Page 21 of Not That Guy

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.

Exiting the elevator, we split up—Grady to settle Brenner’s bill and me to find Brenner in the restaurant. Brenner and Manny were in a deep conversation, which I had no qualms about interrupting. With a smile on my face, I pulled out the chair next to Brenner.

“All set. Grady’s gone to check you out, and we have all your stuff here.”

Brenner couldn’t meet my eyes. “Thanks, West. I do appreciate it. And everything you’ve done.”

The snarky response I had prepared died, and I found myself hesitating. I remembered Grady’s words. Be kind. “Uh, you’re welcome. I’ll go put the suitcase in the car and bring it to the front of the hotel to make it easier for you to get to.”

He finally met my gaze. “That would be great.”

“I’ll help him while you do that,” Manny offered.

“Perfect.” All right. Being nice to Manny wasn’t so hard. I could do it. “Thank you.”

Grady walked with me to the garage. “It’s really nice of you to take him home. What made you offer?”

I raised a shoulder. “I have a car, so why not? It’s only right.

” I chafed a bit under Grady’s relentless stare, which penetrated right through my bullshit shield.

“And I guess I didn’t like the way we left it with each other after we split up into teams. I might’ve overreacted to him looking at my phone, said some shit, and figured I should make it up to him.

This seems like the perfect opportunity. ”

We reached the car, and after turning off the alarm, Grady and I took off. I swung around the circular drive to where Brenner waited with Manny, but before I cut the engine, Grady put a hand on my arm.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you and Brenner have some unresolved personal issues you should explore.”

Puzzled, I put the car in park and faced him. “What’re you talking about? I already said—”

“I’m not talking about the text message.”

“What the hell are you saying, then?”

Through the windshield, I watched Manny hover by Brenner as he limped along on his crutches. Brenner stopped for a breather, and he and Manny exchanged some words. With a grin, Manny took the crutches, and Brenner leaned into him as he slowly tried to walk.

Grady said, “You know what? Forget it. I’m talking out of my ass.”

My attention remained riveted on Manny and Brenner. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I unclipped the seat belt and opened the door. “I’d better help them. Brenner’s pushing himself too hard.”

I strode over to Brenner’s side. “Ready?” Manny handed me the crutches. “I can take it from here. Thanks for the help.”

Manny’s lips twitched. “Yes, boss.”

Ignoring him, I steered Brenner toward the passenger side, where Grady had vacated, and stood waiting.

“Your chariot awaits.”

By this time Brenner’s face was a bit pale, and I made sure he took his time getting comfortable.

“You okay?” I asked as he wiped the sweat off his brow. “You don’t look well.”

A quicksilver smile came and went. “Always with the compliments. Depends on what you consider okay. My head hurts, my ribs hurt, and my ankle hurts. But I’ll be all right.” He raised a hand. “Thanks, Grady, for your help.”

“Don’t thank me. It was all Weston. Take it easy, and don’t come to work until you’re ready.” He handed Brenner a bottle of water.

“Thanks. Yeah, I spoke to Daniel. He told me to take the week off, but sitting in my apartment will drive me nuts. I need to keep busy.”

“You need to recuperate,” I answered, sliding behind the wheel.

Blue eyes glinted at me beneath thick lashes, but Brenner remained silent, and we were off. Around ten minutes passed before he spoke.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Maybe I’m a nice guy? Could that possibly be the reason?” I teased, but Brenner’s expression remained thoughtful, almost grim.

“I’m serious, West. This is a complete one-eighty for you. I don’t understand it.”

“I already told you. I’m thinking it’s time to put the past behind us. If you’re willing, that is. We’re working together now, and it just seems stupid.”

If I thought he’d be thrilled at the prospect, I was wrong.

“Is this because you found out I was a foster kid and you feel sorry for me? Because I don’t need anyone’s pity.”

That was when I understood that Brenner still held a ton of hurt and pain from a past he’d had no control over, and I needed to be careful with my words. Joking about it wouldn’t help.

“I don’t pity you,” I said softly. “Yeah, I was shocked and surprised to find out about your past because you were always so strong and determined in everything you did. I figured you were one of those overachievers who had parents pushing you to be the best.”

“Like yours did?”

My chest hurt. “No. My mother, as much as I loved her, was a quiet, meek woman, raised to listen and not make waves. Her wants and needs came second. She existed to please my father, and he didn’t give a damn about anyone but himself.”

“So you really don’t get along?”

I was unable to hide my sarcasm. “Pretty obvious from that loving text, huh?” I sighed.

“Sorry. My father has been angry with me since I decided not to attend his alma mater and go it my own way.” Not exactly the truth.

The day I confronted him about his affair was the day our relationship died, but I wasn’t ready to spew all the ugly from my guts.

“Why? You’re a huge success—valedictorian of our class, Law Review , a partnership at one of the top firms in the country.” His brow wrinkled. “How could he be mad just because you didn’t go to his school?”

How to explain? “That was only the start of our downfall. My father wanted to have me under his thumb. He’s a controlling, manipulative person who thinks only of his image.

He took my action as a personal slight. His dream was to create a political dynasty—senator and eventually president.

I would come up behind him in the ranks, mirroring him step by step. ”

“And you don’t want that.”

The Triborough Bridge—now the RFK, but no real New Yorker called it that—loomed ahead of us as we sat in traffic. I could simply answer no and be done with it, but to hell with hiding it.

“I’d never want to be anything like Preston Lively. I hate him,” I spat out. “I hate everything he stands for, everything he is. He’s no father of mine. As far as I’m concerned, I’m an orphan.”

Brenner flinched, and recalling his history, I instantly regretted my words.

“Shit. I’m sorry. That was so wrong of me. I just meant—”

“I know what you meant. Some people should never have children.”

I wondered if Brenner had ever tried to locate his biological parents but decided not to push it. We’d had enough soul-baring for the day.

For the remainder of the trip, Brenner didn’t ask any more questions and remained silent. I figured I’d shocked him with my vitriol, but fuck it. If he wanted the truth, he was going to get it, warts and all.

“Who’s going to help you when you get home?” I hadn’t thought about it as we approached the city. “I’ll get you upstairs, but who’ll be there to make sure you don’t fall and hurt yourself worse?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Typical Brenner answer that didn’t tell me anything. “You’re not going to call anyone, are you? You’re a tough guy.”

“Please be quiet. I have a headache, and I just want to get home and go to bed.”

About to snap at him that of course he had a headache—he’d had a goddamn concussion—I darted a quick glance to see him wince and bite his lip, in obvious pain but too much of a prideful jerk to admit it.

That painful twist in my chest tightened, and I made a decision.

One I knew Brenner wouldn’t like, but I was used to his snarls and scowls by now.

I exited the FDR at 72nd Street and headed toward Second Avenue.

“Where are you going?” Brenner’s brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed. “I told you I lived in Brooklyn, by the Bridge.”

“Yep. But I live on Park, between Sixty-seventh and Sixty-eighth. Look. I know you’re going to fight me on this, but I have a two-bedroom apartment—”

“No,” Brenner cut me off.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“And you’re being presumptuous to think I’m going to be okay with staying with you.”

I pulled into the No Standing zone on the side of my building and shut off the engine. “Give me one good reason why not.”

“I’ll give you more than one. I have my own place. All my things are there. I don’t want to. That’s three. How’s that?”

“Not good enough. Who’s going to be there if you fall? What if you need help or start feeling sick?” I shifted in my seat to face him, though he refused to meet my eyes. “Come on, Brenner. It’s what a friend would do.”

“Since when are we friends?” He met my eyes.

“Someone has to take the first step.” I smirked.

“Or hop, seeing as you’re on crutches.” He remained steadfast, and though this idea had popped into my head only as we’d entered the city, it made perfect sense.

“For the third, fourth or tenth time, enough already with the bullshit of law school. Trust me when I say I’m not that guy anymore. And neither are you.”

“I don’t know why you say that. I’m not different, aside from a couple of gray hairs here and there.”

“Sure you are. You’ve just got to let yourself accept that you’re a success. I know how you feel.”

At that, Brenner choked out a laugh. “Ow, my ribs. I can’t believe you said something like that.”

“What?” I was at a loss.

“You know how I feel. You. Weston fucking Lively, whose father is a US senator and running for president, knows how I feel—a foster kid who bounced around the system, who doesn’t know who his mother was, and who lived in a tiny two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn.

” His eyes crinkled shut. “You live on goddamn Park Avenue. I bet my parents’ whole apartment is smaller than one of your bedrooms.”

I worked my jaw. “I’m not apologizing for having money.

I donate to charities and help where I can.

Am I lucky? Fuck, yeah. Did I shove it in people’s faces when I was younger?

Also yes, but I don’t anymore. Let me prove it to you.

Come upstairs with me and stay until you feel better.

” At Brenner’s skepticism, I rolled my eyes.

“It’s not forever. I’m not asking you to move in. I don’t need a roommate.”

“I’m sure you don’t. But like I said. I have all my things at my apartment—my clothes, my work stuff…”

Seeing he was running out of excuses, I jumped. “We can go pick up what you’ll need. I doubt you’ll need to stay more than a week.”

His brows raised. “A week? I was thinking a couple of days, max.”

“Start with that and see how it goes.”

“You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?” At my wide grin, Brenner scowled. “It’s only because you have me trapped here that I’m agreeing to this. Plus, we’ll probably end up not speaking to each other again. It’s not as if we have anything in common.”