I hug Isaac tight. “You’re amazing.”
“And you’re about to be a star. Your cock will be famous, known by queer guys…and probably gals…everywhere. How does it feel?”
Suspecting Isaac needs a reprieve from thinking about his father, I smile softly. “You tell me, brat. It’s your cock, isn’t it?”
“Oh fuck,” he mutters.
“Your man, your boyfriend, yours. All of it.”
“Jesus, Trevor.” Vibrant blue eyes trace over my face as Isaac pulls in a breath. “I think you might have been made for me.”
“I think I’ll spend a very long time proving it if you let me.”
He nips my bottom lip before his mouth presses solidly to mine. Hands in my hair, he tugs me back an inch. “You don’t have to prove anything. Not to me. Not to others.”
I hum, Isaac’s weight on my lap the greatest comfort. “It may take time, you know. Porn empires aren’t born overnight.”
Isaac huffs gently. “‘Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string.’”
“I very much doubt Emerson was talking about careers in inspirational video storytelling when he said that.”
Isaac’s laugh is louder this time. “I have every faith in you. You’ll need a name, you know. For your empire. What do you think you’ll call it?”
My lips twitch as Isaac’s fingertips trace over the tattoos on my neck. “I think I know the perfect thing.”
Chapter 31
Isaac
My mom’s kitchen smells of warm spices, the last of the chicken casserole Trevor helped me cook cooling on the countertop.
Although the termhelpedmay be understating it. Trevor did most of the work. If anything, I slowed him down.
He’s washing his hands now as Lumi and Todd start a batch of cookies. My mom is sitting at the table, watching us all with a fond smile, despite insisting she didn’t need any help prepping food this week.
I head her way, taking the empty seat beside her. “You’re going to have to get used to it.”
“What’s that?” she asks lightly.
“This. Us being around. Helping. Even if you don’t need it.”
I don’t say the impliedyet. My mom knows what’s coming, as do I.
She lets out a soft breath, her eyes casing my face. “I think I did all right with you.”
“What?” I ask around a chuckle.
“I know children might not be in your plans, and that’s perfectly fine,” my mom says, her hand squeezing my arm on the table. “But when a person becomes a parent, there’s this…weight. It’s expectation not to mess our kids up. Not to pass on our own hurt or insecurities. Not to give them new ones we didn’t even think about. I’m not saying I was perfect. I know I wasn’t. But I don’t think I could have possibly predicted you, Isaac. You’re a marvel.”
I shake my head, caught off guard by her words. “I’m nothing special.”
My mom raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? So those friends of yours over there mixing chocolate chip cookie dough? They’re here for me, not you?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
“And that man who brought his own spices so he could make one of his family’s favorite dishes taste as good as it does at home… He doesn’t think you’re anything special?”
“I’m just…me,” I manage.
