The Promise of Hope Shelter

His shoulders sagged and his head fell forward until his forehead rested on his folded arms. The nearly ancient wooden desk creaked under the added weight, and a vision of himself crashing to the floor flashed through his mind. Any other day he would have pulled himself up and moved away from the rickety piece, but today was definitely notany other day.

At least the cold sweats had finally ended, and if he were to open his eyes, he was fairly confident he wouldn’t feel like retching again. Still, knowing the trash can was just under the desk comforted him.

How the hell had this happened?

The small, portable fan on his desk barely managed to stir up more than a warm breeze as it oscillated, prickling the short hairs on his head. He rubbed his hand back and forth over his skull, letting the weird tickling sensation relax him. It usually took a few days for him to get used to a new haircut, but he was glad he had gone shorter than normal today. Though it certainly didn’t hide his ears, which he always felt stuck out a little too far, the shorter cut kept him cooler.

He hid in the darkness behind his closed eyelids, even as he knew wallowing in his misery would never solve anything. He tried to focus on his breathing and did his best to ignore the racing thoughts tearing through his brain.

“Jacob? You in there?”

Shit. So much for being alone. Maybe if I stay completely still…

“Jacob?”

A rap on the door told him the voice’s owner wasn’t going away.

He sighed and dragged himself up, squinting against the bright sunlight streaming in through the bare window. He really needed to hang curtains or blinds soon.

“Yeah. I’m here,” he called, attempting to sound chipper. “It’s not locked. Come on in.”

The newly stained door opened into the office and Peter stepped inside. “Dude, what’s going on with you?” His pale blue eyes widened as he stared at Jacob. “Fuck, you look like shit.”

“Language, Peter.”

The kid rolled his eyes, but kept his mouth shut.

“Was there something you needed? Or were you just trying to get out of kitchen duty again?”

Peter blanched and gave an exaggerated shudder. “I don’t see why I should have to work in the kitchen. It’s disgusting.”

Jacob calmly listened to the daily reasons why Peter felt he shouldn’t have to help in the kitchen until the teen stopped for a breath.

“Are you done?”

Peter shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, I guess,” he answered pitifully.

Jacob bit back another sigh. “You have to work a shift in the kitchen just like everyone else. No exceptions.”

Peter huffed but stayed silent.

“Was there something else you needed?” Jacob inquired, fighting the desire to begin wallowing again.

Peter’s eyes sparked, showing he clearly remembered his original errand. “There’s a guy downstairs. A really, really hot guy, by the way.” He paused for dramatic effect, but getting no reaction from Jacob, he continued. “He said he’s here to meet with you about…crap, what was it again?”

Jacob tried to keep his patience. Any other day he would have thought Peter’s forgetfulness sweet, but again, this was not any other day. This was the day he’d been hit with a tidal wave of concern. Hmm, no, “concern” didn’t fit the current circumstance. Dread? Shock. Yes, definitely shock. He shook his head. “Did he give you a name?”

Peter’s mouth twisted as he tilted his head to the side, his platinum blond hair falling over his forehead. He chewed his bottom lip for a moment until Jacob cleared his throat. “Sorry. If he did, I just don’t remember.”

“Okay. Well, why don’t I run down and meet him and you get back to the kitchen.” He got up, rounded his desk, and clapped Peter on the shoulder.

“Fine. I’ll go help, but I’m telling you, this dude is really, really hot.”

Jacob tried not to roll his own eyes. Peter thought almost every man he met was “really, really hot,” and Jacob tried to ignore the boy, what with all the craziness going on in his head. He followed Peter into the hallway and down the battered old stairs to the first floor. When Peter stopped abruptly, Jacob chuckled to himself and grabbed him by the shoulders, turning him toward the kitchen.

“Go!” he ordered.

Peter shuffled off to his assignment before turning toward the entryway, where a man in a well-worn black leather jacket and faded jeans stood watching.

Jacob couldn’t have stopped the sharp intake of breath if he had tried. For once, Peter had been right. This man was drop-dead gorgeous and Jacob openly stared, his feet rooted to the floor. He swallowed hard and temporarily forgot his own name. The stranger with skin the color of light caramel had pools of dark chocolate silk for eyes, framed by long, full, black lashes. Mesmerized, Jacob couldn’t look away. How could anyone’s eyes be that beautiful?

“Are you Jacob Baumgardner?” the stranger asked, tucking a strand of long dark hair behind his ear with his finger.