Tipping the Balance (53 page)

“Yeah, sure,” Brad said a little too fast, “but should you be talking about this on a fire department phone?”

“Good dodge there, but as it happens, this is my personal cell phone,” Owen said. “I’m just trying to look out for you, Brad. You seem like a nice guy, and as corny as it sounds, I only want you to be happy.”

Brad didn’t say anything right away, because to tell the truth, he felt like dirt.

“Brad? You with me here, big guy?” Owen said.

Brad didn’t know if he’d chosen those words on purpose, but it sounded like what he’d said when they were… when they were back at the mansion. “Yeah, I’m here. And yeah, I feel pretty bad about it, like I cheated on him or something, which is ridiculous, since he won’t even take my calls.”

“Betrayal is a state of mind and not a reflection of whether you’re together out or not,” Owen said patiently. “For what it’s worth, that only says good things about you, you know.”

“Yay me,” Brad said. Damn. He hated feeling this way. Sometimes, he just hated feeling.

“Call him, Brad,” Owen urged.

“I have,” Brad said softly.

Owen said nothing for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

It was just business after that. Brad had to hand it to Owen. On learning Brad was apparently single, he had most emphatically not offered his phone number or tried to hook up.

But who cared about a sterling character when feeling like this was what it got him?

Brad
sleepwalked through the next day and that whole weekend. He showed up for work and practice, but he just went through the motions. He spent a morose weekend around his apartment, but at least he kept his face out of the beer. He might be miserable, but he knew a budding problem when it bit his ass.

Monday was looking like more of the same when his mobile phone rang. The office phone rarely rang, but suddenly his own phone was chirping like a cricket in the night.

“Brad Sundstrom.”

It was a subcontractor who needed answers and money. Brad promised to at least get him answers by the end of the day.

Well, wasn’t this a pigfuck? A project on hold, a principal who’d apparently vanished, an ex-boyfriend he still cared for so much it hurt. He leaned back in his office chair and flicked a pencil up into the acoustic ceiling tiles. Oddly amused, he threw a new one up and stuck it next to the other one. He’d never managed it when he’d tried in middle school and high school.

Flick.

The Bayard House was again safe to work in.

Flick.

The subcontractors needed answers.

Flick.

There was no reason not to resume work.

Flick.

No reason, other than having to call Drew again.

Drew was incommunicado.

Flick.

Owen was right. He had to call.

Or maybe not.

There was another principal on the project.

He hadn’t had much contact with Emily lately. They’d planned for her to get involved once they had a place for her to put the furniture and hang the wallpaper.

Maybe they didn’t need Drew to get started. Maybe, just maybe, he could use this to prove himself to Drew.

Showing more excitement and verve than he had in months, Brad pulled up Emily’s phone number and called her.

“This is Emily Schoenwald.”

“Hi, Emily, it’s Brad. Can I talk to you about the Bayard renovation for moment?”

“Brad,” she said flatly. “What a surprise.”

“Uh… yeah. Listen, I’ve got subcontractors calling me needing answers.”

“So?”

“So?” Brad repeated. “What’d you mean, so? It’s time to get back to work, only I can’t reach Drew. I think he’s just given up.”

“Wouldn’t you?” she demanded.

“Look, I know he’s been through a lot, but—”

“You have no idea, you silly boy,” Emily snapped.

He’d really thought that as a gay man, he wouldn’t have to put up with this kind of bullshit from women, since they didn’t have what he now wanted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but can we just—”

“No, I don’t suppose you do,” Emily sighed. “What’d you want, anyway?”

“I told you,” Brad said, clenching his fist. “It’s time to get this project back on track.”

“Did you not hear about the fire?” Emily said.

“I was down there while it was still smoldering, and I’ve been in nearly constant contact with the fire department since then,” Brad said with exaggerated patience.

“Then you know how bad it is,” Emily said.

“Better than you do!” Brad snapped. “Look, are you going to help me or practice being a cunt? Because I have to tell you, you’re already pretty good at it.”

“When?” Emily said, resignation writ plain in her voice.

“At the jobsite in an hour. Bring your hardhat,” Brad said, hanging up.

Brad
met Emily at the gate. She peered around him. “It doesn’t look that bad from out here,” she admitted grudgingly.

Brad nodded. “It’s really not nearly as bad as it could’ve been. I’ll show you. I don’t feel like cranking the power just for this, but I’ve got lights,” he said, handing her one of the two large battery-powered lanterns.

He waved at the security service, now paid for by the city, as they walked by. “Just looking at the damage,” he called, and the guard nodded and radioed the others.

Brad unlocked the main doors and held them for her with an exaggerated show of gallantry. He needed her on his side.

“So where’s the damage?” she asked. “It’s sure a far cry from the last time I was here.”

“You won’t say that when we come to the parlor. That’s where the fire was started,” Brad said.

“Yeah, that’s what they told me a day or two ago, but how’re you getting such detailed information?” she said.

Brad shrugged, hoping she chalked the blushing up the cold air in the mansion. “Just a good working relationship with the fire captain on the scene, I guess.”

Emily slid one parlor door back into its pocket enough for them to slip through, although even in the dim light of their lanterns, they saw the soot clouding the cut glass inset into the wood.

Emily made a mew of distress when she saw the hole burned through the outside wall, now covered with plywood. “Any idea who did this?”

Brad shook his head. “Captain Douglas wasn’t sure they’d ever catch the people who did it, but he’s turned that part of the investigation over to the police.”

“Still, I have to admit, you were right. It could be a lot worse.”

He rolled his eyes, then flashed his lantern up to the ceiling. “Look up.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, smoke and fire rise. Who knew.”

Emily turned to face him. “Brad, seriously. It could be worse, but it’s not good. Between damage and bad renovations in the past and modern codes, saving the Bayard House was a stretch in the first place. Maybe it’s time to think about invoking the escape clause. You know, cut our losses and move on.”

Brad hated the thought. Despised it, even. “There’s a rowing expression: ‘The only race pace is suicide pace, and today looks like a good day to die.’”

“That’s… hardcore.”

“I’m hardcore,” he said, and suddenly, he knew it was true. In crew, during that last all-important race, he’d gone so far into the pain cave he never thought he’d see the sun again. They all had. And they won.

In life, like crew, he might’ve been beaten down, but he would not be beaten. He could do this, for himself… and for Drew. Life had dealt Drew a severe blow and even smacked Brad around. But Drew had an ox for a boyfriend, and that boyfriend wasn’t going down, not without a fight, not at all if he could help it.

“Hear me out,” Brad said, his voice full of possibility. “Obviously we’re going to have to repair the wall, but it’s possible we’ll need to replace that section of floor too. How is up to the structural people. But this could’ve been so much worse. Since there’s nothing in here, there’s not that much to decontaminate, maybe just the plaster on the walls and ceiling where smoke got to it, plus water damage, but hardwood’s easy to restore,” Brad said, sweeping his arms around him.

Emily considered his words, and he could tell she was coming around. “And with past floods, the water didn’t even damage the historical integrity of the building, not really.”

“With the city behind this, you as one of the principals can get the money flowing again. We can use this to revise the budget and hire more crews. There’s no reason on earth we can’t finish this.”

Emily nodded slowly. “Okay. You’ve convinced me. There’s just one more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“What the hell happened between you and Drew?” she demanded.

Brad groaned. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I know something bad happened between the two of you. I’ve never seen him this devastated. He’s never isolated himself like this,” she said.

“You know, I really don’t want to go into the details of my personal life,” Brad said. “It’s really none of your business.”

“Drew’s a dear friend, and that makes it my business, Closet Boy,” Emily snapped. “I told you once I’d rip your balls off if you hurt him.”

“Enough, you pint-sized bitch. I’m fucking sick of Drew’s friends butting in and threatening me. The fact is, I’m a foot taller and over a hundred pounds—” he stopped, looking her up and down, “—make that seventy pounds heavier. If you threaten me one more time, I’ll kill you myself and bury you in the garden.”

Emily smiled. “I knew I liked you. You’ll be strong enough to stand up to Drew.”

Brad just shook his head. She was too complicated for him. “We can do this. We can get this back on track. Are you in?”

“Why’re you doing this?” she asked, looking him straight in the eye.

“For Drew. This is his dream, and it can still happen. I let him down once. I won’t do it again.” But he was also doing it for himself, to prove if only to himself that he wasn’t a quitter and a failure.

Emily looked at him intently. “Do you love him?”

Brad didn’t even have to consider the question. “More than anything.”

“Then call Bob Miller. He’ll know what to do.”

“What about the city?” Brad asked.

“You leave that to me,” Emily said. “Drew too. If you want to do this to make it up to him, then it needs to be a surprise. But be prepared, he might not take you back, and he might not like being surprised.”

“I have to risk it. Right now, I’ve got nothing.”