8. Tyson

Chapter 8

Tyson

“ Y ou could’ve sent movers over here,” LaMont said, hefting another box onto the dolly. “Several, actually. Yet here you are, hauling my stuff up three flights of stairs.”

I grabbed two boxes and stacked them on top of each other. “What kind of friend would I be if I sent strangers to do this?”

“A smart one.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The late afternoon heat had us both drenched, our t-shirts clinging to our skin. “At least tell me you hired people for the furniture.”

“Already taken care of. The truck arrives at six.” I headed for the stairs, careful not to bang the boxes against the walls. “Besides, manual labor keeps me humble.”

LaMont’s laugh echoed through the stairwell. “Man, there’s nothing humble about those designer sneakers you wear to move boxes.”

I glanced down at my limited edition Jordans. “These are my work shoes.”

“Those cost more than my first car.”

“Your first car was a ‘92 Civic with no AC. That’s not saying much.”

We reached his new apartment, and I set the boxes in what would become his home office. The space was twice the size of his old place, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Lake Michigan. LaMont had finally let me talk him into upgrading, though he’d insisted on finding the place himself.

“Water break,” he announced, pulling two bottles from a cooler. He tossed one to me, and I caught it one-handed, and drained half the bottle in one gulp.

LaMont settled onto a stack of boxes. “Are you still hitting the gym five days a week?”

“Seven,” I corrected, stretching my shoulders. “Plus boxing with Coach Martinez on Sundays.”

He shook his head. “I guess you need to stay in shape to keep up with all those society parties and magazine shoots.”

“Don’t remind me.” I’d done three interviews this week alone. “The press attention since announcing the Benefield Project has been intense.”

“That’s what happens when Chicago’s most eligible bachelor decides to revolutionize the art scene.” LaMont’s eyes narrowed. “How’s Autumn?”

I focused on removing the cap from another water bottle. “She’s good. Busy with the project.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Come on, T. I saw those photos from the Art & Design interview. You two looked ready to jump each other right there in the gallery.”

“It wasn’t like that.” I thought about how Autumn had felt pressed against me during those shots, how her perfume had clouded my senses.

“It’s always ‘not like that’ with you two.” LaMont stood, stretching his back. “Twenty years of ‘not like that.’”

“She went on a date with Marcus Richardson.”

“The lawyer?” LaMont’s eyebrows shot up. “From Caldwell & Ross?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn.” He studied my face. “How are you handling that?”

“I’m not handling anything. She’s free to date whoever she wants.”

“Right. That’s why you’re crushing that water bottle.”

I looked down at the crumpled plastic in my hand. “We should get back to work.”

“Nah.” LaMont blocked my path. “We’re doing this. You’ve been off since that night at the building. What happened?”

“Nothing happened.” But I couldn’t meet his eyes.

“T.”

I sighed, dropping onto a box. “I stayed over last week.”

“For real?”

“Not like that. We were working late, and she fell asleep. I took her home.” I sucked my teeth. “Ended up staying the night.”

“And?”

“And nothing. We slept. Like we used to in college.”

LaMont’s laugh was short and sharp. “Because that worked out so well back then. How many nights did you lie there wanting to kiss her but convinced yourself it wasn’t worth the risk?”

“It wasn’t.”

“Maybe then. But now?” He gestured around the apartment. “Look at everything you’ve built. The empire you’ve created. What are you really afraid of?”

I stood, needing to move. “You don’t get it. She’s not just some woman I’m attracted to. She’s...” I struggled to find the words. “She’s Autumn.”

“Exactly. She’s Autumn. The woman who’s been by your side through everything. Who believed in you when you were just a kid with big dreams and an old camera.”

“That’s why I can’t lose her.” The words came out rougher than intended. “If we tried and it didn’t work...”

“Are you kidding me? What reason would it not work? It’s already worked. You guys are in a relationship without sex. Your best friends, full of emotional love and care, and possess everything that makes a great couple. Spare me the bullshit, please.”

I thought about waking up with her in my arms last week, how right it had felt. How watching her walk away with Marcus felt like someone punching me in the gut.

“Here.” LaMont tossed me another water. “Hydrate and talk. When did it start?”

“What?”

“When did you first realize you were in love with her?”

I didn’t bother denying it. LaMont had known me too long.

I twisted the cap off the bottle. “We were at that dive bar near campus. Some guy was hitting on her and wouldn’t take no for an answer. She handled it herself—told him off so smoothly that he actually apologized before leaving.”

“And?”

“And I realized I’d never seen anything more attractive than her standing there, five-foot-seven in heels, making this six-foot frat boy stammer like a kid.” I smiled at the memory. “Then she turned to me, wild-haired and triumphant, and said, ‘Your turn to buy shots.’”

“That’s when you knew?”

“That’s when I admitted it to myself. But looking back?” I shrugged. “Probably since high school.”

LaMont whistled low. “All these years...”

“Yeah.”

“And now she’s dating Marcus Richardson.”

“It was one date,” I mumbled. “One date too many, from where I’m sitting.”

I shifted my focus to moving more boxes to the kitchen.

“You know what your problem is?” LaMont followed me, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood floors. “You’re so used to controlling everything. Your hotels, your image, your empire. But this you can’t control, so you do nothing instead of taking action.

He started unpacking dishes, the ceramic clinking as he set them on the counters.

“What do you want me to do? Tell her I’ve been in love with her since we were kids? Risk everything we’ve built?”

“Yes!” LaMont slammed a cabinet door. “Because right now, you’re risking losing her anyway. Do you think Marcus Richardson will be the last guy to see how amazing she is? Who will want to give her everything you’re too scared to offer?”

His words hit like a physical blow. I gripped the counter, the marble cold under my palms.

“Look,” LaMont’s voice softened. “I’ve watched you build this empire. Turn one hotel into a global brand. You take bigger risks before breakfast than most people do in a lifetime. But with Autumn? You play it safe.”

“It’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because she matters more.” The truth of it resonated in my chest. “Everything else - the hotels, the money, all of it - I could lose it tomorrow and rebuild. But her? If I lost her...”

“Then don’t lose her.” LaMont pulled two beers from the cooler and handed me one. “But man, watching her walk away because you were too afraid to try? That’s gonna hurt worse than any failed attempt.”

I took a long drink, letting the cold beer wash down my throat. “She deserves better than attempts.”

“She deserves the truth.” LaMont leaned against the counter. “And the truth is, you’re it for her, too.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Actually, I do.” He popped the top off another beer. “Remember last Christmas? At the company party?”

I nodded. The event had been spectacular - I’d transformed the Benefield Chicago’s ballroom into a winter wonderland.

“You were working the room, doing your CEO thing. Autumn was by the bar with Angela, talking about you. Not knowing I could hear them.”

My heart rate kicked up. “And what did you hear?”

“Angela asked why you two never got together. Autumn said she couldn’t imagine her life without you in it. That you were her constant, her safe place.” LaMont took another drink. “Then Angela asked what she’d do if you dated someone else. You know what Autumn said?”

I stared at him.

“Nothing. But man, the look on her face?” LaMont set his beer down. “It was like existential dread. That’s when I knew. She loves you just as much as you love her. She’s just as scared of losing you as you are of losing her.”

The furniture truck arrived before I could respond. For the next hour, we directed movers and arranged LaMont’s living room. But his words remained at the forefront of my mind.

When the sky darkened outside, LaMont ordered pizza. We sat on his new couch, surrounded by boxes, and demolished two large pies.

“You know what Rose would say about all this?” LaMont asked, reaching for another slice.

“That I’m being stupid?”

“That life’s too short for maybes.” He pointed the pizza at me. “Your grandmother didn’t raise no coward, T.”

“No, she didn’t.” I stood, gathering empty boxes. “I should head out. Sunday dinner starts at six, and she’ll kill me if I’m late.”

“Autumn going?”

“She always does.”

LaMont smiled. “Then maybe it’s time to give my grandmother-in-law something new to cook for.”

I threw a wadded-up napkin at his head. “You’re not helpful.”

“I’m very helpful. I just helped you move all my crap up three flights of stairs.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I grabbed my keys. “You good here?”

“I’m good.” He caught my arm as I passed. “But T? Don’t wait too long. Marcus Richardson might have only had one date with her, but I guarantee he’s planning the second. And the third. And every date after that until she forgets she ever wanted you.”

The thought of Autumn with Marcus - or anyone else - made my chest tight. “I hear you.”

“Do you? Because I’m tired of watching my best friend torture himself over something that could make him happier than all his billions combined.”

I left LaMont’s new place with his words ringing in my ears, my mind already on Sunday dinner at Rose’s. On Autumn’s laugh, mixing with the jazz music Rose always played while cooking, she’d probably wear that green sweater that brought out the gold in her eyes.

Maybe LaMont was right. Perhaps it was time to stop playing it safe.

But first, I had to figure out how to tell my best friend I’d been in love with her for twenty years without destroying everything we’d built.