Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
Trav
“Great burger, Boulder,” Rhett says to my man. “And thanks for making sure there’s no mayo—he won’t even kiss me if he can smell it on my breath.”
Logan shrugs, unapologetic. “It’s true.”
Rhett smiles as if that’s just another thing he adores about his husband. Love has abducted the man, and it’s done the same to me. I can’t take my eyes off Dirk as he moves around, settling everyone with food, a kitchen rag slung over his shoulder, his firm biceps on display.
He’s still in the suit he wore for the wedding, but he’s ditched the blazer and has rolled up the sleeves of his long-sleeved button-down. Dirk’s so fucking beautiful. I wish I could put my hands all over him, pull him into my lap the way Sutter’s trapped Casey.
Instead, I keep my distance, allowing my gaze to meet his now and then, so I can enjoy his pretty blush. He tries, but he can’t hide it from me. For everyone else, his emotions are a closed book. For me? He can’t keep the cover closed.
My staff serves us drinks, and when nine o’clock hits, Dash, Jack, and Casey break out the karaoke they’d set up earlier.
Jack cons everyone—even Mercy, who’s apparently not as immune to his man as he might have you think—onto the floor for a group performance of Summer Nights.
Everyone except Dirk, who won’t fucking sit down.
He’s been up and down, cleaning up after everyone, making sure Dash’s pint glass never hits empty. The only time I saw him relax for five seconds was when he was talking to Stacey earlier—it looked serious. It was enough to set me on edge. But then he was up again, looking after everyone.
His shirt has more buttons open than I want other people seeing of my man, skin glistening with sweat. I wanna take him upstairs. When he tries to get up again, intent on refreshing more drinks, I pull him back to the bench seat by the back of his waistband.
“Take a break, killer.”
He’s been moving around here too fast. Like he has to so that he can escape—
“I don’t want to think about anything, Trav.” He slumps onto the bench seat next to me.
“This have anything to do with what you were talking to Stacey about earlier?”
“You caught that, eh?”
I frown. “That bad?”
“No, I just … this is awkward, I … Look, I hope I’m not ruining something exciting Dash might wanna tell you, but it’s all happening so fast, because everyone’s zero to fucking sixty this summer.”
I’m trying to be patient, but I kinda wanna shake it outta him. All my alarm bells are going off. Doesn’t he know that his happiness is my top priority? If he’s upset, I need to fix it, asap.
“They’re buying a house—Sutter, Casey, Stacey, Dash … maybe Rhett and Logan, and me, I guess. I didn’t say anything before because it was a Sutterchuck brainchild, and I didn’t know how serious they were. As it turns out, very serious. I agreed to it, but…”
Dirk doesn’t need to say more than that. The breath leaves my lungs, and I have a hard time getting it back.
He gives a weak smile. “At least you get it,” he says.
I risk squeezing his hand under the table. “It should be us moving into a house together.”
“A house? You’d move out of your apartment? You love that place.”
“I love you more, Dirk.” He bites his lip, the smile curling into his eyes. “My apartment’s too small for two people long-term.”
“At least it’s a good investment, and I’m sure they’d buy me out down the road if things change for us, so, y’know, whatever.”
He tries to shrug it off, but it’s bothering him. “Let’s tell them, right now.”
“What? No, Trav, are you crazy? Hunter still comes by the house enough that I’d have to watch Dash like a hawk. This is my fault for being a coward, but it’s too soon for us to move in together anyway.”
“We’ve been together for over a year, baby,” I murmur, even though no one’s gonna hear me over the singing.
“Do you count since that fight in your office?” He smirks.
“It was not a fight—but yes.”
“Me too. But I didn’t mean it was too soon for us to live together. Even if I told Hunt tomorrow, we gotta let him get through one shock at a time.”
Yeah, okay, I was jumping the gun on that one, but I like the idea of him moving into a place that isn’t mine—ours—about as much as I would enjoy swimming in a vat of scorpions.
It feels like they’re stealing him, which is absurd.
If anything, I’m stealing him. But the topic’s only serving to agitate him further, so I leave it alone.
He knows where I stand, at least, and that’s something.
Instead of talking, we watch his friends attempt to put on a musical.
“Man, they’re idiots,” he says.
Stacey’s got his arms around Dash from behind, Casey’s climbed onto Sutter’s back with a microphone—which can’t be good for his ears—and Mercy’s got Jack by the shirt, way more into the song than you’d think he’d be.
Pretty sure Rhett and Logan think they are Danny Zuko and Sandy with the way Rhett’s on a knee and Logan’s singing to him.
“But you love ‘em.”
“Yeah, I fucking love the chuckleheads.”
I’m not sure what he’s running away from thinking about. There’s a lot on the docket—Hunter, Robin, our big secret—take your fucking pick. But if pretty boy wants to immerse himself in anything other than that clusterfuck, I’m happy to help.
I stand up.
“Where you goin’, Trav?”
I don’t answer, leaving him for the stage as the Grease classic comes to an end.
“My turn,” I say, swiping one of the microphones from Casey.
“You just wanna show us all up,” Dash says, sinking deeper into his new husband.
I might be able to sing a little bit, and while I have sung at their karaoke nights in the past, I don’t make a habit.
Haven’t felt like it, but I do tonight. I find the song I want as they file off, sitting with Dirk, who hasn’t moved from the spot I left him in.
His eyes crinkle with weariness and the weight of indecision.
My son and his friends hoot and laugh, clapping for me before I’ve started.
“Everyone should get their Iris,” I say.
Every word rips out of me, raw, like I’m spilling things I shouldn’t.
Hell, I am spilling things I shouldn’t. The words breathe across the gravel of my throat and come out as something smoky and raspy.
I do my best not to sing directly to Dirk or look at him for too long, but this is for him.
My voice breaks on the words I mean the most. I’d burn the world down for Dirk, and I want him to know it.
The entire restaurant breaks with applause when the music falls away. I exit the floor as soon as possible. “Who’s up next?” I say holding out the mic.
“Time for first round of Piano Man?” Jack says.
Mercy groans. Dash jumps up, pumping his fist. “Alright!”
I sit. Not my fault the only seat left available is next to Dirk. Just being near him is my serenity.
“Iris, Trav? Nice,” Logan says. “I sing Stanley Goo Goo Dolls lyrics all the time.”
“You’re my Iris, baby,” Rhett says to Logan.
“Or maybe you’re mine,” Logan counters.
“I think it’s time for us to go,” Rhett says, his voice heavy with lust. “Unless you want—”
“Nope! It’s been a slice. Take me to bed, Gorilla.”
Rhett’s up, tugging Logan with him. “Send us a link to their wedding registry,” he says. “We’ll send them something extra epic for cutting out early.”
I’m jealous. All I wanna do is steal Dirk away.
Mercy glares after Rhett and Logan, then turns his attention to Stacey. “Shouldn’t the happy couple go home to consummate their marriage?” he suggests. Maybe he wants to get home, too.
“Pretty sure they already did,” Casey says, snickering.
“Casey,” Stace says.
“Trav’s right here,” Dirk stresses.
He ducks his head. “Um, sorry, Trav. But Trav knows, Dirk. Jeez.”
I place a hand over my chest as if I’m clutching my pearls. “I did not know. As far as I’m concerned, my son is pure.”
They laugh.
“We should leave, too, kitten,” Sutter says.
“Nah. Your dick’s gonna have to wait, Sutter. I’m not letting those two end the night. I wanna do my rendition of Our Lady Peace.”
The table groans.
“And this is why I hide that thing,” I stress to Dirk.
“Yeah, this is my bad. Sorry,” he says. But he doesn’t sound sorry. He’s watching Dash belt Billy Joel with Jack’s arm slung around him. He smiles wider when Stacey heads up to join them for the chorus.
Dirk figured he wouldn’t be missed at the house, which was good, because I had things to discuss with him.
First on the docket was where the hell did he go in the courthouse?
After, I made his ass cheeks match, so that if he was worried we were any less just because we weren’t married—yet—he could feel me on his ass and know he’s mine.
And maybe a few extra for releasing the location of the karaoke machine.
Then I fucked him into next Tuesday.
Now it is next Tuesday.
Dirk’s ironically not here, but Dash and Stacey are. Besides Dirk, Dash is the only one still working here, but Dash declared him and Stacey as attached at the hip, so Stacey comes to work with him and hangs out until his shift is over.
Some might think that’s strange, but I’m all for it, especially now that Robin’s out.
Yesterday.
My hunch was right. Even with all the bureaucratic bullshit, he got an early release.
Now he’s out there somewhere, could be around any corner, and I don’t want Dash alone.
I’m trying not to be overbearing, but that’s how I’m wired.
I haven’t told him. I don’t want him worrying.
Everything’s finally going his way; he doesn’t need this, and it’s this, the dark shit, that I was made to handle for him.
I might be a rusty weapon, but old reflexes wake up, honed muscle memory, fashioned from years of grit and blood rise to guard the castle wall.
Every time the fucking door to the restaurant opens, my eyes are on it, clocking every motherfucker walking through. My head lifts at every sound. My pulse doesn’t spike, it slows, narrowing into clarity. Into danger.