One
COLT
Silverpine, Oregon is home, where both support and chaos live in the Woods household.
My parents are expecting a house full of grandkids.
They're gonna have to rely on one of my six brothers for that because I'm gay and it'll be a long time before that happens.
The smells of pine and peppermint hit my senses when I step into the overly decorated house. I brush my hand over a hand-knit Christmas blanket that was a gift from a customer of mine after we fixed her granddaughter’s car one year.
It is like Christmas took over the Woods household, with all the decorations and lights, but I am used to it; this is what I grew up with since my mom and dad are both obsessed with Christmas.
Every December twentieth, my parents host their famous Christmas party and everyone in Silverpine is invited. Thank fuck we live in a large house with eight-bedrooms, seven TVs, six leather sofas, five bathrooms, two dining rooms, four restrooms,one large kitchen big enough to rival a restaurant, and a partridge in a pear tree.
I am one of six Woods brothers: Huxley is the oldest, then me, followed by Ridley, then along came the twins, Tatum, and Tristan, and last but not least my baby brother Cormac arrived. He was planned, after my mother became broody over one of my cousins and decided she wasn’t quite done yet.
Luckily for my folks, I am the only gay son in the family and I’m thankful that my brothers have already started giving them grandbabies. Huxley has two kids: Verity, who is seventeen, and Ozzy, who is fourteen. Their mom bailed a few years ago after some poor shmuck gave her attention.
Ridley has a twelve-year-old son, Ty, who is a mini version of his dad.
The Woods family is tight; we are there for each other through thick and thin. When one of us hurts, we all hurt. We were brought up to love and support each other, no matter what the situation was. It stems from my father having to go no-contact with his family years ago because he wanted to marry my mom.
Sure, we might bicker over the last cinnamon roll, or argue about whose turn it is to wash the dishes, as our mom does not wash any dish after she has cooked for us.
“Colt, is that you?” I hear my mom calling.
“Yeah, Ma.”
“We are in the kitchen.”
“Who would have guessed,” I mutter to myself.
My mom pretty much lives in the kitchen through most of December; she is always baking and cooking meals for the shelter in the next town over. We all volunteer over there a few times a year to help the staff out.
Stepping into the large open kitchen, my gaze scans over the lights and garland that wrap around the room. Christmas-themed kitchen items adorn the surfaces.
“How is work, Son?” I look to my dad, who’s sitting at the island, drinking a cup of coffee, no doubt a Christmas blend; him and mom love that shit.
I am a straight black kind of guy—the only thing straight about me.
“Busy. I left Rid booking in another truck for tomorrow. The woman’s daughter is home for Christmas and she does not have the right tires on, so we are fitting them.”
“That’s good. She’ll need them when the snow hits,” Mom adds.
I step to her, kissing her cheek, then make myself a coffee.
Taking a sip, I lean my ass against the counter and watch my parents interact. They have always been like this, never ones to shy away from affection in front of us boys. We all learned that showing the person you love how you feel should not be hidden.
They still dance around the house, poke fun at each other, kiss and touch whenever they can. I want that one day, but I am already forty, so my time is slipping away.
Images of River flash through my head, but I blink them away. Fuck, that man has been the main star in my perverted dreams lately, but he is thirteen years younger than me, so I keep my distance. That does not stop me thinking of him when I jack off in the shower though.
My brothers know how I feel about him, but they know that I will not go there. For one, he is too young; plus, I am a ‘Daddy Dom,’ something I found out in my early twenties, and I am not sure if that is the type of thing River is in to.
He is flamboyant, and I fucking love waiting to see what outfit he is wearing when I bump into him. People see me as the rough and gruff one of the Woods boys, with my slicked-back hair, facial hair, and tattoos that cover most of my body, including the front of my neck.
“Earth to Colt. You okay there, Son?”
