Page 8

Ava

Patrick dwarfs the plastic chair in the coffee shop.

His knees rub the top of the table, and his large, ebony hands transform the coffee mug into more of a teacup.

When he smiles, his white teeth gleam, and it’s hard to look anywhere other than those pearly whites.

He passes me my coffee and squeezes my shoulder with a gentle, friendly touch that is achingly familiar.

I miss the days when we had coffee every day, when we worked together day in and day out.

Years ago, he up and left for Los Angeles.

He says he prefers the vibe, but I know the real reason.

He loves having a place where he and Mark can be freer together.

Mark doesn’t feel like he’ll run into anyone from his world in Los Angeles, whereas several within his family’s company and within the industry apparently live in San Diego.

Now Patrick sells ads for a variety of publications, and he assists when needed at Nueva Vida. Mark hooked him up with his media sales job and a swank home in West Hollywood.

The man with all the connections currently paces the sidewalk outside the coffee shop with a phone to his ear. As always, the silver fox wears a suit and tie. Patrick, my friend, is in dark jeans, pointy dress shoes, and a pressed button-down splashed with vibrant color.

“While he’s outside,” I jerk my head toward his lover, “how’s living together going?”

After years of long distance, Mark finally moved from Houston to Los Angeles.

“Eh,” His gaze passes over me and through the glass doors, “it’s not much different. Still spends a lot of time in Houston. Still works a lot.”

“And you’re a secret?” I get Mark loves the city he’s called home for six or seven decades. What I don’t have patience for is his keeping my best friend in the shadows. Patrick deserves so much more.

I can’t get over that he hasn’t even introduced Patrick to his nephew. It’s one thing to keep your sexuality closeted. Quite another to not even introduce the most significant person in your life as a friend.

“You don’t have any idea what it’s like to be a gay man in that world,” Patrick admonishes me, like he always does when I criticize the love of his life.

“You’re right. I don’t understand how he could give his life to the gun industry.”

“It’s his family business.” Patrick doesn’t like guns. Refuses to have one in the house. Or at least he did. It wouldn’t surprise me if a condition of Mark moving in meant they have guns somewhere, in the bedside dresser or wherever one stores guns. “Look. I’m happy. Be happy for me.”

I give him a thoughtful smile, one that says I am happy, but god, I hope he’s strong enough to continue handling this half-love.

“Not to change the subject, but imagine my surprise when I saw a list of Nueva Vida tenants.” Patrick still reviews the financials for Nueva Vida, and he gets regular reports. “Is that a good idea?”

“He needs help.” I meet his eyes. We’ve been there, and we help others find their way out. That’s what we do.

“He’s your kryptonite.” The weight of his gaze pours over me like the gaze of a compassionate priest, judgmental with a touch of kindness.

“Was. Past tense.” I push my shoulders back and center my coffee mug in front of me. I will not kick Reid out. Patrick can’t force me.

“Did he just want a place to stay, or does he need money?” My gaze falls to the sugar packs crammed in a crystal dish, color coordinated sections separated into pink, green, and white. “How much?”

Reid needs more than I have, and I haven’t promised to give him anything. But that’s Reid’s business, not Patrick’s.

Patrick’s dark hand falls over mine. The stark contrast in our skin color serves as a focal point, and Patrick’s soothing deep tone wraps me in tenderness. “Ava, hun, you are worthy of love. I worry sometimes when you let people treat you like trash that you don’t believe that.”

“He hasn’t treated me like anything.” My gaze lifts, and I bounce his caring thought right back to him. “What about you? You are worthy of love. Why don’t you expect more?”

The glass door to the coffee shop swings open, and Mark enters, bringing a swift end to our discussion.

“Sorry about that. Now, come here, beauty, and give me a hug.”

Mark wraps his arms around me in a bear hug.

At times, I’ve really wanted to hate this man, but I can’t help but love him.

Sure, he’s flawed, but he’s also the most generous man I’ve ever known.

He cares deeply for everyone within his circle.

The man met me at my absolute worst, and he supported me through rehab.

His firm hold warms me from the inside. After stepping back from our hug, his brows come together, and he tugs on a piece of wayward hair.

“Did you get more earrings?”

I laugh. He’s not really asking. He loves to tease. I went through a phase where it seemed I couldn’t get enough piercings. I’ve also got my fair share of tattoos, although I cover them a lot these days. When I get into something, I go all in.

He pulls out the chair, and the metal legs scrape the tile. Patrick pushes Mark’s hot mint tea over to him, as well as the honey bottle.

“Ava, you can’t possibly know how much it means to me that you have agreed to help Sophia.”

That’s another thing about Mark. He’s direct. His hand covers mine, where Patrick’s once was, and he squeezes to the point of discomfort.

“Of course.” I look him in his eyes and offer a reassuring smile. I am here for him, just as he has been for me. “But I have to tell you, I am not the best choice.”

“That’s just you being modest.”

“No. It’s not. You know I spend little time as a therapist.”

Patrick holds up his mammoth hand. “You helped me.”

I roll my eyes, and he snaps his fingers in my direction. Patrick and I went through rehab together, but he’s had a few relapses. I’ve been there for him during his relapses, but he pulled himself out.

“I’m not sure I understand why he wants you to live with them,” Patrick says, his gaze flitting back and forth between Mark and me.

My eyes widen, and I jerk my hand out from under Mark’s. “I know.” I cross my arms and look directly at Mark. “That’s ridiculous.”

“But,” Mark’s baritone voice bears attention-grabbing authority, “there are extenuating circumstances. I’ve given it some consideration, and I understand Jack’s point of view.” Of course he does. He’s blood family, a distinction Mark weighs heavily. “Can you do me a favor?”

His question tames the swirl of ire circling my emotions.

“Of course. I’ll do anything for you.”

He briefly nods. “Good. As you know, I’m chairman of the board. Several board members at Sullivan Arms are concerned Jack’s not ready to return to work.”

“Return? Because he took time off?” I vaguely remember articles mentioning he had stepped down during his daughter’s abduction.

“Understandably, he needed to be home. He wouldn’t normally come back so soon after the whole…

” He flails his hand in the air chaotically.

“But we have a big vacancy right now. Two big vacancies within the company. Our head of marketing and head of sales. That’s why I’ve had to step in more, even though I should be retiring.

” Now his gaze drifts to Patrick, and he softly smiles back at him.

“Several board members are concerned that he’s not ready to return to work.

There’s concern he’s not ready to step into such a demanding role.

If he isn’t ready to take it back onto his shoulders, I need to know.

If he seems unstable, or unduly stressed… can you keep me updated?”

“I can’t spy on him, Mark.” His eyes flash to mine. “And he’s not my patient. Even if he was, I wouldn’t… that would breach doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“And I would never ask you to do something that compromises your principles. But just… I’m his uncle.

I have two nephews. Before he died, I promised my brother I’d look out for his sons.

For our family. Can you just let me know if I need to be concerned?

Or more involved? If there’s anything I should do? ”

“Of course.”

He reaches inside his suit jacket pocket and pulls out a narrow gift box wrapped in Tiffany blue paper and sets it in front of me.

“What’s this?”

“A little something to thank you.” Patrick beams at him with so much love I can almost envision it as glittery stars shooting across the small round table. “Open it.”

I tear at the wrapping. For the last however many years, all my gifts have been from Patrick.

We exchange birthday and holiday gifts. This one, on a nothing day, and completely unnecessary, drums up both excitement and anticipation.

Mark gives mind-blowing gifts to Patrick, but this is my first wrapped gift from him.

A velvet jewelry box rests inside. I lift it out and use the edge of my nail to forge the opening. The Tiffany logo adorns the inside of the fabric top, and a long silver charm bracelet stretches against sky blue velvet.

“A charm bracelet?”

“I thought you might like it. You can, of course, exchange it. But each of those charms represent a special time with us. Most of these are from Tiffany’s, but I had some custom made.

” Mark’s finger hovers over the first charm.

“This one is a star, because I remember how clear the night sky was when I discovered you in the park.”

Patrick had descended into a binge. We were both homeless and strung out.

Mark hadn’t heard from Patrick in weeks, and he’d come to find us.

Then he had a police officer arrest us, so we’d wake up in jail.

In the morning, he gave us both a choice.

Jail or rehab. I’ve never known why he took us both in.

He could have easily only looked after Patrick.

One addict in your life is quite enough. But he took me in as one would a stray.

And maybe because Reid had been arrested the week before, it was enough of a wakeup call. I made it through rehab, and I haven’t relapsed since.

“This charm is a house, because you helped Patrick find his home. I couldn’t be there for him.

He had to find his own way, and you gave him what he needed to transition.

” My fingers tremble, and I tighten my grip on my coffee mug.

“This charm is a heart, because you possess our hearts, and we hold yours close to ours.” My lower lip quivers, and when I chance a glance at Patrick, I lose it because the big softie has tears streaming down his face.

“And this charm is an airplane. You can pick whichever trip you want to fill in for that.”

I absolutely love flying on Mark’s private plane. He’s taken me on the most extraordinary trips of my life.

“And last, this charm is a present, to signify the gift you are to us. Thank you, Ava, for being there for Patrick all these years. For being strong and choosing life.”

Patrick gets up and wraps his arms around Mark and places a kiss on the top of his nearly bald head. He gives me a teary, hard look that says, “I told you he’s amazing.”

Mark gets up the second Patrick releases him from his hug. Patrick and I both watch as he strides to the restroom in the back of the shop, head down. He’s not comfortable with emotion. And as much as I hate to admit it, I understand why Patrick loves him.

When Mark returns to the table, all eyes are dry. The bracelet charms tinkle on my wrist, and it fits in well with my stacked bands of twisted silver and beads. Mark looks from my wrist, to Patrick, and then into his mug.

“You should know, once I retire, and I am no longer in the gun industry or so tightly associated with my family business, I will tell my nephews that I am gay. I will introduce Patrick to my family, when it’s not a risk to my family.

” When he lifts his eyes from his mug, his shame hits me front and center.

Dammit, it’s the twenty-first century. I understand he’s older, and he’s lived his life half-full, but he shouldn’t.

It’s not fair to Patrick, but not it’s fair to Mark either.

I consider the man I met earlier. Jack Sullivan is a conservative, suit-wearing, rich jackass for sure, but homophobic?

I doubt it. Mark should give his nephew more credit.

“Maybe you should—”

“No. You don’t understand.” He’s quick to cut me off before I can plead my case.

“And even if Jack is okay with it, I don’t want to place the burden of my relationship on his shoulders.

He has enough going on. Enough battles within our company, with the board, with our industry.

He doesn’t need this.” His finger motions between him and Patrick.

The pain in his expression, in those dark eyes surrounded by salt and pepper brows and wrinkled skin, keeps me from pushing my case too hard.

“I don’t like it. But you both know that.

I think if someone doesn’t like the two of you together, they can fuck off.

But I’d never out someone. That’s your decision.

For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a disservice to yourself, to Patrick, and even to Jack and Sophia by not being honest with them. ”

My words, like always, are disregarded. With a shiny new clinking bracelet, probably worth more than my beat-up Subaru, I head home to pack.

Because of course I will do Mark a favor.

I can be a glorified babysitter, and who knows, maybe I will actually be able to help Sophia.

Sometimes an impartial, nonjudgmental set of ears goes a long way to assisting with the healing process.