Blitzed (Rules of Possession Book 3), page 24
“Yeah, I do. I don’t have a car to remember my dad by, but I have football. When I’m out there, it’s like he’s right there with me.” At Jesse’s hesitant smile, I went on. “He loved to do drills with me, even when my skill surpassed his. I expected him to be mad about that, but he just smiled and told me, ‘AJ, that was the point.’”
“He sounds…kind of wonderful.”
“He was,” I said simply.
“My dad wasn’t like that. He was a good guy but stability wasn’t exactly his forte. He bounced around from job to job and to be perfectly honest, I think he was out of our lives more than he was in. One day, he just never came back.” He frowned as he made swirls on the counter with his finger. “Turns out he had another family up in Buffalo. Guess he liked them a little better.”
“How old were you?” My fingers tightened on my spatula as I flipped a pancake so aggressively that it wound up on the floor. “Fuck.”
“That’s yours,” he said with a faint smile. “And I was twelve.”
I tempered my reaction because this wasn’t about me, this was about Jesse. My anger couldn’t help a little boy that grew up with the idea that no one wanted him. I planned to show him that I did. More than I’d wanted anything in my life.
“Did you ever see him again?”
“Yeah, I looked him up about ten years ago. Joshua has this thing about dealing with the past and not letting it rule your life and blah the fucking blah…he wouldn’t shut up about it.” Jesse sent me an aggrieved look. “He’s been insufferable ever since he started therapy.”
I laughed. “I’ll tell him you said that.”
“Do it and a floor pancake will be the least of your worries.”
I wasn’t afraid in the least. I’d eaten worse on a dare with little to no stakes. My stomach reminded me of the Twix-a-thon Everett challenged me to and I redirected my thoughts before I hurled from the memory alone. “How did it go with your father?”
He shrugged. “We met up and had a stilted conversation over lunch. I wondered why he insisted on going to a hot dog stand until he started reminiscing about how much I used to love it. No matter how I tried to move forward, he wanted to see me as that twelve-year-old kid.”
“Parents do that sometimes. It’s hard watching your kids grow up.”
He shook his head. “No, it was more than that. It was like he felt so guilty that he decided to freeze our relationship. He didn’t want to hear about anything that happened after he left, especially the bad stuff. But he didn’t want to hear the good stuff, either.”
“Why not?”
“Because he wasn’t part of it. In the end, I realized he was still the same selfish asshole he’d always been. Our relationship was still all about him.”
“You haven’t seen him since?”
He shook his head. “We exchange emails sometimes, but I don’t think he’s good for my life. I can’t have him be part of it. Not in any real way.”
“So why on earth do you drive that car?”
His smile was a little rueful. “Because he’s still my dad.”
I wished I didn’t get that. Sometimes family got away with shit I’d clock a motherfucker for. “You don’t talk much about your mother.”
“No, I don’t,” he said flatly. “My mother is no longer in my life.”
Voluntarily? I caught the word right before it rolled off my tongue. It was clear from the set of his shoulders that it wasn’t his decision to be motherless. And suddenly his dedication to the center took on even more significance.
“She kicked you out because you were gay,” I said grimly.
“Yeah. I knew she was old-fashioned and stuck in the past. Every time I heard her say some off-color shit about ‘those people,’ I just made excuses. Oh, she’s only saying these things because she doesn’t know about me. If she only knew, she wouldn’t feel that way. So I gave her the chance to know the real me. And she showed me the door. I was fourteen.” He bit his lip. “I can still hear her voice and see the look on her face. The same woman who made it to every soccer game I ever had, looking at me like I was something that crawled out of the drain trap. No son of mine will ever be gay, Jamison.”
“Jamison?” I asked softly. “Is that your real—”
“I’m Jesse,” he said firmly. “Jamison is dead and gone.”
“Where did you go?”
“My grandpa’s house. He took me in after even though I was sure he would show my ass the door. He wasn’t happy about me living there. He was even less happy about me being gay. But he always said family was family. I was as good as possible, so he’d have no reason to throw me out. I was afraid to breathe wrong.”
“How long did that last?” I asked grimly.
“That worked for about a year and a half until he passed. He never had much money and they swooped in pretty quickly after to strip his house down to the bones. My mother told me her rule still stood unless I changed my mind. If I agreed to speak with their pastor and go to his retreat for confused boys like me, we could wipe the slate clean.”
“One of those fucking camps?”
He blew out a breath. “Probably.”
Boy, my teeth were really getting a workout this morning. I ground them yet again as I bit back a few curses. “What did you do?”
“What could I do? I survived any way I could. Sometimes I made decisions I wish I didn’t have to make. I stole. I ate out of garbage cans. I sold things that, at least for me, were always unsellable,” he said carefully. “I lived in a condemned building for a while. That was okay except for the fucking bugs. To this day, I can’t stand bugs of any kind. Roaches will crawl on you while you sleep, you know? At first it feels like a stray hair, but once you know that feeling, you’ll never mistake it for anything else.”
“Jesse.” My voice was rough and ragged and there was nothing I could do about whatever was going on with my face anymore. “I’m sorry.”
“Why? It wasn’t like you had anything to do with it.” He lifted a shoulder. “And it was a long time ago.”
“That has nothing to do with my sorry.”
He stared at me for a few moments, so long that I wondered if I’d said the wrong thing. Too bad. It was the only thing I had in my mind other than murderous thoughts about anyone who’d ever hurt my Jesse.
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “You sappy bastard,” he accused.
I huffed out a laugh. “Guilty as charged,” I admitted as I served up the pancakes. I sprinkled blueberries over them like I was Emeril Lagasse or some shit and slid the plate in front of him.
He looked suitably impressed. “Hey, do you have—”
I put the syrup in front of him.
“And a—”
I held out a fork with my eyebrow raised.
“It’s like you’re a food genie,” he said in wonder, which made me chuckle.
Once I had mine plated, glasses of orange juice and bottled water joined the haul. Then I slid onto the barstool next to him and dug in. Two pancakes in, my stomach was appeased enough that I could stop scarfing and talk again. Jesse’s gates were open and I wasn’t about to let him corral the horses back in. Not just yet.
“Tell me more about your family.”
He frowned even as he forked up a few blueberries and stuffed them in his mouth. “Haven’t you done enough excavating?”
“It’s called getting to know someone, sour patch kid.”
“I don’t want to talk about the bad things anymore.” Disappointed that all his blueberries were gone, he eyed my plate and I pulled it farther away. “You shortchanged me on the blueberries, McAdams. For all of my honesty, I deserve blueberries.”
I sighed and gave him a handful of mine. “Here, you whiny baby. You don’t have to talk about the bad stuff anymore. Tell me about the good things. That’s…assuming there were any.” I paused. “And before you answer, please keep in mind that I’m this close to strangling an old woman.”
His mouth twitched. “You’re not strangling my mother,” he said. “My childhood wasn’t all bad.”
“Funny. I haven’t heard any good shit yet.”
He huffed out a laugh...and then he started to talk. We talked long after the pancakes were gone and the sun rose. I put my elbow on the island and propped my cheek on my hand.
I’d chosen a sterile white palette for the kitchen because it was starkly beautiful, all white quartz and stainless steel. But it had always been cold. It was filled with warmth now, with Jesse talking more than I’d ever heard him talk, laughing more than I’d ever heard him laugh. No place I’d rather be.
“My hours are over at the center,” I blurted before realizing I’d cut him off mid-sentence. “Sorry.”
His mouth quirked. “And you’re telling me things I know because….”
“Because I don’t want this to be over, too.”
The ensuing silence was the loudest thing I’d ever heard, but his expressive face spoke volumes. He wanted this as badly as I did. And now I knew all the things that were holding him back.
“Before you say no—”
“I’m not sure I could ever say no to you,” he said quietly.
“That bodes well for our sex life. There are a few things I want to try that require trust and handcuffs.” That got me an elbow to the gut that I richly deserved. “Hey, I’m full of pancakes over here!”
He looked amused. “Then don’t be a brat.”
Talk about asking me to do the impossible. I kept mum about that aspect of my personality. Some things he’d just have to find out on his own.
“Tell me that it hasn’t gotten serious for you, and I’ll let it go. Not graciously,” I added. “But I will. I want you to be happy.”
“You make me happy,” he said, almost looking surprised at the words coming out of his mouth. “Maybe…maybe what we have right now can be enough.”
“I’m not sure what that means.”
“It means I enjoy you and I want you to enjoy me.”
“Stop talking about me like I’m a ripe plum.”
“More like a soft, potentially rotten orange.”
I huffed. “Now that’s just hurtful. Do you want to hear my plan or not?” At his slight nod, I went on. “I want to talk to Ari. If anyone knows how to tame a media circus, it’s him.”
His look was grim. “A circus, huh?”
“Figure of speech.”
It wasn’t. We both knew that. But the thing about circuses was that they eventually packed up and left town. I didn’t think that would be helpful to point out, so I just waited.
“I guess just talking wouldn’t hurt,” he said slowly.
“Exactly. No one is announcing anything,” I said firmly. “Your pace, okay?”
His shoulders slumped with relief as he nodded slowly. He looked so much like a little kid that I couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “C’mere.”
I pulled him into a hug, expecting stiff shoulders and reluctance. He practically melted into me like he wanted to climb into my clothes. I buried my face in his hair as I rubbed his back. It felt right. Like he belonged in my arms.
I hadn’t been lying before—I wanted to make him happy. Whatever it took. It was a hell of a time to realize that I would do just about anything for him. I tightened my arms around him and he sighed like I was the only thing holding him together. Anything.
Except let him go.
25
JESSE
We got to Ari’s office after hours. The building was darkened and quiet, and I was instinctively tempted to maintain the hush. Andrew seemed to be in the opposite mood. He’d been chatty as fuck since we’d gotten in the car, which was kind of endearing. He only did his I’m an eager squirrel begging for nuts routine when he was nervous.
“We should go get Chinese after this. I saw this orange chicken recipe on my Facebook feed, and I’ve been thinking about that shit all day.” He bit his lip. “Although I wouldn’t say no to Korean food. I could murder some short ribs right about now….”
He glanced at my face and sighed, rubbing both hands down his face. “I’m talking too much, aren’t I?”
I leaned over and kissed him because I could. “It’s fine.”
The elevator opened soundlessly on the twenty-fourth floor. As we walked through the office, I couldn’t help but take in the opulence. No cubicles and desks up here, just large, frosted doors with printed names and long titles.
We entered Ari’s office to find him at his desk. He glanced up from a bank of flat screens and waved impatiently. “Have a seat,” he said as he typed, fingers moving over the keyboard quickly. “Be with you in a sec.”
His office was pretty much what I would’ve expected—fancy and devoid of warmth. It was about three times the size of mine, and most of the furniture seemed to be a combination of glass and chrome, which made the room seem about as sterile as a vacuum-sealed hypodermic needle.
Ari finished typing whatever he was working on so busily and sat back in his chair. “So. What can I do for my favorite client?”
Andrew raised an eyebrow. “Oh, has Blue disappeared into the Bermuda Triangle? Too bad, so sad.”
“And here I thought you’d appreciate your daily sprinkle of bullshit.” Ari’s mouth quirked as he started working his tie loose one-handed. “What can I do for you?”
I waited for Andrew to speak, only to find him looking at me patiently. Right. My pace. I blew out a breath. “We need to talk to you about some things…things that might get out were we to go public with our relationship.”
Ari’s gaze was steady and cool. “What kind of things?”
Ruinous kinds of things.
I could hem and haw and waste time. But I already knew what I wanted, and he was sitting right next to me. That meant doing things I wished I didn’t have to do. I turned to Ari, facing his knowing look head-on.
On second thought, maybe I didn’t have to say anything at all.
“You know,” I said quietly.
He snorted. “Was there ever any doubt?” He rifled through his desk drawer for a few seconds before he pulled out a blue folder. He let it drop on the desk. “My number one priority will always be to protect my client.”
When I made no move to take it, he gave it a push closer to my side. Near the top was a pink sticky with one word scrawled on it. Foxhill.
“I know we don’t know each other, Jesse, but there are a few things that are undeniable about me,” he said coolly. “I never act rashly. I make a mean coconut cake. And I always do my research.”
I could only stare at the folder numbly. Judging from the way Andrew tensed beside me, he wasn’t a fan of the snooping.
“You had a background check done on him? I told you to leave it alone, Ari,” he snapped. “He already told me about his past.”
Ari raised an eyebrow. “All of it?” He gestured at the folder. “Open it.”
Andrew looked ready to set it on fire instead, so I did the honors. My last mug shot stared up at me. I hadn’t seen that face in a long time. I had longer hair then and a hard expression on my face. My eyes were angry and belligerent, and I had the beginnings of a bruise on my cheek. I remember the officer had slammed me down on the hood of his cruiser and my face had taken the brunt of the hit.
I flipped through the four mug shots, each one getting progressively younger. I was sixteen in the last one, my face gaunter than I remembered. I’d only been on the streets for six months then, and I’d been grateful for that arrest. A place to sleep and a guaranteed meal sounded like heaven. A few months in lockup taught me the error of that thinking. Things could get harder than eating food out of a garbage can and sleeping under a cardboard box.
Burglary. Larceny. Grand Theft Auto. Prostitution.
The motley crew of charges blurred as my face burned. I’d already alluded to the truth to Andrew back in his sunny kitchen, yes. But seeing it in stark black and white made me want to run out of this building and never look back.
His jaw looked tight enough to shatter with one good tap. His knuckles were white as he clenched the chair’s arms. He took in my hangdog expression and his face took on a furious cast.
“Seriously, Jesse? You can’t seriously think…I don’t blame you. I just can’t believe you had to go through this. God.” He stabbed his fingers through his hair and pulled a little until I smacked them away. I happened to like his shampoo-ad hair. “How could you ever think I’d judge you for your past?”
“I don’t know. I just…Trace used to say that—”
“I am not Trace King,” he thundered.
I sat back in my chair. I hated when he was right. There was absolutely nothing he’d done in our dealings together to make me think he was anything other than what he was—a sweet, amazing guy, who for some reason, seemed to think I was the best thing since sliced bread. And nothing in this folder would ever change that.
There was a full page of writing behind the pictures, and I scooted the damning mug shots aside to get a better look. “Where did you get this?”
“A reporter who happens to be a friend of mine. He sent me the photos, too.”
“What is it?” Andrew demanded, and I handed over the article about our relationship with numb fingers.
“With friends like these,” I muttered.
“He’s a friend because he’s giving me the heads-up,” Ari said pointedly. “Luckily for you two, I know where the bodies are buried.”
“Which means?”
“That he’s willing to make some changes to the story before it goes out.”
“What kind of changes?” Andrew asked, his brow furrowed.
“The kind of changes that blurs the pictures and redacts Jesse’s name from the article. The kind of changes that makes this less of a personal interest piece and more of a gossipy story with no proof, one that will disappear,” he said coolly. “The kind of changes that don’t pair you up with a fucking prostit—”
Andrew was out of his chair before the last word left Ari’s mouth, his hand balling up his agent’s shirt. At the neck. Ari swatted at his hands ineffectively, twisting this way and that.
