“No one’s.” Harley dug another handful of sand from the pit and chucked it to the side. “Knot was making up stories about some nightmare sea creature to convince me not to dig our fire pit with my hands.”
TD blinked and tucked his knees to his chest, hugging his legs tight. “Oh. So the sea creature is named Bobby? That sounds like something Penny might make up—just last week, she named the hose in the backyard ‘Eric.’ Knot, if you want anyone to believe your stories, don’t name the monster next time. Or if you do, name it something that sounds more science-y.”
Damien resisted a sigh, burying his face in his hand. “Yes, TD. Of course. I forgot that not all of us are two years old. I’ll be sure to ask the marine biologists to pick a better name the next time they discover an actual sea monster.” With his story well and truly sidetracked, Damien decided it was wise to change the topic of conversation. “Harley, is Simon not coming to the bonfire?”
“Nope.” Harley chucked another handful of sand from the pit onto the pile. “He said something about having a cyber-security chat with Shep, but I think the actual reason he’s staying behind is so he can give me some space to have uninterrupted guy time.” Harley stopped work on the pit to look in the direction of the bures, a glimmer of adoration in his eyes. “He always thinks about the little things—about what would be best for me, regardless of whether it’s best for him. I see him do it all the time. I don’t think he knows I’m onto him, but I am. I notice the things he does for me, and I appreciate them.”
“That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.” TD set his chin on his knees and beamed at Harley.
Damien remained silent.
When the Single Dads had actually been single, he’d felt more comfortable commiserating with them about his loneliness. It’d been natural. At the time, they’d all had their hearts broken. Now, all of their hearts were full.
All of them except his own.
From time to time, Damien still spouted off about his heartache, but it wasn’t the same as before. He blew things out of proportion to make the Dads laugh while hoping that hyperbole would be enough to relieve his pain. He wouldn’t be the asshole who’d make the people around him feel like shit for finding love. They were his friends, and Damien would support them no matter what. If that meant staying silent while they gushed about their partners, so be it.
One by one, the other Single Dads came to sit by the pit. The first to join them was Glit, whose eye makeup sparkled in the light of the setting sun. The glitter war could come for him, but no matter how intensely it waged, it would leave him unscathed—the man lived and breathed for sparkle and drama. Being covered head to toe in glitter was likely Glit’s idea of a good time.
Glit gracefully folded his legs and lowered himself to the ground like a bird settling into its nest. Once positioned, he wordlessly placed a hand on Damien’s thigh, palm down.
Well, that was unexpected.
Damien raised an eyebrow and glanced at Glit’s hand. He was seconds away from telling Glit that he wasn’t interested in being the newest member of his harem when Glit took his hand back as if nothing had happened. A small plastic baggie of glitter occupied the spot where his palm had once been. On it was a Post-It note that read “#TEAMKNOT.”
Glit stretched and yawned in what Damien assumed was an attempt to act casual. “Hey, guys.”
While the Dads greeted Glit into their circle, Damien pocketed the baggie. There was no telling when it might come in handy.
No sooner had he put it away than Gwynn arrived. He wisely sat across the pit from Damien, angling himself so he could keep an eye on him at all times.
“Night’s fallen, Gwynn.” Damien leaned back, bracing his palms in the sand. “Everyone knows that you don’t wage war after the sun’s gone down. That’s just dirty.”
Gwynn slid his glasses up the bridge of his nose, looking over his frames at Damien with suspicion. “Your name is KnotMyProblem—dirty comes with the territory.”
Damien shrugged, acting as aloof as he could while grinning so wide that his cheeks ached. Not every interaction with the Single Dads left him feeling inferior and isolated. Most of the time, talking with them filled the gaps in Damien’s heart where love no longer lived. Interactions like these were what fueled him. “All I’m saying is that it’s your choice to live your life in fear. As far as I’m concerned, when the sun goes down, so do my glitter guns. In other words: don’t start none, won’t be none.”
“Why do I not believe you?”
While they talked, Harley busied himself with finishing up construction on the fire pit. After wedging a few more stones to reinforce the structure, he wandered into the brush, likely to go start a new, better life far, far away from the rest of them.
Damien believed in him.
If any of them could make the wild their bitch, it’d be Harley.
To Damien’s surprise, Harley gave up on his dreams of living in the Fijian wilds and returned with a stack of branches and other dried plant matter. Dutifully, he stacked the thickest of the wood in a pile next to the hill of displaced sand, then started to assemble the rest in the pit.
“And I’m supposed to believe you’re not going to cause trouble?” Gwynn hitched a brow, then leaned forward and jammed something small into the mess of branches and kindling. Damien squinted in an attempt to make out what it was, but wasn’t able to see shit. “I saw the duffel bags. I know that you’re not up to any good.”
“Says the one jamming things into the fire pit,” Damien retorted. “What are you plotting, Gwynn? What kind of sneaky shenanigans are you getting up to tonight?”
Gwynn sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, a smug look on his face. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Damien narrowed his eyes. Knowing was the whole point of having asked the question. He was about to tell Gwynn as much when xV came to join them, his hair messy and his cheeks flushed. One of the buttons on his shirt had been paired with the wrong buttonhole. It was the most disheveled Damien had ever seen him.
“Hey, xV!” TD chirped, oblivious to xV’s ruffled state. “Are you ready for Single Dad Campfire Stories? I think we’re just about to get the fire going.”
“We sure are.” Harley produced a puck of something and wedged it between the spaces in the wood near where Gwynn had committed his vile act of premeditated treachery. “We’re just about set for ignition. You guys ready?”
