Bound by Lies (30 page)

“Yeah, come on,” Brayden mutters, pushing past Jenner without looking at him. He feels Jenner’s hand on his back as Brayden passes, with Jenner stepping aside to let him by. The contact is startling, like being nudged with a hot poker. It causes Brayden to flinch slightly.

“Thank you. Have a nice evening,” Jenner tells them.

“Give us a call if you’re going to be late!” Nana tells Brayden, shaking her head in disapproval of Brayden’s attitude and giving a wave.

They’re no more than halfway down the path to the sidewalk when Brayden hisses under his breath, “Quit touching me!”

Jenner simply waves farewell over a shoulder and keeps his right hand firmly planted between and just below Brayden’s shoulder blades.

“Since when do you think you can tell me what to do?” Jenner returns, just as quietly. “And I don’t recall giving you permission to call Max for a chat about your
boyfriend
, either. Seems to me someone needs to be reminded of his place.”

Brayden’s face is so hot he can feel sweat beading on the skin from the force of his blush. At first he clams up, unable to respond with the appropriate, submissive reply or even find the balls to remain defiant. When they’re a few houses down the road and Jenner’s house nears swiftly, Brayden knows it’s now or never, that something needs to be said before they get there and he has even more drama to deal with.

“She came to my house. I had to do something. And I felt like she might be more likely to believe me if I confronted her without you. Sir,” he adds after a pause. They’ve stopped and Brayden is hyperaware of how massive and displeased Jenner is beside him. He’s just as aware of being outside, in full view of the entire street. Anyone could be watching.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you didn’t ask for permission beforehand. This involves both of us, my privacy as well as yours. You acted out of turn.”

“I’m sorry,” Brayden hears himself saying a little breathlessly. The very real presence of Max and Art’s home looms before them.

“If we’re telling them the truth, we need to do it the right way, and tell the
whole
truth,” Jenner says. “As long as we’re in there, it’ll be medium protocol. That means I’ll be doing the talking. If I want you to say anything, I will tell you so. Are we clear? They will not have permission to speak to you directly. That’s how it works. They go through me. If they speak to you without my permission, you are not to answer them or even look at them. You don’t need to kneel, just to stay by my side. Those are the rules.”

Brayden nods. He still feels unsteady, but less scared. The rules Jenner has laid out help him get a grasp on the idea of walking up to the door and facing Max and Art. His relief is reflected in his expression and Jenner’s fingers caress in a gentle arc, back and forth over his skin through his shirt. They’re right out on the street and anyone could be watching—Nana, Emma, Max, Art, or any number of neighbors or passers by—but the soothing touch is like a private promise from Jenner to Brayden. It makes his cares about the rest of the world fade away.

“This isn’t about either of us being gay. This is about them accepting our lifestyle. There’s a big difference. There’s nothing here to be ashamed of.”

The words, so plainly spoken, are like cooling waters over a sunburn.

“I love you,” Brayden tells him urgently.

They’re out there for anyone to see. It’s not safe. Brayden can see how badly Jenner wants to kiss him, but he holds himself back, for whose sake, Brayden doesn’t even know. But briefly, Jenner’s hand comes up and brushes tenderly over Brayden’s cheek.

An older man who lives down at the end of the road walks past with a Doberman on a leash, looking at them with a tight-lipped frown. Someone else a few houses away walks down their driveway to pick up a newspaper and they seem to linger, like they don’t want to miss a chance to snoop. The man with the Doberman pauses by a mailbox as the dog sniffs the spot and Brayden can sense his displeased stare.

Jenner and I are standing too close. The way he’s touching me isn’t right. Not to them. But it shouldn’t matter to me what they think, so why do I feel this way?

The doubt makes him feel queasy and ashamed of something that should be only wonderful and celebrated.

Jenner’s hand falls away, like Brayden’s ‘I love you’ and the gentle touch never happened.

Very softly, his expression perfectly composed and inscrutable, Jenner says, “I love you, too. More than you know.”

The walk up to the front door takes an impossibly long time. It feels like many sets of eyes are on him. Paranoia is like fingernails tickling up his spine. To cope, Brayden shuts down and puts himself in Jenner’s hands. They stand on the front porch. Jenner’s hand has been on the center of Brayden’s back since they left his house. It’s there now—possessive but not overly so.

Jenner could just use the key to open the front door, but he rings the bell instead. Moments later, the door opens and Art is there, intimidating and huge. Distantly, Brayden wishes he had smaller friends.

Jenner’s hand is on Brayden, screaming ‘this is mine.’ The downward cast of Brayden’s eyes and the innate submissiveness in his stance is evident, with his hands tucked in his pants pockets, his long hair falling over his shoulders as he bows his head. The ugly bruises on Jenner’s face along his jaw, put there by Art, are stark and unmistakable.

As the moment draws out too long, a lot of things seem painfully obvious. Most of all, maybe, the way Brayden can’t help but turn slightly into Jenner’s touch when his nerves start to get the best of him, seeking comfort.

Silently, patiently, Jenner waits for Art to make the first move, but his eyes are trained on something quite small hiding at Art’s feet. When Art says nothing after minutes have passed, Jenner reaches out with his left hand, palm-up.

Slumping slightly with resignation, Art scoops the cat up from the floor with both hands, careful not to let it scramble free or slip through his large fingers. He hands it over to Jenner, setting the feline on the outstretched palm. Immediately, the cat scurries up Jenner’s arm and curls into a ball against his chest, where it knows it belongs. Brayden glances over. A small, amused grin curls his lips, there and gone.

“Sorry about the face and all,” Art grumbles. He gestures lamely at his own jaw, then clears his throat, folding his arms over his chest.

“Can we talk? Inside?”

“Sure. It’s still your house too.”

Art steps back inside. They follow and go to the living room to stand around awkwardly, but at least they’re out of the sight of anyone else that’s on the street or peering from windows.

“Is Max here?” Jenner asks softly, probably, Brayden supposes, because the house is so quiet and any louder tone of voice might be misconstrued as aggression. That’s not how they want to start this off.

“Yeah,” Art says, matching Jenner’s hushed tone. Then he bellows, making Brayden jump, “MAX!!”

“Jesus,” Brayden gasps, forcing his heart back down out of his throat. Jenner gives him a sideways glance, takes his hand and weaves their fingers together.

Ducking his head, hiding behind his hair, Brayden tries to will himself invisible.

“What is it?!” Max complains, jogging into the room, sounding aggravated at being yelled for. When she sees the three of them, she stops, deflates, and mumbles, “Oh.”

Without missing a beat, she turns to Brayden, opens her mouth with an upraised finger, but before she can make a sound, Jenner cuts in. “We all know that you and Brayden spoke on the phone and what was said. I didn’t bring Brayden here so that he would have to defend his sexual orientation to the two of you. We’re here to clear the air regarding our chosen lifestyle, since you seem to have enough of a concern about it to resort to violence. Obviously, I think I speak for all four of us when I say that who we are intimate with is no one else’s business. But since you have expressed concern for Brayden’s wellbeing, we are here to confirm that he and I are in a sexual relationship with a clearly defined,
consensual
power dynamic. If you overhear me giving him orders, that’s why. If you see marks on his body, it’s because I put them there
with his consent
. If he ever has reason to need your help, with anything, I’m officially giving him permission to come to either of you.” Jenner looks directly at Brayden as he says this. “Agreed?”

Brayden clenches his jaw and nods tightly, mumbling a barely audible, “Yes, Sir.”

“Louder, please. This is important. They need to hear you clearly.”

“Yes, Sir,” Brayden manages with a little more volume.

Tentatively, Brayden raises his eyes and sees Art squinting doubtfully at them. Max’s expression is unreadable.

“Brayden,” Jenner asks. “Do you have any need of help right now? Do you have anything you’d like to say?”

It’s not a question of safety, but of judgment. They’re both judging him, Brayden knows, and it feels like high school all over again—the old pain, soul-deep, flares up, all-consuming. It’s all pointless. Futile. They’ll never understand. Who he is,
what
he is, will never be okay. He turns toward his Master, hiding his face against Jenner’s arm. Brayden’s breath hitches and Jenner sighs, wrapping Brayden in what is unquestionably an embrace radiating with love and sweetness.

Jenner holds Brayden to his chest and hushes him, “This was too much to ask of you. Let’s go. We’ll forget the whole thing, okay? It was a bad idea.”

Brayden turns his face up to Jenner, craning his neck, his vision blurring with unshed tears. He sinks back into that feeling of childlike fear and innocence, like the world is against him and trying to take everything that matters away; his father, gone; his mother, gone; his lover concealed behind self-made walls, unreachable. Each absence tears Brayden apart a little more. And his so-called friends stand by, drawing their own conclusions about everything.

Jenner’s expression colors with anguish and he seems to forget to be so guarded. He forgets where they are or what the rules are. He just kisses Brayden with the force of all of the love in his heart.

They break apart when Brayden feels the cat rub its head against his stomach. He takes her carefully from Jenner and presses a kiss between the tips of her ears. “Hey, pretty girl.”

Jenner slings an arm around Brayden and begins to guide him from the room without bothering to favor the others with a single glance. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

“Wait,” Art says, his voice heavy. “We were wrong.” He exchanges a look with Max. She sighs and runs her fingers back through her hair. “Brayden, I’m sorry if we made you think you had to justify your choices to us. We were just really worried about you.”

Unable to look in their direction at all, Brayden cuddles Jenner’s kitten and gazes out the front window instead, towards the awaiting sunshine and freedom from confrontation.

“You’re really in love, aren’t you?” Max says with awe. “I can’t believe we didn’t see it. Well, maybe I didn’t want to see it. God, I feel stupid. Parrish….”

Jenner’s eyes flash dangerously at her. “I’m sorry, but I have to make preserving Brayden’s privacy my priority. I need him to feel comfortable at work, and after you both attacked me without even bothering to ask me about this first, when you
know
where it is that I’ve always gone to find partners….”

“You’re firing us,” Max realizes.

“For what it’s worth, we can be discreet,” Art tells them. “You’re absolutely right that it’s not our business and, honestly, I would rather be there so that Brayden has someone he can go to if he needs to. Sure, I want to keep my job but, Parrish, after all these years… you know you can trust our word, man. I give you my word that this stays between us.”

“Yeah. Me too,” Max adds.

“It’s not up to me,” Jenner replies with a touch of regret. “Not anymore. This isn’t about me.”

Brayden is astonished by Jenner’s words, proof of how much Brayden means to him. There they stand, with Art and Max taking in the sight—Jenner with two treasures in his life held protectively against him, the brazen dare in his stance and expression, waiting for them to think less of him for being made vulnerable, and determination to wear his heart on his sleeve anyway.

“I’m really happy for you, Brayden,” Max tells him, filling her words with urgency. “You deserve to have good things in your life, because you’re one of the sweetest, most pure-hearted guys I’ve ever met and I’m just sorry you felt like you couldn’t trust us not to hurt you. But if you’ve got Parrish here fighting for you, then you ain’t got nothin’ to worry about, eh?”

He’s still unable to reply, waiting for the other shoe to drop and someone to laugh, for it to turn into a big joke, because it’s going too well. It can’t be this easy. There has to be a catch.

“And that kiss was fuckin’ hot, by the way. I can tell what you see in each other, just, you know, speaking as someone else who digs penis.”

Brayden laughs unexpectedly, and looks over to Max at last. “Nice,” he chuckles.

She shrugs. “What? It’s true. Art’s probably just confused by the whole thing.”

“Hey man, that just means there’s more pussy available for me. Less competition. It’s all good.”

The cat meows, loudly, and Jenner says, “Not you, baby,” ruffling the fur on her head. “Different pussy.” Brayden flashes a smile up at Jenner, his eyes sparkling.

“I trust you guys,” Brayden says after a moment’s thought. “I don’t want you to lose your jobs over my self-consciousness.”

“Hey,” Jenner whispers to him. “It’s my business. It’s my call.”

“You said it was
my
call. I’m making the call. Sir.”

“Are you sure, babe?”

A thrill races down Brayden’s body at the use of the endearment used in earshot of other people. That’s something he could definitely get used to, Jenner showing just how much Brayden means to him for anyone to see, feeling like he belongs to Jenner, letting others know that.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he says confidently. Jenner cups Brayden’s face in a hand, leans down and places a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Okay.” Turning back to Art and Max, Jenner says, “You can keep your jobs. As long as you keep this to yourself, that is. And I mean
all
of it.”