Page 31 of Under Locke & Key
“I grew up an only child so the focus was on me, blinding like a spotlight but distant the same way. The better I did at school the prouder my parents were. I never felt as good as I did when I achieved something for them. It was such a high. Top of the class—my mom took me out on a solo movie date. Just me and her. It meant a lot because she worked most days as a receptionist for our local doctor, weekends included and free time was usually reserved for catching up on life.”
A few geriatric ladies bustle along, oohing and aahing at the items around us, including the photos I’ve neglected since this conversation started. Bryce twines his fingers through mine as he leads me to a less busy corner of the building and I take a deep breath before I dive deeper.
“My mom wanted to study medicine but growing up they never had the means. She made it her mission to make sure I had it better than she or my dad did. Etiquette, and manners, and how to act in front of the doctor she worked for and his people so they wouldn’t suspect we were less well-off than we seemed.
My dad didn’t care as much as she did—my mother is a forceful woman who directed the two of us—but they both insisted I go to college. ”
My hand shakes in his and Bryce tugs me close in a hug. “We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.
“No, it’s okay.” The words get lost against his chest but he hears me anyway.
“All this to say that they loved me. I know that. I know how much they sacrificed for me to succeed and so it’s hard for me not to feel guilty when I don’t live up to that ideal.
The least I can do after they adopted, and cared for me—made sure I got a chance to get ahead in life—is make sure their time and money and love wasn’t wasted.
But it’s so hard to hide myself from them.
My sexuality. My doubts. All the years of aching to be seen by them and now I avoid speaking to them if I can.
Texts a few times a month, if that. We don’t know how to speak to each other outside of the safe, expected topics. ”
“I hate that you feel like that. I get it though. Not with my parents but with others—my ex especially. I felt like I had a role to play, a script to follow, to please her. Tick the right boxes, say the right things, and maybe she’d be happy with me.
Yet the more I tried, the less happy I became.
I’m sorry that you’ve been unable to be your full self because of fear of disappointing the ones you love most,” Bryce says.
I capture his mouth in a quick kiss, aching at knowing that he can relate. No one should.
We’re so close, chest to chest, and the air is filled with dust and the sweet scent of old parchment, and something that’s all Bryce.
I’m not sure how he does it but he’s disarmed me again. In public. It’s like the world fades away when it’s just me and him and it would be so easy to get lost in it—in him.
“I’m sorry that someone made you feel that way too. If it’s any consolation, I think you’re fantastic just the way you are,” I say. My cheeks flame and I can’t believe that I still have it in me to blush over giving someone a compliment.
The embarrassment is assuaged by Bryce’s slightly pink flush at the words. “I feel the same way about you.”
I’m so ready to kiss him again but then I hear conversation coming closer, another customer on the way to our secluded little corner surrounded by history.
“We should—uh—we should try to get some things. A historic Dulaney room should have some authentic items, don’t you think?” I ask, trying to distract myself and him from the roar of butterflies swarming in my chest.
“Lead the way.”
Bryce and I walk down each aisle, chatting about lighter things. We float ideas for the historic room and by the time we’re ready to ring up we’ve got a decent grouping of items on our rolling platform cart. I’ve even grabbed a few things for the apartment.
The ride back to town is quiet, the silence between us easy as the local station drums on low.
Bryce is humming along again and I can’t help the glances I steal.
If someone asks me later when I started to like Bryce, I’ll tell them it was during the numerous car rides over the last few months.
Something about the proximity, the accidental brushes as we sit side-by-side, and the countless conversations from silly to serious have cemented it for me.
I like him. A lot. Enough to consider risking more than I have in a while. I’m just not sure I’m brave enough to voice it. Yet.
We get back to my apartment and opt for delivery instead of going out, and then curl up together on my couch.
The window unit is going full blast and as much as I hate the heat radiating off of Bryce, it feels nice to have him so solid against me.
We pretend to pay attention to the medical show I’ve been binge watching, and I butt in every now and then to try and get him up to speed on all the drama.
He nods and laughs, trying his best to take it in, but the way he traces the lines on my palm as we watch lets me know his attention is as divided as my own.
“I do really like the lamp.” Bryce points at my new purchase as two of the doctors on-screen start making out in an on-call room.
Sitting on a steamer wardrobe trunk I picked up as well is a beautiful Tiffany-style lamp. Almost like stained glass, similar to the one in my bedroom. It’ll be stunning when lit up in the dark.
“Thank you for helping me find it. I think we got a pretty good haul.” I press a kiss to his cheek.
“I’m especially excited for some of the stuff we got for the room.
We can lean into the theater history and have it be something tied directly to it rather than just generic Dulaney.
I’ll have to print out things like a cast list and vintage posters, but I think we can pull it off. ”
“I have faith in you. In us and this whole endeavor. I’m glad you’re the one helping me bring this to life.”
His confidence in me and what we’re doing—what I’m contributing—is heady and the feeling of pride at pleasing him swirls low in my belly.
Bryce’s phone buzzes multiple times and he takes the call, and judging by his face, it’s not good. Disentangling himself from the couch, he paces, stalking down the little hallway making unhappy noises and when he hangs up all the joy from today seems to have been sucked right out of him.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“The repairs have really cut into my budget and I’m worried with the way things are going and how quickly the money is disappearing that we won’t make it to our original opening date.
December seemed so perfect but what if I don’t have enough capital to get us there?
” Bryce plops down on the couch beside me again and I thread my fingers between his, giving them a squeeze.
“So we scrap one or two room ideas for now—maybe the Dulaney one—and tighten the rest up to focus on our strongest ones. Maybe we can stretch the money that way—scale it down a little? I’m here. I’ll help however I can,” I say.
Even if it means I won’t be getting the months of pay I’d been planning on. I can worry about my options after, right now the task ahead is daunting and getting ever closer.
“You’re amazing. I hate to say so but I’m grateful your old job didn’t work out. I’m not sure I would have made it this far without you.”
My stomach does a little flip at the words and I don’t know what to say because I don’t want to admit that I feel similarly grateful that Keith was a Grade-A asshole because getting to know Bryce has been the perfect balm to that hurt.
We pretend to watch more TV, until it becomes unnecessary because our show of being unaffected fails when Bryce kisses me. His mouth slants over mine and his hand moves to cradle the back of my neck—fingers splaying into my hair.
It’s like the park all over again, heat sweeping up in me—and him—to the point that somehow I’m beneath him on the couch and he’s hovering over me as he nips down my neck. We’re both breathless and being surrounded by him feels overwhelming in the best way.
Bryce whispers my name into the crook of my neck, one of his hands on my waist and the other holding him up so he doesn’t crush me.
We should stop. I know we should. There’s still too much in the air and he’s dealing with a stressful situation. I don’t want to dive into this without consideration even though it feels like my brain has melted and I’m relegated to nothing but sensation.
It continues for a few more fraught seconds before I gather myself enough to speak.
“We should stop. It’s getting late.” It’s little more than a whisper and I hardly recognize my voice given how husky it sounds. It’s the most cliche excuse but I can’t come up with better when he’s left me little more than a puddle.
Bryce pulls away from me, his pupils overwhelming those warm honey flecks in his eyes and it’s reassuring to know he’s as affected as I am. Our chests heave with breath and every time they do I feel his sternum press against my breasts.
“You’re right.” Bryce shuts his eyes, taking a deep inhale through his nose to come down. “You’re right.”
I don’t know if he’s repeating it to acknowledge what I’ve said or if it’s to convince himself of the words. Still, he pulls himself off of me and I feel strangely bereft. Sitting up, I tug on my clothes to right them and fluff my hair out of my face.
His hair is mussed from my hands raking through it and I want to giggle at the sight. I can only imagine what his parents will think when he arrives home—if he happens to cross paths with them.
“I’ll see you soon at the theater?” Bryce asks, heading over to and lingering in the archway of the living room.
“I’ll see you soon. Thanks for the date,” I say and am pleased to note the slight flush of his neck.
“Any time. Lock the door behind me.”
I nod, staying right where I’m at because I know if I get close to him now, if I follow him to the door, there will be more kissing and it’ll be impossible to pull away next time.
And I know I desperately want there to be a next time.