Chapter 16

Angelo did his best to distract his overactive brain for the rest of the afternoon, but he could not get past the blood type conversation. He hadn't always been the best in science or chemistry but he did remember some biology basics, and he hadn't forgotten that family tree project. His has been one of the shortest in the class, because most of his living relatives were still in Italy and didn't want to participate. That had only fueled Angelo's long-held sense of otherness while growing up.

Plus, the advantage of owning a smartphone in his forties meant he could search everything he wasn't completely certain about. He opened a browser more times than he could count while the pool guy made sure their pool was properly chlorinated and the filters were working.

The weather had been unseasonably cool the first two weeks of the month, but Angelo had finally given in to both Russell and Frog's gentle nagging about opening the pool. Russell needed the exercise for his shoulder, and Frog simply loved to swim. Angelo had insisted on being present for the appointment, which meant the work order wasn't signed off on until close to dinnertime.

After much begging from Frog, Patrick allowed him thirty minutes of pool time before they ate dinner, since there wouldn't be much time tomorrow, not with all the adults committed to the fundraiser for at least a few hours. Only Frog got in the still-chilly water, and Angelo selfishly hoped to see Bryan lounging around the patio in swim trunks.

He didn't, though, and the damned blood type thing nagged Angelo all through dinner. The more he secretly studied Patrick, Frog and Bryan, the more it bothered him. All three Gillespies had the same dark hair, wide eyes and pert noses, but the more he really looked, the more Frog seemed to favor Bryan. It wasn't even that Patrick wore glasses. Bryan and Frog held their forks the same damned way—resting on their ring finger and gripped by the middle, index and thumb.

It bothered him enough that he spoke very little during the meal—not that he had a lot to say after spending nearly the entire day with the same four people—and tried not to chase nebulous fears around in his head. Tried and mostly failed, because those nebulous fears kept circling back to a question Angelo had never once considered asking of his friends. He had accepted what he'd been told as the truth, full stop.

He had no reason to question who Frog's actual biological father was. Right?

Except the eighth-grade biology Angelo remembered said Patrick couldn't be Frog's father, not unless he'd lied about one of their blood types. But why lie about that? Why lie about any of it? Nah, Angelo was overthinking this, making a problem out of nothing, and he'd feel dumb later for worrying.

Except later, he found himself so distracted during a movie with Bryan and some attempts at cuddling that when Bryan paused the movie for a popcorn break, Angelo gave in to temptation and whipped out his phone. Searched for blood type charts and compared them to what had been said at lunch. His heart gave a funny, unhappy lurch at what he found, and he fumbled his phone twice trying to darken the screen.

He stared at the paused TV while the tat-tat-tat sound of exploding popcorn filled the air and his brain buzzed with conflict. Did he say something? Forget about it? He had to have misheard something at lunch. All he needed to do now was double-check with Bryan, and Bryan would sort everything out. He'd tell Angelo that yes, Angelo had misheard whose blood type was what because of the restaurant noise.

Easy peasy, no harm done.

When Bryan returned to the couch with a bowl of hot popcorn, Angelo didn't restart the movie. "May I ask you something?"

"Sure, ask away." Bryan's expression was of familiar neutrality, but his eyes—eyes Angelo was getting better at reading—held a hint of wariness.

"If a child's mother has O blood, then the kid can be O if the father is also O, or if he's A or B. But not AB. It doesn't work."

Bryan blinked slowly, that wariness sharpening. "That wasn't a question."

"Okay." Angelo wished he hadn't brought this up, but he wasn't one to back down from a clearly-issued challenge. "If Patrick is AB and Tracy is O, then Frog has to be A or B, not O. So how is Frog type O? Is Patrick wrong about being AB?"

"He's not wrong." Bryan put the popcorn bowl on the coffee table and angled to face Angelo more fully, his movements deliberate and stiff enough that Angelo's blood pressure was on the verge of skyrocketing. He didn't react when Bryan reached out, his hand hovering briefly over Angelo's thigh, before pulling back. Leaving a small distance between them that felt more like a chasm. "Frog is O because his…biological father is type A."

"So Patrick isn't AB, he's A."

"No, Patrick is AB. He isn't Frog—he isn't Robbie's biological father."

Angelo's heart twisted tight and the back of his throat went dry. "Since when?"

"Since always. He was there the night Robbie was born, and he's been part of his life since the beginning, loved him as his own since he was only six months old. But he never slept with Tracy." Angelo saw it coming like someone who'd combined pastel camo print with tartan plaid. "I did. A lot. I'm biologically Robbie's father."

"Not his uncle." Not the truth Angelo had been told or understood to be true since the day he first spoke with Patrick over the phone about leasing the carriage house a year ago.

"I am his uncle in his heart and in all the ways that count, just like Patrick is his father in his heart and in all the ways that count, including legally."

Angelo stared at Bryan's flayed-open expression, more vulnerable than even when they had sex. Bryan had put something very private on the table and Angelo didn't know what to do with it. Anger poked at the back of his mind, a living thing that wanted to punt this secret across the room, no matter the explanations, because he'd been lied to for months. For practically a whole year! The anger battled with relieved understanding, because Bryan sleeping with his band's lead singer and getting her pregnant made a hell of a lot more sense than Patrick ever sleeping with her, gay or not. Angelo had tried to mentally explain away the affair as a drunken one-nighter or, worse, some sort of repayment for the music theft drama.

Unless Frog had been the repayment for that theft. "Before or after you were sent to prison?" Angelo asked.

"What before or after?"

"Did you give Patrick custody? Make him the father?"

"During the process." Bryan rubbed one hand over his eyes, nose and chin, and then back up to rake through his hair—a familiar gesture of rising irritation. "Tracy getting pregnant was obviously an oops. We were already in a big rough patch, and she didn't want to keep the baby or tell anyone she was pregnant. She wouldn't abort, but she wanted to put it up for adoption immediately. I talked her into giving me sole custody and signing away all her parental rights so she'd never be financially responsible, and she agreed. We both kept the entire thing out of the media, she took a long hiatus during and after the pregnancy, and I became a full-time dad. Patrick and I had reconnected at that point, and even though things were not quite forgiven, he was amazing with Robbie, a way better dad than I ever could be. He was a natural father. He didn't have my temper or my drinking problem, which I was doing a terrible job of kicking. Robbie and I both needed him."

Angelo absorbed all the love and sincerity in Bryan's words and tone of voice, but it wasn't soothing his own anger at being left out of this very big loop for so long. "So you gave Robbie to Patrick when you knew you were heading to prison?"

"Yes. I wanted Patrick to be his dad. For Robbie to have the freedom to grow up with a loving father who was a teacher and a musician, not an alcoholic felon. He's had an amazing life with Patrick, and now he has two dads who adore him."

"Two da—oh." Duh. "Russell knows the truth, right? Of course, he knows. He's the reliable boyfriend with a permanent address, not the town slut who only slowed down when he hit forty and looked mortality right in the eye."

"That's not fair to you or to Russell. Patrick and I agreed a long time ago that it was up to him to tell people about Robbie's biology. We both knew it might come up medically one day, and it obviously came up while Russell and Patrick were first dating. I understand why Patrick wanted Russell to know."

"But he didn't want me to know." Pure hurt slid under Angelo's skin like chips of glass, and he stood, needing to dislodge them somehow. Or better yet, to just slough his skin right off and be done with it. No skin, no hurt, no feelings underneath; he could go back to being the self-centered, vapid player he'd been a year ago. No commitments beyond work, no emotions for a handsome, intense guy he'd been falling for for weeks.

"Please, don't ask me to speak for Patrick," Bryan said, his voice so soft it barely registered. "He told me that if I ever found someone I was serious about and wanted to tell, I could."

"Ouch." Angelo took two steps sideways and nearly tripped over the armchair, that glass sliding deeper, right through muscle to his heart. "So this thing we've been doing, everything we've shared these last few months, isn't serious."

"That's not what I meant. I'm talking about the conversation I had with Patrick back in March."

"Oh, March, okay. That makes what I said any less wrong how?"

Bryan sat up straighter, both hands flat on his thighs, almost defensive, and it raised Angelo's own hackles. "You're the one who asked me to be in a fake relationship with you, Voltini. You initiated this to scam your lawyer, and now you're trying to argue the semantics of how serious we were back then?"

"I'm talking about how serious we are now, Gillespie. We've been living together and fucking for two months, and you never said anything about Frog, because we're obviously not serious enough for me to know this huge truth about you. Were you ever going to tell me?"

"Maybe. I don't know, and that is the goddamn truth, okay? My entire world since I got out of prison has been about being Robbie's uncle. Uncle Bryan is who I am. He's the guy who punched you the night we met, and he's the guy who's been fucking you this whole time. The guy who's kissed you and cuddled with you, and who gave you your meds after the explosion. Uncle Bryan is helping with a fucking fundraiser for you. The name on Robbie's birth certificate does not change who I am."

"Maybe it doesn't change anything for you." Angelo hated how tight his voice was, how raw his throat. And that his hands were trembling. "But it changes you for me, and it changes how serious I thought things were between us. That maybe we weren't just doing this for my lawyer, and that the sex was so much more than just roommates with benefits. And I guess we should have clarified things a long time ago, but dummy me let my emotions get involved, and that never ends well."

Bryan stood slowly, previously flat palms curling into loose fists. "You aren't the only one with feelings involved here. I like what we have. We made our own relationship by our own rules, and maybe the rest of the world isn't in on every little secret, but we know the important things. We know how we feel about each other. I am serious about us, Angelo. More serious than I've been about anyone before in my life, and I hate that you're doubting me because of an old conversation with my brother."

"It's not about the conversation, it's about the secret. A big secret that you and Patrick and Russell knew, but I didn't. Does Frog know the truth?"

"Yes, we've never hidden it from him, but he has always thought of Patrick as Daddy, period. It's what he's always known, and nothing will ever change that."

Angelo bristled at the defensiveness rolling off Bryan. "I'm not trying to change it or say anything different. I'm not trying to interfere or judge how Patrick has chosen to raise his kid. None of that is my business."

"Then why are you so pissed off? Not a single thing about us or between us has changed since this morning."

The backs of his eyes burned but Angelo was not going to cry, not in anger or frustration, and especially not from grief. "That is why I'm pissed off. You can't see why we have changed. This morning, I didn't think we had any secrets, not big ones, and we're so good together my lawyer is ready to sign the inheritance papers. But it's more than the show we started for the money. It's not a show anymore and hasn't been for weeks.

"You told me about your past, and I told you about mine. We have shared all kinds of things, from the smallest and dumbest mistakes, to huge fears and insecurities. Things I've never shared with anyone, not even Russell. And maybe you don't see the name on the birth certificate as a huge deal, and maybe in the grand scheme of life, it's not a detail that would have greatly impacted my life one way or another. It's not the secret, it's how I found out."

Angelo's mouth was dry, and he really needed a drink, but he wasn't finished. "It's that I listened to a conversation happening right in front of me, between three other adults who knew something I didn't, and that it's been happening for months. It's that I am not serious enough, we are not serious enough, for you to just tell me instead of me having to ask a direct question based on a logical deduction. Did you really think I was too stupid to figure out the blood types didn't work?"

"No!" Bryan's face was red, his eyes radiating frustration, emotions raw in a way Angelo wasn't used to seeing. "Damn it, Angelo, I don't think you're stupid, and this was never some sort of grand conspiracy to pull one over on you. And yes, what you and I have is serious, but it's not the same serious as what Patrick meant. It's a serious that isn't built on a lie. It's a serious that means we aren't pretending we're a couple for the outside world, and we aren't pretending we aren't actually a couple to Patrick and Russell simply because they believe we're putting on a show. Serious is when we're dating because we're into each other for no other reason than we dig each other, and we're living together because we can't bear to be apart, and it's serious when one of us says I love you."

Those painful, icy slivers melted under the heat of acceptance and dismissal, and Angelo wilted. He had no fight left, not tonight. Not to defend what he thought was a serious relationship, when it was clearly nothing more than a long-term fling for Bryan. And hadn't that been exactly what Angelo had asked him for? He'd gotten his fucking wish, hadn't he? And he was about to get his fucking money. Bryan, too, so why continue the charade? "Got it. I'm not the guy you say ‘I love you' to. Never been that guy."

"Angelo—"

"No." Angelo made a slashing gesture across his throat. "No more, not tonight. Right now, I am going to do what I do best when things get too serious, which is walk away."

Bryan flinched. "And go where? Up to the main house?"

"I don't know, but right now I am your landlord, and I am encroaching upon your legally leased space, so I'm leaving."

"I'm not asking you to. I want us to keep talking about this. To fix it."

"Well, I don't want to keep talking. And unless you plan on restraining me, and I do not suggest you try, then I'm walking out that door. I need space, Bryan. I'm serious."

"Okay." Bryan scowled and crossed his arms. "Just, please don't drive mad. Even if you sit in your car for an hour before you leave, don't drive mad. You might end up someplace you don't wanna be."

"Like getting wasted, stalking my brother's attacker, and then beating him to a pulp in front of witnesses?"

Instead of rising to the obvious bait, Bryan nodded. "Yeah, like that."

"Definitely going to skip the stalking and beating. I make no promises about anything else." Especially not getting wasted. In deference to Bryan's continued sobriety, Angelo's own liver had gotten quite a rest these last eight weeks or so. Time to make it put in extra effort. He grabbed his car keys off the coffee table where he usually dumped them.

"What about the fundraiser tomorrow?" Bryan asked.

"I'll keep my commitment and be there. What about you?"

"Of course, I will." He glanced at the picture windows. "Russell's going to wonder where you're going at this hour."

"If Patrick has him properly distracted, he won't notice me driving away."

His hand was on the front door knob when Bryan asked, "Is this us breaking up?"

A flash of pain briefly strangled him, but Angelo swallowed it down. He spoke to Bryan's reflection in the door's window when he said, "Were we ever together enough for us to officially break up?"

He turned the knob and shoved the door open before he could catalog the look on Bryan's face. He didn't need to see it to know his final barb had hit its target and stung, exactly as he'd intended. No more words, no more explanations or excuses or platitudes. Right now, all Angelo needed and wanted was space.

And whiskey. Whiskey sounded great.

Bryan had been stupidly na?ve to think Angelo wouldn't be bothered by the blood type conversation, or that he wouldn't bring it up when they were alone. He was a little impressed that Angelo hadn't mentioned anything at dinner, but Angelo was incredibly tactful around Robbie, curbing his cussing and some of his bawdier humor. At least Angelo had waited until they were alone to ask his questions.

Perfectly reasonable questions that had interrupted a once-perfect song and left a catastrophe of mangled noise behind.

He should have said something to Angelo the minute they got home from dinner, brought up the blood type thing first so Angelo didn't think Bryan was keeping a secret from him. Which from Angelo's perspective, he had kept a secret. From Bryan's? He was Uncle Bryan, and whose sperm had been involved in creating Robbie was irrelevant to him now. But it wasn't irrelevant to Angelo, and Bryan had hurt his feelings tonight. Big time. Angelo's reaction, though, confused him.

When he and Tracy had fought, they'd go to separate corners (or hotel rooms) after screaming for a while, steam about things, sometimes perform with the problem hanging between them without their fans suspecting a thing, and then fuck it out later. Her passionate nature was one of the things that had drawn him back to her, over and over, despite how toxic they were together—something he could see through the clear, sober lens of hindsight.

He wasn't used to someone arguing so calmly, without raising their voice to a shrill scream; of walking away under a cloud of silent anger, instead of engaging until they were both red-faced and exhausted. Angelo's anger also wasn't what he was used to dealing with, because it was fueled less by rage and more by disappointment. He was disappointed in Bryan for keeping a secret that Bryan no longer considered a secret. It was private information about his personal life that was only for the people he loved, like Patrick and Robbie.

He didn't know if he loved Angelo or not, only that he had incredibly strong feelings for the man. Bryan loved sharing their bed, sharing their meals, sharing all the little things in their daily lives. Yes, the sex was incredible and left him feeling closer to Angelo whenever they were pleasuring each other. He never felt empty or used afterward, not once. Everything about their relationship was unique and special, and Bryan didn't want them to end.

"Were we ever together enough for us to officially break up?"

Yes. Yes, dammit, they were together enough, and no, they had not broken up. Were not breaking up, not if Bryan could help it. He also had no idea how to fix things, other than give Angelo the space he needed and to continue answering every question as honestly as possible. He absolutely understood why Angelo was upset that he'd had to ask Bryan about the blood types, when Bryan knew Angelo was clever enough to figure out the things unspoken at lunch. Angelo deserved a good grovel for that later.

Later, when Angelo was ready to talk to him again.

Bryan lingered by the couch, unable to sit and unsure what to do. The driveway was dark and quiet for a long time, before an engine rumbled and headlights flashed. Angelo was leaving. Bryan's heart sank to the floor as any hope he'd had of them figuring this out tonight dimmed.

No longer caring about the movie or popcorn, Bryan turned off the TV, and then wound the bowl in cling wrap for Robbie to eat tomorrow. The kid had a strange affinity for day-old popcorn. Bryan considered texting Patrick, but all the lights were off in the big house, except the gentle glow of the upstairs bathroom's night-light. He had never in his life gone to his little brother for relationship advice, and he really, really wanted to tonight.

But he wouldn't interrupt his brother's evening, not when the house looked settled. Or private things were happening in the dark, behind closed doors and curtains. He desperately wanted his own boyfriend home with him, getting up to private things in the dark, and he hoped that wherever Angelo had gone, he was safe.

He took out his phone and texted: Please be safe. I'm sorry and I'm here to talk when you're ready.

Bryan woke with a crick in his neck, something stuck to his cheek, and his cell ringing somewhere nearby. He fumbled and managed to roll off the couch onto the hard, chilly floor, which added an ache in his back to the one in his neck. The TV remote clattered to the ground beside him—had that been stuck to his cheek?—and he lunged for the coffee table and his phone.

"Hello? Angelo?"

"No, it's Patrick. I mean, I heard Angelo's car leave a while ago and assumed you went out together. You aren't?"

Bryan shook his head, trying to orient himself, and still a little unsure why he'd fallen asleep on the couch. Oh, yeah, his bed had been too fucking empty, so he'd come down here and stretched out on a surface only meant for one body. Not two. Despite his racing thoughts and regrets, he'd fallen asleep. "No, we're not. I'm not. He left alone."

"What? Why? Never mind, I'm not dumb and neither is Angelo. He asked about the blood type thing from lunch, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"I'll be right there." He clicked off.

Bryan dropped his phone on the couch, then pressed his face into his palms and let out a long, annoyed groan.

Patrick appeared at the front door in less than a minute. He tapped on the glass once before walking in, dressed in long pajama bottoms and a huge t-shirt that must have been Russell's. He looked around, as if checking for himself that Angelo wasn't actually there. "Was Angelo mad?" He flapped both hands in the air. "Of course, he was mad, or he'd be here."

"He was mad, yeah." Half true, but somehow admitting to how disappointed Angelo had been was worse than him simply being mad.

"I'm so sorry, Bryan, I wouldn't have brought anything up at lunch if I thought you hadn't told Angelo the truth yet. I mean, I know you dating him is just a ruse, but you seemed like you were really great friends, and I guess…I don't know. Maybe Russell or I should have told him sooner."

"No, don't take the blame for this mess, it's all on me." He squeezed Patrick's shoulders, then sat beside him on the couch. "I should have told Angelo before now, but it never felt like something I needed to say, because it didn't change who I was, you know? It's like you meet a woman and she's blonde, and you know her for ten years and she's always blonde, but one day you find out she dyes her hair and is really a brunette. That doesn't change the woman you know at all, right? She's still the same person, it's just a detail. I am Robbie's uncle in every way that matters, and you are his father in every way that matters, and knowing I was the one who donated genetic material doesn't change that, right?"

"Not for us, brother, no, but it can for the person who's been deceived the whole time."

"Even if the intention wasn't deception? I am Uncle Bryan. And I think Angelo could have accepted that if I hadn't stuck my entire goddamn foot in my mouth."

"You didn't use the blonde-hair analogy on him, did you?"

"No, I think what I said was worse. I told him about our conversation, when you said if I met someone I was serious about, you'd be okay with me telling them our secret."

"How did that make it worse? You're fake-dating." Patrick lips formed an O of surprise. "Holy crap, are you for-real dating now? Are you not faking it anymore? How long have you two been for-real-dating?"

"I don't know when it went from fake dating to just fucking to something that means a hell of lot to me." Bryan had felt something unique for Angelo the first time they did that small scene in the living room, the first time they kissed, all the way to right now, missing Angelo so much his insides felt squeezed too tight. "Whenever the change happened, though, it's real now. I hurt him tonight, and he left, and I don't know where he is." He eyeballed Patrick, who was watching him like he'd never seen Bryan before. "Are you mad?"

"For what? You telling Angelo about Frog? Of course not."

"No, I mean about me and Angelo not faking it, but not telling you guys we weren't faking it anymore but are actually together. Were together? Are together. Definitely are."

Patrick grinned. "I don't think I've ever in my life heard you get flustered over a partner before. You really do like him."

"I like him a lot. A hell of a lot. We just…get each other. I know we didn't have the most romantic introduction ever, but now we just make sense. I've never really let my guard down with anyone before, not like I have with him. He's someone I can picture myself with for a long time, not just someone I'm with until the next performance, or until someone better falls into my bed, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. That's how I feel about Russ. I can see us sitting together, holding hands, on Frog's high school graduation day. See us dropping him off his first day of college. Being there when he tells us he's getting married to the love of his life."

"I want those things for you. You deserve them."

"You deserve them, too, Uncle Bryan. I saw you there, too, part of our lives, and I saw Uncle Angelo along for the ride because of Russ. I never saw you guys there together, in the future, as a couple, not until now. And I really think I can see it. I think I've been seeing it for a while, but I chalked it up to you guys putting on a really good show, even after-hours when you didn't have to."

"I'm tired of putting on shows. I just wanna be me, you know? Whoever that guy is. Bisexual former felon, now construction worker who's dating a super-hot Italian designer with an ego as fragile as a butterfly wing."

Patrick's eyebrows rose. "Fragile ego? Angelo?"

"Yeah. He puts on a show of being untouchable, but what people think of him? It matters. And I wish he thought a lot more of himself, because I think he's pretty fucking amazing."

"Did you tell him that?"

"I tried but it all came out wrong. I need him to call me so I can tell him the right way."

"Are you sure telling him is the right thing to do? Angelo strikes me as the ridiculously romantic type. He's the one who talked me into singing for Russ last year, remember? Semi-publicly? I think that's the sort of grand gesture he'd swoon over."

"Swoon? This isn't a gothic romance novel, brother."

"You know what I mean. Do something romantic as an apology."

"Like what? Flowers? This is not my area."

"I don't know. Let's ask Russell, he's known Angelo half their lives. Maybe he'll have a good idea."

"Is he even awake? Why did you call me earlier, anyway, if you thought I was out?"

"Because I knew you wouldn't be drinking, and I had a last-minute question about the fundraiser, but it's not important right now. Fixing things with Angelo is. So…Russell?"

Bryan groaned. "Yeah, sure, let's involve Russell in this, too. Why not?"

So they did.