Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Brandon
Istand on our front porch, coffee in hand, looking out at the busy main road. This place has been a sweet first home for us, and we’d been very enthusiastic when we first moved in about christening the whole three rooms in the house, but now … now it’s getting small.
My portfolio has taken off in ways I never thought it would, and while I’m earning good money, we’re not left with much of a cushion. Even with Robbie close to outearning me, we make all our bills and food, put money away in our second car fund, and set some aside for emergencies.
Once that’s done, we’re capped out.
Living in West Haven had been a great idea, but I’m getting tired. Tired of the constant hustle. Tired of making sure each dollar stretches. And honestly? Just tired of people. Constantly people.
I grew up in a small town, and sure, I lived with my brothers at college, and WHU wasn’t exactly small, but it wasn’t like this.
This mad dash to sit in traffic to get to work every day.
The constant buzz and noise of productivity.
The half an hour round trip just to duck down the street for anything we’ve run out of.
Robbie was built for this. He’s thriving.
He loves people. He loves movement. He loves being where the excitement is, and I love seeing the happiness on his face every day.
He infects me with it, which I think is the only reason I’ve been able to stick with this for as long as I have.
Robbie doesn’t know how to sit still, and I worry that wanting to take him away from all of this will crush his soul one day.
There’s nothing I hate more than the thought of a Robbie without that fire burning inside him.
Like thinking of him was his summons—and not that the bus was running on time—Robbie appears at our run-down front fence, and a smile splits his face.
“Hey, babe. You waiting for me?”
“Waiting for this.” I grab the front of his button-up and tug him in for a kiss.
Robbie chuckles against my lips, stubble scraping my skin. “Now, that’s how you welcome a guy home.” He steps back and takes me in, then glances toward the house. “You okay? Normally, you’ve got dinner on by now.”
“I was thinking we could order in.”
“Oh, really?” He shrugs out of his jacket, tosses it over one of the little chairs we have sitting here, then threatens its integrity by throwing himself back in it.
“What’s going on? Normally, I’m the one wanting a sneaky pizza or some Thai food, and you’re the one reminding me we’re saving for another car. ”
I shift, wavering over whether I should cook or not.
Robbie does need a car. It’s ridiculous to be earning the money he is and still be catching a bus, but he refuses to go into debt, and since I work further away, I get to use the car through the week.
I’d drop him off if we didn’t work in completely opposite directions.
“Hey …” He takes my hand and tugs me into the chair beside him. “What’s going on, Brando?”
I scuff a hand through my hair. “I’m … tired.”
“I’ll cook. That’s no problem.”
Of course he’d immediately offer. Robbie doesn’t have a mean or resentful bone in his entire body. “Not just tired, like I need sleep, tired like … it’s right in my bones. I think I’m struggling a bit.”
“Bromote it out.”
That makes me chuckle softly. He’s a silly idiot, but he’s also serious. “I’ve been thinking about it for a little while now, and I think … I think it’s living here that’s doing it.”
He glances toward the house. “You don’t like it anymore?”
“Not the house, specifically, though let’s be real, she’s a dump. I don’t need everything to be nice and new though; that’s not me. It’s more … the area. It’s busy. Work is busy. It’s all just a lot, and I think it’s draining me.”
His thick eyebrows jump up. “Well, fuck. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because you’ll want to fix it.” I smile at him. “Immediately. I know what you’re like when you see me struggle.”
“I hate it.”
“And I love you for it, but it’s okay. I’ll figure it out; you don’t need to fix anything. But if I’m a bit … low energy, that’s why.”
His face has settled into a frown as he looks out at the street that’s filling with cars as though it’s proving my point.
I know exactly what will be going through his mind as well: worry.
Worry about me, about how we move if he’s tied to his job, and how he can make me happy if he’s not the one causing me to feel like this.
“Stop it,” I say.
“What?”
“Stop fixating on it. This is why I didn’t say anything, but we don’t keep things from each other, and I didn’t want you to think my mood was anything you did.”
He doesn’t reply for a long moment. “I had a talk with my boss today.”
My excitement for him jumps. “Oh yeah, what did he say?”
“It was more what I said.”
“What do you mean?”
“I called the meeting.”
Of course he did. Just like right now, Robbie is someone who, when he has something to say, he’ll say it. It doesn’t matter if it’s his superior, his family, or some random person at the supermarket. “What did you need to bring up with him?”
“Ever since I got this promotion, I’ve been waiting.
I know I’m still lower level, but they’ve been campaigning lately, and I thought I could add real value to the conversation.
Give them some cool ideas to connect with the college people, to get them motivated to vote.
” He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth.
“I’m paraphrasing, but he basically said if I wanted my ideas to be used, they needed to be safer.
That I need to stop thinking like a frat boy and actually commit to my job. ”
I blink at him, rage roaring in my ears. “He said that?”
“All I did was mention that we’d run a load of charity drives on campus and that college students might be poor, but they’re ready to give whatever they can spare.”
“And that’s true.” We saw it time and time again.
People showing up for us, buying tickets, donating whatever they could scrape together, all because we were putting on a show for them.
College students might be a poorer demographic than most, but they’re fucking passionate, and if they believe in something, they’ll go to bat for it.
“Not according to my boss,” Robbie mutters.
“He clearly doesn’t know his constituents well. That’s a red flag in itself.”
“The thing is, if it’s going to be all fancy dinners for rich people … what’s the point?”
I blink at him. “What? You’re not happy there?”
“Not entirely.” He reaches for my hand and plays with my fingers as he thinks.
“I like it. I’m doing what I always wanted to do, but the whole plan was always to reach more people.
To focus on the younger demographic. To find out what they need and make it happen.
If focus is always going to be given to the older people who already have all the money … am I actually making a difference?”
“Look at me.”
He glances up, sweet blue eyes searching mine.
“You’re the kind of guy who will always make a difference.
Maybe it’s a big one, and maybe it’s not.
Either way, you can’t help but have an impact on people’s lives, and if your boss doesn’t see that in you, he doesn’t deserve to have you working for him. ”
Robbie snorts. “It’s not like I can just quit.”
Financially, no. He can’t. Being that impulsive guy who doesn’t give a shit about the consequences isn’t the person he can be anymore.
I squeeze his hand in support anyway and say, “Follow your gut. It’s always been right before.
And you know that whatever choice you make, I’ll be with you all the way. ”