  gars endommag(damaged boys) twenty sans souci Braden returned to the lonely quiet of his empty row house, lonely to anyone but him. He embraced the stillness and the quiet, revered the emptiness and the solace. There was, invariably, the time when it was necessary to have company, be it family, friends or others.
But there was also the time for them to leave, time for the silence and the orderliness. There were two categories in Bradens life, those things that were orderly, and those that were not. It seemed people always caused some period of reorganization in his life. Relationships were never orderly, clean or easy, for that matter. Sometimes he wondered if it was worth the effort at all. It was much simpler to remain cool, detached and in control. Braden detested the unpredictable nature of human relationships, the brooding, the yelling, the expectations. It was neater to have things clearly explained up-frontno surprises or lies or love. No, love was complicatedtoo complicated. Braden enjoyed his time alone. But his thoughts wandered to Charleston and to Thomas. He imagined Thomas aboard the sailboat Sans Souci , face toward the wind and sun, and headed in no particular direction. Thomas had the luxury of complete autonomy over his schedule. He was not bound to the rigidity of a standard workday. Braden calculated a family net-worth well into the tens of millionsThomas wouldnt be needing a day job anytime soon.
He imagined sailing for days together, not worrying, not planning or plotting or schedulingjust sailing and consuming. There would be incredible food and drink, and nights filled with each other, wound togetheran ebb and flow, like the very seawater beneath them, an orderly pairing. There was the crash and retreat, the dangerous undertow of Thomas affection, and Braden could do nothing but capsize into the dream of it, the beautiful sun-dappled fantasy with clean edges and crisp, white linens.
There was, of course, realitya return to the actual life in a faraway northern city. Thoughts of Thomas faded into reminders of appointments and bills and laundry, into the ordinary and consistent. Here, there was hardwood and stone, sharp edges and a cold, contemporary style to everything. And, at once, Braden noticed that the life hed fantasized and the life he lead were polar opposites. Here there was no warmth or light, just the infinite melancholy of marble and speckled granites, the designer furniture and icy chrome. And, for perhaps the first time in his life, Braden saw himselfa tiny glimpse of the person responsible for this life. And, he realized hed made his own madness, his own subscribed routine. And he alone could change it.
Later that week, when Marcus and Ben returned from the gym, from the secret glances and the fear of rejection from each other, the dawn was barely gray on the horizon. They drove up to the row houses and parked in the garage. Neither of them noticed the sign in front of Bradens, which read, Metro Real Estate . 
