Chapter 26 #2
Is it Robin? Has he come to take my boy away again? Ending that motherfucker began as justice, but it’s become a raw craving. He abused my son; he doesn’t deserve to live.
Get your shit together, Nolan.
I lurk nearby. I doubt I’m fooling anyone, but seeing that he’s here, safe, is the only thing calming my nerves.
Well, that and the thought of ending Robin’s life.
If I weren’t with Dirk, I wouldn’t think twice.
But I do have Dirk, and I know he said that if I go through with this, it doesn’t mean we’re over, but it will be something I’m asking him to live with.
That’s not small either; that’s what spawns resentment, and it might be a close second to him leaving my ass.
But it's hard to rewire my brain after all these years. Robin gone is simple math. One son minus one monster equals safe.
“Hey, Dad. Why don’t you join us since you’re over there, pretending not to have both eyes on me?”
Yeah, guess I’m obvious. Instead of sitting beside Stacey at the bar top, I head behind the bar.
I kinda need to be near Dash. Make sure he’s real.
Overboard, I know. But fuck, now I’m craving a cigarette.
I quit smoking twice. The first time Dash was a little boy.
I picked up the habit again when Dash came to live with me after Robin.
The disappointment I saw in Dirk’s face—and a few of his barbs about my health—helped me quit the second time.
Mostly.
I have been guilty of the odd one now and then, and a cigar when the mood strikes.
Can right now be a “now and then”? Probably not. Dirk’ll kill me.
Dash leans against me, just for a moment, but it’s enough to remind me of how much he leaned on me when he came to live with me. Nostalgic warmth tenderizes my insides. I love it, and it’s killing me.
“I think you’d like what we’re talking about,” he says, moving away to start on the drinks that just popped up on his bar screen.
“Yeah?” I look to Stacey for a clue, but all he does is smirk.
“Babies,” Dash says.
“Babies?”
“Your grandchildren,” he adds, since I’m not getting it.
“Really?” I don’t expect that to hit me so hard, but it does.
I can see it. A few little ones running around here, playing hide-and-seek under the tables, Stacey scolding them to quit standing on the barstools.
Dashie would be holding their newest one, feeding them a last bottle before they spend the night with Grampa Nolan.
I clutch my heart, and my throat burns. I can already feel them in my arms.
“Yeah. Not for a few years, so you gotta wait, Gramps,” he says. “But we want them. A few. Hell, maybe six or seven.”
“Um, how about we start with one, sweetheart?” Stacey says.
“You give him as many as he wants, Alderchuck,” I demand, having gotten way too caught up in the moment.
Dash laughs. “Stace is probably right, we’ll start with one and work our way from there. But I love how into it you are.”
Can’t help raise grandchildren if you’re in jail for manslaughter.
I won’t be.
You could be.
Fine, it’s a possibility.
“I’m glad you’re not letting Robin’s release get in the way of planning your future, son. I’m proud of you for that.”
He exchanges a smile with his husband, putting the drinks on the bar where the server can collect them.
“I don’t love it, Dad, but I like the ideas that have been tossed around about finding security for me. For when Stacey’s not around, that is. He’s a lot bigger than Robin. He’ll knock out all his teeth before making sure he’s too afraid to look my direction again.”
Stacey blushes, probably embarrassed by how much he’d enjoy that.
“You’re gonna be okay with security tailing you?” I’m glad he’s open to the idea, but I hate that it’s necessary.
“If it means I’m safe, yeah. At least until we know more. I only have one caveat. I told Stacey that I’ll sign on for whatever you two think is best, so long as I don’t have to think about it.”
“You want us to take over?” Didn’t expect that.
“Are you really that surprised?”
“Yeah. You didn’t appreciate my overbearing nature so much when you lived here.”
He runs a hand through his feathery hockey hair.
“That was almost a decade ago. I was at my lowest and angry, but … I like to think I’ve grown up since then, at least a little.
In hindsight, you had it right, and I’m glad you pushed me when you did.
Having you to lean on, to guide me during that time was everything, Dad. ”
Gotta be here for him to lean on, a little voice reminds me. One that sounds suspiciously like Dirk. Great, he’s in my head about this too, now.
“I’ve got some ideas,” Stacey says. “We’ll talk.”
I nod.
“Plus, if Robin’s gonna do anything, it would have to be by surprise. I’m not as defenseless as I used to be. The most important thing to me is not letting this control my life,” Dash adds.
Brains are assholes. Mine chimes in with a memory of just how controlling I was when he lived here.
I still say I was overboard. For a little while, I wouldn’t even let him leave the apartment.
I was so fucking scared, but it’s no excuse.
That’s what makes me no better than a guy like Maxwell, and I want to be better than him.
Babies. I could have grandbabies. Make up for all the years I wasn’t enough for Dash. Fucking dammit. I still say he deserves better than me.
“Grampa Nolan,” he says, changing the topic to better things. “I can’t wait to see you holding them—one on each arm.”
“What happened to starting with one?” Stacey says, but his expression softens.
And I’m already imagining it, too. They’d be so small. Their little heads would fit perfectly on each of my biceps.
“We could have twins.” Dash shrugs.
“Lord help us,” Stacey says.
God, it’s too late—I want it. Really fucking want it.
But if that sparkle in his eyes is anything to go by, Dash wants it, too.
Seeing me as a granddad. I always want to give him whatever the fuck he wants, and what he wants is a future where Robin doesn’t scare him.
He’d be less scary dead, but then I’d be watching my six for a new reason, for the day I see blue and red outside the restaurant, coming to take me away.
Dirk’s right, I’ve been to jail once, and it could happen again.
I’d never want my grandbabies brought to a prison just so they could visit me.
You’ve got to let it go.
I’m gonna let it go.
I’ll have to find other ways to protect him.
I squeeze Dash’s shoulder. “You can name one of them Nolan.”
By four o’clock, I’m so fucking ready for Dirk to be done with whatever asinine thing his brother has him doing, so he can be here with me.
Stacey and Dash have long gone. Dash did the lunch shift, so after my little visit with them, I ran a few errands and even caught thirty minutes of shut eye, but I woke up with thoughts of Stacey and Dash’s future little ones on my mind. I browsed online for baby clothes.
Fuck, I’m gonna be the most overprotective grampa out there.
There’s a knock. “Come in.”
Dirk strides through my office door, making a point to turn and lock it. He’s already pulling his shirt over his head before he’s even said hello.
“Fuck, I want you, Trav.”
All I need to hear.
His shirt’s on the floor, and I’m treated to a spectacular view of his torso.
Golden bronze skin stretched over muscle, still lean from the hockey season.
Every ridge of his abs flexes as he peels the fabric off.
My eyes trace the sharp line down the center of his stomach, all the way to the trail disappearing into his jeans.
He’s tight everywhere, carved in all the right places to drive me insane.
Those broad shoulders, chest flushed, rising with his quickened breath.
Fuuuuck.
My gaze catches on his pecs, the way they tighten when his arms lift, the subtle dusting of hair.
My mouth waters. His lower stomach ripples when he kicks his jeans out of the way, like even his muscles can’t wait to be under my hands.
My mouth aches to bite down, to leave a bruise near his nipple he’ll feel tomorrow.
He stands there, cocky and shameless, letting me look, knowing damn well I’m staring, eating him alive with my eyes before I can get my hands on him.
I’m up, shoving him against the wall hard enough to shake the building. My greedy hands span his chest and drag down his abs, memorizing every groove. He’s slick with sweat from whatever he was working on at Hunter’s. I dip my head and suck one of his nipples. A little cry scrapes from his throat.
I grin.
“Sensitive, huh?” I rasp against his ear.
“Fuck you,” he fires back, but it comes out shaky.
I go again, licking across the slope of his pec before I bite down, just hard enough to make him hiss. Then I soothe it with my tongue, claiming his sting as mine. His chest heaves against my mouth, his abs tightening under my hand.
“More. Please. I’ve been craving you all damn day.”
When I press my thigh between his, he grinds his boxers-covered cock against it, letting out a raw sound that ratchets my arousal.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, pretty boy.
” I love having him stripped almost bare like this, just a cocky thing, trembling at the barest brushes of my touch, desperate to have me fuck him.
I take his lips first, and then his breath, sucking it all away, sucking it into me. “Oh, you’re mine, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” he says with barely enough oxygen to do it. Know what? That’s too much. He shouldn’t be able to talk. I go in again until he squirms against me. He pulls in lungfuls of oxygen when I release him. “Fuck, Trav. Never gets old.”
I’m not dragging this out. I need him. Now. I fist a hand into his hair and haul him toward my desk.