Chapter 33
. . .
Eight Months Later:
“Mr. L, we need to talk.”
Heath looked up from the stack of papers teetering dangerously on his desk and arched an eyebrow. “About?”
Dylan, who was now slightly less lanky than back in April, stood across from him, holding up the paperback he’d assigned that afternoon. “You want me to read this entire book?”
“That is still the point of reading, Dylan. Yes.”
“It’s Christmas break.”
“I am aware.”
“You want me to spend this, the most holiest of holidays, reading?”
“I thought you were an atheist?”
“I’m open-minded.”
Heath refused to laugh, though it nearly killed him. He could feel the blood vessels in his head straining. “Dylan, I want you to spend the holidays with your friends and family, having a lovely time.”
Dylan’s shoulders relaxed, a huge smile creeping across his face.
“I also want you to read that book.”
“C’mon!”
“Oooh, is that Wuthering Heights? I love Bronte!”
Dylan’s jaw dropped as Heath stood with a cheer and reached both hands out to a gorgeously bundled-up Isabella. “How did you get in here?”
“Abby met me at the door and vouched for me. I wanted to see your room!”
“Uh, Mr. L?”
“Yes, Dylan.”
He held out his fist, eyes plastered to Isabella’s rosy-cheeked smile. “Nice work.”
“Dylan, this is my friend Isabella. Izzy, this is Dylan.”
Isabella knew all about Dylan, because he came up often in their weekly phone chats. Her smile pinched as she maintained her composure and offered Dylan her gloved hand. “Very nice to meet you, Dylan. Maybe I’ll have you in class someday?”
“You’re a teacher?”
“Professor, yes. At Columbia.”
“In South America?”
She lost the war, a laugh snorting free as she covered her mouth and apologized.
“The university, not the country.”
Dylan’s cheeks flushed as he edged toward the door. “Oooh! Right, I knew that. Nice to meet you, Izzy. Have a great holiday, Mr. L!”
“He is amazing.”
“He called you Izzy. You’re in the squad, or whatever they call it now.”
“I don’t even know. My students mostly mumble at me and complain I give them too much work.”
“Sounds familiar. We really should be sainted, you know?”
She chuckled and leaned a hip on his desk while peeling off her layers. It was brisk outside. The sort of heavy chill that smacked of snow, though it had been a while since they’d seen a white Christmas.
“Sainted would be nice. I would also take a pay raise and more vacation time. Or tenure. Tenure would be great.”
Heath grunted in agreement while sifting through the mess on his desk. Priority work got stuffed into his bag, while things that could wait would rot in the cabinet at his feet.
“You’re in town early, missy. I hadn’t planned on seeing you until next week.”
“I know. I thought about warning you, but I decided I wanted to surprise you instead.”
“Mission accomplished. Do you have plans for tonight?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. My good friend Heath is taking me to his favorite bar to introduce me to his squad.”
Heath snickered. “Are you sure he’s your good friend if he’s taking you drinking at a gay bar with a group of gossipy old hags?”
“Actually, that makes him one of my best friends. So get moving.”
“My God, Heath. I would never have expected you to go straight, but thank God you’ve done it with impeccable taste.”
They’d only just walked in the door, but already the sarcasm was flowing. Approaching his friends at their usual table, Heath dipped his mouth to Isabella’s ear and whispered, “Three guesses who that is. First two don’t count.”
She laughed and hugged his arm. “Andres, no question.”
“You win a margarita and a bottle of ibuprofen. You’ll need both once he gets going.”
“I can hear you, you know.”
Manuel sat at one end of the long, curved booth, his arm snugged around his husband’s shoulders. Only one of Andres’ loves had been able to make it, and Shawn looked radiant in the shimmery collar he’d received as an early holiday gift.
Isabella saw it and gasped, gesturing to her own neck and giving him a thumbs up. The younger man responded with a beaming smile and preened shamelessly.
They slid into the booth and ordered another round, the conversation neatly turning to holiday plans and who was going where with whom.
It was tradition for Heath to spend Christmas Eve with his mother and then make the rounds on Christmas Day.
With Isabella visiting, he’d given her the option to join him if she didn’t have plans of her own, and she’d promised to get back to him.
“Have you decided, my dear?”
“Yes and no.”
“That’s not a very decisive decision, Iz.”
“Actually, I have a proposal.”
The other conversations at the table stopped dead, his friends capable of smelling impending drama for miles. It was a talent he happened to also share.
“I’m leery, but listening.”
“I need a date for a function.”
“I can ask Abby if she’s busy?”
Isabella slapped his arm. “I meant you.”
“What sort of function?”
“It’s a charity thing.”
There was a distinctive thud in his chest, his heart stopping and falling to the bottom of his chest cavity. “Isabella.”
“No, no, hear me out! It’s on the up and up. I just hate going to these things alone, but Liv made me promise I’d meet her there.”
“Olivia and Nate are going?”
“Liv is, and she’d love to see you. Nate is tentative because of some work thing he’s wrapping up.”
The plot thickened, and so did his suspicion. “This isn’t a setup, correct? Because you wouldn’t do that to me, correct?”
She batted her eyelashes, which did nothing to help her case, but looked adorable, so he let it slide. “My darling, I would never put you in a position where you’d get hurt. Surely you know that?”
He did know that. He also knew she and Olivia would absolutely get him into a situation they thought for sure would go well, when in fact it would probably rip him to shreds.
He hadn’t seen or heard a peep from or about Evan since they’d left the island. In a rogue moment of weakness, he’d looked up the Bleat, only to close and block the URL a moment later.
To think that such gossipy trash would have once delighted him. Maybe it still would, if the subject matter wasn’t someone he still cared deeply for, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise.
The things they were saying, based entirely on hearsay, were excoriating. It infuriated him. Made him want to write a sternly worded letter to the editor, except he’d feared becoming a target of their vitriol himself. Especially if they discovered who he was.
If he was grateful for one thing, it was the lack of pictures in the articles.
He couldn’t bear to see Evan’s face, especially with a graceful and stunning woman on his arm.
Not that he had any idea whether the news he was dating someone was true, or just more hearsay and trash.
Nor did he intend to ask anyone who might know, because dammit, he’d rather the suspense kill him than confirm he’d lost his chance to ever see him again.
“He makes that face whenever he’s thinking about him.” Manuel’s stage whisper cut through the fog, and Heath cast him a scathing look.
“Don’t shoot the messenger, dearest. That face is one hundred percent reserved for him.”
Isabella’s eyes darted between the catty bitches he called friends, then settled on his indignant rage. “I’m assuming him refers to…”
Andres clicked his tongue. “Oh, gorgeous, of course it does. Do you know he thought he could hide it from us? Can you imagine?”
“I was successful for months until you ruined it.”
Andres and his goddamn inherited connections. One evening, he’d slipped into his chair for Friday Night Bitchfest looking like a sated cat in a bird sanctuary. Wasn’t the man from the plane Evan Westin? Did Heath know he’d lately been the subject of numerous scandals?
He’d then proceeded to dish about Evan’s father, their estrangement, and the mysterious circumstances that surrounded their entire relationship. Things his grandmother had known, things her friends had heard.
Then he’d moved on to the wedding fiasco. “My God, no wonder the man was drunk and looking for love. Maybe you should have joined him. Gotten that handsome attendant’s number. You could be two peas in a very snug pod.”
Heath had folded like a cheap suit. There’d been so many tears, they’d had to replenish the table napkins from the bar. He’d even broken his no-drinking rule, sucking down a candy-sweet daiquiri that made his head swim, but somewhat calmed his nerves.
Of course, Manuel had insisted he spend the evening at his house to be safe, and of course he’d gone sleepwalking, which led to another bout of hysteria, because even his damn medical conditions weren’t safe from memories of Evan.
Andres patted his arm with genuine sympathy. “Hon, you still get major kudos for holding out that long, but you didn’t have to. We’re here to support you, after all.”
“If by support you mean berate and ridicule.”
Isabella’s hand settled on his other arm and squeezed, reminding him to step back and take a breath. “If you don’t want to come to the gala, you don’t have to. I would love to see you gussied up, and Liv would be over the moon, but I know stuffy parties aren’t your favorite thing.”
Andres leaned closer, fingers tapping together with evil interest. “Which gala is it, if I may ask?”
“It’s for the Flanagan Trust.”
Heath’s ears perked. “Flanagan?”
Andres carried on, ignoring him per usual. “I didn’t know they had a gala.”
“They didn’t before the expansion. This will be the first year.”
“Like those well-to-do fuddy-duddies don’t have enough excuses to drink champagne and wear couture,” Andres scoffed.
“Says the man who gleefully accepts any and all gala invitations, for that very reason.”
Andres tugged the little loop on Shawn’s collar. “Feeling bratty, are we? We’ll just see about that.”
Goosebumps rose across the younger man’s skin as a visible shudder of delight trembled through him. Heath averted his eyes, feeling voyeuristic and melancholy in the same breath.
“I’ll go,” he decided, speaking the words aloud before he could change his mind.
Isabella squealed with glee and squeezed his arm. “Oh, I’m so excited! Don’t worry about a thing, okay? We’ve got it covered.”
“We? Thing? I’m worried, and I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
Andres tutted. “Your tux, darling. You can’t roll into a charity ball wearing a suit from 2005.” He caught Isabella’s eye and winked. “Please include me in any and all shopping and fitting appointments. I have been dying to make this bird sing, but he refuses to let me.”
“I can’t—” Afford it, he stopped himself from saying. They knew why, but pressed him on it regardless, claiming friends did things for one another, which could and should include the gifting of designer wardrobe pieces.
Isabella held up a finger. “No worrying. You’re doing this as a favor to me, and in return, I get to doll you up. Deal?”
God, he hated himself for how excited the idea made him. He could argue with Manuel and Andres, but not Izzy. She and Olivia stripped him to the bone with a look, and he couldn’t bring himself to disappoint either of them.
“Fine. It’s a deal.”
Another squeal, this time from Andres, and a second arm-hug from Isabella sealed his fate. “Oh, I’m so excited! We are going to have the best time, I promise.”