Chapter Seven
Though Jordan was old enough to stay home by himself, after his night out, James still checked on Jordan. He entered the room, picked up the book Jordan had been reading and set it on the bedside table. After pulling the covers up to Jordan’s neck, he kissed his head and turned off the light. He stood at the door for, only God knows how long, listening to the silence of the space and enjoying his son’s presence. In that instant, he wasn’t a man who wants another man he had no business to. He wasn’t James McLaren the bestselling author or the man who’d let two people take his son away.
He was quite simply, dad.
He loved that feeling.
In his bedroom, he removed his jacket and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair. He stripped down and hauled on a pair of track pants and turned for the bathroom.
“No!”
James stopped, frozen in place by the pained cry. He jerked around when it came again and again. Grabbing the baseball bat from behind his door, he darted down the corridor with all manner of thoughts flooding his mind. The one that stood out the most was the fact he would kill anyone he found hurting his son.
But when he barged into Jordan’s room, bat hoisted, the teen was alone, tossing and turning on the bed. James quickly dropped the bat, flipped on the light then hurried over to the bed. He took Jordan’s shoulder but the teen fought him, kicking, screaming, scratching at James’ arms.
“Jordan!” He called, pulling Jordan into his arms. “It’s me. It’s James. You’re safe!”
Jordan stopped to look into his face and the moment he seemed to have recognized James, he crumbled into James’ chest.
“Dad?” Jordan whispered, sobbing. “Dad.”
His hug tightened around James even as James returned the embrace. His heart broke the whole time, wondering what had happened to Jordan while he was living with Felix and Marie.
“Shhh.” James hushed him. “It’s okay. I’m here now.”
James didn’t move. He allowed Jordan to hang on for as long as he needed. Only when Jordan shifted and sat back, did James let go.
“Want some warm milk?” James asked.
Jordan laughed while sniffling and wiping his eyes. “Warm milk? Really?”
“I’m new at this whole dad thing, Okay?”James said, rubbing Jordan’s back. “And I think we can both agree that I suck at it. I’m trying here.”
“I know. It’s okay. Can I have cookies with this warm milk?”
James tilted his head to see the bedside clock. It was almost five in the morning. But this was a special situation. “Why not? Come on.”
He rose and made his way to the door. When he grabbed the bat, Jordan cleared his throat.
“A baseball bat?” Jordan asked.
“You were screaming—I thought someone was hurting you.”
Jordan smiled and walked around James toward the kitchen. James stopped long enough to set the bat behind his bedroom door then hurried to the kitchen to find Jordan pouring milk into two glasses. He set to work finding cookies in the cupboard then sat together in silence, nibbling at their snacks.
“Thanks for the bat,” Jordan said. “It feels good to know you would protect me.”
“Of course. I’m your dad—sorry. It’s too soon for me to say that.”
Jordan shook his head. “You’re definitely dad. Grabbing a weapon and come rushing in was for sure the dad thing to do.”
“Oh?
“Like I said, you’ve explained all that. Most people would still be really pissed off and I’ve tried being angry. But, I can see how things went wrong. I was thinking about it and if I had a best friend and she asked me to donate sperm so she could have a child—I wouldn’t think twice.”
James cleared his throat.
“It’s still a little weird, you know?” Jordan continued.
James chewed and swallowed. “Yeah. Jordan, look. I understand you don’t know me. And you don’t trust me, I get it. But if something is hurting you, you can come to me. I promise I won’t judge.”
For the longest eternity, all Jordan did was stared at him with the same wild look Bethany would give James when she was terrified of something. James nodded before taking a long drink from his milk. This whole situation required something stronger—like Scotch—but it was too early in the morning for that.
“I wasn’t molested, if that’s what you’re scared of,” Jordan said. “He just knocked me about a lot, you know? Marie, well she never did anything to stop him. If she was home, she’d lock herself in the master bedroom until the carnage was over.”
James cringed.
“That wasn’t your fault,” Jordan said, picking at a cookie. “I mean, you were right when you said no one would have looked in Boise. It always felt like the end of the world to me.”
“I’m still so sorry, Jordan. There’s no way of making this up to you.” James rubbed his nose to keep from crying. “Um—I was there when you were born. Felix had taken off on another one of this business trips. I cut the umbilical cord and was the first person, other than a doctor to hold you. You were a beautiful baby. In that moment, when the doctor placed you in my arms I never wanted to let go. I guess Felix must have known that.”
“Of course you wouldn’t have wanted to let go. I was your son—your blood. It makes sense.” Jordan drained his glass and set it away from him. “Look, while you were out last night I had a chance to think about everything. And it dawned on me. When Tony called, you were on the first flight out. You didn’t wait until the week after or disappear. You stood up and you walked into that room knowing there was a strong possibility I’d hate you.”
“Yeah.”
“But you did it.” Jordan said. “You were strong and you came and claimed me when others ran a mile away.”
“Wait—when did this conversation turn to you cheering me up?” James asked.
“Is it working?”
James laughed. “A little.”
“Seriously,” Jordan said after a chuckle. “The nightmares have always been there and I suspect they always will be. I just never got any help for them.”
“I can get you the help you need,” James said. “I have connections and can get you the best. But you have to be willing to go. I will be there with you every step of the way.”
“Do you really mean that?”
James nodded. “Of course.”
“Thank you. I swore every day that if I survived Felix, I’d be a better man than he was,” Jordan said. “Here’s my chance to make good on that promise.”
James smiled. “For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.”
“It’s worth a lot—trust me.”
Rubbing his eyes, Jordan got up and filled their glasses again. They munched on a few more cookies in silence. It wasn’t the awkward kind of quiet that threatened to drive James mad, but the one that came from peace and accord.
“So,” Jordan broke the quiet. “I noticed something when you were talking to Tin Man at the airport.”
James almost choked on some milk. “Noticed something? Like what?”
“Seriously? I may not be gay and I may only be a kid but I saw it. He was obviously giving you the eye.”
“The eye?” James asked, stunned. “What does that even mean?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Jordan sighed in that way teenagers always sighed in insolent frustration. “He likes you. I can tell.”
James chewed for a silent moment before dropping a half of cookie back into the bag and pushed it away. He leaned forward to focus on his son. “What if—and this is a big if—what if he was interested and I was too, how would that make you feel?”
“Um—what now?”
“You know? I mean, we’re just connecting. I don’t want to bring a third person into this and you’re not ready.” James dragged a hand over his head.
“But you are interested.”
“Of course. What gay man wouldn’t be?” James asked. “Look, don’t think about that, okay? Let’s just focus on getting you settled in and registered for school in September.”
Jordan grunted. “Don’t say the S word.”
“Well, you have to finish. I’ve seen your transcript—you’re good.”
“I guess.”
“No guessing.” James pulled from his stool and carried the jar of milk back to the fridge. He then poured himself a glass of cold water to drink. He wasn’t as young as he needed to be and eating that many cookies in one sitting wasn’t going to do well on his body. Once he’d downed the entire glass, he refilled it then turned to look at his son. It was shocking how much like him Jordan looked.
“Come with me,” James said. “I wanna show you something.”
“Okay.”
He escorted Jordan to his bedroom and while he dug through his walk-in closet or a large, blue box, Jordan climbed into the center of the bed and curled his legs. Inside the box, James pulled out his mother’s album and joined his son. He flipped through it until he came to a picture of him at the same age Jordan was now. “Look at this.”
Jordan leaned in to see. “No way. That’s you?”
“Yup. Fifteen years old. We were living in Tennessee at the time.”
“Wow. I look just like you. I mean, I could take this and tell people it’s me and they’d believe it.”
James laughed before turning the page. “There I am again—that’s your grandpa.”
“Where’s he now?”
“He died a year after you disappeared.” James said sadly. “He was helping me search for you. I think after you were taken he—when I came out to him, he was sad. He thought for sure he would never have a grandchild. That was one of the main reasons I demanded that Felix and Marie remain in New York. The first time he saw you—he cried. I mean this man was a prisoner of war—strong as an ox. But losing you did a number on his heart.”
“I had a lot of people who loved me, huh?”
“Yeah.” James’ voice cracked as he turned the page. “You still do.”
“Who is that?”
“That is Bethany—my sister. She has a little girl of her own now—Ellie.”
“Do I get to meet them?”
“Of course.” James turned to look at Jordan. “I wanted to kind of ease you into this whole thing. I didn’t want you to be overwhelmed on your first weeks here.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” James closed the album and set it at the foot of the bed before lounging back against the pillow. “She’s chomping at the bit though.”
“I’m ready. I promise.”
“Okay. I’ll make it happen.”
Jordan stretched out beside him then and James allowed his mind to think back to all the moments he’d missed with Jordan. His first steps, first words, first time he woke up in the middle of the night because he thought there was a monster under his bed. The guilt washed through him like a storm. He thought for sure Marie would have taken care of Jordan, protected him.
“This isn’t going to be easy, you know, dad?”
“I figured.” James sighed. “As long as we keep working. As long as you talk to me when you feel like the world blows. The only thing I really expect from you is to be a kid, go to school and don’t sneak out at nights.”
“Sneak out? Lord, where would I go?”
James laughed. “For now. Soon, you’ll be zigzagging around the streets like a true New Yorker.”
“Speaking of which—is it too early to ask you for a present?”
“What kind of present?”
“A bike?”
James grinned. “No, it’s not too early. We’ll go look at one on Friday.”
“Sweet. That way, once I’m familiar with the place, I can travel on my own without you having to drive me everywhere. Parking can’t be easy to come by in the city.”
“That works,” James said. “We’ll figure it all out.”
Jordan nodded.
“Quentin asked me to come see him today,” James confessed.
“Are you going?”
“I don’t know. He is your idol. I don’t want this being weird for you.”
“Weird how?”
“I’m barely winging this whole father thing. I don’t have James McLaren guide to raising a teenager.”
Jordan laughed. “I love his music, dad. Not the man. Well, I like him. He’s nice. But that’s as far as it goes.”
“I see.”
Quentin stopped at Uncommon Grounds to grab a cup of coffee on his way to the studio. Since he was so close to his mother, he picked her up a peppermint with a blueberry muffin. He knew if he was that close to his mother’s salon and didn’t stop in, he was liable to be disowned. He checked the time before stepping into the buzzing, high end hair haven. If he timed it just right, he could get to the studio before Tanjay did.
When he went in, he found his mother rinsing a client’s hair. He kissed her cheek. “Hey, mami. I brought you a snack.”
“Thanks baby. Put it down right there.” She pointed a soapy finger. “Where are you on your way to?”
“The studio.”
“I thought you were resting?” she asked. “That was the main reason for you coming home, right?”
“Right. But you know when you have something in your head that won’t shut up until you write it down?”
She laughed. “Okay. You have fun.”
“Thanks, mami.” He kissed her cheek again.
As he was exiting, he could hear the woman in his mother’s chair asking, “that’s your son?”
Quentin paused, more to eavesdrop but he slipped his shades on.
“Yeah,” his mother replied. “That’s my oldest baby.”
“My, he’s grown!”
“Down girl,” his mother said.
Smirking, Quentin let himself out into the noisy chaos outside. He hadn’t heard from James, but he supposed that was normal. He’d all but fucked the guy in some hallway at a gay club—what did he expect from James after that behavior?
Ugh.
Maybe he should apologize. Well, he could except he didn’t take James’ number. When he arrived back at his car, there was a ticket on the windshield. He frowned, shook his head and pulled the slip of paper off. He assumed he would have gotten a ticket. There were very few places to park in New York and sometimes he just accepted the risk. Most often than not he got away with it but a few times he was dinged with a ticket.
It is what it is.
As he tossed his body into the driver’s seat, he dropped the ticket in his lap and slammed the door. He took a moment to log onto the New York government website. After entering his parking violation number he continued on the website until the ticket was paid. Once he received a notification that he’d received the receipt via email, he started the ignition and continued on his way.
By the time he made it to the studio, he wanted to turn right around and go home. But, this was the only time he had with Tanjay in the studio since his brother had signed up to take some summer classes at the university. Though, technically, he was on vacation, he had promised to record a new track with Tanjay.
“Quentin,” Frank Foster said. “Welcome home, man.”
Quentin hugged him. “Thanks. It’s good to be home. If I had any doubts of where I was, the parking ticket I got outside mami’s shop today confirmed it.”
“Aren’t they ruthless?” Frank laughed. “You want anything to drink?”
“Nah. Tanjay here yet?”
“Yeah. He’s down the hall hitting on Maggie. I’ll go get him.”
Quentin laughed before sitting down behind the boards. He dug through his bag for his notebook and began going over the rap portions of their song. He’d gone over it about four times when his cell rang. He glanced at the screen but didn’t recognize the number. Usually, he’d send it to voicemail but he was secretly hoping it was James.
“Hello?”
“Quentin, it’s James.”
“Hello, Professor.” Quentin swallowed. “Didn’t think I’d hear from you.”
“I know. I didn’t think I’d call either. Are you busy?”
“Not yet. I can talk.”
James cleared his throat. “Can I still see you today?”
“Are you asking me out, Mr. McLaren?”
“Is it that obvious?” James asked. “Besides, you asked me first.”
Quentin laughed. “Well, I’m about to start recording…”
Tanjay and Frank returned then, talking up a storm. Quentin frowned.
“You seem busy. I’ll—”
“James McLaren you are not getting out of taking me on a date.” Quentin glanced over at Tanjay who was busy gyrating his hips then pelvic thrusting. He frowned and turned in his chair to look away. “I can text you the address and you can pick me up.”
James laughed. “Well, Mr. Lauder, you have yourself a date.”
Quentin smirked. “I’ll save your number because if it’s up to you I’d never get it.”
“Am I that bad?” James groaned.
“Yes.” Quentin grinned. “You are.”
James laughed.
“I’ll see you soon, Professor.”
James moaned. “See you.”
Quentin hung up but couldn’t help the smile that now sat on his lips like a tattoo. Tanjay smirked and walked over to him for a hug.
“You’re smiling like the cat that ate the canary.”
“I am?” Quentin asked. “Sorry.”
“No—it looks good on you.”
Quentin patted his brother’s shoulders and they stepped into the recording booth. Though he was there physically, mentally he was up against that wall, James’ fit body pressing into him, their mouths tangled together—thankfully they were recording a love song. He used the fire James caused in him to put into the song, to make it a little sexier than he’d first envisioned. They stopped a couple of times for breaks, a few changes to lyrics and the like, but soon, they had a few verses done and the chorus.
“Eh, Tin Man.” Frank’s voice echoed through the speakers. “There’s someone here to see you.”
His heart leapt in his chest and he tried not to look over at his brother. Quentin could feel Tanjay’s smirk burning a hole in the side of his head.
“Who?” he asked, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.
“James?” Frank replied.
“Oh, right.” Quentin cleared his throat. “Can you have him just sit for a bit? I want to get this last verse in.”
“No worries, man.”
“You really should go,” Tanjay said. “I can come in on another day and we can finish up.”
“It’s fine.” Quentin adjusted his headset and flipped the page of his notes to the final rap verse.
Tanjay walked over to him to whisper in his ear. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”
“Can we not talk about this in here?”
“Just admit it.”
“I’m scared—okay? Happy now? Let’s do this.”
The two didn’t talk anymore. They recorded. By the end, Quentin was almost cleansed. They exited the booth to find James sitting in the sofa against the wall, and Frank at his boards. Quentin wasn’t sure if he should kiss James or shake his hand. He settled for a mock salute.
“Tanjay, this is James McLaren—James, my brother, Tanjay.” Quentin said. “He’s a very big fan of yours.”
The two shook hands.
“Wow.” Tanjay gushed. “This is, like, everything.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tanjay.” James smiled.
“And you’ve met Frank.” Quentin continued.
James smiled.
“I’m sorry,” Tanjay spoke up. “Do you mind if we took a picture?”
“Not at all.”
Quentin accepted his brother’s phone and waited until Tanjay and James got into position. He snapped a couple of pictures for Tanjay then handed the cell back. With that out of the way, they all sat around to listen to a raw version of Soul for Soul.
When it ended, James said nothing and Quentin felt as if he’d explode. He wanted to know what James thought—for some strange reason it mattered. With a sigh, and after finishing some last minute details, Quentin handed Tanjay his car keys then led James out of the studio and into the mid-day sunlight. He glanced over at James, walking beside him, and couldn’t help feeling as if he was in the presence of royalty. Neither of them spoke until they were belted into the front seats of James’ vehicle.
“Did you write that song?” James asked.
“The rap bits,” Quentin said. “It was Tanjay’s idea for that song, really. He came up with the hook two years ago but wasn’t sure if he liked it. He made a few changes and now wanted to get in and record it.”
“Will it be on your next album?”
“Strong possibility—look, can you kiss me, already?”
James laughed. “Can I say something first?”
Quentin sighed dramatically. “Only if it doesn’t take long.”
“When I see you in that booth.” James caressed Quentin’s cheeks. “It’s like I’m looking at another person. Only, I’m not disappointed. Pride—seeing you do what you love and knowing that there’s a chance you will be mine—.”
“Aww.” Quentin whispered. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” Quentin chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, debating if he should say what he wanted. In the end he dragged a hand along James’ jawline, loving the tickle of facial hair. “Everyone else in my life wants me to be a gangster. Well, not mami and Tanjay, but you know what I mean. They are disappointed when I drop a track and it’s not about bitches and hoes. They hear rapper and they expect a certain stereotype.”
“I don’t want a stereotype, Quentin. I want you—the real you.”
Quentin moaned and closed his eyes. “I take it back—that’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“But it’s the truth.”
“Kiss? Now?”
James laughed. “You really should learn to beat around the bush.”
“I’m too old. And besides, I waited a whole—” Quentin glanced at his watch. “Two minutes.”
James undid his belt and leaned across to wrap his fingers against the back of Quentin’s neck. Slowly, the two eased together, the air still around them. With the scream of the city around them, Quentin gave his mouth to James, allowed him entry then moaned at the pleasure that submission caused in him. With a sigh, Quentin reached a hand over to rest on James’ thigh.
“I’ve been thinking about what happened between us at Sparks,” James said, lifting his head. “I can’t believe I let things go that far.”
Quentin chuckled. “Me either but I would have let it go further if you’d stuck around.”
“So, where are we going?” James smiled.
“Well, if you don’t think I’m a serial killer.” Quentin spoke. “We could go back to my place and I could make you a nice lunch. I would say your place but I know your son might be home.”
James nodded.
“What do you think?” Quentin asked.
“Um…” James cleared his throat. “Okay.”
They drove in silence for a while, inching their way through ever-present traffic.
“So…” Quentin stared out his window, a smirk tugging his lips upward. “You want me to be yours, huh?”
“No—yes—shut up!” James laughed.
Quentin joined him. “No take backs, Professor. Those words are already out in the universe. Give them time—they will come back to you, making your dreams a reality.”
“Damn—you’re so sexy when you talk like that—inspirational and all.”
Quentin glanced over at James. “What you’re saying, is that, it turns you on.”
“Quen—yes.”