9. Thomas

CHAPTER 9

Thomas

I don't care who's around. I know in Indonesia, it's important not to show too much PDA. But this is an emergency. My boy is distraught.

"Hey, hey," I coo, trying to soothe him as I pull him into my lap. He sits across my thighs, so it's not indecent. He curls into a ball against my chest. "It's okay, Arlo, I promise."

I knew it was more than about the money, although I can easily see why he'd be so upset at losing everything. Getting robbed like that is a violation, too. He has plenty to be rattled about.

But his passport?

Jeez.

It's hard not to get mad at myself. That won't help anyone now, but before my knee got blown out, I know I could have chased those douchebags down without breaking a sweat and saved the day. It's hard not to feel like I've been betrayed by the body I spent my whole life relying on and taking for granted.

Except…actually, I have no idea which little shithead was the one to pickpocket my boy. I would only have been able to catch one of them if I'd been fit enough to keep running, and as there had been half a dozen of them, the chances are good I wouldn't have grabbed the right kid anyway.

Fuck.

So in a way…my injury is irrelevant. Once I take a breath and squeeze Arlo against me, I see that clearly. What's done is done. All I can do now is whatever's in my power to fix this.

And when I take a minute to reason it through, it's easy to see that Arlo clearly thinks he's way more fucked than he actually is.

"Baby boy," I say as I lean back to look into his eyes. They're still pretty despite all the tears. "You're not stranded here."

"I'm not? But…?"

I hate to let him go, but I can feel people looking and I don't want us to get in trouble for being inconsiderate on top of everything else. I can handle a slap on the wrist, especially as we are taking liberties. But Arlo doesn't need anything else to upset him right now.

So I encourage him to slip back into his seat. Then I go the extra mile and put three teaspoons of sugar in his coffee, stir it, and hand it to him. "Have a sip," I encourage him. "It'll fortify you."

He sniffs it. "I usually drink tea," he admits.

I chuckle. "I know, but I think you need a little kick-start. I've made it sweet, and it's kind of fruity. Can you try it for me?"

I was hoping to distract him from spiraling, and I think I've succeeded. He cradles the cup and takes a small sip, his eyebrows raising. "Oh," he says.

"Okay?" I ask. I have to admit I quite like the coffee here as a change from the usual western style.

"Yeah, different," he admits, taking another little sip.

Excellent. I rub his back and watch as he stops shivering. Taking a gulp of my own cup, I can feel him calming down a fraction as the caffeine helps him straighten out his thoughts.

"Right," I say, taking charge of the situation. There might be a lot about this relationship that's outside of my control, but this I can handle. "People lose their passports all the time abroad."

Arlo's eyes go wide. "Really?"

I bite back a laugh, not wanting him to think I'm mocking him. But his innocence is so adorable I can't stop my heart from melting a little.

"Of course," I assure him. "People get robbed like you do, or they just lose them. I had a buddy who left his in the seat pouch on the plane."

I roll my eyes at that memory. The two of us had ended up running all through the airport after the crew had rightfully sent the damn thing to lost property. But it had meant we'd missed our connecting flight, and Coach had almost cut us from the game after missing practice.

But recalling that makes me more determined to get it through Arlo's head that he's not a burden at all. "This was not your fault, okay?"

He shakes his head. "I shouldn't have taken it out of the hotel room. It's just Mummy always says…" He trails off, biting his lip. "She never trusts staff coming into the room. It's unfair. Why I would think a locked safe in a five-star resort with staff who've been nothing short of kind and welcoming would be risky is just…" He pulls another face. "I don't want to be like that."

"You're not," I assure him. "You're still learning. You'll think differently next time."

Arlo has a good soul and a trusting nature. That's very easy to see. But the way he talks about his folks makes me think that he hasn't come from the best type of people. My abuela cleaned offices her whole working life, making sure my mom and her siblings never wanted for nothing. And there was always some asshole who'd show up every now and again accusing her of stealing.

My boy isn't like that, though. He's just been lacking in good role models, I'm damned sure.

Lucky for him, he's got a hothead Daddy now, even if it's just for a week.

"Okay, here's what we're going to do," I say with a bright smile. "We're going to go to the embassy right now and sort this all out."

He frowns. "The…embassy?" he says uncertainly. "But isn't that where politicians go?"

I shake my head. "Yes, but they're just as much for the people, too. Think of it as a little pocket of home, ready and waiting to help its citizens out of a jam day or night."

He frowns and chews his lip. "But I don't know where it is or how to get there," he says in a rush. "Does one need an appointment? What if?—?"

"Shhh, baby boy," I say as I rub his knee. The skin-to-skin contact sends shivers down my spine, but this isn't the time or place, so I try to ignore it. Especially when the intimate touch seems to shock him out of worrying. "This is what Daddies are for. I've got it all covered."

He looks at me incredulously. "Really?" Then he shakes his head. "Blimey, of course you do. You run your own charity. You must think?—"

Before he can say something unkind about himself, I hold up my finger. To my delight, he stops speaking right away. "I think that you are a sweet, trusting boy who got himself screwed by accident. I think it'll be my honor to swoop into the rescue like some kind of superhero."

That gets a weak chuckle out of him. "Like a pirate captain saving his besieged crew?" he suggests.

I want to argue that historically, pirates were the bad guys. But that's really not the point right now. My boy loves his seafaring fantasy. "No man left behind," I agree.

"Or woman," he says quickly. "Or cat."

I laugh, thinking about that grumpy orange beast back at the resort. It's funny because—yes—I'd even risk my limbs for that little terror if it would make Arlo happy.

"Exactly," I confirm. "So you're not getting stranded in Bali, okay? I'll look up the address on my phone, we'll take a taxi to the embassy, and we'll get you an emergency passport. We might have to wait around a while, but if we get it sorted right away, it means that you won't be worrying about anything unnecessarily. We don't want anything spoiling your vacation, now do we?"

He shakes his head but still looks agitated. "I'm sorry I spoiled our day out, though."

Unable to help myself, I boop his nose. It startles a laugh out of him. "We can go shopping anytime," I promise him. "Today, we're going on an adventure."

He takes a deep breath, frowning as I guess he thinks my words over, then he nods. "An adventure," he agrees.

I grin. "Good boy," I praise him.

We take some time to finish our coffees, and then I insist we go find the pet place Arlo heard about. He was very eager to try and brush Jolly earlier and even though I think it's a fool's errand, I get the sense that taking care of someone else—even if that's a cat and not a person—will make my boy feel better.

Once I've treated Arlo to not only a brush but some also spray-on detangling shampoo, a couple of toys that look like feathers attached to wires on sticks, and a special food bowl with a box of canned food, he's much happier, just like I'd hoped he would be.

While he'd been physically browsing, I'd done some internet browsing. It turns out that the actual British embassy in Indonesia is in Jakarta—the capital city on a completely different island. Before I could let Arlo see me panicking, I continued my search and quickly discovere that Bali has a consulate that basically serves the same purpose. So when I hail a taxi and we bundle inside, that's where I direct the driver.

The building itself is a pretty small white-brick structure with a terracotta roof, hidden behind a lot of trees and high gates with curved, spiky barbs to discourage any intruders. When the driver drops us off on the street, I'm almost tempted to ask him to stick around. But that's ridiculous. We'll probably be here for a while, and this place isn't a prison or anything. It's got that security so people know it's safe.

Still, I've seen a great deal of humanity during my time in the public eye, and people can be real shitty if they let a power imbalance go to their heads. I've dealt with my fair share of asshats over the years, and if I'd been the one to lose my passport, I'd have taken any bullshit on the chin.

But it's different now. I'm not just responsible for myself. Arlo is trusting me to un-fuck the situation, and I'll be damned if I allow anyone to make him feel bad for being the victim of a crime.

I've never felt protective like this—not even with my sister as she made it perfectly clear early on that she'd slug me if I ever tried to coddle her just for being a girl. But for some goddamned reason, Arlo hasn't been given the sense of self-worth that my family drilled into me and my sister, Camila. I can tell that he doesn't think he deserves to be here. He doesn't want to make a fuss.

I'll make all the fuss for him, then.

As it transpires, however…no fuss is needed. When we explain why we're at the gate, security lets us in without question. I sense the staff is busy, but everyone we speak to shows genuine compassion for Arlo's predicament. Soon we're sitting in front of the desk of a middle-aged motherly type with a puffy afro and impressively long and colorful nails that she uses to type like the wind as she wizzes through the red tape necessary to get Arlo his emergency passport.

"That's a fun name," she declares after Arlo spells it for her the third time.

"It's…something," Arlo agrees. I get the feeling he's not fond of his full title, even though it's the first thing I learned about him, so I'm kind of a fan.

The woman chuckles, patting her ample chest and sighing as she looks at us. "Is the double barrel from marriage?"

It takes me a second to catch onto what she means, but it's Arlo who splutters in response. "No! Um, I mean, no, it's not. Not our marriage, anyway. My grandparents on my father's side—yes."

Our new friend isn't put out, though. She just winks at me. "Ah. Maybe another marriage can fix that, then."

It's the second time we've been mistaken for an established couple despite only knowing each other a matter of days, and I know I shouldn't, but I can't help but preen.

I might only have a limited time with Arlo, but even strangers can't deny the rapport we already have.

My boy is special, no matter if I only get to call him mine for a little while longer.