Starting From the Top (Starting from 5)

But there was more.

I knew how much this would mean to Sean. I wished he could see his son’s smile so he’d know he was on the right track. The road might be bumpy at times, but moments like this were like mini signposts that let us know we were stronger and braver than we thought. And ultimately, we’d be okay.

Parker talked nonstop on the way home. Zero was so cool, Tegan was the best drummer ever, Ky was the best bassist, and Justin was just…super cool. No stuttering. No hesitation. He was on cloud nine, cataloguing the best parts of his afternoon like a mental scrapbook. I smiled, nodded, and grunted occasionally so he knew I was listening. And then he started asking questions.

“Who’s your favorite guitarist? Who was your favorite band when you were my age? Did you always dye your hair black? When did you get your first tattoo? Did it hurt?”

“Jimmy Page. Def Leppard. I’ve dyed my hair for a decade…I think. I was seventeen when I got my first tat and yes, it hurt like a motherfu—it hurt a lot,” I replied, veering left on Third Street.

“Was that legal?”

“Liking Def Leppard? Barely,” I quipped.

Parker shrugged. “I don’t know who that is.”

“Oh, my God. You have a lot to learn, my friend.” I hiked my sleeve up and pointed at the small skull on my bicep. “This is my first tattoo. It’s not much to look at, but I loved it at the time. However, do not get illegal ink. There are needles involved and you can’t trust everyone.”

“I know. I wouldn’t,” he huffed. “Mom would freak. She likes you, though, so maybe…”

I shot a stern glance his way. “No.”

Parker snickered. “I won’t. I promise. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you want to be in my school’s talent show with me?” he blurted when I turned on to his street.

“Uh. Which house is yours?” I asked, shamelessly stalling.

“That one.” He pointed at the modern two-story home behind a low fence entwined with grapevines. “You can think about it. You don’t have to tell me now, and I won’t be bummed if—”

“Hey.” I tugged at his backpack before he opened the door. “Not so fast. Talent show?”

“Yeah. Stupid idea. Never mind.”

“Whoa. It’s a great idea. But it’s a great idea for you…not me. I can practice with you, teach you a new song or something, and I’d definitely come see your show.”

“You would?”

“Of course.”

“Who would you bring? Would you bring your boyfriend?” His casual tone was phony as hell, but I played along.

“If I had one, I might. But I don’t, so…no.” I glanced toward the house, then met his serious gaze. “That guy that was in the studio today isn’t my boyfriend. My friends were just joking around…like the dorks you now know they are.”

Parker grinned. “They’re cool.”

“Yeah. I think so too. See ya, Park.”

“Later, John,” he singsonged, shutting the passenger side door behind him.

“Wise-ass,” I grumbled under my breath. I waited to be sure he was inside safely before instructing Siri to call Sean. “Where are you? We need to talk.”

11

Sean

Johnny waltzed into the gym like he owned the place. I watched him make his way through the row of elliptical machines and treadmills, sparing no one a second glance. He was a man on a mission, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that my dick swelled a tad in my Lycra shorts just knowing it was me he wanted.

It didn’t make sense. He could have had anyone…the twink receptionist with spiked pink hair and a nose ring or the beefy muscle-bound wrestler who’d set his motorcycle helmet on the bench next to the leg press…like extra advertisement in case the fact that he could press over three hundred pounds wasn’t impressive enough. Johnny mustn’t have seen the two Hollywood types who’d been cast in an upcoming blockbuster either. They were both tall, dark, handsome, and easily twenty years younger than me.

But I was the one he wanted.

He paced in front of the row of hand weights, ignoring his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors as he reported details of his afternoon. I listened intently but didn’t comment until he finally ran out of steam and dropped onto the bench beside me.

“Are you going to say anything? Your kid doesn’t know who Def Leppard is. That alone would be enough to keep me up at night if I were you,” he huffed sarcastically.

I chuckled. “I’m sure he doesn’t know who Culture Club or The Clash are either.”

“Culture Clash who?”

“Very funny. Thankfully, I know you’re kidding.” I inhaled as I curled the hand weights toward my chest.

“Hmm. Why aren’t you tripping out? In spite of her thinking Clay is my boyfriend, Fiona was extremely cool. She likes me.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing.” Johnny set his hands on his narrow hips and scanned our immediate area. “Except I don’t think your ex would think I was so great if she knew that I wished I could pull those sexy shorts down and suck your cock.”