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  “Will?”

  “Yes,” they continued. “You’ll receive a formal invitation to the reading next week.”

  “What does that mean? He left me something?”

  “I can’t say what may be in the contents of his final wishes. If you’re being invited, it’s likely.”

  “I...okay. Is there anything I should be doing? For the foundation, I mean.”

  “Keep teaching your classes, Mr. Montgomery. The Foundation is being taken care of on this side of things,” the voice assured him. “Again, I’m very sorry for your loss. We’ll be in touch.”

  “Thank you.” Dylan waited until the line went quiet on the other end before lowering the phone. He looked up at Jordan, who had an eyebrow raised.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Stuart Leeman is dead.”

  “Shit. What does that mean for the classes at school?”

  “The voice on the other end said to keep teaching.” Dylan laid the phone down. “Fuck. I just saw him.” He started to pick up his pencil again, and then stopped. “What do I tell the kids? The Foundation Kids especially.” He picked up his coffee cup, taking a grimace inducing drink of the cold coffee.

  “Uh,” Greg shuffled awkwardly, “I better get going. Jordan, it was good to see you. Dylan, nice to meet you.” He raised a hand in farewell. “It seems weird to say have a nice night, so...have a night.”

  “Thanks.” Dylan idly shoved half of his remaining sandwich into his mouth. His mind was whirling. Why was he being requested to attend the will reading? What would the kids say? Should he try to rally them to do something nice for the funeral? Was he going to be buried or cremated?

  “Dyl?” Jordan reached across the table, pressing his hand on top of his. “Are you okay?”

  Dylan nodded. “Fine. Just, not what I was expecting to hear tonight.”

  “You ready to go home? I drove over to the garage today. I can give you a ride.”

  He blew out a breath. “Going home might be a good idea.”

  “Come on.” Jordan slid out of the booth. “Can I carry your bag?”

  “I got it.” Dylan closed the sketch pad and slid it, and his pencil case, back into his satchel. “Did you finish your coffee? Did you want food?”

  “It’s okay. We’ve got food at the apartment.”

  “You’re welcome to the ravioli Rosa sent home with me. She’s been doing that a lot lately,” Dylan offered. He automatically slid his arm around Jordan’s elbow as they stepped out onto the street. “She thinks I don’t eat when I’m not at home.”

  “To be fair, you don’t,” Jordan teased.

  Jordan’s car was parked at Martinez Auto, a block from the café. He rented a bay of the garage to work on rebuild projects in his free time. The most recent of which, a Vintage Henderson for Dylan’s father. In exchange for the labor, Peter was fixing up a Honda Super Cub for Jordan. The area was quiet, but there was a light on in the main office.

  “You weren’t going to work on the bike more tonight, were you? I can take the train if you were.”

  “Nope.” Jordan opened the passenger side door for him. “Get in.”

  Dylan did as he was told without further complaints.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The drive back to Alphabet City was quiet. Dylan received several text messages as news about Stuart began to reach people. He answered a few, ignored others. Jordan left the stereo on low, just to fill the car with something other than the sound of traffic and silence.

  After he parked in the underground garage of the apartment building, Jordan unbuckled his seatbelt. He turned to look at Dylan. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

  “You have other things to do.” Dylan demurred. “I’m going to be fine, really.”

  “I’m not doing anything important besides wallowing in my own self-pity,” Jordan assured him. “If you want company, I’m here for you. We could watch a movie or a show. We could turn on some music and be in the same room together. We could crawl into bed and I can hold you for a while, if that’s what you need.”

  Dylan bit his lip. “Maybe? I’m feeling useless. Should I post a statement? I’m getting sick of all these text messages. I wasn’t the only person who worked with Stuart, but all these people...” His phone screen lit up again with another series of texts. “What do I do?”

  “Here.” Jordan took the phone. He opened the first social media app, typing out a brief message, while speaking aloud. “I have been notified of the death of my good friend and mentor, Stuart Leeman. I will be turning my phone off for the remainder of the evening. Thank you for your support at this time.” He confirmed it with Dylan before posting it. He then copy-and-pasted to several other platforms. When he was done, he powered off the phone. “There you go. Done. Let’s go upstairs.”

  “Will you hold on to that?” Dylan asked, not taking the phone back. “I don’t trust myself to not turn it back on.”

  “Sure.”

  Dylan shouldered his bag again. He let himself out of the Camry. Jordan linked fingers with him again as they walked to the elevator.

  “Oh good, you’re home.” Jack stood up from the couch as they entered the apartment a few minutes later. “Dylan, I’m so sorry—”

  “—about Stuart, I know. Thank you. I just want to not think about it for a bit, okay?”

  “Stuart? What?” Jack sounded surprised.

  Dylan frowned. “If you’re not talking about Stuart Leeman passing away, what are you apologizing for?”

  “Shit! Stuart died?” Jack gasped, clasping a hand to his mouth. “Dylan, I’m sorry!”

  “Jack, what are you apologizing for?”

  “This is petty compared to death,” Jack acknowledged. “Tyler came over to borrow Heath’s laptop. I’ve been using it because mine is being a pain in the ass.”

  “Get on with it.”

  “Right. Short story shorter, he saw your comic.” Jack pointed over toward the frame, still leaned against the front of the TV cabinet. “I completely forgot it was even there when I told him to come down. I would have moved it if I had remembered.”

  Dylan pursed his lips giving a slight nod. “This day can be over any time now.”

  “I can’t apologize enough. I know you weren’t ready to give it to him yet.”

  Dylan dropped his bag onto the couch before sinking into it. “I can’t deal with guy drama and death drama at the same time. Not without a drink, anyway.” He blew out a breath. “If I want to retain my freedom, that isn’t an option.”

  “Are you hungry?” Jack asked. “I just finished some ramen, but I could make more.”

  “I had a sandwich at the Java Pub. Jordan might want something though.” Dylan leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “Did he say anything when he saw it?”

  “Tyler?

  “Yes.”

  “He said it was a relief to have an answer.”

  “Is that verbatim?”

  “Paraphrasing.”

  Dylan hummed lifting his head. “Jordan, are you hungry? You can help yourself to whatever is in the fridge.”

  “Later.” Jordan moved to come sit next to him. “You want to watch a movie? Something funny to get you to stop thinking about your funk?”

  “Yeah, that would be great.”

  “Are you sure you want to let Tyler think that was your final answer?” Jack pressed, pointing in the general direction of the framed comic.

  “I’m glad to be done with it,” Dylan responded.

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “At this exact moment in time, I do.”

  “Jack, come on,” Jordan interrupted, “what’s done is done. Tyler is an adult. Getting his feelings hurt doesn’t trump someone dying today.”

  “Can I talk to you privately?” Jack’s eyes widened.

  Jordan sighed, standing up from the couch. He picked up the remote from the coffee table, placing it in Dylan’s hand. “Pick something out while we bicker in the kitchen.”

>   Jack followed him, launching straight into the argument as they reached the implied privacy of the kitchen. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m supporting my friend who lost someone important to them. What are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to get Dylan to go get his damn man! You and I both know that they’re meant for each other. Three years apart, and Tyler releases that EP? Dylan can’t even control himself long enough to be in the same room as him for ten minutes! Why are you getting between them?”

  “Tyler is one of my best friends, so trust me when I say he doesn’t make the best decisions. The EP release was a mistake he should never have done. Now he’s in some deal to release three more songs on TuneTable.”

  “He’s doing what?”

  “Fuck. I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

  “Are they about Dylan too?”

  “I don’t know. Probably.”

  “Are you actively trying to keep them apart?” Jack asked, suspicion rising.

  Jordan frowned. “Jack, I’m not doing anything. I asked Tyler if it was okay to go out with Dylan. He said yes. I’m confused why you seem to think that after three years apart, they’re mystically meant for each other? Do you not remember their relationship and how it ended? Do you not remember what a fucking asshole Tyler was after the break-up?”

  “They were both stupid. They’ve grown up. There isn’t any reason they shouldn’t try again. Dylan has been miserable. Doesn’t he deserve to be happy? Tyler could at least give him a positive push!”

  “How can you want the guy that cheated on you to get back with the guy he cheated on you with?”

  “That was years ago.”

  “Why are we arguing about this?”

  “Why are you even here? I can take care of Dylan. You should be figuring out how you’re going to apologize to Kyle.”

  “Whoa! Excuse me? Why the fuck should I apologize to Kyle? He’s the one who broke up with me, thank you very much. I did everything he ever asked me to. Then, I get punished for following his arbitrary rules!”

  “They aren’t arbitrary!” Jack retorted. “The only reason our relationships work is because of open lines of communication!”

  “You know what? I’m glad it’s over. You can stop pretending like you know me just because we shared a partner, and you’re dating one of my best friends. You don’t. So fuck off.” Jordan turned, leaving the kitchen.

  He immediately saw that Dylan had vacated the living room at some point during the argument. He picked up a piece of paper from the coffee table. Dylan had tented a scrap from his sketch book over the remote.

  Jordan- Go home. Talk later.

  Jack- Leave him alone.

  Going to bed. Don’t bother me.

  “Way to go.” Jack leaned in the kitchen doorway; his arms crossed.

  “Shut up. The note is for you too.” Jordan quipped. He pulled Dylan’s cell phone out of his pocket, setting it on the table. “Make sure he gets his phone back in the morning.” He strode to the door, picking up his sneakers. The door snapped closed firmly behind him.

  He was irked. More than usual. He didn’t like arguing in general, but Jack had pissed him off. Apologize to Kyle. Why? He hadn’t done anything wrong! He didn’t want Kyle’s apology either. He was perfectly fine being single and unattached. Kyle could go fuck himself.

  He jabbed the elevator button a little harder than he needed to. It ding’d as the door opened and he stepped inside, taking it up to his own floor. He fished his keys out, letting himself into the apartment. He could hear the TV as he kicked off his shoes in the entry way.

  Tyler wasn’t visible, curled up on the couch. His head was propped slightly on a throw pillow. He had pulled a throw blanket out of the hall closet and cocooned himself up in it. All that was visible was the top of his head.

  “Are you cold?” Jordan leaned over the back of the couch.

  “No. I feel like shit.”

  “I don’t remember a time when either of us didn’t feel like shit,” Jordan replied.

  “Did you know about that drawing Dylan did?”

  “I did.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I told him not to give it to you and to consider his answer longer. He was having a low day.” Jordan circled the couch. “He’s having another one. Stuart Leeman died today.”

  “Stuart?” Tyler sat up a bit. “I met him a couple of times. He was a nice guy.” He frowned. “Is Dylan okay? He really looked up to him.”

  “He’s shocked, but will be fine.”

  “Fuck.”

  “I saw Greg today. He looked good.”

  “I saw Greg today too.”

  “He said. You recorded those new songs then?”

  “They’re already uploaded. Do you want to listen to them before they go live?”

  “It’s better I don’t right now.”

  “What happened to you?”

  “I got into a fight with Jack. Which means I can probably expect a call from Heath at some point in the next twenty-four hours asking what the hell is wrong with me.”

  “You still haven’t heard anything from Kyle?”

  “I don’t want to hear anything from Kyle.”

  “That isn’t true,” Tyler chided. “That’s like me declaring I’m done with Dylan. We both know what a gigantic lie that is.” He dropped his head back onto the pillow. “Fucking pathetic.”

  “Me or you?”

  “Both of us.”

  Jordan huffed a short laugh. “You’re probably right.” He reached over, clapping Tyler on the shoulder. “I’m gonna drown my sorrows in buying motorcycle gear online. Make sure you eat something.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  [BRIT] Jack told me about Stuart. I’m sorry for your loss.

  [YOU] Thanks.

  [BRIT] I’m also sorry for what I said last weekend. I know you’re dealing with some shit. I just want for you to be okay.

  [YOU] It’s fine. How’s it going with Adam?

  [BRIT] Ugh! He *wants* to hang outside work, but we are just not into the same stuff. He’d rather stay home and watch a movie and I want to go out to clubs and dance.

  [BRIT] We’re still finding common ground, but I have faith we will eventually.

  [BRIT] Owen and Carmen say hello. We’re at the diner.

  [YOU] Tell them I say hello too. We’ll have to figure out another visit soon. New Years?

  [BRIT] Nooooo! I want to be in New York for New Years!

  [YOU] Should I come for Hanukah?”

  [BRIT] We’ll talk about it later. Our food just got here.

  [BRIT] Love You, Miss You! XOXOXO

  Dylan looked up from his phone. His eyes fell on the framed photo he’d set on the corner of the desk. It was of his first set of students, back when he’d been a student at CSG himself. He was standing in the back center, next to Stuart. They were surrounded by the dozen hand-picked youth, and the few non-art track CSG students, including Britannia, who had made up his class. Brit was no artist, it was true. She had a passion for trying new things even when they were difficult. Her bubbly, friendly personality had made them fast friends.

  News of Stuart had reached everyone at this point. He wasn’t looking forward to getting in front of the students quite yet. He didn’t know what to expect. The CSG students probably didn’t know him super well, other than as the guy who paid for them to take an extra class. The others though? They had built a relationship with Stuart. He had selected each of them for the class; paid for their supplies and bus fare to the school. He gave them each individual critique and had gotten to know them. They were going to have questions about the continuation of the program. Questions that Dylan just didn’t have the answers to.

  He sighed, laying his head down on the desk. He hadn’t slept well the night before. After listening to Jack and Jordan argue in the kitchen, he’d written the brief note before going to the office. He’d sat at his desk and finished the drawing for Jack’s story. He�
�d scanned it into his computer to do the coloring, then e-mailed it to him. It felt nice to have done something for someone else. He hoped it met Jack’s expectations.

  Even if the guy had been an asshole to Jordan.

  The bell rang. He forced himself to get up from his desk to go to the art room. While most of the students in the hall seemed cheerful and loud, the art students seemed appropriately somber as they took their seats.

  “Hello, everyone,” Dylan said after the second bell had rung. “You’ve all heard about Mr. Leeman.” A hand rose. “Yes, Susan?”

  “Is this class going to get cancelled? Are we still going to get credit?”

  “You don’t have to worry about that. The class has been arranged at least through the semester. I can’t say anything about the future. It’s not my department,” he admitted. Another hand. “Mike?”

  “What happened? He was just here last week.”

  “Mr. Leeman had cancer. I don’t know specifics, other than that he knew his time was limited.” Dylan blew out a breath. “I don’t know about you all, but I don’t feel like doing anything structured today. Why don’t you continue with your shading technique from yesterday, or free sketch.” Susan’s hand raised again. “Susan.”

  “Do you know anything about the funeral? Is there someone we could, like, send condolences to? We could spend the period making cards. If anyone wanted to,” her voice wavered, unsure whether that would sound like a good idea to her peers.

  “Mr. Leeman didn’t have any family that I know of,” Dylan hesitated. “It sounds like a nice idea. If you want to do that, I’ll make sure they get delivered to the Foundation. Someone there will get them into the right hands.” There were a few awkward beats of silence. “What are you waiting for? Get to work.”

  The room slowly went into motion. A couple of the kids grabbed cardstock, folding it into cards. Others picked up their sketchbooks from the wall of cubbies in the back of the room to pick up on their shading lesson from the days before. Two or three pulled out personal sketchbooks to go back to work on personal projects. Dylan let them do as they would at first before making a round of the room. He corrected a few of them on the way they were holding pencils or pens; warning them about wrist fatigue. He complimented Mike on some nice cross-hatching. He answered a few questions about what to put into a condolence card; something he wasn’t entirely sure of himself. Thanks to the internet, they found some nice sentiments.