- Black Gold 2 - Double Black (17 page)

Billy slipped his arms tight around Jett. “He looked so scared, Jett. He wasn’t ready for this. All that’s happened to him and now this.”
Suddenly Billy jumped. “Sorry, got a message.”
He blushed as he reached into his pocket. He tapped his phone a few times and frowned. “Hmm, video.”
Jett had been ready with a teasing remark about Billy’s passionate love affair with his cell phone cutting into their quality time as a couple when he heard what had to be the man who raised Cole—not his father, that was Jett’s job now—spouting unconscionable bullshit.

“Yeah, well, he’s not my son. Not my responsibility. I’m not surprised, though. Kid with a father that out of control. When he was here, he never got into any mix-ups like that. Less than a week in California and he’s in jail. Where he belongs. Where the lot of the sodomites belong.”

It was good Linda was dead because that would have broken her heart. She’d never been like those uptight, closed-minded yokels. She was a real pioneer, like their ancestors had been.

Scowling, Jett looked Billy in the eye. “That didn’t take long, did it? I’ll call Sarah, see how much longer we gotta wait. She’s not here in five minutes, I can’t promise I won’t go out there and give that man a piece of my mind via
E! News
special report.”

Jett swiped Goldie’s phone, dialed Sarah, and heard a harsh tumult of voices as she answered.
She didn’t bother to greet him. “Right outside. Is my favorite star couple ready to face the world?”

Jett gave Billy an appraising glance. “My guess is yes.”

 

“Good. Meet me outside.” Jett couldn’t help smiling at the vengeful mirth in her tone.

After he ended the call and returned the phone, Jett dropped his arm around Billy’s shoulders and steered him toward the exit. “Showtime, Goldie.”
Billy looked like he was preparing for a performance. He bowed his head as if praying, then cracked his neck, bounced on his toes a couple of times, and started forward.
This was what made Goldie a star. He went through the doors like a force of nature despite the lack of stage lights and makeup. The crowd of reporters and photographers stopped for a collective gasp at his entrance, and Billy-turned-Goldie drew the moment out, turning his head so everyone could get a good look at his injuries.
The camera flashes were blinding.
Pure showmanship.

Goldie cleared his throat as he leaned against the podium. “No one regrets yesterday’s events more than me. I bear responsibility for the fallout of my impromptu visit to Kmart, not Cole Adams. As the media have discovered, Cole is from a small town in Kansas. His mother died from cancer, and the man who raised him now denies responsibility for his well-being. He has also alleged that Jett is Cole’s father.

“As Cole was arrested outside a paternity clinic, you can see that we are taking these allegations very seriously. And, while the man who raised him has shut him out, I have made the commitment to help Cole no matter what. I admit that I was caught up in the excitement of having a new member in our family. And perhaps Cole, who has lost so much, upon seeing a member of his new family in danger, overreacted. I can only imagine the terrible confusion and loss that this young man is experiencing. I hope everyone will give him space to mourn. Thank you.”

Sarah made her way past the disgruntled police officers to join Goldie, focused on keeping things civilized. She looked every inch the “dour Dior diva” Billy had once called her. As Jett took in the severe cut of her designer skirt suit and the carefully applied scarlet lipstick on her smirking mouth, he decided that he would rather light his hair on fire than piss her off.

The past two years of working together had proven her even tougher than he’d first suspected. If she said play ball, he’d play ball.

Industry reporters fell over themselves to get their hands in the air as Sarah cleared her throat to speak. Without amplification to ensure they could get a quote, the crowd fell quiet. It seemed more like a high school assembly now than a bloodthirsty pack of newshounds. Maybe they were human after all.

Well, as human as a high school assembly, anyway.

Sarah took the nonexistent spotlight with practiced grace, seeming to know that people were watching Goldie but tuned in to her words. “With help from Goldie, Jett is mounting a legal defense for Cole despite not yet having received paternity results. We can expect to hear back from the clinic in three business days, according to my recent call for confirmation. They will be expediting our results due to the public and sensitive nature of the situation. I would ask that you direct questions about those results to myself rather than to Mr. Black. Jett, despite much eye-rolling from us all, has insisted as always that I act as his publicist in this matter.”

During a pause, Sarah turned her head to shoot Jett a look. He couldn’t tell if she was amused or annoyed. Her smirk always looked the same to him.
She returned her attention to the crowd with a winsome smile. “Jett wishes to say a few words, and then I’ll take questions.”
The crowd, which had seemed so transfixed by Goldie even while Sarah was talking, now looked for Jett. By the way their eyes kept darting right past him, he doubted anyone recognized the old man wearing a suit with his hair neatly pulled back. They seemed to have assumed he was a lawyer or something.
He felt invisible, and it reinforced the idea of these people as strangers. They pried into every aspect of his life, but they didn’t know his face or body language. What right did they have?
Anger stirred in his gut, but Jett quashed it. Cole needed him. The man who raised Cole had failed him, but his father wouldn’t. Not anymore, anyway.
Jett felt Goldie watching him as he stepped forward. The blond wasn’t Billy here; the quiet, almost shy man Jett thought of as his boyfriend had been left inside. In the public eye, Goldie had Jett’s back. It was a comforting thought.
The sun seemed too bright even without the flashing cameras. Jett tried not to squint in hopes he wouldn’t look like a Neanderthal on cable news. He shoved both hands in his pockets to quell the instinct to shield his eyes.
“Hi.” The salutation was so un-Jett-like as to be remarkable. “I’m going to try to get through this without cursing or breaking anything. However, if I do start another riot, it’ll at least be a short trip to the PD.”
A ripple of nervous laughter moved through the press as they recognized the Jett they knew. A few people in the back jockeyed for better position, as if anticipating some crazy stunt. Jett decided not to give it to them. They were agents of The Man, the advance guard of Big Brother, and if they wanted him to act out, he’d rebel by being a gentleman.
“I knew Cole’s mother, Linda, when I was a freshman in college.” Sadness weighed down Jett’s words as he thought of Linda dying without him ever seeing her again. What kind of person had he been that she’d never even tried to contact him?
Exhaling slowly, Jett refocused. “Linda was one of my first fans, even before my old band was formed. While my lawyer would advise me against saying that, fu—”
Jett cut off his “fuck that” just in time, and judging by the chuckles of the onlookers, the expression on his face looked as funny as it felt. He laughed too, hoping to seem like a good sport. He felt like an idiot.
“I don’t care what my lawyer would say, is my point. The cult of celebrity is a two-edged sword, and while you worship the famous, you eviscerate them. I like my viscera where it is, thanks.”
Jett felt the crowd turn edgy, and with the aplomb of the lifelong performer, he gave them his best grin and projected emotion, passion, pushing his presence past the bounds of his skin as if he could wrap everyone present inside his aura and make them feel as he did. He put it into his voice, speaking more urgently. “Cole stood up for the man I love when I wasn’t there to do it. He has acted as family, and he’ll be treated like family, whatever the test says.
“For those playing the home game back in Kansas, I have a special message. When I think of the heartland, I think of pioneers. I think of the brave, untamed souls who left behind civilization and traditional social mores to forge their own way in the wilderness. They were tough, independent, and true to themselves. I am their descendant. Cole is their descendant. Are you?”
Jett raised a fist in salutation, then turned and walked back into the station to wait. Behind him, he heard questions being shouted and Sarah’s sardonic singsong, “One at a time, please.”
As Jett’s eyes adjusted to being indoors again, he looked around for someone in charge. He’d never been in a jail as a free man. He didn’t know what to do. However, he’d spent enough nights behind bars to know Cole wasn’t cut out for it. He wanted at least to be certain he was in a private cell and not in holding.
“Excuse me, Mr. Black.”
Jett turned toward the authoritative, surprisingly hayseed voice and saw a tall, beefy sergeant looking at him with that impassive expression all police seemed to learn in their training.
“Is Cole okay?”

The cop smiled faintly. “Yes, sir. Cole is doing fine. I just— Uh, could we talk over here?”
The man headed toward a small side room, looking over his broad shoulder at Jett expectantly. Jett followed despite the instinctive protests rising to his lips. A lifetime of distrust for authorities weighed down his feet, but he couldn’t tell the guy to fuck off. God knew what might happen to Cole if he gave these officers any more reason to dislike the kid.
Still, he didn’t have to go alone. Halfway to the door, he turned to see Goldie wringing his hands like a cliché worried mother as he watched Sarah.

“Goldie! This guy wants to talk to us.”
Goldie stepped between him and the sergeant.
“Officer.”

The officer closed the door. Jett hoped that wasn’t a bad sign. At least Goldie was with him, acting like he’d play human shield if he had to. It was surprising, given Goldie’s pacifist leanings and long-term avoidance of physical altercations.

Then again, after how possessive Goldie had been toward Jett this week, maybe the balance was shifting.

Jett squirmed thinking about it. He’d never been turned on in a police station before, but it did seem kind of rock ’n’ roll.
Smiling sidelong at Goldie, Jett slipped his arm around his boyfriend’s waist, though he didn’t quite meet the officer’s gaze.
“Listen, I heard what you said out there, Mr. Black. I believe you meant it. If I can help, I’d like to.”
Jett looked the man up and down. “You wanna help me?”
The officer laughed and nodded. “Yeah, I wanna help. Listen, I’m an Iowa boy. Thought I’d be an actor, came out here to LA. They weren’t as impressed by my homecoming-king credentials as my mommy was. But there was something to what you said about that pioneer spirit. I felt that pull to go west and do my own thing, risk everything on an ill-advised move. I’ve made a place for myself here. I don’t think we’re that different, Mr. Black.”
Jett’s brows rose. He spied the officer’s name on his badge—Malone—then looked back at his face, trying to picture him in high school. He was probably one of those corn-fed fuckers with giant biceps who’d fueled Jett’s rage and represented everything he was rebelling against becoming. It was good-looking, wholesome behemoths like Sergeant Malone who’d convinced Jett he was straight. In his world, there had been no elegant, shamelessly androgynous blond boys to clue him in to the other possibilities.

Jett thought he and Malone were probably as different as they could get. Still, Cole needed allies. Jett stifled his misgivings with moderate success.
“So what kind of help can you offer, Iowa boy?”

Sergeant Malone looked at Goldie imploringly. “Is he always like this?” “Always. It’s why I love him.” Goldie squeezed Jett. “Looks like you landed in a good spot, Officer. Keeping people safe must be very fulfilling. Sometimes I wonder if I do much good.”
“Hush, Goldilocks. You provide a role model and beacon of hope for misfit kids everywhere.” Jett kissed Goldie’s temple fiercely and squeezed him back.
“He’s right, Mr. Goldie. I have a kid sister back home who’s got posters of you all over her dorm room. She must not be much older than your son, Mr. Black. Point is, she’s always been a li’l plump, and hearing you talk in some magazine about how beautiful big women are, she decided to stop wearing damn tents and be proud of her body. You just said it in passing, but it meant the world to her.” Sergeant Malone gave Goldie the kind of deferential look Jett was certain no police officer would ever direct his way.

As expected, when his gaze returned to Jett, it grew wary. “Listen, Mr. Black, I think your boy is getting kind of a rough welcome to Los Angeles, and I’m aware of your long history with the LAPD, the NYPD, and every other police force in the world. We don’t want you haunting the jail, you don’t want you haunting the jail, and Cole doesn’t need to be treated like a hardened criminal. So I’m suggesting Mr. Goldie here take you home, and I’ll promise to look after a fellow Midwestern boy like he’s my own blood. I’ll call you right away if anything changes.”

Jett gave Goldie a questioning look, uncertain if it was too good to be true. Jett’s experiences made it hard for him to be objective.
Goldie appeared delighted. He clapped his hands together like a child and then gave the officer a pat on his shoulder. “That would be wonderful. I know he’s new to us, but I can tell he’s a sweet boy. I don’t think he’s ever been in jail before. As long as he’s being taken care of, I feel like I can sleep tonight. Jett?”
Jett nodded and extended his hand.

Malone shook it, then belatedly said, “My name’s Cy, by the way. Sergeant Cy Malone.”

As the handshake ended, Jett gestured at the nameplate. He’d never get used to strangers talking to him like they knew him. “Figured that one out. Thanks, Cy. We’ll be waiting to hear something.”

With a faint sense of dread, Jett backed toward the door. He kept waiting for Malone to change his mind, as if any moment he might decide Jett should be in jail overnight just because he was Jett Black. When nothing happened, Jett tugged on Goldie’s hand. “Let’s go.”

Goldie shook the man’s hand and then followed Jett out. “It’ll be all right. He’ll be home soon.”
Jett nodded and leaned his head on Goldie’s shoulder. It was strange to feel like Goldie was protecting him, especially with Goldie still bruised and stitched up, but he couldn’t deny that it felt safe beside him. Maybe Jett had been the only rescuer in the family once upon a time, but his sweet prince had grown into a king. It felt good to have been part of that.