by Con Riley
“What doesn’t Evan have to do with it? He’s your brother. I’m sure he’d want to be there for you when you meet your father.”
“No! Who says I’m going to meet him? We’re probably not even related. Why would I want to involve Evan?”
“Because that’s what families do. Share difficult financial and emotional times, and hope for better things for each other.”
They sat in silence again until Marco asked, “Have you talked any of this over with your mother?”
“No! For fuck’s sake, Marco, why the hell would I do that? You’ve seen how she is.”
Marco held his hands up—don’t shoot—then brought them down. He faced forward, his profile deeply shadowed. “And this—this—is why we have to take things slow.” He paused, turning to look at Aiden once more. “I cannot understand this disconnect. It makes no sense that your family leans on you, yet you act as if you do not deserve the same support. Explain this to me, so that I can understand.”
They sat for a while in silence, then walked into their borrowed home together and went to their separate bedrooms.
Aiden didn’t sleep well, starting awake from a shallow doze every time he heard Marco’s bed creak. At one point, he considered getting up to rearrange the bedroom furniture. It was ridiculous that he could hear every single toss and turn, with only drywall between their headboards. Then Marco had obviously given up on sleep too, and had talked for a long time with someone in muted, wall-muffled Italian. He tried to be quiet—there were none of his usual bursts of staccato conversation or gales of laughter—but even so, Aiden had heard every single word. Even if he couldn’t understand them, their restrained tone felt like judgment.
Eventually he’d given up on sleeping and had left the house early, getting to work while the parking lot was still empty. It was a beautiful morning. He’d noticed that as he looked out the kitchen window, contemplating putting on some coffee. Hearing Marco move around had made him leave before they could meet in the hallway. He wasn’t ready to talk about last night.
No. Going to work was better.
He organized the store, then worked at his desk until it was time to open. Finding Evan waiting on the other side of the doors surprised him. Still, he didn’t argue too much when Evan offered a whole day’s labor. Joel was busy at the shelter and then had an interview with someone for a grad school thing. Aiden didn’t pay too much attention to the details. The moment Evan had offered to cover for him, he’d mentally moved on and was planning how to let Marco know that their hooking up would be a mistake.
First, he plowed through his outstanding paperwork. He might be no match for his father when it came to business, but there was something to be said for simply turning up and going through the motions. He placed some orders, frowning over an online translation site, anxious to avoid another delivery of pink lace panties when he really meant to order men’s pants.
Next, he reorganized the roster for the following few weeks and took down the help-wanted notice that someone—most likely Evan—had put up in the window. He fended off his brother’s concern, saying he’d figured out new shifts for the remaining part-time clerks, so there was no need to go through the hassle of recruitment. The truth was that Levi’s theft had made him look closer at his labor bill. Wasn’t every business downsizing? Even the company his dad used to work for had recently let Theo go, as well as his personal assistant, Maggie. Not recruiting, and covering the shifts himself, was one way of clawing back whatever Levi had gotten away with stealing.
Finally, he strategized his bills, moving around payment dates where he could and putting off paying some outstanding invoices—actions that took some pressure off his cash flow. He’d gotten good at juggling when it came to money. He’d had to. Within months of his dad’s passing, his mom’s car had been repossessed, the water got shut off, and Evan had been spooked enough to start sleeping in Aiden’s room again. Finding the cash to maintain their usual lifestyle had become the way he helped his family cope.
He shut down his PC and headed out, passing the ATM where he used to make withdrawals every week, slowly maxing out his first credit card. Just like Dad, he used to leave the cash in the study desk drawer for Mom and Evan to dip into. It took a while to figure out things like Social Security survivor benefits and how to arrange a car loan to replace his mom’s vehicle, which he hadn’t even known was leased, but he’d done it.
He had.
On his own.
It pissed him off that Marco had nosed into his private shit. A few late credit card payments were nothing—fucking nothing—compared to the way his dad had gambled everything away.
His risk-taking had been devastating.
Aiden’s financial juggling was designed to maintain the status quo.
By the time he drove out of the parking lot, his frustration was white-hot and fiercely concentrated. He’d kept his family together and shielded them from harsh reality when they’d already gone through enough. Marco had no right to judge the way he managed money—no right at all. Managing Evan and his mom had been his priority. So what if that left him with no time or money for himself. That hadn’t ever seemed important.
He took a left at the intersection and headed for his mom’s place instead of going home, hoping to rein in his bad mood before he saw his . . . what? Housemate? Potential boyfriend? Jesus fucking Christ, after last night, he really didn’t know where he stood with Marco. He’d spend some time at his mom’s house, then go work some more on Peter’s backyard fence. Maybe some physical activity would be therapeutic before he went back to work.
Her car was in the driveway, so Aiden let himself in the back door, its squeak announcing his arrival. “Hey, Mom.” His greeting wasn’t answered.
Aiden headed for the living room, expecting to find her dozing on the couch. For the longest time—months that ran into years—he’d find her there, staring vacantly at the TV, watching endless soaps. He could understand it. Back then, Evan had hidden himself away in the attic games room, designing perfect family homes at his drawing board. Other worlds sure had seemed more enticing than the one that they’d all been left with.
The living room was empty.
“Is that you, Aiden?” He followed the sound of her voice along the hallway as she said, “I’m here, in the study.”
Aiden paused before entering, pushing the door slowly open. This was a room that his mom usually avoided, only darting in and out to drop bills and reminders on the desk for Aiden to pick up later. He couldn’t blame her for that either.
His dad smiled down from the walls, where framed pictures hung, recording his professional successes. Although it was spacious and well lit, it was kind of hard to work in that room, even though his mom said he was welcome to use it for his business. His dad’s desktop PC was virtually unused, and the furniture was certainly much more sturdy than his make-do arrangement at the store.
It didn’t matter to him that the desk in his stockroom was from a cheap dorm-room set and wobbled when he leaned too hard on it, or that his work PC had been repaired more than once. Nope. Working surrounded by cartons of stock was so much better than feeling his dad’s eyes on him.
His mom was on the floor, and for one too-long, heart-stopping moment, Aiden thought she’d fallen. It took a moment to focus on the papers she had spread out around her, and then his heart sped faster. It looked as if every single letter he’d ever received relating to his and Evan’s Federal Student Aid had been laid out in chronological order.
“What are you doing down there, Mom? Let me help you up.”
“I’m fine.” She accepted Aiden’s hand and slowly stood as he helped her. “I thought you were at work all day. Are you hungry? I had no idea it was lunchtime. Let me go fix you something in the kitchen.”
“No, I’m good.” There was no way he could eat right now. Not after a morning full of tension, or after finding his mom surrounded by papers that might damn him. He cleared his throat. “Were you looking for something
in particular?” He should have emptied the filing cabinet when he moved into the apartment he shared with Evan, but it hadn’t crossed his mind to worry, given that the drawer was always locked. “I guess I must have left my key here.” He took a slow, deep breath. “Why were you on the floor, Mom? You could have looked through that stuff at the desk. You need to take care of yourself.”
“Oh, I just wanted to spread out.” Her gaze flickered toward the rows of photos that she’d had her back to. Then she bent to pick up the scattered papers.
“Let me get those for you.” Aiden scooped up financial aid documents—some were photocopies of applications he’d made for Evan; some were bills from his lender relating to his own undergraduate degree—and put them facedown on the desk. “You know I deal with all the paperwork, Mom. You don’t ever need to waste your time with it. Why don’t you leave this for me to file away while you go make yourself a sandwich?”
She smiled, and it looked genuine. “I wasn’t wasting my time, sweetie. Evan called about grad school.” Her smile faded. “He told me where the spare key was and asked me to see if I could find the details he needed.” When she looked up at Aiden, her expression was troubled. “I don’t understand, though. I thought we had money set aside to cover both of your tuition. These forms . . . .” She pushed Aiden’s hand away and picked up the pile of papers. “They’re all for financial aid.”
Aiden experienced a familiar sensation of almost perfect free fall as his mom waited for an explanation. When he first went to college, he’d gotten involved with a group who liked outdoor pursuits as much as he did. They hiked and climbed together most weekends. He hadn’t stayed in touch with any of them since his dad died—he’d been too busy treading financial water—but he still recalled that awesome, awful moment when he’d first rappelled with them, stepping backward off a cliff with only trust and a rope between him and almost-certain death.
For five years, he’d kept to himself the fact that there was no money set aside for college—for him or for Evan—along with the fact that there were no other significant savings or money in a 401(k) for his mother, either. Aiden had sat at this same desk when he was twenty-one and had received a crash course in real-life economics. It had taken him a while to figure out that there was no life insurance beyond one small policy that barely covered the mortgage. It wouldn’t have mattered even if his dad had set up more, he guessed, once he understood more about insurance policy clauses. The fact that he’d taken his own life would have rendered new ones invalid.
Back then, he’d searched through the same file cabinet drawers that his mom had opened today, and he’d grown increasingly desperate. That had driven him to get some advice in a walk-in lawyer’s office during the week his mom had been admitted for psychiatric evaluation. He’d secured a power of attorney so his mom wouldn’t have to deal with the truth while she was still mentally fragile.
She’d signed those papers in a haze of medication that had hardly lifted for nearly five years.
Back then, once he’d finally guessed his dad’s PC password and had an awful afternoon looking through his poker-site bookmarks, he decided that she didn’t ever need to know where all their cash had gone.
Now, his mom sounded puzzled. “Evan asked me to find out how to access the money David set aside for grad school, but I can’t seem to figure it out.” She waved the papers at him. “I found all these instead.”
The doorbell rang. He closed his eyes as his mom went to answer.
Aiden had had so many dark moments at this desk. Moments when he’d felt nothing but anger, with no chance to share his load. But right here, right now, he’d need a miracle to stop his mom from finding out the truth about her husband. He heard the front door open, and for the first time in a long time wished he could run away.
Marco’s voice was quiet but unmistakable as he approached the study, talking with Aiden’s mom. She was explaining to him—as if he were part of the family—how she’d spent her morning. When Marco stood in the doorway behind her, his expression was strangely blank.
“Your friend came to find you!” His mom brandished a Tupperware container in his direction until Aiden, his movements slow and awkward, reached out to take it from her. “He said that you forgot your lunch.”
She turned and asked if Marco would like a drink.
“Yes, please. Just water, Mrs. Daly. It is warm again today.” They talked for a minute about the changeable weather while Aiden wondered if he was stuck in some surreal nightmare. Every time his mom spoke, she waved her sheaf of damning papers. He started to feel sick.
“See what I found this morning? I don’t understand why the boys bothered with financial aid when they didn’t need to. David set aside more than enough money to see both of them through school. He left us all so well provided for. Does this make any sense to you?” she asked Marco, as if he would know more about paying for an American education than Aiden. Then she looked at Aiden and said, “You’ll have to talk me through this later.”
He raised a hand to his mouth to hold in years’ worth of words that might send her back into a deep depression.
Student loans were the tip of the fucking iceberg.
His hand shook, trembling badly, so he lowered it again. Yeah, he felt sick all right. This was awful, but what was worse, in his opinion, was Marco seeing him this way again—so close to losing control, when he should stay silent.
Marco frowned when he saw Aiden’s fist lower to press against his breastbone. Then his expression tightened when he noticed Aiden’s other hand shaking.
“Financial aid?” Marco asked, before nodding slowly. “Ah yes, a very clever tax break. You are lucky Aiden runs your finances so astutely. He is your family’s greatest asset.”
His mom turned in Aiden’s direction, her smile a warm surprise that made her look much younger. She glanced at the pictures of her husband.
“Well, I guess he did learn from the best.” She left the papers on the desk and then headed for the kitchen, telling the boys to come and eat with her whenever they were ready.
The minute the door closed, Marco crossed the room. He held Aiden until his hands quit shaking.
When Marco finally loosened his grip, Aiden held on even tighter.
Chapter Ten
Maybe this was what rock bottom felt like.
How many times had Aiden heard that phrase used around the poker table recently? He was pretty sure Joel brought that shit up on purpose. He’d turn up late from a volunteer shift at the homeless shelter, then wait until Aiden had just started to relax before telling shelter stories. Joel respected the confidences of the men he worked with, never revealing specifics. But still, the way he’d bring the conversation around to people reaching a drowning point before letting friends and family throw them a lifeline seemed like a taunt at Aiden.
Ever since Joel made Aiden arrange counseling for his mom, he had subtly started bringing up Aiden’s failings. He’d talk about rock bottom, saying that it could be hard to recognize when you were close to it. Then he’d ask Aiden how he was doing. It drove him completely crazy. He’d let Joel win that time about his mom, and look where it had gotten him: now she was asking money questions for the first time in five years, and he’d responded like a deer caught in bright-white headlights.
He’d observed other people hit rock bottom.
His mom had already been there.
Evan had been there twice.
He’d stop them both from sinking so low again, even if it killed him.
“Are you okay, tesoro?”
Aiden couldn’t answer Marco’s question. Not aloud, anyhow, and not while his voice might shake as badly as his hands had. What the hell had brought on such a physical reaction? He’d been in tighter spots than this before, and ones that were harder to get out of. Like the time he’d watched his mom’s car get towed, then lied to her face that he’d bought her something better. Or the night he’d had to borrow cash from Evan after a birthday dinner, when each of hi
s credit cards had been declined.
One question about student loans shouldn’t make him lose his game face. Not after so many years of practice.
“Aiden? Let me know you’re okay.” Marco’s breath was warm, his grip on Aiden’s shoulders firm and steady. He nodded instead of replying. “Good.” That was all Marco said for a few more peaceful minutes.
This silence was new and welcome. With soft hair tickling his cheek and warm breaths a quiet tide rolling in around him, Aiden floated for a while, letting Marco’s presence buoy him.
A drawer closed in the kitchen, and a car passed, the faint vibration of booming bass traveling with it.
Life continuing outside.
Panic ebbed, and perspective flowed in to replace it. He took an experimental deep breath, then exhaled and cleared his throat. Marco’s grip eased, his hands slipping down Aiden’s back, arms looping around his waist loosely. Yeah, this was really easy, exactly what he needed while he figured out his next step. He hadn’t known that peace could come from someone who usually was so noisy.
Marco’s hips nudged his, encouraging him to take a step back that put him against the desk edge. He perched there, legs spread, with Marco standing very close between them. Marco’s hands moved to Aiden’s hips, head tilted as he listened to noises coming from the kitchen.
“Shall I go tell your mamma that you’ve received an urgent business call? Something that will keep you very busy?”
This time Aiden’s nod was more hesitant. Marco put an inch of room between them, lifting Aiden’s chin up with one finger. “Look at me.”
Jesus. Why was this so difficult? Worse even than the wash of shame that came after bouncing a payroll check.
Payroll.
Shit.
He had to do that before the day was out.
He nodded again, slowly, then focused on Marco’s face. His expression was indecipherable, his dark gaze penetrating. He’d seen too much already. Aiden blinked and ducked his head.