Empty Nests (8 page)

Gabe laughed.

“Don’t laugh. You don’t have kids. Believe me, when you’ve got a kid, you quickly realize there is no worry too outrageous to not spend a little time dwelling on it.”

J
AMES
SHIVERED
in the late afternoon breeze. It was early in the season to be out in just a polo shirt, but he could handle the chill if it meant a little more time strolling along the grass. He was worried about what was supposed to happen next. He was sure there was some code of etiquette for getting invited to a country club, taken to a nice lunch, then invited back to the country club to take a walk in a secluded corner of it, but he was damned if he knew what it was.

They got to a small bridge that arched over an ornamental stream. Gabe stopped and leaned over the railing, looking into the water. There were a few golf balls sporting a thin layer of moss and tiny silver fish darting about.

“When I was just starting out, I knew this business manager, Gregory. He had jumped around a lot of the dot-coms. This was in the middle of the tech bubble, when venture capital—’stupid money’—was flowing. He was psychic or something. He told me that 90 percent of the Valley would be out of business by the millennium because it was being run by children with shiny new toys. He also told me I’d be okay as long as I started networking with the right people. Then he dragged me into this place kicking and screaming. I’m really not a country club kind of guy.”

“You seem pretty comfortable.”

Gabe chuckled. “You’ve never seen my golf game. Can’t putt to save my soul.” A wide oak leaf fluttered down from the canopy and into the stream, where it was whisked away. “That first year, when he would drag me here, I spent a lot of time hiding out, wandering around. Found this spot
—I don’t think most of the members even know they have this little corner.”

There was a decent gust of cold air, and James couldn’t control the chill that went through him.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gabe said, noticing the sudden shiver.

“It’s okay.”

“We should go back up to the clubhouse, where it’s warmer.”

“I’m okay. Really. It’s pretty here, relaxing.”

“It is.”

There was a flutter of wings, and James watched a little brown bird take to the sky. Gabe moved closer.

“James, would you mind horribly if I tried to kiss you now?”

“No.” James’s voice squeaked like a teenager’s.

Gabe smiled and pressed their lips together. James gripped the railing of the bridge. He opened his lips to try to breathe. Gabe’s tongue darted in, then he pulled back. James tried to look calm, but his heart was pounding hard enough that some part of him was worrying about a heart attack.

“Was that okay?”

“Yep.” James’s voice squeaked again, and he gave a little cough. He was amazed he could speak at all.

“Good.” Gabe looped an arm around his waist. Gabe was a couple inches taller, and James had to tilt his head back a bit, but it still felt nice. He shivered again but not from the cold. There could have been a blizzard raging, and he wouldn’t have felt anything but the warmth Gabe was putting out. He pried his fingers off the bridge and wrapped his arms around Gabe. He was trying to avoid coming across as desperate, but eight years was a long time to go between kisses.

Gabe laced his fingers into James’s hair, then kissed him again, twisting his tongue around James’s, taking full control of the kiss. James felt his knees start to go, and he was sure he was very close to embarrassing himself. Gabe pulled away. James tried to catch his breath. He wasn’t sure how he looked, but he felt like he’d just done a hundred-meter dash against the wind.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to come back to my place for a cup of coffee?” Gabe asked, managing to sound a little uncertain.

“Yes.” James’s libido answered before his brain could kick in. “No.” His brain contradicted. “I can’t. Dylan has an early game tomorrow way up in Vallejo. I’m keeping all the team stats this year, and I haven’t even gotten the ones from the last game into the system yet.”

“That’s okay.” He saw the flash of disappointment on Gabe’s face and wondered if he’d just lost himself a chance at another date. Gabe pressed his lips to James’s jaw, just below his ear. “Rain check?”

The relief flooded through. “Oh God, yes.”

Gabe chuckled, a warm sound James wanted to wrap himself in to keep out the cold. “If you need to get going, at least let me walk you back up to your car.”

“I think you’ll have to. I’d probably get lost trying to find my own way.”

“Then I shall be your loyal guide.”

They didn’t move with any hurry, taking the time to kick at stray leaves. James didn’t mind. The afternoon was the nicest he’d had in a long time, not totally by choice, but pleasure had always come second to responsibility.

They got up to the clubhouse. The valet brought around the car without being told which one. Gabe looked it over.

“It’s called the Lemon Drop Wonder.”

Gabe looked like he was flipping through possible comments. James had heard them all. “And it runs?”

“It rattles a bit between thirty and thirty-five, but that just makes getting on the freeway a little more exciting.”

“Well, drive carefully.” Gabe gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Give me a text when you get home?”

James rolled his eyes but felt an odd little thrill at Gabe’s concern. “You’re as bad as Dylan. I’ll be fine. I’ll talk to you later?”

“I look forward to it.”

G
ABE
WATCHED
the Lemon Drop Wonder drive off. The left rear wheel wiggled, obviously out of alignment. He was tempted to hop in his own car and follow James all the way back to Albany.

Instead he stood there and licked at his lips. He wondered if he had gone too fast. He’d been able to feel James’s heart pounding when he pulled their bodies together. He was pretty sure he was a decent kisser, but he wasn’t sure if he was that good. Still, it had felt unbelievably nice.

It wasn’t that his life was totally devoid of company. He had the occasional one-night stand, and up until a year earlier, he’d had at least one good friend with benefits, but there had never been a lot of kissing. Not the slow lingering kisses that started a relationship.

That he was even thinking the word “relationship” already was unexpected, but James was ticking the boxes. Intelligent, pleasant, decent looking, and there was the extra bonus of having probably more strength and integrity than the vast majority of people he associated with. He knew plenty of guys who sent out their child support payments with the water bill and paid more attention to the water.

He was sure there was not a single one who would have been willing to step up at age fourteen and toss away the rest of their childhood to be a father. He knew the fathers of his sisters’ kids had had damn near nothing to do with their offspring.

He pulled out his phone, ignored the seventeen messages, opened his calendar, and began desperately looking for a spot to put that rain check in.

“D
YLAN
,” J
AMES
called as he let himself into the apartment. He’d hit traffic, and it was nearly seven. “Dylan,” he called again while wandering into the kitchen. There was a note on the fridge.

Staying with Stephen tonight (in case you need the place to yourself). Will come home early before leaving for the game. There’s some leftover corned beef hash in the fridge.
–Dylan

P.S. Your phone isn’t picking up again.

James took his phone from a pocket to find three missed calls, even though he hadn’t heard it ring once. He skipped over the two from Dylan, partly because he didn’t need to hear that much innuendo coming from his son. The next call was from Gabe.

“Hi there. It’s me. I know you said you’d text when you got home, but it’s getting kind of late, and I noticed your rear wheel was looking kinda wobbly. I just want to make sure you’re not stuck by the side of the road somewhere. And since this is going right to voice mail, I’ll take a guess that if you are stuck somewhere, it’s someplace you don’t have coverage so… um… I hope you make it home safe and, yeah. I’ll talk to you later.”

James quickly called back and gave half a chuckle when he got voice mail as well. “Hi. It’s me, James. I’m home in one piece. Hit traffic. My phone’s going through one of its antisocial phases where it just doesn’t like to ring and hangs up on calls for me, so don’t take it personally. I had a nice time too and… yeah, I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

James closed his eyes and listened to the quiet of the apartment. He usually used nights when Dylan was out to catch up on some reading, or cleaning, or watching some TV. The desire or even the idea of going out had vanished years earlier. Tonight, though, he knew where he’d rather be, and it was not the tiny apartment he’d called home since Dylan was five.

He’d only had part-time work that first year, and the rent chewed up most of every paycheck. Money had been so tight, he’d gotten Dylan on the free lunch program at his school, then sucked up his pride and applied for food stamps. Even with that, James had needed to stretch every cent as far as he could. He’d caught a glimpse of the lunch bill that afternoon, and it was easily a month of grocery money in those days. Six weeks if he could find some good deals.

He stepped into the bathroom and turned on the light, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He looked his age, and it was always a surprise. The moment Dylan was born, he’d looked up and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror that was in the birthing room for some reason. He’d had a zit high on his nose and was still six months away from his last major growth spurt, so still had the last drops of baby fat on his cheeks. His mental image of himself had frozen in that moment. The lines starting to etch their way between his eyebrows and around the corners of his eyes looked like they belonged to someone else.

He didn’t need anyone from the Psych Department to tell him that a large part of himself had frozen in that moment, that there were important developmental steps he’d missed and experiences he’d never had.

He put his fingers to his jaw, right where Gabe had pressed his lips. His toes had curled, and everything had felt so alive in that moment. He wondered if he should try calling Gabe again. Dylan would probably tell him not to, that it would make him sound desperate, even if he was. A not-date and a date were sadly the closest thing to a relationship with a man he’d ever had. Gabe was nice, damn good-looking, and for some weird reason seemed to actually enjoy James’s company.

He put his hands to either side of the bathroom mirror and leaned close. “James Maron, do not fuck this up.”

T
HE
RICKETY
wood stand shook under James and the other parents as they leapt to their feet. The ball Dylan had just hit dropped to earth in far right field. Dylan sprinted around to third, sending two of his teammates home ahead of him, wrapping up the game neatly.

James checked the stands for scouts. It had become a compulsive habit since Dylan started showing real talent. Between academics and baseball, Dylan had gotten an early offer from Stanford, but that was no reason not to keep an eye out for pro scouts. He knew, logically, Dylan wasn’t playing at that level and possibly never would, but a father could dream.

As the rest of the spectators departed, James waited by the locker rooms with some of the other parents. He knew them all well, but he’d always had a slightly odd relationship with them, being only a handful of years older than some of their eldest children. He wasn’t sure how much breath he’d wasted over the years, starting at Little League, explaining he was Dylan’s father and not an older half brother or something.

While the other fathers chatted, he checked his phone for the fifth time in eight minutes, but that was only because it was still buggy and didn’t always put through his calls.

Coach Frasier came out before any of the team, his broad shoulders and massive stride dwarfing every parent there. He’d coached Dylan’s summer Little League back in the day and was the first to say that Dylan could use baseball to get someplace in life. He’d even been good enough to turn a blind eye to missed dues and secondhand shoes. James had a slightly strange relationship with Coach Frasier, seeing as how he hadn’t been that many years out of high school himself when they’d first met. He always had a funny feeling that the coach saw them as some sort of double mentoring project.

“James, how’s it going?” He delivered a bone-rattling slap to James’s back. “Your boy did good today.”

“I don’t know. It looked like he was favoring his ankle a bit in the seventh.”

“He’ll be fine. And I got those stats you sent last night. They’re always a help.”

“No problem. Sorry I got them out a bit late.”

“That’s understandable.” He gave James a bit of an elbow to the side. “I hear you had a date last night?”

From the corner of his eye, James could see the other parents listening in. “Dylan told you?”

“Boys do gossip. They’re worse than girls at the end of the day. And Dylan’s damn happy about it. He worries about you.”

“No one should be worrying about me, especially him.” It was a phrase he was sure he’d been repeating daily for months now.

“That’s not going to happen. I remember when you turned twenty-five, he worried himself sick. Thought you were going to have some sort of early midlife crisis.”

“What did he think I was going to do?”

“I don’t know, but it got him all worked up.”

It was getting James worked up. “Well, for the record, yes, I had a date, yes, it was nice. Am I having another one? I don’t know. And he needs to not worry about me and keep focused on his game. If he gets sloppy and twists his ankle again, that’s his scholarship gone.”