7. Chapter Seven
I force my feet to move, but before I make it to the house, he pops out the side door.
“The fuck you doing back here?” he asks in that husky tone I remember all too well. The one he used when he told me to be a good boy and suck his cock.
Christ, coming here was such a bad idea.
At least his comment is a normal Cole thing to say. Almost like he doesn’t remember what happened between us. It hurts, but hey? It’s better this way.
I hold up the spare key as if that’s an explanation, then force myself to say, “Chris said no one was home.”
He nods, waving me in. “I should be gone by now.”
Avoiding eye contact, I move past him, doing everything I can not to brush his bare skin in the process. I catch a citrus scent that must be from his shower. I step into the laundry room. The dryer is going, causing a rhythmic whirl, and I look around at the updated room. The walls have been painted a light grey. The old linoleum floors have been replaced with white tile. There’s a small counter that I assume is for folding, and new cabinets on the walls. It’s so neat and clean.
The amount of discomfort crawling over my skin has me wishing I was a turtle who could curl into my shell and hide. Or have the mindset of an ostrich, though there isn’t any sand for me to bury my face in, so that wouldn’t help. If I bang my head hard enough against the floor, I’d pass out. That’d be just as good right about now.
“Hot date?” I ask, forcing a grin. Because yeah, that’s definitely want I want to know.
He chuckles, closing and locking the door.
“Date would be better. It’s my week to drop off food at the homeless shelter.”
My stomach lurches as I envision him taking some hot, model-like woman with fake tits and a fake tan to dinner. Or maybe it would be with a guy? A man his age. Maybe a lawyer or a doctor. Someone put together with a bright future. With complete emotional stability and confidence. Someone who isn’t me.
“Homeless shelter? You’ve gone soft, old man,” I tease, hoping we can establish a somewhat normal relationship. Though, now that the words are out of my mouth, I worry he may take it as flirting. Was it flirting? Did that sound flirty? God, I hope not. The last thing I need is for Cole to think I’m coming into his house to get into his pants. I mean, I want in his pants, but I would never pull something like this.
He glares at me, and I roll my lips between my teeth to hide my laugh. Cole comes across as grumpy, and he kind of is, but he can take banter as good as the next guy. Calling him old was always my thing. Why stop now?
He points a finger at me, raising a brow. “For one, forty-seven is not old. And for two, nothing’s changed. It’s just work.”
Which reminds me of him dressed in the fancy suit in Astoria…
“Work stuff?”
He nods, moving into the hallway.
“Started doing lots of stuff to get the company name out there to find work outside of Lynncastor. You know? Like actual cities. We donate tools and lumber to the high schools, drop off food at the shelter once a week, and sponsor the little league team. All that business shit that’s supposed to make us likable.” He pauses by the stairs, turning to me. My eyes dip to his waist and I instantly pull them back up, hoping he did not see that. Nothing on his face tells me he did, but he has one of the best poker faces I’ve ever seen. “Don’t wanna rush out of here, but I need to finish getting ready. I’m already late.”
“It’s fine. I’ll find my way around.” I gesture for him to go up the stairs.
He holds my gaze. I expect him to break it and go upstairs, but he moves toward me instead, stopping inches away.
I forgot how blue his eyes are. They look fake, that’s how crystal blue they are. Like the ocean around a tropical island. Mesmerizing. He puts his hand on my shoulder, and I force myself to blink. To breathe. He looks bigger. More toned and firm. Like he’s been working out or something.
My fingers itch to tear the towel from him and drop to my knees. Would he let me? Stop me? Nothing could be more stupid than that. Right here, in his house? In the hallway, no less? I swallow hard, trying to ignore the way his large hand burns my skin through my shirt.
“I’m glad you’re here, Bryson,” he says softly.
I will not take that the wrong way. He’s only being nice. Appropriate. His words hold nothing but innocent happiness over me being like a son to him for so long.
That. Is. It.
When he doesn’t pull away, I respond with, “Thanks for letting me stay here, Cole. My father is—”
“Difficult?” he asks, huffing out a laugh. He drops his hand and runs it through his hair. I want to do that. Want my hands in his hair. “Yeah, I know all about it.”
I frown, wanting to ask what he means, but he turns and heads up the stairs, calling out, “You know where your room is. Feel free to tour the house.”
Standing in place, I take a few moments to get my head on straight. I can’t believe I’m here. I did everything I could so this wouldn’t happen, but then life happened. And fuck life already. It’s nothing but a pain in my ass.
With a heavy sigh, I move down the hallway, leaning my suitcase against the wall by the stairs before glancing across the hall into the kitchen. The layout is the same but with updated cabinets, paint-job, flooring, and appliances. Cole seems to be sticking with a white and grey theme, but there are splashes of black in the kitchen. Like the table and chair set, curtains, and speckled backsplash along the counters.
I continue down the hallway, browsing the photos along the walls. So many of Chris from when he was a kid. Even family photos from before Cole and Tabitha divorced. The hallway opens up into a spacious living room on the left, the bathroom in the far back. To the right of the hallway is a small nook with built-in shelves on the walls, a coat rack, and a chaise that looks like it’s never been touched.
What used to be worn-out hardwood floors and dented door frames are now a mix of spotless grey floors, cream carpets, white walls, dark grey trim and molding.
Heavy steps on the stairs pull my attention behind me, and I practically drool when Cole comes around the corner.
Tight fitted jeans, brown boots, and a blue plaid button up with the sleeves rolled up. Good gods, the universe hates me.
“Eat anything you like, though there isn’t much. I cleaned out your room the other day, so do what you want with it. It’s yours as long as you need,” he says as he walks by, barely giving me a glance.
“Should only be a month or two,” I say as he grabs his keys from the hook by the front door.
“And if it ends up being longer, it’s okay,” he says sternly over his shoulder.
I nod, chewing on my bottom lip. I hate that people feel the need to take care of me. It’s such an inner battle I have with myself, because I want someone to care enough about me to take care of me, but I don’t want them to feel obligated to do it. All that does is make me feel like a burden, and I don’t want to be a burden on anyone. I want to be wanted.
“See you later,” he calls out before leaving. Seconds later, the rumble of his truck sounds.
I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly.
This is the only place you have to stay, Bryson. Don’t fuck it up by being weird with Cole.
Much easier said than done, apparently.
What happened is in the past. It’s done and over with. It will never happen again—it can’t. I need to act normal, especially in front of Chris. I refuse to go back to my father’s. I’ll lose my mind if I do. The plan is to stay here, take a few days to get my head straight, then hunt for a job. After a month, I’ll have saved enough money to get my own place. Simple. As long as I stick to the plan. The plan which does not include Cole’s genitals anywhere near me.
“Keep cool, Bryson,” I mutter as I go upstairs, tugging my suitcase after me.
The Harper’s house is big, but not in the sense it has ten bedrooms, twelve bathrooms, and a restaurant-sized kitchen. It’s spacious. There isn’t a room in the house that’ll make you feel like you’re stuck, and that’s what I’ve always loved about it. I always felt like I could breathe here. And with the updates, it’s even more comfortable.
My room is the first at the top of the stairs to the right, but I pass that and move to the one after it. Chris’s room. I’m not surprised by its state. Closet doors wide open, his work clothes hanging on hangers while jeans and t-shirts sit in messy piles on the floor next to a heap of beat-up sneakers. The sheets on his king-sized bed are a crumpled mess, half hanging off the bed. Curtains are wide open, desk is covered in papers, and his walls are decorated with band posters. AC/DC, Aerosmith, Guns N Roses, Metallica, Red Hot Chili Peppers. All the popular shit. Chris will tell you he loves music, and he does, but ask him to name one band who hasn’t had a song on the radio, and he’ll be a stuttering mess for an hour. Our friend Mark, who aims to be a rock god one day, messes with him for it all the time.
The state of his room makes me laugh. Chris is like Cole in the sense he’s carefree, just a little too much at times. And maybe it’s because Chris is still young. I mean, who knows what Cole was doing at this age? Actually, it’s probably about the time he had Chris, so that says a lot, I think. Chris is messy, but he’s always been responsible.
He received his bachelor’s in computer science and has been interning at Nu-Tech—a technology company just outside of Lynncastor. He gets paid shit, but he said the people are cool and he likes what he does. Better than what I have to show for my four years in college. All I got was a broken heart, a crazy ex, and a BFA no one respects. Who the hell requires a bachelor’s degree but only wants to pay minimum wage? And with AI making a big show into the design scene, it’s gotten worse. Companies think they can get away with using it instead of people like me who actually know what they’re doing. Have fun with that, buddy. Don’t come crying to me when you get royally screwed over.
I shake my head, ignoring Cole’s room across the hall and go to mine. My room. The room I’ve always stayed in when I’m here, because this isn’t the first time I’ve stayed here. In high school I was here often. Probably more than my father’s house. At the end of my junior year, my father kicked me out, so I was here my entire senior year until I left for college.
The king-sized bed is against the center of the wall that shares with Chris’s, a TV that’s at least 80 inches is mounted to the wall across from it. The closet is to my right, with windows across from me, and a chaise lounge beneath them. There’s an attached half bathroom beyond the bed. Chris and Cole both have full bathrooms off their rooms. Chris always let me use his shower, but worst case, the bathroom downstairs has one too.
The apartment I shared with my roommate back in Providence wasn’t much bigger than this room. I’m going to feel like I’m living in a mansion while I’m here.
I drop my suitcase by the closet before dropping to the bed and passing out.