Demming by Avril Ashton

Seventeen

Hart kept hyper-focused on work, going in extra early in the mornings and staying late into the night. He needed to remain busy to keep from thinking about Sawyer and just how badly he’d fucked everything up.

Because he had.

All he’d wanted to do was ask Sawyer not to leave, to stay with him, because the shit with the project had him all messed up and Sawyer’s presence helped him focus, helped center him. But he didn’t want to appear needy so instead, he’d flipped the entire thing and ended up pushing away the man he loved.

Now, he didn’t know how to fix it.

Sawyer turned him into someone vulnerable and needy and Hart didn’t know what to do with himself now that he wasn’t spending his nights with Sawyer, wasn’t communicating with him multiple times a day through funny or horny gifs. The absence of Sawyer in his life manifested in him being quick to lose his temper at work. He’d found himself raising his voice at Kenya and had to apologize on more than one occasion.

He couldn’t bring himself to see his parents, to see his father, because then Hart would have to tell him about the legal issues that were coming down the pike from one of their loyal partners who Hart had intentionally pissed off. He didn’t care about what happened in court, though his lawyers were beyond confident they would prevail. In all the years the company had been in operation, they hadn’t once had a dispute taken to the courts.

That wasn’t something he was proud of, at all.

It made him feel, once again, as if he were letting his father down.

He checked himself in the mirror one last time then grabbed his stuff and left the apartment, taking the elevator down to the garage. As he approached his designated parking space, another one pulled up alongside it.

His mother’s vehicle.

He frowned, rushing over to her before she’d parked completely. It was barely eight in the morning, why was she in Brooklyn so early? Unless something was wrong? “Mom.” He grabbed the driver’s side door handle and her window rolled down. “What’s going on?” He bent and peered at her. “Why are you— Dad?”

“Come help your old man out, boy,” his father said. “You and I need to have a chat.”

Hart glanced between them, but their features gave nothing away so he did as the old man instructed, helping him out and leading them both back into the elevator and up to his place. He helped his father into a chair as his mother took a seat on her own.

“Okay, what’s going on? Why are you here this early?”

“What’s going on at the office?” his father fired back.

Immediately Hart went on the defensive. “Nothing’s going on at the office. Why are you even asking?”

“So you haven’t been raising your voice at people?” his mother asked calmly with a lift of an eyebrow.

He sighed.

“And we aren’t being taken to court?” his father piped up.

“Okay, look.” He dropped onto the couch next to his mother. “I can explain.”

“Okay.” She gestured with her chin. “Explain.”

His mind went blank.

“Hart, this isn’t us looking over your shoulder waiting to pounce if you mess up. We’re worried about you.” His mother’s blue eyes searched his face. “You used to eat, sleep, and breathe work and you know how much I hated that. How much I wanted you to get a life outside of that. But then you were happy for some reason. I saw it. You weren’t rushing to the office, you clocked out at a decent hour. What happened? Because you look as if you lost someone.” As she uttered the words, he watched realization dawn on her face. “You lost someone.”

He didn’t answer her question. Instead, he turned to his father. “Russell Properties is taking us to court because I backed out of the deal, which I had every right to do. They refused to see me as a grown man capable of handling the scope of this project. To them, I will always be your little boy. They refuse to take me seriously. That shit is unacceptable, Dad. I can’t work with someone who doesn’t see me as an equal.” He shook his head. “Do you know how hard it is dealing with these people, the same people you’ve been doing business with for decades? It means all they remember, all they see, is a child. It’s time for us, for me, to deal with people who see me for what and who I am.”

His father nodded slowly. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“Why would I do that? What would you have done about it that wouldn’t make me appear even more of a child?” His father didn’t answer. “I had to handle this myself, Dad, and this is the way I chose.” He squared his shoulders. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Son, I don’t care what you do with the company. It’s yours.”

Hart blinked. That was not what he’d expected to hear. “You say that—”

“I mean that.”

“But—It’s your legacy. You’re always saying that.”

Emmanuel shook his head. “You’re my legacy, boy, don’t you know that?”

His eyes burned and he had to keep blinking. There’d never been any doubt his father loved him, but Emmanuel wasn’t usually the affectionate type of father. He’d never been liberal with his praise. Hart had always thought succeeding at the business would be the way to bridge that divide, the way to earn his old man’s respect. “I thought I was letting you down with the way I was handling things.”

“You could never let me down.” His father came over on his cane, hugging him with one hand. “I love you.”

“Hart, what about your friend?” his mother asked.

“Sawyer and I are done,” he said as he moved away from his father and helped him back into a seat.

“Sawyer?” his father lifted an eyebrow.

“Sawyer Demming.”

The old man’s expression darkened.

“Don’t.” Hart held up a hand. “I know what you’re going to say and let me tell you something, Dad, Sawyer and I have been in a relationship for the past few months. He’s the reason I was happy. He’s the one who listened to me while I complained about work and my fears about disappointing you. He’s the reason I took our business away from Russell in the first place because he gave me unbiased advice and I listened.”

His father’s jaw ticked. “When did this happen?”

“When he came to the office with an offer to buy Larchmont.”

“I told you that isn’t for sale.”

“It is. In fact, it’s been sold. I sold it to Sawyer because I wanted to and because like you said, the company is mine to do with as I see fit. The way you acquired that property was fucked up, Dad. This is my way of making it right.”

A weird expression crossed his father’s face then and he appeared as if he wanted to say something, but didn’t. Emmanuel held his silence for a while then finally said, “I always regretted what happened to Arthur Demming.” He cocked his head. “You love his son?”

“I—” Hart nodded. “I do.”

“You say he’s been good for you, so why haven’t you fixed things?” his mother asked.

“I’ve been busy.” He hung his head at the paltry excuse. “Because I acted like a spoiled child the last time we spoke and I can’t bring myself to face him. I haven’t heard from him since then,” Hart croaked out.

His father lifted a brow. “That only means the ball is now in your court.”

* * *

He hadn’t seena lot of people die, but once was enough to last Demming a dozen lifetimes. Henry’s sightless eyes watched him, even in his sleep, full of blame and recriminations.

A full week later, Demming remained holed up in his condo, ignoring calls from his mother and anyone else who wasn’t Hart. He’d picked up the phone a million times to call Hart, but after the way they left things, he wasn’t sure he still had the right. So he didn’t.

Seven days with no word from Hart and he just…Nothing else seemed to matter.

He kept going over everything that happened on the job, everything that happened with Hart, and fuck if he wasn’t the common denominator. He’d gotten so used to not having to explain himself, to not having to take someone else’s feelings into consideration, that he’d walked face-first into that trap and now he could lose Hart because of it. If he hadn’t kept shit from Hart, if he’d trusted his lover and been open—as open as he could be—he would have Hart in his arms now, instead of this racking emptiness that seemed unending.

If he hadn’t been distracted by his shit with Hart, if he’d tried harder to dissuade Henry from going back into the building...

So many ifs.

They ran around in his brain, making it difficult to sleep, to think.

Maybe he shouldn’t have returned. He shouldn’t be there right now where no matter where he cast his gaze, memories of Hart resided, making him hurt even more.

A sharp knock came on his door and he didn’t even lift his head from the couch where he’d been sleeping since he’d returned home. He couldn’t sleep in his bed where Hart once slept. The knocking continued and he didn’t move a muscle, holding his breath as if whoever was on the other side of the door might be able to hear it.

“Sawyer?” His mother. “Sawyer, are you in there?” Keys jangled and then the sound of the door opening. He regretted giving her a set of keys when he’d first bought this place.

He couldn’t see her from his position but he heard her entrance, the door closing behind her, her mutterings. Then her gasp when her gaze landed on him.

“Sawyer.”

“Mom.” His voice was scratchy since he hadn’t spoken to anyone in almost seven days.

“Didn’t you hear me calling you?” Her eyes narrowed and she checked him over. “What’s going on with you? Why haven’t you been answering any of my calls?”

He’d sent her a text to let her know he was back in town and that he was fine specifically because he didn’t want to talk. To see anyone. Except for Hart. “What’s up, Mom?”

“What’s up? I’ve been worried sick about you!” Her voice rose as she sat near his feet. “I tried getting your brother to check on you, but he’s”—she waved a hand—“always preoccupied with that band of his. I hardly see him anymore.” She touched his leg. “Sawyer, what’s going on? Why do you look so sad?”

“One of my men died.”

She clasped a shaking hand over her mouth, eyes filling with tears. Talking about it, even this little, made him want to rage, then he had to remind himself that Henry’s fiancé should be the one mourning him, the one heartbroken. Temple should be since he was—had been—Henry’s best friend.

Demming had no right to what he felt. He didn’t have any dealings with his team beyond the jobs, because he hadn’t wanted to get to know them on a truly personal level. He hadn’t wanted to get close. He’d kept it professional. He still couldn’t catch his breath when he thought about Henry.

“I’m so sorry, honey.” His mother inched upward and pulled his stiff body into a hug. “Where is your friend? Hart? Does he know?”

“No.” Demming’s mouth twisted into a sardonic smile when he pulled back. “Haven’t spoken to him since the day I left.” He swallowed roughly. “I think we broke up.”

His mother shook her head. “I don’t believe that.”

He snorted. Why couldn’t she believe it? “Believe it.”

“I’m sorry.” She squinted at him. “Is that why you’re here in the dark, looking like that? Because you look pathetic.”

He barked a startled laugh. “Thank you, Mother, for that.”

“I’m just telling you the truth.” She paused. “Do you care about him?”

“I do.”

“Then why aren’t you doing something to get him back? Get him back, Sawyer.”

“What if it’s better this way? This life, what I do—” He shook his head. “Is it fair to bring him into this?”

“He’s already in it if you care for him. This is where an honest conversation comes in.” Her expression gentled. “I’m sorry one of your men died. I know it must hurt so very badly, and I’m thankful you’re here with me. But that should be enough reason for you to go out and get your man back, Sawyer. Life is too short for anything to be left unspoken between you.” Sadness filled her eyes and he couldn’t help but reach for her, pulling her into his arms.

“Mom.”

“I want you to be happy, Sawyer. I want both of my boys to be happy and don’t think I haven’t noticed that you weren’t, not until Hart. Talk to him.”

He nodded into her neck. “I will.”