Chapter 5

New York City was a shitshow on Thanksgiving with all the tourists and street closures for the parade, not to mention the changeable weather. My annoyance only increased with every stopped car, jaywalking pedestrian, bike courier, and honking taxi.

Trying to get to Abby was worth the frustration. I knew even on a private jet, it would still take Hugh several hours to get to his sister, so I headed out to Newark immediately to see if there was some other way I could help. Even if the only thing I could do was reassure him I'd laid eyes on her, it would be worth it.

By the time I entered the hospital, Lesya had worked her magic and gotten me an update and access to Abby's room. I knocked softly on the door before poking my head in.

A woman with long, curly hair and eyes nearly as deep and warm as Hugh's lifted her gaze from her lap and blinked blearily at me. A purpling bruise bloomed on her cheekbone, a cut above her eyebrow was held closed with butterfly stitches, and one wrist was wrapped in a brace, but she seemed whole and mostly okay.

"Abby?" I asked.

She blinked again. I could see the glaze of pain and medication in her eyes. "Yeah?"

"I'm a friend of your brother's. He's on his way."

Her eyes filled with tears. "Hugh's coming? From North Carolina?"

I walked further into the room and set a vase of flowers on the rolling table next to her bed. "Yeah, he should be here in a couple of hours. He was worried about you. Said he couldn't get a hold of you."

She wiped a tear away and sniffed. "I lost my phone in the accident, and I don't have anyone's number. Can you call him and ask him to tell Dex I'm okay?"

I immediately pulled out my phone to make the call, but unsurprisingly, it went to voicemail. "No answer. Probably because he's in flight. But I'm texting him right now, and he should be able to text Dex to let him know."

Oscar

Abby is okay. Lost her phone. She wants you to text Dex to let him know.

Hugh

How do you know?

Oscar

I am here with her now. I promise she's okay. Just shaken and a little banged up.

The three dots appeared and remained long enough to let me know he was surprised by my news. I slid the phone back into my pocket and pulled a plastic chair forward. "I let him know. While we wait for him, what can I do to help? Are they taking good care of you?"

She took a shaky breath. "I wanted to find out how the kids are. My students… I'm a teacher. And I was on a student thing…"

I nodded and sat forward on the edge of the chair. "According to what my assistant was able to find out, all of the students and the driver are unharmed. They're mostly just worried about you. Your boss is also on her way here. Sandra, I think is her name?"

She nodded. "The principal of my school. I hope she's not upset at me. It was all my fault."

"I doubt that. Are you sure it wasn't the weather? The storms made the highways a mess."

"No, I mean… I shouldn't have been standing up. Well, leaning forward. And I probably distracted the driver."

I reached out to take her hand before stopping and reminding myself she didn't know me. After everything I'd heard from Hugh about her, I felt like I knew her.

"I can't imagine that's the case. Accidents happen. I'm just glad you're okay."

More tears spilled from her glassy eyes. I handed her a tissue from a nearby box. "My mom died in a car accident," she admitted softly. "You probably knew that if you're friends with Hugh."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. In the rush to help, I'd completely forgotten. "Yeah," I said softly. "And then your dad…"

"Pretty much willed himself to follow," she said. "It was awful. I don't think Hugh's ever gotten over it. We lost everyone that year. We never had aunts and uncles or cousins. So he had to step up and be everything for both of us."

I thought about the kind man who was in love with love. Who celebrated romance and life with every photograph he captured. Who stayed wide open and vulnerable despite such immense grief and loss.

"He's…" I cleared my throat. "He's a good man." Understatement.

"Yeah. He's the best." With her uninjured hand, she fiddled with the blanket over her chest. Her fingers were long and graceful like Hugh's. I couldn't look away from them.

"How do you know Hugh?"

I blinked up at her, catching her studying me. "Oh, ah… I met him at my friend Wells's wedding last summer. He was the photographer, and I was the best man."

She smiled. "He loves his job, doesn't he? And he's really good at it."

I nodded. "The photos were amazing. And his TikTok account…"

Her smile widened. "Right? And it's growing like crazy. I do the video editing, but the way he captures the couples' reactions and smiles…" She sighed. "He's so talented. You can see the love shining from everywhere."

"He's a sucker for a good HEA, isn't he?" I murmured, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

"If only he could find his own. I really thought he was going to end up with Jared, but obviously, that wasn't meant to be."

My ears perked up. I'd never heard that name from Hugh before, and I'd heard about a lot of the men he'd dated. "Jared? Who's Jared?"

"Dex's brother." She waved her hand weakly and shifted in the bed. I jumped forward to help her rearrange her pillows. When she settled back down again, I couldn't help but bring her back around to the topic at hand.

"So… Jared?"

"Hmm? Oh. Yeah. Jared's a nice guy. He was like Prince Charming in a lot of ways, always bringing Hugh flowers and taking him to nice restaurants and stuff. But he didn't want to settle down the way Hugh does." She blew out a breath. "It was super awkward when they broke up. They'd introduced me and Dex, so it was like suddenly we didn't feel like we could be around our siblings at the same time. It's been… hard. I don't ever want to hurt Hugh's feelings, but then again, I can't not invite Dex's brother to family events…"

"That sounds tough. But I don't think Hugh would want you to stress about it. He cares more about your happiness than anything."

Her face softened again. "Yeah. I hate that he feels responsible for me though. Like right now. I'm not seriously hurt. He shouldn't have cut his trip short to come here?—"

"You're the most important person in his life."

She picked at the blanket again and tried to look casual. "So what about you? Are you dating anyone?"

I couldn't hold back a grin. "I recognize a matchmaking sister at fifty paces, lady."

Her laugh lifted something heavy off my shoulders. I took my phone out of my pocket to shoot Hugh a quick text, but before I started typing, I saw his response to my earlier one.

Hugh

You're there? With Abby? In Newark?

Oscar

Yes. And I got her to laugh. So you can relax. She's already trying to set us up on a date.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket and glanced back up at her. Her expression was tender and a little too knowing.

"You like him," she accused gently.

"Very much." I held up my hand. "But not like that. We're just friends."

Okay, so that was clearly a blatant lie. I liked him like that. I really liked him like that. But I knew it was a bad bet. I was no one's Prince Charming, and I had a long line of exes to prove it.

"Why do you say that? Hugh's good-looking and kind."

I finally reached out to take her hand. "Abby, I couldn't agree more. But I'm not happy ever after material, and Hugh knows that. Just friends."

I heard a slight intake of breath and turned. Hugh stood in the doorway, his eyes glancing past me to Abby.

"Very good friends," Hugh added. After making sure Abby wasn't more injured than he'd expected, he held out his hand to me.

I stared at it.

I wanted to pull him against me, bury my nose in his neck, and inhale his scent again. I wanted to thread my fingers through his curls, tilt his head back, and hear his breathy gasp before I brushed my lips against his. I wanted to taste him and touch him and reach across the bed in the morning to caress his sleep-warmed back. I wanted to see him smile in the sunshine and feel the little hop-skip of my heart when I glimpsed his adorably crooked canine.

I wanted to tell his sister it had all been a big, fat lie.

Instead, I forced a smile and took his hand. "The best," I agreed.

Then I made my goodbyes and left before I could change my mind.

* * *

"Peter sayshe can't possibly get a prototype until…" Lesya sat in the chair across from the desk in my office, consulting her tablet. "The third week of May."

I snorted. "Tell Peter to try again. This is the third delay in as many months, with no solid explanation. I could get out my Popsicle sticks and craft glue and come up with a prototype in half that time. If they want our investment, they can prioritize our request."

Lesya grinned and typed on her screen before finishing with a flourish. "Done. I omitted the part about the Popsicle sticks. You'll thank me later."

"Probably," I agreed. "Is that everything on the list for today?"

"Uh, no, not even half the things." She shook her head indulgently. "What's up with you this week, Captain Distraction? It's like you've caught spring fever early."

"Nonsense." I resisted the urge to squirm in my seat. "As I told you yesterday and the day before, I don't get distracted."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm known for my laser-like focus. I built this company thanks to that focus."

"Sure."

"Besides, spring is obviously a million years away." I gestured out the window, where a chilly drizzle fell on the winter-naked trees in the roof garden across the street. "Continue. What's next on the agenda?"

"Mitch sent over an update on the Donaldson portfolio. I forwarded it to you since I know you'll want to read it yourself, but things look good. He took care of that snag with the company down in Miami…"

As Lesya spoke, I listened with half an ear, nodding along in the appropriate places, but my gaze kept straying outside. Hugh was out in the city this afternoon getting pictures for his Real Life HEAs TikTok, and knowing him, he probably hadn't even noticed the freezing rain, he was so damn chipper about his date tonight—"THIRD date, Oscar. Which is serious. Possibly pivotal."—with Louis, a divorce attorney he'd been talking to for a few weeks.

On the one hand, this was a good thing. Really good. At least, that was what I kept telling myself whenever I remembered how the warm slide of his palm in mine had felt on Thanksgiving in his sister's hospital room. Three months had passed since then, and our relationship had returned to the status quo: text only. No calling, no seeing each other.

Which was a good thing.

Really.

That was what I kept reminding myself, at least.

Hugh certainly seemed fine with it. After the Thanksgiving debacle with Terry or whatever his name was, he'd immediately jumped back into his hunt for The One with fervor, racking up a whole bunch of first dates all through December and into the new year. I hadn't been kidding when I'd told him I thought he was brave as fuck for putting himself out there over and over again, for being determined and optimistic no matter how many frogs he kissed along the way, but sometimes I felt like he was putting unnecessary pressure on himself.

In January, after he'd hit a dry spell, he'd interrupted our terrifying, weekend-long Last of Us buddy watch to assure me he wasn't giving up, like he thought I was the one who was worried about it. I'd told him to chill out, that the world was not actually ending in a zombie apocalypse anytime soon, that he could take his time and be selective. He'd agreed… or so I thought.

And then March had rolled around.

"Oscar?" Lesya demanded.

"Hmm?" I blinked away from the window guiltily. "Oh. Yes. Yeah. I was just… pondering that last thing you said. That's a… a good point."

She pursed her lips. "So you agree, then?"

"I… might." I cleared my throat. "Run it back for me one more time?"

Lesya rolled her eyes, not fooled for a minute. "I said Jay would like to call an all-hands meeting to talk strategy. He has several ideas he'd like to run by you, but I wasn't sure whether you were planning to handle the Titan acquisition in person?—"

"No, I'm taking care of that remotely. Tell Jay to send out the invites and put the meeting on my calendar. I have some social obligations in the city, so I'll be around for the next few weeks, at least."

She nodded. "I'm glad. I feel like you've been gone more than usual lately."

I grunted noncommittally. While I loved traveling… I'd reached a saturation point, even for me.

I should probably have known better than to leave Hugh mostly unsupervised during hearts-and-cupids season, but I'd had a factory issue in Jakarta that required a personal touch, and our text conversations weren't as seamless when they were happening across time zones, no matter how hard we tried. Then, a couple of friends had wheedled me into joining them on a two-week trip to the Maldives—an invitation that had not so subtly hinted at "personal touching" of a different nature, as I'd joked to Hugh, so I could hardly turn it down.

To my friends' shock and mine though, once I'd arrived, I had turned them down. Repeatedly. I'd spent two weeks working on my tan, brainstorming a few new projects I wanted to work on in the second quarter, and wishing I was back in the city. As I'd told my friend Boone before I left, keeping up a constant string of sexual partners sometimes felt like effort. Sex was sex: always enjoyable but available in unlimited supply. There was no need to chase it like the blue-haired ladies storming the Walmart on Black Friday back in Texas. This was not—absolutely not—because I was feeling melancholy, as Boone had suggested…

A point I'd proven by setting up a night out with my friend James to have a drink and catch up. See? I could be fun and social as much as the next guy. Except it hadn't been as fun as it usually was. In fact, in a weaker moment, I'd even found myself making a deal with James's dilettante ex-boyfriend, Richard, that might make my ex-boyfriend Boone want to erase my name from his contacts list—not that he would, of course, since Boone was far too kind, but if Richard fucked things up badly enough as Boone's ranch hand, the man might be tempted.

At least my texts with Hugh had gone back to normal as soon as I'd returned to the city… but with a decided twist, because while I was away, Louis had gone creeping into Hugh's DMs, and now every day featured a new story about something Louis had said or done.

I'd learned my lesson back in November, so I didn't say all the things I wanted to say about Louis—like, "Why the hell would a person who specializes in happily ever afters date a divorce attorney?"—but I couldn't deny feeling… protective. Protective enough to recommend that Hugh wear his blue button-down on his date tonight, even though his green shirt did amazing things for his eyes and hugged his lean muscles, because I wasn't sure Louis was green-shirt-worthy. Almost protective enough to send Louis a discreet message warning him that I could erase him from existence if he so much as looked cross-eyed at my Hugh.

At my friend Hugh, I mentally corrected.

"…and then I told Marigold that if we're already investing in magic mushrooms, we should go all in on fairy tears. Sell out of all other investments, I told her. In fact, sell Oscar's Bugatti and invest that money too?—"

"Wait." I sat forward so quickly I nearly tipped my chair over. "What?"

Lesya sat back in her seat and smirked. "Welcome back, boss."

"I wasn't—" I sighed. "Fine, I might have been a bit distracted this one time. It's just…" I hesitated. "I've been feeling off recently." I shook my head, impatient with myself, and turned my gaze back to the window. "I don't know how to describe it. It's like I'm restless but tired of traveling. I'm bored, but the idea of planning a party or throwing myself into a hobby holds no appeal. Even work isn't as exciting as it used to be. It's like I'm trying to ride a bull that's going one way while I'm aimed in the other—" I heard the words I was saying and whipped my head toward Lesya in shock. "Oh, sweet Jesus, now I'm talking in Texas cowboy-isms. What's wrong with me?"

"Well." Lesya pursed her lips, set her tablet on her lap, and folded her hands primly on top of it. "I don't know for sure, but do you think this might have something to do with your sister getting engaged?"

"Stepsister," I corrected automatically. "Hyacinth is my stepsister. And no, I assure you, I have no particular feelings about that whatsoever." I narrowed my eyes. She knew I usually avoided commitments with my stepfamily when given the chance. "Wait, how did you know she's engaged? I only just heard this weekend, myself."

Lesya met my eyes. I could see the sympathy in her expression, but it was accompanied by a little bit of judgment. "Your mother called to get an appointment on your calendar because, as usual, you've been ducking your family's calls and texts for days. She told me all about Dirk's Valentine's Day proposal and how the wedding is going to be on New Year's Eve at your Vermont house. A ‘Flower Family extravaganza,' she called it."

I felt familiar dread creep up my spine. "Yes. Won't that be lovely? All eight of my stepsiblings, their significant others, my stepfather, and my mother, converging into a perfect storm of family merriment while I stand by, trying not to get drowned in the deluge," I said wryly. "Remind me to order an emergency case of Macallan well in advance, hmm?"

"Please." Lesya snorted. "Like Oscar Overton's not a force of nature all on his own. You'll have fun. Just like you will tonight."

"Tonight," I repeated.

"The appointment your mother booked with you," she reminded me. "You're having dinner with her at Amy Ruth's over on West 116th."

I rolled my eyes. You could take my mother out of Texas, but apparently, you couldn't take the chicken and waffles out of my mother. "Fine. Okay." I blew out a breath, stretched my neck, and tried to refocus on work. "What's next on our agenda? Let's get this done."

"Actually, you're gonna like this one. You're meeting with your new student mentee, Mr. Carlos Gutzman-Driscoll. He's a junior at Jerome Murphy High School. And he should be here now." She consulted her tablet. "I'll send him in if you're ready."

She left the door cracked, and I could hear her voice shift from business mode to the softer tone she took with our mentees. A few seconds later, I heard someone approach the office. I stood, ready to greet them… but no one appeared.

I was about to call out hello when I heard soft murmuring. I came around the desk, straining to make out the words.

"Come on, Chuckie," a young voice muttered. "You've got this. You're the man, and you're smart, and you have good ideas. Believe in yourself, and others will believe in you too."

Then the door swung open, and a painfully thin kid with light brown skin and a shock of thick black hair barged his way inside. He lifted his chin in challenge and held out a hand. "My name is Carlos Gutzman-Driscoll, sir. And today…" He paused dramatically. "…is your lucky day."

I took his hand, and he shook it firmly. "Is it?" I asked.

I could practically see the tremor move through him as his childlike excitement warred with his nerves and his desire to appear businesslike. "It certainly is, sir."

I smiled, hoping to put him at ease. "Well, then, I look forward to hearing about your project."

"Oh no," he corrected. "I don't have a project. Chucktastic Productions is a lifestyle." He splayed his hands as he said it.

Oh my god. Surely I had never been that young in my entire life. I turned my back as I made my way around my desk because I knew there was no way I was going to be able to hide my laugh otherwise.

Once I was seated, I indicated for him to sit as well. "I'm intrigued," I said solemnly. "Tell me more."

Apparently, he was too amped up to sit, so he remained standing, nearly vibrating with energy. "Well." The kid's businesslike mien cracked, and he smiled a little wildly. "It was hard to choose just one project because I've got probably a million ideas—my whole Notes app is brainstorming and shi—stuff. But I narrowed it down to my favorite." He pulled a tablet out of his backpack and turned it to face me before pressing Play on a demonstration video. "I present to you… the Starburst Illuminator. It's an indoor fireworks display partly done with lasers, partly with LED lights, and partly with self-contained pyrotechnics that are totally safe and nonflammable, all synchronized to music through a program I coded myself. Like, for when it's raining on the Fourth of July and you wanna have your celebration indoors."

I blinked as the video showed a really cool and creditable demonstration. I sat forward, watching the screen. "You created this? And you've tested it?"

"Oh yeah. Extensively. I used it at Homecoming and again when the basketball team won the championship. It's already turning a profit." He blushed slightly. "And if you don't like this idea, I have a million more."

I couldn't believe he was even questioning it. "I like it," I told him. "Indoor pyrotechnics sounds revolutionary."

His eyes lit up. Chuckie had a terrible poker face, which I appreciated because I enjoyed watching his elation. This was what I'd been missing lately—this kind of joy and excitement. Having a new idea and running with it.

"Really?" he asked, a little hesitant like he was unsure whether or not I was pulling his leg.

"Absolutely. Now, sit down and tell me more about yourself. What are your goals? How do you see your future?"

"My goal is to be you." He said it with complete sincerity and earnestness.

I chuckled, appreciating the compliment. He didn't smile in return. He sat, or more like perched, on the edge of the chair, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. "I mean it. I've studied you and your background. I've read every article I could find."

I coughed. "Hopefully not everything," I said, thinking of the few articles out there that tended to focus less on me as a successful businessman and more on me as a man about town. Usually, they were accompanied by paparazzi shots of me in tropical locales wearing skimpy bathing suits and with good-looking men on my arm.

He nodded solemnly. "Everything. You're, like, my hero. The fact that you're totally zoned in on your business, no personal distractions, is super inspiring. And the fact that you grew up on a ranch in rural Texas, left home at eighteen, worked your way through college, and made your first million by the time you were twenty-three…" He sighed. "I mean, that shows anything's possible, right?"

"I didn't do it alone," I told him. I'd been lucky and had a lot of help along the way from folks who were generous with their time and knowledge. One of the reasons I'd been all in when Lesya had suggested a mentorship program was because it gave me a chance to pay it forward.

"Yeah, but you did it. And you did it with micro-investments in people like me. Which is amazing! I mean, look at this place." He twisted in his seat, waving around with his arms. "I wasn't nervous, or not much anyway, when I was on the train. But then I got to the lobby and saw all the glass and the big Overton Investments sign, and I was like, shit, Chuck, this is a big deal. You know?"

His enthusiasm was contagious. "I definitely do."

"Probably not as intimidating when you're the guy whose name is on the sign though, eh?"

"You'd be surprised." I smiled. "Sometimes that's even more intimidating."

"Seriously?" Chuckie frowned. "How's that work?"

I stared down at the tablet, still showing examples of his indoor fireworks. The walls of the room in the video lit up in deep oranges and reds, like the sky at sunset on the ranch where I'd grown up.

The fact that I'd grown up poor, the son of a housekeeper on a big Texas ranch, was public knowledge. My stepfather had given many interviews over the years, talking about our rags-to-riches tale.

But regardless of what Birch was willing to talk about publicly, I never did because the reality was more pathetic than inspirational. The truth was, I'd felt awkward and out of place on the ranch. Not part of the rancher's family. Not part of the community, either, since I was gay and scrawny and hated football—which was a little like hating Jesus in the town I grew up in. My father, the ranch foreman, hadn't had much patience for the embarrassment I'd caused just by being myself. It had caused endless fights between my parents, and eventually, he'd taken off and left us without a backward glance.

After he left, my discomfort and shame had simmered to a violent boil, creating a driving passion in me to escape, to build a life with a man I loved—Boone, I imagined, since we'd been dating at the time—where I'd never again feel worry or shame that I was too much or too little to fit in.

One of those dreams had come true, at least. I hadn't set foot in that part of Texas again.

I cleared my throat. "When your name is on the sign, people have certain expectations, that's all I meant."

"Ah." Chuck tilted his head. "But then you crush their expectations, right? You prove them all wrong for doubting you?"

I smiled at him. Something in this kid reminded me of myself at his age. Maybe it was his awkwardness or his innate belief that he was going somewhere in life. Maybe it was how painfully skinny he was and the big dreams so obvious in his eyes. Or maybe it was the way he wanted to prove everyone wrong about himself.

Either way, I liked him.

And maybe helping him reach his dreams would help me ignore the fact that some dreams simply weren't meant to come true.