by Avon Gale
“I— It wasn’t something either of us expected,” I said, slowly.
Landon still didn’t look at me. “I see why you were avoiding me. I’m starting to wish I’d let you.”
I snorted but was too tense to smile. “Yeah. I knew I had to tell you. I wanted to make sure this was going somewhere.”
“It better be going somewhere,” Landon growled, sounding like—well, like an overprotective father. “So, let me ask you something, Jericho. Are you trying to make up for my mistakes, is that it?”
It took me a minute to figure out what he meant by that, and then I scowled. “Fuck, no. I don’t want a kid, Landon.”
“Okay.” He nodded. “If you’d said anything else, I would have fucking hit you.” He was quiet for a moment, and I took a sip of my pale ale, finally feeling like I could swallow. “Poe’s been . . . different. He emptied the trash the other day. Came upstairs and had a beer with me. I thought he wanted something, but no.” Landon cut his eyes at me. “I guess you’re a good influence on him.”
Since he still didn’t sound too happy, I wasn’t sure how to answer. “I think I am, yeah.”
Landon sighed heavily. “I—I’ve always worried that I’ve never been much of a father to Poe. Hell, the kid’s called me ‘Landon’ since he was twelve. But he was seven when his mama took off. She wiped out our bank accounts, took the car, and I haven’t heard shit from her since. I had to work two jobs to keep a roof over our heads and food in the pantry.”
I knew the gist of this story, of course, but not the details. I’d never asked, figuring he’d tell me when he was ready.
“Once, when Poe was about—hell, eight or nine? I was working the early shift at a Jiffy Lube doing oil changes and moonlighting at a garage that might have been a front for drugs, I don’t know. But I came home and Poe was there, and he—he tried to make me dinner.” Landon smiled briefly. “Chicken nuggets and SpaghettiOs. The chicken nuggets were still mostly frozen and the SpaghettiOs scalded the bottom of the pan. Which he threw away instead of cleaned, I might add.”
Landon gave me a significant look. “That’s the thing about Poe. He does something like that, something nice, but he burns the pan and instead of telling me and getting in trouble, he throws it away like I won’t notice.”
“Sounds like something a kid would do,” I said, carefully, because it did. Hell, who hadn’t done something like that when they were a similar age? I sure as fuck had. Though I’d done a lot worse than burn a few pans. No, I’d gone straight for bridges.
“Yeah, well, with Poe? Not a lot has changed. He’s still the kid that would rather throw the pan away than admit he burned it. Or spend the two hours with a Brillo pad scrubbing it.”
I frowned, because I wasn’t sure that was a fair assessment. Landon saw my expression and gave me a tight smile. “You think I’m wrong? You think I don’t know my kid? I love Poe more than anything on this Earth, but I know how he is. He doesn’t mean to always run away from responsibility, but the second he gets bored? It’s like he’s a different person. I’ve been dreading that happening with tattooing because believe me, I want this for him. Bad. I’ve never seen him so engaged with anything that isn’t illegal and gonna cost me my retirement fund in court fees.”
“He’s doing well,” I reiterated. “A few weeks ago, that . . . that was some personal stuff that we hadn’t sorted out yet.”
Landon made a face. “I both want to know and don’t want to know.” He sighed and shook his head. “Do you think I’m, what, pissed off you’re with Poe? Hell, Jericho. I used to dread who he might hook up with. Some girl he knocked up and, God forbid, ran away from like his mama did to him. Or, even worse, that Blue kid.” His gaze grew fierce. “And not ’cause he’s a guy, I don’t give a shit about any of that. I think that kid’s bad news on a platter.”
I had pretty much the same opinion of Blue, but I let that go. I might not think of graffiti the same way as I had before Poe, but that didn’t mean I wanted him out there doing it. Especially with Blue, who did ring all my alarm bells as someone who wouldn’t necessarily have Poe’s best interest at heart.
“Here’s the thing,” he said, at length. “I get why my kid would be into you. You’re older, you ride a bike, and you’ve got tattoos. You give a shit about him, which, believe me, I’m glad about. He’s getting his act together, and I think, yeah, you probably help him with that.”
This all should have made me relieved, and yet.
“My problem, here?” Landon wasn’t looking at me. “My problem isn’t why Poe might want to be with you. No, it’s why you—you, who are a forty-year-old man who owns his own home, a successful business, and two vehicles—why do you want to date someone half your age? If it ain’t because you think you’re making up for my mistakes, then what is it?”
Jesus, how did I answer that?
“And if it’s just sex, say so. And then get ready because I am going to deck you in the face because you are not fucking with his head like that.” His concern for Poe was evident, and it made me happy to hear it . . . though I was somewhat annoyed he apparently thought so little of me. I tried to push the annoyance away, though, because I knew this couldn’t be easy for him.
“It isn’t just the sex, but I’m not discussing that with you,” I said firmly. There were limits to what I was willing to share about my relationship with Poe, and telling Landon his son called me Daddy in bed was one of them. I knew it wasn’t really about him being my son, but I wasn’t going to explain the daddy-boy dynamic to Landon at a bar. No way.
“All right. Then what is it?”
I spent a long time thinking of my answer, because I knew my friendship with Landon depended on it. “I’m not going to lie and say physical attraction wasn’t the start of it.” God, I could feel myself blushing and hoped it was too dark in here for Landon to notice. Fuck me, I was too old to be embarrassed. “And okay, yeah, maybe I like . . . helping him. Giving him some direction. But it’s not because I’m trying to take your place, for fuck’s sake. I think I can be a good influence on him.”
“So you want to fix him,” Landon said flatly. “Was it your goal all along to get him in bed?”
“What? Jesus, no!” I protested, staring at him. “Are you fucking kidding me? You know me better than that.”
“My best friend told me he was dating my son, so no, I really don’t think I do,” Landon said heatedly, but he scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know what to think about this, Jericho. But I think my problem isn’t that my son has a responsible and older boyfriend who wants to keep him in line. I think my problem is, I don’t know why my friend is serious about a guy so much younger who still lives in his father’s basement. And I don’t . . . know how to reconcile that. He can be a fuckup, but I love him. I love him, but I know he can be a fuckup. And I know from Audrey, Poe’s mama, that dating someone ’cause you want to fix them or take care of them is a bad idea.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. It was hard to explain how Poe made me see things differently. Like the graffiti conversation we’d had a few months ago. He reminded me that art wasn’t static, and that there was more than one way to look at things. I didn’t know if I could explain that to Landon, though, without it sounding like I was only with Poe because he made me feel young again or some shit. “I can’t promise either one of us won’t get hurt,” I said, at length. “But I’m going to try to make sure that doesn’t happen. I don’t want to lose your friendship, Landon. It’s important to me.”
Landon pushed back from the counter. I knew he was uncomfortable, and while I hated things being unsettled between us, I wasn’t entirely sad to have this conversation come to an end. “I need to wrap my brain around this. I honestly don’t know if I want to hit you, hug you, or tell you never to fucking talk to me again.” Landon shook his head and shrugged into his heavy jacket. He faced me with a serious expression. “That you told me, it means a lot. Means maybe I won’t hit you, or erase your number.”
We didn’t hug, but we shook hands. Hell, that’d gone better than I’d feared and maybe not as well as I’d hoped, but . . . I’d take what I could get.
As I headed home, I thought about Poe and the relationship developing between us. Part of me did like taking care of him, and was that a problem? Callum seemed to think it wasn’t, but Landon made it sound as if it was. I wondered if Landon would think the same thing if I were dating a twenty-three-year-old who wasn’t his son.
Ah, well. The most important thing was that Poe and I were comfortable with our dynamic, and I thought we were. But what if that changed? Would Poe tell me? And was I entirely comfortable in a relationship where my partner might see me as more of a parent than an equal? Especially considering we worked together, I was his boss and his mentor.
Talking to Landon had made me feel better, but now I had a whole new set of worries to keep me up at night.
Poe
I didn’t know what to do with myself after Harriet and I closed the shop. By nature, I wasn’t an anxious person. I tended to let shit roll right off my back because I didn’t see much point in dwelling on what was or what might be. All I cared about, all that mattered, was right now, this moment.
But well . . . right now, Landon was finding out I’d been banging his best friend for the last few weeks. I mean, how was I not supposed to freak?
I could picture him reacting in so many different ways. Punching Jericho in the face. Storming off without a word. Or maybe—and this was the part that worried me most—he’d try to force Jericho into ending things.
Not that I saw Jericho as some spineless punk to be easily pushed around, even by someone as intimidating as my father, but I’d been subjected to many a Landon guilt trip in my day. I knew from experience he could lay it on so thick you could use that shit as plaster to patch up your walls. If it came down to me and our fledgling relationship versus their history and years of friendship, I didn’t know what, or who, Jericho would choose.
Finally, after aimlessly wandering the neighborhood around the shop for half an hour, I went home. I put on Rage Against the Machine’s The Battle of Los Angeles, cranked up the volume, and sprawled out on the futon to sketch a few designs in my piece book. It took me a while to realize I’d unconsciously focused on drawing bright-orange flames and white-tipped ocean waves similar to those I’d seen in Japanese woodblock prints. They were renditions of Jericho’s elemental tattoos—because, apparently, he wormed his way into my brain no matter who I was with or what I was doing. Lately, my thoughts never strayed very far from Jericho. I didn’t want that to change. I wanted to keep him there, where it felt like he belonged. So I really fucking hoped he and Landon didn’t get into a fight over us.
Some indeterminate amount of time later, after ignoring several texts from Blue and completing a few more sketches, I heard the front door slam. I tracked Landon’s heavy tread across the house, and I knew he was coming right to me. This was not a conversation I wanted to have—like, ever—but I wasn’t so much of an asshole that I’d try to avoid it. My father deserved to have his say, given the circumstances.
I put my piece book aside, switched off the music, and straightened up into a seated position just as Landon appeared in the doorway to my bedroom. He looked pissed, but then again, when didn’t he? I couldn’t really judge anything by the irritated scowl on his face. But his clothes looked pristine, and he didn’t appear to have gotten into a bar fight or beat the shit out of anyone recently, so there was that, at least.
“Jericho told you,” I said when he stood there, seemingly stumped about what to say to me.
Landon’s jaw clenched, and there went that familiar vein throbbing in the center of his forehead. “Yeah,” he finally forced out. “How long has this been going on?”
I rubbed my sweaty palms on the knees of my jeans. “A few weeks. It wasn’t . . . I mean, it’s new. That’s not the reason I took the job, in case you’re wondering. I didn’t know he was gay then.”
“And it’s not . . .” Landon hesitated. “I did a good job, right? As your dad? I did my best. I tried to give you what you needed.”
I blinked at him, taken aback. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
“So, this isn’t . . .” Landon trailed off, the tanned skin of his face darkening in a ruddy flush. “You’re not looking for . . . for a replacement, are you?”
“Replacement?” I repeated blankly. Then I caught on to what he was saying. “Jesus, no. No, not at all. I like Jericho. Believe me, it’s not about replacing anyone.”
Landon nodded. He stroked his beard during a long pause, his expression thoughtful. “He treating you good?”
Oh God. “Um. Yeah. He’s very good. Uh . . . I mean, he’s very good to me.” Fuck my life.
“This is going to take some getting used to. I need to wrap my head around . . .” Landon let the statement die and circled his hand vaguely, which thank you, sweet Baby Jesus, because I did not want to hear him verbalize whatever that gesture was supposed to mean.
My face heated. I coughed and cleared my throat. “Well, um . . . we don’t have to talk about it. I know he’s your friend, but who I date is my business. I’m not asking your permission.”
Landon’s mouth twisted. “When have you ever?” He sighed and dropped his hand from his beard. “Be careful, all right? I care about both of you. I don’t want to see either of you hurt. Seventeen years is a big age gap.”
“Age ain’t nothin’ but a number,” I quipped.
Landon’s flat expression told me how extremely unimpressed he was.
My turn to sigh. “Look, I hear you. This is serious for me, okay? I’m not screwing around.”
Landon cringed at my choice of words, but he tipped his chin in a nod. “Fine. And you’re right—who you date is your business. But I don’t ever want to run into Jericho walking around here in his boxers, okay? That’s where I draw the line.”
The sound that burst out of me was somewhere between a snort and a horrified laugh. “That’s not gonna be a problem. When have I ever brought anyone home for the night? Except for Blue, but he doesn’t count. We’ve never been into each other that way.”
Landon eyed me cynically. “Whatever you say.”
He turned and left before I could reply to that cryptic statement.
I flopped back onto the futon, letting out a long, relieved breath as the tension in my stomach eased. Landon didn’t seem happy, not in the slightest, but . . . all things considered, the conversation had gone a lot better than I’d expected.
There wasn’t much skin on my father that didn’t already have ink on it. As far as I knew, he’d been getting tattoos since his early teens, mostly from shady older friends. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been born with one somehow.
There was some room on his right forearm, but I wouldn’t dare touch that spot—even if he’d let me. That blank stretch was waiting for the final vintage ride that would complete the elaborate, car-themed sleeve my father and Jericho had started years ago.
That left me with a bare gap about the size of my hand on the back of Landon’s right calf. He asked me for a raven with its wings outspread. Because of course he did. He’d named me Poe, after all.
Given the space, I couldn’t do exactly what he wanted, but I had an idea the raven could be midflight, wings upraised, and maybe poised as if landing on a tree branch, instead.
With sweaty palms, I drew up a design and presented it to Landon. He studied the drawing for long, awkward minutes, his head tilted in contemplation and one hand stroking his dark, bushy beard. A skullcap rested low on his forehead, leaving only the ends of his longish black hair visible. I’d say it was a nod to the cooling weather, if he didn’t wear the damn thing pretty much year-round.
Finally, Landon nodded and handed the paper back.
“Looks good,” he said gruffly.
“Okay.” I turned and caught Jericho watching me from his desk, a half grin on his face. I bumped him with my hip as I m
oved past him to the thermal copier, and I knew if we’d been alone, he would’ve copped a feel of my ass.
I bit my lip to hide my own smile and busied myself with setting up the carbon transfer paper to create the stencil.
Landon didn’t say anything, but there was a noticeable tension coming from behind me. He’d probably caught the exchange between me and Jericho. Well, too bad. He wasn’t the only one feeling awkward. Yeah, it was weird being in the room with them both now that Landon knew about us, and I wasn’t about to straddle Jericho’s lap and start making out with him, but I also wasn’t going to pretend there wasn’t anything between us just to spare Landon the discomfort. He could accept us or not—that was up to him.
Once I’d copied the design onto the transfer paper, I went through the motions of preparing the spot on his calf. Twelve tattoos in, I was getting used to it—shaving the hair, disinfecting the skin, applying the stencil. It was a ritual all its own, and it eased my nerves.
In a few minutes, Landon had approved the placement and was lying facedown on the massage table, the right leg of his black utility pants folded up to the knee.
I snapped on a pair of nitrile gloves before setting out a selection of inks and prepping my liner machine. My pulse ratcheted up with every movement, and the spit in my mouth disappeared. This would be the most complicated design I’d attempted yet—on a human. I’d done birds on synthetic skin, but this wasn’t a practice run. It was time for me to put needles to living skin and create a work of art my father would be proud to show off with the rest of his tattoos.
I was anxious enough it felt like a slimy boulder had taken residence in my stomach. I gripped the machine so tightly my fingers already ached, but before I could start, Jericho walked over and laid a hand on my shoulder.
“You’ve got this,” he said. “Slow but steady. Don’t dig in too deep or go over the lines too much. It’ll scar.”