Nobody’s Hero (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

THE CLOCK IS TICKING.

A crowd gathered around the outside west wall of the Bay Street house they were working on the following Monday. Brad wove around people until he stood right behind Danny. “What’s that?”

In thick forest-green paint—the color set aside for one of the upstairs bedrooms—the words spread out over several feet. The paint that hadn’t been used to write the message had spilled into a large green pool at the base of the wall. Someone had broken the windows on that side of the house.

“No idea,” Danny said.

Brad moved closer and almost tripped over someone’s foot.

“Watch it!” Ray snapped. He shoved his way through the crowd, stalking to his truck.

“Has your dad seen this yet?” Brad asked.

Danny nodded. “He’s at his truck, calling the cops. I don’t think he’s ever had vandalism at a worksite before. He’s pissed.”

“No doubt.”

“It’s not fresh,” someone said, stepping forward to test the paint. “See, it’s completely dry.”

“Don’t touch it!” someone snapped. “It’s, like, evidence.”

“What, you think the cops are going to check for prints? Stupid kids pulling pranks, that’s all it is.”

Brad gripped the hem of Danny’s T-shirt. “What do you think it means? Some kind of warning?”

“Looks like it. But aimed at who?”

Brad shrugged. “No idea.” He thought about it for a minute. “You don’t think it has anything to do with the missing equipment, do you? Maybe someone is mad at your dad about something?”

“I don’t know. I mean, Papá’s a pretty cool guy. People don’t get mad at him. Not this kind of mad. I wonder, though...” Danny looked like something came to him.

Before Brad could ask about it, Mr. Ortega strode to the gathered crowd. “All right, people, let’s get to work. We’ve got a lot to do and standing around isn’t getting it done. The police are sending someone to look at this and take a statement. They may want to talk to some of you. I don’t know how this kind of thing works, but cooperate if they ask for anything.”

The cops came and went over the course of the morning. Brad was a little surprised any work got done at all before lunch. More than once he caught someone staring at the painted wall when they were hauling lumber or equipment in.

“When do you think we’ll be able to paint over it? I mean, does it have to stay like that?” Danny asked as they sat on two upside-down five-gallon buckets and pulled out their lunches.

“I don’t know. They probably aren’t going to catch whoever did this. It’s too bad there weren’t any kind of security cameras or anything up.” Brad pulled out a peanut butter sandwich and folded back the sandwich bag.

“I bet he gets some installed at all of the worksites by the end of the week.” Danny popped the tab on a can of soda while he talked. The drink foamed a bit over the top, and some ran over Danny’s fingers. Brad went to offer him a piece of paper towel to wipe it up with when Danny started licking the mess away, all the while eyeing Brad over the can’s edge.

Brad had to shake his head to clear the images of Danny licking... When blood finally returned to his head, he kicked Danny’s bucket-chair. “You are evil.”

Danny smirked.

“You think this will make your dad add extra security?” Safer, much safer, to talk about work and vandalism than to fantasize about Danny. At least while they were at work. After work meant a whole lot of other fun possibilities.

“He was already planning something. With the missing equipment and all.”

Crazy how fast lust could turn into bitterness. Nausea burned in his gut at the thought of the equipment.

Danny caught the look on Brad’s face. “I don’t think he honestly believes you have anything to do with it. He’s planning on hiring night guards or some kind of security measures. I think he’d have done it sooner, when things first started going missing, if he’d been able to afford it. He says money’s a little tight right now.”

Brad remembered the look from that morning. “Do you think your dad owes money to someone? You think that’s what the message meant?”

“I don’t know. I mean, it’s not like he’d tell me, but I can’t imagine he’d borrow money from anyone who’d react like that.” Danny gestured to the painted wall. “He’d go to the bank or something, right?”

“Don’t ask me,” Brad said. “I don’t know anything about this kind of thing.”

Danny grimaced. “Neither do I. I’m beginning to think there are a lot of things I don’t know anything about that I should.” He took a drink. “Do you think I’m immature?”

The unexpected question startled Brad. “Excuse me?”

“You know. Immature. Spoiled. That night, you called me a child.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Danny waved aside Brad’s protest. “After you said that, it occurred to me I don’t
do
anything other than go to school. I live with my parents, but I don’t have to pay rent. I don’t buy my own food. Hell, I don’t even do my own laundry. The only things I’m responsible for are my car payments and insurance.”

Brad didn’t know what to say. In some ways, yeah, Danny was a little spoiled. But was it immaturity? He was given a lot from his parents and wasn’t required to do much in return. He took advantage of the opportunities given to him but didn’t take them for granted. There was a difference, right?

“I mean, look at you. Here you are, a year younger than me, and you have to pay your rent, bills, any tuition not covered by your scholarship, car stuff. You’re completely independent. You’re living off of peanut butter sandwiches so you can save money for school, and my paychecks basically pay for gas and goofing off. I still live with my parents, and not just outside of school. I live here year-round.”

“We come from different places, that’s all. I’ve never seen that it bothers your parents at all. In fact, I think they’d be upset if you moved out.”

Tires squealed as a truck wheeled around a corner. Ray’s truck. Danny’s brother came to a screeching halt behind one of the work vehicles. He was too far away for them to hear anything, but it was obvious he was having some kind of argument on his phone. He gestured with the hand not holding the phone, then threw the phone onto the passenger seat and pushed open his door, which he slammed shut as soon as he was out.

“Everything all right?” Danny asked as Ray stalked past.

“Mind your own business,” Ray snapped.

“Somebody needs to get laid,” Danny said under his breath, only loud enough for Brad to hear.

“He needs something, all right,” Brad agreed. “What’s his deal, anyway? Is he always this...”

“Douche-y?” Danny supplied.

“I was going to say something like aggressive, but douche-y works.”

“I don’t know what’s going on with him. Whatever it is, I hope he gets over it. I think even Mamá is ready to strangle him.”

Brad took a swig from a bottle of water. He didn’t want to step on any toes, but something had occurred to him. “You don’t think, maybe, Ray knows something about this? I mean, look at what just happened, and the time he got beat up. Maybe they’re connected?”

Danny’s eyes widened. “I can’t imagine it. He’d have told Papá if he knew anything.”

“Are you sure? Maybe he’s in some kind of trouble.”

“There’s no way. I know Ray. He can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but he’d go to someone, me or Papá, if he was in some kind of trouble.” The words came out fast and Brad wondered if Danny really believed them. He was adamant, but doubt shadowed his eyes.

“Besides,” Danny continued, “if the thefts are connected to the vandalism, it couldn’t be Ray. Maybe, maybe, he’d hide it if he were in some kind of trouble, but he wouldn’t steal, not from anyone and especially not from Papá.”

“Okay.” Brad twisted the top back on his water. “You know him better than I do.” He could keep tabs on Ray for a while, but he didn’t have to say anything to Danny. At least not until he saw something worth mentioning. He wouldn’t risk messing things up between them, not while things were going so well.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen the original movies! They’re, like, the ultimate space opera. The ones with Ewan McGregor don’t compare.” Danny swung open the kitchen door and dragged Brad in after him.

Brad laughed, skipping a bit so when Danny tugged again, he crashed into Danny’s back. “And I never knew you were such a sci-fi geek!” He wrapped his arms around Danny’s slim torso.

“It takes one to know one, Mr. Alternative History.” Danny covered Brad’s arms, keeping him pressed against his back even as he led the way to the living room. It was silly and awkward, and Brad giggled even as he tried to keep from tripping over Danny’s feet.

Danny stopped so suddenly they nearly landed in a heap on the floor. As it was, Brad rammed his face into the back of Danny’s head. “
Oof.
Jesus, warn a guy.” He pulled his arms free and touched his mashed nose and mouth, checking for blood. It took him a moment to notice the tension in the room.

“Hello, Bradley.”

His blood chilled and he forgot all about his stinging nose. He stepped away from Danny to face his mother, who was sitting on the Ortegas’ sagging sofa. She wore one of her perfectly tailored skirt suits in an icy blue. Her ash-blond hair was expertly styled. She looked like she’d come from one of her charity lunches. Mrs. Ortega sat in one of the cushy chairs across the room from his mother. Her face was calm, with a polite half smile and absolutely no warmth in her expression.

“What are you doing here?” He’d never taken such a disrespectful tone with his mother in person. The few phone calls where he’d been less than polite hadn’t been the same. Face-to-face, the habits of childhood had him inwardly cringing with worry.

She arched one thin brow, but other than that she didn’t comment on his rudeness. “I had a meeting in Minneapolis this morning and since you refuse to discuss this over the phone, I was forced to come to this place—” her eyes tracked disdainfully around the lived-in living room, “—to have a conversation with you.”

If she caught the insult in his mother’s voice, nothing showed on Mrs. Ortega’s face. Her fists tightened in her lap, though.

Danny wasn’t quite as composed as his mother. He jerked at the first hint of a dig and opened his mouth to reply.

Brad held out a stalling hand. “Mother, I’m sorry you felt you had to go out of your way to come here and see me, but nobody asked you to. You’re being rude to my landlord.”

His mother pursed her lips, clearly irritated. “I don’t appreciate your attitude. I’ve come a long way to talk to you about
August.
” She stressed the month, as though Brad couldn’t figure out what she wanted to talk about without the emphasis. “Is there somewhere we can discuss this?”

Brad moved to the chair next to Mrs. Ortega’s. “Here’s good.”

“Somewhere private?” She didn’t raise her voice, but her tone was frigid.

He looked between Mrs. Ortega and Danny, who stood leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. “This is their house. I’m not going to ask them to leave.”

“Brad,” Mrs. Ortega said softly, “we will leave you to—” Her voice cut out as Danny shook his head.

“You’re fine,” Brad told Mrs. Ortega. “We won’t be long.”

Mrs. Ortega nodded but watched him with concerned eyes.

“Fine.” His mother pulled an envelope out of her bag and held it out to Brad. When he didn’t get up to get it from her, she sighed and set it on the end table next to the couch. “Here’s your plane ticket. Your flight leaves on August third, out of Minneapolis.”

“I’m not going to St. Louis. I have a job and a life here. I don’t want anything to do with Nolan’s appeal.”

His mother flinched. Not at his refusal. Brad knew that hadn’t registered. But mentioning the appeal in front of strangers, that got the reaction. It might tarnish her perfect image to have it known one of her children was in prison.

“Of course you are. Don’t be difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult, I’m being honest. I’m not willing to give up my life here in order to help the family who rejected me put up a perfect, united front.”

His mother’s eyes darted around the room, before halting once again on Brad. “You owe it to the family to be there. This never would have happened if not for you.”

“No. That’s bullshit.” Brad ignored the way his mother’s mouth tightened at the profanity. “I didn’t do anything. Nolan made his choice. And, to be clear, I believe he got what he deserved.”

Sitting straighter in her seat, Mother clutched at her bag. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but if you do not reconsider your decision, your father and I will be forced to cut you off from your inheritance. You’ll be forced to fend for yourself.”

A bitter laugh was Brad’s response. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m fending for myself fine. I haven’t taken any money or used any family resources since before graduation. I refuse to be tied up with all of the strings attached to it.”

“And look where that got you. Living above a garage, doing manual labor for these...immigrants.”

“Don’t you dare speak of the Ortegas that way. They are the best people I have ever met and they know what it means to be family. A family supports its members, and loves each other, no matter what. Parents don’t allow their children to beat the crap out of one of the other kids, or send their son off to the roughest military school in the country.”

“It was for your own good. You were being brainwashed by that boy. Intervention is never pretty.”

“Intervention? Mother, I’m gay, not a drug addict or a sociopath.”

“You are not gay. You are confused. We had hoped the staff at Norton Academy would be enough to get things straight in your head—” Danny snorted at Brad’s mother’s unfortunate choice of words, “—but it’s clear we should have taken Dr. Weisman’s advice and enrolled you in one of those conversion centers. With Norton Academy, at least no one needed to know why you were sent away.”

“Do you hear yourself? Those conversion therapy centers are nothing short of torture. And you didn’t want me there because of the rumors it might have caused? Not because of the trauma to me?”

“Well, at least you wouldn’t be living with these people, still thinking you’re...
homosexual.
”

“Look,” Brad said, any lingering hope he’d held that his family would someday accept him smothered, “let’s give it a clean break, here. A compromise. I won’t bother the family. I’ll cut all ties and move forward with my life. You and Father and anyone else who wants to sympathize or strategize about Nolan’s prison sentence can go about your business. Pretend you don’t have another son. That way we’re all happy.”

“Ridiculous. You do realize your father and I have control over your trust fund and your inheritance from your grandfather until you’re twenty-five, right? If you don’t do what’s required, we’ll make sure you never get access to those accounts.”

“Don’t you get it, Mother? I don’t want the freakin’ money! I want to be left alone to live my life as I see fit. I have a life here that I enjoy. I’ve got a job, a place to stay, college plans, all without any help from the family.”

She sniffed. “You are exactly like my father. I had hoped his...disgraceful tendencies had been an anomaly. But you, you’re just like him.”

“Your father?” His mother never talked about her father. Ever.

“He walked out on Mama and me when I was a kid, leaving us to be with his male lover. Mama went crazy. There was no money, no family to help us out. Our life was ruined because my father decided he’d rather be with
a
man
.” Her voice had changed a bit, losing the cool edge and taking up the slightest southern Missouri drawl.

“
Holy crap
,” Danny whispered behind Brad, the words echoing his own thoughts.

“That’s why you’re so anti-gay,” Brad said. “I always knew your reactions were extreme, but I never suspected...”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said crisply, straightening as though settling into her conservative rich-woman persona. “In the end we were better off without that filth in our lives. I won’t accept it in you, however. You will come to the hearing and you will support the family. You have a responsibility to your brother, your father and me, and I mean to see you keep to them.”

“No,” Brad said firmly. “I’m sorry your father walked out, but it’s not my fault and doesn’t change anything. I’m staying here.”

“It’s this boy, isn’t it?” She nodded toward Danny with a look like she’d stepped on a worm and had to clean it off the bottom of her shoe. “Have you considered that he’s only after your money? He’s no better than a whore, using you for what you can do for him.”

For the first time in his life, Brad understood the expression
seeing red
. Anger, pure unadulterated rage, surged through his body and brain, tinting his very soul scarlet.

“You will leave my house. Now.” The hot, strident words broke through the red fog. Mrs. Ortega stood and crowded close to Brad’s mother. “You will not come into my house and talk about my child this way.”

Brad’s mother stood up, towering over Mrs. Ortega’s petite form. Mrs. Ortega wasn’t cowed. She jabbed her finger at his mother and continued her tirade. “You are a disgrace. You are his
madre
, no? He is your child and you talk to him of duty and money? What about love and protection? Not in my house. You will leave this minute.”

With every step Mrs. Ortega made, his mother took one back, until she’d backed all the way to the front door. Brad’s mother flinched when Mrs. Ortega reached toward her, but Mrs. Ortega yanked open the door and gestured at it. “Out. Now. You will leave Brad alone. He deserves a
madre
who will love him, not one who threatens him. And no one,
no one
, talks about my child in such a way.”

Brad’s mother spun in her elegant high heels and strode away from the house as though she were a queen leaving her throne room, but her steps were hurried for all of her icy poise. Brad watched her until she’d gotten into the car and the Mercedes had driven off. As soon as she was no longer visible, Brad turned, his heart suddenly beating like he’d run five miles, and wrapped Mrs. Ortega in his arms, holding her close.

He let the scent of baking bread and gardenias surround him. “I love you, Mrs. Ortega. You’re amazing. I love you.”

She returned his embrace, patting his back and whispering something to him in Spanish. They stood like that for a few minutes and it was only as he stepped away from her warmth that he realized he’d been crying. The love and understanding in Mrs. Ortega’s eyes nearly undid him.

She wiped a tear from his face.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice cracking. He didn’t know exactly what he was thanking her for, wiping his tears or sticking up for him to his mother or for being the wonderful woman she was. It didn’t matter. Nothing he could say could convey the full extent of his gratitude at that moment.