“I’ll bet he does.”
Blay went back to looking out over the pond. Back to the smoking, too, because he was suddenly twitchy.
“I haven’t wanted to pry, Blay. But I know there has to be something going on between you two, otherwise, he’d be here, as well. I mean, your Qhuinn never misses a chance to come and eat my food.”
“Will you tell him I’m not here?” He tapped the cigarette over the ashtray again even though there wasn’t much on the tip. “Tell him I just left. Or something.”
“Too late. I said you were right out here on the porch. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Steadying the ashtray, he stabbed out the Dunhill. “Do you mind if I leave this out here? I’ll clean it up before I leave.”
“Of course.” His mahmen stepped aside and then waited with the door held wide. When he didn’t come over immediately, she seemed sad. “Whatever it is, you two can work it out. Being new parents can change things, but it’s nothing that you won’t adjust to.”
Well, apparently only one of us is a new parent, so …
Blay walked across and kissed her cheek. “The study? You sure Dad doesn’t need it?”
“He’s up in the attic. I think he’s alphabetizing our luggage, as odd as that sounds.”
“Nothing is odd when it comes to Dad and organization. Is it by color or make?”
“Make first and then color. Who knew those Samsonite monstrosities from the seventies could live this long?”
“Cockroaches, Twinkies, and Samsonite. That’ll be what’s left after nuclear war.”
It was so much warmer inside, and as he went into his father’s work space, his Nikes squeaked over the freshly stained and finished pine floors. Turning on the overhead fixture, he was confronted by a whole lot of in-its-place. The desk, across the way, was nothing fancy, just a nice piece from Office Depot with black legs and a honey-brown top, and on it, there was a phone and an old-school calculator with a humpback of white tape roll. The chair was black and leather and puffy, and the desktop computer was a Mac, not a PC.
Better not tell V, he thought as he closed himself in.
There were a number of windows, all with heavy drapes that were still pulled, evidence that his dad hadn’t clocked in yet at the consulting firm he’d started. Telecommuting was a godsend for vampires who wanted to make cake in the human sector, and it was particularly applicable if you were an accountant who ran numbers for a living.
Sitting down behind his father’s command central, Blay picked up the receiver and cleared his throat. “Hello?”
There was a click as his mother hung up at the kitchen or in her sitting room or wherever she’d answered the call. And then there was nothing but static coming over the line.
“Hello …?” he repeated.
Qhuinn’s voice was so hoarse it barely registered. “Hey.”
Long silence. Not a surprise. Blay was usually the one who pressed for communication when there was a rough spot, mostly because he couldn’t handle distance between them and Qhuinn always found it tough to open up about “feelings.” Inevitably, though, the male would give in, and they’d talk through whatever it was like adults—and then Qhuinn would want to service him sexually for hours, as if the guy wanted to make up for his interpersonal-relating weaknesses.
It was a good MO. Usually worked for them.
But not tonight. Blay wasn’t playing that game.
“So I’m sorry,” Qhuinn said.
“For what.” The pause that followed suggested that Qhuinn was thinking “you know what” in his head. “And yes, I’m going to make you say it.”
“I’m sorry for what came out of my mouth when I was upset. About Lyric and Rhamp and you. I’m really sorry … I feel like shit. I was just so fucking mad that I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“I believe that.” Blay ran his fingertips over the adding machine’s pad with its numbers in the center and its symbols around the edges. “You were really upset.”
“I couldn’t believe that Layla had put them at risk like that. It made me fucking mental.”
Now was Blay’s cue to agree, to affirm that yes, anyone would have been upset. And that was not hard to do. “She did risk their lives. It’s true.”
“I mean, can you imagine life without those two?”
Why, yes. I’ve spent most of the day doing that.
As a lump formed in his throat, Blay coughed into his fist to clear it. “No, I cannot.”
“They’re the most important thing in my life. The two of them and you.”
“I know.”
Qhuinn exhaled like he was relieved. “I’m so glad you understand.”
“I do.”
“You’ve always gotten me. Always.”
“This is true.”
There was another silence. And then Qhuinn said, “When are you coming back? I need to see you.”
Blay closed his eyes against that seductive tone of voice. He knew exactly what was going through Qhuinn’s mind. Crisis averted, time for sex—and that was not an unpleasant hypothetical in the slightest. But come on, Qhuinn was an orgasm upright in a pair of shitkickers, a dominating, irrepressible force of nature on the horizontal, capable of making a male feel like the single most desirable anything on earth.
“Blay? Wait, is your mahmen okay? How’s her ankle?”
“Better. She’s hobbling along. Doc Jane said just another night or two, and then she can get out of the boot. It’s healing well after the fall.”
“That’s great. Tell her I said I’m glad she’s doing well.”
“Oh, I will.”
“So … when are you coming home?”
“I’m not.”
Long silence. “Why?”
Blay ran his fingertips over the numbers on that keypad, in proper order—first ascending, from zero to nine, then descending. He didn’t press hard enough for anything to show in the light-up section or for the roll of paper to get with its program and start printing.
“Blay, I’m honestly sorry. I feel like shit. I never want to hurt you, ever.”
“I believe that.”
“I wasn’t in my right frame of mind.”
“And that’s my problem.”
“Look, I can’t believe I got out a gun and pulled that trigger. I want to throw up every time I think about it. But I’ve calmed down now and Layla’s out of the house. It was the first thing I asked when I came around. She’s out and the young are safe so I’m okay.”
“Wait, came around from what? Were you hurt after I left?”
“I, ah … it’s a long story. Come home and I’ll tell you in person.”
“Did they take Layla’s rights away?”
“Not yet. They will, though. Wrath’s going to see my side. He’s a father, after all.”
That lump in Blay’s throat came back, but not as bad. No cough needed. “Layla should still be able to see those kids on the regular. They need their mahmen, and whether you like it or not, she should be in their lives.”
“What are you saying, that she and Xcor take them to McDonald’s for fucking fries and a Coke?”
“I’m not going to argue with you. It’s not my business to, remember?”
“Blay.” Now came the impatience. “What else do you want me to say?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing to—”
“I’m back in my right head now. I know that I was wrong to yell at you like that, and—”
“Stop.” Blay went for the Dunhill pack, but then put it back into the pocket of his button-down shirt. Not like he was going to light up in the house. “The fact that you’ve calmed down? Good, maybe it’ll help you be more rational when it comes to Layla. But here’s the thing, when people are that mad, they speak the truth. You can apologize all you want for being angry and screaming at me and all that shit. What you will never be able to take back, however, is the fact that in that moment, in that split second, when you didn’t have the capacity to sugarcoat, or smooth over, or be nice … you put out there, for all to hear, what you actually believe. Which is that I’m not a parent to those young.” o;I’ll bet he does.”
Blay went back to looking out over the pond. Back to the smoking, too, because he was suddenly twitchy.
“I haven’t wanted to pry, Blay. But I know there has to be something going on between you two, otherwise, he’d be here, as well. I mean, your Qhuinn never misses a chance to come and eat my food.”
“Will you tell him I’m not here?” He tapped the cigarette over the ashtray again even though there wasn’t much on the tip. “Tell him I just left. Or something.”
“Too late. I said you were right out here on the porch. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Steadying the ashtray, he stabbed out the Dunhill. “Do you mind if I leave this out here? I’ll clean it up before I leave.”
“Of course.” His mahmen stepped aside and then waited with the door held wide. When he didn’t come over immediately, she seemed sad. “Whatever it is, you two can work it out. Being new parents can change things, but it’s nothing that you won’t adjust to.”
Well, apparently only one of us is a new parent, so …
Blay walked across and kissed her cheek. “The study? You sure Dad doesn’t need it?”
“He’s up in the attic. I think he’s alphabetizing our luggage, as odd as that sounds.”
“Nothing is odd when it comes to Dad and organization. Is it by color or make?”
“Make first and then color. Who knew those Samsonite monstrosities from the seventies could live this long?”
“Cockroaches, Twinkies, and Samsonite. That’ll be what’s left after nuclear war.”
It was so much warmer inside, and as he went into his father’s work space, his Nikes squeaked over the freshly stained and finished pine floors. Turning on the overhead fixture, he was confronted by a whole lot of in-its-place. The desk, across the way, was nothing fancy, just a nice piece from Office Depot with black legs and a honey-brown top, and on it, there was a phone and an old-school calculator with a humpback of white tape roll. The chair was black and leather and puffy, and the desktop computer was a Mac, not a PC.
Better not tell V, he thought as he closed himself in.
There were a number of windows, all with heavy drapes that were still pulled, evidence that his dad hadn’t clocked in yet at the consulting firm he’d started. Telecommuting was a godsend for vampires who wanted to make cake in the human sector, and it was particularly applicable if you were an accountant who ran numbers for a living.
Sitting down behind his father’s command central, Blay picked up the receiver and cleared his throat. “Hello?”
There was a click as his mother hung up at the kitchen or in her sitting room or wherever she’d answered the call. And then there was nothing but static coming over the line.
“Hello …?” he repeated.
Qhuinn’s voice was so hoarse it barely registered. “Hey.”
Long silence. Not a surprise. Blay was usually the one who pressed for communication when there was a rough spot, mostly because he couldn’t handle distance between them and Qhuinn always found it tough to open up about “feelings.” Inevitably, though, the male would give in, and they’d talk through whatever it was like adults—and then Qhuinn would want to service him sexually for hours, as if the guy wanted to make up for his interpersonal-relating weaknesses.
It was a good MO. Usually worked for them.
But not tonight. Blay wasn’t playing that game.
“So I’m sorry,” Qhuinn said.
“For what.” The pause that followed suggested that Qhuinn was thinking “you know what” in his head. “And yes, I’m going to make you say it.”
“I’m sorry for what came out of my mouth when I was upset. About Lyric and Rhamp and you. I’m really sorry … I feel like shit. I was just so fucking mad that I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“I believe that.” Blay ran his fingertips over the adding machine’s pad with its numbers in the center and its symbols around the edges. “You were really upset.”
“I couldn’t believe that Layla had put them at risk like that. It made me fucking mental.”
Now was Blay’s cue to agree, to affirm that yes, anyone would have been upset. And that was not hard to do. “She did risk their lives. It’s true.”
“I mean, can you imagine life without those two?”
Why, yes. I’ve spent most of the day doing that.
As a lump formed in his throat, Blay coughed into his fist to clear it. “No, I cannot.”
“They’re the most important thing in my life. The two of them and you.”
“I know.”
Qhuinn exhaled like he was relieved. “I’m so glad you understand.”
“I do.”
“You’ve always gotten me. Always.”
“This is true.”
There was another silence. And then Qhuinn said, “When are you coming back? I need to see you.”
Blay closed his eyes against that seductive tone of voice. He knew exactly what was going through Qhuinn’s mind. Crisis averted, time for sex—and that was not an unpleasant hypothetical in the slightest. But come on, Qhuinn was an orgasm upright in a pair of shitkickers, a dominating, irrepressible force of nature on the horizontal, capable of making a male feel like the single most desirable anything on earth.
“Blay? Wait, is your mahmen okay? How’s her ankle?”
“Better. She’s hobbling along. Doc Jane said just another night or two, and then she can get out of the boot. It’s healing well after the fall.”
“That’s great. Tell her I said I’m glad she’s doing well.”
“Oh, I will.”
“So … when are you coming home?”
“I’m not.”
Long silence. “Why?”
Blay ran his fingertips over the numbers on that keypad, in proper order—first ascending, from zero to nine, then descending. He didn’t press hard enough for anything to show in the light-up section or for the roll of paper to get with its program and start printing.
“Blay, I’m honestly sorry. I feel like shit. I never want to hurt you, ever.”
“I believe that.”
“I wasn’t in my right frame of mind.”
“And that’s my problem.”
“Look, I can’t believe I got out a gun and pulled that trigger. I want to throw up every time I think about it. But I’ve calmed down now and Layla’s out of the house. It was the first thing I asked when I came around. She’s out and the young are safe so I’m okay.”
“Wait, came around from what? Were you hurt after I left?”
“I, ah … it’s a long story. Come home and I’ll tell you in person.”
“Did they take Layla’s rights away?”
“Not yet. They will, though. Wrath’s going to see my side. He’s a father, after all.”
That lump in Blay’s throat came back, but not as bad. No cough needed. “Layla should still be able to see those kids on the regular. They need their mahmen, and whether you like it or not, she should be in their lives.”
“What are you saying, that she and Xcor take them to McDonald’s for fucking fries and a Coke?”
“I’m not going to argue with you. It’s not my business to, remember?”
“Blay.” Now came the impatience. “What else do you want me to say?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing to—”
“I’m back in my right head now. I know that I was wrong to yell at you like that, and—”
“Stop.” Blay went for the Dunhill pack, but then put it back into the pocket of his button-down shirt. Not like he was going to light up in the house. “The fact that you’ve calmed down? Good, maybe it’ll help you be more rational when it comes to Layla. But here’s the thing, when people are that mad, they speak the truth. You can apologize all you want for being angry and screaming at me and all that shit. What you will never be able to take back, however, is the fact that in that moment, in that split second, when you didn’t have the capacity to sugarcoat, or smooth over, or be nice … you put out there, for all to hear, what you actually believe. Which is that I’m not a parent to those young.”