Straight Up

by K. Evan Coles

  “Let me think about it,” Riley said. “There has to be some resource for her. Like a decent debt consolidation service if that’s the issue or a financial planner.”

  “I’m not even sure she understands there’s a problem,” Stuart mused, “which I think is the problem. She’s oblivious to the stress she’s causing Malcolm and he’s not willing to call her out on it.”

  “Okay. I’ll work on him about that,” Kyle replied. “Ri and I can update everyone else. With nine of us putting our heads together, we’ll come up with ways to help.”

  “Thank you, guys,” Stuart said gratefully. He’d made the right decision to come to them. Kyle was right. With that many people who cared working on the problem, they were sure to figure out a solution. There was no need for Malcolm to go it alone.

  “No, thank you,” Riley said. “I can’t believe we didn’t spot something amiss. Carter is going to be horrified when he finds out.”

  Stuart nodded. As Malcolm’s coworker, he probably spent more time with Malcolm than anyone. If even Carter hadn’t noticed, Malcolm really had gone all out to hide his situation.

  “So we all know what to do, right?” Riley asked. “Kyle and I will talk to the other guys, arrange for groceries and figure out something that might help his mom.”

  “That sounds like a plan to me,” Stuart said. “I’ll focus on getting Malcolm fed for the next couple of days and being there for him if he wants to talk more.”

  He thanked Kyle and Riley again, shook their hands, then said goodnight.

  As he got on his bike and drove home, worries began to creep in again. Stuart knew he’d done the right thing for Malcolm’s sake, but he wasn’t so sure it was the right thing for their relationship. Would Malcolm see this as a betrayal of his trust? They’d barely begun dating. What if it damaged what they’d been building together?

  And what if the harm was irreparable?

  Chapter Thirteen

  The smells of furniture polish and cleanser hung in the air as Malcolm lugged a basket of freshly laundered linens and towels into his living room. He set it down on the couch and the motion made stacks of already folded clothes standing on the cushions waver and one topple over. Malcolm righted it with a smile. This is what he got for spending so much time out of his apartment in the last several weeks—a Saturday morning spent doing housework, including washing and folding what appeared to be every item of clothing, bedding and toweling he owned.

  At least he enjoyed doing laundry. He planned to finish by midday, too, because Carter and Riley had invited him over for dinner. Carter had been withdrawn and stressed the last several days and Malcolm looked forward to spending time unwinding with his friend. Because Malcolm needed that time, too.

  Stuart’s discovery of Malcolm’s empty refrigerator and pantry had been intense, to say the least. Stuart had wanted to talk about it even more when they’d seen each other since and help Malcolm plan ways to help his mom without exhausting his own resources. Stuart always cooked enough food for a crowd, too, even though it was only the two of them, then loaded Malcolm up with leftovers.

  Normally, that kind of extra attention made Malcolm want to pull out his own hair but, for the most part, he felt only grateful. Trusting Stuart had lifted an enormous weight from Malcolm’s shoulders. His guts still twisted with guilt whenever he considered what that meant, but he was glad Stuart had pulled the info out of him. God, if his mom knew her secret was out? Or that her problems were affecting her sons? Malcolm shook his head. Better not to go there at all and instead focus on Stuart. Malcolm had absolutely no problem going there.

  ‘I care about you.’

  Malcolm hauled in a deep breath. Stuart had told him that several times in the last week and a thrill went through Malcolm every time. Not that he even needed the words to be spoken because Malcolm swore he could feel how much Stuart cared in every touch and glance.

  Cheeks warm, he reached for a towel at the top of the basket. He cared for Stuart, too, far more than he’d imagined possible in such a short time. What was more, Malcolm needed him. Needed Stuart’s strength. His snarky humor and big heart, and his seemingly limitless patience. His…everything.

  I wish he were here.

  Malcolm dropped the towel he’d been folding back in the basket. Just thinking about Stuart made his heart squeeze and body heat, and his mind reeled a bit as his cock hardened. No one had ever affected him like this. Made his nerves tighten with a yearning so intense his mouth went dry. Stuart’s face flashed through Malcolm’s mind, heightening the buzz in his groin, and slowly, he sank onto the couch and gave himself over to desire.

  That was what he was feeling. This was more than making sure Stuart got what he needed when they had sex. Right now, Malcolm wanted to feel good, too. He craved Stuart with a hunger that would have shocked them both only a few weeks ago. Craved Stuart’s kiss and touch and the way he made Malcolm want to beg for more, so that by the time Malcolm came, it felt like flying.

  A shiver raced up Malcolm’s spine. He palmed himself through his joggers, eyelids heavy, and his breath caught on a giddy laugh. “Jesus,” he whispered.

  He didn’t do this. Didn’t lose track of what he was doing because he was turned on. Didn’t sit in his living room and think about getting off in the middle of the afternoon. Malcolm considered doing exactly that until the apartment’s intercom rang.

  He loosed a heartfelt groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  As if in reply, the intercom rang again, which got Malcolm quickly to his feet. He tugged the hem of his T-shirt over his groin as he crossed to the door and tried not to sound grumpy when he hit the Talk button.

  “Hi, Henry.”

  “Hello, Mr. Elliott,” the concierge replied, his voice tinny through the speaker. “Your grocery delivery is here in the lobby—okay if I send it on up?”

  Malcolm frowned. “My… What kind of delivery?”

  “Grocery, sir, from Diedrich’s on 26th Street.”

  Well, that had to be a mistake. Malcolm didn’t order groceries for delivery, nor did he shop at Diedrich’s, even when his bank account was healthy. Diedrich’s was the kind of gourmet market that Jesse and Will frequented instead of the big chain store on the next street. Asking Henry to sort out the problem wasn’t fair, however, and Malcolm gave him the go ahead to send the delivery up. That turned out to be no help at all because Malcolm’s name and address were indeed on the delivery slips and he still had no idea why. All he could do was look on while Tommy, a cheerful young guy in a Diedrich’s uniform, unloaded what had to be two dozen canvas bags stuffed full of food from the plastic crates on his hand truck.

  “Do I need to sign this?” Malcolm asked. He held the receipt up as Tommy restacked the empty crates.

  “Nope—you’re all set.” Tommy shot him a grin. “Thanks for tipping ahead, too. Gratuities aren’t expected at Diedrich’s but I, for one, appreciate the gesture.”

  Malcolm blinked. “Uh, sure. You’re welcome.”

  The words felt weird in his mouth, like he’d been to the dentist and his lips were still numb, and the apartment seemed far too quiet after Tommy had gone. Malcolm walked back to the kitchen, his gaze on the bags while disquiet gathered inside him. What the hell was going on? How had Diedrich’s gotten his name on a—

  Oh, hell.

  Glancing back to the slips of paper in his hand, Malcolm really looked this time and his heart sank when he saw that nothing listed included a price. Even the total was missing and a handwritten PAID had been scrawled in its place. Malcolm slipped the receipts in his pocket and moved to the bags, feeling more and more anxious as he unpacked them.

  Stuart, what did you do?

  His mind boggled at the sheer amount of food. Dry goods and fresh produce. Meats, cheese, eggs. Three varieties of bread. Boxes, jars and bags—enough to feed a family. Or restock one person’s empty kitchen from the ground up. And Malcolm had never felt less hungry.

  He went still as he dug a pac
kage of cookies out of the final bag. They were a hard-to-find brand that David Mori had introduced him to, and not many people outside of the speakeasy crew knew how much Malcolm liked the little shortbread sandwiches with mango crème. He knew for sure he’d never eaten them around Stuart…which could only mean Stuart hadn’t set up this grocery delivery on his own.

  That knowledge made Malcolm’s eyes burn.

  * * * *

  “Malcolm? What the fuck?” Thunder filled Stuart’s brow as he jogged up, a reaction Malcolm now easily recognized as worry. “Is something wrong? How long have you been out here?”

  “Not long,” Malcolm lied. He unfolded himself from his seat on the stoop outside of Stuart’s building and stood.

  In truth, he’d been waiting over an hour. Stuart didn’t need to know that, though. It would only distract them and delay the real reason Malcolm was in Little Italy at twelve-fifteen in the morning. To talk. Because yeah, something was wrong. Malcolm’s insides were strung tight and his head was pounding, and not even the sight of Stuart in his leathers, dark eyes flashing, made him feel anything less than crap.

  “A huge order of groceries showed up at my apartment today,” he said, voice flat over Stuart’s muttering that Malcolm could have been mugged. Stuart’s eyes went wide. “Groceries I didn’t order,” Malcolm added, “and there was no indication of who had on the receipts.”

  Stuart stood frozen, just for a second, before he gently took hold of Malcolm’s arm. “Let’s talk inside.”

  “I don’t want to go inside.” Malcolm shrugged him off, then made himself step back despite the surprise streaking across Stuart’s face. “I want you to explain to me why you told my friends about what’s been going on with my finances after I asked you not to. Because I know you did.”

  “Mal—”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

  “I knew you would, obviously.” Stuart sighed. “I wanted to tell you before then. I guess I got the timing on the grocery order wrong.”

  Malcolm licked his lips. “That’s what concerns you? That you messed up the timing?”

  “Well, it hasn’t made this any easier.” Stuart frowned at Malcolm’s groan. “What?”

  “Man, I don’t even know where to start. I had to go to Carter for answers. And fuck…it’s been a long time since I saw him that upset.” Malcolm didn’t even want to think about the emotions he’d glimpsed in his friend’s eyes as they’d talked. “I knew he’d tell me if I asked him straight out what the hell was going on, and according to him, you told Kyle and Riley about my money problems and asked them to get the whole crew involved.”

  “That’s not…entirely accurate.”

  “Seriously?” Malcolm’s heart hurt as he stared Stuart down. “I talked to Riley, too. I know he was there at Under when you spilled the whole story.”

  “Okay, yes.” Stuart blew out a breath. “I told him and Kyle about what you’ve been going through, and they proposed the whole crew get on board and help. We want to help, Mal. Because you going hungry?” Mouth tight, he shook his head. “I can’t let you do that to yourself.”

  Malcolm’s jaw sagged. “Let me?”

  “I didn’t mean it that way—”

  “I’m not a project that needs managing, Stuart. I can take care of myself!”

  “I understand that, but you need help this time!” Stuart raked a hand through his thick hair. “Jesus, Malcolm, I feed people for a living. I can’t stand by while you starve yourself!”

  Heat crawled up Malcolm’s neck. Damnit, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so angry. “That gives you the right to go behind my back?”

  “I get that I shouldn’t have done that and I was going to tell you, I swear. I just…” Stuart grimaced. “I couldn’t figure out how. I knew you’d be mad and a part of me didn’t want to deal with that. Fuck, I wish you had asked me instead of going to Carter.”

  “I asked him because I wasn’t sure you’d be straight with me.” Though Stuart’s wounded expression hurt to see, Malcolm simply shrugged. “You’ve been lying to my face for days.”

  “I didn’t lie!”

  “Oh, Stuart, come on. Yes, you did. You promised not to tell anyone about my money problems, even after you already had.”

  “Can you blame me?” Stuart shot back. He set his hands on his hips with a muffled curse. “I was worried about you! You wouldn’t let me help, wouldn’t talk to your friends. You sure as shit wouldn’t tell your mom that you are going broke supporting her while she pretends that nothing is wrong.”

  “Don’t.” The ache in Malcolm’s throat made it hard to speak. “Don’t you bring her into this.”

  Stuart’s eyes went wide. “How can I not? Your mom is the reason we’re even talking about this right now!”

  “No. This isn’t about Mom. This is about me trusting you with something important and you not giving two shits about that.”

  Stuart’s face fell at the waver in Malcolm’s voice. “That’s not what I… Fuck.” He grabbed Malcolm’s hand between his. “I just wanted to help. You have to believe me when I say that.”

  “I do. And you were helping. By being there for me and listening.” Malcolm gave a hard laugh. “You were great about everything. You didn’t judge my mom’s bad choices or mine, or preach at me to man up and tell her no. For the first time in a while, it was like I wasn’t drowning, you know? Like I could count on you to be there for me, even with all my problems.” He shook his head slowly. “Now, I don’t know if any of that was real or if you were just humoring me.”

  “Oh, God. Of course, it was real. All of it.” Stuart’s throat worked and he took another step closer. “I know you’re angry and I know I overstepped, and that’s on me. But I saw a problem that I knew I could make better and I…I acted. I never meant to hurt you. Do you understand?”

  Malcolm didn’t answer. A part of him got it. Under Stuart’s blithe ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude, he harbored a mile-wide protective streak for the people he was close to. Malcolm had been on the receiving end of it a couple of times already. Generally, that caring nature centered him, gave Malcolm an anchor when he needed it. Tonight, though, he just felt exposed and out of control.

  Anger fading, Malcolm rubbed a hand over his face, heartsore and stripped bare and once again overwhelmed with a sense that his ship was slowly going under.

  “I know you were trying to help,” he said, voice quiet. “I’m grateful to you and the guys for wanting to be there for me, too. That doesn’t change the fact that I told you about my mom’s situation in confidence and it’s like that didn’t even matter to you. Is this how things are going to work? You deciding how you want things to go while I try to catch up?” He squeezed Stuart’s fingers, determined to be heard.

  “I’m having dinner with my mom and Jack tomorrow and now I have to sit there and look her in the eye, knowing that a whole bunch of people she’s never even met are aware of her situation and how much it affects her sons. She’d hate that.”

  Malcolm drew in a deep breath. “I know you don’t understand why I feel responsible for helping her, but I do. My mom doesn’t have any other family besides Jack and me. She has no idea what we’ve been going through. Hell, not even my dad knows what’s been going on with the three of us. He thinks my mom is still living off her severance.” Malcolm’s throat was so thick it was a wonder he could speak at all. “I know how fucked up that sounds. I am fucked up. I don’t know how to turn off wanting to help the people I care about, even when I should.”

  “I don’t think you’re fucked up, Malcolm. I am worried about you, though.” Stuart clenched his eyes closed for several seconds. They were pained when he opened them again. “And I am sorry that I hurt you.”

  Malcolm gave a stiff nod. “You should have told me that you were going to talk to Kyle.”

  “I thought you’d ask me not to.”

  “Maybe I would have, but at least we’d have been working on it together. You didn’t ev
en give me a chance. You just decided that what you wanted was more important and went ahead like my opinion didn’t matter at all.”

  Stuart blew a noisy breath through his nose. “I didn’t think about it that way. Of course, your opinion matters to me. And I really, really hate that I’ve made you doubt how much I want to be there for you.” Lifting Malcolm’s hand, he pressed the palm flat against his own chest. “I’m here, however you need me. Even if only to listen because you need to talk. Okay?”

  Malcolm wanted to agree. Agreeing would be easy and feel good, and it would wipe the stress from Stuart’s face. Malcolm’s head would still hurt, though. He’d still be angry and dejected and so fucking done with this day. He could tell from Stuart’s expression that he wasn’t done talking, either, and goddamn it, Malcolm needed to not fucking talk for a change. He needed time to recharge and get his head back on straight, and definitely not think at all about how his closest friends knew that his life was really screwed up right now.

  Some of Malcolm’s feelings must have shown on his face because Stuart looked more worried than ever as he gestured back to his door.

  “Come inside with me,” he said, even as Malcolm slowly shook his head.

  “I’m gonna go.”

  “Oh, Mal.” Stuart squeezed Malcolm’s fingers. “Are you sure? You know you can stay for as long as you need—”

  “I know,” Malcolm murmured. “But I need to figure out what to do next. What to say to my mom and Jack about…everything. I can’t do that here.”

  Stuart pressed his lips into a thin line for several seconds. “Okay,” he said at last. “Let’s get you a Lyft.”

  * * * *

  “Mom?” Malcolm walked into his mother’s kitchen, inhaling the scent of roasting chicken and aware of voices and movement on the sun porch through the open door. At least he didn’t need to figure out what they were going to eat tonight. He hung his bag on the back of one of the kitchen chairs and set the box of mango crème cookies on the table. “Smells great in here. Is that Dad’s car in the driveway?”