Nobody’s Hero (14 page)

Ignoring the duffel bag, Brad grabbed his laundry basket and added his dirty clothes from earlier to the contents. The wet towel he picked up and took to the bathroom, hanging over the shower curtain rod. Except for a couple of bottles of water, nothing in the kitchen was his. The only other stuff he had to pack was his laptop and small collection of books. His movements took on a frenetic edge as he grabbed the last of his things and tossed them in with his dirty clothes.

“Stop.” Danny’s words were surprisingly gentle as he stepped in Brad’s path. “Just stop.” He wrapped his arms around Brad and held him tightly. “You can’t go. Haven’t you run enough?”

“What do you mean?” Brad asked, holding himself still, though he wanted nothing more than to relax into Danny’s embrace.

“Come on, Brad. You moved like six hundred miles to get away from your family and you avoid their phone calls. What’s that if not running away?”

“Survival.” Brad tried to pull away, but Danny’s hold wouldn’t budge. “I’ve told you about them. You’d get as far away as you could too.”

“Or you could have told them to buzz off. Have you confronted them? Told them to leave you alone to live your life your way?”

“No, but—”

“Avoidance is just another form of running away.”

Avoidance is just another form of running away.
The words echoed in Brad’s brain. Christ. That was it, wasn’t it? By that surprisingly intuitive definition, Brad had been running from things his whole life. First he ran from his sexuality, then from admitting it, then from his family’s extreme reactions to it. Avoiding connections at Norton Academy was another way of running away from any kind of relationship. Brad sagged against Danny, trusting him to keep him from falling.

“You were going to run from me too, weren’t you?”

“No!”

“You were.” Danny pressed his forehead against Brad’s. “You would have left me behind as surely as you left this apartment.”

Brad’s breath hitched on the inhale. “Okay, yeah,” he admitted, “but it would have been for your own good.”

“Brad,
mi mamá
used to say the same thing when she tried to make me eat spinach.” He looked up and cupped Brad’s face in his palm. “And you are not
mi mamá
.”

Brad wrapped his arms around Danny, hating his need for the connection but unable to stop himself. “I just... Do you have any idea how wonderful your family is? I mean, really? I don’t want to get in the way of that.”

“You couldn’t.”

“You and your dad... Things were already weird between you and me, but I don’t want you fighting your dad over me. I couldn’t stand it if I messed things up between you.”

“Brad, my family fights all the time. We enjoy it most of the time. We’re passionate people, and sometimes we’re passionately angry people. Believe me, one argument—or even a hundred arguments—won’t ruin my family’s relationship.”

Something inside Brad loosened and he took the first full breath in what felt like hours. “That’s not how it was in my family. I swear, everyone lived to resent each other. Resentment and disapproval. That’s my family.”

“You don’t have to worry about that here. I’m pretty sure I could murder someone and my parents would still love me unconditionally.”

They stood, wrapped in each other’s arms, while Brad tried to come to grips with his situation.

“I don’t know what to do,” he finally admitted.

“Well, you don’t run away, for starters.” Danny released Brad and led him to the couch. “Second, we figure out who’s stealing from my dad and we clear your name.”

“How are we going to do that?”

“I don’t know.” Danny sighed. “We’ll figure it out, though.”

Chapter Eighteen

As soon as Brad put away all of his stuff and assured Danny he wasn’t going to go anywhere, Danny headed to his house. He and Papá were going to have a talk. Away from the worksite he could cause as much of a scene as he needed to in order to make his point. Brad didn’t steal anything, and nothing anyone said would convince Danny he had. And he’d convince his father even if it took all night.

“Where’s Papá?” he demanded the minute he’d crossed into the kitchen.

Mamá looked up from the table where she’d been snapping beans. The radio played softly in the background. He’d walked into the same scene countless times in his past. And, as she had on many of those occasions, Mamá pierced him with a steely glare that didn’t need a translation.

He reined in his indignation and softened his voice. “Sorry, Mamá. Have you seen Papá?”

She took her time halving the bean in her hands. “He is in his office. Working.” The snap in her voice matched the snap of the next bean. “It is a long weekend. Many people are coming tomorrow for the party and he is working. So I will cook and prepare and he will shuffle papers and curse at numbers. Ramón ran out with some of his friends
y
sus hermanas estarán aquí...
” She went off in a spate of Spanish and Danny realized she’d stopped talking to him and started venting to herself, all the while scowling at the green mountain of beans in front of her.

Danny looked around the kitchen, noticing for the first time the paper bags overflowing with sweet corn and the boxes piled high with hot dog and hamburger buns. Yeah, he could see why Mamá might be a little upset at having the whole thing dumped on her.

“Mamá,” he said, breaking into her muttering. “I’ve got to talk to Papá and when I’m done, I’ll come back down and help you out. I can shuck corn or peel potatoes or whatever you need, okay?”

She beamed at him. “You are such a good boy, Daniel. Go talk to Papá. And when you are done, you can bring him with you. If I will be up all night making the rice, he can help. He can put away his bills and papers for the weekend.”

“I will,” he promised, and headed for his father’s office. The brief stop with his
mamá
had cooled his temper, but not his resolve. He was going to talk to Papá, yes, but now he might be able to keep from hurling accusations and demands.

His father hunched over his desk, eyes glued to the computer monitor. A complicated spreadsheet—Danny shuddered at the very thought of numbers and formulas and said a silent prayer of thanks his college curriculum didn’t call for the nasty things—scrolled on the screen. Papá clicked the mouse, then entered a string of numbers in a cell and cursed under his breath.

“I need to talk to you,” he said before his
papá
could make any other adjustments to the document.

Papá pulled off the reading glasses he only wore during extended time at the computer and rubbed his eyes wearily. “This isn’t a good time.”

His father’s eyes were red, a sure sign he’d spent too much time at his computer. Danny almost felt guilty about confronting him. Almost.

“Brad didn’t steal anything. And I think it’s horrible the way you’re treating him.”

Papá leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. “Danny, nobody wants to think Brad is involved, but I have to look at the evidence.”

“What evidence? If you had any kind of proof you’d have fired him straight out, you wouldn’t monitor his equipment returns.”

“I can’t ignore the fact that the thefts didn’t start until after Brad was hired on. I can’t ignore the fact that each piece of stolen equipment was last in Brad’s possession.”

“It could be a coincidence of timing,” Danny protested.

“Which is why Brad is being monitored, not fired.”

“Papá, you don’t know him like I do. If you did, you’d know it isn’t in him to be dishonest,” Danny said, dangerously close to pleading.

Papá leaned forward until his elbows rested on the desk, with his arms crossed in front of his chest. “It’s good you want to defend him,” he said, “but your emotions are involved, so your judgment is skewed.”

Danny paced the confines of the office. “He was going to leave.” His voice broke on the last word, and Danny tried to swallow the tightness in his throat away.

His father’s face softened, and for the first time, Danny realized this was hard on him too. “You know that might be an indication he’s guilty.”

“Papá, you don’t get it. Brad couldn’t have done it. He’s like...Captain America. He’s honorable down to his toes. Wholesome. He’s god damned decent. It’s not in it for him to do something like that. He was going to leave because he was devastated. And mortified.” It took an effort of will to keep his voice from cracking again. “He was hurt.”

Papá sighed. “I don’t want to think he’s responsible. I like Brad. But I have to protect my business. I have to replace those tools and, to be honest, I can’t afford it right now.”

“What?” Was his father serious? Yeah, a few thousand dollars was a lot of money, but there’s no way the company could be that low on cash. Could it? Danny had never considered the financial and business implications of running the construction company. It was like the spreadsheets. He broke into hives at the thought of them. But he’d taken for granted that everything was moving along fine. He’d gone to work and taken a paycheck without a thought.

“You don’t need to worry,” Papá said. “It’s a temporary bump. We’re not going bankrupt or anything, we’re simply a little low on cash at the moment. It’ll be fine, but dishing out several thousand dollars to replace stolen equipment isn’t in the budget right now.”

Papá was a successful businessman and if he said Danny didn’t need to worry about it, Danny didn’t need to worry about it. He sank into one of the chairs across from his father.

“Brad didn’t do it. Which means someone else did. While you’re focusing on Brad, what’s to stop whoever is doing it from doing it again?”

“Nothing. Which is why I’m taking some other precautions. They’re probably excessive, given the nature of what is being taken, but there are some very expensive, hard to replace items at the worksites. I’m hiring a security group to do rounds at night, both at the office and at the jobsites.”

“But if you can’t afford equipment, how can you afford a security service?”

“That’s what I’m trying to work out. I’m seeing what areas I can cut back in, and I’m going to start pushing for some of the outstanding payments I’ve been waiting on. It’ll be a tight month, but when the payments for the current projects start coming in, we’ll be back on track.”

Danny remembered Brad’s accusation about him acting like a child. It drove home the fact he was, for all intents and purposes, an adult. That he didn’t yet have to make adult decisions or have adult responsibilities didn’t mean it was fair for him to keep acting like a kid.

Brad had cut ties with his family and had to make his own decisions and figure out life as an adult without the safety net a family could provide. Hell, he didn’t even have any close friends who would help him.

Suddenly Danny regretted taking advantage of his family and parents. Here he was, coasting along in life when he should be trying to figure out—cliché as it was—what he wanted to be when he grew up.

“You know, you don’t have to pay me, at least not while things are tight. I bet Ray would say the same.”

“No! You work, you get paid.” Papá flipped a file on his desk closed, then pushed it aside. “Your
mamá
and I have worked our whole lives so we could provide for our family. This is what we do.”

“It would be like rent. We live here so we don’t have to pay for a lease. All of our food and utilities are paid for. Mamá does all the cooking and cleaning.” Thinking of something else Brad had said, he continued, “Hell, Mamá even does our laundry. We don’t have to do anything for ourselves.”

“No.” His father was implacable. “When you finish school and move out on your own, then you can worry about rent and bills. Now you save your money for school and your future.”

“But, Papá—”

“No,
mi hijo.
This is my trouble, and it is minor. Everything will be fine in a couple of weeks when some payments start coming in.”

Danny stood up. “Fine. I know it’s not a lot in the grand scheme of things, but remember, if it will help, the offer is there.”

Papá pushed his chair back and stood too. “I appreciate the offer, I do.” He walked around his desk and pulled Danny into a tight hug. “Tell you what, we’ll leave it alone for now. We have a party tomorrow to get ready for.”

Danny let himself be led out of the room. “Uh, yeah. Mamá says you have to help in the kitchen. If someone doesn’t help her, I think she’ll punish us by making us eat raw beans or something. She is not a happy party planner at the moment.”

“We’d better give her a hand.” Papá wrapped an arm around Danny’s shoulders and they made their way down the hall.

When they reached the kitchen, Danny was surprised to see Brad there, peeling potatoes with awkward motions of the peeler. The job was getting done, but slowly. Brad focused on each strip of brown skin that fell from the blade into the trash can at his feet as though the spud was an explosive device which would detonate at the wrong move. Danny was willing to bet that, unlike when he did that chore, there would be no spots, eyes or forgotten slivers of peel.

Brad stiffened, the peeler stalling when Papá stepped into the room.

“Hey,” Danny said with forced cheer, “how’d you get stuck with KP?”

Brad pulled his eyes from Danny’s
papá
and smiled. It was a slight smile, but Danny was glad to see it was at least genuine.

“I brought a couple of empty dishes in and she bribed me with a burrito.” He pointed to the small plate and half-eaten burrito on the table in front of him.

“Mmm, burrito,” Danny sighed. He leaned forward and kissed Brad. He pulled back with a wink. “I love burritos.”

Brad blushed and jerked away. “Dude, what are you doing? We’re in the kitchen.
With your parents.
”

What the hell had he been thinking? Brad had looked so at home, sitting there where Danny had wanted to see him for weeks. He’d acted on instinct. Or impulse. He and Brad were barely on speaking terms but Danny kissed him like it was nothing. In front of his parents. He stared at Brad, waiting for the explosion. But the explosion never came.

“Leave the boy alone,” Mamá said, flicking her towel at him.

Danny watched the struggle on Brad’s face. He didn’t know whether to be pissed or relieved. But something—maybe Mamá’s casual non-reaction—reassured him.

“You, peel potatoes. And you,” she said, pointing at her husband, “you shred the cabbage.”

“Yes, Mamá,” Danny and his father said together, singing the syllables. Brad smiled but the smile died when he met Papá’s gaze.

Danny could see the tension returning to Brad’s shoulders. “Hey,” he whispered in Brad’s ear, “put it aside, at least for tonight, yeah? Everything will work out, you’ll see.”

Brad nodded.

“Good,” Danny said, settling in next to him at the table. “Now, about these potatoes.”

There had to be a hundred pounds of potatoes. At least. Danny didn’t even think he was exaggerating. “Jesus, Mamá, how much potato salad are you going to make?”

“Quiet you,” she said, waving the towel at him. “Less talking, more peeling.”

It took a while, maybe a half hour or so, but eventually the tension in the room faded and the atmosphere in the kitchen became almost festive. Papá turned up the volume on the music as they worked. At one point, when the potatoes had been chopped and put into a pot of boiling water and Mrs. Ortega had commanded Danny and Brad to pull the silky strands from dozens of ears of corn, Papá twirled Mamá in an impromptu dance. She giggled like a girl when he dipped her, even as she slapped uselessly at his hands. When Papá whispered something in her ear, making her blush, Danny grinned. Even after nearly thirty years, his parents were still completely in love.

When Ray burst in an hour later, after everything had been prepped and put away, Brad stood at the counter with Mamá, going over a recipe of some kind. Danny didn’t know if Brad was simply showing an interest in his mamá’s bread pudding recipe to be polite or if he had a genuine desire to learn it. Either way, they had their heads bent together like two tween girls gossiping about boys. Danny and his
papá
sat at the table drinking glasses of sweet tea and chilling, ready to relax at the end of a long day.

“Isn’t this cozy?” Ray slammed the door behind him and glared at the people in the room.

“Ramón,” Papá growled.

His brother was a mess. His eyes were bloodshot and he swayed on his feet. His normally pressed and perfect clothes were rumpled and his shirt was only half-tucked.

“Have you been drinking?” Papá demanded.

“What if I have?”

Papá lurched to his feet. “Did you drive?”

Ray’s eyes looked black in the bright kitchen lights. “No. I’m not stupid. I knew you’d throw a hissy fit if I did.” He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and hooked them to the board by the door. It took him three tries, but eventually they made it. “I left my car at Dean’s,” he said, naming a pool hall near campus.

“You’re underage,” Papá said, calmer now he knew Ray hadn’t driven drunk.

Ray snorted. “Whatever. Even Mr. Perfect there—” he pointed to Danny, “—has been known to tie one on every now and then.”

Danny ignored the dig. His brother could be a dick when he drank. “You can’t keep your truck there all night. It’ll get towed.”

Ray walked to the fridge and dug out a bottle of water from among the bowls of summer salads. “I didn’t have a whole lot of choice. It was either leave it there or drive it home.”

Danny looked at his father. “Brad and I can go pick it up. They really do tow anything left overnight around there.”

“Fine,” Ray said, “but he can’t drive the truck. I don’t want that thieving fag anywhere near my stuff.”

“
Ramón!
” Mamá gasped. She did one of those freaky mom things that always blew Danny’s mind. She sucked in a long breath and seemed to grow bigger, her presence somehow filling the room. A neat trick for a woman who barely hit five feet tall. “You will apologize to Brad right now. That attitude is not acceptable in this house.”