“Bullshit.” Peterson’s pale skin flushed red with his obvious outrage. “I was mourning my fiancé’s death, goddamn you. Can you understand? Haven’t you ever lost someone who meant everything to you so that nothing else mattered?”
Heat rose in Luke’s face as his heart slammed hard against his chest. Fuck, yes, he had. Not a lover, never a lover. But God, Brandon. Where the hell did you run to? His eyes widened with surprise as Peterson advanced on him. The distraught man stood so close, the heat of his breath touched Luke’s cheeks.
And then he smelled it. The scent was faint, but he’d know it anywhere. “You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?”
A slight hitch in the other man’s breath gave it away. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
Luke sneered right back at Peterson. “I grew up with a drunk. I know what I smell. It’s only eleven in the morning, and you’ve already been drinking enough that I can tell.” Then it hit him. “Are you operating today? Christ, you’d better not be going to the hospital like this.”
At least Peterson had the grace to look ashamed. “I only had rounds today, early this morning. No surgery or office hours.”
Luke released a relieved breath. “Thank God for that at least.” His eyes narrowed. “Maybe you really shouldn’t be involved with the project. I’m sure Keith wouldn’t want—”
“Don’t you dare think to lecture me on what he would’ve wanted. You’re a fucking nobody in our lives. I lived with him. We were going to be married. You barely knew him.” Peterson’s voice rose with each word spoken until he was yelling in Luke’s face. His door opened, and Valerie, as well as Dave, an analyst whose office was next door, stood there. Luke waved them back, never taking his eyes from the man in front of him.
“Look, Peterson. Why don’t you go home and sleep it off?”
“Go home?” Peterson’s laugh rang bitter and hollow. “It’s not a home anymore. The walls are closing in around me. Everywhere I am, I see him there or hear his voice.” Peterson gripped his arm, and it surprised Luke to feel the power in his grasp. “I think I might be going crazy.”
Unaccustomed to people touching him, Luke forced himself to ignore the searing pressure of Peterson’s hand through his suit jacket and listened to the man, as close to a total breakdown as he’d ever seen anyone before.
“I have to do this. To prove to him that I was worthy of his love. Don’t take away the last thing he ever asked from me.” Peterson’s long fingers curled around Luke’s bicep, digging in through Luke’s shirtsleeves. “I can’t bear the thought that I’m disappointing him.”
Shit. He didn’t expect to feel sympathetic toward Peterson. Here he was all prepared to hate the man, and yet something deep within him, frozen solid for years, shifted and cracked, exposing a soft core not visible since he left home. Luke needed to put some distance between himself and this troubled man whose mere presence sent such confusing signals to both his mind and body.
He wrenched away from the hand on his arm, waiting until his own breathing slowed, and his heart settled back to its normal rhythm. “Then don’t behave like an asshole. If you’re going to take on this responsibility, get your shit together. We’ll be working closely, and I won’t stand for working with someone who’s loaded all the time.” He folded his arms, again in control.
Peterson had dropped into a chair in front of his desk, pale and defeated looking. “I never had more than one or two drinks before—before it happened. I can do it.”
Luke could see the effort it took for him to admit his failing. “You’ll have to.”
“I said I would.” Anger flashed across Peterson’s face, a hint of the initial arrogance creeping back into his voice. “I don’t need you to be on my back.” Those pale blue eyes flicked over him, cool and dismissive. The son of a bitch dared to pass judgment on him?
“I know what you say.” Luke sat and leaned back in his chair. “Make sure you do it.” The look of outrage on Peterson’s face was priceless. “Now let me explain what we are dealing with here.”
He handed over the thick bound book of the business plan and began to outline the details of everything they’d done so far to set up the after-school programs and the trips to the prisons. After approximately an hour passed, he tossed his pen aside. “I think we can stop there. You have a basic understanding of what we’ve accomplished and still need to do.”
Peterson nodded. “I do. How involved are we planning to get with the teenagers and young kids in the shelters? They need protection from people preying on them.” His lips tightened. “I want as many guns off the street as we can get.”
“As do we all, Peterson.”
“I think by now you can call me Jordan.” The tight lips softened to a tired smile. “You’re Lucas, correct?”
Shit. A shiver trickled down his spine at the sound of his name on Jordan’s lips. Maybe he was coming down with something.
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Well, um, I’ve got another appointment, so…” His voice trailed off, the lame excuse floating in the air as he failed to meet Jordan’s eyes.
“No problem.” Jordan stood and shook his hand. “We’ll talk soon.” He turned and walked out the door. The faint scent of his cologne lingered after he left.
For the rest of the day, whether in meetings, on phone conferences with major clients, or on the cab ride home, Luke’s thoughts strayed to Dr. Jordan Peterson. The elegant, cultured voice, piercing blue eyes, and firm mouth didn’t surprise him; he knew Jordan was an extremely attractive man from the pictures Keith had shown him. The physical reaction he had toward the man troubled Luke and he vowed to keep his mind on the job they had to do. It shouldn’t prove to be too difficult for him. Luke had made a point of never allowing anyone to get too close. Jordan would be no different.
Chapter Three
Jordan slammed into the town house and threw his keys at the hall table but missed, sending them skittering along the wooden floor. He didn’t break stride, continuing until he reached the kitchen. The last few hours had been torturous. Gearing himself up to get dressed and presentable for rounds had required a pill. Making it through rounds at the hospital then the meeting with Keith’s financial adviser had been arduous. So what if he had a couple of drinks beforehand to settle his nerves and dull the pain? The Xanax he’d taken in the morning hadn’t done the trick; his body hummed, tight as a high wire. He needed another pill or drink; it didn’t matter which. Nothing truly helped anyway.
“Fuck him,” he muttered to himself. He sloshed some vodka into a glass and took out a bottle of tonic water and a lime to mix it with. “There’s nothing wrong with a drink in the afternoon with lunch.” Or two for that matter. Hell, he imagined those hedge fund guys did it all the time.
For Conover to lecture him was laughable. Those Wall Street moneymen were parasites, contributing nothing to the world. He was a doctor, for Christ’s sake. He helped people. So what if he took the edge off sometimes, with a drink or one of his happy pills? The stress was tremendous, and he deserved a little relaxation.
The cool glide of the iced vodka down his throat settled him. It wasn’t like he needed the drink or anything. Another swallow and it was gone. He’d better get something in his stomach before he really did get drunk. He hit a preprogrammed button on the phone and placed an order for a roast beef sandwich and fries to be delivered from the diner down the block. Checking his watch, he saw there were still several hours before he had to leave for Drew’s clinic.
Drew had set up a treatment center for abused young adults, and he, as well as Ash and their other friend Mike, volunteered there as much as they could. Drew’s sister, who also happened to be Mike’s girlfriend and had her PhD in adolescent psychology, ran the suicide prevention line. Ash, along with two other lawyers, helped with the legal problems, and Mike, the resident dentist, took care of the dental problems. They’d received enough publicity by now to enjoy a steady stream of funding and had hired other doctors,
lawyers, and dentists to assist them, but neither he, Drew, nor Mike ever considered giving up their work there. Jordan believed Keith had envisioned the foundation he wanted to set up to have the same type of success.
The doorbell rang, and he retrieved his food from the delivery guy. For the first time in a while, his stomach grumbled with hunger, and he attacked his fries. Beer-battered and crunchy, they were exactly the way he liked them. Once he’d eaten a few bites of the sandwich, he took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and gulped it down.
Except for a few sporadic visits, he hadn’t been to the clinic to see patients since Keith’s death. His chest tightened at the thought of spending time there this afternoon, but he knew he couldn’t bail on Drew again or the kids who came for treatment. They needed him and his skill, and no matter his anger, he would be there to help them. As he bit into the second half of his sandwich, the resentment bubbling under the surface broke free, cracking through the shield he’d built up over the past nine months. How could he explain his anger toward his best friend? Who would understand it?
Irritated at himself, he tossed the sandwich aside. One day, when he had his emotions sorted out and more under control, he would talk to Drew. For now, he’d put on his game face and do what he had to do. A noise from the backyard drew his attention and he got up from the table to investigate.
A dog had somehow found its way into the yard. Instead of growling or barking like he’d expect, the animal’s tongue hung out of its mouth, and the stubby tail wagged furiously. The sun gleamed against its short, shiny fur. The dog looked to be a Rottweiler/shepherd mix, and would normally possess a strong, muscular frame. Instead, the sun gleaming against its coat highlighted the outline of its ribs.
Jordan had always wanted a dog, but with Keith’s allergies, he’d put that wish aside. The dog appeared mild mannered and not growly; Jordan approached the animal with care. It sat on its haunches, head cocked, an inquiring look on its face, and seemed to be assessing him as well. Jordan knelt down, and with warning bells going off in his head, he held out his hand.
“Hi there.” Stupid, he knew, because if the dog went after his hand, his career as an orthopedic surgeon would be over. The dog stood and inched closer until it offered a warm, wet swipe to Jordan’s fingers. Jordan petted the dog, who immediately rolled over on her back for a belly rub.
“Good girl…nice girl.” He gave her a few pats and could feel how thin she was. With no collar, it was obvious she was a stray, and probably a hungry one at that. “Come with me.” He stood, and she followed at his heels as he returned to the kitchen table and his leftover sandwich. A low whine came from her throat. “It’s okay, girl. Take it.” He placed it down for her, and in two bites it was gone.
Keith had always told him he was too impulsive and made snap decisions, but he wanted this dog with every fiber of his being. Something to love, that might love him back. Having finished the food, she sidled up to him and rested her muzzle on his knee, a contented sigh huffing out of her. The feel of her warm, sleek fur against his hand as he petted her soothed his earlier anger. “You want to stay with me, sweetheart?” Her answer was a lick of his hand.
Jordan checked his watch and saw he only had about an hour until he had to be at the center. Not enough time to take her to the vet and the pet store for supplies. He had to leave her in the yard, not knowing how she’d react to being locked inside a strange house without him.
Now that he’d made up his mind to keep her, he got out a bowl and filled it with cold, fresh water. As soon as he placed it on the ground, near the glass door that led inside to the kitchen, she lapped at it with gusto, the water slopping over the sides of the bowl. After she finished, the dog lay down in a patch of sunlight and closed her eyes.
“I have to go to work, girl, but I’ll be back in a few hours. Stay here, okay?” Jordan rubbed behind her ears, and that stubby tail wagged. She stretched out, the picture of contentment. He went inside, showered, and got dressed. When he was ready to leave, he glanced outside to see if she was still there. His heart sank when he saw the sunlit space where the dog had lain was now empty. Shit. Nothing in his life went right. Even a stray dog didn’t want to stay with him. His hands shook as wrenching loneliness slammed into him.
He strode back into the bathroom and shook out two pills. Without bothering to use a glass, Jordan swallowed them with a handful of water from the faucet. Unable to look at himself in the mirror, he squeezed his eyes shut while he gripped the edge of the sink. It took several minutes until the familiar lassitude of the pills seeped into his bloodstream and he could relax.
The image staring back at him in the mirror after he opened his eyes presented a man in control, happy, and without a care in the world—the man he used to be. Only the darkness in his eyes and the tightness around his mouth indicated the pain he held inside. Whatever it was, he’d make sure to hide it better when he got to the center; otherwise he knew Drew would be all over him, and Mike as well.
He wished people would leave him the fuck alone.
Once he’d hailed a cab to take him to the clinic in Red Hook, Brooklyn, his thoughts strayed to the meeting he’d had with Keith’s financial adviser, Lucas Conover. Keith had always been a good judge of character, so he must’ve seen something in the man to trust him to handle the foundation. To be honest, the man pissed him off with his know-it-all attitude and sanctimonious talk. But the vacant expression in Lucas Conover’s eyes struck Jordan as being at odds with his hard-ass behavior. Before he started working so closely with a stranger, he wanted to find out a little bit more about him.
In a flash of inspiration, he pulled out his phone and called Keith’s old partner, Jerry Allen. They’d kept in touch after Keith’s death, and Jordan trusted the detective to be discreet and honest.
“Allen here.” The deep voice sounded brisk and efficient.
“Hey, Jerry. It’s Jordan. How’re you doing?”
“Jordan.” Jerry’s voice softened, and Jordan could hear him tell someone to hold on, he needed to take the call. “How are you? I’ve been meaning to stop by, but we’re working this illegal gun-ring detail and time gets away from you.”
Jordan appreciated Jerry’s directness. “I understand. I haven’t exactly reached out to you either. But listen, I’m calling for a favor.” He outlined what he wanted from the police detective.
“This shouldn’t be too hard to find out quickly. Who is this guy again?”
“It’s Keith’s financial adviser, the one I’ll be working with to set up his foundation to keep guns off the streets and away from the kids.” The cab entered onto the ramp for the Brooklyn Bridge. Jordan squinted in the sunlight as he took in the expanse of the East River and the skyline of downtown Brooklyn. The pills he’d taken earlier dulled the nerves that would normally kick in at the thought of entering the center and having to face his friends. He made a note to himself to refill the prescription with his therapist when he got to the center.
“So why are you checking up on him, if Keith used him?” An honest question and one Jordan had no real answer to.
“Well, you know Keith was way more trusting than me. And he may have known the guy but I only met him today for the first time. I’m not asking you to do anything wrong, am I? Tell me something about him; that’s all.” Jordan frowned into the phone as a vision of Lucas Conover’s face came to mind. His chestnut-brown curly hair and deep-set hazel eyes were so different from Keith’s golden-blond looks. Not unattractive, but not Keith. He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. What the fuck did he care if the guy was good-looking or not?
“No problem, I’ll get the info for you, and maybe you’ll come over for dinner one night soon? I know Marie misses you.” Jerry’s calm, unruffled manner brought Jordan’s thoughts back to the phone call and away from Conover.
“I’d love to. Your wife, aside from being gorgeous, makes the best eggplant parmigiana.” He chuckled. “If I weren’t gay, I’d steal her from you.”
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br /> “If you weren’t gay, she’d go in a second.”
They both laughed and agreed to a date and time for dinner the following week before ending the conversation. Jordan’s good humor remained, thanks to the conversation and his happy pills, until he entered the clinic. Nodding hello to Marly, the girl who manned the front desk, he smiled faintly as she hugged him and whispered, “I’m glad you’re back.”
Jordan suffered the hellos and welcome backs of the rest of the staff. Their excitement at his return touched him, but his reality was altogether different. Everywhere he went, Keith’s memory waited, lurking around each corner. In his office, he visualized Keith lounging back in his chair, eyes glinting with desire, those powerful legs spread wide, a seductive smile curling his lips. Love, regret, and loss slammed into him with a force so strong he swayed, then grabbed on to the doorframe.
“This was a fucking bad idea,” he murmured to himself. “How am I going to get through this?”
“We’ll help you, man.”
He turned around to see Mike and Drew standing behind him, their solemn faces pale and strained. Unable to speak, he held out his arm, and Mike grabbed him, tugging him into a bear-like hug. Drew took his other arm, and as they’d done since they were kids on that playground long ago, they held each other, healing their hurts.
“It’ll be all right. Every day might seem impossible, but look how far you’ve come.” Drew wiped the wetness from his cheeks. “Take it as slow as you need, but I think coming back on a schedule and keeping busy will help more than you know.”
Jordan desperately wanted to believe Drew’s words as truth. He needed to believe it because his grief was slowly strangling the life out of him. Realistically, he understood. Life went on. Keith wouldn’t want him to mourn forever, and he was young enough that he might meet another person to share his life with.
That was reality.
After the Fire Page 3
