“Tell me what happened,” Michael commanded tersely.
A quick glance at Declan showed that the younger man clearly dreaded this particular confrontation. “I’m so sorry, Michael.”
Michael frowned. “Did you have something to do with my son’s disappearance, Declan?”
“No! Of course not.”
“Then stop apologizing and tell me what happened.”
Declan left out no detail. As he concluded his description of the events leading up to Adam and Jazz running away, Declan said, “I’ve tried all the usual places, Michael, but if they’re traveling by bus, train or plane, they’re not using their real names.”
Michael sighed heavily. “That makes them harder to trace. But not impossible.”
“I’ve tried everything I can think of, Michael. What we need now is for Adam to walk through that door and give himself up,” he said, indicating the nearest entrance to the busy hotel.
The miracle of it all was that was exactly what happened.
***
Adam and Jazz traveled separately back to the hotel where Declan and Michael waited, but they arrived within moments of each other. True to his word, Adam did not speak to Jazz as he passed him. He took a deep breath when the younger teenager’s somber eyes flickered over his face, but Jazz tightened his mouth and forced himself to keep on going as if they didn’t know one another.
Somehow Jazz found his way into the elevator and pushed the button for the floor of the suite they were staying in. As luck would have it, it was empty. Then he slumped to the floor in a corner of the elevator and cried, reminding himself that he was doing what Adam wanted.
Jazz’ arrival hardly went unnoticed. Communicating non-verbally, Michael and Declan split up. With a barely perceptible nod to Michael, Declan noted the elevator that Jazz entered and took the stairs at a brisk clip. Michael, on the other hand, stayed behind to confront his son.
***
“Adam.”
“Dad.”
Michael gently inclined his head, letting Adam know that they would not talk in public but in private. “Come with me.”
Finding an open but empty conference room down the hallway, Michael indicated that Adam should sit down. “Sit.”
“Dad—“
“Listen.” There was no way not to obey Michael’s admonition.
Michael no longer appeared impassive. Emotion swirled restlessly behind his dark grey eyes. “What you did was wrong, Adam. But more than that, it was a betrayal of the trust we placed in you.”
“I know.”
Michael’s head jerked up at that. *That* admission surprised him. “Then why?”
The bleakness in Adam’s eyes rivaled his father’s. “I have no excuse,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I can’t believe that you didn’t have a reason.”
Adam couldn’t maintain eye contact with Michael. “I didn’t say I didn’t have a reason. I said I have no excuse.”
“Adam, talk to me. This is at least partly my fault.”
Adam snapped back angrily, tears giving his eyes a curious glimmer. “How is it your fault, Dad? You didn’t make me bi! You didn’t make me fall in love with a guy!”
“It’s my fault you grew up without a father, Adam. Maybe if I’d—“
Adam swiped at his face with nerveless fingers, smearing the wetness on his cheeks. “You can spare yourself the guilt trip, Dad. I don’t blame you anymore.”
“What changed your mind?”
“I don’t know. Meeting Nikita. Meeting your kids. You wouldn’t have given up on us unless you had no other choice, Dad. Mom wouldn’t have blamed you. How can I?”
As revelations went, this one virtually stunned Michael, both in its simplicity and its complexity. But before Michael could recover, Adam went on, his handsome features blurred by emotion he could no longer hide.
“But you need to know something. After we ran? We slept together.”
Michael’s startled look motivated him to continue. “We didn’t go all the way, Dad. But it doesn’t matter. I wanted to.” Adam splayed his hands across his thighs. “The only thing that stopped me was the thought of hurting Jazz. I couldn’t do that to him. I love him.”
Adam reminded Michael of someone he lost long ago. Himself. Was he really so different from his son? He remembered passion. He remembered throwing himself into something he believed in. How else could he explain falling in with L’Heure Sanguine and Rene Dian? At 19, he was building bombs and espousing revolutionary causes. At 19, he was in prison. Condemned to death. Sentenced to life in Section.
How could he not empathize? Their causes might be different. But they might have been the same person once.
“Adam—“
Adam raised his head again, this time making no effort to stem the tide of the tears that streaked his cheeks. “Do what you want to me, Dad. But please don’t blame Jazz. It wasn’t his fault. None of it was ever his fault.”
“What do you think I should do, Adam?”
“What?” Adam hiccupped.
“If it were up to you, what would *you* do?”
“Send me away. To school. Maybe a good, hard military school.” Adam laughed, but it was a bitter noise. “Though I don’t hold out much hope of them turning me into a raging heterosexual, Dad. Just thought I should mention that before you go spending any money.”
Adam sobered at the serious look on Michael’s face. “I’ll always love him, Dad. Nothing’s going to change that.”
“Don’t you think your punishment sounds a little harsh?”
“I broke my word, Dad. I lied. I ran away. I slept with him after I told you I wouldn’t. I can’t be trusted. Ever again.”
“I meant that you’re also punishing me.”
Adam’s dark eyes widened dramatically. “You? How am I punishing *you*?”
“I’ve already missed thirteen years of your life. I barely know the young man you’ve become. If you go away…well, let’s just say, that’s one sacrifice I refuse to let you make.”
Hope rose unbidden in Adam’s chest. “You don’t want me to go away?”
Michael shook his head. “I couldn’t stand to lose you again, Adam. The first time almost killed me,” he whispered, suddenly realizing that Nikita was the only other person he trusted with this confession.
“Jesus, Dad,” Adam said shakily.
“You have to stay.”
Adam nodded, unable to speak. All this time he never imagined that Michael cared that much. Or that hearing those words could heal wounds too old and too deep to see anymore.
“I’m not condoning your relationship with Jazz. But I know that there is nothing I could say or do to keep the two of you apart. Especially now that you’ve been together.”
“Dad—“
“That’s not the same as giving you permission to have sex, Adam.”
“I know.”
“What you do is ultimately up to you. All I can hope for is that you give yourself the time I never had to finish growing up.”
“Dad?” Adam took a deep breath and held it, his lower lip trembling. “Would it be too seriously weird if I gave you a hug?”
“No.”
Adam lay his head on his father’s chest and Michael wrapped his arms around his son. Holding on too tightly would have taken him away from him. He had to let him have the freedom to make his own choices, even if it meant living with the consequences.
Michael felt Adam’s fingers tugging at the hair on his nape and bent his head. “What is it, Adam?”
“I love you, Dad.”
Validation, when it came, was never so satisfying.
“I love you, too, Adam.”
Jazz’ face was not immediately visible, hidden as it was behind trembling hands. But the moment the elevator doors flew open, his head jerked up to see a familiar figure standing in the open space.
“Jazz?” Declan inquired kindly.
“Declan!” Jazz leaped to his feet, only to sway precariously. Declan instinctively reached out to steady the fourteen-year old, but Jazz flinched and promptly crumpled into a heap on the floor in front of the elevator.
Declan knelt down on the carpet next to the teenager. “Are you all right?”
Jazz raked both hands through his long golden brown hair, his green eyes glittering suspiciously. Feeling more than a little lost, Jazz moaned, “I want to go home.”
“I know,” Declan agreed.
Jazz wrapped his arms tightly around himself and rocked back and forth. “I miss James and Pete.”
Declan nodded.
“I thought—oh, God, I thought I was never going to see them again.”
“Yet you went with Adam anyway.”
Jazz stared at Declan as if he’d lost his mind. “I love him!”
“Do you think it was fair for him to make you choose between your family and him?”
“No…” Jazz reluctantly admitted. “But it’s not fair that Adam had to choose either—“
Declan paused as if considering that. “You’re right. But—sometimes life’s not fair.”
“No, sometimes it *sucks*.”
“What made you change your mind about running?”
“Adam. He said he had to come back. To face his father. Without him…there was nothing out there for me.”
“You’d give up the rest of the world for him?”
Jazz shrugged. “Why not? He did. For me.”
“Maybe neither one of you is thinking all that straight right now.” Declan saw the sparks fly from Jazz’ eyes and smiled inwardly. It wasn’t often that he found himself playing devil’s advocate. He was thoroughly pleased with what he was learning about Jazz and, by extension, Adam.
“He’s a better person than you give him credit for,” Jazz spat angrily.
“Your judgment wouldn’t happen to be just a little suspect, would it? After all, you *are* in love with him.”
“I *know* him. Better than you ever will.”
“You may be right. You’re such a staunch defender of his honor now, Jazz. What exactly happened while you two were gone?”
All at once Jazz looked inexplicably guilty. His face flushed dark red as he stared at the carpet beneath his knees. “Adam…Adam and I slept together.”
If Jazz thought that Declan would be shocked, he was wrong. Declan merely blinked. “Was it worth it?”
“Yes,” Jazz answered without hesitation, the reverence in his voice making it obvious that it would be futile to try to convince Jazz otherwise.
“Jazz—“
“You can’t tell me it was wrong. Maybe it shouldn’t have happened now, but—it wasn’t like you think.”
“Why don’t you tell what I’m thinking then?” Declan asked softly.
“That it was all about sex.” Jazz lifted his chin defiantly, meeting Declan’s storm-grey gaze head-on. “Or hormones. Or-or because we’re fucking kids.”
“Sounds pretty serious to me,” Declan said, trying hard not to smile.
“It is,” Jazz asserted. Right before he sniffled, spoiling the entire effect. “So don’t go saying we’re too young to know how we feel. We do.”
“Damn right you do.”
“You better not be laughing at me or—“
“Or what, boyo?”
Jazz squeezed his eyes shut. “I never knew that loving someone could hurt so much,” he whispered.
All pretense at keeping his distance fell away and Declan pulled the adolescent against his chest. “Oh, Jazz, I’m sorry this happened to you, kiddo.”
Jazz smiled through his tears. “Hey, that’s Sasha’s nickname.”
“That’s okay. Sasha won’t mind you borrowing it. It’s all in a good cause.” Declan hugged the teenager as hard as he could, not for the first time glad that Jazz was part of their family.
“What’s going to happen to us?” Jazz whispered, finding a curious solace in the solidity of Declan’s chest beneath his cheek.
“Michael’s talking to Adam now.”
“Oh, God.”
“Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think.”
Galvanized by Declan’s offhand reassurance, Jazz cried, “What makes you say that? Do you know something?”
Declan smiled enigmatically. “No, but I know Michael.”
Jazz couldn’t remember how he ended up back in the hotel suite. He had absolutely no recollection of moving from outside the elevator to his room. His *empty* room. Someone, probably Sey, gave a thought to the fact that he had no privacy whatsoever and banished his roommates for the duration. So Jazz could lick his wounds without confronting several pairs of curious eyes.
He knew that he must have slept. It was Declan’s voice that woke him. “There’s someone here to see you, Jazz.”
He buried his head in his pillow and groaned, “Tell whoever it is to go away.”
There was some muted whispering at the door, the words too low to be intelligible. “You sure? I think you’ll want to see him.”
Jazz raised his head sharply, wincing as a throbbing headache took up residence there. His voice still blurred by sleep and tears, he asked, “Who is it?”
“Me.”
Jazz’ voice broke. “Pete?”
Smoke crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. Within moments, Jazz had his arms wrapped around the man he considered his savior. “How’d you get here?”
“Declan called me. I came as soon as I could.” His own voice husky, Smoke closed his eyes and concentrated on the boy he held. “James wanted to come, but it was such short notice, he couldn’t get anyone to take his class. He’ll be here as soon as he can.”
It was as if Jazz were holding his breath way past the point of reasonable expectations. With a huge sigh, he released his breath, a wave of fresh tears following close behind it. “Pete? Don’t hate me, okay? But I really screwed up.”
“Declan told me what happened,” Smoke replied softly, neither confirming nor denying that Jazz had made a mistake.
Swiping at his face with the back of his hand, Jazz asked anxiously, “Did Michael say what he was going to do to Adam?”
“You seem more worried about him than yourself.”
“I can’t help it, Pete. I love him.”
“We’re working out the details now, but we won’t keep the two of you apart, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Y-you w-won’t?” Jazz’ lips trembled as he struggled to maintain his poise.
“We won’t,” Smoke responded as he stroked Jazz’ silky hair away from his face.
Suddenly he could hear Jazz chanting under his breath, but he couldn’t quite make out the words. Then it hit him with full clarity. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
“What’s stupid?” Smoke asked with a frown.
“Not what. Who. Me. I’m stupid. I want to be treated like an adult, but I messed up. And-and now I can’t stop cr-crying like a little k-kid.” Jazz finished speaking and buried his hot, wet face against the base of Smoke’s neck.
“Ssh,” Smoke whispered, wishing he could tell Jazz that there was a shortcut to growing up. But as far as he knew, there wasn’t one. “I know it feels like the pain is going to go on forever, but you’ll get through this. You’re not alone. We’ll help.”
“You will?” came Jazz’ tear-muffled voice.
“Yeah.” Smoke smiled faintly. “Now pull yourself together, Jazz. Adam wants to see you. He needs to know that you’re okay.”
Jazz blinked, his eyes brighter and wider than usual. “You’re going to let him come in here?” he asked incredulously.
“Why not? I trust you.”
“But you shouldn’t. I mean-I made a terrible mistake—“
“Don’t you think you can learn from your mistakes?” Smoke asked, continuing to stroke Jazz’ hair.
“Well, yeah,” Jazz replied, sounding surprised.
“So do I. So does James. So does Declan. And even Michael.”
“He does?” Jazz exclaimed, wondering what he’d done to deserve such consideration.
“Yeah. It’s called faith.”
“I thought I wiped all that out.”
“It’s called getting a second chance.”
“I promise we won’t sleep together again, Pete.”
Smoke’s face softened even more as he regarded the teenager who was his adoptive son. “Ever?’ he asked with a trace of amusement.
A strangled noise that might have been laughter escaped Jazz. “Well, no!”
Smoke bit his lip and plunged ahead. “Did you seduce Adam, Jazz? I mean, I understand getting carried away at your age, but—you have so much more experience than he does. It gives you an unfair advantage.”
Jazz looked blank. “What does?”
“Your being with other guys.”
Jazz shifted uncomfortably. “You hurt my feelings when you say that, Pete.”
“I didn’t mean to. Jazz, you’re the closest thing to a son I have. Believe it or not, I want you to be happy.”
“Then stop acting like I slept around.” Jazz blurted out loudly.
Smoke shook his head very slowly. “But your mother said—“
“My Mom’s an alcoholic, Pete.”
“You let us think that you were turning tricks on every street corner, Jazz,” Smoke protested, trying to wrap his mind around this latest revelation.
Jazz dropped his chin to his chest, his long straight hair covering his face, effectively preventing Smoke from reading his expression. “I thought you could see right through me, Pete. I-I’ve never been with anyone. Not like that.”
“Adam was the first?”
“The first and only.”
“You must love him a lot.”
Jazz nodded, his hair swinging back and forth, alternately hiding and revealing his face. “We didn’t go all the way, Pete.”
“How come?”
“Wasn’t the right time, I guess.”
“But it will be. Someday.”
Jazz raised his head up, his green eyes suddenly afire with a very adult passion. “God, I hope so. I don’t care how long I have to wait. He’s the only one I want to belong to.”
“I’m glad,” called the voice from over Smoke’s shoulder.
“Adam!” Jazz whispered, the sight of his lover transforming him into a being of such ethereal beauty, it almost took Smoke’s breath away. These two belonged together. It would be criminal to separate them now.
Smoke stood up slowly, turning to face Adam. “You have five minutes to visit together.”
Adam’s dark eyes widened ever so slightly, as if he were surprised by the offer of time alone with his admitted lover. But he wisely kept his own counsel. “Thanks.”
After Smoke left, Adam moved away from the door to stand next to Jazz’ bed. “Are you okay, Nicky?”
“I-I guess so.”
“I never meant for you to get hurt.”
“I know.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
There was a silence of almost overwhelming proportions and yet…it was not completely uncomfortable.
The two teenagers stared at one another, afraid to approach each other, unable to move away. His eyes darting to the door and back, Jazz knew it was up to him to take the initiative. Adam was feeling far too guilt-stricken to even contemplate touching him.
“One minute,” a male voice called from outside the room, letting them know that they were not totally unobserved.
Jazz reached up and cupped Adam’s chin, his bright green eyes speaking far more eloquently than any words could do. When he did speak, however, it was not words of love he spoke, but words of hope. “I forgive you, Adam.”
Adam’s sharp intake of breath was audible in the corridor outside. “Nicky—“
Jazz pressed his lips lightly to Adam’s, offering his forgiveness in the same way that he gave his love. Unconditionally.
Adam’s hands carded through Jazz’ hair, eventually tugging him closer to deepen the kiss. They broke apart only when footsteps could be heard padding down the carpeted hall.
Declan popped his head through the door and inquired, “Adam, do you feel any better now that you’ve seen Jazz?”
“You have no idea,” he whispered, a bittersweet smile tracing his lips.
Adam wiped his brow. It wasn’t yet noon and the teenager was sweating mightily. If anyone had asked him a week ago about planting flowers, he would have said, How hard can it be, man? It’s fucking *flowers*, for God’s sake. But he was fast learning exactly how hard that kind of work could be and he had a sneaking suspicion that his father meant it to be that way.
Huh. Michael. His father. Wielding the sword of divine retribution. That sword soundly separated the newfound lovers, Adam and Jazz, in such a way that no one could actually object to the punishment.
Hardly punishment in the traditional sense, it assigned each adolescent to a chore so labor-intensive that they were exhausted by the end of the day. There was no need to forbid them to be together. They did indeed fall into bed with wild abandon every night, but not with each other. So tired they saved all their intensity for hugging their pillows, they barely had the energy to acknowledge their earlier sexual awakening. It would be too much to hope that things would stay that way, but it bought all of them some very necessary breathing room.
***
Jazz threw another bale of hay into the stall, startling the horse stabled there. “Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s not your fault that I’m stuck doing this when I’d rather be—“
He sighed. Now he was reduced to talking to animals. It wasn’t that he was lonely in general. He was too busy to feel lonely. Besides, Sasha and the others stopped by frequently enough, sometimes to give him much-needed moral support, sometimes to tell him what Adam was doing.
He pulled his hair off his neck and into a loose ponytail, fixing it with a piece of string he had in his jeans pocket. He was developing muscles in his upper arms and in his legs, and the rest of his body was starting to follow suit.
Jazz would never be a big man, his frame was too slender, but he was beginning to fill out, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Adam. His skin looked glowingly healthy now, and if his face looked radiant at times, it might have been attributed to the workout he was getting.
Except that his bright green eyes, a startling burst of color against his lightly tanned flesh, were intently focused on a bare-chested Adam.
***
Nikita sighed heavily as she looked out the bedroom window overlooking the gardens. “Michael, you said you wouldn’t keep them apart.”
“I’m not,” Michael denied.
“But they’re working all the time. They never see each other, and when they do catch a break, they’re too tired to do anything but sleep.”
“That was the idea, Kita.”
“But what’s done is done, Michael. How will they make it through three more years?”
“Ki-ta.”
“Okay, okay, I’m backing off on this. I promised to abide by whatever you decided and I will.”
“You make it sound like you’re under duress.”
Nikita evaded her husband’s scrutiny. “He’s not my son, Michael.”
“He is, doucette. He’s *our* son.”
“You know what I mean.”
Michael’s grey-green eyes looked vaguely troubled. He believed that he had made the right decision. He *did*. But he hated being at odds with his wife. It hurt.
“Sometimes we have to make difficult decisions. Decisions that no one likes. But we still have to make them.”
Nikita cupped her hand under Michael’s chin. “I’m not blaming you, Michael. I *understand*. It’s just—“
“You want them to be together. I know, doucette.”
Michael broke away from his wife’s attempt to embrace him and stared out the window again, his face somber. “Do you think it makes me happy, knowing that I’m the reason Adam is in pain? He doesn’t talk to me anymore. In the past month, I don’t think we’ve said more than two words to each other.”
“He’s not angry with you, Michael. A little frustrated, maybe, but not angry.”
His head whipped around sharply. “How do you know that?”
“He told me,” she said in a low voice, unprepared for the defeated look Michael sent her.
He dropped his head, helpless against the wave of emotion that crested over him. “He talks to *you*,” he whispered.
“Michael—“
He shook his head slowly, as if to clear it of unwelcome thought. “He’ll get over it,” he said, unconsciously wincing at his choice of words.
She nodded in agreement. “Yes, but will you?”
“I’m fine, Kita. I don’t need you to hold my hand every time we have a family crisis,” Michael snapped, uncharacteristically irritable.
She actually took a half-step back before she caught herself. Searching his stony façade with anxious blue eyes, she looked stricken. As if he had suddenly come to his senses, Michael reached out to her, only to have her back away from his touch. “Kita, I didn’t mean—“
Michael caught a fleeting glimpse of tear-filled eyes before she turned, so sharply that the long, pale plait that was her hair swung out and hit him in the chest. “Doucette!” he called out, but his voice was no louder than a murmur.
He closed his eyes and slumped against the wall.
Sometimes all anyone could do was stand by and watch things fall apart.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“No.”
“You can be such a pain in the ass, you know that?”
Sasha smiled brightly at Chris. “I never thought I’d hear you say something like that, man.”
The two teenagers were in Sasha’s room. Sasha was attempting to clean his room. Under duress. While he was certainly a reasonably organized boy for his age, he wasn’t all that interested in spending his free time doing what he considered to be housework.
Usually his sister Emmy helped him out. Well, the truth was, she traded off something that she would rather not do in return for cleaning his room. It was a unique arrangement for people their age, but they were nothing if not creative.
However, this weekend Emmy was going camping on the grounds of the chateau. Not alone. Declan would never allow his daughter to do something that dangerous. He and Sey were chaperoning a small group of the older children. Sasha thought that his parents should have learned their lesson the first time around, but the fiasco with Adam and Jazz in Paris, while still fresh in everyone’s minds, strangely did nothing to deter them from volunteering to head up just such an expedition.
“I wish you’d tell me,” repeated Chris.
“Now who’s the pain in the ass?” Sasha asked, grabbing a couple of CD’s off the floor scant seconds before he stepped on them.
“I want to know what she said about me, Sasha.”
“God, you never give up.”
Sasha sighed. Chris in this mood was like a pit bull. Determined, tenacious, single-minded. “What makes you think she said anything to me? She’s my sister.”
Chris’ light blue eyes flickered over Sasha’s exasperated face. “Please?”
Sasha blinked. That was a first. He couldn’t remember Chris *ever* asking him for anything. He was such a self-contained individual. It was logical for some to assume that because he showed nothing, he felt nothing. But Sasha knew differently. Chris had always been deeply emotional, but he was stoic to a fault.
In short, he was more like his father than any of Michael’s other children.
“She thinks you’re cool. Okay?”
“She said that? Or you’re making that part up?”
“I’m hurt, man. You think I would lie to you just to get you off my freaking back?”
“Maybe.”
“You are seriously twisted.” Sasha shook his head and his long brown hair went flying. He started straightening up the books on the shelf directly over his bed. Suddenly there was a hand on his arm.
Sasha stared at the hand as if that might make it disappear. “Don’t make me hurt your feelings, Chris,” Sasha said in a low voice.
The pain in Chris’ eyes darkened them almost to black. He averted his gaze, but not before Sasha got a full second or two of how upset he was. “She likes *him*, doesn’t she?” he whispered.
“It doesn’t matter who she likes, man. She *loves* you.”
“Yeah, right.”
Sasha had never seen Chris this dejected. He wasn’t exactly sure what to do about it. But as much as he wanted to help him, he didn’t like being in the middle like this. “I can’t do this, Chris. I have to finish up here. I promised Da I’d get it done before the camping trip.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Emmy can’t wait to go. She looks so pretty when she’s excited about something.” Chris’ tone was so wistful, it made Sasha feel uncomfortable.
“Man, don’t do this to yourself. It’s not like Adam’s coming with us, you know.”
“I know.”
“And how come you’re not coming?”
“She doesn’t want me to.”
“You don’t know that. Bet you never even asked her.”
“She doesn’t talk to me much anymore. But she still talks to *you*.”
“I’m her *brother*.”
“I wish he’d never come here.” There. Chris said it. Said what was in his heart. It would get him damned for all time, but it was how he felt. Emmy was *his* girl, dammit. Adam had no right to seize something so precious to him.
Sasha stopped what he was doing and examined the dismal picture Chris made. “Oh, shit. It’s not like you think.”
“Then tell me. Please.”
“Like I said, you wouldn’t understand.”
Chris closed his eyes and sat down on the end of Sasha’s bed. He didn’t want much and he asked for even less. His lower lip trembling, he knew he was in grave danger of disgracing himself by crying in front of his friend.
“You’re right. I don’t,” Chris said brokenly.
“It’s nothing you did. Or didn’t do. It’s not like that. It’s just—“
When Sasha paused, Chris opened his eyes, their dark depths filled with unshed tears now. “What?”
Sasha sat down next to the younger teenager. “Em’s got a crush on him, that’s all.”
“But why? It’s not fair. He already has Jazz. How can he want Emmy, too?”
“He doesn’t. That’s the part you don’t understand. Adam’s in love with Jazz.” When Chris opened his mouth to protest, Sasha cut him off abruptly. “Trust me, I know he is. He can’t see anyone else for dust.”
“But Emmy keeps hanging out with him. Every chance she gets, she’s somewhere near him. Why?”
“I dunno. He’s older. He’s good-looking. Girls are like that, Chris.”
Chris frowned, uncertain if that was an insult to Emmy. “Are you saying Emmy’s shallow?”
“Nooo…she’s just…being a girl.”
“She’s going to get hurt.”
“Just her feelings, Chris. Adam would never—“
“He’d better not.” Chris looked so impossibly fierce for a moment, all at once Sasha could see a glimpse of the man-to-be.
Sasha reached out to pat Chris on the shoulder. “Adam’s a good guy, man. Jazz wouldn’t fall for a creep.”
“Listen,” he continued conspiratorially, “She’s not gonna believe you or me. Adam’s the only one who can convince her that he doesn’t like her *that* way. She’s gonna be really upset, man.”
“Then you think I should go on this trip?”
“If you want to be there for her, yeah.”
For the first time in five minutes, Chris smiled, the transformation of his features remarkable. “She’ll come back to me.”
Sasha grinned. “And you won’t have to kill Adam, honest.”
Chris gave his friend an enigmatic look that reminded Sasha eerily of Michael. It was almost as if he were saying, That remains to be seen.