Tipping the Balance (16 page)

“Brad’s not stupid, but he can be a challenge,” Nick said.

“Maybe if his dad tried treating him with a little respect and kindness, Brad’d respond in kind,” Drew said.

“Maybe if Brad thought further into the future than his next beer or sexual conquest, he might find he’s treated like the adult that he’s supposed to be,” Nick said.

“He’s an adult. He’s got a good head on his shoulders,” Drew said. He started pacing.

Nick gave him a funny look. “Are we talking about the same Brad? Because the Brad Sundstrom I know is an overgrown child most of the time.”

“Not the one I know,” Drew snapped.

Nick held up his hands. “Easy there, but I think I know Brad pretty well.”

“In some ways, perhaps, but not in others. Did I tell you he may come work for me?” Drew said, explaining the bid for the renovations of the Bayard House and Brad’s potential role in it.

Nick looked nonplussed. “I had no idea.”

“Sorry,” Drew said. “It’s been a busy summer, I guess.”

“No kidding,” Nick agreed. “When I’m done here, Morgan and I are having breakfast, and then I’m diving into that bed/bath reno.”

“I’ll come by to check it out between open houses today. Anyway, I wish I could help Brad. He’s a nice guy. He just seems really unhappy,” Drew said.

“Did he tell you this?” Nick asked.

Drew shook his head. “No, but I can read between the lines.”

“Be careful, Drew.”

“I just want to help him, you know? Not get in his pants,” Drew said quietly. Then he smiled. “Okay, not just get in his pants.”

“At least you admit it,” Nick laughed.

Drew shrugged. “In the immortal words of Popeye, I am what I am. But this is a hell of a challenge. How do I help someone I’m….”

“Crushing on without it being self-interested manipulation?” Nick suggested.

“You make it sound so ugly,” Drew said, frowning.

“It sounds like Brad’s vulnerable right now,” Nick said. “You could easily pressure him into giving you what you want, at least to an extent and at least for a while.”

“God damn, Nick, I’d never—”

Nick put his hands on Drew shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “I know you wouldn’t, because you’re too good a person. But it could easily happen, especially if you’re thinking with your dick and you don’t realize it. Be careful, that’s all I’m saying. I don’t want to see either of you get hurt.”

“Thanks, Nick. I know you don’t,” Drew said, putting a hand on Nick’s. “I guess all I can do is listen at this point.”

“A few strategic suggestions might not hurt, either,” Nick said. “Sometime when we have time, I want to hear more about your adventures with Brad. It sounds like I’ve seriously misjudged him.”

“You looked at him and his behavior, and you expected something, so that’s what he gave you,” Drew said, thinking. “But I expect something different, so that’s what I get.”

“What do you expect?” Nick asked.

“I’m not sure how to put it into words, but I know he’s more than a beer-soaked poon-hound, and so far, that’s what I’m seeing,” Drew said.

“You sound like you’re planning a future with him, and he’s not gay,” Nick said.

Drew thought for a moment. “You may be right. It’s just… damn it, I only want what you and Morgan have.”

“But can Brad give you that?” Nick said softly.

Drew refused to meet Nick’s eyes. “I’ll take what he’ll give me, even if it’s only friendship.”

“Oh, Drew, you’ve got it bad,” Nick breathed.

“Speaking of friendship, you need to sit down,” Drew said, “because Brad’s told me something that proves he’s a good friend to you too.”

“Oh?” Nick said, sinking into one of the chairs in front of his desk.

Drew sat in the other one. “Yeah. He’s been invited to join that alumni oversight committee thingy you’ve mentioned once in a while.”

“He has? Isn’t that interesting,” Nick mused.

“No, what’s interesting is one of the agenda items for the first meeting he’ll attend.”

“Oh?” Nick said, freighting the word with a wealth of meaning.

“There’s no gentle way to say this, but it’s you, babydoll. According to Brad, they’re not happy about your romantic life,” Drew said.

Nick blanched. “But the school….”

“From what Brad told me, it sounds like the committee doesn’t care that the college dropped its investigation or that the NCAA and USRowing aren’t getting that wound up yet,” Drew said.

Nick closed his eyes, resting his head against the back of the chair.

“It gets worse,” Drew said quietly.

Nick looked at him. “Do I want to know?”

“I think you need to,” Drew said. “According to Brad, the head of the committee referred to your relationship as ‘deviant behavior’ and wanted to make sure this wasn’t part of a larger pattern of you preying on your athletes.”

“‘Preying’? Apparently he’s never met my boyfriend, who’s not shy about what he wants. I practically had to pepper spray him, and I’m not sure even that would’ve gotten him to back off,” Nick snorted. “This is great, just great. How the hell am I going to shut this down?”

Drew was silent for a moment. “Give Brad a chance. He’ll come through for you.”

“You think so?” Nick said.

“Nick, the only reason he joined the oversight committee was to spike this,” Drew said.

“I’ll have to talk to him, then,” Nick said.

Drew considered that for a moment. “Actually, I think for Brad’s sake that’d be a bad idea. If word gets out that you and he are in cahoots, it undercuts his credibility. Let me funnel information.”

“I guess that’d be best,” Nick said, nodding slowly.

“I’m not telling you to cool it with Morgan, but be careful, Nick. It sounds like this isn’t done.”

“That’s just the distraction I need going into a new season with new people in the boat, and more people on the team,” Nick said. “Did I tell you we’re growing because of that big win last year? I’ve got some hotshot new junior-college transfer student from Orange Coast College coming here specifically because of that win. School starts in a week or so. Couldn’t they have done this earlier?”

“Or never?” Drew said.

“Never works for me,” Nick sighed. He was still pale.

Drew stood up. “I’ve got houses to sell.”

“And I’ve got one to renovate. Jeez, I hate the thought of telling Morgan about this, but that’s not how we work,” Nick said. “Thank Brad for me, will you?”

Brad
slammed his locker shut and secured it with a battered old combination lock, the same one he’d had since junior high. Men filled the locker room of the trendy midtown gym that evening, but Brad didn’t mind. On a good day at work, he saw a handful of people. Crowded was good.

He put the earbuds in and started his favorite playlist, and with the high-pitched death metal pumping through his iPod and water bottle in hand, Brad headed out into the gym, first to do a little cardio for a warm-up, then stretching, weights, and finally more cardio. It was past time to hit the gym. His last regular workout regimen had ended with graduation, and he was getting doughy, he thought, poking himself in the side. Beer for dinner came with a price.

Joining a gym on Sundstrom Homes’ corporate account had another benefit, as well, really more of a two-fer. Brad not only consumed something besides beer and cold cereal for dinner after his workout, he escaped Randall and his barbed comments for an hour or two.

The vast main floor of the gym was divided in two, with elliptical trainers and treadmills and a few unloved and rarely used ergometers occupying one half and weight machines and free weights occupying the remainder. In between lay a no-man’s-land of mats and medicine balls for stretching and toning. A flight of stairs led up to rooms for aerobics and spin classes and a gallery where people on the exercycles watched those on the floor below when the canned offerings on television monitors failed to hold their attention.

Brad walked right by the treadmills for his warm-up, aiming for the elliptical trainers. He hated their awkward gait, but he was a big guy and had never been much of a runner, and the ergs? He knew what a great warm-up the ergs gave, but no. It was just too soon.

Back and forth, up and down, Brad quit the elliptical as soon as he completed his ten-minute warm-up, promising himself he’d do more after he lifted.

From there, he hit the mats for a good stretch, just like Coach Bedford had taught him. He started with his arms and upper back and worked his way down, sticking one leg out at a time for a revolved single-leg stretch, hand to opposite ankle, trying to feel it in a line from one end of his body to the other. Then he switched, closing his eyes, enjoying the release, even if his side grew cold when his shirt pulled up.

He sat up and opened his eyes… and met the eyes of the man on the gallery above who’d been staring at him, who didn’t look away quite fast enough.

Brad frowned slightly and returned to the exercise mat and the movements that he’d been taught as a rower, movements he was pretty sure were based in yoga, not that he’d ever been to a yoga class. Those were for chicks and… guiltily, he thought of Drew.

He got up to stretch his hamstrings by leaning into a pillar, one leg out behind him. The he realized he’d pointed his ass directly at the guy he’d caught staring at him. He hesitated, and then kicked himself mentally. The last thing he needed was to pull a hamstring from deadlifts with cold hammies. Flushing slightly, he stretched anyway, counting to thirty and then switching legs.

Then Brad did something that, later, he still couldn’t believe. He looked over his shoulder and winked at the guy.

Then panicked. He just winked at a man who’d been checking out his ass.

He hightailed it to the weight room and the free weights, pulse drowning out his iPod, his face red.

His hands shook on his first sets on the free-weights. He watched himself in the mirror, face still burning.
Who are you?
he wondered.
What’s really bothering you? That guy who looked at you, or the fact that you kind of liked it?

Brad settled down as he concentrated on his form. The weight room was no place for daydreaming, but in between sets, he looked around. Sometimes, he saw guys looking at him. Most of the time, they glanced away, but sometimes, they kept looking, their eyes lingering on his like they were sending him a message he could almost but not quite make out.