Chapter 25
B RANTLEY WASN’T SURE how long he sat there on the floor in his hall, but thank God for the door behind him, because he would’ve been lying there if it hadn’t been for that.
He still couldn’t believe that Daniel was gone.
Really gone.
Again.
What the hell had just happened? He had no idea, but the emptiness of his house yawned wide ahead of him when he finally got to his feet and walked through it like a soul lost. And, essentially, that’s what he was.
One minute, he’d been driving home, ready to spend the best week of his life with Daniel, and the next… he was gone.
Brantley managed to make it into his bedroom and over to the open window, which he slammed shut with more force than it’d needed. He latched it closed and stood there with his hand over the lock and his eyes shut.
A symbol of sorts.
If he kept it shut and secure, then maybe the young man who’d once snuck through it and into his heart would be locked out.
But it was too late. Who was he kidding? Daniel had already slipped inside him all over again, heart, body, and soul. He’d returned and, in only days, reclaimed him in every way—maybe even more, because Brantley sure as hell didn’t remember this hurting so much the first time around.
Then again, the first time had been his decision. This had not. And maybe that was karma at its best.
He faced the neatly made bed in the center of his room, and never had it seemed so large, so empty, and so lonely. He searched around the room for signs that the past few days had actually happened. That he hadn’t dreamed the entire thing up.
But there was no sign of Daniel.
No suitcase in the corner.
No shirt lying over the arm of his wicker chair.
And the drawer in his bureau was open slightly, so he knew without looking that it would be as empty as this room was.
It was true. Daniel was really gone.
Walking over to the bed, he kicked his shoes off, wanting to lie down and try to forget everything that had just happened. It wasn’t until he was on the mattress that he saw it.
On the nightstand by Daniel’s side of the bed was a strap of leather.
The same strap Daniel had worn every day he’d been there.
It was lying flat on top of a piece of paper and had Brantley climbing over the bed quicker than he’d thought he could manage.
He stumbled slightly, but when he finally reached it, he snatched up the leather and the paper and then sat back against the headboard.
He fingered the bracelet and brought it to his nose. Daniel’s fresh, clean scent lingered to mix with the leather, and Brantley closed his eyes.
God, why did I do this to myself again? he thought as he lowered it to his lap, and that was when he noticed the writing.
On the wide part of the leather that had sat flat upon Daniel’s wrist, four words were carved.
As they connected with Brantley’s brain and the memory of Daniel telling him he’d gotten it the day he’d left all those years ago, Brantley wasn’t sure his heart could take the final blow.
Because there, scratched into the leather, were the words he’d also carved into the kayak—only in past tense: I loved my teacher.
He brought a fist to his mouth to hold back the shout that threatened, and crumpled the piece of paper.
As the pain splintered through him, he slumped down in the bed and opened the note to read whatever Daniel had written there.
That was when he finally let the wave of sorrow take him under, and he let the paper fall to the bed beside him.
He didn’t need to reread the words. They would haunt him for the rest of his life.
I always will.
DANIEL OPENED THE door to his condo that evening and dragged his suitcase over the threshold.
That was as far as he cared to bring it before he slammed the door shut and stood there.
Stood there like a fucking tree rooted to the spot.
He couldn’t believe he’d made it home—well, back there, wherever there was now.
Because the immaculate, well-furnished space he used to feel most comfortable in suddenly felt completely foreign.
Making himself walk inside, at least to the couch , he shrugged out of his jacket, and just before he turned his phone off, it blared at him. He stopped in his living room, groaned, and then answered it.
“Hey, asshole. Ever think about giving a heads-up when you’re going to skip town?”
“Derek, I?—”
“Fucking save it, all right? You know, I’m getting sick and tired of you leaving as if you don’t give two fucks about anyone who lives here.”
“It’s not?—”
“It’s not what? Like that? Because I’m pretty fucking sure it is.
You own a cell phone, right? You know how to use it, I assume, since you bothered to call your mother and tell her you were leaving.
But me? Nope. I didn’t deserve a phone call.
And you wonder why I don’t tell you shit.
This is why. You really are city. Selfish, arrogant, and a fucking asshole.
Hope you enjoy Chicago, Danny boy. Especially the cold fucking winter that’s coming your way. ”
He was about to try to explain, but before he had the chance, Derek hung up. Daniel pressed redial, but it went straight to voicemail—all three times. Fuck. My. Life, he thought, and fell onto the couch.
He was a fucking asshole. He knew that. For a few days there, he’d deluded himself into thinking he was somebody he’d once been: the loving son, the fun friend, and the perfect lover. But he’d been fooling himself with that little fantasy world. That wasn’t him.
This was him. The expensive high-rise. The cars blaring their horns at one another. The angry person yelling at him on the other end of the phone. Yeah, this was more his reality. The rest had just been a nice illusion for a few days.
Turning his phone off, he threw it on the table beside his couch and closed his eyes.
He didn’t want to talk to anyfuckingone.
He’d contacted Moira and his mother as soon as he’d landed, but beyond that…
he didn’t care to exist outside of his condo’s walls.
Because the truth of the matter was the only person he wanted to talk to would likely never talk to him again, and because that was too hard to fathom, he didn’t find the need to talk to anyone else.
As he sat there, he tried to work out why everything felt so final and so much more unbearable this time, and as the minutes and hours passed and the dark Chicago night overtook the city, he worked it out.
When he’d left to study, he’d been determined that, one day, he would find the man who’d sent him away and prove that he had become something…someone. But now that he’d done that, now that he’d shown Brantley the man he was—where did that leave him?
His life was in Chicago. Brantley’s was in Florida.
There was no reason now to find him, to prove anything.
Brantley already knew everything he would need to about him.
So now, all that remained was the possibility of running into him when he went home to visit his friends and family, and that was what was different.
That was what was killing him this time.
Because how would he ever survive knowing that Brantley Hayes was out there and not his?
“ARE YOU OUT of your fucking mind?” Jordan demanded early the next morning as Brantley pulled his front door open.
As Jordan brushed by him and made a beeline to his kitchen, Brantley followed. He’d called Jordan earlier that morning, after he’d decided he was going to take a little trip north. And before he could explain further, Jordan had hung up on him and knocked on his door.
When Brantley stepped into the kitchen, he leaned against the doorjamb and looked over at his friend, who was rummaging through his fridge.
“Oh, come on. I know you have to have at least one— Aha!”
When he turned holding a bottle of open champagne and a carton of OJ in his hands, Brantley screwed his nose up.
“I’m not really?—”
“Shut it. You woke me up at the un godly hour of four thirty this morning rambling about not letting him go this time, and if you’re about to go and do what I think you are, the least you can do is let me drink and listen to you pour your bleeding heart out to me while you pack.”
He rolled his eyes and walked over to grab to champagne flutes. Jordan made them both mimosas in record time, then Brantley picked his up and headed toward his bedroom.
When they got there, Jordan strolled over to the chair in the corner, carrying not only his glass but the champagne bottle too. He sat, looked at the packed suitcase, and whistled. “Well, fuck me. You really are doing this?”
Brantley looked at his friend just as Jordan propped his feet up on the footstool.
“Got to say, Professor Hayes, there’s something very sexy about you right now.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“No. I mean it,” Jordan said, and then took a sip of his drink. “Packing your bags to go and chase after your man. That’s hot.”
Or crazy, Brantley thought, but then his eyes landed on the leather strap sitting on the bedside table.
“Well, let’s hope he sees it that way.”
Jordan got to his feet and sipped on his drink. Then he walked over and held two of Brantley’s ties up, comparing them before he handed him the red one.
“If that little shit doesn’t see what a huge move this is, you let me know and I’ll come and personally kick his tight Hugo Boss–clad ass.”
Brantley took the tie from Jordan before folding it and placing it in the case. “Hmm…okay. Now I see why they call you Posh Spice.”
“What? Who calls me that?” Jordan demanded, his eyes close to popping out of his head.
Brantley shut the top of the case and picked his drink up. “Finn and Derek. By the way, you have some explaining of your own to do. What is that all about, Professor Devaney? Derek Pearson? Are you out of your mind?”
With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Jordan turned on his heel and walked back over to the chair. Flouncing down into it, he kicked his feet out to cross them on the stool again.
“Of course he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. I’m not sure why I’m surprised. He no doubt opens it on a regular occurrence for any man who asks.”
“ He didn’t tell me anything. And Finn told me he was sworn to secrecy. So whatever you did with Mr. Pearson remains your dirty little secret.”
When Jordan coughed on his drink, Brantley smirked. It wasn’t often he got the better of his friend. Jordan was usually the outlandish one of the two of them, but that reaction… Oh, it’s telling.
“That dirty, huh?”
When Jordan’s eyes found his, Brantley had his answer. There was so much more to that look than his friend was saying.
“ You are going to tell me everything when I get back. You hear me?”
Jordan pursed his lips and cocked his head to the side. “Are you sure you’re coming back, professor? You’re not going to get up there, fall madly in love, elope, and run away, are you?”
“Well, I’ve already done one of those three. So let’s just see what he says when I get there.”
Jordan flashed a blinding smile. “Oh, please. That boy has been head over heels for you since the day you met him.”
Brantley finished his drink and shrugged. “Things change.”
“Trust me. That hasn’t changed. Now, hurry up. If we’re going to beat the traffic and get your sappy ass to the airport, we need to get shaking.”
As Jordan left the room, Brantley picked the leather bracelet up, shoved it in his pocket, and headed out the door. It was time to go get his man.