by Kelly Jensen
Frank pulled up in front of him. In comparison to Tom, who was small and dark—almost elfin—Frank was a large man. And sunny. His hair was bright, his hazel eyes always seemed to shine with humor, and his lips crooked in a perpetual smile.
Brian greeted him warily. “Frank.” He added a nod for Tom. “Hey.” He looked around for Simon, didn’t see him, and glanced back at the pair standing in front of him. “What can I do for you?”
“If you could see your face,” Frank said.
Brian lowered his eyebrows. “Not in the mood for games.”
“Well, that’d be a first. But we’re not actually here to mess with you. We came to help.”
“Help?”
“Simon said you were raising funds for a drop-in center for LGBT youth. It’s a worthy cause. I won’t say I’m surprised, but . . .” Frank’s small mouth made a convincing grin. “Okay, I’m surprised.”
“Did you come all this way to mock me? You couldn’t have waited until next time I came by the site?”
“Oh, I’ll mock you then too.”
Brian glanced at Tom, wondering if he planned to jump in at some point, but Tom was too busy pointing one of his ever-present cameras at the crowd. As a photographer, he quite often viewed life through one of his lenses.
Brian returned his attention to Frank. Held up his foil-wrapped bundle. “Let me drop this off, and then we can go argue somewhere else.”
Frank moved to follow him, and Brian practically barked, “Stay here.”
Expression softening, Frank put a hand on his arm. “I know we’re not friends, but we really are here to help.”
“How?”
“Tom’s doing what Tom does.” Tom’s camera clicked several times in agreement. “And I want to write about your club.”
“It’s not my club.”
“Your boyfriend’s club, then.”
“He’s not . . .” A horrifying prickle seared a path across Brian’s forehead. His cheeks heated.
“Brian Kenway. Are you blushing?”
Yes. Because he didn’t want to jinx things. Nor did he want to define what made him happy. Not yet. He wanted to keep doing whatever he and Mal were doing and hoped everything worked out the way he’d like it to work out—which he should figure out at some point.
“Why do you want to write about the Morristown GSA?” Brian asked. “Don’t you have one in Stroudsburg?”
“I’m sure we do. Probably several given that our school district is chopped up into pieces. None of those clubs are trying to raise funds for an LGBT youth center, however.”
“Maybe they should.”
“Definitely. And me writing about this one may prompt them to try.”
Tom glanced up from his camera at that, giving a quick nod. Brian took them both in, their serious-yet-calm expressions, and realized they were telling the truth. They hadn’t come to mess with him. They’d come to . . . help.
“Did Simon put you up to this?”
Frank scoffed. “He mentioned what you were doing and we put the rest together ourselves. Satisfied? Now, can we meet Malcolm?”
“Um, sure.”
Frank patted his arm again. “Uncertainty becomes you, my dear.”
Tom snickered, but his smile was good-natured. Wide and friendly. He held up his camera. “I’d love to get some shots of the bar as well. Simon said you were involved in another project?”
“They’ve become one project. I found evidence to suggest the building the bar is in used to be a part of the Underground Railroad, which might be enough to save it from demolition. And the upper floor could be used for the youth center.”
Frank beamed. “Brilliant! Well done.” He elbowed Tom, jostling him back a little. Tom recovered quickly, as though used to amiable shoves from his outsized lover. “See, I told you this would be worth the trip.”
“Actually, you said—”
“Never mind what I said.” Frank made an imperious gesture. “Shall we?”
Swallowing a sigh, Brian led the pair to the GSA table. Mal seemed to be saying goodbye to a couple, half of whom was putting her checkbook back in her purse. Excellent. Mal turned, wincing slightly, and grabbed one of the pavilion poles to steady himself.
Brian quickened his stride. “Sit. Jesus. Before you fall down. How’re your legs?”
“Fine.” Mal’s scowl said otherwise. Light flashed from his glasses as he turned toward Frank and Tom. He waved one of the kids toward them. “Can you—”
Pamela stepped up, brandishing a flyer. Frank listened to the whole spiel with the sort of attention that made him a good journalist. For the entire time she spoke, Pamela was obviously everything to him. Then he started asking questions.
Tom was photographing the melting ice sculpture. Frowning at it, he asked, “Frogs?”
“Frogs,” Brian confirmed.
Snickering, Tom resumed his clicking.
“Friends of yours?” Mal asked.
“Not exactly. I’ll introduce you in a sec. Here, let’s get you a seat—” a quick cutting motion stopped Mal’s protest “—so you can eat your lunch.” Brian dropped the cooling cheesesteak into Mal’s cupped hands and then, because Mal looked so damn adorable staring at his lunch as though he’d discovered a chest of treasure, Brian dropped a kiss on top of his head as well.
Mal glanced up with a smile. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
Frank finished his interview and stepped under the pavilion. He tucked away the flyer and held out a hand. “I’m Frank. A friend of—”
“Simon’s,” Brian provided.
Mal’s eyebrows twitched together. He shook Frank’s hand. “Mal.”
“We’ve heard all about you,” Frank said.
“You have?” Mal darted a glance toward Brian.
Brian shrugged. “Simon has become a gossip in his old age.”
“Hasn’t he, though?” Frank chuckled. “The idea of him even being talkative is hard enough to deal with. But having to watch what we say around him? Ridiculous.”
“Frank’s here to do a story on the GSA and the drop-in center,” Brian said.
Mal’s expression brightened. “Oh, that’s great. Wow. Thank you.”
“Of course. Anything for a friend.”
Brian shook his head.
Chuckling, Frank patted his arm. Again. “Why are you so touchy, Brian?”
Brushing Frank’s fingers away, Brian said, “I could ask the same of you.”
“I’d forgotten how much fun you are to tease.”
“Brian?”
Brian turned to find Vanessa standing on the other side of the table, wearing one of her perfect outfits and a bemused smile. Damn, he was glad to see her.
“Ness.” He rounded the table to kiss her and pull her into a hug. Then it was time to do the introduction thing. Everyone shook hands, except Mal, who was up to his elbows in onions and grease and looking for a napkin. Then everyone stared politely at one another, as though figuring out who should speak first.
Then Josh wandered in from the side, face lighting up as he spied his favorite artist. “Vanessa! Uncle Brian didn’t say you were coming today!”
“That’s because he didn’t know,” Vanessa said.
While Vanessa was exchanging hugs with Josh, Frank sidled up close enough to whisper, “‘Uncle’?”
Brian flicked a glare in his direction. “Not a part of your article. Got it?”
Frank gave a quick nod. “Got it.”
One of the bands that had surreptitiously wrapped itself around Brian’s chest eased a little, until he spied Vanessa handing Josh an envelope. “What’s that?”
“Our check for the center. I thought I’d drop it off in person. Gave me a reason to visit my two favorite people.”
Frank leaned in a little closer to Brian. “You’re someone’s favorite person?”
A return insult hovered on the tip of Brian’s tongue for about a second before he decided to let it go. Prove he could be nice. “Is it so hard to belie
ve?”
Frank was looking at Mal as he said, “No. Not really.”
Josh opened the envelope and bugged at the check inside. “Oh my God.” He blinked and peered again. “Um, is this for real?”
Brian knew it was. He’d discussed the figure with Vanessa. It was generous. Half of the amount they needed to fund the drop-in center generous. More than the Smart Foundation could actually afford, but an “anonymous” donor had made up the difference.
Mal touched his hand and Brian glanced down. “Thank you,” Mal said, his voice barely carrying beneath the shouts of the other kids.
Frank and Tom angled their way into the quickly growing crowd, gathering material for their story, no doubt. Frank waved over the heads of the students. “Vanessa. Could we get a picture of you handing the check to one of the students?”
“Sure.”
Brian took the opportunity to drop into the chair next to Mal’s. Their hands were still touching, so he curled his fingers around Mal’s and squeezed. A ghostly hand did the same to his heart as he watched the students yell and squeal with happiness and the reaction of the onlookers. Vanessa’s gesture would make the day for them. People would pull their checkbooks out twice as fast now. The GSA would get the funding they needed for a drop-in center.
The only obstacle remaining was saving the Wheelhouse Building.
Brian couldn’t say it felt good, but . . . Fuck it, he could. To think, a few weeks ago, he was ready to pack up and leave this town. Now, he was kind of— No, he was enjoying being a part of it. Squeezing Mal’s hand again, he leaned over to brush a kiss over Mal’s cheek.
Frank wanted to interview Mal next. Brian gave up his seat and moved with Vanessa to a position behind the table, giving the kids room to hand out their flyers and chat with the folks attracted by the hubbub.
“So when were you going to tell me about Mal?” Vanessa asked.
Brian said nothing.
Her coy smile widened. “So it’s like that, is it?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, yes, you do. It means you can’t be upset about my engagement anymore.”
“Still no idea what you’re talking about.” And damn the smile that wanted to creep across his mouth.
With a touch less humor, Vanessa said, “I like him for you. I really do. He’s . . .” She bit her lips. “He’s the sort of guy I always pictured you with, to be honest.”
“Keep your voice down.”
Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “He looks like he knows you. The real you.”
“We’re just getting started, Ness. It’s only been a few weeks. And you know me. I like to—”
“You can’t bullshit me, Brian. You think you can, but you can’t. I’ve known you for far too long. Mal is so your type. You like to pretend that you like young, pretty men, but how long has it been since you hit a bathroom stall with one of them?”
“Goddamn it, Ness. Stop. You’re not my fairy godmother.”
Uncharacteristically, her eyes glistened. Her voice softened. “I am, though, Bri. I was the one who found you on the streets of Newark, remember?” Vanessa pressed the back of her hand to one eye, and then the other. Then, clearing her throat, she asked, “So does this mean you’re maybe not interested in opportunities on the West Coast?”
He’d put out a feeler or two after his conversation with Simon that Sunday afternoon. Hadn’t followed up on any of them, though.
Swallowing, Brian turned to Vanessa and let the one person who really knew him see how he felt. First came the happiness he’d been carrying around like a delicate glass bauble. How much he liked Mal. How much this one man had changed his life—and not because Brian had changed what he wanted. He’d simply met it, him, finally.
Then came the fear. Of loss, that he’d screw it up, that Mal wasn’t invested as he was—which was stupid, because he could see Mal was. Felt it in every brush of fingers, every searching look. Outside of good sex and warm camaraderie, Mal made Morristown feel like home.
Beneath the fear was terror, because Mal didn’t know where he’d come from, and Brian didn’t know if it was something he could share. If it would be too much for his gently broken history professor. Maybe after they finished putting Mal back together. After Mal began to believe he still had a lot to offer, a lot to do, whether he needed a cane for the rest of his life or not. That he was a completely worthwhile human being, and that anyone could see it. Even someone who didn’t think they themselves were worthwhile at all.
Vanessa took his hand and brought it to her cheek. Brian drew her into a hug and absorbed the strength he needed from her quiet understanding. And he thanked God Vanessa had been the one to find him, and had been the only person thereafter to never let him go.
The Billings Group offices in Jersey City were housed in a shining pillar overlooking the Hudson River and Lower Manhattan. As they navigated the tight, one-way streets to the underground parking, Mal tried not to read too much into the fact they’d had to come here rather than entertain the hotel execs at Brian’s offices in Morristown. He couldn’t help feeling somewhat displaced. And he couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d overheard between Brian and Vanessa. The first part, about Vanessa liking him for Brian, made him smile. Lit him up inside. The other part not so much—Vanessa asking Brian about the West Coast, and Brian’s lack of answer.
He remembered Brian mentioning that the Colonial might be his last project, but had tucked that away beneath the cozy layer of togetherness they’d knitted since.
When the black pit of the parking lot swallowed the gray February day, Mal decided it wasn’t some sort of omen. Parking lots were a thing; they had them in Morristown.
He also decided their pitch was going to succeed. Too many people were counting on them for it to be otherwise.
“I think this is the farthest I’ve been from home in about eight months,” he murmured, tucking his phone into his pocket. “I feel like I’ve been locked up in a monastery or something.”
“We’re not going to comment on that until later.” Brian flashed a leer at him.
Mal returned a smile.
Visitor parking was located close to the bank of elevators. A small mercy. Brian took care of the large portfolio he’d brought along while Mal got his legs organized. Inside the elevator, they tweaked one another’s clothes. Brian had opted for a suit, and Mal had gone “full professor,” hoping his position as a teacher would lend weight to their proposal.
Brian rubbed a thumb over the sleeve of Mal’s wool blazer. “The elbow patches on this coat are like the sexiest—”
Mal cut him off with a fast kiss. “Later.” He rocked back with a grin.
“Thanks for coming with me today,” Brian said.
“Of course. This project is important to both of us. To our friends. The kids. I have to be here.”
“You’re not going to play with your phone when we’re—”
Mal looked down to find his phone in his hands. When had he pulled it back out? “You’re cute when you’re anxious,” he said, squeezing the familiar shape of his cell once before putting it back away.
Brian’s eyebrows drew together. “I’m not anxious.”
“Says the sweat on your upper lip.”
Brian pressed the back of his hand there, caught Mal’s eye, and pushed his curving lips closed.
“We’ve got this.” Only one of them was allowed to be anxious, and that was Mal’s job.
Brian returned a sober nod.
The elevator dinged, and they exited into the lobby of the chain’s corporate headquarters, a wide, spacious area with wall-to-wall windows showing off the views. Brian approached the reception desk and waited for the young man there to offer a greeting before stating their purpose.
“Good afternoon. I’m Brian Kenway. My partner and I have an appointment with Xavier Billings.”
What a tool of a name.
Brian kept his smile short and professional, though from the appraising glint in the re
ceptionist’s eyes, he could have added a little sugar and maybe ended up with a date for later that afternoon.
The receptionist pecked at a recessed keyboard with one manicured finger. “What did you say your name was?”
“Kenway.”
“And you had an appointment?”
“Yes. For 1 p.m. this afternoon.”
“I’m not seeing you on his schedule.”
Brian extracted a card from his jacket pocket and pushed it across the counter. “I called a week ago. It’s regarding property in Morristown.”
All business now, the receptionist glanced at the card, but made no move to take it. “I’m sorry. I’m not seeing anything here. Can I schedule another appointment for you?”
A different brand of insecurity rose through Mal’s middle.
“No, you cannot. Our meeting is today.” To anyone else, Brian probably sounded formal and in control. Mal could hear the exasperation, though.
“The building we’re trying to save is marked for demolition,” Mal explained in his quiet teacher voice. “It’s important we speak with Mr. Billings today.” He fumbled for his pocket. “I can show you the email with the appointment reminder.”
Brian spread a hand over the top of the reception desk. “We don’t need much time. Obviously there’s been a mix-up, but we’re here now—” he lifted his portfolio “—and we have all the details with us. Ten minutes will be enough.”
The receptionist made a call and asked them to take a seat. Mal edged toward one of the low bench-style arrangements, wondering if they’d be left there long enough to fuse with the leather. Brian wandered over to the closest bank of windows, and Mal joined him there instead.
“Receptionist looked as though he’d like to make a completely different appointment with you,” Mal murmured.
A flash of hurt crossed Brian’s blue eyes.
Crap. Mal touched his sleeve. “I’m sorry. He’s just—”