But maybe it was being in planes and airports for thirty hours or losing the people who had meant the most to him, but he couldn’t simply ignore his father’s words as easily as he usually did. It just didn’t work like that.
“I have piles of work to do,” Chris said pointedly, hoping his dad would get on with whatever he was going to say.
He didn’t, though. Instead he got up and started pacing around Chris’s office. Going on about how the gays were ruining the country and his family. It was nothing Chris hadn’t heard before, at least a hundred times, especially the parts about curing the world of all their influence, but it was as if he was hearing it all and seeing his father rant about all the horrible things his people had done but not actually being a part of it. Not this time at least.
He must have been far too tired to be having this conversation and likely shouldn’t have come into work at all, because all he could think about while listening to his father go on and on was how absolutely ridiculous he sounded. He was a crass old man, and Chris really needed some time away from him right then before he said something he didn’t actually mean.
“I need to go,” he said, getting to his feet.
“I’m not done speaking with you.”
Chris shook his head and gathered his things. “I wasn’t really listening anyway.”
His mouth agape, his father simply stared at him. “Why you disrespectful, ungrateful little faggot.”
The word hurt, but it didn’t make him want to kill people like it did with Bran. Maybe because he’d been hearing it most of his life, often directed right at him. It was a normal part of everyday conversation when his father was involved. Still, it was wrong of his dad to say it, and Chris had been asking him not to.
“I’d prefer that you not call me that.”
“Well I’d rather have a son that didn’t disgrace the family with his ridiculous affairs.”
Chris took a deep breath to calm his nerves and tried really hard to hold back what he wanted to say. And it worked, at least a little. “You have that with Misha. And if you mean me, well, I’ve never once been portrayed badly in a paper, or been in a tabloid, or had a sex tape released. There is no shame in who I am and what I do. Now, I really do need to go.”
“I will dismiss you when I’m done talking to you,” his father snapped at him.
Chris’s headache pounded against his temples, and he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. He loved his father, and he wasn’t a bad man, but some of the things he said were not appropriate.
Chris stepped around him and headed out of the office. Getting outside helped some, but he hoped seeing his mom would be even more beneficial. He’d be seeing her at lunch the next afternoon anyway when they had their weekly lunch date at Diamino’s, a small upscale cafe that served twenty-dollar salads along with pretentiousness. But those lunches were always with his father in attendance, and he wanted some time with only her.
His parents lived within walking distance of the firm, on a tree-lined street with bright yellow and red tulips planted along walkways. It was lovely, or it would have been if he wasn’t slushing through three inches of snow and wet gray junk that clung to the cuffs of his pants. He worried about being presentable for her, especially when he saw a few extra cars parked in front of his parents’ house and hanging out in their driveway too.
His mom had company, which wasn’t rare, but he’d been hoping to catch her alone that afternoon.
“Welcome back, Mister Romanoff,” George said, opening the door for him when he started up the walkway. He hadn’t even reached the first step.
Chris gave his parents’ butler a small smile. “Hey. My mom busy?”
“She has campaign visitors, but I’m sure she can find time for you,” George said, letting him in and showing him to where his mom sat, surrounded by envelopes and letters apparently waiting to go in them.
“Hey,” Chris said, sitting down across from her. At least she was alone now, though she hadn’t even looked up at him when he’d joined her at the table. Instead she was focused on her phone. “So… I’m back from New Zealand.”
“That’s good. Be a dear and help me get these campaign contributor letters ready.”
Biting back a sigh, Chris got to work. “I was visiting Bran.”
“No. Not like that. Get your creases better. Don’t you remember anything? Honestly, how many times do I need to show you this?”
It took him a second before he could continue on to his fifth envelope. He was folding the letters the same way she was. He could hear people talking in the rooms nearby and saw George carrying around a bottle of wine, ready to refill everyone’s glasses. Just as he’d been doing for the last seven years whenever Chris’s mom and her senate friends got together at one of these campaign things. He didn’t even read what he was helping to send out. He hadn’t been reading the letters for years.
“He’s in love, with a dairy farmer, if you can believe that,” Chris continued, trying to get her attention. Even thinking about Bran hurt, so talking about him was much worse. But it was something his mom should have been able to talk about. It wasn’t as if he and Bran had just met or anything like that.
When his mom didn’t say anything to that, he tried a different tactic. “Dad and I had a spat again.”
She sighed and shook her head at him, clearly disapproving of whatever he’d done to upset his father. “You know how important family is in this house. There is nothing else. You’ll apologize to your father immediately.” With that reprimand she was back to folding the letters and stuffing the envelopes.
“He called me a faggot,” Chris tried to explain, wanting his mom to actually understand what had happened between them and why, as usual, it wasn’t his fault. He’d reacted badly, but he didn’t believe that he ever started the arguments.
She didn’t turn away from her busy work. “Well, that’s what you get for having relations with men. Honestly, where you got that idea in your head is beyond me. Certainly your father and I never had anything like that in our families. Now, enough talking about your ruined life. You’ll apologize to your father at lunch tomorrow and that will be the end of it. Maybe one of these days, you’ll realize the error of your ways and take that nice woman who lives next door to you out for dinner. Her son, though, he’s a predicament, isn’t he? But I suppose at your age a woman with a peculiar son is still a catch. You aren’t getting younger, and I do want grandchildren to spoil.”
Chris forced himself to go slow as he slid back from the table. He’d had quite enough of his family for one day and desperately needed to be away from them. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before, but this time he couldn’t get Samuel’s voice out of his head, and it was starting to bother him. These were his parents, and he loved them. A good son would have been able to sit and listen to them, even when he didn’t agree with them. But Chris wasn’t feeling very good in that moment as he came around the table and kissed his mother on her wrinkled cheek.
“Are you leaving? But there is so much left to do!”
And he wanted no part in any of it. “I’m not feeling well. I’ll see you and Dad tomorrow for lunch.”
George showed him out, not that he needed help finding the front door to the house he’d grown up in, but it was customary.
“I do hope you’ll be more on your feet tomorrow,” George told him as they parted.
Chris nodded to the elderly man. “Me too. I’ll be ready for the car at eleven thirty, as usual.”
“Very good, Mister Romanoff. Take care.”
Pulling his jacket closer around himself, he headed back to the sidewalk. A taxi would have been faster and would have saved his shoes from the snow, but he wanted to walk home. It would help him clear his head some of all the racing thoughts.
Back in his apartment nearly an hour later, since he’d taken the long way around and been slow about it, he sat down on his couch and pulled out his phone. His first choice of someone to call would have
been Bran, followed then by Samuel.
Since neither of them were an option, he considered texting Misha. But what was he supposed to say? That he’d had an argument with their dad and his mom thought it was his fault, as always? With a sigh he put his phone down and went from the couch to the middle of the floor where he could see the evening sunlight coming in through his big windows.
The first shreds of uncertainty and doubt began creeping into him, and he shuddered at the questions they raised. He was scared, he could admit that to himself, but it didn’t help anything for him to realize that. Bran and Samuel couldn’t be right. They didn’t know his dad like he did. They didn’t see the good in either of his parents. They had no idea what they were talking about. He was sure of it. But somehow he couldn’t get their words out of his head.
In the end, he did text Misha, a simple one-liner to say, I’m not doing okay. His brother was all he had for now, and he hoped to God he got a reply. He needed to know he mattered to someone.
Chapter Thirteen
TWO DAYS later Samuel felt like climbing the walls in his house. There was only so much he could do on a farm that they kept in a tidy condition, because the general rule was if something broke, you fixed it straightaway or told the staff member who could see to it. Despite searching high and low for jobs to keep his hands and mind occupied, once these were done, there was nothing much to do but daily milkings and the odd fencing problem.
After the way things fell apart at Kaden and Bran’s house, he hadn’t seen them since, and he would never admit it to them all, but he had been avoiding Trent like the plague. His kind friend turned awfully nasty when he got riled, and he’d rather avoid another tongue-lashing so soon.
He looked down at his phone, and his heart sped up as he hoped the call would be coming from Chris, but instead it was Bran’s number that lit up his screen. “Hello, Samuel speaking,” he said softly, expecting to hear bad news from Bran about Chris. He hadn’t heard from Chris at all, but if he would call anyone, Samuel was sure he would have called Bran.
“Hey. Has he called you?” Bran asked him, the worry thick in his voice. He also sounded as if he’d been crying again.
Samuel frowned and ran his hand over his head. “No. You?”
“I wish. But no. I haven’t heard from him. You’d tell me if you had, though, right? Even if he asked you to lie to me again? I need to know he’s okay, and he’s not returning my calls, my texts, or my e-mails. I’ve tried dozens of times now, and just… nothing.”
Samuel sighed, completely worried out of his mind. “Bran, you know him better than anyone else. Would he do something stupid? Is he really that unstable? I’m trying to calm myself down by believing he would need some time to think and get over some shit spoken in anger, but it’s not working so well.”
Bran was quiet for a long time, which only made Samuel worry more.
“Honestly, Sam, I’m not sure. I mean, I’d love to say that he’s completely fine and just pouting in his living room and watching some of our favorite movies. But two days ago, I would have said there was no way in hell he would have been cutting again. I saw the scars, though. I touched them. And now I don’t have any idea what he would do. Look, will you come over? Trent’s here. Kaden’s sitting across from me. He bought four types of ice cream, including Swirly Caramel and Goody Goody Gum Drop, to cheer me up. If I eat much more of this alone, I’m going to have to go shopping in Thames for new pants. Don’t make me go shopping again. You know how much I hate to buy clothes for myself when I’m alone, and Kaden says he doesn’t want to go with me just to get me more junk I don’t need. Please? Come be worried and miserable over here with the rest of us,” Bran practically begged him.
Samuel looked at his timber walls again and thought it a better idea to get out of there. “Okay, I’ll just have a shower and head on over.”
“Great. I’ll save you some of the chocolate. You could come over stinky if you wanted to. We’re all so screwed up over here that no one would mind. Or, you know, shower. Whatever you want to do. As long as you come over and we can all be together. I wish he was here, though,” Bran said. He sounded like he was trying to be happy and normal, yet failing miserably.
“I would rather clean up. I’ve been working out, so I’m sticky and I stink.” His boxing bag had been kicked and beaten harder than ever before, and still the damn thing didn’t break on him. Samuel had been tempted to douse the bag in fuel and burn it. Outside, so he didn’t burn down the rest of his house.
“Ew. Yeah, get showered. We’ll see you soon. Bye.”
Bran hung up quickly, leaving him alone once again.
He dragged himself upstairs and had his shower, putting on a pair of comfortable jeans and an old T-shirt before heading to the front door. He put on his flip-flops, which lay on the deck, and got in the truck. Even the vehicle brought back sweet memories of Chris, and he swore as he started the engine and drove to Kaden’s farm.
As soon as he was parked, the front door flew open and Bran came toward him. He’d barely been able to get out of the truck before Bran was hugging him.
“I’m glad you came over. I’m so scared and want my friends close right now. Come on in.”
Bran brought him inside, where Kaden sat next to Trent in the living room, both of them looking miserable.
“Hey,” he said to them but focused on Trent. They both greeted him back the same as always, and he relaxed a bit, knowing Trent was back to normal.
Kaden shook his head sadly. “You look like shit.”
Samuel smiled a little. “So do you. I guess none of us have slept well or stopped worrying since he left.”
Kaden looked to Bran, then back to Samuel. “He absolutely hasn’t. That’s for sure. Most of the time, I can’t get him to let go of his phone just in case Chris texts. He lays there holding it and jumping every time he gets a spam e-mail, even when I’m trying to get him to sleep.”
Not denying what Kaden had said, Bran disappeared into the kitchen, where Samuel could hear him getting dishes down from the cupboards.
“Everyone is having ice cream,” Bran called to them. “No exceptions. Anyone want a drink? Iced tea? Water? An entire bottle of vodka?”
“Coffee for me, please,” Samuel said, then instantly regretted it because coffee made him think of Chris and the sweet smile Chris had given him when he’d discovered the coffee machine in his house.
Bran came into the living room with four tubs of ice cream piled on top of each other in his hands and placed them on the coffee table in the middle of the room. He went back into the kitchen and returned with the dishes and cutlery, which joined the dessert on the table. “Help yourselves.”
Trent got on his knees on the carpet and helped himself to a large serving of Swirly Caramel and Strawberries and Cream. Bran returned a few minutes later with coffee for each of them. After they had a cup in front of them, he bounced around a bit on his feet as if he needed something to do, some way to keep busy or else risk going mad. It was a familiar feeling for Samuel as well.
Kaden tapped the seat beside him. “Sit down, babe. Do you want more ice cream?”
Bran bit his bottom lip and shook his head. “Maybe in a bit. I keep going between feeling sick and hungry.”
He curled up next to Kaden, who put his arms around Bran. As much as Samuel was happy for them, he couldn’t watch them for long.
Averting his eyes from them, he crouched down to get himself some of the frozen dessert when Bran’s phone rang loudly, startling him. Bran was quick to grab it out of his pocket and answer it.
“Misha? What’s wrong? Is Chris okay?” he demanded, his face losing all color. He looked to them all, then put his phone down before putting it on speaker.
“I have nothing to say to you. If Samuel is there, put him on the phone. Otherwise, give him my number and tell him I expect a call back.”
Misha sounded so cold, so angry, as they all stared at Bran’s phone.
He was silent as he broug
ht it over and placed it on the coffee table in front of Samuel.
“He’s here. Will you tell me if Chris is okay?”
But Misha ignored him. “Samuel?”
Readying himself for the worst, Samuel spoke. “I’m here, Misha.”
“If you still care about my brother at all, as you swore to me that you did in Montana, then you will keep that one away from him. This isn’t a request. It’s an order. Bran is not to have any more contact with Chris. I don’t even want him breathing my brother’s name. Not after what he did. Can you do that?”
Bran sat down heavily beside the coffee table, and Kaden was quick to join him, putting a hand on Bran’s back.
“I told him I was sorry.”
“Apparently you saying that, if you ever did, doesn’t make up for throwing him away. Now, not another word from you. Samuel?” Misha barked at him.
Samuel looked at the anguish on Bran’s face and the anger on Kaden’s, and he felt like screaming until his lungs bled. “Misha, that day when he left, things were really messed up. We were trying to help him, and tempers were flying. We all said stuff we shouldn’t have. We’re all sorry, but Chris isn’t responding to any of our texts or calls.”
Misha sounded far less angry this time around. “I knew he was avoiding Bran, because why would he want to be rejected again, but he didn’t tell me that he was also refusing to respond to you. I’ll talk to him about making sure a line of communication is kept with you. I should be there in twelve more hours. Unless there’s some reason you’re not telling me that you shouldn’t be allowed near him either?”
“I’m not sure actually how to answer that, because he’s avoiding us all. Do you have any idea what happened?” Samuel had the idea if Chris kept the cutting a secret from them, then Misha was probably in the dark too.
“He told you something, and you all rejected him. I didn’t care what it was at the time, as it can’t be any worse than the things he’s forgiven Bran for over the years, or even in Montana. I need to go. My next flight is leaving. Keep Bran away from him, or I’ll shut down his communication with all of you and take him so far away that none of you will ever be able to find him again.”
Dare to Hope Page 13
