"Wait!"
Jake's mom stood in front of him, her hand pressed to his chest. He looked at her with a mixed expression on his face — a combination of pity, disgust, and pain.
"It's always been about money with you," he said in a low voice. "And you and dad taught me well. From watching you, having to survive the way we did when I was a kid, mom, I learned that money matters more than anything. More than happiness. More than family. More than love. Work, work, work, even doing something that you hate, because you need it to survive."
His mother opened her mouth to speak, but he put his hand up.
"You were wrong, though. I've learned a few things that matter more than money." God bless him, he looked over at me. "And I'm not gonna take anything from people who were embarrassed that I exist. So no. Give me the disclaimer. I'll sign. It's theirs." And he pointed to Shawn and Veronika, who looked chagrined. His mom started shaking her head.
"Son, don't be rash. That's not what I'm talking about. All I'm asking is that you consider splitting it with them. It's all yours right now. We're talking about enough money that you'd never have to work again. You could live comfortably for the rest of your life. I thought you'd be happy."
He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, feigning patience.
This was happening too quickly. While I understood his pain, I wanted him to not make a rash decision. He was reacting, he wasn't thinking about it. And for someone who had been in fear of being poor for his whole life, to turn it down flat was a big decision. I wanted him to think about it, that's all, and not just react because of his shitty history with his mother and her side of the family.
Veronika stood up. "Can I show Roberto where the Wii is?"
My son's eyes lit up.
"That's a good idea," I said with a smile. He didn't need to be around this adult conversation. Poor kid.
"I'll go play with him," she said. "I rule at Mario Kart." Rob followed her happily down a corridor.
Shawn looked at his mother, with a weird look on his face, too. "Mom, don't you think you want to talk about this with Jake, by himself? Not in front of everyone?"
"But it's something that affects all of you," she started.
"Mom, we just met him."
"We don't have to talk about it right now—"
Suddenly, Jake interrupted. "My nose is bleeding. Can I use your restroom? I need a tissue."
"Oh, it must be because it's so dry here," said his mother. "Do you get them often?" She pointed him to the bathroom.
"No," he said, blood dripping into his palm. "I never get them."
"Let me help you," I offered, knowing full well that Jake didn't need any help, but wanting to talk with him. I called back to her, "I'm going to make him sit down for a few minutes."
We walked quickly down another corridor, and ended up in a huge, plush bathroom, with piles of white towels, a bidet, and a teak bench to sit on, in addition to the usual fixtures. Looking around at the oversized bathtub and separate shower, I thought that the square, LED-lit shower head, was particularly ostentatious, given the drought conditions. There's not enough water around here for that kind of indulgence. I locked the door behind us.
"Sit. Squeeze the soft part of your nose," I ordered, handing him a Kleenex.
He obeyed, holding the tissue up to his nose, and sitting on the bench while I hovered over him. He started muttering, only partly to me, "Of course I knew it would be something like this. But I guess I hoped that it wouldn't," he said, pain in his voice, but sounding funny, holding his nose as he talked. "You hope that your parents change. But they don't."
"No one changes if you ask them to," I said. "People only change if they want to change and it comes from within."
He looked at me and sighed. Then he nodded.
"I never get nosebleeds," he said. "It's so dry here. There's no water. It's like there's no life. I couldn't live here."
It's not like the watery, beachy views of Santa Barbara. Home. The place where Jake and I create.
"It's pretty though," I said, feeling the need to acknowledge the majesty of the area. "I like the desert."
"Some get inspired by it, I know," he allowed, "but give me water any day."
I sat down on the bench next to him and put my head on his shoulder.
"I realize that I'm being completely stupid, but they didn't want anything to do with me when they were alive. Why would I want anything to do with them when they're dead? I just can't accept it. I'll give it to my siblings. They can buy another wing for this house."
I gave him a wry smile. "I'm not going to tell you what to do, but think about it, okay? Just hold off until later this weekend. It could mean that you are set for the rest of your life."
"What's a workaholic going to do except work?"
I shrugged. "Maybe you want to find out."
He looked so pathetic, sitting there, holding a tissue to his nose, handsome as ever, but upset. I gave him a little nudge. "How are you doing?"
Shaking his head, he admitted, "Not good. Not good at all."
"Mentally or physically?"
"Other than the nosebleed, which seems to be drying up, it's all mental." I threw his tissue in the trash and got him another one. His nosebleed seemed to have stopped.
And I had an idea. I lifted an eyebrow, playfully. "I know what most guys say makes them feel better if they're having a bad day."
I wish I had a camera to record his double-take. A slow smile spread across his face and he shook his head a little bit.
"My mom's here," he said.
"So, be quick. Can you do that?"
"Yeah," he breathed. And the air between us changed from somber to electric.
"You okay to stand?"
He nodded and got up. I kneeled before him, unzipping his jeans and easing them down. He wasn't erect at all, but I started licking and sucking on his cock, and it got erect pretty damn fast. Yes, it was a weird idea. Yes, it was a distraction. But I thought that he needed a release from what had just happened. And maybe he would be calmer and think about this rationally.
Using my hand, I pumped his cock, as he stifled a moan. "Oh, fuck yes, Lucy, oh my God," he groaned. I almost giggled, but my mouth was full. I loved doing this to him. I looked up at him, worshiping him, as he looked down at me in admiration.
And not long after, he came with a quiet "Fuck," arching his back against the wall. Fastest blow job ever. I got in a few more licks and sucks for good measure, and then helped him to clean up. He got straightened, his nose was tidy, and he seemed in a better mood. He gave me a big hug, saying "C'mere, you. I don't know what I would do without you."
And I got on my tiptoes and kissed him.
Then, as we were leaving the bathroom to rejoin the others, he turned to me and said, thoughtfully, "You know, I have an idea."