“Oh, heavens, no. He left hours ago. He’s a very busy man, your father. Working around the clock lately, seven days a week. I never see him. We had a very important charity ball to attend last night and was your father there? No, he was not. I can tell you, I was mortified. And people are starting to talk. All this nonsense with the IRS…” Sandra trailed off.
“Mom. Please. I really need to—”
“Oh, so sorry, dear,” she interrupted as if he weren’t mid-sentence. “I simply must dash. Ta, ta.” And she was gone. Not that she’d ever really been there.
With a sigh, Hank got to his feet and made his way to his bathroom. He showered and shaved, ruminating darkly about his father’s financial mess and how it might affect him. He didn’t generally bother looking at his accounts, since everything was set up for automatic pay and ACH deposit.
He pulled on some jeans and a shirt and went downstairs to the study. Sitting at his desk, he opened his laptop. Pulling up his bank account, he was shocked to see a balance of only two hundred twenty-four dollars. What the fuck?
He opened the account detail and saw that the automatic payment of the American Express bill had just gone through the day before. But his monthly allowance, which should have hit his account by now, had not arrived. Jesus—he barely had a cent to his name. What the hell was he going to do?
He jumped up from the chair and rummaged in his desk drawers, where he sometimes stashed extra cash. He found a stack of bills and pulled it out, eagerly counting it. It came to five hundred twenty-two dollars. Not a fortune by any means, but better than nothing.
He made himself a cup of coffee and gulped it down before returning to his mission, rummaging through drawers all over the house and looking beneath the couch cushions. He came up with another six hundred and change. This was insane. He couldn’t be expected to survive like this.
He pulled his cell from his pocket and clicked on the number for his father’s private line at the office, since Henry never answered his cell phone. After several rings, a woman answered, “Henry Seeley’s office. May I help you?”
“This is Hank Seeley, Henry’s son. Is he available?”
“No, I’m sorry. He’s in a very important meeting. But I’ll surely tell him you called.”
Hank blew out a breath of frustration. His dad wouldn’t call back. He never, ever returned calls. He was too busy and important.
Just as he was putting his phone back into his pocket, it rang. He looked at the screen and saw it was Tony calling from the guardhouse. “Yeah?” Hank said into the phone.
“Mr. Seeley, there are some gentlemen here from DeVoe Porsche. They’re here about the cars.”
“The cars?” Hank repeated, confused. “I didn’t call anyone.”
“They say they need to see you about the cars. They wouldn’t be more specific. Shall I send them away?”
Hank sighed. What had started out as a great day was rapidly turning to pure shit. He could refuse to give the guys entrance, but then what? They’d get a fucking warrant or something? He didn’t need the headaches. “No. You can let them through. Thanks.”
Hank was waiting at the door when the nondescript black sedan pulled into the drive. The snow from the night before had melted away, the sun beating down from a deep blue sky. The driver climbed out of the car, along with three other men, all them looking grim-faced and official.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, gentlemen?” Hank asked, trying to keep his cool.
The driver approached, a serious expression on his face. “We’re here about the Porsche 911, the Mercedes S-Class sedan and the Range Rover.” He glanced at his clipboard. “Mr. Henry Seeley has stopped payment on these three vehicle leases, and they are presently two months past due. If you wish to take over the payments, upon presentation of the monies owed, you can negotiate that with one of our representatives. Meanwhile, we need to collect the vehicles. If you’ll kindly sign here and give us the keys…” He held out his clipboard.
“Wait, what?” Hank spluttered. “You’re taking them all away? You can’t do that.” He knew even as he protested that it was in vain. He could never come up with that kind of money on his own. These cars weren’t his. He’d been living in a house of cards all his life, and now the cards were tumbling down around him.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the man replied stiffly. “We have to retrieve the cars. Your cooperation is appreciated.”
Where was Carson when he needed him? Not that he’d be needing him anymore, Hank thought bitterly. He had no choice, and he knew it. “All right. Hang on a minute. I’ll take you out to the garage. Let me just get my shoes on.”
He left them waiting outside while he put on a pair of loafers and grabbed a light jacket. Then he led them around the side of the house to the four-car garage. His three beautiful, shiny cars were waiting there, unaware they were about to be seized. He pointed to the row of keys hanging neatly on the wall. “There are the keys. Take them and get out of here.”
They moved quickly, three of the men each taking a key and sliding into the drivers’ seats of Hank’s precious vehicles. The man with the clipboard held it out, pointing to the several places Hank needed to sign. He scrawled his signature where indicated, his mind frantically scrabbling as he tried to figure out what the hell he was going to do.
There was the old clunker in the servant’s garage at the back of the house, which Hank kept so the houseboy could run errands. He supposed he could use that while waiting for his father to get his life straightened out. It was so unfair, his being punished for the sins of his father! He would have to let the pool guy go, and the gardener, not to mention Carson. And forget about getting another houseboy.
Then he thought about Avery. What would Avery think when Hank was forced to admit what was going on? Would he still want to be with him? Avery didn’t seem like the kind of guy who put much stock in wealth or position, as alien as that concept was to Hank. But still, the humiliation of admitting his current position was hard to face.
“Don’t panic,” he counseled himself as he watched his beautiful cars being driven away. “You’ll figure something out.”
His phone rang again as he was walking back into the house. He looked at the screen, astonished to see it was his father. “Hello?” Hank said, his heart tightening as it always did when he had to talk to his chronically disapproving father.
“What is it? You called? I’m up to my eyeballs here. What’s going on?”
“What’s going on?” Hank repeated incredulously as he made his way into the living room. “Uh, I didn’t get my monthly allowance and someone just came and took away my cars. This is insane. You need to tell me what’s going on.”
“Didn’t Gardner call you? I told Gardner to call. I’m being raked over the coals. I couldn’t give you access to those funds even if I wanted to. The goddamn IRS has its panties in a bunch over some, er, irregularities and they’ve got their grubby fingers all over my money. The bottom line for you is that the gravy train is finally coming to a halt. I get it that it’s rather abrupt, but it’s about time you learned to fend for yourself, boy. It’s bad enough that you’re queer.” Hank pressed his lips together to keep from screaming as his father continued in a hard voice, “I’ve told you for years to get a fucking job and get a fucking life, but your mother has always coddled you, and look where it’s got you? How the hell old are you anyway, twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?”
“Thirty,” Hank whispered, his heart caving in on itself.
Talking over him, his father continued, “It’s high time you learned to fend for yourself. Everything’s going to shit, boy. I have no idea if my lawyers will be able to get me out of this mess. My whole business is in jeopardy. We might lose everything I’ve worked for all my life because of a few, er, improprieties. I’ll be lucky if I can stay out of jail, and you’re worried about your fucking cars?”
“But, Dad, I—”
“I have to go. I’ve got those goddamn feds coming in again to nose into my
affairs.”
“But, Dad,” Hank tried again. “What am I supposed to do?”
“You?” His father barked a nasty laugh. “Oh, gee. I don’t know. How about get a fucking job!”
The line went dead.
“Dad?” Hank said to the empty air, but there was no reply. In a sudden fury, Hank threw the phone across the room. “I’m thirty, you fucking bastard! You never went to one single birthday party,” he screamed into the empty room. “Not one school play, not one Little League game, not one graduation.” Hank blinked rapidly several times and drew in a deep breath. He needed to calm his ass down. So, Daddy had never been there for him, except financially. And now, even that was going to shit. But his father was right—it was now up to him to do something about it. It was time to grow up. The problem was, he hadn’t a clue how to go about it.
With a heavy sigh, he walked over to where his phone had landed. Fortunately, the room was carpeted and his phone was in a protective case. He picked it up and examined the screen. There was a small chip in the corner, but everything still seemed to be working. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and slumped down into a chair.
Was his father really tossing him to the wolves? The bastard probably had stashes of money hidden away in various safes and overseas accounts, but based on that conversation, it seemed unlikely he’d be willing to part with any until this whole mess blew over.
If it blew over.
“What I need,” Hank said, rising and moving resolutely toward the bar, “is a good, stiff drink or three.”
Chapter 10
Avery pulled his car in front of the warehouse at about eleven on Saturday night. After a full day starting at the construction site, then working in the brewery with Nolan and then off to a gig for Gentleman’s Elite, he’d barely had a moment to breathe.
He’d sent Hank a couple of texts over the course of the day, but hadn’t heard back from him. He thought about driving over there just to check in, but he was exhausted. All he could manage was a hot shower before he fell into bed, too tired even to eat.
The next morning Avery woke at around seven. He reached for his phone to see if he’d missed any texts from Hank, but the screen was blank.
After a shower and a cup of coffee, Avery made his way downstairs to the brewery just to check on a few things, even though he wasn’t technically on the clock that day. Somehow time got away from him as he looked in on the various fermenting batches, made sure everything was ready for the upcoming grain delivery and did a little work on his latest label design. At about eighty-thirty, he stepped outside to get a breath of fresh air before returning upstairs.
As Avery stood on the curb, an older model Toyota hatchback, a little the worse for wear, came swerving down the road, moving too fast. It pulled up behind Avery’s Subaru, nearly crashing into the back of his car before slamming on the brakes. What the hell? With a shock, Avery saw that Hank was the driver.
Alarmed, Avery rushed over. Hank seemed to be fumbling with the door handle. Avery pulled open the door and Hank nearly fell out of the car, saved only by his seatbelt. He looked like hell—his normally smoothly shaven face stubbled, his eyes bloodshot, smudges of purple exhaustion beneath them. His hair was uncombed, his shirt rumpled and stained. With hands that shook slightly, he managed to unbuckle his seatbelt and get himself out of the car. As he did so, Avery caught a strong whiff of booze.
“Jesus Christ, are you drunk?” Avery demanded, taking a step back as he looked the disheveled man over. “You look like shit. You shouldn’t be driving. And what car is this, anyway? What’s going on?”
A muscle jumped in Hank’s jaw, color rising in his cheeks. “What’s with the third degree? I’m not drunk. I haven’t had a drink since last night.” He looked down at himself, as if just realizing his state of dress. “Shit. Sorry. I guess I am kind of a mess.” He ran his hands through his hair and tugged at his shirt. He looked up at Avery, tears suddenly flooding his dark eyes. He rubbed his face with his hands and blew out a breath. “Guess I had a bender last night. Bad news chased by too much good cognac.” He tried a laugh that didn’t quite work. “Sorry,” he said again. “Things are fucked.” He glanced at his car, parked at an angle, and grimaced. “And to answer your question, yeah, that’s my car. My only fucking car. The other three were taken away yesterday. My dad was apparently in arrears on the payments, and then just decided to bag the whole lease arrangement. He doesn’t give a damn about me.”
“Wow,” Avery said. “That’s rough. I wish you’d called me, instead of driving in the state you’re in. Come upstairs and get cleaned up while I make you some coffee and something to eat. Then you’ll tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“We’ll see. Just come up.”
Once upstairs, Avery led Hank to the bathroom. “Get out of those clothes.” As Hank fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, Avery turned on the shower. While the water was heating, he handed Hank a spare toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. “Brush your teeth. I can smell the whiskey on your breath.”
“Not whiskey. Remy Martin XO fine cognac.”
“Whatever. You smell like you slept in an alley. Brush your teeth and get in the shower.”
“Okay, okay. Whatever,” Hank said grumpily.
Avery waited until Hank squirted some toothpaste on the brush and put it in his mouth before leaving the bathroom. He grabbed a fresh T-shirt and his smallest pair of workout shorts and brought them into the bathroom. He was pleased to see Hank in the shower upon his return, lathering up his gorgeous naked body. Ignoring the twitch in his cock, Avery said, “Put these on when you get done and then come out for some breakfast.”
Returning to the kitchen area, Avery brewed a fresh pot of coffee and heated half a dozen blueberry muffins. He made a pan of bacon, too. As he was setting the food and coffee mugs on the table, Hank came out of the bathroom dressed in the T-shirt and shorts Avery had provided, both of which were too big on him. He looked considerably better, his eyes brighter and more alert, a little color in his cheeks.
“Smells good out here,” he said.
“Come over here and sit down. Food’s ready.”
Hank came to the table and took a seat. He lifted his mug and sniffed at the coffee, wrinkling his nose. “What is this stuff? Are the beans freshly ground? I highly doubt it.”
Avery laughed. “That’s ground Folgers made in a Mr. Coffee and it’s just fine. Stop acting like an entitled horse’s ass.”
Hank looked affronted but as Avery stared him down, Hank’s expression shifted to something sheepish and he looked away. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“Apology accepted,” Avery said, still smiling. “Now, drink your coffee and eat something. Then you’re going to tell me why you got shitfaced last night and what the hell’s going on.”
Hank attacked his food, eating two muffins and four slices of bacon. Avery, hungry himself, had the other four muffins and the rest of the bacon, along with a second cup of coffee.
When they’d finished eating, Avery placed his hand lightly over Hank’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Tell me what’s going on, Hank. I’m assuming all this has to do with your financial situation. You say your other cars have been repossessed?”
“Yeah,” Hank sighed. “Everything’s fucked. No more allowance, no more nice cars, no more driver, no more houseboy, no more maid service. Shit. The house will probably be next.” A touch of hysteria had entered Hank’s tone. “My fucking father is in deep shit. He might lose his business. He’s thrown me to the wolves in the process.”
“Did you talk to him about what’s going on?”
“I tried to. He’s never shared anything with me. I’m the disappointment. The queer who never amounted to anything. He basically told me the gravy train had derailed and it was time I took care of myself. He wants me to get a fucking job. Can you believe that?” Hank looked so outraged at what seemed like a reasonable thing for his father to say in the circumstance that A
very couldn’t help but smile.
“It’s funny to you?” Hank cried, slamming his fist so hard against the table that the coffee mugs bounced. He jumped to his feet. “You can laugh about it because your world is all fine and dandy while mine’s turned to shit.”
“Hank, I’m not laughing at you. But it does seem—”
“I know exactly what’s going on,” Hank interrupted, agitatedly pacing the room again. “You’re amused by the poor little rich boy suddenly brought low.” His right hand was clenched into a fist, which he smashed into his open left palm as he paced. “Well, I’ll have you know that I have resources. I have assets I can sell while Daddy Dearest buys himself a judge and gets this nonsense sorted out. I’ll be fine. Just fine.” He continued to smash his fist into his palm as he muttered darkly to himself.
Avery rose from the table. This had gone on long enough. He strode across the space after Hank. Coming up behind him, he grabbed Hank’s arms and pinned them to his sides as he wrapped him in a tight bear hug.
“Let me go! What’re you doing?” Hank demanded. He tried to shrug Avery off, but Avery was bigger and stronger and easily held him in place.
“You need to calm your ass down, Hank,” he growled softly into Hank’s ear. “You’re acting like a spoiled brat having a temper tantrum. It’s not going to accomplish anything. You need to get yourself into a better headspace, and then we can talk about solutions. Yeah, this sucks for you, but you’re young and educated and you’re not helpless.”
“Easy for you to say,” Hank sputtered angrily, still trying, unsuccessfully, to wrestle free of Avery’s determined embrace. “You’ve always had to work. You don’t understand my situation at all.”
“Then you’ll help me understand,” Avery said, keeping his voice level but firm as he propelled Hank toward the bedroom area of the loft. “But first I’m going to help you calm the fuck down.”
Turning the Tables Page 12
