Bet On Us

by deMora, MariaLisa

“We had a falling out, years ago.” Pain and an aching resignation crossed the man’s features. Trent’s features. “Something I’ve wished I could take back a thousand times. But us Conways, we’re a stubborn lot.”

  Jericho stifled a snort-laugh at that, because it was the dead-set truth. He sobered and asked again, “Where’s Mom?”

  “Frank—” Trent’s voice stumbled to a stop after Jericho’s stepdad’s name, and he held one hand out to the side. Jericho watched as the other man stepped up and took hold, their fingers falling between each other as if this was something they did all the time. Shock flooded through him, along with anger he didn’t expect, and fear, because whatever had this man needing support had to be bad. “After he knocked you out, he went to the barn.”

  “No.” Jericho snapped his lips shut after that single denial. No, he left. He had to have. That’s what he’d been telling himself.

  In an unsteady voice that ranged up and down the scale, Trent said, “When he got to the barn, he…he hurt Stella, Jericho. He hurt her bad.”

  Jericho shook his head back and forth, his intention of a single movement put to the side when his body continued its physical denial. No, he thought. No, no, no. Don’t do it. I’ll hate you forever. The pain in his head swelled, growing like a flash flood roaring down a dry creek bed.

  “Frank wasn’t, they don’t think he meant to do what he did. Don’t think he meant to take it that far.” Trent stretched his other hand out, trembling fingers hanging in midair until Jericho surprised himself, reaching out and gripping hard, accepting the offer of comfort. Feeling small, with his hand swallowed by the much larger one of the man claiming to be blood, to be an uncle he’d never known, Jericho steeled himself for what was coming. Trent whispered what had to be truth—the fears Jericho had held inside himself after his mother didn’t come to his room, didn’t check on him, didn’t come to find him. “He hurt her bad, then he did the same to himself.”

  “She’s…are you sayin’ she’s…” Jericho couldn’t bring himself to utter the words any more than Trent could, and they stared at each other for a long moment.

  “He killed her, Jericho.” Ms. Chapman broke the silence, her clipped voice drawing a line under everything Trent had been trying to say, everything Jericho wanted to deny. “We believe he thought you were already dead, knocked out like you were. Then he killed himself.”

  The last thing Jericho saw before tears filled his eyes was the sweep of devastation that crossed Trent’s face, and as much as he’d hated him only moments before, Jericho felt sorry for him in that shared moment of loss.

  ***

  Trent

  “Then the guardian ad litem will petition on behalf of the child.” Trinity Chapman was all business when discussing the legal ins-and-outs of Jericho’s future, unlike when she’d shown a depth of empathy earlier in how she’d spoken to the boy. The boy. Jericho. Stella’s son. My nephew. Trent was having problems following her and understanding what it all meant. “All told, we’re talking four, maybe five.”

  “Days?” Trent winced. “We won’t even have Stella, Stella’s…the body. Back. For a funeral, I mean.”

  Chapman shook her head, face settling into those compassionate lines, her expression telling him he wouldn’t like what she had to say. “Months, Mr. Conway. Four or five months.”

  “Before we can take him home to California?” Trent stood there, mouth open, not wanting to believe her. “Months?”

  “Before he can live with you.” She lifted her briefcase and popped a snap on the side pocket, pulling out a piece of paper. “He’ll go into foster care when he’s released from the hospital.”

  “Foster care?” Trent turned to stare at Reedman, whose mouth had hitched to one side like he’d tasted something bad, bitter. “Can that be right? I’m his uncle, and I’m here. I’m right here. That can’t be right.”

  “Now, hold on, Trinity.” Reedman stepped to the side and around Trent, squaring up against the tiny social worker. “Man’s got a point. He’s blood, and he’s here. Dropped everything to come. I think we can sort things a bit differently.”

  “Alan.” Chapman used a warning tone as she lifted the paperwork in her hand to shade her eyes against the stark sunlight. “Not a good case to bend the rules.”

  “What better case? Boy’s lost his mother. We can’t bring her back. He’s got a blood relative standing here ready to be responsible for the boy. He’s going to Conway in the end, either way. Why put the boy through the system if he doesn’t need to be? Hospital’s going to keep Jericho for another twenty-four hours, minimum; that’ll count for a seventy-two-hour hold, and you know it would. If we don’t put him in the system, then there’s nobody to buck.”

  Chapman stared at him briefly, then bent her head as she stuffed the paperwork back into her briefcase, and Trent felt a moment of hope, because surely that meant she’d had a change of heart.

  Reedman turned back to Trent and gave him a narrowed stare. “No chance your sister put you down as the boy’s guardian in case of death?”

  “Unlikely.” Trent shook his head. “She’d have said something, I think.”

  “Mayhap you’re right, mayhap you’re wrong. I know the guy who is headed to the house tomorrow to turn it out—we’ll get him to look in the Bible, in a fire safe if there is one, or in her bedside drawer. If we find anything naming you, then it’s a done deal and transfer of guardianship is a court matter, not for DCS.” Reedman nodded firmly. “Even if not, if Trinity here agrees that you’re under the guidance of the courts, then we get you a lawyer and a judge. You’d have to stay until the probable cause hearing, but we can get that on the docket sooner since it’s a different court.” He took a step towards Trent and thrust out his hand. “Now, I’ve a dinner to get to. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Conway. My condolences on your loss.”

  Trinity Chapman offered much the same, and Trent watched the two walk away, Chapman not even reaching the tall man’s shoulder.

  A hand curled around Trent’s, and he let himself sag sideways against Jacob.

  “It’s been a day, what?” Jacob’s fingers squeezed and released, then wrapped around his waist. “Let’s head to the hotel for a couple of hours. Then we can come back and see Jericho before visiting hours end.”

  “Did you see him?” Jacob made a noise in response, but Trent wanted confirmation. “No, Jakey. Did you see his face?”

  “Looks just like his uncle. Those Conway genes run true, it seems.” The hand at his waist tugged, and Trent started walking alongside Jacob. “You did really well, babe.”

  “Oh, God. His expression when he realized. I didn’t think I’d survive.” In front of the rental car, Trent turned to face Jacob. “She’s really gone.”

  Jacob lifted his chin, and Trent pressed a gentle, closed-mouth kiss to his lips.

  “She really is. But he’s not. Jericho is so strong.”

  They separated and climbed into the car, Trent angling his seat back as he buckled the safety belt. He watched Jacob adjust the mirrors and smiled, because that changing angle was the third time so far. His husband was meticulous in some things. Trent let his mind drift as Jacob drove them to the hotel, only taking notice when Jacob was at his open door, hand out to help him from the car. Once in the hotel room, Trent stood for a moment, staring around at the bland interior.

  “Jakey, is this really happening?”

  Jacob’s hand at his back urged him towards the bed. Beloved fingers tenderly undressed him, then coaxed him between the sheets. “You’ll feel better if you can nap, even thirty minutes.” Cheek pressed to his, Jacob whispered, “I’d give anything to make it have not happened, lover. Give anything to make this better for you.” A kiss to his jaw, then his temple, then his lips. Trent curled onto his side and shoved a hand under his pillow. From just over his head, Jacob told him, “Nap if you can. If you can’t, then just relax. I’ll unpack a few things and join you.”

  Eyes closed, he lay there and listened as Jacob moved arou
nd the room. There as a click and the sound of a fan that told him the toiletries were being unpacked, and he knew he’d find his shampoo waiting in the shower. This was one of the thousand ways Jacob took care of him, studiously taming his normally messy side and leaving behind a calming order for Trent. He blinked and watched as Jacob slipped shirts on hangers before tucking them into the closet. Not being quiet, nor noisy, just using an economy of movement Trent had always admired. He knew normally he was a little over the top, even a little campy sometimes, but Jacob took everything in stride.

  “He looked at us holding hands.” Unsure where the idea had come from, much less why his mouth decided to blurt it out, Trent went with the flow of thoughts. “More than once. Even before he knew about Stella, he noticed, and was…not shocked, exactly.”

  “Yeah, more like he couldn’t believe we were being open about it.” Jacob came and sat on the edge of the bed, reached out, and folded his hands around Trent’s. There was silence for a few moments, then Jacob asked, “What was your actual coming out like? You’ve talked in broad terms that it wasn’t good, and I never wanted to push. I got that it was a painful subject, and with my own issues with family outside of Jaime, maybe I didn’t want to make you relive something that has the power to hurt so much.”

  “James is wonderful.” Trent defended his sister-in-law stoutly, a little ache in the center of his chest as he thought about Stella. “She loves you, no matter what.”

  “Yeah, she does.” Jacob’s mouth twitched. “Loves you, too. When I brought you home the first time, she pulled out all the stops, didn’t she?”

  That had been in Memphis, where Trent had met Jacob. They’d both worked at a national ad agency and had been picked to be part of a project for a new client. The firm might not have gotten the business, but Trent got Jacob out of the deal, which he counted as a lifetime win.

  “She did. Made her famous taquito casserole.” He turned his hand in Jacob’s grip and gave his fingers a squeeze. “I didn’t know you’d walked in there expecting a fight. Had no idea that you hadn’t told her you were gay. She was awesome about it all.”

  “Well, it hadn’t gone well with the folks. Dad had spouted the ‘no son of his’ line and hung up on me, and Mom just cried.” Jacob bent close and pressed his cheek to Trent’s. “After that, things had just gone sideways until I met you. When I realized you and I batted for the same team, and then you agreed to go out with me? I thought James would be okay with it, but I chickened out at the last minute and didn’t call her.”

  “Mine was different from yours.” Understatement. Trent pressed a kiss to Jacob’s jaw. “My dad threatened to kill me, and my mother offered to help him. Stella—she just stood there and let it happen. She was my big sister, my hero, and she just stood there while they said the vilest things. I turned and walked out and never looked back.”

  “How old were you?” Jacob’s voice was soft, tender. “Babe, why did you never tell me?”

  “Seventeen. And I didn’t want you to… So many kids have it worse. I figured out what I had to do and managed. Sleeping on couches for the last three months of school so I could graduate, I worked my way through my friends until I’d worn out my welcome with all of them. At least my folks kept their mouths shut about why they’d kicked me out.” He tried to stifle a shudder. “It was the things they said that caused nightmares. My dad going for the closet where he kept the scattergun. That and how my mom looked at me, like I was disgusting, a bug, something to be repulsed by.”

  “So, with Jericho, you think he’s heard the same things?”

  “It’s very likely he was raised in an environment that didn’t foster an appreciation for equality.” Trent tried for a laugh, but it fell flat. “We’ll have to take it slow with him, maybe cut back on PDA until we get an idea what his beliefs are.”

  Jacob sat upright, his expression puzzled. “I’m not going to stop kissing you and hugging you. It’s not like I jerk you off in public, Trent. We tone it back as needed for whatever audience we have, but he’s going to have to get used to it sooner rather than later.” He pushed off the bed abruptly, stalking towards the minifridge. “You want a bottle of water?”

  “No, Jakey.” Trent felt chastened, and while he understood Jacob’s reaction, it didn’t make it hurt any less.

  Jacob made his way to the other side of the bed and sat, taking a long drink from the chilled bottle of water before he placed it on the nightstand. Phone in hand, he fiddled with the screen, setting the alarm. Trent waited, knowing from long experience that Jacob wasn’t done with their conversation. He would be gathering his thoughts, marshaling his arguments, and composing a defense that Trent wouldn’t be able to withstand. But Jacob’s voice was quiet and uncertain when he asked, “You think he hates it that much?”

  Well, that wasn’t what Trent had expected. He closed the distance between them, curling himself around Jacob where he perched on the edge of the mattress. Head on Jacob’s thigh, he looked up to find an expression of confusion and hurt on Jacob’s features. “I think I don’t know much about him at all. I think we saw him at his worst today, physically and spiritually wounded to the bone. I think he’s sad and confused, because it sounds like he and Stella were on their own, and he’s old enough to know even estranged family is better than no family, so why she wouldn’t tell him about me is anyone’s guess. I think…” He paused when Jacob’s fingers carded through his hair, neck arching so he could press into the touch. “I think he’s a little lost boy right now, and we’re the island in the distance he’s not yet sure is real. We’ll see how it goes when we head back.” Jacob’s fingers moved over his scalp, the gentle pressure grounding and sure. “Regardless, he’s ours now.”

  Jacob’s smile was as tentative as Trent expected. “Yeah, he is.”

  “Set the alarm and come give me a cuddle.” Trent pursed his lips and smacked loudly. “Pappa wants his cubbie.”

  Jacob shoved his head away with a laugh. “Oh, fuck you with that cubbie bit.”

  “That’d work, too.” Trent smiled at Jacob’s laughter as they came together in the middle of the bed. “That’d work, Jakey.”

  ***

  Jericho

  Uncle.

  He massaged the skin of his forehead with the fingertips of his single good hand, trying to scrub away the questions that had been flooding through his mind every waking moment since the revelation. Not that his mom was dead, because Jericho knew he’d already come to that realization long before the legal and familial contingent had strolled through that door. There’d have been no other reason for her to stay away when he was hurt or sick. She might not have had a good radar when it came to men, but she was a good mother.

  He blinked hard and swallowed around the knot forming in his throat.

  Mom’s dead.

  He’d found he didn’t want details, not right now. Maybe not ever. If he didn’t know, then it couldn’t eat at him, how terrified she must have been. Slowly, patiently, piece by piece, Jericho built up a scenario in his mind. One where she never saw it coming, where it was fast, so fast she didn’t know anything. There and gone in an instant. No suffering. No fear. No crying out or last words. Just gone in a way she’d never be coming back.

  Briefly he wondered about Frank, and then decided he didn’t care. Part of him hoped Frank’s death was cold and slow, painful and full of fear. The other part of him was just relieved he’d never have to deal with the man ever again. A memory of Frank’s face as it had been in the barn that last day flickered and faded, the horrifying aspect of imminent torture at his hands gone forever.

  Footsteps in the hallway outside signaled visitors of some sort. His room seemed to be isolated at the end of a wing, and the nurses’ shoes were silent enough he seldom heard them coming. Jericho was briefly tempted to play possum, feign sleep so whoever it was would go away, but since the strides didn’t hold the telltale tapping of heels, he suspected he knew who it was. He was suddenly struck by fear that he’d never have
another chance to make a better second impression.

  Uncle.

  The specter of being taken from his mother had always been in the back of their minds. He knew it was one of the reasons she’d settled for Frank, because until the incident in the barn where officials got wind of the man’s cruel hands, having two adults meant a buffer separating her and Jericho from the rest of the world. Why didn’t you tell me, Mom? Family could have made all the difference in the world.

  Focused on the doorway, it took Jericho a moment to realize the footsteps had paused, stopped short of his room, and he wondered if he’d been wrong. Then the two shadows on the floor of the hallway came together and merged into one, finally breaking apart after a long time. They’re kissing, he thought. But they don’t want me to see. The shadows were still for another moment; then the footsteps resumed, and a moment later, there was a sharp rap on the door as his uncle rounded the frame and walked into the room. The other man from before followed him, and Trent’s arm trailed behind him as if he’d only just dropped his hold on the man’s hand.

  “Jericho.” They stared at each other for a long beat, and Jericho felt the weight of his uncle’s intense scrutiny. “How’s the head?”

  “You’re really my uncle?” Jericho heard the tremble in his voice and hated it, hated showing weakness of any kind. “I didn’t dream that up?” Trent smiled, and it looked so much like Jericho’s mother that his eyes stung. “Really?”

  “Really. You’re my nephew. God.” Trent gave a chuckle that broke at the end. “You look so much like Stella. I look at you and it’s like seeing her all over again. You’re a Conway for sure.” That speared a shaft of pain through Jericho’s stomach, and it must have shown on his face, because Trent hurried to continue. “That’s a good thing, Jericho. Promise.”

  “So what happens now?” As much as he’d wanted to beg answers to his questions earlier, a nurse had come in and given him more medications that had made him sleepy, so he’d drifted off to the adults talking and woken alone. “If Mom’s really…” He swallowed hard. “If she’s gone, what happens to me?”