CHAPTER NINE

When Ryan heard the engine of Wyatt’s motorcycle revving to take off, and the gate closing behind him, he sighed in relief and leaned against the dresser in his room.

He was supposed to be getting ready for his meeting with Eric this morning, but he’d been fighting the compulsion to exit the house, walk across the yard, and knock on Wyatt’s door. Tell him not to go. Tell him to bring Ryan with him.

Beg him to change his mind, even though that was the very last thing Ryan should ever ask him to do.

He should feel relief that he was on his own again—he’d always felt like he was the best version of himself free and unencumbered—but the house already felt empty because he knew if he walked into the kitchen, there wouldn’t be a familiar pair of blue eyes or that smile.

Ryan took the bike, hoping the speed and adrenaline would dispel the frustration bubbling away inside of him. By the time he made it to the café, he felt a little better but still edgy.

“You look like someone shot your dog,” Eric said when Ryan sat down at the table.

“What the hell, man,” Ryan said, now even more annoyed. “Why would you even say that?” He could usually handle Eric’s usual lack of tact and incredibly blunt delivery. He could even appreciate it at points.

He was not appreciating it now.

“Because you look pissed off,” Eric said.

Ryan sighed and leaned back in the chair, stretching out his legs from the ride in, crossing his feet at the ankles. “You’re an asshole.”

“I’m an asshole because I said it looks like someone shot your dog or I’m an asshole because I’m forcing you to give up on Dream Chef and find someone else to be your fake boyfriend?”

“Both.” Ryan scowled.

“But mostly the latter,” Eric deduced. He wouldn’t be as good of an agent if he wasn’t brilliant at reading people. Or probably as much of an asshole. The realization was a cold comfort, and Ryan realized that for the first time, the possibility of being traded or waived by the Dodgers didn’t fill him with the worst dread.

It was Wyatt getting on his bike and going back to Napa, never to be seen again.

Ryan pushed the thought away, rationalizing that the only reason that he felt this way was because Wyatt had left this morning. But he’s coming back, he told himself firmly.

“Fine. Whatever. Yes.”

“Dream Chef is no doubt very dreamy,” Eric said dryly. “I heard you took him surfing. I also heard you took him to Flor’s house.”

“You heard?” Ryan raised an eyebrow, feeling dangerously on the edge of getting very pissed. “I thought we talked about this. I don’t like being followed.”

Eric usually backed down when he heard that tone of voice, but this time he didn’t. “You should be happy it was me and not some random photographer.”

“I’m not important enough for the paparazzi to stake out,” Ryan argued.

“As soon as they scent the possibility that you’ve found someone, they’re going to want to know who it is. And those pictures will be very valuable.”

“I thought we were going to organize that so I didn’t have to worry about being stalked by the paps?” Ryan said.

“We are. But you have to have a significant other to take that romantic walk on the beach at Malibu. Or however we decide to do it. You have to have someone.”

Ryan’s stomach cramped at the idea that it wasn’t going to be Wyatt. He put it down to low blood sugar. Being hangry always made him crabby as hell.

“Can we order? I’m starving.”

“Sure, whatever, yes.” Eric raised his hand and the waitress came rushing over. She was blonde and pretty, and Ryan wondered vaguely if she was his latest affair.

They ordered. Ryan ordered too much food, everything on the menu that wasn’t something Wyatt had made him already. He didn’t want a direct comparison; he honestly wasn’t sure he could handle it. It was already fucking difficult to push the thought of Wyatt away just so he could keep it together. He didn’t need Eric watching him cry into his cereal bowl.

“I found a great guy for you,” Eric said as soon as the waitress left. “You’re gonna love him.”

Ryan knew he was pouting. He knew it was unattractive. He didn’t give a shit. “I don’t wanna love him. That’s not the point.”

“Okay, he’ll be easy to tolerate.” Eric pulled a picture out of his briefcase and slid it over. The guy was very cute, just as advertised. Blond twink material; bright green eyes and an infectious smile. Ryan tried to dredge up even a fraction of interest and failed.

“What’s his name?” Ryan said, because he needed to say something. Eric was clearly eager and they needed to get this done.

“Matt.”

Ryan tried to imagine dating, fake or otherwise, Matt. He failed. “He’s an actor?”

“He’ll do whatever. He’s very flexible.”

Ryan shot Eric a dirty, dark look.

“I meant for the role,” Eric clarified, but the look on his face told Ryan the whole story. He’d meant exactly what Ryan had thought he had. And maybe a few months ago, he might have wanted to hook up with Matt. The point of finding someone Ryan liked was to pave the way for that possibility, that eventuality.

But Ryan didn’t want to hook up with Matt, no matter how flexible he was.

“I’ve got nudes too,” Eric said, patting his briefcase. “Just in case you want to see.”

“Jesus,” Ryan exhaled. “You’re a fucking menace.”

“He offered them. He really wants the job.”

Ryan was disgusted and did nothing to hide it. “He needs the job, you mean.” He’d lived in LA almost his entire life, he knew exactly how many desperate, out-of-work actors there were, and what a lot of them would do for the money to stay, or even for a good word in the ear of the right people.

It wasn’t surprising to Ryan that Eric would use that particular disadvantage to his advantage. Which had been one of the reasons Ryan hadn’t wanted to use an actor for this.

Eric waved a hand. “They all do. It’s not really a surprise.”

Wyatt had needed a job, no matter what story his pride had told, and Ryan had given him one. He wanted to give Matt one for similar but very different reasons. Except even Ryan knew he couldn’t employ the whole world.

“Just meet him,” Eric cajoled. “One date.”

Ryan didn’t say a word. Just glared.

“Okay not a date. A meeting. A business meeting. Very straightforward, to the point.”

“And we’ll pay him for his time,” Ryan said with a sharp nod. “Generously.” It wasn’t much, but it was what Ryan could do.

Eric frowned. “Two days. Saturday night, I’ll send him to your house.”

Ryan didn’t really want Matt in his house. He was a stranger. Of course Wyatt had been a stranger too, though that had only felt true for a few short minutes. Maybe Ryan just needed to give Matt a chance.

“Fine.”

“You know,” Eric said, leaning back in his chair, looking smugly self-satisfied that he’d convinced Ryan to give Matt a chance, “you could always just fuck Wyatt on the down low if you want him so bad. Fake date Matt, and fuck Wyatt. It would work out okay.”

Ryan was disgusted but even more disgusted with himself because that thought had definitely crossed his mind more than once. Except that he didn’t want to only fuck Wyatt. They were friends. There were other undercurrents that Ryan couldn’t quite explain. But while he definitely wanted to fuck him, that wasn’t it.

“Thank you for the personal advice,” Ryan said stiffly. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

The food came then, which Ryan was infinitely grateful for. He could eat and ignore Eric for the rest of the meeting.

Eric droned on as Ryan shoveled eggs and sausage into his mouth. “What about Adidas?” was the only question he inserted.

“Adidas?” Eric questioned, having the nerve to look peeved that his soliloquy was interrupted.

“Yeah, what about their direction? Did you convince them to keep the focus more LGBT-friendly?”

Eric pulled out his phone and scrolled until he found what he was looking for, and slid it across the table.

It was a mockup, with another random person standing in for Ryan. He was staring right through the screen, eyes piercing, and he was naked except for a pair of low-slung black athletic shorts and a pair of black Adidas shoes with the details picked out in a rainbow of colors. The baseball bat he was holding was the only movement in an otherwise static ad, holding it diagonally across his body, like it was just about to spring into action.

It was eye-catching and arresting and Ryan loved it.

“I don’t know what you told them, but this is dynamite,” Ryan enthused, something other than annoyed for the first time since he’d sat down.

“It looks good,” Eric admitted. “They didn’t have the bat at first, and it lacked something. Even they liked the idea of adding it.”

“What about Sports Illustrated?” Ryan asked.

Eric chortled. “When they get a look at the preview for this ad, they’re going to be falling all over themselves to do a cover shoot for Opening Day. Trust me. You’re going to be the new Colin O’Connor.”

It was a comparison that Ryan had experienced from the moment he’d very publicly come out of the closet right before the draft. It was one he respected and appreciated, but frankly, he was done being the next version of O’Connor. He was ready to differentiate himself and be the best version of Ryan Flores. This Adidas ad might be the first step in that direction.

“We talked about this,” Ryan warned.

“I know, I know. We did. But this,” Eric said, voice growing harsher around the edges as he pushed Matt’s picture back in front of Ryan’s plate, “is how we get you to the place you want to be.”

“I already told you I’d meet with him,” Ryan said, leaning back and crossing his arms across his chest. “You don’t have to convince me.”

“To meet with him? No. I don’t. But to give up your fantasy of Dream Chef, yes, I do.”

“Don’t call him that.” Ryan sighed. He ended up wanting to punch Eric in the face at some point during every meeting, but he was doing a great job of being infuriating today.

“It fits.” Eric paused, and peeling a few twenties off the roll of cash he kept in his pocket, tossed them onto the table. “I have another meeting in a few. Are you done?”

Ryan was definitely done, though he was pretty sure that Eric was talking about the food still left on his plate. “Yeah,” he said. He hadn’t really been hungry after all. Or maybe he’d only been hungry for Wyatt’s food.

If that was the case, then he was officially pathetic.

“You’re wasting away,” Eric said as he got up from the table. “Stop mooning after Dream Chef and get your mojo back.”

“Saying shit like that is why you’re getting a divorce,” Ryan called out towards Eric’s back, but he didn’t turn around. It wasn’t even true; Eric was in the middle of a horribly acrimonious divorce because he was a royal asshole.

He’d neatly maneuvered him into a corner where he couldn’t help but seriously consider the possibility of fake dating Matt, no matter how much he didn’t want to.

The problem, Ryan sighed, shoving his sunglasses back on his face, was that left him in a worse mood than he’d been in to begin with.

———

Wyatt had called his brothers and had told them to meet him at Nana’s home that afternoon. Of course when he pulled into the lot, three minutes before the agreed upon time, they hadn’t arrived yet.

It wasn’t so much a surprise as it was a continual disappointment.

He checked his phone, cleared the handful of emails, and even though he didn’t see any new texts, lingered over his conversation with Ryan anyway.

It felt stupid to text him that he’d arrived in Napa safely, because that wasn’t something Ryan had asked of him. They were barely friends, clearly muddling through on that end, and anything else they could’ve been, Wyatt had shut down.

That didn’t change the fundamental desire he felt to talk to him, even to send a short text telling him he’d arrived okay.

It was a problem, and one they were going to have to try to address when Wyatt got back to LA, because clearly it wasn’t going away and it certainly wasn’t getting any easier.

Wyatt checked in at the front desk, clipped the guest badge to his pocket, and went straight to his nana’s room, hoping that he’d catch her in it. He hadn’t told her he was coming because he hadn’t known what to say to her after the incident over the phone the other day, and then the longer he’d gone without calling her had made him feel even worse.

Finally, it had just made sense to make the drive and try to find an equilibrium in person. He wasn’t proud of it but he rationalized that her not recognizing his voice or his name had thrown him considerably and that she really did love surprises.

He found her in the same spot he’d left her at, only a few weeks before—sitting on her comfortable chair, a book in her lap, staring out the window at the garden.

“Nana,” he said softly, and this time when she turned towards him, she didn’t jerk and the book didn’t fall. But her eyes were his worst nightmare come to life—completely, totally blank.

She didn’t know him anymore.

Something nasty in his gut was clawing, desperate to get out, and he only held it together because he’d read that it was important not to upset the loved one when they didn’t remember.

“Hello,” Bea said quietly. She didn’t ask his name, but she didn’t have to. He saw the lack of recognition plain all over her face. He was a stranger to her, and he’d only left two weeks ago.

He should have been up here every single damn week, like he’d originally planned on doing. He’d not come last weekend because he’d told himself it felt wrong to leave Ryan when he’d just started the new job. But the truth cut a lot closer to the bone; he’d not wanted to leave because it was Ryan, and he was crazy about him, even if there was no fucking hope to be had.

“Hello,” Wyatt parroted back, hands useless at his sides. He kept fucking waiting for the recognition to flash on her face, for her to realize he was her grandson, that she loved him. For her to throw her arms around him and proclaim how much she missed him, and how terrible her new painting was, but that she wanted him to see it anyway.

He’d even take her reciting the plot to the new romance novel she was reading this week.

“Wy, you’re here,” Tony’s voice echoed from the doorway, but he felt growing horror as the recognition did begin to dawn on her, but it wasn’t for him. It was for his brother.

“Tony, you came today,” she exclaimed, rising to her feet and giving Tony the hug Wyatt craved.

It was even worse when she turned to him, and that little crease of uncertainty formed between her white brows when she looked at Wyatt.

“It’s Wyatt, Nan, you know him. Your grandson.” Tony’s voice was patient, and he hadn’t just had the legs cut out from under him, so he could still speak. But then it was Tony, Tony could give anyone a run for their money in the speaking department. It was probably why he went through girlfriends like candy bars.

“Wyatt,” she said in a puzzled voice.

He saw the moment the fog lifted but even though he felt an incredible relief when she pulled him in for a tight hug, gripping him for far longer than she’d done with Tony, it was a bittersweet moment.

He’d known this was coming someday. He hadn’t prepared for it, because he didn’t think you really could prepare for the day when the woman who loved you and practically raised you didn’t know who you were.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here, Wyatt,” Nana said in a soft voice. She didn’t mention the lack of recognition earlier, and that was consistent too with what he’d read about her condition. “How is the new job in LA?” she asked, drawing him over to the couch, sitting down next to him.

He kept her tiny, gnarled hand curled in his. When Tony gave him a look, Wyatt glared at him. Tony could care about all that fake-machismo shit; Wyatt was going to spend time with his grandmother while he still could. Besides, Tony knew Wyatt had never given a crap about all that anyway.

And suddenly, people knowing that wasn’t as terrifying as it had been only a few hours earlier. Wyatt had always heard people talk about life-changing events that drastically altered your priorities but he’d never experienced it for himself. Before today, he’d always assumed they over-dramatized the situation in the re-telling, but now Wyatt realized they hadn’t. It really happened, and it was happening to him.

“It’s good, it’s real good,” he told her. He didn’t tell her that every day was an exercise in frustration. “I like my boss a lot. He’s really nice. A friend, almost.”

“She said you were cooking for some hotshot ball player,” Tony inserted.

Wyatt looked over at his brother. His hair was cropped close, one of his tattoos poking out of his t-shirt sleeve. He looked good, better than he’d seen him in awhile. If the new girlfriend was the cause for this, then Wyatt found he might actually approve for once. “Yeah, I am.” He hesitated, usually never wanting to test Tony’s comfort level with anything but straight white men, but fuck it all. “Ryan Flores.”

But there was only approval and excitement on Tony’s face, and it occurred to Wyatt that even as he’d been working his ass off in Bastian Aquino’s kitchen and so many others and learning a bushel of life lessons, Tony might have been growing up too. It was a strange thought, his brother acting like an adult, and it set Wyatt’s world even more off-kilter.

“No shit? That’s pretty cool. He’s a great player. Got a bright future. Might actually get the Dodgers a ring one of these days. You’re his private chef, Nan said?”

No mention of Ryan’s homosexuality. No mention that he was Puerto Rican. Wyatt let out a breath. “Yeah, I’m cooking for him.”

“Speaking of jobs,” Nana interrupted firmly. “Where is Marco?”

“Actually working today,” Tony said, turning his full-charm smile onto his grandmother. “Imagine that.”

“Imagine that,” Wyatt repeated back wryly.

Nana elbowed him hard in the side. “I know Marco can be difficult sometimes, but he’s still your brother, and he tries.”

“When it’s convenient for him,” Wyatt said under his breath, ribs still smarting.

“I’m cooking in the kitchen over at the Napa Tavern,” Tony said. “You know the place?”

Wyatt did know the place and nodded. It was several steps above some of the shitholes Tony had worked at in the past and served good burgers. It wasn’t Terroir, but then Tony had gotten kicked out of culinary school for rarely going to class, and then mouthing off when he actually went, so Terroir was way out of his league.

Stupidly, Tony had seemingly resented Wyatt’s climb up the ladder of success, while never really attempting it himself. Wyatt had never understood why. Tony had lots of talent, though little taught skill, but everything he’d squandered, he’d squandered himself.

“You need to take me there sometime, Tony,” Nana said kindly.

Tony and Wyatt exchanged dubious looks. The Tavern was not a place that Nana would enjoy. “We’ll take you to Terroir next time they do Sunday brunch, how about that?” Wyatt asked. He could probably get Aquino to part with passes. Probably.

Or maybe he could convince Kian to get them on the guest list.

“Maybe Tony’s new friend could join us,” Nana offered.

“Yeah, I heard you had a new girlfriend,” Wyatt said dutifully, because Tony was his brother and not a total waste of space. And even though she would probably be done with him in six months tops, Wyatt still felt obligated to show a vague interest.

But to Wyatt’s surprise, Tony flushed. “Uh, yeah. About that . . .” He hesitated, and Wyatt didn’t understand what was going on. Tony was always eager to talk about his latest hookup.

“Tony’s girlfriend isn’t a girlfriend, I guess,” Nana said softly. “I misunderstood the last time we spoke, Wyatt.”

Wyatt could not understand what was happening right now.

Tony, who had been part and parcel with Marco over the years. Not rampantly homophobic, but exuding all sorts of bullshit toxic masculinity? Who had bullied Wyatt for hitting or running like a girl? Tony was not straight?

“Nana,” Tony hissed, but he looked pleased. Like he was happy it was finally out of the bag. “You were supposed to let me tell him.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose I should have. I’m sorry, Tony.”

Wyatt could only sit there in shock as his brother came out to him.

Not once in his life had he ever been envious of either of his brothers. Not a single fucking time. And now, he was green through and through with jealousy. Because Tony had found his nerve and his balls and his bravery before Wyatt had. He should be happy for him, proud of him, but the truth was that he was fucking envious.

“I’m just happy you’re happy,” Wyatt could only say woodenly.

“I am,” Tony said, and for the first time, Wyatt could see that he was. And not only happy, but free.

The jealousy billowing in him grew exponentially.

“Let’s go see my new painting, boys,” Nana said, and they both stood, following her like she’d bidden them.

“I hope that everything’s okay between us,” Tony whispered, leaning towards Wyatt.

Wyatt could only stare back at him incredulously. He must know. “You know it is. You know I’m gay.” He’d never explicitly told either of his brothers, but he’d always figured they must have some idea. The complete lack of girlfriends had probably tipped them off.

“Yeah, of course. I know.” The sympathy in Tony’s eyes was galling and it shouldn’t have been. Wyatt should have been over the moon for him right now. “I just figured. She might not be around, at least as herself, for much longer.” Tony shrugged. “I didn’t want her memories of me to be a lie, and the more I thought about it, the righter it seemed. To tell her the truth. To tell other people the truth.”

Nana brought them to the art studio at the home, and Wyatt stood in front of Nana’s new painting, making all the appropriate noises, saying all the right things, but internally he was reeling.

Why hadn’t he thought about this situation with Nana like Tony had? Why had he seen the situation through shades of fear, instead of trusting the woman who had raised him and loved him? Why had he doubted her inherent ability to love him unconditionally? He loved her unconditionally. He’d accepted everything that she was dealing with, and had done everything in his meager power to make sure she was protected and safe and taken care of.

Why had he assumed that she would feel any less towards him?

When he and Tony finally exited the home, Wyatt felt like he’d been wading through fog for the better part of the two hours he’d spend with her.

“You look thrown, man,” Tony said, clapping him hard on the shoulder as they paused near Wyatt’s bike. “Were you going to tell her first or?” He hesitated, like he’d been waiting for Wyatt to come out first, like Wyatt had that right in the family.

It was still too new for Wyatt to trust Tony, to confide in him. No matter what sexuality he was. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” Tony said evenly. “I’m just figuring my shit out, and for awhile, I figured it was your turn first. You’ve been waiting a long time. New job. I figure you must be hooking up with Flores, that’s why you left Terroir.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes. Trust Tony to be so close, yet so far, from the truth. “I’m not hooking up with Flores.” Present tense. “I left Terroir because the Bastard pays pennies on the dollar. I needed the money to help pay for Nana’s care.”

Tony had the nerve to look ashamed. “I’m sorry about that. I think in a month or two, I can start contributing too. And I’ll harass Marco. He always seems to have money, though god knows I don’t want to know where he gets it from.”

“I don’t know if I want Marco’s blood money,” Wyatt snarked. Was Tony even joking? Wyatt wasn’t sure he wanted to know either.

“I’ll just tell him to send you the legitimately earned dollars,” Tony teased, sliding his sunglasses back on his face. “I’ve got to run, but don’t be a stranger.” They hugged, quick and tight, and Wyatt tried to remember the last time they’d even touched, never mind embraced. When they were kids, probably. And that made more sense now than it had ever made back then. Poor Tony, hiding for so long. It ached, that knowledge, but Wyatt still couldn’t seem to assuage the jealousy.

Tony’s old Mustang was parked next to Wyatt’s bike. The paint looked better, and when Tony slid into it and started it, it didn’t rumble like it was about to explode in fifteen seconds.

It was hard to realign his world again, but Wyatt realized as he climbed onto his bike that Tony was actually getting his shit together.

For the first time ever, maybe it was time for Wyatt to follow in his big brother’s footsteps.