Tipping the Balance (15 page)

Drew
dropped his messenger bag on the floor inside the garage door, his keys following in a noisy clatter. He leaned against the door, eyes closed, savoring his weariness. It was the end of a marathon week, and tomorrow would be a busy one of showing homes and making time to work on the bid for the Bayard House.

The bleating of his cell phone roused him from his daze. “Drew St. Charles here.”

“Hi, Drew, it’s me,” Brad said.

“Brad! How’re you! You’ve been quiet this week,” Drew said. He pushed himself up and shuffled off to his room, stopping long enough to toe off his shoes.

“Look who’s talking,” Brad said.

“Ugh, what a week. I’ve been crazy busy showing and selling houses. Suddenly people are crawling out of the woodwork buying and selling,” Drew said. Cradling the phone between his chin and shoulder, he started shedding clothing along the way. He was just too tired to care about the mess right then. “It’s amazing how much time a closing can take, let alone three.”

“So dinner’s on you?” Brad said. It sounded brittle to Drew.

“It’ll help carry us through the project,” Drew said, “if that’s what you’re getting at it.”

“If we get it,” Brad said, sighing.

There was a pause on Brad’s end. Drew heard him draw breath and then release it as the silence stretched painfully. “Brad?”

“Am I still on the project?” Brad blurted.

Drew shook his head. He couldn’t have heard that right. “What’re you talking about? Of course you’re on the project. After all the trouble I went to lure you in? Seriously, dude, talk to me.”

“Well, I… the thing is,” Brad huffed. “Oh jeez, do we have to go into this?”

“I’d say so, yes, since I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you’re starting to scare me. Just spit it out,” Drew said. When nothing was forthcoming, his temper started to slip. “Brad….”

“All right, I just feel stupid. I’ve been worried about Monday all week. When I went at that construction worker who whistled at Emily. That kind of thing is just so rude. I’ve seen it all my life, and there’s no call for it,” Brad said, “none. So when I heard that whistle, I didn’t even stop to think. I just went all alpha male all of a sudden. But then I looked back at you and you looked so embarrassed. I don’t want to be that guy who embarrasses you,” Brad said softly. “I… you… you’re a nice guy.”

Drew knew right then that it was a good thing they were separated by miles and miles, because he’d have tried to kiss Brad. That was just so sweet. “Oh no, Brad! I didn’t mean it like that… okay, yeah, I was a tiny bit embarrassed, but mostly I was afraid you were going to get yourself creamed.”

“By him? God, no,” Brad laughed. “I’ve taken down bigger guys than that.”

Drew rolled his eyes. “Do you do this often?”

“Not all the time, no, but when someone I’m around needs protecting? Then yeah, I’m there,” Brad said.

“I can imagine,” Drew said, smiling, wishing he were the one on the end of that protective display.

“Yep, that’s me, big dumb lug and bodyguard. Did I ever tell you about the time I scared off some assclown who was hassling Coach Bedford and Morgan Estrada?”

“No, I don’t think you did,” Drew said. By this time clad only in his boxer briefs, he lay down on his bed to listen.

“Yeah, it was right after the Pacific Coast Rowing Championship this spring. Coach Bedford had just dropped this bomb that he was going to step down as coach,” Brad said, laughing at the absurdity of the idea.

“I’d heard about that,” Drew said. “I’d also heard Morgan wasn’t real happy that he didn’t discuss it with him.”

“I didn’t hear that part,” Brad cackled. “But when Morgan went off to find Coach, I followed for some reason. Then I saw them kissing. It didn’t creep me out the way I thought two guys kissing would’ve. It was… I don’t know. You’re gay, so you know. Anyway, someone said something to them, and I got right in his face and bellowed. It was like one of those cartoons when someone screams really loud and all the leaves are blasted off the trees or something.”

Drew pictured it in his imagination. “You’re something else, Brad.”

“So… when do we need to get together to talk about the project some more?” Brad said, “because I’ve been doing my homework.”

“Have you now?” Drew said.

“You bet. I’ll carry my weight.”

“Of that I have no doubts,” Drew said. “I’m booked up this entire weekend, but you can come over for dinner on Sunday, if you want. I should have time to breathe by then.”

“Sounds great. This time, I’ll have notes for you to look at,” Brad said. Drew could hear the pride in his voice. “Do you mind talking a little longer? There’s something I need to run by you.”

“Yeah, sure,” Drew said. He listened with growing horror as Brad described his conversation with the head of the alumni oversight committee for the crew teams at CalPac.

“So what do I do?” Brad said. “This is so not my area of expertise.”

Drew thought of Brad’s description of himself as a bull in a china shop. “E-mail Nick Bedford. I’ll mention it to him, too, but I’ll tell him he needs to call you for the info.”

“Yeah, okay, that makes sense. I’ll be his mole on the committee or something,” Brad said.

“That’s really nice of you to do that. You’re a good friend,” Drew said.

“So are you, for listening to me ramble on tonight,” Brad said quietly.

“That’s what I’m here for,” Drew said. Then he said goodnight, and they hung up.

Drew just lay there, holding the phone against his chest, and realized the truth of his situation. It was the oldest story in the book, but it was his. He was in love with a straight man.

He had a whole new appreciation for what Nick had gone through this spring when he was crushing so hard on Morgan but couldn’t have him. Only then, Morgan made it very clear that he had a say in it, too, and he most definitely was warm for his coach’s form.

Drew had no such hope of delivery from this sweet misery. Brad was straight.
It didn’t creep me out the way I thought two guys kissing would’ve.
Drew cringed. Hardly a ringing endorsement of guy-on-guy action. No, not a chance in hell of getting his guy. Brad was a nice guy, but straight.

The
one thing Drew disliked about real estate was that his work consumed his weekends. He rolled out of bed early Saturday morning knowing he wouldn’t be home until dinnertime, and by that point he’d be too fried to do much. But last night’s conversation weighed on his mind, and he needed to talk to Nick.

He glanced at the clock. 7:30 a.m. Not too early to call grown-ups, and ordinarily, he’d call without a second thought, since he knew Nick kept early hours. But Nick and Morgan had moved in together recently, and Morgan was a college student on a summer schedule.

 He risked calling anyway but only reached their voice mail. “Hi, guys, it’s Drew. Nick, can you call me on my cell? I’ve got open houses all day, but I should be able to talk, at least for a while. I’ll try texting you too. Bye.”

He pulled out his mobile phone, grateful he owned one with a complete if tiny keyboard.

Need to talk and soon
, he sent.

Setting his phone on the counter, Drew grabbed his messenger bag from his home office and checked it for the glossy fliers he’d made for the properties he was showing. It was all about advertising and creating a favorable impression in a potential buyer’s mind. He made a note to run by the supermarket to pick up some flowers, just in case.

Then his phone buzzed.
I’m at the boathouse. What’s up?
Nick sent.

I’ll be there in 20. Don’t leave
, Drew typed. He grabbed his keys, his bag, and his mug full of coffee and was out the door.

Blessing the light Saturday-morning traffic, Drew made it to the CalPac boathouse in less than twenty minutes. As he walked into the main bay, Morgan turned and waved before heading down to the dock.

Drew spotted Nick over by his office, talking to that short spitfire of a coxswain, Stuart Cochrane. “We’ll talk more, but I’m hoping you can round up some of the guys to coordinate the new guy’s welcome to CalPac and the team. You know, show him around campus and town, make sure he knows his way to the boathouse, that kind of thing.”

“Sure thing, Coach. I can probably do it myself,” Stuart said as Drew approached. “What’s his name, anyway?”

“Jonathan Poisonwood. He should be up here sometime next week. I’ll forward his last e-mail to you, and you can contact him directly. Thanks, Stuart. I appreciate it. I know how busy this year’s going to be for you,” Nick said.

Stuart shrugged. “Things haven’t gotten crazy yet. Hey, Drew.”

“Hello, Stuart,” Drew said. He’d always liked Stuart, even if he only ever saw him at regattas, where the younger man tended toward the bossy.

“Why don’t you CC me the first time you e-mail Jonathan? That way I’ll be in the loop. Sort of,” Nick said, smiling slightly. “All right, Drew. What’s dragged you down to the boathouse, of all places?”

“Catch you later,” Stuart said, recognizing a dismissal when he heard one.

Nick raised a hand in acknowledgement, but his focus was on Drew.

“What’s all this?” Drew said.

“Just a light row for the guys who’re back before school starts or who never left for the summer, varsity and JV,” Nick said.

“Let’s talk in your office,” Drew said.

Nick led him to the coaches’ office and shut the door behind them, although they remained standing. “I repeat: what’s brought you down here? I know what your weekends can be like.”

Drew exhaled noisily. “Two things, and both of them are Brad Sundstrom.”

“Oh, jeez, not this again,” Nick groaned.

“It’s not what you think,” Drew said. “We’ve actually become pretty good friends. I think.”

“You think?” Nick said, one eyebrow cocked.

“I know,” Drew said. “He called me last night, just to talk. He’s struggling to find his way.”

“It’s not uncommon. Even a school like CalPac provides a fair amount of structure. Rowing gives them even more. Then, just like that, it’s gone. Some land on their feet, some seem to wander for a while,” Nick said. “I’m surprised Brad’s turning out to be a wanderer. It looked like his life was set for him after graduation, with that job at his dad’s company waiting for him.”

Drew shook his head. “Looks were deceiving, I guess, and from what Brad’s told me, his dad’s an asshole of the first magnitude who treats him like he’s not only five but simple-minded.”