For a solid ten seconds, Ty was convinced he was hallucinating. He didn’t know how else to explain the smokeshow on his father’s ostentatious front porch. Ty had seen his fair share of beautiful men, but this was ridiculous—broad shoulders and a lean, muscular body under a very friendly henley shirt, artfully mussed dark hair begging for Ty to run his fingers through it, and the kind of stubble movie stars paid big bucks for. With the sun just peeking over the tops of the trees, the guy’s skin actually glowed gold, so much so that Ty had to squint to look at him. And his eyes were the color of Ty’s father’s top-shelf brandy, which Ty had consumed last night in a less restrained manner than was advisable, which would explain the hallucination.
And the headache. Ty felt like death.
But then the guy said, “Hey, uh, I’m Ollie Kent. I’m looking for Leonard Morris? I’m supposed to start work for him today.”
Which settled the whole thing. If Ty were hallucinating a guy who looked like this, he wouldn’t be asking for Ty’s father. And he’d have a way sexier name than Ollie.
Ty blinked, and his eyes focused a little more, and—okay. The guy was good-looking, sure, but now that the sun had risen another degree and Ty’s vision had adjusted, he was ordinary enough—too short and round-faced to be a model. He looked like the kind of guy you asked to join your softball team or drank beer with.
Not that Ty planned to consume any more alcohol any time soon.
“Uh,” Ty said. He’d been back in town less than twenty-four hours, and it was a small town. News traveled fast. He hadn’t had to tell anyone else yet. Everyone who lived here already knew. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but he, uh.” He drove his car full speed into a knot of pine trees. “He died.”
Despite his resolve, Ty’s voice cracked on the second word.
Ollie’s eyes widened and his mouth parted slightly, and Ty could imagine the struggle. He obviously hadn’t been close to Leonard, or he would’ve known about the… accident. Which meant this was super awkward for him, because no Leonard meant no job, but focusing on that when someone had died made you look like an asshole.
“Oh,” Ollie said carefully. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Ty snorted without meaning to. “Yeah, me too. Old man’s still ruining my life from beyond the grave.”
Then he registered the car in the winding circular driveway. Apart from the driver’s seat and the seat behind it, it was packed with cardboard boxes.
There was a kid in the back seat, a little boy with Ollie’s eyes and a messy head of auburn curls.
Fuck, did his dad ruin this guy’s life too? He cleared his throat. “Uh, maybe—do you want to come in? Because I… need coffee.” And Advil. So much Advil.
And a shower; fuck, he smelled like bourbon.
Ollie shifted from foot to foot. “I don’t want to impose—”
“Come in,” Ty said more firmly, because suddenly the idea of sitting by himself in his parents’ kitchen, the site of untold childhood scoldings, seemed unfaceable. “Bring your—your kid?”
“Theo,” Ollie offered. He smiled with his whole body when he said the name.
So much coffee. “Bring him,” Ty said. “I haven’t gone shopping yet or anything, but the old man must’ve had something to eat in there somewhere. I’m pretty sure he didn’t actually live on the shattered dreams of his only child. Or we’ll order delivery… do you think Uber Eats comes out this far?” There was an IHOP in town. At least, there used to be a decade ago, the last time Ty set foot in the place.
“Uh,” said Ollie. He took a half step backward, which was when Ty realized it was pretty weird to invite total strangers into your house for breakfast, even if they looked like they could go totally HAM on a stack of pancakes. “Maybe it would be best if we just came back another day.”
Ty had the sudden horrible suspicion that if he let this man out of his sight, he’d evaporate and Ty would never see him again, hallucination or no. Ty couldn’t face it—not this big stupid monstrosity of a mausoleum, not breakfast, not the fact that he had to be presentable at his father’s funeral in less than three hours. Ollie and his kid might be total strangers and they might think Ty was a total freak of nature, and the only thing in his father’s kitchen—Ty’s, now, oh fuck—might be canned milk and maggoty flour. But right now Ty only cared about one thing, and his dignity wasn’t it. “Look,” he blurted, “I know it’s—weird. And we don’t know each other. And this is so not how you expected to spend your morning, I mean, clearly.” He gestured helplessly at the car, the kid, the boxes. What a clusterfuck. “But my asshole dad just died, and I would seriously love to not be alone in this stupid house for another minute.”
For a moment they stared at each other, both—Ty assumed—hyperaware of the tattered remains of his self-respect dying ignominiously on the intricate tile porch between them.
Finally Ollie cleared his throat. “Sure, uh, I guess. One condition?”
Oh thank God. “Name it.”
Ollie glanced down and then back up. “Put on some pants?”