Chapter 6
I also find I don’t so much mind the dawning of the workweek anymore now that Bryce is living with me. Shower sex after his workout has become the norm, and it leaves me happy, if not a bit distracted, for most of the day until we can get back to it before bed.
Work itself has slipped back into a steady, drama-free rhythm. Though without Daniel, I’m far more loaded with responsibility than I’d like to be. But it’s still mostly manageable, and I’m just not as easily fazed these days, being at a zero stress level physically and emotionally.
But on Wednesday I get a one-two punch that knocks me back. First, Bryce calls to tell me that Daniel’s trial has been postponed until further notice, mentioning something about a procedural error. Not long after, I get a text from Heather saying she can’t make dinner and she’ll let me know when she’s able to reschedule. I text her back asking if she’s okay, knowing that she’s likely not in light of the news, but get no response. And for the rest of the day, I can’t shake my concern for her.
Predictably, Bryce encourages me to let it go, that only she can decide to reach out, and to give her space if that’s what she needs. It doesn’t make me any less worried, but I decide that he’s at least partly right — there’s nothing I can do about it. So I bury myself in my new routine of work and Bryce, and by the end of the week it’s mostly stopped niggling at me. Mostly. But when I realize that’s happening, it starts niggling at me that it’s not niggling at me, so I decide to just go back to worrying. Even though there’s nothing I can do. Understandably, it drives Bryce a little crazy but, as with everything, he takes it in stride with immeasurable grace and patience.
When Saturday dawns, and I mentally prepare for lunch with my father and half-brother, I wonder briefly how far Bryce’s Zen will go. Not that I know exactly what to expect, but I’m bracing for the worst. Though still hoping for the best.
I’m a little surprised when Bryce comes downstairs in dark slacks and his favorite cerulean blue button-front shirt that makes his eyes look the same, bright shade. He looks ridiculously handsome, of course, but he’s normally a jeans and T-shirt kind of guy on the weekend. I’m wearing my usual uniform of shirtdress and leggings, opting for a deep purple long-sleeved dress with black leggings. So I don’t look underdressed next to him, per se, but it does make me wonder.
“Why so fancy?” I ask him teasingly.
He cocks an eyebrow. “You don’t think I look nice?” he asks, running a hand over his chestnut hair. I stand up and reach up to do my own pass, noting that it’s long enough to really run my fingers through again. He sighs happily and slouches to let me massage my fingers along his scalp.
“You’re gorgeous and you know it,” I murmur. “But it’s just lunch, at a bistro. There’s no dress code.” He straightens up and runs his fingers along my arms.
“Maybe not for the restaurant,” he allows. “But there’s an implied meeting-the-father dress code.”
I laugh. “You’re worried what my father will think of you?” I ask incredulously.
He shrugs. “Doesn’t hurt to look nice,” he replies.
I have to bite my lip to contain myself. “You are too cute, Bryce Hoyt,” I respond.
He frowns exaggeratedly. “Not cute,” he replies, deepening his already low voice. “Manly.” He kisses me ferociously, his hands pawing at every inch of me, his hips pressing into mine.
When he pulls away I’m gasping for breath. “Careful there, tiger, or your manliness will be a little too obvious,” I joke.
His eyes sparkle mischievously as he lowers his mouth to my ear. “Wouldn’t want that. It might be …” he runs his nose down my ear and neck, causing that entire side of my body to tingle, “distracting.” He kisses my clavicle softly, then pulls away, grazing a nipple with his fingertips as he goes. And then he walks nonchalantly to the kitchen bar to grab his wallet. It takes me a full minute before I’m composed enough to move. He grins back at me over his shoulder, perfectly aware of the effect he’s had on me.
“Ready?” he asks, turning back to me.
I shake my head at him. “If you’re ready to start behaving, I’m ready to go,” I qualify.
He laughs. “Fair enough.”
We arrive at the restaurant right on time. Bryce, ever the gentleman, holds the door open for me. He’s practiced at discretion, but I’ve started to notice how he scans a room whenever he enters it. And I’m glad we don’t go out more often, because it’s a reminder of the still present potential for danger. I sigh inwardly, wondering how we’ll ever know to stop looking over our shoulders.
But I’m quickly distracted from my own thoughts as I spot my father waving at me from a table off to one side of the restaurant. I can see the appraising look he throws Bryce as we approach, and I realize I’d forgotten to tell him I wouldn’t be alone. But, since he isn’t either, he’d already gotten a table that could seat four.
And for the first time, I notice the half-brother I’ve never met. The product of my father’s secret other “wife.” A wife only in practice at the time, as he was still married to my mother. But all I know about my sibling is his name — Hunter — and that he’s seven years younger than me. And, at around twenty-three years old, he still looks mostly like a kid. At least to me. And I can tell by the look Bryce is giving him, he feels the same way. I remember suddenly that Bryce, in his once nonstop quest to gather intel on everyone I associated with, mentioned Hunter having anger issues, and I regret never asking what he’d meant.
As we arrive at the table and they both rise to greet us, Hunter looks even younger as my eyes flick from him to Bryce. Bryce, at thirty-four years old, has a distinct air of commanding confidence. It helps that he towers over all of us, broad and strapping, his hard body still completely evident under his well-tailored clothing. He’s the epitome of the manly protector. Hunter looks like a man-child in comparison. Though he actually also looks much like my father, with the same sturdy but otherwise unremarkable build and the same light brown hair as both my father and me. Hunter is also only a few inches shorter than my father’s six feet, putting him right around my height. It all contributes to the air of youth about him.
“Sera,” my father greets me. “It’s so nice to see you. I didn’t know you’d be bringing someone.”
“Sorry,” I reply sheepishly. “I forgot to mention. This is Bryce Hoyt. Bryce, this is my father, Kent Evans.”
Bryce extends a hand, which my father shakes firmly. “Nice meeting you,” Bryce says, his voice low and measured.
“And you are?” There’s a challenge in my father’s eyes that irks me.
“Bryce is my boyfriend,” I interject. The corners of Bryce’s mouth twitch as he takes in my irritated tone. I reach a hand out to my half-brother. “You must be Hunter.” He glances down at my hand before taking it. His handshake is surprisingly solid.
“Yeah,” he says dismissively. “Nice to meet you.”
My father shoots an annoyed look at Hunter. “Please, sit,” he offers, taking a seat himself. Hunter sits down next to him, so Bryce and I take the seats across from them.
There are only three menus, but having been here before with my father, I already know what I want, so I pass mine to Bryce. Likewise, while Hunter peruses his menu, my father’s stays folded in front of him. And he’s staring at Bryce.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you,” I say to my father, attempting to draw his attention away from Bryce before he notices. Kent’s eyes jump to mine, and he seems to snap out of it a little.
“It’s okay, I’m just glad we were able to get together,” he replies. “How did everything go with your, er, merger, was it?”
“Yes, the merger,” I confirm, loosing a breath. I hadn’t realized how long it’s been since we saw each other. And so much has happened since then. Not that he needs to know about most of it. “It was rough going for a while there. But things seem to be mostly in a good rhythm now. I’ve taken on a lot more responsibility, but I’m also learning a lot.”
“More responsibility than running your own company?” he asks skeptically.
I smile vaguely. “Well, no,” I admit. “It’s just different, I guess. When it was my company, I had to do a lot of tasks I didn’t really enjoy but were necessary. Now I mostly get to stick to the real estate-related stuff — project selection, negotiation, goal setting, that sort of thing.” I think hard for a minute trying to remember what my father actually does, if he’ll even understand where I’m coming from. He used to change jobs a lot when I was a kid, and I know he talked about his current job at our last lunch, but I’m having trouble recalling exactly what it was. I seem to remember it being related to the legal field, but for some reason it’s eluding me at the moment.
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Evans?” Bryce pipes up, and I want to kiss him for asking. I hadn’t noticed, but his menu is now folded on the table in front of him and he’s leaned back in his chair casually, one hand resting on my knee. I also note that Hunter is still studying his menu, though I’m beginning to think it’s to avoid participating in the conversation.
My father shifts imperceptibly under Bryce’s cool gaze. “I’m a process server,” he replies. Ah. Yes. That. Bryce suppresses a smile and purposely avoids looking at me. He obviously finds that funny, and I’m not sure why. “What is it that you do, son?”
“I run a corporate security firm,” Bryce replies matter-of-factly.
My father frowns. “Hoyt, did you say? That wouldn’t be Hoyt Corporate Services, would it?” he asks curiously. And I’m sure the surprise shows on my face.
“You’ve heard of us,” Bryce replies with an amused smile. “How nice.”
“Yes, well, your company has been around a long time,” Kent hedges. “You seem a bit young to be running the operation, though.”
I can’t help the indignant look that breaks across my face. “Um, hello? I ran my own company for years, and I’m younger than Bryce,” I pipe up.
“Sera, I apologize,” my father replies, blushing. “Obviously, you were doing very well. It’s just Hoyt Corporate Services has quite a reputation. And some very high-profile clients.”
“What he means is, my company protects some of the largest and wealthiest companies in the Seattle area,” Bryce interjects. “And those companies are run by people with high standards. They expect their affairs to be handled by someone who knows what they’re doing. Someone with experience.”
Now my father is beet red. And I notice that Hunter has put his menu down and, while still silent, is watching with amused interest.
“Well, yes,” my father replies, clearly beyond embarrassed. “But I didn’t mean to imply anything bad about you, Bryce.”
“It’s all right, Mr. Evans,” Bryce responds in a calm tone. “I didn’t expect to be running the company so soon, either. But my father recently passed away, so that’s just how it went. I have both undergraduate and graduate business degrees, had been training under my father for the better part of two decades, and was deployed multiple times as a Navy SEAL security specialist. So I assure you I’m more than qualified.”
And Bryce is such a humble person, that he says it as if he were simply talking about the weather. But I can’t help giving a smug grin. And Hunter looks positively gleeful.
“Badass, dude,” he says seriously to Bryce, raising a fist. Bryce laughs and reaches out to reciprocate the fist bump.
“Thanks,” Bryce replies, still chuckling.
My father is spared responding as the waitress arrives to take our orders.
“How long have you two been dating?” my father asks after she’s gone. And while I’m thankful he’s moved on from questioning Bryce’s qualifications, I’m not sure I like where this new line of questioning is going, either.
“Well, we’ve known each other for months,” I reply carefully. “But we’ve only been dating a couple weeks now.” Lordy. Saying it sounds odd. It feels like we’ve been together for so much longer.
“Oh, well, that’s nice,” my father responds, clearly relieved that Bryce wasn’t just a secret I’d been withholding from him.
“What about you, Hunter?” Bryce asks, leaning forward onto his arms. “What do you do with your days?”
Hunter shrugs noncommittally. “Haven’t been able to find a job since I graduated,” he replies, sounding bored.
“Translation: he plays video games when he isn’t out vandalizing public property with those — ”
“God, Dad, could you please not?” Hunter interrupts my father. Our father. Hunter doesn’t look mad, just embarrassed.
“What did you get your degree in?” I ask Hunter kindly.
“Art,” he replies simply, finally looking me in the eye. And I’m extremely surprised. I look over at Bryce to find him studying Hunter with an appraising look. This was news to him too. And that kind of amuses me, considering Bryce usually knows that kind of information. Again, at least when it comes to people I might spend time with.
“Also known as a ‘Would you like fries with that?’ degree,” my father jokes. But nobody laughs. Hunter shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
I almost ask Hunter what kind of art he does and what sort of job he is looking for, but I don’t want to give my father more opportunity to make jokes at his expense, so I opt for changing the subject instead.
“I’m sure he’ll find something great,” I respond to my father. “I don’t think you ever mentioned what your wife does.” I suddenly realize I have no idea what Hunter’s mother’s name is.
“Barb is a beautician,” Kent supplies.
“Oh,” I respond, not quite sure of what to say. “That’s great.” Awkward silence descends upon the table for a moment until Bryce breaks it.
“You guys ’Hawks fans?” Bryce asks. Hunter shrugs, but my dad lights up.
“Hell, yes,” he responds vehemently. “I can’t wait to watch us kick Dallas’ ass tomorrow.”
“I don’t know, we’re pretty evenly matched,” Bryce replies. “Should be a good game.”
“Evenly matched? Please!” my father scoffs. And for the bulk of the rest of lunch, they proceed to break down each team’s strengths and weaknesses and make predictions on tomorrow’s game. I’m not a huge football fan, but frankly I’m just glad there’s something to fill the conversation. And by the time we’re done eating, whatever tension that existed between my father and Bryce is long gone.
I also realize I didn’t really get much of a chance to talk to Hunter. So as we are leaving, and my father and Bryce are still chatting animatedly about all things football, I slip Hunter my business card.
“My cell number is on there,” I explain quietly as we walk a bit behind the others. “I’d like to get to know you better, but I don’t think we’ll get to do that with these two around. Give me a call sometime, ok?”
Hunter turns the card thoughtfully in his hands before carefully slipping it into his pocket. “Sure thing,” he responds. While his response is as taciturn as he has been all afternoon, he at least seems less bored and standoffish than he had at the beginning of lunch, so I take it as a win.
Once Bryce and I are alone in the car, I’m quietly processing the afternoon when he touches me lightly on the knee without taking his eyes off the road.
“You okay?” he asks gently, returning his hand to the steering wheel.
“Yeah, definitely,” I assure him. “Though I think it’s going to take me a while before I can get a good enough read on things to decide how I really feel about it all. What did you think?”
Bryce laughs. “It doesn’t matter what I think,” he replies with a grin.
“Oh, please,” I respond. “Of course it does. You’re the best judge of character I know. I take it you weren’t impressed then?” He looks over at me briefly, obviously flattered by the praise.
“I don’t want to say anything negative about your father. You’ve probably heard enough of that to last you a lifetime,” he says carefully. “And in general, it seems like he honestly wants to make amends and get to know you.”
“But?” I prompt. Bryce presses his lips together and shakes his head. “Spill it, Hoyt. Does this have anything to do with him being a process server? I saw that look on your face.”
Bryce bursts out laughing. “Yes and no,” he admits. “I don’t have anything against process servers. But given your father’s history, it just cracked me up. Because it totally fits.”
I give him a bemused look. “And why is that?”
“Process servers deliver, or serve, legal documents and summons to people. Often people who don’t want to be served. So they have to be, let’s say, creative at times,” Bryce explains. “So it’s funny because your father has always been a sneaky bastard, but now he’s actually getting paid to be one.”
“That is strangely appropriate,” I agree. “I notice you didn’t mention having anything negative to say about Hunter. I thought you were concerned with some sort of anger issue he supposedly has.”
Bryce glances askance at me. “So you do listen to me occasionally,” he jokes. I give him a sharp look. “Okay, okay. I may have been wrong about Hunter. The kid seems harmless. In fact, I’m surprised he’s not more of an ass given what a jerk his dad is to him. So whatever happened, I think there’s some serious context missing.”
“What happened?” I ask.
Bryce doesn’t answer for a moment. “If I suggested that you wait until he tells you, would you be upset?” he asks tentatively. “Like I said, I think it needs context, and I don’t want it to negatively affect your opinion of him if it’s what I think it is. And it looks like he could use you in his court.”
“When you put it that way, I guess I can wait,” I agree. “Do you get sick of being right all the time?” I want to be grumpy about it, but his answering laugh is all sunshine, and I find it hard not to smile.
“Baby, I wish I were,” he replies. “But we’re all wrong sometimes.”