Chapter Four

Inexplicably nervous about meeting Lucas Conover again, Jordan scowled at his reflection in the mirror. The youth center, he needed to remind himself, wasn't Lucas's to control. Keith had intended him to be in charge and Jordan vowed to follow through on Keith's dream. Considering how he was failing miserably in every other aspect of his life lately, the least he could do was not let Keith down.

The idea sounded brave and strong but the mirror told another story. No wonder everyone who knew him looked askance when they first laid eyes on him. The pallor of his skin and slightly red-rimmed eyes didn't paint a picture of a man anyone would willingly put their faith in. They should only know he hadn't much faith in himself. Not anymore. One more pill to settle his nerves—he didn't want to take a drink and risk Conover coming down hard on him again like the first time they met. Jordan straightened his tie and threw back his shoulders. Time to buoy up the confidence and take charge. Let Conover see he wasn't a man to be pitied.

They'd agreed to meet at a restaurant in the Meatpacking District to begin ironing out the structure of the Center. Unused to going out to clubs or the party scene in general the past four years, Jordan wondered as he got into the cab if Conover picked the restaurant to make it easy for him to go out with his friends afterward. He knew the man was gay from discussions with Keith, but he didn't get the sense he had a steady partner.

The area had changed since he'd last been here. Gazing around at the swarms of well-dressed people, trendy restaurants and art galleries, once again it hit Jordan how life continued its ruthless merry trek despite a person's inner hell. People were born, died, and fought wars in distant countries, yet here the search for the perfect martini to go with their hundred-dollar steak went on as if that were the norm and the most important thing in life. Had he also been as shallow as these people? Dismay rolled through him, leaving him deep in thought.

A car door slammed, jolting him back to the job at hand, and Jordan promised himself not to become mired down in blackness and misery. Time enough for that when he lay awake at night with regret his only bedtime companion. Keith's legacy, his dream, had been to help kids stay off the street and, Jordan swore as he walked into the restaurant, the Center would be the only thing on his mind tonight.

"Good evening, sir. We're fully booked for reservations tonight." The tall woman, hair in a severe chignon, greeted him with a brief, assessing glance Jordan knew all too well, one that debated whether you belonged. Knowing he didn't measure up to his best, anger simmered inside him at the hostess's snobbish behavior basing his net worth solely on his appearance. He recognized that look, as it was one he used himself occasionally only to have Keith scold him on it.

Who was there to stop him from falling down, now?

You know better, babe. You can do it. Keith might not be at his side, but his spirit rested within Jordan.

Defiantly, he glared at the woman. "I'm sure you are and yes I do. The name is Conover and no need to check. I see him at the table now." With long, purposeful strides, Jordan walked to the back of the restaurant where he'd spotted Lucas. In his dark suit, stark white shirt and bright blue tie—was that Bugs Bunny on there?—Jordan found Lucas a hard man to ignore even in a sea of equally well-dressed men. A look of something wild and dark—untamable was the word Jordan fumbled for—came to mind when he assessed Lucas Conover. Without being told, Jordan knew the man had a past with a story.

"I hope you weren't waiting too long." Jordan sat in the comfortable chair directly across the marble-topped table. The restaurant was lauded for a casual, home-style cuisine, but Jordan had spent enough time in Italy in his youth to long for the truly traditional places where he could sit with a simple glass of house wine and an enormous plate of pasta.

"Not at all. Only long enough to get my beer. Do you want a drink?"

Luke's assessing eyes met his across the table and over the flickering candles.

"I'm fine with sparkling water with lime, please. Thank you," Jordan said to the waiter who'd appeared silently at their tableside. "So," he said, directing his attention back to Luke, "what have you come up with in terms of space?"

"We've already leased the space; that was done prior to you joining us. We have a real estate developer on the board, and he was able to secure a location not far from the precinct but more important, close to several schools."

"Perfect."

The waiter returned and Luke ordered stuffed clams and chicken parmigiana while Jordan ordered grilled artichokes and chicken marsala. He figured whatever he didn't eat, he'd take home for tomorrow. That had become his life; where once he'd loved to come home and cook for Keith, himself and their friends, he now subsisted on takeout food and coffee. And his pills. A brief throb of despair rose within him. He needed someone to scream at him and tell him he not only hurt himself, he also hurt the kid he bought his pills from and assisted the people who'd contributed to Keith's death. He didn't have the strength to do this alone anymore, but his pride wouldn't allow him to ask for help.

They sipped their drinks in silence and Jordan could appreciate Lucas's reticence. Handling vast wealth must require discretion and the ability to listen more than talk.

"I bet you do this a lot; take people out to high-priced restaurants and woo them to invest with your firm." Jordan broke a breadstick in half and clutched it to keep his hands from trembling. "I imagine it must be nice to eat at all the trendy places." He personally never liked that shit; nothing satisfied him more than coming home, stripping off his clothes, and relaxing. Lucas was different. A single, good-looking guy could have the city at his feet if he wanted. With a pang, Jordan remembered he too was single, and the thought of going to a club or a bar made him break out in a cold sweat.

Looking up from the piece of bread he'd buttered, Lucas's lip curled in a faint sneer. "I have no time for that. I don't like crowds and never saw the appeal of the clubs. And as for the food?" He tossed the piece of bread onto his little plate and picked up his glass of beer. "I'd rather be home on my sofa watching the Yankees, drinking my own beer than be here paying twelve dollars for something with a cute name." His lips curved in a teasing grin. "No offense."

Hit by Lucas's unexpectedly charming smile, Jordan returned one of his own. "None taken. I was thinking the same thing. These kinds of places aren't my thing. Never have been."

Their appetizers came, and in between bites, Lucas sketched out the plan for the next few weeks. "We have a board meeting next week to decide if we want to accept sponsorships or not. I'm all for getting companies to donate as much as they want."

Pushing his artichoke around the plate, Jordan chewed his bottom lip in thought. "I understand, but I don't want this to become something they crow about and take credit for. It isn't about them or us. It's about what Keith wanted and helping the kids of the community so they have a safe place to come to every day if they choose. We have to make them want to come. So for sure we'll try and get the computer companies to donate their computers and the libraries to donate children's books. But this is always going to be The Keith Hart Center for Youth. Not XYZ Corp Center. I'm doing this to help Keith's dream become a reality."

Noting Lucas's silence, Jordan quirked a brow. "Did I surprise you? You're awfully quiet."

The chatter from the cavernous dining room filled the silence, while he awaited Lucas's response.

"I agree. For the record, I never intended to acknowledge the corporate sponsors any more than having maybe a plaque in, say the computer area, stating, Computers Generously Donated by…whomever we choose. As you put it so very well, it isn't about them." Once again, he flashed that charming grin that lit up his normally austere face.

A tug of desire hit Jordan low in his belly and the breadstick crumbled in his hand. For almost a year he'd barely thought about sex. In the cold hours of the dark, he'd awaken from dreams where he'd been making love with Keith, and his body's natural urge had led him to finish off with his hand. But not until this moment had he felt a pull toward another man. Disturbed, Jordan studied Lucas from beneath lowered lashes, pretending to concentrate on his food.

For God's sake, what was he even thinking? Shaking his head, angry with himself for having those traitorous urges, Jordan drank down half his sparkling water, his hands shaking so badly he feared Lucas might comment. Lucky for him, the waiter approached to take away their dishes, engaging Lucas in conversation so he saw nothing.

Lucas wasn't even his type. Jordan ran a critical gaze over the enigmatic man sitting across from him. Sure, he had the broad, muscular build similar to Keith but personality-wise, the two men were nothing alike. Keith's friendly, joyful personality drew people to him; they couldn't help but want to be his friend. Totally unlike the quietly serious Lucas Conover whose lone-wolf persona and hands-off attitude screamed, Don't ask, don't touch. Jordan excused this inexplicable physical reaction as his first time in months being in close proximity to a man.

"You okay, Jordan? You looked kind of sick for a moment."

As far as he knew, there wasn't yet a cure for being heartsick and heartbroken.

"I'm fine."

Fine as he'd ever be.

~ ~

Luke didn't believe Jordan for one moment. He'd bet his last nickel Jordan was reminiscing about Keith, and in an odd way it made him respect the man more. He remembered clearly Keith's loving expression whenever he spoke of Jordan. Luke had his doubts about Jordan Peterson at first, especially after he'd ignored the firm's repeated requests for a meeting. He'd assumed the man hadn't cared one whit for Keith and ignored his letters because the Center meant nothing to him.

How wrong he'd been. Seeing the private hell Jordan lived in proved the adage to never judge a book by its cover—and for the first time in his life, Luke took pity on another person. Of course, Keith's tragic death upset him terribly and Luke had shed private tears, but he couldn't fathom allowing another person to intricately tie themselves up with him so that their lives became bound together. Luke knew he was meant to be alone. Alone meant safety, where no one could hurt him.

"Okay. Let's move on to the people working at the center. I had the idea to use people from a homeless shelter I volunteer at on the weekends. Who better to know the community and its needs than the people who grew up on the streets?"

A thoughtful expression entered Jordan's eyes. "That's an excellent idea." He shuddered and Luke's fingers tightened around his knife and fork. "I can't imagine the hell those people live in. Keith and I would occasionally drop off clothing and furniture to donate at various shelters and no matter how the directors spun it, they were all depressing places."

"They are."

The waiter arrived with their main courses and eying him sharply, Jordan opened his mouth as if to speak but Luke focused his attention on his plate, effectively shutting down any further discussion. Nothing he could say would enlighten Jordan. Luke could speak from today until next month about the shelter system; how once you're in it, it sucks the life out of you until it seems impossible to break free. How the nighttime opens you up to unspeakable horrors so that you'd rather sleep outside in the warm subway station and take a risk, rather than be a sitting duck in your bed in the dark.

In the rich, prep-school life of dinner parties and cashmere sweaters where Jordan grew up, he could never relate to people like Luke and the others. People who didn't know where their next meal was coming from or where they'd lay their head to sleep that night. How easy it must be to drop your bag of unwanted clothing and leave to go to your fancy brunch and sit around a table, flush with the knowledge that you did something good for the "poor unfortunates."

"I think," Jordan said carefully after several minutes had passed with no conversation, "the training they receive might help them to find work, so they can leave the shelter. So not only can we give the kids a safe space, we can give the adults a workable skill to market to potential employers."

Surprised because he hadn't thought about that aspect, Luke set his cutlery down on the white damask tablecloth and stared at Jordan. "That's a really good idea. There's so much they can be taught."

"Right," said Jordan, excitement creeping into his voice, animating him for the first time since they'd met. "Let me think what we could have them do." He pulled out his phone and began to make a list, his tongue caught between his teeth.

Luke couldn't help but watch, fascinated with the change in Jordan. This vibrant man before him must've been who Keith fell in love with, and for the first time since they met, Luke could understand what drew Keith to Jordan. Jordan's eyes sparkled and his pale cheeks flushed as he sat thinking. When he caught his lower lip between his teeth, an unfamiliar throb of desire rolled through Luke and he wondered how Jordan's mouth would taste and what his skin felt like underneath his clothing.

"The computer work alone is a skill any employer would be grateful for." Jordan's smile reached his eyes and Luke couldn't look away from that burning gaze.

"Huh? I mean, yeah. Good point." Furious with himself for getting distracted, Luke stabbed at his chicken parmigiana. No longer hungry, he still made the pretense of eating so as not to draw attention to his unusual case of nerves. "Uh, I also think they could talk to the kids who might be at-risk, you know? Give them firsthand knowledge of the danger they face becoming entangled in that life."

"Yeah," said Jordan distractedly, staring out into the distance. "People often get on the wrong track and without proper guidance, they can fall by the wayside."

Something else lay behind those words, Luke was certain of it, and it frustrated him that he was unable to pick up on the hints staring him in the face. In their brief acquaintance, Luke had seen many sides of Jordan, yet the man before him remained an enigma—first, the haughty, attractive man in Keith's pictures, laughing without a care in the world, the broken, pitiful man who sat before him in his office several weeks ago and the snidely sarcastic, caustic man, lashing out in anger. And tonight, yet another persona of Dr. Jordan Peterson presented itself, perhaps the most puzzling one of all. A thoughtful, caring man, one whom Luke might like if he gave himself the opportunity.

And that scared him enough to climb into his foxhole and hide, willing himself with all the strength he possessed to ignore this impossible attraction to Jordan simmering in his blood. Impossible because Luke knew for certain Jordan would never love another man like he loved Keith. And while he respected that, he had no desire to be a stand-in lover, even for a night.

"So, uh, I think we're onto something. I can talk to the people at the shelter and get it started."

"I admire you. Most people, especially in your field don't see the need to do charity." That faraway look in Jordan's eyes returned. "When I joined Drew's clinic, Keith and I talked about the Center and doing work in conjunction with it. It was always our plan. I just never thought it would come to fruition so soon."

"Life doesn't always work out as we plan."