Kitchen Gods Box Set

by Beth Bolden

  “He’s not a good guy. He’s an asshole,” Xander argued. “You know this.” And suddenly, understandably, they were talking about the Bastard.

  “You’re an asshole too, and I don’t want you to be alone. Just because people are tough doesn’t mean they don’t deserve love, and doesn’t mean they’re incapable of returning it.”

  Kian, Wyatt realized, was wading in even deeper. He was going to try to “rescue” Bastian Aquino from his lonely, miserable, angry existence.

  Yeah, that was going to end really well.

  Maybe it was selfish, but Wyatt was sort of relieved that they’d at least forgotten about his own problems, and were back to focusing on their own.

  “I can’t talk to you about this,” Xander said in mounting frustration. He got up from the table, beer bottle empty. “I worked fourteen hours today. Will probably work sixteen tomorrow. I’m going to bed. It was good to see you, Wy, don’t be a stranger. And for god’s sake, go tell your nana you’re gay.”

  The door to the house slammed behind him as punctuation.

  “He’s gotten so grumpy,” Kian said, picking at the label on his bottle.

  “I think he’s worried about you,” Wyatt said, and it wasn’t even a lie.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Kian said.

  “You’re in love with Aquino, and he’s right. If he ever returns those feelings, he’s still going to eat you whole, chew you up, and then spit you out. And coming from someone who’s had a fraction of that happen to them before, it’s not fun. It’s not something to look forward to.”

  Kian’s voice was quiet. “What if you believed that no matter how much it hurt, it would still be worth it?”

  He knew, Wyatt realized. He knew that it was going to end, and he was never going to get a happy ending with Bastian Aquino, and he didn’t even care. He loved him that much. So much for this being some sort of puppy-love crush that Kian would eventually get over.

  And, Wyatt realized, as Kian patted him on the shoulder on his way inside, it even made some kind of twisted sense.

  It would absolutely hurt like hell whenever the professional relationship between him and Ryan ended. It would hurt if it ended and nothing ever happened between them again. It wouldn’t hurt worse if he got another taste of something more personal. At least if it ended then, he would have gotten something good out of it.

  He would have been able to love Ryan for the time he was able, up close and personal, instead of staring in the window, wishing for something he couldn’t have.

  * * *

  “Hi,” Wyatt said, placing his drivers license on the front desk corner with a decisive click, “I’m here to visit Bea Blake. And I don’t know if he’s available, but I’d like to talk to the doctor in charge of her case.”

  “Dr. Martinez? I’m not sure if he’s in today,” the front desk attendant said sympathetically. “But you can speak to the nurse on call?”

  “That would be fine,” Wyatt said with a certainty he didn’t feel. He’d spent most of the night sitting outside at the rickety old picnic table, downing beer after beer, trying to drown out the fear that kept insisting he was making a mistake.

  Finding out Tony had told Nana and she hadn’t thrown him out, or told him he was going to hell, or that he wasn’t lovable anymore—even though he was Tony—should have swept all Wyatt’s insecurities clean. But it turned out that it wasn’t as easy as deciding to do it and doing it.

  Fear still held him back, still whispered things in his ear. It didn’t matter if his head knew they weren’t true, his heart still felt the echo of them.

  “I’ll go get the nurse,” the young lady said with a smile. “Do you want to wait in the lobby?”

  Wyatt wiped his damp palms on his jeans. He’d hoped for a quick, five-minute conversation, and then he could go find Nana and finally tell her the truth. But he’d also promised himself he’d talk to someone on her case about her memory loss patches recently. He needed to know what to expect. Online research was only getting him so far.

  “Sure.”

  “There’s coffee if you’d like some,” she said, gesturing to the carafe set up in the lobby. “Help yourself.”

  The last thing he needed was more coffee, and he’d had the coffee here before and knew it was awful. He wished he’d asked to talk to the doctor on the way out, and then he wouldn’t be spending more time waiting. Waiting until visiting hours today started had been hard enough.

  The dark evil sludge that came out of the coffee carafe was the same as he’d remembered it, but optimistically he thought that at least it must be strong. He stirred in a sugar packet, looked askance at the fake cups of creamer, and grimaced when he took his first sip.

  Still, it had wasted at least two minutes. Two minutes was good.

  Two minutes he didn’t have to think about what Nana might look like when he finally told her the truth.

  He’d wanted to text Ryan since last night, since he’d made up his mind, and it might have been easier to focus on the good things that would probably happen after he took this step. But he hadn’t known what to say to him. After all, he’d already unequivocally told him no, with no hope that he might change his mind.

  Ryan had probably already moved on to someone else. And considering how fixated he was on a fake boyfriend, how could Wyatt possibly hope to win him as a real one?

  “Mr. Blake?” He turned, and a woman, mid-thirties, with blonde hair and kind eyes was standing at the entrance to the lobby. “They said you wanted to talk about your grandmother’s case?”

  “Yes, I did,” he said, thankful that he hadn’t had to wait long.

  “She’s in her art class now,” she said. “I’ll walk you down there and we can talk. I’m Gretchen, by the way.”

  He shook the hand she offered. Noticed it was trembling a little. Hoped that she’d put it down to the caffeine in the noxious liquid they passed for coffee.

  “I’ve recently moved away for work,” he said. “I can’t get here as much as I’d like to. I know consistency and routine are really important for her mental state. But I can only get here maybe once a week. I’m still calling regularly though. And last week, she didn’t recognize my voice or my name right away.” His voice broke on the last few words, and he gritted his teeth, knowing that couldn’t be explained by the terrible coffee and hoping that he wouldn’t actually burst into tears in the middle of the lobby.

  She took his elbow and steered him down one of the wide hallways. “I’ve consulted extensively with Dr. Martinez about your grandmother’s case,” she said. “I’m sorry to say, that’s not a huge surprise. She’s going to have lapses.”

  “I didn’t think they’d come so quickly.”

  “Alzheimer’s is a disease we still don’t know very much about. There’s going to be accelerated periods and then periods when her condition stabilizes. Moving here and uprooting her from her home probably sent her in a bit of an accelerated period, but it should stabilize. I’m assuming she does eventually recognize you.”

  “It’s usually only a minute or so. She recognized my brother Tony right away.”

  “That’s good,” she said, even though it wasn’t.

  He wanted to tell her how unfair it was that Tony would be the one she’d remember. That he’d quit his prestigious job so he could earn more money to take care of her. That she was the only person in his life that he knew he couldn’t lose; which meant, of course, that she was the one he was bound to lose.

  “It’s not good. None of this is good,” he practically growled. It was instantly embarrassing, and that wasn’t just because her face fell.

  “Of course it’s not good,” she hastily corrected. “I don’t mean that. I’m sorry for sounding callous or insensitive.”

  “You’re not . . . I’m just . . . on edge,” he said. Which was the best way to phrase it. He took another gulp of the devil coffee, even though there was no way it could help.

  “I’ve spent some time with Mrs. Blake,” she
said, “and I promise you, she’s who she was before. The disease hasn’t progressed enough to erode the foundation of who she is. You have a lot of time before that happens. The best advice I can give you is to take advantage before that happens. Too many people I see wish that they’d spent more time, or called more, or made more happy times with their loved ones.”

  “That won’t be a mistake I’ll be making,” Wyatt vowed. He’d figure out a regular visit schedule and call every day. It didn’t even matter if there wasn’t anything to say. Just hearing her voice would be enough.

  But most of all, he was going to begin this new routine by telling her the truth.

  They stopped in front of a classroom with the door open. Wyatt could smell paint and thinner wafting out. “She’s right in there,” Gretchen said with a smile. “You want to get her?”

  * * *

  “Wyatt, not that I’m not glad to see you, but that was my painting class.” Bea Blake didn’t look very happy as he took her arm and led her out one of the big double doors to the garden. The same garden she was always looking at.

  Maybe it wasn’t enough to stare at the grounds out the window.

  Also maybe he wouldn’t cry if he told her in a semi-public place.

  “I’m going back down to LA right after this,” he said, leading them to a secluded corner of the garden, and sitting down on the bench there. “But I wanted to see you before I left.”

  Her face softened. “I can catch up later,” she promised. “I’m glad you came by.”

  Good, because he already had enough guilt saved up to last a long while. He didn’t need to add delaying her completing her painting onto his already heavy conscience.

  “I wanted to tell you something, actually.” He took a deep breath. For a second, he thought about bringing up Tony, but reconsidered. This needed to be just about him.

  Bea reached out and took his hand in hers. “You know you could tell me anything, darling boy, and I’d love you regardless.”

  It wasn’t as if she had ever said anything different. She’d been variations on the same theme for his entire life, but between losing both his parents, and never being close to his brothers, he’d always been too afraid to believe that she wouldn’t just abandon him too. No matter what she said.

  But for the very first time, he found the echo of truth ringing in her words. She meant it, and she trusted him to trust her.

  “Nana, I’m gay.” He’d thought of so many lead-ins. So many excuses. So many ways to word it over the years. He’d tasted the words on his tongue more times than he could even count. So when it came down to it, maybe it was better to keep it simple. Straightforward. The bare bones of truth.

  Bea’s face didn’t change, her smile just softened another degree. “Oh darling, I know. It’s okay. I love you no matter what.”

  “What? You knew? Who told you?” Wyatt shouldn’t be panicking because he’d actually managed to tell her the truth, and nothing had changed. But he was. How had she known? And how long had she known?

  He’d been torturing himself for how many years for no good fucking reason.

  “Nobody had to tell me. I have eyes,” she retorted tartly. “I know you. I love you. Also, you’ve never had a girlfriend. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

  “Oh.” The wind out of his sails, he crumpled against her, like he was still that eight-year-old kid, whose dad had just left, abandoning his mom and his two brothers. Like he was thirteen and his mom had just passed.

  “It’s alright,” she soothed, her hand combing his hair back from his forehead. “Everything is alright.”

  And for the first time in a very long time, Wyatt believed her.

  * * *

  “Thanks for coming over,” Ryan said tightly, awkward as he sat across from Matt on the uncomfortable living room couch he never sat on. Why was he sitting on it now?

  Because he couldn’t imagine welcoming Matt into the kitchen. That was Wyatt’s domain now, and Ryan wasn’t going to betray him like that. He didn’t want him in any part of the house he’d shared with Wyatt, and that had only left the living room.

  Not that he had any intentions of hooking up with Matt. He was definitely as cute as his pictures had promised—bright, hopeful green eyes and short spiky blond hair. There had been more than one moment when Ryan had caught him checking him out.

  It should have made Ryan want to lead him right back to the bedroom. Or the couch. Or any convenient horizontal surface. But instead they’d ended up in the uncomfortable, stuffy living room that he never used—for good reason.

  “Are you okay?” Matt asked. “You don’t seem all that happy I’m here.”

  “It’s not you,” Ryan insisted, feeling guilt swamp him. He was being an asshole, and for what? Because Matt’s green eyes weren’t blue, and he didn’t like to surf?

  It wasn’t Matt’s fault that he wasn’t Wyatt.

  “Seriously,” he continued. “I’m sorry. I . . . I don’t really want to do this. But I need to.”

  Matt’s expression was sympathetic. “I get it.”

  Besides, if he couldn’t have Wyatt, why did it matter who played his fake boyfriend?

  “Let’s get out of here,” Ryan said with a grimace at their surroundings. Coming in here had been a bad idea. “Grab a beer and go outside to the fire pit. Try to get to know each other. We’re going to be spending some time together and we can’t keep acting like strangers.”

  Matt raised an eyebrow, getting to his feet. “Are you sure?”

  He wasn’t sure at all. But he had to move past this, because something kept tugging him back and Ryan didn’t like anything holding him in, or holding him back. “Yeah, I am.”

  “Well, I’ll be honest I need this job, so I’m going to stop being a selfless good guy and asking you if you’re okay with it.”

  Ryan barked out a laugh and led him into the kitchen. “I guess being an actor in LA isn’t all that easy.”

  Matt nodded vehemently, leaning against the island and launching into a long, over-dramatic story about some audition he’d just been on. Ryan tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head that said this was like every bad first date he’d been on, and listen to Matt’s story.

  Frankly, this was one of the reasons he’d stopped going on first dates.

  Ryan pulled a pair of beers from the fridge and ignored the other voice that reminded him this was Wyatt’s favorite brand.

  Matt paused when Ryan handed him the bottle. “Are you even listening to me?” he demanded.

  Ryan froze. “I’m sorry?”

  Matt set the bottle on the counter with a decisive click. “You said you wanted to get to know me. You said you were doing this. And hey, I’m an actor. I can work with almost nothing. But you can’t get far enough away from me and you’re barely paying attention to anything I say. Honestly, usually I don’t have to work this hard to make a guy interested in me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ryan repeated, and he was, but not that sorry. “It’s not you, it’s me.” He imagined how much Eric was going to drive him crazy over this. How painful his grating, obnoxious whining would be. He imagined Wyatt coming back and Ryan dropping to his knees and begging him to reconsider. He imagined leaving Flor and LA and everything he loved. He imagined terrible winters in Ohio or Wisconsin or the death trap of the Trop.

  But nothing seemed quite as terrible as doing this.

  “Seriously?” Matt demanded, and the worst thing was that Ryan even sympathized with him. “What is with you? It’s not like we’re going to declare our eternal love or register at Macy’s or adopt a kid. We’re going to hold hands and I’m going to go to your games and wear your jersey and be cute in the wives’ section. We don’t even have to hook up if you don’t want to, though I wouldn’t exactly mind.”

  Alarm bells were clanging in his head. It wasn’t like he wanted to do any of those things. Not even with Wyatt—though it was scary as fuck that doing them with him didn’t sound all that bad—but he
didn’t want to hook up with this cute guy.

  He couldn’t have gotten it up right now if he was being paid or he was being jacked full of Viagra.

  Of course that was the moment the back door to the kitchen opened and a pair of blue eyes narrowed, taking in the scene in front of him.

  Ryan. And a young, cute guy. Beers in front of them. Wyatt’s favorite brand, even.

  “You’re back,” Ryan said, fifty percent excited, fifty percent panicked.

  Matt’s sympathetic look at Ryan was galling, and definitely deserved. He was totally fucked over this guy, and if even Matt could tell with about ten seconds of evidence, then it was probably extremely obvious.

  “I’m back,” Wyatt said slowly. His hand was still on the doorknob, and he hadn’t taken a single step into the kitchen.

  “This is Matt,” Ryan said, because Flor had drilled good manners into him. “This is my private chef. And friend. Wyatt.”

  “I’m going to be Ryan’s fake boyfriend,” Matt said, piping up, and fucking him over big-time. Even though Ryan had literally been about to tell him that no, he wasn’t about to be his fake boyfriend. Ryan had been about to say that if he couldn’t have Wyatt, he didn’t want anyone, no matter how insane that sounded.

  It was insane; Wyatt would never believe it. And from the doubting, incredulous expression on his face now, Ryan wondered if he could even keep him in his life after this clusterfuck.

  “No, you’re not,” Ryan insisted desperately.

  Matt crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows.

  Wyatt wasn’t reacting at all, though. He still had that deadened expression on his face, completely shut down, like this was his worst nightmare and he couldn’t quite process it.

  Ryan totally understood that mind frame; he was smack in the middle of it right now.

  “I need to talk to you,” Ryan said, directing his desperation in the right direction this time.

  Wyatt crossed his arms over his chest, mimicking Matt. He didn’t really have a right to be upset. Jealous, maybe, but Ryan found he didn’t give a shit right now what was deserved and what wasn’t.