It felt like the universe was playing a sick joke on him. He dialed.
And waited. The ringing continued on and on. Just as Rafe was about to hang up, someone answered, “Frankie’s Pizza, what can we pie for you today?”
Rafe did toss his phone then, chucked it as hard as he could. It landed on the couch with an unsatisfying bounce.
The Sassy Boyz were bold motherfuckers. All of them.
If Rafe wasn’t so pissed off, he’d be impressed.
Chapter Seven
“You look awful,” Rafe’s sister said as he bent to kiss her forehead.
“Lori,” Rafe’s mother chided.
“What? It’s true.”
“Thanks, sis.” She was four years younger and had always teased him. With a pang of sadness, he sat on the sofa nearest her wheelchair. “You look beautiful, as always.”
“Obviously, there’s no hiding this gorgeousness.” She flipped her hair with a twinkle in her brown eyes. Not even monthly treatments and daily physical therapy could dull her sass.
“Where are James and Kyle?”
His mother put a steaming mug on the coffee table. “Basketball practice.”
“It’s Sunday morning.” The brew was black and strong, exactly how he liked it. His mom always made the best coffee. And fuck did he need it this morning. He was dragging. Barely any sleep for weeks did that to a person, but there was an extra layer of stress in Rafe’s shoulders these days.
As much as he’d wanted to sleep late and hibernate in bed for the entire day, it’d been weeks since he’d visited home. His guilt wouldn’t allow him to cancel.
Both Lori and his mother shrugged. “They’re starting this year,” Lori said.
She didn’t say it, but there was a hint of expectation in her tone. His brothers were starters on their college basketball team and he’d yet to see them play in even one game since they were in middle school. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to go. He’d love to be able to take time off and enjoy a game without feeling like his obligations were going to bury him alive.
As it was, sitting in his mother’s living room had him itching to get back to the office. It was his money paying their college tuition. His hard work making sure Lori had all the best treatments and care. His sacrifice keeping his mother in the only home she’d ever known.
He shouldn’t feel like he wasn’t doing enough, but he did.
“How was your appointment yesterday?” Rafe asked Lori.
Her face pinched. “Nothing has changed.”
“But you’ve been working so hard at rehab, and the new medication—”
“It’s doing its job, but there’s a possibility the nerves are too damaged and it’s been too long.” Because he’d been too slow to come up with the funds for this newest treatment.
“Have you been eating well?” his mother asked, changing the subject.
“Fine, Mom.”
“You look thinner. Should I make some casseroles for you to take home?”
He didn’t have time to wait for casseroles to finish baking. “I have food in the fridge already, but I appreciate the offer.”
“You’re such a bad liar,” Lori said with a snicker.
His mother shook her head but let it go. “How’s work going?”
God, he did not want to talk about work, he’d come to get his mind off the shit storm he was dealing with. He needed his sister’s smart mouth to distract from his problems.
“Fine, it’s a nightclub, there’s not much to it except making sure we have enough booze and a DJ.”
“So that’s why you’re dead on your feet?”
Rafe scratched his cheek with his middle finger so his mother wouldn’t notice him flipping his sister the bird. Lori laughed. Rafe smiled at her. She was such a ball of sunshine, albeit a sarcastic one, but still. She cheered him up.
He finished his coffee and allowed his mother to talk him into staying for lunch. His brothers came home and they played a video game together. By the time Rafe finally left the house, some of the weight he’d been carrying around had lifted and he could actually breathe again.
The roads were freshly salted on his way home. He cruised through the city, heat blasting through the vents, and his music so loud it shook the windows. Rafe lost himself in the steady bass and drove without thinking.
So when he found himself on a street he’d avoided for the past seven years he was shocked enough to slam on the brakes. His car skidded, the rear end pulling around in a fishtail. Rafe gripped the steering wheel and drove into the curve, managing to straighten the vehicle before he sideswiped the parked cars.
When he finally came to a stop, he was chilled to the bone even though hot air was blowing in his face. His hands shook and his breath came out in deep panting gusts. Then, as his pulse slowed, his gaze rose to the ten-story brick building and its familiar green awnings. His palms began to itch.
He’d driven to Hopkins’s apartment building.
* * *
Sunday night Hop found himself in Ansel’s living room after their weekly dinner together. Ansel had made a cheesy rice casserole, lemon-pepper chicken, and a side salad. Everything had been so delicious Hop had asked for seconds. Bad idea, he was stuffed. That, plus multiple glasses of wine, was probably why he was sprawled awkwardly on the floor surrounded by his friends while they watched reruns of So You Think You Can Dance.
It was cozy, warm and familiar. Ansel and his boyfriend, Fitch, had created a welcoming space where everyone could feel at ease. Hop always enjoyed himself when he visited, even though it was a hell of a trip from the city. The room was packed with framed photos of Ansel and Fitch, funky knickknacks, and colorful pillows giving it a comforting and fun atmosphere. On the mantel, an abstract painting took the place of honor.
This was a place of love and acceptance. He cast a glance to the couch where Ansel sat on Fitch’s lap. Fitch was a big guy with a beard but he cuddled Ansel like he was the most precious thing in the world, brushing Ansel’s long blond hair with his fingers and pressing soft kisses into his shoulders.
The scene was so sweet Hop’s chest ached.
He shouldn’t be watching something so intimate.
He definitely shouldn’t be envious of the happy little homemakers. White picket fences weren’t Hop’s style anyway. Give him romantic slaps on the ass any day. Focusing his attention back on the TV, he ignored the niggle in the back of his mind calling him a liar.
“We should add that move,” Z said. “It’s killer.”
“Yeah, but heels.” Tam leaned against the sofa between his boyfriend’s knees.
“We can tweak it,” Jae said. And they would too, next time they were in the studio. The Sassy Boyz did things on heels most people wouldn’t dare in bare feet. That’s what made them amazing.
Hop drifted off after that. The soft rumble of television voices mixed with the soothing sounds of his friends became his lullaby. It almost drove out the unease he’d been carrying around since Friday afternoon.
Almost.
His dreams were weird amalgamations where past and present mixed. He’d been a teenager desperately searching for something he’d lost. Rafe had been there, but he hadn’t been the young Rafe who’d always come to his rescue. He’d been the new Rafe, the one who’d looked at Hop with pure desire—even if for only a moment.
He was disoriented when he came awake, slowly like out of a thick fog. He heard the deep rumble of Fitch’s baritone.
“Leave him there, he’s clearly exhausted.”
Hop had no doubt who he was talking about.
“But shouldn’t we tell him?” Tam asked quietly.
Tell him what?
“No, he’s already feeling guilty enough. Let’s just leave it alone.” He’d never heard Z whisper before; it was strange.
“You sure we should
n’t wake him?” That had to be Connelly, Z’s detective boyfriend.
“I can drive him back into the city tomorrow morning,” Fitch said.
“Alright, we’ll head out then.” Tam again.
“Bye, henny. Drive safe.”
Driver and Tam said their goodbyes, and a waft of cold air swept through the room as the door opened and shut behind them.
“I hate that I don’t know him well enough to offer anything more than a floor to pass out on. He’s obviously having trouble right now.” That was Ansel.
Hop swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut hard, but it didn’t drown out the sympathy in Ansel’s voice. So much for not dragging his bullshit around with him. Enough was enough. He shouldn’t be listening to their conversation, even if they were talking about him. He took a second to gather his emotions, and then he stretched like a cat.
“Damn, I can’t believe I fell asleep,” he said, putting as much sleepy grumble in his voice as he could. “What time is it?” With all the acting ability he could muster, he blinked around the room like he hadn’t overheard his friends pitying him.
“Almost eleven,” Fitch answered. “Go back to sleep, although you might want to move to the couch.”
Hop rolled to his feet. “Nah, thanks though. I have to work in the morning.”
“Come on, we’ll give you a ride.” Z stood by the front door.
Hop couldn’t meet their eyes so he looked around for his shoes and slipped them on. “Just to the station will be fine. I’ll catch the next bus.”
“Shut up, you’re not riding the bus from Bayonne, NJ, in the middle of the night.”
They said their goodbyes to their hosts and then Hop was literally ushered to Connelly’s sedan, like they thought he’d run away if left to his own devices. It wasn’t like he was a criminal, but for some reason he felt like one as he slid into the backseat beside Jae. He didn’t say a word as they pulled onto the road and started their return journey to civilization.
It was snowing.
Which shouldn’t have surprised him, considering it was January in New York. Snow was a given this time of year, and usually he loved it. He looked forward to the romance of a city covered with a fluffy white blanket of ice, everything so still and quiet, or at least as quiet and still as a city of eight million people could get. But tonight it felt cold. Desolate.
Lost.
Chapter Eight
Hop was running late the next morning. He’d finally fallen asleep in his own bed three hours after getting home, which was two hours before he’d needed to wake up. He’d stared at the ceiling replaying his friends’ words in his mind.
What did they have to tell him? It was driving him crazy.
It wasn’t hard to skip breakfast. He didn’t have an appetite anyway.
“I made oatmeal.”
He kissed her cheek. “I’ll take a banana.” He stuffed it into his unicorn backpack. “Gotta go.”
With a wave, he was out the door, jogging down the hall to the elevator—earrings jangling and pack bouncing. Early in the morning the ride was full of businessmen and women, all in suits and carrying professional black briefcases.
He stuck out like a glitter bomb.
He always did, though. It was easy to ignore their stares. With his purple hair, fluffy pink coat and plush unicorn bag, he was practically begging for attention. Normally he would have winked or blown a kiss, but he didn’t have the energy today. It had taken everything he’d had getting showered and out the door.
The elevator reached the ground floor and he waited while everyone rushed to exit. As soon as Hop stepped out, he saw Rafe. Backlit from the sun shining through glass his face was hidden in shadow, but the big silhouette was unmistakable.
He stood by the doors, one hand in the pocket of his black slacks and the other around a tall to-go coffee cup from a popular chain. Fuck, he looked good. His leather shoes shone like he’d recently gotten them polished. His dark hair was in perfect order and his clothes looked freshly pressed.
Wealth surrounded him like a force field, keeping the rush of average people at a distance. They broke against the wall of Rafe like a wave against rocks. Most people did.
Hop included.
For one instant, Hop had the urge to duck right back into the elevator and run home. But then he thought about Rafe knocking down his door, of his mother, of having to explain. He took a step forward, then another, and willed his spine not to shake loose while he waited for Rafe to notice him.
It didn’t take more than a second. Like he’d sensed Hop’s presence, Rafe’s head turned and their gazes collided. Rafe’s eyes were exactly as he remembered, a rich warm brown scattered with flecks of gold. They were eyes of a tycoon and still held the power of Rafe’s ever-present confidence.
“What are you doing here?” Hop asked. He thought he’d gotten over his stupid crush, but the way his heart sped up like a rocket called him a liar.
“Hopkins—”
“Hop.”
The muscles in Rafe’s jaw twitched. His nostrils flared. He mumbled something under his breath. “I wasn’t sure you still lived here.”
Hop wasn’t ashamed that he still lived with his mom. It kept him sane. “I thought you never wanted to see me again.”
“I said that in anger.”
“No shit.” Hop didn’t have time for this, work was waiting. He moved to pass Rafe so he could get to the exit, but Rafe grabbed his elbow.
“Hold on. Give me a second.”
Hop shook him off. “I let you get away with putting hands on me last time, don’t think it’ll happen again.” He’d felt the burn for days afterward. He pushed at the doors to leave.
“Hopkins.”
He glared at Rafe over his shoulder. “It’s Hop. Hop. Like a fucking bunny. It’s not hard.” Cold air hit him when he finally got the door open but he didn’t slow down. He couldn’t slow down. He’d run all the way to the shop if he had to.
Anyway, anger kept him warm.
Yeah, anger. Just anger, nothing else was burning him up inside.
He kept telling himself that all the way to work.
* * *
Rafe stood outside the department store as icy wind whipped around him—through him. Fuck it was cold. He’d been standing there for ten minutes already and hadn’t been able to work up to actually stepping inside no matter how much warmer it’d be.
Considering Hopkins—no, Hop, like a fucking bunny—worked there and no doubt Hop would freeze him out again, Rafe had stayed put. He still hadn’t figured out how to get through to the guy or to any of the Sassy Boyz. Hop wasn’t the same kid who’d acted out in order to get his father’s attention. One glimpse at the confidence he exuded while dancing and that was clear.
But who was he now? How had he changed so much? Why?
All these questions and Rafe still didn’t have any answers. He remembered a scrawny teenager with short brown hair and eyes too big for his face. The old Hop had always dressed with an eye for color but in jeans and T-shirts. He’d never pushed boundaries in fashion, not like he did now.
The limits he’d tested were darker and much more dangerous, designed for one purpose—to get noticed.
Ever since Lockwood had first given Rafe the responsibility of keeping Hop under control, Rafe had been at his wit’s end. Back then, the teenage Hopkins had been struggling with things a younger Rafe couldn’t have understood. But he hadn’t even tried. He’d been too engulfed by the pain of losing his father and the overwhelming responsibilities that came with being the eldest son. He’d failed the first task his mentor had ever given him because it’d been an impossible job. Hop had been a swirling gale of irrepressible energy without direction.
Now, it seemed, he was so much more.
After their earlier encounter, Rafe had followed Hop to the department store.
A little digging told Rafe that Hop was definitely on the employee list and had been for five years.
It was another example of how different he was now. Before, Hopkins hadn’t been mature enough to hold a job for one week let alone a whole year.
Rafe tightened his thick scarf against a gust of wind that knocked the breath from his lungs, and blew into his gloved hands. Part of the background of the window display cracked open and Hop stepped through carrying a female mannequin under his arm. A smile stretched his cheeks and the sight of it gave Rafe a flutter.
He looked happy. Relaxed.
Confident.
Rafe stepped farther from the window to where a light pole cast a shadow that would keep him semi-hidden. It was stupid, but he wanted to watch Hop in his element and knew as soon as he made his presence known, that smile would turn into a frown.
Hop wore a pair of dark jeans with an artfully frayed gap slashed across his left thigh to display a tempting glimpse of smooth skin. Across the space two leather straps with silver buckles had been added for decoration. On top, Hop had paired a polka-dot top and a perfectly tailored purple blazer pulled around his waist with an oddly wide teal belt. It was a crazy blend of masculinity and femininity with an originality that was completely genderless.
Behind the thick glass, Hop worked with a concentration Rafe recognized deep in his gut. That was passion, determination, and the willingness to do anything to succeed, even if he had to do it solo.
Rafe hadn’t depended on anyone since his father passed away. But Hop had his mom, didn’t he? Not for the first time since Hop had come back into his life, Rafe was overwhelmed with curiosity.
Hop hefted the heavy figures into place, redressed them, and carried in props and decorations back and forth until everything was how he wanted. He was focused and knew exactly what he was doing. The picture he made was so at odds with everything Rafe remembered about him that for a second, he swore he was seeing a different person. If it hadn’t been for those blue eyes, he might never have recognized the man Hop had become.
Mad & Marvelous Page 5