CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

"So how's Molly?" I asked as I tucked into my Szechuan noodles. We were sitting companionably on the sofa, cartons of Chinese and opened bottles of beer spread out on the coffee table before us.

Justin's face brightened. "Lots better. They're saying she can go home next week if she keeps improving."

I smiled, happy for him. "That's great."

"Yeah." He abandoned his fried dumplings to bite into an egg roll and then gasped. "Hot, hot!" I watched in amusement as he cupped one hand beneath his chin to catch any spillages whilst fanning frantically at his open mouth with the other, gingerly trying to both chew and suck in cool air at the same time. After he finally managed to get the food down, he reached for a bottle and took a long swallow of beer before grinning at me apologetically. "Sorry. Hot," he explained.

"So I gathered." I hid my smirk as he wiped off his chin with his napkin. "I bet your Mom's pleased."

He shrugged a little before resuming a more cautious attack on the roll. "Relieved, sure. See, Brian, she knows that one day Molly's going into hospital and she's not going to come back. Each time she gets one of these infections Mom's afraid it might be the last, because we don't know when her body's going to give up on her, only that sooner or later it will. So all we can really do is to be thankful that we've got a little more time, that's all."

I reached over and gave his knee a comforting squeeze. That was one situation I couldn't do anything about. "Any news of your Dad?"

He finished off the rest of his roll and swallowed: the tip of his pink tongue danced around his lips, chasing the oil smeared on them, and I wanted nothing more than to lean over and perform that little clean-up job myself. "The police came to the house this morning with a warrant and took his laptop and hard drive and all the documentation they could find," he told me eventually. "Bank statements, accounts, letters … anything they could carry, really. Mom had to open the safe for them, where he keeps the personal papers - birth certificates, share bonds, insurance policies, all that kind of shit - and as far as she could tell nothing was missing. His passport was still there, even his emergency credit cards." He speared a dumpling with his chop stick and regarded it moodily. "Isn't that kind of odd? I mean, if he'd decided to disappear, wouldn't he have taken his passport and stuff with him?"

"Not necessarily. He can disappear without leaving the country, you know."

"Yeah, but still…" He popped the dumpling into his mouth and chewed, his eyes distant. I realised I'd be quite happy to just sit here for the rest of my life, watching him eat. It was fucking entrancing. "Surely he'd at least have taken the cards?"

"Maybe he figures if he uses them the police can trace them."

Justin pointed his chopstick at me. "True. In fact, the cops told Mom that he hasn't used his regular cards for any transactions anywhere, not since he went missing. So what's he living on?"

"Cash, maybe?" I was done with the noodles so I put them down, and he immediately grabbed the carton and started in on the remains. "Look, you don't really know anything about your old man," I reminded him, picking up a beer. "Maybe he's had an emergency plan in place for a long time, just in case he needed it. I doubt he'd have trusted Saperstein to keep his mouth permanently shut. He might have cash stashed somewhere, or even an account set up under a different name. He might have a whole fucking new identity ready, for all we know."

He raised an eyebrow sceptically. "Somehow I can't see my father as James Bond."

"Oh, I don't know." I leaned over and looked deep into his eyes. "Mish O'Connell," I breathed in my best Sean Connery voice, "Or may I shay…. Cryshtal? I'd like to show you my huge, throbbing Shmith and Weshon."

Justin snorted into his noodles. "Brian, that's fucking gross! Not to mention the crappiest Scotch accent I've ever heard!"

"Scots, you ignoramus. Scotch is the whisky. You sure you're not lying about those SATS?"

He giggled. It was wonderful. It was probably the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard.

"Do you want any more of those wings?" he asked, eyeing them as he discarded the now empty noodle carton.

"No, I'm good." I watched him bury his sharp white teeth in a honey-glazed chicken wing, tearing the meat off as if he hadn't eaten in a week. "Jesus, Justin. Where do you put it all?"

"I told you. I've missed a few meals, so I'm catching up. Besides, I really love these."

I didn't think he'd yet found a food that he didn't.

"Anyway," he went on between mouthfuls, "I don't believe my father ever thought things might not work out for him eventually. He's too arrogant, too certain … too sure that God is on his side." He dropped the denuded bones back in the carton and started on another wing.

I took a thoughtful swallow of beer. "I take it Crystal hasn't shown up either?"

He shook his head. "They're both officially missing now … but if they are together then they've gone in separate cars, because they're both missing, too. Mom said they're checking the plates with security and traffic cameras to see if they can pick them up."

"Might help if they knew which direction to look," I said.

"Um." He dumped the remains of his wing and sat back with a contented sigh, seemingly replete for a while. His fingers were coated in sticky red sauce: he gazed at them for a moment and then proceeded to lick them slowly clean, one digit at a time, and my dick began to inflate exponentially as I watched his pink tongue working.

He got as far as the third finger on his right hand before I gave up the struggle and pounced on him, causing him to shriek like a girl and try to curl up in a ball on the sofa. "Give it to me!" I commanded, gripping his left wrist and trying to pry his arm loose from where it was clamped against his body. "Justin … Justin! If … you … get sauce on … my fucking sofa … give me … your fucking hand!"

He stopped fighting me and yielded his arm, his cheeks flushed with laughter. I brought his hand to my lips and kissed the palm before licking the sauce off his fingers in the same way he had, taking my time, cleaning each one diligently. Honey and chilli, mmm. The pads of his fingers were calloused from long hours spent shaping chords and I nibbled each one while he lay there, his other arm thrown behind his head, watching me with lazy, languorous eyes which darkened with lust as I slid his thumb into my mouth and sucked it gently. Suddenly he sat up, grabbing the back of my neck with his free hand, and his lips mashed against mine, moist and greasy and tasting as succulent as his fingers had. I thrust my tongue into his mouth, my hands tangling in his hair, his reaching up under my shirt to run over the bare skin of my back. I groaned and pushed him back down on the sofa, and we kept eating each other's faces while we struggled to divest ourselves of our clothing. Eventually naked, I reluctantly released his mouth long enough to sit up and grope down the back of the sofa for lube and a condom. When he saw them in my hand he grinned.

"Do you have these things stashed everywhere?"

I nodded as I squirted lube on my fingers and began to work it carefully into him. "Always be prepared, Sunshine," I breathed as I tore the wrapper open with my teeth and rolled the condom over my dick. "Is your back okay like this?" I asked as I gripped his ankles and lifted them to my shoulders.

He nodded, although I found myself doubting that he'd protest at the moment, however much discomfort he was in. But my need was too sudden, too urgent, to be gentle so I thrust smoothly into him, hearing his low gasp as I pressed down on him, pushing myself deeper into his body. I started fucking him fast and hard, both of us grunting with effort: flesh slapping against flesh or leather, my teeth buried in his shoulder, his fingers digging into the backs of my arms enough to bruise. But somehow along the way it changed into something slower and gentler: I held his hands pinned against the armrest, meshing our fingers together, while I sucked on his lower lip as I rocked slowly against him, and when he moaned my name as I hit his prostate I never wanted him to stop.

We came together – yeah, okay, how fucking clichéd is that? But it was true, and I'd be prepared to swear to the fact on Judgement Day. I let his legs slide off my shoulders and collapsed on top of him, panting hot air against his throat while I waited for my heart to slow. Then I propped myself up on my elbows and looked at him.

His hair was standing up in spikes around his face, sticky with a mixture of sweat and groundnut oil. His pale skin was flushed and rosy, like fresh snow when the dawn sun reflects off it. … his eyes were so fucking blue: blue as Mediterranean waters, blue as a midsummer sky … FUCK IT! Get a grip, Kinney! Say, that his eyes were blue, and warm, and he was fucking beautiful, and suddenly I felt I could say those words again and he wouldn't laugh. This time, he wouldn't dismiss me. This time, he'd understand.

"Justin…." I stroked his damp hair back and cupped his face in my hands, gazing into those blue, blue eyes. The words were there, right on the tip of my tongue. All I had to do was to let them out.

And then, someone started pounding on the Loft door.

I dropped my forehead to rest against his. "I don't fucking believe it," I muttered.

"Maybe they'll go away," Justin said hopefully, but I shook my head.

"No, they won't." Only two people knew the combination to get into the building, and either of them would be happy to stand outside hammering for the next hour until I answered. "I'd better go see what they want." I rolled off him, removed the condom and tied it while Justin started hurriedly snatching up his scattered clothing. "Here," I said, handing the tube of lube and the condom to him. "Ditch this in the trash." He nodded as he fled for the bedroom, his clothes bundled in his arms, and I paused to admire the jiggling of his bare ass before pulling on my jeans and a scowl and padding towards the door.

"Brian!" Lindsay's voice was muffled but none the less strident for that. And could I hear the sound of a child wailing above her pounding? Yes, I could. "Brian! Open the door! This is an emergency!"

I unlocked the door and slid it back to find Lindsey outside, her eyes puffy and her face streaked with tears, a tote bag over one shoulder and Abe screaming in her arms. "Oh, thank God!" she exclaimed, pushing past me before I could stop her. "Brian, you have to help me. You have to take Abe for a while."

"Whoa, whoa." I grabbed her arm. "I have to take Abe? How do you work that out?"

The shoulder bag thumped to the floor as she tried to prevent Abe throwing himself out of her arms onto the hardwood. "I have to go out! I tried Mel, but she's not home and her cell's off. It's an emergency, Brian!"

"So you said. Why can't the doting grandparents to take him? I'm sure they'll be only too happy to oblige."

"I can't ask them!" she wailed, fresh tears spilling down her face. Abe screamed louder and my head started to ache. "It's Guy! He's … he's been arrested! I have to go to him!"

I snorted. "What, someone's finally woken up to the fact that your marriage is a sham?"

She shook her head, blond hair flying. "He … he was at Woody's, and he went outside with guy … and a plainclothes cop saw them, and they've both been charged with public indecency!"

"Ooops," I sniggered.

"Shut up!" she sobbed. "Guy had a gram of coke on him! Don't you understand? They'll revoke his citizenship, and my parents will never speak to me again!"

I stared at her, unable to believe she thought I'd care. "And how is this my business?"

"Because you're my friend!" she wept, still struggling with an hysterical Abe. "I don't have anyone else to ask!"

"Here, here." Justin was suddenly at her elbow, dishevelled but respectably dressed again, reaching to take the squalling child. "Give him to me."

Lindsay gawped at him, startled into relinquishing her grip. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Justin," he replied calmly, rocking Abe in his arms. "Hey, little guy … shh … shh … it's okay." He bounced Abe gently up and down and the child miraculously quietened, gazing up at Justin's smiling face with something like awe before trying to grab one of the blue eyes. "Why don't we just go and sit down over here, while your Mommy talks to Uncle Brian, huh?" He shifted Abe expertly onto one hip and began to carry him towards the sofa while Lindsay gazed after him, her eyes getting rounder and rounder.

"Just a goddamn minute!" she protested. "Brian, stop him. I don't want one of your tricks manhandling my son!"

"I'm not a trick," Justin informed her over his shoulder. "I live here."

Lindsay turned to me, open-mouthed. "He's … living here? What the fuck, Brian? I don't believe it!"

"It's true," I admitted cheerfully, grateful that she seemed to have been shocked out of her blubbering for the moment. "He's not a trick, and he does live here."

Her eyes narrowed with distaste. "Good Lord, Brian! What are you thinking of? Is he even legal?"

"Yes, not that it's any of your business." I was amused rather than angered by her hypocrisy: Lindsay had always had trouble when it came to applying her moral standards to her own behaviour. "And you're a fine one to talk about legality, Linds."

She had the grace to blush a little and lower her gaze before warily approaching the sofa, her body language managing to convey both reluctance and curiosity at the same time. "How long has this been going on?" she demanded, surveying the remnants of our takeout strewn across the coffee table.

Justin looked up at her. Abe, who had subsided into muffled hiccups and snuffles, was snuggling under one arm, his face pressed into Justin's side, and I tried not to glare at him. "Excuse me," Justin replied, all frigid WASP civility, "but you have me at a disadvantage, Ms…?" He raised an eyebrow enquiringly.

Lindsay responded automatically with the same ingrained politeness. "Peterson … Lindsay Peterson."

I almost expected them to shake hands.

"Well, Ms Peterson, as Brian said, I don't see that's any of your business. You're not his wife, are you?"

Lindsay bristled. "I'm his friend! That makes it my business!"

"Oh." Justin rolled his eyes. "Another one. But you're not his bestest best friend, because I've already met him."

I snickered. "Actually, Justin, Lindsay here was married to Mel for a while … this is their son, Abraham. Now she's married to … somebody else."

It was hard to say which of them looked more surprised. "You know Melanie?" Linds asked, her brows scrunching up in confusion.

"He certainly does," I replied, enjoying her discomfiture. "He also knows Debbie, Vic, Mikey – as I'm sure you've guessed from the description – Emmett, and Ted. Oh, and the Professor. All of the gang, you could say."

She turned to glare at me. "So … what? You're trying to tell me you and this boy are together?"

Justin laughed as if it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "Of course not," he replied airily. "Again, not that it's any of your business. But, since it seems to be important for your peace of mind … we've fucked, yeah. I'll admit that. But I'm only here temporarily …. I needed a place to stay, and Brian was kind enough to offer. That's all."

Everything seemed to go very still, suddenly. I felt a cold chill inside at his words, a queasy feeling deep in my stomach. It wasn't just hearing my own glib comment to Leroux thrown back at me, it was the realisation of how close I'd come to making a complete fool of myself once more, how I'd nearly let those fucking words slip out again even after I'd sworn to myself they wouldn't. I clenched my jaw, suddenly relieved beyond measure that Lindsay's arrival had saved me from yet another abject humiliation.

"Oh." Lindsay looked a little more confident, as if the world were making sense again. "So … you're fuck buddies?"

"I prefer 'friends with benefits'," Justin corrected. "That about covers it, right, Brian?"

"Sure." I shrugged casually, glancing away from him so that he wouldn't see the chagrin in my face. "Whatever floats your boat, Sunshine."

Lindsay stood looking from one of us to the other, twisting her hands together uncomfortably. "I'm sorry. As you say, I have no right to pry. It's just that I'm a little emotional at the moment, and I don't want to leave Abe here with just anyone around."

"Don't worry about it, because you're not going to," I snapped, not in any mood to deal with her family crisis. "Your kid is nothing to do with me. Go and find somebody else to dump your shit on."

She looked at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, like I'd started speaking fucking Eskimo or something, and then her brown eyes started welling with tears again. "But what am I going to do?" she sobbed. "I can't take him to the police station with me!"

"I can take care of him," Justin offered. "I don't mind."

We both turned to stare at him. "Oh, no," Lindsay protested, wiping her eyes. "I don't think that would be a good idea…"

"Look, I've got a sister," Justin interrupted. "She's severely handicapped, but I've helped take care of her from the day she was born. This little guy won't be a problem, believe me. Besides, kids seem to like me for some reason. Don't they, Abe?" He poked the boy gently in the ribs and was rewarded with a gap-toothed grin and a delighted chuckle. I hadn't thought the little brat even knew how to smile.

Lindsay looked at me, hope in her eyes. "Brian…?"

I threw my hands in the air. "Yeah. Whatever. If Sunshine here wants to play nursemaid, that's up to him." I glared at him. "Just make sure you keep the kid away from any of my stuff."

"Thank you, thank you!" Lindsay bussed my cheek and then turned to Justin. "I hope I won't be gone long, but everything he needs is in the bag. Maybe you could fix him some toast and a glass of milk or juice later? I expect he'll just sleep, anyway."

"Sure. I'll tell him a story or something. Don't worry, he'll be fine. Go do what you have to."

"Mommy will be right back, sweetie," Linds said, bending to kiss her son. "Now, you be a good boy for Uncle …"

"Justin," I reminded her grimly.

"Right. Uncle Justin. And thank you again. I'll be as quick as I can…"

"Yeah, you do that." I had hold of her elbow, already leading her towards the door. It was easier now I was moving. "Say 'hi' to Guy for me. Tell him I'll ask Mel to recommend a lawyer." I gave her a not-so-gentle shove out of the Loft and pulled the door shut behind her.

"Wow," Justin said from the sofa. "Mel's ex? I'd never have thought it. Still, I guess it accounts for the name … poor kid, he'll go though hell at school being called Abraham. So who's his father?"

"Anonymous donor," I grunted, picking up the tote bag and carrying it over to the sofa. I stood looking down at him, Lindsay's son still tucked against his side, and I felt the coldness welling up again. "Listen, I'm going to take a shower, then I'm going out. You sure you can cope?"

"I wouldn't have offered if I couldn't." He sounded a little startled. I nodded and headed towards the bedroom, where I started looking out some club clothes. I was shocked to find I was trembling.

"Brian?" He was standing behind me, Abe perched on his hip. The kid's thumb was lodged securely in his mouth and his pale eyes were watching me with the usual suspicion. "Are you angry because I told Lindsay I'd babysit?"

"Not at all." I turned back to the closet. "But there are things I'd rather be doing than sitting around listening to you tell fairy stories and changing diapers." I selected a long-sleeved Ralph Lauren shirt and tossed it on the bed.

"I figured that: that's why I offered. After all, she said she was your friend, and if her husband's in trouble…"

I began searching my collection of jeans. "Don't make assumptions about my friends, Sunshine. You don't know them. Lindsay is a manipulative bitch, and her current husband is her ex-babysitter, a slimy French bi-sexual whom she insisted on marrying so that he could stay in the country. So whatever shit she's in now is of her own making, and it's her problem, not mine."

"Oh." He sounded nonplussed. "Well, even so, she obviously needed help. I thought you'd want…"

I spun round, a pair of black Hugo Boss in my hands, and hurled them next to the shirt, making Abe flinch and give a little whimper. "You do not know what I want, or what I think, Justin! I've told you that before! You do not have the first clue! You only know what you think!"

"I know you're angry," he said softly. "But I don't know why."

I glared at him. "No, you don't. I'm thinking you never will. And guess what? It's fucking better that way."

Justin blinked. Abe took his thumb out of his mouth and stretched his arm accusingly in my direction before starting to howl again.

I headed for the bathroom before I started screaming, too.

TBC