Tipping the Balance (41 page)

Sighing to himself about just how unfair it was that he had to grow up, he trudged off to the locker room. Still, he could admit it had its compensations too. Two of his three jobs gave him satisfaction and sometimes even something to be proud of.

And Drew. Sure, Drew was at the center of all Brad’s puzzles lately, and Drew’s now-evident unhappiness with the pace of Brad’s own coming to terms with their relationship bothered Brad. But there was real affection there, too, and pleasure, both physical and emotional. Brad wasn’t prepared to use the L-word, not yet, but he admitted to himself he felt far stronger about Drew than anyone else, ever.

Brad heard voices in the locker room and a word he never thought he’d hear at CalPac.

“No way is Coach Bedford a fag.”

He froze outside the door. The word echoed in his ears like a gunshot.

Fag
.

“Dude, he totally is. There was a huge scandal last year ’cuz he and Morgan Estrada started going out.”

“Whoa. What happened?”

“No one knows. Everything just disappeared. There’s all kinds of rumors and shit, but no one’s talking.”

“Huh. Morgan’s Coach’s buttboy. I always thought he looked a little queer. If I ever see him checkin’ me out, I’ll beat the crap out of him.”

“No shit.”

Like that would ever happen
, Brad thought to himself, suddenly sick to his stomach.
Nick and Morgan are totally into each other
.

Brad thought he recognized one of the voices as belonging to a rower who’d moved up to the varsity this year. The other one sounded young, probably junior varsity, maybe even a freshman.

“That’s so gay” as an insult was one thing, but “fag” just wasn’t something people said at liberal CalPac. The LGBT students looked after themselves very well on campus. The big controversy on campus recently was over a special dorm floor for LGBT students. The “controversy” was that no one in the student body seemed to care.

But CalPac was also known as a safe school for rich idiots. Brad always figured that was how he’d gotten in, at any rate, since that was what Randall had told him. So who knew what kind of people lurked in plain sight, keeping their opinions to themselves?

Dying inside, Brad gritted his teeth and kicked the door open. “Guys,” he said gruffly.

The rowers, and not just the two he’d heard talking, jumped at the sudden intrusion, but that was just too bad. Not only did he need to wash his hands and get to Suburban Graveyard, this kind of crap had to stop.

“We were just—”

“Yeah, I heard,” Brad said. “Sound carries in the boathouse. You might remember that. The coaches’ office isn’t that far.”

One of the rowers stared at him, and when he spoke Brad recognized him as the one who’d called Nick a fag. Joey something or other. “Is it true?”

“That is absolutely none of your business, or mine, or anyone’s,” Brad said.

“But doesn’t it bother you? What if you were showering and he was looking at you?” Joey demanded.

Brad shrugged, faking a nonchalance he didn’t feel. “Let him. If he likes what he sees, then that means my time on the weights is working, doesn’t it?”

“What if he makes a move on you?” the rower said, crossing his arms over his chest to ward off imagined prying eyes.

“You mean what if the big bad gay man jumps poor little me? Has that ever happened anywhere? Really?” Brad said sarcastically.

One of the other rowers watching the exchange just shook his head. “Jeez, you’re an idiot, Joey. Who’d want to jump your flat ass, anyway?”

The rest of the guys in the locker room laughed, and Brad ignored them, intent on washing his hands and getting out of there as quickly as possible, and not just because he now had twenty minutes to make a thirty-five minute drive to Suburban Graveyard.

He changed clothes just like he always did, one leg at a time and no thought to who or what was around him. Wasn’t that what he was supposed to do in a locker room? But now he felt like eyes were on him, testing him.

Maybe they saw what a coward he’d been. Maybe the saw the sweat beading his forehead, even still, as his heart raced with suppressed anger and fear and revulsion at his own cowardice.

Maybe they saw him kicking himself for not speaking up. He was their coach. He was supposedly some big, strong macho stud, so why was he hiding?

He realized as he drove to work that just by being who they were, Nick and Morgan and Drew were a lot stronger than he was. They were out and open and had to put up with that crap. He’d defended them but not owned it himself. Maybe he could’ve changed some minds by saying, “You know what, guys? That really offends me. I’m gay, too, and I’ve never looked at you even once.”

But he’d thrown that opportunity away, and even if he found another one, Brad couldn’t honestly say he’d do it differently.

He spent the morning at work knowing he needed to talk to someone and knowing there was really only one person he could talk to, if he and Morgan would only leave off busting each other’s balls long enough to have a real conversation.

It didn’t occur to him until after he’d e-mailed Morgan that technically, discussing his personal life was inappropriate. He was now Morgan’s coach, just like Nick. He sighed. When the hell had life gotten so complicated?

Almost
driving off the road one evening on his way to Drew’s house also drove the point home that he needed to step back from the crazy. His eyes had drooped shut, just for a second he was sure, and his car drifted. The thump of the tires against the lane reflectors, as much as the blaring horn of an oncoming car, jarred him awake.

He jerked the wheel hard to the right and returned to his lane. His hands shook on the wheel as he made his careful way to Drew’s place.

Drew was right. Something had to give.

What Brad hadn’t expected was Drew’s reaction.

“You fool! You could’ve been killed!” Drew bellowed. He ran his hands over Brad’s face and down Brad’s arms like he was checking him for damage.

“Hey, I’m okay. I didn’t crash,” Brad said. He held out his arms, and Drew rushed in, crushing his face to Brad’s chest.

“But you could’ve,” Drew mumbled.

Brad nodded. “I know, and you’re right.”

“Of course I am. What am I right about?” Drew said, lifting his head.

That was his Drew. He had to laugh. His Drew. That felt good. It felt right. “About me cutting back?” he said as if he were speaking to a small and dim child.

“Oh. Yes,” Drew said. Brad thought he looked kind of worried.

“Dude, there’s only one choice,” Brad said.

“Did you just call me ‘dude’?” Drew said.

“Yeah, try not to let it get to you.”

“You were a lot cuter before you developed this clever wit,” Drew groused, pouting.

Brad kissed him on the lips. “Admit it. You lo—like me.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Drew said, breaking into a stupid grin and shrugging. Then his smile fell. “So what’s this choice?”

“There’s not much of one. I’ll quit Suburban Symphony. I hate that place,” Brad said.

Drew exhaled loudly. “I was afraid you’d quit the Bayard renovation. It’s a gamble, and I can’t afford to pay you as much as your dad can. And there was that fight….”

“Awww, babe. You need to know something. I’m happier now than I ever remember being, except maybe on the water sometimes. Yeah, I’ve got a job with my dad’s company, but you know what kind of strings are attached to it too,” Brad said. He pulled Drew in for a kiss. “I’d rather take my chances with you than have a sure thing with my dad.”

“I’m glad to know I can measure up to everything but crew,” Drew said dryly.

Brad held up a warning hand. “Hey, don’t flack on crew. If it wasn’t for crew, we wouldn’t have met.”

“True, that,” Drew replied, snuggling in closer. “You know, if I go back to real estate, that frees up my salary.”

“Oh, babe. Don’t do that for me. I know how much you love this. I’ll make do,” Brad said. “Really.”

Drew looked at him steadily, then sighed. “It’s not just that. The city’s not paying us quickly enough. I could take out more short-term business loans, but when it comes down to it, I’d rather sell houses and loan the project money than owe the bank more than we already do. I’m a lot nicer about collection and charge lower interest.”

“It’s that bad?” Brad said.

“It’s getting there,” Drew admitted. “The first payments are only just coming in, and we’ve been spending money hand over fist for months, and most of the bills for Emily’s work won’t come in until much later. Commissions for sales aren’t a cure-all, but they’re better than nothing.”

Brad frowned. “But then you’d be working to pay my salary, wouldn’t you?”

“Not really,” Drew said. “I’d be selling real estate to make the budget stretch until things settle out.”

Brad smelled bullshit but decided not to push the issue. He recognized a gift when he saw one, and it reminded him just why it was he cared for this man. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Drew said. “So when’re you going to give notice?”

Brad laughed, but it was devoid of humor. “It’s not that simple. I have to tell Randall in person to make sure he gets the message, and since I live with him, that’ll make it extra exciting.”

“I really don’t understand why he’s so insistent that two grown men not only work for him, but live at home. Most parents can’t wait to get rid of their kids,” Drew said.

“So I’m told,” Brad said with a sigh, “but Randall’s been weird since Mom died. He clamped down after the funeral. I’d have thought it would’ve eased up over the years, but if anything, he’s just gotten worse.”

Drew cocked his head. “So how come you’re not completely beaten down?”

“Because I fight him,” Brad said with a shrug.

“You? You’re one of the most easy-going guys I know,” Drew said.

“Maybe, but where Randall’s concerned, it’s different. I’m dead weight. If I just sat there on the floor, there’s no way you’d be able to move me. I do the same thing to him, only it’s mental,” Brad explained.

Nodding slowly, Drew said, “You don’t engage. When he fights you, you don’t respond.”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I go along because it’s easier. Sometimes I yell back. I pick my battles,” Brad said.

“So why don’t you just move out?” Drew asked.

“I really can’t afford to yet. Even if I’d stayed working at Suburban Graveyard—and developed an alcohol problem, by the way—it’d be debatable whether I’d be able to afford an apartment that wasn’t a complete dump, let alone the kind of place I’d bring you to,” Brad said.

“I’m not that much of a princess,” Drew said with a slight smile. When Brad gave him a look, he said, “I’m not!”

“Drew, if I put a pea under your mattress you’d toss and turn all night,” Brad laughed. “I don’t mind. It’s what makes you, you.”

It made him want to take care of and protect Drew, too, but he didn’t say that yet. Couldn’t say that yet.