“This is your idea of a romantic adventure?”
“Y’know, for two cents, I’d hit you. Only thing is, I’m too freaking exhausted to move one…more…step…”
“Oh, like I’m not?”
It was nearly dark. The sunset had been beautiful to behold, but the two teenagers never noticed. They ached with bone-deep fatigue and the utter certainty that if they were lucky enough to be found, it would undoubtedly be after death.
Suddenly the roar of a Harley-Davidson at full throttle echoed throughout the quiet countryside. Adam jumped back just in time to see Walter pull abreast of them, ever so slowly. “Hey!”
“Hey yourself!” Walter turned off the ignition and sat back, his posture completely relaxed. “So what have you been up to? Besides stealing your father’s bike?”
“I wasn’t exactly stealing it,” Adam more or less mumbled, his shaggy hair falling forward to cover his face as he bent his head.
Walter cupped his ear with one hand. “What’s that? Couldn’t be. It sounded like you said you didn’t steal the bike. Hmm…that’s interesting. Then how do you s’pose it got here?”
Jazz smiled pertly and said, “It followed us here?”
Walter growled at Jazz, “You are cruising for a bruising, my friend. It just so happens that James and Smoke are looking for you, and when they find you, well, let’s just say I wouldn’t want to be *your* ass.”
Jazz decided that the better part of valor lay in remaining silent.
Adam, protective to a fault, used what little energy he had left to defend Jazz. “Hey, don’t blame him! It was me! All of it! I dunno what came over me. Honest.”
Walter rolled his eyes. “Well, I know what came over you. Lust. Love. Hormones. Pick one or all of the above.”
Adam shuffled his feet, uncharacteristically unnerved by Walter’s perception. “I screwed up.”
“Yeah, but at least the two of you are still alive to tell the tale. Now if you’d been stuck out here overnight—“
Adam squeezed his eyes shut. He swayed on his feet, the exertion and the heat and the lack of food finally taking their toll. Walter’s eye was immediately drawn to the adolescent’s sudden pallor, but before he could get off his own motorcycle, he heard Jazz yell.
“Walter! He’s losing his grip on the bike!”
As tragic as damaging Michael’s motorcycle might be, a little scraped paint was nothing compared to Adam returning in less than mint condition. Walter had no difficulty making that choice at all. “Forget the bike! Grab Adam!”
Jazz wrapped his arms around Adam’s chest, catching him just as he passed out. Suddenly frightened, Jazz realized that no matter how many times he had dreamed of holding Adam, it was never like this. The motorcycle was heavy, but effectively trapped between the two young men.
Walter slowly dismounted, fwapping his leather gloves against one palm. Jazz shivered. The look in Walter’s eyes was decidedly ominous. “Oh, please, hurry. I don’t know how long I can hold onto him *and* the bike.”
With Walter’s help, Jazz lay Adam on the grass and settled the motorcycle safely on its kickstand. “Now what?”
“I’ve got some water in my field bag in the back. I’ll get it.”
By the time they managed to get some of the water between Adam’s parched lips, he was conscious—and totally embarrassed. “I couldn’t have fainted. I’ve never fainted in my whole life. Girls faint, not—“
All at once Adam’s dark brown eyes met Jazz’ stricken green ones. “Okay, okay, I was just out for a little while. Right? I’m okay. I swear.” Adam longed to reassure Jazz by touching him, but Walter’s presence made that impossible.
Walter saw the exchange and smiled kindly at Jazz. “Lucky for you two, the chateau isn’t far.”
“It isn’t?” Jazz asked hopefully. The thought of a warm meal and a soft bed was tantalizing. Providing the lecture that preceded them wasn’t too stinging.
“Nah. You almost made it. It’s about two more miles up this road.”
“Two? Oh…” Jazz looked as though he wanted to cry.
“Hey, cheer up. There’s plenty of room at the inn. Now help me get Adam on his feet again, Jazz.”
Soon Adam was standing, albeit unsteadily, between the two. “You’re coming with me, son,” Walter directed Adam.
“But wait, what about me? You can’t leave me out here in the dark,” Jazz protested weakly, thinking that perhaps, just perhaps, he deserved such treatment for taking leave of his senses today.
“I don’t intend to. Do you know how to ride a motorcycle?”
Jazz flushed. “I’m not old enough to drive, Walter. You know that.”
“I didn’t ask you that. I asked if you know how to ride this motorcycle.”
“Are you saying--?”
“Hell, boy, I’m going to have my hands full keeping Adam on the back of this thing. So I need you to drive that one back to the chateau. You can follow me. Can you do that?”
Jazz squeaked, “But it’s out of gas! That’s why we were pushing it!”
“You hold Adam. And no funny stuff, okay?” Jazz would have laughed, but he was too excited to make a sound.
Walter siphoned a small amount of gas from his tank to Michael’s tank. Obviously expert at this, he didn’t spill so much as a drop. “That should do it.”
Jazz helped Adam onto the back of Walter’s Harley, and the older man nodded at Jazz. “I expect you to follow me closely. You hear?”
Jazz looked solemn as he approached the motorcycle. “What’s Michael going to say when he sees me? Or Pete? He’ll have my head for sure.”
“I told you, Jazz. You’re already in deep trouble, kid, and it ain’t your *head* that he’s interested in, if you catch my drift.”
“But won’t this just make things worse?”
Walter put a finger to his lips. “Ssh. If we’re lucky, no one’ll see us come in. Then we can put whatever spin on it we need to.”
Jazz chuckled weakly. “Are you telling us to lie, Walter?”
“Like a rug,” Walter replied. He nodded approvingly as Jazz hoisted himself onto the leather seat of the motorcycle.
“Don’t say I never did anything nice for you, kid.”
Adam wrapped his arms around his adoptive grandfather’s waist. “Boy, you set a terrible example, Gran’pa.”
“Yeah, I do, don’t I?” Walter answered in an amused tone. He winked over his shoulder at Adam. “Don’t tell your Dad. But Sugar’s cool.”
“Yeah, she is,” Adam agreed, laying his cheek against the smooth cool leather of Walter’s jacket.
“You both are,” he added sleepily, missing Walter’s delighted grin of acknowledgement.
*POS stands for Probability of Success, or something akin to that.
So much for sneaking in past the madding crowd. Everyone they knew was gathered in front of the chateau. Everyone. Right down to the littlest Samuelle.
“Oh, shit,” Adam said, hiding his face against his grandfather’s black leather jacket. “Maybe you could drive around a little bit more? Wait till it gets really dark?”
Walter eased down the throttle and chuckled. “Son, I don’t think there *is* enough darkness in the world to cover the two of you right now.”
Jazz parked Michael’s motorcycle swiftly, hopping off with a determined jauntiness calculated to conceal any misgivings he had about their incipient reception. Patting Adam on the back, he said, “Come on, man, time to face the folks.”
“You go first. If you’re still alive and kicking five minutes from now, I’ll give it a shot.”
“Funny. But we’re in this together, man. I am *not* going anywhere without you.”
Something about Jazz’ tone of voice made Adam take notice. Sincerity, yes, but something else, too. He *meant* it in the broader sense. That little piece of Jazz, revealed only to him, tugged at Adam’s heartstrings, forcing him into an unexpected smile.
Adam slowly got off the back of the motorcycle, seemingly watching Walter, but his attention quickly turned to Jazz. “Hey,” he said, so softly only Jazz could hear. “Come ‘ere.”
Jazz took a step closer, and before he could say, this might not be a good idea, Adam kissed him, his fingers unconsciously tightening in Jazz’ hair. “I love you,” he whispered against Jazz’ mouth.
When he released Jazz, the younger boy blinked wide-eyed at Adam. “Wow, you must think we’re going to get creamed for sure.”
Adam shrugged. Such public declarations were not his style, but then again, since he had met Jazz, nothing felt quite the same.
***
Not everyone was outside the chateau. Much to Adam’s initial relief, neither Michael nor Nikita was there. Similarly, Jazz could not believe his luck when James and Smoke were clearly not in evidence.
But that didn’t mean they could make their escape unscathed. Not quite.
***
When she heard the motorcycles, Nikita looked out the third-floor window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Adam. Reassured that he was no worse for wear, given whatever adventure had taken him, Nikita heaved a gentle sigh, grateful that Michael was not around.
That’s when she felt him. Pressing himself against the length of her body, Michael kissed the back of her neck before peering over her shoulder at the window. “What are you looking at, doucette?”
“Looking at? Uhhh—nothing!” She twisted in his arms, effectively blocking his view of the window with her not-inconsiderable charms.
Frowning, Michael said, “I thought I heard motorcycles.”
“You did!” she replied brightly, wincing at the sound of her own voice. “It’s just Dad. That’s all.”
Well, that wasn’t a total lie. That was more in the nature of an obfuscation.
Michael regarded his wife with something akin to amusement. “Kita, I heard more than one motorcycle.”
“No, there’s only one,” she lied blithely, wondering when she had lost her taste for lying.
“Then what’s that other noise I heard?”
“Thunder?”
Michael laughed helplessly. “Thunder?”
“The beating of my heart?” she offered, winding her arms around his neck. As a distraction tactic, this had a POS of close to 100.
Michael wrapped his arms that much tighter around Nikita’s waist, lowering his head to nibble at her ear. “You’re not a very good liar anymore, love.”
Thank God. “Maybe your hearing is going? You *are* getting older, y’know,” she teased.
That did it. He swung her into a passionate dip, ending with his mouth poised expectantly over hers. “You want to see just what your *old* man can still do?”
“Oh, yes.”
She slid a knee between his legs, astonished at the degree of arousal she found there. “Oh, Michael, after that long, *hard* flight, I didn’t think you had anything left.”
He knew he was being seduced, and by his own wife, too. But he didn’t care. It was sparks like these that kept them in each other’s arms long after everyone else had given up on them ever being together.
His hand slid under her T-shirt to cover one breast. “No bra?” His hand froze where it was. “Dare I hope that you’re not wearing any—“
She kissed him. “That’s for me to know and you to…find out.”
***
“You lucked out, son,” Walter said to Jazz. “Your folks stopped for a bite to eat on the way here.”
Jazz gave Walter an owlish look. “’Scuse me? We didn’t pass any place to—ow!”
Adam’s elbow digging into his ribs grabbed Jazz’ attention. “What the hell was that for?”
Adam smiled enigmatically before he leaned over to whisper into Jazz’ ear, “That was for being so deliciously dumb sometimes, Nicky.”
“Oh.”
Michael sat on the carpet, his back to the very window Nikita was so ardently protecting, while his wife remained settled quite comfortably on his lap. He kissed the tip of her nose and nuzzled her lips. “Why do you look like the cat that ate the canary?”
Nikita pursed her lips prettily and made a moue of disappointment at being found out. “I know something you don’t know?”
Michael chuckled, his entire chest vibrating with laughter this time. “Oh, you do, eh?”
“Yes,” she said quite firmly.
He buried his face in her long pale hair, enjoying the feel of the silken strands caressing his skin. “What makes you think I don’t know?”
“Cause I’ve gone to great lengths to make sure you don’t. That’s why.”
She sounded so triumphant, it was really a shame that he had to wipe the smile off her face with his next sentence. “And your sacrifice was *deeply* appreciated,” he murmured against her mouth before he kissed her.
“What sacrifice?” she blurted out without thinking.
His renewed laughter filled the gap in her knowledge immediately. “Ohhh…” Her face suddenly flaming bright red, she felt like a teenager caught in a compromising position by Mom. Except that in Nikita’s world, she was never an average teenager, and Mom was long gone, another victim lost to alcohol and drugs.
“What are you going to do?” she asked huskily, referring to Adam.
He cocked his head at her, his demeanor completely free of anger. “What do *you* think I should do?”
Nikita shook her head, muttering, “It’s your decision, Michael, he’s not—“
“He *is*. In every way that matters, he is our son. And he lives with *us*, which makes you at least partly responsible for him.”
“Wow.”
“You sound like Fee.” Michael reached out and grasped a fine strand of Nikita’s hair, winding it lightly around his fingers.
“He should be punished?” She sounded so hesitant.
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“He *should* be punished,” she repeated, this time with grim determination.
“I agree,” he said softly. “But how?”
“Well, obviously, he can’t have access to your motorcycle until he gets his driver’s license.”
“Maybe not then either.”
Nikita looked startled for a second. “You don’t want him to drive?”
“I don’t want him to kill himself. I think there’s a difference.”
“So do I. I’m just not sure motorcycle riding is the most dangerous thing he could find to do.”
Michael acknowledged the wisdom of that statement with the smallest of gestures. “I’m just—relieved that he didn’t end up hurting himself or Jazz this time.”
Nikita smiled and hid her face. Michael bent his head when she ducked away, following her until he could see her expression. “What? What is it, Kita?”
She looked up, all bright blue eyes shining, and Michael almost gasped. When she looked like that, he could see the world with such utter clarity that he wanted to cry out loud.
“There’s so much of you in him, Michael. I see it more and more, every time I look at him, in fact. Don’t you?”
His grey eyes danced almost gleefully, the expression so fleeting that for a moment, Nikita thought she had imagined it. “You love him already.”
“I can’t help it. He reminds me of someone I love,” she said, her blue eyes glinting mischievously back at him.
“So what should we do with him?”
“Ground him. I think it would be cruel to make him stay in his room, but—maybe he shouldn’t be allowed off the grounds.”
“Kita, the grounds of the chateau stretch as far as the eye can see. That’s hardly being grounded.”
“Two weeks. Inside the chateau then.”
Michael nodded. “And what else?”
“What else?”
“You’re forgetting a very important piece of this. Taking away something he doesn’t want to be without.”
“Oh, Michael, no. That’s so mean.”
“He needs limits.”
“Ohhh, all riiight.”
“Just so we’re both clear on what’s going to happen, what did we just agree on?”
“Two weeks, inside the chateau. And no Jazz.”
“He’ll understand.”
Oh, no, he won’t, Nikita mused, abruptly recognizing a part of herself in the boy/man that was Adam Samuelle.
“He’ll thank us later.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, I’d—uh—like—“ Michael played with her hair again, seemingly so preoccupied that he was at a loss for words.
“I know how you feel, y’know.”
“You don’t, Kita.”
“I do. You want him to like you. After all these years apart, you want him to love you, but you also want him to be *around* for you to love for a long, long time.”
“You figured that out, huh?”
“Yeah,” she whispered, brushing her mouth against his.
“Must be getting less mysterious in my old age,” he deadpanned.
She bit her lip. “Oh, no, no man who still moves like you could be old.”
“But you said—“
“I was wrong. You’re just right the way you are.”
Adam took the news well. He expected to be punished severely. He was disappointed. His father was too relieved that he was safe and intact to be unreasonable. But there was unreasonable and there was *unreasonable*.
Two weeks without being able to see Jazz was like a prison sentence. But Adam didn’t even think to protest because he knew, in his heart of hearts, that his father was right.
The only thing that bothered him was that he wouldn’t be able to see Jazz, to find out what punishment *his* folks were doling out, to reassure him that they *would* be together again.
Then again, that was undoubtedly part of his punishment.
***
“But James! I haven’t even explained yet!”
“There *is* no explanation that I would accept, Jazz. You’re lucky you’re only grounded for two weeks.”
“Lucky? You’re making me stay in my room? Like a little kid? And I’m *lucky*?”
Underneath his relatively calm exterior, James was furious. He had high hopes for Jazz, and with the arrival of Adam, he wasn’t sure that those hopes weren’t being undermined, even if it was in a very subtle way. Leaning close to the fourteen-year old, James ground out, “You’re damn lucky that we weren’t here to worry over your sorry ass. When Pete finds out—“
The man in question came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a fluffy white terrycloth robe. Rubbing at his long black hair with an equally fluffy towel, he queried, “When Pete finds out what?”
“Tell him, Jazz.” It was said quietly, but it was a command nevertheless.
Jazz took one look at his adoptive father’s face and his heart sank. Disappointing James was bad enough, but disappointing Pete? Aw, man…. He was heartsick.
“Adam took his Dad’s motorcycle and—“
“Stole? Stole his motorcycle?”
“No, Pete, Adam wouldn’t do that. He’s not a thief.”
“Did he ask his permission? Does he have a driver’s license? Does he even know how to drive?”
Jazz shook inside, tears of dismay springing to his eyes. “N-no, but—“
“Then it’s stealing. Isn’t it?” Smoke strode over to where the fourteen-year old stood and loomed over him like a shadow cast over the sun. “If he steals, he’s a thief. Is this why I took you in? To become a thief?”
“I’m not a thief, Pete. I swear.” Jazz could see that Smoke was genuinely upset, and for some reason, the more upset he became, the more desperate Jazz became to explain.
“We were almost here when we r-ran out of g-gas. That’s why we were so late getting here. If it hadn’t been for Walter—“
“Am I supposed to believe that? You went with him so you could be alone wit’ ‘im, didn’t you?” Smoke’s accent, normally unnoticeable, suddenly intensified. “Did you do ‘im? Is dat why you were late?”
“Nooo!” Jazz gazed at his erstwhile savior with real trepidation. “It’s not like that! We love each other!”
“And that makes it all right? You’re not even fifteen yet! What do you know?”
“I didn’t screw him! I swear, Pete! We just k-kissed, that’s all.” Jazz sank to his knees, angrier with himself than he’d ever been before. He’d been given a second chance at life. Thanks to Pete. But now things were hopelessly fucked up.
It was not in his nature to give up. It was not in his nature to reveal his feelings so blatantly. But Jazz was overwhelmed and seemingly out of options. “It’s my fault. At first, I tried to talk Adam out of it. But I *did* want to be with him, Pete. You’re right. And if I could have worn him down, I would have.”
Smoke blinked curiously. “He turned you down?”
Jazz closed his eyes, his cheeks stained bright red with shame at having his innermost thoughts and feelings exposed. “Yeah,” he admitted with a sniffle.
“He’s smarter than I gave ‘im credit for.”
Jazz lowered his head, wishing he had the privacy to lick his wounds. “Yeah. Guess I’m not as irresistible as I think, huh?” he whispered.
A sole tear trickled down Jazz’ cheek. “I know you what you think, Pete. But I really, really love him.”
Smoke crouched down on his son’s level and wiped the tear away with his thumb. “I can see you do.”
James watched the scene with a conflicted heart. Jazz deserved some kind of punishment for what he and Adam did. It wouldn’t be fair to let feelings sway his decision. And yet…he could see just how desperately Jazz was suffering, even before the grounding became official.
“We’re not trying to hurt you, Jazz. We want to guide you and protect you.”
“And let me make my own mistakes?” Jazz asked, lifting up his face.
Smoke sighed heavily. “I think you’ve already done that. But yes….”
“I didn’t do this to piss you guys off, man. It was just a case of me wanting something I can’t have.”
“Maybe someday you will.”
“Maybe. So…you’re not going to throw me out of the family, are you?”
Jazz looked so fearful, it was obvious what he expected the consequences to be. “No. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“It’s just that—before—when I lived with Mama, she—well, she didn’t like it if I—made mistakes.”
Smoke nodded. “I know, Jazz. But sometimes, it’s the only way we can really learn.”
“So we’re—uh—okay?”
“Yeah, we’re okay,” said James. Smoke followed a moment later with, “We might get angry at something you do, Jazz, but your home is with us now. For as long as you want it to be.”
“Thanks, Pete.” Jazz forgave himself for finally losing control, and he allowed Smoke to hold him tight, as if he were little.
Sometimes being protected felt really good.
Jazz lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, for what seemed like hours. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t even appreciate the relatively luxurious surroundings of his room. So many thoughts and feelings cascaded through his muddled mind that it was difficult to sort them out. He wished he could put off thinking about *anything*, but what else did he have to do?
James and Smoke were good to him. Better than he had any right to expect. They had given him a home, a place in their lives. They were understandably upset at what happened. But he was still here.
That dumbfounded him. His mother would have kicked him out in a heartbeat. That was her way. At the first sign of trouble, she was gone.
But not James and Smoke. They were disappointed. They were angry. But in the end, they held him and reaffirmed their love for him.
He was truly lucky.
So why didn’t he feel lucky right now?
He missed Adam. No, it was more than that. He was afraid of losing him. He, who never showed the slightest interest in commitment, wanted one. With a vengeance.
But self-doubt clouded his mind even further. What if Adam didn’t want him anymore? Loving someone like Jazz was an awful lot of trouble. Just ask his mother.
Jazz rolled over onto his side, clutching the pillow as if it were a person. “Adam,” he whispered into the dark, finally giving in to the need to cry.
***
James was sitting up in bed when Smoke entered their bedroom. Smoke gave his lover a desolate look before shrugging off his robe and hanging it in the closet.
“What? Did you check on him, Pete?”
“Yeah,” he answered softly, brushing his long straight hair away from his face.
“You’re upset.”
“Yeah,” Smoke said, even more softly.
“Come here, Pete.” James held out his arms expectantly and Smoke hesitated for only a few more seconds before joining him in bed.
James wrapped the covers around his lover, as if keeping him physically warm would help assuage the ache in his heart. “You did the right thing, Pete. We both did.”
“I know.” Smoke snuggled against James’ chest, one hand reaching up to pull on the back of his neck, bringing his face close enough to kiss. He nuzzled James’ lips tenderly, as if anything more intense would be too much for him to handle right now. “Just hold me, Jamie.”
“I will.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of Smoke’s head and let his lips linger there. “I love you, Pete.”
“I love you, too, Jamie.”
He bent his head further, burying his mouth in the silky black strands of his partner’s hair. “And you know there is nothing you could ever do that would make me stop loving you, right, Pete?”
Smoke’s only response was to rub his cheek against James’ chest and hold onto him that much tighter.
***
“Hey, Adam!”
Adam rubbed his eyes and stared at the clock in disbelief. He must have been tired. It was almost 10 am. Throwing back the covers, he called, “Sasha? Is there any chance of getting something to eat?”
Sasha tried the door, but found it locked. “Can you open the door, man?”
Adam ran a hand through his disheveled hair and yawned. After unlocking the door, Sasha practically burst into the room, followed by Faith and Chris. “How come the door was locked?” “What did you do, man?” “Boy, is everyone talking about you guys!”
With all of them talking at once, it was a little hard to keep things straight, but eventually Adam understood. “Hey, I’ll answer all of your questions later. Right now I have to put some clothes on.”
He gave Faith a pointed look, but she merely laughed. “It’s okay, Adam. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”
Adam raised an eyebrow, looking so uncannily like Michael that Faith shivered. “I sincerely hope you don’t mean that.”
“Well, gee, Adam, I *am* 13 now,” Faith said petulantly.
Chris smiled and shook his head. “So am I, but I don’t want to see what he looks like without his clothes.”
“That’s cause *you’re* a boy.”
Sasha cleared his throat and formed his hands into the letter T. “Timeout, kids. Just cause we’re old enough doesn’t mean we have to go there. Okay?”
Faith stuck out her tongue. Sasha gave her his most imperious Declan-esque look. “Now *that* was mature.”
“Oh, come on. You guys never let me have any fun!” she wailed.
Chris looked at his twin sister and intoned with complete seriousness, “And we never will, Fee. Cause we’re family.”