by Eden Finley
“Fuck you very much. Twenty-six is not old, and I’m not trying to fuck you. I’m in love with your brother, jackass.” My eyes widen. “Don’t tell him I said that.” Why did I say that?
That wasn’t supposed to come out of my mouth. It’s not even supposed to be a thought in my head.
I try to convince myself it’s part of the act. Yup. That’s all it is.
Part. Of. The. Act.
“You haven’t told him?” Jet asks. “Didn’t you say it in that interview for that magazine?”
My heart races. “There’s something you need to know about Matt’s and my relationship.”
I don’t know what’s the truth and what’s a lie anymore. This started as a business arrangement, but it’s changed into so much more. I care for him. I want the best for him. But that’s not me. That’s all I have to think to have the reality check that this is all fake.
Matt promised he wouldn’t fall for me, and as far as I can tell, he hasn’t broken that promise. So I need to keep up my end of the bargain and not break the confidentiality agreement.
“I said that stuff in the interview because from a publicity perspective, saying we’re in love is better than saying he’s the guy I’m doing until he gets an NFL contract.”
“You don’t want him to go to Chicago though. It’s obvious in the way you tense whenever the contract is mentioned.”
I look at my feet. “Like you said, Matt is football. No way he’d choose to stay with me over his dream.”
“He might. You don’t know if you don’t ask.”
“Okay, this convo went wayward, and you need to shut your mouth about what I said. Matt and I have always been temporary. Now, back to this idea. I have the funds to make something like this massive and nationwide. I mean, we’d have to start off small first and make sure it’s viable. The people taking others in would have to be heavily vetted, and it’d be a lot of work, but I want to do this.”
“You’re serious.” Jet states it as if someone just told him the zombie apocalypse has started. It’s a mix of disbelief and misunderstanding.
“I want to at least talk to my father about it.”
Jet slumps. “Well, there goes that idea.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’ve seen your dad on TV. I don’t know how to say this without offending you, so I’m just going to say he looks like the type of politician who spouts family values and then gets caught in a seedy motel with a prostitute.”
I laugh. “So glad you tried not to offend me, Jet.” God, I love this kid … like a brother, that is. And I can’t be offended if it’s the truth. I mean, I don’t know for sure if Dad has affairs, but I doubt it. He’s too worried about his image. Having grown up in our cold house, though, I know there’s no shared love between Mom and Dad. Their happy marriage is a political arrangement. A lot like Matt’s and mine.
“You’re welcome,” Jet says, either not picking up on my sarcasm or not caring.
“How about this, then; I’ll take my idea to my father, and if he says no, I’ll see my financial guys and work out if I can do it on my own.”
“Financial guys,” he scoffs. “Who talks like that?”
“Uh, your brother, for one. He’s been talking to his guys about the future of his portfolio.”
“Ah, the fancy lives of the rich and famous.”
“And what are your plans for the future, musician boy?”
“Worst superhero name ever.”
“Do you hope to be rich and famous one day? Singing to your millions of fans? Screwing every fuckboy in sight?”
“Wouldn’t be much of a difference to my life now … well, minus the millions of fans.” Jet waggles his eyebrows.
“If you say so, stud.”
“Okay, fine. You can count every fuckboy in my hometown on one hand. It’s not much of an accomplishment.”
“Did the college tours change your mind about enrolling?”
“Nope. Cemented college isn’t for me.”
“Do me a favor?” I ask.
“Sure.”
“Break that news to Matt while I’m at work tomorrow.”
Jet laughs. “Deal.”
“I want to start an LBGTQ charity,” I blurt out.
Dad’s advisors look at me as if I’ve grown two heads, so I repeat myself but slower this time.
“We have the Huntington Foundation that gives to many charities, including numerous LGBTQ causes,” John—Dad’s campaign manager—says.
“I’m thinking more along the lines of a homeless shelter for teens. It’s more complicated than that, but that’s the best way to describe it. Or, rather, it’s more like a couch surfing app for homeless teens.” I knew that one would go over the old guys’ heads, but I say it anyway, and yup, confusion all over their faces. Should’ve kept with the shelter explanation.
Rob, an advisor, leans forward in his seat and looks at Dad. “I don’t think it’s the best move for the campaign right now. You’ll already have the LGBTQ votes because of Noah.” He tips his head in my direction. “Pushing it too far could lose the conservative democrats.”
“Okay, let me put it this way,” I say. “I’m going to start this charity, and this campaign can be as little or as much involved as you want. This is more of a heads-up.”
“How do you propose you fund this project if I’m not involved?” Dad asks.
It’s hard not to laugh at that. He knows I have my own funds, but he likes to keep up the pretense that I’m his heir and not worth as much as him. “I’ll talk to my financial guys and make it happen.”
Dad rubs his chin like some caricature of an evil villain. “I’m all for it.”
I fully expect him to fight me on this, so the prepared argument is ready to let loose, but then I realize what he said. “Huh?”
“Can I have a minute with my son?” Dad asks.
His minions obey immediately.
“You’re agreeing with me on this?” I ask.
Dad stands. “I’m done, Noah. You win.”
“Win what?”
“We both know you don’t want to be here, and as much as I want you to do this with me, you’re a pain in my ass more than a help. I can’t fire you, and you quitting will bring more questions than answers.”
Still taking his image into account first. “But by leaving the campaign to fulfill my life-long wish of charity work, we all win,” I say.
Dad approaches me and squeezes my shoulder. “It’s a great idea for a charity, son. The stats show it’s one that’s needed. I’m not doing this to get you out of my hair. You’re the one who doesn’t want to be here. I’m trying to give you what you want because I’m done fighting you. You have to know by now that everything I do for you is in your best interests, and I’m tired of trying to prove that.”
Still not taking responsibility for what he did to me back in college. He’s never once apologized and doesn’t see what’s wrong with his actions. Maybe I would’ve worked out on my own that the shithead back then was a shithead. Maybe if Nathaniel hadn’t been threatened and bribed, he wouldn’t have run for the hills and we’d still be together. Dad may think he’s doing what’s best for me, but it always comes down to him and his campaign. Nathaniel’s image wasn’t good enough because he didn’t come from money, so he made him disappear. If the politician thing doesn’t work out, he has a promising career as a magician.
I can count on my fingers and toes how many times I’ve been told I delayed his political career simply by existing. Dad got Mom pregnant out of wedlock, and instead of getting rid of me or paying Mom off, he chose to have no scandal under his belt. But an interracial couple in the White House is scandal in itself—especially back then. It’s taken twenty-six years for the opportunity to even arise. My coming out delayed it again, but I guess I should be thankful that he didn’t ask me to hide it forever like other politicians have done with their own sexualities.
Dad treats Mom and me as if we should be thankful he embraced
us instead of turned on us. He will do anything to save his campaign, so while I want to believe he’s agreed to this charity for me, I’m reluctant to accept it.
“I’m proud of you,” Dad says. “For not thinking about yourself for once. This charity will do great things for people who weren’t as lucky as you growing up.”
Ah, there’s the guilt trip I’m expecting. We have money; we’re not supposed to have hardships.
“We’ll work it so the charity is linked with the campaign, but you won’t have to come to the offices anymore.”
I honestly don’t know why he’s suddenly willing to let me go, other than he’s been trying to find a way to do it for a while now and I’ve given him the out that’s agreeable with his terms, but I also know not to challenge it or ask questions. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Go,” Dad says. “Take the rest of the day and prepare a list of what you think you’ll need, and if you need someone to help you get the ball rolling, you can take one of the staffers.”
Part of me can’t believe it was that easy, but again, I’m not going to question it. As I drive home, though, and relive the conversation over and over again, suspicions begin to arise. Perhaps it’s the cynical side of me or perhaps I just know my father. His actions don’t make sense, but I can’t see an upside for him to give me this.
I went in preparing to fight my case, so I’m still confused when I drag my ass in the door.
I find Matt and Jet watching a hockey game, and I do a double take.
“Was I at work for four months?”
“Watching last season’s playoffs,” Matt says. “Maddox told me Damon’s signed Ollie Strömberg. Wanted to check him out.”
“Aww, there’s plenty of Damon to share around,” I mock.
Jet laughs. “I wonder if agents have their favorite clients, and it’s like sibling rivalry trying to get Daddy’s attention.”
“I could kick Strömberg’s ass if it came to it,” Matt says.
Jet turns to me. “How did it go?”
I smile. “I got it. My father was my biggest supporter. Surprisingly.”
“Got what?” Matt asks.
“I’m heading up an LGBTQ charity for kids like Jet who got kicked out of home.”
Matt’s eyebrows soar high. “Really?”
“Yes. The asshole has a heart. Moving on,” I say.
“No, not that,” Matt says. “Your dad agreed to this?”
“I checked all the news outlets to make sure Armageddon wasn’t upon us. Apparently, we’re safe.” My lips quirk. “He said he was proud of me and it was a good idea.”
“Might want to check those news sites again,” Matt says quietly, but there’s something in his tone. Hope?
I recognize it because I’m pretty sure it’s how my voice sounds. I’m desperate to believe my dad has changed or something snapped in him that made him realize what a shitty father he’s been, but I can’t shake the feeling he has ulterior motives. I’ll push that to the back of my mind, because I’m getting exactly what I want.
Matt stands from the couch. “After my workout, we should go celebrate.”
“Actually, I’d really like to get started on this.” I turn to Jet. “And I want your input. You know the forum.”
“I’m in,” Jet says.
Matt moves closer to me. Leaning in, he brings his mouth to my ear. “You being selfless and excited about helping people is kinda hot.”
“Maybe I’ll show you how selfless I can be later when I let you fuck me.”
“Uh, guys,” Jet says, “still in the room which is really small. I don’t need to know the details. Thanks.”
Matt squeezes my hand. “Later.” With a kiss, he heads for the basement, and I throw myself down on the couch across from Jet.
“Let’s get to work.”
Chapter Nineteen
Matt
After my workout, Noah and Jet have their heads close together, looking at something on Noah’s laptop that sits on the coffee table. Noah’s got his long legs stretched out, and Jet lies on the couch behind him, looking over his shoulder.
Hmm, cozy.
I find them after my shower in the same spot. And after doing a load of washing. I half-want to ask if they’d suddenly become conjoined twins, but their low murmurs let me know they’re still busy.
I haven’t told Noah about my meeting with his dad yet, but it’s set for tomorrow. I want to hear what he has to say before I tell Noah. If it’s that he wants me to stay away from his son, Noah doesn’t need to hear it. The fact he’s given Noah responsibility and a huge project to run, I want to believe he can see Noah’s not going to relent on the political career he so desperately wants him to have. Maybe he’s given up and wants some form of relationship with his son. Getting his boyfriend a meeting with the Cougars’ owner might be his way of greasing the wheels.
One could hope that’s what he’s doing, but like Noah, I’m suspicious. This is the man who had absolutely no reservations about saying how I’m not good enough for his son while I was standing right there in front of him.
“What’s for dinner?” I ask.
“Sounds good,” Noah says.
Guess dinner is up to me then. “Steamed chicken and rice all round?”
“Totally,” Jet says.
Okay, now I know they have no idea what I’m saying. I call and order Chinese food but am not a total dick. I order them real food instead of the shit I force myself to chew down on a daily basis.
They don’t even stop for food, choosing to eat while they work.
Seeing as I’ve been getting up at ass o’clock every day, I doze off on the couch while waiting for Noah and Jet to finish for the night.
“Yo, chainsaw.” Jet’s voice startles me. “Care to take it upstairs? I have no idea how Noah sleeps with you and all that snoring.”
My vision’s blurry, and it takes a second to work out I’m still in the living room.
Noah gives me a weak smile. “I’ll be up soon. I swear.”
I stagger to my feet, dragging my ass up to the third floor. Undressing and climbing into bed still half-asleep, I crash out immediately. But when a warm body slides in behind me however long later, I can’t help rolling over and plastering myself to him. My leg goes over his hip, and he lets out a little laugh.
“Are you climbing me in your sleep?”
“Mmm.” I can’t open my eyes.
“Go back to sleep,” he whispers. “And for the record, I like your snoring.”
I smile in the dark.
“I’ve never slept better than when you’re in bed with me.” He sighs. “But I guess that’s one of those things we shouldn’t talk about.”
Pulling back, I force my eyes open. “Huh?”
“Nothing, babe. Goodnight.” He rolls away from me and faces the other way, but if he thinks he’s getting outta cuddling, he’s sorely mistaken. Turns out, I’m a cuddle whore in bed. I only hope I remember this conversation in the morning because I have no idea what he means. I didn’t realize there were things we weren’t supposed to talk about.
My hands sweat as I sit in the waiting area of Noah Huntington II’s office. Wiping them on my suit pants does nothing to dry them. It’s a hundred degrees in here, and I have to refrain from reaching for my tie to loosen it.
I was vague about my plans to Noah and Jet, and I reckon they’re under the impression I’m meeting with Damon about Chicago.
When Rick Douglas steps through the doors, he stalls for a split second as he sees me. The subtle shake of his head, as if he’s disappointed, has me confused, but he pushes whatever it is away and approaches me with a warm—but I’m guessing fake—smile.
“Jackson.”
“Mr. Douglas.” I shake his outstretched hand and try not to wince when he grasps my sweaty palm.
And then? Nothing but silence. Brilliant.
“Umm, sorry, I don’t even know what this meeting is about.”
He narrows his eyes. “You … you have no idea
why we’re here?”
“I can venture a guess, but I don’t understand why we’d be doing … that here. Without my agent.”
Now he cocks his head as if I’ve confused him somehow. “You really don’t know, do you? I thought … Uh, never mind what I thought. But—”
“Mr. Huntington will see you both now,” the receptionist says.
I gesture for Rick to go first, and we’re welcomed by Noah’s father holding the door open for us. Even though Noah Huntington II is only in his late fifties, he looks mid-sixties at least. I wonder if politics has aged him, or perhaps that’s part of Noah’s doing with his refusal to conform.
“We’ll get straight to the point,” Mr. Huntington says as we take our seats at his desk. “Rick has an offer for you.”
“So why hasn’t Rick gone through my agent?” I ask.
“We’re all friends here,” Noah’s dad says.
Rick passes me a sheet of paper with a sum on it. An amazing sum. Like Tom Brady type of money.
“And the catch?” I grip the armrest of my chair with my free hand and prepare for what I already know is coming but am hoping I’m wrong. I’m not dumb. I’m not worth that much.
“You move out of my house,” Noah’s dad says.
My brow scrunches. “What, you worried I’m going to try to make a claim for it if something was to happen to Noah? That townhouse has been in your family for generations. I wouldn’t—”
“He’s not worried about the house,” Rick says, and my suspicions are confirmed.
“You know there’s no future with my son. Move out, buy your own place, and play for the Cougars. It’s no secret in the football world that no one wants you.”
Rick glances between Mr. Huntington and me. “Right.”
“You get what you want, and Noah stays out of the spotlight,” Noah’s dad says.
I want to tell him to fuck off, but Rick-freaking-Douglas is sitting next to me, and while I’m not going to accept his tainted offer in a million years, he’s a big deal in the NFL. I have to be professional.
But Noah’s dad’s trying to get rid of me the same way he did Noah’s college boyfriend, and that pisses me off.
