Cocktales

by The Cocky Collective

  With a chuckle, he clamps down onto my shoulder. It’s a veiled warning to stay put. “Let me know when dinner’s ready, boys. I’m gonna talk to Linc for a minute.”

  “But . . .” I look at the door and then back to him.

  “It’ll just take a few minutes, Lincoln.”

  Fucking wonderful.

  Two

  The door closes behind Barrett. It’s just my father and I on the porch. The ferns my mother loves are evenly spaced on their hooks and sway with the breeze. I used to love sitting on the swing, a piece of candy I stole from one of my brothers in hand as I watched them go back and forth as a kid.

  Today, though, it’s mildly irritating. My wife is inside, and I haven’t kissed her in maybe twelve hours. I had Ellie go check on her this afternoon. She took Ryan for a bit so Dani could get a nap. She thinks she has to do everything herself and hates asking for help, but her lack of taking care of herself is killing me.

  Ryan is my world. A perfect mix of Danielle and me, there isn’t a damn thing I wouldn’t do for that kid. I’d fight a bull, swim with sharks, swallow fire. But Dani is what makes everything possible. She’s my rock. My heart. My fucking soul.

  Her ass isn’t bad either.

  I adjust my cock.

  “What’s up, Dad?” I ask, contemplating how quickly I can get him to say his piece and get out of here. He looks serious, so that isn’t giving me the warm and fuzzies. These situations usually end with me being read a list of things I’m screwing up.

  Sigh.

  He moseys his way to the railing and leans against it as if we have all the time in the world. I drop onto the swing in the most nonchalant way possible. If he gets any sense at all I’m trying to rush him, he’ll drag this out for hours.

  “Well, Linc. I need your help.”

  Jaw. Hits. Floor. “Um, are you feeling okay?”

  “Yes.” His brows pull together. “Why?”

  “You do realize I’m Lincoln, right? Your youngest son. Not Barrett, the former governor of Georgia. Not Ford, the American hero. Not Graham, the CEO of our lives.”

  “I realize who you are. The biggest pain-in-the-ass I have. I haven’t lost my mind.”

  “Clearly, you have if you’re asking me for help.” I laugh. “You haven’t ever asked me for help . . . except the time you needed tickets to the baseball championship. I think you even said ‘please’.”

  “I—”

  “I’m not complaining.” I hold my hands in front of me, adding, “I’ve had a lot of free time and got out of a lot of boring political shit. So, I guess, thank you for never needing me.” A series of memories rolls through my mind of college and various parties I went to. Get-togethers as a professional athlete. Drinks, laughs, women. While I wouldn’t trade my life now for a lifetime of that again, I am quite fond of those memories. “Yes, thank you. I mean that.”

  Dad shoves off the railing and sits beside me. His hands clasp together as he rests his forearms on his knees in a move that reminds me exactly of Graham. As he stares off across the lawn, a ghost of a smile plays on his lips.

  “We’ve had a lot of good times out here, haven’t we?” he asks quietly. “I remember when you threw that pitch that busted Barrett in the eye. Remember that?”

  “Yup,” I say with a pop on the p. “In my defense, I warned him it was going to curve like a motherfucker. He didn’t trust me.”

  Dad grins. “Remember when your sisters wanted to camp that Fourth of July? And Ford and I put up a little tent over there under that tree?” He points to a large maple near the side of the house. “Sienna was afraid her ice would melt, and Camilla needed to take lotion. I knew they’d never make it all night.”

  “And then Ford and I went out there in the middle of the night and scared the shit out of them?”

  A slow chuckle ripples across the patio as Dad sits upright. “I hope Ryan is just like you.”

  “Oh, he is,” I say. “He’s cute as hell. Can already throw a ball really well even though he’s still a baby. And you can’t take him anywhere without women stopping to gawk. A chip off the old block.”

  Dad just shakes his head. “Let’s see how that works out for you in ten years or so.”

  Suddenly, I get what he’s saying. My hands scrub down my face as I envision calls from principals and busted glass from baseballs and girls showing up at the house while he has another one upstairs in his bedroom that his parents don’t know about. Me.

  I’m his parent.

  Oh, shit.

  I force a swallow. “I’ve been considering boarding school . . .”

  Dad’s laugh is loud. His chest rumbles as his hand smacks my thigh. “You’re gonna be fine, Linc.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I do.” He settles down and leans back in the swing. “Your mother and I have been doing a little estate planning.”

  “You aren’t dying, are you?” The words come out of my mouth before I can catch them. “That was really rude if you are, but let’s cut the crap, Dad.”

  “No, we aren’t dying.” He sighs. “We are getting older, though, and we thought it would be a good time to go over our things and make sure they’re in order.”

  Leaning back, mirroring his pose, I shrug. “This really sounds like a conversation you should be having with Graham.”

  “Typically, it would be,” he agrees. “But this is one I want to have with you.”

  “If you think you’re cutting me out of the inheritance—”

  “Lincoln, hush.”

  He shakes his head again. I think he’s on the verge exasperation, but I don’t give a shit. This conversation is weird, and I don’t know where it’s going. I look over my shoulder for Graham or Barrett, but no one is around.

  I know my role in this family, and it isn’t one that involves decisions or responsibility. I’m good with that. There’s no need to mess it up now.

  He takes a long, deep breath. “How would you feel if I were to make you the executor of my will?”

  I had one beer this afternoon. I wasn’t hit with a golf club. I got plenty of sleep last night, and I’m fairly certain Dani hasn’t been poisoning me.

  Yet, Dad’s face isn’t flinching. No one is jumping out of the bushes, pointing at me and laughing and yelling, “Gotcha!” So, what the fuck is this?

  My stomach knots up as a lump settles at the base of my throat. “Um, I think I misheard you.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Okay.” I can’t help but wiggle in my seat like a child. “You want me to be the guy that makes sure your things are divided equally?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” I balk. “Barrett’s the oldest. Graham’s the most responsible. Ford’s the honorable one out of us,” I reiterate. “Why would you want me to do that? Dani doesn’t even let me mix Ryan’s formula.”

  Amusement flickers across his face. “Do you remember when Camilla got a rabbit from the shelter when she was seven or eight? And then it got out of its cage in the middle of the night?”

  “You all blamed me for that. I’m still a little salty now that I think about it.”

  Dad tries not to laugh. “But what did you do?”

  “I rode my bike to the shelter and got her another one. I had to convince her it had reddish fur the day before and she just didn’t realize it. That was a chore.” I groan, remembering how I spent an entire summer day dealing with a bunny I didn’t even like. My eyes flip back to my dad. “What’s this have to do with your estate?”

  “That’s why I want you to be the executor.”

  “Because I got Cam a new bunny twenty years ago?”

  “Yes.”

  Getting to my feet, I jab a finger his way. “You’ve lost your mind. It took longer than I thought it would, but here we are.”

  He stands as well and puts his hand on my shoulder. It’s another warning not to move. To stay put. That I’m probably going to need to brace for whatever he’s about to say. “Out of all my children, y
ou and I are the most different.”

  “True. Very, very true.”

  “You don’t have to say it like that.”

  “What do you expect? It’s true. How much more different could we be?”

  He considers this as he blows out a breath. Instead of directly addressing my question, he goes into storytelling mode. I settle in for the long haul and try to convince myself I don’t hear Dani’s laugh vaguely through the door.

  “I got my first job as a twelve-year-old boy delivering newspapers to the neighborhood,” he says. “I’ve worked every day since that day. Barrett, Graham, especially, and even Ford are just like I am.”

  “I know. You tell me all the time, which is why I don’t understand why you didn’t pick one of them. Are you punishing me? Is this some kind of way for you to get back at me for not wanting the vice president job at Landry Holdings?”

  His arm goes over my shoulders like I’ve seen him to do my brothers a hundred times. It isn’t really our thing, and it kind of feels a little awkward, but not bad.

  “No, Lincoln. You’re different from me, but that isn’t a bad thing.”

  “Well, yeah. Obviously. Look at me.”

  He smacks my back before pulling away. “Don’t get too cocky.”

  “Danielle calls it confidence.”

  “I believe your mother calls it arrogance, and hers is the opinion that matters at the end of the day.”

  I start to object, but his single crooked brow stops me. “As I was saying, your mother and I have been discussing the future and who should handle our affairs. Naturally, we considered Graham. He’s the logical choice.”

  “Clearly.”

  “But Graham would divide everything up into six parts. He would kill himself over making sure everyone had their equal piece.”

  “Clearly. Which,” I add quickly, “would make it five parts because he wouldn’t need his when he keeled over from stress, and that does have its benefits.”

  He ignores that.

  “Life isn’t about being fair,” Dad says, gazing over the lawn again. “It isn’t about things or wealth or accumulating all kinds of shit that sits on a mantle. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah. I mean . . . I could be playing in the majors right now if I wanted to bad enough. But I didn’t want to give up being there for Ryan as he grew up or coming home to Danielle at night. There just isn’t enough money in the world to make up for that.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” he says, nodding emphatically. “I hate to admit this, but seeing you with Ryan really shed some light on things for me. Barrett with Huxley, too, but that kid of yours . . .” He beams. “I should’ve spent more time with you playing catch and a few less hours at the office, Linc.”

  I try to swallow but can’t. My throat is squeezed shut as I watch a man that could do anything in the entire universe look at me like a mortal.

  When I look at my wife, I can tell what she’s thinking by the look in her eyes. I’ve never had that happen with another person in the world. She doesn’t have to speak, doesn’t have to indicate what she’s feeling or needs—I know. It’s a conversation that doesn’t need to be had aloud.

  For the first time in my life, I’m having that same thing with my father. It’s a moment I will never forget. Clearing my throat, I look away.

  “You are my only child that understands what life’s really about, Lincoln. You’d spend all day rolling around on the floor with Ryan.”

  “Or Danielle,” I crack, needing some levity.

  Dad laughs, tapping at his eyes with a handkerchief from his pocket. “Think about what I’ve said, all right?”

  “Yeah.” I clear my throat again, the lump not completely dissolved. “And Dad?”

  “Yes, Son?”

  “I’m glad you didn’t play catch with me much. Your fastball is shit.”

  “Oh, Linc . . .”

  His arm is around me again as we head into the house.

  Three

  “Stop talking about me,” I say as I step into the living room.

  “Why would we be talking about you?” Ford asks. Ryan is propped up against him and is wearing a little camouflage outfit Ford’s wife, Ellie, bought him last week.

  Reaching down, I lift Ryan off Ford’s lap, ignoring my brother’s silent protest, and curl my son against my chest. He nuzzles into me, smelling of baby soap and his mama. The world could end right now and I wouldn’t care.

  I scan the room until I find Danielle. She’s standing next to the sliding glass door that leads into the backyard. She’s still a little rounder than she was before Ryan, her eyes a little darker. She’s never been more perfect.

  Her eyes meet mine, and despite the laughter from my mom and brothers’ wives in the kitchen, Huxley’s video game on the television, my father telling a story behind me that my brothers seem to love, all I can see is Dani.

  Sometimes I watch her sleep and marvel that she chose me. She could have had any guy she wanted. Yet, she chose me—the goofy baseball player who was on his way out of the league with an injury. She saw past the jokes and failures and the way I drool in my sleep and agreed to marry me and have my babies.

  My cock strains the fabric of my pants.

  She comes toward me, her eyes never leaving mine. “Hello, Mr. Landry,” she says softly, her arm going around my waist. A simple kiss is pressed to the top of Ryan’s head. “How’d things go with your dad?”

  “Really fucking weird,” I whisper. “I’ll tell you all about it later. We have things to do now.”

  She pulls away. “Like what?”

  “Like get the hell out of here.”

  Her arms extend for Ryan, but I don’t let go. This makes her giggle. “Camilla isn’t even here yet, Linc. We can’t leave.”

  “Yes, we can. It isn’t my fault she and Dominic can’t get out of bed long enough to come to dinner.”

  “You’re just jealous,” she chides.

  “Damn right I am. I want to be home in bed with you.”

  She leans closer so that her head is resting on my chest beside Ryan’s and whispers, “What’s this all about?”

  “What’s what all about?”

  “You wanting to leave. You love it here with your family.”

  “Our family,” I correct, not missing a moment to drive home the point that this is hers. Everything of mine is hers. That was why there was no prenup, no talk of splitting shit in the hypothetical event of our marriage coming to an end. If that happened, I’d be done. She could have it.

  Her hands lock around my waist, her sweet perfume washing over me. “Our family,” she repeats.

  My fingers find the hem of her shirt and scoot beneath the soft fabric. My palm lays flat against the small of her back, the warmth of her skin heating mine.

  As I glance across the room, my gaze finds my dad’s. He’s watching us. Public displays of affection aren’t his favorite thing in the world, and I brace myself for his reaction. He surprises me by smiling. With a gentle nod, he turns back to my brothers.

  “What are you thinking?” Dani asks.

  That this is the way life is supposed to be. That I wouldn’t change a damn thing. That I love you more every day and wouldn’t be able to breathe without you.

  Ford’s hand thumps the back of my head as he walks by.

  That Ford isn’t getting shit from Dad’s estate if he isn’t careful.

  “Oh, just that I’d like to be buried balls-deep inside you right now,” I whisper into her ear.

  She shifts from foot to foot, her breasts rubbing against my stomach. “Landry . . .”

  “You were so hot this morning when I left,” I tell her.

  “I was in sweatpants and one of your old T-shirts cleaning up baby vomit. I’m sure that was so hot.”

  She looks at the floor, remnants of our recent conversations about her low self-esteem working their way through. I’ve tried to listen, to understand it, but when all I see when I look at her is compl
ete fucking perfection, I can’t understand. How can having a baby make her feel less pretty? Less desirable? If only she knew what she does to me.

  “Look at me,” I say, tipping her chin so she’s doing just that. “What if I told you I’ve been half hard all day from seeing you like that? That I’ve rushed every damn meeting I’ve had and then irritated my brothers so they’d stop golfing and I could see you sooner.”

  Her cheeks flush a beautiful shade of pink. “I’d think you were lying.”

  “I’ve thought about you all day,” I murmur. “And when I’m thinking of you, I’m not thinking of you in a dress or heels or fancy lingerie. I’m thinking of you with your hair all bundled on top of your head and wearing one of my old concert shirts.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” I say, bending and touching my lips to hers. Her mouth is soft, smooth, and inviting, which is all I really want—to be wanted and accepted by this woman. “I also think,” I whisper against her lips, “of those big, round breasts and the way your ass bounces on my cock.”

  “Stop.” She lets out a soft giggle.

  “And the way your skin feels against mine when I’m touching you in every way fucking possible.” I kiss her again. “No more T-shirts when we’re together. I can’t do it anymore.”

  “But Linc . . .”

  “Those stretch marks you hate? I love.” I bend closer, seeing as deep into her eyes as I can. “I love them.”

  “How can you?” she asks, looking at me with wide eyes.

  “Because they’re proof of how much you love me. That you carried my son. That you’d do that to yourself to give this to me,” I tell her, glancing down at Ryan. “No more T-shirts, Dani. No more lights off and hiding yourself. You’re so fucking gorgeous, babe.”

  Tears dot her eyes as she buries her face against my chest.

  “I’m hard again,” I groan.

  Her hand moves down my abs and over the bulge in my pants. “Okay, I agree. It’s fifteen after six. I say Cam’s had enough time to get here.”

  “Atta girl,” I chuckle. “You get the diaper bag and do your good-byes fast. I’ll give Mom a kiss, Graham some hell, and we’ll be off.”