“Yeah, I’m good.”
Colin’s hand stayed where it was. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t ask what Ezra had wanted, or why he had come all the way from the US with no warning. He just kept stroking Diwa’s skin, and Diwa closed his eyes and let his omega hold him.
He’d tell him tomorrow, or maybe the day after. When Colin’s eyes had stopped going soft at the edges and his thighs had stopped trembling when going up the stairs.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Colinlet himself off the bus at the stop opposite Stephen’s building on Thursday evening, his work bag still on his shoulder. He’d thought about ringing ahead the whole journey from Pimlico, and decided against it, because Stephen was very good at finding reasons not to be in when he didn’t want to have a conversation.
Colin let himself into Stephen’s flat with his own key and found Stephen and Ryland at the kitchen table, Stephen still in his work shirt with the cuffs rolled, Ryland with a colour-coded meal planner open in front of him.
“Daddy.” Stephen got up to put the kettle on. “You should’ve said you were coming. I’d have set us up with a proper dinner.”
“Sit down, love. I won’t be long. I’m just popping by on my way to Diwa’s.”
Stephen sat. His shoulders pulled back at the name, the line of his jaw tightening before he’d had a chance to school it. Ryland’s eyes flicked sideways to him, clearly watching for a detonation.
“Diwa’s coming to this Sunday lunch at my place.” Colin pulled out the chair opposite Stephen and lowered himself onto it. “Remember, you said yourself you wanted to meet with him again. This time you’re going to be good to him, Stephen.”
Stephen’s jaw set. “Daddy —”
“He’s had a hard week with his business. I’m not going into the details, that story’s his to tell, but it’s been bad and I’m not having him ambushed over a lamb joint. Are we clear?”
“I wasn’t going to ambush him.”
“You were absolutely going to ambush him. You can’t help yourself, Stephen, you’ve got a barrister’s brain and a barrister’s mouth, but I love you anyway.”
Stephen folded his arms across his chest. “I just don’t see why I’m meant to roll out the red carpet for someone I’ve still got reservations about.”
“Because he’s coming to my home, on my invitation, and you’re going to be there as my son and not as opposing counsel.”
Ryland had started rocking back and forth.
“Stephen.” Colin’s tone softened. “Love. I’m sorry I’ve put you in a position where you worry about me this much. That’s on me. I’ve spent your entire life giving you reasons to think I needed looking after.”
“Daddy, no.” Stephen’s hand came down flat on the table, hard enough to rattle the salt grinder. “You’ve got nothing to apologise for.”
“I know there’s a fair chance this thing with Diwa won’t last. I’m not stupid. He’s twenty-eight and he’s got the whole world in front of him, and I’m an omega with bad knees, and one day he might wake up and work that out.” Colin reached across the table and put his hand over Stephen’s. “But I’m willing to take that risk, because I feel safe enough with him towantto. Diwa’s earned that from me. And I’m asking you to try to get to know him, because he’s a part of my life now, Stephen.”
Stephen looked at Colin’s hand on his. His throat moved.
“It’s just…” His voice came out thin and young. He cleared his throat and tried again. “It’s just that I can see exactly how this ends, Daddy. He’ll get bored, through no fault of yours, or he’ll get called back to California. And I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt…”
“Maybe.” Colin didn’t take his hand away. “Or maybe not. But that’s not a reason to keep him out of my life now.”
Stephen’s other hand came up and pressed against his eyes. He held it there for a long moment. When he dropped it, his eyelashes were wet.
“Fine,” he said. “Sunday. But if he says something stupid and new age, I’m allowed to call him out on it.”
“That’s my good lad. I don’t hold myself back either when he yammers on, and don’t expect you to.” Colin stood, leaned down, and kissed Ryland on the cheek on his way out.
? ? ?
Diwastayed over at Colin’s on Saturday night, ostensibly to help with the lamb prep for Sunday lunch, though his contributions to the preparation had so far consisted of reorganising the spice rack by region of origin and asking whether Colin owned a meat thermometer.
His visit was the reason the armchair died.
Its rickety demise had been coming for years. The frame had developed a creak sometime around the twins’ GCSEs. For years the left armrest wobbled if you leaned on it too hard. Colin had re-glued the joints twice and hammered a brace across the backleg, and the chair had repaid his efforts by holding together through another decade of evenings.
