by Jerry Cole
Chapter Thirty-Three
Going back to work without the added weight of having to work two people’s clients was a lot easier. It helped, Brent supposed, his boyfriend was back in his life, and he wasn’t wallowing in self-pity.
That didn’t stop Marc forcing him into bed for the next two days, taking on a couple of clients himself and managing to drag Brandon into helping.
“I would have done the same for you,” Brandon said pointedly.
Brent felt the flush of shame but flipped Brandon off anyway, curled up on the couch with one of Marc’s blankets draped across his knees. He was planning on watching TV as soon as they were gone, wrapped up on the couch with Juliette, waiting for Marc and Stanley to get back.
“I’ll see you later,” Marc said softly, dropping a kiss to Brent’s head.
Brent grabbed his head, squeezed, and let go so Marc could leave. Even Stanley stopped by for a scratch and a pat goodbye. As soon as they were gone, Brent expected everything to slot back into place, though he knew there was a lot he had been putting off. Things didn’t miraculously work out because he was back in a relationship. It wasn’t as if he and Marc would suddenly go from broken up to having a relationship that worked and where their biggest fight was about leaving shit on the floor.
Though he was grateful for the second chance, and eager to see how things progressed between them, Brent wasn’t going to expect everything else to work out for him.
His phone sat on the coffee table where Marc left it that morning, raising his eyebrows pointedly. Brent knew what he wanted. He wanted Brent to contact his family and friends and explain, and though Brent knew he should do it, that didn’t make it any easier to accomplish.
There was, however, one person who deserved to hear from him more than anyone else. Making a face, Brent leaned across Juliette, careful not to dislodge her, and slid his phone carefully across the glass.
He didn’t bother looking through the messages and calls still waiting to be answered. Instead, he went through to Amanda’s chat log and saw the messages she had sent him.
I am sorry.
Brent, please pick up the phone, I want to explain.
Are you all right? Brandon said he’d been trying to talk to you, and you were brushing him off. Did everything go all right with Marc?
I get you’re mad at me, but you could at least contact your MOTHER and let her know you’re safe.
Brent? This is fucking ridiculous. I already said sorry. Please let me know you’re all right and not dead somewhere.
Brent?
The last message had been sent the night before, when Brent had been busy holding Marc, trying not to cry with the overwhelming emotions crashing over him. He hit the call button, hoping Amanda wasn’t working. He didn’t want to interrupt anything and had a feeling she would if it meant talking to him.
“Brent.” Amanda sounded breathless, tired at the edges, and Brent swallowed. “Are you all right?”
Brent didn’t know where to begin. “I’m not dead.”
“That’s not funny,” Amanda snapped, and Brent immediately felt guilty. “Does your mom know you’re alive?”
“No.” Brent kept his tone even, playing with the edge of the blanket. “I didn’t want to speak to anyone. You can understand what that’s like after a break up, right?”
There was a horrible silence on the other end of the phone, and Brent felt a little guilty about leading Amanda on like that, but he was still mad even though she’d apologized. It might have been his article and photo, but that didn’t mean it would have gone up without her interference.
“Brent, I’m sorry.” Amanda sounded upset. “I didn’t mean to post it.”
“I know,” Brent said with a sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was working. I had a business built around two people that I was working alone. I was exhausted, and I didn’t want to speak to anyone. I was so angry.”
“I know, Brent, I—”
“Wait,” Brent said, talking over her. He had to get this out. “I know you put it up by accident, you didn’t mean it. I just—I was going to show him and ask him because I wanted him to know how great he was. That’s not—I don’t want to talk about that.”
Amanda let out a slow breath. “What do you want to talk about?”
Brent stared up at the ceiling, a small smile on his face. “Marc and I—we did break up, even if he doesn’t want to say the words. I hated you, I hated myself, I hated everyone for a bit there.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” Brent said, turning his head to see the television. It was playing some cartoon or something, but he didn’t know what it was. “I’m not mad now, but I was then. I kind of went a bit crazy.”
Brent explained how he’d worked himself to the bone, exhausted and dizzy, and the talk he had with Marc about their relationship and Marc’s parents.
“Then he asked if we wanted to start over.”
Amanda sucked in a breath, and Brent could hear the surprise and amusement in her voice. “Did you take him up on it?”
“I’m not stupid,” Brent told her, smiling for the first time since he’d picked up the phone. Amanda’s tone was easy to parse, and he was glad she stopped being so apologetic. “We introduced ourselves like idiots, and then we went on a date.”
“Whose apartment?” Amanda teased.
“Mine,” Brent admitted. “We do have another date tomorrow.”
“Oh?” Amanda asked.
“We’re actually going to a restaurant,” Brent said, feeling the rush of elation through his chest. He promised Marc they didn’t have to, but Marc had raised his eyebrows, reminding Brent this was a new relationship; Brent had helped him deal with his isolation, now he was going to work on everything else.
Brent couldn’t pretend he wasn’t worried; he wanted Marc to be safe and happy, still, even without their codependency being weird. He wanted to make sure Marc wasn’t going to have a panic attack.
“That’s something he has to come to terms with,” Amanda said, when Brent posed the question. “He knows his limits now, Brent, and I think this is his way of trusting you again.”
“How so?” Brent asked, the question of trust still a sore spot. He was still going to work hard at getting Marc to trust him again.
Amanda laughed gently. “Brent, I don’t think he’s sure he’s going to be panic free. He’s trying to trust that you’ll help him if he does panic.”
Brent’s eyes widened, annoyed at himself that he hadn’t considered that. Shaking his head, he laughed ruefully. “Yeah, that didn’t occur to me.”
“That’s why you need friends around to remind you,” Amanda said pointedly.
“Yeah,” Brent agreed, sheepishly. “I learned my lesson on that front.”
“Good,” Amanda said, decisively. “Now tell me about this date you’re planning. Where are you guys going?”
Brent launched into their plans, even started talking about Marc’s tentative introduction with his parents, and how Brent hoped that would work out. By the time he was done catching up with everything Amanda had been doing, and he didn’t want to think about the amount of moping she wasn’t telling him about, he hadn’t laughed so much since his birthday.
“You should call your mother,” Amanda warned, when she told him she had to go. “She deserves to hear everything you’ve just told me.”
“You deserved to hear it first,” Brent told her, pretending not to hear the suspicious sniff.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Calling his family and explaining the situation had been as exhausting as calling Amanda. Polly had given him an earful, and Rachel and Jack had both been torn between anger at Marc and comfort. His mom, on the other hand, had been suitably angry at him while also understanding what had happened.
“You treat that boy right,” she’d told him, tone brooking no argument. “And you take care of yourself.”
With the groveling and earache done, Brent let himself sink
back onto the couch cushions, Juliette having relocated to the floor somewhere during the phone call with Rachel. Brent felt cold along one side, slipping deeper under the blanket while he tried to find something on TV that wasn’t rubbish.
A quick look at his phone told him Marc wasn’t due back for another hour. He was startled when, ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door. In his haste to untangle himself from the blanket, Brent tripped and whacked his leg on the coffee table. He hissed in pain, shin throbbing, as he stumbled to the door.
Brandon raised his eyebrows. “All right?”
“No,” Brent groused, opening the door wider, unsurprised to see Saskia at Brandon’s feet. “Are you done already?”
“Your boyfriend took the last of the clients,” Brandon said, unleashing Saskia and letting her run into the living room. “He’s determined to make up for lost time.”
“Fuck off,” Brent muttered, going into the kitchen. “You want a beer?”
“Not if you’re gonna tell me to fuck off again,” Brandon said with a grin.
Things weren’t comfortable between them, and Brent was aware he was mostly to blame for that. Somehow, he’d managed to convince himself Brandon was going to end up Marc’s friend, and he should just sever ties. He was aware that was disingenuous to both Marc and Brandon, neither of whom had been determined to leave Brent friendless at any point.
“Listen,” Brent said, handing over a bottle and the opener. While Brandon popped the cap on the bottle, Brent leaned against the counter. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop long enough to talk to you.”
“It’s fine,” Brandon said, clearly uncomfortable.
“It’s not,” Brent said gently, lips quirking up into a smile. “But your discomfort with the situation at hand is noted.”
Brandon led the way back to the main room, taking the back end of the couch, ignoring Brent’s blanket and the mugs and plates on the coffee table. “I was a little insulted you didn’t trust me to stay your friend.”
“I know,” Brent said, wincing. He took the armchair, lifting his legs as Saskia and Juliette chased each other around the coffee table. “I’m sorry about that, by the way.”
“Don’t be.” Brandon waved his free hand, taking a sip from his beer. “I’ve been through breakups before. They don’t allow for a lot of critical thinking.”
Brent snorted into his bottle. That was an understatement. He wasn’t sure he’d done much of anything except mope. Not that it was going to be an issue anymore. “Did you come back here for a reason?”
“Well,” Brandon said, dragging out the word, “considering you guys are trying this whatever it is again, and everyone reconnecting with family,” he continued, pretending to cry. “I figured we could have a Christmas party.”
“Where?” Brent asked, aware his small apartment had only just managed to hold his family. “How many people?”
“Only a small gathering,” Brandon protested. “My apartment will work.”
To be fair, Brandon’s apartment was slightly larger than Brent’s, and with enough furniture rearrangement, they could make the space to encompass a party.
“Why are you running it by me, though?”
“You’d know whether or not Marc’s parents would come.”
Brent made a face. “Ah. I see.”
Brandon scratched at his jaw. “You think they might not?”
“What I think,” Brent said slowly, fiddling with the label on the beer bottle. “What I’ve learned, is that I’m not gonna be speaking for Marc. You should ask him yourself.”
Wincing, Brandon sighed. “I had a feeling you were going to say that. Thoughts on whether or not he’ll agree?”
“It’s been a long time,” Brent admitted. He didn’t want to assume anything when it came to Marc and his parents, but he also didn’t think there was going to be a rift big enough to keep Marc away from them for long. “We haven’t talked that much about it, but I know he wants to try and meet with them again. Maybe he’ll use the party as an excuse.”
Brandon didn’t say anything else for a while, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence. Brent would probably be able to convince Marc to invite his parents, but he wasn’t going to tell Brandon that. If there was one thing to come out of his heartbreak and idiocy, it was that talking to Marc before making decisions on his life was the way to go toward rebuilding trust.
“I promise to let you know if he lets me know. For now, make as if they’re not coming.”
“All right,” Brandon said affably. “You’re inviting your family, right?”
“You mean inviting Amanda?” Brent said pointedly, laughing at the startled look on Brandon’s face. “Please, as if I couldn’t tell.”
“I don’t do long-distance,” Brandon said immediately. “Or date,” he continued, slowly, “the best friends of my mates?”
Brent snorted. “If you think for one second Amanda would let me and some dumb bro code stand in the way of a guy she wanted to bang? I’ve got news for you, buddy.”
Brandon laughed, rubbing at his face. “I genuinely did mean your family.”
“I know,” Brent assured him. “I’ll ask them. If it helps, I know for a fact my sisters will hear the word party and jump at the chance. Even Jack.”
Not that Brent was around them for long periods of time, but he doubted that much had changed.
Brandon didn’t stick around for long. He finished his beer and then checked his watch, making a face when he noticed the time. Marc was due back any second, and though Brent knew he wouldn’t mind if Brandon was still there, Brent wanted the time alone with him.
“If you don’t mind,” he hedged, tossing their bottles in the recycling.
“Please,” Brandon scoffed. “I don’t even wanna be around that new love aura.”
“It’s not exactly new love,” Brent pointed out unnecessarily, tugging open the door. Saskia was clearly eager to leave, half pulling Brandon out into the hall.
“But,” Brandon said, raising his eyebrows. “You are gonna bang.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Brent said. He shut the door on Brandon’s ridiculous laugh, and stared at Juliette, who was sitting in the hall doorway. “It’s not dinner time, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”
Unable to resist, Brent did toss her a treat and then set about making dinner. It was the least he could do when Marc—and Brandon—had saved him another day of exhaustion.
“I was thinking,” Marc said, when they were tucking into Brent’s lemon chicken. It was one of the only dishes he could make without burning something.
“About?” Brent poked at his potatoes.
Marc settled his cutlery on the edge of the plate, wiped clean of everything. Brent grinned to himself, a little smug with a job well done. Marc wasn’t meeting his eyes, but Brent couldn’t see anything on his face that would give away his thoughts. “I read your blog post.”
“Ah,” Brent said. He had hoped to avoid talking about it. In fact, never mentioning it again in the history of ever would have been preferable.
“I probably wouldn’t have,” Marc admitted, fiddling with the end of his fork. It was making a horrible scraping sound against the knife and Brent wanted to ask him to stop, but his voice wouldn’t work. “But my mom said it’s what made her write.”
Brent nodded dumbly. He wouldn’t have anything to say even if he could make his voice work.
Marc finally let go of the cutlery, and Brent scratched at the back of his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance.”
“It’s all right,” Brent said quietly, feeling his voice break on the words. He winced. “I’m sorry I didn’t explain properly. I shouldn’t have lied, even if it was by omission.”
“So, we’re both sorry,” Marc said with a small smile. “We’re working on it, but that’s not what I was talking about.” At Brent’s raised eyebrows, Marc continued. “I meant give the article a chance. It was—I didn’t know you saw me like that.”
Brent shrugged eas
ily. “Your PTSD isn’t you, Marc. It’s a part of you, but you’re more than that.”
It wasn’t the first time he had told Marc that, but it might as well have been for the way Marc breathed, his knuckles white with the grip he had on the edge of the table.
“You have to know I believe that,” Brent said.
“I do,” Marc assured him. It was his voice wavering, and Brent desperately wanted to stand, go around the table, and give him a hug. There was nothing stopping him from doing that, so he did, tugging Marc to his feet and enveloping him in his arms. “Jesus.”
“Yeah,” Brent said, huffing a laugh into Marc’s neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“I know,” Marc said. They stayed hugging for a while, until Marc’s hand went to the back of his neck. Definitely a touch Brent wanted to keep getting used to. “You should put it back up.”
Brent’s hands clenched into the back of Marc’s sweater. “Fuck.”
“I mean it,” Marc said, pulling back and looking Brent in the eye. “You should keep doing it, too.”
“Only,” Brent started, licking at his bottom lip, “if you let me put your pictures on it.”
It seemed as if Brent was holding his breath for an hour, but it was just a moment before Marc’s breath blew out, his fingers twitching on Brent’s skin. “I think,” he said, as if picking his words carefully, “I can try.”
That was more than enough for Brent.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The Christmas party was in full swing.
Brent was tucked into a corner, talking with Jack, who launched into an explanation of the game Brent had bought her and why he should try it out. To be fair, Brent had a gaming console, but he never managed to find time to play anything.
“Seriously, are you my brother?” Jack asked, incredulous.
“It’s debatable,” Brent said, tongue-in-cheek.
Jack punched him in the arm, something he probably deserved, and then nudged him, gesturing to where Marc was hovering awkwardly in Brandon’s hallway, talking to Brent’s mom but darting looks at the door. “Is he all right?”
Brent grinned into the rim of his bottle, but if softened into a smile when he thought of Marc’s nervousness. “His parents are due to arrive soon. It’s the first time he’s seen them in three years.”