With Brooks cradled in my arms, I gently carry him out the backside of the tent, and towards the lake.
“Evan,” he gasps, “the camp is right over there.”
“Relax, babe,” I say quietly. “Just a quick dip to clean us off. It’s cloudy tonight. No one will see us in the dark, if you are quiet.”
We quickly hopped in and cleaned off and then snuck back into the tent to try to air dry a little before changing back into our clothes. Having gotten a little, uh, distracted, I totally forgot about the cooler I’d packed with snacks for our little adventure. Since I know he’s got a sweet-tooth, I brought strawberries and, get this, there’s such a thing as chocolate hummus.
Didn’t even know hummus was a thing, much lesschocolatehummus. Having Morgan in the house with us for the past three weeks has enlightened me to a whole host of new foods, outside of the prepackaged variety. Once we got through all those casseroles, from right after her surgery, she sat with me in the kitchen a few times and critiqued my feeble attempts at cooking.
Nicer than Colton does, I will add.
Now as I lie here in the hammock, just watching Brooks snore softly while snuggled into me, I can’t help but worry a little about how our time together in this little bubble is winding down, way faster than I ever envisioned. This season is quickly drawing to an end, and I hate it, but I’m also aware that we can’t uproot our kids, either.
I know, weeks ago, I said we’d cross that bridge when we got there, but I can’t help but feel like that bridge is quickly approaching, and… what will we do?
Chapter Thirty
It’s obscene how fucking nervous I am to be bringing Brooks back to Ternbay with me today. My bringing Brooks around couldn’t even be at a little private gathering, either. No, my parents had to go and have one of their big lobster feast cookouts. Dad says it’s because he had an overabundance of lobster lately, but I know it’s just because he’s being a sarcastic ass, since he said he wasn’t going to throw me a coming out party.
I just don’t fucking know how everyone will react to me coming out. Ternbay is a community that’s stuck on their views and their views haven’t always been sofriendlywhen it comes to homosexuality. Will everyone else be as surprisingly accepting as my family? Or will I be ostracized from a community that holds the Waters family up in such high esteem?
As nervous as I am, I’m also a little, I don’t know—fuck—excited? I just want to be able to have the weight of hiding off my shoulders. I want to be able to gauge their reaction first, before Colton risks itall for himself, too. Though I know he’d love for me to do so, since we’ve grown so much over these past few weeks, and I’ve learned to let him be more independent—I know I can’t ever truly shake my overprotectiveness of him.
He’s still my son, for crying out loud. I’m only fucking human.
I sigh and continue rubbing soothing circles on Brooks’ back as he lays sprawled out over me in bed. I guessourbed now, since I haven’t been back down in the staff cabin since the day we told each other we loved each other. I still can’t believe how quickly I went from thinking I didn’t deserve, nor would I ever find, love again to this. Mind officially blown.
With that weird, clairvoyant moment I had on the beach that morning, I was left feeling like Brooks really is my soulmate, though. Shit, it’s ridiculous, really. I’ve known the man for less than three months—if you consider the many times we emailed back and forth before coming here—but yet I feel like I’ve waited my entire fucking life for him.
Brooks is understandably nervous too. I haven’t exactly painted him the brightest picture of my hometown. It’s hard to look at the place through rose-colored glasses, however, when you’ve grown up in a place that outwardly presents itself as a quaint fishing village, but no one truly knows the secrets of the people who live there.
That’s probably why, as I’m lying here, Brooks has his face in my lap, cock warming for comfort—both his and mine, because truthfully, it’s helping me relax too. He’s been going at it for a little over an hour now, just suckling lightly and nuzzling his face in my lap. He finally looks peaceful again, after stressing about how to make a good impression on my family, and more so how I’ll handle coming out so publicly.
I gotta say, him draped over me like he is—putting direct pressure on his chest—doesn’t look too comfortable, but he assured methe act is helping to center him. He’s got a new tattoo over his heart he shouldn’t be smothering, after all. His first ever tattoo. I feel like I’m babying the damn thing more than he is. He had Colton sketch out an anchor and had it etched into his flesh a little over two weeks ago.
As much as I’m grateful for Brooks helping to facilitate change between my son and I, I’m in awe of how close they’ve gotten too. Colton’s face lit up when Brooks showed him the tattoo at one of our ‘family dinners’ last night. Morgan told Brooks he looked like ‘a total badass Dad’ now.
He chose an anchor, modeling it after one of my knuckle tats, stating that it would remind him to stay grounded, rooted in his values and decisions, when everything else around him seemed uncertain or drifting. Originally, he thought of getting a backbone scribed on him, but then thought it would look too weird to have a spine over his heart. That, and he wanted something tying us together, something symbolic that I was his safe harbor.
After they left to go back down to the cabins, I got on my knees and showed him what I thought of his gesture as well, by giving him the best damn blowjob I’ve ever given—which, at this point, isn’t at Brooks’ god-tier level yet, but it’s still pretty damn decent.
With my free hand, I run my fingers through his hair, so I can see his eyes better as he peers up at me. I give him a soft smile. “As much as I don’t want you to stop doing what you’re doing, we might want to get going...”
He pops off and grabs at a section of blanket to wipe me up with.
“Babe,” I chuckle, “you gotta stop stroking me. I’m going to get hard.”
“Sorry, sorry,” he frets. “Think of your septic guy again or something,” he teases.
I bark out a laugh. “Nah, I think I’m good. Some kid named Bentley clogged the toilet this morning and I had to go fix that. You weren’t kidding when you said those rugrats do a number on the plumbing there.”
Brooks nods, humming in agreement, “That they do.”
When I pull in almost five hours later, because we stopped off at the apartment first, the crowd is even bigger than I could have imagined. It's probably for the best that we stopped by my place first, not only to swap out vehicles, but so we could also stretch out our legs—and other things—before swinging by here all tensed up. I hop out of my truck and head around to open the door for Brooks. I’m nothing if not a gentleman, after all. I give him a hand down, and he takes a tentative step back, oddly placing distance between us.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks me, worry painted on his face all over again.
Guess the calming effect of the handjob I gave the both of us has worn off upon the sight of the gathering. “Don’t show ‘em you’re nervous, and you’ll do fine. If Wagner catches wind of your fear, he’ll rag on you for it. Gotta treat the old codger like a rooster,” I tell him.
