Chapter Four
Lucas
“Excuse me,” I say to the group of people talking my ear off about the gallery and what a success it’s been.
I signal to Isla across the room, pointing toward the door so she knows I’m leaving. She works at the gallery for me, the only person I trust to run this place other than myself, and she’s closing for me tonight after the party.
I follow Hunter into the stairwell. I knew this was inevitable, that we would run into each other eventually.
LA is a big city, but our paths were bound to cross.
I just didn’t expect it would be at Kismet or so soon.
I have no idea what I’ll say to him, but most of the time, not having a plan is my MO.
I do shit and figure out the details later.
I wish I had the keys on me so I could take the elevator, but I hadn’t planned on anyone going up to the roof.
I’m not a professional athlete like Hunter, so it just about kills me to make it to the top, and the second I close the thick, metal door behind me, my equilibrium is off, making me sway slightly as I catch my breath.
The sounds of the city are loud even this far up, bright lights in the distance. Hunter is standing with his back to me, hands stuffed in the pockets of his slacks as he looks out at the view of LA.
“Don’t jump,” I say. “My father would hate to lose the favorite son he has left.” As soon as I say the words, I wince. I don’t know why shit like that comes out of my mouth sometimes, but I can’t seem to stop it.
“Fuck you, Lucas,” he says without turning around.
My relationship with Hunter is complicated.
I hated him on principle when he first started coming around because he was everything my father wanted me to be, everything he wanted Ellis to be, but at least Ellis wasn’t artsy.
At least he didn’t get lost in the clouds and pick pretty flowers that he put in his hair.
Even when it was clear Ellis liked men too, it was acceptable to be queer the way Ellis was queer, the way Hunter is queer, but less so the way I am. The guy who sometimes paints his nails.
The Blake men were supposed to play sports, not take photos and prefer to be alone or go to an art gallery instead of a game.
Add to that “squandering” my natural football talent, and I was always a disappointment.
That’s not Hunter’s fault, but I still hated him for it, and even more so when he was kind to me.
Looking at me with those soft blue eyes when my father said something hurtful; sticking up for me with my brother.
I knew he was beautiful the first time I saw him, felt my heart race and my stomach flip, but when I started looking at him the way a guy shouldn’t look at his brother’s boyfriend—or hell, even his best friend—it gave me another reason to hate him and myself.
“I’m going to smoke a cigarette. Do you want one?” I ask, pulling the pack from my pocket and lighting one.
“I don’t smoke.”
“Of course you don’t.”
He sighs, turns around, and rubs a hand over his face in frustration. “What are you doing here?”
“Considering it’s my gallery, I figure that should be a question I ask you.”
He frowns, his brows pulling together in a familiar way. “Yours? Your parents didn’t tell me—”
“Probably because they don’t know.” I take a drag of the cigarette, then sit on the ground, leaning against the wall. Ask me if I’m shocked he talks to them more than I do. Mom tries, though. She tries more than Dad.
“This place is yours? I don’t understand.”
“You’re smarter than that. You know what I’m saying. I moved here. I bought a gallery. Surprise. We’re neighbors.”
He closes his eyes like I’ve exhausted him already, then does the last thing I expect—walks over and sits beside me. “Abbie would want to know.”
“You’re not Ellis. I don’t need you to lecture me on how to be a better son.
” My brother did it all the time, did it until the day he died.
Other than not being good at football, Ellis was perfect—the perfect son, man, friend, brother, boyfriend.
He tried to mold me into that too, tried to instruct me and change me.
Why can’t you listen to Dad? Can’t you just try to play?
Why do you talk back? Sneak out? Maybe you’d like football if you gave it a chance. If I had your talent…
But he hadn’t, much to his and my father’s chagrin. If I could have given it to him, I would have.
“I’m not trying to be your brother.”
Well, that’s probably good, as I spent my teen years both hating and wanting him. I really am a terrible brother.
“You can see the stars tonight,” I say instead of responding, then ball up my suit jacket and lie down, using it as a pillow.
“Sometimes I play connect the dots.” I smoke with one hand, using the other to point to the sky and draw pictures.
“You can create anything with stars.” I’m almost afraid to look at Hunter, afraid to see his confusion or annoyance at me being me.
Drawing pictures in the sky is a Lucas thing—not an Ellis or Hunter thing.
It’s one of those weird things about me they don’t get.
“I’ll make a football for you,” I tease, drawing one.
“I don’t only care about football,” he snaps.
“I didn’t say you did.”
“It’s what you were insinuating.”
“We might not be brothers, but we fight like it.” I stop drawing, unsure why I’m up here with him at all.
Why I didn’t walk away, because we both know that spending time with me is the last thing he wants.
“Cigarettes and stars. The only thing missing to make this a perfect night is an orgasm,” I say, wanting to get a reaction.
“Jesus, Lucas.”
I risk looking at him. “What? You can’t pretend to be so innocent and pure anymore. I’ve seen the stories.”
They’ve surprised me. Not the women—I knew Hunter’s bisexual—but that he’s been caught out with them, that there are stories about his hookups and wild nights out in a way that never happened when he was with Ellis.
That surprised me. Everything about him and Ellis had always been so wholesome.
Two boys who love football become best friends, then fall into a relationship.
High school sweethearts who go to college together, then move to LA together when one is drafted to play professional football.
Everything about them had been perfect. A fairy tale.
“Fuck off, Lucas. I don’t even know why I try with you.”
Hunter changes position to stand, making guilt tackle me…
guilt, and a part of me that doesn’t want him to go because Hunter has always fascinated me.
I’ve always struggled to keep my eyes off my brother’s boyfriend, which just proves the kind of person I am.
“I’m a dick,” I say. We both know it’s true.
Hunter sighs and sits down again. There’s a weariness to him he didn’t use to carry, a sadness surrounding him that doesn’t feel right.
You don’t see it in interviews, don’t see it online or when he’s playing, but I’m drowning in it now.
Hunter is supposed to be the boy next door—perfectly neat brown hair, blue eyes, a flawless smile and teeth after braces when he was younger.
He looks like the guy who would play a superhero everyone loves.
“You’re right. I’m not the man I was with him. He would expect better of me.”
I turn onto my side, propped on my elbow, head in my hand. “There’s nothing wrong with what you do.”
“Because I’m more like you now?” He says the words to hurt me, or maybe to hurt himself, but it only makes me roll my eyes.
“You’re nothing like me. If you were, my father would hate you too.”
Hunter looks away, like my words hit a nerve.
It was a joke, really, though it’s true.
He hasn’t gotten to embarrassing territory yet, and if he does, he’ll feel the wrath.
The seriousness on Hunter’s face speaks to how much he believes what he said, though, as if he’s not allowed to have any kind of life because Ellis is gone; as if he’s not allowed to be messy.
“Hunter…as much as we all wish it wasn’t true, Ellis is gone. You’re allowed to have a life, and God forbid, you’re not perfect.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Or him?”
“Especially him.” He looks at me again, that sadness becoming clearer, like if you really look in his eyes, that’s all that will reflect back. “I should go, but I don’t want to see anyone.”
Apparently, I don’t count as anyone, but I keep that to myself. “Well, too bad we’re stuck on this roof. The door locks when it’s closed. The elevator doesn’t come to the roof without a key, and technically, the stair access should’ve been locked too.”
“The roof door was propped open.”
“Must have been Isla. She comes up here to smoke. Or maybe me. I come up here to smoke too. But I left my key downstairs in my office.”
His eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
“Yep. Not just anyone can come up here. I’m not surprised you found a way, though; the universe seems to always give you what you want.”
“If that were the case, Ellis wouldn’t be dead.”
I cock a brow. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about him.” What is wrong with you? He’s in love with your brother, and your brother was in love with him.
Hunter ignores me. “Can’t you call Isla, then?”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and power it down, where he can see me do it. “Oops. My phone died.”
“Good thing I have my phone.”
“I think it died too.” I grin, then roll to my back, looking at the stars again.
I have no right to try to talk to him any longer, no right sitting up here with him at all, but if he wants to stay, I will too.
I light another cigarette, feeling his gaze on me.
I take a drag, then another, watching the puff of smoke each time it leaves my lungs.
“It’s okay to do something unpredictable, Hunter.
Pretend your phone died. Spend this unexpected time on a roof in LA simply because you want to. ”
The silence stretches between us. I don’t look at him, but I know he’s looking at me, dissecting me, trying to figure me out. He used to try when we were kids, try to put the puzzle pieces of Lucas together because none of them were the same shape as the rest of my family.
He didn’t figure me out then, and he won’t now, but it’s nice that he tries, even if only to understand how I can be related to Ellis, who was so fucking perfect.