Bet On Us Page 2

  The woman swiveled to face Frank directly. “I have some questions for you, Mr. Stemp. I’d like to conduct my interview in a room the hospital has set aside for our conversation.” She took a step backwards and gestured towards the hallway with a swing of the black briefcase. “If you’d come this way, please.”

  The nurse had edged around the cops and was beside Estelle, arm over his mom’s shoulder as the nurse whispered urgently into her ear. Jericho’s mother looked over at him, and he watched as a tear broke free from each eye, tracking down her cheeks. “I’ll be right back,” she promised quietly, and Jericho nodded. Her head was bent near the nurse’s as they walked out of sight.

  One cop had positioned himself behind Frank, and Jericho watched as his personal nightmare’s head swiveled back and forth, trying to keep an eye on each of the policemen. The doctor appeared as if by magic beside Jericho, and the arm laid on his shoulders felt simultaneously too heavy to bear and so light it could float on air. His nose tingled and the room swam around him, swooping in big circles while his ears filled with the wild buzzing of a thousand bees. He blinked up at the ceiling tiles overhead, realizing the doc had somehow scooped his knees up and deposited him prone, back in the middle of the gurney.

  “Breathe for me, Jericho. Shallow breaths in and hold, hold it, son. Okay, breathe it out slow. Do it again.” Jericho followed orders, surprised when the buzzing and tingling receded rapidly, leaving him panting and sweating. He looked around to see the gray fabric walls had been pulled back into place. Everyone else had gone, disappeared, leaving only the doctor remaining with him.

  “Where’s my mom?” He tried to push up but used his injured arm by mistake. “Oww. God bless that hurts.” Arm cradled to his chest, he stifled a whimper as he stared at the doctor. “Where’s my mom?”

  “She’s talking to the social worker.”

  Okay. That’s good. Jericho’d known what coming to the ER would most likely mean. Before leaving the house, his mom had gathered up clothing for both of them, stuffing it into a pair of plastic store bags and stashing them behind the seat of the car without a word to the oddness of her actions. She’d known the cascade of events coming their way, too, and had prepared for this outcome. “When do I get to go with her?”

  In his mind, the answer was clear. Once Frank was out of the picture, they’d be okay. It’d be tight financially until Jericho could quit school to start working legally, but he’d already been hauling hay and working around the farms in the surrounding communities, so he knew he could pull his own weight. It was mid-June, and school had ended for the year, which meant he had more hours to work, too. The boarding business he’d started already brought in steady money, and he had faith they’d survive whatever kind of financial hit it’d be to lose Frank.

  “Son.” The consoling tone of the doctor’s single word jacked with Jericho’s breathing again, as the untimely shared load of pain and sorrow bore down on him in a wave.

  “No. No, no. See, she didn’t do anything. It was Frank. I’ll tell the cops that and it’ll be okay. It was Frank.” Saying those words aloud felt more freeing than anything else he’d done. “Not my mom, never her. You saw where she was when you came in here. Between him and me. She protects me. It was all Frank. Every time.”

  “Jericho, how old are you?” This doctor, whom Jericho had initially liked because it seemed like he didn’t take any guff off anyone, leaned back against the single hard wall, arms folded across his chest. Right now, in the middle of whatever this was going on, his no-nonsense manner no longer seemed like a good thing.

  “Fifteen.” He paused a second and swallowed. “And a half. I’m small, but not a kid.”

  “Fifteen and a half.” The doc waited for Jericho’s nod. “You’re old enough to get the real deal straight. You with me?” Another long pause until Jericho let his chin dip again. “It’s late on a Friday night, there’s only one social worker on call, and she’s already talking to your mom. If she determines your mom is the best place for you right now, then you and your mom will go to a shelter.”

  “But the barn, the horses—”

  The doctor shook his head, dismissing Jericho’s concerns as if they were dust motes on the air. “If she determines your mom isn’t the best solution for tonight, you’ll go to the group foster home here in town.” The buzzing was back, and Jericho knew he was breathing fast. “Don’t get upset. It’s not as bad as it sounds. The judge will be presented with the case on Monday, and he’ll sort everything out.”

  “No, my mom needs me. She’s not well a lot of the time. She can’t muck or feed. The dust makes her sick.” Jericho shook his head, pleading with the doctor to understand, praying the man would somehow become an advocate with the power to make what Jericho wanted real. “She needs me. It’s Frank that’s the problem, not her.”

  “That’s not for me or you to decide, Jericho. My job is to set your arm, make sure you’re healthy, and ensure your safety. That’s what I’m going to do. You’re safe now, son.”

  As if, he thought, bracing for pain as the doctor reached towards his arm. A nurse breezed through the drapes, two small plastic cups in her hands. One held a pair of white tablets, and Jericho wordlessly put them in his mouth, chasing the pills with big gulps of water from the other. He climbed off the table and into the wheelchair when told, sat on the short stool in the X-ray room while the tech clucked over him like a momma hen. Then to the casting room, where the doctor met him again, and to Jericho’s relief, so did his mother.

  He didn’t ask her anything, put off by the look in her eyes that promised later. The pills threatened to make an unwelcome reappearance when the doctor rotated his wrist, and Jericho had to breathe through the nausea. He swore he could feel the bones in his arm grinding together, the pain sharp and sudden as red descended upon his vision for the second time that day.

  In the end, he got to walk out of the hospital alongside his mother. Jericho managed to hold himself together until they were in the car and he realized he couldn’t pull the door closed, not with the cast on his arm. Not with his fingers like fat little sausages stuck on his hand. Not with the pain. Not feeling weak and small, chemically distanced from the events of the day. With tears in his eyes, he leaned out to try to grab the door handle with his other hand, but as he clipped the doorframe with his elbow, the cast made a hollow crack. The jarring blow caused him to cry out.

  “I’m sorry,” he told his mother when she came around to close his door. “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, Jerry. I’m sorry, too.” She cupped his chin in her hand, fingers brushing away his tears. “We’re gonna be all right now. I’ve got a restraining order.” Jericho blinked up at her. “Means he can’t come on the farm at all. You and me, we’re gonna be safe from here on out.”

  An eerie echo of the doctor’s words, and they stirred the same silent retort in him. As if.

  Chapter Two

  Trent

  “Jakey,” Trent called, pitching his voice to carry throughout their house. “We’ve got to get a moooove on it, lover.” Bending at the waist, Trent Conway smiled as he plucked his husband’s socks and briefs from the floor, balled them up, and tossed them into the laundry hamper sitting three feet away. Jacob Grimes usually left a trail of clothing behind on his way to bed every night, and after so many years together, Trent had given up trying to convince him it was worth the effort to do differently. If the clothing remained on the floor, they’d be joined by a second layer, then most likely a third before Jacob felt compelled to straighten up after himself.

  Footsteps in the hallway had Trent standing upright just in time to watch Jacob walk through the door. Five feet ten inches of hunka hunka and all mine. “There you are, honeybuns. Did you get snacks packed?”

  “Babe” was the entirety of Jacob’s rejoinder, and Trent rolled his eyes in mock frustration.

  “Oh my God. You didn’t. Jakey.” He stepped close and had to wait no time at all before Jacob’s strong arms bracketed his sid
es, hands cupping an ass Trent knew was round and firm, just the way his Jakey liked it. “Not gonna work, big guy.”

  “Oh, yeah, it is.” Jacob’s smile tilted crookedly to one side, and amusement gathered in the lines at the corners of his eyes. “It always works.” He angled his head as he came in for a kiss, pushing up to meet Trent’s descending mouth. The scrape of Jacob’s scruff was still a delicious thrill, soft lips providing counterpoint sensations. Then Jacob parted Trent’s lips, tongue delving deep into his mouth, and he melted into the kiss, giving way to the quiet moan rising from his chest. He deliberately set aside any annoyance, focusing instead on the sensations swirling within him from the close embrace. I’ve always been a sucker for making out with him.

  The abrupt ring of a phone sounded in the background, but Trent ignored it, wrapping his arms around Jacob’s shoulders and pulling him closer. It sounded again, then quieted, and he renewed the kiss.

  Until the phone rang again, the loud and grating ring-ah-ring shaking him free from the lust-filled haze blanketing his mind. Staring into Jacob’s eyes, Trent wanted nothing more than to take his husband to bed and disregard the call of responsibility. “I should get that.” Jacob’s lips twitched, and he shook his head, pulling Trent’s head back down until their lips touched. “Jakey.”

  “Trentie.” Jacob’s tongue traced the edges of Trent’s mouth. “Kiss me, fool.”

  He couldn’t ignore the dare in Jacob’s voice. Jacob had done it knowing how hard it was for Trent to not jump when the phone rang, one of the non-awesome side benefits of being his own boss. He never knew when the call might be from a big, new client, and making himself available was one way he tried to stand out from the hordes of developers who seemed to make the West Coast their home.

  Jacob kissed him gently. And again, this time adding a vibrating moan as their lips touched.

  “No really. I should get that.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jacob’s fingers curled around the arch of Trent’s ass, gripping and pulling until their hips were pressed together. “In a minute.”

  “In a minute?” His voice was pitched two octaves higher than normal, and Trent whined piteously when Jacob ground against him. “I’ll get it. Yeah, then.” He tipped his head to the side when Jacob’s grip in his hair demanded the shift in position, sighing when Jacob’s mouth hit the side of his neck, teeth and lips working at his skin. “Oh, Jakey.”

  “Love you.” Jacob’s words were nearly lost in the rustle of clothing being adjusted. “So much, babe.”

  “Want you.” Trent groaned when Jacob’s fingers curled around him, aligning their cocks in his hand. “Feels so good.” The phone trilled, signaling a voicemail message.

  “Gonna get you off, babe.”

  Trent was wordless but not silent, mouth open as he made the sounds he knew Jacob loved to hear. No matter how long they were together, Trent would never get used to the masterful way Jacob handled him. As the bigger and slightly older man in the relationship, most outsiders believed he must be the papa bear to Jacob’s cub. Nothing could be more wrong.

  Wrung out by his orgasm, expertly caught in Jacob’s hand and spread along both their dicks for more lubrication as Jacob brought himself to peak, Trent held tight to Jacob’s shoulders while he fell apart, ejaculate dotting both their stomachs. When Jacob’s chin tilted up and he demanded “Kiss me” without even opening his eyes, Trent was happy to comply.

  “Love you, Jakey.”

  Jacob’s lips moved against Trent’s, and he knew his husband was smiling. “Love you more, babe.” With a final sweet kiss, Jacob pulled back. “We made a mess.”

  “It’s a good mess.” Trent swiped a splotch of semen with one finger, bringing it to his mouth and sucking it off with relish. The salty flavor burst across his taste buds, leaving him wanting more. “So good.”

  Jacob’s eyes had darkened and his voice held a touch of a growl when he warned, “If we’re going to the clinic’s picnic at all, you need to not get me riled again.”

  “The picnic.” Trent had lost himself in the moment, completely misplacing the event they’d been getting ready for. He glanced at the clock on one nightstand and groaned, dropping his forehead to Jacob’s shoulder. “We’re officially late. Not gonna be late, but am late as of now.”

  “Don’t care,” Jacob declared firmly, dragging a roughened fingertip up the underside of Trent’s cock.

  “Well, you didn’t want to go in the first place.” Trent walked over and rummaged through the cabinet in the attached bathroom and found the softest washcloth they owned. “There’s enough time yet. We can still go.” He had his chin tucked as he ran the water, watching the splashing liquid race across his temperature-testing fingers, so he didn’t see Jacob moving in behind him. The voice in his ear was barely preceded by a wave of body heat against his back.

  “Let’s not and say we did.” Jacob shoved Trent’s shirt up, and he lifted his arms helpfully. Then Jacob’s hands stretched across his belly, fingers following his treasure trail down. Jacob’s mouth was on his back, teeth scraping across one shoulder blade. “Let’s stay home, babe.”

  Trent watched him in the mirror as Jacob methodically broke down all his defenses and arguments. He knew when to throw in the towel, so he turned to face Jacob, warm wet cloth in hand, and set about cleansing them both. The picnic was for a local surrogacy agency and clinic, intended to be a kind of icebreaker for couples looking at the process as a possible fit. The center’s support group would be there, signing couples up for ongoing meetings to discuss successes and failures, providing a venting ground and a celebratory ally in one. After looking for the right agency for two years, Trent felt certain this one was the perfect fit, and he’d dropped paperwork off earlier in the week. That was when he’d found out about the picnic and sold Jacob on the idea. Of course that was a couple of days ago, when they’d been mid-vegging out on the couch and a picnic sounded good—not post-orgasmic and ready to collapse.

  “Okay. But—” He gripped Jacob’s cock and lifted, gently swiping at the base, smiling as Jacob groaned. “I pick the binge series today.”

  “Babe, you can do whatever you want as long as you keep touching me like that.” Jacob’s chin lifted. “You shatter me in all the best ways.”

  Trent leaned close and mouthed Jacob’s neck, savoring the sounds he pulled from him. “Shattered, huh?”

  “So shattered.” Jacob’s whisper was scarcely audible. “Gonna need a horizontal surface soon.”

  Finished with their cleanup, Trent gave him a final, soft kiss. “Bed or couch, you pick.” He pulled Jacob against his chest, tucking the smaller man’s face against his neck. Pressing his lips to the crown of Jacob’s head, he said, “I’ll find you.”

  The look of love on Jacob’s face was worth any number of missed outings. Worth anything in the world. Trent watched him saunter from the room, gaze on Jacob’s swaying ass. He is my world.

  Hanging the wet cloth over the towel hanger in the bathroom, Trent studied his own face. It was no shock to find the same soft look on his features.

  In the distance, he heard audio from the TV in their living room and smiled, knowing the comfortable couch had won Jacob’s decision on where they’d spend their evening. On his way there, Trent snagged his phone. Navigating the hallway on autopilot, he thumbed over to the voicemail application to see who’d called earlier. His footsteps slowed as he saw an unfamiliar number with a familiar area code.

  Knoxville, Tennessee.

  Cold sweat prickled across his shoulders. Trent only knew one person in Knoxville, a place he’d left behind nearly two decades ago with no more than a rusted-out car and the clothes on his back. In the intervening years, he’d returned only once, and found the same cold-shoulder lack of welcome.

  Standing at the end of the hall, he looked across the room to where Jacob was curled on the couch. Blowing out a deep breath, Trent tapped the message and put the phone to his ear. Silence, then a light static, then a deep male voice annou
nced, “Trent Conway, this is Alan Reedman from the Knoxville DCS offices. Please call me back on a matter of utmost urgency.” Reedman recited a phone number, then said, “Again, this is Alan Reedman from the Knoxville Department of Children’s Services, and I’ll be waiting for your call.”

  “Babe, anyone home?”

  From the tone of Jacob’s question, it couldn’t have been the first time he’d tried to get Trent’s attention. He looked up, staring through Jacob as he intently listened to the message for the third time.

  “You get a new client? You’re so focused I wasn’t sure you were still with me.” Jacob sat and pointed the remote at the TV. The sound muted, and in the following silence, Trent was acutely aware of his heartbeat, pounding out a beat that nearly drowned out the voice still speaking into his ear. Jacob, now alarmed, barked a brusque, “What’s up?”

  “I—” Trent licked his lips. “I gotta make a phone call.” He turned abruptly and walked quickly to the kitchen, leaning an arm on the island as he dialed. Footsteps behind him were all the warning he needed before he felt Jacob’s heat press against his back, strong arms going around his waist. Silent support, no matter the need, and that right there was why Jacob was so much the better man than he was. Trent knew he’d be spouting off a dozen thoughtless questions, demanding to know who Jacob was calling and why. His insecurities were something he tried to hide, but they came out at all the worst times. Jacob was steady and patient, kind and adoring, and always, always certain of Trent’s love.

  “DCS, Reedman speaking.”

  “Mr. Reedman?” Trent tried to strengthen his voice, aware it was shaking badly. “This is Trent. Trent Conway.” He paused, but the other man didn’t fill in the silence, leaving Trent to blunder on, his nervousness growing with every breath. “You called. Me, that is. You called me. I’m not certain why, it’s the weekend. Not that I mind. Your call. But it’s late. Not here, of course, we’re three hours behind. So it’s late there.” Jacob’s arms tightened around his waist, and Trent pulled in a steadying breath. “Why did you call me, Mr. Reedman?”