Chapter -19-
Denz hates J?germeister.
It tastes like black licorice and death.
The smell alone makes him want to projectile-vomit.
It’s also led to him doing irrationally stupid things in the past. Things like eating two dozen hot wings in under fifteen minutes, making out with a crosswalk sign, streaking through the Arch on UGA’s North Campus.
Thankfully, none of it was caught on video and sold to TMZ.
He hasn’t touched the stuff since college, which is precisely why he’s pouring two shots for himself while Jamie sits on the floor, slurping from one of Mikah’s juice pouches.
It’s nights like this where he wishes Jamie enjoyed drinking.
That way he wouldn’t be the only one looking for answers at the bottom of a dusty green bottle.
Does alcohol expire?
In front of Denz are two pub glasses—“borrowed” from one of Jamie’s bars—half full of Red Bull. The classic J?gerbomb. Jamie eyes him suspiciously as he drops the first shot glass into the energy drink before downing it all.
“We had sex again.”
“Me and you?” Jamie raises an eyebrow. “When was the first time?”
Denz belches. “Me and Braylon! The other night!” The alcohol hasn’t kicked in, but the Red Bull certainly has.
“ Obviously . Hard to miss Braylon sneaking out of our apartment in one of your shirts after midnight.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I like watching you squirm.” Jamie reaches for a chicken burrito on the coffee table. When Denz texted him, EMERGENCY TALK , he stopped for supplies. “Besides, you’re much nicer when you’ve got that I-just-got-dick face.”
Denz groans into his hands. He’s spent days trying to add up what’s changed.
Walked into numerous trash cans and doors while rereading Braylon’s texts, analyzing their moments together.
The night at Braylon’s apartment. The hotel.
Even what happened here, which he’s admittedly jerked off to—just to clear his head.
Shredded cheese falls off Jamie’s burrito. He scoops it into his mouth, then says, “Is that your big problem? Sex with your boyfriend?”
“ Fake boyfriend.”
“How’s lying to yourself working out?”
Denz flips him off. “Doesn’t matter. He’s moving to California.”
“He is? When?”
“I don’t know. A few weeks? After the spring break event.”
Jamie stands abruptly, pacing the living room, burrito in one hand. Beans fall on the carpet. He drags his other hand through his hair. “So, you’re moving to California?”
“What? No. Braylon is.”
“Yeah, but.” Jamie’s forehead wrinkles. “You’re obviously going with him.”
Denz tilts his head. “Why would I go with him?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because he didn’t ask me to.” Denz stares at the dark brown liquor in the shot glass. He wills back the tears misting his eyes. “He’s not making that mistake again.”
“That wasn’t his ch—”
“It was his choice,” Denz argues. “Don’t defend him. You’re my best friend.”
Jamie holds up his hands, burrito and all, in the universal sign of calm the hell down . “I’m not defending him. Just pointing out things weren’t so black-and-white.”
“Fuck, I know. I was there.”
He plunks the shot glass into the Red Bull, chugging with minimal spillage. He wipes his mouth and says, “I wanted time, Jamie. I didn’t know what to do and he—” The alcohol burns in his chest. “He didn’t give me enough.”
Jamie flops dramatically onto the sofa. He squeezes his hand hard as Denz relives everything in vivid brightness.
Braylon told him six weeks before graduation. The job in London. Leaving after graduation. His whispered, “Will you come with me?” in the crook of Denz’s neck, like he was too shy to ask.
Like he already knew how big of a request it was.
Then, Denz’s brain unwound. The threads unraveled all the way back to OMC, his conversation with Emmanuel. Could he leave his family? His home? The future he was supposed to step into the second his graduation cap was tossed in the air?
His “Can I think about it?” was followed by weeks of Braylon hinting about London and Denz avoiding the topic. He had finals and essays. An entire family expecting him to come out of UGA with a diploma and a plan.
Was he good at anything besides being a Carter? Could he move to another city, another country with no fucking clue about how to survive? What if, six months down the road, the world discovered he wasn’t as great as everyone else in his family?
Four years of college and Denz still knew nothing about himself. But there was Braylon, who never made him feel like Denzel Carter, like his destiny was set in stone. Who made him feel… normal .
Could Denz leave everything behind for that?
Ten days before graduation, Braylon said, “I talked to my dad.”
And: “He said I shouldn’t stall my future waiting for someone to figure out theirs. I need to move on.”
And: “I made a decision. I’m going to London. Without you.”
And finally: “I love you so much, but I need to do what’s best for me. For you too.”
“I went into UGA so sure,” he tells Jamie, now.
“I knew my major. My goals. That’s what you do, right?
Spend every day dreaming about who you’re gonna be.
Then, you get to college and you just… do it .
You become that person.” He sniffles. “But I didn’t think I’d fall in love.
That everything would change, and I’d have no idea how to manage what’s next. ”
“But that’s the fun part,” Jamie assures him.
“I didn’t want to disappoint anyone,” Denz whispers. “Disappoint… him.”
“Denz, you haven’t.”
“Because he let me go before I could.” A bitter laugh wobbles in Denz’s throat. “Because I went right into working for my dad like a good son does.”
Jamie smacks his knee. “Stop talking about my best friend like that.”
Denz wipes his cheeks. Shit, when did he start crying?
“Braylon’s still here,” Jamie reminds him. “What if he wants you to come to California?”
“He doesn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he would’ve mentioned it!”
“Bro, he fucked up royally in the past,” Jamie says. “He made a big mistake. Big! Huge!”
Denz almost guffaws at the Pretty Woman reference, but his tears prevent him.
“Maybe he’s scared?” Jamie suggests. “Just like you’re scared to admit you’re still in love with him.”
“I’m… not.”
“Don’t lie, asshole.”
Jamie knows him better than anyone. He knows Denz loves to shove things into a dark corner, hide all his insecurities and failures.
Sometimes, pretending the worst things in your life never happened is how you survive. But sometimes, you have to shatter in order to figure out how to piece yourself back together. So you can heal.
Jamie’s phone pings on the coffee table. He releases Denz’s hand but doesn’t reach to check his notifications. “You’re gonna let him go? Even though you’re in lo—”
“Stop using that word!”
“After all this, you’re not even gonna try ?”
“What’s the point? I’m still going after the CEO job,” Denz says firmly. He stares at the J?germeister, considers pouring another shot. “I have a chance to prove to everyone who I am.”
“Making things work with a great guy is proving something too.”
“Yeah? What?”
“That you care about yourself. That you’re doing something for you .”
Fuck, Denz really hates that sympathetic tilt to Jamie’s lips. The honesty in his voice. “How dare you.” He laughs roughly at the wild parkour move Jamie does dodging the pillow he chucks at him.
“I’m just saying,” Jamie says from the floor. “Why can’t it be both?”
In all those dreams from Denz’s childhood, the ones from college, he never considered having both. Being as amazing as his dad and managing a relationship with the man he loves.
Should he ask Braylon to try?
No. That’s not fair. After seeing the light in Braylon’s eyes while talking about Skye’s the Limit, what this means to him, Denz can’t propose him staying. He can’t let Braylon rip his heart out again when he inevitably chooses California over Denz.
He knows what he needs to do: throw the best party Atlanta’s ever seen. Impress his dad. Continue the family legacy. Dedicate the rest of his energy to making Braylon’s event a success. Then let him walk away without a word.
The next morning, Denz wishes it was the sun waking him.
Or Jamie blending one of his breakfast smoothies.
Maybe his alarm, the one he forgot to set after that final J?ger shot last night.
Perhaps a warm, sleepy man with scruff on his cheeks and jaw, strong hands, a tolerable British accent next to him in bed.
It’s none of the above.
He’s startled awake by his phone chirping noisily. It’s like a jackhammer drilling through his skull. His mouth tastes like licorice and remorse. He either needs to pee or vomit in the next five minutes. Quite possibly both.
He peeks one eye open to check his phone. There are three missed calls. It’s 10:12 A.M .
Fucking shit .
He’s late. Dead-on-arrival late. As in, they’ll never find the body because Kami will set his corpse on fire, bury his ashes, and salt the earth for good measure.
His phone rings again. Nervously, he answers.
“Denzel,” his dad says. His voice is somewhat distant like he’s on speakerphone. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”
Denz clears the sleepiness from his throat. “H-hi, Dad. I was… at the gym?”
“At ten in the morning on a workday?”
Denz nods, then remembers Kenneth can’t see him. “Wanted to make sure I looked, y’know, fit . In my suit tomorrow.” He laughs weakly. “Can’t have the press dragging me for looking a hot mess on my big—I mean your big night.”
Kenneth lets out a deep exhale. Underneath that, Denz can hear the city’s noise in the background.
“Is something wrong?”
“We have a major issue at Vista de Atlas,” Kenneth says, frustrated.