“Hey, there.” Gray greeted me with a winning smile when I pushed open the iron gate, his thumbs hooked casually in the front pockets of his ancient jeans.
Let me take a moment to give you a little background on Gray Robertson.
First and foremost, Gray was an extraordinarily talented, Grammy-winning songwriter who’d started his career writing commercial jingles. We met at a party hosted by the company who’d hired him to come up with a snappy tune to sell baby shampoo. Which happened to be the same firm sponsoring the film I’d been working on as an assistant to a super-creepy director. We’d been twenty-one and twenty-two at the time in a roomful of lecherous Hollywood types. Practically babies ourselves. And get this…I was already a dad back then. Crazy, right?
More about that later.
Without going into too much detail, Gray and I connected from day one. Gray was smart, serious, and cerebral, while I was crafty, outgoing, and inclined to act before thinking. Together, we’d been a pretty formidable pair.
And kind of a hot couple, too. Gray was a very good-looking man. He was six two and built like a football player, with blue eyes and broad shoulders. His short brown hair was threaded with silver now, especially at his temples. That bit of silver was the only real hint that he was older than he seemed. Geesh, forty-seven now…
Fuck, we were getting old.
Gray still had a youthful glow that I attributed to his hippy habit of playing guitar and writing songs on rooftops.
I admired his sun-kissed skin and tattooed biceps as I closed the distance, noting the snug fit of the sleeves on his white “Zero” T-shirt.
Oh, right. Zero.
His boyfriend’s band.
My smile slipped a notch and a new round of warning bells chimed in my ear. I ignored them. Which wasn’t hard to do. My headful of Baxter-related thoughts whirled in my brain, pushing out excess static.
I was in love with the new script and the concept of tying the current production, The Last Drop, with the upcoming one was too perfect to let slide. I needed Baxter in London. I needed a catchy title, and I needed to think about marketing. I also needed a strong supporting cast for Pierce. I had a lot of competing ideas buzzing in my brain…and Gray was the perfect sounding board.
He was cool and steady under pressure. He never let anything get to him. No kidding. When Charlie fell off a swing when he was four and split his lip at preschool, the staff at KinderCare knew which dad to call. Spoiler alert—it wasn’t me. And when a bully made fun of Oliver’s glasses at summer camp a year and a half ago, Gray stepped up to coach me through dealing with the eleven-year-old’s asshole parents without saying anything that might land me in jail.
He was a rock.
But I had a feeling he hadn’t come by to talk about Char or Ollie. Or to help me sort through my Baxter ideas. Whatever it might be made me nervous for no apparent reason. Just…intuition.
I arranged my features in a passable smile, suddenly hating that Gray was the only person on the planet who knew when I was faking it.
“What are you up to?” I asked, stuffing my hands into my suit coat pockets.
“Well…” Gray let out a short half laugh, then licked his lips nervously.
Shit. Why was he nervous?
Now I really was freaking out.
“You’re smiling, so I’m assuming nothing’s wrong,” I hedged.
“Oh, no. Everything’s great. I just wanted to talk to you before Charlie did.”
“Charlie?”
“He found out and I had no chance to say anything to you first. I didn’t want you to think that was intentional. It wasn’t.” Gray slicked his hand through his hair, smile still locked in place.
“What did he do?”
“Charlie didn’t do anything. I did.”
I frowned so hard I gave myself a headache. “I’m lost. What did you do?”
Gray inhaled, slowly releasing a shaky breath before blurting, “I asked Justin to marry me.”
And just like that, my world crumbled.
Crumbled.
I was standing in a park, under a tree on a pretty afternoon in early April. I could hear birds chirping in the branches above and the steady hum of traffic in the distance. I was here. The world hadn’t changed in an instant…or maybe it had.
Dramatic? Yeah. I know.
Not to worry, I kept my shit together.
“You…wow. That’s…you’re getting married,” I repeated numbly.
Gray nodded. “Yeah. He said yes.”
I doubted he noticed that my smile wobbled. He was clearly over the moon and when your best friend was happy, the only socially acceptable and consciously kind thing to do was to profess excitement. Right?
Don’t quote me on that. I usually had people in my life who jumped in to smooth things over when I misread my social cues or forgot not to say exactly what I was thinking. Gray was my number one chief interpreter. “Oh, don’t mind Seb. That wasn’t what he meant.” Or my personal favorite, “Don’t be offended. You know how Seb is.”