Open House Read online

  Chapter 2

  BRYCE’S PITCHY rendition of Springsteen’s “Glory Days” tugged at Seth’s consciousness, rousing him from a sound sleep. He blinked a few times, trying to get his bearings. Nothing about his current location felt familiar, but when he rolled over and stared up at the mirror over the bed, memories of last night’s lovemaking came to mind and he smiled contentedly. It was six in the morning according to the antique timepiece on the mantel above the fireplace, and he realized he’d overslept by an hour. He blamed the break in his normal sleep patterns on jet lag and a general reluctance to get on with real life after their extraordinary vacation. It had been a wonderful interlude, but it was time to roll up his sleeves and deal with all the things he’d put on hold.

  The first order of business after a shower and breakfast was walking through his and Mark’s Lincoln Park home. Bryce had agreed to accompany him, despite his own busy schedule, and Seth had gratefully accepted. He knew it would be jarring (and painful) to see all the reminders of Mark again, but it had to be done.

  Nonetheless, getting through the walk-through without falling apart would take internal fortitude Seth wasn’t sure he possessed. Fortunately, Bryce was his usual pragmatic self, and Seth felt marginally better when he stood in front of his familiar front door. Until he tried inserting the key. He was shaking so badly he was doing a piss-poor job.

  “Shit,” he muttered when the key slipped a second time. “I don’t know why I’m so damn nervous.”

  “Let me,” Bryce said mildly.

  Seth handed him the worn key, and though it took a few seconds of jiggling, eventually the tumblers engaged and the door opened. Bryce stepped back to let Seth pass through first, guiding him with a hand on his lower back to give him the courage he needed to walk back into the home he’d shared with Mark for the last twenty years.

  Seth hadn’t been inside since he walked out almost a month ago to embark on his UK adventure. The next-door neighbors, Jim and Susan, had offered to keep an eye on the place and bring in the mail, which they’d left in orderly piles on the dining room table. Unfortunately, they’d neglected to air out the house at any time, and the rank smell of disuse only added to his discomfort.

  “Help me get some air in here,” Seth said, already heading toward a window. Like everything else in the house, it was old and Seth struggled to get it open.

  Within seconds, Bryce was at his side and wrestling with the casement window, which appeared to be stuck. Time and Chicago winters had eroded the crank mechanism, and it took all of Bryce’s strength to get the thing to finally turn so the window could slowly swing open, letting in the much-needed ventilation.

  “First thing on your list is to replace these old windows with double-hung ones that slide up and down,” Bryce recommended. “It’ll modernize the overall look and increase the value of the house. You can get the kind with blinds in between the panes of glass. Then you’ll only have to install valances instead of full window coverings. A savvy buyer will insist on new windows, so you might as well head them off at the pass and do it yourself. I can save you a ton on labor costs.”

  “You’d do this for me?” Seth asked.

  “What’s the point in having a boyfriend who’s in the construction business if you can’t count on me to help with the remodeling?”

  “I don’t want to take advantage,” Seth said. “I simply wanted advice. You have to make a living, after all, and working on my house for free is over and above your boyfriend responsibilities.”

  “Babe.” Bryce pulled Seth away from the window. “The goal is to get as much out of this place as you can so you’ll have a nice chunk in savings. It won’t happen if we job out the repairs. My crew can do everything with my supervision, and these guys are on my payroll. There’s no price haggling or gouging when I’m in charge.”

  “In that case, I insist on paying their salary as well as the cost of materials,” Seth said. “It wouldn’t feel right if I let you shoulder any of the expenses.”

  “We can talk about money later.”

  Seth shook his head. “No. We should have some sort of contract so there’s no misunderstanding. I want to make sure that money never comes between us.”

  “It won’t,” Bryce assured him.

  “Humor me,” Seth said. “Please?”

  “All right,” Bryce said reluctantly. “Let’s walk through the house and make a list of everything we need to do. Then we’ll sit down and prioritize.”

  “Why prioritize? Shouldn’t it all get done?”

  “Not necessarily,” Bryce said. “Some things add to the value of the property, like windows and siding, while other expenses are a waste of money. You don’t want your sale price to exceed other properties in the area. It’ll draw a bunch of looky-loos and no buyers. You’ll have to reduce the asking price in tiny increments and that always looks bad.”

  “Bad?”

  “Buyers will wait you out to see how desperate you get. It’s the nature of the beast. If you do it right and price it at the high end of comps, it’ll generate more serious offers.”

  “God,” Seth moaned. “I don’t know a thing about real estate and house values. Do you have a Realtor in mind?”

  “I know several,” Bryce said, “but let’s talk about that. Are you willing to part with five to six percent commission off the top, along with your other costs?”

  “What other costs?” Seth asked. He was totally clueless when it came to this sort of thing. Mark had handled their finances and given him a credit card to charge anything he wanted to buy. Cash was handed to him each week in an envelope. Sometimes he used it, but more often than not, it got shoved into a drawer.

  Bryce ticked off closing fees on his fingers. “Title, attorney, and survey fees, in addition to real estate proration and transfer taxes. The list goes on and on, babe. You’re better off skipping the agent and selling By Owner.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Seth said.

  “Fortunately, I do. Along with my construction business, I flip houses as a hobby. When it’s ready to go on the market, I act as my own agent. Realtors only list and show houses. In Illinois, attorneys do the majority of the work. Mine is worth his weight in gold; I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend him.”

  “Oh.” Seth was overwhelmed by everything he’d heard so far. Becoming financially solvent was a herculean task he was not prepared for. He had some funds in his savings account, but after paying off the bills he’d accrued on the trip and settling Mark’s funeral expenses and attorney fees, he’d barely have enough to scrape by until the house sold.

  Seth hadn’t planned on moving out. He had envisioned living in this house until he drew his last breath. Thanks to Mark’s planning, he owned it outright, but everything had changed since taking the trip with Bryce. Selling the house had become paramount, a necessary step to moving on with life. He still hadn’t decided if he’d buy his own place or not. A lot depended on how things progressed with Bryce, but he wanted financial independence, if nothing else. Unfortunately, he hadn’t opened his laptop in a month, and the odds of getting an advance on a finished manuscript any time soon were zero to none. His last royalty check had already been spent, and the next one wasn’t due until the end of December, over two months away.

  “What’s the matter?” Bryce asked, noticing Seth’s distress. “You look like you just swallowed a worm or something equally vile.”

  “I feel faint,” Seth admitted.

  Bryce put his arm around Seth’s waist and steered him toward the living room. Like the rest of the house, Seth realized it needed a face-lift. The sofa was upholstered in black and white, a geometrical design popular twenty-five years ago but out of place in this century. Thanks to his new outlook on life, he was seeing everything with fresh eyes. He’d walked past this sofa for years and never noticed how dated it was. Everything in the house was worn-out.

  He leaned back on the sofa and shut his eyes, trying to gather his courage. When he did s
peak, he faltered. “I’m not sure how I let things get so bad.”

  “What do you mean?” Bryce asked.

  “The place is falling apart around me, and I never noticed.”

  “You were busy writing,” Bryce said. “How many novels have you written in the last twenty years?”

  Seth shrugged. “Several dozen, but that’s not the point, Bryce. I should have had a more balanced life, been a better partner. Mark often accused me of being removed from our marriage, so caught up in my fantasies I didn’t notice anything else.”

  Bryce snorted. “It works both ways, you know. He could have picked up the phone and hired someone.”

  Seth opened his eyes and stared into clear blue orbs looking down at him kindly. “Do you think I’m a terrible person?”

  “Not at all,” Bryce said. “You’re creative and accomplished in your chosen field. Not too many people can say that. So you’ll never win a Good Housekeeping Award, so what? That doesn’t make you a bad person.”

  “Since I was the stay-at-home partner, shouldn’t that have been my job?”

  “Why? Were you watching soaps all day or burning up his plastic at the mall? No. You were busy writing, which is a job the last time I checked.”

  Seth caressed Bryce’s face, running his thumb around the mouth he’d come to cherish in the last few weeks. “You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

  Bryce kissed him softly. “Stop feeling guilty. You know how I feel about that useless emotion.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Can you handle a walk-through, or should we come back another day?” Bryce asked gently. “We can postpone if you want.”

  “Let’s get this over with,” Seth said, feeling reenergized by Bryce’s support. “The sooner we sell, the better.”

  “You do realize nothing’s happening until the spring.”

  “Why not?”

  “Nothing sells in the winter,” Bryce informed him. “We’ll use the next few months to remodel.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Nobody wants to move in the middle of the school year. As soon as spring rolls around, people start thinking of new houses, jobs, locations; that’s when they start looking.”

  “You’re like the handbook of home sales.”

  “I’ve been doing this a long time, babe.”

  “I’m not sure I can advance all the money you’ll need,” Seth confessed. “There’s not much left in my savings.”

  “Hand over what you can, and I’ll cover the rest. You can pay me back after the house sells.”

  “Are you okay with that arrangement?” Seth asked. “I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage.”

  “Shut up,” Bryce said. “You’re my boyfriend, remember?”

  “I’d like to stay in your good graces.”

  “You worry too much.”

  “Bryce—”

  “Be quiet.” He cut Seth off with a kiss.

  It was much easier to go with the flow rather than waste time on discussions revolving around the mighty dollar. Money had never motivated him, although his current lack of funds was a concern. Seth was far happier leaving this aspect of life to people like Bryce who had a passion for numbers and turning a profit—something Seth would never comprehend. As long as he had a roof over his head and a laptop at his fingertips, he was content.

  When they finally broke apart, Seth suggested they get on with the inspection. Moving from room to room, Bryce zeroed in on problem areas while Seth jotted everything down in the little notebook he’d brought along for this express purpose.

  On the staircase landing, Seth hesitated. Mark had committed suicide in the master bedroom, and afterward, Seth had moved downstairs to the guest room until he’d left for his trip. Their room would be stuffy, like the rest of the house, but more importantly, Seth would relive that terrible morning, and he couldn’t take another step. The coroner had removed Mark’s body within the hour of his phone call, but Seth was a writer with an imagination that went beyond the vivid. He’d walk into that room, and not only see the beds, he’d see the body.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, holding back. “You’ll have to go up there by yourself.”

  Bryce nodded understandingly. “No problem, babe. Wait for me in the living room.”

  Seth waited in his office, seeing it again through fresh eyes. Compared to Bryce’s cheery room, it was a dump. Instead of dwelling on the negative, he emptied out his desk, throwing everything into two Bankers Boxes purchased at Office Depot on their way over. His books would have to wait until he knew where to place them, as well as the framed cover art hanging on the walls. Seth could only deal with so much at one time. Already, he felt like a homeless person, living out of suitcases and boxes. Bryce had urged him to put his clothes away, after clearing several shelves for him, but Seth had resisted for some reason.

  Perhaps he needed this final push to accept that his life with Mark was over and done. As soon as they returned to Bryce’s apartment, he’d unpack and try to make himself at home. Taking one last look around, he picked up the two boxes and walked out. Depositing them close to the front door, he went to the kitchen to hunt down his favorite coffee mug. It was as much a part of his writing ritual as his computer, and he needed to surround himself with the familiar if he hoped to resume his writing career. There was a kernel of dread growing in the pit of his stomach regarding his inactivity for the last month. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d put his writing on pause for so long. Did this mean he had writer’s block? He’d heard the term used over and over by his contemporaries, but he’d never been plagued by the condition. Setting up Bryce’s office in a way that would make him feel like he belonged might boost his creative juices, and the stories would pour out of him. Hopefully.

  Bryce walked into the kitchen and looked quite normal.

  “I guess you didn’t see Mark’s ghost or anything else remotely creepy,” Seth remarked, feeling like a fool. “I’m sorry I bailed on you.”

  “No big deal. Ready to go?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll grab those boxes at the front door,” Bryce said. “You need to find a grocery bag for all your mail.”

  “Crap, I forgot.” Seth opened the drawer containing spare bags and whatnot. “I’ll take care of it right now.” He pulled one out triumphantly.

  “Take your time,” Bryce said. “We’re not on a clock.”

  “I’m ready to go home,” Seth said.

  Bryce smiled. “I like hearing that.”

  “What?”

  “You’re calling the apartment home already. That’s a good sign.”

  “Is it too presumptuous?” Seth asked in a panic.

  Bryce rolled his eyes. “No.”

  “I don’t want to overstep.”

  “Babe, if you don’t stop this crap, I’m going to have to put you across my knees when we get home and give you a good spanking. You worry about the dumbest shit.”

  Seth’s eyes widened. “I’ve written spank scenes but never experienced one.”

  Bryce’s smile turned wolfish. “I’m game if you are.”

  “Let me think about it on our way home.”

  “No pressure.”

  Chapter 3

  THE RIDE from Lincoln Park to Bryce’s apartment wasn’t that far in distance, but the perennial Chicago gridlock turned the twenty-minute trip into a forty-five-minute ordeal. Seth didn’t say much, which was just as well. Bryce was still trying to process everything he’d seen in that depressing house.

  In the years he’d known Seth’s late partner, contact had been confined to the gym. There had been no invitations for Monday Night Football or Sunday barbecues. He figured the guy didn’t really have much time for fun due to his long hours as a pharmacist for a national chain. Early on, Mark had mentioned he had a partner who was a published author, but didn’t offer details other than Seth’s name.

  Bryce didn’t tell Mark that he not only recognized the writer but ha
d actually read a few of Seth’s books. As the sole owner of a thriving construction company and with a degree in mechanical engineering, Bryce should be more comfortable thumbing through the pages of city building codes and technical manuals rather than a novel. His progression from required reading to reading for entertainment had been gradual and fueled by loneliness. A dog-eared paperback someone had tossed aside in his dorm had a photo of a shirtless guy on the cover, piquing Bryce’s interest. It was cheesy as hell, but it managed to distract him for a couple of hours. Little by little he navigated the library shelves, keeping himself busy so he wouldn’t go out and fall for another loser on the rebound. His genres of choice back then were sci-fi, murder mysteries, and an occasional romance.

  He had his favorite writers, the talented wordsmiths who could transport him from the congested streets of Chicago to faraway galaxies where loving and living in general were far more challenging than anything Bryce had to face in real life. When Bryce learned Seth was a homegrown Chicagoan and practically a neighbor, he decided they should meet. Unfortunately, Mark’s invitation hadn’t been forthcoming. He brushed off Bryce’s hints for a meet and greet, telling him Seth wasn’t very sociable. Refusing to give up and more intrigued than ever, Bryce found out that Mark and Seth had breakfast every Sunday at Ann Sather’s restaurant on Broadway. This popular Swedish eatery was famous for its to-die-for cinnamon rolls, among other things, and Bryce had no problem orchestrating a “chance” meeting.

  Physically, Seth had fit Bryce’s mental image of a writer. He’d been wearing an old-fashioned herringbone blazer over a pair of black slacks, and his blond hair was long and disheveled. On the slim side and sort of pale, he wore glasses in those days and kept jotting things down in a leather-bound notebook. After his insipid hello and lukewarm handshake, Seth stayed out of the conversation. He had a spacey look on his face that Bryce assumed was drug induced. He’d read stories of creative individuals addicted to booze, drugs, and sex and surmised that Seth fell into that category. It might have been the main reason Mark didn’t want him to meet his partner. Seth was whiny and petulant when he joined the conversation. He practically ignored Bryce and focused solely on Mark. Bryce’s first impression of the bestselling writer hadn’t been good. He’d run into the couple a few more times over the years, and each time he’d been underwhelmed. What he did do was purchase every single one of Seth’s novels in the hopes of getting to know him better; however, Bryce had a hard time matching the writer to the writing.