Ivory - 1
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Ivory - 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher. Ivory COLOR BOX An imprint of Torquere Press Publishers PO Box 2545 Round Rock, TX 78680 Copyright © 2010 by J. Rocci Cover illustration by Alessia Brio Published with permission ISBN: 978-1-61040-136-4 www.torquerepress.com All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Torquere Press. Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680. First Torquere Press Printing: December 2010 Printed in the USA
Ivory - 2
Ivory
by J. Rocci
"-- Is a very influential woman who is a close friend of Dr. Mathews. Bradley? Are you still there?" Bradley made an affirmative noise in his throat, adjusting his reading glasses as he turned a page in the patient file spread across his desk. "I said that Mrs. Ambrose is a close friend of Dr. Mathews. Bradley, you need to secure this invitation if you want to join--" He let his mother continue on speakerphone as he studied the latest blood panel results. A little girl, age nineteen months, neuroblastoma. Her response to chemotherapy was not what he'd been hoping for, but with children especially every cancer case was unique. He dragged one of his reference books across his desk and started flipping through it. "--That noise? Bradley?" "Yes, Mother, I am," he responded absently, pulling out his sticky notes. "It's getting late, darling. Why are you still at the office?" She asked with a sigh in her cultured tones. She was nearing sixty, but looked and sounded as though she were still mid-forties. She had guided Bradley's father through social galas, philanthropic work, and maintaining the proper connections, and now Bradley bore the brunt of her energies as she attempted to groom him for the chair of the hospital board. Thirty-four years old, and he had learned to rebel in smaller ways. "Mother," he said gently, "I'm almost finished here, then I'll head out."
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"Ah yes, your Tuesday dinner with Brianna," she said with an undertone of satisfaction. "Please give her my regards, darling." "I will. Goodnight, Mother." He disconnected and returned the phone to its customary position under several medical journals. Checking his watch, he pushed away from his desk and headed for the door, pausing only to return the stray toys on his carpet to the basket on his bookshelf. He had to smile at the sight of the cards on the shelves, pictures of patients and their families. He strode down the hall to the elevator banks and debated getting a cup of coffee from the cafeteria, but ultimately decided against it. He'd be fine. There was only one of the four night shift nurses sitting behind the children's oncology station when Bradley arrived. He waved and she blushed, looking down at her desk. "Oh, Dr. Durrant," Glen said quickly, glancing up again. "Monica left a note for you on Room 342." He slowed down. "Is it urgent?" "No, her parents have requested a visit in the morning, after your rounds." He nodded. "Let them know that I'll stop by, please." She grinned at him and he gave a half-hearted smile before continuing on to the recreation room. Visiting hours and rec time were long past, but Bradley didn't need more than the light of the city streets outside to navigate the room. His objective gripped firmly in one hand, he went to see his nightly "problem" patient. He popped his head around the privacy curtain in Room 355. Sure enough, Mrs. Lewkowski was snoring in her cot, exhausted, and a pair of bored seven-year-old eyes blinked at him from the hospital bed. Ivory - 4
"Hey there," Bradley whispered. "You up for company?" Tommy nodded eagerly. "Yeah. What do you have tonight?" The drugs always affected kids differently. Tommy had the worst of it in the evenings, when he'd get restless and was prone to making a fuss, which could set off half the floor. His parents traded off nights at the hospital so someone was always home with Tommy's brother and sisters. Tommy had a clip-on booklight and comic books for when he couldn't settle down, but even with palliative care, the pain could be taxing on a kid. If Bradley could be a distraction for a couple hours a night to let either parent rest, he considered it part of maintaining his patient's overall health. "How are you at Uno?" He asked conspiratorially, tucking himself in the visitor's chair and ready to stay for a while. *** The next week, Bradley was early to Ivoire for once. He came to the restaurant every Tuesday evening -when he couldn't find a reason to excuse himself -- for a standing date with his fiancée. Same restaurant, same table, same inane chatter. There was some charity ball she wanted to discuss with him this time. He'd relented to dinner, grudgingly, and she'd smiled with his brother and his mother, and they had proceeded to plan his life uninterrupted. Brianna was the perfect trophy and, if his life was easy, he could love her. But if there was one thing he had learned, it was that his life would never be easy. That wasn't the Durrant way. Ivory - 5
So he hated his life, hated himself, hated her smile and perfume and perfect manners, but never her. Because she deserved better. She deserved someone who could love her. Not this sham. Not someone cold and torn and wondering how much longer he could drag his seventeen hour work day out when he knew full well she was sitting at the restaurant he preferred, checking the watch he hadn't given her, smiling at the staff that fawned over her, and never once reproaching him for his tardiness. So for once, he was here, at the usual table tucked away in the back behind velvet drapes, near the French doors to the patios so that he could see the city lights outside. He had pulled himself out of his world of labs and patients and exam rooms, and so he waited. Soft candlelight reflected off his glasses, broken by the thick crystal diffusing the tea light. Removing his wire frames, he massaged the bridge of his nose, cursing the constant tension headache that had shadowed him for longer than he could remember. "Dr. Durrant?" A quiet voice at his elbow, confident but reserved, spoke. "Yes?" He moved just his head, not really seeing the waiter patiently standing in front of him. Everyone was patient when he wore his Gucci suit and Rolex. "Ms. Beauchester just phoned, sir. She wished you to know her driver is not feeling well, and she will be delayed until his replacement arrives." "Thank you." "Is there anything I can get for you, sir?" "Nothing, thank you." A quick nod, and the waiter was gone. Bradley checked his watch again and stood up before he thought the action through. Ivory - 6
She was late to the restaurant, but he wouldn't be there when she arrived. She wouldn't hold it against him. The night air was cool when he stepped outside, autumn whispering in the brisk wind. He'd forgotten his jacket at the office, with his cell phone. No one would say anything about it tomorrow, and the night shift would call his house if there was a real emergency with one of his patients, but his assistants would frown as they gave him the morning report. He found it difficult to care. His feet started moving, carrying him a block away before he stopped to think where he was going. He needed to have something living and real around him, not dusky sleep and apathy. Glancing back, he watched her expensive car pull up to the sidewalk, her blonde hair highlighted by the restaurant lights as she stepped out. She didn't even look in his direction as she went into Ivoire. He turned the corner and kept walking. Everyone expected him to marry her. His mother, the hospital board, their social circle of old money and buried secrets. They watched from a distance with vultures' eyes, greedy for every gesture he shared with her. Their eyes locked on the sparkling rings she wore, the gold watch he checked every hour. He went through the charade, trapped in the lies of her tasteful clothes and strappy heels, long blonde hair and perfectly lined lipstick. A puppet show where he turned left or right, depending on which string she pulled, an ornament sitting slumped and lifeless next to her, eyes vacant. A hollow man she couldn't touch. He wanted something more, and he couldn't think why he was still letting his family and the tides of society dictate his actions. Anything to cover a scandal that had never been allowed to take place. Memories he Ivory - 7
pulled out of his heart and soul in the darkest hours of night, alone and nursing a snifter of brandy in the moonlight. Because he couldn't part with those fleeting moments of peace, of rightness, of simplicity and honesty, when he wasn't a leper in his own mind. The thought that it was all gone, destroyed in a moment by his own indecision, and this was the life he'd been left to live... He reached a part of the city where the sidewalks were so dirty, gummed and cracked and desecrated -de-created -- and he liked the thought that no one would know him as he walked along the crowded street. Car exhaust, and horns, and neon lights reflected back from the dark sky, and why couldn't he just tell them to go to hell? He stumbled forward. He almost felt guilty for leaving, refusing to picture her confused eyes as the maitre'd explained to her that her party had already left. He had needed to leave, and so he had, and she would be understanding and smile and forgive him again before he apologized. Which he never would. There was the urge to wander, to slowly walk down one street, then the next, letting his thoughts roam as his steps did. Past a cheap Italian restaurant that always had loud music playing over the speakers -- always because he remembered going there every weekend all those years ago. Before her -- before his father -- going there and being loved by the staff who wouldn't recognize him now, and laughing, God, laughing because he meant it, and there was honesty in his eyes. He didn't look in the mirror much, anymore. Sometimes he thought it would be better if he didn't remember anything at all of those days. Not the hot Ivory - 8
summers in a one bedroom apartment, with no airconditioning and the air so humid as their skin slid against worn cotton sheets and bedsprings creaked beneath their shifting weights. He wished he didn't remember, because it was all so far away now. It had happened to a stranger and he felt the memories like he would an old film reel, so disconnected from a foreign culture, a different time. He ached with wanting it, so badly his mouth went dry and his breath hitched in his chest, stuttering as though it would stop and that could bring him back to who he was. But he wasn't that man anymore, that boy, thinking nothing could touch him and that he could make his way in a world he had never known, a world so full of possibilities that he was dizzy just thinking of his future, so many paths unfurling at his feet. He turned down another street, traveling farther from the glass windows of the restaurant. All the plans and dreams that had derailed the second his father decided he couldn't live with his own set of lies anymore. Lies that were not spoken of, just as his were not spoken of, and if they were ignored long enough, all would be well. Because there was a Board of Directors to pacify, the neighbors and the relatives, the newspapers and family holdings, staff, clients, patients. All staring at him with bright, hungry eyes, knowing a secret was there, but unsure which thread to start unraveling because he was covered in armor now. Armor made of Gucci suits and petite blondes, seventeen-hour workdays and no vacations. He ended up on his street after hours of wandering. He lived in a posh part of the city, guarded by iron gates, security codes, and motion sensors. His mother abhorred the place, wanted him to reside in the estates south of Ivory - 9
the city, over an hour's commute in. He couldn't bring himself to comply. At least here he had the semblance of privacy. The windows were dark as he approached, city sounds fading and he wondered if he might sleep tonight. No doubt he would pull down his photo album from the top shelf and flip through the worn pages a thousand times before daybreak. Photos and this gnawing, snarling numbness growing inside his head were all he had left. He wondered when he wouldn't take it anymore. When he would snap and burn out and crumble, leaving behind just a note and five bullets left in the chamber. But he was still needed by his patients, by the hospital and the staff, to keep things together. Maybe if he started delegating more, letting his employees do more, maybe then he would work his way free. He could slowly start leaving things in the hands of others, handing away files and cases until there was only a revolver and a note in his drawer. His father had just pulled the trigger, bleeding out over contracts and patient records. His stomach clenched tight at the thought of the years ahead of him. So many wasted dreams and what did he have to show for his life? What did he have that was his and his alone? All he had left was-"Brad?" A gravelly voice, rusty from years of heavy cigar smoking, came from the darkened stairwell of a nearby townhouse. He paused, searching the shadows for the other man. "Mr. Windham?" "Indeed, son. What are you doing about at this hour? It's nigh on three o'clock." "Just walking. You, sir?" Ivory - 10
"Harumph. Might I use your phone? Seems my cell phone died, and I need to call a locksmith." "Of course. Please, come in." William Windham III, an old friend of the family and a member of the hospital board. The gentleman had been a bit fond of the liquor even when Bradley's father was alive, and it seemed as though old William had forged on with his habits long after his contemporaries were gone. His weathered face was coarse with white stubble, and his casual attire might have started out the night fresh, but had definitely put some miles on since then. "Ah, thank you, my boy." He held the door open for the older man and offered to take his overcoat. Bradley was waved off as the wiry senior rubbed his hands together briskly. "So damn hard to stay warm these days, but I appreciate the offer. I was afraid I was going to have to find a convenience store someplace, if you hadn't come along. Dreadfully inconvenient stores, if you ask me. All these 'super stores' and fast marts that are popping up. No matter what time of day you go there, they're always so crowded. Did you know you can buy groceries at Wal-Mart's?" "No, I didn't." Because he never bought his own groceries, let alone did any sort of preparation with them. But he had heard that Windham had become an eccentric. Unheard of in their circle, to be sure, and guaranteed to get the vultures' attentions. Although old William seemed to welcome their beady gazes. "I went to that store down by the wharf the other night around midnight, thinking I was being crafty and I'd get one up on 'em, but no. Even more busy than noon, and the people you see! Kid in front of me had blue hair and enough hardware in his face to build a Ivory - 11
house. I swear, sometimes I just wanna grab 'em by the nose ring and pull 'em to a mirror. And the bagging boy had the nerve to call me 'senior'! Offered me a discount!" Bradley put his Patient Face on and gently steered the old man to the rear kitchen. "The phone's in here, Mr. Windham. Would you like me to call?" "If you don't mind, son. These ears ain't what they used to be..." Which explained the near-shouting they were engaged in. It took him a moment to find the phonebook. After searching around the phone desk, he finally thought to open one of the slim drawers. The thing was still in mint condition and he frowned as the printer's ink rubbed off on his thumb. "Nice place you have here, Brad. Very nice." He smiled vacantly. Windham wandered into what the decorator dubbed the 'sitting room' and studied the few pieces of art on the wall and the stiff furniture. "Too nice. Lemme guess -- either that flibberty-jibbet you've been seeing set this up, or you looked in a catalogue and hired someone to do it?" That got his attention, and he debated between being offended or amused. In his current mindset, he went for amused and gave an absent smile. "A bit of both, I'm ashamed to admit." He flipped faster through the thin yellow pages. "Harumph. Don't sound like you're ashamed at all, my boy." He looked up and the old man was frowning, but there was a teasing light in his eyes. He gave another vacant smile back. "I suppose not. It never really seemed that important." Ivory - 12
"As it shouldn't be! Not that you're here that much anyway." He didn't know if the old man was just making an observation or fishing for gossip. In his usual crowd, he would assume gossip, but Windham didn't seem the type to speak with many people from Bradley's mother's circle. "I work long hours at the hospital, I'm afraid. I don't have much time for the domestic things." He finally found the right listing and turned to the phone, effectively de-railing the conversation. A twentyfour hour locksmith agreed to come out, and he twisted his head to tell William, but froze at the sight of the old man blowing dust off a wooden box he had carefully tucked out of sight in the cabinets under his bookshelves. "Well now, this looks familiar." "The locksmith is on his way." He paused awkwardly. "That was my father's..." "Yes. Yes, I remember. He used to keep it set up in his office. Our games would last months, I recall." Windham's expression was fond as he held the worn box. Bradley's chest hurt as he watched gnarled hands flick open the delicate latch. Occasionally, Bradley had had a round with his father, but he had never been any good at waiting, not like William, who would draw it out until his father lost just to end the game. He hadn't thought of the chess set in years. "My mother was going to donate it after -- I just thought it would be nice to keep. The craftsmanship of the pieces is amazing." A dull excuse and Windham's smile held him to it. "I remember you would watch us for hours when he brought you. We kept expecting you to fidget or complain the first few times, but you never did. Just sat Ivory - 13
there with these bright little eyes that twitched back and forth between moves. Funny that you never had the patience to play it yourself." "I'm afraid I'm more of a multi-tasker than he was. Can't help that when I'm one place, there's always fifty other places to be, too." "Nonsense, boy. There's always time for chess!" Windham gave an odd cackle and hugged the box to his chest. "Tell you what. You promise to play a night a week with me, and I'll promise not to be a nuisance." An old refrain he had heard repeated a hundred times between his father and Windham. It brought a wistful smile to his face, but he shook his head. "I'm afraid I--" "Harumph. You're afraid. You keep saying that, Brad, but I don't think you mean it. So why don't you come over next Tuesday around eight. We'll play at my place, since just looking at your furniture has my back aching. Bring the set and I'll provide the beer." "I don't think--" "Great. I'll see you then!" Windham started wandering back toward the front door. "Oh, look at that. There's the locksmith. I'd better go straighten things out. You have a nice night -- or morning, as it is -- and say hello to Bambi for me. I'll let myself out." Bradley was left staring at the closed front door, forehead creased in confusion. His expression quickly became a frown as he realized the old man had rather ineptly railroaded him into the arrangement. He debated just not showing up on Tuesday, despite how rude it would be, and wondered if Windham would get the point. He sighed. That tactic didn't work on anyone else in his life, why would old William be any different? Ivory - 14
He had a half hour before he had to be up again, so he'd deal with Mr. Windham after work, maybe set the old man straight that Bradley was much too busy to play board games with him, even if he was a long-standing family friend. Then he noticed that Windham had swiped the box, and his frown turned to outright cursing. Now he was definitely going to have to speak to the old man, and the bugger knew it. He sighed and went to sleep on his couch. *** His mother heard about the missed date. The next day, he came off a twelve-hour shift to find a sharp voice mail on his phone, instructing him to call her. "Honestly, Bradley," she sighed when he dutifully called back. She was trying for sympathetic but just sounding exasperated. "You became a director after three years at the hospital. Your father did it in two. If you don't at least act as though you have ambition, it will be difficult to garner the support you need to become chairman. Attending this banquet is an excellent opportunity to prove your dedication and motivation to-" He tuned her out. He had three patient files in his briefcase. One was for a three year old girl who most likely had Richter's Syndrome. If he was correct, she would probably die within months, if not weeks. And his mother wanted to talk charity banquets. Just because his great grandfather had established the hospital didn't mean the Durrants owned it. If he was on the Board, great. If he wasn't, as long as he kept his department and his patients, he didn't care. Ivory - 15
But he made the appropriate noises in the appropriate places, and hung up only after promising to meet with Brianna again that week. He stopped at the house long enough to dump his briefcase in his office. The brisk night air burned through his nostrils as he started walking, letting his feet wander with no destination in mind while his thoughts picked at his worries like a child with a scab. The hopelessness always took a few hours to truly sink in after his conversations with his mother. He would push through the week, then she would call or his brother would visit and he would just be reminded again of what he wasn’t, what they wanted him to be that he just couldn’t pretend anymore, and there was no end in sight. They’d hound him until he broke or died. The buzzards were circling him, smelling death and decay and not knowing where to peck first. His mother would keep calling, calling with that concerned tone that meant the neighbors had asked about him again, her surgically unwrinkled face smiling, and he would hear the frustration underneath, the demand of why, why aren't you normal, damn it. His brother would try to visit, but Bradley was never home anymore. His mother's watch dog and Bradley wanted to punch Jonathan every time he appeared at the hospital, but instead Bradley gave his little half smile and listened intently, nodding his head every fifth word like he did with his mother until Jonathan realized Bradley never was paying attention and left. They all had an idea of what was "proper" and what he should be doing as "someone in his position," so he would be dragged to the functions Brianna organized. Just another one of her committees for Ending World Hunger or Saving the Whales and all he would do was sit at the table, staring at his several thousand dollar Ivory - 16
plate, and wish he was surrounded by his terminally ill patients. Then there were nights when he wanted to be what everyone wanted, if only because then someone would tell him what to do with himself. His life would be simple. He'd be fine. Those nights were becoming more frequent and it scared him, he was so afraid his resolve would weaken. It would be easy to slip into her patterns, let her weave her way further into his life until he had no control left. Until he was like his father, a shadow of a man who nodded sagely when spoken to and only spoke of his practice when called on for conversation. He had been using Brianna for years, and she had been all too willing to comply. All she had to do was provide the façade, that respectable façade, and he would provide the bankroll to supplement her hefty trust fund. She would keep herself pretty and he would buy her pretty things. He would cart her around and show her off, and all her friends could be jealous because she had found herself a nice secured future. All she had to do was accommodate the freak. Make him seem normal. He didn't know why he was getting angry again. He had learned over the years that there was no reason for him to fight anymore. No reason at all. So he was a grown man, quietly walking down a darkened street at three o'clock in the morning, and he could have kept walking or he could have returned to the house in time to catch a few hours of sleep before getting up again. Either way, he would load himself up on caffeine and ephedrine and take a brisk shower, then maybe catch a nap in his office during his lunch break. He would get home the next night, maybe Brianna would be there waiting to talk, hopefully she wouldn't, and he'd go out again, wander on his own through Ivory - 17
darkened streets. Wander until he slipped down into sleep with the aid of a wine bottle and it started all over, ad nauseum, no relief, no end. Thirty-four years old and he wasn't allowed to live his own life because it was what he owed his family -what he owed his father, his mother. His heritage. *** Bradley meant to meet Brianna at the restaurant the next Tuesday. He honestly did. But instead he found himself standing outside Mr. Windham's tall brownstone. He never had found the time to talk to the old man after the shenanigans of last Tuesday, but one night spent socializing wouldn't kill him. He knocked sharply on the door -- once, twice -wondering if he should have brought something more than the bottle clutched in his fist. Windham opened the door by the third knock. Eyeing the old man warily, Bradley held out the bottle of Glen Garioch whiskey. "Heheh. Knew you'd turn up, and with drinks! Good man, good man." Windham stepped back, gestured Bradley in while accepting the bottle. "C'mon, c'mon. Take off that stuffy jacket. Close the door!" "I would have shown up with the chess set," Bradley drawled as he shut the door, "but it seems to have already made its way here..." Windham dismissed the comment with an airy wave of a gnarled hand. "All the better to keep a grip on that bottle. Here, let me find the tumblers. I set up the old table, but your strapping young back will have to move the second chair." As Windham wandered off, Bradley shrugged out of his jacket. He was dressed down, in slacks and a pressed Ivory - 18
shirt, but he still felt out of place. Windham's house wasn't anything like he expected. A small table had been dragged in front of the oldest armchair in the room, next to the fireplace. Bradley found an uncluttered wingback chair in the hallway and carried it in. Windham returned with two tumblers, one half gone, and handed the other to Bradley. "All right. Now that I'm properly fortified, let me see where my glasses disappeared to." Cradling his whiskey, Bradley studied the photos proudly displayed along the mantle. Cheap glossy stock and yellowed Polaroids were just as prominent as the professional portraits. Most featured a brood of four boys, all with skin the color of light coffee and their mother's curly black hair. There were various candid shots of the boys wrestling each other, or dog-piled on their father, hamming it up for the camera. Bradley had surely met all of them at some point, but for the life of him he couldn't remember their names. They were all at least twenty years older than him. He knew one was a lawyer, another was a chef. A Polaroid of a younger Windham with his arms around a laughing woman, her midnight black skin a sharp contrast to his pale complexion, was displayed in the very middle, drawing the eye. Ms. Olivia. Bradley let the ghost of a smile grace his lips as he remembered her apricot cookies and ice tea in the summer. He thought back, tried to remember when she had died. Six years? Seven? Her case had been one of his father's last. With a frown, he turned away from the mantle. Too many memories. Ivory - 19
There were brightly colored plastic children's toys all over the front room. The plush couch had a My Little Ponies sleeping bag thrown over one arm. There were knick knacks all over -- most were obviously souvenirs - and the place seemed... homey. Like more than one person had lived there. "Here we go," Windham announced as he returned with his glasses perched on his bulbous nose. "Now I can keep my beady little eyes on you while we play." "If I recall correctly," Bradley drawled, "it was you who needed close supervision." Windham barked out a laugh. "John never did catch on when I switched pieces." "No, I suppose he didn't," Bradley murmured, taking his seat. "You remember the rules?" Windham asked briskly, settling into his with a groan. Brad nodded. "Good, good. We won't waste any time, then." Sipping his whiskey, Bradley relaxed back into the chair and waited for the old man to make his move. *** The game was far from over when Bradley excused himself Tuesday night, so it seemed only fair to return the following Tuesday, then the Tuesday after that. He wasn't going to go back at first, but then he drove to the townhouse instead of to the restaurant and stood in his pristine foyer, the gaping black doorways of his empty house staring back at him. For once, he tried not to look too closely at his actions and turned off his personal cell phone before ringing Windham's doorbell. "Come to submit gracefully to your defeat?" Windham chirped as he opened the door, shuffling back Ivory - 20
down the hallway. "You've been here before, that means you can hang up your own coat. House rules!" Bradley snorted elegantly, but hung his jacket up in the disorganized hall closet and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. "I should have taken a picture of the board with my phone," he mused as he followed Windham into the sitting room. "That way I could check that the virtue of my pieces was still intact." Windham cackled and settled into his chair eagerly, two tumblers of whiskey already waiting for them. Bradley glanced over the set as he sat and wasn't sure if anything was out of place. Frankly, he didn't quite care if they were. "As though I'd move anything when I'm winning," Windham sniffed at his inspection. "I did that last week. It's your move, boy." Concealing a grin, Bradley took his time deliberating his next move. When he finally moved his knight, he retrieved his tumbler and cradled it close, staring at the board. "You know, you're the spitting image of your father," Windham said suddenly. "He'd hold his glass that same exact way." Surprised, Bradley glanced up to find the old man studying him instead of the board. Windham gave him an indecipherable look and went back to planning his move. "The resemblance has been pointed out to me before," Bradley managed to get out. "John was a good man," Windham muttered, eyes focused on the board. "I know not everyone thinks that, but he was. He tried to do right by everyone. Ended up leaving himself behind, you ask me. Your move." Ivory - 21
Bradley kept his breathing steady as he moved a pawn, tumbler clenched in his hand. "Your grandmother, now. She was a force to be reckoned with. No one dared to stand up to her except my Olivia." Windham looked up at that, but his eyes were far away. "My Livia. Smile like sunshine with a voice so sweet, and it'd take you an hour to realize she'd just stripped you down worse than any hiding... She was what we called a 'spitfire' in those days. So bright and quick. Eyes that cut right through you." The older man made his move. Bradley sipped his whiskey and contemplated the board. "But we didn't go to many high society shindigs in those days," Windham continued, leaning back in his chair. "People like your grandmother had some very decided opinions on our business. We were living in sin and questionable legality, after all. Lived in New York at first, then moved down here in the seventies, after Loving v. Virginia. Fifty-two years, we were together. Tell me that ain't love." Bradley glanced at Windham's lost expression and couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't sound trite. Instead, he moved his rook. The action drew Windham's attention back to the board. "Ah, me. Ah, my," the older man sighed whimsically, studying the pieces. "If wishes were horses, we'd all ride like kings, hm? But we sure did have some good times, me and my girl. We had our life, our children. She got to see our grandbabies grow up. What more could you want? We were happy." He glanced up at Bradley, then down at the board again before flicking his queen halfway across. "Check," he announced cheerfully. Ivory - 22
Bradley frowned, focusing on the board again. Contemplated moving his other pieces. Nothing would work. "And mate," William grinned. Raising an eyebrow, Bradley shook his head ruefully. "You got me." "Heh. And you're as easy to distract as your old man," Windham chortled, not unkindly. Bradley sighed and started collecting his pieces. "That's the last time I bring the whiskey," he joked. Windham crowed with delight. "And as sore a loser, too!" Despite his attempt to be annoyed, Bradley just couldn't be. He snorted and joined in the easy laughter with a chuckle of his own. When his laughter died down, Windham sank back into his plush chair with a content grumble. "Sure is nice to have company, even if you're a crap player, boy." Bradley replied dryly, "Thanks." "That's what I miss most, I think," Windham said after a moment, eyes trailing to the mantle. "Having her here every day, just sharing the little things... You know, she'd sing while she did the dishes -- just whatever had been on the radio last -- didn't even realize she was doing it half the time. Some days, I'd come home and find her singing her heart out to a wooden spatula." He laughed softly. "That woman couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. But what I wouldn't give to hear one more offkey song." Carefully, Bradley laid the pieces back in their box. "You're in a nostalgic mood tonight," he murmured; part statement, part question. "When you get to be my age, the good memories are a comfort, kid." Windham shrugged, not taking offense. Ivory - 23
Bradley nodded and gently closed the box lid. "Would've been her eighty-first birthday next week," Windham said suddenly. "I always bought her fourteen red roses every year. That's how many times I had to ask that stubborn woman out before she would agree to just one date..." He trailed off and Bradley poured them both another finger of whiskey. Windham took a sip and sighed appreciatively. He caught Bradley's eye, waved to the pictures on the mantle with his glass. "I've been blessed, no doubt about it. The only wants I have now are to see my boys and my grandbabies happy. I think I could go in peace, then. " Bradley studied the old man, thought about how it would feel, to have been alive for such a breadth of time, to have lived through so much, and end up ensconced in a worn armchair, smile flickering in the light of a steady fire. Before he could respond, Windham shook himself out of his reverie and grinned at him. "Nice of you to indulge an old man these past few weeks. I suppose you'll be wanting your Tuesday nights back now." Bradley really didn't. "Well, there's still some whiskey left," he pointed out. "It would be a shame to make you drink it all by yourself." Windham barked out a laugh, slapping the arm of his chair. "I like a man who has his priorities straight!" Smiling, Bradley gently set the box back on the table. "I'll just leave this in your safekeeping, then." *** The message light was blinking on his office phone when Bradley returned from his rounds. He was aching Ivory - 24
and sore from a bad night's sleep, so he shook three ibuprofen out of his almost empty bottle and swallowed the pills dry. Grimacing, he keyed in his voice mail password. Six messages; two consults, one professional society, his mother, his brother, and Brianna. He listened with half an ear as he typed up his patient notes in the computer system. "Bradley, I need to know whether you'll be attending the Sarbanes' dinner party next month so I can respond. Please call me back." Brianna sounded like she was on the verge of laughter, the sound of vehicles and women talking behind her. Always ready to accommodate a new charity, able to organize a gathering in a few hours, she was loved by the hired help, the mailman, the waiters and strangers on the street. So polite but sincere, willing to soothe ruffled feathers in his wake, just wanting everyone to be happy. Always willing to make excuses for him, and smiling after each one. So sweet, so trusting, and he sat beside her at these events and stewed. She said they were perfect for each other, even when he could never bring himself to touch her. Never even a casual hand on her shoulder, or an arm about the waist. She was just this presence at his side, constantly there, constantly clinging without curling her manicured fingers around his bicep. The pale bones of her wrist so frail and she was insubstantial. Then there were nights that he returned home, his sanctuary of furniture and things the interior decorator said were "masculine themed," and she would be there. She would be asleep on his sofa, candles burnt down to nubs, the dinner the maid prepared foil-covered in the fridge, and she looked angelic, so peaceful after a Ivory - 25
strenuous day shopping with her friends and going to her horseback riding lessons. He deleted her message without a thought. "The shareholders aren't sold on your idea for a free clinic," his brother said on the next message. "You're going to have to get better backing before we push them harder, if you even want to go ahead with it. Hell, I'm not sold on the idea. Call me." He ignored that one, too. His mother was next. "Bradley. I know you want to heal the world, but honestly. Get your head out of the clouds and focus on reality. This free clinic nonsense has to stop. You may not be willing to admit that the hospital is a business, but we are and we have a business plan, and this clinic is not a part of our strategic vision. Quit wasting the shareholders' time and causing undue worry. You can't be seen as frivolous or wasteful if you want--" The machine cut her off. Bradley kept typing. He was a bastard and that was fine by him. *** The turn of the key in the front door distracted Bradley from the fire, and he looked questioningly toward the kitchen, where he could still hear Windham puttering around. "It's just me, Grandpa," a deep voice called out. There was a moment of rustling in the foyer, a jingle of keys, and Bradley reclined back in his chair to get a look. The man was familiar, dark cheeks golden in the firelight, thin braids pulled into a pony tail at the nape of his neck. He glanced at Bradley as he came into the room, arms loaded with a cardboard box, but didn't seem surprised to see a guest. Ivory - 26
"Hi," the man said easily, focusing on Bradley. "Dr. Durrant, right?" Surprised, Bradley rose to his feet. "Yes. Please, call me Bradley." The resulting grin was breathtaking combined with that piercing gaze. Bradley wanted to offer to help, but the man had already turned away, toward the kitchen. "Yeah, you come into the restaurant all the time." The association clicked in his head. He'd seen the man before, but in a waiter's uniform, not a muscle Tshirt and track pants. "Well, Ivoire does have the best food in town," Bradley said absently, following. "I'll let dad know you said that," he said with an amused glint in his eyes, and pushed into the kitchen. "Yo, gramps, you still breathing in here?" "I don't need a babysitter, damn you," Windham mumbled irritably, but not half as upset as Bradley would have expected. The young man put the box on the counter and wrapped an arm around Windham's shoulders, planting a kiss on the old man's balding head. "You know we're all just vultures waiting for the inheritance." Windham cackled gleefully, and started rummaging through the box. "Brad," he said over his shoulder, "this impertinent creature is my grandson, Nashan. Nashan, this is Brad -The only neighbor who doesn't have one of those damn yappy dogs. Now where the hell are my Oreos?" "In the trash, probably." Rolling his eyes, Nashan started unpacking the box around Windham. "Unless you bought more since the last time mom was through." The smell of garlic and peppers filled the kitchen as Nashan arranged a take-out container along the wooden Ivory - 27
counter. Windham's nose was in the air like a trained hunting dog. "Is that those little croquette things?" "Maybe. Have you taken your pills?" "Yes, yes." Windham flapped his hands for Nashan to get out of the way, but Nashan glanced questioningly at Bradley, who gave a skeptical shrug, and then they were both staring at the old man. "Oh, fine! It's just like Jaya to send her little pill Gestapo after me..." Windham continued to grumble all the way down the hallway and up the stairs. Nashan just shook his head and pulled three plates out of the cabinet. "You hungry?" He asked, waving a plate. "Mom packs enough for twenty people." Bradley's stomach chose that moment to growl, and he grinned in embarrassment. "Yes, please. Thank you." "No problem." Settling against the counter, Bradley crossed his arms and watched Nashan rifle through Windham's kitchen with familiar ease. "We were wondering where you'd gotten to the past few weeks," Nashan said over his shoulder. He turned with a smile, placing a loaded dish in front of Bradley. "Guess I found you out, huh? How'd he rope you into playing?" "He stole my chess board," Bradley said simply, picking up his fork. Nashan's laugh was low and gravelly, tugging at Bradley's insides. "He would, the old kook." "I did not," Windham sputtered as he hurried back into the kitchen. "Where's my plate?" "Here," Nashan handed him a dish piled high with sliced duck, fried bananas, and the spicy yucca Ivory - 28
croquettes Bradley always ordered at the restaurant. "Did I interrupt a game?" "Nah, I already won," Windham waved a hand. Bradley arched an eyebrow. "Oh, I beg to differ." "My bishop will take your king in two moves," Windham said airily, stuffing a croquette in his mouth as he shuffled to a barstool at the island counter. Snorting, Bradley swallowed his bite of duck. "Is this before or after you move my rook while I'm in the restroom?" Nashan started laughing hard, abdomen quivering under his T-shirt. "Grandpa, what have we told you about that?" Windham rolled his eyes, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, and grumbled with his mouth full. "Youth these days have no respect for their elders. In my day, we would have gotten a tanning if we pointed out our granddaddy's creative problem solving skills." Bradley had to join in on the laughter with that one. Nashan glanced over at him, grinning. "You should've seen him teaching us his 'creative problem solving skills' with poker when we were kids. Mom was about ready to kill him." "Why am I not surprised?" Windham harrumphed and focused on his food. Conversation lulled as they ate. "So, you're a doctor," Nashan said to Bradley after a while. Bradley swallowed before answering. "Yes. Oncology." "Cancer, right?" "Yes, I'm a diagnostician. And you? You work at the restaurant."
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"Part-time, yeah, when my parents need a hand. I also run my own landscape design business and teach wu shu on the weekends." Bradley raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like a very busy and diverse schedule." "Says the man who works seventeen hour days," Windham muttered. "Everyone's always so busy these days." Nashan chuckled. "I still find time to visit every week, don't I?" Looking at him speculatively, Windham asked, "Why are you here tonight? It's not Wednesday." "Dad found someone to cover Garcia's shift for the rest of her maternity leave, so I'll be a kitchen helper come Thursday." "Waitresses get maternity leave?" Bradley asked skeptically. Nashan gave him a cool look. "When they've worked for the family in one capacity or another for the last fourteen years, yeah, they do." "Enough talking," Windham interrupted with a quiet belch. He pushed his plate to the side. "I have a chess game to win." Collecting their plates, Bradley took them to the sink. Nashan waved him off. "I've got it, Brad. You go get fleeced by the old man." "Whippersnapper!" *** His brother, his mother, Brianna -- they all kept calling and he ignored the voice mails, let his mother's disappointment at the little things just roll off his back. Ivory - 30
On Monday, he was able to go into a patient's exam room and tell her that her cancer was in remission; that it had responded remarkably well to the drug therapy and that she would see the high school graduation of her two teenage sons. Her pale face had relaxed and she'd clutched her partner's hand and laughed, tears on her face, joking about being used to the wigs now. Her partner -- the woman that had been her cheerleader and drill sergeant for months, always smiling and determined and never backing down because they were going to beat that cancer -- stepped out into the hall with him as he left. When she broke down into relieved sobs while trying to thank him, he let her hold on and wondered at her strength. This was why he was needed; why he went to work every morning and stayed into the night; why he slept on spare hospital beds more often than not, and ate cafeteria food, and couldn't deal with his brother always looking at the bottom line. His life, with all his petty problems and pressures, seemed so insignificant compared to this. *** "I have to warn you," Nashan said as he unloaded the takeout bag several Tuesday nights later. "Dad is trying his hand at some Indian-Peruvian fusion dishes." Bradley and Windham had both followed him into the kitchen like stray cats, but old William made a face at the proclamation. "It's what now? Where are my croquettes?" "Don't worry, they're here," Nashan laughed. "I've also got some fried rice mariscos, too, and that lamb dish you like." Ivory - 31
"Harumph. I don't see why Jeffrey has to go looking into Indian now, too. Isn't Japanese and Peruvian enough?" "It's almost like you have issues with change," Bradley mused, serving himself what looked like a biryani dish. Windham snorted. "Who had to steal your chess board?" "So you admit it was stolen." Accepting his plate with an unhappy grumble, Windham puttered back into the living room to sit in his comfortable old chair. The television turned on a moment later. "I take it he didn't win tonight?" Nashan asked dryly. "What gave that away?" Snorting, Nashan served up a dish for himself and leaned against the counter to eat. The silence was different than what Bradley had become accustomed to with the other man. "So what's in this?" Bradley asked him with a smile. "Your basic lamb biryani with some mango-passion fruit reduction my dad thought up." "I love biryani badshahi," Bradley said with a sigh. "You're a fan of Indian food?" Nashan asked conversationally, looking curious. Bradley shrugged. "I-- knew someone in college whose parents were from India. Whenever he was homesick, his mother would send him care packages with cardamom cookies and a jar of sweet-sour lemon pickles, along with spice mixes. He'd cook up these elaborate dishes and I'd help him out with the leftovers." "Good friend to have," Nashan said and pulled a six pack of beer out of the bag. "Natty Boho?" Bradley accepted the beer and settled at the island counter. Unlike his own lavishly decorated dining room, Ivory - 32
Windham's dining table was covered in crayons and Dora the Explorer coloring books. In the weeks Bradley had been coming over on Tuesdays, he had yet to see the table be put to other uses. Sipping his beer, Bradley took a moment to study Nashan. The other man looked as attractive as ever, this time in a T-shirt and loose track pants that clung to the lines of his muscles, well-developed from his time in the dojo. Bradley pushed his appreciation away, folded it up and tucked it aside, and focused on reading Nashan's face. He was putting on a good front for Windham, but there was a tension in his frame that Bradley recognized. Unhappiness was easy to read in the lines of his mouth, his dark eyes. "You don't normally drink," Bradley pointed out casually. Nashan eyed him over the counter. "It was one of those days..." Arching an eyebrow, Bradley waited him out. "I ran into an ex at the restaurant," Nashan said quietly, glancing at the living room. "I also ran into Ms. Beauchester." Bradley looked down at his plate. Windham started snoring in his chair. "Does she know that you're coming here?" Nashan asked, censure in his voice. At that, Bradley glanced up and said, tone cool, "Where I decide to spend my free time is none of her business." "Guess my definition of 'fiancée' is out of date, then," Nashan said, sounding unimpressed, "because I thought it was. And she thought you were still at the hospital. At least, that's what she told the maitre d' at the restaurant." Bradley shrugged. "Not my problem." Ivory - 33
"Maybe that attitude is your problem," Nashan said tartly. "Unless she kicks your sorry ass to the curb for lying to her, she's still in a relationship with you. She's not a potted plant you stick in the window for everyone to see and only water once in a while." "Nice." Nashan watched Bradley with knowing eyes. Taking a sip of his beer, he settled back against the counter. "You know, I just had about the worst break-up known to man a couple months ago, so you'll excuse me if I'm a little bitter." Bradley shrugged again and propped an elbow on the island, drinking from his own bottle. "Let me guess, she cheated?" Nashan snorted. "He not only cheated, he cleaned out our joint account and ended up back in rehab. With his new boyfriend. Then he had the gall to walk into my family's restaurant tonight and act like nothing had happened. And I couldn't even throw down because I was on the clock. I have no idea why I even dated that dick." Bradley tilted his head. "You like people you can fix," he said bluntly. He watched as Nashan's eyebrows climbed higher. "Excuse you?" Bradley gave another shrug. "You mother-hen your grandfather, you offer unsolicited advice to people, and you worry about people you barely know. Ex-junkie boyfriend who takes advantage fits the bill." A muscle twitched in Nashan's jaw. "At least I get involved. So what if I care too much about people? Better than not caring at all." Funny, how Max had thrown those words at him, too. "Ouch," Bradley drawled, then rapped his knuckles on the countertop with a shrug. "I save lives. Be happy." Ivory - 34
Nashan rolled his eyes. "You're such an ass." Taking another sip of beer, Bradley nodded wisely. "This is true." Windham let out a particularly loud snore in the front room. "We should move him to bed," Nashan sighed. Bradley followed easily enough. Nashan leaned over the armchair and Bradley had no problem with the view, either. He needed to cut back on the alcohol. "Grandpa?" Nashan shook Windham's arm. The older man startled awake with a snort. "Wha-- What? What is it?" "Bedtime." "Bah. 'M fine here." "Come on, get up." Nashan hooked Windham under the arms and levered him up. "You sleep here, gramps, you'll be in traction tomorrow. Up." At Nashan's impatient gesture, Bradley came over to clasp Windham's elbow. They started for the stairs, Windham keeping up a steady stream of grumbling with hand waving. "Have you ever thought about a career in physical therapy?" Bradley mused, ducking a finger to the face. "You're sadistic enough." "That's what I said," Windham huffed up the stairs. "Bitch, bitch, bitch." Nashan sighed. Bradley lingered at the doorway once they made it to the bedroom. He watched as Windham sat on the bed and Nashan gently lifted the glasses from the old man's face. "Sleep well, gramps," Nashan murmured as he tucked Windham under the covers. The old man grumbled, but quickly drifted off. Bradley waited until Nashan headed toward the door to mouth "mother hen" at him. Ivory - 35
Nashan rolled his eyes and flipped Bradley off. *** Bradley saw new patients on Thursday mornings and spent time reviewing patient files in the afternoon, as well as composing correspondence to general physicians and other specialists for particular patients. Unfortunately, that meant he was easy to find on Thursdays, if one did not mind interrupting his work day. His mother had no issues at all with this. "Mother," he greeted her, looking over his reading glasses at her sudden appearance in his office doorway. "Bradley," she said briskly, coming in and perching on his visitor's chair. "I have been trying to reach you all week." He suppressed a sigh and leaned back in his chair, giving up the hope of a quick visit. "I've been busy, Mother. The fellowship positions were--" "I know the state of your fellowships," she interrupted with a sniff. "I actually attend the Board meetings for this hospital and Jonathan presented for your department last week. I am telling you, Bradley, this sort of behavior is unconscionable. Gregory Mathews asked a very pointed question as to your whereabouts." "I had patients to see," he said simply. He removed his reading glasses. "You are the head of your department, Bradley. You have a staff to see to the patients. I don't know why you insist on carrying on like this. Your forefathers would be ashamed." "For being a doctor that sees patients?" He asked, knowing it would set her off and not caring. Ivory - 36
"For wasting your natural leadership skills in a clinical setting when you could be applying the knowledge you've gained to ensuring that this hospital is a success. You work ridiculously long hours and what do you get from it? Every opportunity to network is wasted, you're recalcitrant, you don't take your brother's concerns seriously, and now I hear from Madeleine Beauchester that you've been ignoring Brianna as well. What have you been doing these past weeks?" "Working," he said quietly. "When I'm not working, I'm sleeping." "I have it on good authority that you've been spending time with William Windham," she said austerely. When he didn't respond, her expression became even more pinched. "As touching as it is that you're being charitable to one of your father's old friends, I don't think William Windham III is the proper acquaintance for someone in your standing." "He's my neighbor, Mother," he argued futilely. "Organize your priorities, Bradley, before someone else does it for you." With that, she stood and marched out, leaving behind a light floral scent and a resounding silence. Sighing, Brad resumed reading his patient files. *** His keys jangled loudly in the alcove of his townhome stoop as Bradley shut the door behind him. The familiar itch was under his skin again, and the thought of staying alone in his darkened study made him head quickly out to the street. “Off again?” A familiar voice called from Windham’s stoop. Ivory - 37
Bradley stopped at his iron gate, eyes seeking Nashan out in the darkness. “Well,” he responded after clearing his throat. His breath fogged in front of him. “A walk a day keeps the cardiac arrest away...” “I’m not sure that counts when you balance it out with no sleep,” Nashan drawled and stepped out into the dim circle of the corner street lamp. He was in a thick hoodie and sweatpants, shoulders totally relaxed as he bounced on the toes of his athletic trainers. “Might I point out that you’re also not asleep at the moment?” Bradley went back up the walkway a few steps. Nashan shrugged. “Gramps decided to take a late night trip to the restaurant. Since I was the only sucker he could convince to come out in this cold, I get to play chauffeur.” Bradley checked his watch. “It’s almost midnight.” “And the piano lounge is open until two,” Nashan said glibly. Windham’s front door swung outward, the old man coming out with a spring in his step and a trilby tilted on his head. He even had a bowtie on with his evening suit and a matching cane that was obviously for affectation. “Brad! Imagine finding you here,” William exclaimed. “You’re just in time to join us. Come on!” He started herding Nashan down to the street with his cane, but Bradley hung back. “I really couldn’t intrude,” he protested. “I have work in a few hours, anyway--” “Nonsense, boy.” William dismissed his excuses and waited patiently for Nashan to open the back door of a silver Lexus parked right in front of the townhomes. “All you’re going to do is wander about for a few hours, then come back at a ridiculous hour in the morning and Ivory - 38
wake me up with that creaky storm door you’ve got. This is more fun.” Bradley was surprised that William had noticed his coming and goings, but not overly so. There was a tightness in his chest as he debated interrupting his routine. “You need better hobbies,” is all he said as he came down to the car, graceful in his defeat. Nashan grinned at Bradley as he shut the door behind Windham, and motioned for Bradley to take the front passenger seat. “Resistance is futile, man.” “Tally ho!” William cackled from the back seat. The car seat was plush leather, self-heating, and Bradley let himself relax into it. He’d had an awful shift, with a surgery first thing in the morning, then his youngest patient having a fit halfway through and the rest of the pediatric oncology ward getting set off. Then one of his oldest patients had coded and he’d been called back in from halfway out to the car park. “Hey,” Nashan said pointedly, poking him in the thigh without looking away from the road. “No brooding in my car. This is a place of peace and Zen.” “Obviously you don’t drive in traffic much,” Bradley murmured. Windham was humming to himself in the backseat, fingers tapping out an unfamiliar rhythm on the head of his cane, and Nashan seemed content to drive in silence. Bradley surreptitiously studied Nashan’s profile in the cool glow of the dash and the sweeping yellow headlights of oncoming traffic. He had high cheekbones, a thick lower lip, a nose slightly too large for his face but charming for the incongruity. Bradley forced himself to look away. They didn’t pull up to the front of Ivoire like Bradley was expecting. Instead, Nashan pulled into the side alley Ivory - 39
and parked behind a compact car. Bradley got out carefully, with just enough space next to the brick wall on his side, while Nashan opened the door for William with a flourish. “If you’re not back in the kitchen by two, you turn into a pumpkin,” Nashan warned, wagging his finger. William snorted and started toward the entrance. “As though your mother would let you forget me here...” “She’d also kill me for going in the front dressed like this,” Nashan explained to Bradley, “so we’re headed to the back door.” They waited until William was safely inside before Nashan walked to the back of the alley at a brisk pace. Bradley hurried behind him, nose already going numb. Maybe it hadn’t been the best night for a walk after all. “Why is it so damn cold out?” Nashan grumbled and shoved his hands deeper in his hoodie pockets. “Why are you wearing sweatpants when it’s freezing out?” “Because he woke me from a dead sleep and started going on about tweed and silk.” They stopped outside a service door and Nashan pulled a key card from his pockets, holding it up against a small electronic box. “He scared the crap outta me. I thought he was having some kind of episode or something, so I threw on the nearest pants and hopped in the car.” The lock clicked and Nashan wrenched the heavy door open. “Turns out he was just deciding what to wear.” The delicious smells were the first thing Bradley noticed, then the underlying scent of disinfectant. Then the constant hum of exhaust fans and the air system that was like a physical pressure. “He-ey, look who’s back!” A short man in a spattered white apron called out as they entered the brightly lit Ivory - 40
workspace. He was scrubbing a huge metal rack with beefy arms. “Couldn’t get enough of us, right?” “Just here as a chaperone,” Nashan yelled back with a laugh. The noise generated by cleaning the pots and utensils was overwhelming, but the other four people in the kitchen heard him. Bradley didn’t miss the curious looks sent his way. “S’up, Shawn?” A young woman came over, her tight ringlets under a hair net. “We’re almost done for the night, but I think Aunt Jaya has some leftovers ready to go in the office if you’re good and help us out...” Nashan grinned. “I already ate, brat, so you’re outta luck.” He turned to Bradley. “Brad, this is my cousin Ricci. She’s working off her indentured servitude here at the restaurant.” Ricci rolled her eyes, but wiped her palm on her black trousers and held her hand out to Bradley. “I’ve seen you around before,” she said, friendly enough as he shook it. “This is my favorite restaurant in the city,” Bradley responded. He was used to social niceties, but he was being completely honest. Her smile warmed up considerably. “Then I’m sure Nashan won’t mind giving you the full tour. We stopped serving main dishes about an hour ago, but James is doing the lounge menu if you wanna watch.” Before Bradley could respond, Nashan curled a hand around his elbow and started to steer him away. “As fun as that is for a foodie like you, Brad and I are going to hang out in the office until Grampa decides he’s had enough cavorting for the night.” She just smirked at Nashan and waved them off with a gesture vaguely reminiscent of old William. Ivory - 41
Nashan led him down a small corridor to a burgundy door. Inside was a cozy office done in a bright color scheme that went with the door, including the overstuffed leather couch in teal and a marigold yellow executive chair. “Looks like mom is out on the floor,” Nashan mused, flopping into a corner of the couch. “Have a seat, Brad. They’ll be out there for at least another hour, knowing Gramps.” Shrugging off his jacket, Bradley lowered himself down and studied the news clippings on the walls. There was a stylized Indian mural painted above the door with elephants and spiral floral designs that seemed to move the longer Bradley stared. “I take it your mom is the reason for the IndianPeruvian fusions?” He noted absently around a yawn. The couch was really comfortable. “Yeah,” Nashan said, glancing up at the mural. “They’ve been married thirty years this year, so he wanted to give her something unique. A dish she gets to name. It’s very top secret, hush-hush, and we’ve all been trying to cover for him while he experiments, but I’m sure she knows. She’s got this sixth sense when he’s playing mad chef.” Bradley nodded, letting his gaze drift over to Nashan, who looked so comfortable in the office, like he had no doubt he belonged there. Even though he was filling in as a waiter. Bradley frowned. “Why are you waiter?” He asked and Nashan made an interrogative noise. “Are you planning on taking over for your parents one day?” Nashan laughed softly and shook his head. “Nah, I didn’t get the culinary touch. That’s all on Ricci. She’s been at dad’s elbow since she could see over a counter. Ivory - 42
They’re even sending her to a fancy culinary school so she can work on her own style.” Bradley arched an eyebrow. “And you’re okay with that?” “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” He grinned at Bradley. “I’m happy going between my landscaping and teaching at the dojo. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll take up something cooking related? I like to stay engaged and interested in what I do, though, and cooking never really held my interest. I definitely like eating other people’s, though...” Bradley smiled with him, and tried to think of enjoying such a whimsical outlook. It seemed very selfindulgent, but maybe that’s what other people got to do with their lives. “What about a career?” He asked suddenly. “You don’t seem the type to be a trust fund baby.” Nashan chuckled and crossed his feet at the ankles. “I suppose I’ll have a ‘career’ one day, if I choose a path and stick to it. I don’t know. I think I’d rather find the right guy, adopt a few kids. Pay it forward that way, you know?” “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a romantic,” Brad said with some shock. “See what you can learn from a pleasant conversation? Much better than walking around in the dark,” Nashan teased, but in such a good-natured way that Bradley couldn’t take offense. A comfortable silence descended and the office was so warm. Bradley’s eyes drifted shut, breaths evening out as he laced his hands over his stomach. That was the only reason he answered honestly when Nashan asked, “What about you? You seem like you’ve got your whole life planned out -- career, wife. Have you and Brianna talked about kids yet?” Ivory - 43
“We don’t really talk about those sorts of things.” The thought alone filled Bradley with dread. He frowned softly, but didn’t open his eyes. “It’s never come up.” He could feel Nashan watching him. “You’ve got time,” Nashan murmured. Bradley wasn’t so certain he did, but he let the conversation die and actually drifted off to sleep. *** For all his mother's admonishments, Bradley kept showing up at Windham's on Tuesday nights, usually arriving before Nashan and dinner. When the whiskey bottle ran out, he brought bourbon. He even dropped by on a Friday night once, instead of going out for his usual late night walk. Windham had welcomed him in, offering him a drink and turning on the television low, whispering that the great-grandkids were sleeping upstairs until their parents came to pick them up. Nashan's cousins from the lawyer son. Bradley stuck to coming over on Tuesdays after that. Nashan was still working part-time at Ivoire, so he kept catering their chess nights, but Bradley had the feeling Nashan would have been over there anyway. He seemed to be the grandchild living closest to Windham, despite the babysitting services. One Tuesday Bradley arrived to find Nashan already there and Windham in bed, bundled up and snoring softly. Nashan was waiting for him in the kitchen when he came downstairs. "I have soup, grilled chicken, and coffee," Nashan said, pushing a plate of chicken toward Bradley, who accepted it gratefully. He'd skipped lunch in favor of a nap. Ivory - 44
"What's he got?" He asked Nashan with a nod of his chin toward the stairs. "Just a seasonal cold," Nashan said softly, worry creasing his brow. "But at his age--" Bradley's phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and sent it to voice mail before shutting it off. "You know," Nashan said in the deceptively mild tone Bradley was beginning to be wary of, "I know I've said this before, but you've been coming here on Tuesdays for a couple months now, and yet your girl still shows up at the restaurant to wait for you. I can't decide if I should admire her perseverance, or question her intelligence for dating an insensitive ass." Bradley picked up his coffee mug and took a sip. He didn't look away from Nashan's steady gaze. "I already admitted that I'm an ass," he said readily. "And if I answered my phone, I would have to speak to her." The look Nashan gave him was highly unimpressed. "She's your fiancée. If she's not breaking it off when you keep standing her up, I'm sure she'd understand a request for space." "That's not how we are," Bradley said without thinking. He never spoke the truth of it with anyone. He never let himself admit the truth out loud. But Nashan was standing there, confusion and condemnation in his eyes, and Bradley wanted him to understand, wanted Nashan's good opinion. He just-If he said it out loud, if someone else knew-Bradley looked away, down at his coffee mug. Nashan sighed. "So maybe it's none of my business. Tell me to shut it if you want. But how the hell 'are' the two of you then? Cause it sure as hell ain't happy." Ivory - 45
It struck a nerve, because Bradley was trying, goddammit. "I have responsibilities to my family--" Nashan cut him off, voice low but intense. "Don't give me that bullshit. You're working yourself to death, you're miserable, you're engaged to a woman you don't even like--" He held up a hand when Bradley opened his mouth to interrupt. "Don't even. Anyone who knows you and spends five minutes with you, then watches her come in the room can tell. So why do it? Why the charade? Are you even planning on marrying her?" Just the thought made Bradley's gut churn. He wanted to be honest with Nashan if no one else, thought that maybe -- maybe -- Nashan might understand. "Before my father died," Bradley said softly into the tense silence. "I was involved with someone whom I loved very much. Only I was never good at saying it, so when I had to take over as director of oncology-- when my mother found out about the relationship and threatened to disown and discredit me-- they left. Because I had nothing to offer that could make them stay." Nashan made a noise of protest, but Bradley shook his head. "I didn't, or I would have fought harder. I would have told my mother to do her worst. "So now, all I have left is the hospital, and if I don't at least act the proper part of director and good son, my mother will see to it that I lose even that." Nashan still looked confused, but the aggressive set of his shoulders had relaxed. "Why? Why would she do that? This isn't the Victorian era. Hell, it isn't even the mid-1900s. You're a doctor and that's still damn respectable. What more does she want?" Bradley looked away, out the kitchen window. "A son she isn't ashamed of," he said quietly, heart Ivory - 46
pounding in his ears. "A daughter-in-law. Grandchildren." Nashan said just as softly, "But it's your life. What does all that matter if you're miserable?" Bradley glanced at him. "Life is rarely that simple. Not with my family." The next silence was contemplative, Nashan studying Bradley's profile, while Bradley stared out the window again. "Why not open your own practice?" he said suddenly. "You have the connections, the resources." "The hospital has been in my family for over one hundred years. My brother certainly isn't a doctor. If I leave, it's the end of an era." Nashan drew in a breath. "So maybe it's time for change. That's life. It happens." Bradley looked at him sideways. "Even if I opened my own practice, there's no way I could start a highly specialized clinic in the tri-state area without poaching clients from the oncology ward at the hospital." Nashan's look was unimpressed again. "So move outside the tri-state area. Go into a less specialized field. With your resume, you wouldn't have a problem getting backers--" "I can't do it," Bradley interrupted, shaking his head. "I can't just turn my back on my family." He looked away from the concern in Nashan's eyes. "There are always options. You have got to do something, Brad. You're tearing yourself to pieces." The quiet conviction in Nashan's gaze rocketed Bradley's heart rate up again. "I'll be fine where I am," he finally said, trying to settle the resignation on his shoulders once more. It was no longer a comfortable fit. Ivory - 47
Obviously letting the topic go for the moment, Nashan shrugged. He looked remarkably like old William when he did it. Silence settled between them, Bradley studying his plate, Nashan studying the counter, the paper bag with restaurant logo on it. "Do you know why my parents named the restaurant Ivoire?" Nashan asked quietly. Bradley shook his head. "Grandma Olivia. She'd always wanted to be a musician, to play the piano and sing like her daddy. She was terrible at it, but bless her, the woman kept trying. My dad learned to play the piano, and every family gathering, she'd yell across the house, 'Tickle the ivories for me, JeffJeff.' First Christmas I can remember, it was her asking my dad to play. "My parents had just started the whole process of opening the new restaurant when she was diagnosed, and my dad asked her what she would call it. She said 'Ivory' because music and cooking are what he loves." Nashan sighed. "And he may have learned how to play the piano for her, but she was right-- He loves music. Loves cooking. She gave him both of those and she gave him the freedom to be whoever he wanted to be. All of us kids her and Grandpa helped to raise, and we knew, still know, beyond a shadow of a doubt that they love us." Bradley sipped his now-cold coffee and stared at his fingers. "Your family shouldn't be a cage, Brad," Nashan said quietly, sadly. "They should give you what you need to be who you are. You've got my number, if you ever want to talk." Bradley nodded. *** Ivory - 48
He missed the next Tuesday. A nine year old girl, barely half the weight she should have been, and she'd smiled sleepily at him, at her mother. Like he hadn't failed them both. He got home at four in the morning, after losing track of the hours he'd put in. He let his coat land in a pile on the foyer floor, tossed his silenced cell-phone at the foyer table and didn't care when it clattered to the floor. He navigated the way to his office in the dark, barking his shin on the trim of his ornate staircase as he stumbled past. The light on his desk left a yellow halo on the blotter. He looked around at the heavy woods, the dark leather, the collections of books he'd never read. Decorative souvenirs he'd never bought. Slowly, methodically, he unhooked his key ring from his belt and unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk. He stared down in the dim light, shadows concealing all but the intricately engraved butt of the pistol nestled in amongst the files. The ivory inset gleamed at him from the darkness. Five bullets left. Sitting there, he thought of his father, of Max, of his mother -- rifling through his memories of each, on the best and the worst with equal pain like picking at a scab. Scratching at the skin until it was angry red and puffy. A girl, only nine, and the look on her mother's face. That moment when she realized what he was saying. When he sat there in his office, holding her hand and speaking softly, breaking her world apart piece by piece and crushing the last of her hope. The drone of the flat line. Ivory - 49
This was the way he lived his life, one beep to the next. What was his sinus rhythm like today? A steady line of spikes and bumps with no end in sight. He stared down at the open drawer and felt incredibly tired. Slowly, so slowly, he reached down and slid the door shut, locking it again. He was a coward. He flung his keys away in disgust, into the recessed corner of his study. He fumbled with the decanter of bourbon artfully arranged on his desk. The decorator had set up a display on one of the side tables, crystal glasses and silver tray. He kept moving it over into easier reach of his chair until the maid gave in and left it there. They'd hired a specialized cleaning service for his father's office. The bourbon burned going down and he waited for the numbness to set in. *** The doorbell woke him up, loud echoing shrieks pounding through his skull. With a groan, he pushed away from his desk, stumbling out of his chair. He stepped on his heavy overcoat in the foyer and felt something crunch underfoot. Maybe he'd care later. The bell kept chiming. He realized he'd forgotten to lock the door as he opened it with a resigned sigh. Windham glared up at him from the doormat, arthritic finger still holding the doorbell down. Nashan stood at the foot of the stoop, looking like he didn't know whether to laugh or sink into the ground. "I'll have you know," Windham said primly, finally removing his finger. "While you were out cavorting last night, I won the game." Ivory - 50
Bradley blinked down at him, squinting in the daylight, human speech not quite processing yet. "Am I to have survived eighty-two years on this planet only to freeze to death on your front porch, young man?" Windham harrumphed at him when Bradley didn't respond. With a frown, Bradley stepped away into the house, leaving the door gaping wide behind him. Windham and Nashan followed. Nashan must have picked up the coat, if the scrape of buttons on the hardwood floors and tinkle of broken glass indicated anything. Bradley went to the kitchen and slumped against the counter, pawing around his cabinets for ground coffee. All he seemed to have were whole beans and a grinder. Fuck that. Windham parked himself at the breakfast nook, expression dour as Bradley ignored him. Nashan trailed in with Bradley's cell-phone in one hand and what was left of his reading glasses in the other. "You'll wanna watch your step in the hall. There might be shards." He set the glasses and the phone down on the counter then joined Bradley in searching for coffee. "Lot of missed calls." His tone was neutral, but Nashan had that pinched look on his face. Resigned, Bradley gave up and swiped his phone. Thirteen missed calls. Eight voice mails. He barely listened to any of them, just enough to confirm that nothing was life-threatening or related to-She'd smiled at him. Fuck. He threw his phone down on the counter and scrubbed at his face. He obviously hadn't had enough to drink. Nashan produced ground coffee from somewhere magical and Bradley stuck his head in the pantry, found Ivory - 51
the wine with the highest alcohol content. The key to the liquor cabinet was on his key ring somewhere, so he just settled back against the counter and frowned at the cork. Windham looked askance at him when Bradley pulled the cork out with his teeth and started chugging. "I take it you're not heading to the hospital today," the old man said tartly, then muttered, "As a patient, maybe." "Nope," Bradley rasped. He studied the wine label. "Took the day off." "Any particular reason?" Nashan asked quietly, watching the coffee pot fill. Bradley shrugged. He could feel the wine hit his empty stomach, the way it burned. He didn't want to talk about it. Windham kept staring at him. "Doesn't matter much," Bradley said and shrugged again. He looked away, took another swig of the bottle. "What's one more dead kid in the scheme of things?" Nashan looked at him sharply. Bradley pushed away from the counter, wanting space, wanting them out of his house, but his shoe caught on the tiles, scuffed the toe and pulled him down. Nashan caught his elbow, at a bad angle to stop his fall but enough to help control his descent. The wine bottle rolled across the floor. "You care about all of them," Nashan said in his ear, voice a low and intent rumble. Bradley closed his eyes, palms splayed on the tiles as spilled wine seeped into his pant leg. Yeah, he did, and wasn't that the problem? "C'mon, let's get you upstairs," Nashan sighed, lifting him up bodily. Bradley waved him off after that. "I can walk on my own." Ivory - 52
"Of course you can," Nashan drawled. "I'll clean up down here before I break my neck," Windham offered grimly. Bradley kept walking, stumbling up the stairs. He got to his bedroom and shucked off his shirt, tried to lose the pants but his shoes were still on. Nashan guided him to the edge of the bed and sat him down, kneeling down before him to remove his shoes. His head was right there and Bradley gave in to the temptation to touch, just this once. Nashan looked up at him warily when Bradley laid a hand on his cheek. "Brad?" He asked quietly. Bradley stared down at him, closed his eyes at the morass of guilt and pain bleeding in his chest, before looking back. "I'd really like to kiss you. I've been wanting to ever since you called me an ass." "Okay," Nashan said wryly. "And that's the wine talking, I think." Bradley shook his head. "His name was Max," he said simply, and Nashan's eyebrows climbed higher. "I loved him more than anything, and I never told him, so he never knew. And when my mother found out, when she got nasty, he left. Because he thought that was what I wanted." "Brad--" "Everything I touch turns to shit, Nashan," he said fervently. "My life, my family. I'm not even good enough to save my patients." "You can't save everyone," Nashan started to say, but Brad shook his head, let his hand fall away. "Look, why don't you just leave," Bradley said tiredly. Bitterly. "I'm not the best company on a good day, which I never have anyway."
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"Brad," Nashan said directly, determined, those concerned eyes boring into Bradley's. "You ever stop to think that you don't have good days for a reason?" Bradley snorted derisively, looking unimpressed. "I'm a waste of human flesh?" "Don't talk like that," Nashan sighed with exasperation. "You're not. I've been around you a lot these past few months, gotten to know you better--" "And you haven't tried to drown me or get me to play in traffic, yet," Bradley conceded, the wine still buzzing in his veins, leaving his mouth without a filter. "I must be making progress as a human being." "Brad," Nashan commanded his attention again. "Depression can be hereditary. You ever stop to think about that?" "I am aware of that," he said snidely. "I am a doctor." "So after what happened to your dad, don't you think that maybe you should be a little concerned?" Bradley stared down at him and thought about what his mother would say, how badly it could all go wrong-"Stop," Nashan ordered sharply. "Stop thinking about your family, and those stupid shareholders, and think about yourself for once. This is about you. Are you happy like this?" After a long moment, Bradley shook his head. "One of the guys in my class is a psychiatrist--" "Oh, no. No." Bradley said resolutely. "Whether you decide to go or not is up to you," Nashan said, talking over him, "but I'm going to leave his number for you down stairs. You need to talk to someone, Brad." "I talk to you, and your grandfather, every week." "Someone who can help you better than we can," Nashan said firmly. "You're a smart, sarcastic guy who Ivory - 54
cares about people more than you're willing to show. You deserve better than this." Bradley didn't have any response for that. He didn't even know if one was expected. *** When he woke up again, he was hung over and feeling ill, and Windham was snoring on his couch. He staggered into his kitchen and guzzled three glasses of water from the tap before he came up for air. There, on his granite countertop, was a post-it note with a man's name and phone number. He read it in confusion, wondering where it came from, before he remembered Nashan's promise. Frowning, he fingered the little piece of paper like he'd never seen a post-it before. It would be impossible for him to see a shrink. The fallout would be ridiculous, his mother and his brother would have fits and never let him live it down. Stop. Stop thinking about your family. This is about you. This was his choice. This was his life. *** Brad almost didn’t go to the first session. He made the appointment behind his closed office door and hadn’t expected to be seen the next day, so he was caught off-guard. He thought he’d have more to time get used to the idea and mentally prepare. Either Nashan had pulled some strings or mental health services were the outliers of the medical healthcare system. Dr. Terrence Radley wasn’t what Brad had been expecting. First, his office was a converted loft in the artsy downtown district near the bay, tucked above Ivory - 55
boutiques and cafes. Brad had called an answering service that did all the man’s appointments, but no receptionist was actually in the office. Second, the man was diminutive and unassuming, with thinning hair, a sweater vest, and cold hands. Brad really couldn’t see him in any martial arts class. The first session was nerve-wracking in itself, all the awkward setting of boundaries and getting to know each other. What did he see himself gaining from the sessions? Were there any particular issues he’d like to explore? Since he was concerned about his depression, had he ever tried to harm himself? Did he have a support network? It helped, knowing that he could decide on the topics they discussed. He’d chosen his family for the second session, talking about his father and his feelings of responsibility, but he knew they were just circling the real issues. “So what would you like to talk about today?” Terrence asked in his quiet voice, sitting across from Brad in a matching armchair. His entire body language was relaxed, no pen or paper for notes or the like, but he was entirely focused on Brad. “I--” Brad shifted uncomfortably, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He took a breath and stared at his hands. “I know I’m not happy. I know I’m too afraid to change anything. Mother, Jonathan, Brianna -they all have an idea of how I should act. Who I am. I try, but...” After a moment of silence, Terrence prompted, “You mentioned last time that you felt trapped, like you were suffocating. I’m hearing a lot of resentment toward them.” Brad looked up at him, at his shiny forehead, then out the huge windows overlooking the bay. A flock of Ivory - 56
seagulls were swooping above the water, long white wings outstretched. “I’m not who they want me to be,” he finally said, chest clenching. “I will never be the person they want me to be. I thought I could be. I didn’t care after Max left me, and I just let that bleed into every other aspect of my life.” “You still care about your patients.” “That’s easy. But I’m an asshole to everyone else.” “You mentioned ‘Max’ leaving. Care to talk about that?” Terrence slumped further in his chair, propping his chin on his fist. “Max...” Brad swallowed. “Max was my first, and only, boyfriend.” He paused and glanced at Terrence for his reaction, but the psychiatrist just nodded encouragingly. “We met when I was finishing med school and he was just stating law school.” Brad snorted. “I spilled my coffee on him by accident. It was all pretty cliché.” “How long were you together?” “Two years, almost three. The last few months... After my father... My mother found out and it was-ugly. She wanted me to choose, and I couldn’t. I hesitated. So Max decided for me.” “It sounds like you have a lot of regrets about the relationship.” “I didn’t want him to go. I was selfish.” Brad swallowed, remembering his mother’s angry words. “I thought I could have everything if I just didn’t make any waves, if it all just stayed the same. I didn’t see why it had to change and I lost everything.” “Everything changes, Brad. One moment to the next, the world is never the same. Our own reactions and expectations are the only thing that we can truly control.” Terrence sat up straighter and leaned forward. Ivory - 57
“You said that you can’t be the man your family wants you to be. To me, it sounds like you don’t want to be that person. So the question is, who do you want to be, Brad?” Brad stared at Terrence for a long moment before glancing back out at the water. He couldn’t come up with an easy response. “Think on it for next time,” Terrence said quietly. “Consider it homework.” Brad laughed. It was dry, and maybe a little bleak, but it was something. *** Brad had two days worth of mail piled on his foyer table when he finally got home after a long shift. He was sorting through it with disinterest when the glass doors to the living room opened. "Oh good, you're here," Brianna said with a smile. "I was beginning to think you were avoiding me again." She didn't try to touch him or kiss him on the cheek, not here in private. She started on about some charity event and he made a noncommittal noise while he continued flipping through his mail. There were thin little cobwebs starting to form on the table's lampshade. He needed to have the cleaning service in again. "Are you even listening to me?" She finally demanded with an amused twist of her lips. He glanced at her and set his mail on the table. Then he looked her directly in the eyes for the first time in years. "What are we doing, Brianna?" He asked before he'd fully formed the thought.
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Her eyes widened. She froze for a moment, obviously gauging his mood, before she turned away from him and paced the foyer a few steps. "I am trying to communicate the importance of attending the Galloway's annual dinner--" Her tone was defensive, the harshest he'd ever heard from her. She knew what he was asking and he'd struck a nerve. Brad kept his expression neutral. "Why are you here?" She gave him an incredulous look. Blinking, she took a deep breath. Her manicured nails clicked on the foyer table surface as she picked up a letter. "Someone had to gather your mail before it got so high the door wouldn't open," she finally said, voice teasing. As if they could laugh this off and forget he'd ever opened his mouth. "Am I really worth wasting so many years of your life on?" She tensed, slowly letting her hand fall back to the table. She stared at him. Her perfectly painted lips thinned to a line of displeasure, maybe hurt. "You're not making any sense," she whispered. "Our entire relationship doesn't make any sense," he replied in a flat tone. "We put nothing in and get nothing out. Why just go through the motions? Why bother?" "Why bother?" Her voice rose, a quaver in it. "Bradley, we've been engaged for four years, and now you're asking me why bother?" "I don't love you." She didn't even flinch, but her voice went soft again. "I know that. And I'm not in love with you. That's why I'm here. But I think we fit each other, that we could work something out between us..." Ivory - 59
She trailed off and he sighed, pulling off his glasses to rub his eyes. He was so fucking tired. "You deserve better," he said simply, finally. She stared at him for a long time, like she was waiting for him to take it back. Finally, he watched her deflate. She swallowed and looked away, at the stain glass windows beside the door. "I can't have who I want," she said in a whisper. "And you can't have who you want. So I thought, why not? At least this way we don't look pathetic, right? This way we both know the score." "Who--?" He'd never considered she would want someone else. Her lips twisted into a rueful grimace. "Who have I spent my entire life trailing around? Who married my best friend while I was too much of a coward to say anything?" Carmen was her best friend, and Brad had only met Carmen's husband, Mark, the once. The man hadn't left much of an impression. He frowned. Her laugh was painful to hear, dry and self-deprecating. "I mean, I knew there wasn't anything here, but I thought we were both okay with that. But you've been different these past weeks..." She smiled at him ruefully. "You've changed. You're more like the Bradley I remember from before." Her tone was returning to normal, her body relaxing. Brad wondered if that was what his own resignation had looked like. "We can't stay as we are," he said gently, the words filling his mouth. This was his decision. His life. She studied him, then slowly nodded. Ivory - 60
"Here I am again, too afraid to move on. My therapist will have a field day... I have to admit," she said with another little laugh. "I never expected you to say anything first. I thought--" She hesitated. "I thought you wouldn't let anything touch you," she finished quietly. "I thought you were the safest choice." He looked away, feeling like something indefinable had cracked in his chest. She wasn't heartbroken over this. She had gone into this being honest with herself. He didn't know if he should admire her, or feel horrified for them both. "I'm sorry. I should have put an end to this sooner." "No," she said with a sigh. "We both should have known better in the first place." They were silent for a moment. She looked curiously up at him, tilting her head as she absently fiddled with her diamond tennis bracelet. "What about your mother?" He gave her a measuring look. She frowned. "I'm not blind, Bradley. I know why you agreed to this farce. She won't be pleased with you." "I'll deal with her." He just had to find the best time. *** "According to this, your patio is perfect for 'an intimate summer gathering of friends,' Gramps," Nashan recited from the magazine on the coffee table. "You just need some tea lights, music, and Chinese lanterns to hang from the awnings... The center pieces look cool." "Don't know why I keep getting that rag," Windham muttered. "Not like I subscribed to it." Ivory - 61
"I think dad did," Nashan said with a laugh. "That way mom won't make fun of him for reading it at home." "Oh, so he leaves it for me. How considerate. Whippersnappers." Windham glanced at Brad as he made his move, his tone sly. "Brad, your patio's bigger than mine. Why don't you have Bambi host one of them charity to-dos at your place?" The old man was teasing, trying to distract Brad. He didn't react. "Brianna and I broke things off," he said casually, moving his piece. Freezing mid-reach, Windham looked up at him sharply, but Brad kept his gaze on the board. Nashan set the magazine aside. "And when did this happen?" Windham demanded, upset. Most likely over the missed gossip. "Last week," Brad kept his voice light. "Your move." "I know it's my move, young man," Windham snapped as he scooted a pawn forward. "How did that happen? Did she meet someone else?" Brad moved his bishop and leaned back in his chair, stretching his neck. Nashan was watching him with a neutral expression. Brad waited a moment to reply. "I broke it off with her," he finally said once Windham moved his next piece. The old man squinted at him. "You?" Brad shrugged. "We both knew it wasn't going anywhere." He reached out and moved his queen. "Wasn't what you said before," Windham said sharply, slapping his bishop down. Brad raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't like her." "I don't," Windham agreed. "But just because she doesn't have a serious thought in her head doesn't mean Ivory - 62
you can just use her to keep that harpy you call mother at bay then toss her aside." "That was hardly the case," Brad kept his tone mild as he captured a pawn with his knight. "Brianna's very bright. She had her own agenda. I had mine. Mine just changed, though." "Changed. Hmph." Windham frowned down at the board. He went to move a bishop, then a rook. He sat back in his chair. "Damn. You're a chess shark, is what you are." Brad laughed. "Coming from you, that's rich." "Well, go on and call it then, boy." "Check." Windham glared at him and slugged his bourbon back. He moved a page into harm's way. "And mate," Brad announced with a click of his knight, struggling to keep a straight face. Windham made a disgusted noise. "Punk," Windham grumbled into his tumbler, all for effect. Brad busted out laughing. He glanced over at the couch and caught Nashan smiling at him, eyes warm in the firelight. Brad's laughter faded, but the grin remained. Windham cleared his throat and rose from his seat. "These old bones require chocolate pudding. I fully expect my living room to be set to rights by my return." Watching the old man hobble into the kitchen, Brad raised his eyebrow. "Is he allowed to have chocolate pudding?" Nashan glanced toward the kitchen with a sigh. "I won't tell if you won't." "If only to be spared the 'I'm old enough to enjoy my vices' lecture again," Brad said lightly. Ivory - 63
Nashan chuckled, then looked at Brad discerningly. "So, you seem better these days. I hear you're not working such long hours, either." Brad ducked his head, fingering a rook absently, and glanced at the kitchen then back to Nashan. "I took your advice," he said softly. "I've been seeing a psychiatrist for a few weeks now. He put me on an anti-depressant, too. Short-term, to help with the therapy." "Good on you," Nashan said with pride in his voice. "I take it this is what brought about your change of agenda?" Brad smirked. "You could say that I've been reevaluating my priorities." "Any luck with that?" "I--" Brad paused, chose his words carefully. "Let's just say that I'm looking for a relationship with the right person, now. Someone I'm-- compatible with." "Are you?" Nashan's voice dropped lower, quieter. "I definitely think my mother will not approve," he responded somberly. He met Nashan's gaze directly. "But it's my life." Nashan smiled at him, hopeful. "Yes, it is." *** Brad had been wracking his brains for several weeks, wondering when would be the best time to inform his mother of his life changes. Essentially, it would never be the best, but he was willing to wait for "not the worst" and that wasn't what happened. Unfortunately, Brianna communicated quite well with her mother, who also spoke to Brad's mother frequently. Ivory - 64
The invitation to a family dinner at his mother’s estate was not altogether unexpected, but given that his mother and his brother rarely sat down together outside of the boardroom, Brad had a feeling he knew exactly what this was about. She snapped halfway through the main course. Jonathan -- his ambitious, business-oriented younger brother who could charm the pants off anyone he met -was the one who sparked it. “So, Bradley,” Jonathan said with a knowing glint in his eyes, “I ran into Marcus Galloway on the greens the other day. He said that Brianna had RSVP’d with only one for his annual dinner gala.” Brad glanced at their mother, who had carefully set down her fork and was dabbing at her mouth with a linen napkin, eyes on the table’s centerpiece. “I, of course, acted as though I already knew,” Jonathan continued in a bored tone. “But I would appreciate it if next time you decide to completely upend your social life, you send me a memo, hmm?” Brad met Jonathan’s gaze across the table and defiantly took a sip from his wine glass. He’d barely touched anything during the meal, knowing that this was coming. “I thought for sure you would have heard the rumors already,” he answered after he swallowed. “Given how you seem to know so much of my private affairs.” His mother’s fist hit the table, napkin clenched tightly, rattling the dishes. “Really, Jonathan,” she said in an exasperated tone. So they had discussed the situation before Brad arrived. He wasn’t shocked. Jonathan always had a chip on his shoulder when it came to Brad. “We split amicably,” Brad said, knowing he was just fanning the flames. Ivory - 65
His mother scoffed, as inelegant a sound as she had ever made. “Yes, I’m sure that’s how everyone will perceive it.” Brad didn’t say anything. “At least we hadn’t seriously started any wedding planning,” Jonathan remarked and smirked at him from behind a water glass. “We’ll just put the money saved toward your next nuptials. Oh, wait.” “Jonathan!” Their mother hissed with a vehemence that surprised Brad. Both eyes snapped to her. “We will not discuss such nonsense at my table.” Jonathan was caught off guard, Brad could tell, but his own heart was pounding in his ears. He felt his cheeks flush and he was just so tired of keeping his mouth shut, of hiding himself. “What nonsense, mother?” He asked quietly. She turned on him, lips quivering with anger. “Do not play daft with me, Bradley Gustav Durrant.” The tightness was there in Brad’s chest, and for once, he didn’t care about her feelings, his brother’s. He wanted to be heard. “I’m not playing daft, mother. It was a valid question, because I don’t think who I am is nonsense, so I was seeking specificity.” “Bradley--” “I’m gay,” he said bluntly, cutting her off. Across the table, Jonathan rolled his eyes and muttered, “Now you’ve done it.” “Brianna and I ended our farce of an engagement,” Brad continued, “and I’m not interested in starting another. I’m not going to hide who I am.” She stared at him in shock, surgically unwrinkled expression morphing into fury. “You work with children, Bradley,” she hissed, clutching her silverware tightly on the tabletop. “Do you Ivory - 66
know how this is going to look? My God, you’ll lose all credibility. We’ll be lucky if you aren’t sued for improper conduct. Every consult you have, you’ll need to be carefully supervised, and it will get ridiculously expensive. The hospital will take away your patients and assign them to other doctors until you have no files left. Is that what you want?” “Mother,” Brad said quietly. “I don’t see how my private life will have an impact on my case load in this instance--” “You don’t see?” She snarled, face a paroxysm of disgust. “This will ruin us. You’ve been engaged to Brianna for four years; think of what everyone will say. We’ll be a laughing stock. Her parents are livid. We’ve made fools of them. But of course you don’t see how your-- your perversions are going to have an impact on the rest of us.” Her voice climbed higher, tears threatening, strident tones wavering. “Selfish, Bradley. You are so goddamn selfish, just like your father. How dare you threaten to disgrace us all!” “Mother,” Jonathan broke in. “Please lower your voice.” “I will not lower my voice. Don’t you tell me what to do, young man. I am your mother, even if neither of you care for my feelings, for what you put me through. Are you trying to sabotage everything we have, Bradley?” “No, I’m not,” Brad said firmly, standing up. “And if you’ll excuse me, I think we’ve said enough for one day.” “Oh, no we have not.” She remained seated but glared balefully at him. “Sit down, Bradley. We will discuss this like adults--” “Jonathan,” Brad addressed his brother. “I’ll see you in the board meeting on Monday.” Ivory - 67
Not waiting for a reply, he strode quickly from the dining room and retrieved his coat with shaking hands. The crisp air outside helped calm him, but he needed to be in motion. He maneuvered his car with smoothly down the drive and back onto the private road to the house. He didn’t know what the fallout was going to be and he certainly didn’t feel better about himself, but at least he’d been honest. That was a start. *** The nasty exchange haunted him the next day, through office hours and his rounds in the hospital wards. He saw his mother once in the hallway, as she was on her way up to the administrative floor, and she resolutely did not acknowledge him. After that, he left the office early, his staff staring warily at him as he took his case files home. He sat at his large mahogany desk, small lamp throwing the room into shadows, and flipped through the patient files, making notes. After a while, his pen slowed. Stopped. In their last family portrait, his brother's smile was wide and happy. It was before he had come home early for winter break, his last semester at college, and found his girlfriend in bed with his father. Plans change. The desk drawer opened with a heavy clatter. He hesitated before reaching down to curl his fingers around his cell phone. He pulled up Nashan's number. He frowned, when he realized his hand was shaking and hit send before he could change his mind. "Hey, Brad," Nashan answered on the second ring. "What's up?" Ivory - 68
There was a smile in his voice. Brad grinned unconsciously in response. Bangs and shouts echoed in the background, so Brad assumed he was still in the kitchens. "Hi," he said after a beat. "I--" He gave an embarrassed laugh. "I'm not quite sure why I called, actually." Nashan's voice was warm, maybe pleased. "I can work with that. When was the last time you ate?" Desire curled in Brad's gut, unfurled with thick tendrils through his limbs. "Are you at the restaurant?" He asked instead of answering. "I'm helping myself to some leftovers. I forgot to get dinner, so I swung by on my way home from the dojo." Brad glanced at the clock. Almost midnight. He hadn't realized it was so late. "I think I had lunch at the hospital?" "You think?" Nashan's tone was fondly exasperated. "I worked a double," Brad protested, sorting a pile of referrals into a stack. "Mhmn." Nashan clearly wasn't impressed. "How do you feel about chicken satay?" Brad smiled. "Is there garlic naan involved?" "Could be." There was a bang near the phone. "You found my kryptonite." "Good. Because it's about to be your dinner." "Is it now?" "Mmmhmm. See you in twenty." Nashan hung up without waiting for a goodbye and it was probably a good thing. Brad stared at his phone, heart pounding. Had he just--? He had.
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Pushing away from his desk, he straightened his files and clicked off the lamp. He caught a whiff of himself as he did and frowned. Twenty minutes later, he answered the front door in jeans and a T-shirt, hair still wet from the shower and his feet freezing in the draft. Nashan was mummified in his scarf and a sporty winter coat. Brad quickly let him in. "You better feel special," Nashan grumbled goodnaturedly as he unwound his scarf. "I don't deliver in this weather for just anyone." Brad laughed. "The frown would be more convincing if you hadn't volunteered." Nashan rolled his eyes. Brad helped him out of the coat, their hands brushing on Nashan's lapels. "I do," Brad murmured as he slid the coat off Nashan's shoulders. Nashan looked back at him questioningly, so he clarified, "Feel special, that is." "Good," Nashan replied with a heavy swallow, looking down at the bag in his hand. "My work here is done." "Is it?" Brad asked as he hung the coat carefully in the hall closet. He grinned at the picture Nashan presented -- breathing strictly controlled, eyes serious and intent when he finally looked up to meet Brad's gaze. Brad wanted to lean forward and capture those full lips, but he hadn't done this in forever. Hadn't wanted someone as badly as this. An ambulance started screeching in the distance and the moment was broken. Brad glanced away and Nashan cleared his throat, lifting his take out bag. "We should eat before it gets cold," he said and turned, heading for Brad's kitchen. Ivory - 70
Brad watched him walk for a moment, eyes straying down to Nashan's round ass, and he realized with a jolt that he was going to do this. That he wanted it so badly. "I think I have dishes in here..." He said with a sheepish grin, opening cabinets until he found the right one. His arm brushed Nashan and they both froze, acknowledging the tension between them. Hesitantly, Brad leaned in, eyes on Nashan's - waiting for any sign of refusal, but Nashan just grinned at him, leaned in and met him halfway. Their lips met and Brad groaned, hands coming up to rove over Nashan's muscular arms to tug him in closer. Nashan came willingly, pressing Brad back against the counter and kissing him breathless. "Are you really that hungry?" Nashan murmured against his lips, mouth trailing down to Brad's neck. "No, I'm really not," Brad gasped, arching into Nashan's touch, starved for it. He captured Nashan's hand and pulled him toward the large couch in the sitting room, wanting to get them horizontal. Nashan obviously agreed, letting Brad lower them down onto the couch, Nashan captured underneath. Brad hissed when the button of Nashan's pants dug into a sensitive area, but Nashan leaned up on his elbows, shoving at his jeans and underwear until Brad got with the program and helped him get them off. Then it was just Nashan naked from the waist down, and Brad had to touch, hands roving all over the exposed skin. Nashan moaned and rolled his hips against Brad's jeans, hissing at the contact. Brad hurried to strip his own jeans off, mouth covering Nashan's until he had to break away to breathe. The feel of their naked skin rubbing together was a welcome relief. Brad smiled down at Nashan barely able Ivory - 71
to see the man’s expression in the dim light from the kitchen. Nashan pushed up against Brad, sliding their cocks together, setting up a rhythm Brad was just falling into when Nashan stretched, the tip of Brad's cock nudging the soft skin of his balls, sinking in against him. Brad moaned embarrassingly loudly and grabbed Nashan's hips tighter, wrenching a gasp from Nashan. And that was all the encouragement Brad needed. His cock was hard and leaking already as he slid it in behind Nashan's balls, in the tight grip of Nashan’s muscled thighs, Brad's hands seeking those perfect muscles out, roving over the smooth skin of Nashan's stomach, the crease of his hips. Nashan arched against the couch, up into Brad’s embrace. Brad rubbed his cock along Nashan’s ass, stroking Nashan’s hard dick to the same rhythm. Brad kissed along the line of Nashan's shoulder as his hand moved, lips and tongue against sensitive skin just to hear Nashan suck in a breath. Brad squeezed Nashan's perfect ass, urging Nashan on as Brad's dick slid between his legs for beautiful friction. With each firm pull, Brad rubbed himself harder against Nashan's ass, until Nashan lifted his arms to brace himself on the arm of the couch and push back. Brad breathed harshly along the shell of Nashan's ear, and knew that his chin would leave a wicked stubble burn down Nashan's neck, but neither of them cared. The friction was too sweet, the heat gathering in his balls too satisfying after a long day for either of them to stop. Nashan came with a moan first, breath hitching at the end, and his thighs clenched Brad's cock, surprising Brad into coming against Nashan's legs. Panting and sweaty, they collapsed down into the couch, wrestling until they were side-by-side, Nashan half-draped over Brad's chest to keep him from falling off. Ivory - 72
Nashan was a heavier weight than Brad expected, but not unwelcome. He encircled Nashan's shoulders loosely with his arms. "Not that I'm complaining," Nashan finally murmured into his chest, "but what brought this on?" Brad sighed and kissed the top of Nashan's head. "My mother heard about Brianna. We had dinner yesterday to clarify a few things. It got ugly." Nashan raised himself up to frown in concern at Brad. "You all right?" Brad gave a little half-shrug and tugged until Nashan was covering him again. The words came easier now. "My father committed suicide," Brad said quietly, stroking Nashan's shoulder. "He couldn't live with his cage anymore. "We hadn't even known he was unhappy until my brother came home for break early one semester with his girlfriend, and found them together in my father's study the next day. He freaked out. When my mother found out, it-- broke something in her. Made her sharper. But she said she still loved him, and refused to divorce him. He was so afraid of what she would say, what people would think, that he didn't..." "Didn't what?" Nashan asked softly. "Didn't do anything. He just let her be angry. Promised her it was a one-time thing. Started drinking more, working later. She had me and Jonathan keep an eye on him. I wouldn't put it past her to have paid an intern to do it, too. She never really trusted any of us after that. "At the time, I was seeing Max and we were getting more serious. I had thought about telling them, but after that, I couldn't. Not with all that going on."
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Nashan shifted and Brad tucked his lover under his chin. A warm hand circled his, squeezed his fingers reassuringly. "When Dad shot himself... Her and Jonathan, they went to pieces. So I did what I do best. I kept my head low and stepped into my father's place as expected. And when my mother started pushing for me to get married, when she started to suspect and Max got tired of waiting for me to say something to her... He pushed and she found out, and I was so panicked, so unsure of myself that I made the wrong decision. I let him leave." Nashan splayed his callused hand across Brad's chest, staring intently at his fingers. "You regret it because you loved him," he said simply. "And I gave him up without a fight." Taking in a deep breath, Nashan raised his head up. He looked at Brad with shuttered eyes. "And if your mother starts making demands again, now that she knows Brianna is gone?" Brad held his gaze. "I like to think that I'm smarter now. That I'm stronger." Nashan dipped his head down to kiss Brad's sternum. Something tight in Brad's chest unclenched. "Yeah, you are. You're strong." *** "Dr. Durrant," Glen said quietly from the behind the nurse's station. "You have a personal call on line two." He frowned. Personal calls were rare enough for him, especially when he was on the floor. She handed him the phone when he leaned over the counter. "Hello?" Ivory - 74
"Hey, Brad," Nashan said. "I called the hospital switchboard and asked for your office, but they patched me through here." Brad smiled. "It's all right, I don't mind. I've almost finished my rounds for the day." "I'll make it quick, then," Nashan said and Brad could hear the happiness in his voice. "Do you have a wok?" Brad laughed into the phone and the nurse at the station blinked at him in surprise. He grinned at her before leaning away. "That would require I know what a wok looks like." "I'll just steal Grandpa's then," Nashan laughed. "I'll be there around eight with enough food to feed an army." "You always have food. I'm shocked you don't weigh nine-hundred pounds by now." He could hear the smirk in Nashan's voice. "What can I say? In my family, food is love." His breath caught in his chest. "Dinner sounds perfect," he managed to say in a normal tone. "How about you head over now?" "Now?" Nashan echoed, sounding smug. "I dunno, I have a lot of groceries to pick up. I'd have to have a pretty big incentive to get there sooner..." "I'll meet you there," Brad said lightly, lust in every fiber of his being. "Well in that case, I think I can hurry," Nashan purred. "See you there." "Looking forward to it." He handed the receiver back to Glen, grinning at the nurses behind the desk. "Are you really leaving early?" Glen asked skeptically. Brad just grinned and saluted her with his chart, heading back towards his office. Ivory - 75
Epilogue "Wait, Dr. Durrant," one of the conference attendees called out as Brad started to shut down his presentation on the computer. "I just have one more question--" "Unfortunately, that's all the time that I have here today," Brad said with his most patient smile. "I've left a stack of business cards with Dr. Lee. My contact information is listed on them." If he let them corner him now, he'd never get through D.C. traffic and back to Baltimore before his dinner date. Already, attendees were getting out of their seats and heading his way, so Brad quickly thanked the panel coordinator and retrieved his briefcase. He made a show of turning his phone back on and checking for messages as he briskly walked to the hotel elevator bank. When one of the doctors in the oncology department had broken her ankle the previous week, Brad had agreed to honor the presentation commitment in her stead. He would never admit to anyone, even under threat of torture, that the date of his anniversary had slipped his mind as he said yes. He glanced nervously at the time while the elevator descended to the lobby. Scrolling through his phone contacts, he frowned when he couldn't find the restaurant's number. Had he deleted yet another entry accidentally? Stupid smart phones. Quickly striding past the hotel doorman and out onto the crowded sidewalk, Brad scowled at the fancy screen of his phone. He supposed it was his own fault for not having the number memorized after three years of routinely calling Ivoire.
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Shit. Nashan’s mother was going to be at the townhouse with dinner in less than an hour and he still had to pick up-His shoulder connected with another man's, knocking them both off balance and interrupting the flow of foot traffic. "Excuse me," he muttered, shifting his grip on his briefcase. "Brad?" His head snapped up at the incredulous tone. Brad blinked at the man in front of him, taking in the way his black hair was longer, curling at the nape of his neck, and the casual ease with which he wore his tailored suit. A thousand miles away from the T-shirts and cargo shorts Brad remembered. "Max," he said with a grin. Considering the way they had parted years ago, Brad was surprised when a smile broke out on Max's face, reaching all the way to eyes the color of polished brass. There was a time when Brad would have done anything for that smile. "It really is you," Max exclaimed, still smiling, voice as refined and smooth as Brad remembered. "Of all the places to meet, after so long. How are you?" "Well..." Brad shrugged one shoulder, stepping out of the way of the sidewalk traffic. When he spoke, it was awkward but not uncomfortably so. Just... he hadn't seen Max in years. He couldn't settle on a simple answer, given all that had transpired since the last time they spoke. "I'm good -- I was just giving a talk here. At a conference. And you? How are you? You look well..." "Thank you," Max said with a nervous grin. "I'm doing well. I was just on my way home from work -- I'm at a child's advocacy group down the block now." Ivory - 77
"I remember, you always wanted to go into that." "Yes, yes I did. You know me, I like to prove--" Brad joined him in the old refrain, "--that not all lawyers are pond scum." They laughed and it broke some of the tension. Before it could get awkward again, Max tapped Brad's arm. He had always been very tactile. "What about you? A conference -- did you stay with oncology?" "Yeah, oncology. I'm still up in Baltimore, at the hospital." "That's great." At the mention of the hospital, Max's smile dimmed a little, but he still said, "I remember, the hospital is very important to you." "Yeah," Brad admitted with a wry grin. "But it's not everything." Obviously surprised, Max went quiet a moment, studying him. "I never thought I'd hear you say that." Brad shrugged and looked at Max for a second, recognizing what they had been to each other and where they had ended up. Not wanting to negate that, but wanting to tell the truth, he responded honestly. "I'm not who I was. Back then. I had my wake up call." He gave a self-deprecating snort. "Quite a few of them, actually. At least the last one stuck." "Good for you. I'm glad to hear it." From anyone else, Brad would have considered it condescending, but Max looked genuinely relieved that Brad had gotten his act together. It had taken Brad a long time to admit it, but Max was a fixer and Brad's stubborn refusal to accept help, to let Max in, had driven them further apart more than Brad's family or the hospital. Ivory - 78
They'd split up rather horribly, but they'd been friends before they'd been anything else, and Brad had regained an appreciation for reliable friends and second chances. "Are you with--" "Are you seeing--" They both spoke at once, stumbling over each other, chuckling nervously. "Yes, I am--" "Yeah, we're--" They both stopped, gesturing at the other and laughing, shoulders relaxing. Brad recovered first and reached into his pocket, pulling out his business card. "With that established. Here." He offered the card with a grin. "I would like to give you my contact information in a purely platonic manner." "As would I," Max returned, producing a silver card holder case. "We should get drinks sometime. Catch up." "I'd like that." "Me, too." Saluting him with the card, Max tucked it in his suit pocket, and started stepping away. "I have to run, or I'll miss my train. Call me." "Will do." Brad watched as Max was swallowed up in the crowded sidewalk traffic, and marveled at himself. He'd spent years wishing Max back, regretting every mistake he'd made in their relationship, dwelling on it and wallowing. Yet when he finally did see Max again, Brad wouldn't wish him back for the world, not if it meant losing what Brad had now. Grinning, Brad looked down at the card in his hand. Fate was a fickle thing. Ivory - 79
He was finally content with his life. Nashan would be proud, if he didn't kill Brad for being late on their anniversary first. It looked like Brad had some roses to buy... If you liked this book you might like these other contemporary stories by J.Rocci: Taction, Army Green, Commitment, Cornerstone, Concordant ***
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