Bet On Us

by deMora, MariaLisa

  “Shouldn’t be, I’ll give you that. But it is. The reality is, saying the words is a big, big deal, no matter when or where it happens. I’m glad, so damn glad you felt safe with me.”

  “But you knew, right? You wouldn’t have said the things you did without knowing. How did you know?” If Jericho could understand how Jordan had decided Jericho’s sexual orientation was complementary to his own, then maybe Jericho could figure out other people easier. Sometimes, as with Trent who wore it boldly in his every expression, it was clear as day. But someone like Jake even? Jericho had watched men and women alike give his uncle considering glances when they were out shopping.

  “I hoped.” Jordan’s eyelashes dropped as he offered what felt like a whispered confession. “I hoped, Jericho. But I didn’t know.”

  With more confidence than he felt, Jericho said, “You do now.”

  Jordan’s smile activated both dimples this time.

  Jericho was pretty certain death by dimples was a thing.

  Chapter Ten

  Trent

  Flinging himself into the plastic torture device that airlines deigned to call a seat in the gate waiting area, Trent rolled his head to the side to see Jacob grinning at him. “What?”

  “I don’t know why you insist on drinking coffee on mornings when we’re traveling. You always freak out about having to pee on the plane, so you make a dozen trips to the bathroom as if that’ll make your bladder work faster.” Jacob shrugged. “It’s cute.”

  Laughter from his other side made Trent glance over his shoulder. Jericho was folded into a seat similar to the one Trent sat in, but he looked entirely too comfortable for it to be real. “Don’t laugh at your elders. I know you’re sixteen now, but I’m still older than you.”

  “Pretty sure you’re always going to be older than me, Uncle Trent.” Jericho flashed a grin at him to soften the words, then finished up with a killer line. “You’re cool for an old guy.”

  “Gah, why do I like you again?” Trent huffed out a breath, looking up to scan the departures list. Still twenty minutes before they boarded.

  “Not sure you do.” When Trent looked back at Jericho, he was frowning down at the phone in his hand. He’d tap on the screen in a flurry of movements, then make a repetitive motion Trent was pretty sure equaled backspacing over what he’d just written. Then Jericho did the whole cycle again.

  “I lub joo.” Trent pushed out his bottom lip, which got him a distracted grin before Jericho was totally focused on the phone again. “Who are you texting? Nate?”

  “No, not Nate.” Jericho’s tongue appeared in the corner of his mouth; then he bit his bottom lip. “I lub joo, too.”

  “Leave the boy alone, Trent. He’s busy.” Jacob’s hand landed on Trent’s thigh, fingers sliding down the inside until he could trace along the seam with a fingertip. “Give him a break.”

  On cue, as he had a dozen times since getting the cast off, Jericho held up the arm that had been broken, and without looking around, teased, “No thanks, already had one.”

  In the couple of weeks since getting the cast off, he’d worked diligently on the exercises assigned by the doctor, and it was showing. The arm looked more like its counterpart. One of a thousand reasons to give thanks that Jericho hadn’t suffered any lasting harm from the events in Knoxville.

  Jericho sucked in a breath then tapped the phone, dropping it into his lap with a sigh. Jacob reached across Trent and neatly plucked it up, ignoring Jericho’s screeching response.

  “That’s it? That took you ten minutes to type out and send?” Jacob angled the phone so Trent could see the screen. Sure enough, it was a text string with Jordan, and the most recent one from Jericho said simply: That’s cool. Jacob held the phone out, letting Jericho snatch it back. “Lame-o. You gotta step your game up, son. Need to work on those lines.”

  Jericho stared at him, mouth slack. His breath hitched as water gathered in his eyes.

  Jacob leaned forwards, holding a conciliatory hand out. “Jericho, I didn’t mean anything by—”

  “You called me son. Again.”

  Trent stilled at the quietly spoken words, which had been filled with terrible pain. Not only were they taking the boy back to Tennessee, even if it was the far end of the state from where everything had happened, now Jacob had stirred up something.

  “It’s how I think of you.” Jacob’s words were so gentle, as persistently tender as he was when talking to Nate or Matt, or even Trent when he felt unsure. Honesty was inherent in Jacob’s very nature. He didn’t flinch from what he saw as the truth. “If you don’t like it, I’ll do my best to remember that.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Jericho looked at Trent, and the questions in his eyes didn’t need to be spoken. They were clear and present and needed an answer now. “I didn’t say that at all.”

  “We both think of you as a son. I understand you haven’t known us for long.” Trent swallowed, terrified now that the gate attendants would call for boarding and this conversation wouldn’t be finished. It needed to be said; Jericho deserved to know how much they loved him. “But I—we love you. You’re stuck with us, all your days. You’re our family, not because I’m your uncle, but because we want you. We want you with us, and we hope you want us too.”

  Blinking fast, Jericho nodded, then dropped his gaze to the phone. After a long, anguished pause, Jericho sniffed and quietly asked, “Uncle Jakey, can you teach me some better lines? I don’t want Jordan to think he’s not worth the effort. He is.” The phone buzzed and Jericho nearly dropped it in his haste to position the screen where he could read it. The sigh he released carried so much tension Trent could see the boy’s shoulders drop two inches. “That teaching you mentioned? Now would be good.”

  Jacob moved to the other side of Jericho, angling his head towards the boy, and Trent drew a silent breath. He knew they hadn’t gotten to anything hard yet, but if Jericho was willing to vocalize things like he just had, maybe they’d come out the other end doing a little bit of all right.

  ***

  Jericho

  Head down, Jericho studied the laces in his new shoes, methodically tracing the lines across and through the eyelet holes, and then across again. They were even, left and right shoes laced in opposite directions, and nothing was twisted or out of sorts.

  Jericho had no other excuses to stay in the bedroom.

  Nate’s bed was neatly made, as was the one Jericho had slept in. Far more comfortable now than he’d been the first time he’d stayed in this room, he had stayed up with Nate for hours last night, talking about a dozen topics. Everything Jericho could think or ask about, Nate either knew tons more than he did and had a distinct opinion on or would immediately dive into research mode, digging to find out what intrigued Jericho.

  The whole family was downstairs in the kitchen or out in the backyard. Arriving at the Thompson house yesterday afternoon, following Jericho’s first airplane ride—something that was equal parts thrilling and terrifying—he’d been swamped with attention and affection. Jaime, Nate, and Matt had all approached with arms wide, and even Connor had slipped in a sideways hug. There’d been cake and ice cream, even as Jaime waved off his thanks, telling him that the real celebration would be happening later.

  Later, as in today.

  They’d just been waiting on Connor’s family to arrive. His parents from somewhere in Arkansas, and his brother, sister-in-law, and two nephews from a house not far from here.

  And Jordan, who’d finished his summer semester classes two days ago and driven all night to get home. He’d been stuck at a family dinner last night, but every message and conversation Jericho’d had with him in the past couple of days had ended the same. Jordan promising to be here.

  Jericho shook himself and blew out a nervous breath. He tugged at the cuffs of his shirtsleeves, second-guessing his decision to wear long sleeves, even if the shirt was lightweight. The weather was typical late summer in Memphis, and the backyard would be sweltering. But his
arm still looked weird, and if it were on display, he’d feel self-conscious.

  “Jesus.” He scrubbed his sweaty hands on the legs of jeans, then shoved his fingers through his hair, digging deep into his scalp as he pulled his head forwards. He and Jordan video chatted every chance they had; Jericho didn’t know why he was so nervous. “This is stupid.”

  The door clicked, and he looked up, hands frozen in his hair as he watched Jordan peer tentatively through the slowly widening gap. “Hey.”

  There had been no way for a phone or computer to effectively replicate the resonance in Jordan’s deep voice, and Jericho suddenly hated the technology for the lack. He should have had at least a fighting chance to desensitize himself to the sounds, should have had a defense against how attractive just that one word was, when said in Jordan’s voice.

  He realized he was staring at the man like an idiot.

  Suddenly aware he probably looked like that crazy picture of Einstein with his hair all over the place, Jericho yanked his hands away from his head, pulling out multiple strands of hair. He frantically patted and smoothed at his hair, trying to straighten something he couldn’t even see.

  From Jordan’s concerned expression as he stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him—closed the door—Jericho wasn’t sure if he should run away, puke, or do a combination of both.

  “I…uh. I wanted to wish you a happy birthday.” Jordan took a step towards him, Jericho staring up at him, a hundred percent sure he looked even more like a madman with his mouth gaping open. “In private.”

  Jericho made to stand, but a hand on his shoulder kept him in place as Jordan crouched in front of him. His other hand was on Jericho’s knee, a furnace branding his skin through his jeans, and a location that was both entirely too close to a delicate part of his anatomy and simultaneously too far away.

  His mind had short-circuited. That was the only explanation for the buzzing in his ears and how his skin hummed, overworked lungs failing in their efforts to take in enough air to keep him upright.

  Jordan pushed closer, one knee on the floor as he rose in front of Jericho. His position on the bed and Jordan’s kneeling in front of him put them at about the same height. Jordan’s head tilted to the side, those bottomless blue eyes skimming across Jericho’s face. The hand on his shoulder disappeared just before there was a welcome heat against the side of his face. When he leaned into that touch, he saw Jordan’s lips part slightly. Coral colored and puffy, as if he’d been biting at them, those lips took up all of Jericho’s attention.

  “So…uh.” Jordan moved closer, his hand on Jericho’s cheek a steadying touch. “Happy birthday, Jericho.”

  The kiss started as a tender brush of Jordan’s lips against his. Bristles of a midday scruff prickled the skin around Jericho’s mouth, and his eyes closed as he lost himself in the sensation. Strength, heat, and softness were followed by a heavier press against his mouth—each facet was mesmerizing. More scruff dusted against the pad of his thumb, which was Jericho’s first inkling that his hands hadn’t stayed in his lap, and he used the unexpected access to familiarize himself with the contours of Jordan’s jaw and throat. That thick hair was just as soft as he’d hoped, and he tried to split his attention between the glorious things happening with the kiss and this chance to explore Jordan through touch.

  Jordan pulled back, and Jericho knew he’d be embarrassed later for the soft whimper that crept up his throat following that retreat. With their foreheads pressed together, Jordan’s hands had come to rest on both sides of his face, and Jericho gripped the strong wrists to keep them exactly there, his head cradled in Jordan’s strong hold. So close were their mouths, the very breath they took was shared, gusts of heated air passing back and forth between them. Ragged exhales and shuddering inhales were his first clue that Jordan was just as affected as Jericho.

  Jericho’s mind was slowly rebooting, and he was suddenly aware that he hadn’t spoken since Jordan had stepped into the room. He tried to force out a word, something, but all that came out was an airy, whispered, “Hey.”

  “God, I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” Jordan’s whisper was another example of how poorly technology could replicate the action a person’s sounds created, because if he’d been on the phone, there’d be no way for Jericho to have known how Jordan trembled as he spoke. “Jericho.” Jordan pulled back and Jericho blinked, letting his eyes accustom to the light. It took a moment to focus on Jordan’s face, but when he did, that single look was worth everything. Tender and caring, the expression was no longer tentative, but astonished. “You’re so gorgeous.”

  Jericho had never felt so cherished in his life. There was no other word for the feeling ricocheting through him. Held like this, kissed like that, stripped bare by Jordan’s gaze right now—cherished.

  “Jordan, I’ve never—”

  A finger against his lips was a gentle but effective shush, so Jericho stopped talking and watched as Jordan’s gaze again tracked across his face. “It’s your birthday, Jericho. All you have to be today is happy.” Jordan’s grip tightened on Jericho’s face, holding him steady as they stared at each other. “Everything else can wait.”

  The doorknob rattled; then there were three soft knocks followed by Nate’s voice. “Five-second warning. Put away anything that might harm my delicate, youthful psyche.” Jordan’s lips curled in a smile, and Jericho watched as both dimples came out to play. He saw Jordan’s lips move but didn’t hear anything, didn’t know when Nate came into the room, because those dimples were right there in front of him. Jericho darted forwards to press a kiss against one, running his thumb across the other.

  He pulled back and looked up into Jordan’s face, which wore an expression of stunned pleasure. “Dimples,” he said, as if that explained everything going through his head at that moment.

  “Oh man, is this going to be a thing now?” Jericho looked over at Nate, who was talking through his broad grin. He fluttered his eyelashes, clasped his hands to his chest, and sighed, “My cousin and my best buddy?”

  Jordan shifted to the side, gaze staying on Jericho’s face, as if he couldn’t get his fill of looking. “Yeah, it is. So you’re going to have to get used to it, bud.”

  In his normal voice, Nate cautioned them, “Just don’t let Uncle Trent catch you.”

  “Don’t let Uncle Trent catch you doing what?” Trent pushed past the door Nate had left ajar, and Jericho was suddenly aware he had hold of Jordan’s shirt with one fist, the other hand still propped on his neck. Jordan had one hand around his waist, holding Jericho against him as best he could while Jericho still sat on the bed. “Jordie, are you mackin’ on my nephew? Gonna have to put a halt to it. Sorry.” Jericho’s dismay must have been plain, because Trent laughed softly. “For now at least. It’s time for cake and ice cream, and I was dispatched to bring the missing guest of honor to his own party.”

  Jericho looked at each face in turn, leaving Jordan for last, not surprised when he found that the expression of love and affection he’d seen on the other two people in the room was slightly different from the one Jordan was giving him.

  Cherished.

  ***

  Trent

  “Will you just get in the car?” Trent stared over the top of the rental at Jacob, who’d bent to look at something alongside the driveway. Jacob straightened and looked at him, the expression on his face puzzled. “Puleeze? Before I’m eighty and dying of waiting over here?”

  “We’re just going to the grocery store.” Jacob moved to the car and hesitated. “We are just going to the grocery store, right?”

  “If you don’t get in the car, we’ll be going to the morgue.” Trent’s mutter probably didn’t hold as much venom as he intended, because as he was folding into the car, he knocked the top of his head against the doorframe. “Oh my God, even the car’s trying to kill me.” Head cradled in his hands, he leaned against the steering wheel, hoping the pain would ease any moment.

  “Babe.” Jacob
was right next to Trent, gently pulling his hands away from his head. “Let me see.”

  “Is it bleeding? It’s bleeding, isn’t it.” Jacob’s fingers traced across Trent’s forehead, and he winced, pulling away. “Ow. Stop it.”

  “You’re not bleeding.” Pressure on the side of his head pulled him towards Jacob, and Trent relaxed against Jacob’s chest, the arms around him for comfort not so much support, but it still felt good to be held. “Want me to drive?”

  “Yes.” Trent was pouting and knew it, but he didn’t care. His head hurt.

  A few minutes later, Trent was installed in the passenger seat, Jacob behind the wheel, and they were at the intersection that led out of the community where Jaime and Connor lived.

  Jacob turned and shot him a sly smile. “Sooooo. Is ‘grocery store’ code for me getting plowed in the back seat?”

  “No.” Trent chuckled, amused in spite of himself. “It’s code for the actual grocery store.”

  “That’s less fun than it could be.” Jacob touched the navigation screen, and within seconds, the atonal voice was providing directions to the nearest shopping center. “You’re here. I’m here. We’re here together. Without Jericho or Nate or Matt. Just you and me.”

  “And what are we doing?” Trent glanced out the window at the landscaped yards leading up to immaculate homes.

  “We’re goin’ shoppin’.” Jacob’s overly enthusiastic response made Trent laugh. Once he started, he couldn’t stop, the ridiculous idea of Jacob as a cartoon donkey settling into his head. Then he snorted, and that set Jacob off, his high-pitched laugh something that Trent always found hilarious, laughter feeding laughter until the car rang with their happiness.

  Wheezing, holding his sides, he semi-yelled at Jacob, “Stop it. You’re killing me.”

  “Oh, babe. That was classic.” Jacob used thumb and finger of one hand to wipe his eyes, still laughing. “Classic.”

  “Har, har.” A sign in front of a house down one of the side streets caught his attention, and he whipped around, staring at the building. “Jacob, turn around.”