Page 69 of Embers Glow After the Fire

“Hey. You made it okay?” He answers on the second ring.

“Yea—“ Brendon chokes. “How are you?” He procrastinates entering the condo.

“Are you okay?” Matthew can probably hear his heart pounding through the phone.

“I will be. When this is all over.”

“Is there anything I can do?” There’s helplessness in his tone.

“I just wanted to hear your voice. I’m standing in the hall, outside the condo.” Brendon’s pulse slows.

“You’ve got this. I can stay on the line with you?”

“I’m okay. I’m just going to get this over with.” He pumps himself up. “I can’t wait to see you next week,” Brendon sighs.

“Call or text me anytime you need.” Matthew comforts.

“Thank you. I’ll call you tonight.” He taps the security code into the panel above the doorknob.

“Bye love.” Those words make everything better.

“Bye.” Brendon wants to say more. The L word is hard even though it’s already there between them. Matthew speaks it so easily, but he says it to all of his friends at the end of their interactions. He’s not sure the love that Matthew feels is on the same level as the feelings he’s developed over this short period of time.

The condo’s open concept kitchen, living and dining space is untouched. Nothing moved out of place since he had left. He drops his bag on the sofa and dumps a molding bowl of oranges on the kitchen island into the trash bin.

The sun pours in through the corner unit’s walls of picture windows looking out over the city streets below and bounces around the off-white space with rich warm wood accents. It’s hard to think of this place as a home. Christian reminded him regularly that he was a guest under his own roof. That everything here was thanks to Christian’s work. The one time Brendon reminded him that he would have nothing had it not been for his grandfather, Christian slapped him upside the head so hard he was dizzy for an hour.

That argument had started in this kitchen and ended with rough, grunting makeup sex Brendon could have done without a few hours after.

He’s not really sure what will happen with this place. As far as he knew, Christian’s parents had been the rightful owners before they passed and most of what Christian had is in a trust of some sort. Likely everything will just go to Christian’s sister Mary. She’s the only relative left in line and except for one holiday party, Brendon hasn’t had contact with her in five years.

He wanders down the hall toward the bedrooms. The mirror glass has been replaced and his room is tidy as if he were still there.

Brendon wonders if Christian’s hot young Gaydr hookup, turned house cleaner is still coming by every week. He’d only met the boy once in passing and couldn’t stomach being around while he cleaned the condo. So he’d make himself scarce for a few hours every Wednesday between noon and 3 pm.

The doorbell chimes, interrupting the montage of memories flooding his mind.

He trudges to the entry and pulls the door open.

“Hi Mr. Porter. Are you ready to head to Mr. Devereau’s office?” Aaron is smiling.

“Yes.” Brendon gathers his phone off the kitchen island and follows the driver into the elevator. They ride to the lobby in silence except for the whirl of gears lowering the box through it’s shaft.

They stroll past Charlie, who waves with a bright smile and out to the SUV. Wizzing away toward his appointment.

Jordan Devereau’s office is across the city but Aaron knows all the best routes to avoid getting stuck in traffic. He’s a true professional. Brendon arrives with thirteen minutes to spare.

Devereau and Son’s is on the third floor of an executive building in the middle of downtown. The street is bustling with professionals and Houston’s well-to-do strutting the sidewalks. Brendon is completely out of place in his Palms Casino t-shirt and coral denim shorts with white canvas sneakers, still stained by that scuffle in the Maine woods.

He enters the building, asks the doorman for direction to Jordan’s office, and has to ride the elevator with a trio of sharp groomed men in suits that reek of expensive colognes and beer. They banter with each other about who the waitress flirted with the most. Brendon could almost guarantee she was just hoping for decent tips from the three meatheads.

He exits the elevator and follows the golden plaques on the walls until he finds Devereau and Son’s and slips on through the heavy glass door.

“Hi, I’m Brendon Porter. Here to see Jordan Devereau at 3 pm.” He addresses the curly redhead behind the brushed aluminum reception desk.

“Hi Mr. Porter, I’m Meredith. It’s nice to meet you in person. Have a seat, Mr. Devereau will be right with you. Would you like anything to drink? Water, coffee, whiskey perhaps?” Her big toothed smile stretches across her peachy blushed cheeks.

“No thank you.” He sits in an oversized leather chair and fiddles the hem of his shorts.

---