“I can’t afford to buy a house on my own right now, and Jeri knows it. Living with them also means I’ve got two more sets of eyes to help me look after Katie. Three, including you. Then, there’s the logistics. It’s closer to my work and to Katie’s school. None of those things are a lie. When Katie’s with us, we’ll be careful around her, obviously. Just like we are now.”
Lucas slowly nods again. “It’d be closer to Caine’s house, too, wouldn’t it?”
Zoey’s laugh slices through the building tension in the air. “Yes, it is closer. This is really important to us, sweetie. We’ve been doing this already for four years and you didn’t know.”
Lucas nods. “Okay.” He looks to me, then Zoey. “I promise I won’t say anything.”
“Especially not to Bill,” Arlo adds. I can tell from his tone he’s still feeling enraged over what happened. Figures Bill pulled that stunt when I wasn’t here.
Lucas scoffs. “I don’t ever want to talk to him again,” he quietly says.
I decide to go there, since I know it’s heavily weighed on Zoey’s soul for the past two years. “Why did you move in with Bill, anyway? What happened? Did we do something?” I don’t believe that, but I throw it out there, anyway.
Now Lucas can’t look at us and I know he’s feeling ashamed. I can see all his tells. Hell, I’ve known the kid most of his life. I might as well be a second dad to him.
“He told me he had cancer,” he admits. “And his girlfriend left him then. I didn’t know back then that he was cheating on her.”
Zoey sits forward, frowning. “Wait. Bill has cancer?”
Lucas snorts again and finally looks at her. “Skin cancer, it turns out. Not even the bad kind. He had like three small spots removed from his back by the dermatologist. When he told me about it, he made it sound like he was dying. He cried and everything. Begged me not to leave him alone. This whole…production. By the time I knew what was really going on, it was too late, and I’d already moved in with him. Looking back on it, I can see the way he set it up to manipulate me. Once he knew he had me there full-time, he went back to his usual bullshit.”
He shoves his food around his plate with his fork. “I felt too ashamed for falling for it to admit it to you. I didn’t even know if you’d believe me at that point. I kinda figured I deserved to be stuck there after having you waste that money. Then it got harder to ask him to let me come visit. He’d always have an excuse why I had to stay home any given weekend, or he’d change stuff at the last minute and say I couldn’t go. Use it as punishment for something, making me stay home. The past six months, the only reason I’ve been able to come visit is because Mary basically made him let me come and drove me herself. I’m sorry, Mom. I really screwed up.”
My anger simmers, in danger of boiling over while he’s talking.
Not at Lucas.
“Oh, honey.” Zoey stands and rounds the table to hug him from behind.
Meanwhile, Arlo and I exchange a glance and I know we’re thinking the same thing.
That motherfucker.
Bill, not Lucas.
At least now we have our answer as to what the hell happened. It enrages me the jerk would use Lucas as a pawn like that. Then again, he’s a raging narcissist, so it’s not surprising, I suppose.
“I’ll call our attorney on Monday,” Arlo says. “We’ll file for a modification of custody as soon as possible.” I know that last part is more for Zoey’s benefit than for Lucas’.
Arlo and I are on the same page. They shouldn’t have waited the last time, and if she tries to balk this time, I’ll help Arlo gang up on her and press the issue.
“I swear I won’t flake on you this time,” Lucas says. He’s holding onto Zoey’s hands, where she’s draped her arms around him from behind. “I shouldn’t have believed him the last time. I’m really sorry, Mom.”
“It’s what people like him do,” I say. “They use people. Been there, done that, divorced one of my own.”
Although, in retrospect, one not as bad as Bill, apparently.
“All we were doing was kissing,” Lucas says. “We were on the couch and watching TV and kissing. We were going to start doing our homework so that we’d be working on that when Mary came home. I didn’t hear him come in because he didn’t open the garage door like he usually does. He came in the front door. Then he saw us lying there. I thought maybe I could calm him down after Caine left, but he yelled at me and demanded to know if I was gay, and I told him yes. Then he started…screaming.”
He shudders. “I’ve seen him yell and get angry before, but I really thought he was going to come after me and hit me. He went into the kitchen, grabbed the box of trash bags from the pantry, and threw it at me. Told me to pack as much as I could fit in those and get it into his truck. And I had thirty minutes to do it or he’d drag me outside.” He sniffles. “He screamed at me all the way here. I thought he was going to wreck us a couple of times.”
“He didn’t hit you, did he?” Zoey asks.
“No. I ran into my bedroom and started grabbing everything I could.”
“He’s lucky he didn’t hit you,” Arlo says, with dark anger threaded through his tone. “He’d be in jail right now if he had.”
“Or worse,” I mutter, because I’d gladly put that fuck in the hospital.
“He hit one of his other girlfriends once,” Lucas admits. “He was drunk and slapped her.”
That’s news to us.
“When did that happen?” Zoey asks, sounding stunned.
“One—no, two girlfriends before Mary. I didn’t see it, but I heard it happen during their fight. I’d been hiding in my room after their fight started. She accused him of cheating on her. When I ran out to see what happened, he ordered me back to my room.” He looks up at her. “Did he ever hit you?”
Zoey strokes his hair. “Once. He punched me. That’s when I left him and divorced him. I tried to leave him several times before that and he’d guilt-trip me into coming back. I have proof of it, too. Pictures, witness statements, and I made him sign a statement admitting to it, or I was going to have him arrested for it. That’s how I finally got him to agree to a divorce and pay for my attorney.”
Lucas’ voice drops to a whisper. “I’m sorry I screwed up before. Thank you for letting me come home.”
Damnit. Now I’m near tears. “You always have a home with us, buddy,” I say. “You’re our kid.”
Lucas has eyes almost the same grey color as Zoey’s. “Now I know why you’ve always kind of felt like another dad to me,” he says. “Like Arlo does.”
I don’t want to get my hopes up.
Seriously, I do not.
But maybe this will be okay after all.
* * * *
We divert the conversation to responsible sexual practices. By the end of dinner, Lucas is red-faced with embarrassment, but he’s promised us he won’t ever lie to us about anything regarding his health and safety. And that he’ll ask for condoms when he needs them. Plus, that he will never bareback until he’s sure he’s met a forever partner, and they’ve both had all the relevant testing needed first.
It’s all we can do. Talk, and leave the conversational door open to him. I’d rather have a ton of uncomfortable discussions with him than be sitting in a doctor’s office comforting him because he’s tested pos. No, HIV isn’t the automatic death sentence it once was, but that’s not the only lovely little permanent parting gift a careless partner can leave him with.
That he needs to have enough self-respect and self-love to handle being responsible for his health first, and not let emotions get in the way.
Telling him something useless, like he should wait until they get married, is just…well, fricking stupid. I remember what Arlo and I were like at that age. I know we’ll be having uncomfortable conversations with Katie, too, but with her there’s the extra pressure of making sure I don’t become a grandfather before I turn fifty.
At least that’s one worry we won’t have with
Lucas and Caine.
Another point in Lucas’ favor is he’s not forced to stay in the closet like I was. He now knows he’s got three adults who still love him and will support and protect him as best we can.
Not going to lie—I feel terrified for him. Some things are better now than when I was his age, and some things are scarier.
Take Pulse, for example.
I also have it easy in that I know I’m with the people I’ll spend the rest of my life with. I’m out of the damn dating pool, and have been for four years now. Longer, if you count my time with Jerilyn. Once Katie’s eighteen and Jerilyn no longer has leverage over me, fuck what anyone else says. Then we’ll be able to go public with the truth about us. I won’t give a shit any longer.
I won’t even care about my family’s opinion. Who, I’m sure, will disown me.
My two older brothers would have beaten the crap out of me if I’d come out as gay or bi as a kid. I’m pretty sure Dad would’ve helped them. Thankfully, neither of my brothers live in Florida any longer, and my parents live all the way up just outside of Tallahassee. Far from here, in Venice, just south of Sarasota.
I make all sorts of creative excuses why I can’t go home for the holidays. Why I don’t bring Katie to visit them.
Because they’re racist, homophobic assholes is the real reason why. I don’t want to expose her to them.
Hell, I don’t want to expose myself to them. They’re toxic.
As an adult, I can look back and see that the thrilling terror which used to always sweep through me and Arlo when we screwed around as kids fed into the high of the endorphins from our sex. At least being roommates in college gave us a reasonable excuse for why we spent so much time together. While I’m technically bi since I’m in a relationship with Zoey, I’m actually more gay than bi. If I wasn’t with Arlo, I wouldn’t be with Zoey.
Except I love her. I think I fell in love with her almost immediately because Arlo loved her so hard, and it wasn’t difficult to see why, either. Zoey is easy to fall in love with. She’s sweet, intelligent, funny, and has a huge, loving heart.
It’s our external situations that throw monkey wrenches into us being able to freely express that love outside the security of home.
That’s one of the things I tried to fight when I stupidly let Jerilyn reel me back in like a trophy fish. I thought if I tried harder, maybe I could feel about her the way I felt about Arlo and Zoey, and it just wasn’t working.
Then I stupidly got her pregnant.
She says she was on the pill, but now… I’m not sure she didn’t do it deliberately. Don’t get me wrong, I love my daughter and would die for her.
Except it also means that, for the rest of my life, I’m tied to a woman I had no business sticking my dick into for a number of reasons, including the fact that I thought maybe I could do something good with my life and help her overcome a really fucking shitty childhood that made mine look positively picturesque in comparison.
Once we finish eating, Zoey gets her tablet for Lucas so he can change his password for his online accounts before Bill Motherfucking Webb somehow manages to get into his phone and deactivate them. Meanwhile, the three of us clear the table and clean up the kitchen.
“What do you think?” Zoey quietly asks us in the kitchen and out of earshot of Lucas.
“I think I might be willing to risk arrest to go punch the motherfucker right now,” I mutter.
Arlo and I exchange a fist bump.
“No,” Zoey says. “Absolutely not. He’s not worth it.”
“Oh, it’d be worth it,” Arlo says. “Totally.”
We fist bump again.
“Thank god the testosterone’s as thick as it is right now,” Zoey softly drawls. “Maybe I might actually get laid tonight.”
I hook an arm around her and pull her in so I can nibble on the nape of her neck. “I think we can arrange that, babe.”
Arlo snickers. “Absolutely, we can arrange that.”
Chapter Four
Zoey
These two guys.
Damn, do I love them.
While it’s tempting to let them drive over to Bill’s and beat the ever-loving snot out of him, I know that can’t happen.
I mean, it can happen, but it shouldn’t happen.
I prefer my men remain free.
“What time do we want to go over tomorrow?” I ask.
“Early,” both of them say, before they look at each other and start laughing.
“Jinx,” I say.
This happens all the time with the three of us.
“Soon as we’re done here,” Arlo says, “I’ll hop online and rent a truck. I don’t want any of us over there alone tomorrow morning. We’ll go get the truck, then drive over together. And we’ll need boxes and tape and stuff.”
After we’re finished with kitchen clean-up, I walk out to the garage. I’ve been meaning to organize it, but it’s one of those tasks that doesn’t have to be done, so I’ve put it off for…well, years, actually.
Guess I can’t do that any longer. We’ll need the space to store Lucas’ things until we can get his room put together here.
I plan on stripping his room there to the bare fricking walls. If Bill doesn’t like that, his happy little ass should have been there while we empty it, shouldn’t he?
Except the guy’s afraid of Nolan, I’m pretty certain. He’s definitely wary of Arlo, and has been for years. Neither let Bill intimidate them, and they’re both taller than Bill, not to mention younger than him, and they’re both in excellent shape, while Bill’s shape is…
Potato’s a shape, isn’t it?
What can I say? My guys are protective of me and Lucas. Isn’t that just more overwhelming proof that the three of us belong together?
I’m still standing there and trying to plan this in my head when I hear the door to the utility room open behind me. Nolan walks in and looks around, his hands on his hips.
“Well,” he says. “The good news is, we don’t need to play games about sharing a bed tonight. The bad news is, I have a feeling we’re going to be too exhausted for any fun tonight or tomorrow night. And I still need a shower.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t you dare apologize, babe.” He walks over and pulls me into his arms. “I don’t want to hear a single apology out of you for this. Now we finally know the truth.” He stares into my eyes. “Can you finally accept what Ar and I have been telling you all along? That you’re not a horrible mother, and you didn’t do a damn thing wrong?”
“Yeah.” I lay my head against his chest and just…breathe.
Twelve more years.
That’s my mantra, the countdown until he’s completely free of Jerilyn. Right now, because Katie is on a week-to-week schedule similar to what we used to have for Lucas, neither of them pay any child support. If Katie needs something extra, like school uniforms, they split the cost. Katie’s on Nolan’s health insurance, and he pays that, even though Jerilyn’s supposed to chip in half for it. That’s something else he could use against her, but talk about being too fricking nice. He definitely doesn’t fight hard enough for himself sometimes.
He nuzzles the top of my head. “Sure you won’t get tired of having both of us around all the time?”
I smile. “You kidding? Arlo’s going to be glad to have you as backup.”
He chuckles. “This is really going to happen.” He sounds like he’s still trying to absorb that. “After all these years.”
“Yeah.” I tip my head back to look up into his sweet brown eyes. “How long to get the house built?”
“Not right away. We’re probably looking at six months. We need to get the permit, hire a contractor, all of that. We’ll need to get this place ready to sell, but we’ll have to time it right so we’re not living out of a hotel while the house is being built.”
“See? This is why we need an RV.”
He smiles, shaking his head. “You just won’t let go of that one, will you?”
> “Why couldn’t we?”
“Let’s build the house first. Then we can see where our finances are. I’ll be able to contribute some up front to building the house, but not nearly as much as I’d like.”
I finger the buttons on his shirt. “Joint bank account?”
“Yeah.”
We stand there for a moment, silently gazing into each other’s eyes. We don’t often get moments like this together. They’re damned rare, because we don’t get nearly enough time together to start with. During those times, if we’re here at the house, we’re usually tonsil-deep down each other’s throats, or we’re sprawled across our bed and sound asleep after wearing each other out.
I gently poke him in the chest. “You didn’t tell me you guys had lunch together this week.”
He smiles. “We wanted it to be a surprise. The plans, that is.”
“You really talked to your attorney?”
He nods. “I did. Mike can set us up paperwork to protect us. He’s got a couple of other clients who are poly, I guess, and knows some tricks.”
I start playing with his shirt buttons again. “You’re going to wear a ring,” I tell him.
He sighs. “Needs to be on my right hand, sweetie. For now.”
“I know. But you can wear it on your left when you don’t have to be around her.”
He nuzzles noses with me. “Okay.”
This has been a minor point of contention for me over the past four years. The first Christmas we were “officially” together, he gave me a gorgeous titanium band with a celtic knot pattern etched all the way around it, and I wear that on my right ring finger. He gave Arlo a gold ring with a Tanzanite stone nearly the same color as Arlo’s eyes. It almost looks like a class ring, so it’s not something that would trip anyone’s curiosity too much. We gave Nolan a gold necklace, and he wears that all the time. He’s wearing it now. I feel better knowing he’s got it on.
Poly Page 4