Page 7 of Saint
“Hey, Noah, you don’t have to stay, just come in and have some dinner. Afterwards, if you still want to leave, I’ll take you to a hotel, on me. Okay?”
I wait for his answer, but all I get is a nod. “Come on then.”
As soon as I open the front door, my Pops comes out of the living room. “Saint, this is a lovely surprise.”
“I’ve brought someone to meet you; he’s going to be working with me.”
My dad comes out and stands behind Pops. “Well, move out of the way then, son, and let him in.”
I step aside, and Noah looks at me, then at my dads. “Um, hi. I’m Noah.”
Pops smiles at him warmly. “Hi, Noah, I’m Robin, and that great hulk is my husband, Kip.”
My dad takes one look at him then at me. I see the gleam in his eye as he recognises just why I’ve brought him into the fold. He knows this guy is my type. Our dads have always been open about sex and sexuality, teaching us that if it’s what all persons involved want, then there’s no shame. They share a Dom/sub relationship when they visit their club. So, when I knew that was the type of relationship I wanted, my dad introduced me to the right people.
“Welcome to our home, Noah.” He reached forward to shake Noah’s hand, and I wanted to growl and grab him away. But, nope, that isn’t what this is about. It’s not like I’m introducing a boyfriend, he’s a guy I’ve said half a dozen sentences to. I’m giving him a job on his tattooing skills, not the fact that he’s my perfect boy.
Pops shakes his hand too. He gives me a raised eyebrow as a silent what are you playing at question.
“What’s for dinner, Pops?” I need to get back onto normal ground. “I promised Noah, you’d feed us.”
“You’re in luck. I’m making one of my vats of chili. I was going to freeze some for emergency dinners when guests just turn up without calling first.” I get a glare this time, but his eyes are sparkling. He’s enjoying making me squirm.
“I’m sorry to put you to any trouble, I told Saint I didn’t need to come.” Noah’s timid voice stops me from my jokey comment back to my dad.
“Nonsense, it’s lovely to meet you. Come on into the kitchen. I’m sure you’d like a drink.” He links his arm through Noah’s and leads him away.
“Want to tell me what’s going on?” Dad asks.
“There’s not much to tell. He turned up at the studio and asked for a job.”
“Is he any good?” Dad crosses his arms over his formidable chest.
“Looking through his portfolio, he’s amazing. He’ll be on a trial for a month. I’m excited to see how he works. I need help, Dad. I’m snowed under and exhausted. I’m still catching up on Lewis’s clients.”
“And is that the only reason you’ve brought him here?”
“He’s got nowhere to stay. He’s come down specifically to work for me. He grew up in children’s homes and has no one.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Have you checked out any of the places he worked? Is he for real, do youknow anything more about him? And also, my son, that kid is totally your type, can you keep work and pleasure separate?”
“I’ll have to.”
If I thought standing inside my idol’s studio was scary, walking into the kitchen with one of his dads is terrifying. I’m not good with authority figures thanks to years of shit, couldn’t-care-less children’s home workers.
“Would you like a drink? A cup of tea?”
I shake my head. “No, thank you.”
“Please don’t be nervous, Noah. You’re in a safe place here. Did you know that Saint was fifteen when he came to us? He was a poor skinny little thing, too scared to look us in the eye. Every time we wanted to talk to him, he thought we were going to send him back to his birth father. The Saint you see now was built in this house. What I’m saying is that if he brought you here, it’s because he sees something in you that could do with a little TLC and some family around you.”
“But I’m twenty-one, an adult. I can manage on my own.” How can Saint know that this is what I’ve always craved? A parent that can talk to me, ask me about myself, about how I’m doing. A safe place where I won’t be judged and discarded as not what they were looking for. Fostered but returned time after time. I’m too quiet, too withdrawn, unable to make a connection with. My eyes burn as tears threaten. I can’t cry in front of thisman, he’ll think I’m pathetic, a baby. My fingernails dig into my palms as I tighten the fists I’ve formed.
“Oh, Noah, darling. Come here.” Robin opens his arms and pulls me into a hug, his arms tightening around me, holding me against him. I don’t know what to do, no one has ever hugged me to make me feel better. My hands stay in fists against his chest as the tears refuse to be held back. I can’t remember the last time I cried. It was a weakness that other kids would target, teasing and taunting the kid that did.
I don’t know how long we stand there, his gentle swaying soothing the pain in my chest. He slowly loosens his grip on me, and I look up at him and see nothing but kindness.
“Sorry,” I mutter, embarrassment burning on my cheeks.
