Waiting for Clark (5 page)

“Did Tony even put out clean sheets?” I groused at Charles, not wanting to play the congenial host at one a.m., but a lifetime of good manners prevented me from just stalking off to bed.

“I’ll check,” Charles offered, rubbing his face. There were still traces of gray makeup in the creases around his mouth and on his forehead.

“I’ll grab some towels.” I didn’t trust Tony to keep his bathroom well-stocked, especially since he’d begun spending most of his time at Karen’s place. Supposedly it was because her Northwest Portland digs were closer to our bar, but, in reality, I think he would have trekked all the way across the river to Vancouver to be near her.

“You guys.” Clark set down his backpack and held up his hands. “You don’t have to go to any trouble. Really. Just point me at Tony’s room, and we’ll call it good.”

I ignored his protest and grabbed a stack of towels from the cupboard above the washer and dryer in the mudroom. “Here.”

“I’ll show
you to your room, sire.” Charles made a showy bow. His terrible fake British accent got Clark laughing. “Can’t have you wandering around the manor unescorted.”

“I wouldn’t mind a tour, actually.” Clark looked meaningfully at me. And part of me really wanted that— wanted to take him room to room, watch him notice details no one else would. He’d want to see all the places I’d loved as boy, want to know which decorative touches were from when my mother was still alive, which were my dad’s, and he’d immediately know which changes were all me. The other sane part of me knew that such a stroll would lead to nowhere good, so I waved him on with Charles. And if a small piece of me stung like I’d yanked the bandage on my arm off too fast, well, that was my own fault for letting Clark under my skin again.

A half hour later, I actually had yanked off the bandage. I replaced it with a clean one after my shower. I’d also shaved for reasons I wasn’t willing to examine. I was toweling off my hair when a knock sounded at the door. I’d been half-expecting this really, but that didn’t stop my pulse from revving like my V-Strom motorcycle.

“Yeah?” I opened the door to Clark. I lounged in the doorframe. I might have known why he was there, but it didn’t mean I was going to make it easy for him and usher him straight to my bed.

“Hey. Sorry to bother you.” Clark smiled sheepishly.

“What do you need?” I looked him up and down in a fashion designed to let him know I knew he was lying. He was
all
about bothering me. And not like Clark was a hardship to look at. He’d showered too, and was wearing a blue Reed T-shirt and a pair of faded red flannel pants that looked vaguely familiar. Droplets of water still clung to his neck and Adam’s apple and I wanted to lick each one off.

“I almost forgot about your costume. Really wasn’t my best repair job. I’d like to fix that sleeve better before tomorrow. Also, your cape is starting to fray on one corner. I can take care of both for you.”

“That’s why you knocked?” I didn’t quite believe him, even as I moved so he could follow me into the room. I was airing the costume out on a chair in the corner of the room.

“Of course.” His eyes narrowed and he scooped up the costume with clipped, efficient motions. “What? Did you think I’d come to seduce you? You’ve made it really clear you’re not interested. I don’t generally come on to the grumpy and unwilling.”

“Hey, I’m
not
grumpy.” I didn’t dispute the unwilling part, and he arched one thick eyebrow.

“You are.” He shook his head sadly. “You’ve always been a bit… gruff. But you didn’t used to be this prickly. Are you
happy,
Bryce?”

God. No one and I mean
no one
asked me that. I had more money in the bank than any of our friends. I owned a historic home in one of Portland’s most sought-after neighborhoods, free and clear. I had the luxury of starting a business and turning my hobbies into a career a lot of guys only dreamed about. Even while my family had shrunk, I had a large and active circle of friends who worked hard to make me forget how alone I really was. In short, I had a life a lot of guys envied.

But happy? Like waking up content and going to sleep not restless? Not feeling like something more was just out of reach? I tried to think when the last time was I’d had that.

Clark’s head tilted, studying me in that electron-microscope-intense way he had. His eyes were soft and compassionate, becoming more soft gray than blue. And I knew. Senior year. Waking up, knowing Clark would already have my coffee started. Going to sleep after hours of messing around on some project.
I was happy then.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” I lied. I pushed the question back on him. “How about you? New life treating you good?”

A strange expression crossed his face. His mouth opened. Closed again. “Peachy,” he said finally.

He started for the door, but paused abruptly and gave me another searching look. He’d always seen so much more of me than either of us acknowledged, but this particular look rubbed me as raw as a motorcycle skid without my Kevlar jeans.

It wouldn’t take much to keep him from going, keep him talking. One piece of truth.
No, I’m not happy. Not really. Yes, I want you still. Please don’t go.

Please don’t go.
The words echoed across the last half decade, howling in my ears, but I let him pass. My hands fisted at my sides, even my bare toes clenching to keep from reaching for him.

****

Chapter Four

Clark

It was no big surprise when two a.m. came and went and I was still awake. Bryce’s costume lay neatly repaired on a chair in the sitting area of Tony’s room. I’d never required a ton of sleep and, once I passed midnight, a second wind could often trigger intractable insomnia. Not that I usually complained— I got some of my best work done during all-night work sessions.

Problem was that I didn’t have any work to distract me and nothing on my phone was engaging enough. My friends back in Boston were all involved in end-of-the-year activities, but nothing on social media was pressing enough to warrant more than a cursory perusal. Tony’s room was a strange mix of Elizabethan decor mingled with early Star Trek, and while all the Kirk love was very typical Tony, snooping through his stuff held zero appeal for me. I’d spent the last few years in an apartment, having finally, blessedly left the dorm life beyond, and Tony’s posters and minifridge full of beer (okay I did snoop a bit) made me feel like I was back at Reed and should go roam the halls and see who else was up.

Of course, given that one could park a small jet in the room, it would be the largest dorm room I’d ever seen, with furniture straight out of a magazine shoot interspersed with a few IKEA pieces I assumed were Tony’s contribution. Bryce’s own room was much smaller, and I had a strong feeling he’d given Tony the master suite rather than claim it for himself after his father passed. The one thing Tony didn’t have in his room was a TV. I hadn’t asked Bryce for the Wi-Fi password, so I couldn’t stream a show or movie on my tablet to get my brain tired enough sleep. That was the only thing that ever worked to get me sleepy. I could read for hours and not drop off, but pop on a movie and I was often out by the end of the first act.

But wait. I’d spotted a well-appointed family room off the kitchen, complete with cushy couches and the largest flat-screen TV I’d seen in a residence. Charles hadn’t been kidding about Bryce’s home being more manor than house, complete with the thick columns framing the exterior. It was three stories with the sort of Craftsman details shared by all the early 1900s homes in the area. I took the rear staircase closest to my room to avoid traipsing past Bryce’s door.

Oh hell.
I ended up in a totally unfamiliar part of the house, some sort of garden room which led to a piano room which did not lead anywhere near to the kitchen. I discovered a showy front living room, a massive dining room, yet another dressy living space with white velvet couches that looked like they had never held a human. No trace of the homey kitchen-dining-family room combo that had looked more lived-in than all these other spaces combined.

Thump.
I’d been trying to avoid turning on too many lights which was stupid because I ended up toppling over an end table. Luckily nothing broke and I righted it, shaking myself off in the process. Limping slightly, I finally discovered the kitchen “wing” tucked discreetly behind two paneled doors that could be opened or closed as the family (or heating bill) so desired. I went to the TV and discovered a style of controller I’d never seen before. Some sort of pricey streaming/home theater combo deal that was far out of my income bracket.

I was awesome with tech, but I wasn’t Bryce, who could make friends with any gadget in under thirty seconds and have it doing his bidding two minutes later. No, I was more of a read-the-manual dude, but there was no manual to be found and no combo of buttons seemed to turn the darn thing on.

Blzzzzzzzzzz.
A horrible static crackling noise came from the speakers, and I quickly muted the volume.
Hell.
This had been a terrible idea.

I was about to return to my room, when a deep voice behind me said, “What do you think you’re doing?”

I whirled around to find Bryce, eyebrows raised, looking like he was trying hard to be all grim and dour instead of laughing at me. I missed the guy who would have laughed.

“Couldn’t sleep.” I said. “I didn’t want to bother you for the Wi-Fi password—”

“So you thought you’d explore?”

“No! Well, not
intentionally.
It was more of an accidental tour.”

Bryce scratched his surprisingly smooth jaw, and now he really was hiding a laugh.

“Do you know this is the fourth room with couches I found on this floor? Maybe fifth? This place is bigger than some of the dorms!”

Score.
That got a full-bodied chuckle from Bryce. “And you wondered why I complained so much freshman year about our tiny double?”

“I’m still surprised you didn’t live at home,” I said. I’d been bound to the dorms all four years by the terms of my scholarship, but Bryce had stuck around despite having what seemed like plenty of other options.

“It was the one condition my dad had for me, actually. He wanted me to go to an Ivy like he did, but I refused. It felt too soon after mom’s death to leave him, so I picked Reed. But he said I had to have the residence-hall experience for him to keep paying tuition.”

“Man. Leaving all this behind must have sucked.” I gestured at the gleaming stainless steel appliances and dark wood cabinetry.

“Leaving him was the hard part,” Bryce said quietly, with a stark honesty I’d rarely seen from him.

“I’m sorry.” I was struck again by how inadequate those words really were. Bryce had lost not only his father, but the person he was closest to in the whole world. Even at school while he had me and Tony and the whole Nerd Army occupying his social life, along with assorted boyfriends and hookups, he had still talked to his father daily and texted even more often than that.

He looked so lost standing there against the breakfast bar that I did something that had come naturally once upon a time and put an arm around him. I’d ached for him in the weeks after I’d learned of his loss, wishing I could give him the sort of hug I knew our friends were showering him with. To my surprise, he didn’t immediately shake me off, instead leaning in a bit before he seemed to remember himself and shrug away from the contact.

“Thanks, but I’m fine.” He clawed at his hair as he paced away from me. “No need to get sentimental. So you got a second wind and now you can’t sleep, huh?”

“Yep,” I said. He knew me so well. I was the insomniac whose sleeplessness was caused by my own workaholic tendencies while he was a chronic night owl. We’d been a great pair once upon a time.

“Wanna know a secret?” He beckoned me closer.

Anything.
“Yeah?”

“This isn’t where I usually watch my TV. Too drafty in here. Great for a movie night with the gang, but I’m not sure what Tony did to the speakers last time he hooked up everything and I haven’t had a chance to fix it.”

“Not just me then.” I looked down at the cursed remote still in my hand.

“Oh it’s totally you.” He grinned, another hint of the old Bryce. “But let me show you the Bat Cave.”

“The Bat Cave?” This I had to see. Actually, any space, any secret Bryce wanted to share would be welcome. Anything that got us back on our old easy footing.

“That’s just what Tony calls it.” He took me down a slim hallway half-hidden by the large fireplace in the family room. Not a secret passage exactly, but pretty darn close. “My grandfather was into collecting coins and had a room for his collection, but neither of my parents shared the passion. After he passed, my dad converted the space, and I’ve just added my stuff here and there.”

The dark, wood-paneled hallway appeared to go nowhere, but Bryce leaned on one panel and it swung open to reveal possibly the coolest room I’d ever seen.

It was two levels— a sunken living room with cushy suede couches and a huge flat-screen TV. The TV was nestled in dark wood cabinetry that also housed a full bar. The room’s upper level was all pinball games, each expertly spaced and lit with track lighting that made them seem like museum pieces more than arcade staples. Along the walls hung framed posters from some of Bryce’s favorite comics, panels from
The Tick
being most prominent. The games and space might be inherited from his father, but the art was all Bryce. A weird, warm feeling descended over me— this space felt more intimate than any other in the house, and, strange as it was, I felt honored he was showing it to me.

“Holy cow. Is that Target Pool?” I approached an ancient, yet gleaming, white-and-silver box.

“Sure is. I restored that one myself. Dad bought most of the games in working condition, but once I learned to work on them, he’d sometimes pick up project pieces for me.”

“So this is where you keep the pricey collectibles you aren’t putting in the bar?”

“Some of them.” Bryce gave another deep chuckle. “Dad was a bit of a hoarder, especially after he retired. There are more in the garage and the carriage house. I cleaned out his storage units for the bar. Eventually I’ll whittle down the rest. Maybe sell a few.”