by Megan Derr
Everyone assumed Uncle Jeff had left the business to his brother or to Jason or, at the very least, to Jones. He doubted anyone would have guessed that Jeff had been very firm that everything should go to his son. He'd built his empire for his family, and his family would have it—Jet could do what he wanted from there.
Jason sipped his latte and glanced at his watch. He couldn't decide if time was going too fast or too slow.
Sighing, he bent back over the documents he had brought with him to read over. Getting any work done at the office was going to be impossible for at least the next few months. It was a basic contract review, and his clients weren't going to like what he had to say—namely that they were morons, and it was only dumb luck that they'd had the sense to hire him rather than signing the contract blindly. God, when would people stop being so stupid?
The sound of a car driving by the kitchen to park in the back lot drew his attention, and Jason abandoned his work to see who it was. Going to the back door, he watched as a sleek, midnight blue Aston Martin pulled to a stop. Jet's car, but it was Dai who climbed out from behind the wheel. He gave the house a resigned look, and then turned to say something to Jet.
Jason's chest felt suddenly tight, and an ache of longing cut through him. Everything in him screamed to cut the bullshit and go hold Jet tightly. But he couldn't. They were cousins in a state where that wasn't allowed, leading lives that allowed it even less. They didn't even really get along, or like each other much, except when they were fucking. Dai and Jet had run off to do whatever the fuck they wanted, leaving Jason to pick up the pieces. Fuck what everyone said about leading his own life—he wasn't going to hurt their parents more than they'd already been hurt.
It wasn't as if his life was a chore. He liked being a lawyer, liked being powerful, liked the money and the arrogance. Being the golden boy didn't suck. Except, of course, when it did. But that was why he had Jayla and the club.
Tired of his own thoughts, he retreated back to the breakfast nook and resumed working. Jet and Dai stepped inside a couple of minutes later, and Jason looked up to give them a nod. "Stay clear of the dining room," he warned.
"They didn't set you to stand guard?" Dai asked.
Jason flicked an annoyed glance at him. "Uncle Jeff was my client, and I am always on the side of the client first. Father spent all night trying to get tidbits of the will from me and I wouldn't budge."
Dai made a face, sheepish and sympathetic all at once. "Sorry. Is there more of that coffee?"
"It's a latte, so no," Jason replied and stifled a sigh when Jet looked briefly disappointed. "I'll make them for you, hang on."
He ignored the astonished look Dai gave him; it wasn't that weird that he was doing something nice, for crying out loud. Walking across the kitchen, he gathered up what he needed and set to work in front of the espresso machine. He'd given it to his parents for Christmas the previous year, but he suspected he was the one who got the most use out of it. A few minutes later, he carried three lattes to the breakfast nook.
"Thanks, Jay," Dai said. "Where the hell did you learn to make such good coffee?"
"Law school," Jason replied, not bothering to specify that he'd picked it up from a cute little barista who had kept him supplied with caffeine and sex for much of law school.
In the end, the barista had gone off with someone else, but it had ended amicably. Jason sipped his latte and tucked his papers away, resigned to getting no more work done. He eyed his brother critically, but could find nothing to displease him. "How is your man?"
Dai looked started by the question. "Cooper's fine. He's back at my house. He's got a show tomorrow down at the arena. Thanks again, by the way, for taking Shine the Moon on. I know you're busy—"
"Never too busy to take on a good client," Jason cut in. "They're a solid band and one of the rare few who can stay out of trouble for more than five minutes."
"Unlike a certain other client of yours, perhaps one featuring twins?" Jet asked, his familiar playful grin reappearing briefly. "Britton called me last night to offer—" He faltered. "To offer condolences. He said to tell you he was sorry."
Jason rolled his eyes and rubbed his forehead, already dreading the phone calls he would be getting on Monday when he went back to the office. "Just tell him to keep his clothes on. Not that you're very good at it yourself."
"Brice is currently on the warpath, if that helps," Jet offered.
"Britton has his brother wrapped around his finger," Jason said sourly. "But I suppose that's something." His gaze shifted when he heard footsteps in the hall, and he tensed slightly when he saw his father.
Dai looked more like their father—Dai looked more like both their parents, really. Growing up, Jason had always been jealous that Dai and Jet had gotten the family's trademark mismatched eyes while both of his were simply blue.
He couldn't say he wasn't still jealous, but he had buried it. Mostly. If their father was any indication, Dai would only improve with age. Jason nodded politely. "Good morning, Father."
"Shouldn't you be in the study?"
"It's not for another hour," Jason replied. "Aunt Beth isn't even here yet."
"I didn't say all of us, I said—"
Jason stood up and gave him a warning look. "I know how to do my job, Father. Implying otherwise implies you did a poor job teaching me." When that resulted in a frigid silence, Jason carried his empty mugs to the sink and rinsed them before putting them in the dishwasher. Returning to the table, he gathered up his papers and slid them back into his leather messenger bag.
He headed for the doorway where his father still lingered, stopping when he drew even. Speaking in an undertone he said, "Do not antagonize my client. If you so much as cause him to raise his voice, I will ban you from the reading of the will. Do you understand me?"
"You're out of line."
"I'm doing my job. I mean it—leave him alone." He didn't give his father a chance to respond, just left the kitchen and retreated upstairs to the bedroom his parents kept for him there since he was over so often.
It was really more of an office with a bed, but it served its purpose. Setting the leather bag on his bed, he went to the desk and opened his laptop. Ignoring all the legal work piling up, he pulled up a browser and logged into Jayla's email. He smiled briefly when he saw the email he'd been waiting for confirming acceptance of his latest manuscript. A new series, which had been a gamble, but not much of one. It made him itch to work on the second book, which was already half done.
A chime from his other inbox, however, reminded him that writing was just going to have to wait. There might be hundreds of people—dare he hope thousands?—waiting for his books, but the sharks required his attention first.
Sighing, he unlocked the bottom drawer of the desk and pulled out the sealed file his father had been salivating for since he'd been told of his brother's death. Because clearly owning a law firm and having his hand in at least a dozen other cookie jars wasn't enough.
He loved his father, but Jason still wanted to tie rocks to his legs and throw him in the deep end of the pool sometimes. Going back to his laptop, he killed time answering easy emails, flagging the more time-consuming ones to address later, and firing a couple of emails off to his assistant.
By the time he was done, the hour of his doom had arrived. Heaving a sigh, Jason rose and smoothed out his suit. Gathering up the papers he needed, he made his way downstairs to the study.
His father, of course, was already there. Jason could see it was killing him to have ceded his desk for the matter. Sitting behind it, Jason waited for everyone else to trickle in and get comfortable. Jet cast him a look, sad and pensive and tense, then looked away and perched in the window seat that was completely on the opposite side of the room from Jason's father.
"Are you sure you're ready for this, Jefferson?"
"I'm fine, Uncle Henry," Jet bit out.
Henry looked as though he wanted to say more on the matter, but at a warning look from Jason,
reluctantly subsided. Jason motioned them all to be silent and finally pulled out the will and began to read. He knew it practically by heart, he and Uncle Jeff had gone over it so many times:
To his wife, Uncle Jeff had left their home, an account to maintain it, and a separate sum for her along with stock in the company that would continue to bring in money for her.
To his brother, Jason's father, he had left his yacht and a handful of personal affects.
To his sister-in-law, Jason's mother, he had left his art collection.
To Dai, he had left his collection of books.
Everything else he had left to Jet, to do with as he saw fit.
The silence that reigned when he finished was so cold that Jason was almost surprised he could not see his breath.
"I can't believe it," Henry said.
"Father," Jason said in a warning tone.
"His dying wish was to destroy his business?"
Jason rose to his feet and glared. "Get out of this office if you cannot comport yourself appropriately."
"This is my office, Junior—"
Drawing a breath before he gave in to the childish and unhelpful urge to call his father an asshole, Jason said, "Then my client and I are more than happy to leave." He gathered his things and gestured for Jet to join him.
"A word, if you please first," his father said in a tone that brooked no argument.
Jason waited until everyone else had filed out of the study and then closed the door with a click that seemed particularly ominous to him. "Do you really want to do this?"
"Why did you let him do that? My brother worked too hard to throw his business away on sentiment, and you could have persuaded him—"
"I did my job," Jason said.
"Your job—"
"My job is to do what my client wants. The client is all that matters. Protecting the client and the interests of the firm is all that matters. Personal feelings and ambitions have no place in law. Who was it that drilled that into my head my entire life?"
Jason didn't wait for his answer, simply left. There would be a round two before the week was out, but Jason would deal with it when it came. At present, his only concern was for his client. If he was up to his ears in personal feelings and ambitions, well, that was nobody's business.
In the living room, he kissed his mother's cheek in farewell, murmuring a promise to stop by for lunch on Saturday. He hugged and kissed his aunt, nodded at Dai, and then urged Jet from the room with a hand at his back. "Dai can drive your car back, right?"
"Sure," Jet said dully. He settled into Jason's Camaro, and fell into a brooding silence until the house was well behind them. "That went down with fewer fireworks than I expected. I thought Uncle Henry was going to come at me with a knife, but there was definitely less shouting than anticipated."
Jason grimaced. "Father wouldn't do anything that might put him in jail. Don't worry, he'll simmer down eventually. Something will distract him. If nothing else, he's busy with one of our more demanding clients. By the time he's cut loose, he'll no longer care."
So Jason hoped, anyway.
"Where are we going?"
"My place," Jason said. "We need to discuss things. We can put it off, of course; I know you're not in the mood for business."
"I'm not in the mood for anything, but sleeping," Jet replied. "You're right. It won't take long now before it reaches everyone that I inherited everything. Did my mother know? She took it rather calmly."
Jason nodded. "She knew and approved. The only one upset by the decision, really, is my father. He'll just have to grow up and get over it."
Sighing, slumping in his seat, Jet rubbed at his temples. "What the hell am I supposed to do with it?"
Jason didn't reply as he pulled into his own driveway, parking behind the house and leading the way inside. Back in his own study, much of his tension bled away. He urged Jet down onto the sofa before going to the bar and pouring him a drink. "You can do whatever you want. Keep it, sell it."
"He meant it to be a family business," Jet said. "But I don't want to do it. I never did. He knew that—that's why my fucking parents haven't spoken to me in eleven goddamn years."
"They missed you," Jason said.
"They should have fucking said so," Jet said bitterly and drained his glass. "It's not like I completely stopped fucking talking to them. They're the ones who blew me off. He doesn't get to make grand gestures now. Fuck him."
Jason reacted without thinking, reaching out to cover one of Jet's hands with his own and tangling their fingers together. Jet froze, stared at their hands. They were a study in contrasts. Jason's hand was pale and smooth, the nails neatly manicured. It was the hand of a lawyer. Jet's hand was every inch the flamboyant musician. The back of it was inked with lines of a song, and little music notes were tattooed along each finger. He wore a signet ring on his middle finger. It was a family ring, a long standing tradition. It matched the one on Jason's middle finger. Dai was the only one who never bothered to wear his.
"Why are you being so fucking nice?" Jet asked suddenly. "It would creep me out if I had the energy to feel anything."
"I apologize for creeping you out," Jason said, and he withdrew his hand, stung. He fetched his bag and opened it, pulling out the papers—and froze when Jet yanked all of it out of his hands and threw it aside, watched them scatter across the floor. Before he could say anything, his world was filled with Jet—in his lap and wrapped around him, face buried in the hollow of Jason's shoulder and throat.
"You're not creepy. Just—everyone is being different. Be you, for fuck's sake. I'm tired of people being fucking weird."
Jason tamped down on all the stupid, useless things he wanted to say and instead said what Jet needed to hear. "You're certainly the same song and dance: demanding and mouthy."
He cut off Jet's reply with a kiss, sliding his mouth across lips he would know if he were blind. Usually their kisses were urgent and hungry, always with an edge of anger and the knowledge their time was limited. Right then, Jason was happy to keep it slow and soft, giving Jet the distraction he needed.
Fingers slid through his hair, clung tightly when they reached the back of his head. Jason tugged until Jet was settled more comfortably across his lap, then pushed his hands up under Jet's t-shirt to run fingers over warm, smooth skin.
Jet made a whimpering sound Jason had never heard before, and it went straight to all the pieces of him that Jet didn't know—would never know—he owned. Jason kissed him harder, held him closer, until kissing was no longer enough. "Upstairs," he said softly.
To his surprise, Jet just nodded and rose. They didn't often make it to Jason's bedroom; it was too much, too serious, too close to something they weren't and wouldn't ever be. Jet's bed never held the same meaning—he was so rarely home, and they so rarely met there, it was as stale as a hotel. It was Jason's house where everything that mattered seemed to happen.
Jason killed the study light, leaving the entire house fairly dark with all the drapes still drawn. His bedroom was the only place even slightly messy—the only place he did not let the cleaning staff touch. Clothes were strewn over a chair and on the floor in front of the closet. Books, papers, an empty soda bottle or two.
The few times Jet had been in his room, he always enjoyed mocking the untidiness, the way Jason's veneer was stripped away. That night, the usual barbs were absent. Jason made quick work of their clothes and then gently pushed Jet down into the bedding.
No matter how many times he saw them he always marveled at the sheer number of tattoos. He was a bigger fan of the piercings in Jet's nipples and belly button. Jason was always surprised that his cock had no piercings, but he supposed even Jet must have a line drawn somewhere. Following him down into the bed, Jason started at Jet's feet and slowly kissed his way up. He occasionally changed out kisses for a long lick or a slight nip, intoxicated by the smell and flavor of Jet's skin, the sounds Jet gave him—the way, for once, Jet did not fight or taunt, simply let Jason
have him.
Swallowing at the clawing ache those words caused, Jason shoved them aside and focused on the only thing that mattered: Jet, and helping him escape for just a little while.
Jet's fingers glided over him, caressing here, teasing there. He wrapped his arms around Jason when Jason's slow trail of kisses eventually reached his lips, moving sinuously against him, hips rolling, sliding their cocks together.
It made Jason groan into Jet's mouth, turned the kiss hungry and hard as the gentleness slowly crumbled beneath a wave of crushing need. Jason drew back and was lost in Jet's dark, burning, mismatched eyes. Then Jet licked his lips in that lethally erotic way that was his entirely.
Obeying the unspoken order, Jason fetched the lube from his nightstand. If ever there was a man made for sex, made to be fucked into a mattress, it was Jet. He spread his legs as Jason returned and pulled him down into another wet, greedy kiss, nibbling at Jason's bottom lip and making him briefly forget that anything existed beyond Jet's perfect mouth.
Recalling himself, he slicked his finger and pushed one inside. He scraped his teeth along Jet's chest, lapping at the marks he made and pushing a second finger inside as he took one nipple ring into his mouth and gave it a tug. Jet gasped beneath him, moved against him. He fisted one hand in Jason's hair while the other tangled in the sheets.
When he was finally ready, they were both sweating and panting and Jason knew that he wasn't going to last long. He slicked his cock with lube, then lined up and slowly pushed inside. He groaned at the tight, the heat, the way it felt entirely too right to be buried deep in Jet's body.
Jet's head fell back against the pillow, baring his delectable throat. Jason helped himself as he shoved deeper, sucking up a mark low on that beautiful skin while Jet adjusted to him.
When Jet rolled his hips and clamped down around his cock, Jason obediently began to move. He kept it easy at first, pulling slightly out and pushing back, slow and deep. Jet's hands clung to his sweaty back and kept him close.
He increased the pace gradually, neither of them in a hurry to reach the end, enjoying the rare chance to take their time—even if the reasons for that were deplorable, and Jason wished for any other reason in the world to enjoy a slow, sweet afternoon with the man he wished he could call his lover.
