Chapter -20- #2
The poco grande glass near Jamie is overflowing with cash tips. He rubs his bare chin. Denz is proud his best friend shaved for the event. However, the top three buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing warm tan skin and dark chest hair.
Jamie leans forward, whispering, “I’m just trying to remember what’s in a screwdriver.”
“Orange juice and vodka.”
“That’s it?”
Worst bartender ever . Denz shakes his head. “Why are you showing so much skin?”
Jamie grins smugly. “These collarbones are going to pay next month’s rent.”
Denz rests his elbows on the bar, immediately regretting his decision when he notices how sticky the surface is. He’ll have to get this Dolce & Gabbana jacket dry-cleaned before returning it to Auntie Eva.
“You look stressed,” Jamie notes. He fixes a Long Island iced tea that’s all alcohol and a drop of Coke for color.
“’M fine.”
“Liar.” Jamie passes off the glass to a waiter. “Want a drink?”
“Can’t,” Denz bemoans, even though he’s proud of himself for maintaining some restraint. “Working, remember?”
He needs to be prepared for anything. Clear head, strong heart, keep calm and all that other stuff.
“I’ll take that drink.”
Jordan sidles up with an empty highball and a wicked grin. His jacquard blazer is multicolor and shimmery, a bold choice with Eva in attendance.
Denz elbows his cousin. “Aren’t you working too?”
“Technically? Yes. Theoretically?” He winks. “I’m celebrating my uncle’s long, successful career.”
“Is that what you told Kami?”
Jordan makes a fart noise. “She’s too anxious to even look me in the eye.”
Something twists in Denz’s chest. When they were much younger, Kami got the starring role in her middle school’s spring play.
She rehearsed religiously. On the night of the performance, Denz remembers standing on his tiptoes to lock the girls’ restroom door so no one would walk in on Kami spewing her dinner all over the last stall.
He didn’t leave her side until Leena found them.
“Haven’t you had enough, sir?” Jamie says to Jordan, shaking up a new cocktail.
“Have I?”
“Can’t afford for you to be a mess during the big announcement.”
“Jamie Noah Peters,” Jordan says in a slow, teasing voice. Pink spreads across Jamie’s cheeks as Jordan licks his lips. “You’ve never seen me a mess.”
“What about that one summer when—”
“Don’t you dare, ” Jordan half warns, half giggles.
Jamie’s eyes lower as he pours Jordan’s drink. A shy smile creases his mouth. He adds an extra cherry, then lets his fingers purposefully brush Jordan’s as he hands over the glass.
What the fuck is happening?
Denz glares at his best friend. Then his cousin. He counts back the days and months. The strange conversations and casual mentions. Jamie going to a fucking basketball game .
All the jagged pieces fall into place.
Jamie’s the first to notice Denz’s you little shit expression. He knocks over a cup of ice. Stumbles into another bartender who swears while balancing two beers.
Jordan catches on next. “Thanks,” he stammers to Jamie. “Uh, for the… yeah. Bye!”
He exits as quickly as he arrived.
Denz points an accusing finger at Jamie, mouthing We’ll talk later, before legging it to catch Jordan. Too bad he walks right into Auntie Cheryl instead.
“Nephew,” she says, squeezing his forearm, “whose idea was it to include those lobster mac and cheese bites?”
“Mine, actually.”
Cheryl nods appreciatively. She looks every bit a Hollywood starlet in a strapless brocade gown. “Nice touch. You two went all out to impress your dad.”
“Enough for him to pick one of us and not some random outsider?”
“Denzel,” she says, a dark eyebrow rising, “are you prying for insider info?”
“Can’t hurt, right?”
After scooping a glass of red wine off a passing tray, she cocks her hip, sizing him up. “You really pulled it off. I’m shocked.”
Denz smiles civilly. Respect your elders .
“I wasn’t one hundred percent certain you could be serious about something. Step up when things got hard. But you know what?” She tips her glass toward him. “You proved me wrong.”
Denz gapes at her. “Say that again?”
“Well,” Cheryl amends, “your relationship proved me wrong. It changed you. You’re driven in a way I’ve never seen.”
Yes, well, creating a fake relationship and having to jump through flaming hoops to keep that lie alive will do that, he wants to say.
Fighting off a frown, he says, “I suppose so.”
“Despite what he’s done in the past,” Cheryl adds, slurping her wine, “that Bray’s made you better.”
And what was he before? Useless? Incapable and immature? The spare Carter?
His jaw tightens. “His name is—”
“To be quite honest, you’re wrong, Aunt Cheryl.”
The voice that comes from behind Denz is firm, but kind, coated in a warm British accent. A hand settles on the small of his back. The air around him is spiced in peeled oranges and cardamom.
Denz turns to confirm.
Braylon’s breathtaking. Short, tight curls. Cheeks and jaw as bare as the night when they first met. His midnight-blue tuxedo that coincidentally complements Denz’s rose-gold suit. A quiet smile tugs at his lips.
“Denz has always been serious about his goals. About the business. His family,” Braylon says to Cheryl, something steady, unreadable in his expression. “He’s perfect for the job.”
Denz blinks. He wants to ask why Braylon’s doing this. Why he’s here. But he swallows all the whys and lets Braylon finish.
“He didn’t need me or anyone else to make him better,” Braylon asserts. “He just needs people to stop doubting him.”
Cheryl’s mouth hangs open, fishlike. Denz has witnessed her go toe-to-toe with refs at Jordan’s pee-wee basketball games. He’s seen her make a pastor cry for cutting her choir solo short. But now, face-to-face with the triumphant glint in Braylon’s brown eyes, she’s speechless.
Denz wants to laugh until it hurts.
Braylon tugs on his hip. “Shall we?”
And Denz goes.
Suki and the band have slipped into a stripped-down “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” It’s a little too ironic for Denz. On the dance floor, Braylon takes the lead. Denz’s arms circle his neck. Their bodies move in a slow, swaying figure eight.
“Did you see her face ?” Denz says with a giggle. “I’ve never seen her like that.”
“I wasn’t too rude, was I?”
“Oh, fuck that. She’s probably deeply in love with you now.”
His phone chimes from his jacket pocket. The group chat, no doubt. He can only imagine what Cheryl’s latest message says.
Braylon’s lips quirk into a pleased grin.
In theory, this continues. The warmth in Denz’s cheeks. The crinkles around Braylon’s eyes. This one dance turns into a dozen more, at birthday parties, for anniversaries, every holiday and special occasion. Barefoot in Denz’s kitchen under the halo of artificial light.
In theory, they never have to talk about what was said last night.
In reality, it’s never that easy.
“I’m sorry about—” Denz pauses. “I didn’t mean—” Again, nothing feels good enough. His hand brushes over the silk of Braylon’s shawl collar. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Braylon says, “I didn’t show up to make either of us look good for your family.”
“Why then?”
“Because I hated how yesterday ended.”
“Oh?” Hope flickers like a firefly in Denz’s chest.
“I don’t want this to end like last time.” Braylon clears his throat. “Without me saying what I really wanted to say.”
Oh .
“Nora offered me the promotion. In two weeks, I’ll be in LA.”
It’s as if the rooftop’s disappeared. Denz is free-falling, fast . And the one person who’s been around for months to catch him is the one pushing him off the ledge.
“You were right,” Braylon says as they turn, “I didn’t give you an opportunity to decide about London. I let my dad influence me. It wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry.”
And there it is. The two words Denz wanted so bad when he first saw Braylon at the café. The two words he thought would heal the ugly wound in his heart.
They don’t. Not when he can sense a but coming.
“But if I’m being quite honest,” Braylon goes on, “I knew your decision long before I told you what my dad said. I knew you’d choose your family. Choose who you are here, instead of what we could be in London.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Not to you. But it looked that way.”
Denz doesn’t argue.
“You want to know why I kept your sweatshirt?”
Denz’s eyes squeeze shut. No . He wants to know why Braylon can’t— won’t stay.
“Sure,” he says, exhaling.
“I was moving to a strange, new place. No bloody fucking clue what I was doing and…” Braylon sighs. “The last time that happened was in Athens. Then I met you. I had you. I was safe.”
His fingers tighten on Denz’s hip. “I kept it as a reminder that I’d be okay. Amazing how one silly sweatshirt can do that, innit?”
Denz sniffles. “I guess so.”
A warm hand cups his cheek until Denz’s eyes flutter open.
“I’m terrified to let people in my life,” Braylon admits softly. “I always lose the ones I love. My mom. My dad.” He inhales. “You.”
Denz forces himself to look away.
“I’m a bloody mess,” Braylon acknowledges, another laugh in his voice. “But I don’t want to pretend to be someone good enough for your family. For you. I love who I am.”
“I do t—”
“I’m better than good enough, ” Braylon interrupts. “You are too.”
Tears bite at Denz’s eyes.
“I’m really not.”
Braylon leans down to press their foreheads together. “It kills me how wrong you are about yourself, Denzel Carter.” His minty breath dances over Denz’s face. “And you’re wrong about one more thing—this isn’t my home.”
Denz stares into Braylon’s sad brown eyes, unblinking.
“When I look at this city, all I see is my parents’ grave,” Braylon whispers. “The end of my first real relationship. Home isn’t a place that constantly rips your heart out. Where you can’t sleep at night. Where everything reminds you of how fucking terrible this world is.”
They glide around laughing couples, tipsy guests, everyone oblivious to how bad Denz aches.
“Home is where you want to be,” Braylon says.
“So, build a home here,” Denz requests. He doesn’t add the with me .
Braylon can do anything. Be with anyone. All Denz wants is for him to know he belongs.
“I’m still looking for my home,” Braylon confesses. “My place.”
The voice in Denz’s head is shouting for him to say something, anything . But he can’t. So, he’s quiet.
“As stubborn as you are—” Braylon strokes Denz’s jaw. “—I think you’re looking for your home too. Your place.”
“It’s here.”
“Of course it is.” Braylon doesn’t hide his disappointment.
Everything is threatening to spill out of Denz. His tears, hurt, remorse. He holds it together. He memorizes the fingers tracing his ear. The scent of oranges and cardamom.
This version of Braylon. The one he’s no longer annoyed by. The one he might just be in love with.
“Promise me you’ll never forget that Denzel Kevin Carter is pretty fucking amazing.” He kisses Denz’s temple. “I won’t.”
Then, Braylon breaks one final rule:
He leaves Denz behind before April sixth.
Hands shaking, Denz swallows the sour, smashed pieces of his heart. He stares out into the nothingness of an attachment he was never supposed to have.
“We’re pausing for an intermission,” Suki announces. “Please welcome the man of the hour, Kenneth Carter, to the stage.”
Thunderous applause kicks Denz into autopilot.
The speeches are next. Then, his dad’s announcement.
He beelines to his former spot under the staircase to prepare for the big moment.
Problem is, you can’t prepare to face the world after the person you love walks away.
There’s no cheat code. No five-step plan.
You can’t do anything .
Denz doesn’t realize he’s hyperventilating, a hand thrown over his mouth to stay quiet, until someone says, “Sweetheart?”
It’s Leena. She’s camera-ready, a regal goddess in her black dress paired with a string of pearls. Always the perfect Carter matriarch.
But the second she sees his face, she’s Mom.
“I just saw Braylon,” she whispers, edging closer. “He didn’t look… happy.”
Denz tries to slow his breaths. “He’s… he’s g—” Bile races up his throat. He gulps it down. “He’s gone.”
“Okay,” Leena says in that voice she used when Denz was overwhelmed in college. When he was a boy, knees scraped raw from falling off his bike, his dad nowhere around because of another event. “Breathe.”
“He’s gone .”
“Yes, I know. Sweetheart. Breathe.”
Denz does. With fire in his lungs. A storm in his stomach.
“Once more,” she requests. “Slow and easy.”
He follows his mom’s instructions. Feels the world coming into a gradual, vibrant focus.
“How’d you survive all of this?” Denz gesticulates behind her. To the party. At the empire his family helped Kenneth build. “How’d you make it work?”
His mom smiles empathetically, like she knows. Like she’s asked herself those same questions a million times in the mirror.
“I remember that, before all of this came along—” She gestures widely just like Denz did. “—I was LeeLee. Mom. Auntie Leena.”
Denz leans against the wall.
“Sweetheart, I stopped playing by their rules,” she adds. “I’m still Leena from Sandy Springs. The Spelman graduate who eats pickles straight from the jar. I’m me, take it or leave it.”
Denz would laugh if he could.
He knows what she’s not saying. That there are people who look at her—a successful Black woman—and try to minimize how great she is. Qualify it not by how hard she’s worked, but because of who she is. As if they gave her this. And they’ll try to strip it away if they can.
“I love your dad with my soul, ” she says, a spark in her eyes, “but I love myself too. I’m more than 24 Carter Gold. I’m more than a name or a face. Even when it’s hard.”
“It’s always hard these days,” Denz says, choked.
“We make tough decisions because it makes us better. Because life doesn’t always give us the easy answers.”
Denz inhales once more. He holds his mom’s gaze.
“If I would’ve known you and your sister were going to have panic attacks on the same night, I’d never have let your dad retire,” she jokes. “I’d keep him chained to that damn desk until Mikah graduates high school.”
“He wouldn’t mind.”
“For the longest time, I thought the same thing.” Leena grins. “But he’s changed.” When Denz raises a confused eyebrow, his mom doesn’t elaborate. She says, “I need a drink. I’m too old for this shit.”
And finally, Denz laughs.
Leena tugs his sleeve. “Ready to show everyone who Denzel Carter really is?”
He nods confidently. There’s nothing left for him to do.
This is his moment, not theirs.