Not edited or proofread.
Griffin
Max was quiet in my passenger seat, twisting his fingers nervously and staring out the window. He hadn't looked at me since we'd crossed into the south side of the city. I glanced at my GPS, seeing we were getting closer to the address he'd given meâan address he'd been reluctant to give, which I didn't fucking like.
What was my boy hiding from me? Did he think I would judge him for where he lived? I would never, but I did have to admit I was concerned. I knew Axel paid him well. So well, in fact, Max could live in the north side in a small apartment easily. Why did he live here? Where it was unsafe. Where a boy, as fucking adorable and twinkish as he was, could easily be taken advantage of. Hurt.
The mere thought made my blood pound hotly in my veins, and my fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
I slowly rolled to a stop outside of a rundown apartment building, and my stomach cramped as Max silently reached for the door handle. I quickly moved to follow, and he froze, turning to look at me with big, frightened eyes. Immediately, I cupped his cheek, protectiveness for this sweet boy sliding through my veins.
"Can you just stay here?" His voice trembled as he spoke, breaking my heart.
I shook my head instantly. "Not happening, baby boy." He sighed softly, his breath fanning over my skin, as he shut his eyes, his face dropping. I stroked my thumb over his soft skin. "Why are you so afraid?" He shook his head. I slid my fingers into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. "Look at me, boy."
He slowly opened those pretty, dark eyes, locking them on mine. "I'm not going to judge you for where you live," I promised him. "I would never do that, sweet boy. But..." I looked around, sighing. "I can't, in good conscience, let you go up there alone."
He frowned at me. "But I literally live here, Grif." Fuck, I loved the way he shortened my name. "I walk around here alone all the time."
I shook my head. "Not anymore, you don't," I promised. I pulled him close and pressed my lips to his forehead. "Come on. Let's go upstairs so we can get started with our day."
After I released him, I reached into my glove compartment and pulled out my gun, sliding it into the waistband of my jeans at the small of my back. Max's eyes widened, but he didn't say a word. "Stay there until I come around," I ordered before sliding out of the driver's seat. I shut the door, discreetly taking stock of the area around me before I strode around the hood of the car to Max's side, opening the door for him.
He clasped his hand around mine and led me inside what was supposed to be the lobby. I was sure, at some point in history, this place was supposed to be nice. I was sure there was supposed to be a lobby attendant, a concierge service, etc. But it was empty. Three of the lights were out, making the lobby dim and uninviting. The mirror on the far side of the room was shattered, only fragments left in place. The paint was peeling, and it stank of garbage.
I wanted to demand he never come back here. Demand he either live with me or allow me to put him up in a nice apartment on the north side. But I bit my tongue, knowing it would drive my headstrong, determined-to-survive-on-his-own boy away from me.
That was the last thing I wanted.
We bypassed the elevators and headed for the staircase. The door was missing, and my stomach turned at the stench wafting down the stairs. Trash littered the steps, and I was pretty sure that was a piss puddle in the corner on the second landing.
I needed to convince my boy to let me take care of him. He couldn't continue living here.
His apartment was on the third floor, the second door on the left. When he inserted his key into the lock, the door rattled, sitting loose in its frame. I clenched my jaw and physically bit my tongue to keep myself from saying something to upset him, even if that wasn't my intention.
The space was tinyânothing more than a studio apartment. His bedâfreshly made with a baby blue comforter and a gazillion pillows and stuffiesârested along the wall across from us. There was no dresser, but it wasn't like there was really room for one anyway. A small desk barely big enough to hold his laptop sat across from the bed, and a tiny, high-top table with a single chair sat in the middle of what I thought was supposed to be his kitchen floor.
Much like the lobby downstairs, the paint was peeling off the walls in here, too, and the brick was crumbling in some spots. It was clear he'd tried to make it feel like home, but this wasn't him. This wasn't my boy. And I didn't understand why he was living hereâcouldn't come up with a single fucking reason.
"I just need to change real quick," Max said, his voice quiet. Timid.
So unlike him.
I watched him walk over to his bed, and he crouched, pulling out a long, slim tote. And I couldn't fucking hold it back anymore.
"Why do you live here?" I demanded. "I know Axel pays you 150k a year." His face paled, and he kept his head turned away, unable to look at me. To meet my gaze. I stalked over and dropped to one knee in front of him, pressing my fingers to his cheek to turn his head to face me. "Baby, please tell me why you live here," I begged. "What the fuck is going on?"
His lips trembled, and tears welled in his eyes. Immediately, I gathered him close, crushing him against my chest right as he began to cry. I cupped the back of his head and gently rocked him side to side, wishing I knew what the hell was upsetting him so I could fix it.
"Shh, baby boy. It's okay. It's all going to be okay," I promised. "I'll fix it. Whatever it is, baby, I swear to you, I'll fix it."
He leaned back a little and swiped at his cheeks, sniffling. "You can't fix this," he whispered, his voice cracking.
"I bet I can," I assured him, leaning in to kiss away some of the tears he'd missed. He shut his eyes, leaning into me, so I pressed a kiss to each of his eyelids, too. "Just tell me what's going on."
He rested his head on my chest, so I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close again, letting him seek whatever comfort he needed from me. His fingers curled into my shirt, clinging to me. As if I'd ever let him go when he was this distraught. He was my boy, and it was my job to take care of him.
After a moment, he softly said, "My parents take all my money."
My fingers, which had been running through his curls, paused. And then, I curled my fingers around the strands of his hair, tugging his head back so he was forced to look up at me. "What the fuck do you mean they take all your money?" I growled.
Like he needed to soothe himself, he reached up with his left hand and began petting my face, his eyes a little distant. Almost like he was... regressing? His voice even grew smaller, lighter. Almost child-like. "They owe bad people," he said, still petting my cheek and jaw. He smiled when I leaned into his touch, encouraging him. "So, they use me to pay them back, though the interest just keeps increasing. So, I don't have anything. No money. Just enough to pay my bills."
"Not after today," I swore. No one would still from my boy again. Not a fucking soul. He worked hard and busted his ass all day, every day. It wasn't his fault his parents took out a fucking loan they couldn't pay back. He wasn't responsible for their poor choices.
He shook his head. "They have access."
"Not anymore," I promised.
He frowned at me. "I don't understand, Papa."
Oh, Jesus fuuuuuck.
I slid my fingers into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp again. He practically purred as he leaned back into my palm, a soft moan sliding from his sweet mouth. His eyelids fluttered. Goddammit, he was so fucking perfect.
"I'm going to move you in with me, and we'll be opening you a new bank account, as well as changing your bank info at work." Leaning down, I pressed my forehead to his and lightly pecked his lips. He squirmed, a little giggle escaping. Fuck, he was adorable. "I'm going to take care of you, sweet boy."
He pressed his fingertips into my cheek, indenting the skin. "Promise, Papa?"
I never wanted to hear him call me anything else.
Turning my head, I pressed my lips to his palm. "I promise, baby."
~*~*~
Max tried his hardest to pull himself together, but it was clear he couldn't completely pull himself out of the little headspace he'd fallen into. He clung to a stuffed monkey as he helped me pack him a bag, and once it was packed, he curled up on his bed, watching me as I paced back and forth across his tiny apartment, making phone calls to have his place packed up and his things moved to my apartment.
I meant it when I told him I would take care of this. I would fix this. And if his parents tried to come after him, they would have me and the Legend family to contend with.
Max Quinton was off fucking limits to anyone who wanted to hurt him.
"Alright, sweet boy," I crooned, running my hand over his hair after I hung up from my last phone call. "Let's head down to the car. We'll go back to my place, order lunch, and watch a movie."
He nodded and grabbed my hand, letting me pull him up. He clung to his stuffed monkey as I grabbed his bag with my free hand before leading him from the apartment. Silence rang between us as we pulled from the curb. He was slowly coming out of his little headspace, and after a moment, he looked at me, blinking tiredly.
"I didn't mean to call you Papa."
I ignored the sting his words left behind, instead reaching over to grip his hand in mine, running my thumb over his knuckles. "And if I told you I liked you calling me Papa?"
He swallowed thickly, his fingers tightening around the arm of his monkey. "You didn't mind?"
I glanced at him as I stopped for a red light. He was nervous, his face pale, but there was hope in his eyes, too.
"No, baby, I didn't mind," I promised him. "I liked it." Lifting his hand, I pressed my lips to his fingers. "If you want to call me Papa, then do it." I smiled at him. "I'll gladly be your Papa, sweet boy."
He smiled at me then, his eyes bright, his face flushing. "Okay, Papa."
I squeezed his hand as I pressed the gas, crossing the intersection when the light turned green. This boy had me wrapped around his little finger, and he was completely fucking clueless to it.