Chapter Thirteen
Brogan
By the time Brogan wrapped up his last class, the afternoon sun had begun its slow descent.
The lingering warmth from their late-night swim still clung to his thoughts, distracting him through his morning commute and the first few lessons.
The unexpected intimacy surprised him; he hadn’t expected how naturally they’d glide together, their skin brushing against each other in the pool.
He wanted more, but he wasn’t about to push.
He figured Archie would send a strong signal when he would be ready for more.
Brogan carefully packed his briefcase, the weight of the students’ papers and tests a familiar feeling.
His phone buzzed. Andrew.
Andrew: Meet me at Pints ’n Pool. Quick drink.
Brogan: On my way.
Brogan smirked, shaking his head. Andrew was never one for small talk over text. He grabbed his briefcase and headed out. A few students stopped him on his way to the parking lot and asked if he was going to chaperone Friday’s dance.
“I’ll be there,” Brogan said.
“Hey, Mr. Finnegan! Are you going to bring your girlfriend?” one girl asked.
“No.”
“I’m available,” one blond girl said.
“Me too,” her friend added.
“I’m too old for you girls.” He laughed, the sound echoing in the warm afternoon air on his way to his van until the principal, Ron Jackson, cleared his throat loudly, the sound sharp and cutting from beside his car and Brogan’s van.
He thought back to the time Ron called him into the office to discuss his popularity among the female students.
He remembered the question hanging in the air, a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest: what if they thought he was charming?
He was certain his thick Irish brogue, rolling off his tongue with a lilting rhythm, had captivated them.
The principal told him to work on speaking like a Californian instead of a foreigner.
At that point, Brogan wondered why Ron had approved of hiring him in the first place, if he considered him a distasteful foreigner.
Since Ron had personally interviewed and hired Brogan speaking with an Irish accent, he didn’t intend on changing the way he spoke and told him so.
Brogan stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him, and they hadn’t spoken a word since their contentious meeting.
All further communication between them had been through school email.
“Why don’t you wait thirty minutes before you leave class so you can avoid them coming on to you?” Ron sounded more like an order than a suggestion.
“Have a nice evening, Ron.” He got into his van without giving Ron another chance to. He slowly backed out of the parking area and headed to Main Street to meet Andrew at the local bar. During the day, he lingered on thoughts about the date he planned with Archie.
A horrible thought passed through his mind.
What if Andrew talked Archie into moving out?
Joe might have suggested Archie move out; his words laced with subtle negativity and veiled accusations.
The way things went last night, he couldn’t imagine Archie turning against him.
He wanted to kiss him before he left for work, but the closed bedroom door and the quiet of the house made him lose his nerve.
He had no right to barge into his room while he was asleep.
But he still missed having contact with him.
When he reached the Pints ’n Pool, he moved his briefcase to the back before he got out.
The bar was comfortably dim, the kind of place where conversations stayed private no matter how crowded it got.
Andrew was already nursing a beer when Brogan slid onto the stool beside him.
The bartender placed a frosty mug of his usual, perfectly poured on tap beer in front of him, the head forming a creamy crown.
“Thanks, Nate.”
Andrew eyed him before speaking. “So, tell me about Archie.”
Brogan exhaled, resting his elbows on the counter. “What about him?”
“Joe told me about your ex. Said the guy kicked Archie out day one.” Andrew’s tone was edged with concern.
Brogan nodded slowly. “Yeah. It wasn’t a great start. But we sorted it.”
Andrew studied him, clearly unconvinced. “Archie doesn’t just ‘get pissed’—not like that. He’s sensitive after his father abandoned him. He needs security and safety. Not this bullshit.”
Brogan felt a small flicker of something settled in his chest—something warm, something hopeful. “I know,” he admitted, picking at the label on his bottle. “And I care about him more than you know. We’ll work it out.”
Andrew leaned back, letting Brogan’s words sit between them.
Then he gave a curt nod, like he was letting the conversation drop for now.
“Alright,” he said, taking a swig of his beer.
“Archie had a hard time when he got home. His father moved to New York without any notice. That’s no way to begin your life.
I’m worried about him. On an emotional level. ”
Brogan chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m aware of some of it and I won’t hurt him.”
“You talk like you’re seeing him on a different level other than he’s just renting a room.”
“We’re going on our first date tonight. I like Archie a lot. He’s special to me and we just met.”
“Things like that just happen when you least expect it. I’ll trust my cousin is in excellent hands with you, then?”
“Of course he is.”
While they were talking, Rafael had entered, then stood on the other side of Andrew.
“Why are you having a drink with Brogan?” Rafael asked, unknown whether he was being sarcastic or meant it
“Are you following me?” Andrew asked.
“I ran into Merle.” Rafael winked. Everyone knew Merle, another old busybody, who spent most of his days parked on a stool at Pints ’n Pool.
“Nice talking to you, Andrew,” Brogan stood and paid for his drink.
He didn’t say a word to jealous Rafael. He had no use for him.
It didn’t take Merle long to find Rafael to spread some unnecessary gossip about him and Andrew having a drink.
He left in a hurry, then drove the speed limit to give Rafael no cause to follow him and issue a ticket.
He wanted to forget him and take Archie into his arms. Seeing Archie’s motorcycle parked on the side of the house brought a smile across his face.
Brogan stepped into the house, the weight of the day lifting as he saw Archie; the sight of him instantly improved his mood.
Archie stood near the window, adjusting the cuff of his gorgeous blue shirt. The tie sat loosely around his collar, the kind of effortless perfection that made Brogan’s chest tighten.
Archie looked up, catching Brogan watching him. A slow, knowing smirk tugged at his lips. “You going to stand there all night, or are we actually going out?”
Brogan swallowed, clearing his throat as he stepped forward. “You’re—” His fingers brushed Archie’s lapel, smoothing the fabric like it needed adjusting when it absolutely didn’t. “Yeah. You look hot dressed up.”
Archie let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Really?”
Brogan leaned in, voice dropping lower. “It’s true.”
“I’m ready anytime. Oh, I took Pasha out for a walk. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. Thanks.”
“And Molly sacked out on my bed.”
“Awe. I’m going to change, then we can leave.” Brogan couldn’t believe Archie had agreed to go on a date, but he wondered if it meant the same.