Jamal doesn’t respond but gives me side-eye, and I know the conversation isn’t over. I’ve been staying with him but leaving most of my things at John’s place. Jamal’s forcing me to get the rest of my shit tonight.
Forcing may be an exaggeration, but I haven’t had time to look for a place, and it seems safer not to rely on Jamal completely.
We walk in silence to my room, and he flops on the bed. “What are the chances we can sneak this mattress out of here and into my place?”
“I’m sure they’ll file a police report. Besides, it’s a queen. My mom wants guests to be comfortable but not enough to want to stay for long periods. A queen bed with a great mattress says ‘welcome’ but also ‘you can’t stay long.’”
“I don’t speak old-money rich.” Jamal holds out his hand, and I join him on the bed. “I’m exhausted from the game.”
“Me too, but we should get this over with.” I sigh, but he interlaces our fingers to keep me from getting up. “We can meet the guys out for the celebration, and they won’t talk.”
“Let them talk. The team gossiped about Ace and Gray sleeping together for years before it actually happened. We agreed not to confirm or deny, keeping them guessing. So far so good.” His eyes close as he speaks. Jamal is so pretty when he sleeps.
I decide we can rest for a few minutes before I pack.
I’m disoriented when I jerk awake to a flash of light, not sure where I am or who’s swearing. A hand squeezes my ankle hard enough to break a bone, and I kick instinctively.
“What the fuck is going on?” John screams with a bright red face and spit flying.
It takes me a second to realize Jamal is next to me in my bed. We’re fully clothed on top of the duvet cover, but as I sit up, our hands are tangled together. Not damning but extremely suspicious.
“You’ve been avoiding my calls, and I find you like this”—he waves at Jamal and me—“withhim! Your mother won’t be happy.”
He uses the one thing he still holds over me: my mother. I can’t look at Jamal as I get off the bed. I’m afraid John will read something into it and be right.
“Hello, John,” I say casually, and walk toward him to steer him out of the room. Jamal doesn’t need to be exposed to the piece of shit who donated half of his DNA. It’s bad enough being related to John by marriage. Jamal dodged a bullet, never growing up with him. John's the number one reason I'll never marry. My mom is reason number two.
“What areyoudoing here?” John demands of Jamal as I back him out.
“Jonathan,” Jamal drawls. “Didn’t think you’d recognize me.” His voice is full of disgust.
Before John can verbally attack Jamal, I shove him down the hall to the living room.
“I thought you’d be thrilled. Your sons are friends, and we can be one big happy family. You preach family is the most important thing, and here we are.” I open my arms wide to keep his attention on me. Jamal hasn’t followed us, and I’m not leaving here without him.
“You are the sorriest excuse for a son.” John pokes his finger at my chest. It’s been years since he’s been physical with me, and I’m surprised by how much bigger I am. He’s the monster under the bed, and tonight I’ve got the flashlight to see who he really is—just a small man still under the control ofhisfather, desperate to maintain control over me and my mother.
My silence pisses him off.
“I gave you everything you have, and I can take it away.”
John can take away the trappings of an extravagant lifestyle that I never cared about. He can’t take away the love and approval I didn’t get. He has my mother under his control, and it’s time I face the fact that he always will. If my mother has to choose between him and his money or her son, she’ll pick him every time. I’ve always known it but couldn’t admit it.
“Okay.” It’s not defeat but agreement. The worst thing he could do is send me an invoice for the boarding school and private hockey lessons. He’d have to sue me to get it, and I don’t think he wants to fight me in public.
“Put your money where it belongs,” John bellows.
Jamal appears, loaded down with hockey gear and my big suitcase.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Put that back.” John’s face is purple with fury.
“Don’t you love family reunions?” Jamal asks me, and then pivots to John. “His dirty laundry?” Jamal unzips my duffel bag, and the stench of hockey equipment permeates the room. “This guy hasn’t gotten used to how our equipment manager does things. I’m not sorting through his stinky clothes to find what he needs, but I can—” Jamal holds the bag up as if he’s going to dump it.
“No!” John roars, realizing it will take weeks to get the smell out of the room.
Jamal shrugs. “We gotta bounce for the meeting,” he says to me.
“You don’t have a meeting at night after a game. Theo, you’re staying here until we sort out your insubordination.” John crosses his arms as if his word is law.
