Chapter 10

Bryan managed to get through the first half of his workday without being pestered with questions about Angelo or what happened at Tim's on Tuesday night. Otis had given him his assignment along with a quick, "You're head here today?" to make sure Bryan could concentrate and not hurt himself or anyone else. And then Bryan spent four hours putting up drywall.

He didn't smoke, so he rarely took the same breaks as his coworkers until lunch came around. Depending on the location of the house, fast food was sometimes an option, but Bryan preferred to pack a sandwich and snacks so he didn't have to leave the site. Today, he settled in the living room, which currently had the least amount of drywall dust on the floor, and ate his lunch.

Marius, a young Latino man with a shaved head, long beard and high-spirited energy, plunked down beside Bryan with his own bagged lunch and a Thermos. "Hey, man, heard about the big boss down at Tim's. His ass intact?"

Bryan nearly choked on a potato chip. "He's a little banged up, but he's also back at work today. Should I let him know you were asking about his ass?"

"It's an ass that should be protected, my friend."

That left him a bit speechless, and uncertain if Marius was taking the piss or he'd genuinely checked out Angelo's assets. Or if he had first-hand knowledge of said assets. And no, the thought did not send a weird worm of jealousy through Bryan's middle. He had nothing to be jealous over, not even the possibility of working with one of Angelo's former hookups. Which was only an assumption on Bryan's part. Angelo wore his dress slacks just tight enough to show off his ass, making it difficult not to notice.

Unsure what else to say, Bryan kept eating. Thankfully, Joey joined them and started talking about last night's episode of some reality show Bryan didn't watch, so he tuned them out. Once he only had an apple left to munch on, he texted Patrick about their dinner plans. Bryan had invited everyone to eat at the carriage house. It would be a little cramped with five, but it also didn't need to be a formal affair. Patrick had agreed, but they hadn't decided on what to eat.

Bryan: There's a deli on my bus route. I can grab a rotisserie chicken and some cold salads. No one has to cook.

He was down to just the apple's core when Patrick texted back: Sounds great. So you really invited Angelo to stay in the carriage house?

That caught him slightly off-guard but it really shouldn't. Angelo had probably said something to Russell, who'd said something to Patrick. Yes. I don't mind. He can squat with family instead of alone in a house he's trying to sell.

True. Not sure why he didn't already live there instead of renting it to me last summer.

Good thing or you'd have never met Russell.

Excellent point. Later.

Bryan sent a thumbs-up emoji, then texted Angelo: How're your stitches?

The reply came almost immediately: They hate me but I'm coping. How's work?

Covered in dust but I'm coping.

Angelo replied with a goofy-face emoji. Bryan laughed at the response, cleaned up his lunch, and got back to work.

Angelo didn't do nervous. He just didn't. He did confidence and bravado and sultry, but he did not do nervous. Nervous was bad energy, and he disliked bad energy around him or coming off him.

So why the fuck was he nervous when, at lunchtime, Russell drove him to get his car from the public lot near Tim's? Oh yeah, questions. Russell had given him a question reprieve yesterday while his wounds were still fresh, but Angelo knew his best friend too well to hope Russell would let everything go.

After spending his morning getting caught up with his current projects, Angelo and Russell swung by Neighborhood Shindig to grab lunch. When Angelo pouted about having to walk that far with his aches and pains, Russell had mercy on him and got them both food. They ate their lamb kebabs from Stick It in the car with the radio on.

Russell finished eating first and used the opportunity of his mouth no longer being full to ask, "Fess up, friend. Is whatever you didn't get to talk to me about the other night why you were tying one on at Tim's until closing?"

"Yes." Angelo dipped the last bite of his own kebab in the delicious homemade tzatziki sauce they came with. "It's actually something I wanted to talk to you and Patrick about tonight after dinner."

"What's Patrick got to do with this? He in trouble for somethin'?"

"No, nothing like that. And Patrick is only tangentially involved. I just wanted to tell you both together. But then Frog cut his hand and things blew up?—"

"Literally."

Angelo snorted then ate the last of his lunch. "Yeah. It'll be easier to explain it all once. And it doesn't directly involve you either, I just want you guys in the know. And hopefully onboard and supportive."

"I mean, as long as you're not doin' nothin' illegal, you know I'm gonna support you."

"Not illegal." He was pretty sure it wasn't, but it was definitely slightly immoral, given the lying aspect. Fake relationships were kind of mean to innocent people, which was why Angelo wanted the two most important people peripherally attached to know exactly what they were doing and why.

Aunt Rita and his cousins? He wasn't keen on lying to them, but he also didn't owe them an explanation if the truth ever came out. And it shouldn't. He and Bryan just needed to put on a good show—which shouldn't be too hard, as they had chemistry that should be obvious to others—for a few months and then break up.

No real victims here.

"Not illegal," Russell repeated, "but big enough that it needs explaining?"

"Yes. Trust me, Big Bear, I've given this a lot of thought. Think of it like a project I need your artistic eye on, but you don't actually have to do anything."

"Okay, I don't know if I'm more curious or confused, so I'm gonna let it go until tonight." Russell reached for his seatbelt, then paused. "What's Bryan got to do with this?"

Angelo's heart skipped. "What makes you think he does?"

"Because we're eating at the carriage house where he lives, and not the main house where Patrick and I live."

"Well, I'm going to be staying at the carriage house for a while longer, so I guess I live there, too."

Russell's bushy eyebrows rose. "Since when?"

"This morning. Bryan made a good point that while I'm recovering, I might as well stay close to friends, and at least there I have a bedroom I can nest in, rather than living in a sterile show home. It was a nice offer."

"To the guy who owns the place."

"I do, but we also have a legal lease, so I can't just force him to let me stay there. And to be honest? After nearly dying a fiery death, I…" Angelo stuffed his trash into a paper bag that he shoved to the floor. "I don't want to be alone in that big house. I'd like to stay closer to my friends."

Russell smiled. "Can't fault you for that. Don't mind you stickin' close. I haven't really said it, but man, I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Same, my friend." He squeezed Russell's forearm. "The very same."

They left the conversation there, and Russell drove him over to his car. He took a route that did not go past Tim's, for which Angelo was forever grateful. He wasn't ready to look at what was likely a boarded-up storefront right now. He'd seen on their social media page that they were closed for repairs with no reopen date. Angelo hoped the place didn't shut down for good, but he also wasn't sure he could ever go inside again.

Thankfully, his car hadn't been towed and didn't have any parking tickets on the windshield. After thanking Russell for the ride, Angelo ended up driving aimlessly around Reynolds for a while, with the radio blasting seventies rock. He ignored a few texts, not interested in communicating at the moment, or in thinking too hard about anything. Not even what the next few months pretending to be in a relationship with Bryan Gillespie might look like. So he drove and didn't think, until his gas light blinked and the alarm beeped.

He found a convenience store, filled his tank, and tried not to limp when he went inside for an iced coffee to get him through until dinner. They were basically cold sugar syrup, and he hated cheating on Hallowed Grounds, but a thirsty guy did what he had to do. Even though he'd eaten lunch about two hours ago, he eyeballed a display of pre-packaged pastries. Iced honey buns were one of his true guilty pleasures, and he deserved the treat after the week he'd had.

"Angelo?"

Nat's voice startled him into nearly dropping his plastic cup of iced coffee, and he couldn't be sure if he made a noise or not. Nat stood next to a display of granola and protein bars, his hands full of Slim Jims, sandwich crackers and small bags of chips. They'd texted twice yesterday, but Angelo hadn't seen Nat since the sidewalk outside Tim's. He didn't remember any obvious injuries on Nat, so Nat's appearance sent a chill through his gut.

His left hand, visible through the cuff of his jacket, was wrapped in a cast, fingers barely able to bend and help hold his snack food haul. The entire right side of his face had a red rash that was probably a second-degree burn. His lip had a healing cut and bruise and his left eye was black.

"Jesus Christ," Angelo said dumbly.

"Nathaniel Hawking, remember?" Nat teased with familiar sass. "Accidents always look and feel worse a few days later."

"That's for damned sure. When we texted, you said you were okay."

"I am."

"Your face looks like a Neapolitan pizza and your arm is in a cast. That's not okay."

"Hey, I'm alive, walking around, and pigging out on over-salted snacks, until I can find a job that'll take a one-armed college dropout with bartending experience. Not a great resumé, but again, I'm alive. So are you."

"Wait, what? When did you drop out?"

"This semester. Couldn't afford it anymore but I wasn't a great student anyway. There's something better out there for me."

Angelo's alarm dimmed beneath Nat's constant sunshine. "Yeah, there is. I can't believe you're already looking for a new job."

"Well, it's not like Tim's comes with paid sick leave or severance, and a guy's gotta eat."

"A guy's gotta eat more than beef jerky, too. You know, you should sue. It was their boiler that blew us all to hell."

Nat shook his head then flinched. "No, if I do that they'll never reopen, and the neighborhood will lose the best bar in the city. Besides, the owners are paying my medical bills. Sasha's too." He glared in a familiar, snappy-dog way. "Don't you dare sue them, either."

"I'm not going to. It was an accident and I have my own insurance." Angelo shrugged. "Besides, I want to see the place reopen, too. I've had some pretty great times there. Including most of the last visit. Thank you for taking care of me that night, Nat. I mean it. Not just getting me out after the explosion, but not letting me drive. I know it's your job to watch out for customers but still…thank you."

"You're welcome." Nat bit his lower lip, then winced when he caught the cut. "Ow. Um, so are you recovering alone or is your ginger bear bestie letting you recupe at his place?"

"Something like that. I'm staying in the carriage house."

"I thought you rented that to a single dad and his kid?"

Yeah, Nat was a bit out of the loop on Jaynestown Road gossip. "Patrick and his son actually moved into the big house with Russell a few months ago. Funnily enough, I found out they were dating the day after you and I broke up."

"Oh, wow. Are they happy?"

"Stupidly happy, and I'm happy for them, especially Russell."

Nat's half-smile hinted at something…maybe longing for the same? "So you've got the carriage house all to yourself, huh?"

"No, actually, Patrick's older brother Bryan got out of prison and I rented the carriage house to him. He's letting me stay with him." Shit. As soon as the prison comment fell out of his mouth, Angelo wanted to snatch it back. Bryan never tiptoed around the fact, but it wasn't something Angelo should be telling people without permission, especially his own ex.

"Really? You rented to a felon?"

"Patrick vouched for him, and I got to know Bryan before I agreed to it. It's why I'm comfortable living with him for a while."

Nat didn't look convinced. "Okay, well, be careful. Please?"

"Aw, I didn't realize you still cared," Angelo teased.

"It wasn't about me not caring anymore, babe." His eyebrows dipped and his gaze briefly unfocused. "You wanted more than I had to give when we were together. Wrong time for us, that's all."

Angelo wasn't sure if he detected a note of wistfulness in Nat's voice, or if he was projecting his own mixed feelings over their breakup. Not to mention them nearly dying together. The last thing he needed to do was trauma-bond with his ex when he had a new guy to pass off as his boyfriend.

And being around Nat today, in a neutral setting with no roles to play, told Angelo something he hadn't realized before: he still liked Nat and considered him a friend, but those old feelings of intense attraction were gone. That desire to attach himself to Nat and hope it turned into a real relationship, because Angelo was scared he'd moved past his Best Boyfriend By date, had disappeared. Nat had never been the right person; he'd been the "right now" person. And Angelo was grateful for their time together.

"To borrow an old cliché," Angelo said, "it's water under the bridge, right? We've both moved on, and we're friends."

"Yeah, we are." Music began playing somewhere on his body. Nat flinched. "Listen, I gotta go. Take care, Angelo."

"Take care."

Angelo disliked the way Nat limped to the register and quickly dumped his snacks on the counter to answer his phone. He couldn't hear the conversation but Nat's body language worried him. Nat had admitted to not having any family in Reynolds. He'd come a few years ago for college, apparently dropped out three semesters away from graduating, and took the job at Tim's, which was where Angelo met him. And now the guy was jobless. So many details were missing, though, because Nat never wanted to talk about anything prior to his freshman year. Angelo just hoped Nat was still in a safe place.

After lingering over the pastries until Nat left with his bag of goodies, Angelo paid for his own coffee and decided against the extra sugar and calories of the honey bun. Back in his car, he finally responded to a handful of texts, all work related, plus one check-in from Aunt Rita. He appreciated her concern and her honoring his request not to mother hen him, demand he stay with her, or insist on bringing him food wherever he was living. Once upon a time, she would have blustered her way into the middle of things, no matter what he said, as a stand-in for his own late mother.

Then again, that particular Aunt Rita, the woman he remembered from his childhood, had disappeared during his teen years. She still came out once in a while, but only for her two eldest sons. Never for Antoni or Angelo. Not being completely straight and wife/children oriented had made them both the black sheep of the combined Fratelli/Voltini clan.

With another hour to kill before reasonably returning to the carriage house, he swung by Mulberry Court again to make sure he'd left it spic and span yesterday, perfectly ready for the Realtor to show to anyone interested. He found some bottled water in the fridge, plus a bottle of bourbon in the small upper cabinets above the fridge everyone made jokes about being useless, but kitchen designers put in anyway. To Angelo, it was the perfect place to hide booze from the ankle-biters.

He picked up a few stray bits of dirt in the foyer, which was silly and overly anal, but he couldn't take chances. He really needed to sell this house. He hadn't sold a property in eight months, and his ego was screaming in agony almost as loudly as his bank account was screeching its death throes. Neither hollered quite loudly enough for him to drop the asking price, though. Not yet. But probably soon.

"I should tell my agent to start mentioning that the owner recently got blown up," he said to the empty foyer. "Maybe I'll get a sympathy offer, huh?"

Silence was a familiar response.

The one saving grace to his stubbornness and pride was knowing that even if he ended up broke, he owned the Jaynestown house outright, so he'd never be homeless. "I hope the right family finds you soon," he said to the Mulberry house as he shut the door, put the key back in the lockbox, and left.

He took the longest possible route home that wasn't a complete interstate circuit of the city. Russell's car was parked in its usual spot in front of the main house. Angelo's habit as a visitor was to park there, but since he was staying in the carriage house for the foreseeable future, he followed the gravel driveway along the yard to the rear of the property. Grabbed his laptop case and empty iced coffee cup, and went inside the quiet house. It still smelled faintly of that morning's coffee and not much else, but Bryan also didn't seem overly fond of strong smells. Not in his deodorant or shampoo, which was fine by Angelo. It wouldn't compete with his own body wash when he could finally take a proper shower tomorrow.

Exhausted from the day's activities, Angelo figured out his afternoon pills, swallowed them with some water, and then debated what to do with the bourbon. Keeping it in the house was mean, since Bryan was an alcoholic, but he didn't want to dump it. It was an expensive bottle! His kitchen design, because of the tiny space, didn't have the little hidden cupboards above the fridge. Since he had to pee, he ended up hiding it under his bed for now. Absolutely no reason in the universe for Bryan to look there—especially if he ended up spending more nights in Bryan's room.

He was upstairs anyway, so he unpacked his suitcase in the small dresser and hung his suits and trousers in the closet. Arranged his stuff more to his liking in the bathroom. They didn't have a lot of towels to share, so he ordered more online, and then went downstairs to inspect the food situation. Now that he had a place to plant himself for a little while, he could keep food on hand. He saved a delivery order to show to Bryan later before placing the order, in case Bryan wanted anything special. Bryan couldn't drive yet and could only carry so much home on the bus.

With his day finally in some semblance of order, Angelo settled on the couch to watch television. Since Angelo didn't want to think about real life, work, or love complications, he picked a sitcom he'd enjoyed as a kid and streamed that for a while. Life was so much simpler in 80's sitcoms, aside from the "Extra Special" episodes that occasionally touched on social issues.

The creak of the front door shutting startled Angelo awake, and he sat up faster than his sore neck liked. He hadn't even realized he'd dozed off, and this was the second time he'd been woken up by Bryan coming home. Bryan walked toward him with a plastic bag in each hand and a half-smile quirking his lips.

"Maybe we should get a less comfortable couch," Bryan said. "You really seem to like napping on this one."

"Accidental nap this time." The room filled with the scents of roasted chicken and spices. "Tell me that's dinner."

"That's dinner. I stopped at a deli on the way home. Texted Patrick I was back so they can come over whenever."

"Fantastic. I'm starving." He'd been exceptionally hungry all day, as a matter of fact, when he usually sped through his day fueled by coffee, adrenaline and the occasional protein bar. "How was your day, dear?"

Bryan laughed as he emptied the bags onto the kitchen table. "It was fine. Mostly hung drywall, so I'm gonna hop in the shower and get the dust outta my hair before we eat. Feel free to set the table or whatever."

"Gee, thanks."

Angelo did, though, while Bryan bounded up the spiral staircase fast enough to make him nervous. He found the stack of paper plates that so many bachelors preferred over doing dishes, and spread a few things out on the table, along with spoons for serving the various sides. The cutlery drawer only had one steak knife, which would serve its purpose in hacking the rotisserie chicken apart. Water ran briefly through the pipes, and Angelo tried not to imagine Bryan upstairs, naked in the shower.

Bad roommate, bad fake boyfriend.

Then again, Bryan had gotten an eyeful of Angelo last night. Tit for tat only seemed fair.

Bryan was back downstairs when Frog banged in through the door. He ran straight for Bryan with a paper in his hand and began showing off a spelling test he'd aced that day. Patrick and Russell were right behind him. Russell had a pitcher of what was likely sweet tea.

Patrick hadn't seen Angelo in-person since before Frog's accident, and he blurted out a wide-eyed, "Damn, your face."

Angelo snorted. "Yeah, my face. That part actually looks worse than it feels. It's my ribs that are a pain in the ass."

"Well, it's good to see you up and about. But I'll admit, I'm curious about this dinner invite. There's a lot more room at the main house."

"I'm too lazy to walk over there, and the price of a short-term scooter rental is outrageous." Angelo neither felt awful enough to rent a scooter, nor had he actually priced any. But the joke made Patrick laugh.

Their quintet ended up using the kitchen table more as a buffet line to fill their plates, and then they gathered in the living room. Patrick and Frog used the coffee table to hold their plates. Russell claimed the armchair, which left Angelo and Bryan to share the couch. Frog nattered on about school while they ate. Two couples and a kid sat around eating a simple "picnic" supper, and it was the most domestic thing Angelo had experienced in years. Maybe decades

Once his plate was clean, Frog asked to be excused "to play in the tent."

"Yes, go play, but only for an hour," Patrick replied. "It's still chilly out."

"Okay!"

"The tent?" Angelo asked once Frog was outside.

"My tent," Bryan replied. "When I stopped camping for the winter, I moved the tent around to the back corner of the carriage house where Frog had started building a play area for Bruno. We put everything inside so they can still play in it on warm days without Bruno getting too cold. You never noticed it?"

"I guess not." Then again, Angelo hadn't inspected the grounds all that thoroughly since the day Russell moved in, trusting the landscaper to maintain the lawn, bushes and trees. Angelo had never had pets in his life and didn't understand the connection, but the idea of a young boy playing make-believe in a tent with his bearded dragon was charming as hell.

"So, what's up, you guys?" Russell asked. "I get the feelin' dinner was about more than just Angelo decidin' to stay here for a few weeks. This gotta do with what you didn't tell me Tuesday night?"

Bryan angled his body toward Angelo and didn't say a word.

Well, this was his plan, after all. Angelo cleared his throat. "It definitely has to do with my decision to stay here for the foreseeable future. Bryan was obviously very kind in allowing me to share his space, as well as his time and attention."

Russell frowned. Patrick squinted at Angelo, then at Bryan, almost painfully confused.

"When Joe Tilly died, he left everything to me, which in terms of liquid assets was not much. Joe left me an off-shore account of an unknown amount of money, but for me to gain access to that account, I must provide his lawyer with proof that I've been in a loving, committed relationship for at least six months. Joe doesn't want me to end up lonely and loveless like him, so I told the lawyer I had a long-term boyfriend, which was a lie, but then I asked the party I lied about to be a co-conspirator, and he agreed."

Patrick kept opening and closing his mouth, even more confused than before. Russell, on the other hand, sat up straighter in his chair, eyebrows furrowing. "Wait a sec," Russell said. "You told the lawyer you're in a relationship with Bryan so you can inherit some money?"

"He what?" Patrick squawked. "Are you nuts?"

Bryan sighed.