Page 21 of Built To Perform

I finally allowed myself to look over at Jefferson. His face gave little away.

“I should... w-we should probably...” I stuttered.

I could still hear Harvey laughing as I pulled Jefferson to the door.

Chapter Eight

The cool night air was like a slap. Enough to make me wish I’d brought extra clothes - sweatpants, at least - as we walked across the parking lot to Jefferson’s truck.

“You doing okay, lil bro?”

He couldn’t have heard my teeth chattering, but Jefferson had other ways of reading me.

“I... I’m just a bit cold,” I hedged.

It was difficult to hold in the squeak as he pulled me into his side. A friendly gesture, innocent - an offer to share his furnace-like heat - and yet I couldn’t quite squash the wriggle of pleasure at the reassuring, muscular heft of him against me. Feeling somehow guilty in with the delight, even though I knew Jefferson would begrudge me neither.

He opened the door for me; waited for me to get in. Cranked the temperature once he’d started the engine, smiling to himself as I cupped my hands over the vents.

“What?” I scolded, embarrassed by his attention.

“Nothing, lil bro. Nothing at all.”

He put the truck in gear and pulled out of the lot.

For a while we rode in silence. Not uncomfortable, in any sense; the cabin filled with the heater’s hum and Jefferson’s presence.

“You knew Brayden had a job, right? Before he told me, I mean.”

His face was unreadable, expression lapped by waves of warm amber from each streetlight we passed. Concentrating on the road, yes, but I had to figure he was trying to decide how much he wanted to reveal.

“If it was meant to be a secret, that’s okay,” I added. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”

That prompted a sharp glance over. “You’re family, Eoin.”

Families still have secrets, I wanted to remind him. Thinking of Carlos and Clay, and the selective truths they opted to share with their respective parents. And, too, my own mom and dad: what they knew about me, and the messages I sent home from school, and then the things I held back from those messages. Not so much lies, or even half-truths, so much as careful omissions.

He watched the road ahead, the stop light flooding his handsome features with blood red. Fingertip tapping the top of the wheel.

“Some of us knew,” Jefferson said, finally. “Officially, there’s no rule about working outside of school. But, y’know...” His voice trailed off.

“Most part-time jobs are in a coffee shop or a bookstore, not dancing on a stage,” I suggested.

Jefferson smiled. “Right. Those would be easier to explain to people. Though Brayden makes a strong argument for why he should keep doing what he’s doing.”

My throat felt tight, mouth dry. “You’ve watched him?”

He flashed me a look. One that felt positively mischievous.

“You gotta support the bros, Eoin. Family, remember?”

I did remember, just like I could remember the video Brayden had shown me. How much more intense would that have been if I’d been in the audience, not just sprawled across his couch watching it on his phone screen?

There was one curiosity which was overruling everything else in my head, though.

“So, I mean... If you’ve watched both of us...” I stretched in my seat, trying to look casual, uninterested. “Obviously I’m not saying you should compare...”

“Oh, obviously,” Jefferson agreed, smoothly.