He didn’t sit down. Just stood behind Adam’s chair. Put his hand in the middle of Adam’s upper back.
Freddy wanted to hit him. To grab that arm and throw it away like a rotten piece of fruit. He wanted to fucking pummel him, actually.
But he wanted a lot of things he couldn’t have. What else was new?
Adam was still looking at him expectantly, like he was waiting for Freddy to finish his question. He was sitting there, with another man’s hand on his back, expecting Freddy to finish asking him out?
Yeah. Not happening.
Freddy might be kind of fucked in the head when it came to Adam Elliot, but he wasn’t a complete idiot.
And really, this overgrown poseur asshole was doing him a favor. Reminding him to have some goddamn pride.
So he gazed back evenly at Adam, trying to make his mind and his face go blank.
The silence stretched on long enough that Adam’s old-ass man-friend stuck out his hand and said, “I’m William Ellison.”
Freddy blinked, startled. This was the winemaker Bronwen had planned to introduce him to. “Freddy Wentworth,” he said.
William’s eyes widened. “Of Captain’s in Manhattan?”
“That’s me.”
“I’m a winemaker. I own Greenport Vineyards. Up in the North Fork.”
Freddy made a noncommittal noise.
“Can I give you a card? Invite you up for a—”
“No.” Freddy didn’t care that he was interrupting. Being rude. “No, you cannot.”
And with one more look at Adam—one he feared was not as neutral as he wanted it to be—he got up and left.
Chapter Sixteen
Eight years ago
Adam had a lot of experience with awkwardness. Trying to keep up when he was in a group on foot. Being anywhere in public with his mother or sister.
So he would have thought he’d be used to it. It turned out, though, that none of that had prepared him for what it felt like to make the biggest mistake of his life and then have to keep existing in the world like he was a normal person. Like he wasn’t walking around with his mangled heart half inside his chest, half out as it tried to break free and go after the only thing it had ever really wanted.
The worst part was the ring. He’d taken it off its chain to give back to Freddy, and when Freddy had refused it, Adam had stuck it in his pocket. And, after Freddy had left, he’d laid on his back on the floor and cried. It had only been later that night, in his bedroom, that he’d realized the ring was missing. He’d gone back to the barrel room, of course, but it had been nowhere to be found. How could something like that just disappear? He’d wondered if maybe Freddy had come back for it after all. It seemed the only logical explanation.
Anyway, what did it matter? It wasn’t like it was really his, despite Freddy’s interpretation of things. He couldn’t have kept wearing it. If he still had it, it would be hidden in one of his dresser drawers right now, out of sight but tormenting him just the same.
Still. He wanted it.
Sometimes people talked about heartbreak making them feel like they were missing a limb. That missing ring felt like a bigger deal than a missing limb—and Adam knew crappy limbs. He kept lifting his hand to stroke the chain—a mindless habit he had developed in the few weeks he’d worn it. Every single time he was surprised to find it was missing. Gutted anew.
“What’s the matter with you?” Rusty asked. They were sitting on his sofa having a beer. Adam hadn’t felt like going home after the shop closed, and Lady Merlot didn’t have a gig tonight.
What if I just told him the truth? Not little half truths designed to test the waters. Not I thought I might get an apartment, but the actual truth.
“I made a huge mistake.” He blew out a breath. It felt kind of amazing to say it out loud. So he kept going. “I was in love with Freddy Wentworth, and I dumped him. Now he’s gone, and I feel like I’m going to die.”
That felt even better. Well, not better. He still felt like crap. But speaking the truth in a direct way—like Freddy had always done—was surprisingly liberating.
“Don’t be so dramatic, darling,” Rusty said. “You got your heart a little banged up. Welcome to the human condition.”
“What if I had left Bishop’s Glen, like you always wanted?” Adam asked, turning to his mentor, his friend, the man he was always trying to please. “What if Freddy and I had left together?”
Rusty rolled his eyes. “What does it matter? Freddy’s gone.”
It was true. It had been a month. Adam had tried to text him, to apologize, to take everything back, but there had been no answer. No indication that his texts had even been read. He’d asked around at Miller’s, and all anyone knew was that Freddy had left suddenly, as had his friend Ben, and that he hadn’t bothered to give notice.
“But just say things had gone differently. What if Freddy and I had moved somewhere…else? Somewhere bigger.” Somewhere we could really be together. “New York City, maybe. I could have gone to school like you always wanted. Freddy could have…”
Rusty snorted. “What? What could Freddy have done? Washed dishes in New York? Where the cost of living is ten times what it is here?”
Adam didn’t want to leave Bishop’s Glen. He didn’t want to leave Kellynch, but he knew then that he would have, if it would have let him be with Freddy. If it would have gotten him away from all these people who thought they knew how he should live his life.
He knew then that he should have.
Present day
Hey. Check this out.
The text from Sophie was accompanied by a photo of the waterfront at Kellynch. Freddy’s breath caught. He switched on a bedside lamp in his hotel room—he’d been drinking and brooding in the dark since he got home from the concert—and enlarged the photo.
They’d cleaned up the little beach—installed a paved walkway that led to a new, much longer and sturdier dock, cleared the rocks and brush away and done some planting. It was made-over but still recognizable.
Still the place he’d left his heart.
There was a wooden structure on one end of the image, and what looked like small, high cocktail tables that people would stand at.
Freddy: Is that a bar?
Sophie: Yeah. We’re going to cater in some wine and snacks for people while they’re waiting for the boat. Kind of ironic that we live on a vineyard and have to bring wine in.
Freddy: It looks great.
It did. It was amazing what a little TLC could do.
Sophie: I also found this. I wonder if it belonged to one of the Elliots?
Freddy’s stomach dropped when the picture came through. It was his ring. Dirty and looking a little worse for wear, but he’d recognize that mahogany band anywhere.
Fuck.
He had no idea what possessed him, after all these years, to tell her the truth. His fingers just did it.
Freddy: That’s mine. I gave it to Adam Elliot eight years ago because I was in love with him.
Dropping the phone like it was contaminated, he threw his head back and laughed. It was kind of a maniacal laugh. It was late, and he was drunk. He hadn’t been able to get the image of Adam, sitting calmly while William Ellison touched him, out of his head. He’d been seized with the notion that given all his past interest in winemaking, Adam had latched on to William. That maybe he hoped to find the love and approval from him that he’d never had from his father.
Or maybe it wasn’t so complicated. Maybe Adam just liked William.
The prospect made him ill.
So he’d turned to whiskey, hoping it would dull the pain.
It had not.
The laugh might also have contained a little bit of genuine… Not happiness. Satisfaction. Telling the truth was liberating, in a way, even if it didn’t elementally change anything.
The phone rang.
He could not answer, but he’d never get rid of her. She’d get in her car and drive here.
He picked up the
call and instead of greeting her, he just sighed into the phone.
“What?” Her voice was low and almost shaky. Angry-sounding, actually. He’d expected shock, disbelief. He hadn’t expected pissed. “What the hell are you talking about, Freddy?”
“I made that ring in high school. In shop class.”
“I know,” she snapped. “I remembered it the moment you said it was yours. You used to wear it. I guess I didn’t notice when you stopped.”
Silence settled for a moment. He knew there was no chance she’d leave it there, though.
And she didn’t: “You know that’s not what I meant when I asked you what the hell you were talking about.”
Shit. He could hardly hold out on her. He was the one who’d brought this up.
“We met at Miller’s.” He flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, which was spinning a little, thanks to his inebriation. “He was parking cars that summer before I left.” She made a vague noise of dissatisfaction. Yeah, that wasn’t what she wanted to know either. He sighed. “I don’t know what else to tell you. I fell in love with him. I gave him that ring. It was good for a while.”
It was her turn to be silent. He could picture her blinking, trying to adjust to the bomb he’d dropped. “And then what happened?” she finally said.
“Then it wasn’t good.” She didn’t need to know all the gory details.
“And we took his house,” she breathed, horror seeping into her tone.
“You didn’t take it,” Freddy corrected. “They lost it.”
“Freddy, is this why you’re in the Hamptons? Is Adam Elliot why you’re in the Hamptons?”
He didn’t answer. But he must not have needed to, because after a short stretch of silence, she asked, “What do you want me to do with the ring?”
“Nothing. Throw it away.”
She laughed at him. He deserved it, probably, but it still rankled. “I’m not throwing it away.”
“Do what you like with it, then. I don’t want it.” What the hell would he do with that ring, after all this time? He certainly couldn’t wear it.
“I think you do want it. And I think you want Adam. I think you want Adam wearing it.”
He did. The want she described was sharp and honed and polished, like a sword sliding in between his ribs. It hurt so much he sucked in a breath.
“Look,” she said, her voice as gentle now as it had been angry at the start of the conversation. “I don’t know what happened between you, but I know you. Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face. Don’t let this be like your hate-on for Bishop’s Glen.”
“I don’t even know what that means.” Why had he set himself up for this? Why?
“Yes, we had some shitty times here. But that’s life. Life is shitty a lot of the time. If you have a chance to make it less shitty, don’t let your stubbornness or your pride or whatever stand in the way.”
Freddy reminded himself that his sister loved him. She meant well. But what she was instructing him to do was to give up everything. Every single thing he had. The qualities that had got him this far in life, propelled him out of Bishop’s Glen and into a new life in New York.
A life he apparently didn’t want anymore, judging by how long he’d lasted back there before retreating up here on his fool’s errand.
So if, for one second, he entertained the notion that she might have been right, that maybe his stubborn pride hadn’t always served him, he brushed it off. Because it didn’t matter anyway. It wasn’t up to him. There was already a hand resting on Adam Elliot’s back, and it wasn’t Freddy’s.
And here they were again.
Adam turned his head away as William’s lips descended, so they hit his cheek instead of their intended target.
“Are you still playing hard to get?” There was an edge to William’s voice. Adam wondered if it was new or if it had always been there and he simply hadn’t noticed it before.
“Not playing anything.” Adam was tempted to push through the gate of Harry’s backyard, but he knew William would follow. That deflected kiss wouldn’t be allowed to stand.
He shouldn’t have accepted William’s invitation to brunch. Not after last night. The concert had been, for a moment, so wonderful. Well, not the concert. Freddy.
He’d agreed to brunch because he’d decided he needed to break things off with William—not that there were really “things” to break off. There had only been a handful of kisses. A few restaurant meals. Some not-unpleasant time spent together.
But he couldn’t do it anymore.
When Freddy had been about to suggest—Adam thought—that they go out for fish and chips, Adam’s heart had…woken up. It was the only way he could think to describe it. Like it was coming out of hibernation. He’d been so excited. Flooded with giddy anticipation and nerves and yearning.
That’s what a date should feel like.
Not like this. This…lack of unpleasantness.
And when William had swooped in just as Freddy was talking and touched Adam? Well, Adam had been mortified. I’m not his! He’d wanted to stand on a chair and yell that at everyone—but mostly at Freddy. But of course that wasn’t done. So he’d sat there. Frozen. Again.
He hadn’t quite been able to work up the nerve to break things off with William at brunch, though, despite the fact that that had been the whole point of the thing. Suddenly, the restaurant hadn’t seemed the place. He didn’t want to embarrass William—or himself—in a public setting.
But what the hell? Had he always been this much of a coward? Who cared what people thought? He didn’t owe these people anything—certainly not “good behavior.”
All good behavior had done all these years was make him miserable.
Anger surged through him. He’d always blamed himself, rather than Rusty, for what happened with Freddy. He still did. But all of a sudden all his regret hardened into rage. All the sad, passive wistfulness he’d been carrying around all these years slid away like a skin being shed to reveal a stronger, suppler interior that must have been there all along.
That must have been what Freddy had seen.
I don’t belong here.
It was time to go home. Start living his life. Even if it wasn’t the life he wanted, it was his. It was time he started acting like it.
He turned to William. “Actually, maybe I have been playing hard to get. But only because I am hard to get. I’m not really…available.”
“There’s someone else?”
“Yes. No. Well, not in the way you mean.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, I can’t—”
“Save it.”
In another context, the reaction might have been masking pain, but that wasn’t what was happening here. If Adam had gotten hints before, of something inside William that didn’t match the way he presented, a flash of impatience or a touch of disingenuousness, that intuition had been correct. Because he was no longer hiding his impatience. Or his disgust. He threw up his hands, turned, outright sneered, and walking backward, said, “Tell your mother and sister to be out of the house by the end of the week.”
And then he was gone.
Adam laughed a little. Because that had been so anticlimactic. And because he felt good.
Also, there was confirmation of why his mother was so invested in the idea of him with William: William was her link to free luxury housing. And now he’d severed it.
He laughed again as he unlatched the gate and stepped into the backyard. Because he still felt good.
“Well, that was a stupid thing to do.”
Adam turned toward the voice. “Rusty.” He had to learn to start scanning the pool deck for eavesdroppers—and by eavesdroppers, he meant Rusty.
But not really, because he was leaving. Going home to start living his life in the open, the way he wanted to. So there would be no need to worry about eavesdroppers.
Also? He didn’t care what Rusty thought anymore. Well, that wasn’t true. He loved Rusty, and his opinion was i
mportant to Adam. But he was done letting it dictate his life.
“Sorry, Adam.” The apology came from Harry, who was seated next to Rusty. “I told him we should slink away.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Adam said.
“How can you say that?” Rusty started to get up. “You had William Ellison, a hugely talented and rich man about town, interested in you, and you just went and—”
“Hang on, now,” Harry said. “William Ellison? The wine guy? That’s who you’ve been seeing, Adam? Jesus Christ, I knew that voice was familiar.”
“Yes, the wine guy.” Rusty looked at Adam. “The wine guy who was your ticket out of Bishop’s Glen.”
“I don’t want to get out of Bishop’s Glen, Rusty.” Adam had said that to his mentor before, dozens of time. But whatever shift he’d felt inside himself earlier must have been reflected in his words, because Rusty’s eyes widened as if he’d really heard Adam for the first time. “In fact, I’m going home.”
He started for the pool house, and Rusty scoffed. “Now?”
An idea dawned. It was probably a bad one, a Hail Mary pass that would go nowhere, but he had to try. “Tomorrow, actually. I have…something I have to do first.”
“Adam,” Harry said, “you should know—”
“Well, I’m not going home.” Rusty spoke over Harry, ignoring his attempt to interject.
“That’s okay,” Adam said, because it was. “I’ll go by myself. I have some stuff I need to get done in town before the shop reopens anyway.” Namely, find somewhere to park the RV that wasn’t Mark’s. A place that was his, even if it was in a shitty trailer park with no trees. And Mr. Collins, who was boarding with Mrs. Littleton and had probably had just about enough of his purebred forebears, deserved some nice, long walks.
“William Ellison, Adam. I don’t know what you more want. If you think—”
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