Risk Everything on It

by K.A. Mitchell

  “Sorry, Stanislavsky. You’re going to have to method act without me modeling.” Spencer put the doll on the table. “I’m on my way out.” He pulled a backpack over his shoulder as he stepped toward the door.

  Dane met him there, and they got into the kind of kiss that made Oscar Parsons’s business card seem to catch fire in Jax’s back pocket. After the kiss there was a long hug. An exchange of laters and Spencer was out the door.

  “And that’s it?” Jax tipped his head toward the door. He knew better than to ask Dane where Spencer was going. He could be off to work, going to the gym, the grocery store, or to fuck someone else. Dane said not knowing made their time together mean more, made the reunions exciting.

  “Yup.” Dane always acted amused when Jax tried to understand the relationship of one of his oldest friends.

  It wasn’t as if Jax didn’t get what an open relationship was, but to him Spencer and Dane were in separate versions of it. Spencer in one where fucking other guys was okay. Dane in one where he could fuck other guys and keep having the push-pull relationship he’d had with Gideon for fifteen years.

  Right now, Dane wore a secretive smile as he shook his head at Jax. “Window-shopping or character study?”

  Jax looked down at his phone and watched the few seconds of footage he’d shot before Spencer put the baby down.

  “Why didn’t you call Theo for help with this?” Dane asked before scooping up the doll and making her dance on the scarred wooden surface. “This is more up the alley of Mr. Broadway Producer. Don’t tell me you’re still pissed that he missed our annual reunion ride on the Cyclone.”

  Jax put his phone on the table. “Have you tried calling Theo for anything lately? Between his new boyfriend and his new show, he’s more like Mr. Voice Mail.”

  Not that Jax would ask Theo for help with this anyway. There was a huge difference between film and stage, as had been so forcefully pointed out to him earlier this year. The only acting coach Jax really trusted was out in LA.

  Jax pried the doll away from Dane, lifted her dress, and stripped off the backward diaper.

  “Gideon has younger siblings, right?” Dane handed Jax another diaper.

  Jax resisted the urge to check his watch, but he was betting they’d only gone half an hour without mentioning the final member of their friends-since-college foursome. Whether they all made it to Coney Island every year or not, Jax suspected Dane found excuses to see a lot of Gideon.

  Depending on the astrological portents, El Niño, or the parts per million of nostalgia in the air, sometimes being in the same room with Dane and Gideon was like standing on the track as two bullet trains acted out a word problem from algebra. Jax didn’t feel like being at the x where the trains met today.

  He didn’t have to try hard for a reason. “Assuming we pry him from his desk, can you picture him passing out diapering tips?”

  Dane laughed.

  Jax handed off his phone. “Here. Film me so I can see how it looks.”

  “Why didn’t you ask Spencer to film you while he was here?”

  Dane’s photojournalist boyfriend had been to all seven continents and got by in nine languages. Jax had been tutored on the set of Family Daze and scraped by at Columbia. Half the time he opened his mouth around Spencer, Jax was convinced he would go into, like, total Valley boy mode as his friends laughed in disgust.

  “I didn’t know he was leaving.”

  The diaper went on right. He changed the dress to the one-piece pajama thing without jamming and twisting. He held Hannah and talked to her, but when he watched the playback, he shook his head.

  “It still sucks.”

  “Yeah it does,” Dane agreed. “You could people watch at a mall, but staring at moms with kids could get you arrested.”

  “I need a dad to watch.”

  “I’m sure I’ve fucked more than one baby daddy, but it wasn’t pictures of his kids I went into his pants for.”

  “I did, I think. The other night.” In the shadows under the backseats of the Explorer, Jax had seen a few stray Cheerios, a crayon, and what he was pretty sure was a juice box. Based on those markers, Jax figured the guy was probably married. But someone sneaking dick on the side wouldn’t have handed over a card with all that information.

  “I knew it.”

  “You did not smell it.”

  Dane laughed. “No, but you sat like you could still feel him.”

  That wasn’t an exaggeration. Jax wasn’t sore, just very aware of one hell of a fuck. Given more room and time, he’d love to know what game Oscar Parsons, Senior Structural Engineer, Borough of Queens, could really bring.

  Jax pulled the card out of his wallet, holding it with the edges pressing into the flesh of his finger and thumb.

  “Aw,” Dane cooed. “It was good for him too, huh?”

  Good, Jax was sure of. The question was had it been memorable enough to want a repeat? To give Jax some practical advice on holding a child rather than the smooth pickup line about knowing a trick to a baby carrier?

  Dane stood Hannah up on her plastic, bowed legs. “Are you my daddy?”

  Hot, sneering shame flooded Jax’s cheeks despite the intervening seventeen years. Baby Daddy Brian? New Family For Family Daze Star in giant bold font on the front page of the tabloids, still Jax’s one and only appearance there. Not that Dane would know that story. It happened after the network felt like Jax’s lack of a love life led to the correct kind of speculation. It was decided he should publicly date his costar Alicia. Then Alicia had an extra bowl of pasta, which led to a blinding round of focus on an alleged baby bump. The resulting attention and ratings boost had made the showrunners so damned happy, they’d written a pregnancy scare into the last season. He didn’t know why it could still embarrass him, but a choking dread hung on him, reminding him of the far more recent disaster of that utterly empty house on the third night of his Off Off Broadway show.

  The forgotten card snapped free of his fingers, fluttering to the hardwood floor under the dining table.

  Jax dove down to look for it.

  “Fuck, Jax, it was a joke. Unless you’ve changed a lot since college, I can’t see you having a paternity test to worry about.”

  “No. I— No. Still never.” No matter how defective a condom might be, that was still biologically impossible. The idea of a real child looking to him for, well, anything made his fingers damp enough to stick to the card. That just was never going to happen. He had all he could handle trying to revive his career, thank you very much.

  Dane’s head appeared under the table next to Jax’s. “Okay. Flop sweat. Can’t lie to me. You were safe, right? Or did you go on the preexposure prophylactics?”

  “We used a condom.” Jax straightened up and put the card on the table where it spun for a second.

  “But?” Dane persisted.

  “It tore a little. When he came.”

  “So you started postexposure treatment?”

  He’d called his doctor in LA the next morning—well, morning California time. A lecture about needing to start much sooner than eighteen hours later and the potential side effects from the medications had Jax deciding to forget about it all for another month and then get a blood test.

  “It wasn’t— It’s not like we were barebacking.”

  “Tell me you’re taking the postexposure antivirals.”

  “I admit the idea of weight loss as a side effect was appealing.”

  “Damn it, Jax.” Dane’s fist slammed down on the card.

  Jax jumped, breath and pulse trapped in his throat. Dane didn’t get angry often—ever.

  “I will call Gideon and Theo, and we will haul your ass to a clinic. Then sit on you and put the pills down your throat.”

  Jax hung on to his calm with his sweaty, sticky fingers. Maybe it hadn’t been the best decision, but he did have his reasons. “I have an audition Monday—and hopefully callbacks. Next week I have to be in LA for the premiere of Straight to Hell 3. How am I suppose
d to cover needing to shit five times a day and follow some hyperstrict pill regimen? You know HIV is the first thing anyone will think of.”

  “So they’ll think the truth, how horrible. Maybe you could help destigmatize—Oh dear. You’d have to admit you’re gay first.”

  “Sarcasm is really shitty on you, Dane.”

  “Lying is really shitty, period. You know I don’t care if you fuck a hundred guys a month. But deliberately avoiding any kind of connection because you’re afraid of being outed—”

  “I don’t lie. I don’t discuss my personal life. Not everyone feels the need to overshare every fucking detail of… fucking.”

  Dane gave him some side eye.

  Jax squared his shoulders and held Dane’s eyes. It was an old argument, but there was always a chance he’d get Dane to see it his way just one time. “I know it wouldn’t end my career, but there’d be limits. Gay in LA is not gay in New York.”

  “So move back to New York.” Dane put a hand behind Jax’s neck, pulling him down until their foreheads touched. Nothing sexual about it, but since it was Dane and he was seduction on legs, a tingle spread from where their skin touched. “Baby, I know what your mom said, and that your career is about honoring that for her, but don’t you think you can do something great as a so-what-he’s-gay actor?”

  Jax had confided his mom’s last words in a moment of weakness, offering that connection in consolation when cancer took Dane’s mom too. He didn’t regret it, but Dane still didn’t understand.

  Before the tingle could get any lower, Jax moved Dane’s hand away and held it on his knee. “That’s it exactly. If I do build my resumé up enough to get the part in the new Nightwing series, then me coming out would matter. Some kid in Arkansas could see that, see me being a superhero and gay and happy, and think maybe I don’t have to kill myself because my parents say I’m going to hell.”

  Dane shook his head, then kissed him before pulling back. “It’s your choice. Always. But you and I both know your rationalization adds up to a steaming pile from the wrong end of a bull. But—” Dane squeezed Jax’s hand, then released it. “—you are going on the meds. That’s not a choice. Because the world is not getting Jax Conlon, action star, if I have to trade that for the next fifty years of Jax Conlon, my best friend.”

  The best and the worst thing about Dane was his unflinching honesty. He didn’t say shit like that to manipulate or appease, but because it was what he thought. Jax swallowed and grabbed the doll—Hannah—from the table. “If I don’t start getting better parts than Disposable Sheriff Killed Off at the End of Act One in Straight to Hell 3 and Earnest Grieving Spouse Number Ninety-Seven on SVU, I’ll be Jax Conlon, Assistant Manager in his father’s auto parts store.”

  Maybe Oscar Parsons would have some baby-handling tips for Jax, but there was no denying he wanted another go with the impressive cantilever structure of the borough’s senior engineer. He looked on the table for Oscar’s card.

  Dane leaned back, a soft smile on his lips. “So you’re going to have your doctor call in those meds for you? Or there’s a free clinic in Flushing, won’t even ask for ID.”

  “You saw me pick up that card, right?” He knew he’d put it on the table. It couldn’t have disappeared.

  “Yes, and your booty call can happen after you take care of the consequences from the last one.” Dane showed Jax the business card before tucking it in the waistband of his well-worn jeans, right next to the glint of a treasure trail.

  “You son of a bitch.”

  Dane leaned forward, cupping his chin on his hands. “He must have had one hell of a dick to leave such an impression. Coke can?”

  Jax laughed in spite of himself. “More like a short stack of tuna cans, and don’t you get any ideas.”

  EDDIE AND Terry didn’t deserve the fallout from Oz’s marriage getting in the way of their shower, so Oz had Joaquín come into Hal’s kitchen. They faced each other across the island. Ayla giggled in Joaquín’s arms, legs dangling down from where he swung her on his hip, in contrast to Regan’s snuffles as she clung to Oz, though he’d seated her on a stool.

  Hal leaned against the stove. Maybe he planned to referee? “It’s my fault. I asked Darquon to send out a reminder on the party. Never deleted him from the group contacts.”

  Oz appreciated the loyalty, that Hal wouldn’t even say Joaquín’s name out loud, but it wouldn’t help, since the bad genie was already here, and God knew Joaquín didn’t need any validation of his persecution complex.

  “I thought you were in Miami,” Oz said to Joaquín, making himself heard over Regan’s dramatic slurping on the juice box that had calmed her initial bout of hysteria. She hadn’t seen Joaquín in two months.

  “Got back this week. Missed my girls.” His Dominican accent was always more pronounced after a visit with his family.

  Oz tried to keep his voice level. “Missed two of your weekends.”

  “Here now.” He hoisted Ayla high over his head, dangerously close to the ceiling fan, and she giggled louder. He was still so damned ripped, the shirt barely held in his biceps.

  “I want you to see them. But it’s easier when it’s on a schedule.”

  “A schedule for fun with Papi?” He tickled Ayla, and she clung to his neck. Holding Oz’s gaze, Joaquín said softly, “Las reglas no te harán feliz.”

  Rules won’t make you happy. They’d used Spanish to talk in front of the kids, but Ayla had caught on fast. Even without such frequent exposure, she squealed, “Las reglas son malas.”

  “No, niña. Not all the rules.”

  Ayla saw the opportunity to open immediate negotiations in Spanish, and Oz’s phone went off. He didn’t recognize the number, but damn he could use a break. “Excuse me.” He pulled out the phone, intending to step into the hall, when Regan screeched and launched herself from the kitchen stool. He caught her, and she howled into his other ear as he answered, “Parsons.”

  A vaguely familiar huff and then “Hi. It sounds like this is a bad time. I’m sorry. It’s Jax from—uh—from the other night.”

  Oz squeezed the phone against his ear, caught in a tangle of guilt, responsibility, and desire. “Hang on, please.” He shoved the phone into his pocket and concentrated on soothing his daughter’s panic. “I’m not leaving. You don’t have to go with Papi if you don’t want to. Shhhh, baby.” As he walked them down the hall, Regan stuffed her middle and ring finger into her mouth and dropped from a wail to a muffled sob.

  Oz put the phone back to his ear. “Sorry.”

  “So you weren’t kidding about having inside knowledge on that baby carrier.”

  It didn’t matter what kind of flirtation Jax could pack into that sentence, Oz couldn’t take him up on it. “Did you have something to tell me?” He tried to stay current, but he spent more time keeping track of childhood vaccination requirements than how quickly an HIV test could indicate exposure.

  “No, nothing like that.”

  There were other risks, though. He touched his forehead to Regan’s. God, he must have lost his mind. He couldn’t take chances. Not with Ayla and Regan to think about. Rules might not be fun, but someone had to be responsible.

  “I called because, well, I hoped we could see each other again, and I really could use some help with th-the babysitting thing.”

  In spite of what a bad idea it was, Oz wanted to find a possibility in there. Some permutation of circumstances that involved wide shoulders and dimples and a gorgeous ass in a bed instead of crouched on a tarp in the back of the Explorer. Even if it was only another quick escape from the weight he was shouldering.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just—”

  “Not a good time. I guessed that. I appreciate you taking the call.”

  Despite the exchange of good-byes and the fact that Oz had been the one to issue the brush-off, the disconnection jarred, a disquieting sense of something important left incomplete.

  He made his way back to the kitchen in time to hear Ayla making plans with
Joaquín for a movie. “And we don’t have to take her because she’ll just cry.”

  Which was, of course, guaranteed to make Regan insist that she would not cry and did want to go, squirming in his arms and pushing away.

  Oz sighed and put her down. “Both of you go tell Lacey that you’re going to be leaving. I need to talk to Papi for a minute.”

  Half an hour later, Oz found himself childless until no later than 9:00 p.m. I mean it, Joaquín, standing in Hal’s kitchen, staring at the screen of his phone.

  “Make the booty call.” Hal spoke from behind Oz, making him jump.

  “I should just go home. Catch up on some paperwork. Be there if he decides to bring them home early.” Oz tried to tuck the phone away, but Hal caught his wrist.

  “I just saw this report online that said you are allowed to occasionally have adult fun even when you’re a parent.”

  “Well, if it was online, it must be true.”

  “Probably. Though I think it said to save hookers and blow for holidays.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Having fun doesn’t mean you have to go crazy, wild man. Call him. Move on.” Hal wrapped up what was left of the cake.

  Oz was ready to argue, but Hal cut him off. “I didn’t say marry the guy. Just fuck him.”

  Oz wanted that easy, perfectly rational pleasure. He calculated the movie time, the drive to and from the theater, weighed it all out. Minimum three, maximum six hours of adult free time. More than he’d had in almost two months.

  Hal was right. Oz spending a few hours on himself wasn’t going to impact anything more permanent than what ran through his brain when he got time to jerk off. He pressed Call Back.

  Chapter 3

  JAX HAD some good intentions. But when he opened the door and Oscar Parsons smiled up at him, Jax’s dick railroaded those intentions with a hard, deep pulse. Oscar raised his brows as if waiting for Jax to pick up his cue, but he’d forgotten his lines, ass clenching as he remembered how good Oscar felt inside him.