Surrender Page 6

  Jean-Pierre’s expression goes funny, and his words come out sideways. “Jake, you are not… fucked-up. Look at how much you’ve accomplished over this last year. And he’s an idiot if he can’t see that you are more than the… terrible things that hurt you.”

  My name on his lips sounds nice, and it feels less hopeless to hear that he sees my accomplishments. I’d protest the last comment, but he knows about the things that can hurt a person, and I’m not going to treat him like an idiot. “Yeah, but I’m… difficult. And he’s not a bad man because he can’t handle it. He wasn’t my type, anyway.”

  Jean-Pierre snorts as he moves closer to me. “First, you aren’t difficult, you’re just you. And second, I’ve seen you go on many dates, Jake, and he seems exactly your type. What is it that you call them? The little men?”

  Something halfway between a smirk and a snarl twitches on my lips. His eyes catch on it, and he pins me with an arched brow. I sigh. “Twinks, Jean-Pierre. Twinks. And I’m pretty sure I learned not to trust my type ever again.”

  Not sure I meant to say that out loud, because I know what his next question is going to be, because I always end up talking more around him than I mean to.

  “Alors qui est ton type?”

  Then who is your type?

  Jean-Pierre

  I know it’s me. I know that I am his type. So sure I am of his answer that I am thrown when Jake answers with a question of his own. “Why don’t you talk to me about your type?”

  Shit.

  I thought I was so clever. Jake’s expression is… like a child who knows he’s done something naughty. Now I’m the frozen one, caught like a bug in amber.

  Jake’s expression softens, and his smirk melts into a small smile. “Hey now, don’t… don’t worry about it. I’m not pushing you to say anything in particular.”

  “Yes, you are.” Even now I’m unable to manage the words and instead contemplate the ground.

  “Hey.” He grabs my arm and then quickly lets it go. “I, uh. I like tall men. Taller than me. Which is difficult since I’m already pretty tall.”

  “Was the man who hurt you tall?”

  I hold my breath waiting for his answer. It’s not just a question, it’s an assumption asking for a confirmation, and I don’t know if I have the right. It’s unfair to even ask because I haven’t answered his question yet. He bites his lip, doing the kind of calculus that people like him and I do all of the time. Do I share my story? How much of it do I share? I know that what I’m asking of Jake is big.

  “How did you—” He pauses midask and then gestures dismissively. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Fine. One of them was. Yes. I think.”

  “You think?” I’m horrified by the thought that he was hurt by more than one person.

  “I was blindfolded. But his voice came from way above me.”

  “Is that why you don’t like the dark?”

  He nods. “But I’m getting way better, and it doesn’t bother me at all when I’m with someone safe.”

  Oh, man, the things he’s doing to my heart. I don’t push him for more details; there is time enough for that later. “Viens ici, Jake,” I say, opening my arm to him. He leans in, and slowly, carefully, I pull him into me. He hesitates and I respond, “Détends-toi, mon amour.” Relax, my love.

  I do not know if it is the command or the French, but after a few more ragged, deep breaths, he relaxes into my hold, and it feels beautiful. The darkness of night that surrounds us, the lush trees that shelter us, the lovely city which houses us is here on this broken earth, and this brave man fits perfectly in my arms. We turn back toward the condos, walking through the windy path dotted with lights and shadows.

  We slow as we approach a crosswalk, and just as I’m looking left, a bright flash of light comes from my right. I tug Jake in a little more closely and search for the source of the flash. A jogger with a dog looks sheepish as she puts her phone in her pocket and turns around, going quickly in the other direction.

  “Does that happen to you often?” Jake asks, looking up at me with concern.

  I’d love to lie and say that it doesn’t, but the fact of the matter is, someone takes my picture every day, with or without my permission. What’s funny is that I’ve never refused a picture with a fan, and I really dislike the idea of sneaky pictures. Who knows what that woman is going to do with that photo? Up until the last couple of years, camera phones were notoriously bad at taking night pictures, especially when the subject is as dark as I am. Now, there’s a better chance of the photo being clear enough to become Instagram famous. “Yes, but I’m so used to it that it only registers when the person is obvious.”

  He runs his hand over my chest. “I’m sorry. That must suck.”

  “It helps when I have good company.” He smiles up at me, and we continue to walk. He doesn’t seem put off by it, which I’m glad to see. After a few moments of silence, I ask a question that has been weighing heavily on my mind. “So… does any of what happened tonight have to do with the man with the cane?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say,” he answers, snuggling closer to me.

  “Did his visit make things better for you?”

  He hesitates and gives me a look like a warning. “Yes and no.”

  I place a chaste kiss on the top of his head. “But he is not your type?”

  He shivers a little, despite the warm coat, and puts his head on my chest. “DB? No, Jean-Pierre. DB is not my type.”

  “So, you prefer white men.”

  He shakes his head, letting his eyes travel up to mine. “Just tall.”

  Those two words cause my feet to stutter. I want so much to stop dancing around him and pull him into a kiss, but the visual of his body turned toward the wall in abject terror is burned into my memory, and far too fresh.

  “Jake, let’s get you home and get you warm, no?”

  He shivers from the chill and nods. When we arrive at his doorstep, I take his keys and unlock the door, then usher him in. The art on the walls is cool and interesting and all Jake. His hands made the mixed-media pieces above the couch and the dining room table and in the hall; they are beautiful and personal. I find his orderly, well-appointed room and lead him to his bed.

  Wanting to respect his privacy, I avert my eyes when he removes his jeans and leaves on his T-shirt and underthings.

  “Here, mon amour, get under the covers.”

  He complies, shivering against the chilly sheets, with no protest over being called my love for the second time. I stroke his hair, and he looks up at me with a vulnerability I’ve never seen on him before. “Stay with me until I fall asleep?”

  My beautiful, beautiful man. “Do you want me to get into bed with you?”

  He averts his eyes and nods. Silently, I remove my shoes and drop to the bed, then curl my body around his. In his exhaustion, sleep comes quickly and deep.

  I, on the other hand, may never sleep again. I’ve never held a man like this before. The fumblings in the dark between me and Leopold never could have included snuggling; it was simply too dangerous. But this, my body fitted perfectly around his, is the most natural and sensual experience of my life. Any residual thought that I could be simply Jake’s friend flies right out of the window. I stay with him in my arms for longer than I should, and then pull my unwilling body from his and quietly let myself out.

  I want him to know that he is safe, and I’d really just like to take the guy for a cup of coffee.

  Chapter Nine

  Jake

  It’s Sunday dinner at my brother Spence’s house, and Suzi, my father’s fiancée, has made her famous roast. It’s so good that I’d commit almost any misdemeanor and a fair number of felonies to have it in my life. She’d put her foot down when my father reacted poorly to me being gay, and for that I will always love her. It’s still a little too early to spring the Buddhist thing on him, but I know that he’ll have her to talk to when the time comes.

  I wait till everyone’s left
, and I ask Spence to join me in the living room. “What’s up, little brother?” he asks, laughing at the old joke. He’s only two minutes older than I am.

  “The El Camino has been giving me grief when I go to start it in the morning. Do any of your mechanic friends work on older cars?”

  “I’m sure they do, but that’s your work vehicle. Shouldn’t you be going through Evie and Scout? You are using it for their business after all.”

  I think on it, chewing the inside of my lip. I don’t want to seem ungrateful for all the help that she’s given me, and I don’t want them to expense anything for me. I haven’t figured it all out yet, but I know that I will eventually need to focus on the art. The art will get me through; this job… won’t. As though summoned, Scout rings my cell phone.

  “Jake, buddy, Evie left her phone on the kitchen counter. Can you grab it and bring it back to the condos with you?”

  “Yeah, sure, sister-in-law. Happy to.” Spence sends me a chin-up, prodding me to talk to her about the car.

  “Hey, um, Scout?”

  “Yeah, Jake?”

  I bite my lip, then dive in. “Um…I’m talking to Spence about my car situation. The El Camino needs work, and—”

  “Well, duh,” she interrupts. “We should definitely be helping you out with that, especially while we spin up the construction company. I don’t even think you’ve ever turned in a gas receipt. Shit. Give me a sec. I’m calling you right back.” With that she hangs up, and I’m left looking at my phone, a little shocked by her reaction.

  Spence shrugs. “They’re good people, Jake. They’ll get you squared away.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. I just… I don’t feel like I deserve to ask for more than what I’ve been given. Feels greedy.”

  Spence’s cheeks go red, typical of the easy flush that we all inherited from our father. He grabs my shoulder and looks into my eyes. “What the heck do you mean you don’t feel like you deserve to ask for more? That’s crazy. You work your ass off for them. I mean, you’re still doing a shitton of work at the condos, and they have a new maintenance guy.”

  “Well, he didn’t need the maintenance condo, so Scout’s been letting me stay there, and—”

  “And what? You’re her brother-in-law! She’s happy to have you stay there, and you don’t have to fix Mrs. Chesterfield’s plumbing to earn the right to live there. It is a gift freely given.”

  I shrug him off. “You know what I mean. Let’s not pretend that I wasn’t super lucky to get the job in the first place. I don’t wanna rock that boat.”

  Spencer rolls his eyes at me, frustrated. “You were lucky to get the chance for the job, sure. That you kept the job and got a massive promotion means that you absolutely deserve the job. I’m serious, little brother, if you say ‘I don’t deserve’ in front of me again, I am going to purple nurple you so hard that you won’t be able to wear a shirt for a week.”

  I cover my threatened nipples and try to respond. “I just—”

  Spence raises pinching fingers in my direction, and I turn away from him, wrapping both arms around my chest. He says through gritted teeth, “There is no just. Every good thing that you would say after ‘I don’t deserve’ is a lie, so stop it.”

  I sit on the couch and put my head in my hands, thinking about what he’s saying. He sits to me and puts a calming hand on my shoulder. “Brother, what’s this about?”

  Spence and I are the same height, and our facial features are strikingly similar, but he is the sun-kissed, copper-haired, strongly built jock he’s always been. Thankfully, he’s also a really good brother. Not lifting my head, I admit quietly, “I don’t want to keep on doing this.”

  His voice sounds concerned, but I can tell he’s working to keep it level. “Don’t want to keep doing what, brother?”

  I sigh, then push forward. “I feel like such a shit heel for saying this, but…”

  “You don’t want this job,” he says, his demeanor gentle, and less judgmental than I was anticipating. I should give my brother more credit.

  I shake my head. “I don’t.”

  He pats my back and praises me with a smile of acceptance on his face. “It’s the art. That’s where you should be spending your time.”

  “But it’s not like I can afford to live on my art alone.” There are so many things I feel like I don’t deserve, and a life without the grind is high on that list. As I dive headfirst into a well of self-doubt and loathing, my phone rings again. I grab it, head still in one hand. “Jake here.”

  “Jake, it’s Jean-Pierre.” I shiver at the way he says my name, and now that I know how incredible it is to have his body wrapped around mine, desire nearly overwhelms me. “Scout called me about your car, and I feel terrible. We should have purchased a work vehicle for you a long, long time ago.”

  It takes me a moment to process his words because, hello, no blood flowing to my brain, but then I respond, “No, I don’t want a work truck. I just need to get my car fixed, and I don’t have the funds.”

  “Is your brother there?”

  “Yeah, Spence is here.” I eye Spence, who walks over and sits next to me.

  “Put me on speaker.”

  I know that he’s not doing it on purpose, but the gentle command in his tone tightens my jeans even more, and I do as he asks. “Okay, we’re on speaker together.”

  “Spence, what kind of vehicle do you think that Jake needs for his job?”

  My brother smiles at me and gestures to the phone as if it’s made the point for him. “There’s a couple of good options, but I think that a small truck would get the job done, give him enough room for his art supplies and larger pieces, and give him enough flexibility so that he won’t have a hard time parking in Austin’s stupid small parking spaces.”

  Jean-Pierre’s response is immediate. “Okay then, would you mind going out with him tomorrow and finding an appropriate truck?”

  Spence smirks at me. “You got it. And hey, the new Tacomas are nice.”

  “Excellent. Find what he needs, then have the dealership contact me to transfer the funds.”

  Spence punches me in the arm, bro-speak for told you so. “Sure thing, Jean-Pierre. I’ll take care of our guy.”

  A sigh filters through the speaker as though Spence has lifted a huge burden from Jean-Pierre’s shoulders. “Thank you. And Spence? Please make sure that it’s something safe, okay?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I hang up the phone as Spence considers me, and I’m not sure I want to know what he’s found. “Spence, that’s way too much. And why did you say all of that stuff about the art? You didn’t even talk about the job. I don’t need a new truck. Let’s just get something used that runs well. “

  “Jake, you know how I don’t like to curse, but you are about to make me break my own rule. Jean-Pierre Sehene just said that you needed a brand-new truck and to charge him for it. And I promise you, he doesn’t give a shirt about the work stuff as much as he wants to support your art, so when a rich man says that he wants to take care of you, you say thank you.”

  My stomach goes sour, and I am unable to outrun my reaction. It’s never just one trigger, it’s never just the broken glass; it’s three days’ worth of feeling like I’m an exposed wire. Say thank you, little spy. Thank you for teaching me not to meddle in the affairs of others.

  “Jake?”

  I am frozen, still as a winter night.

  After a beat, I hold up my hand. “Give me a second.” Breathe in, breathe out. The scarred places on my body tingle, then go quiet. Not pleasant, but I’m proud that I managed to walk through it quickly.

  Unfortunately, all Spence sees is my reaction; he can’t understand how much of it is actual progress. His eyes redden and he works his throat. Putting his fist to his mouth, he lowers his tone. “Brother. What the fuck happened to you over there?”

  I shake my head vehemently. “It’s okay, Spence. Other people have had it way worse than me. Don’t sweat it.”

&nbs
p; Unsure, but needing to reach out, Spence places a gentle hand on my arm. “I’m sorry. I don’t… I wish this wasn’t happening to you. I wish you could talk to me. I would listen to whatever you had to say.”

  Having lied to my family my whole adult life about my career, I pull a neutral face. “I know, brother. Like I said, don’t sweat it. The therapist says I have control over my second thought and my first action. So, I sometimes need a second to catch up. Don’t want you feeling like you have to walk on eggshells around me.”

  “Jake, dammit. I would happily walk on eggshells around you to never see that expression on your face ever again. You deserve a family that knows how to act around you. Keep that in mind.”

  He’s sad, and I realize that he would’ve done anything to keep me safe from the incident behind my nightmares. I see that look on Jean-Pierre, too.

  “Okay, brother.”

  Spence goes quiet for a small moment, then shifts gears. “All right, so be back here for nine tomorrow morning. We’ll grab a coffee and get you a truck, okay?”

  “Will do.”

  Chapter Ten

  Jake

  Noting how comfortable Nick, Elijah, and Roly look, I have to ask, “If I were still driving the El Camino, would I have been invited on this little day trip?”

  “Probably,” answers Nick, who has Elijah snugged up against him on the back bench.

  “Did having a bright shiny new truck with all of the bells and whistles seal the deal for me?”

  “Yep.”

  “Thought so.”

  We’re on our way to Carollton, right outside of Dallas, where a gym that specializes in wounded vets is located. The owner, an ex-NFL player, is holding a workshop for physical therapists and gyms and workout trainers to learn modifications for people with different kinds of combat and amputation injuries. Nick would hate to learn that he looks like he’s as giddy as a schoolgirl, but having lost a leg above the knee in combat, he has skin in the game. And frankly, we all want to meet the Marine who inspired the NFL player to focus on wounded veterans.