“I have dinner plans,” he said, leaning back and stretching out his legs. “So, the two of you should get going.”
“Throwing me out of my own condo?”
“Finish my vodka and go home, Sebastian,” he said, feigning boredom.
Remington gave him a slow and careful look, making it clear he saw right through Rhys. They’d spent enough time together since Rhys moved to Myers Bluff, but it never ceased to amaze Rhys how in tune with absolutely everything Remington was. How had Sebastian made it as far in life as he had while never having any idea what was going on around him?
“Have fun at the gala,” he said when Remington and Sebastian stood to go. “Take pictures.”
“Call the paps, Rhys. Make my boyfriend famous.”
“No one cares about early American literature.” Remington rolled his eyes.
“All the more reason.” Rhys smirked. “Call them yourself.”
He stood and followed them out, ruffling Sebastian’s hair before shoving him out the door and into Remington’s arms. Rhys closed the door behind them, locked it, and let out a breath that shook more than he would have liked. Rhys dropped his forehead against the door and closed his eyes.
It was trite to say his life flashed before him, but every time he closed his eyes, his brain was rude enough to assault him with pictures and promises of a life that could never be his. Even now that he’d escaped Mallardsville, now that he’d put a few hundred miles between him and his father and the St. George estate. He didn’t have control.
He didn’t have freedom.
He didn’t have friends.
With a sigh, he forced himself away from the door and into the bedroom. There wasn’t anything a good shower couldn’t fix, and he was thankful at least that his brother didn’t have something ridiculous installed like a copper-floored shower. It was just the monstrous sink.
He turned the taps to a few degrees past warm, then he stripped out of his clothes. He folded his slacks and set them on the closed lid of the toilet, then studied his reflection while he worked open button after button down the front of his shirt. It was quiet in the condo, save for the spray of water that pitter-pattered against the tile. He appreciated the quiet, even if it did feel like too much sometimes. The quiet was better than noise, better than argument, better than the verbal berating he often endured from his father.
Silence wasn’t always bad. Sometimes, it was necessary.
And so it was in that same vein that Rhys showered, dried off, dressed, and went to bed.
Quiet.
And alone.
CHAPTERTWO
BECKETT ALREADY DOESN’T LOVE CELERY
Beckett stared at the peephole in the front door of his apartment, his hands shoved into his pockets and breath caught in his lungs.
“Beckett!” his landlord, Robert Mecum, shouted from the other side of the pressboard excuse he called a door.
Beckett closed his eyes.
“Beckett,” Robert called again. “I know you’re in there. Your car is in the carport.”
He grimaced and pulled a hand out of his pocket to scratch his temple, still holding his breath to not give himself away. He knew why Robert was there. It was the sixth of the month and rent was due by the fifth, and Beckett hadn’t paid yet. Not for last month, or the month before. Money had been tight, with an unexpected dental bill for wisdom teeth that hadn’t proven to be smart at all, sucking away his rent money. He’d managed to catch up, but not get ahead, which was exactly where he needed to be with two months of rent now past due.
If he ate celery for a week and allocated his food budget toward rent, and if he started walking to work so he didn’t have to pay for gas, he figured he would be able to bring his account even, but he didn’t get paid for three more days and Robert didn’t sound like he had much forgiveness left in him.
“Beckett,” Robert called out again, this time following the name up with a knock.
Beckett got the distinct impression Robert was not going to go away until he answered, so Beckett clenched his jaw, mussed his hair, and took the three steps left between him and the front door. He pulled it open with a yawn, feigning sleep.
“Sorry, Rob. What’s up?”
“Sorry, Rob?” Robert parroted back to him. “Rent’s due.”
