by Jayce Ellis
“Uncle C,” she started, then hiccupped. “Can I stay with you?”
* * *
Carlton couldn’t get Olivia’s coat off her fast enough. The poor thing was shivering uncontrollably, and more than once he caught her clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. He turned to tell Deion to grab a towel and some blankets, but he was already walking toward them, his arms full. He dropped the blanket on the couch and unfurled a towel, draping it over her shoulders. He reached back again and handed her a T-shirt.
“What’s this for?” she asked, her voice small and shaky and wary.
“Your hair,” Deion said, pointing to her braids. “Carlton’s shit—stuff, I’m sorry—is too rough.”
And Olivia, her sharp brows and narrowed eyes notwithstanding, cracked a smile. A fleeting one that Carlton would think was a mistake if he didn’t know better, but she looked so damn much like her father in that moment he wanted to cry. She didn’t speak, though, and after she’d wrung her hair to dry off the wetness, Carlton led her to the couch.
“Do you want to change? You got clothes in that bag?” Carlton asked.
She looked down at it like she’d forgotten it was there, then shook her head. “No, that’s schoolwork.”
Deion cleared his throat behind them and Carlton looked over his shoulder. Deion’s jaw was tight, his brows drawn together, his nostrils slightly flared. Some might look at him and see anger, but all Carlton saw was his overriding concern. “Yeah, D, what is it?”
Deion’s eyes flickered from Olivia to Carlton and back. “You want some hot chocolate or something? Something warm?”
For the second time, Olivia’s face lit up. “You got marshmallows? Baby ones?”
Carlton laughed. That, she got from her mama. “Yeah, I do.” He looked up at Deion and nodded. “Thanks, D.”
Deion winked at him and headed to the kitchen, and Carlton was struck with the memory of sitting next to him on the couch, fighting to keep his emotions in check at the in-your-face reality of Deion forging a new path without him. It’d been only hours since he’d gone off to his room, intent on getting himself together and gearing up to have that hard conversation this weekend. Looked like that was going to be put on hold. Everything important with Deion was always pushed aside, because Carlton had the ostrich game on lock, always finding a reason why now wasn’t the right time. He might not have the chance before Deion left, and it was his own damn fault.
Carlton shook himself and glanced at Olivia, who watched him with curious eyes. “What?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Ionno. You ain’t even ask me why I’m here yet.”
He laughed. “Oh, I will, don’t worry. Gotta make sure you’re gucci first, then you’ll tell me why you showed up at my house looking like a drowned rat.”
Deion’s laugh filtered through the kitchen, then he walked out, carrying the same tray Carlton had used for his peace offering, this time laden with two cups of hot chocolate and a bag of mini marshmallows. “Help yourself.”
Carlton frowned. “You’re not going to have one?”
“In a little while. You two need to talk, and I’ll change the sheets on the bed.”
“I...yeah, that’s cool. Thanks.” Deion nodded, and Carlton watched him walk down the hall. Something about him removing himself from this struck Carlton as wrong, but he couldn’t pinpoint why.
“Is that your boyfriend?” Olivia asked the question plainly, like she was almost uninterested in the answer. God bless teenagers.
“Would it bother you if I said yes?”
She rolled her eyes. “Do all adults answer questions with questions? No,” she continued, before Carlton could pretend to be offended, “it wouldn’t bother me. Mom told me you were gay when I was in kindergarten.”
“That’s young.”
Olivia shrugged. “Kid in my class had two dads. I said I thought boys only liked girls, and she said boys could like boys and girls could like girls. I said having two moms would be so cool, and Daddy was apparently in his feelings for a week.”
“You remember this conversation?” Carlton could practically picture it, including Lamar trying not to be hurt by his five-year-old wanting two moms instead of a dad.
“Nope,” she said, shaking her head, “but Trey was there and he says it’s what happened, and I like the story.”
“It’s a cool one, kid.” Olivia wrinkled her nose at the term, but didn’t argue. “But to answer your question, no, Deion isn’t my boyfriend. He’s my best friend, and he came out from Chicago for homecoming.”
She nodded and pulled the blanket tight around her. “Oh, okay. That’s good. I just... I didn’t want to interrupt or anything, you know?”
Carlton felt ice spread through him. Trey had been the same way, hyper-conscious of Carlton’s bachelorhood. He wondered if his parents had drilled into them that Carlton preferred his solitude to family. He couldn’t imagine they talked about him much, if at all, but Carrie probably would’ve joked about it. He was glad, though, that whoever said what hadn’t kept Trey from showing up.
“You could never be an inference,” he said to Olivia, forcing himself not to wander down another rabbit hole. “But let’s get to the good stuff. Why are you here? How’d you get here?”
Her eyes clouded and she sat back. “Gram got mad at me because I wanted to try out for the wrestling team. It’s co-ed, and it looks like fun. But she said no.”
“She say why?” Carlton could hazard up a pretty good guess, but he needed to know for sure.
Olivia snorted and rolled her eyes. “Said I was too pretty and Mom wouldn’t approve. They’d pay for ballet or tap or jazz, but that’s it.”
That sounded about right. Carlton’s parents were heavy into gender norms, and deviations from that had never gone over well. Still, Olivia was fourteen, not seventeen like Trey had been when he’d come to stay, or going off to college like Carlton had been. Surely they thought they had time to turn her around or whatever.
He fixed Olivia with a stare. “What’d you say to them?”
She snorted, then tried to fix her face. She wasn’t entirely successful, and Carlton raised a brow. “I told them you’d let me do it. You’d let me do whatever I wanted.”
Mother of God. Carlton’s mom would not have taken that well. “Let me guess. They told you to come to me and find out.”
“Yep.”
Carlton sat back, his mind swirling, before another thought entered his mind. “You’re telling me Pops drove you down here?” Mom had stopped driving at night when Carlton was in high school, so even though she called most of the shots, Dad was firmly in charge of execution.
Olivia cringed, and Carlton straightened. “Olivia, how did you get here?” His stomach clenched. His parents lived in Burke, and while there was a Metro stop in Fairfax, local public transportation was spotty at best.
“Nothing bad, Uncle C, I promise. My friend’s brother gave me a ride to Metro.”
He sighed. Thank god it was the weekend and Metro was open later. Else she might’ve been stuck and forced to either call Gram and Pops to bring her back, or wait for him to show up. Speaking of which... “Do Gram and Pops know you left?”
The look on her face told him everything he needed to know. Dammit. Now he had to call them to make sure they knew she was safe. The way he skirted conversations with Deion had nothing on the way he wanted to avoid this one. This one, though, he had no choice on.
“Calling them now,” Carlton said, holding up his phone. “I have to let them know you’re with me. You good with that?”
Olivia shrugged, the feigned nonchalance Carlton had spent the evening striving so hard for coming naturally to her. He dialed his parents’ number and waited. No one picked up, and he didn’t know if he was surprised or not. They had to know she was gone, right? Maybe they weren’t at home, off looking for her. They didn
’t have cell phones or, if they did, they damn sure hadn’t given him the number, which would be a strange sort of karma.
Carlton left a message, leaving his number to be on the safe side, then looked around. He hated the idea of kicking Deion out of the spare bedroom, but no way did he expect Olivia to sleep on the couch. Hell, he could give Deion his bedroom and he’d crash on the couch. It was only a few days anyway. Yeah, that would work.
Deion, who’d made himself scarce longer than it took to change the sheets, walked back out in pajamas, a pillow in hand. Carlton hadn’t missed that he’d been fully dressed, knocked out on the sofa, when Olivia had arrived. Yeah, they had a lot to discuss.
“I changed the sheets on the bed for you,” Deion said to Olivia. “Do you have pajamas?”
Olivia shook her head, suddenly looking every ounce the young teenager she was. She gnawed her lower lip. “I don’t want to put you out,” she said, her voice just barely above a whisper. “I can sleep on the couch.”
“Absolutely not.” Deion’s voice brooked no argument, and Carlton felt a slice of shame that he got kind of hot at the sound. “You’ll sleep there, and I’ll sleep out here. I’m only in town for a few more days anyway.”
Another reminder of all the things Carlton still needed to do, to say, to make things right with him.
“Well, if you’re sure,” Olivia said, her voice quiet and soft. And hopeful.
“Absolutely.” Deion smiled, and Olivia smiled back. The first one she didn’t try to hide.
Olivia stood, nodded at Deion, and stepped in front of Carlton. She gave him a quick hug, muttered, “Thanks, Uncle C,” and walked down the hall toward the back bedroom on silent feet. The door clicked softly behind her.
Deion looked at Carlton. “Man, what the fuck?”
He shook his head. “I don’t even know. I didn’t even know she knew where I lived, and I damn sure didn’t expect her to show up.”
Deion nodded. “Figured as much. You call your parents?”
“They didn’t answer. I don’t know if they’re out looking, or if they even know she’s gone.”
Deion blew out a breath. “Let’s try to get some rest, and we’ll deal with it in the morning. Got a feeling it’s going to be a long day.”
Wasn’t that the damn truth? Carlton watched as Deion pushed the coffee table out of the way and rolled up the area rug, then tossed the couch cushions to pull the sleeper out. He cleared his throat. “You don’t have to sleep here, you know.”
Deion paused with a hand on the mattress. “Where else would I sleep?”
“You can stay in my room.”
“With you?”
Carlton inhaled sharply. He’d planned to let Deion have his room, and he’d take the couch, but the idea of sleeping with his best friend’s arms surrounding him? His dick stirred at the thought.
Then Deion shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, man. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Carlton cocked his head to the side. “Said what?”
“Teased about sleeping with you. Now’s not the time for that.”
Carlton crooked a smile and sidled closer, letting his hand fall on Deion’s hip. It felt right. More than it should have. “It’s never a good time for us, is it?”
A tight laugh fell from Deion’s lips. His chest expanded, then fell, and he looked at Carlton with so much undisguised want it sucked all the air out between them. Now that Carlton knew what it was, he couldn’t unsee it. Didn’t know how the hell he’d missed it all these years.
Deion’s tongue darted out over his lower lip, and Carlton was struck with the urge to taste him. To know—to remember—what it felt like to have Deion against him. To remind himself why being with Deion was a bad idea. Or maybe the best idea.
Carlton moved in to kiss him.
Deion’s eyes widened, and Carlton’s lips ghosted across Deion’s cheek. Because someone had come to his senses, and it damn sure hadn’t been Carlton.
Deion broke away and moved to the couch, shoving the cushions behind the frame to create a sort of headboard. Carlton stood rooted in place until Deion had climbed on, grabbing the blanket he’d brought out for Olivia and spreading it over him.
When he finished, Deion looked at Carlton and smiled, a small, resigned one that Carlton never in his life wanted to see again. “Go to bed, Carlton. We’ve got a lot to do in the morning.”
Carlton stood there for another beat, warring with himself over whether to press the issue or take the out Deion was providing, before he nodded, turned down the hall, and did as he was told.
Chapter Six
The shuffling of steps down the hallway, followed by the flicker of light in the kitchen, woke Deion up. Not that he’d slept all that well to begin with, but he craned his neck over the back of the couch to see Olivia staring mindlessly at the kitchen.
He climbed off the sofa bed, trying to make his steps loud enough for her to notice, but not scare her. “Hey, good morning.”
She glanced at him and grinned. “Hey.”
“You hungry?”
She raised a lazy shoulder, but her stomach grumbled, and he laughed.
“Sorry. Didn’t much have a chance to eat last night.”
God, he felt like an idiot. It hadn’t even occurred to him to offer her something to eat before they went to bed, he’d been so stunned by her arrival. And now that she said something, Deion’s own stomach woke up and joined hers, a reminder that he hadn’t had dinner either.
“Carlton’s pretty good about keeping breakfast around,” he said, opening the fridge and pulling out the carton of eggs and some milk. “Let me whip up something for us.”
“Oh, I don’t want to put you out. I can just get some cereal or something.”
It’d only been maybe seven hours, but she seemed to have a thing about being in the way, and he didn’t like it, not one bit. He waved a hand at her. “It’s not a problem at all. Take a seat, rest your nerves.”
Deion heard the thwap-thwap of her feet in Carlton’s slippers before she sank into the seat across the table. He wasn’t sure what to say, if he should even say anything. This was Carlton’s family, not his, and maybe it’d be best to leave well enough alone. He was morbidly curious about what had happened, though. What the hell was going on with Carlton’s family that first Trey and now Olivia had shown up unannounced, begging to stay with him?
He cracked some eggs, enough to make omelets for all three of them, then peered into the fridge again and grabbed some spinach and feta cheese. He looked over his shoulder at Olivia, who was staring, maybe at him, maybe at the counter, maybe at nothing at all. “You want some bell peppers in your omelet?”
She frowned, then shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
Why the hell not. Deion couldn’t make a ton of stuff, but omelets were his specialty, and he had one plated in front of her in no time. “You go on and get started,” he said.
But Olivia shook her head. “No, I’ll wait for you.”
That was overwhelmingly sweet, especially since she had to be starving. He made his own, then covered the remaining mixture with saran wrap. He’d make Carlton’s when he woke up, but reheated eggs were no one’s idea of a good time. He sat across from her and they dug in, Deion unsure how to break the silence.
“So, Uncle Carlton said you’re best friends?” Olivia said, severing the quiet with a question that bordered on an accusation, with a healthy dose of skepticism mixed in.
He couldn’t stop his smile. “We went to college together. Were assigned roommates our sophomore year and lived together the rest of school. Been friends ever since.”
“So you’ve known him longer than I’ve been alive?”
Well, damn. Didn’t that make him feel old? “I guess so.”
“Gram says I shouldn’t have anything to do with him.”
/> Deion narrowed his eyes, fighting to quash the protectiveness that reared up in him. “Why’s that?” He probably shouldn’t be asking. Carlton rarely spoke about his parents, damn sure not after that phone call back in college, and he knew there was no real love lost between them despite his coming back home after graduation. Carlton adored his baby sister, though, and her death had shaken him to his core.
“They say he’s a troublemaker. Always up to no good, with no direction, doesn’t know what he wants. That kind of stuff.”
Deion shoved a bite of omelet into his mouth to keep from responding. That was one hell of a statement considering the limited contact they’d had with him for, oh, his entire adult life. Clearly, Carlton’s parents were comfortable espousing their son’s perceived vices to anyone who would listen, including their grandchildren. It said something that Trey and Olivia’d chosen to risk it with Carlton rather than stay where they were. Deion wondered what it felt like to know his parents thought so poorly of him. He couldn’t fathom it, and it made him want to call Ma and, he didn’t know, thank her, maybe, for not being like that.
“Did you believe them?” he asked Olivia, pushing those thoughts to the side. She couldn’t have taken it all at face value, not if she was here, but it didn’t mean some cynical thoughts didn’t exist. She needed to be somewhere safe, but he’d be damned if Carlton had isolated himself from his family for twenty years only to have her internalized assumptions throw him back into it.
She shrugged again. “I don’t know. He never came around all that often. He’d send gifts, but we only saw him like once a year. He’d come by for Thanksgiving or Christmas after Gram and Pops were gone.”
To keep the peace. Carlton would have absolutely sacrificed his time with his sister and her kids to keep the peace with his family. He was selfless, even when he tried to hide it under a veil of nonchalance. There was probably a healthy dose of self-preservation there, too, now that Deion was thinking about it.
“Can I ask you a question?” he asked.
Olivia sat back. She’d scarfed down the omelet in less than five minutes, and Deion was about to ask if she wanted another. But as quickly as she’d eaten, he figured he’d wait a bit.