Bound by Lies (7 page)

He feels like they’re there, in Jenner and Art—all of those people who seemed to know something he didn’t, that saw him and knew just by looking that he was less than them, without as much worth in any sense. He was pitiful, pathetic, weak; not even fit to look them in the eye let alone talk to them. He hears them laughing, calling out, “Cry baby! Cry Braydy! Cry! What a fucking loser!”

You’re not that kid anymore. Don’t let them get the best of you. Don’t let them win before you’ve even tried.

Jenner introduces the cook. His name is Art Conner. When Art shakes Brayden’s hand, it makes him feel like a child in the company of
real
men. The glimmer of something in Art’s face when they lock eyes draws Brayden out of his thoughts. He wonders if Art is remembering him from school. He acts polite and welcoming enough as they shake.

“You don’t know what you’re gettin’ yourself into, man,” Art says amiably. “You ready to work your ass off?”

“Hell yeah. I’m used to worrying about someone dying on my watch. My last job was as a lifeguard. I’ll gladly bust my ass if the most I have to worry about on a daily basis is spilling drinks and bar fights.”

“I hear that. Hey, you ever almost lose someone? When you were a lifeguard,” Art asks, intrigued.

“Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it, huh?” Jenner tells him quietly.

This makes Brayden turn to look at the man behind him with wonder. Jenner’s face is hard and set, warning Art off as Jenner seems to literally feel the tension the question brings out in Brayden’s form. And just like that, the small display of Jenner looking out for him soothes some of Brayden’s panic away.

Maybe this won’t be so bad
after all
, he thinks.

“Yeah. I did,” he says after consideration. “Sometime we should have a drink and I’ll tell you the story.”

“Definitely.”

“Come on,” Jenner nods, pulling Brayden away. “Break room’s over here. I’ll introduce you to our waitress. One of them anyway.”

At the end of the short hallway and to their right is a darkened doorway. Through it is a dimly lit, long and narrow space with a small table and chairs to the left, and a row of lockers down to the right with a bench that runs the length of the opposite wall. A dark-haired, exotic looking young woman is quietly stirring a steaming cup by the coffee maker. At first, lost in thought, she doesn’t hear them or turn when they enter. Jenner’s low-pitched, slightly raspy voice breaks the silence as he says, “Maxine, this is Brayden. Ask and you shall receive. He’s going to be helping us out.”

Looking shocked, she drops her spoon into the cup. Then she takes her measure of Brayden from over a shoulder, her almond-shaped eyes sharpening with wariness. She scans both of the men before her, looking like she’s trying to anticipate the punch line and figure out what the hell is happening.

“You’re shitting me, right,” she manages. “This is a joke.”

From behind Brayden, Jenner shrugs, wearing a smug grin. “No joke. He saw the job notice.”

“It’s, um, nice to meet you, Maxine,” Brayden says politely, floundering a little, but offering a hand.

“What’s wrong with me?” Max laughs, looking suddenly insecure and tucking a loose strand of her black hair behind an ear. She glances down at herself and her dingy shirt and sweats. Shooting a pointed look at Jenner like it’s his fault she isn’t dressed to impress, she says, “I swear I don’t usually look like such a hag. I’ve been trying to decontaminate the place from last night.” She takes a step forward and gives Brayden a smile. He meets her halfway and she takes his hand. “It’s a pleasure. You’re a lifesaver for taking this job. I mean it, you have no idea. And it’s Max, by the way. No one calls me Maxine.”

“Your mother does,” Jenner says, leaning in the doorway.

“Very nice to meet you, Max,” Brayden says, his voice softening. This part is easy for him. He falls into his expected role easily, having had plenty of practice at it. He glances down her body, the way her full breasts fill out the old shirt, the way the sweats hang low on her hips, offering a glimpse of ivory, smooth skin just above the waistband. He lets her see him look and holds her gaze after she giggles and momentarily bows her head. “You know, you look familiar. Jenner and I were talking about high school. You didn’t happen to—”

A few things happen at once. Max’s gaze snaps to Jenner. Following it, Brayden notices that there’s a possessive glint in his dark eyes at the sight of her and Brayden still holding hands and standing so very close to one another. Seeing their reactions, Brayden jumps to some conclusions. His newfound confidence falters and his panic sparks anew.

“Um…”

“Yeah, actually,” Max says after an awkward pause, amusement lighting her face from within. “
Jenner
and I were in the same grade so I guess we did all go to school together. I don’t think I remember
you
though. I know I would.”

“Well, I’ve, uh,” he flips his hair back, reclaiming his hand and slipping it into the front pocket of his jeans instead, “kind of changed a lot since then.”

“Max and I have been BFFs since grade school, haven’t we, Maxie?”

Brayden glances back and tries to interpret the look that passes between Jenner and Max, and the particular quality of Jenner’s knowing smirk. It makes him suspect that there’s quite a rich history between them, possibly intimate in nature, so he asks, “Are you two a couple?”

Max barks laughter. It’s a free, rolling sound and its honesty makes Brayden instantly like her more. She returns to her coffee and takes a hesitant sip. “Oh Jesus H, that’s hilarious. A
couple
.”

Jenner scowls with such ferocity it makes Brayden chuckle. “So that’s a no?”

“That’s a
hell
no,” Max assures him. “Parrish is like the older brother I never had. Which is why we get along so damned good, don’t we, baby?”

“Max, Art and I share rent on a house nearby,” Jenner tells him dryly. “Despite what you may hear to the contrary, the truth is we get so sick of each other, working and living together, the thought of romance is somewhat disgusting.”

With the challenge posed, Max takes the bait and slinks up to her best friend, roommate and boss, rolling her hips seductively as she walks, pulling her shoulders back to emphasize her ample bosom, licking her lips wet. She advances toward Jenner like a cat in heat and brushes against his hip, dragging a fingertip down the front of his chest. Wrapping her petite, voluptuous body around his side, she teases, “Oh you don’t really think I’m
disgusting
, do you?”

He rolls his eyes skyward and keeps his mouth firmly shut, remaining stiff and refusing to react to attempts at instigation.

“Mm,” he hums. “A total pig.”

“Oh, now, don’t be mean,” she
tsk
s.

Unease exudes from Brayden in force. One glance his way and Jenner pries her loose, swatting her bottom to send her on her way back to her coffee. Then he straightens and walks to the lockers, inspecting the empty ones methodically and stopping in front of one.

“Okay. This one’s pretty clean. Brayden, this will be yours. Keep your stuff in here when you’re on a shift. Maxie likes to lock her purse in hers so that she doesn’t have to worry about someone getting in here and lifting it, so I’d suggest that you use a padlock to secure any valuables you may have on you. Otherwise, it’s a good place to keep a clean change of clothes or two. Oh, speaking of…”

He frowns and walks to the far end of the lockers where a stack of clothing is stuffed into the last one on the right. After sorting through the contents, he hands Brayden his selections.

“These should fit you. It’s a week’s worth of them. If you need more, let me know.”

Upon scrutiny, the small stack of black items turns out to be cotton knit, collared shirts embroidered with the bar’s name in white thread, the V-neck buttons closed. They’re mediums which should fit him, though they may be tight. Brayden glances up at Jenner, feeling that cold tingle at the back of his neck again at the knowledge that the man has literally been taking his measure. Jenner probably wears at least an extra-large and even that is probably skin-tight over his broad shoulders and muscular chest.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Look,” Jenner sighs, stepping up to him, face-to-face, and looming over him. “If you’re up for it, we could use the help right away, starting tonight if you’re available.”

“Yeah,” Brayden agrees, pushing past the sense of intimidation and grasping at the opportunity to finally make some real cash. “Of course. No problem. When do you need me?”

“Five to one. Eight hour shift. That work for you?”

“Yeah,” Brayden grins, letting the happiness of gainful employment wash everything else away. “I’ll be here.”

“Fantastic.”

“Jenner, I…” He can’t hold Jenner’s gaze, the intensity of the scrutiny too much to endure for more than a second. Looking down at his boss’s feet instead, Brayden’s hair falls forward. “I really appreciate this opportunity. Thank you.”

“No problem,” Jenner says, matching Brayden’s hushed tones and Brayden can still feel him staring. A shiver races down his spine. “Welcome to the team.”

Twenty minutes later, after dealing with some paperwork and getting formalities out of the way, Brayden is gone. Max lingers in the entrance to the tiny back office beside the kitchen, watching her roommate with a practiced eye. Jenner ignores her thoroughly, or tries to.

“He called you
Jenner
,” she observes.

“It is my name,” Jenner says snidely.

“No one calls you Jenner. I’ve seen you threaten bodily harm for less. Especially with new people. But I guess your little boytoy isn’t totally
new,
is he?”

“Shut up, Max.”

“You really think this is a good idea? You were obsessed with him when he was across the street and sharing a gym with you. How the hell are you going to handle being his fucking
boss
without becoming a total psychopath?”

Jenner tents his fingers, elbows braced on the desk. He taps the sides of his index fingers against his lips, his focus on something far away—a glimmer of possibility, something to strive for, if only he can align the pieces in just the right way.

“He begged me,” he tells her, the soft, thick quality of his voice telling her everything his words don’t. “He looked into my eyes and
begged me
for this.”

“You’re hopeless, you know that right? I never figured you for a romantic.”

Pain laces his expression. He has no reply. People don’t figure him for a lot of things—being sentimental or vulnerable to loneliness and hurt feelings, or for someone just looking to trust and get close to something with true meaning without first scaring it off. There’s always a buffer of space built of fear or respect there, keeping everything and everyone at a distance, trapping him in isolation. Whenever he tries to reach out, it just pushes them farther away.

I’m doing it again, aren’t I? I’m pursuing someone who’s going to run at the first sign that things aren’t what they seem
—
that I’m not what I seem. It’s all hopeless.

Why do I bother, anymore?

“Jenn, he’s not gay,” Max tells him tenderly, apologetically. “It’s gonna break your goddamned heart to be this close to him every—”

“Leave it,” he says sharply, interrupting her. “
Leave it
.”

“Okay. Okay, I’ll leave it,” she sighs, her fingers dancing along the doorframe as she retreats. “Just don’t wanna see you get hurt.”

When she’s gone, he admits to the empty room, “Yeah, well, too late for that.”

Jenner feels like he’s sentenced himself to some form of endless water torture—dying of thirst when what he craves, what his body screams out for is right there, sometimes rubbing up against him in the close confines behind the bar. And no matter how badly he needs it, how very much it literally hurts, he cannot partake. The torment flays his nerves.

It’s been a week—one week working alongside Brayden. The added help has eased all of their burdens and Jenner has to constantly remind himself that it’s a good thing that Brayden gets along so well with the customers. Now, if only Jenner could solve the problem of his nearly constant raging hard-on, he might begin to be happy about the turn of events.

Jenner gathers the used, dirty glasses and wipes down the bar, catching snippets of the conversation of a couple of middle-aged guys bitching about their jobs and nursing pints of lager. He tries to focus but once again starts watching Brayden out of the corner of his eye. Brayden is leaning forward with both hands braced on the counter in front of him; his lean, toned arms tense and tightly encased in the black knit fabric of his short shirt sleeves. The top half of his hair has been pulled back and braided to keep it out of the way. White, perfectly straight teeth gleam as he smiles, then laughs at something one of the long-legged women seated on stools at the other end of the bar says to him. He charms them so easily. Jenner is captivated by it, how effortlessly Brayden lures them in and keeps them at a safe distance, helpless to get away but unable to get too close. But that isn’t what keeps him peeking, stealing glances when he can be sure Brayden doesn’t notice. For Jenner it’s the details—the way Brayden’s hair will curl around on itself as it falls over his shoulder, escaping the hair tie, the strength in the way he carries himself, and the deep well of dark sensitivity Jenner has seen lurking behind his eyes. He wants to puzzle it out; the riddle to whatever it is that pains Brayden, the cause for that buried ache that can only be sensed when Brayden is not consciously hiding it. It can’t just be about the deceased father. That was too long ago to still be an open wound. Brayden isn’t his puzzle to solve, though.