A Heart for Robbie (23 page)

“Not with me,” Julian said with a laugh, and to his delight, Simon

laughed too and kissed him on the cheek.

“I’m going to go get Robbie, and then we can talk some more. Can

you stay tonight? I’d love to lie here with you in my arms.”

“I have to work tomorrow, but I can stop by my apartment in the

morning to shower and change if… if you want me to stay.”

“I would love for you to stay. Hang on. I’ll be right back.”

While he still had strength left, Julian rolled out of bed and shuffled

to the room next door. He turned off the machine, disconnected the leads from the apnea monitor, which was far easier than disconnecting them

from his son, and carried Robbie into the bedroom. Simon sat up and

offered to help, but Julian waved him off. Just one more trip. He placed Robbie gently into the bassinette and went back for the monitor. Once

everything had been plugged in and connected, he lay back down next to

Simon, who rolled over into his arms. Lying in bed between Simon and

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Robbie, Julian Holmes knew in his heart there was no place on earth he

would rather be.

ROBBIE’S CRY woke him around four the next morning as his son

decided it seemed like a perfectly good time for breakfast. Julian

reluctantly disengaged himself from Simon’s arms and rolled to the side of the bed. He picked up Robbie and held the tiny boy against his chest to

soothe his cries. Julian had started to notice that Robbie gasped for breath now when he cried, something he hadn’t done even just a month ago. Dr.

Martinez said that was to be expected, even if it did put a vise around

Julian’s heart, reminding him forcefully of his son’s mortality.

“Can I help?” Simon asked, his voice muffled by sleep. Julian turned

to see him peeking over the covers, and he smiled.

“You can sleep for a few hours before you have to go. Diaper

changes and bottles aren’t all that interesting.”

Simon threw back the covers anyway and then pulled them sharply

back over his nakedness. Color blazed in his face, and he glanced at

Robbie.

“Uhm, Simon, we all have the same equipment here. Trust me, he

doesn’t care if you’re naked, and I certainly don’t.” Julian waggled his eyebrows, and Simon laughed before rummaging around for his boxers

and jeans on the floor. Julian went over to the dresser and pulled out

sweats. He waited for Simon to throw his jeans on.

“Hold him for a second?”

Simon didn’t even hesitate then; he took Robbie into his arms. Julian

watched them for a moment, jerked the sweats over his legs and then up

over his hips. Robbie mewled in Simon’s arms, obviously ready for that

bottle.

“It’s okay, little man. Daddy’s gonna make it better,” Simon

crooned.

Simon stood by watching as Julian changed Robbie with efficiency,

and then they went down to the kitchen together to make a bottle. Simon

sat at the table holding Robbie while Julian heated the water. He talked quietly to the baby, assuring Robbie that Julian was going as fast as he could and asked the two-month-old to show a little patience. Julian

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chuckled, because he’d told Robbie that same thing on countless

occasions.

Julian tested the liquid’s temperature on his wrist before handing the

bottle to Simon, who looked at it for a moment as if he didn’t recognize the shape. Then without any prompting from Julian, he tipped it so that the nipple rested against Robbie’s lips. Robbie’s hunger did the rest. The soft sounds of suckling and Robbie catching his breath were the only ones in

the kitchen as Simon looked up at Julian with wonder in his eyes. He

didn’t say anything; he didn’t need to.

They finished feeding and burping Robbie before taking him back

upstairs and laying him quietly in the bassinette. Simon removed his jeans while Julian kept his sweats, and they climbed back in bed together.

“I really want to see you again,” Julian whispered. Bright edges of

dawn were peeking around the sides of his blinds, and he nuzzled closer

when Simon tightened his grip.

“I want that too. I have to coach tonight, and then I teach an art class tomorrow night, but if you’re free, can we get together Wednesday night?”

Julian tempered his disappointment and, rather than answer right

away, asked, “You coach?”

“I volunteer with a youth center up on Broadway. Actually, I teach

art, nothing major, just the stuff I learned in my one art class in college.

But yesterday, I got asked to coach basketball.”

The nonchalant shrug didn’t fool Julian a bit. He might not know

Simon well, but since Simon’s eyes seemed to be tracing each of the one

thousand threads in his sheets, it wasn’t hard to see that there was more to the story. Julian kissed his shoulder, his neck, and finally his cheek.

“Why does that make you sad?”

Simon sighed, a slow sound, more frustrated than sad. He played

with the sheet resting on Julian’s chest, ironing out creases with his fingers and then pinching them together again. Julian waited, letting Simon gather his thoughts.

“I got a call yesterday from the director of the youth program.

Apparently the board got wind that the coach was… gay, and they said he

couldn’t work with the kids anymore. He’s the volunteer I was telling you about.”

“That’s discrimination.”

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“Yep. Didn’t stop them. It also wouldn’t stop them from doing it to

me if they knew I was here.” Simon smoothed and pinched the sheet

again, avoiding Julian’s attempt to meet his gaze.

“Simon, if it’s dangerous for you to be here because of your job and

your place at the youth center, why are you here?” Julian couldn’t force his voice above a whisper. He couldn’t try to drive Simon out of his life with anything louder than a broken exhalation. Simon did look up then

and surprised Julian by smiling.

“I like how I feel when I’m with you. Like, maybe I wasn’t made

wrong or that I’m not broken.”

“I think you’re perfect the way you are.”

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Chapter 13

SIMON THREW his keys on the small table next to the front door as he

kicked off his shoes, and padded in socked feet toward the kitchen in his one-bedroom apartment. He glanced in to find the stainless steel

appliances, the spice rack, the little countertop grill all in the same places as he’d left them. The living room with its sparse, perfectly matched

furniture and even the book he’d been reading, all the same. So he didn’t understand why he felt so different.

The apartment seemed colder without a fireplace, quieter without the

small coos and cries of a baby, and emptier without Julian. In the span of one night, he’d gotten comfortable at Julian’s place, and his own seemed woefully plain in comparison. It wasn’t the comforts, though. He could

live without a fireplace or supple leather couches. In fact, he could buy them if he wanted. No, he missed the intangible things—the soft touches

as they moved around each other in the nursery and the sweet kisses

between each dish they put in the dishwasher after dinner.

He checked the clock as he passed into the bedroom. It was 7:00

a.m., and yet it seemed so much later. Normally his alarm would have

gone off about half an hour before, starting his day, and yet the day felt half over after spending the last few hours with Julian and Robbie. When Julian had asked when they could see each other again, he wanted nothing more than to call Dr. Dane and take a personal day. He wanted to blow off the coaching gig that night and just spend the day cocooned with Julian

and his son. The idea frightened him, terribly. That he could consider

blowing off his life. Things were going so fast, it was like being on a roller coaster. His head and his heart zipped around each twist and turn, even

while the sick feeling in his stomach begged for a moment of reprieve.

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A torrent of emotion followed him as he stepped into the bathroom

to shower and get his day officially started. The heat from the shower

steamed the small room as he stripped out of clothes he’d redressed in

after spending the night with Julian. Simon stepped into the tub and pulled the curtain around him, allowing the warm water to cascade over his

naked skin. The water seemed to take the same path Julian’s fingers had

the night before, and his cock stiffened. As much as he wanted to relive the highlights of their lovemaking, he simply didn’t have time. Instead, he allowed himself the memory of one lingering kiss and then cleaned up

with quick efficiency.

Simon couldn’t face the train, so after forgetting to pack a lunch, he

got back into his car and headed for the hospital. For the next twenty

minutes as he absently stopped for lights, pedestrians, and traffic, Simon lost himself in memories of Julian. Never in his life had such powerful

emotions filled him so completely, not even when he’d lost his virginity to that guy in college at a party he couldn’t be bothered to remember—the

guy or the party. No, he wouldn’t waste time remembering that drunken

night or the terrifying STD tests that followed. He’d think about the light in Julian’s eyes as he held himself above Simon making love. He’d think

about what their next move would be. He’d think about what his next

move would be.

Aside from his rancid lunch in the cafeteria, Simon had a quiet day

at work. No new priority admissions, no insurance snafus to fix, not even a computer hiccup. He used the quiet to get caught up with some filing he’d been neglecting and to trade sporadic texts with Julian, who had found a well of inspiration overnight and had been writing furiously since Simon left that morning. The last text he’d sent was a promise to finish the next book in the Black Heart series so he could start reading Julian’s work in progress and provide an opinion.

Julian wanted him to read his unpublished manuscript.

He’d always been curious about the process by which a book went

from the author’s head to his hands. Conceptually he knew that someone

would have to sit down and type for some random number of hours to

come up with a workable novel and then someone edited it, slapped a

cover on it, and sent it off for printing. But all the little nuances, like Julian having entire conversations with his characters, or more to the point, being inspired by a night with him, made Simon tingle. He couldn’t wait to see what the rest of the process entailed.

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By five o’clock, Simon was ready to get the hell out of Dodge. He

needed to scrounge up food and be at the youth center by six in order to help the kids practice for a game he only had the scantest idea how to play.

From the six months he’d been helping there, Simon understood that any

change to their routine meant uncertainty, so he wanted to make sure he’d be there on time. He ran through a McDonald’s on the way, picking up a

grilled chicken since someone would hopefully be seeing him naked often, and slid into a space around the corner from the center with half an hour to spare. He ate in the car since he didn’t bring enough to share. He

downloaded Vortex, the second book in the Black Heart series, and started to read on his Kindle.

A few of the kids, including Miguel, waited for Simon when he

changed in the cramped locker room then entered the gym. He stepped out

onto the court in the sweats and T-shirt he left in the car for emergencies, thankful he’d left gym shoes under his desk so he could work out at lunch.

The combination came together in spectacular fashion to keep his morning from interfering with the kids’ practice time.

“Hey, Mr. P, where’s coach Fin?” Miguel asked as he bounced one

of the basketballs near the goal line, or whatever that line was near the side of the court.

Simon took a breath. He’d expected the question. These guys were

more on the ball than anyone gave them credit for. They noticed things,

kept their eyes open and their heads down.

“Coach Finley isn’t going to be able to make it for a while, so Mr.

Hunter asked me to take over.”

Every activity, every movement on the court stopped as the twenty

boys watched Simon with suspicion. Miguel, who now held the ball under

his arm, took a few steps forward, until he was within arm’s length of

Simon.

“Is he hurt?”

Simon’s heart ached. Given Miguel’s background of violence, of

course that’s where his mind would jump. The bruises on his face were

healing, but he still looked shell-shocked and tired. The kid didn’t need any more disappointment in his life.