Page 189 of Daddy's Pride
“No, I’m from…” Brody cleared his throat and picked up his phone from the table. “Give me a moment.”
Had a message come in? He must’ve had his notifications on silent because Josiah hadn’t heard anything. No vibration either, since he would’ve felt that through the table.
Brody’s face had grown tight, a nerve ticking in his jaw. The air shifted imperceptibly between them and became heavy with a tension that hadn’t been there moments before. Josiah’s heart thrummed against his ribcage, his instincts prickling at the sudden frost in Brody’s demeanor.
“Is everything okay?” Josiah asked.
Brody put his phone away. “Uh, yeah. Actually, no. I need to leave.”
Brody’s gaze drifted back to Josiah, but as though he was peering through a veil, disconnected and distant. Brody’s hands, those strong, reassuring hands that had promised safety, balled into fists on the tabletop.
“Leave? But we’ve just?—”
Brody stood abruptly, his chair scraping back with an urgency that echoed in the space widening between them. “I’m sorry. It’s important.”
Josiah could only nod and sagged in his chair. “Will you text or call me?” he managed through the tightness in his throat.
The look Brody gave him—a tortured blend of longing and resignation—didn’t carry the reassurance he craved.
“Sure,” Brody muttered, though his eyes told a different story—one of a secret pain Josiah couldn’t decipher. What was going on? With a final, strained smile that didn’t reach his eyes, Brody turned and walked away.
Josiah sat motionless as the coffee shop door closed behind Brody with a finality that echoed like a gavel in his head. The clink of ceramic and hushed conversations of other patrons became a distant buzz as he tried to piece together the puzzle of Brody’s sudden shift. He couldn’t shake the feeling he’d somehow been the catalyst for the chill.
His mind raced through their conversation, sifting through each word for a clue, an explanation. Had he said something wrong? Was it the mention of Denali and his boyfriends? Their easy conversation had derailed after that part, and now Josiah was grappling with a gnawing emptiness.
“Dammit,” Josiah whispered, tracing his fingers over the spot where Brody’s mug had sat. Confusion stoked the fire of his self-doubt. Was he too much? Too open, too eager, too… Josiah? Had Brody, like the others, discovered that Josiah wasn’t what he wanted? But why? What had he done wrong?
A tear trickled down his cheek, and he hunched over his coffee, now cold and bitter.
Deep inside, the threads of connection he thought he’d woven with Brody unraveled, one silent, painful strand at a time.
Chapter Five
Brody sat alone, a statue amid the chaos of scattered financial papers and open ledgers in the living room of the otherwise cozy Brooklyn brownstone he shared with Elya. Technically, he didn’t need a roommate to pay his mortgage, but he liked the company, and the kid was sweet enough. Plus, Brody worked hard to avoid attention, and a single man living in a big house by himself definitely stood out.
His fingers traced the rim of the glass resting on the armrest of his leather chair, its outside slippery with condensation. His mind was ensnared in a loop, replaying the moment he’d walked away from Josiah, that gut-wrenching decision to pick solitude over the risk of entwining their lives. It had been three weeks, and every day, every hour had been sheer hell.
The air felt heavy, charged with regret and the sharp tang of what-ifs. Images of Josiah, blond and beautiful, haunted him—those wide blue eyes that held galaxies of emotions, his laughter that seemed to dance, vibrant and valorous. Brody raked a hand through his hair, his heart squeezing at the memory of Josiah’s surrender.
But what choice did he have? Being with Josiah would’ve risked everything. Not just Brody’s identity and safety but Josiah’s too. If Brody’s past caught up with him, he didn’t want Josiah near him. People had died because of him, and no way was he putting that beautiful boy in danger.
The front door opened, and Elya stood in the doorway, his figure silhouetted against the early morning light. His dark curls were tousled from the brisk New York wind, and his police uniform clung to his lean frame like a second skin—a stark reminder of the danger that permeated Brody’s life. Not that he’d told Elya about his past. He’d never talked about it with anyone.
“Why are you up so early?” Elya asked.
“Thinking,” Brody replied, his tone a mix of confession and defiance. The word felt inadequate, too small to encapsulate the tempest within him. He set the glass on the table, the clink on the wooden surface loud in the tense atmosphere.
“Thinking?” Elya’s arched eyebrow clearly displayed his disbelief.
Brody shrugged. “I was in a mood.”
“Hmm. What else is new? Let me grab a seltzer.”
Elya had his own mini kitchen in the basement, but he often hung out in Brody’s kitchen, and Brody appreciated the company. Elya loved those flavored seltzers and always had at least three different kinds in the fridge. Brody couldn’t see the appeal because they all tasted like dishwater to him but to each their own. He preferred ice-cold water and, from time to time, a Coke.
Elya plopped down across from him, popped open a can, and took a few big gulps. “Can I turn on the light, or will that ruin your brooding mood?”
Despite himself, Brody chuckled. “You’re getting bratty, boy.”