Chapter 24
Berlin
Hayes
Even through the tinted airport windows I can see that we’ve traded the sun-burnt medieval stone of Barcelona for the grey industrial steel of Berlin.
Brady and I have been strictly business since that incredible night with his naked body pressed against mine.
I know I’ve been weird but the connection between my emotions and my words is like a clogged artery.
I need time to organize my feelings, analyze what they mean, make decisions about next steps that won’t slap me in the face the way they have before.
Feelings can be dangerous if you don’t handle them correctly.
After an entire travel day with my anatomy book cracked open in front of me, pretending I was reviewing the appendicular skeleton, I decided the only way forward is with the truth.
But I need the right place and time to talk to Brady.
He deserves to know that people he is trying most to impress are the ones pulling the strings.
But what I know about his parents and how I feel about him are completely tangled up and I can’t find a way to undo the knot.
We exit the airport and the toxic odor of jet fuel and exhaust fills my lungs.
Brady coughs. “You okay?” I ask, my hand immediately reaching for his back.
He nods and sits on a bench before I can make contact.
We have some time to kill waiting for the car.
Maybe now would be a good time to talk to him. I swallow hard and turn to him.
“Brady, I wanted to…” I start but a high-pitched horn that sounds like a cartoon interrupts me.
Beep-BEEP-BEEP-beep. I turn and see a candy apple red Volkswagen Beetle convertible approaching.
I’m guessing it’s a 1977 because I can hear the engine sputtering and I know it can’t have more than 49 horsepower.
It’s an amazing car that I’ve never actually seen in person, but when I identify the driver, I wish I hadn’t seen it at all.
“What the hell is he doing here?” I ask Brady as the car honks its way past other vehicles, oblivious to the disruption it’s causing.
“I’m not sure,” Brady says, but his face doesn’t register the level of shock I’m expecting.
I knew he was in Berlin, but I was hoping they would have a quick coffee in the afternoon or even a drink at the hotel bar where I could be close by.
I don’t trust this guy. “He lives in Berlin. Maybe this is a coincidence.”
“Halo! Halo!” Otto shouts from the driver’s seat, pounding the car horn. Beep-BEEP-BEEP-beep. He waves at us, holding his utterly ridiculous purple tinted glasses with dark black frames in his hand.
“It’s not a coincidence,” I say.
After cutting off a taxi and almost nailing an elderly couple in the crosswalk Otto pulls up to the curb where we’re standing. His once black hair is now white-blond.
“Hello,” Brady says, and Otto kisses him on both cheeks. Otto and I do not acknowledge each other.
“Otto, I said I would be in touch when I landed.” Brady seems as confused as to why he is here as I am, but without the anger. “What are you doing here?”
“I went to drop off something for you at the hotel. To welcome you to Berlin. And it turns out I know the concierge, Sonia. I was in a polycule last year with her cousin. I told her you and I went to college together and, well, we started talking and I said it would be no problem to pick you up and welcome you. Hop in.” He stretches his arm to unlock the door but makes no attempt to get out of the car and actually open it. He’s such an ass.
“Danke, Otto, but is there room for both of us?”
There’s barely room for two, let alone three grown men. “Oh right. I forgot he would be here.” He wrinkles his nose in my direction.
“Hello, Otto.” I spit the words out like little darts.
“Hello, Hey-yas.” He rolls his eyes. I hate the way he says my name. I know he can pronounce it and he chooses not to.
“Otto, I told you Hayes and I are together. I mean I told you we are traveling together.” So, he told Otto about me?
What exactly did he tell him? To be honest, I’m not sure where things stand.
Are we fake dating for the camera? Real hooking up?
Are we friends with benefits? Are we even friends at this point?
I was planning to tell him what I know and figure it out but with the arrival of the German asshat, I’m suddenly leaning toward a specialization in cardiology.
Dealing with the heart from an anatomical perspective is so much easier.
“I must have forgotten.” Otto shrugs and puts on his sunglasses.
“Brady, you are a short king, you can sit next to me and I will make sure you don’t fall out.
Hey-yas, put the luggage in the back seat and in the little trunk.
Then Hey-yas, you sit next to the door.” Otto pats the seat for Brady to join him and Brady jumps in while I squeeze most of the luggage into the back seat and stuff my backpack and the rest of it into the ridiculously small storage space at the back of the car.
I’m watching over the open trunk as Brady inches closer to Otto.
What does Otto think he is doing? Otto pushes back the curls that fall over Brady’s ear and whispers something to him.
I slam the trunk down so hard the entire car shakes.
“Achtung! This car is fragile and sensitive,” Otto admonishes, and then with a quick change in tone, turns and says, “Just like Brady.” This guy is human slime.
What the serious fuck is going on and why isn’t Brady jumping out of the seat?
Did what happened in Barcelona mean nothing to him?
I know I’ve been distant but I was trying to figure out what to do with what I know.
But now Brady is the one acting weird. He has to know that it fucking kills me to see this dickwad flirting so aggressively, but Brady is eating it up.
I get in the car and squeeze next to him.
I want to put my arm around Brady’s waist but Otto already has that space occupied and Brady doesn’t seem to mind.
I can feel my throat tighten and a vein in my neck pulse.
“Be careful with that door,” Otto scolds.
“The handle is kaput I am afraid. We don’t want you flying out of the car, I guess.
” I’m sure Otto would like nothing more than to arrive in Berlin alone with Brady after dumping my body on the autobahn.
For a second I think Brady is trying to wriggle out from Otto’s arm.
I swear if Otto is coming on to Brady without Brady wanting the attention I will punch him in the face.
But I take a deep breath and try to release myself from the toxic masculinity I learned growing up where I did.
Brady hates it when I get “foolishly macho,” as he once said when I punched a wall.
Brady can take care of himself. He doesn’t need me to protect him from anything, and that realization is even more painful than realizing fun-loving, zany Otto might be a better fit for Brady than I ever could be.
Otto has no problem showing Brady exactly what he wants.
He lives in the moment the way Brady does.
They are both so confident and sure of whatever feeling they’re having.
I grab the door; I have to keep one hand on it to keep it shut.
We fly down the highway toward the city center with wind so intense it makes it impossible to hear anything Otto is saying, and that’s fine by me.
It’s going to take all my strength and concentration to make sure the door of the car stays shut.
Otto revs the car’s engine unnecessarily and I pull the brake on my decision to tell Brady what I heard in Barcelona and how I might be feeling. It’s too complicated. I thought I was changing in a way that I could handle all this but I should stick to anatomy books and test tubes.
Brady deserves someone who can match his ability to connect and feel.
Every feeling I have has to go through some bizarre ten-point inspection plan my mind has created before I even think of letting it out.
My logical brain tells me that if our night in Barcelona meant anything to Brady, he wouldn’t be in this situation with Otto right now.
If Brady wants us to go back to where we were at the beginning of the summer, then fine.
But a small voice tells me I’m intimidated by Otto’s bravado and not examining the evidence objectively.
Maybe Otto is a better match for Brady. Or maybe I’m just a coward afraid to tell Brady the truth about everything.