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You think you’ve seen everything by the time you hit thirty-seven. But then a familiar tiny blond eleven-year-old shows up at your house just after dark, wielding a baseball bat in one hand and an inhaler in the other. And he threatens you with it—the bat, not the inhaler—until you agree to take his dad on a date, and you realize you were wrong. You definitely haven’t seen everything. Nope. Not even close.
It had nothing to do with the fact his daddy had the biggest, roundest, most glorious ass I had ever seen. It was so goddamn perfect a picture of it should’ve been under “world’s most fuckable ass” in the Guinness Book of World Records.
I’d never reacted this way to someone else. Like his voice wrapped me in a warm hug and simultaneously sucked my cock into somewhere warm and tight. Full body shudders. Jesus. I didn’t know if I wanted to hold him or fuck him—or both. Definitely both.
That was a “dad voice” if I’d ever heard one. Rooster was talkin’ to my mama like she was a naughty toddler caught with her hand in a cookie jar. Aaand he was officially my hero.
“If you weren’t going to hit me with it, why bring it at all?” “Pops says violence is never the answer,” Bubba quoted again, but his eyes were full of mischief this time. “But Theodore Roosevelt said ‘speak softly and carry a big stick.’ And he was the president, so…” He shrugged as if that explained everything.
“Who’s Gram?” I asked. I knew Rooster had moved here alone with Bubba. Had he moved here for family? “She’s like my grandma, except not.” He shrugged, and turned to look at me fully, fingers still buried in Barb’s long feathery fluff. “She smells like cigarettes, even though she swears she doesn’t smoke. She plays bingo. She likes sperm whales a lot—but not as much as me. She thinks Neil Degrasse Tyson is delicious, even though she’s old and she can’t eat him. Her favorite color is red. Oh, and she really likes the lemon cookies Dad makes.” “That’s cool.” Brutal kid, brutal.
I’d been wrong when I thought there would be nothing worse than being forced to commit before I was ready. No. Nooope. There was something worse alright, and it had just happened to me while I’d watched Rooster dance and listened to his honeyed voice sing with throaty vowels and an accent sweeter than sugar. My pulse was still racing. My hands shook. My entire body was full of butterflies, fluttering their wings so hard I couldn’t catch my breath. I’d never fallen in love before. Never had a crush. But there was no other explanation for what this feeling was.
Bubba waited till I took a sip to take one of his own, and when he did, his eyes widened, and a big old grin split his cheeks. This kid. Jesus. He looked like goddamn Charlie Brown or some shit. Adorable.
You’d think I would’ve been annoyed to see Bubba, in light of all this, but I wasn’t. I practically lit up the moment I saw his tiny blond head at my back door. I shoved my TV dinner in the fridge for later, and tried not to laugh when I realized the reason he kept sneaking to the back door, rather than the front, was probably because his daddy wouldn’t see him orchestrate his evil plots. Like this was a covert mission.
“Since—apparently—“ Bubba blinked faux-innocently. “You can’t help me,” he laid it on thick as butter. “Why don’t you help Pops?” He batted his lashes at me and unable to help myself, I grinned right back at him, shaking my head. Sneaky little shit.
Maybe one day, if I proved myself hard enough, I’d get invited to sit at their table with them. Maybe they’d realize they need me. No one had ever needed me before. A man could dream.
“Trent!” Bubba cheered gleefully, like he hadn’t obviously planned this whole goddamn thing. He was a horrible liar, which I was grateful for, especially because his plotting and planning sure made me laugh.
“Every time a lady opens the door and sees you she gives me way more candy.” He stomped one little booted foot to emphasize his point, then shook his nearly full candy bag in Trent’s direction. Trent’s eyes grew wide as he glanced down at the swinging Spiderman bag and his lips wobbled like he was trying to decide if he should smile or not. “I’ve got twice as much loot as I got last year, and we’ve only been trick-or-treating for like an hour. Imagine what we could do in two. Or three. We’d be unstoppable. I’m gonna get soooo many cavities.”
Trent bent down to Bubba’s level, wickedness gleaming in his gaze as he cradled one of my son’s shoulders in a massive hand. “So…you’re saying if I flirt with everyone that opens their door they’re gonna give you more candy?” he whispered playfully, like they were planning a covert mission and not charming their way through fun-sized candy bars and Wendy’s coupons. Bubba’s grin grew wide and wolfish. The expression almost perfectly mirrored Trent’s,
“Keep on smiling, big guy.” Bubba patted his shoulder wickedly, and I snorted out a laugh as he dropped my hand and held it out to Trent. Trent tipped his head toward the stars and cackled, a loud, joyous sound. Warm. Throaty. Uncontrollably pleased.
“I just thought…you might like a little help?” It was funny honestly, how that handful of words tore open my heart and left it bleeding in pieces on the floor.
Maybe if I tried hard enough, I’d be able to convince myself that I was okay with this. That dying alone, without ever trying what I craved intimately, and sexually, wasn’t the end of the world.
Bubba Johnson was an absolute riot. He bounced around my back seat like he was made of springs and sugar, asking me a million and a half questions as we made the short trek across town to Belleville Elementary School.
“Do you like cookies?” I stared at him and he cackled. “Duh. Right. Of course you do. Only bad or dumb people don’t like cookies.”
“Mr. Montgomery was my dad,” I corrected him with a grin. Dad would’ve loved Bubba. “You can call me Trent, or nothing at all.” “Alright, nothing at all.” The cheeky grin he flashed my way made my heart throb. “Aren’t you a little young for dad jokes?”
These two lost boys had me wrapped around their little fingers and they didn’t even know it.
Quicker than I could blink, I was halfway to the playground, alarm bells ringing in my head, and anger unlike anything I’d ever felt before burning hot and ashy in my chest. I ate up the distance faster than if I’d been flying, my vision going red-hot with rage. No one touched what was mine and got away with it. No one.
Terrified Bubba was hurt. Terrified—teetering— I couldn’t breathe— I couldn’t find my balance— I was wobbling and I— No. No. Bring yourself back. You’re here, you’re here, you’re here. Black asphalt, pale white clouds, a swing set with eight swings. I took in a breath.
“Did you just spill milk all over my kid’s fucking backpack?” Trent’s voice was low, dangerous. Calm as a river just waiting to drown you.
He stood away from the crowd, despite being the center of the drama. His green eyes were wide and wet, and full of wonder as he stared slack-jawed at Trent like he was the second coming of Christ.
My lungs burned. The rope wobbled. Backward, I felt myself sliding backward.
But…I hadn’t needed to. Because Trent had done it for me. The rope steadied.
I hugged him. He smelled like pine trees and aftershave. I tucked my face against his neck. I let the soft scent of him soothe me as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and hid against his bulk.
Forward, I went. The threat of the future not quite so frightening. Forward. I could do this. I could do this. I could—
I let him hold me, and I wasn’t quite so scared anymore. There was so much I needed to figure out, but that was okay. It was all okay. Because Trent was sunshine, laughter, and broad shoulders. And he might be strong enough to carry us both.
Rooster was solid and warm. Cinnamon sugar. He smelled like cinnamon sugar. I held on tight. And the way he melted against me had my heart racing and my toes curling in my boots. I’d never been so viscerally affected by someone else’s touch.
Goddamn fireworks were going off inside me.
“It felt like…falling knowing there was somewhere soft to land.”
This wasn’t like me. I was a player, a slut, a flirt—all those things. I’d been proud of that too, until recently. Now there was only one bed I wanted to fall into. One body I wanted to sink inside. One mouth I wanted to kiss. One set of arms I wanted to call my home. Paxton’s words followed me all day.
As Paxton’s words tingled at the base of my skull I craved Rooster’s arms more desperately than before. I craved protecting him, touching him, squeezing him close as I figured out how to detangle this riot of feelings.
Bubba’s words were confident, self-assured. Like he didn’t mind being weird at all. Like it was the other kids’ loss, because it was. Pride made my chest ache as I smiled where no one could see me.
Trent kept glancing over at me, a knowing glint in his gaze, like he was grateful I was here. Like he was glad that I was hearing this. His eyes said, stay. His eyes said, listen. His eyes said, I have your back. They said, you’re not alone anymore.
Things didn’t seem quite so hard when Rooster was around. Pretty as sin. Eye candy with a smile that could end the world.
I knew there were methods and medication that could help people with anxiety cope, I figured the best way for me to aid Rooster was to do my best to eliminate all the situations one by one, that made him feel untethered.
Damn, he was cute. He took everything so seriously. Mr. Doom and Gloom. Just waiting for someone to part the clouds aside and show him how to breathe in the sun.
“Please never say sperm again,” I couldn’t help but tease, surprised I even had the capacity. Act normal, act normal. Don’t scare him off. This is spank bank material for the next twenty years. “Only if I can call it something else,” Trent purred, and my brain short-circuited.
“Darlin’,” I said, overwhelmed as I turned to give him my full attention. “Well you’re just sweeter than stolen honey, aren’t you?” “Poppps,” Bubba whined, looking more than a little pleased as he handed me my cupcake.
“Did we win?” Bubba asked, looking more hopeful than he had in ages. He held tight to his inhaler like a lifeline as he stared at Trent, hearts in his eyes. “Sure did, baby,” Trent crooned happily, slipping his sunglasses down his nose to grin at him through the rearview mirror.
“They’re gonna treat you right. Treat. Get it? And if they don’t, I got other ways to shut ’em up.” Like a complete and total dork, Trent leaned down to kiss his bicep at the same time we pulled to a stop in front of the store. Bubba snorted out a laugh while Becca groaned. Loudly. Like her uncle was the single most embarrassing person in the history of the world—just like Bubba was now the coolest.
“Uncle Trent, you cannot threaten children,” Becca rolled her eyes disapprovingly. “Who said anything about violence?” Trent quirked an eyebrow and clucked his tongue at her, pretending like he hadn’t just alluded to that very thing. “Sick-o.” They were so damn ridiculous. I laughed again. Only this time I couldn’t stop. It was like the happiness was erupting. The relief I wasn’t alone. The fact that I could share this joy with them, just like I’d shared the weight on my shoulders.
I was proud of him for asking for help today. It wasn’t easy, but he’d done it anyway. He’d let me in. He’d trusted me. And I wasn’t about to let him down, no matter how anxious or terrified this whole experience made me feel. Some people were worth being uncomfortable for.
“It’s okay, Pops,” Bubba reassured him. “I can be big for you sometimes, if you need it. I don’t mind.”
I licked my lips, shuddering a little as the memory of our kiss hit me once again. I wanted more kisses. I wanted more everything. I wanted laughter, a friend, someone to rely on. I wanted him to hold me. I wanted to love him the way I’d never let myself love anyone before. Too scared of my own cracks. Too scared the good things would only get taken away.
Trent’s voice wobbled. “I’m terrified because you’re everything. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. And for the first time in my life, every action I take is wrong, wrong, wrong. I don’t have sweet words. My silver tongue gets tangled. You make my hands sweaty, and my heart race. I feel like I’m in goddamn grade school when you’re around.”
Forgiveness tasted like forty kinds of hot cocoa, felt like borrowed hoodies, and smelled like Trent’s cologne.
