Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

KENNETH

I haven’t seen Cody Barratt since his high school graduation, which I only attended because Mike would have killed me otherwise. After all, I had missed enough of his only child’s milestone moments, which sort of proved my point on why I politely redirected Mike’s attempts to name me as the kid’s godfather when he’d been born. We were teenagers at the time (Mike’s prom night had ended more happily than mine), and I knew back then that I wasn’t mature enough for that level of responsibility or commitment.

So, it is a bit of a shock to see my best friend’s adult son peeking over the top of the bathroom stall, and I wince at the clattering and banging when he slips out of sight as I watch the plywood frame of his hidey-hole shake.

For a brief moment, I curse myself for not having his number in my phone. It never struck me as something I should have, seeing as we’ve never been close. He’s Mike’s son, not someone I could see myself having a reason to contact out of the blue. But why would he text me for help?

That’s not what’s important right now.

“Cody?” I call out in question, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I’m not hurt,” he replies after a beat, and I suddenly remember the actual reason I’m here at all.

Rounding on the mountainous younger man I’d found trying to break his way into Cody’s stall, I glare at him. “What the fuck did you do to him?”

The guy makes a show of wrapping one of his giant paws around the other, which he’s shaped into a fist, and cracks his knuckles. “Fuck off and leave us alone, Gramps. This hasn’t got anything to do with you.”

“Just go, Scott!” Cody yells from behind the toilet door. “B-before I call the cops.”

Scott scoffs and rolls his eyes. “For what?”

“F-for sexual a-assault,” Cody stammers, sounding closer to the door, and I see red.

“For what?!”

The beefcake just snorts. “I didn’t fucking?—”

“You pushed me in here demanding a blow job!” The door suddenly swings open, and I get my first proper look at my best friend’s son, dressed in skin-tight jeans and a mesh top that leaves very little to the imagination. His eyes are red and puffy, and he reeks of alcohol, but his words aren’t anywhere near as slurred as his text messages seemed to be.

I suppose what he’s gone through —is still going through— has been a sobering experience.

Stepping in between him and his would-be attacker, I growl as the bigger man protests, “You were all about grinding up on me and leading me on. How the fuck was I supposed to know you were just being a tease?”

“I wasn’t—” Cody’s breath hitches. “I…I did want…but then I changed my mind. I’m allowed to change my mind.”

“Fucking prude,” Scott accuses.

“Enough!” I bellow. I jab a finger at Scott’s huge chest. “No means no.” I turn my head slightly, keeping one eye on the man while I ask Cody, “Do you want to press charges?”

“No,” he says after a moment of consideration. “No. He didn’t actually do anything. I just want to go home.” His voice breaks a little on the end of his confession, and that’s enough for me.

Even though I’m concerned the big dude is a potential menace to society, I’m more concerned about the upset young man at my back. His welfare is more important right now. And if nothing physical actually happened between them, I doubt the guy would get more than a slap on the wrist anyway at this point.

“Leave,” I demand of the big guy. “Now.”

He hesitates for a brief second before throwing his hands up in the air and yelling, “Fine! Little slut isn’t worth it.” He shoves past me angrily and then wrestles with the main bathroom door, which I locked when I slipped in, wanting to avoid an additional audience. There’s a chorus of relieved groans and loud complaints as he yanks the door open, but I don’t feel at all guilty for having locked the club’s patrons out.

Did nobody care that some brute was trying to beat down a stall door to get to his upset date?

It is The Fruitbowl, so…probably not.

“Come on.” I slip my jacket from my shoulders and wrap it around Cody’s, watching it swallow his diminutive frame with a pang of something undefinable, but ultimately inappropriate to feel around my best friend’s kid. “Let’s get you home.”

Cody falls asleep in my passenger seat within five minutes of navigating the city streets. I’m loath to wake him up to ask for his address, so I redirect to my place and he’s still asleep when I shut down the engine after parking in my designated spot underneath my building.

He stirs but stays dead to the world even when I try to wake him up.

With a sigh, I manage to get him out of the car and lift him into my arms with relative ease. He’s petite, but he’s still a grown man and, even with my rigorous gym routine, I won’t be able to carry him bridal-style for too long.

My arms are tired by the time we reach my penthouse apartment, and I’m glad that the elevator opens directly into my living room. It’s only accessible with a combination of key and security code, unless I override it from inside my apartment for guests to come up from the lobby. Not that that happens very often.

I carry Cody through to the guest room and place him carefully down on the bed, then wonder whether I should undress him and toss his clothes into the washing machine.

In the end, I decide not to do that. It seems like a breach of his personal bubble, and he’s experienced enough of that tonight. I take off his shoes, but that’s as far as I go.

My cat, Basil, slinks into the room just as I’m turning to leave. The gray and white asshole zips out of my reach when I try to nab him.

“Basil,” I hiss at him, pointing in the direction of the hallway, “out. Now.”

He flicks his tail back and forth defiantly, then sits and licks his paw, maintaining eye contact with me the entire time.

He’s the devil.

Why I ever thought getting a cat would help ease my loneliness, I’ll never know.

“If you wake him up…” I threaten him, and I swear he shrugs before he closes his eyes and uses his licked paw to clean behind his ear.

“Fine,” I huff. “But I mean it, cat. Leave the boy alone.”

I turn my back and head to my own bedroom, my thoughts preoccupied with the boy —no, young man— in question.

Why did he text me, of all people, for help? And why was he so surprised to see me when I arrived?

I’m not going to get an answer tonight, but sleep is still a long time coming.