Sonata Page 8

  Jordan bit the corner of his lip. "I wanted to stop here first."

  "I'll come with you then," Ian offered.

  Jordan's grin grew and he hooked the hem of his t-shirt, dragging it over his head in one quick tug. "Oh yeah," he chuckled. "You most certainly will."

  He advanced on the couch, undoing his pants as he walked. "Me," he said, crawling over Ian's lap. "Apologizing."

  Hands chilled from the beer bottle found warm skin, hop-infused lips found sweeter, unaltered ones and for the next twenty minutes nothing existed but the taste and feel of one another as Jordan rode him.

  *~*~*

  The restaurant was packed, the usual Saturday crowd of harried shoppers, disinterested spouses and wired children. Aubrey took a sip of her margarita and eyed him. "And then what?"

  "And then we had pizza."

  Aubrey stared at him, unblinking, until Ian laughed. "What?"

  "I don't know, Ian. Something just doesn't sound right. This kid is playing you or something."

  Ian rolled his eyes. "He's not like that."

  "Like you would know," Aubrey said around a sideways glance.

  He opened his mouth to tell her they'd been dating for a month when Aubrey lifted a hand to stop him. "Come on, honey. This is me here. I know you better than you do. You fall hard and you fall fast and once you've landed you let the people that coerced you there step all over you."

  Ian reached for his sparkling water and shrugged. "Trust me, Aub. That's not how it is."

  "In general?" she said with a smug smile. "Or just this one time?"

  "Don't be a bitch, Aubrey," Ian glared. "It's not attractive in a woman your age."

  Aubrey winced. "Touché, love. But don't get so defensive. After all, I'm just looking out for you. I get where you're at, believe me. He's young, he's pretty and he lets you do all kinds of nasty, feel-good shit to a tight, hard body. But you have to see past your dick on this one."

  Ian sighed, "Look, I'm not used to anyone saying sorry any more than you are. That doesn't mean it doesn't happen in real life. It's not a mystical occurrence, Aub. Give me a break."

  "It's not just the sorry-fuck, for God's sake, Ian."

  If it wasn't for the actual concern in Aubrey's eyes, Ian would have just gotten up and walked away. They'd come in separate cars as he'd be heading back into the city to pick up Cole, and Aubrey would be heading back to suburbia bliss to get ready for a date. He'd been pumped and excited as it was the first time he was being granted permission to pick up and spend time with Cole alone. He'd also been anxious and regretting the fact that Jordan didn't have a piano. And yes, while his conscience agreed with the fact that Ian had outright refused medical assistance for his son, that didn't mean he wanted Aubrey to sit there and pick at it like Jordan was some kind of lunatic.

  Yet there was still that one little part of him that was thinking as annoying as it was to listen to, it was good to know he wasn't an asshole for thinking that the event had seemed a little off. Or that if he was, in fact, a jerk then at least he wasn't the only one.

  "So what are you thinking? Some kind of phobia or something?"

  Aubrey shook her head and set her glass down with a clink. "No. I think he's hiding from someone. What do you know about this kid's past?"

  "Sweet fuck all," is what he wanted to say. "Not a lot," is what he actually did.

  "Well if it was me," a single fingernail tapped her breast. "I'd be making an issue out of finding out more of that." She pushed away her plate of nachos and dug for what Ian knew would be a cosmetic case before he ever saw it. She snapped it open, talking to her reflection instead of Ian directly, "I mean, what about the kid's mother? How come he's around but she isn't? Doesn't that seem weird to you? How do you know he hasn't just up and run off with the little guy?"

  And that, right there, was the unidentifiable lump that had sunk into his guts when Ian had refused to bring Cole to a doctor. He just hadn't known what it meant until someone else said it aloud.

  "If that was the case they'd have found him when he registered at school though, right?" Ian asked, more hopeful than convinced.

  Aubrey shrugged and closed the compact. "Honey, I have no idea. Do I look like I know about things like schools and children? But I will tell you this. For as little as I do know, and as heartless as I can come across when it comes to kids, I can guarantee that even I would be devastated if somebody ran off with my baby."

  Ian's lunch became a surge of indigestible flame in his belly. "I'll look into the school thing."

  "Good plan," she drained her drink and stood. "Now let's go get you an antacid and do some shopping before we have to leave."

  "A what—"

  "I told you, my friend." She looped her arm around Ian's and dragged him out of the restaurant. "I know you better than you know yourself. That face right there says nerves just turned your belly into a snake pit."

  She grinned at his expression. "Tell me you love me."

  Ian used the drollest voice he could muster. "I love you."

  *~*~*

  Ian took one last look at the keyboards, shook his head and forced himself to walk away. Even in piano mode the sound was too electronic. Cole would either be disinterested with it, or have a complete conniption over the sound of it. Besides, he reminded himself, one should not be looking at spending several hundreds of dollars on the child of the young man that one had just started dating. No wonder Aubrey thought he was a pawn when it came to relationships.

  He did however, purchase an orchestral DVD that promised a "delightful" mix of piano concertos that he was hoping would prove at least entertaining, at best inspiring. Besides, they had lots of time. Maybe one day … he refused yet another draw of eyes back towards the instruments that lined the wall and stepped out of the store.

  Chrissy had work at six-thirty and had to leave by six. It was that dilemma that had forced Jordan's hand in allowing Ian to watch Cole. "Don't lose your shift at work," Ian had told him. "I don't mind looking after him for three hours. It's the weekend, after all. It'll give me something to do while I wait for you to get home."

  Jordan had hemmed and hawed over the offer, repeating his, "I don't think so," too many times.

  "Do you really think Chrissy is more qualified than I am?" Ian had asked him, sounding far more wounded than he actually was. In all actuality she probably was. She was familiar with the issues, had a child of her own, and parental guidance (of some kind at least) in the background. Still. Hadn't he been the one to explain about the water resonance? And trigger the interest in the piano? Not to mention the fact that he was a damn nice guy in his own one-hundred-percent unbiased and completely trustworthy opinion–facts that he pointed out just as often as Jordan continued his own repetitive denial.

  Ian's persistence tag-teamed with Chrissy's insistence and Jordan had been forced to relent. A barrage of instruction had followed, as well as some unnecessary threats, and Ian felt like a sixteen-year-old who'd been allowed to take the family car out alone for the first time as he marched down the hallway with groceries, the DVD, and a couple of first-reader novels.

  He nodded at the baby-hipped Chrissy and a jittery Cole when the door was opened.

  "Don't take his hand or his arm," Chrissy told Ian as she led Cole through the door. "Grab his collar or his sleeve."

  "I know."

  "And not too much sugar. It triggers him."

  "I know that too."

  "And—"

  "Chrissy!" Ian stopped her. "I've got it!" He swooped his hand from chest to waist, "Grown man, yes?"

  "No, yes," Cole said, standing in the doorway, staring at the ceiling, his voice getting higher with each word. "Yes, no. No, yes. Yes, no."

  "Hey, Cole," Ian bent down and got to eye level. "Want to watch piano with me? And guess what else? Burgers!" He pulled out a greasy paper bag and held it up. "With French fries even. Does that sound okay?"

  Cole didn't look at Ian. But he did stop shouting. And he lifted his arm, wrist
slack and sleeve gapping as if to say, "Fine then, you may grab here."

  Ian looked up at Chrissy. "Good sign?"

  "Good sign," she agreed with a grin. "He's been a little wound up today. I'm not sure what set him off."

  "Probably just knowing I was coming," Ian smiled. "Or maybe he just had a long week at school and wants to spend the rest of the weekend at home relaxing."

  Chrissy frowned at him with an "uh-duh" look. "Cole doesn't go to school, he's disabled."

  Ian laughed. "What does that matter? He still has to go to school. Of course he goes to school." That odd nag in the back of Ian's brain started up again. His smile fell to a frown. "You're joking, right? He does go to school?"

  Chrissy shrugged. "Not that I know of and I watch him a lot. I'm sure Jordan said he didn't have to because of the whole autistic thing."

  "And that didn't sound odd to you?"

  She hefted the baby to her other hip and glanced at the clock. "None of my business. When Jordan says he doesn't go to school I figure Jordan knows what he's talking about. But I really gotta split or I'm going to be late."

  Ian huffed a deep breath and clipped the end of Cole's sleeve with a fake smile. "Let's do it, buddy."

  *~*~*

  They watched the DVD. They ate the burgers. They didn't talk. It was a peaceful evening, regardless of the dark thoughts that sat with Ian the entire time. With his hands laced behind his head, his feet on the coffee table and his mind a million miles away, Ian drifted through conversations and insinuations until he began to get nauseous. And just when he began to get tired enough that his musings started to lose their hold, and his eyes began to roam the room to distract himself, he realized there were no baby pictures.

  He sat up slowly, turning his head right, then left, twisting to look behind him. What kind of a parent didn't have baby pictures?

  Surely they were just not out, he told himself, rising from the couch. They were in the bedroom or tucked away in a drawer. A box. An album.

  Trying to appear less frantic than he felt, Ian walked from room to room and studied surfaces. There, by the bed. No, that was Cole all right, but the snapshot couldn't have been any more than a couple of months old.

  He swiveled his head towards the open door, confirmed he was alone, and began to yank drawers open. There weren't many places to hide things: the six-drawer dresser, four for Cole and two for Jordan; the one shelf in the closet, with the two shoe boxes that had several pics of Jordan as a teenager but not one of Cole; under either of the two beds.

  One linen closet, almost empty. No album.

  The bathroom would be ridiculous to check, he told himself. And then checked it anyway. Kitchen cupboards, above the fridge, and not a damn picture anywhere–what kind of fucking father didn't have baby pictures, somewhere?

  "You get mad at your ex," he grumbled to himself quietly, yet with a fury that was consuming him from the inside out, "then you cut them out of the picture. But you would still have the damn picture. You wouldn't throw out a picture of your own flesh and blood."

  He rifled through the coat closet. "Somewhere, something," his mind kept insisting.

  It wasn't until he'd stalked back into the living room and yanked open one of the last three drawers left to him—one in the end table and two in the plywood entertainment center—that he noticed Cole had started rocking against the back of the couch.

  "Just two more minutes, buddy," Ian mumbled. "Then I'll be done. Just bear with my hysterics for two more minutes." He drew open the door of the end table and dug his hand through the contents. Discreetly stashed bottle of lotion, lube, condoms, receipts, a pen, a phone book … he gritted his teeth and Cole started to whimper.

  One, just one. One damn baby picture to show him … God, what even? He lifted his hand to his forehead and pinched his temples with thumb and middle finger, breathing into his palm. What would that really show? That Jordan existed with Cole when Cole was an infant? Would that mean that Jordan hadn't done something stupid? Would a picture of him holding Cole prove a single, solitary thing?

  Ian dropped beside Cole on the couch and reached for the remote. He turned up the volume and looked over at the rocking child. "It's okay, Cole. Don't freak out." He flipped the bag that had held the take-out and handed Cole the package that dropped out. "I know, no sweets. A cookie won't kill you though. Go ahead."

  Cole stopped rocking but made no attempt to pull open the foil. "You want me to get that for you?"

  Slowly Cole turned towards him and handed back the treat. "Bye-bye."

  Ian took the cookie and began to unwrap it, watching Cole's face. "And why does it seem like you're implying more than you're actually saying with that, hmm?"

  There was no reply as Ian held the snack out and Cole reached for it.

  *~*~*

  "You all right?" Jordan asked. "You're real quiet."

  It seemed to be the only time Cole didn't mind being held–when he'd fallen fast asleep. And as Jordan stood in the entrance of the living room, with Cole in his arms, Cole's flushed face against Jordan's chest, it made Ian's own chest swell with something too close to pain. He didn't want to lose this: not Jordan, not Cole, not the way he felt when the three of them were together.

  "We'll talk after you put Cole to bed. Go on, before you pull your back."

  "You want one of these beers?" Jordan called out minutes later.

  He shook his head, careless that Jordan couldn't see him. "I brought scotch. It's in the cupboard with the glasses. I'll have one of those if you don't mind. Help yourself to whichever."

  "I'll stick with the beer," Jordan grinned when he flopped onto the couch and handed Ian a glass. He shifted closer to Ian and rested his chin on Ian's shoulder. "Did you miss me?"

  Ian turned towards Jordan, pressed his lips against Jordan's forehead, and took a deep breath. "You smell good. Like fried rice and spicy deliciousness."

  "Mmm, good enough to eat?" Jordan teased.

  "Always," Ian smiled against Jordan's skin and Jordan stole closer, dropping light but lingering kisses on Ian's neck.

  "I've been thinking about you all day," Jordan whispered.

  "Liar," Ian chuckled. "More like you've been worrying about me all day. Or should I say worrying about Cole all day?"

  The purred "uhn uhn" that sounded from Jordan's throat and reverberated into Ian's ear set Ian's heart pounding. Jordan reached for Ian's hand and pulled it to his crotch. "See? I've been this hard for you all day."

  Ian's hand acted without direction, first palming, then gripping. "Must have been pretty damn uncomfortable to work with," Ian chuckled huskily.

  As Jordan began to rock against his touch, while his own body began to rise in response, Ian's mind gave him a solid kick in his proverbial ass. "Now!" it bitched at him. "Before it's too late. Quickly, before your cock shuts me down."

  Steeling himself, Ian pulled his hand away. He ignored the look of annoyance and reached for Jordan's face, one hand on each side. He leveled their eyes. "Jordan," he paused, watched a veil fall over Jordan's eyes and his heart broke a little more for it. "Why don't you have any baby pictures of Cole?"

  Jordan's jaw tightened and with it, his entire expression followed suit. His eyes hardened. His forehead furrowed. Even his lips drew taut. He seized both of Ian's wrists and yanked Ian's hands away from his face. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Jordan hissed.

  "Just answer the quest—"

  "Can't you ever just be happy?" There was more than anger in Jordan's voice. Ian just couldn't tell if it was fear or pain. "Can't you just enjoy what we have and stop trying to find something wrong all the time?"

  "How?" Ian called after Jordan as Jordan unfolded his legs and rose. "You never tell me anything about yourself. God forbid I ask you something about Cole."

  "What business is it of yours?" Jordan hollered back. "Why does it even matter?"

  "Because I've been there!" Ian lifted himself off the couch and followed Jordan's retreat. "I know what it's like to
be in a relationship that's built on lies! It hurts to find out the person you thought you were in love with isn't the person he said he is at all."

  Jordan spun around and faced him. "I never asked you for this! I never told you to trust me! I told you to stay away. I told you not to get involved. You were the one who insisted. And now you have the goddamn nerve to make it sound like I'm doing something wrong."

  "I never said that. What I said was, 'Why you don't have any pictures?'"

  "You implied it by asking!"

  Ian put a hand on Jordan's shoulder then reset it again when Jordan shrugged it off. "I don't care who you are, or how broke you are, in the eight years of Cole's existence someone, somewhere would have taken a picture for you. If nothing else, at least when he was a little goobering pile of baby cuteness. And why's he not in school, Jordan? Maybe Chrissy will believe your crap about him not having to go because of his disability but I sure as hell don't. What's going on?"

  "Get out," Jordan sniffed. "Just get the fuck out."

  Ian's grip on Jordan's shoulder tightened. He followed it with his other hand and shoved Jordan against the wall harder than he'd intended to. "No. Not this time. You don't get to just tell me to leave every time things don't go your way. I asked you for answers and I want them. Fuck, Jordan, please! Don't make me do something I'll regret. I wasn't lying when I told you that I love you and I'm hoping to all hell that you weren't lying when you said it to me. Make me understand. Let me help you."

  A single tear dropped out of Jordan's eye and Ian's heart felt like it bled in time with it. He had no idea what Jordan was doing as Jordan reached behind and drew out his wallet, until Jordan flipped it open and pulled out a single photo.

  "I do," Jordan mumbled. "See?" His hands were trembling as he passed the picture to Ian. "It's the only one I have. I lost the rest when Cole was four. And yes, I am too broke to own a camera. So no, I don't have a ton of pictures. He's not exactly a prime photo-op for anyone else either. He doesn't smile. He doesn't look at you. I can't very well insist people take pictures for me, you know?"

  Ian stared at the photo. It was definitely Jordan: younger, really young in fact, with longer hair and an innocent, bright smile. In his arms he held an infant. Ian smiled at the picture, "He was tiny."