Empty Nests (19 page)

James frowned to himself as Gabriella emerged from her faint in time to see Ernesto strike his father. Then the credits rolled.

The little voice pointed out that at least he wasn’t a virgin anymore, and maybe he could go out and find a nice schoolteacher or something once Dylan started college in September.

G
ABE
HIT
the remote, shifting the music from his sound system to his bedroom. It was the CD James had given him; he’d listened to it five times so far.

He stripped off his shirt and pulled on another. He turned a little, getting a good look at himself in the full-length mirror. He hadn’t put that much thought into what he’d worn to seduce James; he knew what made him look sexy. But meeting Dylan was a whole different ball of wax. He was going to a high school baseball game, so a suit was out. He didn’t want to look too country club, because that wasn’t really who he was. He didn’t want to look like some rich twit who was trying to dress down, but he had a feeling he just might be a rich twit trying to dress down. And while he wanted to look good for James, he didn’t want to look too slutty.

He sighed, picked up his phone, and pressed one on the speed dial. The phone on the other end only rang twice.

“Tam, I’m going to a high school baseball game to meet James’s son. What do I wear?”

There was a moment of silence. “Gabe, you know the rules.”

He sighed. “Are you taking raspberry syrup in your lattes?”

“Yes, I am. And make it a chocolate-cake donut tomorrow.”

“Chocolate cake and raspberry latte. Now tell me how to do something I am
sure
I used to be able to do on my own.”

“Your boot-cut jeans that are a little faded, the dark gray, long-sleeved polo shirt, and the dark blue, long wool windbreaker, because the fog should be rolling in tonight.”

Gabe yanked a few things out of his closet and held them up to himself. “Thank you, Mother.”

Tamyra snorted. “For that you also owe me lunch. Are you going to be ready to talk about next year’s preliminary development goals Monday morning?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll be ready.”

T
HERE
WAS
a single free parking spot under a sign welcoming Gabe to the Home of the Fighting Cougars. He was running a little late and followed a few other stragglers toward the sports fields. Gabe was not one to get nostalgic for high school. High school was mainly an exercise in survival, but he did envy the youths he saw around him with their nearly boundless energy and ability to simply leap at things. He got to the stands and looked up at the crowd, scanning them, hoping to catch James’s face.

He turned around quickly when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. James was standing behind him dressed in team colors and holding a little pennant flag.

“Hey, you made it.”

Gabe couldn’t control the grin that broke across his face “Got all my homework done early.” He wanted to lean in for at least a kiss on the cheek but wasn’t sure how public displays of affection would be received yet.

James covered the awkward moment by handing him the pennant. He pointed toward a small set of stands near the dugout. “Team families sit over there.”

Gabe didn’t comment on that as he followed James. He was sure he didn’t fall anywhere near the family category yet, but there were two spaces reserved in the front row. The visiting team was finishing their warm-up. He gave his pennant a practice wave as he looked around. There were a couple of glances his way, but they varied between curious and amused. No one seemed particularly hostile.

Dylan was taking practice swings with the bat, and Gabe understood why James was so terrified of him getting some girl knocked up. It looked like he was the team power hitter. In the front row of the stands, a group of girls were making eyes at him. If he was sixteen again, Gabe would have probably been right there with them. There was some cue, and the teams went back to their dugouts. An announcer read out the names of the players. The home crowd cheered at Dylan’s name, and James smiled.

Gabe had never been much of a sports guy. He’d gotten pushed around by too many jocks, but James’s focus was contagious. He was keeping statistics for the game, and with every swing of the bat, he put some odd notation into a column next to a name. Then Dylan came out to bat. There was cheering, and he waved at his groupies. James sighed.

There were a couple of balls, then a strike, then Dylan sent the ball out past second base in a clean arch. It hit the ground and bounced, letting Dylan get to second and one of his teammates get home.

Dylan didn’t make it home himself, as the next batter swung three times and was out.

James started a new column of notation. The fog started to roll in thick and fast by the fifth inning, and Gabe was glad for his windbreaker. James seemed happy overall with the game until the sixth inning. Dylan slid feetfirst into third, and when he got up, even Gabe could see he was putting all his weight on his left foot.

“Shit,” James hissed, leaning forward. “Shit, shit, shit.”

The man sitting behind them leaned between them and put his hand on James’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine, James,” the man said. “He’s just being careful.”

Dylan tapped his right toe on the ground a few times, as if testing it, then balanced out his weight. He turned and gave a nod to his dad. James nodded back before collapsing into himself.

“What’s wrong?” Gabe asked, trying to figure out how a slide into third could warrant that kind of panicked reaction.

James shook his head tightly, not taking his eyes from Dylan. There was a bunt, and Dylan bolted for home but was cleanly tagged out. He hadn’t really stood a chance, but he gave his dad another smile and nod as the teams changed positions.

James leaned closer. “When Dylan was thirteen, he took a bad fall and pretty much shredded his ankle. The doctors wanted to do surgery, but we couldn’t even begin to afford it. We could barely afford the X-rays. Best we could do was wrap it up. He spent a month on crutches, and we did hydrotherapy in the bathtub, but it’s always been a bit funny. If anything keeps him out of the majors, it won’t be a bad day at bat, it’ll be him rolling out of bed one morning and his ankle going out from under him.”

“Is there any way it could be fixed now?” Gabe asked.

“If we could somehow scrape up the money for surgery, it would still mean six weeks in a cast and six months of physical therapy with no guarantee as to strength and mobility once it was all over, plus a risk of nerve damage. So short answer, no.”

Gabe watched as Dylan took his position in the outfield. He’d always made sure that all TechPrim employees had full health coverage for their families. Even if something like reconstructive ankle surgery wasn’t 100 percent covered, it shouldn’t have been completely out of the question. Watching Dylan subtly shift his weight onto his good ankle reminded him that TechPrim was a bit of an odd duck as far as employee benefits went.

A
crack
drew Gabe’s attention back to the game. A ball arched high into the air. Dylan took all of three steps to his left, put his arm up, and the ball dropped neatly into his glove. There were cheers, and Gabe waved his little flag.

It wasn’t a close game at the end. The Cougars made three runs in the seventh, holding the other team at bay. Dylan got one more at-bat in the ninth, getting neatly struck out by the other team’s relief pitcher, but the damage had been done already, and in the end the Cougars were victorious.

Dylan jogged over to the stands while the rest of the team headed toward the gym buildings. He stopped in front of Gabe and held out his hand. “Dylan.”

“Gabe.” Dylan had a good firm shake. “It’s nice to meet you under not completely embarrassing circumstances.”

“Same.” Dylan turned to his father. “I’ll get cleaned up quick, and we can head home.”

“Sure.”

Dylan turned back to Gabe, a slightly suspicious squint in his eyes. “Why don’t you come around for dinner? Dad’s making his famous pork shoulder in mushroom cream sauce over egg pasta.”

Gabe knew he wasn’t being invited to dinner as much as to an interrogation. “That sounds nice.”

James gave an annoyed little huff. “It’s Spam with cream of mushroom soup over noodles.”

“It still sounds nice.” Gabe knew even if it was dog food, the dinner invite was nonnegotiable. Dylan was going to give the guy dating his dad the once-over, one way or another.

A
SPARE
chair had been commandeered from Dylan’s room, and three places had been set around the small kitchen table. Gabe watched as James cooked and Dylan helped. There was no clashing of movement and not much conversation. There wasn’t the same underlying power struggle there seemed to be with every other teenager and parent he’d ever encountered. Maybe it was the unusual age difference or the fact that it was just the two of them, but they worked together more like good friends than anything else.

“Anything I can do to help?” Gabe asked as James scooped the noodles and Spam into a serving dish. It smelled fairly good for something that had come out of two cans and a box.

“No, thank you. I think we’ve got it.”

Dylan moved the Spam to the table, placing it next to a bowl of peas. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked.

“Water is fine.” Gabe actually wanted a shot of tequila for a bit of liquid courage. Dylan had been giving him sideways glances since he’d gotten there. Now that the embarrassment of their first encounter was over and done with, Dylan seemed determined to size up the man who was now sleeping with his father.

Dylan filled up two glasses with water. One he put in front of Gabe’s plate, the other got a spoonful of sugar, a dash of salt, and a squeeze of lemon juice from a plastic lemon-shaped bottle. Dylan chugged it. Gabe tried not to cringe.

“It’s basically Gatorade without the food coloring. Got to rehydrate.”

The idea of needing to rehydrate led to a naughty little thought and a mental sigh. He was sure spending the night would be completely out of the question, but he still wanted to get James back into bed as soon as possible. A rather irritating part of his brain pointed out that his longest relationship had started without lots of sex. It was also the relationship that had ended in a nightmare.

Everyone took a seat, with Gabe across from Dylan and James between them. That close, Gabe could smell James. He always smelled clean, with a hint of soap, and Gabe quite liked it. James dished up. There was no grace or any other ceremony. Dylan immediately started inhaling his food, but at his age and size, that wasn’t surprising. He was a little curious as to what percentage of James’s pay went for groceries.

Gabe dug into his meal as well. It was surprisingly good, especially once he’d mixed his peas in the way Dylan had. Dylan took a sip of water and opened his mouth, almost certainly to start the first volley of questions.

Gabe quickly turned to James. “Oh, Frank and Nate are going to want to meet you at some point soon.”

“Really?”

“They like to meet anyone I’ve seen more than three times. They say it’s to protect me from bad relationships, but really, they just like any excuse to give me shit.”

James smiled. “I’m sure I can pencil it in somewhere.”

“Oh, there’s no rush. They’re my best friends, but they are people you can’t unmeet, and they both take great pleasure in sticking their noses into my love life. For a couple of straight guys, they have way too much interest.”

James flashed a quick look at Dylan. “I do know that feeling.”

Dylan took another sip of water and started again. “Dad says you’re an executive down in the Valley. Which company?”

“TechPrim, right?” James answered for him.

Dylan froze solid, his fork hanging in front of him. “Your name is Gabe, right?” Dylan finally said.

“Last I checked.”

“That would be short for Gabriel, wouldn’t it?”

James gave his son a hard look. “Dylan, don’t be rude.”

Gabe nodded, even as his stomach dropped. “Yes.” He realized that James might not actually be aware of what his position in TechPrim was. He was pretty sure they’d never discussed it. Maybe James didn’t care what he did. That was a nice thought. Or maybe he knew and hadn’t told Dylan.

Dylan ignored his father. “Gabriel Juarez?”

“Yes.”

“I’m guessing Nate and Frank would be Nathan Nesbit and Franklin O’Conner?”

“Yep.”

“Dylan, what are you talking about?” James snapped.

Dylan dropped his fork, then dropped his face into one hand. “Jesus Christ, Dad, he’s not some midrange VP for TechPrim—he’s the CFO and one of the founders.”

James’s head snapped around.

“Gabriel Juarez, Nathan Nesbit, and Franklin O’Conner. Cofounders of TechPrim. The Three Wise Men of Silicon Valley.”

“Wait until you see Techpix. They’ll be calling us the Three Stooges.”

“You never mentioned that.” James was blinking rapidly and looked more than a little startled.

“I thought you knew. I mean, you were at three of my lectures.”

“You never mentioned your title.”

Gabe quickly went over his general presentations and realized his title was nowhere in there since people who came to his lectures already knew exactly who he was. “Well, that’s an ugly mirror to my ego.”

“That does explain why you’re nearly surgically attached to your phone,” James said. Dylan still looked like he was in pain. “TechPrim’s one of the big ones.

“Excuse me.” Dylan’s voice squeaked as he got up from the table. He came back with a laptop that was geriatric by technological standards. He held it up. “TechPrim?”

“Yeah.”

He pulled out his cell phone, which was at least five years old. “TechPrim?”

“Yep.”

He grabbed his father’s cell phone from the kitchen counter. “TechPrim?”

Gabe squinted at it. “Is that an 8A Phantom?”