“You’re welcome. I’ll be in touch.”
Branson put his mobile on his desk and stared at his computer’s screensaver, a shifting maze of colorful lines. His mind had felt like that for the last ten days, ever since learning the truth about his birth sire. And now, like with the swipe of a mouse, that discombobulation was wiped away, set right again. His future made sense, more sense than it had a year ago.
Then it had been ordered, planned, and simple. Frequently boring, unless something dramatic was happening with his siblings. Now, his future was exciting, spontaneous, and full of new possibilities he’d never considered before. He wasn’t becoming an insta-parent, not really. Jeuel wasn’t a child, but he would need guidance. Love. Trust.
And freedom to become the best man he could be. The omega he was supposed to be, no matter what path Jeuel chose for his future. At least he’d have options in Sansbury.
On a whim, Branson called his husband. “Hey, the apartment’s going to get a little crowded this weekend.”
“Maybe we should just invest in one,” Tarius said as he swirled the red wine in his glass. “We might need it in the future.” He’d basically made up his mind, but he also wanted Branson’s opinion. It was a big piece of furniture, after all.
Branson settled on the other end of the couch with his own glass of wine, the last of the bottle they’d opened last night, and he put his feet up on the cushion between them. Tarius had already stretched out his own legs, and his toes brushed Branson’s hip. He loved sitting like this, sharing the length of the couch, angled to face each other, and they’d been doing it more often in the evenings, while they talked about their days.
“You’re right,” Branson said, after taking a sip of his wine.
“Ooh, say it again.”
“Dork. Don’t get used to me saying that, just because you agreed to marry me.”
Tarius nudged Branson’s hip with his toes. “Fine, but you agree? We should go ahead and replace your couch with a sofa bed?”
“Yes, I agree. It’s not like I’m emotionally attached to this one. We’ll need a sofa bed until we can move into the larger apartment. It’ll be more comfortable than an air mattress, and a lot more practical for future guests.”
“Okay, you’ve sold me on the sofa bed.” Branson pinched his big toe.
Tarius yelped and drew his feet back. He did not need to spill his wine because Branson decided to start tickling him. “Watch it, Cross.”
“Or what?”
“I work with lawyers, I’ll think of something.”
“So, the new couch. Want to meet at Dalton’s tomorrow during lunch and do some shopping? See what they have in stock that can be delivered fast?”
“Yeah, that works. Maybe we can pick something neutral that will go with however we decide to decorate the new apartment.”
Branson picked at the faded green cushion beneath him. “What? You don’t like my eclectic style?”
“Even eclectic is an actual style. This is just a jumble of things you probably accepted second-hand or found at thrift shops.”
“So?”
“No so, it’s just very you. And even though you never really hung out at my old apartment, or saw my room at Khory’s place, I am…more precise in my decorating. Things have their place, and clutter makes me anxious.”
Branson blinked several times, like he’d never seen Tarius before, but his smile remained mild. “You like things to match and make sense.”
“And to go in their proper place. I know you’ve noticed how I hang up my suits when I come home, and the way I place my shoes by the bedroom door, toes to the wall, side by side.”
“Is this some sort of OCD I didn’t know you had?”
“No, it’s nothing like that.” Tarius stared at the ruby liquid in his glass, then put it down on the coffee table. He bent his knees and scooted closer to Branson. “It’s a coping mechanism I came up with during my first year at university. It was so different than secondary school, so many more people, strange faces, disorder, chaos, and it reminded me too much of something that I was working to overcome.” Tarius’s heart started pounding when he realized which can of ancient history he’d just opened. A can from more than half a lifetime ago.
Branson put his own wine glass down and placed his feet on the floor. Slid over so he was practically sitting on Tarius’sfeet. He rested his left hand on Tarius’s knee but didn’t squeeze, aware it would tickle. “Did something happen in school?”
“Not technically in school. And please, don’t think this is something I was intentionally keeping from you. I don’t really think about it anymore, because I was eighteen. Still a kid in a lot of ways, and I was still grieving Omegin. It was pre-Liam, so Dad was a righteous bastard most days. I hadn’t moved out of the house to live with Aven yet, but I was hanging out with him a lot. On campus.”
A protective kind of anger flashed in Branson’s eyes. “What happened?”
Tarius took Branson’s hand off his knee and squeezed it. “I went with Aven to an on-campus party where I didn’t know anyone. I drank, and at some point, someone slipped me a roofie.”
