13. Chapter Thirteen
Bryson leaves my office, his scent lingering in the room. I close my eyes and breathe it in. Having him here has been a struggle since the very second he showed up, which concerns me because it’s barely been two days. If I’m already feeling like this, what am I going to do in a week? Two weeks? A month?
The problem is, I feel it from him too. The hesitation and tension. He’s different around me than he used to be. How could he not, after what we did? Of course things have changed. But he’s fighting it, and I can’t help but be proud of him for that. Bryson knows right from wrong. He knows what we did shouldn’t have happened. And though he’s warring with it, the way I am, he’s being mature about it. And fuck, it only makes me want him more.
I hadn’t expected wanting him to be a problem. Not really sure what came over me that night in Astoria. I’ve thought of it so many times and can’t come up with a valid reason for crossing all those lines. I can’t say I regret it, because I don’t, but it sure made things difficult. It was easy when he wasn’t here, but now that he is? Now that he’s sleeping in a room just down the hall, probably jerking off every night. Knowing he’s naked in the shower. Also probably jerking off. He’s a young guy, of course he’s jerked off all over this house. And I really need to stop imagining him doing it because it’s driving me mad. Does he think about me while he does it? Picture me stroking his cock for him? Or am I really making this shit up? Seeing things I want to see? But I don’t want to see it. That’s the thing. It’s best if we avoid and ignore all of this. So no, I’m not making this up. It’s happening. This struggle is a two-way street.
Which makes this even more difficult. Had I known he wasn’t interested, it would be easier to let it go. But knowing he wants me as badly as I want him? Fucking hell, it’s torture.
As tough as it is, I’m glad he’s here. Not for me, but for my son. Chris is struggling, and I hope Bryson being here will help him. Lord knows my son won’t let me help him. He hardly talks to me these days. And not for lack of trying on my end. I try too much. Not that, as a parent, that’s a thing… but it is. I can be overbearing. But of course I am, because he’s my son. I want to help him figure his shit out.
I let out a sharp breath, sit in my chair and wake up my computer. I’ve been trying not to work on the weekends, but when you own your own business, you’re working 24/7, whether you like it or not.
Now’s as good a time as any to check my emails, considering I barely have time to do it when we’re on site. I’d rather work seven days a week and get home early than work late into the night on weekdays and have the weekend off.
I regret hopping on my computer the moment I open the email app and see an email from Icarus DeFranco, owner of DeFranco Furniture. The preview already has my blood pressure sky-rocketing, and when I open the email and read it all, it only gets worse.
Mr. Harper, we appreciate your interest in taking on our new location, and though you’ve won the bid, we’ve decided to take a different direction. Please don’t let this discourage you from bidding on jobs in—
I don’t read further. Doesn’t matter. I know exactly why this happened, and it only pisses me off. I grab my phone and call my buddy, who works at the furniture store.
“Cole. How’s it going?” His tone tells me he has no idea his boss denied me the job that he had no reason to deny me.
“What happened, Jeremy?”
“What do you mean?”
“I got an email saying he’s going in another direction.”
“Shit,” he curses quietly. There are some heavy footsteps, and he adds, “I don’t know, Cole. I spoke to him and vouched for you. He seemed convinced.”
“He didn’t say anything about it?” I ask, keeping my tone calm. It isn’t Jeremy’s fault this happened, so I won’t take my anger out on him. Not like I can take it out on the person who deserves it. At least, I shouldn’t.
“No, I swear. I didn’t even know he’d made a decision yet.”
He may not know the reason, but I do. I was just hoping calling Scott would prove me wrong. But I’m not wrong. This is all thanks to the same person who’s been giving me a hard time since high school. More so than ever over the last five years.
“If you hear anything, can you tell me?”
“You know I will.”
“Thanks, man.”
“I can talk to him again?” he offers.
“Don’t think it’ll help. Pretty sure this has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the Bart fucking Montgomery.”
“Bart?”
“Pain in my fucking ass.” I groan, leaning back in the chair and bringing my attention to the ceiling.
“Weird you say that. He showed up at the store on Friday.”
“You’re shitting me…”
“Nope. He was heading in when I was leaving. Thought it was weird, honestly. What the hell would he being doing at DeFrancos?”
“Ruining my life, that’s what.” I shake my head.
“Hold on,” he says. “Is he still giving you shit over the Tabitha thing?”
I sigh heavily, placing an elbow on my desk and leaning on it. “Pretty sure that’s part of it.”
“That was like thirty years ago,” Jeremy says.
Don’t I know it? Bart Montgomery has had it out for me ever since I “stole Tabitha” from him. He’s never forgiven me for her cheating on him with me, and when his son started hanging out with mine, and coming to my house all the time, his hatred grew. When Bryson went off to college in Rhode Island for art, Bart got even more mad at me. The man just blames me for everything wrong in his life.
We were sixteen when Tabitha cheated on him. What teenager takes anyone else’s feelings into consideration? Not many. And according to Tabitha, he was an asshole even back then, so he probably deserved it. And as for Bryson? I was just trying to be a good person, supporting him and being there for him when no one else was. I’m honestly surprised Bart never told Bryson about the Tabitha thing to make him hate me. Probably because he’s embarrassed. Or maybe he did tell him, and he just doesn’t care.
“Just let me know if you hear anything,” I say to Jeremy.
“Will do. Fuck that asshole.”
I chuckle, then say goodbye.
I spin in my chair and look out the full wall of windows at the backyard. It’s looking good. I’ve spent a lot of time fixing it up. Only thing left to do is tear down that old shed and get some trees back there. Still haven’t decided which I want to go with. Probably why I haven’t taken the shed down yet. I’d rather get it done all at once. Have everything prepared and ready.
Thinking over plans usually helps clear my head, but I find myself so angry with Bart that I can’t think straight. The man has been a thorn in my side for years. Years.
It’s not my fault he’s a piece of shit and his son can’t stand him. Maybe if he were a decent father, Bryson wouldn’t be here for help all the time. But because the man is a foul human being, he has to make my life hell all because his son would rather spend time here than change to fit into Bart’s image of a good son.
It was little things when the boys were younger. Rumors about my company. Random inspections. Shit like that. But when Bryson left for college? He went all out. He’s been trying to destroy my business for the last five years, and he almost succeeded once. If there’s anyone in this world I’d like to send six feet under, it’s him.
My gaze goes to the pool, wondering if that’ll be enough to get my head clear.
It’s still a little chilly, but it’s a heated pool.
Not in the mood to check more emails, I head upstairs to change.
I swim for about an hour, taking out my frustrations in the water. The last thing I want to do is lose my cool on Chris and push him further away from me. Something that seems to be happening anyway. I don’t know what’s happened to make him pull so far away. We were close when he was young, but for the last year or so, he’s been drinking heavily and barely speaking to me. Had the timing been different, I’d think he found out about me and Bryson. But it started well before that night in Astoria.
I keep telling myself he needs to live and learn. I can’t fix everything for him; I can only be there for him. He knows I don’t approve of what he’s been doing, but everyone deals with shit differently. The feeling of being helpless when your child is hurting is fucking torture. If only I knew why he was hurting at all, I could give him advice. He may not take it, but maybe he will. I’d be able to do something, which is better than doing absolutely nothing.
When I get out, I head inside for a shower, and start on dinner, figuring the boys will be hungry when they get home. I have a few beers while I chop up the vegetables and potatoes. They get tossed in a roasting pan with a roast and thrown into the oven once it’s preheated. When that’s just about done, I’ll grill the shrimp.
The front door opens, and I glance at the clock. It’s nearly five. Who the hell is back this early?
I pop my head out to find Bryson walking in, his face telling me he isn’t okay.
“What’s wrong?”
He looks up, stopping where he stands.
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing,” I say, stepping into the hallway
His hands clench and unclench a few times before he says, “It’s just Chris. He’s—”
“Drunk?” I ask, raising a brow.
Bryson’s eyes widen, his shoulders sagging. “Yeah.”
I nod my head, taking in a breath.
“He’s been drinking a lot lately,” I tell Bryson.
He walks to me, leaning against the wall a few feet away.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. He won’t talk to me about it. Says he’s just having fun.”
“I’d believe that if I didn’t just see what I saw.”
I narrow my eyes. “Should I be concerned?”
He shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks in disbelief as he recalls what happened. It’s concerning knowing Chris did something to rile Bryson.
“The drinking is the worst thing. What I saw has nothing to do with him getting into trouble or anything like that. Just him being a dick.” He winces, looking up at me. “Sorry, I know he’s your son, but…”
“Wanna talk about it?” I ask, choosing to ignore him calling Chris a dick and then apologizing for it. This has always been a safe space, and people are allowed to say how they feel as long as they aren’t being disrespectful. Part of me hopes Bryson will tell me what the hell happened because I want to be the judge on whether it’s bad or not. But I don’t want to ruin their friendship either. I’ve done enough by the way of that already.
Bryson huffs out a humorless laugh. “Thanks, but the less I have to recall what I saw, the better. I’m gonna take a nap.”
He heads upstairs, and his door closes a moment later.
I shake my head and go back to the kitchen to clean up.
Fucking Chris…