Quiet Storm, Season 2, Episode 6 (Rising Storm) (9 page)

“But he’s in College Station, right?” Lacey asked. “You could visit him there and your family would never know.”

“Actually, he wants me to go to Austin this Saturday. There’s a charity event at a gay bar.”

Mallory’s eyes went wide. “That’s great. Are you going?”

“I don’t know.” He wanted to. But... “It’s Austin. And my dad’s a senator. What if I see someone he knows?”

“At a gay bar?” Luis asked. “Then so what? They’d keep your secret. Besides, what are the odds?”

“Unless that’s not the reason you’re hesitating,” Lacey said. “Nervous about the date?”

“Maybe a little,” Jeffry admitted. “I mean, he’s a junior in college. I’m still in high school. This isn’t going to be a long-term thing. Maybe it’s just stupid.”

“Because everyone only dates the person they’re going to end up with? That’s nuts. You like him. He likes you. Go have fun. Meet other people. Seriously, get out of Storm.” Mallory had her hands on her hips and was in full-on lecture mode.

“Go,” Lacey added.

“Seriously, man. You should do it.”

He looked between his friends and suddenly burst out laughing. “I love you guys so much,” he said. “And I’ve missed
us
so much.”

Lacey raised an eyebrow. “We love you too, Jeffry Rush. And we’re taking that as a yes. Aren’t we, guys?”

“Hell, yeah,” the other two said with wide grins.

“Okay, then,” Jeffry agreed. “Guess I know what I’m doing this Saturday.”

* * * *

“Beer, son?” Aiden Murphy asked as Patrick settled himself on a barstool next to his brother Dillon.

“Just iced tea. My shift starts at six, so I have to get going soon. I just came in to run something by you.”

“All ears,” he said, even though he clearly wasn’t as he kept acknowledging orders and pulling drafts for the customers.

“That’s what I want to talk about, Pops,” Patrick said, gesturing to Aiden’s multitasking ways. “You need more help around here.”

“You looking to change careers?”

“No. But I was thinking maybe a waitress. A friend of mine’s looking for a job.”

“A friend?” His mother, Sonya, slid over from where she was clearing tables. “Are you seeing someone new?” She and Aiden exchanged glances, and for a second there, Patrick thought he saw relief. He supposed that was understandable. They’d probably realized long before he did that he and Marisol were destined to be friends, not lovers.

“Just a friend,” he assured his mother. “And she could really use the work.”

“So who is this friend?” Dillon asked.

“Dakota Alvarez.”

His brother and his parents all seemed to stop as one. Then Sonya went back to polishing the bar and Aiden pulled a fresh beer. Only Dillon spoke. “Since when are you Dakota’s employment agent?”

“She’s had a rough time, and part of that’s of her own making. But she’s trying to turn things around.”

“Maybe she was,” Dillon said. “At least until her daddy came back. Now that girl’s under his spell again.” He frowned. “Seems to be a female trait in that household.”

“Or maybe they’re both fighting in their own way,” Aiden said. “Joanne treading carefully, and Dakota still feeling her way.”

“Pop’s right,” Patrick said. “That son-of-a-bitch blinded her, but she’s starting to open her eyes. Once she gets her own place again and a job—once she’s no longer under Hector’s roof—I think folks will see a new side of Dakota Alvarez.”

“Or they won’t,” Sonya said. “That girl stirred up a lot of trouble. I think it’s fair to say that most folks won’t forgive her even if she does straighten herself out.”

“Maybe they won’t. But I’m not one of them. I want to help her. Will y’all help me do that?”

Sonya’s eyes narrowed as she peered hard at him. “And she’s just a friend?”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with her,” Dillon said.

“Less than you were spending with Joanne,” Patrick countered, and since his brother was the sheriff and understood how deception worked, Patrick was certain that Dillon noticed just how deftly he
didn’t
answer the question.

“Maybe,” Dillon said. “But I’ve come clean about how I feel about Joanne. Got anything you want to get off your chest there, little brother?”

“Not a thing,” Patrick said, and when he said the words he meant them. But as he walked to work a few minutes later, Dillon’s words kept running through his head.

Was that part of it
, he wondered.
Was he attracted to Dakota Alvarez?

God help him if he was. God, and everyone else.

Because if there was one thing Patrick was certain of, it was that any sort of relationship with Dakota Alvarez would absolutely not be an easy one.

Chapter 10

It was the longest week of Jeffry’s life, and he almost changed his mind at least four billion times, but somehow he ended up at the Starbucks at Sixth and Congress in downtown Austin Saturday night. Scott had offered to meet him there so that Jeffry didn’t have to walk into the club by himself.

“I’m really glad you came,” Scott said. “I think you’re going to have a good time. The cover charge and a portion of the bar goes to the charity, so for the most part, the club will just feel like it usually does. And a lot of my friends are going, so I can introduce you around.”

“Sounds good to me.”

The bar was only about a five-minute walk down Congress Avenue, then down a few blocks on Fourth Street. They talked about school and Austin and how much Jeffry was looking forward to moving out of Storm for college. “I want to be open. But I feel weird coming out in Storm. Folks have known me my whole life, and it’s such a small town. Lots of gossip, you know?”

“I get it. But they all seem pretty cool. I bet people won’t care as much as you think they will. And if they do, to hell with them.”

Jeffry eyed Scott sideways. “That’s your attitude?”

“It is now. But it wasn’t always. So I know where you’re coming from, I really do. And I also get that you’re in a different position than a lot of people, what with your dad and all.”

“For tonight, I’m pretending like my dad doesn’t even exist.”

Scott laughed. “Fair enough. We’re here.”

They’d stopped in front of a pair of inset wooden doors with OCH etched on one of the glass panes. The sidewalk in front was black tile to match the almost hip-high row of tile that made up the base of the otherwise red brick exterior wall of the building. All in all, the place looked nice and comfortable and inviting, and the butterflies in Jeffry’s stomach calmed a little.

He was underage, so he had to wear a wristband, but no one seemed to care. Scott took him around the dimly lit interior, introducing him to people as they walked to a table in the back. After a while, Jeffry stopped being nervous at all. And a little bit after that, he actually initiated a few conversations. Soon enough, he felt completely comfortable, and when he told Scott as much, his friend leaned over and kissed him, right there in public.

“Glad to hear it,” Scott said, then winked. He stood up and held out his hand. “You dance?”

“I’m terrible, but sure.”

They danced for three songs, then took a break. And when another guy named Chris asked Jeffry to dance, Scott gave him a subtle nod and so he did. A couple of other guys joined them on the floor, and Jeffry relaxed even more. And when the whole group ended up back at the table, sweaty and chugging their drinks, he felt like he’d found a whole other circle of friends. A feeling that intensified when Chris said he was a freshman at UT and wrote his number on a cocktail napkin.

“Text me whenever you want,” he said. “And if you end up at UT, I can show you around.”

“Thanks.”

“See?” Scott said later when they were back on the dance floor. “Didn’t I say you’d make new friends?”

“You’re the best,” Jeffry said.

“Hell yeah, I am.” His mischievous grin turned inviting, and Jeffry was feeling so happy—so himself—that he leaned over and kissed him. Gently at first, but it turned hot fast, and Jeffry’s pulse was pounding when he pulled away.

“My hotel’s just a few blocks over. Want to get out of here?”

“Yeah,” Jeffry breathed. “Yeah, I really—
oh, shit
.”

His body went icy cold as he looked at the man across the dance floor. A man who was holding his phone up, very obviously taking a picture.

“Who’s that?” Scott’s voice was tight.

“Bob Wickersham,” Jeffry said. “One of my dad’s assistants.” He stepped back, away from Scott. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”

He headed for the door, Scott right behind him.

“Are you sure?” Scott said as Jeffry hurried out of the club and started walking toward Congress and the space where he’d parked his car. “Just because you know the guy...”

“He’ll tell my dad. The shit is going to hit the fan, and I can’t—” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Look, I really wanted to go with you. But I just—I’m just not in the mood anymore.”

“I get that, I do. And I’m not mad. I’m just saying that maybe it’s nothing. He’s in the club, too. And I’ve seen him around, so I’m pretty sure he’s gay. That means he gets it. I can’t believe he’d out you. Especially not without talking to you first.”

Jeffry hesitated. His friends had said more or less the same. “Maybe,” he said hesitantly. “I don’t know.”

Scott nodded slowly. “Look, let’s take a rain check, okay? You won’t feel right until you get home and know it’s nothing. But just promise me you’ll call, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” he said, and he meant it. He felt like an ass for blowing off what could be a really awesome night. But Scott was right. His head wasn’t in it anymore.

They’d reached his car, and Scott kissed him goodnight. And then Jeffry was on his way back to Storm trying very hard not to worry about what Wickersham, one of his dad’s more oily assistants, would do.

By the time he reached his house, he’d talked himself into believing that Scott and his friends were right—no way would Wickersham tell. He pulled into the driveway, noticing that the downstairs lights were still on, even though it was past one in the morning. Good. That must mean that Brit was still up. Probably downstairs with Marcus. He’d talk to her while his courage was up.

But then he went inside, and it wasn’t Brit who was waiting up—it was his father and his grandmother.

His father’s face as Jeffry entered the kitchen was as stern as Jeffry had ever seen it, and when he stood up, he projected such power and authority that Jeffry knew exactly why the man always won elections.

“It’s about time you got home,” Sebastian said, his voice tight with control. “We need to talk.”

* * * *

Payton pulled her robe around her and hurried down the stairs. She’d heard Sebastian take a phone call from his weaselly assistant about some huge crisis for Sebastian’s career, and then she’d heard him call Marylee and ask her to come over. But as she had no interest in speaking with her husband’s bitch of a mother—especially not in the middle of the night—she’d pretended to sleep through the conversation.

But now she heard Jeffry’s voice, and that made no sense. What on earth could Jeffry have to do with a career crisis? And so she hurried down the stairs just in time to hear Jeffry say, “I’m really not in the mood, Dad. I’m going to bed.”

“The hell you are,” Sebastian said. “You are going to stay right here, and we are coming up with a plan to handle this.”

“Absolutely,” Marylee sniffed. “Do you realize the damage you’ve done to your father?”

“What’s going on?” Payton asked, hurrying into the kitchen. “A plan to handle what? What has Jeffry done?”

“He went to a gay bar,” Sebastian growled. “And there are
photos
.”

Payton looked between Sebastian and Jeffry, wondering if she was simply too tired still to understand the problem.

Marylee harrumphed. “Oh, for goodness sakes, Payton! The little fairy was caught on film kissing a boy at one of
those
places in Austin. Can you imagine! And now that idiot Bob Wickersham has decided to release the pictures publicly. Sebastian gave him his notice last week. Apparently this is his way of getting him back. Obviously, this must be handled.”

Payton ignored her, turning instead to Jeffry, who was standing frozen to the spot looking both horrified and incredibly pissed off. “You drove into Austin without telling anyone? I thought we had an agreement, young man.”

“I—”

“Good god, Payton!” Marylee snapped. “We find out that not only is your son gay but that he’s flouncing all over Texas, and all you care about is that he drove his car past the city limits?”

“Mother is right,” Sebastian said. “Right now, we need to focus.” His attention turned to Jeffry as Payton fumed. “Tomorrow morning, you will announce that you went to this club with friends. That you drank too much. And that one of that place’s regular patrons took advantage of you. You will say unequivocally that you are not gay. And then we will—very privately—arrange for counseling.”

Payton saw Jeffry swallow, her heart breaking as the blood drained from his face.

The front door opened, and Brittany came in. “What’s going on?”

Marylee sniffed. “We’re ensuring that your little brother’s predilections don’t destroy this family or your father’s career.”

“What on earth—” Brit began.

“But I can’t—” Jeffry mumbled.

“
No
,” Payton yelled, unable to take it anymore. Not her husband’s bullshit. Not Marylee’s bitchy, superior, prejudiced ways. She couldn’t pretend she cared anymore. Not if it meant hurting her children.

“Pardon?” Marylee said icily.

“I said, no. If Jeffry is gay, then he’s gay.” She spoke matter-of-factly and saw Brit’s eyes go wide. “I love my son for himself, and I don’t expect him to be anyone except who he is. And if he’s gay, I don’t have a problem with that at all. I’m sorry if you do, Marylee. Sebastian. But I don’t.”

“Neither do I,” Brit said firmly, and Payton saw tears glisten in her son’s eyes.

“Then you are a fool,” Sebastian said. “Because who that boy fucks is going to fuck with my career.”