Brainy and the Beast (22 page)

I felt a silly grin cross my face, but it withered away when Henry finally glanced in my direction. “Your gyosa was certainly spinning something, but I have a feeling it was more your uncle’s head than anything else.”

That shut Grant up. Me too, as a matter of fact. For maybe a minute.

“What the hell’s your problem?”

“My problem? Oh, you mean besides watching you and what’s his name acting like the leads in
A Summer Place
in front of those young students?”

I was mystified. “What?”

He made an irritated gesture before grabbing the steering wheel with both hands again. “Hanging all over each other. Holding hands.”

“We were not.” We hadn’t been. I shook my head as I assured myself of that. “And what’s a summer place?”

“Fine. Perhaps questionable cinema from 1959 is a little bit too esoteric. Harry and Sally, then. I admit I’m not too conversant with pop culture. You know what I mean.”

Who the heck were Harry and Sally? I snuck a look at Grant, and he appeared equally in the dark.

“You bemoan the fact that I don’t watch movies. Well, I have seen one or two, you know, Nicholas.
When Harry Met Sally
is a well-done romantic comedy, and it happened to be a huge hit. It’s a personal favorite of mine. I first saw it in college, and my roommate and I watched it several times.”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay. I think I’ve heard of that.” I gave Grant a “whatever” look, and he quickly muffled a giggle.

Henry must have spied the byplay, either out of the corner of his eye or in the mirror. Or both. “I’m reduced to being a source of amusement for both of you. How the mighty have fallen.” He didn’t sound amused, though. He sounded sad.

And that made me feel small.

It shut me up once again. Only that time it was for the rest of the ride.

* * * *

Grant couldn’t get away from us fast enough when we got back to the house. I heard him talking to my dad in the living room as I laid several of the grocery bags on the peninsula counter. Henry set the rest of them down, then ran his fingers through his hair as he moved back to the doorway.

“I realized today, after shopping together, then watching you flirt with that martial arts instructor, that I think I’m getting in a little too deep. I hadn’t planned for this, not at all.” The glance he sent me over his shoulder was pensive.

I didn’t know what the hell to say to that. My gut was churning, which was not a good feeling. I had a sneaking suspicion the boom was about to be lowered. I watched as Henry paced toward the sink, then stopped there and turned to face me.

“I… You know, for the first time in a long while—maybe ever?—I don’t know where I stand with someone. With you.”

Henry’s gorgeous blue eyes drilled into mine, and my chest got a little tight. I could have sworn those peepers were just a tad glassy. He looked… I don’t know what to call it other than to say the guy looked lonely for a fleeting moment. That recognition hit me like a punch to the stomach.

“Henry, I—”

Shaking his head, Henry put both hands up, palms out. “Don’t. I don’t need you to feel sorry for me. I don’t need you to say something you don’t mean.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you!” I knew that, without a doubt. Whatever else I felt—and it was in dispute inside my fuzz brain—I was certain of that.

“In fact, I think that I very much don’t need to go any farther down this road.” Henry dug into his pants pocket and pulled out his keys. “I’ll just see myself out, shall I?” He sounded so very formal and snooty just then.

“Does this mean you’re not cooking Thanksgiving dinner?”

Henry paused by the kitchen door. My words hung in the air, and I cringed as I heard them reverberate in my head. What the fuck was wrong with me?

He spun on his heel with one hand on the doorknob. I felt like an even bigger jerk as I watched him swallow hard. When he looked down that straight nose of his, the disdain was obvious. “I wouldn’t dream of disappointing your father in that manner.” The implication that he thought
I
would was clear.

When he managed to not slam the door, I felt admiration for him mix with the sick feeling in my middle.

My fingers clenched on the bag in my hand, and I inhaled deeply.
Relax, Nicky. Think about it before you go off
. I needed to count to ten or something, instead of shouting out every curse word I could think of or shoving all the goddamned food off the counter. Because what I really wanted to do was break something.

Goddamn it. How had I fucked up so badly?

“Nick. You better get your ass out that door and fix whatever the hell it is you just broke.”

I jumped at the voice behind me. “Dad. What? Why are you thinking it’s my fault?” I stood there with the damned bag in my hand, trying to figure out where I’d gotten it.

“Because I know you. Because Grant told me you two were arguing. And because I was eavesdropping.” My dad didn’t even blink an eye as he admitted the last part.

I shot an accusing look at my nephew, who stood just inside the kitchen doorway. At least the snot had the grace to hang his head. Not so my old man, though. No, Big Mike Shelton had a head of steam on and was glaring at me.

“Dad. Seriously. What do you know about it?”

My dad came farther into the kitchen, walking past me to the sink, where he poured himself a glass of water. “I know that this is the first man, ever, that you’ve introduced me to. That has to mean something.”

“Dad. You and I have been living together again for only a couple of years. You weren’t around when I was seeing other guys.” I flicked a glance at the clock and saw that it was five minutes to twelve. Close enough. I stomped to the fridge and grabbed a Killian’s.

Jesus
. I really didn’t want to talk about this.

“Right. And how many times did you ask me to dinner with one of them? Or have one of these other guys come with you to my house for dinner? Henry’s cooked for us.”

He took a couple of meds with his water, giving me pause.
Shit
. I hated the reminder that he was not as hale and hearty as he used to be. “They—one of them I kind of, he—”

“Uh-huh.” My dad moved to the table. “You may not want to admit it, but you’ve been a little different since you’ve been bringing the genius around. Maybe, I don’t know, nicer.”

“I didn’t know you were such a fan of his.” Why was I being snotty? I couldn’t seem to help myself, though.

“He seems like a good guy. Even Grant likes him.”

“Right!” I took a long swallow of my beer, watching as my nephew shuffled his feet. “Pull the other one, Dad.”

“You do, don’t you, Grant?” My dad settled in a chair, sighing as he stretched out his legs.

“Uh. Kind of.”

“Kid, you give Henry a hard time—all the time!”

“No, I don’t!”

“Ever since you met him, you’ve had something against him. You give him shit as much as you can. And you don’t like it that he’s gay. That I’m gay.”

There. I’d said it out loud.

“Nick!”

I gave my dad a “what?” look, feeling mulish. Damn it, it was true, wasn’t it, that Grant had an issue with me being gay?

Grant looked for a second like he was going to bolt. My dad called him to the table, asking him to sit. “Grant, don’t you want to say something to your uncle?”

The kid’s facial muscles tightened, shifting from grimace to frown and back, as he made his way to a chair across from my dad.

I set my butt against the edge of the counter, staring across the ten feet that separated us. What could the kid possibly say that I didn’t already know?

“Grant?” My dad nudged his ankle.

My nephew stared at the mahogany beneath his fingers. His hands moved restlessly on the glossy surface. “Um.” He darted a glance at me from under his lashes. Damn, the kid looked like me when he did that.

“What did you say to me last week?”

“Dad! Stop coaching him. If he’s got something to say, let him say it.” I was just about fed up with everything—and everyone—right then. I slammed the beer bottle down on the laminate, and a gurgle of it splashed over the top.

My dad subsided, easing back in his chair as he stared at Grant.

My nephew ran his index finger along a grain in the wood and then raised his eyes to meet mine. “Uncle Nick. When you… When I…” He struggled with his words, his lips moving as he tried to unscramble whatever was in his brain.

“When you what? When I what?” Despite being totally confused by Henry, pissed at my dad, and exasperated with Grant, I felt like I had to speak up to help the kid. He clearly had something he wanted to say.

“You said you’d spend time with me!”

Whoa
. I was taken aback by the vehemence in his tone, and Grant actually looked surprised that he’d blurted it out like that.

“What does that have to do with me being gay?”

“Duh. Nothing.”

See? That smart-ass teenager crap got to me every time. “Hey! You got something to say, say it. Don’t give me that attitude.” I was seriously considering another Killian’s right at that moment.
Well
—with another guilty glance at the clock—
maybe not
. Besides, the one I had was still half-full.

Grant gazed at my dad, plainly looking for some relief. He didn’t get more than an encouraging hand motion.

“Okay.” He shoved to his feet, the chair skittering against the wall behind him. He sucked it up, looking like he was getting ready for a match at the dojang. “How come you don’t spend time with me? I thought when I moved here that…”

I frowned. “I did spend time with you. We sparred. And I went to your game that time.”

“Once,” he scoffed. “You spend time with Henry, but you won’t spend it with me. And Gramps said you’d take me hunting!”

It was beginning to sink into my thick skull. “You
want
me to do things with you? Come to your games and your matches?” I had to see if my dad was getting it too. Since he was nodding and sporting half a smirk on his kisser, I dialed it down several notches. “Oh.” I rubbed one finger across my lip. “You mean you don’t care that I’m gay?”

“No!” Grant practically stomped one foot.

“You
want
to go hunting with me next week?”

“Uh,
yeah
. I think it’ll be cool.”

“Oh. Okay, then.” Wow. Was this how parents did it? Fumbling around until they figured it out? I swallowed, eyeing my dad with new respect. “Um. Good.”

If I were honest with myself, I’d be forced to admit that my father had put up with a lot from me. Even though I’d deny it if anyone asked, I had caused my parents a lot of sleepless nights as a teenager. I hadn’t appreciated it much—at all—until just now.

“Good, good.” My dad rubbed his hands together. “Now why don’t you two hug it out?”

“Dad.” Somehow, I didn’t remember the old man being this touchy-feely when my mom was alive. I shot him a halfhearted glare that he answered with a grin.

I trudged to the table anyway. Grant was shuffling his feet again, looking from the floor to me and back again. I had to psych myself up. What if the kid ignored me? Mentally cussing myself as a weenie, I stuck out a hand.

Grant looked at it for a half second, then gripped it strongly. I yanked him forward into a hug and surprised myself with the warm fuzzies I got when my nephew squeezed me just as strongly. “Okay, Grant. We’re going to be okay.”

We stood there for long seconds, Grant hiding his face in my shoulder for a bit. A thought occurred to me. “You, um, you don’t want to talk about your mom or anything, do you?” Christ, I hoped not. This was already way too emo for me.

He leaned back, surprised. “What? Why? She’s not coming back, is she?”

“You mean you don’t miss her?” I scanned his face carefully. He didn’t
sound
sad.

“Uh-uh. No way.”

That was fairly definite. “O-kay.” I released the kid, and he stepped back.

“You want to tell us why?” My dad’s question caught me off guard.

Grant hadn’t looked angry before, but he did now. “How about because she dumped me on you like I was nothing?” He deflated quickly. “She used to talk about you, you know.” Pointing a finger at myself, I gave him a skeptical look. He nodded. “Uh-huh. She’d be bitching about something; then she’d turn it around to how you would have done it better or you wouldn’t have gotten into trouble.” He plopped back into his chair, looking younger all of a sudden. I reminded myself that he
was
only fourteen. “Then she’d start screaming about what an ass, uh, you—”

I figured I could fill in the blank at his abrupt stop. “Uh-huh. I can just imagine.” The Bitch had always hated me. But as much as I personally couldn’t stand my sister, she
was
the kid’s mother. I took a deep breath. “That’s not really important, though, Grant, if you do decide you want to see her. Okay?” I tipped his chin up so I could look him in the eye. “I mean it.”

He mumbled what I thought was an assent. At least he nodded.

“All righty, then. You’d better get going, Nick.”

I closed my eyes. “What are you talking about, Dad?”

He got up and started putting away the ton of groceries I’d completely forgotten about. “Uh, Henry?”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” He stuffed the empty grocery bag into the pouch we kept under the sink. “Sure sounded like you’ve got something to take care of there.”

“And you would know,” I said sourly. “Seeing as how you were listening in on my private conversation.” He was lifting the turkey from the bag, and I stepped over to help. “Let me do that.”

“I’m not an invalid, you know.” He elbowed me out of the way. “It’s only twenty pounds, for God’s sake.”

“Dad. The doctor said you have to be careful.”

“I really doubt that he meant I shouldn’t lift a freaking Thanksgiving turkey.”

We began arguing about what he should and shouldn’t do, almost having a tug-of-war with the stupid bird.

“Uncle Nick? Gramps?” I heard my nephew, but I was focused on my dad. The old man was getting a little red in the face.

“Guys!” Grant shouted it that time, stopping us both in our tracks.