30. Echo

30

Echo

" Y ou seem better."

"I am better." I'm still in my tank and joggers, but my dad is known at Angler and probably slipped the host a fifty, so no one complains. We have the window table, of course, and the Bay Bridge glitters iconically in the weak afternoon sunlight. I'm sipping the same beer I always order and am feeling only slightly disgruntled that the waitress didn't card me now that I actually have a legal ID.

"It was worth it, then?" He studies me over his own beer, and I bristle.

"Worth it? You mean, worth letting Byrd fuck me if it means I can still perform?"

"I mean , I'm happy to see you have your confidence back. I've never cared who you fucked."

It's true, but I don't miss the subtext. He's never cared because it's never been serious before. He likes that I remind him of his own fuckboy glory days.

Thanks to Gabe paving the way, my dad didn't even bat an eye when I came out to him at fourteen. And my mom relaxed the grandkids bullshit when she realized after three days of researching adoption that California is hyper-liberal and doesn't give a fuck if the couple is queer. She can keep dreaming. I'm not sharing Byrd with some rug rat any time soon.

"It's more than that this time. I love him." The words fill me with blue skies and butterflies, but my dad frowns, unimpressed.

"It might feel like that now—"

"Don't do that. Don't start treating me like a child after all these years because I finally want something you don't approve of."

"You're twenty-one years old, and you have your whole career ahead of you."

Jesus, he's a fucking cliché. I squash the niggling voice that reminds me Byrd's made the same point on more than one occasion.

"And Byrd knows all about that career. He had the same one." Until his bitch ex-wife made him give it up.

As if he can read the rancorous thought, my dad continues, "He's also barely out of his marriage. To a woman."

"He's bi. So what? And how long were you and Detta separated when you hooked up with Mom? Five minutes?" I can't believe he's trying to give me serious relationship advice.

"This isn't about me. It's not even about Byrd. It's about you and your future."

"I want him to be my future. I wouldn't even have one if it weren't for him."

That stops him, and he leans back in his chair, frustration dissolving into concern as he shuffles his silverware and studies me.

"How bad was it?" he asks quietly .

"Bad." Ignoring his flinch, I lay my hand on the table and curl my fingers into a fist. The muscles flex as easily as memory, rippling under my tattoo, but the scars are still there beneath the ink. "Not only the hand—that sucked, but it wasn't the pain that broke me. It was the fear." Guilt flashes across his face, but I barrel on. "I know you don't want to hear it, Dad, but after the fall, I was scared of everything. The rope. My body. That I'd never be Echo again." The son you wanted.

"We never meant… I never meant to abandon you." He stumbles over the admission. Admitting his own failings has never been my dad's forte. "Or to make you feel like you weren't loved for more than your talent."

"It wasn't your fault." Not entirely . "You weren't the only one attached to that perfect version of me. I built that identity for myself too." Made myself the star of our perfect, fucked-up family and fooled myself into thinking it meant I was grown up.

"And now?" The caution in his voice doesn't hurt the way it would have a few months ago.

"Now I think maybe I can be something better. Something grounded. Something real." The Echo that Byrd sees .

"Because of him ?"

Before I can answer, his phone vibrates on the tablecloth, and my brother's name flashes across the screen.

"What's up with Gabe?"

"Nothing." He flips the phone over without looking at it, hiding the incoming call.

"Then why is he calling you?"

" Nothing " is a load of bullshit. Gabe and my dad rarely speak to each other, and there's no reason he'd be calling instead of texting unless it was important.

"Your brother is in the city and is asking to see me. I'll call him back later. "

"Gabe's in SF? Today?" Holy shit, I'd love to see the look on his face if I introduced him to Byrd. Bringing Byrd home to LA is probably out of the question at this point, given my dad's current attitude, but meeting up with Gabe and casually showing my man off a little?

"Tell him to come by the hotel when you drop me off."

"No."

"What? Why not? I wanna rub Byrd in his face."

"Absolutely not."

"Aw, c'mon. You've seen Byrd. He's exactly Gabe's type—all chiseled and stoic." Maybe it's petty little-brother bullshit, but making Gabe envious is one of my favorite skills.

It's not like I've ever been able to make him proud.

"Jericho. Stop."

Jericho . Shit, he's breaking out the big guns. Of course, all it does is make me more curious. Especially when the next thing out of his mouth is "Byrd has no interest in meeting Gabriel."

"Because I told him what a dick Gabe can be?" I scoff.

"You told him—?" He hides a snort in his napkin.

"Of course. But Byrd's a gentleman. He's nice to everybody. He won't let Gabe get under his skin."

My dad sobers, eyes flashing a warning I still don't understand. "Stay away from your brother this weekend," he says. "And keep Byrd away from him too. Please trust me on this."

"But why? I know your relationship with him is complicated, but you've never tried to keep us apart before." That was always my mom's job.

"Because I don't trust him with you. Now leave it alone."

"Are you shitting me?" No way I'm letting that declaration slide. "What the fuck are you talking about, you don't trust him with me? "

He leans back, pinching the bridge of his nose like he can stem the authority draining from his posture. A cold rush of apprehension washes through me at the sudden exhaustion on his face.

"Dad. What are you talking about?" I push my half-eaten bluefin away and lean toward him, the meal turning sour in my stomach when he won't meet my eyes. My fists clench in the white linen, and he looks up in time to catch my beer before it topples.

"How much do you remember about your accident?"

"I—" It's dark behind my eyelids, but pain is a red tide under my skin. "What does that have to do with Gabe?"

Are you scared, little brother? Let's see this famous trick.

The same eyes I see in the mirror every day hold mine, and in a burst of cruel insight, I recognize the stark awareness buried in the blue depths before he speaks.

"Maybe nothing. But it's possible that Gabriel…adjusted the mat the day you fell. I can't be sure, since he was the only one with you in the studio, but he's always been jealous of you. And the circumstances are suspicious enough that…" He trails off as I shake my head, struggling to draw breath through the horror blooming bitter in my chest. "You never fall."

I never fall . Until I did.

"So you understand why Byrd won't want to meet him. And why we both think you should take care around him in the future."

"Wait. You're saying you told Byrd, five minutes after meeting him, that you think my own brother tried to destroy me? But you couldn't tell me sometime in the last, I don't know, nine months? Gabe was at the fucking hospital, for Christ's sake. And at the house over the holidays. If you had all these suspicions, why didn't you say something then? "

"Immediately after the accident, I wasn't thinking clearly about anything but you. And later…Maybe I thought you'd been through enough. Maybe I didn't want to believe one of my sons could be capable of such a thing."

"But you were fine letting me think it was my own fault? That I'd fucked up and this"—I slam my hand down on the table between us, palm up so the broken wings are visible—"was some kind of punishment?"

"I had no idea you blamed yourself." He reaches for my hand, but I snatch it back and bury my fist in my lap. "You wouldn't talk to us. You hid yourself in the studio and told us you were fine."

"I wasn't fine ."

"I realize that now. I'm sorry. I should have pushed harder to make you talk." He shrugs, the apology lacking his usual lawyerly aplomb. He looks sorry—older and more defeated than I've ever seen him—but I'm too upset to mourn the crumbling pedestal he's falling from. I guess neither of us is as perfect as we thought, Dad .

"You should have told me the truth. If Gabe hadn't called, if I hadn't wanted to see him, would you even have said anything today? Or would you have kept letting me think I had a brother?"

"I'm trying to protect you, Jericho. That's why I'm telling you all of this now. I will handle Gabriel, and in another month, you'll be at school where he can't touch you."

Where Byrd can't touch me either.

Is this what loneliness feels like ?

His phone vibrates again, and I lunge for it, but he slides it from my reach and brings it to his ear with a warning shake of his head .

"Gabriel. I'm with your brother. You and I will speak later." He disconnects before I can shout accusations across the table, probably knowing as well as I do that his cool dismissal will hurt Gabe far more than anything I could throw at him.

"Lying doesn't protect me, Dad. And Byrd would've told me tonight anyway."

"Perhaps."

" He doesn't keep secrets," I spit, going for blood. " He's a good man."

My dad studies me, but I don't look away.

"If I had said something last winter, would it have changed anything?"

"It would have pissed me off," I cry, startling the blue-haired ladies at the next table. "Angry is better than broken. Maybe it would have given me a reason to fight back."

But maybe if I wasn't broken, Byrd wouldn't have fallen for me .

I shove that thought away. "Take me back to the hotel."

"Finish your lunch. Please. You worked hard today, and you need the calories."

His concern only infuriates me further, and I push away from the table, wrapping my arms around my chest as I stand like I can hold the rage inside with muscle and grip.

"I need Byrd ," I tell him. "Take me back, or I'm calling a ride."

Fuck my pathetic brother and my too-late protective dad.

Byrd is the only family I want now.

The heavy door to our hotel room slams with a satisfying crash when I enter, and Byrd gives me a quick scan, searching for the crisis. He's already half-dressed in his tux for the evening, and all thoughts of Gabe's assholery fade to the background at the sight of Byrd's perfect ass in the tailored pants and his tan skin against the starched white of his dress shirt.

Home . I lean against the door with a low whistle.

"You clean up nice, Mr. Baardwijk."

Gold glints at his wrist as he fastens a cufflink with deft fingers, heat and amusement lighting his hazel eyes. This is so much better than arguing with my dad or reliving the tragedy of my fall.

I'm okay . I'm better than ever. Gabe didn't break me more than the man in front of me could fix. I lean against the door and take deep breaths, willing the tension from my muscles as I appreciate the view.

"How was your errand?" I ask.

"How was your lunch with Graham?" he counters with a hint of a smirk. Ooooh, mischievous Byrd. I push off the door and drift toward him.

"Eventful," I admit. His hands go still on the second cufflink, and his eyes turn serious as he watches me approach.

"Echo," he says, "I need to tell you something. "

Relief settles over my skin like one of those Mendocino mists, easing the hectic jitter of my dad's revelations and sapping the last of my lingering rage. No secrets. Not with us. I shake my head.

"You don't have to say anything. My dad already told me about Gabe."