Page 84 of Marcus in Retrograde
“But finally, toward the end of my junior year, it was clear that the ALS was getting the better of him. We had to move him out of his apartment into a nursing home. I was still there, every day, checking on him, talking with him.
“Before he went in, he created a living will, stating that when he was no longer able to breathe on his own, he didn’t want to be dependent on the vent. He agreed to go on it, but when it was clear that it was only the vent keeping him alive, he wanted to be taken off.
“And within a few months of moving into the place, he was moved to the vent full time, and he made me remind them of his will. He wanted it carried out. He was only on the vent for two weeks when the judge agreed that the will stood.”
I saw Chase let out a breath. He’d really been this guy’s family when he needed it. And Martin had been there for him when he had nothing.
“It was me, two nurses, and one of his very old coworkers at his funeral. That was it. He really had no one. I made sure he was buried with his wife, and went back to the apartment we’d shared to button it up and move out. I’d already found this place—” he waved his hand around “—at a decent price. I’d planned to have a roommate.
“The lawyer called me the next week, to come to his office. I had no idea. I thought maybe I had screwed up somehow or I had to be out of the apartment before my new place was ready.”
I scooped up a bit of the chicken pie. “That wasn’t it at all, was it?” I shoved the spoon in my mouth.
“Not even close,” he said. “Martin Masden had been a high-powered Wall Street broker in the mid-80s, through the death of his wife in 1995. He made a metric shit ton of money. He invested wisely, conservatively, and broadly. And by the time he died, he had nearly fifty million dollars to his name.
“And he left it all to me.”
“Shit,” Mom said.
“Yeah.” Chase nodded. “I’ve left it basically untouched. I use some of it to pay for this place, because let’s face it, graphic designers at my level aren’t rolling in cash but I adore what I do. Otherwise…it just sits there.”
My mother whacked my arm. “You put 1500 miles on my car when you could have rented a Lear jet to Illinois.”
“How the hell was I supposed to know the guy was a millionaire?”
Chase laughed. “I’ll buy you a new car.”
Mom turned and pointed at him. “Don’t you dare. You take care of my son. If you’re willing to spend that money on him, then you do that, keep him out of jail and safe, and pay for my oil change.”
* * *
I stareddown at the ankle monitor and its once-a-minute blinking green light. I hated it, but at the same time, it was my stay out of jail for now card.
Chase climbed into the bed and snuggled against me.
“Stop staring at it. We’ll have it off soon. Roberts is a piece of shit, and we’ll be able to prove that he was lying.”
“Those pictures are pretty convincing,” I mumbled.
“Plain old rough sex could do that,” he said. “You can trust me on that.”
“Mm. Yeah, I know.”
He snorted. “Yeah. There’s always that one.”
“Jeeze, yes. The experimenter,” I answered. “Balls deep no lube. I was ready to buy a hemorrhoid donut the next day.”
Chuckling, his fingers circled on my skin, dipping below the waist of my boxers. “You’re lucky. I know what I’m doing.”
“Oh, do you?”
“I do,” he whispered. “Would you like a demonstration?”
“Perhaps I do,” I answered.
He leaned up and kissed the side of my mouth with clear intent. “Your ass is mine, Marc. Tonight, it’s my turn, and you need someone to take care of you.”
“I—”
