Chapter Seven
CHAPTER SEVEN
LIAM HUNG UP the phone with a smile. He couldn’t stop himself from shimmying in his seat. Three, three classes at max capacity before he’d opened his doors. That had to be a good sign, right?
At the very least, his name was circulating in the community, and people wanted their kids to learn dance. At this rate, he’d need to hire a second teacher earlier than expected. That was a very desirable problem to have.
The loud clank of shattering tiles had him glancing toward the locker rooms with a flinch. This might be a good time to stop returning phone messages for the morning. The construction sounds didn’t make the best background music.
Still, excitement surged through him. This was happening. Really happening.
He owned a studio, had classes booked up, and the renovations were underway. Tate and his brother arrived about an hour ago to begin the demolition of the old tiles. He’d been instructed to keep his eyes peeled for a third team member who should arrive at any time.
Since making calls was off the table, he dove into his mountain of unread emails instead. After swiping two more tasks off his to-do list, the door opened, and a man dressed in ratty jeans and a wife beater strode into the building. He had a buzzed blond haircut, a cigarette behind his ear, and a forearm tattoo of a large-breasted woman.
Liam learned long ago not to judge a book by its cover, but he had a hard time imagining this guy not being a homophobe. Still, he prided himself on giving people a chance, so he walked out from behind the front counter with his hand extended.
“Hey there, I’m Liam. You’re here to work with Tate and Randy?”
He had a mildly attractive face with a blond goatee and dark brown eyes, but any appeal vanished when he sneered. “This a fucking joke?”
Liam blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Fucking Randy.” He laughed. “Always busting my balls. He make you wear that shirt?”
What? Glancing down, Liam frowned. Ahh, the T-shirt. He’d dressed casually today after Tate warned there was no way to keep the dust contained to the locker room, and he hadn’t thought twice about wearing a shirt from last year’s Pride event in New York City. A rainbow Statue of Liberty with glitter shooting out of the torch adorned his chest.
Here we go.
Sighing, he steeled his spine and prepared for a barrage of prejudiced garbage. “Uh, no, got this baby in New York last June. I was the headline performer at a club during Pride.” He struck a sassy pose as though that would help him win over this Neanderthal.
“So this ain’t a joke?”
“Nope.”
“I can’t believe we took this fucking job,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?” Liam narrowed his eyes.
Daryl stalked toward him, getting right in his personal space. “Listen, fairy, you can prance around in a rainbow tutu all fucking day behind closed doors, but keep it the fuck away from me.” He jabbed a finger in Liam’s face.
Time froze, and Liam’s chest seized. Fear washed over him, making his stomach sour and his hands shake. It’d been a long time since someone came at him with such aggression, but the memories were the kind that lived in every cell of his body. He wanted to smack that hand away, twisting the thumb until Daryl sank to his knees, begging for relief. But instead, he stood there, eyes wide and legs like spaghetti noodles.
Where the fuck were all the self-defense classes he’d taken over the years? The ones where he’d learned how to put bullies like this one out of commission. There was no fight in his body right then, just flight.
“Daryl,” Tate’s furious voice cracked into the room like a whip. He marched out of the locker room and grabbed his coworker by his ear, yanking him away from Liam, who scrambled back behind his desk. The two-foot barrier helped settle his nerves.
“Ow, T, what the hell?” Daryl cupped a hand over his ear once Tate released him.
“The fuck is wrong with you, talking to a client that way?”
“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? The boss know we doin’ this job? He know we’re working for a fucking fa—”
“ Don’t !” The lethal warning in Tate’s voice made Liam tremble. “Don’t fucking finish that sentence. Get in there and do your job with your mouth shut.”
Daryl shook his head with a disgusted snort. “You talk about wanting to start your own business. You don’t have the balls to run a business. This,” he pointed to Liam. “Working with people like this is how you run your business into the ground.”
Well, that was just stupid.
“You’ve always been too fucking soft.” With that, Daryl stormed into the locker room, ramming Tate with his shoulder as he stomped by. A loud crash sounded, making Liam flinch. It was followed by a shout and a curse from Randy.
Liam swallowed. These were the men Tate associated with day in and day out. He’d mentioned this Daryl asshole was his brother’s best friend. He lived thirty seconds from Tate and Randy, and they’d grown up together and now worked together. No wonder Tate didn’t feel safe coming out. No wonder not a single person in his life knew he was gay.
With friends like that, Tate didn’t need a single enemy.
Liam’s heart splintered. No one should have to grow up afraid to be themselves, yet so many people did. The lucky ones were surprised to receive the support they deserved when they finally revealed themselves, but then there were the Tates of the world—the kids who grew into closeted adults and knew nothing but anonymous hookups and loneliness.
His pulse fluttered as he met Tate’s sorrowful gaze.
“On behalf of our company, please accept my apology, Mr. Brady,” Tate said, though his eyes said so much more. They revealed how Daryl’s words pierced him as much, probably more than they did Liam. “I promise this won’t happen again. Daryl won’t come near you while he’s working here.” He paused, then said, “But if he makes you uncomfortable, I can remove him from the job.”
It took Liam a few seconds to find his voice. “No,” he said after clearing his throat. “If it gets the job done faster, he can stay. Just…”
Tate nodded. “You have my word.”
Daryl wouldn’t be allowed to harass him again.
“Okay.” He tried for a smile, but it felt flat. “Then get back to work, mister,” he said with false authority in his tone. “Those tiles aren’t gonna lay themselves.” Their eyes locked. There were so many things Liam wanted to say, but who was he to Tate?
No one.
Just a guy he’d hooked up with a few times and could be— fingers crossed —planning another.
The problem was, aside from loving the orgasms Tate provided, Liam liked the man.
Genuinely liked him. They didn’t have much in common, but something drew him to Tate and seemed to attract Tate to him as well. And he had dreams of starting his own company? The guy had layers. Liam could see there were many, and they went deep. How amazing would it be to peel them back individually and discover the man at the center?
“Sure. Sorry for all the noise. We’ll break around noon for lunch.”
“It’s not a problem.”
Tate nodded, then turned for the locker room.
“Tate?”
He spun around.
“He’s wrong. Daryl, that is. You handled that well… like a boss. For what it’s worth, I think you’d be the perfect person to break out on your own. If that’s what you wanted.”
FOR WHAT IT was worth?
Liam had no idea, not a single clue, just how much his words were worth. A couple of months ago, after a few too many beers while they’d been chilling after work, Tate let it slip to Randy that he’d considered starting his own tile company. He loved big, complex jobs where he could use his creativity and innovative techniques. Their boss was stuck in the dark ages. He didn’t care about design trends, and it showed in the jobs he accepted. Tate was good with the clients too. Worlds better than Randy or even their boss.
His brother had laughed so hard that beer foamed out of his nose. Then he’d slapped Tate on the shoulder and said, “Keep dreaming, asshole. But thanks for the laugh.” Then he’d stumbled off and fucked Whitney in the damn bushes behind his trailer.
What a lucky lady.
Liam hadn’t laughed.
When was the last time someone had believed in him?
His parents sure as hell never did. Hell, he hadn’t seen his father in three years. Or was it four? The last time he’d blown through town, he’d stolen a hundred bucks from Tate’s wallet, grabbed Whitney’s tit and tried to sleep with her, and smacked his ex-wife across the face. His Father of the Year award must have gotten lost in the mail.
His mother barely recognized up from down and sure as hell had no idea what Tate got up to these days. He could be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, and she’d never know it. He couldn’t forget Randy and their group of hick friends. People who didn’t know the real Tate would shun him if they did and certainly didn’t care about his goals and dreams.
Then there was this compassionate, sexy, accepting man who’d given Tate more in a few encounters than the people who’d been in his life for two and a half decades.
He couldn’t think of something worthwhile to say, so he merely said, “Thank you,” and turned his back on Liam before the man saw more than he wanted to reveal.
When he entered the locker room, he found Daryl taking his anger out on the tiles. He smashed them like a gas-powered machine, muttering and curing as he worked.
“Well,” Randy said as he strode over with a shit-eating grin. A fine layer of powder covered his face and lightened his hair. His dust mask rested on his forehead over his safety glasses. “At this rate, we’ll be done with the demo by the end of the day. You pissed him off good.”
Tate grunted.
“What the fuck happened out there?”
“He ran his stupid, disrespectful mouth to the client. Practically had him fucking cornered.”
“Hmm.”
“What?” Tate rounded on his brother, who held his hands up in surrender.
“Nothing.” Randy took a step back, shaking his head.
“No, you got something to say, so fucking say it.” He curled his hands in a give-it-to-me motion. He couldn’t hit Daryl in front of Liam, but back here, without those pretty eyes watching, he’d be happy to clock Randy in his stupid mouth.
“It ain't right, T, you coming at Daryl so strong like that.”
“Excuse me?” His ears burned. “That shit makes us, meaning the company we work for, look unprofessional and backward. He got off easy. I should have kicked his ass for how he talked to our client.”
“See, there you go again.”
Tate threw his hands in the air. His blood boiled. He was walking a fine line, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d show his hand.
“Look,” Randy said, lowering his arms. “I get it. Daryl’s a stupid fucker. He shouldn’t antagonize the clients, but you gotta understand how this one is different.”
“And how exactly is that?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
“It’s fucking uncomfortable, man. Working here knowing how he is and what he likes.” He gestured toward the locker room exit, where Liam sat at his desk in the lobby.
Tate prayed he couldn’t hear a word of their conversation.
He wanted to throw up. All he could think of was Randy screaming at him someday, “Knowing how you are and what you like.”
“He fucking looks at me when I walk in the door,” Randy said, kicking a loose tile.
“What do you want him to do, stare at the floor?” Tate was proud of himself for his voice’s leveled control.
“Yes!” Randy shouted. “That’s exactly what I want him to do.”
He’d known his brother was a small-minded bigot. It’d be impossible not to, and there’d been plenty of times over the years when he’d wanted to smack the shit out of Randy for the stupid shit he said, but he’d never hated him. Part of him had always held hope that Randy would eventually come around if he learned of Tate’s sexual orientation.
This conversation was quickly killing that faith.
And in that moment, he hated Randy.
“Times are changing, Randy,” he said as he grabbed his chisel. “You can’t say shit like that and expect people to agree with you.”
“Times are changing.” Randy snorted. “Maybe, but that don’t make it right.” He stared Tate in the eye. “There’s gonna come a time when you gotta make a choice, man. Stand by your people or his. I hope you make the right choice.” He pulled his mask down, lowered his safety glasses, and gave Tate his back as he went to work.
Were the words a threat, or was it just Randy running his mouth? Either way, they cut deep and emphasized the problem. Tate couldn't have it both ways. He couldn’t be himself and remain part of his family.
Whatever morsel of hope he’d clung to died a painful death right there in Liam’s studio.
Twice now, he’d connected with Liam in a way he’d never connected with another man. It’d been fun, freeing, and addictive. They’d talked about a next time, and Tate didn’t want to let that pass him by. Being with Liam felt life-changing in a way his soul craved.
Randy would kick him in the nuts if he could hear his thoughts.
The inevitable barreled down on him with the speed of a runaway train.
There’s gonna come a time when you gotta make a choice, man.
Randy was right.
Tate hoped he was strong enough to make the right choice when the time came.
The choice that would change his life forever.