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“That makes two of us, Pop.” Tripp’s voice holds an air of disdain and mocking as he over enunciates the ‘P.’
“Pop?” I mouth to Niko and Xander, both of whom shrug helplessly. Is this…?
“You know I don’t appreciate that name,” Charles says, his disapproving gaze bouncing between Tripp and Rose.
“I don’t appreciate mine either. I prefer Tripp.”
“What sort of a name is that?” He looks down his nose at my boyfriend, despite the fact he’s no taller.
“You don’t recognize it? It was your doing actually, since you always made a point to tell me how much I was tripping up.” Tripp’s grin borders on maniacal as he stares his father down, which garners a few curious looks from the guests trickling in.
“Uncivilized as always,” Charles mutters as Rose retreats to the far wall, out of the line of fire, it would appear.
“So,” Tripp spins around, taking in the ornate entry, with its curved staircase and expensive artwork. “Nice digs. I’d say I wondered where you went after you ditched the old place, but I really didn’t. Although, I am flattered you went to such lengths to make sure I couldn’t find you.”
“Evidently, not enough. If you wanted to speak you should’ve called my office.”
“As if your staff didn’t have strict orders to turn me away,” Tripp huffs.
“Yes, well. This is a private event.” Charles runs a hand over his silver hair despite the fact not a single strand is out of place.
Tripp’s eyes find mine, and for the first time since this exchange started, I get the sense he’s not sure what to say.
“Actually, Tripp’s here as my guest.” I step in.
Charles looks in my direction, his demeanor smoothly shifting from cold and callous to warm and inviting when recognition hits. “Noah, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there. It’s been years since I’ve seen my son and I was momentarily distracted. Welcome.” He holds his hand out, though I make no move to take it, having no desire to after the exchange I just heard.
The purpose of this event is to help underprivileged youth, and based on the way the man’s treating his own son, I’m starting to question how charitable he really is.
“I saw you suffered an injury earlier this season,” he lowers his hand and continues as if I didn’t just slight him. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better. Tripp’s been helping me with my recovery.”
“That’s what doctors are for, right?” Another silver-haired man appears out of nowhere, placing a hand on Tripp’s shoulder.
“Judge Calahan.” The smile Tripp offers is slight yet genuine.
“Uncle to you. Finally back stateside, I see.” The judge returns the grin. “I’ve gotta say, I never pegged you for the Doctors Without Borders sort, but your parents said you’re really making an impact. Good for you. Are you back to make some real money now?”
Tripp cocks an eyebrow toward his father as he bites the corner of his lip, and I have only a brief second to wonder which will win out, the brat or the good boy. As if it was ever really a question.
“Doctor, huh? And an international one. I suppose the altruistic son angle might get you a few votes. I expected you to go with a kid who died tragically young, but I guess there’s really no explanation for someone coming back from the dead in awkward little run-ins like these, so, good choice not killing me off in your fantasy world.”
“Fantasy world?” The judge casts a wary gaze between father and son. “What’s going on here?” he asks as his hand slides off Tripp’s shoulders.
“Nothing,” Charles replies. “A misunderstanding.”
“You’re saying disowned wrong, Pop.”
Before Charles can respond, a middle-aged woman in a floor-length gown with perfectly coiffed blond hair glides into the foyer. “There you are Charles. The guests have been asking—” Her voice drops off as her gaze lands on Tripp, and like her husband, she expertly pivots direction after only the slightest pause. “Preston, darling. What a lovely surprise. I didn’t know you’d be here for this event.”
Anticipating the need for a quick exit, I meet Niko’s eyes and toss him my keys. He and Xander slip away as Tripp’s mother strides toward him, leaning forward to place a kiss on his cheek, which he steps away from. “Don’t let the clothes fool you. I’m still a filthy gay man, mother. The streets didn’t scare it out of me.”
“Preston?” She shoots lost looks between father, son and the judge, and if I hadn’t witnessed the exchange with his father, I admit I might've been fooled by her feigned confusion. My new insight makes her act hard to miss. Apparently, the judge agrees.
“Just where exactly has my Godson been for the last decade?” The judge’s eyes are little more than narrow slits.
“Overseas,” Charles digs his heels in.
