Chapter Text
It all starts with a business meeting. Well, two.
The first time Patrick Brewer offended him, David might have been prepared to forgive him. He might have even come around to Stevie’s way of thinking – that maybe Patrick didn’t mean to imply that his business was a failure, that maybe David was being oversensitive and reading too much into it. But then there were the stoned phone calls and the second meeting when Patrick had needled him over the mess of voicemails and confusion, an amused little glint in those chestnut eyes as he called the name of David’s business, the one that he’d um-ed and ah-ed and agonised over, pretentious.
Pretentious!
The entertained smile on Patrick’s face had dropped soon enough when David had scowled at him, folded his arms over his chest and told him he didn’t think much of Patrick’s snippy attitude. It was David’s business and he did have a clear idea of what he wanted to do with it, despite what the overly smug business major in mid-range denim had to say about it.
Patrick’s clever mouth had fallen silent at that before he’d begun to sputter something that might have been an attempt at backtracking but it had fallen on ears clogged by anger and nothing short of the floor physically vanishing under his feet could have stopped David’s indignant exit.
And that was that. It was decided; David hated Patrick Brewer.
It had taken a few hours of ranting in the motel office to a Stevie who was clearly not listening before David realised that he still had a problem. He may have had a clear vision for the store (no matter what that asshole Brewer said) but he still needed help with the paperwork and business questions. He was not going to let Patrick Brewer stand in his way.
Easily enough solved as it turned out. He’d called the only other business consultant in town – Ray (the one who’d hired Patrick but David was in no position to hold his poor judgement in that area against him) – and asked for Ray’s help instead. He could pay for the assistance, he’d explained, but he did not want to have to deal with Patrick ever again.
Fortunately Ray, in his usual accommodating manner, had agreed without asking questions and David had ended the call with a sigh of relief.
There, he’d thought. Problem solved. Goodbye Patrick Brewer.
If only he’d known how many times he’d recall that thought in the days and months to come.
Because for someone David had never seen before that day at Ray’s, Patrick is suddenly everywhere. And every time David sees him, he seems to have picked up another way to irritate him.
He’s in the town hall a couple of days after their second encounter when David goes to meet his mother, having a discussion with Roland. On spotting David, Patrick goes quiet but David doesn’t miss the way his start to gleam with humour when Roland attempts to draw out David’s opinion on some sportsball team or other and David proceeds to tell them both exactly what he thinks of team sports.
Patrick follows him out after David tells his mother he’ll meet her outside and makes another attempt at an apology but David curls his lip and turns his back, unwilling to spend any more of his time on someone who clearly sees him as a punchline. Patrick’s deep sigh as David stalks away only serves to irritate him more. What has Patrick to be dissatisfied about when David’s the injured party?
After that it seems that Patrick’s always the one answering the phone at Ray’s, and he frequently drops by the store to give David a message or a piece of paperwork to fill out for the start-up grants that Ray found but is too busy with one of his many businesses to bring himself. He’s chatting in a corner booth with Ray and Bob when David has dinner with his family, the periodic rising of his voice above the chatter incredibly annoying. He’s talking in the street to Ted as David passes by on the other side, halting his conversation to call out and wave, something that David finds highly infuriating when David’s been doing his best to ignore his existence.
Wherever he goes, whatever he does, he is unable to escape Patrick Brewer. It appears the universe is playing a massive joke on him – one that David does not get and certainly doesn’t appreciate.
--
Alexis has lice. Even thinking the sentence has David’s insides writhing in disgust and he straightens the edge of his hat nervously, trying to reassure himself that the phantom itch he can feel on his scalp is in his mind.
Breathe, he tells himself. He’s got the shower cap and the toque covering it and he’ll be going nowhere near his sister until the entire situation is resolved. Of course, they share a room which is tricky. The room will have to be fumigated, or the bedding and all the soft furnishings burnt or thoroughly disinfected. How long does it take to kill a headful of lice? Maybe he can sleep in the car or-
“What’s the big emergency?” Stevie says by way of greeting as she steps into the store, the bell jingling under her words.
-or something.
“I need to sleep with you tonight,” he blurts out and Stevie lifts a questioning brow.
“I thought we weren’t doing the friends with benefits thing anymore.”
“No. Not for that. I meant I need to sleep in your bed.”
“Not a lot clearer. Why? What’s wrong with your bed?”
David sighs and prepares himself to explain the whole disgusting situation, trying his hardest to resist the urge to scratch as the word ‘lice’ floats into his mind once more. At least they’re alone; no one else needs to hear about the infestation in the motel. This conversation is better had in private.
Except the universe isn’t that kind and his head whips around as the bell jingles again and a figure steps in. And oh, as if this day wasn’t bad enough without having to deal with him.
“Hello David,” Patrick Brewer says.
“We aren’t open to the public right now,” David replies curtly.
The shadow of a frown crosses Patrick’s face before he recovers his composure. “No, I know. I’m just here to drop this off for Ray. Those, er, it’s the details and confirmations of the start-up grants he found for you. You’re all set to go; the money should be in your account by the fourteenth.”
It’s then that David notices the envelope in Patrick’s hand. Patrick holds it out but David folds his arms tightly across his chest silently until Patrick clears his throat awkwardly and sets it down on the counter instead.
“Okay, mission accomplished,” David says pointedly when Patrick doesn’t leave. “You can go.”
Stevie snorts. “Or, as most people would say, thank you.” Rolling her eyes she adds to Patrick, “Charming, isn’t he?”
“Don’t talk to him,” David tells her before Patrick can respond but Stevie, as usual, ignores David’s directive completely.
“Hi. I’m Stevie – David’s friend and social liaison apparently.”
Patrick laughs. It’s annoying. “Patrick.”
“I know. We finally, officially meet. David’s mentioned you a few times.”
“Ah,” Patrick says with a wince. “All horrible, I’m sure?”
“Don’t worry. Anyone with a fibre of common sense would know he’s exaggerating.”
“Thanks. And I suppose if you’re going through the trouble of educating him socially, you must be a very patient person.”
“Okay, hating this,” David interrupts their little love-in. “This social dynamic isn’t really working for me, so...”
“Weird. It’s working for me. How about you, Patrick?”
“I’m having a great time.”
“You’re both awful.” He lifts his hands to readjust his hat rim where it’s ridden up on his forehead. See, this is why he doesn’t often bother with hats. Well, that and the unknown harm it’s wreaking on his carefully styled hair. He’s going to have to make sure he’s near a mirror when he takes it off so he can carry out some damage control before anyone sees him and…
“Hey, what’s that?”
Stevie’s eyes, like an embarrassment-seeking missile, are fixed a couple of inches above David’s eyebrows and David’s face heats when he reaches up to feel crinkly plastic instead of soft wool.
“Nothing,” he says quickly, tugging the hat back into place but the damage is done.
“Is that a shower cap?” Stevie crows, her entire face lighting up in delight and when David casts a glance at Patrick, he can see that he’s unsuccessfully fighting a grin.
“No!”
“Yes it is. Why are you wearing a shower cap, David?” his soon-to-be ex-best friend pushes and he glares at her.
“It’s a preventative measure!”
“Preventative against what?”
“Maybe all those indoor rainstorms we’ve been suffering. They’re getting to be a real problem,” Patrick chimes in and the sound of the teasing lilt in his voice has David gritting his teeth.
“That’s enough out of you. No one asked you to be a part of this.”
“Part of what?” Stevie asks as Patrick irritatingly mimes zipping his lips, although David notes he’s still smirking. “If I have to be a part of it, I’d like to know what the hell’s going on.”
“I…”
He looks once more in Patrick’s direction but he doesn’t seem to be leaving. Instead he leans against the counter, arms folded across his chest and with that frustrating half-smile firmly in place. David considers kicking him out before explaining himself to Stevie but in the end sighs and gives in, if only because providing a reasonable explanation might prevent Patrick from further spreading this embarrassment around town.
“Alexis has lice,” he says shortly. “I do not want lice. So. Shower cap.”
“Ah,” Patrick says but to David’s exasperation there’s still a sparkle of amusement in his eye. “Although you do know that if your sister has lice and you share a room, chances are you already have-”
“No!” David cuts him off before he can somehow manifest David’s fears into being. He wouldn’t put it past Patrick to manage to do it out of pure spite. “No. I checked, I don’t have lice. The room’s being disinfected, I just…” he pauses and switches his attention to Stevie. “I need somewhere to stay tonight.”
“Sucks to be you,” Stevie says flatly.
“Stevie.”
“You know, there might be space over at- at Ray’s,” Patrick says. “I rent a room from him and you could take the couch or-”
“I’m not going to stay at Ray’s.”
God. As if spending extra time with Patrick Brewer weren’t bad enough, adding the extra threat of Ray Butani before his morning coffee? No thank you.
Patrick’s face looks a little pink as he closes his mouth and David would feel sorry for offending him but it’s Patrick and he deserves it.
“Stevie,” David prompts again and Stevie capitulates with a heavy sigh.
“Fine. One night.”
“Thank you. Now it’s been a while since I stayed at your place; please tell me you’ve been sticking to the cleaning system I implemented and you still have those Egyptian cotton sheets.”
“Can I stay at Ray’s tonight?” Stevie asks Patrick whose face breaks into a grin again.
“What are you talking about? It sounds like you’re going to a have a very relaxing, complaint-free night.”
“Why are you still here?” David fires at him and Patrick holds his hands up in surrender.
“I’m going, I’m going.” To David’s relief he turns to follow through with his promise, making it as far as the door before he pauses and spins back to face them. “Although Stevie, can I suggest keeping an eye on your shower caps? I know he said it was lice but it’s still not impossible he’s trying to start a trend.”
“Out!”
The memory of the satisfied smirk on Patrick’s face as he leaves has David’s fists clenching in rage all afternoon and the anger has still not completely faded by the following morning. After a restless night enduring Stevie’s taunts and baseless speculation regarding Patrick’s teasing, he drags himself down to the café for his coffee and morning cinnamon bun before he returns to the motel where his family have hopefully dealt with the lice situation.
Unfortunately, when he pushes open the door and steps inside, the first person he sees is Patrick sitting at the counter reading the paper. He looks up when he hears the door and meets David’s eyes, his mouth curling into a small smile a split second later. David tears his eyes away before his smug face can raise David’s blood pressure once more.
He more or less thinks he’s succeeded in keeping his outward demeanour cool as he places his order but then Twyla gives him an apologetic look and nods towards where Patrick is perched on a stool.
“Sorry,” she says. “Patrick just got the last cinnamon bun.”
Patrick, who has looked up again at the sound of his name blinks in the face of David’s furious glare.
“Oh,” he says, glancing down at the plate which holds David’s morning pastry. “I… Sorry, David.”
“I’m sure you are,” David mutters sarcastically. “Just another way for you to ruin my day. Well done you.”
“I didn’t mean to ruin anything.” Then, as if David is a child who needs placating, Patrick picks up the plate and holds it out. “I’ve only eaten a little bit. Do you want to split the rest?”
“No. Don’t do me any favours,” David growls and Patrick’s brow furrows as he sets the plate back down.
“What do you want me to do, David?”
“Nothing. I certainly don’t want your charity.”
“It’s not charity. It’s just a cinnamon bun.”
“Which I’m sure you ordered when you saw me coming, right? Just so I couldn’t have it?” David sneers, beyond caring how ridiculous he sounds.
“What? No, I didn’t.”
“I don’t think he did, David,” Twyla says brightly, apparently not sensing the tension in the air. “Patrick always has a cinnamon bun if we have them.”
David scoffs, too far along this road to back down, and storms out of the café without another word.
It’s only when David gets back to the motel that he realises he left his coffee behind and now has to face his family without being properly caffeinated. Yet another thing to blame Patrick Brewer for (not that David has any shortages of those.)
--
On a day to day basis, he tries to ignore Patrick – no need to upset himself unnecessarily – but it’s not always possible. And so, on an otherwise beautiful Thursday afternoon a few weeks later, he finds himself once more facing off with his nemesis.
“What the fuck? Did anyone ask you to interfere? Anyone at all?” David snarls.
Patrick ignores David’s ire in that way he has that makes it more irritating than if he’d yell back. “But didn’t you learn something, David?”
“Just that you’re an asshole who can’t keep his nose out of my business. Nothing I didn’t already know.”
Patrick frowns at that. “I just thought-”
“Don’t you get it? I don’t care what you think,” David butts in. “At all. Seriously. How fucking dare you?”
All week David’s been dealing with a host of townsfolk coming in, requesting the more... unsavoury household items. At first inconvenient, the phenomenon had quickly escalated to both baffling and suspicious after the sixth request for directions to the toilet plungers came in on the same day.
He should have known Patrick would be behind it. After all, it had been him who, just the week before, had offered the unwelcome suggestion that perhaps David should rearrange his merchandise to allow people to find the unfortunately necessary monstrosities more easily.
Patrick tries again. “I just thought if I could show you there was a demand for certain items-”
“An entirely manufactured demand,” David bites out. “Goes against your point if you have to organise some kind of secret campaign for them.”
“Like it or not David, you can streamline your sales by-”
“What has this got to do with you?”
“I’m trying to help you!”
David loses it, the red haze lowering and he explodes, frustration and anger at Patrick’s attempts to trick him making his words burst out. “Help me have a complete breakdown? No thank you. I don’t know how to make this clearer but I do not want or need your help. I don’t want anything to do with you or your smug little attitude. I can’t fucking stand you.”
Patrick has the nerve to look hurt, as if he had no idea that his presence was so unfavourable. As if he hasn’t been doing all he can since the day they met to push every single one of David’s buttons, uncovering several unknown ones in the process and having a good go at jabbing those too.
“Right,” Patrick says after a long moment. “Okay. I apologise for- for-” he pauses, sighs, then says. “Just, I’m sorry. I won’t interfere with this place again.”
“You better not. Now leave.”
Patrick turns to do so but before the door shuts behind him David throws at his retreating back, “And tell them all to fucking stop with the plungers!”
In the days that follow, the requests have dwindled before they stop entirely but David finds the victory is a hollow one when he’s still too blinded by fury at Patrick’s audacity to appreciate it.
--
It’s only under extreme duress that he agrees to go out with Stevie the following weekend to help her look for a random. He’d much rather stay at home, catching up on whatever cheesy Interflix programme he can find that won’t take a lot of concentration but she whines and complains until he gives in. After making her promise to buy his first two drinks.
“An hour, Stevie,” David warns her as she pushes open the door to the bar. “I’m not in the mood for this tonight.”
“Really? But you’re covering it so well.”
“I can be here or I can be enthusiastic. Your choice.”
He follows her in, his eyes automatically scanning the room as the thrum of music hits him. It’s instinct more than anything else – he was telling Stevie the truth when he told her he wasn’t interested in finding a random for himself tonight – but he likes to know what’s going on around him and while he’s here he can at least try to scope out a prospect for her.
“An hour isn’t long,” Stevie tells him.
“No,” David says. “Better get looking, hadn’t you?”
He continues his own perusal of the space, mentally assessing Stevie’s chances. The bar is semi-busy tonight; there are a number of people dotted at tables, a couple making out in a corner and three guys playing pool, one of whom could be a possibility. Stevie orders their drinks as David inspects the blonde lining up the triangle on the green tabletop. He’s hot. Tall with strong looking arms and deep green eyes, Stevie might be into him.
David turns his head to point him out to Stevie when he spots another couple a few tables away and freezes, tension instantly flooding into his body.
It’s Patrick. Sitting across from some guy, leaning forward to hear what his table-partner is saying above the music. He nods thoughtfully and lifts his beer bottle to his lips just as his eyes shift over the shoulder of his… friend? Date?... and lock onto David’s. He stills for a brief moment and then gives David a small nod of acknowledgement and brings his beer to his lips for a drink while holding David’s stare.
Patrick’s companion realises that he’s lost Patrick’s attention and turns to see what he’s looking at, meaning that David can see him properly, the shift of his body allowing David to glimpse where his hand lies next to Patrick’s on the table, their little fingers brushing.
The mystery guy is attractive, David supposes. He has a strong jawline with full lips, pale blue eyes and light brown hair that David thinks is slightly too long for his face-shape but decently styled. Not that it’s David’s business. Patrick’s the one on a date with him.
“Who are you looking at?” Stevie’s voice breaks in and David forces his attention back to her, certain he can feel the gaze of the couple boring into the side of his face.
“No-one.”
Stevie isn’t fooled and looks over in the direction of Patrick and his date. “Oh, hey. It’s Patrick. You want to say hi?”
He shakes his head firmly and she laughs. “What a surprise. You know, I don’t know why you don’t like him.”
He shoots her an incredulous look. “Do you want me to start with how he makes fun of me every time we meet? How he went behind my back to get the whole town in on teasing me? Or how he called my business a failure?”
“I really don’t think he meant to do any of those things. And I’m not convinced he ever called your business a failure.”
“You weren’t there.”
“No,” she concedes. “I wasn’t. But I’ve gotten to know him and he’s not so bad. Kind of cute, too, don’t you think?”
She doesn’t seem to require an answer to this which is fortunate as David doesn’t have one ready. He sputters wordlessly as she picks up her drink and leads the way to an empty table – thankfully in the opposite direction of where Patrick and his date are once more engrossed in conversation.
She disappears off shortly after to flirt with the blonde at the pool table, leaving David swirling his wine around his glass as he studiously avoids looking in Patrick’s direction.
Kind of cute, too.
It’s not… David doesn’t…
He sighs. It’s not worth dwelling on. Sebastien was hot, he was also a heartless asshole. David’s been with plenty of people whose outward appearance drew him in before their true nature was revealed. He should know better than anyone that Patrick’s physical attractiveness has no bearing on his personality; David’s just lucky that this time he realised what Patrick was before he was tricked into falling for big, brown eyes and broad shoulders.
He flinches in his seat when the sound of his nemesis’ laugh breaks into his thoughts from across the room and he hunches his shoulders up towards his ears, gripped by the sudden worry that he is what Patrick is finding funny.
David can’t shake the idea that it’s at his expense, that Patrick and his mystery man are watching and judging him, finding something in him to ridicule. He can practically feel their eyes on his neck and doesn’t dare turn around to see if they’re looking at him. Maybe Patrick will be holding the man’s hand fully now, the two of them chuckling under their breath at a funny story he’s telling – maybe Patrick’s talking about one of the many ways he’s been able to nettle David. Maybe he’s telling his date about David’s business and how vague David was about his own ideas the day Patrick met him.
David can’t look to see, frightened that he’ll find two pairs of eyes looking disdainfully back at him.
When Stevie returns to the table, shaking her head and complaining about a waste of time he quickly jumps to his feet and tells her time is up.
Despite her trying to persuade him to stay another half hour, he stays firm and begins walking towards the exit, keeping his gaze straight ahead instead of allowing it to roam to where he can sense Patrick sitting.
He only feels his shoulders relax as the door closes behind them and they leave, David experiencing a strange mixture of relief and frustration. For as much as he didn’t want to go out tonight, he’s still furious with himself for allowing Patrick Brewer to ruin any enjoyment he might have been able to salvage from the situation.
Mostly, however, he’s angry at Patrick for managing to sneak into yet another area of David’s life and being able to unsettle him so badly.
--
“What was he doing here?” David asks Stevie as the motel office door closes behind Patrick Brewer a few weeks and several unfortunate encounters later.
Stevie looks up from her computer where she undoubtedly is continuing her solitaire winning streak. “What was who doing here?”
“You know who!” When her face continues to look blank he curls his lip and spits out, “Patrick.”
“I know. I just wanted to see your face when you said his name.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“Again: I know.”
Stevie clicks something on her screen and the sound of cascading cards and triumphant fanfare rings out over the tinny speaker. David waits but when it doesn’t appear that she’s going to answer his question he sighs and repeats himself.
“What was he doing here?”
Stevie shrugs easily. “I asked if he could give me and your dad some help with some business stuff for the motel.”
David bristles. “Dad had his own business. Why would you need Patrick?”
“Your dad’s great at a lot of stuff but Excel... Not so much. Understandable since he stopped personally having anything to do with the books for Rose Video in the 80’s when Lotus123 was a thing.”
“And dad agreed to allowing this.... This interloper to stick his nose in?” He can hear the way his pitch is rising indignantly but is powerless to stop it, no matter how much he hates how screechy his voice is getting.
“Not everyone’s as unreasonable as you, David. Some people take the help where they can get it. And Patrick’s good at what he does.”
David exhales in disgust. “Traitor. The pair of you are traitors.”
Stevie leans back in her chair, arching her eyebrows. “Well look who’s being a hypocrite.”
“Excuse me?” There goes the voice again.
“You heard me. What, it’s okay for you to use his help but not for me?”
“When have I ever used his help?” David asks. “If you remember I specifically rejected his help. Ray took over.”
Stevie rolls her eyes and David frowns at her. “Yeah. Sure. Ray put in all that work and found you those grants but was just always too conveniently busy to bring the paperwork himself or call you to let you know what was going on. The guy who can’t stop talking to everyone just passed all the information on through Patrick. Jesus, David, you can’t be this dense. You know Patrick was the one working on it for you.”
David falls silent, her words clanging around inside his head before slotting suddenly, neatly into place.
Stunned, he somehow manages to form the words. “What? No. That’s doesn’t... He’d be holding it over me if that was true. Why wouldn’t he tell me if it was him?”
Stevie snorts. “Yeah, because you’re always so opening to listening to him. It’s why I told him to get everyone on board asking for the plungers rather than just telling you his idea; I thought you’d respond better if you were shown where you were going wrong.”
“That was your idea? But he never said! I fucking yelled at him and he never said it was you.” He begins pacing, stalking back and forward across the room, shaking his hands out to try and dispel some of the unease taking residence inside him.
“Well it was a mutual plan,” Stevie corrects. “But guessing he thought it was better to take the blame alone; you already didn’t like him.” She gives him a look. “I know you were pissed off about it but we- he really did want to help. I just kinda wanted to see if you’d get all dramatic and start ranting about plungers.”
Of course she did. In the mess of confusing thoughts clamouring for his attention he still manages to find the energy to throw her a quick unimpressed look as he continues pacing for several seconds before pausing and turning to meet her gaze.
“Why would he want to help me?”
“Beats the shit out of me. Fuck knows you haven’t been grateful for it.”
David sighs and his feet start up their frenetic pacing once more, his mind turning over and over Stevie’s words and each and every run in with Patrick Brewer.
Patrick had every chance to come clean with David if it had been him helping in the beginning. So why wouldn’t he bother to try and change David’s view? Did David’s opinion of him really matter that little? Does he quite simply not care if David doesn’t like him?
Stevie watches him for a minute before returning her attention to the computer, adding the rapid click of a mouse and the periodic sound of falling cards to the soundtrack of David’s feet on the floor.
--
That evening his parents insist on heading to the Café Tropical for family dinner and despite David’s best efforts he’s unable to talk them out of it.
He would have preferred a little more time to himself to think and attempt to clear his own muddied thoughts but instead he steps into the bright interior behind his parents and Alexis to find the laws of his own particular universe are holding true. Namely the one that states: Patrick Brewer Is Everywhere.
He’s chatting to Twyla at the counter as the Roses brush by and David keeps his head bent down as he hurries past. He isn’t sure why except that he just isn’t in the right frame of mind for their usual bickering.
“I wasn’t going to go,” Twyla is saying. “But Helena-Joy made the point that it might be the last visiting day at the penitentiary before Uncle Lewis passed so maybe we should go with him to see Ollie. For support.”
“Helena-Joy is... Your ex-cousin, right?” Patrick replies.
“Yeah. She was married to Ollie before he tried to fake his death for the insurance.”
Patrick makes a noise of understanding which is baffling in itself. David’s never been able to keep track of Twyla’s stories but apparently Patrick is actually following this.
David strains his ears to hear more as he walks behind his mother to their usual booth by the wall.
“It was nice of you to go with your uncle to see his son. I know your family struggled with his conviction.”
“Yeah. He just got into so much debt and no one knew. He didn’t know what to do. Wish he’d spoken to me.”
They’re out of earshot now but as David turns to slide into the booth he glances over to see Patrick’s kind, commiserating smile as he pats Twyla’s hand and her nodding in thanks.
She inhales and straightens, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of the towel slung over her shoulder (incorrect!) before rounding the counter. From the pocket of her apron she pulls out her notepad and pen but before she can walk towards the Roses, Patrick reaches out and catches her hand, saying something to her softly, earnestly, that David can’t hear.
She smiles at him and wraps her arms around him in a brief hug before stepping back once more, her face less troubled as he squeezes her shoulders once and lets go.
Then she’s heading towards the table and Patrick’s walking towards the door and David doesn’t know why he feels curiously disappointed not to have had Patrick look his way, if only for a second.
Maybe it would have served to re-establish the familiar status quo if David could have seen that entertained little smile cast his way. Maybe it would have been settling to have the facts reconfirmed, to know that this animosity… this is what they are to each other. Never mind what Stevie says about secret grants and thankless help.
But Patrick’s gone, the door closing behind him as Twyla steps over to the Rose family.
“Hi guys. Can I get you a drink while you look at your menus?”
His parents order their drinks while David tries to think of a way to subtly ask about her conversation with Patrick. He’s drawing a complete blank but it doesn’t matter as Alexis, unbothered by any desire not to appear to be prying, taps the table in front of where Twyla stands and asks, “Are you okay, Twy? You and that sweet little button looked kind of intense over there.”
“Yes, I was unaware that the two of you were engaged in a romantic entanglement,” David’s mother says and David finds himself shaking his head.
“What? No, Patrick and Twyla aren’t... They aren’t together, mom,” David informs her, frowning to himself.
No. Patrick’s not dating Twyla. David knows that there was that redhead ex-fiancée who showed up out of nowhere shortly after Patrick arrived but as far as he knows Patrick identifies as gay now. Stevie says Patrick told her as much and that was definitely a date that he and Stevie witnessed in the Wobbly Elm.
“No, Mrs Rose,” Twyla says. “Patrick’s just a friend of mine. He’s been listening to me talk through some family stuff.”
“Aw, Twy you know you can talk to me too, right?” Alexis says, smiling up at her friend and stabbing the table again emphatically with a long, manicured finger.
“I know. Honestly I wasn’t intending to get into it tonight but Patrick remembered I was worried about my visit to my uncle last weekend and came in to ask me how I was doing.”
“That’s good of him,” David’s father says politely.
“Yeah. He’s a sweet guy. He remembers a lot of what I tell him and is nice enough to follow it up.”
David stares unseeingly at his menu as the conversation goes on around him.
It isn’t the first time he’s heard Patrick spoken of in positive terms – Stevie likes him and Alexis has, on more than one occasion, referred to the man by some ridiculous nickname or other – but he’s been able to dismiss it much more easily before. But after seeing Patrick being so openly compassionate and warm with Twyla, not a trace of teasing or amusement glinting in his eye… maybe there is another side of him that he hasn’t cared to share with David.
Somehow, the idea that it’s just David that Patrick has a problem with doesn’t sit so well.
And even days later it still isn’t resting easy in his mind. The situation is troubling enough that David’s almost – almost – grateful for the distraction that Johnny presents the whole family with when he strides into David and Alexis’ room, fully kitted out in what can only be described as a sartorial nightmare.
He says almost because as amusing as it is to poke fun at his father wearing… whatever the fuck that thing is, he gets almost no chance to enjoy it before he’s being informed that he needs to offer his support as his father makes a fool of himself.
“I still think I’ve been supportive enough,” he tells his father after he’s been dragged to the ball field with the rest of his family to suffer through what promises to be a truly embarrassing, horrifying afternoon. David’s eyes drop once more to the ‘Café Tropical’ logo emblazoned on his father’s too-tight shirt and he fights to keep the curl from his lip. “Do you know how many things I could have said about that outfit. Those shoes?”
“What, shoes like these?” comes a voice from behind David. It’s a voice he knows well and he attempts to steel himself as he turns to face the man walking up behind him. It doesn’t entirely work; he’s still unable to completely quell the strange hiccupping sensation in his chest when he catches sight of Patrick Brewer’s beaming face. There are twin smudges of black on his cheekbones which only serve to draw attention to the glittering humour held in his brown eyes.
He's wearing an outfit – and David’s using the term in its loosest sense – just like David’s father, right down to the green ballcap on his head and the horrendous shoes encasing his feet.
It looks somehow… different on Patrick but David’s saved the difficulty of having to work through this niggling thought by Patrick’s reaching out to take Johnny by the hand, shaking it as he says, “Can’t thank you enough for stepping in to help out Mr Rose.”
“Johnny, please. And it’s no trouble Patrick. I was known to be quite the ball player back in my day.”
“Glad to hear it,” Patrick says. “I was worried we’d have to forfeit when Gwen pulled out so when Stevie suggested you might be able to help out…”
“Oh so this was Stevie’s idea?” David interjects, having regained his footing somewhat. Of course it was. Any chance of dolloping a little more embarrassment into David’s life…
“What was Stevie’s idea?” The woman in question appears beside David, and he glances sideways briefly before doing a double take.
“Oh my god, the madness is spreading. You all look insane.”
The only difference between Stevie’s outfit and that of Johnny and Patrick’s is the blue ‘Bob’s Garage’ logo across her front.
Stevie throws him a mischievous look. “I think you’ll find you’re the odd one out here, David. Three to one in this little gathering.”
“And never has peer pressure been easier to resist.”
“Aw, David,” Patrick says. “You don’t mean that. Weren’t you just admiring our shoes?”
“Really?” Stevie’s wolfish grin spreads wider. “You like them? I’m sure someone will have some spares in your size. If you want I can ask around…”
She would too. “Don’t you dare. I do not need those…” he feels his lips twist as he tries to find the appropriate descriptor, finally spitting out, “tap shoes adding to my collection.”
Patrick gives a quick, surprised laugh and the sound is apparently the catalyst for setting off a not entirely unpleasant chemical reaction in the pit of David’s stomach. A moment later Patrick straightens his face and informs him, in what is clearly intended to be a helpful tone: “They’re called cleats.”
“They’re called abominations,” David corrects, the echo of Patrick’s joy still ringing in his ears and he can’t help but push a little further. “But I suppose you’re used to wearing that kind of thing. I’d say these are among the more stylish of your clothing choices.”
Johnny clears his throat awkwardly, cutting into the rapid-fire back and forth between David, Patrick and Stevie. “David, I asked you to be supportive. You’re being rude to Patrick. He’s been very kind allowing me to take part today, I won’t have you offending him.”
David flushes, a tinge of humiliation squirming deep inside him at being admonished by his father in front of his friend and his… in front of Patrick.
“No, no, Mr Rose,” Patrick jumps in before David can sputter something or slink off, shame-faced. “It isn’t… It’s fine. I’m not... David hasn’t offended me. At all.”
“It’s just what they do, Mr Rose,” Stevie adds, sounding supremely bored by it all and that’s… yeah. David supposes it is. An unconventional kind of relationship but theirs nonetheless. One that Patrick apparently wishes to defend from outsiders as much as David does if the swiftness of his objections is anything to go by.
David stares at him as Patrick looks anywhere but directly at David. Underneath the black smudges on Patrick’s cheeks, David thinks he detects a hint of pinkness rising.
“Anyway, thanks again for stepping in,” Patrick says after a couple of seconds of awkward silence. “I’m going to go and talk to some other people, start sorting out the equipment, you know.”
David doesn’t know but nods along with the others as Patrick walks away. David tries not to watch him go but it’s difficult. Judging by the twitch of Stevie’s eyebrow when he drags his eyes away, his struggle was not as subtle as he’d hoped.
Luckily he doesn’t have to loiter too long in a dusty field before the players start to assemble and the spectators take to the benches at the sides. Somewhere behind them, someone is setting up a barbecue and had David known there was going to be grilled meat and snacks after this, he would have mounted a much weaker objection to coming along.
It's something to look forward to. Much more than the periodic shouts and unfathomable rules playing out on the field in front of him. He’s sure that the players themselves know what they’re doing but from where he’s sitting it’s impossible to figure out what’s going on or who’s winning. Not that he tries all that hard.
David lets his mind wander as his gaze drifts over the tangle of figures running, diving and swinging the bat, allowing the soft voices of the other spectators to swirl around him, ignoring the conversation going on between his mother and Alexis at his side. His thoughts keep returning to the sound of a bright laugh, the hint of a blush on a round, smiling face, and if his eyes find the athletic figure of Patrick Brewer more frequently than he could easily explain away, well… he’s just fortunate that no one sees or questions him.
Patrick is competitive, David’s unsurprised to learn. He shouts instructions to his teammates and his jaw clenches, lips puckering in frustration when he misses the ball. Ronnie calls something jeering across the field and Patrick readjusts the cap on his head with slightly more force than necessary before lining up to try again.
He hits it on his second try and drops the bat, his arms pumping at his sides as he sprints towards what David’s overheard called ‘first base,’ then rounds it and makes it as far as second before slowing to a stop, beating the thrown ball. David can see the wide smile overtaking his face from where he sits on the benches.
David pulls his eyes away from Patrick and they land instead on Stevie, standing a little further behind Patrick in the field. She seems to be watching David right back and David refuses to hold her gaze.
The first part of the game goes smoothly but just when he thinks it’s over, the players all change places and he realises it’s only halfway through.
At least he can hear the sounds of the barbecue being fired up behind him after a few minutes.
For this half of the game Patrick is stationed in centre of the field behind the pitcher and once more his competitive edge is coming out. David hides a smile he can’t explain behind his hand as he witnesses Patrick pumping the air with his fist, cheering and clapping enthusiastically whenever his team does something he likes. At one point he even puts his fingers to his mouth and whistles which is ear-splitting but also kind of impressive.
Which is something David will never admit out loud.
It’s about twenty minutes into the second half when it happens. David, absent-mindedly staring towards centre-field, only realises what will happen a split second before it does. Patrick doesn’t see it coming at all until too late.
His head is turned, calling something to a teammate on the opposite side of the field, pointing to the left as he issues an instruction. He isn’t looking as Bob swings the bat wildly at the approaching ball, catching it awkwardly and sending it off at an unexpected angle. It shoots off, low but surprisingly fast, directly towards where Patrick stands unprepared.
Patrick turns at the crack of the bat, his eyes widening and he instinctively attempts to jump out of the way, only succeeding in twisting enough that the ball strikes his side rather than hitting him square in the stomach.
He’s half a field away, yet David hears the dull, loud thwack as the baseball slams into Patrick’s side, just below the line of his ribs. David’s breath rushes out of him and his stomach roils as Patrick stumbles and his knees give out, the happy expression he’s been wearing all afternoon dissolving, his face screwing up in pain. David’s on his feet before he realises, the groans of the crowd covered by the sound of his own pulse in his ears. He can’t take his eyes off the man on his knees, wincing as he clutches his side and visibly gasping for breath.
He doesn’t go to him. He can’t, even if he thought their relationship was one where Patrick would take comfort in his presence. David’s rooted to the spot, his feet heavy as stone, powerless to do anything but watch it all play out, watch Patrick’s team running to gather around him, obscuring David’s view, watch Patrick slowly stagger to his feet, aided off the pitch by Ray in the direction of the benches on the opposite side of the field.
Bob jogs off after him, mouth moving in what David thinks – hopes – is an endless stream of apologies for what he’s done. Patrick shakes his head in response, holding out a reassuring hand but his brow is pinched in discomfort.
The game kind of loses its momentum after that. Café Tropical’s team brings on someone to replace Patrick and they play it out to the end but David doesn’t spend more than a few seconds watching what’s going on. Instead he can’t help being distracted by Patrick, who sits on rigidly upright on the bench on the other side of the field, grimacing whenever he moves, one hand drifting up to cup his side now and then. Beside Patrick, Ray leans in and says something before looking towards the parking lot, but Patrick shakes his head, watching the action on the field.
Patrick stays until the end, smiling – although it seems to lack some of its usual brilliance – when his team scrapes a win and come to gather around him.
He leaves with Ray before the barbecue, walking stiffly off towards the parking lot without looking back. Later, David will barely remember finishing his first hot dog as he half-listens to his father recount the highlights, his mind’s eye filled with Patrick gingerly lowering himself into the passenger seat of Ray’s car.
The look Stevie gives him as he takes one bite of his burger and leaves the rest on his plate is uncomfortably knowing and he shoves himself off the picnic table to avoid any questions.
He doesn’t want to talk about it.