Chapter 3

THREE

Asking Early to pose for the class was a terrible, terrible idea. Rhys had known it from the moment Early stepped out of the closet, hugging their robe around them. His first thought was that it was far too much to ask the sweet, shy young person to get naked in front of people. Rhys was aware that Early was dealing with a lot at home, and Hawthorne House was supposed to be their safe space. That was the initial reason Rhys’s dad had hired them in the first place.

That was Rhys’s first regret, but it was quickly overpowered by his emotional and physical reactions the moment Early took off their clothes.

He’d been standing in the corner, helping Violet attach the newsprint to her easel. Bob Alsop had needed his help to know which was the right charcoal stick to use. Everything had been business as usual, until he’d glanced up and seen Early sitting there with the front of their robe open.

It wasn’t quite right to say Early was hot. They weren’t buff or built at all, nor were they shapely in any sort of feminine way. They were just so…appealing. Against every ingrained rule of professionalism as an artist that Rhys had ever had, he’d immediately imagined Early naked and open like that in his bed. He’d started to get hard, too, until Violet sniggered and gave him a look that said she’d noticed him peeping.

He'd stopped, employing every power of concentration that he had to remain professional and teach the bloody class, but it had been hard. In both senses.

“Is there something you need in here before I lock up for the evening or are you just wandering aimlessly, like the estate ghost?” Rebecca asked, snapping Rhys out of his thoughts.

He’d been standing there in the front of the office, completely oblivious to why he’d walked in there in the first place, caught up in his memories of the morning.

“Hmm? What? Oh.” He blinked and glanced past Rebecca to the back of the office before he could stop himself.

As soon as he realized what he was doing, he cleared his throat and focused on his sister again.

“I came in to ask if you wanted to have supper tonight,” he lied.

Or maybe it was the truth. He couldn’t remember anymore.

Rebecca sent him a sly look as she walked past him, gesturing for him to get out of the office so she could turn off all the lights and lock the door behind her. There were a few evening classes later that night, but the office was closed, and they tended to lock everything up and turn off the lights, just in case.

“Early left about forty-five minutes ago,” Rebecca said, as if she knew more than she should. “They had some things they needed to take care of at home.”

Rhys frowned and followed his sister away from the office. If she had said anything else, he would have jumped to defend himself against what was clearly an insinuation that he was fascinated with Early. The mention of having something to take care of at home, however, had Rhys jumpy and his protective instincts flaring.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, trying not to be jealous that Early would confide in Rebecca instead of him. Then again, why would they confide in him over Rebecca? They worked with Rebecca every day and only saw him occasionally.

Rebecca made a noise as she headed toward the front door instead of the corridor that led back to the family’s flats in the east wing. “You know their parents aren’t supportive of the way they’re exploring their non-binary identity, right?”

“Yes,” Rhys said, a protective rumble in that single word.

“Their dad has been texting them all day, saying they need to talk,” Rebecca went on.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Rhys said. “Do they need our help? Is there anything we can do?”

Rebecca turned to smile at him as they reached the front door. “Look at you, being all concerned and possessive.”

“I am not being possessive,” Rhys argued, crossing his arms. “Early is more or less a part of the family these days. They’re like a sibling.”

“Right,” Rebecca said in a flat voice. “A sibling .”

“Well?” Rhys said, though he didn’t have a damn thing to back that single word up with.

Rebecca laughed. “You’re cute when you’re smitten,” she said, continuing on to the door.

“I’m not smitten. It wouldn’t be appropriate. I’m too old for them. They work for the family. They’re innocent and young and confused about life. It would be taking advantage.”

Rebecca’s grin turned wicked. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” she said.

“Fuck you,” Rhys replied.

Rebecca laughed even louder, then continued on. “Anyhow, no, I can’t have supper with you tonight. I’m going out with Nigel and Claudia.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

Rhys smirked and shook his head. Early might have been experimenting with identity, but Rebecca was currently exploring being part of a polycule. Last he’d heard, she was dating both Nigel and Claudia, who lived together, along with someone named Dara. Whatever his sister wanted to explore was fine with him, but he’d always had enough trouble keeping track of one partner at a time.

“Have fun,” he called after her as she stepped out into the cool night.

“You, too,” Rebecca called back.

Rhys waved, but before he could step back, a middle-aged man in a suit stepped onto the terrace and headed for the door, so he stayed where he was to hold it.

“Evening,” the man said as he crossed into the house, nodding to Rhys.

“Hello,” Rhys greeted him. Then, because the man looked nervous and utterly out of place at an arts center in his smart London suit, Rhys followed that with, “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” the man said. A beat later, he extended his hand and said, “I’m Martin Flint.”

The man stood there as if Rhys should know who he was. “Alright,” he said, letting Mr. Flint’s hand go after shaking it.

Flint stood there a moment longer, then said, “I’m here to discuss the memorial benefit?”

Something cold and jagged shot down Rhys’s spine at those words. “The memorial benefit?” he asked.

“And fundraiser, yes,” Flint said, tugging at his suit anxiously.

The name Flint suddenly felt a little too familiar. He’d heard it before, seen it on paper, on the police report.

Mariel Flint was the name of the woman who had been driving the other car, the one that had lost control and smashed into theirs that night. Mariel Flint had been driving with twice the legal limit of alcohol in her bloodstream. She’d been killed instantly. Raina had had to endure twenty minutes of agony before joining her.

“We’re planning a memorial for my sister and Raina Hawthorne-Turner,” Flint went on. “And a fundraiser for CADD.”

“CADD?” Rhys asked, his voice hoarse and his instinct to grab the man by his suit and toss him right back out into the evening he’d crawled in from strong.

“Yes, the Campaign Against Drink Driving?” Flint shuffled nervously, like he sensed everything roiling within Rhys and was preparing for fight or flight. “I’ve been working with the organization since the accident to bring more awareness to the problem of drink driving. I can only do so much on my own, but when I saw the story about the Hawthorne Community Arts Center in the news, it occurred to me that we might be able to form some sort of partnership to raise both money and awareness for the cause.”

“We’re not interested,” Rhys said, his voice dark and wounded. He stepped back toward the door, like he would hold it open to get rid of Flint. “Sorry for wasting your time.”

“Oh, er, I’m afraid there’s been some sort of misunderstanding,” Flint said, more anxious than ever.

“No misunderstanding,” Rhys said, practically shaking with rage.

The man’s sister was the reason his sister was gone, the reason Nick was a widower, the reason Raina’s kids had lost their mother before either of them was old enough to remember her. They’d grow up with a hole in their lives, just like he’d live the rest of his life with a black space where the one person he’d always been able to confide in should be.

“Oh, I see,” Flint said, as if the bastard thought he’d realized something. “You weren’t expecting me.”

“No,” Rhys said, unable to come up with words to elaborate on just how much he hadn’t been expecting to be blindsided by rage and grief and tragedy that night. “You can leave now.”

“Excuse me,” Rhys’s mum’s indignant voice jerked his focus away from the jagged ball of negativity that had encompassed him. She glanced at Rhys as though he were the one who had committed some sort of crime, then turned an apologetic smile on Flint. “Welcome, Mr. Flint,” she said.

“You were expected by us,” Rhys’s dad said, stepping up behind his mum and shaking Flint’s hand when she was done.

“Why wasn’t I consulted about any of this?” Rhys asked.

Immediately, he wanted to smack himself for sounding like a cross between a stuffy old bat and a whiny child.

“Do you really want me to answer that question, love?” his mum asked, one eyebrow arched, her smile sharp.

“No,” Rhys said with a sigh, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Mr. Flint here contacted your mother and me a few days ago about the possibility of hosting a fundraising event for CADD at Hawthorne House,” his dad told him, clearly annoyed by his outburst. “We thought it could be a fitting way to pay tribute to Raina and Mariel, and to raise money for a worthy cause at the same time.”

“I can see that,” Rhys said, still battling with his emotions.

It was a worthy cause. Anything that might prevent another family from experiencing a loss like the one the Hawthorne’s had suffered was worthy.

But so help him, if that meant cooing and sighing and pretending the woman who had had too many at the pub and then got behind the wheel of a car, robbing him of his sister forever, was glorified in any way, he was out.

“Your mother and I were the ones who invited Mr. Flint to come here tonight to discuss the idea,” Rhys’s dad added, evidently sensing Rhys’s resistance.

“Martin, please,” Flint said with a hesitant smile.

“And you can call us Janice and Robert,” Rhys’s mum returned the courtesy with a smile.

“Why don’t we head up to our flat so we can discuss everything,” Rhys’s dad went on. “Janice is an excellent chef, and she’s prepared the most delicious vegan lasagna you’ve ever tasted.”

“Your flat?” Flint blinked.

“Yes. Hawthorne House has been through so many renovations and remodelings that Robert’s ancestors are probably turning over in their graves,” Rhys’s mum explained as they started walking away. “The house served as a convalescent hospital after The Great War, then was converted into a school for the better part of the rest of the twentieth century. When the school folded, it was returned to the family. Robert and I had a gaggle of children at that point, not to mention Robert’s brother being extremely fruitful and multiplying, that we converted the entire east wing into a dozen flats for family members to live in as they so choose.”

Rhys felt glued to the floor as he watched his parents walk away with someone who his instinct considered the enemy. He wanted to call after them, to order them to stop and reconsider what they were doing. He wanted to march after them, grab Flint’s arm and…and what? It wasn’t his fault that his sister had been fatally irresponsible.

He had just about made up his mind to take the mature path and ask to join his parents for supper when Early’s quiet, plaintive call of, “Rhys?” had him whipping back to the door.

Everything within Rhys changed in an instant, and the anger of grief that he’d felt moments before flashed to an entirely different sort of anger when he saw the state Early was in.

On the surface, Early looked exactly like they had that morning. They wore the same clothes and had their hair up in the ponytail they’d worn when Rhys had fleetingly seen them that afternoon. They wore an overcoat as well, but it was their expression that had Rhys turning and striding back towards the door, like Early was falling and needed someone to catch them.

“What is it?” he asked. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Early breathed out, pale and shaky. “Yeah, I’m?—”

They stopped, and their face crumbled into a look of abject misery.

“Hey, hey,” Rhys said, closing the remaining distance between the two of them and throwing his arms around Early. It was a gesture that felt as dangerous to him as it felt necessary. “What happened? Is it your parents?”

Early made a sound of strangled grief, like they were fighting to keep it together, and plastered themself against Rhys’s much bigger body. They nodded, and squeaked out, “Yeah.”

Apparently, it was his night for all the emotions, and none of them good.

“Come on,” he said, shifting to keep one arm around Early’s shoulders while walking them forward. “Have you eaten yet? I was just about to make supper. You can come up to my flat and tell me everything and I’ll feed you.”

Correction. Almost none of his emotions were good. A little part of him felt powerful and satisfied that he’d been the one Early had come to when they were in trouble.

Then again, he’d been the one standing in the front hall, so maybe it was just coincidence.

Fuck that. He was the one available to take care of Early and find out what went wrong, and that was all that mattered.

“Wanna tell me about it?” he asked as they started down the family corridor, then up the stairs to the first floor, where his flat was.

Early sniffed like they’d been crying, then breathed loudly a few times, like they were trying to stop. “There’s not much to it,” they said. “My mum found?—”

They stopped abruptly, and Rhys could have sworn he felt the heat of their blush as well as just seeing it splash wildly across their face.

“They found?” Rhys prompted them. When they didn’t continue, Rhys went on with, “Something you didn’t need them to see.”

Early nodded as they reached the door to Rhys’s flat. “I really didn’t need them to see,” they said, giving a lot of emotion to the words.”

Rhys hummed as he unlocked his door, then opened it and gestured for Early to enter.

He was glad he kept the place more or less tidy. He’d been a slob as a teenager. Raina had always complained about his messy habits. There was probably something significant to the fact that ever since the accident, he’d felt compelled to keep his flat neat, but that was damage to worry about some other day.

“So your parents found something they didn’t like and, I assume, kicked you out?” Rhys asked, leading Early over to the kitchen and gesturing for them to have a seat at the table while he checked the fridge to see what he could make for the two of them to eat.

“More or less,” Early said, their voice so small and fragile, despite being just a touch deep. “It was more like an ultimatum. Cut my hair, start dressing and acting like a boy, and being who they want me to be and I can stay.”

Rhys set some preseasoned chicken on the table and finished the thought with, “Be yourself and you have to go.”

“Yeah,” Early said, sounding miserable.

They looked miserable, too. Their eyes were downcast, and a large strand of their dark hair had pulled free from their ponytail and hung across their cheek. Their shoulders were hunched on top of that. It was a complete contrast to the way they had been toward the end of the live model class.

Rhys sucked in a breath and forced himself to look away, to concentrate on turning on the oven and finding the right pots and pans to make supper with. Two minutes in, and already he was questioning his decision to take Early under his wing. He should have thought about it first, should have taken them up to Rebecca’s flat and called her to tell her to come home.

That wouldn’t have been fair to Rebecca, he argued as he unwrapped the chicken and put it in a pan. His parents were busy as well. Nick was probably up to his eyeballs with Jordan and Macy, Rafe and Ryan were still abroad, and Nally was in London at a concert that night. There was a chance Robbie and Toby could take them in, but those two had been like rabbits, now that they’d moved in together, and there was no way Rhys wanted to risk interrupting something he didn’t want to know about. He was the only one with the ability to step in and take charge.

“Good on you for standing your ground and refusing to be someone you’re not,” Rhys said with a smile once he’d gathered his sense enough to turn back to Rhys without letting his emotions get away from him. “It takes a lot of courage to stand up against what your family expects of you.”

Early straightened, as if the statement surprised them. “But your family is so awesome,” they said. “I bet you’ve never had to stand up against them for anything.”

Rhys laughed. “I’ve had to stand up against them all the time,” he said. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the Hawthornes are a little weird. Raina always used to say?—”

He stopped as grief pinched him unexpectedly, using the excuse of turning back to the meal prep to hide his face from Early.

“I think you’re all wonderful,” Early said, adoration in their voice.

Rhys winced, hoping Early couldn’t see him. That was another problem. He knew Early had a crush on him and that they were pretty inexperienced with the world. He absolutely could not take advantage of that.

“Everyone’s family looks different from the outside than it does on the inside,” he said as he finished filling a pot with water, then setting it on the stove so he could boil some broccoli. He glanced back at Early and added, “There’s always good and bad with everything.”

Early shrugged, already looking better, calmer. “I feel safe here, with you.”

They sucked in a breath a moment later, their face flushing all over again.

“I mean, with the Hawthorne family. This has always been my safe space, the place where I know I can be myself. Not that I really know who I am. I’m still guessing, still experimenting and trying to figure it out. Maybe my dad is right and it’s just a phase that I’ll grow out of. At least I feel like I can work on myself here without anyone judging me. That’s okay, isn’t it? Is it okay?”

Rhys’s heart went out to the young person. So much that it consumed him.

“Yeah, it’s alright,” he said, moving away from the hob for a moment. He crouched beside Early’s chair and took one of their hands. “You can stay here as long as you need to, Early. I’ll make up the sofa so you can sleep here tonight. You never have to worry about having a place to stay, ever. Okay?”

Early let out a breath and twisted their hand so that they could grip tightly to Rhys’s hand. “I’m so lucky to have you,” they said, eyes shining. “I mean, all of you. The Hawthorne family. I’m so, so lucky to have you in my life. A lot of people like me end up on the street when their parents kick them out like this.”

Rhys swallowed hard. Early was right, and it chilled him. Just the idea that Early might have ended up on the street, fending for themself and doing God knew what just to survive hurt him and made him want to do whatever he could to protect them.

“You’re safe with me,” he said, gazing deeply into Early’s eyes. “I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you.”

Early broke into a relieved smile. “I know. Thank you, Rhys. You have no idea how much it means to me.”

Rhys was impressed. There was a degree of maturity in Early’s eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. Maybe Early was more capable than he’d imagined them to be.

As if hearing that thought, Early said, “I can help make supper, if you’d like. I’m actually a really good cook.”

“No, that’s okay,” Rhys said, standing and brushing a hand over the side of Early’s face before he thought much about it.

The simple, intimate gesture had every molecule in the air between them vibrating with promise for a moment. Rhys had to turn away to diffuse the sudden sexual energy in the air.

“I’ve got this one,” he said, stepping back over to the hob. “You can make it up to me later.”

Although as soon as he said that, he wondered if the words were wise. Judging by the way Early tended to look at him, making it up to him could put them in dangerous territory.