His Best Friend Wanted Him All Along

My boyfriend’s childhood best friend was supposedly homophobic. Whenever he was around, we had to pretend we were nothing more than roommates. The couple’s movie tickets I bought? His best friend took mine and went with my boyfriend instead, keeping him company for the entire show. The heart-shaped bento I made with my own hands? His best friend posted it on social media to show off what a wonderful brother he had. Even the trip I planned for our third anniversary turned into a two-day spa getaway for the two of them. Then, tonight, I walked in to find the supposedly homophobic best friend wearing matching boxer shorts and straddling my boyfriend’s lap, kissing him. He raised an eyebrow at me. "What the hell are you staring at, you pathetic little fag? So what if two buddies kiss?" Looking at the pair of grown men who had turned homophobia into their favorite little game, I finally understood. The homophobia was fake. His ambition to steal my place was very real. And in the end, I handed him the man he wanted, along with everything that came with him. 1 "Chase, you call that brotherhood?" Chase frowned, his arm still draped around Tyler’s waist. "Tyler just got dumped by his girlfriend. He’s been drinking and acting out. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?" Tyler was still sitting on Chase’s lap. "Come on, Mason. You know I can’t stand gay people. I was just pretending Chase was that bitch who dumped me, that’s all. I needed to blow off some steam." He sniffled theatrically, then tugged his collar down. Fresh red marks covered his neck. They hadn’t even faded yet. He lifted his chin and gave me a little smirk. That was when I recognized the boxer shorts he was wearing. Navy blue, with a tiny embroidered letter on the waistband. An L. Last Valentine’s Day, I’d ordered a matching pair for Chase and me. One embroidered with a C, the other with an M. Chase was wearing his C. Tyler was wearing my M. "Blowing off steam means wearing my underwear now?" I pointed at the embroidered letter. "Or did you two go out of your way to find matching underwear just so you could blow off steam together?" Chase’s face flushed crimson. He sprang to his feet, nearly sending Tyler sliding off his lap. "Mason! How can you be this petty? The guy just got his heart broken, and you’re rubbing salt in the wound!" "Me? Rubbing salt in the wound? He was practically shoving his tongue down your throat!" "It was an accident!" "An accident that somehow involved taking your clothes off?" Tyler snatched his jacket off the couch and bolted for the front door, his bare legs flashing beneath the hem. "If Mason can’t stand having me here, I’ll leave. I don’t want to be a burden." It was three degrees below freezing outside. He didn’t even have his shoes on. Chase rushed after him and dragged him back into his arms. "You’re sleeping in the guest room tonight," he told me. "Stop upsetting Tyler." I stared at him. "This is my house. We split the rent, and I paid for the renovations." "Do you really have to keep score like that?" Chase guided Tyler toward the primary bedroom. "Mason, I always thought you were more mature than this." Three months earlier, Tyler had shown up at our door with two suitcases, claiming his girlfriend had dumped him and he had nowhere else to go. Chase had offered him the guest room for a week. One week had turned into three months. Tyler claimed he was so disgusted by gay people that he couldn't stand watching two men act affectionate. It made him want to throw up, he said. So Chase and I weren't allowed to hold hands at home. We couldn't sit together on the same couch. Our towels had to hang separately, and we were expected to keep at least three feet between us whenever we spoke. I'd bought tickets for a couples' movie night, but Chase had taken Tyler instead because, apparently, Tyler was feeling down and needed cheering up. I'd gotten up at five in the morning to prepare a homemade lunch for Chase. Tyler photographed it and posted it online with the caption, My best bro made me lunch by hand. Nobody loves me like this. For our third anniversary, I'd booked a little seaside rental. The night before we were supposed to leave, Chase announced that Tyler couldn't sleep and needed a two-day trip to a bathhouse to unwind. I'd canceled the reservation. The primary bedroom door slammed shut. A moment later, I heard the lock click. I walked to the guest room and pushed open the door. Tyler's dirty clothes were piled across the bed. A huge yellow stain spread across the sheets where someone had spilled liquor. I backed out and returned to the living room, sinking onto the couch. Laughter drifted through the bedroom door, followed by Chase's low, breathless voice. "Chase, he's still out there..." "Who cares?" 2 I spent the entire night on the couch. When I finally stood at dawn, my vision went black. My knees buckled, and I slammed into the corner of the coffee table. The thermometer read 103 degrees Fahrenheit. I braced myself against the wall and stumbled to the primary bedroom. Three knocks. The door opened. Tyler stood in the doorway wearing my pajamas, his bare legs crossed as he leaned against the frame. "What?" "I have a fever. Can you ask Chase to pick up some fever medicine for me while he's out?" Tyler looked me up and down, then burst out laughing. "Chase is still asleep. If you're going to fake being sick to get his attention, at least pick a better time." I held up the thermometer. He didn't even bother to look. He simply knocked it out of my hand. It hit the floor and shattered. Mercury beads scattered across the tiles. "Oops. Butterfingers." Chase stirred in bed, then sat up, blinking against the morning light. When he saw me, he clicked his tongue in irritation. "What's all the noise this early?" "Chase, my fever's over 103. Can you take me to the hospital?" He rubbed his hair and climbed out of bed. At the doorway, he pressed the back of his hand to my forehead, then quickly pulled away. "You are a little hot." For one foolish second, I thought he was going to grab his car keys. Then he yawned. "Tyler's been having a rough time. I promised I'd take him to the amusement park today. We already bought the tickets." He stretched. "Just get an Uber. You're a grown man. You'll be fine." Tyler slipped his arms around Chase's waist from behind and tilted his head at me. "Mason, you seriously need someone to hold your hand for something this minor?" I said nothing. I turned and walked toward the entryway to put on my shoes. Behind me, Chase called out, "Tyler, grab my down jacket. It's windy today. I don't want you getting cold." That was the jacket I'd bought him. The emergency department was packed. The nurse missed my vein on the first attempt, went straight through it on the second, and finally got the IV started on the third. She frowned at me. "Where's your family?" "No one's coming." She didn't ask anything else. She simply moved the IV stand closer. I messaged Chase. I'm at the ER on the third floor of City General. I'm getting an IV. The message showed as read. No reply. Before my first bag of fluids had finished dripping, a commotion erupted near the entrance. Chase came rushing in with Tyler in his arms, his jacket hanging crookedly off one shoulder. "Doctor! Someone get a doctor! Please!" His forehead was slick with sweat. His voice had gone hoarse from shouting. The doctor examined Tyler's hand for what felt like an eternity. "It's a small scrape on the back of his hand. Give it five more minutes, and it'll practically heal itself." "No. He fell getting off a roller coaster. What if he broke something? Get an X-ray. Do a full-body scan if you have to." The doctor rolled his eyes and wrote up the orders. Tyler turned his head and spotted me. He slipped out of Chase's arms and sauntered over, holding up the hand with its tiny adhesive bandage. "Oh, Mason! You're here, too? It's just a little scratch, but Chase carried me up three flights of stairs without even getting winded. He's in amazing shape, isn't he?" He pulled out his phone, nestled himself back against Chase, and pressed their faces together for a selfie. My phone lit up. Tyler had posted a new update. So grateful to have the best brother in the world. He worries even about a tiny scratch on my hand. In the photo, Chase was bending over to blow gently on Tyler's injured hand. Three seconds later, a like appeared beneath it. Chase. I scrolled back through my messages. Mine was still sitting at the bottom of our conversation. Read. No reply. Chase finally noticed me. He hesitated, then walked over. "What are you doing here?" "I told you. I messaged you." He pulled out his phone, glanced at the screen, and slipped it back into his pocket. "Oh. Must've missed it." From behind him, Tyler called, "Chase! They're ready for my X-ray. I'm scared to go alone." Chase turned and immediately hurried back to him. "You can get home by yourself after your IV, right?" I stared at his retreating back. Then I reached down and ripped the needle out of my hand. Blood ran over my fingers and dripped onto the tile. The nurse shouted after me. I didn't look back. 3 When I got home, I pressed a cotton ball against my bleeding hand and went straight into the study. I needed my documents, contracts, and bank cards. I needed to sit down and calculate exactly what the last three years had cost me. The combination to the safe was Chase's birthday. I entered it, and the door clicked open. On the top shelf sat a black velvet box. Inside were the engagement rings I'd been preparing for Chase. I'd designed them myself. I'd taken the gold bangle my grandmother had left me to an old master jeweler and asked him to melt it down. I'd revised the design four times. I'd planned to propose on the last night of our anniversary trip. The trip had been canceled, so the rings had stayed here. I opened the box. The ring engraved with a C was still there. The one engraved with an M was gone. I searched the safe again, then tore through the study. At nine that evening, laughter sounded from the front door. Chase and Tyler came in carrying milk tea. Tyler was wearing a pair of bunny ears from the amusement park. He flicked one of the ears with his finger. Under the light, something gold flashed on his middle finger. My ring. "Take it off." Tyler deliberately raised his hand toward the ceiling light and turned it from side to side. "Pretty, right? Chase said it's a friendship ring. He gave it to me as a little gift for being single." I kept my face expressionless. "That's mine. My initials are engraved inside." "So the letter M automatically makes it yours?" He laughed so hard he bent forward. "I thought M stood for Magnificent, personally." Chase set his drink down and stepped between us. "Enough. It's a stupid ring. Do you really need to make such a fuss? I'll buy you ten more tomorrow." "Chase, it's an engagement ring." I refused to back down this time. "I had my grandmother's bangle melted down to make it. I've spent three months getting it ready. I was going to propose to you." Chase paused. Then he pulled me aside. "Well, you haven't given it to me yet, have you? Tyler likes it. What's the harm in letting him have it?" His voice rose. "You're a grown man, Mason. How can you be so damn stingy?" Tyler peeked around his shoulder. "Mason, don't you think your grandmother would be heartbroken if she knew you were fighting with your own brother over a ring?" I lunged forward and grabbed Tyler's hand, trying to pull the ring off his finger. It was stuck over his knuckle. The moment I tugged harder, he shrieked. "Ow! That hurts! Chase!" Without even thinking, Chase shoved me in the chest. I lost my balance and landed hard on the floor. Chase didn't spare me a glance. He stood beside Tyler, cradling his hand and turning it this way and that. "Are you hurt? Does your finger hurt?" "Chase, he hurt me..." Tyler's finger was perfectly fine. The ring was still on it. Chase finally turned toward me. "Mason. Apologize." I braced my hands against the floor and tried to stand, but pain shot through my lower back. My legs gave out, and I sank to my knees again. "My back... I hit it..." "Stop pretending. I barely pushed you." Tyler used Chase's arm to pull himself upright. As they passed me, he nudged the velvet box with his foot, sending it skidding beneath the couch. "Chase, I'm hungry. Let's go get a late-night bite." "Sure. What do you want?" The front door closed behind them. I lay on the floor for ten minutes before I could reach my phone. The screen lit up. My lock screen was still the photograph of Chase and me at the beach three years ago. I opened my settings and replaced it with a plain black image. Then I reached beneath the couch and fished out the velvet box. The ring engraved with a C was still inside. I opened the window and threw it into the landscaping below. 4 The next morning, I lifted my shirt in front of the mirror. A huge purple bruise spread across my lower back, with a hard, swollen lump in the center. Even the slightest touch sent pain shuddering through me. That evening, I had an industry appreciation gala to attend. Financing for my studio's newest project was hanging by a thread. Several key clients would be there, and I couldn't afford to miss the event. I took a painkiller and changed into a suit. Chase emerged from the primary bedroom, with Tyler trailing behind him. "Tyler's coming with us. He needs to see how these things work." "It's a business event. What would he even do there?" "He's coming as a partner's family member," Chase said, as if that settled everything. "He might work at the studio someday. He should get to know people." Tyler snickered behind him. "Mason, are you worried I'll steal your job?" I didn't bother answering. I grabbed my laptop bag and left. The gala was on the top floor of a hotel. I moved from table to table, making introductions and toasting clients. Every time I bent at the waist, pain flared through my lower back, and I had to grit my teeth to keep my expression steady. Chase and Tyler stayed together all evening. Not once did Chase come over to help me deflect a drink or rescue me from a conversation. As usual, I had my phone recording. I made a habit of keeping records of important discussions at business events. Halfway through the evening, Mr. Whitaker approached with a glass in his hand, followed by two or three longtime clients. "Mason, Chase, you two seem so devoted to each other. When's the big day? I'll make sure you get a generous wedding gift." Everyone laughed. I was about to answer when Tyler suddenly shot to his feet. "God, gay people are disgusting!" He pointed at Chase. "How can anyone even think you'd be a couple with another man?" Heads turned at the surrounding tables. Mr. Whitaker's expression darkened. I waited for Chase to smooth things over. This was our studio's event. These were clients we'd spent three years cultivating together. Instead, Chase jerked his arm away from mine. Then he took two deliberate steps backward. He wrapped an arm around Tyler's shoulders and smiled at the room. "There's been a misunderstanding. Mason and I are just roommates and business partners." He cleared his throat. "I'm a perfectly straight man." Suppressed laughter rippled through the crowd. "So Mason was the only one who thought they had something going on..." "That explains it. I remember Mason peeling shrimp for him at dinner once. I thought..." "Three years of throwing himself at a man who won't even acknowledge him. That's rough." Mr. Whitaker set down his glass and patted my shoulder without saying a word before walking away. A female client passed behind me and whispered to her companion, "He's a talented designer. It's sad he has so little self-respect." Tyler linked his arm through Chase's and raised his glass toward me. The ring was still on his middle finger. I left before the gala ended. Alone in my car, I opened the studio's accounting system. The new project's financing had to go through several stages. I needed to review the accounts for the previous six months one more time. A payment from the previous month caught my eye. $3.8 million. The description read Advance payment for materials. But the recipient wasn't any of our suppliers. It was a real estate sales office. I opened my email and searched for the development's name. Chase had received an electronic contract through the studio's shared email account. A property purchase agreement. Paid in full. There were two words in the section labeled Legal Owner. Tyler Reed. When I got home, I could hear the shower running. Chase was in the bathroom. Tyler was sprawled across the couch wearing the designer shirt I'd ordered for myself the previous month, his legs propped directly on the coffee table. He saw me and grinned. "Now you get it, right? Everyone at that gala knows you're just Chase's personal ATM. You've been paying to help him hide who he really is." He swung his feet lazily. "Do yourself a favor and leave before you embarrass yourself any further. Maybe I'll let you keep a little dignity." I sat across from him and opened my phone. First, the studio's transfer records. Second, the page of the property contract naming the legal owner. Then I pressed play. Tyler's voice rang through the living room. "God, gay people are disgusting!" I set the phone on the coffee table. "Fine." I looked him straight in the eye. "Let's see who gets charged with embezzlement tomorrow and ends up sleeping on the street. And let's see which one of us gets to keep a roof over his head." 5 Tyler's face went white. He lunged for my phone. I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. He clutched his cheek, too stunned to speak. The bathroom door flew open. Chase came out wrapped in a towel. "What the hell are you doing?" When he saw Tyler on the floor, his eyes went red. He charged toward me with his hand raised, ready to hit me. I stepped aside. His slap cut through empty air. I shoved the screenshots in his face. "Three-point-eight million dollars in company funds. Used to buy the property I designed. Registered in his name." Chase's face turned from gray to white and then to a sickly red. "We're done," I said, pulling my phone back. "Every last dollar of that $3.8 million comes back to me. Half of it was mine." Chase stared at the screen for several seconds. Then he laughed. "Mason, are you pulling this stunt again?" He adjusted his towel. "You're addicted to playing hard to get, aren't you? You think you can survive without me?" Tyler scrambled to his feet and hid behind him, covering his face as he began to cry. "Chase, he hit me..." Chase put an arm around him and pointed at the door. "Fine. Leave. But once you walk out that door tonight, don't ever expect me to let you back in. You could get on your knees and beg, and I'd still slam it in your face." I didn't answer. I opened my phone and called a moving company. Half an hour later, four movers arrived carrying cardboard boxes upstairs. The architectural drawings from my study. My computer and hard drives. My clothes. My toothbrushes and towels. Even the monstera I'd spent two years growing on the balcony. I packed everything. Even the slippers by the front door went into a box. Tyler folded his arms and sneered. "You're taking the slippers, too? God, you're pathetic. Are you that broke?" I hadn't planned on engaging with him. But that had changed. "Take off the shirt. That's mine, too." Tyler's expression twisted with rage. For the first time in months, I felt a rush of pure satisfaction. Chase started toward me, but one of the movers stepped between us. Chase stopped. With everyone watching, Tyler ripped off the shirt and flung it onto the floor. I picked it up and packed it into the last box. That night, I checked into a hotel. At one in the morning, my phone rang. A photo from Chase's number. Two hands clasped together on a bed. One of them wore my ring on its middle finger. The caption read, The air feels sweeter now that you're gone. Another message followed. Chase is asleep. I'm thanking you on his behalf for finally stepping aside. I opened my contacts and found Chase's parents. His father was a retired high school principal. His mother loved bragging about her successful son in the family group chat. They were both obsessed with appearances. If they learned that Chase was gay... I forwarded the photo and added one line. Mr. and Mrs. Chase, meet your son's real partner. At eight the next morning, the studio was in chaos. My assistant, Sophie, video-called me. "Mason, we can't log into the server! None of the project files will open!" "Oh. That's under my personal account. I set it up three years ago. I revoked everyone's access this morning." Sophie lowered her voice. "Chase is throwing things around the office..." I hung up. What did I care? At ten, Sophie called again. "Mason, Mr. Grant is here. He specifically asked to see you!" Grant was the lead investor for our new project. I'd personally negotiated the letter of intent with him a month earlier. Sophie slipped her phone into her breast pocket, leaving a narrow gap through which I could see half the conference room. Chase was wearing his most ingratiating smile. "Mr. Grant, Mason hasn't been well, so he's resigned. Our new designer, Tyler, will be presenting the project from now on." Tyler stood up in a brand-new suit, holding a laser pointer. "Here we have... uh, the load-bearing wall in the living room. We're planning to knock it down and create an open-concept..." "That's a sectional drawing," Grant interrupted. "You're holding it upside down." Tyler fumbled with the paper, turning a deep shade of purple. Grant closed his folder and stood. "I signed the letter of intent for Mason's design. I'm investing in Mason." He slapped the folder onto the table. "You expect me to trust millions of dollars to a man who can't even read a blueprint?"