“Nah man, no kids. We thought about it, but it costs a shit ton to do IVF and findin’ a surrogate is difficult. But I guess you already know that. We used all our savings to start the business,and then it didn’t turn a decent profit until two years ago. At forty, I guess I’m gettin’ too old to start a family now. As for Ethan, I don’t even know where he is. I thought about tryin’ to find him when I got out, but figured he’d be better off without me.”
Bren’s eyes drift across the room, the topic clearly making him uncomfortable.
“Maybe one day he’ll come looking for you. I think you’d be a great dad, Bren. What kid doesn’t want a badass dad with tatts who swears too much?”
“Fuck off, Davies.” Bren’s face breaks into a smile that warms my heart. I’ve missed his smile so much. If only I hadn’t wasted all those years.
“Do you still live in Frankston North?” I ask, keeping up the pretence of pretending not to know. “The neighbourhood’s almost middle class now. There are some damn nice houses there.”
“Yeah, who would’ve fuckin’ thought?” Bren shakes his head. “Me and Chris bought that nice weatherboard house next to Corey’s. You remember Corey, don’t you?”
“Yeah, you serious?” I laugh, recalling an image of the house next to our high school mate. “That place is really big, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is. We gutted it and did a full reno job. It’s perfect. If anythin’, it’s too big for just the two of us.”
“I thought you liked it when it was big?” I tease.
“That didn’t take fuckin’ long. Quit it Davies,” Bren says, but he’s smirking right back at me.
Chapter 11
Brendan
Now
After a couple of hours at the bar I feel pretty good about the way the night’s going. We’ve cleared the air, and I’m enjoying just talking to Kyle. The conversation is flowing and, if I ignore the designer clothes, I can see the old Davies is still there.It’s a shame he ended up married to an uppity prick, but he got a kid out of it, so that’s something.
Kyle begins to tell me about how he doesn’t make time to see his siblings—siblings he was once close to. But, as much as I try to focus on the conversation, I keep getting lost in my own thoughts. Seeing that photo of Lucinda, who is the spitting image of Kyle, has got me feeling sentimental about that short time we lived together with Ethan and Tiffany. Kyle might be complaining about being a parent to a teenager, but he must be a great dad—I saw first-hand how good he was with Ethan as a baby. Truth is, I would’ve loved to raise a—
No. It’s stupid to let old regrets resurface.
My eyes drift over Kyle’s face as he continues to talk. Denying the urge to reach out and touch him, to caress his cheek and feel the texture of his beard, is becoming increasingly difficult to deny. I restrain my hands by holding tightly onto my empty beer mug.
My gaze travels further down to his hands resting on the table. I always liked his long, elegant fingers. My thoughts tumble back in time, memories from the past materialising before me…I’m seated between Kyle’s legs, feet planted on the bed and spread open, my back leaning against his chest. He’s got one hand possessively around my throat while his fingers fuck languidly in and out of me, teasing that spot. I tilt my head back to be thoroughly kissed, deep and wet, moaning into his mouth as the pleasure begins to crest.
Heat blooms low and blood rushes to my cock as my face flushes hot with the headiness of arousal.
“Bren? Are you even listening? You can’t be pissed from a few beers. Have you become a lightweight in your old age?” Kyle laughs, blue eyes sparkling.
I blink, adjusting myself under the table. “Probably am a lightweight,” I say, afraid my voice will give away the truth. “Sure as shit don’t drink like I did back in the day.”
Kyle’s only had two beers, but he’s definitely got a buzz going because of his meds. I’ve only had four myself, but it feels more like six. Being around Kyle is intoxicating.
I should’ve stayed sober.
“Hey Bren, you see those two hyper-masc straight bros playing pool over there?” Kyle tilts his head towards a couple of guys on the other side of the bar.
“What about ‘em?” I ask, turning to look.
“They think they’re hot shit. They keep announcing which ball they’re about to sink, then miss the shot. I don’t suppose you can still play. We’ve got a pool table at home, and I must admit, I’m still good. You wanna see if we can hustle them?” Kyle smiles, excited, and it reminds me of the first time we shoplifted together.
“You serious? I haven’t pulled shit like that in years,” I say, getting completely sucked in by Kyle’s eagerness. “So how we doin’ this, Davies?”
Kyle giggles, like actuallygiggles. “I think we should play on the table next to them and act like two flamboyant queens who have no fucking clue. I consider it my duty as a gay man to destroy stereotypes, and this should do it. You up for that, Young?”
Being called Young for the first time in six years almost sobers me up. “Fuck yeah, I’m up for it. I’m gonna give you an Oscar-worthy performance, so keep your shit together.”
At the pool table, Kyle gets into character straight away by stripping off his jacket and dramatically grabbing a cue stick. He looks me up and down before announcing loudly, “Baby, wait to you see how good I’ve gotten with my stick.”
