“If you want to give me your room key, I can get your stuff together and bring your suitcase downstairs. Checkout is in less than half an hour.”
The coffee tasted like hot perfection. “No. I’ll do it. I didn’t bring much.” The last thing I needed was Weston touching my things.
“Then I’ll help.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Manny said, “Let them do it, Brenner,” surprising me. His gaze was so focused and direct, I sensed he wanted to be alone with me, that there was something he wanted to discuss.
“Fine,” I grumbled, pretending to concede, curious to hear what he had to say. “Can you please get my wallet out of my back pocket?” I asked Manny. “It hurts to twist around.”
He did as I requested and handed the key card to a grinning Weston, who plucked it out of his hand, and along with Grady, left us. I waited until they were out of earshot.
“Okay. What do you want to say that you didn’t want Weston to hear?”
That inscrutable expression returned. “What’s going on between the two of you?”
Heat swept through me. “Going on? What the hell does that mean?” But I knew. Damn Weston, and damn my stupidity for getting myself into this predicament.
“He seemed awfully protective when you were getting tests.”
“Protective?” I sputtered. Heat burned my cheeks, and I hated how my emotions lay so close to the surface. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I don’t think so.”
The conversation needed to be quashed. Immediately. “Weston is being nice because he probably feels guilty for saying some shitty things to me yesterday. Nothing more. Okay?”
“Maybe so.”
But Manny’s skeptical face reflected my growing uncertainty. Was there something brewing between us that neither Weston nor I understood?
Chapter Twelve
Weston
“That’s the last of it.” I slammed the drawer shut after checking it was empty. “Brenner wasn’t kidding when he said there wasn’t much. I tend to overpack, but he brought the mere essentials and nothing more.”
It hadn’t taken us very long to clear out Brenner’s things—the man was as neat and organized as I remembered from our time in the frat house. Grady pulled the rolling weekender bag to the door.
“When you’re a foster kid, you learn to travel light. And to keep your things together so you can pack them away in case they move you without warning.”
That had never occurred to me, and I now saw how that might account for Brenner’s animosity toward me. To him, I represented a life he wanted—a home and parents. Little did he know: a house didn’t make a home, and parents could be a curse as well as a blessing.
“That’s rough. Is that how it was for you?”
“Let’s just say I wasn’t the model foster kid. But I eventually decided to stop being a little shit, and it all worked out. I had good foster parents who were patient and gave a damn. Many kids don’t.”
“I’m guessing Brenner was one of those?” Curious to hear more, I wasn’t in a rush to get downstairs.
“Possibly. Or living with unresolved trauma from being in the system or from growing up in a hostile environment.” Grady’s smile was thin. “Kids aren’t always the nicest to other kids who aren’t like them.”
So many clashes between Brenner and myself spun through my mind. I dropped onto the bed. “Now it makes sense. Brenner was biased against me from the start, and I played into it, times a hundred. I was everything he disliked.”
“You’re not that kind of guy, West. Not anymore. Maybe in school you were, but everyone acts like a bit of a dick then. None of us knew who we were.” From across the room, his eyes met mine. “Some still don’t, but it’s okay. We’re all just here, figuring shit out as we go along.”
“Maybe,” I hedged, certain he was trying to tell me something, but I wasn’t ready to get into a heavy discussion. “You’re pretty grounded.”
“I have a couple of rules I live by: Don’t fuck up a good thing. Be kind. Don’t fight the inevitable.”
On the way down to pick up Brenner, I contemplated Grady’s words. I tried to be kind, but I could probably improve—I lost my temper too easily and grew impatient. I didn’t fuck up good things because I rarely had anything worth celebrating in my personal life. My hard-partying days had given way to mostly solitary nights, peppered with the occasional hookup with someone I’d never see again. I supposed I could thank my father for crushing any dreams of a relationship. He’d lied to my face and everyone else’s so convincingly, how could I ever trust anyone? The good in my life came from positive settlements for my clients.
