When Brody opened his door, the last person he expected to be standing there was Owen Richards. The two just stared at each other for a minute, Brody trying to read the expression on Owen’s face. “Owen?”
Owen finally spoke, though all he said was, “Uh...”
Still, that one word snapped Brody out of his own daze. “Um, do you want to come in?” He stepped to the side, giving Owen space to walk by.
Owen shook his head, as if coming out of a stupor. “Yeah, thanks.” He stepped into the room awkwardly and looked around.
Brody grabbed a few stray pieces of clothing that covered the only chair in the room. “Do you want to sit?” Oh God, his heart was pounding. Why was his heart pounding? Owen was standing in his apartment. That’s why. The last thing he wanted to do was fuck this up. He suddenly wished he had a bigger place. Instead, it was a studio apartment with the smell of burgers coming up through the vents. He looked around the small space. The ceiling had a brown stain, probably from a leak. The fridge and oven were at least twenty years old and the full bed sat unmade in the corner. Definitely not even close to the Victorian Owen lived in. “Sorry, I’d offer you something drink, but I haven’t gotten to the store yet.”
Owen shook his head. “I won’t be here long.”
Okay, so…still angry. At least it wasn’t laced with the venom from earlier. He’d take it.
Brody tried to think of what to say next. He needed to explain again about earlier. “Listen, I hope things are okay with you and Jonah. I swear to you, your name never came up once.”
“Or you wouldn’t have taken the job?” Owen’s question was harsh, his face hardening with a deep scowl.
Shit, there was that venom in his voice again.
Brody put his hands out in front of him in defense. “No! No, that’s not what I meant. I just—I know how you feel about me.”
“Which all stems from how you feel about me, remember? How I live my life and who with?” Owen’s blue eyes were cold, the ice in his voice creating a chill in the small apartment.
Shit, this was going downhill, really fucking fast. Brody ran his hands through his hair, pulling at it. “I deserve that. I know I do, but I’m not trying to insult you. I’m trying to... Christ,” he rubbed the back of his tense neck, “I’m fucking this up.” He shook his head, at a loss for words that would make any of this okay.
Owen hung his head, his right hand over his eyes, and let out a long exhale. “Look, this isn’t why I came over. I didn’t come here to start a fight with you.” He looked back at Brody, his eyes darkening. “The last thing I want to do is disrespect someone in their own home.”
Another dig at him, but Brody could take it. He took a step forward. “I would never―”
“You’re right, because if you ever make one rude comment, one disgusting remark, or judge me in my own fucking home, you’re out,” Owen barked.
Wait, what?
“Are you saying...?” Brody couldn’t believe his ears. Had he heard him wrong?
Owen exhaled and cupped the back of his neck. “I’m saying I’ll give you a chance. This isn’t exactly the ideal situation for either one of us, but I’m willing to give it a try.” Finally, his eyes had softened some. Not drastically, but the temperature in the room had warmed a degree or two. Owen opened his mouth, shutting it again, like he wasn’t sure if he should say something. Resolve settling on his face, he finally said, “I’m sorry about what I said earlier...about you coming back here. I was pissed, and I didn’t consider the reason that you’re here is for your mom.”
So that’s what this was all about? Brody could stomach a lot of things. Pity wasn’t one of them. “Look, if the reason you’re giving me this job is because you feel sorry for me, don’t bother.” He walked over to his suitcase and started to unpack.
“I don’t feel sorry for you.”
Brody stopped pulling his clothes out of the bag and looked up.
Owen paused for a minute, the tension lessening in his brow. In a softer voice, he said, “I was you. Twenty years ago, I went through the same thing when my dad passed away. Believe me, I know the last thing that you want is pity. I got so damned tired of people telling me they were sorry for what I was going through. It never made it any easier, and my dad was still sick. I still lost him.”
Brody sat down on his bed, at a loss for what to say. So, he asked the question that had been haunting him. The question that made his heart break every time he let his mind wander. “How did you get through it?” His voice broke on the last word, and he bit his bottom lip to hold himself together.
A slight smile curved Owen’s mouth. “I mowed lawns.”
“What?”
Owen ran a hand through his dark hair. “You need something to take your mind off it, Brody; something that keeps you busy so that you’re not thinking about it all day, every day.”
“Like remodeling a kitchen?” he asked.
Owen laughed and said, “Like remodeling a kitchen.”
As quickly as the laughter came, it ended, as if Owen had silently reminded himself he wasn’t supposed to like Brody.
Brody stared at the man standing in the center of his apartment, wondering what to make of him. Owen was spitting daggers one minute and giving him advice—and a job—the next. Brody scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Thanks, Owen. I wish you hadn’t gone through that, but it helps to know that someone knows how I feel right now.”
“Yeah, well, of all of the things for us to have in common, it would’ve been nice if it wasn’t that.” Owen started for the door, turning back around he said, “You can start again tomorrow at eight. I won’t be there, but Jonah will. I’m assuming he’ll give you a key or something so we don’t always have to be there. We’re putting our trust in you. I’ll let him handle all of the details.”
As Owen reached for the doorknob, Brody felt desperate to say something else...something he was long overdue in admitting. “Owen?”
Owen stopped and looked back at Brody, his fixed stare sending a chill down Brody’s spine, but Brody still said softly, “We have more in common than you think.”
Brody watched a smirk form on Owen’s face as he opened the door, and when he walked out, Brody heard him mutter, “I doubt that.”
~ɤ~
Brody worked it out with Jonah that he’d have two hours every afternoon to go and sit with his mom. She’d be too tired in the evening, and the whole point in being here was for her. His plan was to bring his lunch and sit with her. She didn’t really eat much lately, and when she did, Aunt Nora or the nurses would help her. Still, it gave him the opportunity to tell her about his life in Boston and what he’d done for the last thirteen years.
He liked the arrangement—dealing with Jonah, instead of Owen. The guy was so easy-going, and he knew about Brody’s past with Owen, but he still gave him the benefit of the doubt. Owen just made him nervous as fuck and confused the shit out of him. They gave him a key, allowing him to come and go between the hours of eight and six. So far, he hadn’t seen much of Owen, even with him being home in the afternoon. Brody made the effort to be friendly, trying to make Owen see he’d changed. He didn’t get much of a response, but he kept trying. He didn’t want to get too comfortable and let his guard down around Owen, thinking that Owen was okay with him being there. It had only been a couple of weeks.
“What’s...on your mind...Brody?” His mom’s voice was so weak, barely more than a whisper, but he made sure to hear every word. He needed to hear every word from now until― well…he didn’t like to think about what it meant when those words ceased.
“Nothing, Mom. Do you need anything?” Brody smoothed out her blanket for about the tenth time since he sat down with her an hour and a half ago.
When his hand neared hers, she moved her fingers to touch his, and he took her hand. It felt so frail, so small within his massive hold. He knew it took a lot of her energy to even try and hold his hand, and he stored that in his heart, along with other little moments he’d had with her since coming back.
“I never wanted...to...” She took a deep breath and tried again. “I...”
“Mom, it’s okay. Just rest.” Seeing her so fatigued and out of breath tore at his heart.
“No. I have to say this.” She looked into his eyes for a moment, and he knew she was trying to find the energy to continue. “I never wanted to lose you...my precious boy.”
Brody swallowed the lump he felt forming in his throat. “Mom...”
Her eyes pleaded with him to let her go on, so he waited and listened.
“I wasn’t strong enough...to fight him,” she took a breath, “and so...I lost you.” As the tears trickled out of her eyes, he stopped trying to hold back his own.
“You didn’t lose me, Mom. I’m here.” His vision blurred, the tears falling like rain now.
“I have never, ever been ashamed of you.” She shook her head, the slight movement wasting so much of her energy. He just wanted her to rest. “I was protecting you…the only way I knew how.”
“Shhh...” Brody wiped away her tears. “Mom, I realize that now. Just rest, please? For me?” His plea worked as his mom finally closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Brody didn’t know how he was going to do this. His heart literally felt like it was being crushed. All those years wasted, anger wedged between them because of his father. Damn that bastard for taking away the relationship he could’ve had with her. He’d never get those years back, and the weight of that thought sat on his chest, crushing it, making it impossible for him to breathe. The guilt he felt for not trying to reach out to her more—for assuming she felt the same way his father did—made him sick to his stomach. He wanted to scream. He wanted to hit something.
He wanted—I can’t do this. He fell apart.
Brody felt hands on his shoulders. “Hey. Hey, Brody, take a deep breath. Come on, you need to get some air.” Aunt Nora pulled Brody up out of the chair and supported some of his weight as she walked him outside to the front porch.
He was full-on sobbing now, his body unable to stop shaking, welcoming the support as he leaned on his aunt. She hugged him, letting him get it all out, and damned if he didn’t need that right now. Brody felt like he was drowning in regret as guilt washed over him. No matter how hard he tried to fight the current of sorrow pulling against him, he was no match, and it made him falter. How can I be strong for her if I’m falling apart at the seams?
“Brody…” His aunt’s voice finally broke through the thick fog consuming him. “I had no idea. I swear to you, had I known what you and my sister were going through, I would’ve done something.” Brody’s aunt rubbed his back, as she cried with him.
They stayed like that for a while, his aunt whispering over and over again how sorry she was.
Brody finally let her go and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, wiping away the tears. “It’s not your fault. We never spoke about it. No one knew.” Softly, he whispered, “I should’ve come back sooner. I thought she was ashamed of me. How could I be so stupid? I left her here with him.”
“It’s not your fault, either,” she said and added, “I knew he was a bastard. Come on. Let’s sit down a minute.”
Brody walked over to the old rocking chair and prayed it would hold his weight. His aunt Nora followed, choosing to sit on the porch swing.
“I should’ve known, Brody. He’d never let her visit, never let me come here. In the beginning, it was different. I guess he wasn’t as controlling then—but I knew. Damn it all to hell, deep down, I knew something was wrong, and I did nothing.”
Brody leaned forward and rested his right forearm on his thigh while he reached his left hand out to her. When she took it, he said, “Do you know how many people live in this town? Everyone knows everyone’s business—but no one truly knew what was going on in this house.”
“Please tell me. Tell me what happened. Tell me what I can do for you now.”
Brody squeezed her hand. Slowly, he began to let out thirty-three years’ worth of bottled-up anger, resentment, and torment at the hands of his father.
~ɤ~
Owen caught a glimpse of two people embracing on a front porch, and the realization hit him that he was looking at the Walker house. It was Brody, crying in the arms of an older woman Owen didn’t recognize. Oh, God. Had his mother passed away? He forced himself to look away, to drive on. He was seeing something extremely personal that was none of his business. He didn’t want it to be his business.
Still, Owen couldn’t help but ache for the man, knowing exactly what that felt like. Well, he would know if Brody’s mom had passed soon enough. He’d gotten to the bakery early this morning to put away some shipments of paper products, so he’d left a little early. Brody shouldn’t be too far behind him. That was, if Brody even came back to work, and seeing the state he was just in, Owen wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t.
Twenty minutes later, Owen heard the front door open and close. Owen tried to pretend he wasn’t sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for Brody to come in. He didn’t want to care, didn’t want to feel anything for the man. He wanted to convince himself that there hadn’t been remorse in his eyes the other day. He wanted to ignore the vulnerability wrapped around the man when they’d been in his apartment. Yet, he found himself walking out of his bedroom, down the stairs, and into the kitchen.
Brody looked like he was setting up to paint the walls. Looking at him now, you would never know he’d been so devastated not long ago. But Owen did know, and he couldn’t get the image out of his head. Memories of the pain he’d felt when losing his dad came rushing back.
“Hey.” The word came out of Owen’s mouth before he could think better of it. He had avoided any and all small talk with Brody up to this point, so he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. A small part of him wondered if Brody needed someone to talk to. Why would he want it to be you?
“Hi,” Brody responded, looking wide-eyed over his shoulder, obviously surprised that Owen had acknowledged him.
Owen didn’t know what to say now, hadn’t really come up with a plan or any brilliant words before he walked into the kitchen. Thinking for a moment, he went the obvious route. “Nice to see some work being done on this room. Hopefully, it won’t take too much to get it looking like a kitchen again.”
“Yeah,” Brody replied hesitantly, like he still didn’t understand why Owen was talking to him. “It’s a beautiful house. It deserves to be properly restored.” He smiled, probably thinking that it hid the pain he was going through, but Owen still saw it there.
They stood awkwardly facing each other, until Owen said, “This house has been in my family for a while now. When my great-aunt passed away, she left it to me. It was supposed to go to my father, but―” He stopped short. Probably not the best thing to bring up. Great job, Owen. Changing the subject, he asked, “Did you go to school for architecture or something?”
Brody glanced at Owen and turned around, leaning back against the floor-to-ceiling pantry cabinet and crossing his arms over his chest. That well-defined chest. No, focus, Owen. Seemingly unaware of Owen’s roaming thoughts…or eyes, Brody answered, “Well, it started out that way, but I never graduated. Dropped out and got my contractor’s license instead.”
“You didn’t like architecture?” Owen prodded.
Brody shook his head and laughed, a fog veiling his eyes. “I loved it.” Then he turned back and started taking painting supplies out of a store plastic bag.
Shit. Another sore subject and, yet, Owen couldn’t seem to stop the questions. “Then why did you leave?”
Brody’s back was to Owen, and he stopped moving, his body physically tensing. Owen watched Brody breathe deeply, his white T-shirt stretched across his wide, muscled back. He really was a beautiful man. Shit, again with the thoughts he shouldn’t be having. It’s exactly why he’d been avoiding conversation with Brody up to this point. Flashbacks of the man standing in his apartment in nothing but a pair of unbuttoned jeans popped into Owen’s head at the most inconvenient times. Fuck, the image shouldn’t be there at all. What the hell was wrong with him?
“I didn’t want to leave, I had to. For some reason, they don’t let you take classes unless you can pay. Go figure.” Brody laughed, looking over his shoulder at Owen.
Owen knew he should drop it. Just walk away, Owen. Stop being such a nosy bastard. “No financial aid?” So much for dropping it.
Brody sighed and put down the paint roller before turning around. He leaned back against the counter and gripped it with his strong hands, the muscles in his forearms flexing. “You can’t get financial aid when you’re still considered a dependent. Convenient, right? I was twenty, legally an adult, and I couldn’t get it even though my dad disowned me.”
“You didn’t fight it?” Owen asked.
“I didn’t know how to fight it. Honestly, I didn’t even consider it.”
This conversation was not going the way Owen had hoped. Hell, Owen wasn’t even sure what he hoped to gain from it. In trying to take Brody’s mind off of something bad, Owen managed to bring up another sore subject. “Shit, man. I’m sorry. I’m just going to shut up now.” Owen started to turn when Brody stopped him.
“I don’t mind talking about it, Owen. It doesn’t bother me anymore. I made my peace with it a long time ago. Being disowned by him was probably the best thing that ever could’ve happened.” Brody’s brown eyes grew intense as he said, “When he disowned me, that kid that I was in high school―you know, the one who was such as asshole and treated you like shit? That guy left with him. My dad finally released me to be the person I wanted―no, needed to be.”
“What do you―”
Owen stopped short, and both of their heads turned when Jonah walked in the door. Owen wasn’t sure if he was happy for the interruption or frustrated by it, although, this conversation had gotten way more intense than he’d been expecting.
Jonah looked at both men and sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re fighting again. I thought we moved past that?”
“No, we weren’t,” Owen quickly clarified. Looking back at Brody, he said, “Just talking.” He hoped like hell that Brody could see that this conversation wasn’t over.
Something in Brody’s eyes told Owen the message had been received loud and clear.