13. Emmett

13

EMMETT

The Saturday morning farmer's market on Spruce Street was already bustling by nine o'clock in the morning.

" This feels like fall," I heard Landry's voice from behind me and I turned to see him hopping off his bike, leaning it over to chain it up.

I squinted at him in the golden sunlight. "Morning," I said. "It really does. I think I'm going to beeline for an apple cider donut and a—"

"Let me guess," he said. "Pumpkin spice latte?"

I held up a finger. "Pumpkin spice cappuccino , today, I think."

"Wow," Landry said, standing up and taking off his bike helmet. "Really changing it up these days, I see."

I pulled in a long breath of the crisp air. It had been a few days of steady rain after the night with the thunderstorm, but just in time for the farmer's market this morning, the grey had given way to chilly air and some sunlight again.

"I even busted out my scarf for this temperature," I said. "I really needed this, Lucky. Thanks for meeting me."

Landry and I walked toward the entrance, greeted by the smells of coffee, sugar, and the cinnamon-scented promised land of apple cider donuts. Little crowds and groups of people wavered between stands of fresh flowers, food, and handmade goods.

"I hesitate to ask," Landry said, cutting me a glance from the side as we walked, "but how have you been, since that night at your house?"

I sighed. "About as bad as you might expect."

Landry squeezed my shoulder. "Storm clearly doesn't know what you've been through. I don't think he was trying to say you're some soulless, money-grubbing prick like Cutmore."

Of course Landry had known immediately that the subject was a sensitive one for me. He'd known me for a long time, and had especially seen how my ex Sam had treated me like a walking dollar sign. He'd also seen how certain distant family and friends had come to me like circling sharks, looking for a piece of my dad's money just days after he'd died.

The thought still made me sick.

"You're right. Storm doesn't know how much it hurt me," I said. "But I'm not going to sit around and try to sweet-talk him when he's acting like he wants to get in a bar fight with me in my own home."

"Both of you got heated."

I stubbornly wished Landry wasn't right. "This week has sucked at the office. You should be glad you were out on site with clients, because every time I passed by Cutmore's office I got mad all over again. Every time I heard people talking about Rodgett, too."

"The renovations at Storm's house start this week, don't they? I'm sure you'll be out on site there plenty."

I bit the inside of my cheek. I didn't know if being at his house was better or worse than the office, right now.

"The guys at the Fixer Brothers told me they've hired extra help. This renovation should be one of the fastest turnarounds they've ever had. I want it to be done quickly and I can move on with the Racks deal. Move on with my life."

Landry had picked up a little wooden candle holder at the craft stall we were standing by, but he wasn't even looking down at it.

Instead, he peered at me, hesitating.

"Emmett," he finally said.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I hate to ask, but…" Landry said, moving a little closer to my ear. "Are you going to fuck him again?"

"Jesus," I said, waving my hand through the air. "I did not—I didn't fuck him."

He gave me a look. "Emmett, you've always told me everything. I walked in on you guys naked. Sorry, though. I'll give it a break."

I looked down, picking up a bunch of wooden knick knacks and setting them back down again.

Landry and I hadn't acknowledged that moment at all yet. It had been embarrassing enough at the time, but Landry was right. I usually did tell him everything.

"Storm and I were fighting, that night," I said, rolling my eyes. "As usual."

"Like an old married couple?" Landry teased.

"More like two angry idiots in a locker room," I admitted. "But we got close to each other, and then… one thing led to another, I suppose. It wasn't a big deal."

Landry lifted an eyebrow. "Not a big deal at all, huh?" he said, not believing me for a second.

I groaned. "Okay, fine, it was hot. Really hot. But it's never happening again."

Landry patted me on the back. "Let's get you to that apple cider donut and grab a coffee. I think you need it."

I laughed, but Landry didn't know just how right he was. We sauntered through the crowds of people at the market, making our way toward the donuts.

Once I had a hot coffee in hand, Landry and I found a free bench to sit on underneath a tree with all golden leaves. I took a bite of the cider donut and let the healing properties of apple-cinnamon wash over me.

"God, that's good."

"The best," Landry said, eating his own donut.

"I mean it when I say it won't happen again," I told Landry. "The thing with Storm."

"Why not?"

"Because I hate him," I said, even though it felt weird to say it now that I knew Storm a little better. "He actively wants to ruin the Fixer Brothers deal with Racks stores, as far as I can tell."

"Maybe he won't want to ruin it if he's too busy in bed with you," Landry suggested.

I shook my head, taking a sip of coffee. "He sees nothing but money when he looks at me. Not like Sam, who wanted to run off with my money. But Storm thinks I'm… soulless, or something."

"He called you soulless?"

"He despises wealth," I said. "He has money now, but he has made it very clear that he only sees me as a generic rich guy. It's probably all he'll ever see me as."

"You're the opposite of that kind of guy, though," Landry said. "Does Storm have any idea what you want to do with Lux Marketing, if you get the promotion?"

I shrugged, finishing off my donut. "He doesn't care. He can't stand that I work for someone like Cutmore."

Landry had spent years hearing me talk about my hopes for the future of Lux Marketing. I knew I was privileged, and I wanted to use the privilege I'd been born with to eventually steer the company into something that reflected my values and honored my father. To specifically work with clients who were from underprivileged communities and so deeply deserved the spotlight. To drop clients like Rodgett like hot potatoes, as soon as I had the chance. Something Walter Cutmore would never allow.

"You've always been able to befriend anyone," Landry said. "You can soften him up."

"He hates everything he thinks I represent. I don't think Storm can stop and think long enough to care about any long-term plans I have."

"That's not true."

"How?"

Landry gave me a glance. "Have you seen the way Storm looks at you?"

I looked over at a little sparrow hopping around in the leaves.

I loved the way Storm looked at me, truthfully. But that didn't change who he was.

"Storm might like looking at me, but he doesn't like listening to me," I said.

Landry puffed out a laugh. "Fine, fine. Whatever you say. You want to know something I remember your dad always saying?"

I smiled softly. "You're hitting me with one of my dad's quotes, now?"

"Bet your ass I am," Landry said. "I remember he said it once to both of us, after a shitty meeting with that client from Atlanta. He said: you can't help what you feel, but you can help how you behave."

I hummed. "That was one of his favorites. Was something Margaret Atwood said, and Dad loved her."

"I think it applies," Landry said. "Be your best with Storm. If you're living true to yourself, no one can deny that."

"I'll try. I promise."

But I broke my promise to Landry within minutes, the next time I saw Storm.

It was the first day of renovations at Storm's house. As I walked up the driveway, he looked over at me, giving me that dimpled smile with his eyes shining. He could be so charming when he wasn't dead set on being volatile.

Couldn't it always be like this?

My heart ached. All I could think about was being close to him. Having him near me again. Pulling him tight and showing him that I wasn't what he thought I was.

Chase, one of the main camera guys for the Fixer Brothers show, was talking to Storm, setting up his camera rig in front of Storm's house. I had gotten ready for the morning and walked next door, and the crew was already setting up for the day of filming ahead.

"That game last night was absolute fire ," Chase was saying. "I don't watch football, but my boyfriend Adam and I turned it on because we knew you'd be the star."

"Well, thank you," Storm said with a smile. "Football can be for anyone."

"I don't know how the game works at all," Chase admitted. "I've been more of a fan of your social media than football, to be honest. But when you caught that ball in the third quarter, I stood up and cheered. You are really good at catching a fast ball."

"It's what I do best," Storm said.

"I loved the post from last night, by the way," Chase said. "Not many straight guys give a shit about stuff like that, but you do."

"What post from last night?" I asked as I walked up the gravel driveway, nodding at them both. "Good morning, Chase. Good morning, Storm."

Easy peasy was the name of the game. I was going to treat everyone with my usual professionalism today, Storm included.

"You didn't see the post?" Chase asked, slipping out his phone. "It's so badass."

Chase swiped to the picture Storm had posted last night. He was shirtless in it, like he often was, and I tried not to let my eyes linger for too long on his perfect pectoral muscles.

The photo was of him holding up a sheet of paper.

Standing in solidarity: speaking out against companies that have donated to anti-LGBTQ+ policies.

Beneath that title was a list of about a dozen company names.

And near the bottom of the list, one of them caught my eye: Racks Superstores.

I furrowed my brow, looking closer at the photo. "You posted this online? Last night?" I asked Storm, a flash of panic hitting my chest.

"It was one of a couple pictures I posted," Storm said. "The one after it was cute, too."

Chase scrolled up to show a picture of Storm, still shirtless, this time sitting on his kitchen counter.

All of this gets renovated, starting tomorrow. Can't wait to transform my house with the Fixer Brothers.

"Chase!" the director of the show called out from inside the house. "Can I get a hand with this framing in the living room?"

"Coming."

In another moment it was just me and Storm standing on the front doorstep.

My heart was pounding already.

"What is wrong with you?" I said, my voice low.

Definitely not calm. Not friendly and professional. But I couldn't believe what I had just seen.

"What?" Storm asked.

"Don't play dumb. You called out Racks the night before renovations start. You really do want to ruin this deal for me, Storm. For the Fixer Brothers, too."

"That list of companies is going around all over the internet, right now," Storm said. "I'm only one of hundreds of people posting it. And yes, Emmett, I stand up for what I believe. I'm never going to stop doing that."

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

Something flashed in his eyes. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means that you haven't done the research, and I have," I cut back at him. "There aren't any homophobic donations coming from Racks. There was one executive linked with an anti-LGBTQ+ organization, twelve years ago, and he was swiftly fired the moment it was found out."

Storm was quiet. Finally, for once, shutting his damn mouth.

"Racks Superstores actually donates to multiple charities that help the community," I said. "Not to mention the fact that their vice president is a bisexual woman with a gay son, and for the last decade, they've been focused on inclusivity more than almost any other major corporation."

I felt raw in a way that I never had before. I'd been trying for so long to keep composure around Storm, and I'd been failing in small ways the whole time.

What did I want?

What did I want from him?

It wasn't just about the Racks deal. The deal mattered to me, but there was something more. Like there was an active volcano inside me, ready to burst from the smallest provocation.

Storm's expression was serious. "I didn't know that."

"Of course you didn't," I said, words starting to spill out of me beyond my control. "Because you don't actually do the research. You just want to fuck with me. That's all it's ever been."

"Emmett—"

"Because you've hated me since the moment we met, for no reason," I said, hurt coming up inside of me that I didn't realize was there. "You think I'm someone I'm not, and I'm so tired of it."

"Morning, boys!" a chipper voice came from behind us. I pulled in a shallow breath as I turned to see Nathan, Shawn, and Charlie getting out of their work van, all dressed in their construction clothes and ready to kick off day one of renovations.

You can't help what you feel, but you can help how you behave.

I needed that advice now more than ever.

Maybe I couldn't pull myself together around Storm, but I had to do it with the Fixer Brothers guys. Storm and I had blown past professionalism long ago, but I had a standard to uphold with the Fixer Brothers.

I swallowed past a tightness in my throat, standing up tall. "Good morning," I greeted them all. "Shawn, did you hear about the new book series B.R. Jordan is releasing? I was excited to talk to you about it."

Internally, I was still reeling, like that volcano was still deep inside me.

But on the outside I was having a casual, friendly chat about books.

Easy .

"I read about that last night," Shawn said, his eyes lighting up.

I followed the guys inside the house, and as I walked past Storm to head inside, I couldn't even look him in the eye. Maybe I'd been wrong about feeling like I was a volcano that was about to erupt—now, when I looked at him, I just felt hollow. Like a cave.

Maybe I'd felt hollow inside for a long time, and it was finally just time to accept it. And maybe Storm was right, in some way. Money wasn't the only thing that mattered to me, but doing my job certainly mattered.

I couldn't make Storm like me. Couldn't make him understand me.

I had to go back to the way things were before.

Tuck my head down, interact kindly with my clients, connect in any way possible, and do my job well.

I had been stupid to forget that that was the true reason I was here, anyway. It was all this was ever going to be.