“Yeah, no rush,” he says, and sits down on the chair by the balcony. “Look, I have something I want to tell you. I’m not sure how you’re going to feel about it.”
“Oh, really? Actually, I have something I need to tell you also.” I’ll tell him how important last night was to me. That I would repeat every moment of it again. Right now, if he’s up for it.
“I got a very interesting call from someone from college who’s in Berlin,” Brady says, his voice cool and uncharacteristically without emotion.
“Anyone I know?” I ask.
“As a matter of fact, it is someone you know,” He looks down at his feet. “It’s Otto.”
It’s like one of the gargoyles from the Gothic Quarter has fallen off its ledge and hit me in the face. The mention of that guy’s name makes every muscle tense. The second Brady and I were on a break Otto swooped in with his stupid black hair and green nail polish to steal my guy. I know we were on a break but come on. Otto seduced Brady at some party, taking advantage of the mistake I made.
“What does he want? I’m sure he wants something,” I ask, spitting out each word. There is no way I’m seeing that guy in Berlin, but even less of a chance that I’m going to let Brady go see him without me. Not that I have any right to tell Brady what to do. But Otto is a creep and I don’t want Brady anywhere near him. I can’t help it if I can’t always control my protective instincts. It’s who I am. After last night I want to protect Brady from every horrible thing in the world. That includes the conversation I overheard this morning from the For Us asshole executives and that loser in Germany. But the fact that Brady would even entertain seeing that guy makes me think maybe I’ve got this all wrong. Maybe last night meant more to me than it did to Brady.
“Why do you always think the worst of him? Otto is not a bad guy.” Brady stands up and shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
“He’s awful. Why do you always defend him?” I’m usually in control of my emotions but when it comes to this situation it’s the Wild West. I think of Otto’s hands all over my boyfriend despite the technicality. That was a long time ago and so much has happened since then, but hearing his name brings it all back.
“What are you talking about? I’m not defending him. I’m just telling you that I’m thinking of seeing him in Berlin.”
“You are what?” I ask. Anger rises from my gut to my chest. I try to push it back down.
“He called. He knows I’m heading to Berlin. Why shouldn’t I see him?” Brady asks. I don’t say anything. I know he’s reacting to my behavior today. I’m trying so hard to find the words to say what I want to say. To tell him that last night was amazing. That I want to give this impossible situation between us a chance again. But if I did that, I would have to come clean about what I know about his parents’ involvement with the For Us campaign. How he was just being offered a bone because of his family’s influence. That would destroy him. I know that. I thought maybe I could find a way to break it to him. Maybe build him up so that he would weather the storm with me by his side. But that takes a level of emotional sophistication that I don’t have. The only emotion I am feeling now is anger at the mention of Otto’s name.
I walk over to the balcony and look out the window at Barcelona as it climbs its way up the hill. A storm is approaching. I think about traveling around the city today with Brady and how I was so distant and made him feel like shit. Like I wasn’t interested. I couldn’t switch gears or tell him what I heard. I was paralyzed by my ineptitude in this realm.
Maybe I don’t deserve him. Maybe I’m too selfish and worried about protecting myself to love him. To love anyone. Instead of facing the pain, I shut down and let him think what he wanted. What a shitty thing to do. He’s been so generous with all this without any other motive than to help himself and help me in the process. I don’t have any right to open all of this up again and tell him I might be interested in trying something. What if I can’t follow through?
Brady walks out to the balcony. It takes all my mental energy to stop myself from reaching for his waist and putting my hands under his shirt so I can feel his skin under my fingers. I know I could show him how I feel about him with my body. I could run my hands through his hair, or gently pinch his left nipple, the one he claims is his favorite, or massage his ass in a way that clearly shows him how much I care about him. It’s easy to relate to Brady through my body and I’m good at it. I know that. But it’s not the same thing as having the emotional maturity to tell him how I feel about him with words.
I join Brady on the balcony and he stands in front of me and tilts his chin down so he’s looking up at me and his beautiful hazel eyes look even larger and more inviting. “Hayes, if you don’t want me to see Otto, then I won’t. Say the word and I’ll lose his number.”
He’s offering me a chance. A treatment plan. One pill to swallow. But how can I do it while hiding the truth about his parents? How can I build something real for us on a foundation of lies?
Fuck. I fucking hate feelings. They are the root of everything bad in this world. As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I know I’m being way over the top, but my logical mind tells me that is the point. Feelings push you to say crazy things, make wild statements you can’t back up. Give me science any day.
“Go ahead. See him,” I say, trying not to sound dismissive and failing miserably. Maybe this situation with Otto is the answer I need. Maybe this is what is going to save me from having to tell Brady what a shitty thing his parents did. Immediately I can feel Brady pulling away from me.
“Oh, you want me to see Otto?” he asks. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. His head down, a slight pout appearing. A surprisingly cold wind blows across the balcony, making the awning flutter loudly outside.
I clear my mind of my own selfish thoughts and try to be as honest as possible. “I want you to do what you want to do. I know this trip is important. I know you want to impress everyone and show them you can handle a serious job, and I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do.”
I think my words are reasonable but I can see Brady takes them as rejection. His head hangs even lower and he holds one hand in the other, rubbing his fingers. Once again, I want to tell him this is not about him, but how do I do that? I could tell him how I couldn’t stop staring at his neck all day where he has that little wrinkle above his shoulder and how I wanted to lick it right there under the grotto at Park Güell. Or how a part of my mind has been thinking about him moving to Boston with me and sharing an apartment and how I could make that work for us. But how can I dangle that in front of him when I know medical school will take every second of my life? I won’t have anything left to offer Brady and he deserves so much more than that.
We stand in front of each other in silence. He turns his head to the side and moves his hand across his face. I can’t tell if he is pushing back one of his impossibly sexy curls or wiping away a tear. “The Picasso Museum closes shortly. Let’s head there.” The calm surrender in his voice pierces my heart.
Brady has been working so hard to make this a success. It would kill him to find out that all his effort has no chance of moving the needle in regard to where he stands with his parents. They’ve manipulated the whole thing. I know first-hand what it is like to be treated that way. For someone to think you can’t do something on your own. That you need help to get your foot in the door. It feels like shit. But now I also know how hard it is to ruin someone’s dream with information that could change the entire trajectory and break their heart at the same time.
I watch Brady moving around the suite, preparing for the next site and know what I should do. I should sit him down calmly and tell him exactly what I have found out and exactly what I’m feeling. The examination leads clearly to the diagnosis. But the treatment is almost impossible to implement. Instead of focusing on finding courage, my mind is stuck thinking about camping and wishing we could go back to that night under the stars. I wonder if he thinks about it as often as I do.
Chapter 23
Spring Break, Morgantown, West Virginia
Brady
One year ago
“Are you sure this is even a road?” I asked Hayes. He let out a giggle, not his usual throaty chuckle. I swear he was hitting the roughest patches of road on purpose. Parts of him were still such a teenage boy.
