Page 141 of I Think They Love You

Braylon’s chin drops. Anger pinches the skin around his eyes. “It’s not a one-off tothem.” He waves a hand toward the building behind him. “They stayed after hours. Their lives aren’t something you can just ‘reschedule.’ Youembarrassedme.”

“I didn’t mean—” Denz cuts himself off again.

God, whatdoeshe mean?

“Sometimes, Denz…” Braylon exhales. There are so many little reminders in his appearance—the forehead wrinkles, dark stubble, stiff shoulders—that he’s no longer the boy from college who easily forgave Denz’s mistakes. Who’d rather kiss than argue. “I wish you didn’t miss so damn much in this life trying to be someone you’re not.”

It’s a kick to Denz’s stomach. The only thing he thinks to say is, “Like the fact that you’re leaving? Again?”

“This isn’t about that.”

“Itis,” Denz argues. He’s shaking. “You dropped that fucking bombshell on me like it was a two weeks’ notice at your job. Like I… we—”

His voice gives out.

They had a deal. Denz’s stupid, unexpected feelings weren’t part of it.

“You’ve always had it figured out,” Denz tells him, the heaviness of the day finally pulling him under. “I wish I didn’t fuck up. That I wasn’t so worried about what the world thinks. What my family thinks.”

“Then don’t—”

“And I wish I would’ve had the guts to tell you the reason I wasn’t sure about London is because I wasterrifiedyou’d figure out I wasn’t good enough.”

Braylon’s eyes widen.

“I didn’t get a chance to,” Denz says, voice thick. “You took that from me. You let yourdadtake that from us.”

Braylon swallows but doesn’t speak.

Good. Denz isn’t done yet.

“I’ve spentmy whole lifetrying to be the right person,” he says. “But I’m not sorry for everything else that’s happened. I’m not sorry we ran into each other. Not sorry we made a deal. Not sorry I kissed you.” He exhales, chest burning. “I’m not sorry for wishing you felt differently.”

About me,another thing left unsaid.

The fists at Braylon’s sides gradually uncurl. His shoulders sag. His features edge into something that’s not quite sulking or pouting. More spulking.

Denz accepts it’s the only response he’s getting.

“Everything’s set up for your party,” he tells Braylon, switching on Work Denz. “The mayor’s team has confirmed. The sponsors too. Donations will be ready for pickup. You don’t need my help for the rest.”

He knows he should leave it at that, but he can’t.

“This is your home, Braylon,” he whispers. “Those teens love you. Your coworkers love you. My family…” A shaky smile nudges his lips. “You fit in here better than I ever did.”

He turns and walks toward the parking lot. He doesn’t wait for a reply.

It never comes, anyway.

The evening starts with a succession of champagne corks flying.

With the bursting flash of cameras.

With a red carpet leading out to Atlas’s rooftop bronzed by the setting sun.

The band revs up and their lead singer, Suki Firestone, an artist signed to Uncle Tevin’s record label, breaks into Thelma Houston’s version of “Don’t Leave Me This Way” like a pro. Denz called in a second favor to his uncle after DJ Allegro’s cancellation. From the guests’ reactions, Tevin didn’t disappoint.

In fact, everything about Kenneth Carter’s retirement extravaganza seems to be a hit with this crowd. No complaints, not even about the last-minute change of venue. Denz tries not to be on edge about how well things are going.

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