by Leta Blake
“A see-you-later kiss, then.”
Joel’s crooked smile broke across his face. “You’re demanding as hell.”
“Or maybe kissing you makes me happy.”
“Maybe so. But you won’t be happy for long,” Joel said.
“Meaning?”
“You’re going to have to explain to your parents why you spent the night with me.”
Casey’s stomach soured, but he lifted his chin. “It’s not their business what I do with you.”
“They won’t see it that way.”
“Kiss me.”
Joel rolled his eyes. But when Casey wrapped his arms around Joel and lifted his chin up, he saw the anxiety written on Joel’s face.
“Don’t worry about my parents,” Casey whispered as he bent his head to take the kiss. “I don’t anymore.”
Joel whimpered softly, relaxing against Casey’s body and clinging to his coat lapels. His soft lips opened, and Casey slipped his tongue inside, gently probing and tasting, teasing Joel sweetly.
Joel trembled as his hips jerked forward, pushing his hard cock against Casey’s thigh. Casey smiled into the kiss, happiness bubbling up in him and arousal thickening his own dick in response.
“Gotta go,” Joel said roughly, pulling away and turning his back on Casey. He climbed into his truck without another word.
Casey jammed his hands into his coat pockets and smiled after the Chevy dreamily as Joel pulled out from his hint of gravel drive onto the dew-damp street.
“See you later,” he whispered, solid determination filling him.
He’d tasted heaven, and he wasn’t going to let it get away. No matter how skittish Joel could be. And no matter what it cost him with his folks. Joel would have to get used to being loved, and Casey’s parents would have to get used to Joel.
Speaking of his folks, Joel was right about one thing. It was time to face the music.
Chapter Fifteen
“Hey, Pop,” Joel said, rattling the McDonald’s bag as he strolled into his father’s room. “I brought your favorite.”
“Where the hell were you yesterday?”
Pop sat in a chair by the window, gazing down at the cars whizzing by on the road below. The bald spot on the back of his head reflected the florescent lights of his room, and the gray fringe near his ears was mussed, like no one had come in to deal with him yet this morning.
“I was late. Sorry. Shit happens.”
“Lack of discipline happened,” Pop shot back, turning to glare at him with hard, blue eyes. “That’s what you really mean, son. Isn’t it?”
One of the things Joel had alway hated about his pop was the way he tried to get him to agree with his bullshit. It was one thing to have to listen to it, to endure it without reply, but it was another to be verbally prompted to agree with whatever nonsense his father was spouting on any given day.
“The line was short this morning,” he said, ignoring the accusation entirely. “Hopefully the McMuffin is fresh.” Joel pressed the bag into his father’s hand before grabbing the comb from the nightstand by the bed. His pop sat stiffly, not opening the bag as Joel tamed the tufts of hair above his father’s ears.
“If you’re not going to come, you should call me. At least let me know that I’ll have to eat the slop they serve here for breakfast.”
“I left the bag on the bed.”
“It was ice cold by the time I got back from physical therapy.” His father somehow made his words sound like whips, shredding and violent, though he simply stated a fact.
“Did you get Katie to warm it up for you?”
“If you weren’t a failure as a son, I wouldn’t need to bother the nurses with crap like warming up my Egg McMuffin.”
How had he fallen for it again? He always did. He couldn’t just keep his mouth shut long enough to avoid the bait his father set. He walked into the trap of an argument every single time. Maybe he really did lack discipline since he told himself constantly not to engage, to keep his thoughts to himself, and to let his father say whatever it was he wanted to say without dignifying it with a response.
“I’m sorry, Pop,” he said quietly, smoothing the last of his dad’s messy hair down with his fingers. “I’ll do better.”
“Your mother wouldn’t have left me hungry,” his father snarled. “She’d have made sure I had plenty of food to eat. She’d bring full breakfasts, not this Egg McMuffin crap.”
“You like Egg McMuffins. That’s all you’ve ever asked me to bring.”
Stop, Joel. Leave. Go on to work. Let him stew in it.
“Because I know you’re so worthless you’d never bring anything else. It’s the best I can hope for.”
Joel put his father’s comb back where he got it, keeping his voice calm. “Do you need something to drink? I’ll get some water.”
Rattling the bag, his father pulled out his breakfast and unwrapped it with gnarled fingers. “Get a Sprite.”
Joel didn’t really want to spend a dollar-fifty on a soda at the overpriced vending machine at the end of the hall, but he wasn’t going to let his father get under his skin any more than he already had. He could already feel him wearing away at the magic Casey had left behind on him, or in him, like some kind of fizzy blessing on his nerves and skin.
When he passed the Sprite into his father’s shaking hand, his eyes fell on the photo of his mother on the wall. Her dark hair and wide smile that crinkled up the corner of her eyes reminded him somehow of Casey, and he wondered if his father had been as starstruck by her.
“When you met Mom,” he started slowly, because his mother could be a volatile subject for his father, “was it love at first sight, or did it take time?”
His father chewed his breakfast, a frown creasing his forehead. “She was beautiful.”
“Yeah.”
“I knew I wanted her to be my wife the first time I held her in my arms. I met her at a wedding. We danced.”
Joel let out a slow breath, softening his boundaries and allowing a tentative hope to blossom in his heart that he could have this conversation with his father without coming to regret it. “I figured it was like that. Did she feel the same way?”
“She did. Her father was another matter.” He grimaced. “And her asshole queer brother. Both of them were like you—worthless nancies.”
And there it was. Another hope dashed before it could come to full bloom. “Ah.”
“Why? Did you finally meet a skirt that turned your head?” He narrowed his eyes speculatively at Joel. “Or… Shit, son. Better not tell me it’s a faggot that’s caught your eye. I’m not too sick and old to beat the snot out of you.”
Joel let out his breath as slowly as possible, his heart twisting up hard even though he’d known what to expect from his father all along. He just wished he’d stop hoping for any evidence of a softening, a glimpse of unconditional love.
“No. I was just curious about you and Mom. You don’t talk about her much. Not like that.”
“You don’t deserve to know about her. If it wasn’t for you, she’d still be here.”
“I wasn’t even there that day.” Joel swallowed hard, shocked the words had burst out of him before he could rein them in.
“If not for you, she would’ve been with me at the store, working alongside me. After you came, she stayed home. Never should have let her have you. I was weak when it came to her. And look how it ended up? Her dead. You a fucking faggot. You’re my biggest regret. Wish you’d never lived to take a breath.”
“You don’t mean that. The stroke—”
“The stroke? Shit. I just don’t bother hiding it anymore. Stopped feeling guilty about the truth. That’s all the stroke did.”
A nurse’s shoes squeaked, and Joel’s neck heated up as he glanced over and saw Katie standing in the doorway. Her wide eyes let on that she’d obviously overheard more than either of them were comfortable with.
“I’ll come back later,” she mouthed at him.
He nodded and
turned back to his pop who was devouring his Egg McMuffin like it was the most delicious food he’d ever tasted, just like he did every morning. Part of Joel wanted to know why he came here every day, why he bothered at all, if that was truly how his father felt about him.
But a bigger part knew his mother wouldn’t want Pop to suffer. She’d loved him. Hadn’t she? He had to admit he barely remembered life before her death. How did he know what she would want? His father’s version of her wasn’t reliable.
Regardless, Joel was all the family Pop had, and if the doctors were right, it wouldn’t be too many years before he joined Jennifer on the other side. Especially at the rate his father’s heart disease was progressing. He’d feel too guilty if he stopped coming, even though he knew intellectually that his father didn’t deserve the visits.
“Well, I need to get to the store, Pop. Make sure that Angel’s handled everything this morning.”
Eyes sparkling with naughtiness, his father looked up and asked, “That little slut putting out for you?”
Joel cleared his throat. “Angel’s only nineteen, and she’s an employee…”
His father’s dark eyebrow popped up as he sneered. “And if I needed proof you were a pansy, that’d be it. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t let anything stop you from getting some of her pie.”
“I need to go. I’ll come by tomorrow. Do you want something besides an Egg McMuffin? I could swing by Perkins for an omelet or—”
“Just bring the McMuffin. I don’t expect anything else.”
Joel sighed and left without a goodbye. As he climbed into his car, his hands shook and his gut churned with the sick feeling being around his father always left in him. His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Just seeing Casey’s name pop up on the screen made his throat convulse, and his eyes fill with tears. He was an idiot to dream that he could rely on the sweet feeling Casey had left him with, but, God, he wanted to. So much. It’d evaporated in the poison of his father’s presence, but he wanted to find Casey and rub against him until he had it back.
Mom’s got plans for me today. But I’ll be at your place by 6. That good for you?
Joel thumbed in a positive response and wiped at his eyes. Ridiculous. He was overtired and overwrought after having Casey in his bed all night. He needed to get it together. Everything would be fine.
Or at least everything would simply be. He’d deal with whatever descriptor came afterward when it happened. For now, he was going to enjoy this Christmas gift of Casey’s attention. As much as he could.
His phone pinged again. Can’t stop thinking about you.
Casey’s text summoned a frisson of that morning’s magic again, and Joel’s heart hesitantly rose in his chest. He typed in his response:
Ditto.
He knew it wasn’t enough, but he also knew Casey didn’t expect him to suddenly start spouting off about his feelings. Strong as they may be. Wrong as they had always seemed.
Right as they felt now.
“The point is, you have to stop embarrassing yourself by chasing after something you can’t ever have.” Casey’s mother continued her lecture as they pulled into the parking lot of the newly built Astor Country Club and Golf Course.
The older country clubs were definitely considered higher class, and Casey knew that his father had long salivated to belong to one or both, but when his boss threw his weight, reputation, and money behind the construction of Astor, he’d shifted allegiances quickly enough.
Casey was tempted to tell his mother that she didn’t know what she was talking about. He’d already had Joel last night, and he was going to have him for the rest of his life if he had anything to say about it. But Joel wasn’t out to anyone yet, and it wasn’t his place to share that news.
Still, sweetly simmering memories of the night before aside, he wasn’t ready for the inevitable freak-out his social-climbing parents would bring when faced with a reality where Joel Vreeland was their son’s boyfriend. He’d save that for another, less precious day.
“I’ll take your words into consideration.” Casey offered up the bland response Ann had coached him on before leaving New York.
Astor Country Club was decked from foundation to roof in glistening silver and gold decorations. The glare was nearly blinding in the late-morning sun, and Casey bit back a comment about his father’s likely opinion of the garish holiday display. Money lived at Astor, so Jonathan Stevens probably gritted his teeth and bore the lack of classy simplicity.
“Good morning, Mrs. Stevens, may I take your coat?” The young, auburn-haired employee’s nametag declared her to be Annika.
His mother gave Annika a gracious smile as she peeled off her Christian Dior fox fur coat—a gift from his father for her birthday—and handed it over.
“There’s a Winter Wonderland luncheon in the Spring Room, ma’am,” Annika went on. “Or are you here for the Santa Bowl benefitting the food pantry? It’s in the bowling alley in the basement, obviously.”
“Thank you, Annika, but I know where we’re going. Come along, Casey.” His mother’s white-blond hair shimmered with some sort of glittery product beneath the incandescent lights of the grand entry. The broad walls and cupola above were painted in creamy, calming colors that soothed Casey’s eye after the gaudy outdoor decorations.
The indoor decorations were sparse and tasteful, mostly greenery with red, silver, and gold bows, but there was a decorated tree in each room Casey peeked in as his mother led him down a quiet hallway toward the back of the building. He wondered if the trees came from Vreeland’s, and the thought alone brought a smile to his lips again.
He followed his mother down a flight of stairs and smelled the greasy burgers of the golf pro shop’s café before he reached the bottom.
“Isn’t it early for burgers?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes and patted her short, pixie-cut hair. “Don’t be silly. It’s nearly lunchtime. Besides, they’ll have other things besides burgers on offer.”
It belatedly occurred to Casey that he probably should have wondered prior to this point why his mother wanted him to come with her to the country club, but he hadn’t been able to break out of his dreamy, Joel-infused thoughts to consider it. Not until they were already in the highly masculine pro-shop café and the reason for her insistence became immediately and all-too clear.
“Casey, I want you to meet Walker Ronson,” his mother said, pushing him forward to grip the hand of a handsome young man wearing expensive golfing clothes and shadowed by a middle-aged caddy. “He’s Danny Ronson’s son,” she added pointedly. “You remember Danny, don’t you, honey?”
“Ah, I see.” His stomach tightened. “Of course I do.” Danny Ronson, the CEO of the petroleum company where his father worked, and the man with whom his father was always trying to get in good.
Walker, blond and tall with teeth so perfect and white they had to be veneers, smiled warmly at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Casey. I’ve heard so much about you from your parents over the last few years.”
“We go to the Ronsons’ house once a month for a dinner party.” His mother smiled with all her teeth. “And Walker is always there now that he’s joined on at the company.”
“Oh, that’s…nice.” Casey really didn’t know what else to say. His mother nudged him, and he smiled a little more widely, but he didn’t have anything to talk to Walker Ronson about. His stomach tightened. He wished like hell he was back in Joel’s mobile home, curled around his body under his sleep-warmed covers.
“So, how’s NYU treating you?” Walker asked after dismissing his caddy and motioning toward an empty table close to the bar.
“Great.”
Was he supposed to follow Walker? He glanced toward his mother, who made a shooing motion with her hand and winked at him. Then she turned on her heel and headed over to the bar. Grabbing a stool, she ordered a mimosa and an egg scramble.
Turning back, he found Walker holding out a chair for him. He searched his mind for an
y advice from his inner Ann about how to handle this situation, but she was strangely quiet. Casey accepted the seat with a low thanks and then took a menu from the server.
“I always enjoy their eggs Benedict,” Walker offered. “I hope you don’t mind that I chose the pro shop café instead of the upstairs luncheon room. Upstairs is the land of women and grannies. I prefer a man’s world. Especially when I’m meeting with another man.”
Casey cleared his throat. He was thrown. Walker talked as though Casey had agreed to be here with him. Was this a job interview or a date? Casey wasn’t sure what to make of the situation until Walker spoke again. Thankfully, it was about Casey’s post-college plans.
“Your dad tells us that you’re graduating soon and headed to Wharton for your master’s. That’s impressive. You’ll have plenty of companies begging for your application, no doubt, but hopefully you’ll consider us first? After all, your father’s been talking you up for years now. I know you’d hate to let him down.”
Casey wanted to ask if that was how Walker had chosen to work with his father? Had he felt obligated because of his father’s position? No doubt the opening salary for the son of the CEO wasn’t bad, either. “I haven’t quite decided how I want to move forward, actually. What made sense a year ago doesn’t seem as important to me now.”
“The fickleness of youth,” Walker said with a grin, as though he was that much older than Casey.
“Yes, well. Recently, I’ve been thinking about focusing my marketing and branding skills on smaller businesses. Marketing mom-and-pop stores, along with artists and creative types. I’d like to make a difference in what succeeds in an individual town’s landscape. That sort of thing.”
“Oh?” Walker leaned forward, his eyes taking on an interested gleam. “Tell me more about that. I admit I enjoy the way Knoxville has seen a rebirth of late, and I agree that much of it is due to the ingenuity and creativity of our local small-business owners.”
The rest of lunch passed almost painlessly. Walker Ronson wasn’t an asshole. In fact, he was easy to talk to and knew a lot about marketing, given that he was the marketing and branding director at his father’s company. When the time came to shake Walker’s hand and offer thanks for lunch, it was easy to say, “I hope to see you again sometime. Maybe before I leave town.”