Children of the Knight by Michael J. Bowler (book recommendations based on other books txt) 📖

Chris looked crestfallen. “Okay.” And he took off.

“Are you going to tell me what happened with Mark?” Jenny asked, breaking into his thoughts.

He sighed, pulled two chairs over next to each other, and they sat. And he told her everything. He even showed her Mark’s letter.

She admitted that she’d not expected something like this, but understood how it could happen.

“Arthur, these children you’ve collected are damaged, some very deeply. They’ve been told for so long they’re worthless that all they can see in themselves is failure and weakness. They can’t see their strengths, or successes, even when adults like us help bring those things to their attention. They almost set themselves up for failure because the very idea of success is too foreign, and too scary. There’s only so much any of us adults can do to try and repair that kind of damage. Mark’s feelings for you aren’t your fault.”

“But I should have seen it, Jenny. Had I just spent more time with him, I’d have seen it in his eyes. Then perhaps I….”

“What? What could you have done? Told him not to feel that way? Arthur, kids are not adults, even though this state likes to pretend they are when they get in trouble. They don’t have the experience to process feelings like we do, and they can’t reason things out as well. It’s not built in yet. No matter what you might’ve done differently, Mark would still feel rejected because you can’t be the person he wants you to be.”

Arthur digested her very astute opinions. “Ye be a remarkable woman, Jenny. Wise beyond thy years, methinks.”

She nodded her thanks at the compliment, and they fell silent a moment. “Methinks, Jenny, I may have lost Lance, as well.” It was barely a whisper.

She looked at him sharply. “What do you mean? Is he okay?”

Arthur turned to gaze at the empty chair that should have been occupied by his First Knight, the most remarkable boy he’d ever encountered. But the chair was silent. And so was his phone. Why did Lance not communicate with him?

“I don’t know.”

He fell silent, lost in his thoughts, going over and over in his mind how he may have hurt the boy. But there’d been so much happening, so many challenges, so many words exchanged between them.

It could be almost anything.

That shadow of doom he felt hovering over the crusade morphed into Lance’s eager young face.

Jack and Lance were once again patrolling in and around Hollywood Boulevard, but this time up and down cross streets and side streets to any place Jack thought Mark might have gone, any place he might have forgotten to check. This was now their second full day, and all they’d found out was that Mark had been seen in the area, and he’d looked like he was using again. That news had deepened Jack’s depression, and Lance fought hard to keep both their spirits from flagging.

After the incident involving Mr. D., Lance felt even worse for Mark and Jack than he had before. To have to live like that, to be used and humiliated by guys like that—he couldn’t even imagine it.

Their celebrity status tagged along wherever they went, and Lance dreaded each new encounter with their “fans.” They reluctantly posed for pictures with gushing strangers, accepted phone numbers from insincere girls, shook hands with those who thought their crusade was “awesome,” and tried to ignore the constant pointing and gawking as they navigated their way along the streets.

It was late afternoon when Lance finally insisted they stop, sit, and rest a little. He was dog-tired. They’d slept very little last night because they’d needed to keep their eyes open for Mark, and they were flaming out.

Spotting a bus stop bench up one of the side streets, the boys trudged over and plopped down heavily. They sat a moment in silence.

Jack sighed. “Any word from Arthur?”

Lance made a noise like a snort. “No.”

“What’s goin’ on with you two?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t BS me, Lance. What happened?”

Lance sulked a moment, running the exchange over in his mind for the hundredth time. “Just somethin’ he said, ’fore we left.”

“I was there. Don’t remember anything to make you mad.”

“He said,” Lance began, then stopped to pull his breathing under control. “When I asked if I could go with you to look for Mark….”

Jack squinted in the harsh afternoon sun.

“He said it was fine, ’cause anyone could carry the banner.”

“Yeah, so, anybody could. What’s the—”

Lance turned on him, his eyes blazing. “I thought I was more important to his crusade than that, Jack! Didn’t know I was just a nothing flag carrier!”

Jack leaned away from Lance’s vitriol. “What you talkin’ about? Don’t you know… you got no clue who you are to him?”

Confusion washed over Lance. “What do you mean?”

Jack shook his head in amazement. “Oh man, Lance. You are one of the smartest kids I know, and the hottest boy I ever laid eyes on, but man, you’re blind as a bat, dude!”

“What’re you talking about, Jack?”

“Arthur, man!” Jack exclaimed in frustration. “Don’t you know what you are to him? Haven’t you seen the way he looks at you? Dude, I used to be so damned jealous of you when I got there and saw you guys together.”

Lance stared at Jack blankly.

Jack placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You’re his son, man, didn’t you know that? It’s all over his eyes and face, the pride he has in you. God, he loves you more’n all the rest of us put together!”

Lance’s mouth dropped open at the word “son,” and stayed open in shock until Jack finished. Could it be true? Could what he so hoped for…? Could Arthur really love him? Him, who wasn’t worthy of love? He shook his head.

No. Not me.

“If he loves me so much, how come he never said nothing, huh?” He tried for strength of conviction, but his voice cracked and broke.

Jack shook his head, anguish flooding his face, remorse drowning his soul. “I don’t know, man! Same stupid-ass reason I never told Mark I loved him, I guess.”

Lance sat back against the bench seat in astonished silence. The tightness had nearly choked off his breathing.

Could it be true?

Jack shook his head again sadly. “Man, if my dad ever looked at me once the way Arthur looks at you, I’d have had a heart attack and died right there.”

Lance turned his head to see a tear drop from Jack’s eye.

“Only reason I played football was to make him happy, and I worked my ass off, worked out like a crazy man to get buff and tough. And I liked it, too, don’t get me wrong, Lance. But I was never good enough. Even when I scored a touchdown, in his eyes I always could a done it better. And oh hell, when he found out I was gay, that was the end. I was nothing anymore except what he told the coach I was—a disgusting faggot lusting after my teammates. That’s my old man, Lance. But Arthur? He’s so frickin’ proud of you, for everything you do, man, for everything you are, but you can’t see it, and I can. Crazy, huh?”

Jack’s shame and rejection seemed to fill the air, smothering them both under a thick blanket of agony.

Was it true, Lance considered, his mind pinwheeling from what Jack had said about Arthur, or was it merely Jack’s perception of the truth? Was he actually worthy of being Arthur’s son? It was true, he reflected back, that Arthur had certainly complimented him a lot in the beginning, and encouraged him, even though he hadn’t felt he’d earned that praise.

And yet, ever since the Round Table had gotten bigger, the man’s attention seemed to be on everyone but him. Arthur never asked for his help or advice anymore, never seemed to want leadership from the boy. All he’d really done of late was carry that stupid banner and coordinate some of the clean-up operations, even though his fellow knights knew the drill by heart and didn’t need his input. Had he done something to let the king down? If so, he couldn’t think what it was, and his stomach twisted painfully as he struggled to understand what he’d done wrong.

Maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t done anything wrong. And maybe Arthur’s crack about carrying the banner, well, maybe that was just because he was upset about Mark….

Lance eyed Jack uncertainly, his stomach tight, his heart racing with uncertainty. “Maybe I should text him, huh?”

Jack twisted his tear-streaked face around. “Ya think?”

That made Lance smile.

As he reached for his phone, Jack suddenly grabbed Lance’s arm. “Hey, that reminds me! I know a guy who might have seen Mark. Let’s go.”

They were up and on their feet instantly, Lance’s text to Arthur forgotten.

As they hurried back up to Hollywood Boulevard, the crowded sidewalks and heavy traffic made their progress much slower than Jack would’ve liked. In addition, the more people who saw them, the more who recognized them from the news or the Internet, and waylaid them to stop and talk.

One cute girl with facial piercings who looked no older than thirteen, actually gushed, “I wanna have your baby, Sir Lance!”

Lance’s mouth dropped open, and he hurried away before she could make a grab for him.

While Lance continued to fend off the autograph hounds and gawkers, Jack explained about the guy they were going to see. He was a gay geek who ran this little electronics and phone place on the boulevard. He, Mark, and Jack had become friends over the nearly two years the boys had lived in Hollywood. His name was Marcus, and he always gave them cell phones so they could keep in touch and find each other no matter where a john might dump them in the morning. If Mark was out here, Jack reasoned, he might have crashed at Marcus’s pad.

The store, called “Phones, Etc.,” was on the boulevard near Schrader, and after what seemed an eternity dodging fans, they arrived at the little place. There were two display windows with various models of prepaid and contract phones, as well as other electronic junk like mini slot machines or wind-up elephants that could shoot actual water.

Marcus, a skinny, late twenties, African-American wearing a ball cap backward and huge gauges stretching out his earlobes, beamed with delight at seeing Jack. “Jacky, my man, what’s crackin’?”

He came around the counter and threw his arms around Jack, even kissing him on the cheek. Lance looked away. Marcus eyed Lance but a moment before snapping his fingers. “I knew it! You’re—”

“Sir Lance,” Lance replied with an extended sigh. “Yeah, I’ve been told that a few times today.” God, he hated being famous.

Marcus blew a kiss Lance’s way, which caused him to blush, and then squeezed Jack’s biceps like it was his favorite hobby in the world. “Still buff as hell, Jacky, my man. What brings you back to the ’hood?”

Jack’s face instantly darkened. “It’s Mark, man, he’s gone missing, and we been searching since yesterday. You haven’t seen ’im, have you?”

“He got his phone on ’im?”

Jack nodded. “But he don’t pick up or answer texts.”

Marcus winked at Lance. “This boy is buff as hell and can throw a football better’n them NFL dudes, but he don’t know crap about technology.” He raised his eyebrows at Lance questioningly.

Lance shrugged. “Me, either, man. Just know it works.”

Marcus shook his head in despair. “Kids.” Then he turned back