Chapter Five

Luke returned home late Friday night, completely drained. It had been a hellish week, full of conference calls and long meetings that sometimes extended well into the evening. In addition, because he dealt with international clients, he had to hold meetings in the middle of the night to accommodate their schedules. He never complained, as the pay more than made up for any inconvenience, and he banked the majority of his salary, his only major expenses being the apartment and the gym. No wonder so few people in his firm had long-term relationships. What spouse could put up with hours like these?

Jordan had seemed in a much more lighthearted mood over the phone when they'd finalized additional plans for the Center. Hopefully it wasn't the liquor talking, but Luke was neither the man's keeper nor babysitter. Everyone had, at some point in their lives, lost people precious to them. The man had to learn to deal with the shit life threw at him.

Luke stripped off his work clothes and pulled on a pair of sweats and a long-sleeved T-shirt. A Bruce Willis movie played on the TV. Luke settled down with a beer but spent more time thinking than watching the screen. Though he'd never known his parents, growing up in foster care had given him Ash and Brandon. Neither he nor Ash had overtly displayed his sexuality, yet they were often the targets for homophobic bullies, and on more than one occasion, Ash had been suspended for getting involved in bloody fights with members of the football team, almost always saving Luke from being hurt.

How could he ever forget Ash saving his ass in the boys' bathroom when two members of the football team held him around the neck, inches from shoving his head down the toilet? Or the time he was jumped as he cut across the field so he wouldn't have to walk past the team hanging out in front of old man Beamer's candy store? Once again, Ash had rescued him, and they'd escaped with only some minor cuts and bruises. That's why he couldn't believe or understand how Ash had left him and Brandon. Ash pleaded with Luke to leave with him and take Brandon, but Luke had known that would be impossible, as Brandon was too young. Instead he'd begged Ash to stay, but Ash was adamant.

"You don't understand. I gotta go. Take care of yourself and watch out for Brandon. I'm gonna make sure he don't hurt you. When I get settled, I promise to come back for you."

Fucker . Ash never came back, never did anything to make sure Luke didn't get hurt. Now for some reason, when Ash had decided it was time to make an appearance, he was expected to drop everything for him. Maybe once Luke would have. But those days were gone. Luke finished his beer and placed the bottle on the coffee table. He wasn't the scrawny kid any longer who needed someone else to be his white knight. Training at the gym had given him hard muscles so that he could take care of himself. As a boy, he'd always looked up to Ash because of his size, but he now knew bigger didn't always mean better.

At the commercial, he went into the kitchen and rummaged around the fridge until he found some Chinese food that still smelled okay from a day or so ago and decided to heat it up. Waiting for the microwave to ping, Luke decided to pay a visit to the shelter the next day and see if any candidates wanted to work with the kids. Thinking about the foundation focused his thoughts back on Jordan Peterson. Pale and thin as he was, the man exuded sexuality. Blond hair and blue eyes had always been Luke's weakness in men. Add to that a cockiness Luke admired and Dr. Jordan Peterson was one dangerous package. Not that he'd ever act on it or that Jordan would have any interest in him, considering how deeply he still mourned Keith.

His food ready, he grabbed another beer and headed back to the sofa to watch the movie. The second beer hit him hard, and as he ate he remembered he'd had no lunch that day. His body slumped against the sofa cushions while his mind wandered from the television screen back to Jordan. That arrogant mouth and blue, blue eyes heated his blood, and he shoved his hand beneath his sweats, freeing himself to the air. The image of Jordan's pink lips wrapped around his cock sent him thrusting into his palm, the wetness of his precome enabling his hand to slide down his shaft, creating a delicious, torturous friction.

"Fuuuck." His groan bounced off the empty walls of his apartment, mingling with the sounds of the gunfight from the television. Fast and rough, he stroked himself until his balls drew tight and his dick jerked, once, twice, and he came hard, ejaculating onto his shirt. White light burst behind his eyes as he gasped for air, perspiration drenching the curls that lay on his brow. He sank back into the sofa, the cushions beneath him damp with sweat, his body boneless and utterly spent.

With a heavy, fumbling hand he pulled off his sticky shirt and threw it on the floor, then dragged a throw blanket lying folded on the sofa over his naked chest. On the one hand, his body lay pliant, sated, and drained. He groaned and stretched. On the other, he hadn't jerked off to the thought of anyone he'd known in years. And why Jordan Peterson, someone he didn't even particularly like? The answer eluded him, and before he drifted off to sleep, Luke found the remote next to him and clicked off the television set.

~ ~

"Good morning, Luke." Miranda, the security guard at the Bowery Homeless Shelter located on the Lower East Side, greeted him with a smile. New York City had over fifty thousand homeless people, and the shelters were all bursting at the seams. He'd called this place home when he first arrived in the city, and it became as familiar to him as his own skin. The hallways hadn't changed much in all that time, and Luke shivered slightly from his memories on his way to the offices in the back. The same dank smell of unwashed bodies and fear permeated the air and the walls, despite the stinging scent of disinfectant and air freshener the cleaning crew left behind. The sense of despair was palpable. It was a place where hope came to die if you let it grab hold of your soul.

Groups of children untainted as of yet by the cruelty of their situation played in a community room. He passed by vast rooms filled with rows and rows of beds that looked comforting yet provided no safe haven once the dark of night settled in. When he'd lived here, he'd taken evening classes at City College and worked two jobs during the day. The less time spent in this depressing atmosphere, the better. The half-opened door to the director's office allowed him to peek inside and see Wanda Grant, the director of the shelter, roll her eyes in disgust at whatever story the person on the other end of the telephone tried to feed to her. She caught his eye, and a grin burst across her face.

"I gotta go. Talk to you later." Her accent, a curious combination of Southern and Brooklyn, became more pronounced whenever someone or something got her annoyed or excited, which was most of the time. After she hung up the phone, she beckoned him inside. "What are you standin' there for? Come on in here."

Wanda barely gave him a chance to move before she pulled him to her well-endowed chest and gave him a big, smothering hug. Luke remembered the very first night, after he'd arrived at the shelter from his painful trip up north. Wanda had taken one look at him, shaken her head, and led him straight to the kitchen. In between bites of roast turkey and mashed potatoes, she managed to get his entire life story, something he had sworn to never tell anyone. Lonely and confused, Luke held back at first, but Wanda, motherly and comforting, had proved hard to resist, and the words poured out of him. It had been years since anyone had listened to him or paid him attention.

"How are you doing? It's been so hectic. I'm sorry I haven't been by in the past few weeks, but I've been working on the gun violence prevention foundation. Thanks for setting up today's meeting with the volunteers." He pulled away from her jasmine-scented embrace to sink into the chair in front of her desk.

Wanda nudged the other chair closer to his and sat next to him. "I'm fine, baby doll. How are you doin'?" She ran a critical eye over him, and he flushed as if she could see all the secrets inside of him. "You're lookin' too thin, like you haven't been eatin' proper." A scowl twisted her mouth. "They're workin' you too hard at that hellhole, aren't they? I told ya, they'll eat your soul for breakfast if ya let them."

He shook his head. "I'm fine, and I am eating." If you counted takeout and leftovers. But if he told her that, she'd be over at his place with enough Tupperware to have a party for the entire borough of Manhattan. Luke shuddered.

"Humph. So you say." Those fathomless black eyes narrowed. "You meet a fine young man yet? I can't stand to think of you all alone night after night." Her well-worn hand reached over and took his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Mother of his heart. If ever anyone could claim the title, it was Wanda. She'd never judged him or looked down on him when he'd told her he was gay, even though she was a churchgoing woman.

"You know me. I'm not looking for anyone. I'm fine the way I am." With his hand and his dirty thoughts. That was all he could hope for, anyway. What did he know about relationships? The only people he'd ever been close to had betrayed him, left him swimming against the tide, only to be flung back to the shore, more battered and helpless than ever.

"It's not right for a man like you to be by himself. It gets you thinking about things too much. You're young. You need to live a little."

"I am living. That's what I'm here about. I finally met the person in charge of the foundation, and now we can move ahead with the men and women you've chosen to work with us. People who've lived through the violence have a better understanding to talk to the people in the community." What a shame Keith had to die for something like this to come to fruition. At least Jordan had finally come to grips with his loss and proven himself worthy of Keith's trust.

Back to business, Wanda handed him a folder. "They're all waitin' for you in the big conference room at the end of the hall. Inside you'll find the names and background checks for the people I feel will be best for the job." For a moment, the gleam in those dark eyes dimmed. "Each one of them has had experience with drugs and gun violence, either personally or by losing someone close to them. I wish I'd have been able to meet the detective who died. He sounds like he was a wonderful man."

"He was."

Startled, Luke almost dropped the folders as he swung around to face the door. "Jordan?" Surely he must be seeing things. Dr. Jordan Peterson would not be at a homeless shelter on an early Saturday afternoon, looking casually elegant in jeans and a cashmere sweater as if he'd stepped out of the pages of a men's fashion magazine. Yet here he was, and he'd made an obvious effort to pull himself together. The paleness of his skin contrasted with the luminous blue of his eyes, and he'd cut his hair so that although it wasn't short, it no longer lay in waves against his collar. A shame, Luke mused, imagining the thick silky strands sliding between his fingers.

Also obvious and altogether unwelcome was this unholy response his body had whenever the man was in his vicinity. That needed to stop immediately.

"In the flesh. I thought I should also meet the people who are helping to make Keith's dream a reality." The slight arrogant drawl of that prep-school voice normally grated on Luke's nerves. He heard it plenty in the halls and meetings in his office. But somehow on Jordan, each word echoed sensuality and promises yet to come. Watching that wicked mouth, his appeal was clear. Jordan radiated charm, sex, and class. The man was out of his league, and Luke was out of his mind for even thinking about him.

"Hello, I'm Wanda Grant." A smile tugged at her lips as she introduced herself. "I run the shelter. So nice to meet you finally." Her voice softened. "I want to extend my sympathy for your loss. Luke tells me Detective Hart was a wonderful man."

And like that, the light flickered out of Jordan's eyes. "Thank you. He truly was one of a kind."

As Wanda murmured more comforting words to him, Luke wondered if he'd been wrong in thinking Jordan had begun to recover and move past his loss. It would be criminal for a man like him to live the life of a monk. His gaze traveled over Jordan's lean but more than appealing tight body, stopping only when he met the dancing dark eyes of Wanda.

Shit. Busted.

Even the fierce, dark scowl he directed at Wanda did little to detract from her smile. Best to get Jordan out of here now and speak with Wanda later. "So, um, why don't I take you around, and you can meet the people Wanda selected to work for the foundation. Then we can sit and explain what the day-to-day activity of the center we're planning will be like."

"What a lovely idea. You two go ahead and do a little meet and greet with the folks. Luke, baby, I'm a little busy right now, you know?" She directed her wide-eyed, innocent gaze at him. "Why don't you and Dr. Peterson have some lunch afterward and talk. You know you love that little seafood place across the street." Her arm slipped into the crook of Jordan's elbow as she whispered loudly in his ear, "If I don't push Lukie, he'll never eat."

"Lukie?" Amusement lit Jordan's eyes as they walked down the hall.

"Wanda loves to tease me." It took the strength of Luke's willpower to keep his face a study in grim determination. Why did this man, with his presence alone, get under Luke's skin? His mood blackened, driving away the optimism and good cheer he'd enjoyed earlier.

"How long have you known her? You two seem like long-standing friends." Jordan sounded curious, as if he couldn't understand how a man like Luke and a woman like Wanda could know one another.

The devil on Luke's shoulder won out, if nothing more than to hear Jordan's response. "I lived here for a few years when I first came to the city." There. He'd said it, and he couldn't take it back.

Luke slanted a quick, furtive glance to the side. Looking for something, anything that might give away Jordan's reaction to that bit of startling news. But aside from a slight falter in his step—which admittedly Luke could be mistaken about—Jordan said nothing.

That irked him even more. Was Jordan so startled that he couldn't speak? Or maybe he was looking for a way to back out of the project, or would he replace Luke? His imagination spun out of control.

The silence festered between them, deepening like a thorn embedded in the skin, until with uncharacteristic emotion, Luke blurted out, "Well, aren't you shocked or surprised by the news? If you don't want me to work with you, let me know now."

Jordan halted his steps and gave him a brief smile, its unexpected sweetness transforming his tired, too-pale face. "Don't be an idiot; why would I think that? Now come on. I want to meet everyone." He continued walking down the hall, leaving Luke to scramble after him.

"Here, this is where they are." Luke shouldered past Jordan into the room, where a group of nervous-looking men and women sat on metal folding chairs. A large desk, folders and binders stacked on its surface, took up the far side of the room beneath a bank of tall, narrow windows, double plated, with chicken wire between the glass. No way in, no way out, Luke observed, his own memories playing havoc with his senses.

Get a grip. You made it out, and you're helping them get out as well.

Jordan stepped aside, in obvious deference to Luke's familiarity with the people and the place. "Go on," he murmured. "But don't think I'll always let you be the one in control."

A rush of heat swept through Luke at the amused yet slightly mocking tone in Jordan's voice. For a brief moment he wondered if Jordan was as cool and calm in the bedroom. A vision of that long, pale body spread out underneath him filled Luke's mind, and he could almost taste the heat of Jordan's mouth. Not in a million fucking years would that happen, and with his usual ruthless intensity, Luke slammed the iron door shut on his disturbing thoughts.

"We'll see about that, Doctor." Luke bit out his words, allowing no smile to soften the anger in his voice. He was determined to quash any sexual interest he might have for this man, knowing it would only end in a disastrous blaze of fucking epic proportions. And if it culminated with Jordan disliking him, so be it.

"Good afternoon, everyone." Luke granted a smile to these people whom Wanda had chosen. They were the ones who would make the program successful since they'd be on the front lines, so to speak, dealing with the day-to-day issues that would crop up.

"My name is Lucas Conover, and I'm the chief financial officer and director of The Keith Hart Foundation. The man to my left is Dr. Jordan Peterson, the president. Keith Hart was a detective with the NYPD whose life mission, aside from protecting the people of New York City, was to rid the streets of drugs and illegal guns. Tragically, he was killed last year by one of those guns, trying to save the life of a friend."

Jordan drew in a shuddering breath and in deference to his emotions Luke waited a moment, then continued.

"Detective Hart dedicated his life to the people of New York City. He knew being a police officer meant risking his life every day, but to him it was worth it if he was helping his fellow man. He created this foundation to stop the never-ending spiral of violence and told me that even if something should happen to him, his desire to make New York City a safer place for all men and women but especially the children, the most vulnerable in our society, must continue. The funding he has provided, along with the corporate funding we've secured, has allowed us to set up an after-school center that we hope can be a model for other neighborhoods."

The disinterested, dubious faces of the people suddenly sparked to life. One bald, hulking man Luke knew as Troy spoke in a gruff tone. "So we'd be helping at the center? How, man? I'm no teacher."

"And I ain't no snitch, neither." That came from a young, skinny man named Andre, sporting long dreads, his arms covered in tattoos. "Don't ask me to tell on who's doing what with who."

All legitimate points. "First, let me assure you, we aren't asking you to snitch or tell the police anything. What we are asking is to help us with our project. Learn to work the computers, help out in the library or with art projects. Once a month we will be running a Grins Not Guns program, where for every gun brought into the precinct, no questions asked, the person will be given a twenty-five-dollar gift card from MasterCard or Visa. So, in addition to you helping the youth in the neighborhood stay out of trouble, we'd like you to help spread the word."

A sense of interest and acceptance sparked a discussion. The two main questions on everyone's mind seemed to be, if the people turning in the guns could be sure they wouldn't be arrested, and whether there was a limit on the number of guns brought in on one day.

"Does he talk at all?" A young woman Luke remembered as Juanita gestured toward Jordan. "If he's the president, shouldn't he have something to say, or is he one of those rich, white do-gooders who wants to save the poor?"

Before Lucas had a chance to answer, Jordan stepped forward. "I'm not here to save your lives or make excuses for mine. You don't even have to pretend to like me. I don't care." Jordan's blue eyes flashed. "Detective Hart was my fiancé, and I loved him. He lost his life, and that's the only reason I'm here. To make sure that not another person loses theirs to an illegal gun."

Way to make friends, Jordan . Luke opened his mouth to try and soften Jordan's harsh words but was cut short by Juanita.

"Okay, man. And I'm sorry about your boyfriend. I heard he was a cool dude." The other women in the group, as well as the men, expressed similar condolences to Jordan in friendly, almost warm tones.

Luke stood, mouth open. Had he heard right? Had Jordan been accepted by this group of people, who'd taken months to warm up to Luke?

"We'll talk to you all again soon. Thank you for agreeing to become a part of this."

Luke couldn't help but stare at Jordan as everyone filed out of the room.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to stand with your mouth open? You'll catch flies." Jordan smirked. They stood alone and Jordan folded his arms, leaning against the door.

Anger pulsed within him in deep, thrusting jabs. Anger at himself and at Jordan for getting under his skin. "Shut up, asshole."

He heard Jordan's inelegant, derisive snort. "Let's go have lunch, like Wanda said."

"I'm not hungry." The words flew out of his mouth, making him sound like a growly, petulant child.

It didn't seem to matter to Jordan in the least, as he raised a blond brow and drawled in that infuriating prep-school voice, "But I am. And Wanda said—"

"I know what she said; however, you don't have to do what she says." But all of a sudden he wanted to have lunch with the man. Otherwise it would be another boring Saturday at the gym and on his sofa, waiting for night to fall.

Perhaps Jordan saw Luke's needy desperation, but more likely the man wanted to get his own way. "I never do what anyone tells me to unless I want to. Would you mind if we picked something up along the way? I have to go home, but I"—for the first time today, Jordan looked vulnerable as he bit his lip—"I wouldn't mind some lunchtime company." He raked his hand through his hair.

That's when Luke noticed it. The dull gold shine winking through the thick, pale strands of Jordan's hair. A band, not too wide but still substantial, encircled the ring finger of his left hand. It hadn't been there the other times they'd met. So, although Jordan had physically attempted to move on with his life after Keith's death, the emotional reality remained.

Even so, Luke wondered in the back of his mind, How do the flawed and damaged living ever measure up to the perfection of the dead?