Wayward Son (5 page)

“I want to,” Mikey interrupted, trying to ignore the nervous flutters in his stomach. “Just… give me a couple minutes to get ready.”

“Take all the time you need. I’ll just get comfortable over here.”

Mikey started to put his phone on the bedside table but paused at the last second and, steeling himself, set it on speaker. He stood and crossed over to lock the door, then turned off the overhead light and turned on the lamp instead. With shaking hands he stripped down to his skin before lying back on the bed.

“Crap.” He rolled toward the bedside table as soft laughter came from the phone’s speaker. “Need, um….”

“Tissues? Lube? You get whatever you need. I’ll be right here waiting when you’re ready.”

Mikey thought he’d never be ready, but if he waited until he was, he’d die a virgin in more ways than one. Finally settled, lotion at his side and a box of tissues at the ready, he blew out a breath. “Um… I’ve never done this before,” he admitted, as if that wasn’t obvious already. “I don’t know how to….”

“Just do whatever you normally do, and tell me aaaaall about it.”

Mikey gulped and gave it his best shot.

“I… I’m touching my chest,” he said. “My nipples are hard already. I’m brushing my fingertips over them, and it makes me shiver. I can feel it in my… in my balls.” He flushed at the words spilling from his mouth, but that only made him more determined. “My cock is so hard already.” He pinched a nipple and moaned. “I’m pinching my nipples now. Not really hard, just a little. Feels so good.”

“Sounds good too,” Cory replied. “Love hearing you like this.”

Mikey moaned again and let one hand wander down from his chest to brush through the top of his pubic hair. “I want to touch myself so bad,” he murmured. “But I don’t want it to be over that fast. I want it to last.” He pinched a nipple again and spread his legs wide so he could slide his hand lower, to cup his balls.

“You take your sweet time, baby.” Cory’s voice had gone raspy, the sound making Mikey shiver. “Just as slow or as fast as you want. Don’t worry about anything except what feels good.”

Mikey did just that. He let go of everything and just felt.

His hands moved as if he had no control over them, caressing and touching every sensitive spot, drawing out his arousal and
ramping it up to a fever pitch. Cory’s voice washed over and
through him, telling him how and where to touch himself, painting a picture of Cory’s own arousal, encouraging him to let Cory hear him. By the time Mikey went to work on his dick in earnest, jerking himself hard and fast, he’d lost any remaining hesitation on anything that came out of his mouth. Cory’s appreciative encouragement and his own need for release pushed everything else aside.

“Oh God… oh God oh God oh… ahhh!”

His climax barreled him over, sending him spinning, unable to tell top from bottom. If it weren’t for the distant awareness of the bed at his back, he’d be certain he was flying through the air, untethered from the world, surrounded by nothing but pure sensation.

When he floated back down, sounds were coming from the phone speaker, and it took him a moment to resolve them into words. “… the hottest thing I’ve heard in ages. Jesus. Came so hard I think I broke something. Wish I was there to clean you up. With my tongue.”

That made Mikey laugh, though it was a bad attempt
considering he had barely caught his breath. “Wow,” he forced out, and Cory laughed in reply.

“‘Wow’ only scratches the surface, honey.” Cory let out a breath. “I think we’re both gonna sleep well after that.”

Mikey roused up a little. “Ugh. Was supposed to do homework tonight.”

“It’ll still be there tomorrow,” Cory replied. “Or if you wake up at three in the morning, like I’m probably gonna do, because I’m about halfway to sleep already.”

Mikey couldn’t argue. He did manage to grab the box of tissues and make a halfhearted attempt at cleanup, though he’d probably be scraping off dried-on cum in the shower later. Or in the morning, he thought, as he tossed aside the tissues and reached for his phone.

“Gotta sleep now,” he murmured into the speaker.

“Sweet dreams” came the reply.

Seconds after the call ended, Mikey was asleep.

D
ESPITE
THE
brave façade he’d put up for his friends over the weekend—the one they’d seen right through—Mikey’s hands shook as he pulled into a parking space outside the shining office building that housed Charles Day’s legal practice. He’d managed to distract himself for brief periods on Sunday with homework, but sleep had proved elusive the night before.

With the car in park, he turned off the engine, gripped the steering wheel tightly, and forced himself to breathe—in and out, slow and deep.

You did nothing wrong
, he reminded himself.
Tell the truth. Trust your friends to know what they’re doing. It will be fine.

He still didn’t quite believe himself, but at least he felt like he could get out and go inside without shaking to pieces. Mr. Day’s office was on the fifth floor, Evan’s note had said, but Mikey still double-checked the display sign near the elevators before heading up. He had the elevator to himself, at least. He hated riding with strangers even on the best days.

Mikey watched the numbers climb as the elevator rose, his stomach tightening with each floor that passed. When the car stopped and the doors opened, he found not a hallway, as he expected, but a wide-open space with a curved reception desk directly in front of him. The dark cherrywood wall behind it was decorated with chrome lettering that read “Law Offices of Charles Day, Esquire.” A young woman sat behind the desk, answering the phone and directing calls.

It looked more like a movie set than a real office.

The woman looked up from her typing to smile at him. “Good morning!” she chirped. “Welcome to the Law Offices of Charles Day. How may I help you?”

“Um.” Mikey shuffled forward. “I have an appointment. At eleven. Um. Mikey O’Malley?”

Jesus, could you sound any more ridiculous?
he scolded himself, but the receptionist’s smile never faltered. “Absolutely. Why don’t you have a seat”—she lifted a hand like a spokesmodel, indicating the seating area off to one side—“and I’ll let Mr. Day know you’re here.”

Mikey stiffly moved to sit down, trying to steady his breath again. He didn’t know why this freaked him out so much. Yeah, if it turned out someone really was suing him over supposedly messing around with some kid, then dealing with that was going to suck big-time. It wasn’t true, of course, but he wasn’t an idiot. Being gay wouldn’t help his case, especially not in Florida, where antigay sentiment burned brighter than the sun. Not that Georgia was much better, but at least now he lived in Atlanta, an island of blue in a blood-red sea. And in Midtown at that, just blocks from the heart of the Gayborhood.

“Mr. O’Malley?”

Mikey looked up to see an older woman in an impeccably fitted black suit smiling at him. “Please come in. Mr. Day is ready to see you.”

Mikey stood on shaky legs and followed the woman through the heavy double doors at the side of the reception area and into a quiet hallway. Mikey didn’t know what he’d expected from a legal office, but he’d thought there’d be typing, phones ringing, photocopiers running. Either all that stuff took place in a different part of the office, or the place had some seriously good soundproofing.

The woman led Mikey into a small conference room, one with a table the size of a standard dining room set, not the huge expanse of shining wood he’d expected. Heck, the table in his father’s office at the church was larger than this. Three legal pads and pens lay on the tabletop in front of three of the chairs, and a silver pitcher of water sat in the center of the table, surrounded by a half-dozen short glasses.

“Please make yourself comfortable,” the woman said. “Mr. Day will be right in.”

Mikey nodded in a jerky motion and, as the woman left, closing the door silently behind her, he contemplated the seats. He definitely wasn’t taking the one at the head of the table, but the other marked spots were on flanking sides, and he didn’t know which would be better. He finally decided he’d rather not have his back to the door and moved around to the seat on the far side. His butt had just touched the chair when he thought maybe he should pour himself a glass of water, but before he could make a move in that direction, the door opened, and a young man walked in, closely followed by an older man Mikey guessed must be Charles Day.

“Mr. O’Malley,” the man said. He dropped a leather portfolio onto the table—at the head, as Mikey had expected—and held out a hand. “I’m Charles Day.”

Mikey rose halfway long enough to shake Mr. Day’s hand, though he could only nod, his mouth gone dry. He needed that water something fierce, but he didn’t trust himself not to spill it.

“This is Quinn Sheffield, an intern here this summer,” Mr. Day continued as he took his seat. “I hope you don’t mind his sitting in on our session. He’s been assisting me with research this morning and will be continuing to help with the case.”

Mikey nodded at Quinn, who moved without prompting to pour three glasses of water. He placed one in front of Mikey, who gave him a grateful look, and Quinn returned it with a quick smile, his gaze lingering just long enough to clue Mikey in that maybe Quinn batted for his team. That surprised him considering what he’d heard about how Evan’s parents had treated him, but they’d recently reconciled, so maybe Mr. Day’s horizons had been expanded.

“We’ll be recording our conversation,” Mr. Day said. “And both Quinn and I will take notes. Please feel free to do the same, especially if you have questions as we go on.”

Mikey nodded and pulled the legal pad and pen closer. He reached for his water glass and lifted it to his mouth to take a sip, but he found it hard to swallow.

“So Evan told me a little about your situation,” Mr. Day said. “But I’d like to hear it from you. In your own words.”

Mikey set down his glass and cleared his throat. “I don’t know a lot,” he replied. “I was at work, and I got called in to the front office. They told me something came up in my background check, and I was being suspended. And they gave me that piece of paper.” He shrugged. “The rest is just what Jimmy told me. Um, Jimmy is…. It’s kind of complicated.”

Mr. Day nodded. “It usually is,” he agreed. “Why don’t you start from the very beginning. I’ll ask questions as needed. You moved to Atlanta last month?”

Mikey found things easier with the prompting questions Mr. Day asked, and he described his decision to move, his enrollment at SCAD, and his being hired at the nature park, mostly based on his experience working for Sliding Waters and then Disney in Orlando since his teen years. They covered his living situation, the friends he’d made since he arrived in town, and the events of Friday, when he was relieved of his duties and sent home, and then when Jimmy took over to look into the origins of the lawsuit against him.

“And that’s it.” Mikey took another sip of water, the glass almost empty after a good forty-five minutes of talking. “Jimmy looked online, and he said some of the lawsuits were on there, but not this one. There’s a listing for it, but just, like, the title and stuff. So I asked Evan, and he called you, and I’m here hoping maybe you can find out what’s really going on.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Mr. Day made a note on his pad and then glanced back up at Mikey. “Evan said something about your father?”

“Oh yeah.” Mikey’s head hurt, partly from going over everything again and partly just from the idea that his father could be the reason for all of it. “My dad is the pastor at Orange Grove Fellowship Church. It’s a pretty big church right outside Orlando. I think maybe the people who sued me could be trying to get money out of him.” He shrugged one shoulder. “It isn’t like I have any money. And they probably don’t know that I moved away. The info on the court website had my parents’ address, but I haven’t lived there for a few years.”

Mikey’s glass was almost empty, but he tipped it up to his lips anyway, letting a few pieces of ice slip into his mouth along with the last of the water. When he set the glass down, Quinn immediately leaned across to refill it, and Mikey gave him what he hoped was a grateful smile.

“All right.” Mr. Day made another note, then folded his hands together and rested them on the pad. “So here’s what happens next. Quinn will get together these notes, and we’ll contact the court in Orange County about getting a copy of the lawsuit. It’s public record, so there should be a way to get it, even if it’s a badly reproduced fax. Meanwhile”—he lifted an eyebrow—“at some point a process server is going to track you down.”

Mikey nodded. “Jimmy talked about that already.”

“Good.” Mr. Day nodded. “When they find you, just verify your name and take the papers. Don’t say anything else, and then call me immediately.”

Mikey had to smile. “That’s exactly what Jimmy said.”

“Smart man.” Mr. Day returned the smile. “But I’m your lawyer now, so call me first. I’m sure he won’t mind.”