Push & Pull (The Midwest Series Book 2)

by Brigham Vaughn

  “Really?”

  “I used to play with my mom’s makeup as a little kid,” Lowell said as they settled in the car. “Not that it’s actually an indicator, of course, but so many people buy into the stereotype. Between that, my mannerisms, and the huge crush I had on my male cello teacher, they had some strong suspicions. I started playing the cello when I was in second grade, so I guess it was sometime around then that they realized they probably had a gay son.”

  “Huh. Yeah, I don’t really remember anything from when I was that young. I guess in middle school I noticed boys enough to get hard, and I remember trying to be careful to hide that in the locker room and stuff. But there were some girls I thought were cute, so I guess I blew it off.”

  “So you’re bi?” Lowell carefully backed out of the spot, surprised by Brent’s revelation.

  “A little bit? If that makes sense? Like I said, I had sex with a few girls I was friends with. It wasn’t terrible, I just didn’t feel the same way about them as I did guys.”

  “Sure, that makes a lot of sense. You’re just at a slightly different spot on the Kinsey scale than I am. Plus, there’s a difference between sexual attraction and romantic love. I’d say you’re probably somewhat bisexual but predominantly homoromantic. Nothing wrong with that.”

  Brent snorted. “Dude, I get totally lost with all of the definitions and labels.”

  Lowell tapped his brakes when the car in front of him slowed. He glanced briefly over at Brent. “Yeah, a lot of people do. But counseling LGBTQ youth—specifically kids struggling with their sexual orientation or gender identity—is what I want to do for a living someday, so I’ve spent a lot of time studying this stuff.”

  “Huh,” Brent said. “That’s ... pretty cool actually.”

  The genuine admiration in his voice made Lowell smile. It had been a pretty good day so far. Brent had been a little quiet this morning, but Lowell had chalked it up to a hangover. And the weird moment between them at the end of the massage last night.

  Lowell didn’t even know why he’d suggested a massage in the first place. Other than the fact that it was the first non-monetary thing that had popped into his head when they’d discussed the idea of a wager. And maybe he wanted to show off a little. He just hoped Brent hadn’t gotten the wrong idea.

  But after the hangover—or whatever it was—had passed, they’d had fun at the museum today.

  Lowell wanted to believe the day would end as well as it was currently going, but he didn’t have much hope.

  Nothing about Brent’s upbringing would prepare him for meeting the Prescotts.

  May 28, 2013 – Winnetka, Illinois

  Lowell

  After stopping at the hotel to shower and change, Lowell drove north toward Winnetka, apprehension churning in his stomach. He talked to Brent to distract himself from the impending dinner with his parents, but Brent seemed content to stare out the window. Lowell took the route along the lake, so it was a pretty drive, but Lowell wondered if it was more than that.

  Maybe Lowell’s tension was getting to Brent too.

  As Lowell pulled into the wide, curving driveway, he fought the urge to keep going. Just sail past the house and keep driving until he hit the border of Wisconsin. Or maybe Canada.

  Instead, he brought the car to a stop and parked with a sigh in front of the sprawling brick house. Without the roar of the engine, the inside of the car seemed strangely quiet as he turned to look at Brent, who stared, open-mouthed, at the house.

  “You—you grew up here?” he sputtered.

  “For most of my life. My parents had the house built about ten or twelve years ago. I was in elementary school when we moved.”

  Brent shook his head. “I should have figured it out from the Porsche, but holy fuck, man. This neighborhood ... This house. It’s huge.”

  Under normal circumstances, Lowell would have made a joke about something else that was huge, but at the moment, all he could think about was facing an evening of his parents’ disapproval. Ugh.

  “Let’s just get this over with,” he said with a sigh as he opened the car door.

  Brent followed him up the brick walkway to the front door. Lowell took a deep breath before he rang the doorbell. Brent gave him a weird look out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t say anything as they waited.

  A few moments later, Doris opened the door.

  “How nice to see you, Lowell,” she said warmly. She looked the same as always: gray-haired and smiling.

  “You too, Doris.” Lowell leaned in and kissed her cheek. “How are the grandkids?”

  “Wonderful.” She beamed and stepped back. “Come in; come in.”

  “Doris, this is my friend Brent. Brent, this is Doris. She took care of me starting the day I was born.”

  Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “And what a doll you were too with those big eyes and pink cheeks. Though I suppose not much has changed.”

  “I’d like to think a few things have changed,” Lowell teased as he handed her his jacket and smoothed down his shirt. “But thank you.”

  She gestured to the right. “If you have a seat in the living room, your mother will be down shortly.”

  “And Dad?”

  “He’ll be home from work soon.”

  Wonderful. Time alone with his mother. That was always fun.

  Brent followed him into the formal living room. He stared around uncertainly as Lowell took a seat on the white sofa.

  “Your parents have servants?” Brent hissed under his breath, gingerly sitting near him.

  Lowell shrugged. “Just Doris. She was more of a nanny when I was little, and now, she does housekeeping stuff.”

  “Damn.” Brent craned his neck and looked around the room.

  The house was—as always—immaculately decorated. His mother’s style was more traditional than Lowell’s, but he could hardly fault her for the light, elegant look. The massive bouquet of white lilacs on the table nearby was especially stunning.

  “This is really nice,” Brent whispered.

  “Before we leave, I’ll show you the game room downstairs. My dad was obsessed with creating the perfect room for watching sports and playing pool.”

  “And yet you didn’t know how to play until I taught you,” Brent said, tugging at his collar. Lowell had been grateful Brent had packed one button-down shirt and a nicer pair of jeans. Lowell had gone after them with his steamer while Brent was in the shower. The deep blue of his shirt looked great against his suntanned skin and blond-streaked hair.

  “Yeah, but now that I know what I’m doing, I think maybe a rematch is in our future.” Lowell smiled. He might have lost last night, but that didn’t mean he’d lose again.

  “Yeah?” Brent smiled back. “That would be great. How are you at darts?”

  Lowell opened his mouth to reply but was cut off.

  “Lowell, sweetheart. I am so glad you and your friend decided to come.” Anabel Prescott breezed into the room, wearing a charcoal silk dress that showed off her willowy figure. Her hair—once as dark as Lowell’s—was shot through with silver and cut in a chic bob. Lowell had inherited his mother’s coloring and build—much to his father’s chagrin.

  “Here as directed,” Lowell said, pasting a smile on his face as he stood to greet her. Hopefully, Brent’s presence would help mute her behavior a little.

  “You look so thin and pale.” She kissed him on either cheek. “Are you ill? Have you been taking care of yourself? You know how we worry about you with your condition.”

  Brent shot him a puzzled look, and Lowell shook his head and smiled thinly at his mother. “I’m well, thank you. Mom, this is Brent Cameron. Brent, this is my mother Anabel.”

  “It’s lovely to meet you, Brent.”

  Brent hastily stood as she held out her hand. Brent shook her hand and offered a nervous-looking smile in return.

  “Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Prescott.”

  “Please call me Ana.” She gave him a warm smile. “And
have a seat. Would either of you like anything to drink?”

  Lowell and Brent both declined, and when they were all seated, Anabel crossed her legs and smiled at Brent. “I understand you went to school with Lowell?”

  “Yes. Lowell’s roommate, Caleb, is dating my roommate, Nathan. He was supposed to take a road trip with me, but he didn’t want to be away from Caleb, so Lowell ended up coming with me.”

  Lowell threw him a grateful glance for glossing over the details of the way Lowell had inserted himself into Brent’s plans.

  “I thought maybe you two were dating as well,” his mother said archly. She was always hoping he’d settle down with someone. Lowell had quit coming home for the holidays because there had always been a handful of eligible sons of his parents’ acquaintances at every party. The last time, his mother had caught him on his knees in front of a guy in the bathroom off the hallway. She’d stopped pressuring him to come home for the holidays after that. He suspected they were both happier.

  “You know I’m not looking to settle down now. And I don’t think I’m Brent’s type, anyway,” Lowell replied, his tone dry as dust.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Ana’s hand flew to her mouth. “Are you straight, Brent? I guess I shouldn’t have assumed that you were gay, although I know most of Lowell’s friends are.”

  Lowell glanced over at Brent. The tips of his ears were red. He cleared his throat twice before he answered. “Uh, no, I’m—I’m gay.” He threw a panicked look at Lowell, who took pity on him.

  “Brent played for the Broncos hockey team, and he and his roommate both came out recently.”

  “I heard about that,” a deep voice from behind Lowell replied. “Nathan Rhodes and Brent Cameron, correct?”

  Lowell turned to see his father. “You follow hockey at Western?” Their love of sports was the only thing Lowell and his father had ever had in common. Unfortunately, Charles Prescott was a tall, broad-shouldered former football player, and Lowell had never measured up. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Lowell had been allowed to play contact sports, but his mother was convinced that his health made him too weak to do it. It had been a source of contention among the three of them ever since.

  “I did while you were there, son.” His father’s gaze slid past him to land on Brent. “Why don’t you introduce me to your friend?”

  “Well, you obviously figured out this is Brent Cameron. Brent, this is my father, Charles.”

  His father stuck out a meaty hand to Brent, who hastily stood to shake it. “Mr. Prescott.”

  “Charles, please. It’s good to meet you, Brent. You and Nathan were a helluva pair on the ice. It was quite a shock when you both came out.”

  Brent gave Lowell another alarmed look as he sat again, and Lowell hurried to reassure him. “My parents are both supportive of LGBTQ issues.”

  “Oh, of course,” Charles said, taking a seat across from them. “Ana and I donate to the Human Rights Campaign and Freedom to Marry organization every year.”

  As if donating to a few charities meant much of anything. Lowell had seen plenty of evidence to prove otherwise. But, Lowell could hardly fault his parents. They had supported him. Even if they would have preferred a son like Brent.

  Charles continued. “Brent, I think what you and Nathan did was very brave. I’m sorry there isn’t more acceptance in sports. I just feel it’s ridiculous that athletes have to come out of the closet and declare anything about their sexuality. It takes the focus off the game.”

  Brent shrugged. “Yeah, true. Honestly, I hate that it’s such a big deal, too. I mean, why does anyone care who I date, you know? It doesn’t change my ability to defend the goal.”

  “I agree, Brent. I think that’s a smart attitude.”

  “Unlike my need to ‘thrust my sexuality in everyone’s faces’?” Lowell asked sharply.

  His mother’s lips tightened. “We love you, Lowell, but you do insist on announcing your sexuality in a very aggressive manner, and it can be a bit tiring.”

  “I’m never going to be like Brent, okay?” Lowell snapped. “I’m not the kind of guy who could hide in the closet.”

  “We’re not suggesting you should, son,” his father said. “But your mother’s point is valid. There is no need to be so”—he cleared his throat—“so flamboyant about the way you present yourself.”

  Brent had a deer-in-headlights look on his face, so despite Lowell’s instinct to keep arguing his point, he took pity on him and changed the subject. “Well, Brent and Nathan were both solid players, so I don’t think anyone could argue that their sexuality impacted their games.”

  “That’s true.” Lowell’s father nodded. “Nathan was one hell of a power forward, and you’re a solid left defenseman. I know more right-handers are playing this position now, but I think there’s something to be said for putting a left-handed player in there.”

  Brent shrugged. “Well, Europe’s been using right-handers for a while, and there are some advantages. A right-hander has a better angle to shoot from coming in on his wing, and he can really dig out the puck from the corners.”

  Charles nodded. “That’s a good point.”

  Lowell stifled a scream. He and his father had had the exact same discussion a few years ago while watching a Blackhawks’ game, and his father had dismissed his comment. There was no winning in this house. He was glad his parents were being kind to Brent, but the double-standard drove him bonkers.

  Doris appeared in the doorway. “Dinner is ready.”

  Lowell’s shoulders sagged with relief. The sooner the evening was over, the better.

  ***

  With some tooth gritting and a glass of wine, Lowell made it through the appetizer and halfway through his salad before his parents switched from grilling him to grilling Brent.

  “Your parents, what do they do?” Anabel asked.

  “Oh.” Brent cleared his throat and set down his fork. “My dad is an electrician, and my mom stays at home. She takes care of my four younger siblings.”

  “Your mother must have her hands full with five children,” Anabel responded.

  Brent chuckled. “My little sisters are pretty wild.”

  “What was your major at Western?” Charles asked.

  “Mechanical engineering and kinesiology.”

  He nodded approvingly. “That’s a solid career field.”

  As opposed to Lowell’s interest in psychology, of course. His MBA father and MD mother were less than thrilled with his choice. His mother had been trying to steer him into psychiatry for years. Lowell had stubbornly resisted.

  “Yeah, it should be,” Brent agreed.

  “I employ a number of engineers,” Charles continued. “There are some great guys who work for me. They’ve made some remarkable strides in helmet safety in the last twenty years.”

  Brent narrowed his eyes. “Wait, you’re Charles Prescott, as in Prescott Helmets? The company that makes helmets for both the MLB and the NHL?” Brent looked around like he was waiting for someone to tell him they were playing a prank on him.

  Anabel shook her head. “Really, Lowell, I don’t know why you’re so secretive about the family business.”

  Lowell stifled a sigh. He’d never liked using his family name to impress people, but he’d had that argument with his parents so many times he’d lost count. He wasn’t about to start it up again now.

  “No, that’s incredible. That’s the field I’m interested in—helmet design—I’m planning to go to grad school in the next year or so.”

  “Why wait?” Charles asked, his brow furrowing.

  “Oh, I need to work for a year or two before I can afford it,” Brent explained. “My parents helped out a little with my undergrad, but there’s no way I can jump into grad school. I got accepted at a couple of schools, including Illinois Tech. The IIT program is great, and it would be my first choice, but they didn’t really offer enough in financial assistance.”

  “So what is your plan?”

  “Well, I�
�m taking the summer off first,” Brent admitted with a small laugh. “Nathan and I planned this road trip a couple of years ago. When I found out I wasn’t going to be able to afford to go to grad school right away, I thought about canceling it and using the money I’d saved for the trip, but it was nowhere near enough. So I figured this would be a great opportunity to travel around Lake Michigan for a couple of months while I decide where I plan to go. If I settle on Illinois Tech, I can move here, work for a few years, establish residency, and then re-apply. I’d like to see if I can wrangle an internship before then too, but we’ll see.”

  Charles nodded approvingly. “Well, that sounds like a solid plan. If you do decide to stay in the Chicago area, I’d be happy to discuss an internship with Prescott Helmets. The positions typically fill up quickly, but I’m sure I could swing something if you’re interested. HR would still have to verify that you meet the qualifications, of course, but assuming you do, I see no reason we can’t create another position for you.”

  Brent looked flabbergasted. “Seriously?”

  “Of course. I know your reputation as a hockey player is solid. I watched some of your games, and I’m sure your discipline off the ice matches what I saw on the ice.” He added, almost as an afterthought, “And you are a friend of Lowell’s.”

  “I wouldn’t disappoint you, sir. That would be the opportunity of a lifetime for me. I’d be thrilled.”

  Charles nodded. “Be sure to get a business card from me before you leave. Email me as soon as you make your decision, and I’ll be happy to set something up for you for this fall.”

  Brent fell all over himself thanking Lowell’s father, and Lowell tried to hide his annoyance. He hadn’t realized what field Brent was planning to go into. Of course, Lowell’s annoyance wasn’t really at Brent. He certainly hadn’t known what Lowell’s father did for a living, but it didn’t stop Lowell from being annoyed by his father and Brent fawning all over each other. He stifled a sigh. Of course, Brent was excited. It was an incredible career opportunity for him, and Lowell was glad his father could help him out.