Page 192 of Daddy's Pride
Brody needed him… and Josiah needed him too.
An hour later, Brody zipped open his trusty duffel, the one that had accompanied him on countless journeys, though none quite as pivotal as this one. He moved around the bedroom with urgency. His hands were steady, decisive as they grabbed underwear, socks, shirts, and pants. In went the essential toiletries, a pair of extra shoes, the book he was reading. Oh, he’d better not forget his reading glasses.
With a firm nod, he zipped the duffel closed. He glanced around the room, ensuring he hadn’t forgotten anything—no physical item, at least. The emotional baggage he’d have to carry with him and unpack piece by piece when he faced Josiah.
“I’m going,” he told Elya, who was wolfing down a bowl of cereal in the kitchen. “I’m on the two p.m. flight to Chicago.”
Elya’s eyes lit up. “Thank fuck.”
On impulse, Brody stepped up to his roommate and firmly kissed him on the mouth. “Thank you for telling me what I needed to hear. I owe you.”
“Find me a Dom, and we’ll call it even,” Elya said, his cheeks an adorable red.
Brody headed outside and hailed a cab. “LaGuardia.”
As the taxi pulled away from the curb, he allowed himself to imagine the feel of Josiah’s arms, the press of his lips, the tentative weaving of their lives back together. Hope and determination filled his chest, and with every mile, the chains of his past fears loosened. The flight to Chicago might as well have been a flight to freedom, and he wasn’t about to miss it.
Chapter Six
The soft hum of the city barely penetrated the heavy curtains drawn tight against the world, muffling the vibrant life of Chicago to a distant whisper. In the disarray of his bedroom, Josiah lay sprawled across his unmade bed. The room was a cacophony of clutter, a tangible echo of the turmoil inside his head.
Piles of clothing littered the floor like colorful but forgotten confetti from a parade long passed. Skeins of yarn and scraps of fabric were strewn around with a careless abandon that spoke of his creative process halted mid-stitch. Somewhere beneath the chaos, his latest unfinished purse lay buried, a testament to his thwarted ambition. His creative sanctuary now felt more like a mausoleum than an atelier, each scattered sequin a reminder of brighter days.
A half-eaten bowl of cereal had fused to his nightstand, its sugary aroma souring by the hour, while the distant but ever-present tick of the wall clock marked time Josiah wished he could erase. The low drone of a crime show rerun filled the silence that had become unbearable, but nothing could capture his attention. He felt like a zombie: dead yet alive at the same time.
The doorbell’s chime sliced through his haze. He blinked slowly, and it took a moment to process the intrusion of reality into his self-imposed exile. The doorbell rang again, persistent, jarring against the stillness of his solitude.
“Ugh,” Josiah grunted, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He hadn’t expected visitors—didn’t want them. His hair must be sticking out at odd angles, and the light dusting of makeup he’d applied days ago had probably smudged into a ghostly mask. The thought of facing anyone was akin to stepping barefoot onto an icy street.
His roommate would have to take care of it. Brian and Josiah had an unspoken agreement to avoid each other as much as possible, and for the last two years, that had worked well enough. They had nothing in common, moving around like ships passing in the night. Sometimes literally, as Josiah tended to work late and into the early hours of the morning, while Brian had the early shift and was in bed by nine.
“Go away…” he whispered. Hopefully, the universe would relay the message to whoever was outside his front door.
The relentless ringing finally ceased, but before Josiah could savor the silence, a series of sharp knocks thundered against his bedroom door. “Josiah! You’ve got company!” his roommate shouted, the words heavy and muffled through the wood.
Apparently, the universe wasn’t taking requests today. What else was new? With a sigh, he swung his legs off the bed and stood, feeling as crumpled as the bedsheets tangled around his ankles. With a resigned exhale, he crossed the room, stepping over half-completed projects that reflected his once vibrant creativity but were now reduced to clutter.
“Tell them I’m not here,” he called back as a last attempt to stave off the inevitable. He couldn’t begin to fathom who would bother visiting him. He had no friends in this city and barely any acquaintances.
“Too late for that. He’s already inside.” The reply was tinged with impatience, and retreating footsteps told Josiah he couldn’t escape this intrusion.
He? His visitor was a man?
He straightened his rumpled shirt in a futile attempt at dignity and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. Taking a deep breath, he turned the doorknob, the cool metal grounding him for the briefest of moments.
The door swung open, and Josiah’s heart skipped a beat. He slowly let his gaze travel down the man’s body to the polished shoes and back up to the familiar face that seemed impossibly distant and painfully close all at once. Brody stood there, a vision of stability that contrasted sharply with the chaos of Josiah’s world. It was as if the man had stepped out of his most desperate daydreams and nightmares simultaneously, materializing in the flesh. For a moment, time seemed elastic, stretching out as Josiah struggled to reconcile the man from his memories with the one standing before him.
“Brody?” His name came out as a whisper, disbelief painting every syllable. The last person he’d expected to see, the one who had ghosted him, leaving a cold void in his life, was now on his doorstep. Josiah’s emotions were mirrored in Brody’s eyes—a flicker of something vulnerable, something hopeful.
“Hi, Josiah.” Brody’s voice was soft, a tentative bridge extended across the chasm between them.
Brody looked so put-together in his crisp jeans and ironed shirt. A hot wave of shame crept over him, heating his cheeks as he became painfully aware of his greasy hair, stained sweatpants, and the faint odor of neglect clinging to him like a second skin.
“Can I come in?” Brody asked.
“Uh, yeah, sure.” Josiah stepped aside. God, what must Brody think of the chaos in his room? It was like inviting someone into his mind, all tangled threads and frayed edges.
“Josiah, what’s going on?” Concern etched Brody’s features as he turned to Josiah.