Chapter 8
Thomas went to get another beer — Charles had stocked up on IPAs and lagers from an Asheville brewery — and he glanced around the yard while he popped off the top. Viv had invited Rhys’s aunts and uncles from both sides of the family, and she had proudly introduced Thomas to her younger brother and Charles’s two younger sisters and their respective spouses. Everyone had greeted him with warmth and showed genuine interest in him, and he hadn’t picked up on a single trace of homophobia. Even now, Rhys was standing in a little cluster with his father and uncles, laughing over something, and Uncle Bill had one arm slung around Rhys’s shoulders and was jostling him affectionately.
While he was glad Rhys was surrounded by people who loved and accepted him, he couldn’t help but wish he’d had the same kind of support. Maybe then he wouldn’t have spent so many years struggling both emotionally and financially.
He also wished he didn’t feel like such a damned fraud. He would have loved to adopt Viv as the supportive mother he’d never had and let himself be accepted into the family fold, but he had to keep reminding himself that his relationship with Rhys wasn’t real, and it might not ever be.
Just then, Rhys caught his eye, and Thomas lifted the can, pointed to it, and raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated silent question. Rhys nodded and gave a thumbs up, so Thomas grabbed another can from the cooler and opened it before heading back to the deck. He went to stand next to Rhys and handed him the beer, and Rhys murmured his thanks.
“Doing okay?” Rhys leaned down and spoke in Thomas’s ear once the uncles had wandered off to join Charles at the grill.
“I’m fine,” Thomas said with a reassuring smile. “I like your family.”
“They like you too,” Rhys said. “And you still haven’t met Scott. Apparently he’s glued to the TV until the end of the Panthers game.”
The screen door opened, and a handsome younger man sauntered onto the deck, and Thomas thought it was safe to assume the infamous cousin Scott had entered the scene.
“Speak of the devil.” Rhys grimaced and took a healthy swallow of beer.
Scott wasn’t quite as tall or as broad-shouldered as Rhys, and his eyes were chestnut brown instead of blue. He had wavy dark brown hair like Rhys, and there was a little silver beginning to thread through it.
“You’ve gotten highlights,” Rhys said, gesturing to Scott’s hair, which was perfectly styled without a hair out of place, unlike Rhys’s unruly mop.
“It’s from the sun,” Scott said, raking his fingers through his hair and then shaking his head as if to show off his perfect waves.
“Uh huh. Just like your abs are from manual labor, not protein shakes and an air-conditioned gym.”
“Maybe you should drink more protein shakes and less beer,” Scott said, poking Rhys’s stomach. “How close to fifty are you now?”
Thomas scowled, ready to give Scott a verbal flaying for insulting Rhys, but Rhys only scoffed and pointed to the silver strands at Scott’s temples.
“About as close as you are to forty,” he said, and Thomas made himself settle his ruffled feathers. Rhys could hold his own without help, but Thomas still eyed Scott warily.
Rather than seem upset by Rhys’s barb, Scott laughed. “Touché, cousin. So are you going to introduce me?” he asked, watching Thomas with bright, curious eyes.
“Like you don’t already know who he is.”
“Like Mama and Aunt Viv haven’t been talking about y’all nonstop,” Scott said, his eyes crinkling with amusement.
Rhys let out a snort, but he didn’t comment on the confirmation that their “relationship” was the hot topic of the day.
“Scott Carver, this is my boyfriend, Thomas Monroe.”
Thomas wondered if his perception of the slight emphasis on “boyfriend” was wishful thinking or if Rhys was staking a claim on him.
“Thomas, this is my cousin, Scott.”
“Nice to meet you,” Scott said, extending his hand, and Thomas clasped it.
“Nice to meet you too,” he said, trying not to sound grudging about it. But Scott had already earned negative marks for insulting Rhys even though it seemed giving each other a hard time was part of their dynamic.
“So what’s it like working onPlague Z?” Scott asked. “Do you ever get freaked out by the zombies? It seems like that would be creepy.”
“Not really,” Thomas said with a little shrug. “We see the stunt people and actors getting the zombie makeup and prosthetics applied, and between takes, they’re walking around the set with a bottle of water in their hand, so that helps keep the distinction between fantasy and reality clear.”
“But that doesn’t mean the special effects folks don’t try to scare the shit out of y’all,” Rhys said with a wicked grin.
“They’re all assholes,” Thomas muttered, which made Rhys burst out laughing.
