Homecoming Hearts Series Collection

by HJ Welch

  Corey swelled a little inside with the praise, but he tried not to let it show. Instead, he stuck out his hand and attempted to be his most manly as he squared off with Reyse’s uncle. “Pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said, adding on the epitaph for Reyse’s sake. In Corey’s opinion, people weren’t owed respect. They earned it.

  Dave’s bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows knitted together as he clasped Corey’s hand with his own plate-sized one. “You his secretary or something?” He snorted and rolled his eyes at Reyse. “Too good to carry your own bags home, hey, boy?”

  What the actual fuck? This old bastard was mocking one of the most internationally recognized pop stars of the last decade. Fury rose in Corey.

  But Reyse smiled, that hundred-killer-watt one that had made him so famous in the first place. “Corey’s the one with his shit together,” Reyse said, nodding. “I wouldn’t have made it here otherwise.”

  Well, that was bullshit. Reyse toured the world on a regular basis just fine without Corey holding his damn hand. But for some reason it seemed to work on Dave. He nodded, his expression serious as he looked back at Corey. “Glad to hear it, son. A man should have a fella who’ll watch his back. Your daddy never let a man down in his life.”

  Corey wasn’t sure what exactly had just happened, but he got the feeling he’d somehow gone up in Uncle Dave’s opinion. Corey didn’t know why that might be, nor did he care. He didn’t crave approval from a jackass like this.

  “No, sir,” Reyse agreed, his expression pained. “Is there any news?”

  Dave shook his head. “He’s pretty much the same. Why don’t you come in? Your mom can tell you all about it.”

  This time, Reyse accepted the invitation to step inside the front door. He made a point of picking up his own two bags with ease. He may have been on the small side, but he was damn strong. Corey allowed him to go ahead. Then he walked with his backpack behind him into the house, nodding at Uncle Dave as he did. If the smile he wore was more like a defiant smirk, Corey really couldn’t say.

  The door swung shut, enveloping them in the air conditioning that was a pleasant relief from the hot Californian afternoon. They were led through a cream marble entrance hall past a dark wooden staircase that rose upward to the second and third floors. As Corey had suspected, there was another flight of stairs that descended into a basement level that they headed toward. Along the way, they passed what Corey thought might have been a living room, if that was where rich people kept their grand pianos and collections of top shelf-liquor.

  It also appeared to be where the Hicksons stored extended family members. Or so Corey guessed from all the people of various ages that peered out through the open door as Reyse and he walked past with Uncle Dave. They weren’t dressed in black exactly, but their clothes felt pretty somber in tone. Corey was glad he’d bother to wear something he felt to be respectable. But he still felt pretty scruffy compared to these guys in their dark suits. Women young and old were in the kind of dresses that would be acceptable for working in the office, or even at a funeral.

  As he and Reyse walked by the door, Corey spied at least a dozen people in his line of sight. He suspected there were more in the room beyond. They all looked to be drinking alcohol and several people were smoking pensively, their lips pinched as they inhaled the tabacco.

  Trays of puff pastries and glazed mini-sausages, complete with leafy garnish, were placed on various tables. The TV was on showing an old rerun of The Kimmy Kovac Show – the sitcom she had before she came out as a lesbian and the network canceled the whole thing. Joke was on them. She now had the number one daytime chat show in the US by the same name. Not that anyone was paying attention to the screen right now.

  Most were talking quietly among themselves. An older dude with a prosthetic leg and the air of a military man nodded at Reyse. The guy sitting beside him had a supportive hand on his shoulder, and he also nodded at Reyse. One woman turned her back on him.

  Corey’s mouth worked before his brain did. He leaned into Reyse with what he was sure was an alarmed look on his face. “Your dad isn’t dead, right?”

  Reyse had gone very pale. He didn’t appear shocked at Corey’s black humor, but the sort of joke pulled him out of stunned silence.

  “Uncle Dave, why does it feel like there’s a wake going on?” he asked, somewhat hysterically. “Who are all these people? What are they doing in my parents’ house?” Oh, so not all family then, Corey thought. It would make sense if the two guys who had actually appeared pleased to see Reyse were his dad’s old army buddies.

  Dave snorted as they approached the stairs down to the basement level. “You know your mother,” he said, shaking his head. “She doesn’t know what to do if she’s not feeding people. We just wanted to support her, be there for Donny when he wakes up. But she can’t help turn the whole thing into a cocktail party.”

  Corey felt his eyebrows crawl up his head. The woman was worried about her husband and had been thoughtful enough to feed her guests. And this jackass thought that was a good excuse to insult Reyse’s mom to his face?

  “Not sure what kind of parties you’re used to, man,” Corey said, trailing after Dave and Reyse down the stairs. “But I’m sure a little food and booze are going a long way right now.”

  Dave paused on the stairs, forcing Reyse and Corey to stop, too. He gave Corey a searching look, as if trying to discern if he was being serious or not, then turned and continued on his way.

  Reyse glanced at Corey. “Sorry,” Corey mouthed. He didn’t want to get Reyse in any shit with his relatives, after all.

  But Reyse shook his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. However, he looked extremely worried at all the people in the house. The two of them followed Dave down the remainder of the stairs.

  The last few steps curved around to the right, depositing them in an open-plan floor that led out onto a patio with a pool in an enormous garden, much like Corey had expected. There was a kitchen to the left with a large marble breakfast bar, a huge flat-screen mounted on the left-hand wall with a corner sofa in front, partitioning a sort of den area from a dining table big enough for twelve people. A couple of ceiling fans spun overhead and on top of all the cupboards and sideboards, leafy plants with delicate pink flowers tumbled out, filling the space between the units and the ceiling but not hindering the use of the cupboards.

  Another dozen people were loitering here too, either sitting on the couch or at the table, sipping drinks and nibbling on hors d’oeuvres. They all stopped whatever they were doing to turn and gape at Reyse. The only sound left in the room was the quiet noise of the rerun of the old NFL game on the television.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Reyse hissed under his breath, so low probably only Corey heard him. But he was clearly freaking out at having close to fifty guests sprung on him when he’d been nervous enough about just seeing his mom and dad. Corey almost grabbed his hand in solidarity. He caught himself at the last second. Instead, he just stepped closer to Reyse to show his support.

  Everyone was either looking starstruck or overly eager to say hello to the mega celebrity.

  All except one.

  “Oh, sweetheart!”

  The voice that cut through the near silence pulled both Corey and Reyse’s attention to the kitchen on the left. It was easy to identify the woman who had spoken. She was the one suddenly moving in a blur to get to Reyse.

  “Mom,” Reyse cried back. He let go of his carry-on handle with such force it almost slammed to the ground. But Corey shot his hand out and grabbed the suitcase before it could fall, setting it right again. As he did so, Reyse and his mom crashed into each other’s arms.

  Corey was kind of stunned at the lump that rose in his throat, but it was pretty emotional to see a mother-son reunion that had been years in the making.

  Reyse clearly took after his mom. They were both slim, her almost painfully so, while he was muscular despite his petite stature. They both had golden blond hair and high cheekbones. Before s
he closed them for the hug, Corey saw that her eyes weren’t the same piercing blue as her son’s, but a light brown. She rocked him back and forth, and slowly the room returned to the state it was in before, conversations slowly crawling back to life.

  “Ahh, it’s good he’s here for her,” Dave said gruffly. Corey turned to see him nod, his arms folded across his chest. “A house needs a man in it. She’s been falling apart.”

  Corey hummed but said nothing. He felt pretty strongly that people were allowed to be worried about their loved ones when they were sick. It had nothing to do with having a man around or any bullshit delicate feminine sensibilities. But he wasn’t sure Dave was down for that kind of conversation, so Corey left it.

  “Mom, this is my friend, Corey,” Reyse said, interrupting Corey’s thoughts. Reyse had stepped to the side of his mom, but was still hugging her with one arm. “I was a wreck when I got the news about Dad. Corey got me here and helped me pull myself together. Corey, this is my mom, Clementine.”

  Corey hadn’t met many people’s moms, but he knew they were generally supposed to be treated with the utmost respect. Besides, he got a good vibe from Clementine Hickson.

  “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” he said, stepping forward to touch her arm and carefully kiss her cheek once. “I’m so sorry to hear about your husband. Hopefully you’ll hear something soon.”

  Clementine nodded as he broke contact with her, blinking tears from her eyes. “No news is good news,” she said determinedly.

  She pulled at the silk scarf around her neck over the cream blouse tucked into perfectly fitted jeans. Even though they were indoors, she still wore heeled leather boots. A simple outfit, but Corey could tell from the cuts of the garments they were expensive. He’d been around enough rich people to see the difference between what they had and he didn’t.

  Her style didn’t scream of pride in being upper-middle class, however, unlike some of the people Corey had spied here who were dripping with bling and labels. People like that were so desperate to let others know how well they’d done in life, they didn’t care if they literally had to write it on themselves to make it clear.

  For all his wealth, Corey realized Reyse wasn’t like that, either. He was just quietly understated. Corey liked that about him.

  “I’m worried we’re going to run out of olives,” Clementine said anxiously, looking around the room. As Corey followed her gaze he realized Dave had wandered off to watch the football game, standing behind the sofa with a fresh beer bottle in hand.

  Reyse huffed. “Mom, no one gives a damn about olives,” he said firmly. “How are you? What actually happened with Dad?”

  “Hey, why don’t I give you guys some space,” Corey said. He felt like these were two people in dire need of a catch-up and he didn’t want to intrude.

  Reyse’s face fell. “No, you don’t have to go,” he said. But Corey could tell it was because Reyse didn’t want him to be at a loose end. He was gripping onto his mom like a small child who’d gotten momentarily lost in the mall.

  Corey shook his head. “Hey man, it’s cool,” he assured him. He nodded at Clementine, who gave him a weak smile. “I’ll grab a beer and hang. You guys need some time.”

  Reyse swallowed. “Thank you,” he said with a look of gratitude.

  “No problem,” Corey told him convivially.

  He just had to hang out with a bunch of wealthy strangers who were already looking at him like he didn’t belong, without giving away to a single one of them that he’d had the most spectacular sex with their golden boy.

  Nothing to worry about. Right?

  11

  Reyse

  Reyse watched Corey confidently snag a beer from the silver bucket of suds on the dining table and saunter out onto the patio. He flicked his sunglasses from where they were perched in his thick hair down onto the bridge of his nose, smiling at one of his parents’ friends as he passed them like he knew them. Reyse wished he could be more self-assured like that.

  But that was the trouble when pretty much everyone in America knew his name. He was always at a disadvantage.

  He could worry about whether or not he was supposed to introduce himself around to people later. Right now, he had his mom clinging desperately to his side. He was so thrilled to see her in person after all these years. Yet he couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

  He knew she had wanted to come out and visit him many times over the past several years. But his dad always made airports and the TSA and even something so simple as hailing a cab seem like a military operation. Clementine Hickson probably didn’t know if she could do anything like that on her own, because since she had met Donny Hickson at twenty-one years of age, she’d never been given the chance.

  Reyse was convinced his dad did things like that out of love and care. But it had essentially held his mom hostage if his dad didn’t want to go to a certain place.

  And he’d never felt the need to come see Reyse perform. Not even once.

  So he and his mom had talked a lot over the phone as well as FaceTime and via text. But recently, even that had dwindled away. Reyse had been dying to chat to his mom for months, to spill out a hundred – a thousand – little stories and problems and triumphs. But now, he found he couldn’t say a single word. The irony that he used his voice for a living was not lost on him.

  “You must be hungry,” his mom said suddenly, stepping away from their half hug. She didn’t look at Reyse as she began fussing over a plate, dishing up several side salads and marinated chicken skewers from the spread on the kitchen counter. “Do you want a beer or some wine? Maybe a soda?”

  Reyse didn’t want her fussing over him when she had so much else on her mind. But he couldn’t deny it felt amazing to have his mom look after him again, even if it was just fixing him a late lunch.

  “Uh,” he said sheepishly. “Do you have any grape soda?”

  Her face broke into a beautiful smile, and for a brief second, he saw the girl he knew from old photos. The girl who had won both homecoming and prom queen in her senior year. The head cheerleader. The young woman who had gotten herself on a bus in 1986 down to Los Angeles to protest for nuclear disarmament. That had been only a couple of months before she’d met her would-be husband. Six months before she’d fallen pregnant with Reyse. It was nice to see that person resurface in real life occasionally.

  “I always have grape soda,” his mom said. She spun around to the fridge to grab him a can.

  Reyse tried not to drink this kind of stuff regularly as it was full of sugar and all kinds of additives. But damn, he loved it. Partly for the taste itself, but also because it reminded him of his childhood.

  He also knew he was the only one out of his family who liked it at all. They couldn’t stand it. He’d hoped maybe she might have gotten some, but was she serious? Did she really always keep some in the fridge?

  “Thanks, Mom,” he said quietly as he cracked the tab and took a sip.

  She held the plate of food she’d made him in two hands, clutched to her front, and rocked on her heels. Glancing at the room full of guests, she bit her lip. “Why don’t we find somewhere a little quieter?” she suggested, looking back at Reyse. Her eyes were glassy.

  “I’d love that,” he said sincerely.

  Before he could offer to carry his own plate, she scuttled out of the kitchen, heading for the stairs. Reyse had his soda can in one hand, so he just grabbed his carry-on with the free one. That was the case that had his most-valued possessions that he’d brought with him. They were both locked, but it comforted him to know he had his laptop and tablet in his sight, not to mention his favorite sneakers and lucky T-shirt.

  His phone was in his pocket. He was usually careful with it, but since the almost mugging, he was obsessively aware of where it was now.

  He was able to follow his mom with ease as she jogged up the stairs. She was obviously still keeping fit, despite being in her early fifties now. He was glad to see that hadn’t slowed her down.<
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  “Tina!” someone called from the front room. Reyse thought of it as the music room, as that was where the piano was. Not the old one he’d learned on. This was a Steinway, bought to match the fancy new house he’d gifted his parents. He wondered sadly if anyone had ever played it. He’d put his old one in storage. It was worth pennies, really. But for sentimental reasons, he felt he couldn’t give it away.

  Some guy stepped out of the room and touched Reyse’s mom’s arm in an overly familiar way. Reyse caught her very slight flinch and the contact. The guy didn’t appear to. He had a long face, brown hair and a sleazy sort of half smile tugging at his lips. He readjusted the sweater tied over his polo shirt and nodded at his mom.

  “Still playing hostess, Tina?” he asked. Then he tutted and shook his head. “You should have people looking after you in this difficult time.” He didn’t even so much glance Reyse’s way.

  Reyse’s mom swallowed and gave the guy a sweet smile. Reyse knew how much she hated people shortening Clementine to Tina, but since that was what his dad’s family called her, it kind of stuck.

  “Jeremy,” she said politely. “This is my son, Reyse. We haven’t seen each other in quite some time.”

  Jeremy took a second to swirl the whiskey in the tumbler he was holding, then slid his eyes over to Reyse. He chuckled. “Oh, the prodigal son has finally returned, has he?” he asked with mild incredulity. He didn’t bother to offer to shake Reyse’s hand. “The pop star, right? Donny said you were in that ‘Oh Oh Oohh’ band my girls used to be so crazy about.” Reyse didn’t miss the inflection on ‘used to.’ “Things calmed down these days?”

  Reyse gave the guy a small smile. “Not really,” he said. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

  His mom didn’t need telling twice to pick up on his cue. She just smiled and nodded, already walking around to the next staircase to lead them up to the next floor. “Who was that creep?” Reyse murmured when they were halfway up.