Chapter -22- #2
“Stop being so stuck on the past,” Kami growls, looking ready to toss the whole bowl of candy at him. “What happened in college. What the aunties said. How weddings changed the company—”
“They did!”
“Exactly. Did, ” Kami emphasizes. “People change. Things change. That’s not bad. It’s different, but not bad.”
Denz sniffs. “What does this have to do with me and Braylon?”
“This isn’t UGA or London. Tell him how you feel this time.”
“It’s too late.”
“Denzel Kevin Carter,” Kami says in that firm mom-tone he heard growing up, the one he still hears when Mikah’s done something wrong, “it’s only too late if you keep going about this the old Denz way. By running. Or lying. Or not doing a damn thing about it.”
“Maybe I don’t know what to do.”
He’s built walls for a reason. Kept anyone who wasn’t family or Jamie at a distance. He refuses to repeat history. But here he is, discovering how bottomless that hole in his heart is because he let Braylon crawl back into it.
“Tell him the truth,” Kami suggests.
Denz closes his eyes, swearing under his breath. So much of his life has been stacking lie after lie, one on top of another. He’s perfected a likable persona for the public. Walked toward the future while dragging his past with him. But he doesn’t want to continue like that.
He can’t .
“Where do I start?”
“Jesus.” Kami snatches her phone off the desk. Her thumbs blur across the screen. “You’re the goddamn king of rom-coms. You live for that shit. How do you not know how to tell the love of your life what’s in your heart?”
Denz scowls. “Sorry, I’m not Jane Austen or Garry fucking Marshall.”
“Or Nora Ephron,” she huffs.
Okay, Denz didn’t come here to be ridiculed for his inability to Will Thacker his own life. He came to apologize. Mission accomplished.
“Sit!” Kami demands when he goes to stand. He flops back down. “I ordered you something. It’ll be at your apartment in four hours. Jamie’s meeting you after work. Once I feed Mikah, I’ll FaceTime you two.” She types. “Groceries will be at your place around six-ish.”
“Groceries?”
When she looks at him, Kami’s excited grin is on levels Auntie Cheryl could never reach. “Denz, you’re a fucking Carter. We don’t do anything small.”
Leaving this entire operation in the hands of a Pinterest mood board fanatic was a massive mistake.
First, it’s seventy degrees outside and he’s in full cosplay.
Second, it’s not even the right character. When Kami explained the plan to him, Denz figured he’d be dressed as Captain America. Maybe the Winter Soldier. Instead, he’s trapped in an Iron Man suit made of ethylene-vinyl acetate, from eBay. He can barely see out the helmet.
Third, he’s in public, at a downtown park overflowing with screaming children, loud music, and way too many witnesses for what he’s about to do.
“Are you sure—” Denz sighs, yanking the helmet’s faceplate up. “—this is necessary?”
“Absolutely.” Jamie grins euphorically. “This is your Will Thacker moment. It’s gonna be bigger than Heath Ledger singing ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You.
’ Better than the boom box scene in Say Anything .
Sweeter than Henry Golding—fuck, he’s hot—proposing on the airplane while helping everyone with their luggage. ”
Denz stares down at himself. “None of them were cosplaying as a superhero.”
“None of them have what you and Braylon do.”
“Which is nothing last time I checked.”
Jamie turns to look out at the park. With a lot of effort—as nice as the suit looks, it’s impossible to move in—Denz does the same.
Pavilions and benches dot the green, flat land.
Skye’s the Limit’s staging area is a white tent with food and drinks.
Nearby, barbeque pits exhale trails of smoke.
A van parked on the grass pumps out Muna’s “I Know a Place,” and a drag queen Denz called a favor in to lip-syncs for her life to the crowd of families and teens and adults.
It’s a strong turnout.
Denz spots the mayor and her team, the only group in Ray-Ban aviators under giant umbrellas, but no Braylon. What if he didn’t come? He already has the promotion. What’s left?
Jamie, sensing his hesitation, says, “Remember what I told you—you can have both.”
Fear catches in Denz’s throat. “What if he doesn’t feel the same?”
“Bro, life is full of what-ifs,” Jamie tells him. “What if it rains? What if the burgers are undercooked and everyone gets food poisoning? What if you fall on your face and—”
“Not. Helping.”
“We can’t live in fear of worst-case scenarios,” Jamie says with a sincere smile. “So what if he doesn’t feel the same? You’ll live. But never doing anything, living with the regrets—that’s the shit that kills us.”
Denz tilts his head. (Well, as best as he can.) He surveys Jamie and wonders when the hell he became the love expert in their friendship?
Maybe he always was? Maybe all those relationships where Jamie fell fast and hurt hard gave him a wealth of wisdom neither one of them could ever find in the movies they’ve watched.
Maybe sometimes you just have to jump headfirst into the water to know whether you’ll drown or swim.
“Here.” Jamie shoves an aluminum foil–wrapped sandwich into Denz’s gloved hands. “Don’t forget this.”
How could he? Denz spent hours this morning making it.
It took him four tries. Two were burnt. One fell on the floor.
None of that’s relevant now because he has this and an iron suit and a heart lodged in his throat, ready to either leap into the hands of the man he’s hopelessly in love with or slip back down into the abyss of his stomach acid.
“You can do this,” Jamie assures him. He lowers the faceplate.
Denz takes ten wobbly steps in the direction of the white tent, chest high, ready to find Braylon and—
Someone steps in front of him.
No, not someone . Whitley.
She glares, crossing her arms over her white Skye’s the Limit T-shirt.
It’s enough for Denz to stop short. Or, at least, he tries to, but the stupid suit. Stupid wet grass from a water balloon toss earlier. His heel catches. His arms pinwheel as he falls backward with a muffled “Fuck my life!”
Mud soaks into his costume. In the background, he hears laughter above the shocked gasps. A pair of hands yank his helmet off. He blinks against the sunlight before honey-brown skin and confused, dark eyes come into focus.
Frowning, Braylon helps him up.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Denz lies. He squeezes his hands into fists by his sides, then realizes he’s missing something. His eyes flit to the muddy grass. To where shiny aluminum foil is splattered an ugly brown. “Fuck.”
“What’re you doing here?”
Denz forces his eyes away from the ruined sandwich, back to Braylon. He’s in the same T-shirt Whit has on, a nice pair of dark gray joggers, running shoes.
“I—” Denz tries, but he’s not as prepared as he thought. “Hi. Um. Hey.”
Braylon’s full lips purse, unimpressed. “What have you got on?”
Denz says unironically, “I’m Iron Man.”
Braylon snorts.
“And I came to—”
“Braylon?” Mayor Reynolds appears, eyebrows raised. She tilts her head at Denz. “Denzel? Why’re you dressed as a Marvel hero? Is this for the kids?”
“Yes,” Braylon begins, but Denz interrupts with, “No. It’s for him .”
The mayor and her team trade stares, confused. Braylon steps back, surprised at Denz’s boldness. His honesty too.
“Can we talk?” Denz whispers.
“Braylon, the speech,” Mayor Reynolds says, tapping her wrist in a hurry up, my time is precious motion.
“Of course.” Braylon pinches the bridge of his nose. “Could Denzel and I have, like, five—no, ten minutes? Whit can get you set up on the stage. We have chilled waters. For the heat. Just, please, Your Honor? Or madame? Your Mayorship?”
“Tiffany’s just fine,” Mayor Reynolds replies, smirking. “Eight minutes. I have another appointment after this.”
Once the mayor and her team are out of sight, Braylon sighs. He motions to a shaded area nearby. “We can talk over there.”
Denz does his best to walk side by side with him. But, again, the suit. Pair that with the mud in places it shouldn’t be and his squishy shoes and Denz barely manages to keep up with Braylon’s long strides.
Fucking tall people, he thinks with hostility.
Under the cool shade of a maple tree, Braylon says, “Well?”
Denz hates himself for wanting this to be easy. Confessing your feelings isn’t easy. Going out on a limb isn’t easy. Love is never, ever easy.
“I had a plan.” He gestures toward the costume. To the swamp devouring the sandwich he worked so hard on. Frustrated tears bite at his eyelashes. “I was gonna dress as your favorite rom-com hero—”
“Tony Stark?”
He groans. “No, Captain America. But they didn’t have his costume. Or the Winter whatever he’s called.”
“What about Carol Danvers?”
“I don’t know who that is.”
Before Braylon can launch into a feverish rant that’ll surely cost Denz more of the short time he’s been given, he says, “I wanted to dress up as your version of romance. And I made you a French toast grilled cheese.” He hates the tremble in his voice as he adds, “I even did The Flip. It took four tries, but I did it.”
“You… cooked? For me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Braylon asks.
If there were ever a moment in his life where Denz truly wished he was his dad, it’s now.
Because he sucks at speeches. He’s terrible with words, which is why he loves social media.
There, he can disguise his inability to think of clever or vulnerable things to say with artistic and gorgeous photos. Or just go shirtless.
But here… Denz has to strip all that away. No smoke and mirrors. Once he says what’s in his heart, there’s no edit button. No deleting and trying again later.
This is final .
“The moment you walked back into my life, I hated your accent,” Denz says. “Your obsession with tea. Your god-awful wardrobe.”
“If this is—”
“No, wait,” Denz pleads. “I hated that you didn’t look the same. That you didn’t smell like coconut bodywash. Or that you owned a cat in London when you used to always talk about getting a dog.”
Braylon’s eyebrows raise in a where is this going way.
“I came up with at least ten other things to hate about you because…” He inhales shakily. “Because I loved you the second I saw you again.”
Braylon’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
“I loved you the moment we met at that silly party,” Denz goes on. “I loved you all through college. Loved you when you left. Damn it, I loved you even after you broke my heart.”
His throat is so tight. But Denz doesn’t quit.
“I’m sorry I ever wanted you to be someone different, someone from the past, just to impress my family. Because—” Denz smiles nervously. “—how could anyone not instantly fall in love with you?”
Braylon rubs the back of his neck. “I could think of a few reasons.”
“If someone can’t love every version of you—amazing and annoying—then they don’t deserve to love any version of you.” Denz swallows. “Including me.”
“Denz,” Braylon starts, face falling. “You—”
“You said I made you want to be honest with yourself,” Denz interrupts, voice thick and overwhelmed, “but that’s not true.”
“It’s… not?”
“No.” A wobbly laugh. “We made each other honest. It just took me longer to see it.”
The corners of Braylon’s mouth inch up.
“I’m so fucking tired of lying and pretending,” Denz confesses. “I’m tired of being the Carter people expect. I’m tired of trying to be the Denzel everyone loves when—when the one person who’s loved me as plain old Denz is you, and I have no clue why.”
A retort is forming on Braylon’s lips. Denz gets there first.
“I quit my job.”
“You— what ?”
“It’s okay!” Denz grins. “I have a plan: freelance work. I’m starting up my own social media business. I have a meeting with Nora on Monday about it.”
Something like pride crinkles Braylon’s eyes.
“It’s a start,” Denz says.
“Not a bad one, if I’m being honest.”
The humor behind Braylon’s voice gives Denz a rush of dopamine.
That and the strains of music—a deep bass melody, sweet vocals—coming from somewhere nearby.
It’s the song they danced to at the engagement party.
Holding a wireless Bluetooth speaker over his head, looking like a young John Cusack, is Jamie.
Denz wants to laugh, but tears spill out instead.
“You were right. I don’t have a place here,” he says. “All my life, I’ve lived in a world my family built for me. The only time I felt like I made a home for myself was with you.” He pauses, wiping his cheeks. “You were my home. You are my home.”
Braylon scrubs a hand down his own face, exhaling.
“I know you’re scared to let people in,” Denz quickly says. “That the universe is going to take one more thing from you. But fuck, I want to be your home, wherever that is.”
Silence.
Braylon’s mouth is a thin line that looks a lot like doubt. Like this is one more time where Denz is saying the right thing at the right time to impress someone instead of letting Braylon see him for who he really is: simply Denz.
Too many beats pass. Tears slice hotly down his cheeks. But Denz refuses to walk away.
Not until Braylon says something. Anything .
He doesn’t. He pulls out his phone. Swipes a few times, and turns the screen for Denz to see. It’s a Delta eCredit. A one-way, nonrefundable ticket.
Destination: LAX.
“I was waiting until after your dad made his announcement,” Braylon admits. “Just in case.” Now, he looks nervous. “I wanted you to come with me. But I wasn’t sure you’d say yes. And then you—”
Reality smacks Denz in the face.
“Then I said what I said the other night,” he fills in.
Braylon squares his shoulders. “None of it was fake for me either. Not a second. But I got so scared. Ironic, innit?” He laughs sadly. “That I’d be afraid of you turning me down when I’m the one who didn’t give you a chance last time.”
“I wouldn’t have.”
“Even now?”
Denz smiles. “You know, there’s no Varsity in LA.”
“But there’s In-N-Out.” Braylon blinks back tears. Hopeful, he adds, “And there’s you. If you want? Will you come with me?”
Denz pauses. He never thought he’d hear those five words again. The ones from college. This time, Denz doesn’t need weeks to decide. He doesn’t need a minute.
He already knows. He’s always known.
Clumsily, Denz strides forward. He tugs Braylon down until their foreheads press together. Until Braylon can taste the salty tears on his lips when he whispers, “Yes.”
He kisses Braylon. Soft and achy. Quiet like a thunderstorm passing. Loud like Julia Roberts’s laugh in every rom-com. Memorable like Athens and London and Atlanta.
Like everywhere they’ve been, together or apart.
Denz has never cared about the place. The destination.
Because this is them.
This is home .