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“It’s over.” Dev’s voice was barely audible.
Casey sucked in a sharp breath, fingers going numb. Over? It never started. “I understand. I’ll go—”
“No!” Dev grabbed Casey’s hand, his grip nearly painful, his eyes wide and horror-stricken. “Not us. I don’t mean us. Never us.”
Relief washed through Casey so fast his knees wobbled. “Okay. Good. In that case, tell me about it. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”
“Casey. This isn’t your problem.”
Casey rose, wrapped an arm across Dev’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. If it’s your problem, then it’s mine. And one thing I’ve discovered about myself is that while I’m not great at long and involved processes, if I’ve got a goal in my sights, I can totally get results. Now.” He nudged Dev’s knees apart enough that he could sit on one muscled thigh—not to start anything, but so they could share the single chair. “Tell me all about it.”
Funny, but Casey’s weight in Dev’s lap, Casey’s arm across his shoulders, Casey’s warmth against his chest wasn’t the least suggestive or sexual. Dev could read the intent behind Casey’s actions as though Casey had announced each one: Here, I’m putting my arm around you to hold you up. I’m sitting down with you so we can face this together. I’m leaning against you so you’re not alone.
As bleak as Dev’s outlook was at the moment, a little bud of joy sprouted under his heart. He buried his face in Casey’s neck and took a shuddering breath. Nash would never have offered unasked support like this, any more than Dev would have taken it. Their relationship had been one endless tug of war, a seesaw where one was always down so the other could be up. A zero-sum game in which there wasn’t enough praise or admiration or space for both of them to be happy at once. And forget being vulnerable. That would have been the kiss of death.
With Casey, Dev could admit he needed help without worrying it would be kicked back in his face later as weakness, incompetence, inadequacy.
“Please tell me nothing’s happened to Ty,” Casey murmured, his breath ghosting against Dev’s temple.
“Ty’s fine. Everybody’s fine.” He pulled back so he could look up into Casey’s eyes. “But Home…” He swallowed thickly. “Home is dead.”
Casey’s eyebrows bunched. “What do you mean, Home is dead?”
“I mean that we’re broke. Bankrupt. Shit out of money.”
“That can’t be.” Casey shifted on Dev’s knee and scrabbled the stack of financial statements closer. “I saw the numbers. It’ll be tight for a bit, but once the vendor registration fees roll in next week, and with the commissions after the antique fair, cash flow will ease up.”
“That’s what should have happened. But remember I told you up at the quarry that a vendor had dropped out?” Dev nudged the mouse, waking the monitor and displaying the three emails splashed across its screen. “Look at those.”
Casey peered at the screen, squinting at the tiny font. He reached for the mouse, but for some reason, shuddered and just leaned closer. “Three more vendors leaving?” He huffed, clearly more annoyed than gutted. “The least they could do is give a reason.”
“They don’t have to. Until Friday, registrations can be canceled with no questions asked. They’ll lose their deposit, but that’s a minor amount. In fact, the registration fees aren’t that big either because the real money comes from those commissions. It’s always been that way. Vendors only have to pay a percentage of their sales after the fair, so if they have a bad day, they’re not crippled by it.”
Casey gazed at him with fond exasperation. “That is so on-brand for Home, but I’ve gotta say, completely out of step with modern business practices. Most events like this demand full payment upfront and it’s the vendor’s business to, well, drum up enough business to make a profit.”
“I know. But it’s our major draw. Vendors always called it the Fair Fair, because they know we only make money if they make money.”
“Admirable, but that doesn’t mean they get to leave us in the dark about their reasons this time. One cancellation is an anomaly. Two a coincidence. Three is a pattern, and four?” His lips thinned. “Four means something fishy is going on and unless we know why it’s happening, we can’t fix it.”
That little bud unfurled another petal. He said we. Nevertheless… “This isn’t your problem, Casey. You’ve got enough on your plate already, so you shouldn’t let this worry you.”
“Does it worry you?”
“Of course it does, which is why I have to deal with it. But this isn’t the evening you signed on for.”
“Newsflash, Dev.” Casey framed Dev’s face with his hands. “More sex would have been nice, and I’m not ruling it out in the future, but I’m not gonna whine and stamp my feet because you’ve got big problems hanging over your head.”
“You’d be the first,” Dev muttered, remembering Nash’s meltdown tantrum when he’d announced he was leaving the band to take over his family’s legacy. He hadn’t even hugged Dev or offered him any comfort over Garlan and Grandfather’s deaths, and he’d met both men.
“I know some people think sex is the reason for a relationship,” Casey said, “but to me, it’s more the result.”
“Are you saying we’re in a relationship?”
Casey mock-glared at him. “Everybody who isn’t a complete stranger is in some kind of relationship with you. I mean, Bradley is in a relationship with me, but it’s a really annoying one, built on his complete refusal to consider anyone’s perspective but his own and my continuing efforts to make him go away. I hope that the relationship we’re building—that we’ve already built—has a different profile and nobody gets to decide what it looks like except us.” His lips quirked. “I mean, I’ve already gotten more action today than I’ve had in years. Make that ever. So I’m perfectly happy to let this unfold. To let us unfold.” He gnawed on his lower lip, uncertainty flickering over his face. “That is, if you want to.”
Dev leaned his forehead against Casey’s and closed his eyes. “God. So much.”
“Good.” Dev didn’t have to see Casey’s face to know he was smiling. He could hear it in his voice.
