Page 25 of Angels of the Night

Rowan nodded, stepping out of the kitchen, while Lance gave Fabian a reassuring look, leaving the main house and going to his own apartment above the garage. From a secret compartment of a drawer, he extracted a little black, slim, wooden box. Running the tips of his fingers over the shiny surface, the man stared at it for a few seconds, then put it in the pocket of his jacket, leaving the room.

Stepping inside the bedroom Rowan occupied, Lance was pleasantly surprised, a little shocked, even, to see how neat the bed was made, how tidy and well-organized the space was. The unexpected discovery brought back distant memories from the last visit to his ex-wife's house to pick his son for the weekend.

The boy refused to come down, so he went into his room in a last attempt to convince the teenager to accompany him. The bedroom was surprisingly clean for a thirteen-year-old, and Lance remembered perfectly the empty stare in his son's eyes, very similar to Rowan's expression from earlier.

The man sat on the edge of the bed, gesturing to the boy to sit on the carpeted floor, back against the bed, head tilted backwards. Getting out an ivory comb from the black box, he started to delicately run it through Rowan's blond-grayish hair, separating it in thick strands.

“I thought you liked Riley a lot, and I'm only rarely wrong. The two of you make a very sweet, cute pair if you ask me.” Lance's usually flat, sarcastic voice had a tinge of softness Rowan decided to ignore.

“It's not going to work. It's written in chemistry books, water and oil don't mix. Riley is sweet, delicate, pure, while I...when someone's on the streets from the age of fourteen, they have to do some things in order to survive. No one gives you anything if they don't get something in return.” Rowan sighed heavily, closing his eyes.

“This is the last time I'm going to say this. You and Riley are perfect for each other. Plus, he'll love your new look. Now, stop talking nonsense and get ready to meet your future boyfriend.” Lance mumbled under his breath, feigning grumpiness, but his heart still ached for the blond, long-haired boy who put a smile on his boss's face.

“Can I ask you something?” The man smiled, recognizing the tint of mischief in Rowan's voice. “How old is your son?”

“Almost thirty-four, why?” Lance was taken by surprise by the question, expecting something on the naughtier side.

“Old enough to be my father, which would make you my grandfather. Pop!” The kid grinned so widely, the man could almost hear it.

“Brat!” The short reply was followed by a quiet laughter and a warm smile.

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