Bound by Lies (19 page)

A young girl’s laughter shatters the fantasy like glass.

“Dammit,” Brayden groans, sitting up.

Emma’s voice carries through the wall as she breaks into a song. It’s the dash of cold water that he needed.

Struggling to his feet, pulling himself together, he feels nothing but trapped in his life, desperate to get free.

After a long, miserable morning doing errands and driving around in his truck in the pouring rain, Jenner pulls into the driveway of the house he shares with Max and Art. He parks and grabs the shopping bags from the passenger seat.

It’s only when he opens the car door and sees the Audi parked on the street out front that he realizes he has company awaiting him.

Time to play your part. Places, everyone! Places! Better know those lines because the show must go on.

Dread creeps into him, turning his stomach, twisting it up. He tries to ignore the reaction and walks to the front door.

This is who they need you to be. Get over yourself and humor them. It won’t kill you.

As soon as he’s inside he hears, “Well, it’s about time.”

“Cal,” Jenner sighs. His brother, Callum Parrish, steps up to him. Callum has been waiting in the living room. There’s no sign of Art or Max. “What are you doing here?”

“You blew off dinner last week. You’re acting like a child, and it’s unacceptable.” Dressed in a carefully pressed, light blue button-down shirt and designer, tailored grey pants, Callum walks up to Jenner, cocky as can be, smiling at his younger brother’s discomfort. “Family is the most important thing. Where would you be without your family? I’ll tell you—you’d be a friggin’ bum. A jobless, pathetic bum. So how about you show a little respect to your mother and make an appearance this Sunday, huh?”

Biting back his initial retort, trying to master his temper, Jenner twists his hand in the handles of the plastic bags. They begin to cut into him and he welcomes the pleasantly distracting, small pain. “Sunday is my only guaranteed night off. I have other plans.”

“Plans?” Callum scoffs, folding his arms over his chest.

He’s a few years older but a few inches shorter than Jenner. Callum inherited the brains; Jenner got the looks and charm. With a master’s degree in finance, Callum pulls in six figures at his job at an international pharmaceutical company. He’d passed on the family inheritance, choosing to follow his own path rather than devote his life to a small town bar.

That choice paid off. It has brought Callum success. The lucky recipient of Callum’s hand-me-downs, Jenner feels his older brother acts superior to him. Callum enjoys showing off his wonderful life to his comparably pathetic sibling, so Jenner doesn’t try to get close and build a relationship there. No matter how often Callum shows up or calls, as if on some level he is reaching out to Jenner, trying to rein him in as even Jenner pulls away, Jenner denies him. He keeps that wall firmly erected lest Callum find out some of his younger brother’s weaknesses to use as ammunition against him.

“Who do you have plans with? What, do you have a hot date?”

“Yes,” Jenner deadpans. “I have a date.”

“What’s her name?”

Jenner doesn’t respond; he gives his brother a level stare. In theory, he could go to the family dinner, but he would much rather keep the night open to possibly and preferably spend with Brayden instead.

“Okay, what’s she look like, then?”

“Blond and tan,” Jenner says, letting on that much, allowing his brother to draw his own conclusions. And really, it’s not a
total
lie. Some of the honesty in the reply must show in Jenner’s face, because Callum bites—hook, line and sinker.

“Oh yeah?” Callum says with an eager smile. “A blonde, eh? Nice. You could always bring her, you know.”

“Not likely. Was that all, or—?”

“Yeah. That was all. But if you don’t show your face at home next week either, you’ll be hearing from me again.”

“Lovely.”

Jenner ushers his brother out, quickly closing and locking the door behind him. Eyes closing with weariness, he stands there a moment longer with his back to the house, unaware of Art lingering a few feet away in the doorway to the kitchen, having heard the whole exchange.

“So, you’re dating Brayden? That’s the only tan blond you know.”

“Fuck!” Jenner spins, turning to face Art, going suddenly pale with his alarm. “That… you….”

“It’s fine, Parrish,” Art soothes, hands raised to show he means no harm.

“I’m
not
dating….”

“Brayden,” Art finishes. Jenner is so flustered, it’s clearly a lie.

“Yes. No! It’s… I was just telling Cal what he wanted to hear.”

“Then why do you look freaked out?”

“I’m not freaked out,” Jenner argues, his eyes too wide, his stance too tense.

“Dude, I’m not judging. I’d just like you to be honest with us. We’re your friends and you’ve been acting like—”

“I’m not dating Brayden.”

“So you’re just fucking him?”

The casual, crude implication at Brayden’s expense hurts, the question like a calculated punch from a blindspot. Jenner is absolutely sick of it—the jumping to conclusions, the labels and thoughtless ways that people get put down just because it’s easier to assume than to ask for truth. It doesn’t matter that it’s Art, not when he sounds like all of the guys Jenner has had to tiptoe around for most of his life, just to get by, guys who still make jokes at the expense of others. To them, all Max is is a slutty piece of trash. Jenner’s just a meathead. Brayden’s just a spineless weakling from a family of screw-ups. Who are they to judge? Do they really have their own life so figured out? Rage blazes so suddenly and so hot in Jenner that Art recoils slightly, knowing he’s gone too far. Jenner crosses the distance between them—a good ten feet—in the blink of an eye. When he’s nose to nose with Art, seething, Jenner spits, “
You don’t talk about him like that
. Do you understand?”

“Y-yeah, man,” Art says quietly, stammering just a little.

“You don’t talk about him
at all
.”

Jenner is strung so tight, it’s clear he’s just barely keeping it in check, and for no reason but the sake of their friendship. If it was anyone else, other than Art, they’d already be incurring Jenner’s accumulated wrath over his frustrations with the town, with Callum and the comment about Brayden.

It draws out another long moment in perfect, absolute silence. Art doesn’t even breathe.

Then, Jenner seems to realize what he has already implied through his reactions. Pivoting on a heel, he leaves Art behind and retreats upstairs.

“Parrish, wait!” Art calls after him. “We should talk about this! Parrish!”

Just a few moments later, there’s a light knock at Jenner’s door. From out in the hall, Art says, “Hey, I have Puss. Your cat. The one you won’t talk about. She looks thirsty and her bowl is in there, so….”

Opening the door a few inches, just far enough to grab his cat from Art’s hold, Jenner appears, stone-faced, to reclaim his pet. He tucks her in the crook of his arm, where she instantly curls happily. Her laughably disheveled white fur is a perfect counterpoint to Jenner’s fuming, dark seriousness.

Before Jenner can literally shut him out again, Art says, “Look, I’m sorry. No offense intended. I mean it.”

Jenner holds his ground, not backing down but also not closing the door, yet.

“I mean, this is a good thing, right? Max and I have been wondering what’s up with you and this explains it. You don’t need to hide from us, man. We’re not gonna be assholes about it.”

Slowly, Jenner softens as concern for Brayden outpaces everything else. When Art encounters Brayden at work, there could be fallout if Art was to let on what he now suspects.

With some apprehension, Jenner asks, “Don’t say anything to him. I promised I wouldn’t say anything to you or Max. No one’s supposed to know.”

“No problem,” Art assures him. “I won’t say anything.”

“And don’t treat him differently.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Not long. Long enough.”

Art stares at Pussy, cradled so gently and carefully in Jenner’s arm. Idly, he scratches under her chin, making her purr.

“So, it’s serious? Between you and…?” Art leaves it hanging rather than say the name. “I’ve just never seen you act this way before over a guy. I didn’t even know he was
gay
.”

“We’re done talking about it, okay? Let it go.”

“Sure. Sure, man.”

“Thank you.”

Only a few hours later, they’re both at work, along with the person causing all of the commotion.

When he knows Brayden or Jenner are least likely to notice, Art slyly observes them together. He’s a little fascinated at the notion of Jenner being so devoted to someone like Brayden, who didn’t even register for Jenner in high school, even with all of the talk of Jenner’s little obsession with the guy.

They thought it would always be unrequited. Brayden is a private, yet friendly and smiley person who spends much of his shift flirting with female patrons right under Jenner’s nose. It makes the concept of the two men being involved with each other seem near impossible for Art to comprehend.

But, the longer Art watches, the more he picks up the subtle things, like how Jenner is always aware of what Brayden is doing, and is right there to offer help if any seems to be needed. On any other day, Art would just chalk it up to Jenner being a good boss. Now, he suspects there’s more behind it. If Brayden gets little more than a fleeting glance when he’s turning on the charm for a woman ordering a drink from him, maybe, Art suspects, it’s because Jenner knows nothing would ever come of it—that it’s all an act. But it also makes Art wonder what else Brayden has been lying about, if he’s managed to keep his homosexuality under wraps so well and for so long. It’s quite a feat to sleep with your boss under everyone’s noses, with no one suspecting a thing.

From the shadows of the hall between the kitchen and the main room, Art sees Jenner pass behind Brayden, putting a hand on his shoulder to warn of his presence. Brayden shoots Jenner a smile from over his shoulder and, just for a second, Art can see it—the connection between them. It’s there, then it’s gone.

Max weaves her way between tables and clumps of people, tray in hand. Unsure whether to tell her what he knows, Art holds his tongue and resolves to keep it to himself a little longer. It’s what Jenner would want.

At the end of the shift, Art is unsurprised when Brayden lingers in the break room long after everyone else has gone home. Retrieving his things from his locker, Art only has to take one look at Jenner’s face to know he’s being dismissed.

“Catch you later, then?”

“Yeah,” Jenner nods. “Thanks for staying to clean up. I’ll walk home.”

“Cool. Later Brayd,” Art waves. “Take it easy.”

“Thanks,” Brayden smiles. “You too.”

Hesitating just a moment longer, watching big, bullheaded Jenner and the much smaller Brayden with some unease, Art overcomes the urge to say something he shouldn’t. While hoping he doesn’t regret it later, he leaves them alone and goes.

Once Art has left, Jenner seems to savor the silence of their long-awaited privacy. Brayden watches him take a deep breath, exhaling heavily and letting go of hours of built-up tension. The shift hadn’t been too bad. There was one incident as he was collecting money from a pair of guys he vaguely recognized, but whose names he couldn’t recall. They were about his age, maybe a year or two older. As Brayden took the cash for their beers, he could have sworn the guy muttered “faggot” under his breath, especially because of the way he was smiling when Brayden glanced up at his face. Maybe it was his imagination. Paranoia. He didn’t say anything to them, or Jenner, and he doesn’t intend to. It’s not the first time it’s happened and it won’t be the last. Sometimes it’s best to just let it go.