Page 61 of When Ben Loved Jace (He Loved Him #2)

“Are you excited?”

Jace is grinning as he stands beside the car door he just opened for me.

I get out, shield my eyes from the sun, and consider the orphanage.

They aren’t called that anymore—terms like group home or residential facility are considered more correct—but those terms sound unnatural to my ear, like trying to disguise an unpleasant situation with technical jargon.

“Oh no no no, you aren’t getting a painful root canal.

You’re about to undergo an invasive dental procedure.

” I mean, a group of people can live in a home together for all sorts of reasons.

There’s no mistaking what an orphanage is for.

“I’m excited,” Jace says, still beaming at me.

I try to match his smile, despite not sharing his jubilance.

I’m nervous, uncertain what I can offer a teenager.

I envy straight people in this regard. Planned or otherwise, they begin with a screaming infant and have no option but to meet its needs for the next two decades and beyond.

Although I suppose that isn’t always true, or there wouldn’t be any children to adopt.

The stone building we walk toward is large and rectangular.

At a casual glance, most would assume it was filled with apartment units.

Only when entering does the truth become apparent.

The small reception area gives off an institutional vibe.

Two secured doors flanking a receptionist bar access to the rest of the building.

Jace saunters up to the front desk, like he’s there to collect a prize. “We have an appointment with Michelle,” he explains.

A young man takes note of our names before placing a call. I can’t help but wonder if he aged out of the system and was given a job here. We’re instructed to wait, which doesn’t take long. I’m reassured when Jace’s sister arrives in the lobby, all smiles as she hugs each of us.

“I can’t wait for you to meet Jason,” she says, ushering us toward one of the secured doors. “I think he’s a perfect fit.”

“What can you tell us about him?” I pry, and not for the first time.

She shakes her head. “I’d rather let Jason speak for himself.

If I were in his place, I would find it intimidating to meet a stranger who already knew my life story.

Besides, that’s so difficult to answer.” She glances at me while using a badge to buzz us in.

“After all, who are you exactly? Yes, you can rattle off your age, where you live, and your occupation, but is any of that your true identity?”

“It certainly helps paint a picture,” I reply.

“Please save your questions for the end of the tour,” Jace interjects before turning to his sister. “I can’t wait to meet him!”

“Right this way.”

Michelle leads us down a hall to a large common room.

Couches, chairs, a foosball table, an entertainment center…

I’m already scanning the group of guys clustered around the TV playing video games, wondering if one of them is Jason.

I can eliminate many by age, since I do at least know that he’s fourteen.

Michelle has been tight-lipped about any other details.

“He must be in his room,” she murmurs to herself before addressing us. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

We settle down on a couch in the corner that faces another. I wonder how many times it has been used for this purpose—a sort of job interview for people hoping to join a family.

Jace takes my hand. “We’re about to meet our son.”

The breath is thin in my lungs. “We don’t know that.”

This doesn’t discourage him in the slightest. “I trust my sister.”

I’m sure she’s great at her job, but nobody is perfect.

Even she must make mistakes. There’s no sense in taking him down a peg.

If this is a bad match, that will readily become apparent.

Besides, this is the first of three meetings.

We don’t have to commit to anything today.

Try before you buy. God this whole process is weird!

Shouting erupts in front of the entertainment center.

It occurs to me that we won’t just be inviting one teenager into our lives.

He’s bound to have friends over. I try to picture our quaint little home full of roughhousing youngsters and grimace.

Not because I have anything against kids.

At the hospital, I enjoy working with them more than adult clients.

Perhaps my reticence comes from the experiences I had when growing up.

By the time I got to high school, most of the other people my age had become adversaries to some extent.

What if Jason is homophobic? I probably don’t need to worry about that.

I also trust Michelle. But what will happen when he invites a friend for a sleepover? Or when we meet other parents?

“You okay?” Jace asks.

“Just nervous,” I reply.

“I’m sure—” Jace shoots to his feet.

Michelle is walking toward us with a young man in tow, so I stand too while assessing him.

Jason is broad-shouldered but lanky. A mop of messy brown hair covers his ears and forehead, putting me in mind of a sheepdog, his eyes covered by the tangled curtain.

His arms are crossed tightly over an old concert T-shirt, like he’s hugging himself, his jeans in tatters.

I’m guessing that’s a stylistic choice and not because they can’t afford to clothe the orphans here.

Or should I say wards of the state? Ugh!

That sounds like someone who has been imprisoned for a crime.

Michelle stops before us to make introductions. “This is my brother, Jace,” she says.

Jason remains a step behind her, chewing his bottom lip before releasing it for a downbeat, “Hey.”

“And this is his husband, Ben,” Michelle continues.

“Hi there,” I say with a little wave.

Jason doesn’t respond. He just stares at me. I’m slightly annoyed that he’s my height. I just love being reminded that I’m tall as your average high school freshman.

“We have the same name!” Jace says, stepping forward to offer his hand.

Jason unslings one of his arms to take it. “Why do you go by Jace?”

“That’s just what my family has called me my entire life. What about you?”

Jason chews his bottom lip again, as if deciding if he wants to answer. “My mom used to call me Baby Boy,” he says with an edge of rawness to his voice.

Feeling as though I should contribute something to the conversation, I ask, “What about your dad?”

“He doesn’t call me anything,” Jason grumbles. “He’s dead.”

“Oh!” Blood rushes to my face. “I’m really sorry.”

“I’m not,” he shoots back.

“Why don’t we all get comfortable?” Michelle quickly suggests, ushering us toward the couches.

I sit down next to Jace and pretend not to notice the way Jason has hung back, angling himself away from us so he can murmur, “I don’t want to do this.”

“Give them a chance,” Michelle replies in hushed tones, rubbing his upper arm affectionately. “For me.”

Jason sighs. He plops down on the couch next to her with a sullen expression.

“Let’s each share something about ourselves,” Michelle suggests. “Whatever comes to mind.”

“I’m a flight attendant,” Jace says, “which is really cool because most of my workday is spent among the clouds.”

Jason snorts. “I’m not a little kid.”

“I am,” Jace replies, not sounding offended in the slightest. “I still feel that way whenever I get to fly. People take it for granted. Most of them only glance out the window, if they look away from their phones at all, but I think it’s amazing.

A bunch of human beings in a metal tube, shooting through the sky…

What a miracle! Have you ever flown before, Jason? ”

He shakes his head.

“We’ll change that. You’re going to love it. Where we end up doesn’t really matter. Just imagine being able to see a cloud up close. Or from above. Flying through them isn’t as interesting as you might imagine. You still need to experience it though.”

Jason snorts again, a smile playing about his lips. “That does sound cool.”

“Great!” Jace replies before looking to me.

“Oh. Uh… I’m a speech language pathologist at the hospital. And, um, I also do some theater work.” Trying to take inspiration from my husband, I add, “Which means I get to pretend to be someone I’m not.”

“I wouldn’t want that job,” Jason says, crossing his arms again. “That’s how I feel whenever I have to go live with some dumb family.”

“Jason!” Michelle chastises.

“What? It’s true! I’d rather stay here.” He sits upright, turning his anger on us. “You’re not doing me a favor, you know.”

“Of course not,” Jace replies. “We’re the ones who need you.”

Jason considers him before slumping into the couch again.

“We’re not exactly a traditional family,” I venture. “Do you think it would be weird living with two gay guys?”

Jason’s head swivels in my direction. I wish I could see his eyes better. It’s hard to get a read on him .

“No,” he says eventually. “I don’t think that’s weird.”

“We have a trailer parked in our driveway,” Jace says. “A classic Airstream. Do you know what those are?”

“Kind of.”

“Imagine having a little place of your own,” Jace continues, “if that makes this easier on you. The trailer even has its own kitchen and bathroom.”

“Really?”

“Yup!”

“What about a TV?”

“I’m sure we could arrange that,” Jace says, “although it would be nice to watch things together too.” He looks at me, since I’m a bit more versed in pop culture.

“What sort of movies do you like?” I ask.

“Horror,” Jason replies.

“Any favorites?”

“Ever seen the one where a family adopts an evil kid who ends up murdering them?”

“Okay!” Michelle intervenes. “Jason, why don’t you show them your room?”

He shrugs and stands. Michelle’s expression is apologetic as we follow him down a hall.

“He can be ornery,” she says, not lowering her voice in the slightest. Which is nice, because it means she isn’t whispering behind his back.

Full transparency. I’m sure she’s a great social worker.

I’m just not sure that we’re cut out to be parents.

We enter a small room, Jason plopping down on the bed. Michelle wavers in the doorway as I awkwardly glance around.

“Who’s this?” Jace asks, picking up a framed photo.

“My dog,” Jason says.

“They let you have pets here?” I ask.

“Of course,” Jason says, the answer dripping with sarcasm. Then he whistles. “Dixie! Come on girl.” A dog fails to appear. “Huh. That’s strange. She must be taking a crap in the backyard that doesn’t exist.”

“Was that really her name?” Jace asks, his tone sympathetic.

Jason hesitates. Then he nods. “Yeah.”

“Was she your dog before you came here?” Jace continues.

He nods again.

Jace sits on the bed next to him. “I don’t suppose you like cats.” Without waiting for a reply, he pulls out his phone. “This is Samson.” He starts swiping through photos. “I love him more than just about anyone. Oh! Sorry, Ben.”

Jason cracks a smile.

“It’s fine,” I say with a despondent sigh.

“What happened to your dog?” Jace asks. “Is there any chance of getting her back? She could come live with us too.”

“It was a long time ago,” Jason says. “Seven years. I think she’s probably dead by now.”

“Sorry,” Jace says.

“It’s all right.” Jason shrugs. “That’s just how it goes.”

“I wish it didn’t,” my husband replies. “I can’t stand the thought of losing Samson. It’ll destroy me. You must be very strong.”

Jason presses his lips together, but not for long. “Do you like dogs?”

“I like all animals.”

“Me too.”

“Oh good. I think Samson would enjoy having a brother. Even though you aren’t as furry as him.”

Jason laughs. “I’d like that too.”

My husband sure has a way with kids. That just leaves me. I don’t feel like I’ve made any progress. We need some common ground. I scan the room and notice something propped up in the corner.

“You’re learning guitar?” I ask.

Jason scoffs. “What do you mean learning ?”

“Okay. I take it you can play?”

“No, I keep it in here as a decoration because it gets me laid. Of course I can play!”

“Then shut up and prove it!”

Jace gives me a look, but I’m already getting tired of tap-dancing around a teenager’s mood swings.

As nice as it would be to help out an older kid, I’m more convinced than ever that we need to start with someone younger.

That way we’ll have time to grow fond of them before reaching this miserable stage.

Jason pushes himself up. He trudges to the guitar, grabs it around the neck, and sits back down on the corner of his bed.

Then he begins plucking without a hint of insecurity or hesitation.

Almost instantly, I can understand the source of his attitude.

The guitar is an extension of himself, just like my voice is for me.

The notion of having “learned” to sing is ridiculous.

In the same way I don’t remember learning to use my arms or any other part of my body.

It all runs on instinct. I’m already impressed.

This is much more than technical perfection.

Jason is playing that old folk song about country roads, which is usually upbeat and full of sunshine, and yet he somehow fills it with yearning.

I can feel his sorrow—the need to return to a far-away place where he actually belongs.

I think of my childhood home, summoning up homesickness for a time I can never return to, and begin to sing.

Jason’s fingers are a blur that don’t miss a note, even when he looks up in surprise.

I sing the whole song. When he stops playing before the end, I finish the final refrain a cappella .

Jason runs a hand through his hair while considering me, revealing two intense blue eyes that have seen more than their share of hard times.

Otherwise he wouldn’t be capable of infusing his music with so much soul.

He’s a fighter all right. A survivor. We stare at each other, as if reassessing, and to my complete surprise I already kind of love him.

“That was nice,” he says.

“Yeah,” I reply after a swallow. “It was.”

He plucks out a few notes. “Wanna do another?”

“Sure.”

Jace scoots over, making room. Michelle smiles from the doorway as we negotiate what the next tune will be. Jason strums his guitar. I open my mouth and sing, making music with the young man who might someday become my son.