Roman Hilson-Banks is an imposing figure. He stands at over six foot five and is covered in tattoos from his neck to his toes. From what I’m told, even his dick is tattooed. At almost forty, I’m not easily intimidated. In my line of work I am no stranger to dangerous guys. But even I have to admit that when I first laid eyes on Roman I had a flash of fear run through me. The guy isn’t just tall. He’s built, muscles on muscles. So I totally understand why Blake suddenly tenses and looks around for the nearest exit as Roman comes barreling into the apartment looking absolutely enraged.
Thing about Roman is, he looks terrifying, but he is an absolute teddy bear. The man has a heart of gold and he really wouldn’t hurt a fly, unless said fly hurt somebody he cared about. He classes all the kids at the shelter as somebody he cares about, even the ones he hasn’t even met yet. Leaning over, I whisper to Blake. “It’s okay, you don’t need to be afraid. These are good people.” Standing up, I reach a hand out to Roman. I should have known the big guy would pull me into his embrace.
It’s not very often that I make friends with my clients, but Roman is an exception. Fifteen years he spent behind bars—fifteen years as an innocent man. But Roman never let it eat at his soul. He got the justice he deserved, he rebuilt his life, and now the big bastard spends all his time trying to help others who are less fortunate. He went to hell and back, and now he truly wants to make the world a better place for everyone. Is it any wonder I have nothing but admiration for the man?
Jordan appears at Roman’s side as I’m patting his back. I move to stand beside Blake, who’s wringing his hands together and staring down at the table. It’s like he’s worried that if he makes eye contact with the big guy he might internally combust.
“Blake, this is my friend Roman,” I say. “He co-owns the shelter we told you about.”
Blake smiles, then turns to Derek and two teenagers as they shuffle into the small kitchen.
“This is Derek,” I continue. “He owns the other part of the shelter. And this is Jerome and Lucas. They are residents of the shelter.”
Derek is much less imposing, so he steps forward and offers his hand to Blake, who reluctantly shakes it. “Why don’t we go and sit in the living room and these two knuckleheads can tell you about the shelter.”
I give Blake a warm smile and wait for his reaction.
He looks down at his fingers again, then back up to Derek, before taking a deep breath and nodding. I have a funny feeling that the fact Lucas is sporting vibrant pink press-on nails has eased Blake’s fears. With a pat on the back, I send him on his way with Derek, Jerome and Lucas, then drop down into my seat again as Jordan briefs Roman on tonight’s events.
Roman’s expression fills with sympathy for Blake. He really does have a massive heart. “I can see why you wanted me to come and help bring him to the shelter, assuming that's what he wants. We will make sure to keep him safe.”
“I want to talk to him about getting a restraining order issued to his brother, but I think that conversation is better saved for tomorrow. Fuck knows how long it’s been since he’s had a safe place to lay his head.” I look from Roman to Jordan and they both nod solemnly. We can hear the teens chatting amongst themselves in the living room and it makes a smile tug at my lips. “Sounds like things are going well in there. I’ll grab his stuff.” I stand abruptly, needing to do something with myself. Not that Blake has much; only his wet clothes in the bathroom and his backpack by the door.
“I’ll wash his clothes." Jordan has snuck up behind me, tugging at my arm and speaking softly against my ear. “He doesn't need to carry those wet and bloody things with him.” Jordan's discretion is touching. I know he's trying to spare Blake from overhearing what he's saying. “He can have them back tomorrow all fresh and clean. Maybe I’ll swing by Target and get him a few more supplies. He really isn’t carrying much.” He glances back in Blake's direction and sighs. “Thank God he wasn't seriously hurt.”
"You did a beautiful job of patching him up, Lashes. I'm just glad we found him before things got worse."
I can't stand to see the sadness in Jordan's beautiful brown eyes. I'm desperate to console him, but I've already hugged him twice tonight and he didn't respond well. Seeing him this way tugs on something deep inside of me, but I'm too scared to figure out what that something is. So, I'm just gonna push it neatly back into its box and head to the living room again.
Blake looks much more comfortable now. The three teens have their heads pushed together watching something on one of their phones. Roman is engaged in a hushed conversation with Derek, no doubt filling him in on what happened here tonight. I wonder if this is my sign to leave. Blake is in safe hands, and sex with Jordan is most definitely off the table. Having a sleepover after passing out from multiple orgasms is one thing. But climbing into bed after an emotional, stress-fueled evening is a whole other ball game. And it's a game I'm pretty sure Jordan is not interested in playing. My heart is screaming at me, telling me Jordan shouldn't be alone right now. But there's no way I'm gonna push his boundaries.
Once Jordan reappears with a duffle bag filled with clothes and toiletries to get Blake through tomorrow, we each offer the teen a hug and make sure that he has our contact information.
“I’ll be by tomorrow to talk, okay? But in the meantime, if you need anything—even if you just want to talk—call me.” At my words, I see the tears springing into Blake's eyes and it hits me right in the heart. Has nobody ever cared for this kid?
“That goes double for me, Blake.” Jordan places a protective hand on the teen's shoulder. “And if you feel unsafe, you can crash in my spare room anytime you need. You got that?”
“C'mon, let's get outta here,” says Roman. He dwarfs Blake as he ushers him out the door, but his teddy-bear exuberance is well and truly on display. “Hey, did I tell you my husband Carter works at the best tattoo shop in the whole state?”
I stand there smiling at the two of them as they disappear down the hall, Roman still babbling away. When they're out of sight, I turn back to Jordan.
“Come on, Lashes. He’s safe now. Let’s get you to bed.” I brush a light kiss against the back of his neck.
I’m prepared for him to laugh off my obvious concern for him. Jordan wears his mask of independence as effortlessly as he wears his makeup. What I’m not prepared for is the expression on his face when he finally turns toward me. Bloodshot eyes, tear-stained cheeks and a look of utter devastation. That tug in my gut is stronger than ever as I scoop him up and carry him to bed. The fact he isn’t protesting my affection is all the invitation I need to climb into bed with him secured in my arms.
JORDAN
My heart hurts. It physically hurts thinking of the life Blake must have had. He didn’t even need to say a word about how awful his childhood had been. His eyes held so much pain in them, more pain than any seventeen-year-old should know. His reactions to basic human kindness all spoke absolute volumes. I really have been living in my own bubble. I’ve been to the shelter a few times, yet I have never sat down and heard the stories of the teenagers there. The guys at Savage Ink, including my bestie Pete, volunteer there at least once a week. They spend time with the kids, usually sketching or playing basketball. Why haven’t I done anything like this? It’s not like I don’t have the time, I do. I’m just a selfish bastard who can’t see past his own nose.
Case in point: tonight a teenager was hurt. He could have been seriously injured—or worse—out on those streets. He’s likely never known a safe home or a loving hug, yet I’m making it all about me. I am here laying in my bed on my Egyptian cotton sheets in the arms of a man who I care about and who I'm pretty sure cares about me. Yet I’m too selfish to ever admit it out loud. I have amazing, supportive parents and friends who always show up when I call. I should be giving more back to the world.
“I’m going to volunteer at the center,” I say into the darkness of my bedroom, more to myself than anybody else. Eric is still awake, though; his breathing hasn’t evened out yet. Plus, how couldanybodyfall asleep with a wet shirt still on?
“I think that's an amazing idea, Lashes.” His voice is laced with sleep, and his arms tighten around my waist as he huffs air against the back of my neck.
I choose to ignore yet again the kaleidoscope of butterflies taking flight in my stomach at his pet name for me. At first it had been a sex thing, but over the last few months it has started to hold more weight for me than I want it to. That is most definitely not something I need to explore right now when my head is all over the place.
There is only one way I’m going to get any kind of sleep tonight. I need to make a mental to-do list.
