Chapter 5

FIVE

“Morning,” Rhys called out carefully as he exited his bedroom and crossed to the kitchen a few days later.

He craned his neck to look over the back of the couch to see whether Early was awake or not. In the last few days, he’d become Early’s morning alarm clock. Whether that was because Early just wasn’t a morning person or because they needed the sleep so badly that Rhys’s couch was a haven for them, Rhys couldn’t tell.

The bigger issue was that Early was still sleeping on his couch.

“Morning,” Early replied groggily, stretching and pushing themself to sit and rub their hands over their face.

Rhys couldn’t help but smile, but he tried not to watch too closely as Early stood and the blanket fell back to the couch. He forced himself to look straight forward when Early reached up to stretch, exposing a pale line of flesh under the more suitable t-shirt they’d found to sleep in, and when they absentmindedly scratched their arse as they headed into the bathroom.

When the bathroom door shut, Rhys breathed out and shook his head. He liked having Early sleep on his couch. He liked the fact that he could keep an eye on them and protect them. It was a bit of a paradox, considering he’d spent so long distancing himself from Early because of the age gap and working for the family thing, but since Early’s situation had changed, Rhys’s feelings had changed, too. Now he was convinced Early needed him to be their champion.

As far as he knew, Early still hadn’t gone home, or even had contact with their parents. For the last few days, they’d worn clothes that Rebecca had told him had come from the clothes room upstairs. Rhys liked that, too, for some reason. He’d always felt like Early’s own clothes weren’t right for them. They were too conservative and respectable for the person he knew Early to be.

Not that he’d really known Early before, as he was beginning to discover. Living with someone really helped you to get to know them.

Rhys cleared his throat as he filled the kettle, then set it on its stand to boil. He couldn’t really say that he and Early were living together. Not like that. Not at all.

Though he couldn’t deny a part of him fancied the idea of Early being a real fixture in his life. Not sleeping on the couch. As nice as it was to wake Early up every morning, it would be even nicer to sleep with them in his arms each?—

“What the bloody hell are you thinking?” he muttered to himself as he fetched milk from the fridge for cereal. “You can’t go there.”

He brought the milk to the table and set it down with a thunk just as the shower started running in the bathroom. He glanced toward the bathroom door with a frown, not for Early, but for himself.

Life wasn’t a game that you could play with abandon, making choices that would hurt people if things went wrong. He could be their champion and protector, but he had a responsibility to guide Early to make the right decisions. That didn’t involve indulging in the impossible with a man more than ten years older than him. Not while they were so confused about who they were.

“ Oh, stop being such an old fuddy-duddy ,” Raina’s voice seemed to shoot at him from somewhere beyond. “ You fancy them, they fancy you, both of you are adults. What could be the harm in letting them explore with you instead of just around you? ”

Rhys’s frown darkened into a scowl as he fetched boxes of cereal from the cupboard and plunked them on the table as well, just before the kettle clicked off. He returned to the counter to make his tea.

The harm was if things went wrong and Early ended up damaged or hating him. It would be awkward for everyone. They might even quit if any sort of fling turned into a major disaster.

“ And if it didn’t? ” Raina’s voice pestered him. “ What if it worked and you two are right for each other? ”

If it worked and they fell in love and were happy, some other fool who had had one too many might come careening out of nowhere and take Early away from him, too.

“Bloody fuck,” Rhys growled, furious with himself for opening that door of vulnerability inside him and letting that thought creep out. It wasn’t rational. It wasn’t reasonable or likely. It was just another trauma response because of that night, because of the way Raina had looked at him for just a moment before dying in Nick’s arms by the side of the road. Because he should have been the one behind the wheel.

He huffed at himself and slumped into a seat at the table as the shower went off. Residual grief and the ways it messed people up were understandable, but he was tired of feeling every negative emotion known to man. He wanted to get on with his life, focus on his art, get the damn landscape painting to work so his life would make sense again.

He was too restless to just sit there and let everything get the better of him. Without bothering with the cereal, he took his cup of tea and stood.

“Hey, I’m going to head down to the studio to try to get some work done before classes this morning,” he called through the bathroom door.

“Oh, okay,” Early’s uncertain voice called back, followed by a bit of thumping, like they were stumbling around in there.

“Cereal is on the table and the water in the kettle is hot,” he called out as he turned to go. “Don’t forget to put the milk away.”

“Don’t forget you have that meeting about the fundraiser at nine,” Early reminded him as he started to walk away.

Rhys hissed out a breath. “Shit,” he muttered, then called back, “Thanks. I won’t.”

He wished he could forget. As he left his flat and made his way down to the ground floor, he called his parents every name he could think of for doing something as callous as bringing the brother of the woman who was responsible for Raina’s death into their house, let alone actually planning a party with him.

It wasn’t fair, though. His attitude about the fundraiser completely wasn’t fair and he knew it. Rationally, he could see the benefit in something like a fundraiser for CADD. He could see how working with Martin Flint would be cathartic for his parents, maybe for the rest of the family, too.

But not for him. Raina was gone because Flint’s sister got behind the wheel when she absolutely should have known better, and she’d taken a piece of his soul with her.

He knew that painting wasn’t going to happen that morning, regardless of the stretch of time he had to sit and work. Instead of heading to his studio, he left his half-empty teacup in the office just as Rebecca opened it up for the day, then headed outside for a walk.

The grounds of Hawthorne House were one of the best things about the estate. Ever since the deal had been signed with Silver Productions to film outdoor scenes at various spots around the grounds, a lot of effort had gone into landscaping and making certain the estate’s natural beauty shone through. Even though it was well into autumn and things weren’t as green as they were in the summer, Hawthorne House’s gardens were on point.

Rhys walked around to his and Raina’s favorite bit of the garden, which was right under the windows to his and a few other studios. It had once been the private garden of the third or fourth Countess of Felcourt, he couldn’t remember which. The reason he and Raina had liked it so much was because of the old stone bench tucked into a secluded nook that sat on just enough of a rise that it provided the perfect view of the rolling hills beyond.

He had a seat, resting his back against the wall of the house, and closed his eyes. If he could just stop the world from moving on too fast and moving away from that blip of time when everyone was still there and his family was still whole, he would absolutely do it, whatever sacrifice it took.

Except then you’d have to go back to a time before Early was in your life.

Rhys sucked in a breath and let it out on a growl, then opened his eyes and stared out at the overcast morning. There were always decisions, always pluses and minuses. The only constant was change.

That didn’t mean he had to like it.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before there was a tap on the glass above his head. He’d had his eyes closed as he relived old conversations he and Raina had had while sitting on that spot, but he opened them as Rebecca’s muffled voice called through the glass, “You’ve got a meeting in three minutes.”

“Yep!” Rhys called back, pushing himself up and walking away from his and Raina’s spot.

By the time he made it all the way around the house and crossed the front hall, heading for the meeting room, he’d pulled himself together. More like he’d steeled himself for battle. He couldn’t convince his parents not to have the fundraiser at Hawthorne House, but he sure as hell could advocate for Raina’s memory.

“There you are,” his dad greeted him in a chipper mood as he walked into the meeting room. Everyone in the family who was at home except Rebecca was already seated at the table. Nick was obviously there, too, and so was Toby. “Martin brought pastries.”

“I figured it was the least I could do,” Flint said, eyeing Rhys anxiously as Rhys marched down one side of the long table in the family meeting room and took his usual place.

“I’m not hungry,” Rhys lied. “I ate breakfast before coming down.”

It was just his luck that Early entered the room from the door at the other end, pushing a small cart with tea things on it, as he spoke. Early glanced up in surprise, meeting Rhys’s eyes.

Rhys wanted to be suave and ignore them, focusing on the meeting and whatever Flint wanted. Instead, his eyes stayed glued to Early for a moment. He hadn’t waited around long enough to see what Early would wear when they got out of the shower, but maybe he should have.

The slacks Early had chosen from the clothes room were clearly women’s couture. They were made from some soft fabric that moved as gracefully as Early did when they walked. Their shirt was just as soft and flowy, and it had a subtle flower pattern. They weren’t wearing any jewelry, but they’d clasped their hair back in a pretty barrette that was shaped like a bow. On top of that, they were wearing the heels again. They were just small, serviceable heels, shoes that were probably leftover from someone who had stayed at Hawthorne House in the nineteen-forties, but they did something to Early’s legs that Rhys definitely liked.

“If that’s okay with you, Rhys,” his mum said, dragging him out of his perusal of Early.

“Hmm?” Rhys forced his attention on the conversation, which had evidently started without him.

“November twenty-second, love,” his mum said, her eyes a bit too bright and her lips twitching too much. “For the fundraiser.”

Mention of the fundraiser sent Rhys thudding back down to earth. “Are you certain that’s enough time to pull the whole thing off?” he asked, crossing his arms. “It’s only a couple weeks away.”

“My thoughts are that it’s just enough before the holiday season that it won’t interfere with people’s social calendars,” Flint said, tapping his fingers nervously on the tabletop. “Not to mention the fact that it’s one of the few dates that works for CADD’s calendar. We can do it.”

“It’s right before the end of the autumn session,” Rhys pointed out, scrambling for another excuse to push the whole thing into next year, or off a cliff somewhere.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Early move around the table, making tea for everyone present and subtly handing it to them. They knew how everyone in the family took their tea, so they were able to do it silently until they reached Flint.

“Milk and sugar?” they asked, keeping their voice soft and quiet.

They looked happy, or content, at least, doing the sort of thing that a secretary from the nineteen-fifties would do. Rhys wasn’t certain whether he approved of that or if it made him uncomfortable. Neither was he sure if his discomfort was because he thought Early shouldn’t be serving the family like that or because Early seemed so at home in the traditionally feminine role.

“Er, um, I’m not sure,” Flint said, practically squirming in his seat.

Rhys blinked, and a whole different wave of emotion washed over him. He knew the look in Flint’s eyes as he peeked warily up at Early. He’d seen looks like that a few too many times when someone caught on to who Early was.

“Is there a problem?” he asked with stony precision, narrowing his eyes at Flint. “Would you prefer coffee instead?”

“Er, no. Um, tea is fine,” Flint told Rhys with a nervous smile. He twisted to glance up at Early and said, “Milk, no sugar, thank you.”

Early smiled at the man as if nothing were amiss, then stepped aside to fix his tea.

Rhys narrowed his eyes even more as he watched Flint study Early as if they might be dangerous. When Early brought his tea over, Flint took it and thanked them, then set the mug on the table and ignored it.

Someone needed to say something, to defend Early at the very least. They had just been offended, and no one in the family seemed to care.

Although that wasn’t precisely true. Everyone in the family was looking to him, as though it were Rhys’s job to defend Early. Which he would gladly do to the death.

Before he could work up enough of a head of steam to fly to Early’s defense, Rhys’s dad returned to the meeting by saying, “If we’re settled on November twenty-second, let’s talk about what sort of activities we want to be involved in this fundraiser.”

“I think it’s important to honor Raina and Mariel above all else,” Rhys’s mum said, taking charge of the meeting for the moment. “Some sort of tribute or memorial to their lives should be included in whatever we do.”

Rhys was dead set against anything that would make Mariel Flint into something more than a murderer, but he kept his mouth shut as the rest of the family and Flint batted around ideas. Rationality and emotion were at war within him, and as he’d learned after just a few of his early therapy sessions, it was better for him to hold his thoughts until a time or place when he wouldn’t make a complete ass of himself by blurting them out and making a mess.

He was momentarily jolted from that swirl of thought and emotion when Early set a hot mug of tea in front of him, then briefly rested a hand on his shoulder as they straightened. When Rhys glanced up at them, he was stuck by Early’s smile. It was so beautiful and at such odds with the anger and grief roiling in him.

“The pastries really are good,” Early whispered close to his ear.

Early’s breath against him sent an inconvenient shiver down Rhys’s spine.

He nodded curtly, then pretended to put his full focus back into the event planning.

“I have contacts with several vendors in the restaurant industry who would be more than happy to provide vouchers or catering as prizes in a silent auction,” Flint was saying. “And CADD has a list of regular donors who happily provide things for auctions such as the one we’re proposing.”

“We have more than enough contacts in the art world who knew Raina and who, I’m certain, would be more than happy to provide things,” Robbie commented from the other end of the table.

“Art always brings in high-level bidders,” Flint said with a pleased smile. “We could list all the items up for auction on the website as soon as possible to generate even more interest.”

“Is that all this is to you?” Rhys snapped before he could stop himself and regulate his emotions. “Are you going to take this tragedy, this major hole in our lives, and turn it into a cash cow?”

“Rhys,” his mum said softly, though her eyes held firmer censure.

“No, no, he has a valid concern,” Flint said, rubbing his fingertips on the tabletop again. “If you’d like, I can send you the link to the part of CADD’s website where they detail the initiatives they’re involved in and how donations are used.”

Flint’s gaze traveled up past Rhys’s shoulder just as Early returned to Rhys’s side and set a small plate with what looked like a raspberry danish in front of him. The danish looked delicious, but Flint’s look soured him on it before he’d even taken a bite.

“You seem to have a problem with our admin, Mr. Flint,” Rhys addressed the problem head-on, feeling like he wanted to put his body between Early and Flint like a barrier and growl at Flint until he got the point.

“I…no, I don’t, I can assure you…I just don’t usually…I haven’t seen….” Flint squirmed and cleared his throat, which turned into a coughing fit.

“Is there a problem?” Nick asked, as if he’d suddenly picked up on it.

“No, really,” Flint assured him and everyone else at the table. “It’s just that I generally work in a very conservative environment. The…freedom of your arts center has taken me a bit by surprise.”

“The freedom of this arts center, as you put it, is paramount to everything we do here,” Rhys said as firmly as possible without losing his temper. “If you find any part of it unacceptable, then perhaps this isn’t the right venue for you to have your fundraiser.”

“Memorial fundraiser,” Rhys’s mum chimed in from the side, sending Rhys a look that was both a reminder of their purpose and, strangely enough, pride in the way he was defending Early.

“Early is a valued member of our team,” his dad added, sitting back a bit.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Flint said to him, then glanced up at Early, who had returned to the cart at the other end of the room. “Truly. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable at all.”

Somehow, Early was still smiling. “It’s alright,” they said. “I get it all the time.”

Rhys thought that was far more gracious than Early needed to be.

He felt even more protective when Early glanced his way, as if seeking his approval for their measured reaction to the insult.

Rhys smiled back at them, Early relaxed and went back to work, and the storm seemed to blow over.

“Let’s talk a little more about this silent auction,” his dad said, masterfully steering everyone back on course.

“Yes, let’s,” Flint said, more anxious than ever.

Rhys stared at him across the table, his resentment of the man’s connection to Raina’s death morphing into a sharper resentment of his treatment of Early. He didn’t like Flint. That was all there was to it. But his parents were determined to go ahead with the fundraiser. The meeting had barely started and he was already sure of that. The best he could do to contribute to the discussion and help the family going forward was to do whatever it took to protect Early from anything that might hurt them.