After the Fire

by Felice Stevens

  “Hello, I’m Wanda Grant.” A smile tugged at her lips as she introduced herself. “I run the shelter. So nice to meet you finally.” Her voice softened. “I want to extend my sympathy for your loss. Luke tells me Detective Hart was a wonderful man.”

  And like that, the light flickered out of Jordan’s eyes. “Thank you. He truly was one of a kind.”

  As Wanda murmured more comforting words to him, Luke wondered if he’d been wrong in thinking Jordan had begun to recover and move past his loss. It would be criminal for a man like him to live the life of a monk. His gaze traveled over Jordan’s lean but more than appealing tight body, stopping only when he met the dancing dark eyes of Wanda.

  Shit. Busted.

  Even the fierce, dark scowl he directed at Wanda did little to detract from her smile. Best to get Jordan out of here now and speak with Wanda later. “So, um, why don’t I take you around, and you can meet the people Wanda selected to work for the foundation. Then we can sit and explain what the day-to-day activity of the center we’re planning will be like.”

  “What a lovely idea. You two go ahead and do a little meet and greet with the folks. Luke, baby, I’m a little busy right now, you know?” She directed her wide-eyed, innocent gaze at him. “Why don’t you and Dr. Peterson have some lunch afterward and talk. You know you love that little seafood place across the street.” Her arm slipped into the crook of Jordan’s elbow as she whispered loudly in his ear, “If I don’t push Lukie, he’ll never eat.”

  “Lukie?” Amusement lit Jordan’s eyes as they walked down the hall.

  “Wanda loves to tease me.” It took the strength of Luke’s willpower to keep his face a study in grim determination. Why did this man, with his presence alone, get under Luke’s skin? His mood blackened, driving away the optimism and good cheer he’d enjoyed earlier.

  “How long have you known her? You two seem like long-standing friends.” Jordan sounded curious, as if he couldn’t understand how a man like Luke and a woman like Wanda could know one another.

  The devil on Luke’s shoulder won out, if nothing more than to hear Jordan’s response. “I lived here for a few years when I first came to the city.” There. He’d said it, and he couldn’t take it back.

  Luke slanted a quick, furtive glance to the side. Looking for something, anything that might give away Jordan’s reaction to that bit of startling news. But aside from a slight falter in his step—which admittedly Luke could be mistaken about—Jordan said nothing.

  That irked him even more. Was Jordan so startled that he couldn’t speak? Or maybe he was looking for a way to back out of the project, or would he replace Luke? His imagination spun out of control.

  The silence festered between them, deepening like a thorn embedded in the skin, until with uncharacteristic emotion, Luke blurted out, “Well, aren’t you shocked or surprised by the news? If you don’t want me to work with you, let me know now.”

  Jordan halted his steps and gave him a brief smile, its unexpected sweetness transforming his tired, too-pale face. “Don’t be an idiot; why would I think that? Now come on. I want to meet everyone.” He continued walking down the hall, leaving Luke to scramble after him.

  “Here, this is where they are.” Luke shouldered past Jordan into the room, where a group of nervous-looking men and women sat on metal folding chairs. A large desk, folders and binders stacked on its surface, took up the far side of the room beneath a bank of tall, narrow windows, double plated, with chicken wire between the glass. No way in, no way out, Luke observed, his own memories playing havoc with his senses.

  Get a grip. You made it out, and you’re helping them get out as well.

  Jordan stepped aside, in obvious deference to Luke’s familiarity with the people and the place. “Go on,” he murmured. “But don’t think I’ll always let you be the one in control.”

  A rush of heat swept through Luke at the amused yet slightly mocking tone in Jordan’s voice. For a brief moment he wondered if Jordan was as cool and calm in the bedroom. A vision of that long, pale body spread out underneath him filled Luke’s mind, and he could almost taste the heat of Jordan’s mouth. Not in a million fucking years would that happen, and with his usual ruthless intensity, Luke slammed the iron door shut on his disturbing thoughts.

  “We’ll see about that, Doctor.” Luke bit out his words, allowing no smile to soften the anger in his voice. He was determined to quash any sexual interest he might have for this man, knowing it would only end in a disastrous blaze of fucking epic proportions. And if it culminated with Jordan disliking him, so be it.

  “Good afternoon, everyone.” Luke granted a smile to these people whom Wanda had chosen. They were the ones who would make the program successful since they’d be on the front lines, so to speak, dealing with the day-to-day issues that would crop up.

  “My name is Lucas Conover, and I’m the chief financial officer and director of The Keith Hart Foundation. The man to my left is Dr. Jordan Peterson, the president. Keith Hart was a detective with the NYPD whose life mission, aside from protecting the people of New York City, was to rid the streets of drugs and illegal guns. Tragically, he was killed last year by one of those guns, trying to save the life of a friend.”

  Jordan drew in a shuddering breath and in deference to his emotions Luke waited a moment, then continued.

  “Detective Hart dedicated his life to the people of New York City. He knew being a police officer meant risking his life every day, but to him it was worth it if he was helping his fellow man. He created this foundation to stop the never-ending spiral of violence and told me that even if something should happen to him, his desire to make New York City a safer place for all men and women but especially the children, the most vulnerable in our society, must continue. The funding he has provided, along with the corporate funding we’ve secured, has allowed us to set up an after-school center that we hope can be a model for other neighborhoods.”

  The disinterested, dubious faces of the people suddenly sparked to life. One bald, hulking man Luke knew as Troy spoke in a gruff tone. “So we’d be helping at the center? How, man? I’m no teacher.”

  “And I ain’t no snitch, neither.” That came from a young, skinny man named Andre, sporting long dreads, his arms covered in tattoos. “Don’t ask me to tell on who’s doing what with who.”

  All legitimate points. “First, let me assure you, we aren’t asking you to snitch or tell the police anything. What we are asking is to help us with our project. Learn to work the computers, help out in the library or with art projects. Once a month we will be running a Grins Not Guns program, where for every gun brought into the precinct, no questions asked, the person will be given a twenty-five-dollar gift card from MasterCard or Visa. So, in addition to you helping the youth in the neighborhood stay out of trouble, we’d like you to help spread the word.”

  A sense of interest and acceptance sparked a discussion. The two main questions on everyone’s mind seemed to be, if the people turning in the guns could be sure they wouldn’t be arrested, and whether there was a limit on the number of guns brought in on one day.

  “Does he talk at all?” A young woman Luke remembered as Juanita gestured toward Jordan. “If he’s the president, shouldn’t he have something to say, or is he one of those rich, white do-gooders who wants to save the poor?”

  Before Lucas had a chance to answer, Jordan stepped forward. “I’m not here to save your lives or make excuses for mine. You don’t even have to pretend to like me. I don’t care.” Jordan’s blue eyes flashed. “Detective Hart was my fiancé, and I loved him. He lost his life, and that’s the only reason I’m here. To make sure that not another person loses theirs to an illegal gun.”

  Way to make friends, Jordan. Luke opened his mouth to try and soften Jordan’s harsh words but was cut short by Juanita.

  “Okay, man. And I’m sorry about your boyfriend. I heard he was a cool dude.” The other women in the group, as well as the men, expressed similar condolences to Jordan in f
riendly, almost warm tones.

  Luke stood, mouth open. Had he heard right? Had Jordan been accepted by this group of people, who’d taken months to warm up to Luke?

  “We’ll talk to you all again soon. Thank you for agreeing to become a part of this.”

  Luke couldn’t help but stare at Jordan as everyone filed out of the room.

  “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to stand with your mouth open? You’ll catch flies.” Jordan smirked. They stood alone and Jordan folded his arms, leaning against the door.

  Anger pulsed within him in deep, thrusting jabs. Anger at himself and at Jordan for getting under his skin. “Shut up, asshole.”

  He heard Jordan’s inelegant, derisive snort. “Let’s go have lunch, like Wanda said.”

  “I’m not hungry.” The words flew out of his mouth, making him sound like a growly, petulant child.

  It didn’t seem to matter to Jordan in the least, as he raised a blond brow and drawled in that infuriating prep-school voice, “But I am. And Wanda said—”

  “I know what she said; however, you don’t have to do what she says.” But all of a sudden he wanted to have lunch with the man. Otherwise it would be another boring Saturday at the gym and on his sofa, waiting for night to fall.

  Perhaps Jordan saw Luke’s needy desperation, but more likely the man wanted to get his own way. “I never do what anyone tells me to unless I want to. Would you mind if we picked something up along the way? I have to go home, but I”—for the first time today, Jordan looked vulnerable as he bit his lip—“I wouldn’t mind some lunchtime company.” He raked his hand through his hair.

  That’s when Luke noticed it. The dull gold shine winking through the thick, pale strands of Jordan’s hair. A band, not too wide but still substantial, encircled the ring finger of his left hand. It hadn’t been there the other times they’d met. So, although Jordan had physically attempted to move on with his life after Keith’s death, the emotional reality remained.

  Even so, Luke wondered in the back of his mind, How do the flawed and damaged living ever measure up to the perfection of the dead?

  Chapter Six

  Christ, the man was touchy. Jordan blinked in the bright, cold sunlight as he and Lucas stepped outside. Traffic flew by them on First Avenue, cars and taxis filled with busy people with busy lives.

  Lucas’s bristling reluctance to be there with him forced Jordan to offer a way out of lunch. “Look. If you really don’t want to hang out with me, you can take off. But I’m offering lunch at my house. I have to check on something; otherwise I’d be happy to try the seafood place Wanda suggested.” Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Rain check on the restaurant?”

  Jordan didn’t know who was more startled by the invitation, him or Lucas. It presupposed there’d be more opportunities to spend time together. Somehow that didn’t upset him as he thought it might. His eagerness to share his time with the relative stranger instead of the friends he’d known all his life confused the hell out of him.

  “I’d like that. I, um, don’t have any plans for the rest of the day.”

  Unaccustomed happiness settled in Jordan’s chest, and, more content than he ought to be, he broke into a full-fledged smile. “Then come on. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” He hurried down the steps, anxious to hail a cab back to his brownstone in Chelsea. One pulled up to the curb, and he held open the door, ready to climb inside when he realized Lucas wasn’t there next to him. When he looked back over his shoulder, Lucas still stood on the steps of the shelter, an unreadable look darkening his face.

  Motioning to the cabbie to wait, he ran back. “What are you waiting for? Come on.”

  Lucas slanted him a funny look. “Who do you want me to meet and why?”

  “Come on, stop being so stubborn.” Jordan yanked on Lucas’s arm, dragging him into the waiting cab. “It’ll be fine. Everyone I know has been nagging me to move on and start living my life again, so that’s what I did.” The cab took off, whizzing in and out of traffic in typical frantic fashion, and their bodies slid toward each other, then moved apart. For the first time in close to a year, blood heated Jordan’s veins. Perhaps it was the press of his arm against the hardness of Lucas’s, but he hadn’t touched another man since Keith. A ridiculous surge of excitement had him grinning at Lucas in spite of the guy’s strained expression. “Why do you look so unhappy?”

  “I’m not.” But the words came out gruff and somewhat hostile.

  Admittedly, Lucas’s life story made him curious, and wrapped up in his own personal misery as he was, even he could tell Lucas not only had walls around him, he had a fucking moat complete with piranhas swimming in the water, ready to rip anyone to shreds if they dared to get close enough.

  There was nothing Jordan enjoyed more than a challenge, and Lucas Conover was nothing if not a challenge.

  Mercifully, the cab slowed, then stopped in front of the brownstone. Jordan tossed some bills over the divider and opened the door. “We’re here. Come.”

  This time, he wasn’t mistaken; a flicker of something dark yet hesitant shadowed Lucas’s eyes.

  “Come on. It’ll be fine, promise.”

  Finally, Lucas slid out of the cab and joined him on the sidewalk. “This is a nice place. If I remember correctly, you haven’t lived here that long, have you?”

  A throb of sorrow pulsed in his chest, but Jordan had vowed not to be dragged down today. Time to start living, Jordan. Take everyone’s advice. Move on, move on. “We bought it about two years ago. It was a total wreck and took over a year to renovate, but we had a blast doing it.” They trudged up the steps, and Jordan swung the black wrought-iron gate closed behind them with a clang. A large golden pomegranate gleamed above the glass panes of the front door, under the stained-glass fanlight.

  Jordan unlocked the door and waved Lucas to follow him down the hallway. “You want a beer or anything?”

  “Nah, I’m fine.” From the corner of his eye, he could see Lucas craning his neck to look into the spacious rooms as they passed by. It was a typical twenty-five-foot-wide brownstone, with the staircase on the left, the polished mahogany newels of the banister marching up toward the second story like wooden soldiers. The parlor had a beautiful bay window overlooking the front garden. A wide window seat curved around, with his mother’s colorful needlepoint pillows piled high, offering an inviting place to curl up and watch the world go by.

  Jordan viewed his home with pride. They’d had the original tin ceilings beautifully restored, and the inlaid polished wood floors gleamed with the obvious care he’d lavished on them. Each fireplace had intricately cut copper gates fanned out in front of them, and pictures crowded the mantels, evidencing that happier times once took place in the house.

  Lucas wandered to the photographs. Jordan didn’t need to look; he knew them all by heart. There was one of their only Christmas here together, a towering spruce tree in the background, lit by dazzling lights. His parents and him on the day of his graduation from medical school. A picture of him and Keith the night they got engaged, as well as pictures of him with Mike and Drew as young kids, through life’s milestones, in their high school and then college caps and gowns, up until about a year ago.

  Sunlight streamed in through the front window, creating waving patterns on the floor from the sheer, lacy curtains. The beams hit the back of Luke’s head, highlighting the gleam of his chestnut curls. Pictures floated through Jordan’s mind, like a vintage movie from the silent era. Highlights of his life played in flickering images, and he lost himself in memories.

  Thanksgiving dinner with all their friends and family together. A strong, warm arm slipped around his waist.

  “I’ve waited a long time for you.”

  Jordan smiled and kissed Lucas on his mouth.

  A cold sweat broke over him. What the hell was that about? Blinking rapidly, Jordan glanced around, fearful Lucas could read his mind and see what he’d imagined. The room spun, then tilted, and he needed to l
ean against the doorframe to keep from sagging to the ground. His mouth dried, and the panic set in.

  I can’t do this.

  Kissing Lucas. He didn’t want that, not at all. A quick scan of the room found Lucas still studying the photographs, and Jordan breathed a sigh of relief. Best to forget that confusing image and get on with the business of lunch.

  A bark sounded from the back of the house. Luke turned and stared at him, a small smile of delight breaking the stern line of his mouth. “Is that a dog?”

  Jordan shared the smile, happy to see Lucas obviously liked dogs. “Yeah. She appeared in my yard a few weeks ago, left, and then just as quickly reappeared.” A brown-and-tan four-legged body hurtled through the hall and jumped up on him, wriggling and trying to lick his face. “Meet my newest sweetheart, Sasha. Down, girl.” He knelt to pet and scratch behind her ears and accepted her licking his face with her wet tongue. “Come on. She won’t bite. I’ve taken her to the vet and gotten her all her shots.”

  Lucas approached and knelt next to him, reaching out his fingers for the dog to sniff. Sasha immediately licked them, then flopped on her back to present her belly for a rub. Lucas sat back on his heels, and for the first time, Jordan saw him laugh. Shoulders shaking and eyes squeezed closed, Lucas tilted his neck back and let go with abandon. Fascinated, Jordan couldn’t tear his eyes away from Lucas in such an unguarded state. Then he froze.

  It hadn’t happened in months, but it was undeniable. An ache in his groin. What he’d thought dead and buried, locked away with the love he’d lost, came roaring back to life at the sight and sound of this walled-up man enjoying a moment with a dog.

  “Let’s go to the kitchen. We can order some lunch and play with her.” He jumped to his feet. Sasha scrambled upright, yet Lucas remained crouching on the floor, his laughter gone. Jordan caught a yearning in his eyes, a glimpse of sadness, as he stared after Sasha padding down the hall toward the kitchen. “Lucas?” Their gazes locked, and at the undeniable hunger in Lucas’s expression, the floor seemed to drop out from under Jordan’s feet. There was no denying his body’s reaction now as every nerve ending tingled, and he could sense the blood rushing through his veins, watering his soul, drenching his parched insides. Like a plant long denied the sun, his body stirred with the long-ago remembered warmth and stretched toward its source. To Lucas.