Chapter 1

Jason is the only person in

the waiting room when the two guys enter. As the door opens, he

looks up from the magazine he isn’t reading and almost smiles

because the first guy is a kid his own age, early twenties, with a shock of

bleached hair hanging in front of his face. But when he shakes his

head, throwing the hair aside, Jason sees the hard green gaze

staring him down and his smile dies.

The kid steps into the room and stops, the way

a prospective buyer steps into a run-down apartment and studies his

surroundings—with an air of vague disgust, as if one can’t possibly

believe he might be interested in this place. He takes in the

overstuffed furniture in muted pastel hues that hint at color, the

leafy potted plants in the corners, the low wooden tables covered

in old issues of People and Sports Illustrated, and his expression

never changes. The glare in his eyes never fades.

He holds the door for the man

behind him. He’s older than the kid is, much older—the first

thought that pops into Jason’s mind is this is Dad, only there’s no

family resemblance between the two. The kid is tall and thin,

almost gangly, all elbows and long limbs, and while the man is

roughly the same height, he’s well-built, stocky in the places

where men over thirty-five usually are. An uncle then, a good

fifteen or twenty years older than the kid is. His skin is deeply

tanned and lined like old leather, his short, dark hair peppered

with gray. When he walks, he favors his left leg.

The kid frowns at the leg as the

older man passes him. “Does it hurt much?” he wants to know. He

speaks loudly, like he wants the whole waiting room to overhear,

then glances around to see if anyone’s listening. Quickly, Jason

drops his gaze back to the magazine open in his lap.

“It’s okay,” the man replies.

Jason hears the door latch shut and dares to look up again. Seeing

him, the man nods, a polite gesture that makes the boy with him

scowl harder. A thin hand takes the man’s arm possessively, then

trails down the sleeve of his bulky winter coat to lace through his

thick fingers. An uncle, Jason thinks again, as the kid guides the

man to the reception desk.

Before the nurse

behind the desk can speak, the kid tells her, “We have an

appointment.” No shit, Jason wants to say. He refuses to look up

from the magazine again because he knows that’s what the kid wants.

He can practically feel those eyes boring into him, begging to be

acknowledged. Jason isn’t playing the audience here. “At ten

o’clock,” the kid continues in his loudhear mevoice. “With

Doctor—”

“Sign in, please,” the nurse

interrupts.

Jason senses the

kid’s irritation. It radiates from him in waves like summer heat.

Jason ducks his head and raises the magazine to hide his

smirk.Put you in your place, didn’t

she?They’re both here for appointments.

It’s a freaking doctor’s office, for Christ’s sake. What, does he

think Jason’s just sitting here for the hell of

it?

“Wesley,” the man warns. His is a

deep voice that rumbles through the room, soft and commanding like

distant thunder. From his weary tone, Jason suspects he has to

reprimand the boy often.

Wesley sighs. “Sign in, she

said.”

Without raising

his head, Jason watches them over the top of the magazine. The man

signs the clipboard—left-handed, because his other hand is held

tight between both of Wesley’s own. The closer the kid leans into

him, the more Jason begins to think maybe an attraction stronger

than family binds the two together. His groin stirs at the thought,

because the boy is nice looking and the old man isn’tthatold, but then the

pain in his lower belly flares to life and he stifles the thought.

“Put my name, too,” Wesley murmurs, watching the man write. Even

when he’s trying to keep it down, Jason has no trouble hearing him

halfway across the room.

“I’m the patient here,” the man

replies. There’s a faint humor in his tone, as if he thinks

Wesley’s being cute. Silently, Jason agrees.

“I’m here with you,” Wesley

argues. “Put me down, too.”

Behind the desk, the nurse rolls

her eyes, annoyed. “Whichever one of you has the appointment,” she

tells them.

The man gives Wesley an indulgent

smile that lights up his brown eyes and takes years off his

weathered face. “Me,” he says. There it is again, something Jason

can’t quite place that hints at more than avuncular affection. The

eyes, maybe, or the fingers that squeeze Wesley’s own. With the

slightest tug, he starts to move away from the desk.