Chapter Fifteen
The closing elevator doors bounced back open, and Jake slipped inside, realizing too late the other passenger was Brandon.
They stared at each other in their tailored suits until Jake turned to face the doors, his left hip pressing into the rail beside him, as far from Brandon as he could be while still in the metal box.
Several inches shorter than Jake, Brandon was as handsome as ever, his face still boyish despite a goatee. Looking from the corner of his eye, Jake could almost imagine nothing had changed, and Brandon was about to crack a wide smile and tell one of his punny jokes.
But Brandon’s jaw was set, his hands clasped behind him, thumb tapping, gaze locked straight ahead as if Jake wasn’t even there. Damn if that didn’t sharpen the ache in Jake’s chest to a razor’s edge.
The elevator stopped on its way down for a middle-aged woman with an ice bucket who got off on the next floor. Jake’s heart thumped, his fingers tingling and skin hot. He had to say something. He had to at least try, didn’t he? He had to.
“Congrats, by the way,” he blurted.
Brandon went very still as the elevator stopped on another floor. The doors opened, but there was no one there. “For what,” he asked carefully.
“You had twins, right? A boy and a girl?”
“Yes. Two years ago.”
“Right. Well, that’s great.”
Rubbing a hand over his trimmed goatee, Brandon said, “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but stop.”
The elevator was apparently on the milk run, and it stopped again, letting on a young couple who only had eyes for each other, and who were apparently also only taking the elevator one floor.
Brandon was right. He should forget it. It’d been too long, and he’d fucked things up far too royally.
But as the doors swept shut behind the couple, surety bolted through Jake like lightning, fear electric in his veins.
This was his last chance. If he stayed silent now and they walked out of the elevator, that was it. Game over forever.
He jammed the emergency button with his palm. A shrill alarm sounded as the elevator brakes engaged. Brandon stared, his mouth agape.
“What the hell? Is this some joke?”
“No.” Jake was flying now, out of his body on an adrenaline burst, his heart exploding. “I loved you.”
“What?” Brandon’s forehead creased, and he looked around the elevator as if there would be some answer on the mirrored walls.
“This is a joke.” Shaking his head, his eyes met Jake’s and his fists clenched.
“I swear to God, man, I don’t know what you’re pulling, but get me the fuck off this elevator. I have nothing to say to you.”
The words were marbles on Jake’s tongue, slippery and hard, tumbling out in a clatter. “I’m gay, and I was in love with you.”
Brandon stared, his eyebrows almost at his hairline.
The shrill alarm sounded again, making them both jump. A tinny voice from the elevator control panel asked, “What’s your emergency?”
They both looked at the panel, and Jake cleared his throat. “Sorry, I hit the button by accident. We’re fine.”
It must have happened regularly, because the elevator started moving again without further comment.
They reached the ground floor before Jake could formulate another sentence, but he only moved to press the button to return to his floor.
A few people streamed in, and Brandon hadn’t gotten off.
Brandon stared straight ahead as the elevator went back up.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but aren’t you Jake Fitzgerald and Brandon Kennedy?” An older woman beamed at them. “I’m such a fan. So wonderful to have two Canadian teams now! Hopefully one of you will make it to the playoffs! Or both!”
Brandon smiled and nodded. “We hope so, ma’am. Thank you.”
Jake smiled too and edged past the woman and her companions as the doors opened for his floor.
He didn’t look back, because what else could he say?
He exhaled noisily, the adrenaline rush crashing into nausea.
There was a sound behind him, and Jake turned to find Brandon standing there, the elevator doors shut.
The thick hotel carpet whispering under his feet, Jake walked to his room, hoping Brandon would follow. Hoping he hadn’t just made everything worse. But really, how much worse could it get?
Their friendship was over a long time ago, and at least Jake could tell the truth. Maybe it was selfish to want to unburden himself, but he couldn’t help but hope deep down that his old friend would want to know what had really happened and why.
Inside his suite, they stood by the breakfast table, the door closing with a gentle whoosh and click. Breathing deeply, Jake tried to think of the right words, or any words, really.
“You’re gay.” Brandon watched him carefully, as if he still expected a TV crew to jump out from behind the couch and shout it was all a prank.
“Yes.”
“Since when?”
“Since always. I came out to my parents before I left for college.”
Brandon’s eyebrows soared again. “You knew back then? You were out? Other people knew?”
“No. Just my parents and my family in England. I didn’t want it to get in the way of baseball. Didn’t want it to affect my career.”
“Okay. I get that.” Brandon gestured sharply. “But you could have told me. We were friends. At least I thought we were. Maybe I had it wrong from the start.”
“No, we were. You were my best friend. I wanted to tell you, believe me. But I couldn’t.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, gripping the hard plastic of his key card.
“Because you were in love with me.”
He swallowed hard. “Yes.”
Shaking his head, Brandon rocked on his feet. “If this is some joke, it’s seriously not funny.”
“I was in love with you, and I was too afraid to tell you. I was afraid it would make everything awkward. Ruin our friendship. Which of course I destroyed in the end anyway.” The plastic key dug into his palm, and he took a shuddering breath.
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I was a coward, and you deserved better. ”
“What did you think I’d do if you told me?”
“I don’t know. Worst-case scenarios used to spin through my head when I tried to sleep. I knew you didn’t feel the same way about me.”
“You could have at least said you were gay. I’m not some ignorant fool. You were my boy, Jake. I would never have turned my back on you.”
Regret lodged in his throat, and Jake could only croak out, “I know.”
“I mean, yeah, it would have been weird at first if I knew you were into me. But we’d have pushed through it. Instead you were a dick. Denise was always like, ‘Did I do something to offend him? Why doesn’t Jake like me?’ She tried so hard to get in good with you because she knew how tight we were.”
Shame sank through him down to his toes. “I’m sorry. She didn’t deserve that. I was jealous and petty, and I have no excuse for it. None. Especially not for the awful things I said after your engagement party. I deserved that punch. It was all on me.”
Brandon clenched his jaw. “So why’d you get me traded?”
“I swear, I asked them to trade me. On my mother’s life. I said I wasn’t happy, and I didn’t mention you at all. But obviously they’d heard about the party and what happened. But I didn’t ask them to trade you. Not that it matters after all this, I know.”
Rubbing a hand over his shorn hair, Brandon walked a few steps and then back again restlessly. “It matters.”
“You believe me?”
“You were never a liar, Jake.” He laughed humorlessly. “Although I guess you were, huh? Had me fooled.”
Jake had to turn away as unshed tears burned his eyes. He paced around, staring up. When he had control, he said, “I truly am sorry.” He still looked at the ceiling, a swirled pattern of white circles. “I’d give anything to go back and change it.”
A sing-songy chime echoed in the silence, and Brandon swore under his breath. “We’ve got to get to this fucking dinner.”
When Jake faced him, Brandon’s thumbs were flying on his screen. “Denise is waiting.”
“Right. You should go. I’ll go down soon.” He was nodding like an idiot, and he clenched his hand over the key card again, bending the hard plastic.
At the door, Brandon said, “I don’t know what to think. But I’m glad you told me.”
Then he was gone, and Jake had to loosen his tie, slumping against the wall as he tried to catch his breath. He didn’t expect the truth to change anything with Brandon, to bridge a gap so hopelessly vast.
But he’d buried that truth so deeply in roots of shame and guilt, and now the layers were pulled back, the nerve exposed. He realized another truth down in his gut, in his soul.
He wanted love. Sex wasn’t enough—he wanted it all.
The laughter and fights and comfort and the cap off the toothpaste and the same person to kiss goodnight and good morning.
He wanted someone to protect and hold close, someone to hold him back.
Someone to fuck and kiss and learn to cook for, someone to make his half-life full.
Not just someone.
With each deeper breath, calm spreading through his limbs, he knew exactly who he wanted.
But Nico had barely texted. Jake told himself Nico was busy catching up with his family, but worry nagged.
Was he having regrets? Or maybe now that he’d lowered his inhibitions, he was ready to explore. Maybe he didn’t want to be tied down.
Jake groaned. Not that they were even officially a couple.
Why would Nico want to be restricted? Sure, sex with Jake was the culmination of longtime fantasies.
But usually when something culminated, it ended.
Nico might want to move on now that he’d gotten what he’d wanted.
And Jake would have to be fine with that.
He fought to catch his breath. Damn it, Jake knew who he wanted. Now he just had to keep him.
Instead of room service, it was Brandon at the door the next morning in jeans and a Toronto team jacket, rocking back on his heels the way he did when he was nervous. “This a bad time?”
“No. Come in.”