Brad's Bachelor Party (9 page)

The urge to touch him again was strong.

Cole scrubbed his hands down his face. He’d been too spent from the physical workout to do more than pull his boxers back on. Worse, the emotional roller coaster of the last four days had left him mentally exhausted.

Brad’s chest rose in a deep breath, and he exhaled, turning his head until his cheek pressed flat against the bed. His eyes opened, meeting Cole’s, and they both froze.

The words Brad had belted out before, cracking Cole’s resolve, plowed into Cole like a runaway train.

I’m in love with
you.

Everything about his tumultuous relationship with Brad made his usual composure a struggle to pull off. But even he was surprised by the words that shot from his mouth.

“You can’t get married tomorrow,” Cole said.

Several thundering heartbeats later, Brad squeezed his eyes tight, pressing his face into the mattress.

The response was hardly encouraging.

Tonight, Cole had shown up to have it out with Brad, to tell him to stop flirting with this thing he’d started. To keep his hands and his eye fucking and his too-honest words to himself. Cole had known sleeping with his friend would be the worst in the long list of Brad’s bad ideas, especially the night before he was set to marry someone else. So Cole had stomped over to the room feeling all self-righteous and self-pitying, ready to sacrifice his own desires for the greater good. But in the end, he’d been too weak to say no.

Twelve years of want had overpowered his need to do the right thing.

“It’s too late, man,” Brad said, his voice muffled by the comforter. “Jenny’s dad already considers me his son-in-law.” He lifted his head and stared up at Cole. “There’s no going back from that. If I call it off now, things will be way too awkward at work. I’ll have to quit my job.”

Cole barely contained the urge to shout in frustration.

“So what?” Cole said. “You can find another one. You’re smart. You’re good at what you do.”

“I’ve built something there, and I’ve poured too much of myself into that company to walk away now.”

“Everyone knows you’re the driving force behind Sterling Security,” Cole said. “If you left and started your own business, a good number of the clients would follow you.”

“Some of them, sure, but not all of them.” Lying on his stomach, Brad propped himself up on his elbows. “Sterling Security has been around a long time, has an impeccable reputation.” He rubbed his forehead with his palms and then dropped his hands back to the bed. “That can’t be bought with all the money in the world, Cole, even if I had it.”

Cole stared at Brad, trying to adjust to what he was saying. Hating that he sounded so logical. The brash, leap-without-looking Brad suddenly resembling a responsible grownup.

Where was all this coming from?

“You’ve never been obsessed with money,” Cole said. “That’s not your style.” Brad wasn’t the type to throw cash around, or to care much about luxuries or gadgets or grown-up toys. “Why are you suddenly such a money whore?”

But what he really wanted to say was,
Why are you really marrying her?

How can you do this to me?

The tight cord around his chest pulled harder, and it was a struggle to keep his cool while he waited for Brad to respond.

His friend slowly sat up, the effects of their activities written in every wayward spike of his hair, the ruffled bedsheet leaving a crease on his face. There was something entirely too attractive about a postsex Brad.

Especially the knowing way he gazed at Cole now.

The words out of Brad’s mouth weren’t what Cole had expected.

“I just got through paying off the seventy-five-thousand-dollar cost of Danny’s last relapse,” Brad said flatly. He turned his head to stare at the wall. “It took me three years and every goddamn spare cent I had to do it.”

Stunned, Cole stared at Brad. He’d had no idea. Brad had never let on that he was scrambling to pay off a huge bill. And
Christ
, why hadn’t he told Cole?

“You paid for his rehab?” Cole said.

Brad shot him a sharp look. “I’ve paid for every one of his stints in recovery. Who else was gonna do it?”

And damn, it hurt to look at him. Because Brad was right, there was no one else.

Cole could do little more than blink. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“What would have been the point?” Brad swiped a hand across his head, leaving his hair more messed up than before. “Danny doesn’t have the means to pay it back. He already had to declare bankruptcy over his medical bills.” He blew out a breath, the frustration evident in his face. “But that’s the thing about a drug addiction. The hospital is obligated by law to take care of your acute injuries. They’ll fix the liver laceration so you won’t bleed to death, but once you’re better, they kick your ass back to the street. But the real problem, the
addiction
, is halfheartedly addressed, if at all.” Brad barked out a humorless laugh. “And the shit just starts all over again.”

Shocked, Cole stared at Brad as everything finally slotted in to place. “Is that what this is all about?” Cole took a step forward. “The cost of keeping Danny clean?”

The green eyes that met his were surprisingly calm. Mature. And somber.

A man Cole barely recognized.

“Basically, yes,” Brad said.

“You can’t be serious.”

Brad’s eyes flashed in anger. “What’s the price of Danny’s health? His life?” He pointed from his chest to Cole’s and back again. “Cuz you and I both know every time he relapses, he’s at risk of dying. From an overdose, from some bloody pusher knifing him in the gut. From…from a stupid accident while he’s under the influence.” He threw his hand in the air, frustrated. “Whatthefuckever, man. Dead is dead.”

Cole’s stomach twisted, and he felt a roll of nausea sweep up his chest. “He’s been clean for three years now.”

“Jesus, Cole,” Brad said as he shot to his feet. “Haven’t you been paying attention? He’ll always be at risk of a relapse. That’s never gonna go away. And when it comes…
if
it comes”—Brad closed his eyes, as if he didn’t have the strength to believe his brother’s current status would last—“I have to be ready to take care of him.”

Cole stared at Brad, his heart pumping hard.

Brad met his gaze again. “I can’t start over,” he said. “And he’s
my
responsibility.”

Cole swallowed hard, the fury from earlier slamming back into him. Staring at Brad as the heavy realization sunk in: what had just transpired in Brad’s hotel room, in his bed, might not have changed a thing. Brad would take that responsible big-brother role and ride it all the way to the crappy end, personal life be damned. It was one of the first things about Brad that had attracted Cole, the cocky smart-ass who never took anything seriously…until it came to family. Until it came to taking care of his brother. He’d sacrificed so much along the way that Cole couldn’t help but admire his loyalty.

Couldn’t help falling for the man.

And now it looked as if that character trait Cole most admired would be the end of them.

Chapter Twelve

“Eight years ago I left because I couldn’t stand being around you anymore,” Cole said.

The words sucked all the air from the room, and Brad’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. He blinked hard before lifting his eyes to meet Cole’s gaze. After all this time, an explanation. A confirmation.

An accusation.

He remembered Cole methodically packing his things while Brad watched from the couch, too stupid to know how to fix the problem. Trying to think of something,
anything
, to say to make things right. Cole’s kiss had been brief, but in two-point-five seconds everything in Brad’s world had gone from precariously on track to full speed out of control. And if he was absolutely honest with himself, an activity he avoided like the plague, he’d been angry.

Angry with himself for not knowing how to react and angry with a world that could leave one brother alone to care for the other. But mostly angry with Cole for mucking up the status quo, the tenuous grip Brad’d had on life. His friend had been the one constant he could count on.

And then Cole had shot that all to hell.

“I’d decided wasting time pining for my best friend was a pathetic way to spend my life,” Cole said.

Brad briefly closed his eyes, feeling like shit. “Cole—”

“I was so gone on you,” he went on with a self-deprecating smile and a shake of his head. Brad wasn’t sure if he was using the term strictly in the past tense or not. “And it was torture watching you burn through girlfriends faster than most people race through a plate of french fries.”

Brad chewed on his lower lip. What the hell was he supposed to say?

“It’s not an original story,” Cole said as he pulled on his jeans. “The gay guy falling for his straight best friend.”

“I didn’t know what to do,” Brad said. “I was confused, and things were so fucking complicated. Jesus, Danny was starting to use again, and then you kissed me, and I just…I just reacted.” He caught himself babbling and shrugged, feeling as helpless now as he’d felt back then. “Badly, I know.”

 “Get your fucking hands off me, man.”
Brad could fill a football stadium with the regret he had over those words.

“I decided I didn’t want to be that guy, Brad.”

Brad fisted his hand at his side, knowing he shouldn’t ask the question, but asking anyway. “What guy?”

“The one who doesn’t know how to let go, hanging out with his friend and waiting for the Hollywood resolution where everything turns out all right in the end.” He let out a small huff of hollow humor. “But eventually standing up as best man at his wedding instead.”

Brad swallowed, throat burning as if he were trying to down a plateful of sand.

“And
still
spending every weekend at his house doing stupid stuff because he can’t imagine a life without him.” Cole zipped his jeans, and his gaze snapped back to Brad’s. “Until his wife finally clues in and tells her husband she’s tired of his friend making moon eyes at him and could he please not hang out with him so much anymore?”

Cole looked tired. He looked resigned.

He looked like he’d given up.

“I thought I’d gotten beyond it,” Cole said. “That I could be your friend just so I could have you in my life.”

Now Brad’s eyes burned too, and he was sure it was because he’d friggin’ forgotten to blink or some stupid shit like that.

“I’ve decided I was wrong,” Cole went on. “I’m not beyond it. I’ll never get beyond it unless I walk away.”

Brad stepped forward. “Cole, don’t.” He tried to keep his voice calm. He would not sound like he was freaking out. “Just…don’t.”

“Danny should be your best man tomorrow.” Cole pushed his shoulders back, his face resolute. “Staying clean for three years has earned him that right. Tell Jenny I had to fly back because of an emergency at the hospital.”

“Cole—”

“I won’t stand by and watch you martyr yourself, doing penance for mistakes you
didn’t
make.” Cole’s voice was carefully even. “Danny made his choices. It wasn’t anything you did or didn’t do.” Blue eyes burned into his. “It’s not your fault.”

Breathing suddenly became difficult.

“Good-bye, Brad.”

Brad watched Cole exit the hotel bedroom, his stomach churning. Acid burning his throat. He was going to puke for sure.

 “It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Not your
fault.

Brad leaned back against the wall, grateful for the support, and propped his hands on his thighs, his ribs working overtime trying to pull enough oxygen into his lungs. Fighting the wave of nausea. Knowing he was going to lose.

“Fuck.”

He bolted for the bathroom and barely reached the toilet before he vomited.

Chapter Thirteen

The sight of Brad crossing the sandy beach in Cole’s direction ruined what had been, up to this point, a relaxing sunrise over the Pacific. Pale blue and orange streaks reached across the sky as if to haul the sun higher whether it wanted to rise or not. Despite Cole’s grand plan to leave ASAP, fate had conspired against him. The first available flight off the island wasn’t until noon, which meant Cole was stuck at the resort with too much time on his hands. Time to think. To rehash old regrets.

Regrets that wouldn’t change a goddamn thing.

The backup plan was to avoid the wedding party as they all prepared for this evening’s big event. Unfortunately, it looked as if Brad was hell-bent on having another talk.

Cole sat up in the hammock and contemplated a course of action as he watched him approach. Hands stuffed in the pockets of his well-worn jeans, his T-shirt untucked, Brad looked relaxed, despite the upcoming ceremony. Apparently neither their fight nor the fact that he’d slept with his best man the night before his wedding was enough to make him look rattled.

Cole was beyond pretending he was calm.

He went to stand up—finally deciding to abandon the attempt of an unaffected demeanor and leave—but froze when Brad addressed him.

“You know, it’s almost annoying how you can read me better than anyone else,” Brad said with a small frown, slowly shaking his head.

After a moment’s fight-or-flight hesitation, Cole sank back into the hammock, one knee bent to rest his heel on the edge, the other leg stretched to the ground. Maintaining a calm expression was difficult, so he hid his need to bolt by rocking the hammock, his foot pushing against the cool sand.

The creaking sound and the swinging motion were far from relaxing, but it was better than the only other viable option he could come up with: banging his head against the nearest palm tree.

Brad crossed his arms and leaned against the tree trunk supporting one end of the hammock. Cole didn’t say anything; instead he simply lifted a questioning brow.

“And damn”—Brad shot Cole a look—“I hate it when you’re right.”

“Which time would you be referring to?”

Brad inhaled deeply, scanning the horizon as the sun crept higher in the sky.