23. Brooks

CHAPTER 23

brOOKS

After Tate left for work, Dylan was quick to follow. He assured me the two of them had talked and would talk again, but I was still concerned about his well-being. It wasn’t my place to worry about Dylan, but it wasn’t really something I could turn off, either. After I’d tucked them both into bed the night before, I’d tried to call Alex to see if he had any insight into the situation, but he hadn’t answered his phone. The lack of response was reasonable because it was well after midnight when I’d called, but now it was a new day and I didn’t have any meetings before lunch.

Before Dylan left, I’d made him drink a cup of coffee and I asked him if he wanted help. He said he didn’t know what help looked like anymore, and the despondency in his tone made me want to lock him in a utility room until I figured out what to do with him. It wasn’t my place, but he hadn’t said no, so I set my mind to the next steps and I was ready to put them into action. As with most things in my life, I would deal with the repercussions later.

After lunch, I was supposed to meet with Boston Sheffield and his charity of choice, which happened to be a local soup kitchen owned by a prick of a man and managed by a saint. Ever since Boston and Ford bought the farm, the bunch of them had been in negotiations around a contract that would supply fresh fruits and vegetables for the kitchen, except the owner continued to be resistant to the terms.

My job should have been an easy one.

Before Russell Lang, I’d never met a charity that didn’t want money, that didn’t need the help. But after months of meetings, it had become apparent he was only in the business for a tax shelter and any more incoming money had the potential to raise red flags that he wasn’t interested in waving. Shawn, the manager of the kitchen, had been fighting long and hard against his boss, and I’d been doing hours of due diligence to try and find a loophole that would work for everyone.

I had a meeting on the books at one to meet with Ford and Russell about the whole thing. Boston and Shawn both had bleeding hearts that weren’t cut out for the kind of talks that we were going to have, but I was confident an agreement could be reached to replace the current supplier with Boston’s new farm. The after lunch time slot gave me plenty of opportunity to track down Alex, which was exactly what I planned to do.

After watching the car I’d hired to take Dylan back to Chelsea disappear around the corner, I pulled my phone out of my jacket and called Kale.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he said after answering on the second ring.

“Do you still have us all on Friend Finder?” I asked.

He scoffed. “I didn’t think you knew about that. ”

“You wouldn’t have let Alex go silent for weeks after things ended with Beamer if you didn’t at least know where he was.”

“Guilty as charged,” he said. “You’re all still in here. Even Beamer over in California with that husband of his.”

Knowing he’d kept Beamer on the map, even considering the state of things between them, tugged at the strings of my heart. The two of them had been so close and Kale had taken the betrayal over Beamer’s marriage particularly hard. He’d been horrible to Dalton, Beamer’s husband, and while he’d tried to make things better, he still wasn’t great.

“Where is Alex right now?” I asked.

“Is he being weird again?” Kale asked. The call switched to speaker when he spoke next. “I thought he was more himself last time we got together.”

“He was. I just need to have a chat with him.”

“Have you tried calling?”

“Where is he, Kale?”

Kale chuckled. “Do I need to call the police? Or let Alex know you’re gunning for him?”

“I’m not mad. I’m not going to put my hands on him. I just need to talk to him about someone he’s been sleeping with and I want to see his face when I do it.”

“Who’s he sleeping with?” Kale asked, the interest sharp as a bell in his voice.

I decided to keep the answer simple, but honest. “A bartender at The Black Door.”

Kale sucked his teeth, taking the phone off speaker. “Alex is at home, so if he’s not answering his phone, he’s ignoring you. ”

“Thank you. I’m seeing Ford later. Do you think two weeks from now is good to go up to the farm?”

I’d known Kale for years and I knew that even though we’d all agreed to go to the farm, he was going to drag his feet over the whole thing unless someone—his boyfriend, namely—physically forced his hand about it.

“I have to check with Christian,” Kale answered, predictable as ever.

“Ask him and let me know before lunch so I can tell Ford to plan.”

“That’s not a lot of time,” he protested.

“I’ll come find you when I’m done with Alex if you drag your feet on this.”

“Before two,” Kale countered.

“Before twelve.” I hung up the phone and swiped open the app I used to reserve car rides. There was a vehicle available right around the corner, so it didn’t take more than five minutes until I was on my way to Alex’s house. I could have walked. Almost everything in New York was walkable, but I didn’t feel like cutting through Central Park to get to Alex’s townhouse on the Upper West Side. He had five floors and four bedrooms, which felt excessive, but it was the house he’d grown up in, inherited after both his parents had passed some years earlier. He’d spent near a million dollars on renovations, turning it into something far more sterile than I would have chosen for myself.

The entire upper floor had been converted into a primary suite with a sloping cathedral ceiling and wood burning fireplace. The kitchen had been upgraded with top-of-the-line appliances, and the room that had been Alex’s father’s pride and joy, the library, had been converted into a playroom. It was the only room in the house that hadn’t been painted a glaring shade of white, instead a more muted cream. Even with the overfilled mahogany shelves still lining the walls, I found it all to be far too formal for my tastes. I knew the criticism was rich coming from a man with a panoramic view of the city and a ten thousand dollar couch, but…I never had issues throwing stones from my glass house. All that aside, Alex had one of the best back gardens in the city, and the five of us had spent many summer nights out back drinking and shooting the shit, but it seemed life had changed all of us, and not necessarily for the better.

The car pulled up alongside the curb in front of Alex’s house, and I took the steps to his porch two at a time, banging on the door until he answered. He was bleary eyed, but that was usual for him these days. Other than that, he looked almost his normal self. I slid my phone back into my pocket and unfastened the button on my suit coat.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Brooks?” he asked, mouth pulled into a tight line.

“That’s what Kale said when I called him this morning. I’m starting to feel like none of my friends like my company anymore.”

“I enjoy sleeping,” he said, stepping aside to let me in. I closed the door behind me and followed him up the stairs and into the sprawling eat-in kitchen where he had a plate of bacon and toast on the counter beside a steaming mug of coffee. The Times was open and folded into fours, a pen resting on top and the crossword half-finished.

“Can I have some coffee?” I asked, gesturing to the mug.

“You know where to get it.”

Alex slid back into his seat and picked up his pen, scratching out the letters for an answer to the puzzle I’d apparently interrupted. Thankfully, his coffee pot was full, and I filled a mug for myself before joining him at the table. I stretched my legs out and crossed them at the ankle, waiting for him to get bored of trying to pretend the crossword clues were more interesting than me.

“What do you want, Brooks?” he finally asked, setting the pen down and reaching for a slice of overly-browned toast.

“I want to talk to you about Dylan Rivers,” I said.

Alex set the toast down. “What about him?”

“I just want to know your history with him,” I said, sipping the coffee that tasted like it had been roasted the night before and flown in from Colombia overnight. “He’s not just a bartender.”

“I know he’s not.”

“You hired him?” I prompted. “For sex?”

“It’s not a secret, Brooks.”

“I know it’s not.” I set down the mug and held up my hands. “I’m not here to accuse you of anything. I just…”

I didn’t know what I was doing or what I wanted Alex to do about it. All I knew was Dylan was Tate’s best friend, his roommate, and he’d fallen into some dangerous situations because of the choices he’d been making. The night before, he’d sounded ashamed and embarrassed about the whole thing, but I wasn’t sure it was enough for him to stop. Even after coming clean to Tate, I didn’t think Dylan was going to walk away entirely, and I didn’t trust him to start making better decisions.

That was rich, coming from me, but I’d always been a reasonable judge of character. I could tell Dylan was a good person who’d just been having some bad luck, and then some worse luck. Based off the way he’d been drinking last night, I…I just didn’t want him to get himself hurt, or worse, killed. Tate would feel responsible, and I wasn’t sure if there’d be any coming back from that.

I was invested in Tate, and by association, Dylan.

This was one of the side effects of being with me, and I hoped Tate wouldn’t think I had overstepped in any way, but it was my job now to take care of him and right now…that meant taking care of Dylan.

“What, Brooks?” Alex reached again for the toast, sinking his teeth in with a loud crunch.

“He needs…help,” I said, frowning. “I picked him and Tate up from Tryst last night.”

“Drinking on a Sunday isn’t a red flag.”

I narrowed my eyes at him while he washed his food down with a swallow of coffee.

“Is it a red flag to have to pull him up from his knees on the bathroom floor and make sure he doesn’t choke on the cum a stranger just shot down his throat?”

Alex set his mug down on the table with a little more force than necessary, but just the right amount to confirm I’d made the right decision by coming to him about it.

“He’s not anything to me,” Alex said carefully, eyes focused on the crossword.

“I didn’t say he was.”

“He can suck whoever’s cock he wants,” he said.

“I asked if I could touch him last night and he thought I meant sexually.”

Alex swallowed, his jaw working as he flicked his stare up at me. “Is that what you meant?”

“I’m in love with Tate, Alex. I assure you it was the last thing I meant. I wanted to console him, rub his back so he didn’t throw up all over my stairs.”

Half the fight went out of Alex’s shoulders, and he sagged against the back of his chair. I was grateful he let my confession of love go unnoticed because I honestly hadn’t meant to say the words out loud. They were an idea, a dream maybe, that I’d played with just before sunrise sometimes, listening to Tate breathe heavily against my shoulder. I worried about speaking them to anyone who mattered because, at any given time, the doubt and the fear were still very sharp and real things in the back of my mind.

“He needs someone to be easy with him,” I said.

“That’s the last thing he wanted when we were together.”

I hooked my finger in the handle of my coffee mug and slid it back and forth in small half-circles.

“Be that as it may, Alex, I think it’s what he needs now.”

“I’m not the one for that.” He clicked the end of his pen and scribbled down another answer to the crossword. “That’s never been me, and it won’t ever be me.”

“You can do both, you know,” I reminded him, “I do.”

“That’s not…Dylan, he…” Alex stumbled over the words and I sipped my coffee, waiting for him to get himself in order.

He wrote in another answer, and one more.

“Have you ever run the Boston marathon?” Alex asked.

“Twice.”

He twirled the pen around his fingers. “What is the town at the eighth mile of the marathon? Six letters, second to last one is a C.”

I sighed and finished my coffee, pushing back from the table. We’d all been wrong in thinking Alex was back to his normal self. He was playing the part of the man we knew, but wasn’t quite reaching all the marks. Alex was a thoughtful friend and a generous partner. Sure, he had unique tastes in the bedroom, but we all did.

“It’s Natick,” I told him. “Thanks for the coffee. We’re taking a trip to Ford and Boston’s farm in two weeks, don’t think you’re getting out of it.”

“Is Kale going?” he asked.

I was halfway to his front door. “All of us.”

I heard the pen spell out the answer to the clue, and then Alex sighed, resigned as ever.

“I’ll call Dylan.”