3
Slade
My stomach growled as I stood in front of the private entrance to Jordan's place. I could do this. Before everything went to shit, I had no problem standing on a stage, entertaining hundreds of people at a time. And once our sets were done, it wasn't unusual for me to spend the rest of the evening bouncing from one group to the next. I shouldn't be freaked out by a small party hosted by one of my best friends and his men. Everyone here was safe.
“You look as though walking through that door will lead to imminent death,” a deep voice boomed behind me. I flinched, stepping to the left and allowing him to pass. “I assume you are here for the housewarming party.”
I gaped at the man before me. He looked far more out of place than I did in his three-piece suit and tie. I hadn't been aware people actually dressed like that anymore. Every stitch of clothing was tailored to perfection, hugging the lines of his body. He reminded me of my dad’s business colleagues. I hated him a little bit at first sight for that reason alone.
“Answer me,” he demanded.
I was tempted to tell him to fuck off just on principle. I didn't owe this person anything. I sure as shit didn't have to answer to him. But for some reason, I did. The longer he stared at me, the more compelled I felt to respond. “Yes, sir.”
“Then, don't you think you should head inside? You’re going to miss the entire party if you stand out here second-guessing yourself.” He reached around me and turned the doorknob. We were close enough I could smell the blend of woods and citrus of his cologne. My dick took notice too, hardening instantly, as I forced myself not to inhale as deeply as possible, imprinting this man’s scent to my memory. He pushed the door open and waved me inside.
Again, I wanted to resist, solely based on principle. And, once again, I found myself incapable.
“What's your name, boy?” He placed a broad, strong hand at the small of the back, steadying me as we ascended the staircase. I wanted to step away from him, walk just a little bit faster—anything—to get outside of the black hole he was sucking me into, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not when I felt so unsteady. If nothing else, I had faith this stranger would keep me from tumbling to my death.
“Slade,” I responded quietly.
“That's quite a unique name,” he remarked. “Is it a nickname?”
“No,” I lied. I didn't owe him anything I wasn't comfortable sharing. “It's what everyone calls me.”
My legal name was one steeped in generations of family tradition. When I had moved out on my own to forge my own path, I had chosen a name—one that wouldn't remind me of how much I was letting down all the men who came before me when I fell flat on my face.
He didn't offer me his name and I didn't ask.
There wasn't time for proper introductions once we got into the apartment. As soon as the door opened, the stranger was whisked off and Jordan tackled me with a huge hug.
“You made it!”
“I told you I'd be here, didn't I?” The hug was, both, comforting and uncomfortable. Soothing and unsettling. I hated how good it felt to be wrapped in Jordan's arms. If I wasn't such a stubborn ass, I might have broken down right there in the entryway to the apartment.
“You did, but I wasn't sure you'd actually follow through.”
My gut clenched. I might be flighty from time to time, but I couldn't think of any occasion when I had literally bailed on Jordan. Even in the worst of my depression, his was the one friendship I went out of my way to protect at all costs.
Jordan took a step back, resting his hands on my shoulders while he looked me over from head to toe. I squirmed under the scrutiny, imagining he could see every ounce I had lost recently. He dragged the pad of his thumb over my cheekbones.
“Are you having trouble sleeping again?”
Again. That word stuck out. I couldn't remember having ever told him about my issues with sleep, but he knew. Of course, he did. This was Jordan, the man who knew more about me than I knew about myself most of the time.
I shrugged. “It's been tough, but I’m getting through.”
“Anything we can do to help?”
We. No, there was nothing they could collectively do for me. I hated that everything in Jordan's life had shifted from singular to plural. I felt like anything I said to him would immediately get back to Doug and Eli, and for that reason, I chose to keep everything to myself.
“I'll get through. I always do.”
“But that doesn't mean youhaveto get through it on your own,” Jordan argued. He slipped his hand into mine and pulled me deeper into the apartment. In the kitchen, there was a huge spread of food. He waved a hand over it. “Help yourself. I might have gone overboard with the menu for tonight. Couldn’t help myself; this is the first time I really had a chance to try out a bunch of recipes without worrying we would wind up throwing out the leftovers.”
“So, what you're telling me is, you really held this party as a way for all of us to be your guinea pigs?” I teased. Jordan’s cheeks brightened and the corner of his mouth turned up in a shy smile. It was the first time I realized just how good he looked. Happy, when he hadn’t been for so long. For that split second, everything in the world was right. My problems didn’t exist. Jordan's adoring partners didn't agitate me. It was just Jordan and me.
“Jordan.” All it took to burst my bubble of momentary happiness was the sound of Eli's voice behind us. Jordan narrowed his eyes, silently warning me that this conversation would be picked up at a later point. “Could you help Jack for a minute?”
