Chapter Thirteen

The smells of furniture polish and cleanser hung in the air as Malcolm lugged a basket of freshly laundered linens and towels into his living room. He set it down on the couch and the motion made stacks of already folded clothes standing on the cushions waver and one topple over. Malcolm righted it with a smile. This is what he got for spending so much time out of his apartment in the last several weeks—a Saturday morning spent doing housework, including washing and folding what appeared to be every item of clothing, bedding and toweling he owned.

At least he enjoyed doing laundry. He planned to finish by midday, too, because Carter and Riley had invited him over for dinner. Carter had been withdrawn and stressed the last several days and Malcolm looked forward to spending time unwinding with his friend. Because Malcolm needed that time, too.

Stuart’s discovery of Malcolm’s empty refrigerator and pantry had been intense, to say the least. Stuart had wanted to talk about it even more when they’d seen each other since and help Malcolm plan ways to help his mom without exhausting his own resources. Stuart always cooked enough food for a crowd, too, even though it was only the two of them, then loaded Malcolm up with leftovers.

Normally, that kind of extra attention made Malcolm want to pull out his own hair but, for the most part, he felt only grateful. Trusting Stuart had lifted an enormous weight from Malcolm’s shoulders. His guts still twisted with guilt whenever he considered what that meant, but he was glad Stuart had pulled the info out of him. God, if his mom knew her secret was out? Or that her problems were affecting her sons? Malcolm shook his head. Better not to go there at all and instead focus on Stuart. Malcolm had absolutely no problem going there.

‘I care about you.’

Malcolm hauled in a deep breath. Stuart had told him that several times in the last week and a thrill went through Malcolm every time. Not that he even needed the words to be spoken because Malcolm swore he could feel how much Stuart cared in every touch and glance.

Cheeks warm, he reached for a towel at the top of the basket. He cared for Stuart, too, far more than he’d imagined possible in such a short time. What was more, Malcolm needed him. Needed Stuart’s strength. His snarky humor and big heart, and his seemingly limitless patience. His…everything.

I wish he were here.

Malcolm dropped the towel he’d been folding back in the basket. Just thinking about Stuart made his heart squeeze and body heat, and his mind reeled a bit as his cock hardened. No one had ever affected him like this. Made his nerves tighten with a yearning so intense his mouth went dry. Stuart’s face flashed through Malcolm’s mind, heightening the buzz in his groin, and slowly, he sank onto the couch and gave himself over to desire.

That was what he was feeling. This was more than making sure Stuart got what he needed when they had sex. Right now, Malcolm wanted to feel good, too. He craved Stuart with a hunger that would have shocked them both only a few weeks ago. Craved Stuart’s kiss and touch and the way he made Malcolm want to beg for more, so that by the time Malcolm came, it felt like flying.

A shiver raced up Malcolm’s spine. He palmed himself through his joggers, eyelids heavy, and his breath caught on a giddy laugh. “Jesus,” he whispered.

He didn’t do this. Didn’t lose track of what he was doing because he was turned on. Didn’t sit in his living room and think about getting off in the middle of the afternoon. Malcolm considered doing exactly that until the apartment’s intercom rang.

He loosed a heartfelt groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

As if in reply, the intercom rang again, which got Malcolm quickly to his feet. He tugged the hem of his T-shirt over his groin as he crossed to the door and tried not to sound grumpy when he hit the Talk button.

“Hi, Henry.”

“Hello, Mr. Elliott,” the concierge replied, his voice tinny through the speaker. “Your grocery delivery is here in the lobby—okay if I send it on up?”

Malcolm frowned. “My… What kind of delivery?”

“Grocery, sir, from Diedrich’s on 26th Street.”

Well, that had to be a mistake. Malcolm didn’t order groceries for delivery, nor did he shop at Diedrich’s, even when his bank account was healthy. Diedrich’s was the kind of gourmet market that Jesse and Will frequented instead of the big chain store on the next street. Asking Henry to sort out the problem wasn’t fair, however, and Malcolm gave him the go ahead to send the delivery up. That turned out to be no help at all because Malcolm’s name and address were indeed on the delivery slips and he still had no idea why. All he could do was look on while Tommy, a cheerful young guy in a Diedrich’s uniform, unloaded what had to be two dozen canvas bags stuffed full of food from the plastic crates on his hand truck.

“Do I need to sign this?” Malcolm asked. He held the receipt up as Tommy restacked the empty crates.

“Nope—you’re all set.” Tommy shot him a grin. “Thanks for tipping ahead, too. Gratuities aren’t expected at Diedrich’s but I, for one, appreciate the gesture.”

Malcolm blinked. “Uh, sure. You’re welcome.”

The words felt weird in his mouth, like he’d been to the dentist and his lips were still numb, and the apartment seemed far too quiet after Tommy had gone. Malcolm walked back to the kitchen, his gaze on the bags while disquiet gathered inside him. What the hell was going on? How had Diedrich’s gotten his name on a—

Oh, hell.

Glancing back to the slips of paper in his hand, Malcolm really looked this time and his heart sank when he saw that nothing listed included a price. Even the total was missing and a handwritten PAID had been scrawled in its place. Malcolm slipped the receipts in his pocket and moved to the bags, feeling more and more anxious as he unpacked them.

Stuart, what did you do?

His mind boggled at the sheer amount of food. Dry goods and fresh produce. Meats, cheese, eggs. Three varieties of bread. Boxes, jars and bags—enough to feed a family. Or restock one person’s empty kitchen from the ground up. And Malcolm had never felt less hungry.

He went still as he dug a package of cookies out of the final bag. They were a hard-to-find brand that David Mori had introduced him to, and not many people outside of the speakeasy crew knew how much Malcolm liked the little shortbread sandwiches with mango crème. He knew for sure he’d never eaten them around Stuart…which could only mean Stuart hadn’t set up this grocery delivery on his own.

That knowledge made Malcolm’s eyes burn.

 

* * * *

 

“Malcolm? What the fuck?” Thunder filled Stuart’s brow as he jogged up, a reaction Malcolm now easily recognized as worry. “Is something wrong? How long have you been out here?”

“Not long,” Malcolm lied. He unfolded himself from his seat on the stoop outside of Stuart’s building and stood.

In truth, he’d been waiting over an hour. Stuart didn’t need to know that, though. It would only distract them and delay the real reason Malcolm was in Little Italy at twelve-fifteen in the morning. To talk. Because yeah, something was wrong. Malcolm’s insides were strung tight and his head was pounding, and not even the sight of Stuart in his leathers, dark eyes flashing, made him feel anything less than crap.

“A huge order of groceries showed up at my apartment today,” he said, voice flat over Stuart’s muttering that Malcolm could have been mugged. Stuart’s eyes went wide. “Groceries I didn’t order,” Malcolm added, “and there was no indication of who had on the receipts.”

Stuart stood frozen, just for a second, before he gently took hold of Malcolm’s arm. “Let’s talk inside.”

“I don’t want to go inside.” Malcolm shrugged him off, then made himself step back despite the surprise streaking across Stuart’s face. “I want you to explain to me why you told my friends about what’s been going on with my finances after I asked you not to. Because I know you did.”

“Mal—”

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

“I knew you would, obviously.” Stuart sighed. “I wanted to tell you before then. I guess I got the timing on the grocery order wrong.”

Malcolm licked his lips. “That’s what concerns you? That you messed up the timing?”

“Well, it hasn’t made this any easier.” Stuart frowned at Malcolm’s groan. “What?”

“Man, I don’t even know where to start. I had to go to Carter for answers. And fuck…it’s been a long time since I saw him that upset.” Malcolm didn’t even want to think about the emotions he’d glimpsed in his friend’s eyes as they’d talked. “I knew he’d tell me if I asked him straight out what the hell was going on, and according to him, you told Kyle and Riley about my money problems and asked them to get the whole crew involved.”

“That’s not…entirely accurate.”

“Seriously?” Malcolm’s heart hurt as he stared Stuart down. “I talked to Riley, too. I know he was there at Under when you spilled the whole story.”

“Okay, yes.” Stuart blew out a breath. “I told him and Kyle about what you’ve been going through, and they proposed the whole crew get on board and help. We want to help, Mal. Because you going hungry?” Mouth tight, he shook his head. “I can’t let you do that to yourself.”

Malcolm’s jaw sagged. “Let me?”

“I didn’t mean it that way—”

“I’m not a project that needs managing, Stuart. I can take care of myself!”

“I understand that, but you need help this time!” Stuart raked a hand through his thick hair. “Jesus, Malcolm, I feed people for a living. I can’t stand by while you starve yourself!”

Heat crawled up Malcolm’s neck. Damnit, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so angry. “That gives you the right to go behind my back?”

“I get that I shouldn’t have done that and I was going to tell you, I swear. I just…” Stuart grimaced. “I couldn’t figure out how. I knew you’d be mad and a part of me didn’t want to deal with that. Fuck, I wish you had asked me instead of going to Carter.”

“I asked him because I wasn’t sure you’d be straight with me.” Though Stuart’s wounded expression hurt to see, Malcolm simply shrugged. “You’ve been lying to my face for days.”

“I didn’t lie!”

“Oh, Stuart, come on. Yes, you did. You promised not to tell anyone about my money problems, even after you already had.”

“Can you blame me?” Stuart shot back. He set his hands on his hips with a muffled curse. “I was worried about you! You wouldn’t let me help, wouldn’t talk to your friends. You sure as shit wouldn’t tell your mom that you are going broke supporting her while she pretends that nothing is wrong.”

“Don’t.” The ache in Malcolm’s throat made it hard to speak. “Don’t you bring her into this.”

Stuart’s eyes went wide. “How can I not? Your mom is the reason we’re even talking about this right now!”

“No. This isn’t about Mom. This is about me trusting you with something important and you not giving two shits about that.”

Stuart’s face fell at the waver in Malcolm’s voice. “That’s not what I… Fuck.” He grabbed Malcolm’s hand between his. “I just wanted to help. You have to believe me when I say that.”

“I do. And you were helping. By being there for me and listening.” Malcolm gave a hard laugh. “You were great about everything. You didn’t judge my mom’s bad choices or mine, or preach at me to man up and tell her no. For the first time in a while, it was like I wasn’t drowning, you know? Like I could count on you to be there for me, even with all my problems.” He shook his head slowly. “Now, I don’t know if any of that was real or if you were just humoring me.”

“Oh, God. Of course, it was real. All of it.” Stuart’s throat worked and he took another step closer. “I know you’re angry and I know I overstepped, and that’s on me. But I saw a problem that I knew I could make better and I…I acted. I never meant to hurt you. Do you understand?”

Malcolm didn’t answer. A part of him got it. Under Stuart’s blithe ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude, he harbored a mile-wide protective streak for the people he was close to. Malcolm had been on the receiving end of it a couple of times already. Generally, that caring nature centered him, gave Malcolm an anchor when he needed it. Tonight, though, he just felt exposed and out of control.

Anger fading, Malcolm rubbed a hand over his face, heartsore and stripped bare and once again overwhelmed with a sense that his ship was slowly going under.

“I know you were trying to help,” he said, voice quiet. “I’m grateful to you and the guys for wanting to be there for me, too. That doesn’t change the fact that I told you about my mom’s situation in confidence and it’s like that didn’t even matter to you. Is this how things are going to work? You deciding how you want things to go while I try to catch up?” He squeezed Stuart’s fingers, determined to be heard.

“I’m having dinner with my mom and Jack tomorrow and now I have to sit there and look her in the eye, knowing that a whole bunch of people she’s never even met are aware of her situation and how much it affects her sons. She’d hate that.”

Malcolm drew in a deep breath. “I know you don’t understand why I feel responsible for helping her, but I do. My mom doesn’t have any other family besides Jack and me. She has no idea what we’ve been going through. Hell, not even my dad knows what’s been going on with the three of us. He thinks my mom is still living off her severance.” Malcolm’s throat was so thick it was a wonder he could speak at all. “I know how fucked up that sounds. I am fucked up. I don’t know how to turn off wanting to help the people I care about, even when I should.”

“I don’t think you’re fucked up, Malcolm. I am worried about you, though.” Stuart clenched his eyes closed for several seconds. They were pained when he opened them again. “And I am sorry that I hurt you.”

Malcolm gave a stiff nod. “You should have told me that you were going to talk to Kyle.”

“I thought you’d ask me not to.”

“Maybe I would have, but at least we’d have been working on it together. You didn’t even give me a chance. You just decided that what you wanted was more important and went ahead like my opinion didn’t matter at all.”

Stuart blew a noisy breath through his nose. “I didn’t think about it that way. Of course, your opinion matters to me. And I really, really hate that I’ve made you doubt how much I want to be there for you.” Lifting Malcolm’s hand, he pressed the palm flat against his own chest. “I’m here, however you need me. Even if only to listen because you need to talk. Okay?”

Malcolm wanted to agree. Agreeing would be easy and feel good, and it would wipe the stress from Stuart’s face. Malcolm’s head would still hurt, though. He’d still be angry and dejected and so fucking done with this day. He could tell from Stuart’s expression that he wasn’t done talking, either, and goddamn it, Malcolm needed to not fucking talk for a change. He needed time to recharge and get his head back on straight, and definitely not think at all about how his closest friends knew that his life was really screwed up right now.

Some of Malcolm’s feelings must have shown on his face because Stuart looked more worried than ever as he gestured back to his door.

“Come inside with me,” he said, even as Malcolm slowly shook his head.

“I’m gonna go.”

“Oh, Mal.” Stuart squeezed Malcolm’s fingers. “Are you sure? You know you can stay for as long as you need—”

“I know,” Malcolm murmured. “But I need to figure out what to do next. What to say to my mom and Jack about…everything. I can’t do that here.”

Stuart pressed his lips into a thin line for several seconds. “Okay,” he said at last. “Let’s get you a Lyft.”

 

* * * *

 

“Mom?” Malcolm walked into his mother’s kitchen, inhaling the scent of roasting chicken and aware of voices and movement on the sun porch through the open door. At least he didn’t need to figure out what they were going to eat tonight. He hung his bag on the back of one of the kitchen chairs and set the box of mango crème cookies on the table. “Smells great in here. Is that Dad’s car in the driveway?”

“You know it is.”

Malcolm stopped short as his father’s second wife, Genifer, stepped through the sun-porch door, looking sun-kissed and pretty in jeans and a white blouse.

“Holy crap, Gen! Hi!”

“Now that’s the kind of greeting a gal likes to hear.” Genifer reached up to give him a hug. “How are you, handsome?”

“I’m a little confused, but otherwise fine,” he said with a laugh. “Are you sure we’re in the right house?”

“Hah, Jack said something similar when he got here—he did a literal double-take when he saw me.” She stepped back and patted Malcolm’s arm with a fond smile. “Your mom and I have been talking recently. Had lunch a couple of times and grabbed some coffee this week.”

“Get out. Really?”

Genifer held her hand up like she was making a pledge. “All true. She and your dad and I want to be friends. Be a proper family, really, which is surprisingly nice. Especially if your dad and I get lucky with a baby someday.”

“Nice for you and me both.” Malcolm glanced toward the door where he could just see his mom and smiled. “I’m really glad to hear that.”

Genifer had cocked her head when Malcolm looked back her way. “Are you all right?” she asked. “I don’t mean to sound like a jerk, but you look completely wiped.”

Malcolm made his right shoulder move in a half shrug. He looked like crap and knew it. His head still ached and he’d had trouble sleeping last night, unable to stop thinking about Stuart and their argument. Stuart had waited while Malcolm used his phone to order a Lyft, and while they’d held hands the whole time, he’d been oddly quiet. A somber expression had fallen over his features by the time the car pulled up, and his touch had lingered as he’d walked Malcolm to the car. Something unreadable in Stuart’s eyes followed Malcolm even now.

What a mess.

“I’m fine,” Malcolm said. “Just didn’t sleep well.”

Genifer hummed and gave him another pat. “Let’s get you fed and watered. I was coming in to grab a second pitcher of Sangria from the fridge and mix up another, so why don’t you go on out?”

Malcolm eyed her askance. “How much Sangria are you people planning to drink?”

“No judging.” Genifer smiled, her brown eyes bright. “One pitcher only goes so far among five people. It’s your dad’s recipe, actually, and we brought a bunch of antipasti from the city, too, to help your mom with the cooking.”

The next half hour was a blur of hugs and hellos while Malcolm caught up with everyone and hid his amazement at how at ease Genifer and his mom appeared with each other. Kim was acting like her typical self and fussing over Malcolm like always. She chided him for wearing a hoodie and for working too hard, then asked after his friends, but an air of real contentment hung about her. Malcolm knew that was in no small part due to having her whole family gathered together again, Genifer included, a thing Malcolm would not have predicted.

Seeing his mother so comfortable made him smile even as his throat grew tight. Stuart was right. Malcolm couldn’t keep shielding Kim from the world—he was only hurting them both in the long run. They needed a plan that would work for everyone, today and into the future.

“Is it the wine?” he asked his brother, voice low, while Kim was chatting with Genifer and Stephen.

Jackson chuckled quietly. “I’m not sure. She didn’t tell me they’d be here either, but she really seems okay with everything.” He poked at the fruit in his glass. “I won’t lie and say I’m not waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Oh, good.” Malcolm took a slug of his drink. “I don’t need any more surprises in my life right now.”

“What does that mean?” Jackson frowned. “Everything okay?”

“More or less, I think. We should talk later,” he said, just as the timer in the kitchen rang and Kim got to her feet and started doling out tasks to everyone.

Malcolm found himself at the counter, carving one chicken while his dad carved the second, and Kim, Genifer and Jackson put together a massive platter of flat breads, cured meats, cheeses and various pickled vegetables.

“These olives are amazing,” Kim said to Genifer. “I’m so glad you brought both black and green, even though none of the Elliott men will eat them.”

“Olives taste like soap,” Malcolm and Jackson said in unison while their father made a face.

“You can’t have charcuterie without them!” Kim protested over Genifer’s chuckling, and Malcolm rolled his eyes.

“Charcuterie are meats, Mom.” He glanced over his shoulder at the tray on the table. “The rest of the things on that platter are antipasti, including the meat and things that taste like soap.”

Kim waved him off with a laugh. “They taste delicious, you weirdo! And since when do you know so much about food, hm? Getting tips from your friend the chef?”

“I suppose I have.” Face warm, Malcolm turned back to his carving, his family’s chatter rolling over him.

“I didn’t know you were still hanging with the chef, dude.”

“I met him,” Kim said to Jackson. “Stuart helped your brother fix the steps on the porch and do a few things around the house. He looks gruff and tough, but he was actually lovely. And much more of a gentleman than the guy I was dating.”

Malcolm winced. His mother had ended things with Scott from Maine shortly after the ankle injury. His lackadaisical attitude toward her wellbeing hadn’t done him any favors.

“You should have invited Stuart for dinner, honey,” Kim called over to Malcolm now. “And, Jack, why didn’t you bring Marissa?”

“You know Marissa works on Sunday,” Jackson replied.

“An occupational hazard when it comes to retail,” Stephen said. “Any chance she’s given thought to making a career change?”

Genifer tutted. “Honey.”

“The woman speaks fluent Arabic, Berber and French, Gen, in addition to perfect English.” Stephen set his carving knife down. “You know we all support Marissa no matter what she wants to do for a living. She would make a hell of an interpreter or translator, however, and I’ve been telling her that for years!”

“It happens that Marissa agrees with you,” Jackson said. He was grinning when Malcolm and his dad glanced back at him. “She starts at NYU to get her certification this fall and she’s taking some classes this summer to prepare.”

Malcolm smiled at his brother over the others’ congratulations. “That’s great, Jack.”

“Hopefully, you’ll think so after we both move back into the apartment in K-Town with you.” Jackson grimaced. “With Marissa back at school, we’ll be down one salary so…”

“I get it, believe me.” Malcolm didn’t need to pretend he was okay with the idea of having extra roommates again. He’d need to explain a few other things before Jackson and Marissa moved back in, of course. Like why he might get random grocery deliveries and why the chef Malcolm had mentioned a few times could be around more than Jackson might expect.

No time like the present, I guess, with everyone here.

But what if…

…what? His family reacted badly to the idea that Malcolm wanted to be with a man? Refused to accept it? Kicked him out of their lives?

Malcolm swallowed. His family wasn’t like that. He knew it deep in his bones. They’d be okay with whomever he wanted in his life. Jackson wouldn’t give a damn. Marissa had dated both men and women before they’d met. And Malcolm’s parents had always maintained that they loved him and Jackson for who they were, inside and out, and that it didn’t matter whom they loved so long as they were happy, and the person treated them well. They’d be okay if Malcolm told them he was falling in love with a man.

Which was exactly what was happening.

Malcolm carried the tray of chicken back out to the porch. The world had gone fuzzy around him. He was falling, no doubt about it. Up until yesterday, he’d never been happier with anyone he’d dated. Even now, still half-angry at Stuart and raw from their argument, Malcolm wanted him. Wished he were here on the porch with Malcolm and the Elliotts, chatting about how well the wine complemented the prosciutto and maybe fighting his mom and Genifer to see who could eat the most olives.

Without even knowing it, Malcolm had passed ‘like’ a long time ago with Stuart and started heading toward something bigger. Much bigger. He swallowed a giddy chuckle. Fuck, he was in deep. He wanted the people in his life to know it, too, at least a little.

“What do you think, Mal?” Stephen raised an eyebrow when Malcolm blinked at him. “Did you even hear me?”

“Sorry, no, I didn’t. I was trying to figure out how to tell you guys that Stuart and I have been seeing each other,” he said. “Then I figured it made sense to just say it out loud and not make things complicated. Stuart and I are dating.”

The porch went silent and now it was Stephen’s turn to blink. “Stuart…the chef your mother was talking about?” He glanced at Kim, whose eyes had gone wide. “The guy who fixed the porch, right?”

“Right.” Malcom met the blank expressions of his family. “We started out as friends and it changed.”

“It changed, huh?” his mom asked. Kim had begun to smile, and the sight made Malcolm’s heart pound with a fierce happiness that almost made him dizzy. “Into something romantic?”

He felt sure his face had gone up in flames, and he wanted to roll his eyes at Genifer’s gentle laughter. “Yes, into something romantic. That’s kind of the point of dating, isn’t it?”

“I knew it.” Kim’s smile shifted, and ugh, Malcolm saw where from a mile away. “I definitely saw something between the two of you that day!”

“We were still friends at that point, Mom, but hey, maybe you did. I like him a lot.”

A big grin transformed Jackson’s face, too. “Good for you, bro. Marissa and I would have tried to hook you up with guys too, if we’d known you were bi.”

“I didn’t really know it myself.” Malcolm pushed the chicken on his plate around with his fork, excruciatingly aware of his father’s eyes on him. “It’s new to me, too.”

“That had to have been confusing for you,” Genifer said, her voice even more gentle than usual.

“It was.” Malcolm tipped his head from side to side. “Still is on occasion. It’s getting easier, though. I’m figuring it out. With Stuart, of course.”

“Good.” Stephen drew his brows together, and the expression on his face was as kind as Malcolm had ever seen. “This man, Stuart. He treats you right, son?”

Malcolm stared at his father. The sharp words he’d exchanged with Stuart the night before echoed in his head, but his heart beat louder and drowned them out in the sweetest way possible. Sure, he and Stuart had some work to do. Malcolm knew they could get through it.

“Yeah, Dad,” he said with a smile. “He does.”

 

* * * *

 

“So you’re into guys, huh?”

Malcolm smiled down at his beer. After dinner—and way more talking about his personal life than he’d generally endure—Malcolm and his brother had hitched a ride back to Koreatown with their dad and Genifer where they’d bought a six-pack from the corner bodega and headed up to the apartment.

“Like I told you guys back at Mom’s, I’m into Stuart.” Malcolm met his brother’s gaze. “Probably guys in general. Definitely him.”

A crease appeared across Jackson’s brow. “He’s really the first man you’ve ever been with? You didn’t specify earlier.”

“He is.” Malcolm licked his lips. “I wasn’t hiding being bi from you guys or anything like that. I honestly didn’t know it was in me. I’m still not even sure I am bi or if I’m something else. I’ve been…curious, I guess, about another man in the past and never felt the need to act on it. Never even considered it, honestly. This thing with Stuart surprised me. Him too, I think.”

Jackson hummed. “Marissa says sexuality is fluid in some people.”

“That’s what a lot of current research indicates, yes. Sexual identity can shift over time, moving from exclusively heterosexual to bisexual, then from bisexual to exclusively gay or even back to straight. Or not.” Malcolm shrugged. “Some people who shift from straight to bi continue to identify as bi or pan.”

“Sometimes, I forget that knowing stuff like this is part of your job.” Jackson clasped Malcolm’s shoulder with his hand. “Maybe that’s why you seem a lot less freaked out than I’d have expected in anyone else—you already have knowledge that an average person might not. Then again, you’re you, so of course you’re chill.”

“Only on the outside. I have a lot of resources and opportunities to educate myself about sexual identity. I don’t have all the answers, though. I definitely freak out sometimes and question myself.” Malcolm winced. “I sort of knew what I was doing when it came to women, you know? Dating a man is different. And I’m not even talking about sex.”

“Well, good. By the way, I really don’t want to talk about my brother having sex with anyone, male or female, thank you very much.” Jackson waited for Malcolm to stop laughing before he spoke again.

“You like this guy, Mal?”

“Stuart.”

“Okay, Stuart. You like him, right? I’m not talking about sex, either, by the way.”

“I do.” Malcolm hauled in a deep breath. “He means a lot to me.”

“I can tell.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hm.” Jackson gestured with the bottle. “I can see it in your face. You used to get a similar kind of look when you were around Liz. This is different, though.”

“I know it is.” Malcolm stared at his brother. “I’m different. What I feel for him is nothing like what I had with Liz or anyone else. This isn’t just a crush or something casual.”

Jackson’s face softened. “That’s great. Really. I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear you say that. Except…”

“Except what?” Malcolm worried his bottom lip with his teeth when his brother frowned.

“You haven’t seemed one hundred percent happy today, either. I can see that in your face too, like you’re bummed out or stressed, and I gotta say it worries me.” Jackson set his bottle down. “Is it Stuart or has something else got you down?”

“More like Stuart and something else,” Malcolm said with a sigh. “This is why I mentioned wanting to talk back at the house. Because we need to make some changes, Jack. You, me and Mom.”

The brothers talked for over an hour, weeding through everything that had happened in the last several months. Malcolm spoke candidly about how quickly things had snowballed following Kim’s accident and about how hard he’d taken the discovery that Stuart had gone to the speakeasy guys behind his back. Jackson went pale when he finally understood the extent of Malcolm’s struggles, and his voice came out gruff when he spoke.

“You should have told me. I’d have helped more, Mal. Tell me you know that.”

Malcolm nodded. “I do. I was being stubborn about it. Stupid, really.” He shook his head. “I’m not even sure why. Stuart said it last night. I have all these people in my life who would have helped or even listened and, for the life of me, I couldn’t make myself tell them. Fuck, I blew off yoga today so I wouldn’t have to talk to Kyle about it.” Malcolm looked his brother in the eye. “I’m starting to think I’m just as bad as Mom when it comes to denial.”

“You didn’t want to hurt her. Or me. And I get that.” Jackson swallowed hard. “You’re not the only one who’s been pretending there’s nothing wrong. I haven’t been entirely up front with Marissa about how much money we give Mom every month, either. She knows we’re doing it,” he added quickly when Malcolm’s eyes got big. “Just not how much. You’ve been giving more, too…shit. I can’t believe I had no idea. I thought you were working out too much, not going hungry!”

“That doesn’t matter now. What does is knowing we can’t keep this up. We have to talk to Mom. I mean really talk to her and not hold back. She needs to go back to work full-time. Change her habits. She has to help and stop pretending everything is fine when we know it’s not.”

“You’re right.” Jackson rubbed his fingers over his mouth. “I know we’ve been trying to avoid getting Dad involved but he needs to know, too.”

“Fu-u-uck.” Malcolm groaned. “Mom’s going to be pissed. We have to make sure we tell them together, okay? Mom will be so hurt if she finds out we told Dad first.” Malcolm could imagine only too well how crushed his mother would feel.

Sympathy flashed over Jackson’s face. “I see your point and I’ll handle it.”

“What? No, that’s not what I—”

“I know you didn’t. But you’ve been carrying so much by yourself for too long.” Jackson pinned Malcolm with a near glare. “Let me do this, okay? Not for Mom—for you. And, seriously, man, take your own observation to heart and let people in so they can help.”

The lump in Malcolm’s throat kept him from answering, but he managed a smile as he nodded at his brother. He accepted a hug, too, and chuckled when Jackson seemed reluctant to let Malcolm go.

“I’m okay, Jack,” Malcolm said as he walked Jackson to the door. “Still pretty broke but things are turning around some.” He sighed. “It helps that I don’t have to worry about food so much.”

Jackson winced. “I know you’re mad at your friends for doing that, but I feel like I owe them a thank-you. Stuart especially. How long would you have gone playing martyr if he hadn’t spoken up?”

“I wasn’t being a martyr. Not intentionally, anyway.” Malcolm scrunched up his nose. “I’m not sure how long I’d have let it go on. You and Marissa moving back in would have changed some things, obviously. Stuart going to the guys was a serious kick in the ass, however.”

“A kick you resent,” Jackson prompted. He leaned against the front door, gaze sharp as he looked Malcolm over.

Malcolm folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t like it, no. Or that he seemed willing to lie about it. That crosses lines for me. At the same time, I understand why Stuart felt he had to and why the guys stepped up to help, too. I definitely know now that they did it because they care. Stuart especially.”

“If the situation were reversed, would you have crossed the line, even if he’d asked you not to?”

“I’m not sure.” Malcolm frowned. “I want to think I’d have respect for my partner’s wishes. I know I’d bend over backward to help in any way I could.”

“I figured as much. That attitude’s kind of what got us into the situation with Mom to begin with, though,” Jackson said with a smile. “So maybe we need to practice taking care of ourselves the way we do other people. That goes double for you.”

Jackson’s words bounced around Malcolm’s head long after his brother had headed home. As healthy as they sounded, Malcolm wasn’t sure either of them would have been able to follow them when it came to their mom’s situation. They’d always step up to help her, even if that meant making sacrifices here and there.

At least now they could hope those sacrifices would taper off with time. Yes, Kim’s problems were still out there, and yes, they had a mountain of work to do to fix them. Malcolm needed to work on himself, too. Knowing he wasn’t alone to do that work felt wonderful to Malcolm.

He had Stuart to thank for that. Stuart had cared more about Malcolm’s wellbeing than his own, and his own small sacrifice had changed Malcolm’s life for the better yet again.