Shit, now he really had a lump in his throat. He cleared it. “It’s just . . . hard not to seize any opportunity you can to protect them. To make things easier for them. Because so much of the time you don’t have those opportunities. So much is out of your control.”
“I know.”
Something about Jesse’s tone drew Hunter’s attention. Jesse was staring out the passenger-side window.
“That’s why I used to go to Montreal once a month. My sister and my nephew . . . Well, my sister’s ex-husband is a problem. I held on to that gig longer than was rational. I still go, but only a couple times a year. I wish I could get them to move to Toronto.”
“Why don’t they?”
“My sister has this idea that she shouldn’t take her son away from his father.” He snorted, and Hunter could practically hear his eyes rolling. “Which is actually exactly what she should do.”
“Are they in physical danger?” Hunter asked. He couldn’t help it. It was the pediatrician in him. He’d been trained to conduct these screenings, to ask these questions.
“I think he might have knocked her around some during their marriage.” Jesse gestured to the right. “Turn here.” Hunter obeyed, pulling his car into a large gravel clearing. There were already several cars parked. “This is fine,” Jesse said, and Hunter killed the engine.
Jesse made no move to get out. “She says he’s never laid a hand on Gavin—that’s my nephew—and I believe her. It’s more . . . psychological abuse. Her ex is a real dick. It’s like he can’t accept that she left him. He makes everything difficult—handoffs, any joint decisions like day care and stuff. Won’t sign the divorce papers. He’s constantly undermining her both with Gavin and with Gavin’s teachers. It’s hard to explain. It’s like . . .”
“A campaign of terror,” Hunter said.
With the dashboard lights out, he couldn’t see anything, but he could sense Jesse’s surprise in the way Jesse sat up and turned to him. “Exactly.”
“Classic abusive behavior. They train you to look for the signs of exactly that in med school, and even more so in peds residency.”
“Okay, so I’m not crazy.”
“Not at all. It’s all about power for these guys.”
“Yes!” Then Jesse laughed. “That sounded way too enthusiastic. I’m just glad to have a professional endorsement.”
“I think you’re right to keep looking after them as much as you can. The more she tries to untangle their lives from each other, the more aggressive he may get.”
“I like to think he wouldn’t seriously hurt his child or the mother of his child.”
Hunter shrugged, though he knew Jesse couldn’t see it. He didn’t want to alarm his friend unnecessarily, but these things often escalated.
“Come on.” Jesse got out of the car.
Hunter followed suit.
“You tired?”
“Not really.” He was still buzzing from the adrenaline of the earlier emergency.
“Good. Let’s make a fire. That’s usually what we do at night, but I didn’t want to leave one burning when I left to meet you.” Jesse had come around the car and laid a hand on Hunter’s upper back to guide him across the dark clearing. He was only doing it, of course, because it was pitch-black and Hunter didn’t know the place, but Hunter’s breath quickened.
It was possible the buzzing sensation he was experiencing wasn’t entirely from the events at the hospital.
“This is my favorite place in the world,” Jesse said, once he’d gotten the fire lit—Jesse was effortlessly good at lighting campfires, just like everything else.
“Is this a family place originally?” Hunter asked, watching Jesse tilt his head back to look at the night sky. “You grew up here, right?”
“I grew up in Prince Edward County, yes, but not here.” Jesse snorted. “You know how you never heard anything about Prince Edward County before about ten or fifteen years ago?”
It was true. Today, the cottage country east of Toronto was full of wineries and outposts of chic downtown hotels, but Hunter had the sense that was all pretty recent. “Yeah.”
“Well, I grew up in a tiny armpit of a town about thirty kilometers from here. There was a lot of poverty in the county back then—still is once you’re away from the lake. We lived in a tiny house to match our tiny town, where my father conducted a . . . what did you call it? Campaign of terror?”
“Ah, so your sister is repeating the past. I hate to say it, but that’s not uncommon. Is your father still there?”
“As far as I know. I haven’t spoken to him since our mother’s funeral six years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“This sounds terrible, and I don’t mean this like I didn’t love her or I don’t miss her, but it was probably for the best. She was never going to leave him. So my sister—Beth—is stronger in that way. I hope.” He poked the fire. “Anyway, somehow, despite my shitty origins, Prince Edward County feels like home. So I was happy to be able to buy this place a few years ago. Sounds cheesy, but I’d rather be here than anywhere else. And when I’m here, I’d rather be here.” He waved his hands to indicate their immediate surroundings. The fire pit was perched a few meters from the edge of a short cliff that abutted the vast blackness of Lake Ontario at night.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Hunter contemplated the sky. It was ridiculous. The Milky Way was more white than black.
He started thinking about Beth, and about Jesse’s mom. He had a good relationship with his own parents. He couldn’t imagine having to claw his way out of a cycle of abuse and poverty like that.
“Hey,” he said, a thought suddenly forming in his head. “Is ‘Repeat’ about Beth?”
Jesse didn’t answer for a few moments, and Hunter wondered if he’d overstepped. And really, there was no reason to think the song was about Jesse’s sister. It wasn’t overtly about domestic abuse, merely about a person making the same mistakes, “walking the same plank.”
“Yeah,” Jesse finally said quietly, staring at the fire. “It is. But no one knows that.” He looked up at Hunter. “Except smart doctors.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” Hunter was strangely touched that here was this famous, successful musician, surrounded by people, by fans and managers, and he was choosing to let Hunter be the one who knew this about him.
He wanted to ask Jesse about the origins of all his other songs but held his tongue.
Jesse lay down on his back. “My sister and I used to lie on a blanket in the backyard—no fire; my dad wouldn’t allow that—and try to spot shooting stars so we could wish on them.”
Hunter followed suit, being careful not to lie too close to Jesse. “What did you wish for?”
He regretted the question as soon as it was out. It was too intimate.
But Jesse didn’t seem to mind. “I wished I could get away.”
“You did.” Jesse had gone on to make something of himself, to will his success into being, and it was damned impressive.
“I did. But Beth didn’t. Not really.”
“No,” Hunter said. “But keep trying.”
They lay there in silence for a long time, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Hunter could see why Jesse loved this place. They were surrounded by all the elements—air, fire, earth, and water. It was impossible not to be taken in by it. It was like the universe was reminding him of his rightful place, but instead of being humbling, it was comforting. You could do your best in life—to save your sister from men who would harm her, to prevent children from having heart attacks—but that was all you could do. The universe was, elementally, imperturbable.
“You’re freezing.”
Hunter hadn’t realized it until Jesse said it, but he was. He’d gone home after work and changed into shorts and a T-shirt. It had been hot in the city, even so late at night. But out here, in the middle of the night, by the lake, it was downright cold. He’d put on a light jacket, but that was all he had.
“I probably
should have told you to bring warm clothes. Nights get cold out here.” Jesse sat up and reached for something outside the circle of light cast by the fire.
Hunter, assuming this marked the end of their fireside chat, sat up too—was starting to stand up, in fact—when Jesse produced a second blanket. Unlike the one they were lying on, it was a Hudson’s Bay blanket, made of thick, heavy wool. Jesse unfurled it over his body, lay back down, and held one edge up. “C’mere.”
Hunter paused long enough that Jesse let the blanket fall. “Or I can just show you to your room.” He started to get up. “I forget that not everyone is as insane as I am about this place.”
Hunter made a split-second decision. He knew it was the wrong one as he was making it. It was not a good idea to snuggle under a blanket with Jesse Jamison.
He knew that.
And yet.
Hunter picked up the edge of the blanket and slid underneath it.
He did prevent himself from physically cuddling up to Jesse.
But only just.
Jesse had never woken up with a man in his arms.
Over the years, he’d pretty much lived up to his rock star reputation when it came to women. So he’d had plenty of mornings after with the fairer sex. Even in the post-Kylie era, when he’d been keeping a lid on things, relatively speaking, pushing playtime aside in favor of work, he’d enjoyed a fair amount of female attention. It was almost impossible not to. The whole groupie thing was real. He had to actively try not to sleep with women.
His liaisons with men, which were now firmly lodged in the past, had always been furtive, though. Spur-of-the-moment. No sleepovers, much less cuddling, had been associated with those encounters.
Not that this was an “encounter.”
But whatever it was, it was . . . unsettling.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, merely to extend the night a little longer. He’d never told anyone about Beth—what was happening to her or the fact that “Repeat” was about her. The guys didn’t even know.
Talking to Hunter had been so easy. It had always been easy, from that first moment on the train. But add in the dark, and his quiet, encouraging advice about Beth, and it had been . . . such a huge relief. Like sinking into a warm bath. Which was a ridiculous metaphor considering how cold it was.
Despite his best intentions, he’d conked out. They both had. And it was no doubt the cold that had prompted them to snuggle up together, Hunter burrowed into Jesse’s chest.
Hunter started to stir. Jesse tried to untangle himself, but Hunter was draped over his chest, so all he could do was sort of lift his arms up, like he was being robbed while reclined.
But then that seemed absurd, like he was protesting too much, so he settled them back down again. Told himself that they’d fallen asleep outside in the cold. That this was the innocent outcome of logical forces.
So was his morning wood.
Hopefully, one of the benefits of waking up with a man in his arms was that said man would understand the concept of morning wood.
That it wasn’t personal.
It was just . . . biology.
Guys knew that. Right?
“Mmm,” Hunter emitted a satisfied-sounding half moan, half sigh as he snuggled closer to Jesse.
Jesse couldn’t help it; he pulled him closer. Tighter. There was something delightful about a woman, but this . . . this chest that was so like his own, this chiseled, stubbly jaw, sliding over his neck, was . . . also pretty fucking delightful.
“Mmm.” There was another one of those moany sighs, and goddamn it, Jesse’s morning semi could probably no longer be rationalized away. At least the way Hunter was lying draped over him, there was no direct contact between his dick and any part of Hunter.
“Oh!”
All at once, Hunter woke up—fully—and as soon as he realized what had happened, he rolled off Jesse.
Jesse felt the loss. It was cold out, but they’d created a pool of warmth between them, and now it was gone—and so suddenly, like someone had plunged his body into the lake next to them.
“I’m sorry!” Hunter said, sitting up and looking, for a moment, adorably bewildered. “I guess we fell asleep.” He flashed Jesse a sheepish grin. “I’m a terrible snuggler when I sleep.”
“No worries.” Jesse sat up too and let the blanket pool in his lap to disguise what was going on there. “I’m the one who’s sorry. Some kind of host I am, letting you sleep out here all night.”
“Totally worth it,” said Hunter, his face tilted upward. The sky was streaked with the pinks and oranges of sunrise. “God, this place is shameless. It’s like you think this amount of beauty should be rationed or something, but no. You’ve got the van Gogh stars and the tourism brochure sunrise.”
Jesse smiled. That was a good way of putting it. “Well, let’s go inside and rustle up some breakfast. Without hangovers, I suspect the guys will be up earlier than usual. And I’ll show you your room. In case you go crazy and want, like, an actual bed at any point.”
Strangely, Jesse didn’t want Hunter to want to sleep anywhere other than his chest.
He didn’t say that, of course.
He could never say that.
Two years ago, he’d traded away his right to even think it.
If Hunter had been apprehensive about meeting the members of Jesse’s band, he needn’t have worried.
In some ways, they lived up to their reputations. After a round of introductions, they were deep into talking about sex. Gay sex, to be specific.
Over pancakes.
“So, like, you have hand signals or something, and then you go at it?”
“Jesus Christ, Billy,” Jesse said. “Have some respect.”
“It’s okay,” Hunter said through a chuckle. Billy, the bassist, was both shocking and refreshing in his forthrightness. He’d only known Billy for twenty minutes, but already he could see that he was the type of guy who called it like he saw it.
“I don’t know about hand signals,” he said. “But there’s definitely a pickup culture in some parts of the gay world. It hasn’t really been my thing historically.”
“But it’s easier for a guy to get laid by another guy than by a girl,” said Ash, who played a bunch of different instruments ranging from acoustic guitar to sax. Hunter suspected Ash was the “smart” one, relatively speaking anyway. Not that anyone was smarter than Jesse, whose stereotypical rock star looks belied a fierce intelligence. But Ash talked less than the other guys, anyway, seeming to favor listening over speaking.
“I think that’s probably true,” Hunter said.
“Unless you’re Jesse Jamison,” said the drummer, Rob—not to be confused with Billy. The Joyride’s rhythm section was composed of Robert and Robert. Billy and Rob. It was charming.
Jesse rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, you guys do fine.”
“We do now,” Billy said, stretching like a satisfied cat. “But for a long time there, it was your leavings.”
“Still is,” Ash said. “Just the leavings are of higher quality now.”
“God,” said Jesse. “Do I need to change the name of the band to Jesse and the Neanderthals?”
Billy ignored him. “So, what about this top and bottom thing? Like, say you have a boyfriend or a husband. Someone is sticking it in all the time and someone is, uh . . . taking it?”
“Shut up, Billy.”
“No, it’s okay,” Hunter said, laughing again. He’d been nervous to meet the band, but he found them, particularly Billy, delightful. If all straight guys were this open to learning about different kinds of people, the world would probably be a much more peaceful place. “Some couples are like that, I think—one person strictly tops and the other bottoms. Some have preferences but sometimes switch. Some don’t do anal at all.”
“Whaaat?” said Billy. His mouth dropped open. “What’s the point of having a dick if you can’t, like, stick it somewhere?”
“Time for a tour,” Jesse said quickly, standing. He was cle
arly mortified.
Hunter ignored him. He was enjoying himself.
Billy ignored him too, pressing on with his interrogation. “And what if it’s not a relationship? What if it’s a one-time thing? How do you decide how it’s going to go?”
“Good question,” Hunter said. “I had my first ‘date’”—he made quotation marks with his fingers—“in a long time the other night, and it was a bit awkward.” Well, maybe awkward wasn’t the right word. The other guy had seemed fine with the clinical negotiation. But to Hunter, it had seemed so . . . transactional. Which he supposed it was. But still.
“Wait. What?” Jesse said.
Hunter continued to ignore Jesse in favor of talking to the guys. “I think what I learned from that is to be more upfront about it at the beginning.” He didn’t particularly like that idea, but it was better than interrupting things just as they were heating up to talk about it. “Like, maybe I should put that stuff right in my Tinder profile? I don’t know.”
“I thought you didn’t do meaningless hookups,” Jesse said, his voice dripping with such disdain that he finally earned Hunter’s undivided attention. “I thought you were into dating.” The rock star was standing at the kitchen island the rest of them were sitting around, eyebrows raised and hands on his hips. He looked like an overbearing father, which only added to the general sense of amusement Hunter was experiencing this morning.
“I am. I was. I don’t know. I matched with this guy. He was nearby. He was . . . dumb but hot.”
“Ha!” said Billy, offering his hand to Hunter to high-five. “You’re going to fit right in here.”
“You done?” Jesse asked as Hunter slapped Billy’s hand.
“Yeah,” said Hunter. “Thanks. These were great.” Because apparently Mr. Fire Starter and Mr. Art Hanger could make amazing pancakes too.
Jesse topped up both his and Hunter’s coffees. “Grab your cup. I’ll give you a tour.”
It was dawning on Hunter that Jesse was rich.
Which made sense, he supposed. “Rich” often went with “famous.”
The “cottage” was on twenty acres of land, much of which was wooded. Hunter had no idea what twenty acres of the Lake Ontario shoreline went for, but it had to have cost a pretty penny. The house itself was large but not ostentatious. Jesse informed him it had been built in the 1960s and expanded by subsequent owners in the 1980s.
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