After the Fire

by Felice Stevens

  “Don’t think you have to babysit me. I’m going to take a shower and run some errands.” He needed to refill his liquor cabinet and some prescriptions but they didn’t have to know that.

  Ash shot him a hard look, disbelief apparent in his eyes while Drew merely shook his head. “Is that what you think we’re doing? You’re my best friend, yet I barely see you anymore.” Drew’s inscrutable expression unnerved Jordan. Seeing Drew so guarded and hurt, shame once again pricked Jordan’s conscience. Keith had been his lover, but Drew and their other friend Mike were his brothers in every sense of the word. He’d never hidden anything from them. Until now.

  The past few months had made him an expert in masking his feelings. So with a smile he hoped didn’t look too fake or forced, he slapped Drew on the back, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re right. And I promise to make an effort to get out more and get a handle on my life.” With a small prayer of thanks, he watched as his two friends prepared to leave.

  “Don’t be a stranger. My grandmother misses you.” Drew hugged him, whispering into his ear, “I miss you.” Guilt cramped his stomach.

  “Seriously, Jordan. Come by for dinner this week. Maybe you can distract that cat from attacking my ankles every time I walk by.” Ash grimaced, but his eyes crinkled with amusement.

  Even Jordan laughed at Ash’s running battle with Drew’s cat, Domino. Seemed the cat resented Ash’s place in Drew’s life and took his displeasure out on him every chance he got.

  “I can’t help it if the cat has good taste, Davis.” Jordan smirked and ducked Ash’s friendly punch before he followed Drew out the front door.

  Jordan couldn’t help but notice how, when they were halfway down the block, Ash stopped, grasped Drew around the neck, and kissed him hard. They continued to walk, Ash’s arm snug around Drew’s shoulders to tug him close. A pain sharp and deep knifed through Jordan, and he caught his breath. There was no one left to hold him. Not anymore.

  Grief-stricken and unwilling to face more loving gestures between his friends, Jordan turned his back and reentered his house. He picked up the certified letter and opened it, scanning the brief paragraph.

  Dear Dr. Peterson:

  I have tried, unsuccessfully these past few months, to contact you regarding the foundation the late Keith Hart created. As you have failed to respond, I will take this as your decision not to participate in this worthwhile endeavor. Please consider this as formal notice that I will be asking the other members of the board to remove you from this position, and we will begin the process of acquiring a new president of the board.

  Very truly yours,

  Lucas Conover, Platinum Account Services

  Lambert & North, LLC

  Jordan’s eyes narrowed as the burn of anger rose in his face. Fucking snotty bastard. Who the hell was this Conover to talk to him like that? Jordan stormed into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. The bottle of pills sat there, mocking him. Jordan grabbed it, wrenched the top open, and swallowed the last two. If one was good, two were better. Antidepressant? Shit, make it more like anti-feel anything at all. The way Jordan liked it. He slammed the door and faced himself in the mirror, wincing at his too-pale skin and bloodshot, sunken eyes. Once the pills kicked in and he took a shower, he’d be good as new. The languid sense of well-being from the drugs began to seep into his body. He couldn’t wait until Monday morning when he’d come face-to-face with that little prick, Lucas Conover.

  Chapter Two

  Monday mornings suck. At the alarm’s incessant blaring, Lucas Conover rolled out of bed with a grunt and shuffled into the bathroom. He relieved himself, brushed his teeth, and started the shower, all without pausing to glance in the mirror.

  The heated spill of water pouring over his face and body revived him somewhat. To save time, he shaved in the shower and, as an afterthought, stroked himself to a quick release that rushed through him, leaving him less tense but feeling no better off than before. Sad that sex had become merely a shower-time ritual for a thirty-year-old man, but considering his hand had been the only thing giving him any pleasure in his life for years, he wasn’t surprised. Better safe than sorry. And being safe was the only thing Luke wanted from life.

  That’s what happened when you grew up eating fear for breakfast, hoping the man who pretended to be your father was still so drunk from the night before, he’d sleep like the dead so you could grab your little brother and run to school before the drunken bastard woke up. And then there were days Luke and Brandon didn’t bother to wait for their cereal, choosing to get to school early rather than hanging around their house, hearing their “father” bellow in anger. Unwilling to start his day with unpleasant and unwanted memories, Luke squeezed the water from his hair and stepped out of the shower.

  After drying off, he ran a comb through his wet curls then returned to the bedroom to dress. Barely looking in his closet, he pulled out a pale blue shirt along with a navy-blue suit. He picked out a tie but didn’t put it on. Bad enough he had to wear the damn thing all day long, he could at least enjoy his coffee without choking. Slinging the tie around his neck, he left the bedroom and headed to the kitchen.

  It had been a typical New York City galley kitchen when he purchased the apartment, but hating that feeling of being cramped, he’d knocked down the wall separating it from the living room to open it up, creating a bright expanse of space. Doing that allowed the light from the living room to reach all the way into the apartment. The wide counter doubled as his table, and his white cabinets and black granite countertops gleamed where the sunlight struck them. But right now, only the shining stainless coffeepot drew his attention. He took his giant-sized mug out of the dish rack and poured himself a large, bracing cup.

  Occasionally he wondered what it might be like to share his life with someone, to not wake up alone every single day, but that farfetched idea never lasted long. He sipped his coffee, thankful for all he did have now, never forgetting what he’d been through to get to this point. It had been something he’d learned to live with after the long, hard years alone. Since Ash—the foster brother he’d worshiped—ran out on him and their younger brother. Since his last night at home with his foster father, Munson. Since he woke up in a hospital and discovered he’d been abandoned by his family. A decade, in fact, of him with only his wits, learning to survive.

  His hand tightened around his coffee cup. Not again and not today. Mondays were bad enough without thoughts of those two ruining his day before it even started. It had taken him years to come to terms with Munson’s actions. Ash’s betrayal clung to him like a second skin, impossible to remove without further damage.

  He threw the cold dregs from his cup into the sink and filled his stainless-steel travel mug with more coffee. After placing the mug on the table in the hallway, Luke faced the gilt-edged mirror and knotted his tie. A brief grin flickered on his lips as he smoothed his hands over the small Winnie-the-Pooh faces on the dark blue silk.

  His ties were always the talk of the secretaries. Serious in everything he did and not known for having a sense of humor among his colleagues, Luke allowed himself a brief outlet for amusement in his ties. They always had cartoon characters on them—Bugs Bunny, Flintstones, or Pokémon figures.

  He slipped on his suit jacket, shrugged on his wool-lined raincoat, and left his apartment. No one knew that those ties were a sort of homage to his young brother, Brandon, whom he so desperately missed. The Saturday mornings they’d all spent snuggled up on the couch watching cartoons were among the happiest times of his childhood. Brandon would always sit on Ash’s lap, doling out fistfuls of some disgusting sugary cereal until Munson woke up and stumbled into the living room where they’d congregated. Then Ash would find some excuse to leave, sliding Brandon next to Luke.

  Even then, the bastard had run away from them.

  In the elevator, he checked his phone and saw a calendar entry for a new meeting his secretary had scheduled for him at eleven o’clock with the elusive Dr. Jor
dan Peterson. Well, well. Finally, he’d flushed the rat out of his hole. Luke couldn’t prevent a small smile from breaking out across his face. After all these months, it figured threatening him would be the only way to ensure the man would make an appearance.

  Keith was a good man, and his senseless death had devastated Luke. He’d dealt with Keith’s money for years, even before Dr. Peterson came into the picture, and Luke and the detective had become somewhat close—as close as Luke allowed anyone to get. When Keith informed him he was going to marry Peterson, Luke tried to warn him about giving the man control over such a sizable estate.

  In his natural, good-natured way, Keith had laughed. “Luke, my man, I trust Jordan with my life. He already controls my heart. My money doesn’t really mean much to me if he isn’t there with me to share the ride.”

  Luke’s chest tightened at the memory of the big blond detective laughing without a care in the world. Not two months after that, he lay cold in his grave. Life was so fucking unfair. A piece of shit like Munson remained alive, while someone as good and decent as Keith…damn. Luke rubbed his suddenly damp eyes and then flagged down a cab on the corner of 19th St. and Eighth Avenue.

  “Fifty-Sixth and Lex.” The cabbie nodded and took off, jolting Luke back into the seat. A year or so ago, Keith had shown him a picture of his partner. Luke remembered Peterson as an incredibly attractive man, tall and lean, with sculpted features and a somewhat arrogant smirk. Waves of golden-blond hair fell over his brow but failed to hide the intensity of his pale blue eyes. When he’d teased Keith about his boyfriend’s elegant looks, Keith had chuckled.

  “He has a big enough ego, Luke. Don’t ever tell him that if you meet him, please. But in spite of what people may think of him, he’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

  Luke had laughed along but couldn’t relate to the obvious love in Keith’s voice for Peterson. He’d steered clear of most friendships and all relationships. Occasionally he’d go out after work with a few people to grab a beer, but he never accepted their invitations to go to clubs or play golf on the weekends. On the rare occasion when the nights got too lonely for him to bear, he’d venture to a bar for anonymous sex. A hot mouth on his cock was all it took to obliterate the darkness in his mind, but it wouldn’t last longer than the night. Casual was the best he could do. Most weekends found him at home, holed up in his apartment, or volunteering at one of the homeless shelters on the Lower East Side. It killed him to see the families with young children, their eyes full of hopelessness and despair. No matter how many left the shelters, it always seemed the space was filled again immediately with another family looking for help.

  Nothing had changed from when he’d lived there, alone and afraid. Only the kindness and determination of Wanda, who ran the shelter, to see him get off the streets and back into school saved his life.

  Shit. Reminiscing was one big fucking mistake. With a subtle brush of his fingers, he wiped away any trace of wetness in his eyes. Uttering a silent prayer of thanks for the quick ride uptown, he ran his card through the machine and took his receipt. Luke jumped out of the cab, and with brisk strides he shook off the past and entered the glass-and-steel skyscraper, exchanging pleasantries with the guard. He still got a secret thrill knowing he belonged here.

  A top financial firm, Lambert and North was newer than the old warhorses that had their names carved into the history of Wall Street, but Luke never regretted his decision to work there. It had a younger, more modern vibe, and he knew that his being gay would’ve been looked down upon at the older, more established firms, no matter that it was the twenty-first century. Here, it was no big deal.

  He nodded at several colleagues in the elevator, listening to them talk about their weekends. When the door opened on his floor, he spotted his secretary already working at her desk. He loved Valerie. She was efficient and organized, and never tried to become overly personal like some of the other secretaries did. From the first day, he’d made it clear his work and personal life were separate, and she controlled his professional life perfectly.

  “Good morning, Luke.” She smiled and handed him his messages and mail.

  “Morning.” He glanced at the papers for a second, then stopped and turned around. “I see Dr. Peterson scheduled a meeting today at eleven. When he comes in, make him wait a bit.” Sure, it was childish, but the man pissed him off. Peterson’s procrastination did a disservice to all Keith had tried to accomplish. He deserved a little setdown.

  To her credit, Valerie didn’t miss a beat. She merely blinked her big brown eyes and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  He entered his office and immediately got to work. After the usual Monday morning directors’ meeting with his boss, he began to wade through the various e-mails, phone calls, and questions that required his attention. He picked up his head only once, and that was to acknowledge the delivery of his bagel and cream cheese.

  “Hey, Orlando, how’s it going? You and your family get settled yet in the apartment?” Orlando Hernandez, his mother, and his twin sisters had been in a shelter when Luke first met them. He’d not only assisted the family with navigating the confusing world of food stamps, Medicaid, and Section 8 low-income housing but had gotten Orlando a part-time job in the deli down the block from Luke’s office building while he studied for the GED.

  It was all about paying it forward.

  Thinking back, he recalled all that Wanda had done for him when he’d first stumbled into the shelter that cold night. She’d cleaned him up, given him warm clothes and a hot meal. But more than that, she’d given him hope. Hope he could survive through the trauma of his flight from Georgia. Hope he could ascend to heights he’d never thought possible during the blackest time of his humiliation.

  It began with his education and determination, but the common thread running through it all was her love for him. He’d vowed to make her proud and never let her down.

  The young man’s teeth flashed brightly. “Yes, Mr. Conover. Mama is thrilled to have a place to cook again and wanted me to tell you she expects you over to dinner one night soon.”

  Luke took the bag with his bagel and third cup of coffee of the morning and placed it on his desk. “I’m sure she loves cooking up a storm.”

  Valerie buzzed from outside. “You have a phone call. Mr. Davis again.”

  His heart accelerated. Shit. When was that bastard going to get the hint that Luke didn’t want to talk to him? “Same as before, Valerie. Tell him I’m busy and let security downstairs know not to allow him access to the building to see me, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He gave a rueful smile to Orlando, who stood waiting before him. “Someone from the past I have no desire to see now. You know how it is.”

  Orlando’s lips quirked in a smile. “Of course.”

  Luke paid him, adding a hefty tip, and watched him leave, pleased he’d accomplished at least one good thing in his life so far. The phone calls and e-mails never stopped as he devoured his bagel and drank his coffee. It seemed everything this morning demanded his immediate attention.

  At precisely eleven o’clock, Valerie buzzed him. “Dr. Peterson is here. Do you want him to wait here or in the conference room?”

  “Here. Let him sit for ten minutes, then bring him in.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Luke left his seat to stare out of the window. Much as he hated to admit it, the call from Ash still upset him. He didn’t want memories banging their way back into his head like an incessant woodpecker. The past was called the past because it was over and done with. There was no forgiveness in his heart for Ash Davis. His brother. What a joke.

  As far as he was concerned, he was as alone as ever.

  A rap at the door brought him back to awareness. “Yes?”

  Valerie opened it part of the way, effectively blocking anyone outside from seeing in. She was worth her weight in gold.

  “Are you ready for Dr. Peterson, sir?”

  He smiled and stood at his desk, hands
clasped together. For some inexplicable reason, a shower of nerves prickled his skin. “Yes, send him in, please.”

  Luke remained standing as Valerie opened the door, and he got his first look at Jordan Peterson.

  “Mr. Conover? I’m Dr. Peterson.”

  The man greeted him head down, as if its weight was too heavy for him to bear. All Luke could think of was how different he looked from the picture Keith had shown him last year. Where Peterson had been laughing into the camera, holding up a wineglass, his face alive with joy, the hollow-eyed person who stood before him bore little resemblance to the photograph, though vestiges of beauty remained in this shattered, emotional wreckage of a man. The blond hair no longer lay as neatly trimmed and styled as it had been and the pallor of his skin left little doubt he hadn’t seen the sun in months. His expensive, well-tailored suit hung loose on his skin-and-bones frame.

  Against his better judgment, he took pity on the man and mustered up what he hoped was a sympathetic smile. As difficult as it was for Luke to show emotion, Keith’s death nonetheless had hit him hard. He couldn’t fathom Peterson’s anguish.

  “I’m sorry for your loss. Keith was a wonderful man.”

  He raised his gaze from his study of the floor to meet Luke’s. Empty, sad, and bloodshot, the devastation in his eyes hit Luke like a slap to the face. What would it be like to love someone so intensely? From the way Peterson looked, Luke was better off not knowing.

  “Yes, he was, and I don’t know why you thought it necessary to threaten me. Who the fuck are you to write me a letter like that?” The handsome face twisted in a sneer.

  So much for sympathy. “I’ve tried to contact you for months, and you’ve ignored me. Anyone would think the same thing I did. You weren’t interested in the position.”