28. Byrd

28

Byrd

I don't climb the walls.

If I was alone, I might distract myself with one of the ropes in the main gym, but instead, I sit with Graham Wash on a backless metal bench outside the audition studio and breathe into the stilted silence. A teenage girl in bright shorts jogs by on her way to the bathroom, muted curiosity in her adolescent gaze. My lips twitch imagining the picture we make: Me with my messy topknot and ripped jeans, him in his pinstripes and thousand-dollar haircut, staring at youth troupe posters and stick-figure safety notices like the world's unlikeliest pair of miscreants outside the principal's office.

Or nervous parents waiting on the fate of the prodigal child.

Not that Wash looks nervous. He leans against the wall with his hands in the pockets of his dark designer slacks and his long legs stretched into the hallway, ankles crossed, casually taking up space with his boardroom bravado. If he feels out of place in this land of sweat and bruises and acrobatic dreams, he doesn't show it .

He catches me studying him, glancing at my white-knuckled grip on the edge of the bench, and breaks the silence.

"You did the right thing, calling Regina."

"I know." As peace offerings go, we could both use some practice.

"I wasn't sure you would." He chuckles. "To be honest, I wasn't sure he would let you. Jericho can be very stubborn. But I appreciate it."

I force my fingers to relax and meet his gaze. "I didn't do it for you."

His laugh is rich and almost honest.

"I believe you." He quirks an eyebrow. "I can't imagine Regina was any happier with you than I was."

I shrug. Her exact words were " Please tell me you did not risk my professional reputation—and your heart—on another Wash man-child. That is not what I meant when I told you to find yourself a hot rebound fuck."

"We've known each other a long time."

"You inspire loyalty." It almost sounds like a compliment, and he's got that thoughtful look on his face again. "Echo has never kissed anyone in front of me before." The implication is clear, despite his casual tone, and my already tortured heart stutters in my chest.

"He cares for you," he continues, not even trying to mask his surprise, "and you care for him. Enough to put his future before…" His vague gesture takes in the length of my body.

My heart?

My dick?

I decide not to be offended.

"He deserves this. He's worked hard for it. "

Wash looks away, and I take in the tight line of his mouth and the too-casual set of his shoulders. Maybe he's not as nonchalant as he's trying to look.

"He's not going to disappoint you," I say. His eyes flit to mine.

"He never has."

There's something dismissive in his tone, an edge of condescension that has me sitting up straighter, hackles prickling. And here I was almost starting to like him.

"If that was true, I'd think you'd trust him by now," I challenge, and I don't back down from his appraising look.

"Are we still talking about his career?"

"We're talking about Echo."

He studies me for a moment.

"Do you have any children, Mr. Baardwijk?"

So much for first names.

"You know I don't." Reggie told me when I took the job there'd be a "basic background check," and this guy isn't the type to slack on his homework.

"Mmm." He tilts his head against the wall, closing his eyes. "When they're little, they're always begging for your attention. Daddy, watch this. Daddy, look at me. Daddy, can I show you something ? And you watch, because you're terrified that if you look away, you'll miss something. Or worse, that they'll be taken from you. That all that fearless fragility will shatter against the cruel edges of the unfeeling world." The words are polished, but they carry genuine nostalgia. An image of Echo, bright with childish innocence and insistent joy, sparks behind my eyes.

I wonder if I was ever like that, before Elke. Before " Take care of your sister, Coen " and the exhaustion of parents who never quite knew what to do with their wild daughter and their quiet, invisible son .

I don't have to wonder if Gabriel begged for his father's attention too.

"Then one day it changes," Wash continues, his tone going wry. "They kick you out of their life, all ferocious independence and invincible ego, and you find a whole new set of fears. Now they're driving, experimenting with substances, having sex." He cuts his gaze to mine, but I don't look away from the not-so-subtle jab. We both know I wasn't even close to Echo's first foray into that department.

"Now imagine raising an athlete, an aerialist. It should be even worse. Every day, risking their body in extreme ways. All their hopes pinned on an elusive future so few can achieve.

"But then imagine that child is Echo . That he's incredible . He never falters, never disappoints you, and he's so fearless that, over time, you also stop being afraid. All you feel is awe that something so perfect came from you." He smiles, his pride evident, and even though I know how it feels to marvel at Echo's magic, I almost choke on the sudden swell of anger that threatens to swamp me.

"That Echo? He ruined my fucking life." How much blame for Echo's collapse can be placed at the feet of this man? On the internalized expectation of perfection Echo carried onto the rope that day? Would he still have tried to prove himself flawless to Gabriel if he'd ever been allowed to be human?

"Sounds like a lot of pressure for a young man." I can't keep the judgment from creeping into my voice. Wash throws me a sharp look.

"He'd been training in that studio alone since he was twelve years old. I knew he wasn't careful—what teenage boy knows the meaning of caution? But he was smart . He never made mistakes. "

"Until he fell." And you left him alone to rot in that studio , with his broken wings and his fear.

"That wasn't a mistake ." He glares at me, and I suck in a startled breath at his vehemence. "That was—" He cuts himself off with an angry slash of his hand.

"An accident?" One spectacular tragedy.

"An unfortunate accident, yes."

I barely catch the flicker of hesitation. He's a successful lawyer. He's not supposed to have tells. But Echo is his son, and one whose every nuance of expression I've been obsessing over for months.

My thoughts spiral, Echo's voice in my memory tugging at a dreadful epiphany. " It was a big crash-style mat. Four by eight and six inches thick. My parents wouldn't let me train at home without it. I shouldn't have been that far off-center, even with the bad swing."

"He wasn't alone that day." It's not a question.

"He told you about it?" His voice is resigned.

"He told me his brother was there." Slow horror creeps over my chest.

"Gabriel." He closes his eyes, and the muscles clench beneath his clean-shaven jaw.

Gabriel.

"Echo said there was a video," I say, carefully.

He looks up at the door, where the son he loves fights for his future, and the last of his arrogance leaks away.

Why couldn't he have loved them both the same?

As if I don't know the answer.

"Gabriel deleted the video. He said it would be too traumatizing for Echo or his mother to see, and too tempting for Echo." His eyes meet mine, and he looks a hundred years old. "He called the paramedics. He called me. "

"But you still think he could have had something to do with the fall. Something more than taunting him into an unstable trick." Bitterness leaks from my tongue. "You think he moved the mat."

I can picture it, stark behind my unwilling eyes. In my vision, Gabe is still young, darkly jealous of the lucent boy he named Echo in a shabby bid to dim his light. I remember his baffling fragility and the cut of his cruelty.

Wash straightens in his seat, shaking off the edge of his decay in the face of my accusation.

"I don't think anything." He sighs, giving away the lie. "I know there was envy and resentment when they were younger. I know I failed Gabriel when his mother and I divorced, and that Echo suffered for it. But Gabe is a grown man, successful now in his own way. Surely he's outgrown his petty rivalry."

A broken laugh escapes me. "You don't know either of your sons nearly as well as you think you do."

He frowns at me, insulted. "And you do?"

I freeze.

"I know Echo."

"And Gabriel?"

I don't owe him anything, but the air is already heavy with confession, and my throat is hollow with the ache of grief. I slump on the bench and let my head fall back against the wall.

"I knew him in college."

"In Tilburg?"

"He never mentioned me?" His ignorance shouldn't surprise me. Byrd Baardwijk isn't exactly a common name, and I can't imagine Wash letting Reggie hire me if he'd known the connection. But Christ , Gabriel and I were together for over a year before I broke his rules and he broke my heart. And he talked about his father all the time in school .

He doesn't deserve your pity.

"We were…not close during that time." Wash shakes his head, dismissing his fatherly flaws. "You were friends?"

A bitter laugh escapes me. "Something like that."

Calculation stirs in the haunted shadows of his eyes. "You were lovers."

"Yes." I blow out a breath and let the word hang, eyes fixed on the door across the hall.

For a long moment, his eyes burn into the side of my head.

"Does Jericho know?"

"Not yet." I wait for his condemnation, but he surprises me again.

"Good. Keep it that way."

"I'm tired of lying to him."

"You've kept the secret for this long. What's another few weeks?"

"If I tell him, he might spend those weeks in LA. Isn't that what you want?" I tilt my head to meet his eyes. "This could be the thing to break him free of me so he never looks back."

"Or it might just break him. And this time, he won't have you to put him back together."

"Echo put himself back together."

But that's not the whole truth, and I can tell by Wash's face that he's not buying it.

"I'm not an idiot, Byrd." First names again, now that he wants something from me.

Or maybe we've bared too many painful truths to hide behind formality now.

"I saw the way he was with you. I've watched a lot of young men come and go in Jericho's life, and I wasn't lying when I told you I've never seen him kiss one before. Whatever you've made him feel for you, he believes it's real. "

"So do I."

He waves a dismissive hand. "He's going to Tilburg. That is not up for negotiation. You've done the job you were paid for—barely—and I thank you for that." He leans in. "But I will not let you hurt him again when he's so close to achieving his dreams."

I think his dreams have changed lately.

The thought is guilty. Exultant.

I don't need this man to tell me who Echo is or what he's capable of. I'm certainly not about to let him discredit everything Echo has done this summer.

"You know what, Graham ?" I straighten, forcing him out of my space. His eyes narrow, but he shifts back. "I'm not an idiot either. I know what we look like, Echo and I. We look like a mistake. Something desperate or convenient. Or predatory." I shake my head and push to my feet, pacing the three long strides to the door and back. "You're not the first person in our lives to try and protect us from each other. Hell, I tried to protect us from each other." Wash softens a bit at that, and I give him a rueful smile.

"But not Echo." My voice is full of wonder. "Echo never saw us together as something to be protected from. Since the very beginning, he chased it without fear. Who are you and I to say he hasn't known exactly what he needed every step of the way?"

Wash opens his mouth, but I cut him off. He had his turn.

"What we have is real, and Echo deserves the truth. If he forgives me, I'm taking him back to Mendo until it's time for him to leave for school. If he doesn't…" I reach out and press my palm to the door to the audition room. "Then you take him home." I let my hand fall and turn back to pin him with my gaze. "And you keep him the hell away from his brother while he's there. "

Wash flinches, but I don't let up.

"Whatever happens, it will hurt, but he won't break." I won't let him.

I'll break for both of us.