Undue Influence

by Jenny Holiday

  But he’d had no idea. He hadn’t really known what he’d been missing. Before Freddy left, the future had been this theoretical thing pulling him in different directions. Stay in town. Leave. Try to convince Dad to let him learn the ropes at the winery. Give up and be a mechanic. But before Freddy left, none of it had seemed that urgent, because at that point, all of those futures had contained Freddy.

  Until they hadn’t.

  Now, though, this morning, he knew. The future he could have had was no longer theoretical. Regardless of what else he could have decided—about jobs, about where to live, about whether to go to college—he could have had this. He could have woken up every morning in Freddy Wentworth’s arms.

  And, oh God, it hurt. It filled his throat with razors and his guts with poison.

  Regret was such an innocuous word. It rolled off the tongue so easily, two soft, round syllables that sounded almost chipper. Like it didn’t have the power to encompass much beyond I regret not having ordered the chicken. I regret that the rain has ruined our picnic.

  In truth, regret was a sly, nasty sucker. So big. So heavy.

  He rolled over. He tried to do it as quietly as possible because for some nonsensical, suicidal reason, he still didn’t want Freddy to wake up and leave, but he had to turn his head away, because tears were starting.

  He could tell the moment Freddy awakened. He thought he’d made it. Had moved onto his stomach and turned his head to face the wall, and Freddy’s breathing had kept coming in the same steady, deep pattern. But then it stopped, just for a moment. You had to be paying close attention to hear it, but Adam had been. The quality of the arm that still rested on his body changed. It tightened ever so slightly. You had to be paying close attention to feel it, but, again, Adam been.

  The words came a breath later. “Oh, my God. I fell asleep.” And then the arm started to pull away. The warm chest began to recede. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

  Adam wanted to wail. He checked the impulse, but another one arrived immediately on its heels: what if I kissed him?

  What if, instead of passively letting the joy-fear-sadness wave subsume him, he, uncharacteristically, did what he wanted? What if the future he’d been imagining, and mourning, was something he could just reach out and take?

  Before he could overthink things, he turned over, heart pounding with a mixture of fear and hope and exhilaration, and rested his hand on top of Freddy’s. Without making eye contact, he pulled Freddy’s arm back over him. After some initial resistance, it came. Settled. Maybe not as heavily as before—could an arm be wary?—but it was there.

  Okay, this was it. In order to kiss a man you hadn’t kissed in years, you had to look at him. You had to make sure he was okay with it. Adam willed his eyes not to leak as he raised them.

  Freddy was shocked. He looked like a surprised-face emoji, his eyes and mouth round. But he wasn’t pulling away.

  So, feeling like this might be the bravest thing he would ever do, Adam lifted his head some more and extended his neck. He wanted to pounce on Freddy, like that first time he’d kissed him at the foot of the drive at Kellynch, so impulsively and suddenly. But since he still wasn’t sure this kiss was welcome, he forced himself to move slowly, to make his intentions clear while still allowing space for retreat.

  He must have been moving too slowly, though, because Freddy, his surprise vanishing so thoroughly Adam wondered if he’d imagined it to begin with, let loose a low growl and took over, closing the space between them. His lips hit Adam’s at the same time his hand slid along the back of Adam’s skull, anchoring him for what was to come.

  And then he was kissing Freddy Wentworth. Again. Still. It was at once as if no time had passed but also not at all like that, because this time he knew what this was worth. How rare this was.

  On a sigh, Adam let his jaw go slack, inviting Freddy farther in. Freddy didn’t hesitate, just swept his tongue inside Adam’s mouth on a groan, with that firm-but-soft touch that was so uniquely Freddy. Adam wanted this kiss to go on forever. To never end, because—

  “Shit.”

  All Freddy had done was pull away, but it felt like a seam ripping, like a lifetime of careful, incremental stitching had been ruthlessly yanked out, exposing ugly, ragged edges.

  Freddy rolled away from Adam so rapidly he hit the wall. Bonked his head audibly.

  “I’m sorry,” Adam said at the same time Freddy, raking his hands through his hair, said, “We can’t do this.”

  “I know. I know. I don’t know what I was thinking.” It was a lie, though. He’d been thinking, for one irrational, buoying moment, that maybe he could have what he wanted. That maybe there were such things as second chances. “I’m so sorry.”

  Freddy ignored Adam’s apology. He crab-walked forward on the mattress—there really was no graceful way to get in or out of Adam’s bed—and heaved himself up. It was like he couldn’t get off the bed fast enough. “What time is it?”

  He was headed toward the kitchen table where he’d left his phone, so clearly the question wasn’t aimed at Adam specifically, but, having no idea what else to say, Adam answered it anyway. “Judging from the sound of the birds, I’d say just before six.”

  Freddy picked up his phone and squinted at it.

  “Well, Grizzly Adam—pun intended—you’re exactly right. It’s five-fifty.” Though Freddy had made a joke, there was no warmth in his tone. No accompanying wink like Adam used to get back in the day.

  Adam followed Freddy off the bed. This had all been a mistake. Not just the kiss, but showing Freddy the ceiling. The grilled cheese. Probably even going to the party in the first place. No good could come of any of it.

  What had he been thinking? There would be no second chances for Adam.

  And the universe must have decided to hammer home that point, because the next thing Freddy said was, “I have a text from Lulu.”

  Of course he did. In the weird haze that had overtaken Adam this morning, that had propelled him to kiss Freddy, he’d somehow managed to forget all about Lulu. “Is she okay?”

  “I think so. They kept her overnight to watch her, but they’re releasing her today. She wants me to go get her.”

  That didn’t make any sense. Why wouldn’t her parents or her brother or even Mark or Chloe, who lived across the street from her, pick her up? Why would she ask Freddy?

  Well, he knew why, didn’t he?

  “But you know Lulu. I’m sure there will be some drama or other we don’t know about yet.” He smiled at the phone before shoving it in his back pocket. Adam very much feared it was an affectionate smile.

  Freddy cleared his throat. “Anyway. Sorry I fell asleep on you.”

  Adam waved his hand dismissively. Freddy was not the one who should be apologizing. “No problem. And sorry again about that kiss. That was…epically stupid.”

  It was Freddy’s turn to wave off Adam’s words as he bent to put his shoes on. Adam had the sudden sense that by not acknowledging any of the several apologies Adam had made, Freddy could pretend the kiss had never happened at all.

  All right, then. Adam could take a hint. “You want me to run you back to Ben’s?” He paused. “Or to the hospital?”

  Stupidly, even after all that had gone down, even mired in this strange awkwardness, Adam still kind hoped Freddy would say yes. Fool that he was, he wanted to prolong their time together, even if that meant delivering Freddy to Lulu’s bedside.

  Freddy paused with his hand on the door. “No, no. I’m going to head back to Ben’s to shower before going to get Lulu, but I’ll walk, thanks.” Freddy’s lips turned up, but Adam wouldn’t call the resulting expression a smile. “You must be rubbing off on me.”

  Adam lifted his hand in farewell and was in receipt of one of Freddy’s curt nods, and that was that.

  A few minutes later—he waited long enough to give Freddy a head start so he wouldn’t think Adam was following him—he headed out himself. Mr. Collins had come back in the doggie door at some poi
nt during the night and was curled up on the RV’s driver’s seat snoring something fierce. He roused the little beast and clipped on his leash. Maybe walking into town for breakfast before work would help him get his head back into reality, into a world where he didn’t get to just wake up in the morning and find Freddy there.

  What he encountered did not help. A few minutes into his walk, he made a turn and was startled to find Freddy standing by the side of the road, looking at his phone. Reflexively, Adam darted behind a tree, and by some miracle, Mr. Collins remained silent.

  What should he do? Very quietly turn around? But what if Mr. Collins decided to break his uncharacteristic silence, and Freddy saw them? It would be worse, would it not, to be seen slinking away than to be seen taking a walk in his own neighborhood? Taking a walk was a totally reasonable thing for a person—especially a person with a dog—to be doing.

  His indecision kept him still, but then it didn’t matter. A taxi pulled up, and Freddy got in. He hadn’t wanted to walk, after all. He had called a taxi rather than accept a ride from Adam. And, worse, he hadn’t even been able, apparently, to wait in Adam’s RV for the cab to arrive.

  A lump rose in Adam’s throat, bitter and hard. Suddenly, he wished he could call a taxi and have it take him somewhere far away, out of this town with its tortures both large and small. It was the first time he had ever seriously been tempted by the idea of leaving Bishop’s Glen.

  He waited until the cab was out of sight, then stepped out from his hiding place, hunched his shoulders against the chilly dawn air, and set out. “Come on, Mr. Collins.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Eight years ago

  “Whose car is this?”

  Adam stood from where he’d been crouched next to Freddy’s Mustang. He was installing new brake pads.

  “Good morning to you, too.” When Rusty didn’t say anything, Adam sighed and answered the question. “This is Freddy Wentworth’s car.”

  “I thought so. And is anything wrong with it this time besides sabotage?”

  Adam rolled his eyes, but warmth spread through him. Freddy had long since admitted that he had sabotaged his own car that day in the hopes of getting to spend time with Adam, but the thought of it still make Adam flush with pleasure.

  “I assume you’ll be charging him this time?”

  “For the parts.” Which wasn’t true—he hadn’t even been going to do that, but something told Adam that it was better to mislead Rusty a little here. “But not for the labor—that’s why I came in early. I’m not on the clock yet.”

  Rusty didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Like Adam’s mother, Rusty could convey an entire universe’s worth of sentiment with the slightest movement of a nostril.

  “What?” Adam asked, uncharacteristically pissy. Rusty’s bad mood had chased off Adam’s good one. Since Adam had been so happy lately, he’d started noticing he was sort of an emotional sponge around Rusty—he absorbed his friend’s moods. He’d start out happy, and then after some time in Rusty’s line of fire, he’d end up grumpy. He tried not to be so easily swayed, but he often couldn’t help it.

  “Nothing,” Rusty said.

  “It’s not nothing. Why don’t you just say what you think? You don’t want me working on this car for free.”

  “I don’t,” Rusty snapped. “But there’s a lot of things I don’t want. For example, I don’t want you here to begin with.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  That softened Rusty. “Oh, you know what I mean. There’s nothing for you here, except a shitty family.”

  “What about you?”

  “A shitty family and an aging queen.”

  Adam snorted. It angered him that Rusty could be so dismissive about not only the town, but about his own importance in Adam’s life.

  “It’s not too late to apply for spring admission,” Rusty said. “To Cornell, even. You don’t have to go that far away.”

  “I’d never get into Cornell.” Adam had done okay in school, but he was far from Ivy League material. He could see Rusty ramping up his usual argument, but damn, he wasn’t in the mood. He wanted to get his workday started. Because the sooner he started, the sooner he’d be done. Which meant the sooner he could drive Freddy’s car back to him. The idea of hanging out with Freddy not in the middle of the night was…strangely thrilling. Of course hanging out with him in the middle of the night was thrilling, too. But they’d decided Adam would drop the car and then they’d grab some dinner.

  It was almost like…a date.

  He was stupidly nervous, though. Afraid, really. That someone would see them and come to the obvious conclusion and that the news would get back to his family. Or, worse, Rusty. But for once, uncharacteristically, his fear wasn’t strong enough to hold him back. Who cared if Freddy was poor? A dropout? Those things weren’t crimes. They weren’t anything but labels everyone got hung up on. Rusty might be Adam’s fairy godfather and all that, but he wasn’t actually all knowing.

  “Can we just skip the lecture? I don’t know why it’s so hard for you to understand that I like this town.”

  “What is there to like? What could possibly be keeping you here?”

  That—that second question—was, at least, a new one.

  “The lake” was his first answer. “The forests.” He stuck out his tongue. “You, you jerk.”

  Rusty rolled his eyes. “Well, that goes without saying.” Then he sobered. “As long as one of those things isn’t Freddy Wentworth, then, yes, we can skip the lecture.” He looked down his nose at the Mustang. “But if one of those things is Freddy Wentworth, I will be readying a whole new lecture, the likes of which you have never experienced.”

  Present day

  By the time Rusty appeared in the shop that afternoon—Adam had opened up—Adam had gotten a hold of himself. Tried to forget the morning’s kiss, as he was sure Freddy, who was probably hanging out with Lulu even now, had already done.

  Rusty, bearing coffees from the bakery, passed one to Adam and grinned. “I have the best idea.”

  “If it has anything do to with how to get Mrs. Littleton to understand that eventually, it doesn’t make sense to keep fixing this sucker”—he kicked the tire of her LeSabre—“then I’m all ears.” In truth, though, he could not complain about Mrs. Littleton’s ancient Buick. He had been able to lose himself in the problem that was her engine cooling system, and in the process, recover his wits, which had taken quite a beating from the events of the morning.

  “Let’s go to the Hamptons.”

  Adam whipped his head up so rapidly that he smashed it on the edge of the propped-open hood. “Ow!”

  Rusty ignored Adam’s suffering. “Have you heard from your mother and sister?”

  “A bit.” No more than a text here or there. It had been a relief, actually, to be away from them. They were most likely embarrassing themselves and overstaying their welcome with Charlie, but he found that once they were out of sight, he could make himself not worry about it. And not worrying about it, while novel, had been surprisingly liberating.

  Although, now that he thought about it, maybe he’d been too liberated. Had had too much time, in the vacuum created by his family’s absence, to imagine a future that wasn’t in his grasp.

  “Don’t you think you should go check on them?”

  “Do you?” What was Rusty up to? If anything, he had always advocated for Adam to take less of an interest in his family, it being one more thing he believed was unjustly tying Adam to Bishop’s Glen.

  “Well, I have a friend in the Hamptons, you see.”

  “You do?”

  Rusty was full of surprises today. Adam thought he knew all there was to know about Rusty—the man did not hide his light under a bushel. And for someone who complained about the smallness and small-mindedness of Bishop’s Glen—and had made it his mission to catapult Adam out of town—he was certainly rooted in the place. Other than the odd cruise-ship vacation, he never went anywhere farther than Rochester.


  “Yes, an old friend I’ve recently reconnected with on Facebook. I’d like to visit him.”

  “What about the shop?”

  Rusty waved a hand. “Eh. We’re allowed to take a vacation.”

  He suddenly realized what was going on. “This is about getting me away from Freddy Wentworth, isn’t it?”

  “What? No!”

  “Rusty, you don’t have to worry about Freddy and me. You already took care of that.” Well, that wasn’t entirely fair. All Rusty had done was express his opinion—forcefully and frequently. Adam needed to remember that although it was sometimes convenient to blame Rusty, he—Adam—was the one who’d spoken the words that sent Freddy away.

  But before he could amend his accusation, Rusty said, “Yes, and I stand by that. You had a ton of potential.”

  Adam’s heart raced. They had never spoken openly about Rusty’s campaign to break up Adam and Freddy. “Which you somehow think I wasted working for you? Expanding your business?”

  “Yes, I do. You had potential. You were just shit at actioning it, it turned out.”

  “And you were just shit at giving advice, it turned out.”

  Rusty’s eyebrows shot up. Adam never spoke to Rusty like this. Well, hell. He didn’t care. And now that he’d started, he couldn’t seem to stop. “And now you want to do it again? Get me out of Freddy’s notorious clutches? He’s still not good enough for me, even though he did exactly what you were always after me to do—got the hell out of this town and made something of himself?”

  Rusty stared at him silently for a long moment. “I simply suggested we take a vacation so you can check on your idiotic family and I can reconnect with an old friend.” Ice formed around Rusty’s words.

  “What’s this friend’s name?”

  “Harry Smith.”

  Adam barked an incredulous laugh.

  “What, pray tell, is so amusing?”