Kitchen Gods Box Set

by Beth Bolden

  “It fits.” Eric paused, and peeling a few twenties off the roll of cash he kept in his pocket, tossed them onto the table. “I have another meeting in a few. Are you done?”

  Ryan was definitely done, though he was pretty sure that Eric was talking about the food still left on his plate. “Yeah,” he said. He hadn’t really been hungry after all. Or maybe he’d only been hungry for Wyatt’s food.

  If that was the case, then he was officially pathetic.

  “You’re wasting away,” Eric said as he got up from the table. “Stop mooning after Dream Chef and get your mojo back.”

  “Saying shit like that is why you’re getting a divorce,” Ryan called out towards Eric’s back, but he didn’t turn around. It wasn’t even true; Eric was in the middle of a horribly acrimonious divorce because he was a royal asshole.

  He’d neatly maneuvered him into a corner where he couldn’t help but seriously consider the possibility of fake dating Matt, no matter how much he didn’t want to.

  The problem, Ryan sighed, shoving his sunglasses back on his face, was that left him in a worse mood than he’d been in to begin with.

  * * *

  Wyatt had called his brothers and had told them to meet him at Nana’s home that afternoon. Of course when he pulled into the lot, three minutes before the agreed upon time, they hadn’t arrived yet.

  It wasn’t so much a surprise as it was a continual disappointment.

  He checked his phone, cleared the handful of emails, and even though he didn’t see any new texts, lingered over his conversation with Ryan anyway.

  It felt stupid to text him that he’d arrived in Napa safely, because that wasn’t something Ryan had asked of him. They were barely friends, clearly muddling through on that end, and anything else they could’ve been, Wyatt had shut down.

  That didn’t change the fundamental desire he felt to talk to him, even to send a short text telling him he’d arrived okay.

  It was a problem, and one they were going to have to try to address when Wyatt got back to LA, because clearly it wasn’t going away and it certainly wasn’t getting any easier.

  Wyatt checked in at the front desk, clipped the guest badge to his pocket, and went straight to his nana’s room, hoping that he’d catch her in it. He hadn’t told her he was coming because he hadn’t known what to say to her after the incident over the phone the other day, and then the longer he’d gone without calling her had made him feel even worse.

  Finally, it had just made sense to make the drive and try to find an equilibrium in person. He wasn’t proud of it but he rationalized that her not recognizing his voice or his name had thrown him considerably and that she really did love surprises.

  He found her in the same spot he’d left her at, only a few weeks before—sitting on her comfortable chair, a book in her lap, staring out the window at the garden.

  “Nana,” he said softly, and this time when she turned towards him, she didn’t jerk and the book didn’t fall. But her eyes were his worst nightmare come to life—completely, totally blank.

  She didn’t know him anymore.

  Something nasty in his gut was clawing, desperate to get out, and he only held it together because he’d read that it was important not to upset the loved one when they didn’t remember.

  “Hello,” Bea said quietly. She didn’t ask his name, but she didn’t have to. He saw the lack of recognition plain all over her face. He was a stranger to her, and he’d only left two weeks ago.

  He should have been up here every single damn week, like he’d originally planned on doing. He’d not come last weekend because he’d told himself it felt wrong to leave Ryan when he’d just started the new job. But the truth cut a lot closer to the bone; he’d not wanted to leave because it was Ryan, and he was crazy about him, even if there was no fucking hope to be had.

  “Hello,” Wyatt parroted back, hands useless at his sides. He kept fucking waiting for the recognition to flash on her face, for her to realize he was her grandson, that she loved him. For her to throw her arms around him and proclaim how much she missed him, and how terrible her new painting was, but that she wanted him to see it anyway.

  He’d even take her reciting the plot to the new romance novel she was reading this week.

  “Wy, you’re here,” Tony’s voice echoed from the doorway, but he felt growing horror as the recognition did begin to dawn on her, but it wasn’t for him. It was for his brother.

  “Tony, you came today,” she exclaimed, rising to her feet and giving Tony the hug Wyatt craved.

  It was even worse when she turned to him, and that little crease of uncertainty formed between her white brows when she looked at Wyatt.

  “It’s Wyatt, Nan, you know him. Your grandson.” Tony’s voice was patient, and he hadn’t just had the legs cut out from under him, so he could still speak. But then it was Tony, Tony could give anyone a run for their money in the speaking department. It was probably why he went through girlfriends like candy bars.

  “Wyatt,” she said in a puzzled voice.

  He saw the moment the fog lifted but even though he felt an incredible relief when she pulled him in for a tight hug, gripping him for far longer than she’d done with Tony, it was a bittersweet moment.

  He’d known this was coming someday. He hadn’t prepared for it, because he didn’t think you really could prepare for the day when the woman who loved you and practically raised you didn’t know who you were.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here, Wyatt,” Nana said in a soft voice. She didn’t mention the lack of recognition earlier, and that was consistent too with what he’d read about her condition. “How is the new job in LA?” she asked, drawing him over to the couch, sitting down next to him.

  He kept her tiny, gnarled hand curled in his. When Tony gave him a look, Wyatt glared at him. Tony could care about all that fake-machismo shit; Wyatt was going to spend time with his grandmother while he still could. Besides, Tony knew Wyatt had never given a crap about all that anyway.

  And suddenly, people knowing that wasn’t as terrifying as it had been only a few hours earlier. Wyatt had always heard people talk about life-changing events that drastically altered your priorities but he’d never experienced it for himself. Before today, he’d always assumed they over-dramatized the situation in the re-telling, but now Wyatt realized they hadn’t. It really happened, and it was happening to him.

  “It’s good, it’s real good,” he told her. He didn’t tell her that every day was an exercise in frustration. “I like my boss a lot. He’s really nice. A friend, almost.”

  “She said you were cooking for some hotshot ball player,” Tony inserted.

  Wyatt looked over at his brother. His hair was cropped close, one of his tattoos poking out of his t-shirt sleeve. He looked good, better than he’d seen him in awhile. If the new girlfriend was the cause for this, then Wyatt found he might actually approve for once. “Yeah, I am.” He hesitated, usually never wanting to test Tony’s comfort level with anything but straight white men, but fuck it all. “Ryan Flores.”

  But there was only approval and excitement on Tony’s face, and it occurred to Wyatt that even as he’d been working his ass off in Bastian Aquino’s kitchen and so many others and learning a bushel of life lessons, Tony might have been growing up too. It was a strange thought, his brother acting like an adult, and it set Wyatt’s world even more off-kilter.

  “No shit? That’s pretty cool. He’s a great player. Got a bright future. Might actually get the Dodgers a ring one of these days. You’re his private chef, Nan said?”

  No mention of Ryan’s homosexuality. No mention that he was Puerto Rican. Wyatt let out a breath. “Yeah, I’m cooking for him.”

  “Speaking of jobs,” Nana interrupted firmly. “Where is Marco?”

  “Actually working today,” Tony said, turning his full-charm smile onto his grandmother. “Imagine that.”

  “Imagine that,” Wyatt repeated back wryly.

  Nana elbowed him hard
in the side. “I know Marco can be difficult sometimes, but he’s still your brother, and he tries.”

  “When it’s convenient for him,” Wyatt said under his breath, ribs still smarting.

  “I’m cooking in the kitchen over at the Napa Tavern,” Tony said. “You know the place?”

  Wyatt did know the place and nodded. It was several steps above some of the shitholes Tony had worked at in the past and served good burgers. It wasn’t Terroir, but then Tony had gotten kicked out of culinary school for rarely going to class, and then mouthing off when he actually went, so Terroir was way out of his league.

  Stupidly, Tony had seemingly resented Wyatt’s climb up the ladder of success, while never really attempting it himself. Wyatt had never understood why. Tony had lots of talent, though little taught skill, but everything he’d squandered, he’d squandered himself.

  “You need to take me there sometime, Tony,” Nana said kindly.

  Tony and Wyatt exchanged dubious looks. The Tavern was not a place that Nana would enjoy. “We’ll take you to Terroir next time they do Sunday brunch, how about that?” Wyatt asked. He could probably get Aquino to part with passes. Probably.

  Or maybe he could convince Kian to get them on the guest list.

  “Maybe Tony’s new friend could join us,” Nana offered.

  “Yeah, I heard you had a new girlfriend,” Wyatt said dutifully, because Tony was his brother and not a total waste of space. And even though she would probably be done with him in six months tops, Wyatt still felt obligated to show a vague interest.

  But to Wyatt’s surprise, Tony flushed. “Uh, yeah. About that . . .” He hesitated, and Wyatt didn’t understand what was going on. Tony was always eager to talk about his latest hookup.

  “Tony’s girlfriend isn’t a girlfriend, I guess,” Nana said softly. “I misunderstood the last time we spoke, Wyatt.”

  Wyatt could not understand what was happening right now.

  Tony, who had been part and parcel with Marco over the years. Not rampantly homophobic, but exuding all sorts of bullshit toxic masculinity? Who had bullied Wyatt for hitting or running like a girl? Tony was not straight?

  “Nana,” Tony hissed, but he looked pleased. Like he was happy it was finally out of the bag. “You were supposed to let me tell him.”

  “Oh, yes, I suppose I should have. I’m sorry, Tony.”

  Wyatt could only sit there in shock as his brother came out to him.

  Not once in his life had he ever been envious of either of his brothers. Not a single fucking time. And now, he was green through and through with jealousy. Because Tony had found his nerve and his balls and his bravery before Wyatt had. He should be happy for him, proud of him, but the truth was that he was fucking envious.

  “I’m just happy you’re happy,” Wyatt could only say woodenly.

  “I am,” Tony said, and for the first time, Wyatt could see that he was. And not only happy, but free.

  The jealousy billowing in him grew exponentially.

  “Let’s go see my new painting, boys,” Nana said, and they both stood, following her like she’d bidden them.

  “I hope that everything’s okay between us,” Tony whispered, leaning towards Wyatt.

  Wyatt could only stare back at him incredulously. He must know. “You know it is. You know I’m gay.” He’d never explicitly told either of his brothers, but he’d always figured they must have some idea. The complete lack of girlfriends had probably tipped them off.

  “Yeah, of course. I know.” The sympathy in Tony’s eyes was galling and it shouldn’t have been. Wyatt should have been over the moon for him right now. “I just figured. She might not be around, at least as herself, for much longer.” Tony shrugged. “I didn’t want her memories of me to be a lie, and the more I thought about it, the righter it seemed. To tell her the truth. To tell other people the truth.”

  Nana brought them to the art studio at the home, and Wyatt stood in front of Nana’s new painting, making all the appropriate noises, saying all the right things, but internally he was reeling.

  Why hadn’t he thought about this situation with Nana like Tony had? Why had he seen the situation through shades of fear, instead of trusting the woman who had raised him and loved him? Why had he doubted her inherent ability to love him unconditionally? He loved her unconditionally. He’d accepted everything that she was dealing with, and had done everything in his meager power to make sure she was protected and safe and taken care of.

  Why had he assumed that she would feel any less towards him?

  When he and Tony finally exited the home, Wyatt felt like he’d been wading through fog for the better part of the two hours he’d spend with her.

  “You look thrown, man,” Tony said, clapping him hard on the shoulder as they paused near Wyatt’s bike. “Were you going to tell her first or?” He hesitated, like he’d been waiting for Wyatt to come out first, like Wyatt had that right in the family.

  It was still too new for Wyatt to trust Tony, to confide in him. No matter what sexuality he was. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do,” Tony said evenly. “I’m just figuring my shit out, and for awhile, I figured it was your turn first. You’ve been waiting a long time. New job. I figure you must be hooking up with Flores, that’s why you left Terroir.”

  Wyatt rolled his eyes. Trust Tony to be so close, yet so far, from the truth. “I’m not hooking up with Flores.” Present tense. “I left Terroir because the Bastard pays pennies on the dollar. I needed the money to help pay for Nana’s care.”

  Tony had the nerve to look ashamed. “I’m sorry about that. I think in a month or two, I can start contributing too. And I’ll harass Marco. He always seems to have money, though god knows I don’t want to know where he gets it from.”

  “I don’t know if I want Marco’s blood money,” Wyatt snarked. Was Tony even joking? Wyatt wasn’t sure he wanted to know either.

  “I’ll just tell him to send you the legitimately earned dollars,” Tony teased, sliding his sunglasses back on his face. “I’ve got to run, but don’t be a stranger.” They hugged, quick and tight, and Wyatt tried to remember the last time they’d even touched, never mind embraced. When they were kids, probably. And that made more sense now than it had ever made back then. Poor Tony, hiding for so long. It ached, that knowledge, but Wyatt still couldn’t seem to assuage the jealousy.

  Tony’s old Mustang was parked next to Wyatt’s bike. The paint looked better, and when Tony slid into it and started it, it didn’t rumble like it was about to explode in fifteen seconds.

  It was hard to realign his world again, but Wyatt realized as he climbed onto his bike that Tony was actually getting his shit together.

  For the first time ever, maybe it was time for Wyatt to follow in his big brother’s footsteps.

  Chapter Ten

  “I can’t believe Tony is gay,” Xander said, setting his glass down on the old picnic table they’d scrounged up and set up outside on the cracked concrete patio two summers ago.

  It was a balmy fall evening in Napa, and even though it was late when Xander and Kian had gotten off work, they’d obviously sensed Wyatt was troubled, and had brought out a six-pack to join him. Or to prevent him from brooding further.

  “Maybe you should hook up with him,” Kian inserted slyly, and something in his tone made Wyatt sad. Melancholy and missing the old, too-innocent boy who never would have suggested that. Or teased Xander with the knowledge that he didn’t hook up with anyone. Clearly Nate living here was not good for him.

  “With Wyatt’s older, bad-boy brother? No, thanks. I don’t have that much of a masochistic streak,” Xander said after taking a long gulp of beer. “What about you?” he suggested, turning the tables back on Kian. “You’re about the age where making a bad romantic decision feels right.”

  Except they both knew that Kian was already making a bad romantic decision, and instead of it being open and then closed, it was ongoing. Never-ending, unt
il it finally, irrevocably ended.

  “Yeah, no, thanks. Gross.” Kian shuddered. “No offense, Wyatt.”

  “None taken,” Wyatt said wryly, glad he was here, and glad that his friends could distract him from brooding over this afternoon’s reveal.

  “Are you going to tell her then?” Xander asked. He was a huge advocate for bluntness, in just ripping the Band-Aid right off. In his mind, it might hurt, but then you knew exactly where you stood. He’d been telling Wyatt to tell his nana for years now. Wyatt was not entirely pleased that Xander had turned out to be one hundred percent right.

  He also fully expected Xander to exploit that, but he hadn’t so far. Maybe he was waiting until it smarted less.

  “I think so, yeah.” Wyatt thought about telling them about Ryan, and about Ryan’s offer that he could now accept without fear.

  Would Ryan still want him? Was Wyatt okay accepting his offer when he really wanted so much more?

  Before, not being Ryan’s fake boyfriend had seemed like the worst thing that could happen, and now that possibilities were opening up, it seemed even more devastating that he might be able to go through the motions, but could never have what he really wanted for real.

  “You could have done it years ago. I told you that she wasn’t going to reject you,” Xander said. So much for waiting until it stung a little less.

  Wyatt tipped his beer bottle at his friend. “Thank you, friend, for always being brutally honest and for never wasting an opportunity to say I told you so.”

  “Those are Xander’s four favorite words in the English language,” Kian said. He sounded edgy and resentful. Wyatt could only imagine what kind of shit Xander was giving him over Bastian. Or what kind of shit Aquino was giving him.

  “All I’m saying is that it’s not going to end well for you,” Xander said tiredly. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “You don’t know that,” Kian said stubbornly. Wyatt felt like he’d just been dropped into the hundredth iteration of this particular argument. Maybe the thousandth.