Page 27 of Secondhand Smoke

“Ghost knows about us. You told him,” Tango accused. Sadly, all his ire had been muddled by the wine, and all he really wanted to do was lean against the man, rather than yell at him.

Ian’s lips compressed, expression one of careful regret. “I didn’t tell him, no. But I asked a favor of him. One that involves you.”

“What favor?”

Ian’s slender white hand was cool and smooth against his forehead, as he brushed back the unruly forelock of his half-shaved, half-ragged rockstar ‘do. “One that would be good for you.”

Tango meant to knock his hand away…but it felt so nice, stroking back through his hair, that tender, almost-maternal affection he’d never had before. Before the club, before his ailing aunt had tracked him down, Ian had been the first of so many things – lover, caregiver, protector.

“I don’t need any favors,” he heard himself say, voice faraway, unconvinced.

“Of course not, darling. But I want to provide them anyway.”

Tango stopped fighting his impaired balance and slumped sideways into the Armani-covered shoulder beside him; let his face fall against Ian’s neck, grateful for the hand that cupped his head, held him close.

“I’m taking some time off,” he mumbled. “A few days.”

“Wonderful.” Ian sounded truly happy. “Come upstairs, beautiful. I’ve missed you so.”

~*~

“Is it nice there?” Mercy asked as he folded the quilt down.

On the other side of the bed, Ava glanced up at him, expression startled. “Nice where?”

“Wherever it is you’ve gone in your own head.” She rolled her eyes and he grinned. “How many guesses do I get?”

“One.” She sat down on the side of the mattress and folded her legs beneath her, gaze moving away from his, notch forming between her brows. “I just don’t want him to have any regrets,” she said, and he knew she meant Aidan. “And if I’m totally honest, I don’t like the idea of having a niece or nephew out there somewhere.” She gestured toward the room, the city, the world.

Mercy sat down beside her, their hips nearly touching in the center of their bed. “What if he or she had really great parents, though?”

“And what if he or she always wondered why her real parents didn’t love her enough to keep her?” she countered, giving him a sad, thoughtful look. “I think adoption is wonderful, and I don’t want to diminish the people who take on someone else’s child as their own…”

“But?”

“But I wantAidanto make the decision abouthisbaby. Tonya’s had her say. Now he needs his.”

“And lemme guess. You and Mags are gonna make sure he gets it.”

“Well, yeah.”

He smiled and put an arm around her, pulled her in tight to his side. “You, Madame Lécuyer, are in real danger of becoming one of those crusaders people talk about.”

She snorted. “You want me to stop?”

“Not even a little.”

~*~

The apartment Aidan had shared with Tango the last handful of years was in a mediocre complex in a nothing-special part of town. The renters ran the gamut from complete degenerate cokeheads to young families with larger aspirations.

Their unit was up on the third floor, and Aidan’s headache seemed to worsen with each stair he mounted. By the time he reached the landing and unlocked the door, it was like someone turning screws through his temples.

Ava wanted him to take the baby. Take, and do what? Bring it home to this? Tattered, cigarette-burned furniture, a console TV serving as the base for the flat-screen TV? The sink full of dishes and overflowing trash can? The place was a sty.

And how was he supposed to take care of a baby? He hadn’t breasts to nurse it, nor songs to sing it, nor funds to hire a nanny full-time to look after it while he went to work.

The headache radiated through his body, latching onto muscles, bones, driving him down into the plaid recliner. He dropped his face into his hands, felt the tenderness just beneath his skin, the complete and total manifestation of pain.

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