12. Nights and Days

CHAPTER 12

Nights and Days

Everett

The wanderer found a home. The hater found love. The coward found courage.

As October days shortened and leaves turned brown, with thickening mist gathering in the chilly New York nights, I lived two lives, but my heart beat only for one of them.

So many years had gone by where I was the side character of my own story. So many mornings went by while I slept with my curtains drawn and the world existing only as something that was out there but never in here.

I lived for my current self, but I also lived for the boy who hadn't. He was still somewhere in me, I hoped.

My days revolved around my father's work. Each morning, while my mother grew quieter and more distant, I joined my father on his mission to reshape the heart of Hudson Burrow. I watched him commission research that would prove beyond any doubt that a ragtag group's home was a waste of space and that his luxury hotel would make the neighborhood proper. I watched him as he called, treated, bargained, and bribed his way to the near certainty of victory.

"Yes, but they are filing the motion to declare this place a landmark, Mr. Langley. The judge has ruled…"

"Show me the judge," my father snapped once.

Day by day by day, Harold Langley was less of a tame man who only wanted to eat his toast in silence without bothering anyone or being bothered in return, and he was more the monster that the rest of this great city said he was.

When you get old enough to see your parents for all the things they are not, you need to decide whether you can love them or not. But the decision was made for me. He didn't love me. Oh, he might have loved the idea of me, the person I had pretended to be so I would remain in his favor, but he didn't love the real me.

I had seen him a week after Prince Cedric Montclair spoke in support of Neon Nights fuming and foaming about the gays. "They think they rule the world," he spat. "We used to have men in this country. Is this all that's left?"

The real troubles for my father were the whispers of bribery. Someone spoke to a respected journalist of a national newspaper and alleged that the lightning speed at which Neon Nights was declared necessary for the good of the public had all the clear marks of foul play. It had almost given my father a fit of rage. It had set him on this course for good. He couldn't pull out without losing face and basically admitting that they were right. This was no longer a business project but an all-out war to save his skin.

And the person who leaked it? He was the heart that pumped life into my nights.

Nearly every evening, I left our penthouse in favor of a worn-out couch against the bare brick wall of Neon Nights and the company of Roman Cross and his friends. My only problem was the constant flood of curious visitors who wanted to see His Royal Highness in the bar, and I was not ready to have my photographs fly around the web for everyone to discover me.

But Roman's Peeling Palace offered us the privacy we needed. His roommates were rarely around. Lane was an active guy, playing for an amateur football team, so he had practice and outdoor activities on most evenings. Oakley, the nerdy guy with a feisty streak, was more often at the library than inside. Tristan either worked or spent his time at Cedric's place a few blocks away. And Madison's room was so far from Roman's that it was hard to tell whether he was there or not.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," I said one evening, lying on my back, holding Roman in the fold of my right arm. We were only loosely covered by a comforter over the middle, and sweat was cooling on our torsos. Roman's body was hot like a furnace, and I dreamed of spending entire nights with him. The longing to be near him forever was stronger each day. "When it's all over, what then?"

Roman knew everything about me. He knew how I had grown up and what my parents were like. He knew just as well as I that once he was revealed, my father would face immediate detention and questioning, lawsuits of gigantic proportions, criminal charges, loss of his wealth that was tied so tightly to his company, and possibly prison time. He would be ousted from the company, I had no doubt, but that wouldn't save the board from the plummeting stock value. And all that would happen by my choice.

"We'll figure it out together," Roman said. And, with an almost naive hopefulness, he added, "Maybe it won't come to that."

On one end, I faced the same fate as Joseph Burton, being excluded from my family and the society that had shaped me my entire life, left out of all the wills, and cut off from family money. On the other, it was all the same, but I would bring them down with me and save Neon Nights in the same breath.

I shifted and turned on my side so I could be face-to-face with Roman. I had never told him this for the simple reason it had never mattered. Until a few weeks ago, I hadn't questioned my steady access to my family's wealth. "When I was six, Dad…" I halted. Calling him that felt wrong. Dads were supposed to cheer for their sons. But I shoved those thoughts away. "He set up a trust fund for me. It's north of twelve million, Rome."

Roman's lips parted, and he let out a small, barely audible gasp. "But?"

I held my breath and observed Roman for a short while. With that kind of money, he would never have to struggle to pay rent again. He would never lack anything in his life. And I could make him happy. It was the least I could do after he had given me a new lease on life. But… "It's timed for my twenty-fifth birthday," I said.

"December sixteenth," Roman said.

It made my heart fuzzy that he remembered. "Yes," I said in a grave tone.

"And if you turn against him…" Roman floated the idea.

I simply shook my head. "My mother is the trustee. And if she finds a way to look past the backstabbing, she will never forgive me for being born gay. Maybe if I go to a conversion camp."

Roman winced hard. "Don't even joke about that."

I closed my hands around his face and kissed him. We weren't going to find answers in his bed. Time would tell.

If things dragged out for another two months, I would gain access to my money. It meant two more months of pretending that being near my parents wasn't driving me crazy. Two more months of sneaking out to see Roman, lying about my evening absence, and returning before either of them suspected I was up to no good.

The only solution was if Roman and his rebels won the fight without involving me. That way, my father would lose only the location for his hotel, and my trust fund would find its way to me safely, and we would all live happily ever fucking after.

Some tiny, stupid part of me wanted to pray for this outcome.

But Harold Langley had other plans.

On Monday morning, pretend-working with my father, I saw Robert Jacobs break their no-meeting rule. In my father's office, as the three of us sat and my phone picked up the details of the conversation that I hoped I would never have to use, I watched my fate be decided for me.

"They have fucking royals, Robert," Father spat. "Royals, diplomats, A-list stars meddling on social media. If we're not quick, they'll win their goddamn landmark battle, and we'll look as guilty as an Irish priest in the sacramental wine cellar."

I ground my teeth and forced myself to smile so I wouldn't look even more suspicious. When he was off the leash, my father was regrettably an ass.

Robert chortled at the joke and shook his head soothingly. "You worry again, Harry. The landmark rulings take forever, and you have an army of paralegals whose only job is to play Ping-Pong with them."

"I'm telling you, Robert. If we don't get this done, people will start looking into your stake in my company. You better start sweating, goddammit." I was certain Father would slam his fist against the table, but he resisted.

Jacobs leaned back in his chair and threaded his fingers together. "What do you think, kid?"

"Stop fooling around, Robert," Father grumbled, unknowingly rescuing me. "What do you think? It's time to put the cards on the table."

Jacobs directed his polite smile to my father, and his ears perked up. "The way I see it, Harry, you have two options. Either go down the long, hard road of swatting away the complaints that Layla Zahran keeps filing, giving them all the time they need, or make this thing happen. Go there yourself and make that ridiculous man sign the bill of sale. Oh, they'll complain and cry and moan, but the dust will settle. The public has a very short attention span, my friend. Once the battle is lost, they'll turn to the next shiny headline."

"Occupy first, negotiate later," Father said.

And whether I wanted it or not, I was put on a course that could only lead us all to Hell.

Roman

Layla Zahran's office overlooked the Hudson River. I hadn't imagined that activism could put you in an office like this, but Layla's Equal Justice Initiative was a nice small building on the riverfront, and the two walls of her office were made of glass.

"Wow," I said. "This is really nice. I don't know why I imagined you working from a booth in KFC."

Layla chuckled, her warm chocolate eyes melting. "We have a good track record getting Goliaths to pay the bill."

"I like that," I said. The overcast sky above New York City warned of coming rain. "Hopefully, this Goliath will be worth your time."

Layla folded her arms on her glass desk. "When you've been up against these guys for long enough, you soon realize that the most satisfying reward for your time and effort is seeing justice prevail."

"I bet it is," I said. "Still, I'll be glad to see Harold Langley cover the bill when it's all over." I shifted in my seat and rubbed my hands together. "The trouble is that we think Harold's going to be a little more aggressive now. My boyfriend…" The word rang through my head with a deep, rich echo that made all of me a little warmer. The rebel was subdued. Fighting off a smile, I cleared my throat. "My boyfriend is pretty sure that Langley will resort to intimidation and force."

"That is new but not unexpected," Layla replied.

I agreed with a firm nod. "He learned about it this morning." Since Everett had sent me the recording, I had been pacing in my apartment and waiting to hear back from Layla. She carved out this time to hear me out and offer some advice, and for that, I was grateful. But time was something we didn't have, and every minute I spent sitting down was a minute I felt like I lost.

"Does he have any clue about the timeline?" Layla asked.

I shook my head. "The end of the week. Maybe the end of the month. We're on red alert at Mama Viv's. If he sends some of his thugs to intimidate us, I'm worried our peaceful protest isn't going to be peaceful for long."

"It's incredibly important to avoid violence, Roman," Layla said. "I can file another motion for Langley's corporation to be blocked, but that will only buy us weeks. My colleagues are putting together a strong case for Neon Nights being a New York landmark. And what you've done in awareness campaigning is above and beyond everyone's expectations."

"Thank you, but I'm afraid that it's not going to be enough," I said. "I'm out of tricks." Except for one . The thought wormed its way into my mind. One trick that will break the heart of the guy you're in love with . "The best I can do now is to try bocking the demolition team by lying down on the street." Not that a die-in has ever worked before . I looked at her, suddenly feeling like a very little boy who needed a grown-up to take over. "What do I do?"

Layla rose to the occasion and quite literally. She moved her chair back and stood, her hands resting on the desk. "Keep me informed. Whatever little whisper or hint you get, message me. I will press the judge with urgency, but there is not a lot we can do on short notice without incriminating evidence against Langley. Even so, keep the communication channels open. And when this is over…" Layla licked her lips while she paused, her big, brown eyes fixed on me. Finally, she nodded. "When this is over, my team could use someone like you, Roman."

I let out a scoff-chuckle, shaking my head. "I don't think I was made for pretty offices, but thank you. We can think about that after."

She nodded slowly, smiling. "I think you are wrong about that. I think that this is very much what you were made for."

We parted then with a sense of doom and gloom. I doubted I could pull anything off without throwing Everett under the bus, and that was the one thing I refused to do. I hated that my clearly visible anxiety was nudging Everett in that direction without me ever saying a word to that effect. If I asked him to sacrifice his emotional well-being—and twelve fucking million—then I wasn't sure I could ever repay that debt.

I wasn't a very good boyfriend. I hadn't had that much practice. How could I hope to be enough of a prize once he lost everything?

These were the thoughts that haunted me until the afternoon when the rumbling of bulldozers chilled everyone's blood.