Chapter -7-
notthatdenzel started following the.braylon.adams
the Carter Family Group Chat
Aunt Cheryl Carter
Denzel and the ex who left him for the UK are social media official now!
Kami Carter His name is Braylon.
Aunt Cheryl Carter His name is until we meet We can’t just let anyone in this family especially not someone who ruined my nephew!
Uncle Orlando Rivera Dramatic much, C?
Aunt Eva Carter-Rivera Speaking of the gram… Nicola what are you wearing in your latest post? You look like an extra on schitt’s creek
Nic Carter it’s called FASHUN, Auntie E! nobody calls it the gram
Jordan Carter Wait… denz and his ex? back together?
Aunt Cheryl Carter Yes! Now it’s your turn son! Time to find a nice GF with a financially stable family and a clean background. A girl you can marry!
Jordan Carter left the conversation.
In his rush to fix the Jamie problem and coordinate with Braylon, Denz let one key detail slip between the cracks: Jordan . The same Jordan who Denz introduced Jamie as his boyfriend to.
He hovers outside his cousin’s office like a wildlife observer documenting a rarely seen species in their natural habitat.
The space is an effortless mix of personal and professional.
A shelf of succulents. A fitted Los Angeles Lakers hat hung next to a canvas painting of Malibu Pier.
On the desk, soft strains of Frank Ocean play from the laptop.
Jordan’s hunched over his phone, reading intently. Denz recognizes the body language: the Carter grind.
It’s been rooted in each of them since they were little: Work hard. Never settle for average. Be the best version of yourself whether you think anyone’s paying attention or not, because when you’re a Black professional, they’re always watching.
Denz respects Jordan’s dedication. He’s not going to be Kami’s assistant forever. But he misses the Jordan from swimming races in the pool. The one who challenged him to hot dog–eating contests. Who spent every summer as a kid talking about all his goals.
When Jordan got into UCLA, Denz knew that was it. He wasn’t coming back. He was destined to become a beach yoga instructor or an investment banker. Someone fully removed from the public spotlight. But four years later, he was back in Atlanta, fulfilling his role in the Carter dynasty.
After a minute, Jordan’s eyes lift. “Figured you’d show up eventually.”
Denz plops into the chair in front of Jordan. “What’s new?”
“You tell me.” Jordan flips around his phone screen. “Or should I ask the group chat?”
“Please don’t.”
“Nice post on your IG, by the way,” Jordan says. “Have you read some of this shit?”
Denz has skimmed. There are over three hundred comments on the photo of him holding Braylon’s hand at Crema. He’s clocked the recurring theme: either it’s omg this is so cute! or who’s the top?
He grins sheepishly. “So, about the other day. When you saw me and—”
“Jamie, your boyfriend ?”
“Yeah… that.”
Denz sighs. He’s considered lying. It’s not like he’s going to stop doing that anytime soon.
But when he stares at Jordan, beyond the mustache and goatee, the faint lines in his forehead, Denz sees the boy who whispered in the dark about never knowing his real dad.
About how much he loves his stepdad, Uncle Tevin, but there’s a piece missing.
He can’t lie to Jordan.
“It’s fake.”
“What is?”
“Jamie and me,” Denz confesses. “Braylon and me. All of it.”
Jordan pauses his playlist. “Is this because of what my mom said? At the meeting?”
“Kinda.”
A vein in Denz’s left temple is threatening to burst. After a long breath, he finally explains everything. From how it started to the levels it’s reached. The more he talks, the lower Jordan’s jaw drops. It’s almost comical, how much more dramatic his reaction is compared to the one Jamie had.
“Shit,” Jordan hisses.
“Yup.”
“I get it. I’m not condoning lying,” Jordan asserts. Unlike his mom, Jordan’s never been into gossip. “But it’s rough being us. One of the Carters. Beyond the media bullshit and all the attention. It’s the family shit too.”
They both laugh.
“If it’d get my mom off my back,” Jordan says, “I’d fake a relationship too.”
Jordan’s even more low-key about his dating life than Denz. He never discusses it. The last girlfriend he mentioned was Yazzie, his high school sweetheart. No one since then. At least, no one Denz is aware of.
“Anyway,” Jordan says, smug, his cherry lips lifting, “I knew there was no way you and Jamie were fucking.”
“Excuse you. How? ” Denz was very convincing the other day. He can’t help Jamie has the acting range of Adam Driver.
“Zero chemistry.”
“We have chemistry!”
“The best friend kind. Strictly bro behavior.” Jordan’s eyes drop back to his phone. “It’d be weird if you two were really dating.”
“So weird,” Denz agrees.
Those summers as teens, when Jordan spent more time at Denz’s house than his own, were magical.
Every weekend, he would show up with a sleeping bag and an armful of video games.
Denz still can’t smell freshly cut grass and chlorine and boyish sweat, and not think about his cousin and best friend.
They were voted Most Likely to Start a Fire by his dad. An inseparable trio.
“I’m surprised you two didn’t kill each other,” Denz says, laughing. “You were always fighting over Mario Kart.”
“Because he cheated!” Jordan sniffs indignantly.
“A likely story.”
Jordan tugs at the collar of his black turtleneck. “Jamie’s still single?”
Denz shrugs. “You know him. New relationship every month.”
“Poor him,” Jordan says dryly.
“He’ll find the right one soon.”
Jordan doesn’t reply. Denz swears there’s something anxious in his thoughtful expression. A buzzing notification forces Denz to wiggle around, unearth his phone from his back pocket. Two new texts. From Braylon.
Why should you never break up with a goalie?
Because he’s a keeper.
The snort-giggle his body releases surprises Denz. He doesn’t know why. Braylon’s humor has always been terrible. Cheesy, actually. Like jarred, store-brand nacho cheese.
And it’s a million times better than any sext Denz has ever received.
He replies, this is appalling!
And then: we need to make a small change to our rules. my cousin Jordan knows.
There’s no better time than now to rip the Band-Aid off.
A bubble of a dancing ellipsis appears, then vanishes. A second turns into five. Denz can’t blame Braylon for being upset. It’s been less than twenty-four hours and he’s already fucked up.
Finally, a new message arrives.
Sorry. Whit needed my help with something.
Anyone else? I’d like to be prepared.
Relief tingles through Denz’s bloodstream. He doesn’t give himself a second to question why he’s comforted by Braylon’s response. He types out a quick answer.
NO ONE ELSE! I SWEAR! NO NEW FRIENDS!
Braylon sends, Family doesn’t count as friends.
Denz’s eyes widen. He starts to mentally compose a scathing, funny but venomous reply when more texts from Braylon land.
Apologies. I forgot to add
Was that too harsh? You’re probably making a face.
It’s impossible for Denz to contain the whale-like noise his throat emits. It’s horrendous and inexcusable and all Braylon’s fault.
He types, YOU ASSHOLE , then deletes. He tries, London should’ve kept you , but that’s too rude, even for him. He settles on, who are you???, then locks his screen.
Thirty seconds. Then, an answer.
Apparently your fake boyfriend, who’s very busy at work by the way.
He typed out “by the way.” Denz is speechless. He’s halfway through another reply when a throat clears so loudly, Denz startles out of the chair. From the floor, he spots Jordan leaning over his desk, smiling in a way that makes Denz’s eyebrows sweat. He squints back.
“For someone in a fake relationship, you look pretty happy,” Jordan comments. “You sure it’s not real, cuz?”
Denz pockets his phone before standing. “That’s slander. I’m leaving.”
“I can’t wait to read all the fan fiction about you two,” Jordan says sunnily.
Denz flips him the finger on the way out. Jordan’s wrong. It’s absurd . This situationship is far from real. Denz will never let anyone in his heart like that again.
Especially not Braylon Adams.
Denz is barely settled back at his own desk when Eric knocks on his doorframe. His dark hair is unstyled. Eric isn’t wearing his glasses, and Denz can see the heavy shadows under his eyes. A mustard stain stands out against his pink button-up. His usually perfect posture is slouchy.
Kenneth has remained tight-lipped about why Eric dropped out of the CEO race. Even Auntie Cheryl isn’t sharing intel. If she has any.
Denz has considered asking, but—
He’s never had lunch with Eric. While Denz has been out for drinks with Connor and Kim and their respective partners, he hasn’t been with Julie, Eric’s wife. Questioning why someone dropped out of a life-changing career opportunity feels personal on a level they’re not.
Eric says, “Hey, boss.”
“Don’t call me that,” Denz pleads.
“You don’t want to manifest it?”
“No. Yes. I mean, I hate that name for someone in charge.”
“Fair enough,” Eric says. “I called the Rigel to set up a tour. Wanted to get an on-the-ground game plan for the mayor’s gala.”
Like the star it’s named after, the Rigel is a monstrous but still intimate event space north of the city.
It’s hosted parties for the cast of Queer Eye, rising Hollywood stars, awards shows.
Just last month, they accommodated a high-profile wedding TFW couldn’t stop raving about, including a paragraph about another Atlanta event-planning company handling the ceremony seamlessly.
Allegedly, Denz hate-read the article over muffins.
The Rigel is the perfect place to take 24 Carter Gold into its next phase.
He opens the calendar app on his phone. “How soon can we get in?”
“Never.”
Denz tilts his head. “What?”
“The venue manager said the space was never confirmed.” Eric pushes a curl off his forehead. “They never received a signed contract from you.”