Blake inclined his chin and gave a small, “Oh.” He was silent for a moment before shaking his head. “I’m sorry. He hadn’t said anything to me,” he offered. “I wouldn’t have accepted your offer to help if I’d known.” He hesitated for a moment, something Blake wasn’t apt to do. “Would you like Preston to take you home?” he asked uncertainly.
Tilting his head toward the continued banging, Cameron sighed and shook his head. “No. He knows I’m here. I expect we’ll do fine avoiding each other.” He picked up his juice. “Especially if he keeps banging on the wall like that.”
“That’s not the wall,” Blake responded with a wince. “That’s my ten-thousand-dollar billiards table,” he explained.
Cameron’s head jerked up and his eyes widened. “Uh.” He glanced in that direction. He’d seen Julian lose his temper only once, and even then the man had regained it with remarkable speed. What in God’s name was he doing in there? “Would you like Preston to take me home?” he asked awkwardly.
Blake smiled and shook his head. “I need all the help I can get. Besides,” he sighed regretfully, “he’s not abusing the furniture because of you.” He gave Cameron a sad shake of his head. “He’s just trying to take the damn thing apart.”
Cameron bit his tongue to keep from asking the most obvious question; why did taking it apart require quite such vehemence? But Julian’s state of mind wasn’t his business anymore. “What will we start with?” he asked instead, gesturing around.
“We cleared the front rooms earlier; we start there,” Blake answered in a slightly more businesslike tone as he gestured for Cameron to follow him out of the kitchen toward the front of the house again. “We’re three rooms behind you, Cross,” he called into the game room as he passed. “Double time it!”
“I’m going to find creative things to do with this boot if you don’t shut up,” Julian responded calmly from where he sat under the pool table. He was taking it apart, piece by piece, and there were envelopes full of documents scattered around he seemed to be placing inside the table itself before patching it back up.
Cameron tried to ignore what looked like a very suspicious scene and instead glanced to Blake, mouthing a questioning, “Boot?”
Blake pointed to his own foot and shook his head. “Broke his foot,” he explained almost silently.
Raising one brow, Cameron almost looked back into the room before he stopped himself. Shaking his head slightly, he started walking again. Not his business. How Julian might have broken his foot was not his business, nor was the fact that he seemed to be hiding Blake’s important documents inside a piece of furniture. None of it was his business.
And that was his own fault.
“Mr. Cross is cataloguing my artwork and antiques in case anything gets damaged in the move,” Blake explained to Cameron and several of the others who had rejoined them. “If he tells you to do something, you do it, and you do it fast. Otherwise, just stay out of his way,” he advised. “If you have a question, ask Preston or myself. Stay out of Mr. Cross’ way,” he reiterated slowly.
The staff members buzzed quietly over “Mr. Cross” and all the gossip he represented as Cameron drew in a long, slow breath, trying to settle the nerves that still plagued him. He followed Blake to the front, where his boss began collecting the volunteers and telling them just exactly what they would be doing. Heavy lifting, mostly. And a lot of it.
What surprised Cameron was that apparently Julian really was there to take care of the antiques and artwork, because as it turned out, he seemed to know what he was talking about. More than once Cameron heard his ex-lover’s voice rattling off the details of the provenance of some random bit of artwork or an antique piece for whoever was writing it down. Why had Cameron never known that about him? Frowning, Cameron told himself to stop thinking about it and just do what he was told.
They worked in groups of three and four to move the solid furniture. There was a lot of moaning and groaning, but the morning was uneventful except for Charles smashing his thumb in a cabinet door that hadn’t been secured.
By the time noon came around, Cameron had almost convinced himself that Julian wasn’t there. Almost. It was about that time when Preston came through with a pad of paper, taking lunch orders.
“Where are you going?” Blake asked the quiet driver as he stretched his back.
“Mr. Cross said to tell you that you could have Wendy’s,” Preston answered evenly.
Cameron and those within hearing distance paused and turned to stare. Blake Nichols owned a four-star restaurant. He didn’t frequent fast food drive-thrus. Blake muttered, but to everyone’s surprise, he gave Preston his order and returned to work without a word of argument.
Cameron listened as the others made their requests, and when Preston approached he just shook his head. “No, thank you,” he murmured. His stomach was still churning, and he didn’t want to risk actually being ill.
“Are you certain, sir?” Preston asked with raised eyebrows. “I’m afraid there won’t be more food until nightfall,” he warned.
Wrinkling his nose, Cameron sighed. “Get me one of those salad bowls, please,” he requested. He would just stick it into a cooler with the drinks in case he wanted it later.
“Very well, sir,” Preston responded as he wrote down the order and turned away. He stopped at Blake’s side as he left and turned to him, lowering his voice as he spoke. Cameron wasn’t able to hear what he said.
“Where’s he taking it?” Blake asked, loud enough for Cameron to hear.
“He hasn’t said, sir,” Preston answered in a low voice that just barely carried to Cameron.
“You don’t know?” Blake asked incredulously.
“You know how he is, sir. He insisted on going alone,” Preston answered with a shrug. He slid his pad of paper into a pocket. “And he wants to make the first trip himself to make certain it’s safe before anyone else accompanies him to help.”
“You’re not going with him?”
“He insisted.”
Blake sighed heavily but nodded in agreement, and Preston left without looking back.
Cameron frowned. Something was odd, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Blake was the one moving, and he and Julian both had repeatedly alluded to the fact that Blake was somehow in charge of things, but today Julian sure seemed to be calling the shots. Cameron had never known Blake to give in so quietly to anyone under any circumstance. Perhaps Julian and Blake were closer friends than he knew.
Shaking his head, he turned from the almost-empty room and walked out into the hallway, heading for the downstairs powder room.
When he looked up from his feet, Julian stood with a large parcel in his hands directly in front of him at the other end of the hall. The package was obviously a painting or something similar; it was wrapped in brown paper and secured with blue tape. Julian knelt down, the action awkward and difficult with the unwieldy boot on his foot, and he leaned the package against the wall to join several others. When he heard Cameron approaching, he turned his head slightly and then looked quickly away, down at the wrapped painting once more.
He shook his head as he reached into his breast pocket for a large permanent marker. “Hello, Cameron,” he greeted softly without looking up.
Cameron stopped in place, eyes settling on the man who had been his lover. “Hello, Julian,” he answered faintly. He licked his bottom lip nervously. He’d have to move past Julian on his way to the bathroom. He didn’t know if he could physically do it. He scrambled for something else to say. “Ah. Blake said you broke your foot?”
“Several times,” Julian answered in the soft, formal voice Cameron knew so well as he wrote on the brown paper, labeling the painting. He didn’t look over at Cameron, and he seemed to be concentrating very hard on not doing so.
Cameron nodded, feeling the awkward tension crank up. He wanted to stand and look at Julian, to look his fill and listen to that gentle, barely there voice say anything at all, but he couldn’t
stand it. It caused too much pain for him to stand still. “Excuse me,” he whispered as he brushed past to flee toward the bathroom.
Julian didn’t respond. He didn’t even stand until Cameron had moved well past him. As soon as Cameron reached the bathroom door, though, Julian stood and turned away, calling out, “Preston! Get it in gear!”
Cameron closed himself inside the powder room and leaned back against the door, wrapping his arms around his middle and hanging his head. God. He missed the man so, so badly. He hadn’t realized how much until just now.
“Are you coming with me, sir?” Preston’s voice responded from somewhere close. “Well, shake a leg, sir. We’re running behind schedule and it won’t do to be sitting down on the job,” he drawled.
“I swear to God, Preston…” Julian sounded supremely annoyed.
“Oh, I have more, sir,” Preston assured him. “I know how you appreciate variety.” Cameron could hear their footsteps moving away.
“I appreciate silence more,” Julian responded irritably before they were out of earshot.
After they were gone, Cameron could still hear Julian’s voice echoing in his head, this time speaking tender words he’d once spoken; could still smell him, even if it was just his imagination. And all his reasons for driving Julian away seemed all of a sudden so useless and silly. Closing his eyes, Cameron sighed shakily, trying to convince himself that he hadn’t made a mistake.
Blake watched through the windows as Julian stepped down from the moving van and made certain his booted foot was on the ground before he put any weight on it. He’d tripped and fallen so many times in the past week that Blake had lost count. He almost felt sorry for his friend, but he knew Julian had dealt with worse, and it was funny watching him struggle with the heavy walking boot. Blake could really use the amusement right now.
Over the course of the day, they’d made several trips to the safehouse Julian had found for Blake, but because they were trying to keep the amount of exposure to a minimum, none of the volunteers accompanied them to the new house, and Julian and Preston unloaded the majority of the heavy furniture by themselves.
All of the hard labor made both of the men slightly cranky. Actually, it had made them both downright bitchy, and Blake was careful not to laugh at them every time they returned from a trip, bickering with each other in the most polite of ways. It was hard to respond to an insult that had “sir” tacked onto the end, which he knew frustrated Julian to no end.
They were back from their last run, accompanied by another order of food to hand out to the volunteers before they were taken home. The volunteers scattered on the front lawn with their meals, enjoying the mellow weather and in some cases dozing off.
Blake watched Julian and Preston as they approached the house, bypassing the others. He winced as he saw Cameron glance at Julian but just as quickly look away. Julian didn’t return the glance, keeping his head down as he made sure of his fatigued steps.
Preston walked ahead of Julian, carrying three McDonald’s bags as Julian limped behind him. He appeared to be muttering to himself, but then Preston would mutter back to him. Blake lifted the window to hear what they were saying.
“I’m going to kill Blake when this is over,” Julian was telling Preston through gritted teeth.
“You should have done that before we moved everything, sir,” Preston responded without missing a beat. “It would have saved us quite a lot of trouble.”
“Smartass,” Julian muttered under his breath. “And stop calling me sir!”
“Of course, sir,” Preston responded with an obvious smile as he walked through the open front door.
“Are you two still bitching?” Blake called out as he moved away from the window. “Bring me my dinner!”
Julian caught up to Preston and dug into one of the bags as the other man held it patiently and tried not to smirk. He pulled out a cheeseburger wrapped in yellow paper, walked into the room where Blake was working, and chucked the burger at him.
Luckily, Blake looked up just in time, and he caught the burger against his chest. “Thank you, Julian,” he drew out as he sat down on a box. “Feeling any better?” he asked pointedly.
“Do I look like I’m feeling better?” Julian demanded. “Do I seem to be in a better mood?” he asked sarcastically. “Preston!” he shouted suddenly. “Give me my fucking nuggets,” he demanded as he turned, only to find Preston standing behind him with a box of chicken in his hand. “Goddammit,” Julian offered before snatching the box and stalking out of the room with his food.
“I’ll just be taking the others home then, sir,” Preston said to him, and Blake knew the man was trying desperately not to laugh. Julian didn’t respond other than to growl something unsavory as he disappeared deeper into the house.
Blake sighed. He knew exactly what was making it so bad. “I didn’t know, Preston,” he murmured, referring to the young man standing outside with the rest of his remaining volunteer moving company.
“How could you, sir?” Preston asked with a cock of his head.
“I’d have thought that he would have told me…” Blake’s voice rose toward the end of the sentence. He stopped and shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. The day’s done, and they both suffered, from what I saw. Spilled milk. Go ahead, Preston. And thanks for your help.”
Preston remained where he was, still managing to look oddly dignified as he held several bags of fast food in his arms. He looked like he was about to say something, but finally he nodded in response and turned to leave.
“Preston?” Blake asked, having caught the other man’s hesitation.
“Yes, sir?” Preston answered as he turned obediently.
Blake frowned. “What were you going to say?”
Preston was silent as he met Blake’s eyes. “Mr. Cross has become quite reckless,” he finally said softly. “I believe sharing the news was the last of his concerns.”
Blake’s eyes went hard. “Reckless,” he stated. “Do you feel he’s… purposely endangering himself?”
Preston pursed his lips and shook his head. “No, sir,” he answered curtly. “Perhaps what I meant to say was he’s not exactly a master of his emotions like he once was. He tends to… throw cheeseburgers.”
“I see.” Blake relaxed a little, and he nodded. “All right. Thank you, Preston.”
“My pleasure, sir,” Preston offered with a little bow, and he turned on his heel and left the room.
Blake sat there thinking as he unwrapped his cheeseburger, and then got up to go find Julian. “Cross! Where’d you go?” he yelled out.
He found Julian sitting at the counter in the kitchen, shoulders slightly hunched as he ate his McNuggets. The man looked so odd eating out of a cardboard box that Blake had to stop and just stare at him for a moment.
When he forced himself to move again, Blake snagged two cold bottles of Coca-Cola out of a cooler and set one on the counter in front of Julian. He waited several minutes, until it was clear Julian wasn’t going to say anything.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Jules?” he asked.
“What was there to tell?” Julian asked softly, looking up to meet Blake’s eyes.
“Well, how about, ‘Blake, I’m not seeing Cameron anymore, just so you know’,” Blake posed.
“I didn’t know the issue would become a problem,” Julian responded icily.
“It wasn’t.” Blake paused significantly. “For me.”
Julian’s chin jerked slightly, and he moved almost explosively, slamming his hand down on the counter hard enough to rattle the boxes full of kitchen utensils sitting nearby. “What do you want me to say?” he demanded in a loud voice.
Blake was unperturbed by the rare outburst. “If you’d told me, I wouldn’t have asked him to help today,” he said flatly. “I didn’t even know anything was wrong until he told me. And who am I supposed to feel sorry for here, Jules? Did you finally give in and convince yourself he was better off without you?” he asked angrily.
The muscles of Julian’s jaw jumped as he gritted his teeth. “No. He did. Any other questions?”
Blake’s lips tightened, but he knew he’d pushed enough. Even Julian had his limit, and he’d obviously reached it very quickly. “No,” he responded quietly, shaking his head.
Julian continued to look at him unflinchingly, his eyes turning hard and as black as obsidian. It was obvious that he was getting angrier even as he tried to calm himself. “Today was hard for him?” he asked in a low voice.
“I believe so,” Blake answered, resting his elbows on the counter. “He was… distressed. Wanted to ask about you, I could tell.”
Julian’s eyes unfocused slightly, and he looked away, tapping his finger against the granite countertop. “I thought I’d prefer hearing that answer,” he muttered. He stood and began moving toward a cooler where there were several beers waiting. “I was wrong,” he admitted without looking back at Blake.