Tarius raised his own glass. “Hear, hear.”
Their sextet toasted the sentiments and the promises behind them. That the Cross and Higgs families were now directly tied to each other—or would be once the marriage certificate was signed. But they were connected by a promise that Tarius very much intended to keep. He loved Branson, and he would do whatever it took to make his future husband happy.
TWELVE
The weekend passed too damned slowlyfor Branson, despite doing everything possible to keep his mind occupied. After going back to his sire’s house after their dinner revelation to pack a few things, Tarius spent the rest of the weekend with Branson. They had a future to plan—not to mention, practice existing as a cohabitating couple.
New toiletries appeared in the bathroom. New snacks and food appeared in the fridge. Branson reorganized his bedroom closet to make room for Tarius’s work suits. Not all of them yet. Since they’d need a bigger place soon, there was no point in moving all of Tarius’s clothes and possessions into this apartment.
They both forewent brunch invitations in favor of eating out at a neighborhood restaurant they both loved. It was a walkable distance, so Branson didn’t mind indulging in three Mimosas to go with his fruit and chocolate-syrup covered waffles.
Time not spent organizing and planning was spent cuddling on the sofa, alternately watching movies and playing video games, along with kissing. Lots of kissing. Gentle kissing sitting up. More aggressive kissing laying side by side, one of them occasionally sliding on top of the other. They got hard and thatwas okay. They could share their arousal without any burning desire to shed clothes or get off.
Creating their own, unique way of showing their love.
Jeuel called him once, in the late afternoon (but closer to lunchtime for Jeuel), and they chatted for forty minutes about nothing special. Branson described the cold, sleety weather in Sansbury this time of year. Jeuel teased him about Sonora’s temperate climate and almost year-round sunshine. Sonora sounded nice for a visit, but Branson loved living in a province that experienced all four seasons.
The next morning, Tarius had to work, and so did Branson. He probably wouldn’t get the DNA results until tomorrow, anyway, depending on the lab. Concentrating on his tasks took more energy than Branson possessed, so he guzzled coffee and helped himself to sugary donuts from the break room. Papa texted several times, messages that he was following up with Paxton, and that he hadn’t heard anything yet.
Three-hour time differences sucked.
No news came by quitting time, or while Branson and Tarius shared takeout at the apartment. Branson’s mobile didn’t ring until a little after seven, when he and Tarius were debating watching local news or a game show. Papa was calling.
“Yes, hello?” Branson said before he properly had the phone to his ear.
“Mr. Paxton got the DNA results from the lab a few minutes ago.” Papa’s voice was slightly higher pitched than normal. “He’s called Jeuel to come in. If you want to meet me at my office, we can tele-conference when Mr. Paxton opens the envelope.”
“He hasn’t opened it yet?” Frustration swamped Branson, even as he understood the reasoning behind waiting. They were less likely to question the validity of the results if Paxton opened them in front of everyone involved. “Never mind, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Branson ended the call and stared blankly at his phone. In about twenty minutes, he’d finally know.
“Back to the office?” Tarius asked.
“Yep.”
He explained the brief phone call while they turned off the TV and put on shoes and coats. Tarius drove, so Branson could quietly fidget and freak out in the passenger seat, ticking down the minutes to knowing this truth. He so rarely freaked out about anything, but this piece of paper had the power to drastically alter the course of his life. Sure, he’d made plans to alter it, but this was the catalyst. The final match to the fuse.
In twenty minutes, everything will change.
Tarius kept his arm around Branson’s waist on the elevator ride up, and during the brief walk to Papa’s office. His computer screen already showed Jeuel, Trei and Paxton crammed together on their side. Papa sat at his desk chair, which he pushed back when they entered.
“They’re here,” Papa said. A sheen of perspiration coated his neck and face. He was nervous, too.
“Goddess, Branson, it’s time,” Jeuel said. “I can’t see you.”
Branson circled the desk to stand next to Papa. Jeuel was visibly trembling again, and Trei had a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, I’m here. Can you open the envelope, please, Mr. Paxton?”
“Certainly,” Paxton replied. He held up a manila envelope. “For the record, these were delivered to me via courier, directly from the genetics lab at the Sonora Provincial Hospital. The envelope has not been opened or tampered with in any way.”
Branson resisted rolling his eyes. Paxton reached for a silver letter opener and cleanly slit the top of the manila envelope. Pulled out two sheets of white paper. Scanned each page, his expression giving away nothing.
“The samples tested in this report,” Paxton said, “one coming from Jeuel Alder, and the other from Branson Cross, show a ninety-eight percent chance that you are related. You’re brothers.”
The world fuzzed out for a flash, and then Papa was easing Branson down to sit in his chair. He allowed his head to spin as his entire world reset itself into a new configuration that he didn’t completely understand yet. He would, though, given time. This was the answer he wanted, so why did he feel so strange?
“The other test,” Paxton continued, “is between Branson’s sample and one from Charles Alder, aka, Chip Uty. Branson?”
