by HJ Welch
“Oh, just a neighbor,” his mom said cheerily. But her smile didn’t meet her eyes.
Once they reached the landing, she automatically walked down one of the hallways and went to the room on the left by the bathroom, using her butt to bump the door open. Reyse followed after her with his carry-on, looking around the room that was technically his.
He’d guessed this was where she would take him. It made him a little anxious to be two floors away from Corey. He didn’t want him feeling like he’d been abandoned. But he got his mom’s need for a little space. The whole house was filled with people who were treating his dad’s stroke like a goddamned party.
He might not recognize the room with its dark wood furniture and chintzy lampshades over the lights. But he recognized his old Thriller poster hanging on the wall, now in a frame. He also knew the stuffed Dalmatian dog on the bed, Spot. His dad had never allowed any pets in the house. He said they just made a mess. So Spot was the closest Reyse had ever had to a puppy. He let go of his suitcase and picked up the soft toy with a fond smile, feeling where the fur had rubbed away on his ears after so many years of cuddling.
He knew his dad meant well. He was a practical man, and he was aware that dogs took a lot of looking after. But Reyse had always wanted one so desperately. He moved around so much these days there wasn’t much chance of keeping one responsibly. But he still dreamed someday of having a little pack of his own. Friendly faces and wagging tails who would always be happy to see him when he got home.
“You look good, baby,” his mom said fondly as he sat on the bed. He placed Spot back down and rested the soda on a coaster on the dresser, then took the plate she offered him. As she sat beside him, she reached out and carefully brushed back a strand of his hair. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
A lump rose in Reyse’s throat. Suddenly, he wasn’t so hungry anymore.
“I should have visited more often,” he said, shaking his head. He didn’t feel able to look at her, so he stared at the homemade potato salad instead. But she rubbed his knee, drawing his attention anyway.
“Honey,” she said patiently. “It’s okay. I know you have this fabulous life-”
“But that doesn’t mean it’s okay I left things the way they were all these years,” Reyse interrupted. All the guilt he’d been bottling up was coming out. He set the plate on the nightstand and bunched up his fists. “What if Dad dies? He’s not even sixty. This shouldn’t be happening. He’s going to die and I never got the chance – I never said-”
“Hey, shh,” his mom said firmly. She scooted over and wrapped her arm around his side, resting her temple on his shoulder. “He’s not going anywhere. He’s fine.”
“Mom,” Reyse protested. He felt horrible. He’d come up here to look after her and yet here she was, taking care of him.
“Nope,” she said stubbornly. Her voice wobbled slightly. “He’s as tough as a ram, remember?”
Reyse had to give her a weak chuckle. His dad had been as hurt at Reyse’s lack of interest in football as he had in his refusal to join the Army. It hadn’t escaped Reyse’s notice that although there was a lot of chintz fabric in this house, it was all blue, white and gold. The colors of the LA Rams. It was kind of cute his dad had compromised with his mom like that.
“Go Rams,” Reyse said weakly, punching the air with about the same enthusiasm. But it made his mom laugh. He waited while she wiped her eyes, expertly dabbing underneath her lashes so as not to smear her mascara.
“He’ll be okay,” she whispered.
Reyse rubbed her arm and sighed. “He will,” he told her, even if he didn’t necessarily believe it.
He may not get along with his dad. But that was because they were just different people. Reyse could look at Donny Hickson and see a good man, even if he had different values than him. He just wished his dad could look at him and see the same.
“I assumed we’d go see him tonight,” Reyse said. He wasn’t particularly in a rush to get over to the hospital, but at the same time he was here to visit his dad.
“Oh, um,” his mom said. “I don’t really want to go back there just yet. Not until he wakes up. I don’t like sitting there, just waiting, thinking…” Her eyes glassed over and she sniffed. “You could go, though. With your friend?”
Reyse could tell it freaked her out, so he shook his head. There was no way he was going without her beside him. “I’ll wait,” he said.
“Your friend seemed nice,” his mom said casually. “Corey, yes?” He couldn’t tell anything from her words, but anxiety immediately spiked in Reyse’s chest. Did she suspect something? She couldn’t, could she?”
“He is,” Reyse said genuinely. “Obviously, it would have been better if Bella could have come. But Corey is a real pal. I – I don’t know where my head would be at right now without him.”
That was also true. Yes, Corey represented a complication. A massive one. He muddled Reyse’s mind, offering him such a great temptation that Reyse simply couldn’t give into again. But Corey was also rock solid. Considering Corey’s own life sounded like it had been nothing but upheaval most of the time, he had a simple, steady outlook on life. He made Reyse feel grounded. It was like Reyse was a boat bobbing on choppy waters and Corey was the anchor tethering him in place.
“He has kind eyes,” his mom remarked.
That surprised him. He would have thought she’d have lamented on Bella’s absence over complimenting Corey. She always raved about ‘Beautiful Bella’ when they spoke on the phone. Reyse knew his mom was a huge fan of her movies and always said she was ‘so classy.’ Yet…she seemed more interested in Corey right now.
“I guess,” Reyse said, scrambling around for what a straight dude would say about his bro when his mom said he had kind eyes. Yes, Reyse wanted to say. He’s kind and sweet and funny and awesome and I can’t get him out of my head.
His mom patted his knee. “I’m glad you have a friend like that to rely on,” she said.
Reyse nodded against the side of her head, not trusting himself to reply. His voice might crack. But he thought, me too.
“How about you?” he managed to ask after a minute. “Have you got a friend that’s been helping you the past few days with…”
How did he finish that sentence? With Dad almost dying? With this invasion of people into her home?
“Oh,” she said, sounding vague. “The Pilates girls have rallied around. They’re so sweet,” she told him. “The neighbors have all stopped by. And then family flew in. I don’t know if I need another delivery from the store if I’m going to keep this up. Luckily they all seem to want to stay in hotels…” She trailed off. “Oh, Aunt Evangeline is here, too.”
“Oh,” said Reyse carefully. As much as he adored her, he honestly couldn’t say if having his mom’s sister in the mix was a good thing or bad. But it was certainly something.
His mom smiled at him. “But Corey will stay here, won’t he?” she asked, handing him his plate in an indication she wanted him to start eating. “He hasn’t booked a hotel or anything, has he?”
Reyse did his best not to frown as he picked up his fork, toying with some rice and beans. “Oh, no,” Reyse admitted. “We didn’t know there would be so many people around. I figured he could have one of the spare rooms.”
“Of course,” his mom said, jumping to her feet, startling him. “You sit and eat, and I’ll make up the room next to this one, okay?”
“Mom, wait,” he said, but she was already rushing off toward the door. He could practically feel her anxiety levels rising. To be fair, he knew once she had an idea in her head, she wouldn’t relax until it was done.
“I’ll just be a second,” she insisted, disappearing through the door.
He kind of wanted her to just sit for two minutes with him. But at the same time, he got a funny warm feeling that she would rush off to look after Corey. Obviously, she couldn’t know what he meant to Reyse – he was scared to admit that to himself when he was supposed to be keepin
g him at arms’ length. But still, it was nice to think she was welcoming him when Reyse very much wanted him around.
Now, he just had to get through the night with the only lover he’d had in the past five years, sleeping ten feet away. One who had cared for Reyse, not just fucked him.
Simple. He just had to stop himself knocking on his door at any point once everyone had gone to bed.
How hard could that be?
12
Corey
Corey squinted as he stepped out into the sunshine. He dropped his sunglasses from the top of his head so they landed on his nose and took a swig of beer. It was good stuff, cold too. “Hi,” he said to a middle-aged guy who passed him on the way back into the house.
The guy flat out ignored him.
“Oh-kay,” Corey said to himself and shook his head.
He stood on the patio, taking a moment to assess the scene. The yard was split into a couple of different sections. A small brick wall ran along where the large patio met the lawn. In the middle, a fountain rose with a fat cherub pointing a cupid’s bow into the air. There was a short set of steps on the right of the yard where the lawn dropped down a couple of feet, so Corey headed that way.
Several people were sitting on wicker lawn furniture on the patio under umbrellas, sipping on an assortment of drinks. Presumably, they came from the small bar to the left that was actually manned by a guy in a white shirt who Corey got an immediate ‘staff’ vibe from. The people – family or friends of Reyse’s folks, Corey couldn’t tell – watched Corey as he walked on by. He swore the conversations dipped as he did.
Wow. Was he really that interesting?
He’d learned from experience he could either shy away or put his ‘Corey’ mask on. He chose the latter. “Hi,” he said cheerfully to anyone that caught his gaze, also giving them a nod or a wink for the ladies. “How are you?”
Nobody replied, but Corey felt less of a leper as he jogged down the steps.
A winding path took him around some rose bushes in full bloom. It reminded him of Alice in Wonderland. “Off with their heads!” he muttered to himself with a laugh. “Oh, not you,” he said awkwardly to the older lady he hadn’t noticed hobbling past with a cane. She shook her head in scorn and muttered something about ‘no respect’ as she continued up the path.
Corey swallowed and kept walking. The path was leading him to a kidney-shaped pool with a few people loitering around. No one was in swimwear. They were just standing by the water.
Or so he thought.
The pool was surrounded by trees and trailing plants on trellises. He didn’t realize some of these trellises formed little alcoves until he walked past them, let alone that any of them were occupied.
“Hello, you there?” a woman’s voice floated over the late afternoon air. Corey paused. The accent was so refined it was practically British, although he definitely still caught an east-coast twang to it. He stopped and looked around.
He was by one of the alcoves. This one contained a large wicker lounger shaped like a clamshell. Sitting among the many scatter pillows like a pearl in an oyster was a slim middle-aged woman in a one-piece black-and-white-striped bathing suit. She also wore an open silk kimono and a sun hat so large the brim practically touched her shoulders. She peered over horn-rimmed, diamanté-studded sunglasses and pointed a closed, hand-held lace fan in Corey’s direction.
“Yes, you,” she said imperiously. “Who are you?”
Corey blinked and looked around, but there was no one else around. So he took a couple of steps into the shade of the alcove and removed his own sunglasses. “I’m Corey, ma’am,” he said from the foot of her clamshell lounger.
The woman shifted on the circular pillow that covered the base of the seat, causing a couple of the two dozen throw cushions to move around. She had laughter lines around perfectly smoky eyes, bright red lips and nails, and a red rose clip holding up a mess of dark brown curly hair. The hand not holding the fan swirled a cut crystal flute filled with Champagne. Corey had done several waiter gigs in his time, and bet anything that was the hundred-dollars-a-bottle-type stuff.
“Oh, don’t be boring,” she said, flouncing on the pillows. “Corey who? Who are you with? You don’t look like everyone else.” She batted dark eyelashes at him. “Be exciting.”
Corey laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I don’t know if I’m exciting, ma’am, but I’m a friend of Reyse’s. He’s plenty exciting enough for the both of us, I’m sure.”
To his relief, the woman’s face lit up. Not in the way those others had in the house, like Reyse was a walking gossip column piece, but with genuine delight. “Oh, Ricky!” she said gleefully. “How is my darling nephew? Come, sit, Corey, Friend of Ricky’s.” She patted a spot on the lounger not currently covered in a pile of cushions. Then she rummaged around in the pile beside her. “Ah ha!” she cried in triumph. She produced another crystal flute as well as a half-finished bottle of Champagne. Corey couldn’t read the label of because it was all in French, but that just meant it was probably very good. “Put that beer down, share the good stuff with me.”
Cautiously, Corey placed the beer bottle in his hand on the patio and sat himself down. He was aware of the fact this woman was in her bathing suit, even if she was wearing a kimono, and didn’t want to be too informal.
But she wasn’t having any of that.
“Oh, don’t be silly,” she scoffed, waving the second flute around. “Come closer. I’m not interested in propositioning you. You’re far too young.” She turned her hand around and showed Corey an enormous diamond engagement ring on top of a wedding band. “I’m on husband lucky number four,” she said with a grin. “This one’s the keeper.”
Now she’d mentioned the familial connection, Corey could see the same high, sharp cheekbones on this woman as Reyse and his mom had. She shoved the glass into Corey’s hand as he inched a little nearer, not really sure what he was getting himself into. “Thanks,” he said, holding the flute up.
“No. Cheers,” she said. She held her glass up as well, but held off clinking it just yet.
“Cheers to what?” Corey asked.
The woman shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. There’s usually something to celebrate, isn’t there? Pick something.”
“To Mr. Hickson’s recovery?” Corey suggested.
The woman blew a raspberry. “That old codger will outlive the cockroaches, you’ll see. Pick something funner.” She looked at him devilishly through eyelashes thick with black mascara.
“To…Reyse?” Corey ventured. He couldn’t think of anything else and immediately worried he’d said too much. But the woman’s glossy red lips broke into a wide smile of perfect white teeth.
“Excellent choice,” she said with a nod, finally tapping their glasses together. The ding rang out over the still water of the swimming pool to the indifference of the people milling around. “I’m Evangeline,” she announced after taking a sip. “Clementine’s sister. I assume you’ve met Ricky’s mother already?”
Corey nodded. He had to say, the Champagne was seriously good. Not like that cheap stuff you got at the store for under twenty bucks.
“Lovely lady,” he told Evangeline.
“Quite,” said Evangeline sincerely. She frowned slightly as she looked out over the sunny yard. “My baby sister. Both lovely and a lady.”
“So…” Corey said, searching for a suitable discussion topic. “You guys must have a really big family.”
It was more of a probing question than a statement. Evangeline peered over her sunglasses again. She seemed happy to have them sitting on the tip of her button nose rather than taking them off as Corey had done in the shade.
“Oh, nonsense,” she scoffed, swigging more Champagne and then refilling her glass. She refilled Corey’s, too, even though he’d only had a couple of sips. “Vultures, the lot of them,” she said, not bothering to lower her tone. “They all have these little in-jokes and titters about how Ricky is a bit of a family e
mbarrassment. Yet they’re perfectly happy to come enjoy the fruits of his labors.” She scowled as a young couple walked past their alcove, laughing arm in arm. “Most of these people are from this ghastly, superficial neighborhood. They just like to tell people that ‘Reyse Hickson isn’t all that, don’t you know I’m friends with his mommy and daddy? Kissy kissy, urgh. Take me back to New York.”
Corey’s eyebrows shot up. He couldn’t help but warm to Aunt Evangeline. “You’re from New York?”
“Naturally,” Evangeline said with a frown. “Where else would one live? Oh, London of course. But they don’t quite have the Big Apple’s grittiness, you know?”
“I can’t say I’ve ever been to either, ma’am,” Corey admitted.
Evangeline slapped his thigh with the closed fan, making him jump. “Enough of this ‘ma’am’ nonsense,” she said and rolled her eyes. “Oh, Foofy!”
Corey’s gaze was drawn to a sudden shifting of several pillows. From underneath emerged a small dog with long hair, big with static from the cushions. The pooch had a pink, diamanté-studded bow on top of their head in a ponytail and their tongue stuck out, making them look kind of dopey. Especially when the pup wobbled on their legs then shook themselves, making their fur even bigger and more disheveled.
Evangeline dropped the fan and scooped the dog up into her arm. The dog didn’t even seem to notice. “Corey,” Evangeline announced in delight. “I’d like you to meet Lady Bonniford Honeydew the Third, or Foofy for short. Foofy, this charming young man is Ricky’s friend, so we like him very much.” She deftly repositioned the dog in her grip, then held her out in her hand in front of Corey.
“Oh, okay,” he said, quickly taking Foofy into his lap. The dog looked up at him and blinked, the tip of her tongue still poking out. “Hey there, little lady. Aren’t you beautiful?” Foofy’s tail wagged weakly, like she couldn’t be bothered. Then very suddenly, she went completely stiff in Corey’s arms, her small head snapping to look out into the sunshine. She barked several times and growled, startling Corey.