Chapter Nine
Darren
By the time I rejoin the party, Beau and Adrian are talking to someone holding a couple of large frames, and I’m nosy enough to want to know what they bought. I let my curiosity go when I spot Mason talking to a man I recognize and can’t quite place, but then the guy ducks his head and I realize it’s the beautiful nerd from the beer garden, his book nowhere to be seen tonight.
Small, gay world.
Since first arriving at the gallery, I’ve seen a handful of others from Trailhead, regulars Beau and Adrian know well enough to have extended an invitation. I smile at a few more of them now and encourage them to visit the erotic section before they leave. On the other side of one of the room’s large pillars, Noah upholds his reputation for being able to snag the attention of the many hot men he swears he doesn’t want to fuck. He’s drawn two ofthem close, and the smile on his face suggests he doesn’t mind at all. Of course, he probably has no idea they’re flirting with him, but he’ll figure it out eventually. He always does.
I don’t see Riley anywhere, but with everyone else scattered, I’m guessing they’re long gone. Really, it’s a testament to their love for Beau and Adrian that they were here at all. They’re paid to deal with the chaos at Trailhead, but they tend to avoid it everywhere else, turning down almost every invitation we extend on the nights we want to become some other bar’s problem.
Come to think of it, Jake turns those invitations down too, except for the night I enjoyed a different dick in a different bathroom, and he waited with a thirst for good bourbon and a hunger for nobody. But I was on my knees for him tonight, and I’ll be in his bed later, and I think those hours together will change things in a way five minutes never could.
I think I should admit that I’m a little nervous, too.
And then I think it might be better to let him believe in my arrogance instead.
I find him with the wine he’d mentioned and a plate of tapas that’s a pleasant surprise. Jake’s standing in front of another wall of pictures, and I steal a piece of artichoke from him, mostly because it’s the kind of thing most of my friends would expect me to do. When I look past the gray in his beard, I catch a small grin, but he doesn’t turn to me, still focused on the picture hanging just above eye level. It’s a man with one arm positioned behind a little girl, not quite touching her, but ready to catch her even though she’s safely secured on the carousel horse she rides.Adrian took the picture from at least a few feet back, so neither of their faces are visible, but the girl’s head is thrown back in laughter—ribboned pigtails flying wild—and she has no idea that the man wants to protect her so badly. Maybe it’s a father and daughter, and maybe it’s not, but it’s enough to make me break the silence either way.
“Do you have a lot of pictures like this from when Lucy was little?”
Jake opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again, and I could swear there was a frown somewhere in between it all. It leaves me curious about what I thought would be a simple answer, but before I can push like the asshole I am, he shrugs.
“Yes and no. Most of that stuff has been packed up for a long time,” he explains quietly. “We had fun on carousels and took lots of pictures. I just haven’t looked at them in years.”
I think back to when I’d been in Jake’s living room, and I'm frustrated I didn’t have more time to look at the picture frames arranged like perfectly placed memories. They were there, which means Michelle’s death probably didn’t lead him to keep their decades together out of sight, but I know I don’t understand those kinds of wounds. I guess it’s possible that some scars fade better than others, and I’d rather see him smile again.
I watch as he takes a deep breath, and then I nudge him gently with my shoulder.
“Maybe the two of you are due for another trip to the fair. You think she’d be up for it?”
“I’ll be sure to ask the next time we talk,” Jake chuckles, reliefin his eyes when he finally glances my way. “How about you? Did your mom take you to those kinds of places when you were a kid? Go on all the rides with you?”
“She did, yeah. She worked some long hours, and I didn’t always get it—I was a selfish little kid—but she made the most of her time off with me. The county fair, the zoo, the beach. All that stuff.”
Jake takes a sip of wine, and then it’s his turn to nudge me back. “A kid wanting to spend more time with his mom isn’t exactly selfish. It’s special, and I’m glad you’re still close to her. I know Beau loves her, too.”
“And the feeling is mutual,” I say.
We move over and spend a minute looking at a few new pictures. I steal more food and consider grabbing another beer. Jake drinks his wine and tilts his head, and I’m ready for whatever he has to say by the time he says it, something very obviously on his mind.
“This is none of my business, and you don’t have to answer, but—”
“I’ll answer anything, Jake,” I interrupt. “Anything.”
He gives me a little huff of a smile and a nod. “Was your father ever a part of your life? I’ve only heard you talk about your mom, so has he been around at all? When you were a kid or, I don’t know—even as an adult?”
“Ah. No. They weren’t married, and he bailed while she was pregnant. Apparently we ran into him once when I was a baby, but that was it. My mom said he moved around a lot, so hangingout with him wasn’t an option, and then there was nothing until I got a random card about two weeks after my 14th birthday, probably because he didn’t know when my actual birthday was. I found it in the mail before my mom did, and I burned it before it could hurt her.”
“What about you? Did it hurt you?”
I freeze at that and suck olive oil from my finger and thumb. A minute ago, I told Jake I’d answer anything, but I’m not sure I have a good one for him now. It’s not a question I’ve been asked before, everything about my father as simple as “he left before I was born” and “I don’t know where he is now.” The man is a fact of life, and little more than that, except that another glance at the carousel picture has me borrowing Jake’s frown, the pull in my chest weirdly reminiscent of what I’d felt when I’d taken a Zippo to a Hallmark card a lifetime ago.
“Yeah, maybe it did,” I say. “Maybe—”
“Hello, once again, to my two friends with the deepest pockets,” Beau calls out, his voice low as he throws an arm around each of us. “Would you like to finish that sentence for us, Darren? ‘Maybe I will buy half a dozen giant pictures to hang in the house you left me.’ Did you check out the naughty section? There are some good ones over there.”
“What makes you think I need to buy giant pictures of your dick, babe?”