Trent slipped to the side and curled up against Jacob, chin tilted up to look into his face. “She was stoked. I know Sammy calls her auntie, but to hear Jericho say it, that really meant something.” He thought for a moment how to ask and had decided to just blurt it out when Jacob beat him to it.
“He’s struggling with guilt, Trent. The boy’s eat up with it, because he thinks it’s his fault Frank killed Stella. Thinks it’s his fault that she was with Frank to begin with. Hell, he thinks the fact she was killed in the barn was his fault, because he’s the one who got them started boarding horses. He doesn’t talk much, but when he does, even the little bit he shares is so telling. He’s eaten up with guilt, and it doesn’t stop with his mom.” Jacob’s hand drifted across Trent’s cheek, fingers pushing his hair away from his face. “Nate texted me more, said Jericho hasn’t given up on the idea that he owes us somehow for coming here for him. I can’t disabuse him of that fact without throwing Nate under the bus, and I don’t want to take away someone Jericho feels like he can talk to. Which means you and I have to get better at reading between the lines when he talks to us.”
“That poor baby. I just want to wrap him up and keep everything in the world away. You think the guilt is because of how Stella raised him?” Trent couldn’t imagine his sister doing anything intentionally, but he also was still struck by the idea that she’d kept Jericho a secret from him for nearly sixteen years. Clearly Stella was capable of things I don’t know. “Or because of Frank?”
“Frank beat him.” Jacob’s expression was taut with an anger Trent didn’t understand.
“Yeah, he broke his arm. Guy was an asshole.”
“No. That wasn’t the first of it, Trentie.” Jacob’s fingers moved through his hair again, in a steady soothing pattern at odds with the tension in his face. “Jericho said he had to miss school sometimes because of Frank.”
Stunned, Trent lay still, his mind spinning as it tried to reconcile the sister he knew with one who might have ignored her own child’s pain. “And you think Stella knew?”
“I do. I think she knew, and stayed. Maybe the arm was the worst of it, and that’s why she’d said enough. We know she had a restraining order against him. Maybe it was the last straw, but from what Jericho told me today, there had been a lot of straws that came before. He asked me if I thought she would have picked him in the end.” Jacob kept petting him soothingly, the sounds of his regular breaths helping Trent keep it together. “I didn’t say anything against Stella. I know better.” Jacob laughed softly, the lines in his face easing. “He defended you. We were talking about blame and I was trying to make a point and asked him if he hated you for not being there for him. That boy puffed up and shot me down in a heartbeat. He’s a protector, and I love that about him. But I suspect it’s why he got the brunt of Frank’s abuse over the years. Probably some of what Frank would have directed Stella’s way was taken on by Jericho. He’s a good boy, Trentie. He’s a good boy.”
“What do we do?” Trent hated sounding so uncertain, but he knew if he put his fears out there, Jacob would build him up. Same as he would do for Jacob. “How can we help him?”
“I think we just love him. Give him time to come to terms with not just Stella’s death, as devastating as that is, but also the knowledge that his mother, the person who should have been a hundred percent in his corner all the time, maybe wasn’t.” Jacob’s lips thinned for a moment, and his gaze traced across Trent’s face. “Just like you and I found that our parents didn’t support us. Only ours was a huge blow all at once, like ripping off a bandage and letting the wound heal. Jericho’s happened again and again. Tiny cuts, then big ones, but endless. Just over and over. I can’t imagine it. I just can’t. He’s not going to be better in a day, or a week. Hell, maybe not even a year. But he’ll be better, Trent. I promise you we won’t stop loving him—and that love we’ll show him, it’ll move mountains.”
“I do love him.”
“I know you do. So do I. But he doesn’t know it yet. Not in his bones. We’ve got to give it time to seep deep inside so he believes without a doubt that we have him.” Jacob tilted his head and brushed Trent’s lips with his. Trent hummed and smiled against his mouth, then chased him for a final light smacking kiss.
“We’ll make it so he never doubts how we feel.”
Trent just prayed his words came true.
Chapter Seven
Jericho
Waking slowly, Jericho blinked and stretched, staring at what was in front of him until it resolved into a wall about six inches away. He rolled to his back and was still so close to the wall his shoulder brushed it. The ceiling above him was some kind of complex texture. His befuddled brain turned random patterns into faces and outlines, becoming a game of sorts as he woke fully. He angled his head towards the other bed in the room, grinning at the blanket-covered lump that lay there. Not even Nate’s hair was visible, the boy having burrowed so far under his covers he was completely hidden against the air-conditioned chill.
The dinner the night before had been a revelation unlike anything in Jericho’s experience. He’d watched in awe as Jake’s sister and her family acted out a fairy-tale evening of affectionate joking and teasing followed by games. Actual games that were played by everyone old enough to hold cards or move markers around a board—which meant only Matt was left out. And even then, Connor had pulled the boy into his lap and engaged him, having little Matt tell him which card to play next at one point.
The whole experience was so outside of anything Jericho had believed real families did that he nearly ruined it when Nate first brought out the board game, laughing hard. It wasn’t until he’d seen the hurt on Nate’s face that he’d realized the boy was serious, and then Jericho had wasted no time in admitting his mistake.
“Family game night’s a thing? Really? Can we? Nate, you’re not kidding, right?”
“You never played games with your mom?” Nate’s words stung because they underscored the discrepancies Jericho had already noticed between what he and his mom had, and what Nate had with Jaime.
“Before supper was chores, after supper was cleanup.” Jericho shrugged. “We didn’t have the time.”
Jaime closed in on Jericho’s side, bumping him gently with her shoulder until he looked at her. “Well, now you do. Play a game with us, Jericho. It’ll be fun. Promise.”
“Okay, Aunt Jaime.” He said it that way just to see the soft look on her face again when he gave her the title, and she didn’t disappoint. Then she’d about knocked him on his butt when she’d leaned in and brushed his hair back from his face, placing a soft kiss against his temple that was as maternal as anything he’d ever experienced.
Over the course of the evening, Jericho had found that while the Thompson family as a whole were competitive, they had nothing on the Grimes siblings. Jake and Jaime had been cutthroat to each other, expending significant energy to block the other from advancing, even to the detriment of their own positions. About halfway through the first game, a smiling Trent had leaned close to whisper, “They’re always like this. Get used to it.”
The idea that he’d be around long enough to get used to it had filled Jericho with warmth, and he’d fumbled at the markers he had in his good hand. Nate had leaned close on his other side, offering to help, but Jericho had shaken his head, using the excuse of focusing on his next turn to cover the emotions that kept welling up inside him.
When it had grown late, Jericho had stumbled to bed alongside Nate, falling asleep without delay. His bladder complained now, making it known that he’d slept through the night, if the sun creeping around the curtains was to be believed.
He stretched again, then swung his legs off the bed, surprised when they landed on something soft. He leaned over and looked down to find his feet were in the middle of another blanket-covered lump on the floor. Drawing his feet back up, he stared down. Whoever it was, they were an adult—this wasn’t a child sleeping on the floor between the two beds. If not Matt,
then who? A glance at Nate reassured Jericho that he was still sleeping.
Quickly deciding which end was head and which feet, Jericho leaned over and plucked at the covers, wanting to pull them back just enough to know who it was. Only removing the blanket revealed a face he had never seen.
The young man was handsome, a wide, firm, scruff-covered jaw with just enough jut to telegraph masculinity. His light brown hair was tousled, streaks of sun-bleached blond threading through the thick mop. Thick lashes rested on his cheeks, and Jericho gave himself permission to trail his gaze down the man’s neck, the notch between his collarbones giving off a feeling of exposed vulnerability. He had one hand shoved under a pillow, and even at rest, the corded tension in his forearm reflected what had to be a powerful physique.
Jericho swallowed hard, unsuccessfully willing his morning wood away.
Then the man sighed and moaned softly, shifting the slightest amount. His other hand appeared from under the covers, fingertips slipping up and across his chest, scratching lightly at the smattering of dark hair there. He moved again, and the bicep of the arm under the pillow bunched and flexed. The blanket pulled down to the man’s waist, more than far enough for Jericho to see the tufts of hair under his arms, further proof of the masculinity and age of whoever this was.
Then the man opened his eyes, blinking sleepily, and Jericho flung himself backwards on the bed, trying to escape from view before the man found him staring like a weirdo. He misjudged the distance, though, head clonking against the wall with a thud. Lying still, he held his breath as he hoped it hadn’t been enough for the man to have noticed.
No such luck. The top of the man’s head appeared, but it was turned the other way, and Jericho heard a deep, sleep-roughened voice softly ask, “Nate? Was that you?”
Jericho looked across the room to see the blankets there had moved, too. Nate’s face was framed in the opening, his gaze locked on Jericho. Oh no. Jericho glanced down his own body and saw the tent in his pajamas, flipping quickly to his side so he could hide it. No, no, no.
His movement made the man turn towards him, and it was only seconds before he was lost in a deep blue gaze. Something in his chest twanged, pulling taut in an almost painful way. The corners of those eyes crinkled, and Jericho didn’t look away to verify, but he just knew the man was smiling. At me. “Hey.” That same rough voice was directed at him this time, and Jericho found himself powerless to respond. “I’m Jordan.” The blue vanished for an instant as the man, Jordan, blinked. Then those twin beams locked on Jericho again. “I’m Nate’s bud. Jaime left me a note that they had guests. I’m guessing you’re one of them?”
Nate must have seen Jericho’s paralysis, because he offered, “He’s Jericho, my new cousin. Uncle Trent and Uncle Jakey’s nephew.” The casual way Nate claimed him startled Jericho free from his trance, and he looked over, watching as the boy sat up, covers draped over his lap. “Why are you on the floor, Jordie?”
“Good to meet you, Jericho. Nate, the couch had two dogs on it. I couldn’t bring myself to make the old guys leave their warm spots. Your dad keeps the house cold for early summer.” Jordan sat up more, his bare shoulders coming into view, and they were exactly as broad as Jericho had thought they’d be. Bare and smooth, with toned muscles and so much skin on display Jericho didn’t know where to let his gaze rest. He finally closed his eyes in self-defense only to have them pop back open immediately when the bed dipped next to him. Jordan had a hand on the edge of the mattress, using it as leverage to stand. He was directly in front of Jericho’s face, and his boxer briefs didn’t hide anything. The thick curve of his penis was right there, until it wasn’t, but the view from the other side was just as gorgeous. He watched the muscles of Jordan’s ass clench and shift as the man walked across to the door. “Gotta pee. Be right back.” I coulda done without the visual. The idea that within only seconds Jordan would have his hands on—Jericho desperately tried to derail his thoughts.
“Jordan’s in college.” Jericho glanced at Nate, who was giving him a look he didn’t know how to decode. “He’s got a scholarship. Basketball. He used to play for Coach.” Last night, Nate had alternated between calling Connor either Coach or Dad, and Jericho had learned his new uncle Con coached basketball at the local schools and had done so for more than a decade. Jericho figured it kinda made sense that one of Connor’s favorite players would have been around enough to become friends with his son. “He’s a good guy.”
“You singin’ my praises again, Nate?” Jordan pushed the door open with his shoulder, making his way into the room. He collapsed back onto the floor, tugging the blanket into his lap as if he were self-conscious. I probably did that. He musta saw me staring at his junk. Jordan leaned back on an arm and waved a hand grandly through the air, using a lofty tone as he said, “Don’t let me stop you. Keep goin’. You’re a gem, bud. A true treasure.”
“Nah, just setting expectations.” Nate’s stare drilled into Jericho, and he nodded. Message received. Eyes off the college friend out of my league. “Jericho, how’s the arm today?”
Jordan lifted his gaze from where he’d apparently been studying Jericho’s shoes, placed on the floor at the foot of the bed. “What happened to your arm? Holy hell, that’s an enormous cast. You break it?”
“Yeah.” Jericho tried to look anywhere except at Jordan. The last thing he wanted to get into was how his arm came to be broken. “It’s okay. Doesn’t hurt much today.”
“So I guess Trent and Jacob are your uncles? I’ve met them before. They’re cool, especially Trent. He must be your mom’s brother, right? Is your mom here, too? She enjoying her visit to Memphis? You guys see Graceland yet?”
The innocent questions rattled off in quick succession swept all the usable air out of the room, leaving Jericho gasping for breath. The need to retreat was overwhelming, and he fumbled with the covers as he stood. One-handed as he was, he had to keep attempting to untangle himself from them while already moving for the door, leaving the sheet and blanket strung out on the floor behind him. He didn’t say anything, couldn’t respond, wouldn’t try to make himself even look at Jordan, unwilling to see the pity he knew would be on the gorgeous man’s face in a minute, just as soon as he knew. The door to the bathroom clicked behind him, and Jericho leaned back against the welcome barrier, then slid down until his butt hit the floor, all the strength in his legs gone.
“Is your mom here, too?”
Chin to his chest, he fought the tears for a long time.
He lost.
***
Trent
Tapping on the door had Trent lifting his head off Jacob’s shoulder and glaring through bleary eyes at the innocuous surface. “Go away.”
Jacob snorted at his vicious whisper, then said in his normal morning voice, which was sexy-rough and entirely erection inducing, “Not sure they heard you, babe.”
Elbow to the mattress, Trent pushed up on an arm and turned his glare on Jacob, who was grinning up at him. Without looking back at the door, he stated loudly, “Go away.”
“Uncle Trent?”
That was Nate’s voice. Trent’s head dropped down, landing in the middle of Jacob’s chest with a thud. He couldn’t ignore their nephew, no matter how early it was. Trent lifted up and peered at Jacob’s phone on the nightstand, then groaned softly. He turned his head so his cheek rested on Jacob’s pec, and sighed heavily as Jacob’s body jerked and shook underneath him. The man was not even trying to hide his laughter. “Yes, Nate?”
“Something happened.”
Trent wasn’t sure who moved faster, him or Jacob. He was scrambling over Jacob’s body as his husband tried rolling out of bed, and only Jacob’s grip on Trent’s arms kept him from falling on his face. By virtue of an unintentionally well-placed shoulder, Trent knocked Jacob out of the way and reached the door first, yanking it open.
Nate’s tiny, shocked “Eep” and the hand immediately covering the boy’s eyes reminded Trent that while Jacob had put underwear on
to sleep, he had not. He angled his body behind the door and tried not to shout at the boy. “What happened?”
Voice muffled, Nate told them, “Jericho’s in the bathroom and he won’t come out.”
“Well…” Trent could think of three reasons for Jericho to have locked the younger boy out of the restroom but wasn’t sure how to label them in an age-appropriate way. “Maybe he really has to go?”
Something brushed his foot as Jacob shouldered him aside and crouched in front of Nate.
“Nate, it’s okay to look now. Uncle Trent’s hiding behind the door.” Trent saw Jacob had taken a moment to slip on a pair of sleep pants, and he looked down to see Jacob had brought him both underwear and Trent’s favorite pair of sweats. “What happened, buddy?”
Trent ducked behind the door and started getting dressed, listening closely to their exchange.
“Jordie said something that upset him, and he ran out of the room.”
Trent froze in place. Jordan was Nate’s unconventional best friend, a boy he’d tutored through high school, even with Jordan being six years his senior. It was a testament to Jordan’s good nature that he’d looked past Nate’s age and into what made the boy tick, sticking around to help Nate through some of his hardest transitions.
“What did Jordan say to Jericho?” Jacob’s tone was careful, level and calm, the entire opposite to how Trent felt this instant, and he knew it was a good thing Jacob had taken over the conversation with Nate. Trent’s hands shook as he pulled the sweats up his legs, fighting against how they twisted around him. “You think it hurt his feelings?”
“We were just talking.” The deeper voice had to belong to Jordan, and Trent rounded the edge of the door just as Jacob stood from the crouch he’d maintained. “I didn’t know why he was with you guys. I thought maybe it was a family vacation or something. I asked about his mom.”
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