Trent’s forehead landed on Jacob’s spine, now knowing what had happened. “I’ll go.” He pushed around Jacob, taking hold of his hand for a moment to squeeze, getting a tight grip in return. “You had no way of knowing, Jordie. It’ll be okay.” He clapped the young man on the shoulder, surprised when he was taller than Trent remembered. He’s growing up. Nate turned anxious eyes towards him, and he ruffled the boy’s hair. Both of them are. “It’ll be okay,” he said again.
The door to the bathroom closest to Nate’s bedroom was closed, and Trent studied it for just a moment, listening intently. There was no sound of water running, no rustle of toweling off or getting dressed, and nothing else that would be considered bathroom activities. Fingers curled, he rapped gently against the wooden surface and, knowing that Nate and Jordan had probably been doing the same, he was not really surprised that he didn’t get an immediate response.
He knocked again, just as softly, and asked, “Everything okay, Jericho?”
The door creaked, and from a position just below waist high, he heard Jericho say, “I’m fine, Tr—Uncle Trent.”
The trembling hurt in Jericho’s voice made Trent close his eyes, fighting the tears that had seemed far too close to the surface over the past days. Since he’d heard Reedman’s voice on the phone telling him Stella had been murdered, his life had been a roller coaster, wildly swinging back and forth between terror and grief, and a deep and healing love for his newfound nephew. “I miss her, Jericho. I know that doesn’t make sense, because I hadn’t been able to spend any time with her for years, but just—” He turned and put his back to the door, sliding down until he was seated on the floor. “Just knowing I can’t. Knowing that option has been taken away, no longer available, that’s hard to wrap my head around sometimes.”
“She would have loved these people. Seeing the friendship between Uncle Jake and Aunt Jaime would have made her smile.” Jericho’s voice broke even more, impossible shards of tragic pain shredding it until the sound warbled up and down the register, making him sound so much younger than he was. “It’s not right that she’s not here.”
“You’re right. It’s not. That man took something precious from this world.” Trent took a deep breath, then confessed. “I hate him. So much.”
The doorknob rattled and clicked, and Trent shifted away as the door opened behind him. He turned to look into a still-crying Jericho’s face. “I hate him too.” Jericho sniffed loudly, then lost a bit of his tight control, a series of sobs breaking free. “I hate him. I wish I’d killed him. Killed him in his sleep. Come up behind him in the barn or something, stabbed him in the heart. I wish he was dead and she wasn’t.” The sobs turned into choking coughs, and Trent moved in to wrap the boy in his arms. Against his shoulder, Jericho said, “I could have saved her. I should have saved her. I didn’t tell her everything. If she’d known him, what he could do, she would have left him sooner. I should have done something, Uncle Trent. I killed my mom.”
“No, baby boy.” He tightened his hold on Jericho, rocking them back and forth. “No, no, no. You didn’t do this. Through action or inaction, none of it is your fault. Your mom wouldn’t want you to think that, and she’d be right. It’s not your fault. You can’t blame yourself. You can’t. If you’re going to blame someone, blame me.” Jericho jerked, but Trent didn’t relax his grip, keeping him close to his chest. “I should have known something wasn’t right when I met him at our parents’ funeral. I shouldn’t have left her alone. I should have been there for her.”
“It’s not your fault, Uncle Trent.” Jericho’s wail filled the hallway, and Trent pressed a kiss to the boy’s head.
“Love you for that, sweet boy. I know it’s not my fault, but neither is it yours. You’re going to have to let that go. Hold on to the grief, hold on to the love you have for her, but let that part of the pain go.” Footsteps shuffled in the hallway behind them, and Trent looked back to see Jacob, Jordan, and Nate all standing in the doorway to the bedroom, only steps away. “You’ve got a whole bunch of people who want nothing more than to help you get through this, Jericho. Let that self-blame pain go and use us to work through what’s left. It’s a huge loss, baby boy. Sweet baby boy, you lost your mother. That hurts so badly I bet it’s like you can’t breathe sometimes. Don’t torture yourself with even more.”
Jacob stepped over them and into the bathroom. Trent watched as he located and wet a washcloth, gathered up a handful of tissues, and then came to sit on the floor at Jericho’s back, sandwiching the boy between them. And that’s one of the reasons I love that man more than life. Jacob always knew the right things to do or say, and seeing him take on a protector role over Jericho was like getting a tiny glimpse into the kind of father he would make one day.
After a long time, Jericho’s sobs started to trail off and he stirred restlessly. Trent leaned into Jacob’s hand when he cupped his cheek, then saw Jericho do the same as Jacob transferred that quiet affection to their nephew. They shuffled Jericho between them, and Jacob tenderly washed Jericho’s face, placing the tissues into the boy’s hand. Jacob tossed the wet cloth into the sink, then motioned to where Nate and Jordan still stood. A moment later, the boys were on their knees next to the trio, and without saying a word, added their arms to the ones circling Jericho.
“Lean on us,” Trent whispered into Jericho’s ear. “We’ll help you keep it together, and when you can’t, like right now, if you let us, we’ll help you fall apart.”
***
Jericho
“Hey.”
The soft greeting came from behind Jericho, and he squeezed his eyes shut, irrationally hoping that if he ignored Jordan, the man would disappear. Poof, gone, along with all the embarrassing memories of the previous day.
He’d been so exhausted from his freak-out that he’d willingly stayed in Nate’s bedroom most of the day, only coming out at dinner. The conversation around the table hadn’t required anything from him, and Jericho had finished his meal quickly, slipping away early. He’d pretended to already be asleep when Nate came in later, and the instant he’d heard Nate talking to Jordan, Jericho had been glad he’d stooped to the pretense to keep from having to talk to anyone.
“Jericho.”
The sound of his name in that smooth voice made Jericho’s heart lurch in his chest. He bit down on the inside of his bottom lip, turned his face to the side away from Jordan, and stayed as still as he could. Maybe I’ll disappear.
“I hope you can forgive me for yesterday.”
Jericho jerked his head up and twisted to look at the man. Jordan stood close to him, well within arm’s length. All Jericho would have to do was take a single step to the side and he’d be pressed up against him. Jordan wasn’t looking at him, chin down, his gaze fixed on the span of floor between where they stood.
“I didn’t know. I never would have hurt you. I’m sorry.”
Jericho opened his mouth, but nothing came out, his voice locked away, imprisoned by the memory of not just the pain but the humiliation of Nate and Jordan seeing him like that. Sitting on the floor of a bathroom, tears and snot and whatever else was part of bawling his eyes out. Like a child, a baby, not at all like someone who’d been standing tall in the face of everything Frank had thrown at him through the years. His brain shouted at him that Jordan’s apology was just a way for him to shield Jericho from knowing how embarrassed he was on Jericho’s behalf at being found out like that.
“Anyway, I gotta head out. I’ve got early classes tomorrow, and I still have studying to do.” Jordan made an aborted gesture, his hand rising and reaching out to Jericho but stopping short of contact, falling away as he turned and walked towards the doorway. “Was good to meet you, Jericho.”
“You, too.” His mouth finally caught up with his mind, and he forced the words out, surprised when Jordan paused in the door to look back. Their gazes clashed, and just as it had the morning before, Jericho’s chest contracted, that connecting thread pulling tight around his suddenly speeding heart. “Drive
safe, Jordan.”
The impossibly blue eyes crinkled at the corners as Jordan smiled at him. “Jordie. My friends call me Jordie.” With a graceful chin lift and a flip of his fingers, Jordan was gone.
Jordie. He’d used the name mentally before, but having been granted permission like this meant it felt like the first time.
Chapter Eight
Trent
“Uncle Jake, next time can I just give him a poke?”
Trent kept his eyes closed as he smiled, face angled away from where the voice came from. He was coiled in the back seat of the SUV, propped up by a pillow shoved in the corner by the door. His latest nap had ended just moments before when a jarring bump had rattled him free from sleep. He’d never accuse Jacob of waking him on purpose, but Jericho’s comment certainly put the move under suspicion.
“I’m awake.” He lifted his chin as he yawned, turning his head in time to catch Jacob’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Hey, you scrumptious thing you.” Straightening up, he looked outside, seeing the road framed the familiar view of the ocean to the west, and mountains far in the distance on the east. “Oh, you made good time, honeybuns.”
“Promised you that we’d sleep in our bed tonight.” Jacob’s voice was gruff and strained, and when Trent looked closer, it was clear how tired he was. “I keep my promises.”
Leaning forwards, Trent trailed his fingers across the back of Jacob’s neck, finding the strain of tense muscles and rubbing small circles over those sensitive spots. “I know you do, Jakey. Not long now and we’ll all be home.” He caught Jericho looking at them with a sappy grin on his face and smiled back at the boy.
Jericho had done well on their extended road trip, proving a good traveler who was considerate of others in the vehicle. Trent and Jacob had shared a hushed and hurried conversation during their shower last night, comparing notes on Jericho’s continued odd behavior after they’d left Memphis. He’d been good, sure. But Trent was convinced it was too good, with no emotional outbursts or even grumpy moments. Jacob had felt the boy just needed to settle into a routine, understandably thrown off by everything that had happened.
Trent thought it was more, but he’d backed off his desire to have a conversation with Jericho then and there, grudgingly admitting to Jacob that he might be right about a small hotel room in a nowhere town in the middle of Nevada being the wrong place to tackle what could prove to be a sensitive subject.
“Any state parks between us and home?” Trent angled his head at the glove box, where the stash of paper maps they’d bought Jericho had taken up residence. When Jacob found out Jericho had never been to a park of any kind, their route from Memphis to San Diego had grown exponentially longer. “Didja check a map?”
First it was the mountains and forests of Arkansas, then the reservations of northern Oklahoma. They’d dipped into Texas at some point to see a line of cars half-buried in the red dirt, and then headed back along I40 to weave their western way to the Grand Canyon. Jacob and Jericho had pored over the maps every night, planning the next day’s travel. It had been amazing to see them bonding over something as simple as ink and paper, the shine in their eyes worth any amount of uncomfortable quarters in motels and the car.
Jericho had taken things a step farther, beginning at the first park. He’d asked a ranger to sign his cast, prompting Trent to realize neither he nor Jacob had signed it yet. The Thompsons and Jordan had, but those were the only, lonely signatures on the entire expanse. Trent had been angry at himself over that, because it was such a stereotypical thing to do: sign a kid’s cast to memorialize a broken bone. Now the cast was covered end-to-end with signatures in all colors and quality of penmanship, a piece of history to mark their first-ever family trip. Not a vacation, not with the reason they were together in the first place, but it would be something Jericho could keep if he wanted.
Jericho rolled his eyes and Trent had a hard time controlling his laughter when he saw the expression on the boy’s face. The communicative eye roll was something Jericho seemed to have picked up from him, and it drove Jacob crazy. He claimed it made them look like they were twins when they did it at the same time. Something Jericho found hilarious, given the beard Trent sported and his own smooth jaw.
“I think Uncle Jake just wants to get home.” Jericho grinned at Trent.
“You’d be correct, young man.”
Jacob maneuvered the vehicle to the outside lane on the freeway, and Trent saw they were nearing their exit. A few moments later, they were off the highway and onto the surface streets, blocks blurring by as he took in the familiar sights. He yawned and was scrubbing at his face with his palms when Jericho made a pained sound. They were stopped at a red light, and Jericho was staring out the passenger window, fingers clutching at his knee until his knuckles were white and strained. Looking past the boy, Trent saw they were just up the street from one of the more popular gay clubs, the line to get in stretching down the block and around the corner. Whatever was distressing Jericho was in that line, men in various versions of club attire everywhere. The club catered to a wide variety of tastes, which meant there were twinks in sparkly short-shorts standing next to leather cubs in harnesses, and lumbersexual bearded men alongside bow-tied geeks.
Trent turned to see Jacob watching Jericho, too. He shrugged and looked back at traffic, easing the car through the light when it turned green. From the corner of Trent’s eye, he saw Jericho move and angled his head to watch as the boy strained to keep his gaze on the line, twisting in his seat to stare back at the intersection and the throngs of men until it was entirely lost to view.
Trent sat back in the seat before Jericho could notice he’d been watching, relaxing in the knowledge that within a few minutes they’d be home.
***
Jericho
Angling his good arm across his body, Jericho fumbled with the door handle for a moment before it opened and he could swing his legs out of the car to stand. The cast was in the way as always, and he held it awkwardly away from his body as he turned to lean back into the car, picking up and stuffing things from the console and floor into a bag Jake had tossed his way at their last snack stop. He smiled. Both Trent and Jake had seemed focused on getting him to eat, approaching the idea of fattening him up as if it were a critical mission, even if their trajectories were very different. Jericho had found that not having access to much junk food up to now had cultivated a palate that preferred healthier and more natural things instead of gas station donuts and bags of bulk candy—much to Jake’s pleasure and Trent’s dismay.
Standing beside the car, he closed the door and looked around at the house and surrounding property. Not large, the one-story home sat far back from the street, the front yard stretching out to the sides as a buffer between it and the neighboring homes. He mentally compared the tidy house with its soft cream and crisp blue paint, with the rental he’d lived in with his mom, wondering what Trent and Jake had thought when they had first seen it. Cracked paint, angled boards holding up the porch, windows painted shut. Even the inside of that house had been tired and old, rundown and worn.
“Come on,” Jake called from where he stood on the porch that stretched the width of the building. The door was open, and Trent had disappeared, already inside the cool depths of the house and away from the heat. Jericho glanced down at himself, seeing the new jeans and shirt that his uncles had bought him, but on his feet were the same ratty, cheap sneakers he’d worn for more than a year. His toes were scrunched into the end, feet grown so wide the laces were scarcely long enough to tie anymore. He flashed to Jordan seated on the floor of Nate’s room. Jordan had been staring at his shoes, and he understood why now. They didn’t go with houses like this one, or Jaime and Connor’s house in Memphis. These shoes, which he’d kept because they felt more like himself than any of the ones his uncles had purchased, didn’t fit in with this weird and unwelcome life he found himself thrust into.
An unexpected wave of anger washed over him. Not at Trent or Jake, no
t Jaime or Connor—at his mom. If she hadn’t picked a loser like Frank, their life might have been different. He’d used her instead of contributing, and she hadn’t cared that it literally took food off the table for Frank to keep up with his latest obsession—be that case after case of beer, an expensive bottle of booze, or those stinky stogies he smoked. We’d have been a lot better off without him. It was as if his mother had picked herself over Jericho, which wasn’t how he wanted to remember his mom. That anger twisted and turned, folding back on itself inside him until he was furious with himself. I coulda done better. He hadn’t, and he remembered throwing words at her in their last big fight. He’d never tossed out an “I hate you,” but his tone had carried the same amount of rage and vitriol; it felt like he might as well have.
“Jericho? You coming, son?”
His head jerked up, and he stared at Jake, who was still standing in the doorway, patiently waiting. He gave the impression he’d wait forever if that’s what Jericho needed. It had been the same since he’d met the two men. Both Trent and Jake had given him time whenever he needed it. They’d stood with him, sometimes holding him and sometimes seeming to read that he’d shatter if touched with compassion. But they’d been there, and with every moment and movement, his unexpected uncles had reinforced their words, the plainly spoken statements they’d made to him that he had a place with them, they were happy to have him, and they’d always give him a place to land. Son. Hearing the affectionate word from Jake, who spoke as eloquently with logical arguments as he did emotional discussions, simply underscored how effortlessly they fitted him into their lives.
“Yeah.” His voice creaked and groaned around the short word, as if he hadn’t spoken in years, as if it were a gate hinge in dire need of oiling. “I’m coming, Uncle Jake.” Each word came easier, and that earned him a quick smile, a thing he’d come to look for. When Jake was truly pleased and smiled, he did it with his whole face, even his body language changing and softening. Uncle Trent was the same way, his every emotion written on his face, and in him, Jericho had finally understood the expression “wears his heart on his sleeve.” That fit Uncle Trent to a T. “Nice place.” Jericho gave an understated assessment but knew Jake read between the lines and got everything he couldn’t find words to say.
Bet on Us Page 11
