . . Yeah, and while I’m at it, I’ll add another twenty-four hours to the day so I’ll have time to work them. He knocked back the juice, then forced a confidence he didn’t feel into his tone. “If we can up the rental income—”

  “You aren’t thinking about raising Lindsay’s roommates’ rent, are you?”

  “No.” He couldn’t, not after the two of them had stood by Lin when her asshole fiancé had dumped her. “But if I get the attic apartment ready over there, and finally renovate the first floor unit, we could—”

  “When will you have time for that? You’re already working more than you should.”

  “This latest job is swing shift. Five to midnight. So I’ll have all day—”

  “Stop. Running yourself into the ground won’t help anyone. You need
to decompress, sweetheart, before you explode.”

  “Time for that later.” After his father was . . . Nope. He wasn’t thinking about that. Not now. Not ever. “I’ll go over to the Pettygrove house today and suss out what needs to be done. Maybe Dad left things farther along than I remember. I’ll—” He stared at the glass in his hand. What the fuck was he doing again? “No. I’ll go to the hardware store. Get those double-keyed dead bolts. And sandpaper. There’s a spot on the entryway floor that—”

  His mom’s light touch on his back stopped him. “Alex. You need to take a deep breath and step back. You can’t do everything.”

  “Who else is gonna do it?” He and his dad had always handled repair and maintenance, but Ned was definitely off the crew now.

  “All right. Let’s say you can’t do everything at once. Honey, you’ve never handled overwhelm well.”

  “Overwhelm? Is that even a noun?”

  “It’s a feeling. When you have too many things to do, you can’t do any of them, and when that happens . . .” She bunched her fists, then flicked her fingers out into jazz hands. “Six-month breakdown.”

  Alex scowled. “I don’t have six-month breakdowns.”

  “Not when you prioritize, so why not let a few things slide and relax a bit? You haven’t taken a day off for ages.”

  He set down the glass. “I gotta work when I can, Mom. You never know when the jobs’ll dry up again.”

  “I meant a day off from us.”

  “I’m here because I want to be. Because you need me to be. Why would I want to be anywhere else?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because you’re a young, very attractive man with a big heart who deserves a little fun. When was the last time you went clubbing?”

  Alex rolled his eyes. “I’ve never gone clubbing. It’s not my scene.”

  “Then where do you expect to meet any new men? You haven’t dated anybody for ages. At least no one you’ve brought home for us to meet.”

  “Not a lot of dating fodder in my work crews.”

  “Then what about spending an evening with friends? Your sister has her roommates, but it seems like you never see anyone but us.”

  “My circle of friends isn’t huge.”