The Broken Triangle (23 page)

“Hey.” Vin touched Patrick’s arm, then his face, tilting Patrick’s chin up. “Don’t shut me out. I think that’s great. Totally behind it. Love that you’re trying, not letting life suck you down. That takes guts, man.”

“Really?” Vin’s approval was sweet as honey. Patrick savored it for a moment, beaming goofily and not caring.

“Really. And even if you don’t turn into the world’s most perfect grown-up, you’re okay.”

Scared to let Vin get too serious, Patrick blinked his eyelashes rapidly. “If you start quoting Bridget Jones, I’ll die of happiness.”

“Better than dying because Shane killed you,” Vin said. “That was weird, huh? Downstairs?”

“Beyond weird. I don’t think I can talk about it. It was so bizarre.” Patrick shuddered, though it was all for effect. It had surprised him because he’d never thought he’d see it, not because he hadn’t been able to imagine it happening.

Vin turned to pick up the kettle, which had clicked off. “Do you think they’re always like that?”

“What, fucking on pool tables? I hope not.”

“Not that.” Vin rolled his eyes. “Okay, a little like that, but I was more talking about kinky.”

“Honey, that’s not kinky.” Patrick was torn between wanting to educate Vin and wanting to protect him from harsh reality. Education won out. “Over the line into kinky territory, sure, but not really kinky.”

Vin unwrapped another tea bag and put it into his mug, then poured water. “I have watched porn, you know. It’s not like I’m a fifteen-year-old virgin.”

“If you count what I did with Matt Peterson when we were supposed to be working on a science project in his room, that’s something I can’t be accused of having been.”

“You had sex at fourteen?” Vin’s eyes went wide and shocked.

“We fooled around,” Patrick said evasively.

They’d been kids, so it’d been a few clumsy kisses and hands that had fumbled, retreated, then clasped hard flesh with growing confidence. Matt had beaten Patrick up two days later when Patrick had tried to kiss him in an empty classroom, his face contorted with panic and revulsion, as if even punching Patrick in the stomach was risking cooties. After that, Matt had retreated so far into the closet that the last Patrick had heard, he was the father of twins, and his wife was expecting a third. Not a happy memory, and why did he do this to himself?

“You said you thought they were into playing games,” Vin pointed out. “That sounded like one. What they were saying. The way Ben was—” He licked his lips, a nervous swipe of his tongue that left them shining. “You know. Grabbing Shane’s hair. That had to hurt.”

“Sometimes you want it to.” Patrick tapped the tattoo on Vin’s forearm. “You’d get that if anyone would.”

“Maybe.” Vin’s lips went firm, the way they did when he was sure of himself. The guy was sweet but an immovable object at times, unswayed by any arguments or opposing opinions. Patrick envied him that certainty. He was more of a leaf blowing where the wind took him, lacking roots, hating to be at odds with the crowd. “And it was kinky what they were doing. Oh, not the actual sex, but the way it felt. The way it made them feel. You could tell.”

“I could tell you got off on it,” Patrick said, blurting the words out before he could censor himself.

Shit. He’d planned to pretend the whole up-against-a-wall, erections-poking-holes-in-each-other thing hadn’t happened. Easier that way. Avoidance was bliss.

“So did you.” Vin’s jaw was set stubbornly, and he was blushing.

“Yeah. It’s normal. Like watching porn, only weirder. And we’ve done that before.”

To be fair, they hadn’t watched porn together on purpose for a long time. At least a year. And when they had, Vin had been too shy and awkward for Patrick to even consider suggesting they take care of things, even on their own. When the movie had ended, he’d excused himself and jerked off fast and furious in the bathroom, then come out to find Vin sitting on the couch, flushed and breathing too heavily for him not to have been doing the same.

“We could make a fortune,” Vin said blandly. “Set up a few video cameras downstairs, leave them running after hours, then sell the files on the Internet.”

Patrick gaped at him. He was kidding. Had to be. “What?”

“You’re so easy,” Vin said, laughing.

“Thank God.” Patrick collapsed onto the nearest kitchen chair. “For a second I thought you were serious. Don’t do that to me. My heart can’t take it tonight.”

Vin shot him an amused, affectionate look. “I could make you hot cocoa instead. With little marshmallows in it.”

Patrick sat up. “Ooh, do you have any? Because that sounds awesome.”

“Baby,” Vin said, but he got out the cocoa.

“I appreciate you doing this,” Patrick said, wiping his hands dry on the small towel he had with him, then taking a seat across from Ben.

“It’s not a problem.”

“It’s kind of embarrassing, though.” Patrick bit his lip anxiously as Ben looked at the page of scribbles he’d jotted down the night before.

Ben had suggested they go over his finances together, and Patrick was serious enough about wanting to sort out his life that he’d jumped at the offer. It hadn’t been until he worked out how much cash came in and where he spent it that it’d sunk in that he was a clueless idiot who was hemorrhaging money. Laying that out in excruciating detail to one of his employers would make it clear how much of a clueless idiot he was.

“Don’t be embarrassed. Focus on the changes open to you.”

Ben glanced at his computer screen and hit a button, and a second later the printer behind him sprang to life, spitting out not one or two but three pieces of paper.

Patrick wasn’t sure if that was good news or bad news.

After a few minutes of reading and jotting down some notes that Patrick couldn’t decipher from where he sat, Ben stacked the papers and clicked his tongue. “That’s all? No payday loans or money you owe a friend?”

“I’m not stupid enough to go to those places, and no one I’m friends with has any spare cash to lend.” And if they did, Patrick wouldn’t have asked. It was one of his few scruples. He’d accept a drink from someone, but not money, no matter how desperate he was. He’d seen friendships warped into bitterness that way, and it wasn’t a path he wanted to take.

“Good to know. Okay, I want to study these in more detail, but I can make a few suggestions that might help. Like cutting up all but one of your credit cards. You’ve got four, all close to maxed out, and you’re paying off the interest without reducing the main debt in any appreciable way.” Ben shook his head, a sharp, annoyed jerk. “Why those companies give out credit cards to people without a sound financial standing, I don’t know.”

Patrick did. “To make money off us.”

“They won’t make any more off you.” Ben tapped his finger on the top piece of paper. “This credit card is from the same company I use. They’re running one of those offers where you can consolidate debts by transferring balances to them and be charged a small amount of interest for six months. Did you get that letter too?”

“I don’t read it if it isn’t a bill,” Patrick admitted.

Ben gave him a puzzled, does-not-compute look. “Oh. Well, if we take advantage of this, in the short-term only, obviously, since after the six months the rate will go up, you’ll save, hmm, let me see.”

Patrick tuned out the tapping on a calculator and the rustle of paper, concentrating on the possibility there might be some way out of the hole he’d dug.

Ben and numbers were the perfect match. They obeyed him, marching to the beat of his fingers and saluting him smartly. In less than a year, even with two sets of renovations to pay for, the Square Peg had gone from teetering on the edge of ruin to showing a small but steady profit.

If Ben could work that magic on Patrick’s finances, it would be a miracle. What would it feel like to wake up without that ever-present worry clouding his mind, driving him to do reckless, stupid shit like spending the little he had because what was the point of saving ten bucks when he owed thousands?

“You can be debt-free and save at least a thousand over the course of the year, if you follow the rules. Are you prepared to do that?” Ben looked at him seriously.

To save a grand? “Yeah, of course I am.”

“I mean it. No exceptions. When you run out of cash for the week because you spent too much on fancy coffee, you can’t put groceries on your credit card. You have to suck it up and eat the canned soup in your cupboards, even if it’s boring and you want pizza.” Ben’s expression softened. “And if you’re hungry, let me know, and we’ll work out an extra discount on stuff from the kitchen. I don’t want you to starve.”

“I won’t; don’t worry. Not that I don’t appreciate the offer.” Patrick shifted his chair closer and gestured for the papers. “Okay. I’m ready. Lay it on me.”

Before Ben began speaking, Vin appeared in the office doorway. “Oh good, there you are. Didn’t you get my text?”

Patrick frowned, already digging his phone out of his pocket. “No, or I would have answered it. Huh, it’s not on silent but I didn’t hear it.”

Vin was vibrating with pent-up emotion. The problem was, Patrick couldn’t tell what kind of emotion it was. “Can I talk to you? Ben, can I borrow him? I’d say it was for a minute, but it’s more like the whole afternoon. He’s not scheduled to work, right? Not until tonight?”

“It’s fine with me. I could use some more time with this anyway,” Ben said, gesturing at the papers. He pointed a finger at Patrick. “But come back half an hour before your shift starts so we can go through this. And don’t consider your afternoon with Vin to be some kind of free-for-all of spending before you start to save.”

“I won’t,” Patrick promised him. “Thanks.”

It felt like escaping from the principal’s office, though that wasn’t fair to Ben, who was doing this in his spare time and, like Shane, showing astonishing kindness considering the many times Patrick had let them down by skimping on an assigned chore, turning up late, or asking for a shift change at the last moment.

It was a wonder anyone was speaking to him, but Dave gave him a friendly wave as he walked out through the bar, and Vin had stuck by him, always.

“I’m so lucky when it comes to my friends,” he said when they were outside, standing by Vin’s van. He got a grunt in reply, Vin’s lips pressed so tightly together they were pale. “Oookay. You look pissed. I’m guessing it’s not with me, which means I’m needed as a shoulder to cry on or someone to rant at. Bring it on and let it out. I’m ready to hate on anyone you want as long as it’s not Ben, because he’s saving me money and I love him. So who are we mad at?”

“Riley,” Vin said, biting off the word. He slammed his hand against the side of the van, dislodging a piece of rusty metal that fell to the ground, leaving behind a larger hole. Vin drew in a breath and let it out sharply. “He told me if I get this new tattoo, it means I don’t love him. Then he hung up on me, and he won’t answer his phone or any of my texts. What kind of bullshit is that? How can what I do to my body—mine—have anything to do with me loving him?”

“Did he say why? Or are you supposed to magically figure it out?” Patrick focused on being supportive, not hard when he was supporting Vin against Riley.

“He hung up, remember?” Vin kicked the wheel well, which wasn’t rusted, at least, then sighed. “Get in. I need to go get something to drink. A coffee for a change.”

“Sure.” He’d trust even an angry Vin behind the wheel, and Vin’s favorite coffee place was only a few blocks away. They could have walked if it weren’t so cold.

The van started up without complaint, and Vin shifted it into drive with more aggression than necessary. “I know he doesn’t like the tattoos or the piercings, but I thought he got it.”

“Got what?” Patrick held his hands up when Vin whirled on him, eyes furious. “Hey, I’m on your side, honey, but I need more to work with.”

Vin growled and tightened his hands on the steering wheel. “I thought he got that this was me. I’m not hiding anything. Why did he even want to get with me if there were all these things he doesn’t like?”

Patrick didn’t have an answer, and he was afraid to get into a conversation where he was supposed to defend Riley, because he didn’t want to do that. But he was stuck, because if he told Vin that Riley was an asshole and didn’t deserve him and they should break up, he’d feel terrible forever. Hello, rock and a hard place.

“Come on. I’m buying.” Vin parked, and they went inside, the rich smell of roasted coffee beans hitting them as soon as they went through the door. The line was short for once. Vin didn’t bother to ask him what he wanted, just ordered for them both and gestured at one of the little round tables flanked by two chairs.

“Be careful, or I might get used to this,” Patrick joked after they’d taken a seat. “You buying me coffee.”

“It’s the least I can do, considering I keep using you as my human sounding board,” Vin said.

Patrick frowned and reached out to touch Vin’s hand, flinching at how cold it was. “Hey. You aren’t using me. I’m your friend. That’s what friends are for, or so Elton John told us, and I’m sure we’re supposed to listen to him.”

“I love Riley so fucking much. I want to make him happy. That’s what it’s all about, right? Making someone you love happy?”

Patrick gave it some consideration instead of tossing off a glib agreement. He wanted Vin to be happy, yes, but he knew Vin well enough to trust what made Vin smile was never something that would hurt someone else. Could the same be true for Riley? Patrick wasn’t sure. He didn’t think Riley was a horrible person—it would’ve made this so much easier if he was—but Riley was like a piece of fruit that looked fresh and perfect on the outside, and when you bit into it, it was mushy and tasteless.

What that made him, he wasn’t sure. A pineapple? All tangy and sweet inside but bumpy and lumpy to look at? No, he was too pretty for that. He ran his hand over hair that today was a subdued honey blond, suitable for serious financial discussions with accountants, patting it into place, then gave the sleeve of his jacket a fond stroke. Not everyone could wear this shade of purple, but it had always suited him.