And I hate it.
As someone who grew up being told your worth is only as good as the work you get done, it’s an uncomfortable feeling to actively try to take onlesswork. I always knew there would come a time when I would have to slow down—I saw it with my grandfather, and my dad—but it’s hard to imagine what life will look like when I pass more responsibility onto my sons.
Remington grabs the post-hole digger without being told. He plants his boots, drives the blade into the ground, and pulls up a clean scoop of dirt. He’s working with strong shoulders and efficient movements. I catch myself watching him a little too long. I’m practically drooling. Fuck, I need to knock that shit off.
The three of us work in rhythm after that. Dig. Set. Level. Tamp. I’ve done this hundreds of times, so it’s pure muscle memory at this point. Remington steadies the post while I check it with a level.
“Little to the left,” I say.
He adjusts it right away without arguing.
“Good.” I nod.
Being this close to him, I notice things I shouldn’t linger on. Like how easily he takes instructions, how he listens fully when I speak. There’s a steadiness to him. It’s not loud, but it takesup space anyway. It’s also impossible not to notice the brilliant blue shade of his eyes. They’re piercing and vibrant, but with our proximity, I can make out the darker outline around his iris, making them look multi-dimensional.
Hollis wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “You two are weirdly in sync.”
My heart stops for a moment, and my gaze flies to Remington. He snorts, looking back at me. The sun hits his face just right, and for a moment, I forget all about what my son said.
Goddamnit,he’s too fucking distracting.
“Maybe,” Remington teases. “Or maybe I just take instructions better than you.”
Hollis’s face screws up as he flips off his best friend, and thankfully, that’s the end of that.
By the time we finish setting the third post, the wind kicks up again, rattling the loose wire farther down the line.
“See?” I gesture toward it. “This is what happens when you don’t fix things properly.”
Rolling his eyes, Hollis chuckles and says, “You’ve been waitin’ all mornin’ to say that, haven’t you?”
“Damn right.”
“Daddy Moore is strict today,” Remington adds with way too much lust in his voice. He’s going to get us caught if he keeps that shit up.
Fuck. Coming out here this morning with both of them was a mistake. Being around him was a mistake. I’m full of those lately when it comes to Remington. What the hell was I thinking in that bathroom at the bar? I should’ve left the moment he walked in. But, like an idiot, I didn’t. And that damn blow job is all I’ve been able to think about lately.
“Don’t even start with that shit,” Hollis muses.
Remington’s gaze flickers from me to him, his lips twitching with humor. “Why not? It’s fun watching you squirm.”
He’s looking right at my son, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that statement was directed toward me. I hate the zip of heat it sends down my spine.
“Also, switch,” Remington says to Hollis, grabbing the stretcher from him. “You’re gonna lose a singer the way you’re holdin’ that.”
Hollis snorts. “Oh, now you’re an expert?”
A smirk curls up his face. “Iamtrained in emergency response,” he offers dryly.
“For cows?” Hollis shoots back.
“Maybe.”
I shake my head, biting back a smile. Their friendship is something I’ve always admired. I’ve got friends, and I had plenty when I was their age too, but nothing like what they have. Things between them are easy. Comfortable. Hollis leans into Remington without thinking. Trusts him without saying it out loud. And vice versa.
As the thought crosses my mind, guilt settles heavily in my gut. Hollis trusts him. Trustsme. And we’re fooling around behind his back. I’m keeping things from my own son, and it’s not right. But it’s not like I can tell him. Not only will he probably never forgive me, but it’s also never happening again—it’snot—so there’s no reason to make waves. But that doesn’t make me feel any better or less like a terrible father.
Remington braces his boots in the dirt, muscles flexing as he pulls the wire taut. Glancing over at me, he lifts an eyebrow and asks, “Good?”
