Thursday morning, he was in the midst of compiling reports requested by the sales division of Sundstrom Homes when his cell phone rang. His personal phone, not the corporate one that no one ever called.
“Brad Sundstrom,” he said.
“Hi, Brad, it’s Pete Rancilman.”
Brad wracked his brain to figure out why that name sounded familiar. Oh, yes. “Hi, Mr. Rancilman. I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you about the alumni oversight committee. I—”
“Not a problem. I just wanted to call and personally extend the invitation,” Pete said. “We’re very keen to have you, and I hope you’ll consider joining the committee.”
I just bet you are, Brad thought, Philip’s comment about their dad’s money springing to memory. “I’ve certainly been giving it some thought, but I’m not sure what I have to offer, since I just graduated.”
“That’s precisely what you have to offer, Brad,” Pete said. “Most of us are long out of college. You’ll bring a fresh perspective and ideas as we deal with the coaching situation.”
“Coaching situation?” That was the last thing Brad expected to hear.
“Indeed. As you know, there were reports of an inappropriate relationship between the men’s varsity coach and one of his rowers, one of your teammates, in fact.”
Brad’s mind kicked into overdrive. “I thought the school dropped the matter.”
“CalPac may have dropped its investigation into the matter, but the NCAA has not,” Pete said firmly. “The oversight committee takes this kind of thing very seriously, and we want to make sure this deviant behavior isn’t part of a larger pattern.”
They were after Coach Bedford, Brad realized. He’d been looking forward to lunch, but no longer. “Deviant behavior, huh? I’m in. Tell me when and where.”
This was so not good. This was the opposite of good, he thought miserably, resting his head on the desk. They were after Coach Bedford, the man responsible for some of the best years of his life. He just couldn’t let this happen, but he had no idea what he could do. This was like… grown-up stuff, committees and planning and strategy. He was good at the physical stuff, the in-your-face threat of grievous bodily injury, not this.
Like Monday, when he’d gotten in that construction worker’s face. Brad groaned. He could really use Drew’s input, but Drew hadn’t called all week, hadn’t even e-mailed him. Drew would know what to do but probably wanted nothing more to do with him after that mini-rampage. But this was new territory for Brad. He could e-mail Coach Nick directly and warn him, but what if this was nothing, or at least nothing as bad as he was making it out to be?
He spent the rest of the day staring at his computer but not accomplishing much. The thought of the oversight committee upset him, and working on what he needed for the Bayard bid made him think of Drew being mad at him.
Friday was more of the same. But after a sucktastic day at work and a fight with Randall when he got home, he needed to hear a friendly voice.
He sat his armchair in his room, staring at his phone, wondering who he’d become. He’d never been one to hesitate before. He was Brad Sundstrom, force of nature and bull in a china shop. But where Drew was concerned, it seemed like he was becoming someone else.
“Man up, you puss,” he muttered, picking up the phone and stabbing the button for Drew’s number in the autodial. “Hi, Drew, it’s me.”
Chapter Ten
Drew dropped his messenger bag on the floor inside the garage door, his keys following in a noisy clatter. He leaned against the door, eyes closed, savoring his weariness. It was the end of a marathon week, and tomorrow would be a busy one of showing homes and making time to work on the bid for the Bayard House.
The bleating of his cell phone roused him from his daze. “Drew St. Charles here.”
“Hi, Drew, it’s me,” Brad said.
“Brad! How’re you! You’ve been quiet this week,” Drew said. He pushed himself up and shuffled off to his room, stopping long enough to toe off his shoes.
“Look who’s talking,” Brad said.
“Ugh, what a week. I’ve been crazy busy showing and selling houses. Suddenly people are crawling out of the woodwork buying and selling,” Drew said. Cradling the phone between his chin and shoulder, he started shedding clothing along the way. He was just too tired to care about the mess right then. “It’s amazing how much time a closing can take, let alone three.”
“So dinner’s on you?” Brad said. It sounded brittle to Drew.
“It’ll help carry us through the project,” Drew said, “if that’s what you’re getting at it.”
“If we get it,” Brad said, sighing.
There was a pause on Brad’s end. Drew heard him draw breath and then release it as the silence stretched painfully. “Brad?”
“Am I still on the project?” Brad blurted.
Drew shook his head. He couldn’t have heard that right. “What’re you talking about? Of course you’re on the project. After all the trouble I went to lure you in? Seriously, dude, talk to me.”
“Well, I… the thing is,” Brad huffed. “Oh jeez, do we have to go into this?”
“I’d say so, yes, since I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you’re starting to scare me. Just spit it out,” Drew said. When nothing was forthcoming, his temper started to slip. “Brad….”
“All right, I just feel stupid. I’ve been worried about Monday all week. When I went at that construction worker who whistled at Emily. That kind of thing is just so rude. I’ve seen it all my life, and there’s no call for it,” Brad said, “none. So when I heard that whistle, I didn’t even stop to think. I just went all alpha male all of a sudden. But then I looked back at you and you looked so embarrassed. I don’t want to be that guy who embarrasses you,” Brad said softly. “I… you… you’re a nice guy.”
Drew knew right then that it was a good thing they were separated by miles and miles, because he’d have tried to kiss Brad. That was just so sweet. “Oh no, Brad! I didn’t mean it like that… okay, yeah, I was a tiny bit embarrassed, but mostly I was afraid you were going to get yourself creamed.”
“By him? God, no,” Brad laughed. “I’ve taken down bigger guys than that.”
Drew rolled his eyes. “Do you do this often?”
“Not all the time, no, but when someone I’m around needs protecting? Then yeah, I’m there,” Brad said.
“I can imagine,” Drew said, smiling, wishing he were the one on the end of that protective display.
“Yep, that’s me, big dumb lug and bodyguard. Did I ever tell you about the time I scared off some assclown who was hassling Coach Bedford and Morgan Estrada?”
“No, I don’t think you did,” Drew said. By this time clad only in his boxer briefs, he lay down on his bed to listen.
“Yeah, it was right after the Pacific Coast Rowing Championship this spring. Coach Bedford had just dropped this bomb that he was going to step down as coach,” Brad said, laughing at the absurdity of the idea.
“I’d heard about that,” Drew said. “I’d also heard Morgan wasn’t real happy that he didn’t discuss it with him.”
“I didn’t hear that part,” Brad cackled. “But when Morgan went off to find Coach, I followed for some reason. Then I saw them kissing. It didn’t creep me out the way I thought two guys kissing would’ve. It was… I don’t know. You’re gay, so you know. Anyway, someone said something to them, and I got right in his face and bellowed. It was like one of those cartoons when someone screams really loud and all the leaves are blasted off the trees or something.”
Drew pictured it in his imagination. “You’re something else, Brad.”
“So… when do we need to get together to talk about the project some more?” Brad said, “because I’ve been doing my homework.”
“Have you now?” Drew said.
“You bet. I’ll carry my weight.”
“Of that I have no doubts,” Drew said. “I’m booked up this entire weekend, but you can com
e over for dinner on Sunday, if you want. I should have time to breathe by then.”
“Sounds great. This time, I’ll have notes for you to look at,” Brad said. Drew could hear the pride in his voice. “Do you mind talking a little longer? There’s something I need to run by you.”
“Yeah, sure,” Drew said. He listened with growing horror as Brad described his conversation with the head of the alumni oversight committee for the crew teams at CalPac.
“So what do I do?” Brad said. “This is so not my area of expertise.”
Drew thought of Brad’s description of himself as a bull in a china shop. “E-mail Nick Bedford. I’ll mention it to him, too, but I’ll tell him he needs to call you for the info.”
“Yeah, okay, that makes sense. I’ll be his mole on the committee or something,” Brad said.
“That’s really nice of you to do that. You’re a good friend,” Drew said.
“So are you, for listening to me ramble on tonight,” Brad said quietly.
“That’s what I’m here for,” Drew said. Then he said goodnight, and they hung up.
Drew just lay there, holding the phone against his chest, and realized the truth of his situation. It was the oldest story in the book, but it was his. He was in love with a straight man.
He had a whole new appreciation for what Nick had gone through this spring when he was crushing so hard on Morgan but couldn’t have him. Only then, Morgan made it very clear that he had a say in it, too, and he most definitely was warm for his coach’s form.
Drew had no such hope of delivery from this sweet misery. Brad was straight. It didn’t creep me out the way I thought two guys kissing would’ve. Drew cringed. Hardly a ringing endorsement of guy-on-guy action. No, not a chance in hell of getting his guy. Brad was a nice guy, but straight.
The one thing Drew disliked about real estate was that his work consumed his weekends. He rolled out of bed early Saturday morning knowing he wouldn’t be home until dinnertime, and by that point he’d be too fried to do much. But last night’s conversation weighed on his mind, and he needed to talk to Nick.
He glanced at the clock. 7:30 a.m. Not too early to call grown-ups, and ordinarily, he’d call without a second thought, since he knew Nick kept early hours. But Nick and Morgan had moved in together recently, and Morgan was a college student on a summer schedule.
He risked calling anyway but only reached their voice mail. “Hi, guys, it’s Drew. Nick, can you call me on my cell? I’ve got open houses all day, but I should be able to talk, at least for a while. I’ll try texting you too. Bye.”
He pulled out his mobile phone, grateful he owned one with a complete if tiny keyboard.
Need to talk and soon, he sent.
Setting his phone on the counter, Drew grabbed his messenger bag from his home office and checked it for the glossy fliers he’d made for the properties he was showing. It was all about advertising and creating a favorable impression in a potential buyer’s mind. He made a note to run by the supermarket to pick up some flowers, just in case.
Then his phone buzzed. I’m at the boathouse. What’s up? Nick sent.
I’ll be there in 20. Don’t leave, Drew typed. He grabbed his keys, his bag, and his mug full of coffee and was out the door.
Blessing the light Saturday-morning traffic, Drew made it to the CalPac boathouse in less than twenty minutes. As he walked into the main bay, Morgan turned and waved before heading down to the dock.
Drew spotted Nick over by his office, talking to that short spitfire of a coxswain, Stuart Cochrane. “We’ll talk more, but I’m hoping you can round up some of the guys to coordinate the new guy’s welcome to CalPac and the team. You know, show him around campus and town, make sure he knows his way to the boathouse, that kind of thing.”
“Sure thing, Coach. I can probably do it myself,” Stuart said as Drew approached. “What’s his name, anyway?”
“Jonathan Poisonwood. He should be up here sometime next week. I’ll forward his last e-mail to you, and you can contact him directly. Thanks, Stuart. I appreciate it. I know how busy this year’s going to be for you,” Nick said.
Stuart shrugged. “Things haven’t gotten crazy yet. Hey, Drew.”
“Hello, Stuart,” Drew said. He’d always liked Stuart, even if he only ever saw him at regattas, where the younger man tended toward the bossy.
“Why don’t you CC me the first time you e-mail Jonathan? That way I’ll be in the loop. Sort of,” Nick said, smiling slightly. “All right, Drew. What’s dragged you down to the boathouse, of all places?”
“Catch you later,” Stuart said, recognizing a dismissal when he heard one.
Nick raised a hand in acknowledgement, but his focus was on Drew.
“What’s all this?” Drew said.
“Just a light row for the guys who’re back before school starts or who never left for the summer, varsity and JV,” Nick said.
“Let’s talk in your office,” Drew said.
Nick led him to the coaches’ office and shut the door behind them, although they remained standing. “I repeat: what’s brought you down here? I know what your weekends can be like.”
Drew exhaled noisily. “Two things, and both of them are Brad Sundstrom.”
“Oh, jeez, not this again,” Nick groaned.
“It’s not what you think,” Drew said. “We’ve actually become pretty good friends. I think.”
“You think?” Nick said, one eyebrow cocked.
“I know,” Drew said. “He called me last night, just to talk. He’s struggling to find his way.”
“It’s not uncommon. Even a school like CalPac provides a fair amount of structure. Rowing gives them even more. Then, just like that, it’s gone. Some land on their feet, some seem to wander for a while,” Nick said. “I’m surprised Brad’s turning out to be a wanderer. It looked like his life was set for him after graduation, with that job at his dad’s company waiting for him.”
Drew shook his head. “Looks were deceiving, I guess, and from what Brad’s told me, his dad’s an asshole of the first magnitude who treats him like he’s not only five but simple-minded.”
“Brad’s not stupid, but he can be a challenge,” Nick said.
“Maybe if his dad tried treating him with a little respect and kindness, Brad’d respond in kind,” Drew said.
“Maybe if Brad thought further into the future than his next beer or sexual conquest, he might find he’s treated like the adult that he’s supposed to be,” Nick said.
“He’s an adult. He’s got a good head on his shoulders,” Drew said. He started pacing.
Nick gave him a funny look. “Are we talking about the same Brad? Because the Brad Sundstrom I know is an overgrown child most of the time.”
“Not the one I know,” Drew snapped.
Nick held up his hands. “Easy there, but I think I know Brad pretty well.”
“In some ways, perhaps, but not in others. Did I tell you he may come work for me?” Drew said, explaining the bid for the renovations of the Bayard House and Brad’s potential role in it.
Nick looked nonplussed. “I had no idea.”
“Sorry,” Drew said. “It’s been a busy summer, I guess.”
“No kidding,” Nick agreed. “When I’m done here, Morgan and I are having breakfast, and then I’m diving into that bed/bath reno.”
“I’ll come by to check it out between open houses today. Anyway, I wish I could help Brad. He’s a nice guy. He just seems really unhappy,” Drew said.
“Did he tell you this?” Nick asked.
Drew shook his head. “No, but I can read between the lines.”
“Be careful, Drew.”
“I just want to help him, you know? Not get in his pants,” Drew said quietly. Then he smiled. “Okay, not just get in his pants.”
“At least you admit it,” Nick laughed.
Drew shrugged. “In the immortal words of Popeye, I am what I am. But this is a hell of a challenge. How do I help someone I’m….”
“Crushing on without it being self-interested manipulation?” Nick suggested.
“You make it sound so ugly,” Drew said, frowning.
“It sounds like Brad’s vulnerable right now,” Nick said. “You could easily pressure him into giving you what you want, at least to an extent and at least for a while.”
“God damn, Nick, I’d never—”
Nick put his hands on Drew shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “I know you wouldn’t, because you’re too good a person. But it could easily happen, especially if you’re thinking with your dick and you don’t realize it. Be careful, that’s all I’m saying. I don’t want to see either of you get hurt.”
Tipping the Balance Page 10