Keeping Sweets (26 page)

He knew he should go after Evan, make him understand, but he couldn’t. If he told Evan he loved him it would be game over. He could never let him go and he needed to. He needed Evan to be free of him to accomplish what he needed to accomplish. To become the amazing man he was destined to be.

Bran jumped up from the bed and ran to the bathroom. He felt like he was going to puke. He pushed the feeling down, splashing cold water on his face. He deserved to feel like this. He had done this to himself. He had known it would be hard to say good-bye, but what he hadn’t counted on was crushing Evan so completely.

He really was selfish. He had only ever considered how this would affect him. He had assumed he could deal with it. He hadn’t ever, for one second, thought that Evan would fall just as hard for him. He hadn’t anticipated breaking both their hearts with good-bye.

It was done now, though. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. Quick. Clean. Permanent.

He paced back and forth, trying to convince himself over and over that he was doing the right thing. It was tough, though. The right thing had never felt so shitty before. He was anxious, distracted. He sat up most of the night, trying to decide what to do in the morning.

Should he try to act normal? Pretend everything was okay? Pretend like his heart hadn’t been torn from his chest and stomped on by his own feet? Should he avoid Evan? Take the coward’s way out? Stay in his room until he was certain Evan had left for the bus station?

In the end, he decided to face the music like a man. He had created this problem; he needed to deal with it. He lay awake in bed, unable to sleep. The pillows and sheets were permeated with Evan’s scent. He buried his face in the soft pillow and wept. He cried for everything he had lost, everything he knew he would miss.

Eventually, the tears having stolen the last of his energy, he fell asleep.

W
HEN
he woke in the morning, his eyes were swollen from crying and he had a headache that almost knocked him back on his ass when he tried to get up. He walked to the bathroom, still sullen and grim. He washed his face, trying to wipe away the remnants of his outburst from the night before. His eyes were still red rimmed, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

He made his way downstairs to where Riley and Cooper were laughing about something. Bran wanted to punch them both.

“Late night last night?” Cooper prodded with his eyebrow quirked up. Obviously Evan hadn’t told anyone about their fight.

“Not exactly,” Bran responded, keeping his answer intentionally vague. The guys had no right to know his business.

Cooper shrugged and returned to his conversation.

Bran put the coffee on and took a seat at the bar while he waited for it to percolate. Ryan came into the kitchen a few minutes later.

“I thought I smelled coffee,” he said as he walked toward the cupboard and retrieved himself a mug. He leaned against the counter and waited patiently. “One of you mind giving me a ride to the bus station this afternoon?”

“I thought Colt was going to take you and Evan,” Bran said.

Ryan shrugged. “Dude, they left last night.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I dunno. Didn’t see Evan, but Colt let me know they were going.”

Bran raced from the kitchen and into the room he had assigned to Evan on the first day. Although he had never slept in that room, Bran had assumed that’s where he had gone the night before. All of his things were gone, the left side of the room tidy and bare save for a perfectly round pale-green globe. It was the only thing Evan had left behind.

Bran’s heart fell again. He felt torn in two. On one hand, he was a bit relieved. It meant he wouldn’t need to see Evan again. He wouldn’t be tempted to tell him the truth, to take it all back, to keep him forever. On the other, he was devastated he would never get to say good-bye. He felt like Evan had died, snatched from him before he had a chance to gain any closure.

He knew that after the way things had unfolded the night before there would be no heartfelt hugs or tender kisses, but to have the choice of saying good-bye ripped from him like that hurt more than Bran wanted to admit.

With Evan gone, he didn’t see much point in sticking around for the rest of the day. He left instructions with the crew on what needed to be done and climbed into his truck, not looking back at the house as he drove away.

I
T
WAS
four months later and Bran still hadn’t had the heart to begin editing the footage from the house. He moped around his barren apartment, feeling lonely and hopeless. It was as if a part of his soul had been ripped from him and all that was left was this empty shell that couldn’t be filled by anything.

Not that Bran had tried. He had lost weight, some days forgetting to eat entirely. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen sunlight. Les called him daily, mostly to make sure he was okay, but every once in a while to remind him that there was a whole wide world out there and maybe he should get out and experience it.

Bran didn’t want to experience anything without Evan. He googled him every once in a while, both elated and heartbroken at the same time when nothing popped up. There was no contact; even if he had wanted to, he didn’t know where Evan lived. He had no phone number to reach him. It was probably for the best. If Bran had some way to contact him, he was sure he would have buckled a long time ago and called.

He reassured himself every day that this feeling of complete desolation would pass, but each day the feelings became more intense as the memory of exactly what Evan smelled like began to slowly fade. With each fading memory, little bits of Bran faded as well.

His phone rang. Bran debated whether or not he had the energy to pick it up. Finally, he clicked the talk button just before the caller would have been cut off.

“Hey, sugar. How are ya holding up?”

“I’m fine, Les. You know you don’t need to check on me all the time. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you sound fine. I’m sure you smell fine too. When’s the last time you ate? Showered?”

Bran thought. He wasn’t sure. Couldn’t remember if that bowl of dry Cheerios was today or last week. Everything was running together.

“I’m going to come and get you. Go wash your ass and throw on a clean pair of pants if you have one. We’re going to go get some food into you.”

“No, Les, I really don’t—”

“And I really don’t care that you really don’t want to. I’ll be there in twenty. Hurry up.”

True to his word, Les pulled up at Bran’s building exactly twenty minutes later. Bran was waiting for him outside. A pair of sunglasses obscured his bloodshot eyes, but they were doing nothing for the hair that hadn’t been cut in far too long. Bran knew there were some homeless people who looked more put together than he did, but he couldn’t summon the energy to care.

He climbed into Les’s red Mustang and slumped down in the seat, surly as a teenager who was being made to go to church.

“Any requests?”

“Not the diner,” he said, remembering the meal he had shared there with Evan. A fresh pang of longing stabbed him in the gut.

“You got it, sugar.”

Les maneuvered the car out of the parking lot and onto the main street, pulling into the parking lot of a Mexican restaurant a few minutes later.

The waitress showed them to an open table in the back and Bran flopped himself down in the chair. When the waitress returned to take their order, Les ordered for both of them.

O
NCE
she was gone, the smile faded from Les’s face. He looked at Bran, locking eyes with him to make sure he was paying attention.

“Now listen, sugar, I’m not sure what happened at that house, but I do know one thing. You’ve been an absolute wreck since you got back, and Evan’s faring no better.”

“You’ve talked to him?”

“Of course I’ve talked to him. He’s a mess. I think he’s still observing basic personal hygiene, unlike some people, but he’s devastated. At first, I let it go, thinking it was a crush you would both get over, but it’s been months, Bran. Months. You’re getting worse. I’ve never seen you like this and to tell you the truth, you’re scaring me. Like I said, I don’t know what happened up there, but I can take a guess. You’re obviously in love with the kid, and I’m assuming he feels the same way about you. What I can’t figure out is why you’re both opting to be miserable, when you could be happy, together.”

“It’s not as simple as that.”

“Why not? What’s stopping you?”

Something cracked inside Bran. The carefully constructed dam holding everything in gave way and the words poured out of him in a torrent of emotion and pain. He told Les everything that had happened between them at the house, about how he had fallen hard and fast for Evan, about their last day together, about the fight.

“I can’t do that to him. I can’t ruin his life. He has things he needs to do in Eugene, school, a whole world outside of me. I have responsibilities here. I couldn’t ask him to stay for me, and I can’t be there with him.”

“That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard. You’re an idiot, Brandon Court. A fuckin’ idiot.”

Bran stared at him, mouth hanging open.

“If you love him, you have to trust that he knows what he wants. And as for your responsibilities here? Like what? Helping me? Sugar, you’re like the son I never wanted. I love you to death, but all I want is for you to be happy. These last four months have been rough for me, watching you slowly sinking and feeling helpless to stop it. Tell me what you want to do, Bran. What would make you happy. You wanna quit doing porn?”

Bran nodded.

“If you want out of the company, just tell me, or if you want to edit and take care of the marketing, that can be done from a distance. From anywhere. At all.”

Les reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card.

“This is the contact information for the lady in charge of the new Gay, Lesbian, and Straight Education Network campaign. The Day of Silence and Think B4 You Speak were so successful they want to start up another one, a series of PSAs. They need a spokesperson and someone to spearhead the project. When she approached me about it, your name was the first one to come to mind, but with everything that has gone on, I was wary to talk to you about it. I think it would be a good opportunity for you. You’d need to fly into different cities every once in a while, make appearances, but for the most part, home base can be anywhere. Again. Anywhere.”

Bran just stared at the card. He couldn’t find the words. It was everything he’d been looking for when he thought about turning his life around. The only thing he was truly passionate about was helping people and being there for gay kids who were going through the same thing he had. Working for a company whose mission was to provide education to kids about what it meant to be gay felt like a perfect fit.

Les reached across the table and placed another piece of paper into his hands. Evan’s address.

“Just, get your shit together before you contact either of them. You’re a mess, sugar. Vagrant is not a good look for you.”

O
NE
month later, Bran steered his car toward the exit off the highway. Evan’s house was a twenty-five minute drive, but his palms were sweaty and his heart was beating quicker than normal. He hadn’t called first, hadn’t wanted to. He had many reasons, but mostly he needed to see Evan again, to look at him, take him in. It might be the last time, so he didn’t want to do it over the phone.

Les had told him Evan felt the same, but he couldn’t let himself hope until Evan was securely in his arms.

There was no turning back now. In less than an hour he would have his answer either way. If it was yes, Bran wasn’t planning on leaving, ever. If it was no, he would quietly return to lick his wounds alone.

T
HE
house was easy enough to find. Acacia Lane was a small tree-lined street near the campus that held row after row of little ranchers. It was quaint. Peaceful. Bran could see Evan living here. He checked the piece of paper Les had given him again and pulled into the driveway of a small blue house with white shutters. Very
Leave it to Beaver
.

He exited the car and made his way up the walkway when he heard a dog barking like mad. Glancing at the window, he saw a puppy jumping hysterically at the window, its tail wagging. The front door opened and Bran’s heart leapt from his chest. This was it. But it wasn’t Evan. It was Colt.

Bran’s knees buckled, he thought he might pass out. Colt didn’t say anything, just walked determinedly down the front steps and punched Bran as hard as he could in the face.

Bran staggered back. “What the fu—”

Colt was shaking his hand, knuckles split, blood oozing out. “You’re a fuckin’ asshole. What the fuck are you doing here?” he said, his accent all but erased by the rage pouring out of him.

“I came to see Evan. What the fuck are you doing here?” he demanded.

“I fuckin’ live here. You have no right to show up here after all this time, after what you did, you fuckin’ prick. You need to leave.”

Bran felt like his heart had stopped beating in his chest. A crushing weight pressed down on him. He lived here? Were Evan and Colt together? Was he too late? He shook his head. He had come too far to turn away now. He needed to see Evan, even if it was good-bye.

“No.”

“No? What the fuck do you mean no? You’re a stupid guy, Bran. I’m from Texas. You think I don’t have a gun in that house?”

“I don’t care. I need to see him. Where is he?”

“He ain’t here. He’s in class. And you best be gone before he gets back. You put him through enough.”

“I know—”

“No, you don’t fuckin’ know. You weren’t here. I was. I was the one that picked up the pieces that night, and every night since. You broke him. Don’t you get that? You fuckin’ broke him.”

Bran swallowed hard, afraid what the answer to his next question might be. “Are you….” He let it trail off, not sure he even wanted to know.