Andrew looked down and saw shredded bits of paper napkin between his hands. “Shit. Sorry.” He dropped the remains of it on the bread plate and sighed. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?” Vaughn leaned in, honestly concerned.
This was it. Vaughn wasn’t a real friend, but he wasn’t a stranger either. Andrew could do this.
“How do you be out, and happy, and not want to punch bigoted pricks all the time?”
“Wow. Okay, that’s a big question.” He clasped his hands together on the table and caught Andrew’s gaze squarely. “It’s difficult. Very difficult. Everyone has different mechanisms. Some people learn to tune it out, others, well, they do punch the bigoted arseholes.” He smiled. “You just have to work out what’s best for you. What lets you live a healthy, happy life.” His smile faded. “I had to let go of most of my family. They couldn’t accept me as I am. Reid, my husband, his family is amazing but he’s never really been not out and he got bullied horribly as a kid. A guy I was seeing before Reid, he’s out to his friends and family, but not to anyone else. It wasn’t up to me to force him, either.”
Andrew nodded. “Yeah, that’s pretty much what I thought. I’m really sorry about what your husband went through.”
“He might not look it, but he’s tough.” There was endless admiration in his tone.
Their food arrived and Andrew dug in, both hungry and not eager to talk more just yet. The burger was fresh and really good so Andrew didn’t feel guilty about his salad roll back at the build site.
“Did something happen today?” Vaughn asked gently when they were down to chips and their drinks.
Andrew shrugged. “Like I said, just the guys talking shit.”
“About me?” Vaughn chuckled. “It wouldn’t be the first time. For one, I’m the nosy architect who doesn’t know when he’s not needed anymore. And secondly, I’m openly gay with a husband I don’t mind showing off in front of a group of men who are stereotypically homophobes. It was about me, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. And me, being with you.”
“Oh.” Vaughn sat back in his chair and looked at the awning over their heads. “Do they know about you?”
“No. Well, sort of. Ron told them I’m an architect, so that’s not going over well. On top of that, I’m apparently . . . servicing you in the office. I guess they’ll think we’re having wild butt sex today.”
Vaughn spat the mouthful of coffee he’d just taken.
Once it was as cleaned up as they could get it, Vaughn paid and they got back in his car. The architect didn’t start it, however.
“Andrew, not saying something to John McGregor about Ron’s attitude is one thing. Keeping quiet about what that person accused you of is entirely different.”
“I know. I like my job though.”
“You said like, not love. Over the past weeks I’ve seen how much you love architecture. I don’t know why you thought it would be better to not pursue it, but I do know you’d be much happier doing what you love, as opposed to what you like. Yes?”
Andrew stared out the window, heart a mess. Vaughn was right. These past weeks, talking about design and discussing new techniques and materials, had been amazing. Between that and being so happy with Brian, Andrew had almost forgotten just how sad he’d been for so long.
“Andrew?” Vaughn prompted. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Yeah.” He turned back and gave the older man a small smile. “You are. I love architecture. I want to do it again, but . . .” It was still there, his fears about the cancer coming back and derailing his whole life again. The uncertainty of his prognosis a second time around.
“No buts.” Vaughn’s voice had dropped into a low, seductive register. His hand landed on Andrew’s knee. He didn’t squeeze or stroke, but Andrew still felt the heat of his palm through the heavy material of his work pants. “You know I can give you every opportunity to finish your qualifications, but I would need you to show me just how much you want the job. I could make it very beneficial for both of us.”
Then Vaughn shifted his hand away, started the car and drove him back to the site.
After Vaughn left, Andrew gathered up his gear, told Ron he felt sick and got an Uber home.
He was still sitting on the couch when Brian drove into the driveway hours later. Brian came into the house already happily chatting about something cool that had happened. It wasn’t until Brian set a beer down on the coffee table, plopped down next Andrew and went to kiss him that he stopped and really looked at him.
“Andrew? What’s wrong?”
Andrew shook his head and suddenly he was crying.
“Oh shit. Come here, beautiful.” Brian pulled him against his chest, arms tight around him. “Tell me what’s wrong. Please. You’re scaring me.”
He shook his head again and all but crawled into Brian’s lap, unable to stop crying. Brian stroked his head and kissed his temple and soothed him with soft words until Andrew settled.
“Can you tell me what happened yet?” Brian asked softly, still stroking his head. “I haven’t seen you like this since we got the diagnosis.”
“Not that bad,” Andrew managed, the words muffled against Brian’s shoulder.
“Still not reassuring me.” His arms tightened even further.
However long later, someone knocked on the front door. Andrew clung to Brian but when Terri called, “Hello? Andrew?” he let go so Brian could go tell her to leave. There was a partial wall between the door and living room, so she wouldn’t see him as a pathetic heap on the couch, curled up with his work boots still on.
“Hey,” Brian said when he opened the door.
“Is Andrew okay?” She sounded upset.
“No.” Brian was the blunt he got when protecting Andrew. “He’s a mess. Won’t tell me what happened. Do you know?”
“He told Ron he was sick, but that was after . . . He should tell you himself. Just let him know I’m on his side and that I hope he’s okay.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
She left and Brian came back and sat down, pulling Andrew’s head into his lap. “You heard?”
He nodded.
“So, um, sides?”
“News to me. Shit must have gone down after I left.”
“Wanna tell me what happened while you were there?”
Andrew shook his head but sat up and told him about Sam’s comments and how he was so pissed he went for lunch with Vaughn regardless of how it looked. Brian visibly held in some choice words and kept quiet, letting Andrew finish before his words dried up.
“Vaughn’s right, though. What he said about me liking construction, but loving architecture. I think working on the builds was the right decision at the time. I needed the stability and the certainty. Too much had been doubtful for so long that trying to get qualified was too much risk.”
Brian nodded. “Perfectly understandable. So, are you thinking of quitting and taking Vaughn up on his offer?”
Throat tightening up, Andrew shuddered.
“What?” Brian’s arm went around him. “It’s okay, beautiful. I just want to help.”