CHAPTER FOURTEEN

BRANDON

 

I walked through the diner feeling inconspicuous in my sunglasses as I usually did during daylight hours, much like Clark Kent feels that his flimsy disguise will hide his true identity. And like Clark Kent, the disguise always seemed to work.

I didn’t have to wait to be seated, knowing exactly where I was headed, and I slumped into the secluded booth in the back. Nick sat across from me, looking both peeved and intrigued.

“You’re never late,” he stated, not looking up from a pile of paperwork.

“Lost track of time talking to Scott.” I picked up a menu, hoping my casual demeanor would set him off the trail. It seemed to work as he nodded and pushed his glasses back up the slope of his nose.

A diner outing with Nick normally would have been casual. We would have bullshitted about this and that, he would’ve given me the lowdown on the wife and kids, and I would smile and nod, having not much to add to the conversation myself. But this was a business meeting, and Nick meant business.

He pulled a sheet of paper out from the stack, adjusting his glasses once again before peering down at his chicken scratch handwriting.

“So, there was a call the other day from Burberry. They want you for their Fall/Winter collection next year. It is—and I quote—inspired heavily by the sensuality of leather. I have no idea what the hell that might actually mean. Sounds a little kinky to me, but I told them we’d discuss details. Totally up to you if you want to go for it, but I think you should hear them out. It’s been a couple years since you’ve done any mainstream modeling work, and it looks good for you. Keeps you in the spotlight. Keeps people talking.”

Oh, how ironic, I thought, after just being involved in the modeling conversation with Holly.

“The sensuality of leather?” My imagination blazed a trail with every image I could muster from my curious college days with BDSM porn. “I’m not wearing one of those freaky masks.” 

Nick snorted a laugh, raising an open palm in the air. “Dude, I have no idea. I just answer the calls and take the notes. You could, you know, hire someone else to handle this shit. Like, oh, a publicist or an assistant or ...”

“Yeah, but that’s part of my charm. Small town guy, small town crew.”

“I didn’t know that was a thing,” Nick muttered.

“Oh, it totally is,” I said, nodding insistently. “I don’t need a circus of people when I have you.”

“You’re not going to have me after I have a stroke,” he pointed out before reading off the other items on the laundry list of messages: I had pending interviews with People, GQ, and Writer’s World. Glamour was naming me #16 on their list of Sexiest Men. Jimmy Fallon wanted to set something up. My publisher was throwing some big party for the five-year-anniversary of the first book’s release, and then finally, of course, there was my current work in progress.

“So, how’s that going?” Nick asked, shuffling the papers again and waving Birdy over to take our order. With a twist of my mouth, I wasn’t sure how to answer. If I lied again as I had for months and said it was coming along well, he would expect it done sooner. My hands went to my hair, and he immediately shook his head before resting his furrowed brow into the palm of his slender hand. “You’re fucking kidding me, right? You said it was going well, Brandon. The hell am I supposed to tell Patricia?”

“I don’t like the direction its going in, man. It doesn’t feel right.” I scratched the stubble on my cheek, shaking my head. “I think I actually want to rewrite it. I’d need more time, though, and—”

“Fuck. No. Absolutely not.” Nick waved his hands as if he were directing traffic. He did it well, and if he hadn’t been so angry, I would’ve suggested that as his next gig when S&S Publications decided to send my contract to the shredder. “You can’t. You’ve taken too long on this already. If you had told me that, uh, a year ago—or hell, even six months ago—then it would’ve been no problem, but dude, you don’t fuck the hand that feeds.”

“I didn’t know I wanted to rewrite six months ago,” I said through my own aggravation, chewing the inside of my lip. “You think I actually want to scrap something I’ve been working on for the better part of a year? Of course not. But I can’t focus, man. I want to change things up. I have some new inspiration, and … maybe it’s time for Breckenridge to settle down.” I clasped my hands together on the table, shifting a little on the squeaking vinyl seat.

“You’re writing a romance novel?” Nick eyed me, as though waiting for me to laugh and assure him that I was only kidding. When I didn’t, he slid both hands over his head. “You really want them to kill me, don’t you?”

“Talk them into giving me more time, okay? Work your magic. Say I had a family emergency or some shit, and I’ll buckle down and bang it out in the next few months. They won’t argue too much with me. I’m the reason they were able to send the whole team to Jamaica for two weeks, for fuck’s sake, and where was my invitation?”

Nick opened his mouth to say something when Birdy bounded over, grinning with her ruby red lipstick.

“What can I get you, boys?” she asked, sliding into the seat beside me. I put an arm around her, taking in the heavy scent of cigarettes, and she reciprocated by resting her head against my shoulder. “No Holly today, huh?”

Oh, I could have killed her.

I didn’t particularly care to look at Nick, didn’t exactly want to know what little smirks his face was twisting into. But my eyes slowly made the shift, and I saw him with that teasing smile that I hated so much. The one he would always give to me before asking if I had “gotten any,” and in that moment, I could only assume that he was guessing that I had, in fact, “gotten some.”

I shook my head, struggling a smile. “Nah, she’s working today.”

“Oh, right. What does she do?” Birdy asked.

“She babysits her niece,” I said, glaring at Nick as he held a fist to his mouth.

Birdy nodded as though this were the most interesting bit of information she had received all day—most likely because she would be using it later on in conversation with my poor, hopeful mother. I expected her to continue with another slew of questions, digging for more information to relay back to her master, but she left it at that.

She took our order, not bothering to jot it down in her notepad. After twenty years of serving us turkey club wraps and coffee, she had become a pro and committed it to memory. She turned on her heel to fetch mugs, giving Nick a whopping few minutes to interrogate me.

“So … Holly, huh?” He folded his arms on the table and leaned forward with a sly smile that made him look like the sleazy wingman in an R-rated movie about a bunch of buddies looking to get laid. “Why haven’t I heard about her, huh?”

“Because it isn’t a big deal. She’s someone I hang out with at Reade’s occasionally, and one time, we came here together as friends. Birdy met her, and of course she ran with it. But seriously, dude, we are friends—that’s all.” I crossed my fingers that he bought the friend bit, but to my dismay, he didn’t. He knew me better than that, and for this, I cursed him and lifelong friendships.

“Not a big deal? Dude, you haven’t stayed in contact with a woman since Julia left.” Groaning, I leaned my head back to stare up at the tiled ceiling and raked both hands through my hair. Nick let out a triumphant laugh and pointed a finger at me, thrusting it across the table and against my chest. “Ha! I knew it! So, come on, who is she? A babysitter? Robbing the cradle, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snapped, and he raised his hands in surrender with a mumbled apology. “And I told you already. I met her at Reade’s, and we hang out a couple times a week.” Nick raised his eyebrows, gesturing for me to elaborate. “What do you want to know?” I sighed with irritation.

Leaning against the table, Nick’s eyes looked to the pendant lamp hanging above us and shrugged his shoulders up to his ears. “Oh, you know, when you met, what does she look like, is she good in bed … You know, the usual shit.”

Birdy bounded over to us with our water and coffee, the ceramic of the cups clattering against the surface of the table as she put them down with gusto. One red-tipped hand tapped against the aluminum edge of the bench seat I sat on, peering down at me. “What are we talking about, boys?”

“Hey Birdy, what does Holly look like?” Nick asked, mischievously wiggling his eyebrows at her.

She clapped a hand over her heart, her mouth dropping open in exaggerated awe. “Oh, Nicky, she’s gorgeous. Dark hair, beautiful dark brown eyes… They’ll have very attractive kids; I can tell you that.” She nodded with confidence, resting a fist against a heavy hip.

A groan escaped my lungs as I shielded my face with the clammy palms of my hands. Taking the hint, Birdy squeezed my shoulder before walking away to tend to other diners. A second or two of silence passed, and my mind filled the darkness between my eyes and hands with pathetic visions of us as parents—together. I dropped them to the table when it became too much.

“So?” Nick said, sipping at his water. “Have you gotten laid?”

“Nope,” I replied shortly, stirring my coffee despite it having nothing to stir.

“You have a girlfriend, and you haven’t slept with her yet?” He pushed his glasses onto his nose, averting his eyes as he sat in bewildered judgement. “Is she seriously too young? Because man, I … I really can’t condone that kind of—”

“Holy shit, Nick.” My patience was wearing thin. “I told you, she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Why the hell not?”   

And that was when my tethers snapped, leaving the fragments of my sanity frayed and flapping in the wind. “Why the fuck should she be?” I crossed my arms and let my head roll to the side. “She doesn’t even know who I am.”

He looked at me suspiciously. “How the hell does she not know? Everybody around here knows who you are.”

“Well, she’s younger than us, for one thing, and grew up a few towns over, then lived in the city for a long time, and …” I sighed, shaking my head. “Maybe she’s lived under a rock for the past five years. I have no clue. But either way, she doesn’t, okay? And the fucked up thing is, I love it. I really fucking love it. It feels so good to be absolutely nobody for once. But when she finds out—and she will find out—it’s all going to blow up in my face. I fucked it up a long time ago and I’m just biding my time before it all goes to hell, okay? Now drop it.” I set my jaw, the muscles trembling under the strain of my self-loathing.

Nick’s excitement had faded. He took his glasses off, dropping them to the table with a tinny clatter and rubbed his temples. “Jesus, Brandon. You and your hatred towards your amazingly enviable, pathetic life.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, let me ask you something. Did you ever think that you might be somebody to her?” He dropped that ton of bricks over my head, and I felt them landing one by one onto my shoulders. Piling higher and higher until I couldn’t breathe under the weight.

“Yes,” I said quietly. She had told me I was her best friend. That certainly meant I was somebody.

“So, how exactly did you see this all playing out? I’m really interested to hear it.” Nick leaned against the back of his seat, folding his arms over his bony chest.

“I don’t fucking know, Nick. I guess I thought she’d find out one day, she’d get pissed at me for keeping it from her, and—” My voice dropped to a whisper in synchronization with my eyes, gazing at the table. “Yeah, that’d be it.” 

“Holy shit.” Nick uttered, uncrossing his arms. “You really like her.”

I sighed, shaking my head, and then I was swallowed up by a wave of unexpected emotion. Fighting hard against the constriction in my throat, I brought a hand up to shield my eyes; pointer finger and thumb pressing against my temples.

“No, I fucking love her, Nick,” I said, and with an embarrassing intake of quivering breath, I felt the beginnings of tears prick at my eyes. I shook my head, rapidly blinking them away, and dropped my hand. “Dude, I’m terrified of telling her the truth. It’s so fucking stupid, and I know it’s what I have to do, but—fuck. What happens if she finds out and gets pissed off that I kept it from her? What if I tell her and all she sees is dollar signs? What if she goes to the press and ruins me? I guess I would deserve that, but—”

“Or … what if none of that happens? What if she loves you, for whatever fucking reason, and this is your chance at being happy?” I blinked my response, feeling foolish for never thinking of that as a possibility. “If you love her, it’s not fair to either of you to not tell her that.”

Birdy brought over our meals, and gasped at the tail-end of the line she had overheard. “You still haven’t told her? Brandon Alexander Davis, what in Heaven’s name is wrong with you?” she hissed at me, placing the heaping plates of food down in front of us. “Your mother is going to kill you, you know.”

“Well, if you had kept your damn mouth shut like I had asked you to, Mom never would have known about any of this in the first place,” I reminded her stiffly, rolling my eyes up to look at her.

The manicured hand that had sat on her hip reached out to grab my scruffy chin and forcefully turned my head to face her. My eyes met hers and saw not anger at my fresh talk, but compassion towards my well-being. I felt the stone walls of my heart begin to crumble.

“B., the whole ‘reclusive author’ thing doesn’t work for you, so knock it off. Listen to your friend, and tell that girl how you feel.” I grumbled a response, not committing or signing any contracts, and she released me with a gentle shove. “Okay, now I’m going to get a bag of food together for you. I’ll send you home with another turkey club, and you want a chunk of this new blueberry crumble I tried out? The crumble is made of—get this—Cap’n Crunch. You want to try some?”

I swallowed at the lump in my throat. “Yeah, sure.”

 She clapped me on the back jovially, as though the serious turn in conversation had never been taken.

As Birdy walked away towards the kitchen, Nick salted his fries and I took a bite of my wrap despite not feeling at all hungry. The turkey rolling around on my tongue instantly turned sour, and I forced myself to swallow.

I turned my head to look out the window at the SUV I had custom-built for myself the moment I could afford it, and I thought about Holly’s old rusty minivan. I thought about the old Victorian on the lake in Brightwaters, standing empty with the ghosts inhabiting its walls, cursing my name for leaving it empty for so long. I thought about how she could turn it into her dream home in any way she wished. I thought about how long it had been since I had eaten a home-cooked meal on a night that wasn’t Thanksgiving or Christmas, and how big my bed never ceased to feel.

Finally, I thought about her eyes and how I found myself struggling to not disappear in their depths. My desperate need to protect her from anything that could cause her harm. Kissing her in the parking lot and the lack of self-control I felt for the first time in years. What kind of idiot would throw that away? Maybe this chance wasn’t meant for another me in another life, but this me, this life.

I nodded to myself. A decision was made, and although I was scared shitless, I knew it was the only thing that felt right.

“So, hey, I have a question.” Nick broke the silence, looking up casually.

“Yeah?”

“Holly … She’s the inspiration, huh?” Nick asked, and I turned back to him. My expression seemed to say it all. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do. Write your goddamn book, and I’ll handle the rest.”

And just like that, my shoulders felt a little lighter.