20. Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
Arnav
Four weeks flew by.
A big case landed in my lap. A guy accused of defrauding the company he worked for. Serious charges were levied against him.
He swore he hadn’t done it.
To my frustration, the case was set to go to court in the new year, and the guy’s attorney had dropped him as a client. Okay, she had good personal reasons, but that left the accused flapping in the wind with a judge who wasn’t happy about any type of delay.
So I worked like a dog to get the mess sorted.
My job was to try to prove him innocent. I hired a local accountant, Darius Evans, to take a look at the evidence.
He spent two weeks tearing everything apart.
And, in the end, he figured out what the problem was.
Or rather, who the problem was.
On December twenty-first, I took the evidence to an assistant crown prosecutor. I’d always found Remy Stevens to be a level-headed woman who would hear all the facts before passing judgment. She wasn’t the prosecutor on the case. So, my approaching her was, like, marginally unethical. Certainly unorthodox. But the prosecutor on the case wouldn’t listen.
Remy did.
Two days later, the charges against my client were dropped. And the business’s accounting clerk was arrested. A very clever accounting clerk. Who almost got away with close to half a million dollars.
The exonerated man thanked me, Darius, Remy, and anyone else who he could. And he was free of the burden he’d carried for so long.
On December twenty-fourth, I sat in Foster’s kitchen. He frowned. “It’s Christmas Eve—you should be home with your family.”
I grasped his hand. “You’ve been so patient. We’ve barely seen each other. My family will understand.”
“You’ve barely seen them either.”
Now would probably be a good time to tell him you live with them. I took a deep breath. “Okay, so here’s where I come clean about something.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Am I going to like this, or are we talking shock level? I have Justin on speed dial.”
I loved how he could joke about his therapist. He’d shared a few words about each session with me, and I was so glad Justin was helping. Sometimes Mission City felt small, as I’d helped Justin and Stanley such a short time ago. But they were no longer my clients, so that felt less like a conflict. “Uh, no, you won’t need Justin.” I winced. “Just…you know how I haven’t invited you to my place yet?”
He laughed. “Well, you’ve been saving the meet the parents moment for Christmas Day. A little over-the-top, but I worked through my issues with Justin. I don’t blame you for not inviting me over.”
I blinked. “You know I live with my parents?”
“Well, Nadia told me how she delivers groceries to your family, and isn’t it convenient that you live there and can help put everything away? I didn’t realize your parents were quite so…”
“Don’t say old. I only put away the really heavy stuff. They’re spry for their age, trust me. I wouldn’t recommend using old, elderly, or any other word like that—whether in their presence or just with some random stranger who works at the grocery store.” Of course, given how gossipy they were, I shouldn’t really be suggesting he do anything that considerate of them.
He frowned. “She’s not a stranger. To either of us. I don’t know who told her about our relationship…”
I closed my eyes for a brief moment. “Any one of about three dozen people. My family alone covers massive amounts of territory.” I squeezed his hand. “I didn’t mean to out you. And I’m sorry for that.”
“I’m not.” He offered me his shy smile. “I didn’t come out because I didn’t have a reason to. No one who’d captured my heart. My imagination. And yes, I could’ve come out to represent and to show that not everyone working in the trades is straight…but I just didn’t feel the need to put myself out there like that. But with you…” He swallowed and squeezed my hand back. “You make me want to be a better person. And if that means being out and proud, then I’m all for that. A woman on my crew came to talk to me. Her son is trans, and he’s struggling, and she wondered if I’d talk to him. I mean, I said sure , but what do I know about being trans?
“But the kid just needed to know he was not alone. And he’s going to talk to Justin. I let his mom know that our insurance would cover the cost. So that was good, right? That never would have happened. And if that boy finds acceptance, then I’ve done something right.” He blinked. “So, yeah. No regrets.”
I was bursting with pride. All that had happened, and I’d been so wrapped up in work that I hadn’t even known. “That’s great, Foster. I’m not using this patronizingly—but I’m really proud of you.”
“Oh.” He ducked his head.
I placed my finger under his chin and guided him up to meet my gaze. “Own it, pup.”
He nodded, blinking several times.
“Now, we have the evening to ourselves. What would you like to do?”
“Watch a movie?” His eyes shone.
Since I’d practically moved my entire rom-com collection over, he had plenty to pick from. Or… “Is there a Christmas movie you’d like to see? Something with a dog?”
“Oh.” He held my gaze. “I love Beethoven’s Christmas Adventure. I own it.”
“I have to admit I haven’t seen that. But I’m looking forward to it. Are you going to lay in my lap?” He didn’t actually lie in my lap, obviously, but he curled up on the couch next to me and put his head in my lap. I’d stroke him as we watched the movie. Despite our proximity—or rather his face near my private parts—I never got hard. These were the tender moments he needed.
Ones I’d come to crave myself.
“Oh yes. Then we can watch an adult movie…if you want.”
I eyed him. “You realize that Die Hard is the best Christmas movie ever, right?”
“I’ve never seen it.” He gazed at me with questioning eyes.
“Okay, well then, first we’ll watch Beethoven and then we’ll enjoy Bruce Willis. With Alan Rickman and Bonnie Bedelia.”
“Sounds great.”
We did just that. With his head in my lap, we watched the antics of a Saint Bernard. At least I thought the dog was a Saint Bernard. Cute as all hell—talking and such.
Foster laughed numerous times—including before the joke a couple of times. Clearly, he’d watched this movie often.
The second movie had him cowering behind his hands at several key moments. I worried he might be upset, but he also laughed a couple of times and cheered when Alan Rickman died the most epic of deaths.
When the credits rolled, he pushed himself into a sitting position with his hand braced against my knee. “Thank you, Daddy.”
‘Whatever makes you happy, pup.”
He bit his lower lip. He did that quite often, and part of me wondered if I should point it out, and the rest of me decided that if worrying his lip was his worst habit, then we were doing okay.
“What is it?” Clearly he had something on his mind.
“Could we, uh…”
I caressed his cheek and scratched his stubble—just the way he liked it. “We can do whatever you like.” We’d made love a couple of times over the last few weeks—when I’d specifically carved out time for him—but that had been a challenge in and of itself.
“I’d like a name.” He nudged his chin up in defiance.
Holding back my grin took effort. This was something serious to him, and I needed to treat it as such. “Okay.” I scratched his scalp.
He closed his eyes in obvious ecstasy.
Making him feel good was so very easy. I loved that about him. His calm affection. His gentle nature. That someone took advantage of that for years still caused anger to roil inside of me. From what Foster reported of his sessions with Justin, he was moving past the pain. Was embracing what I offered. “Have you thought about a name?”
His eyes popped open at my softly spoken question.
He ducked his head.
I waited.
Finally, he faced me. “Owners pick their pup’s name. Handlers, I mean.”
“We’re companions.” We still struggled for the right word.
“Daddies.” He held himself still. “Daddies pick their pup’s name.”
My chest flooded with warmth. He was gaining confidence in using the word. The word that suited our relationship when we were like this. “Okay, how about, I don’t know, Jojo?”
He cocked his head as if considering it. Then he slowly shook his head.
“Tripper?”
“Sounds like I’m always underfoot.”
“Which you are definitely not.” I smiled. “How about Pickle Fry? My friend had a dog with that name when we were growing up.”
He wrinkled his nose. Definitely not. “Did you have a dog growing up?”
I shook my head. “Seven kids in sixteen years—my parents were busy.”
His dark-brown eyes showed sorrow. I didn’t bother to ask him about a pet. He never spoke of his time with his mother, which I respected. He was opening up more and talking about his good two years with Papa John. PJ had provided a solid upbringing and everything that comprised the Foster I knew—strong work ethic, huge compassion, caring for others, gentle to the core, and very playful—appeared to have come from his time in that wonderful foster home. Now, through his discussions with Justin, he was piecing things together. Stitching the good into a solid blanket that enveloped him.
Along with me. Or so I hoped. He said as much—when we found time to talk. “Okay, what are you thinking?”
“I kind of like Rusty.” He squeezed my knee.
“Uh, you remember I told you about that lawyer? Remy?”
He nodded.
“Her husband’s name is Rusty. And he’s sort of well-known in the Cedar Valley community. We might get confused, even though I’d never use your name in public.”
“Ah, well that’s a no .”
“How about…” I hesitated.
He prompted me by nodding.
“Sparky?”
He cocked his head.
“Bear with me. Sparky is joy. Sparky is curious. Sparky has a playful side. But Sparky can also take things seriously when he has to. He takes care of himself and watches out for others. He gives great snuggles and the best kisses.”
He blinked. “I think I like Sparky.”
I took his cheeks between my hands and pulled him in for a kiss. “I love Sparky.” Our lips touched. Gently. Reverently.
“What?” He pulled back and gazed at me with startled eyes.
“Uh…” Shit . “Well, you know…”
“You love me? Or do you just love Sparky? Or the idea of Sparky? Because—”
I held up my hand.
He desisted.
“I said that wrong.”
His face fell.
“No. Jesus, I’m not getting this right. It’s late.” I rubbed my eyes. “I meant to keep it to myself for a bit. We haven’t even been together and a month, and—”
“Do you love me?” He stared at me—wary and a little hopeful.
“Yes.”
He let out a breath.
My heart sank at his silence. “But you don’t—”
“I love you too.” He threw himself into my arms. “I wanted to tell you but, like you said, it’s so soon. And the last time I did that, well…”
“I understand.” We didn’t discuss Howard often. Just sometimes when Foster came home from his counseling sessions and had some revelation he felt he needed to share with me. I’d listen attentively—because that’s what good partners did—but I seethed on the inside. Foster, as if sensing my enmity, asked me not to track Howard down. That they’d parted and moved on with their lives. With Foster living in Cedar Valley and Howard being an important architect in Vancouver, their paths weren’t likely to cross again. “This time’s not going to follow that painful path.”
“I’m old, Arnav. I’m only getting older—”
I glared. “First, you’re not old. You’re distinguished. You have life experience I can only begin to fathom. You can share the wisdom you’ve learned with your greener partner.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“I’m serious. Look, your age has never been a factor with me.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Hey.”
His gaze shot to mine.
“If you won’t look down on me for my age and inexperience, then why would I pass judgement on you and the choices you’ve made? They make you who you are. The man I love. Age is truly just a number. I hope you’re going to have another forty-five years—and that they’re all with me. Shit happens in life, Foster. Something might happen to me—”
He blinked.
“Or we’re going to go along for decades and be fine. I like the idea that you’re going to retire before me and live a life of resplendence and doggie spas while I’m working hard.”
“I don’t have much of a pension. Ten years out of the workforce…” He swallowed. “I really empathize with women who take time off to raise their kids.”
“And fathers too.”
“Of course.” He winced. “That’s beyond my experience. But I see Justin, and he’s a great dad.”
I sobered. “Do you want kids?”
“I’m way too old.”
“That wasn’t what I asked. Look, you know that Justin and Stanley were my clients. I’m sure Stanley won’t mind me telling you that he became a father when he was older than you. He never planned to have kids. He told me as much—and not in a confidential way. We were talking at a party. His life turned upside down, and he has zero regrets. That tragedy—his brother dying—gave him a nephew who he adopted. And brought Justin into his life. They’ve made a beautiful family.” I smiled.
He pulled his lower lip through his teeth for the half-dozenth time tonight. I was making him think about a lot of important things. Somehow this felt super important. Because, for some people, things like this were deal-breakers.
“Do you…?” He swallowed. “Do you want kids?”
I tried to read the correct answer in his expression, but he was doing a damn good job of keeping his expression neutral. I owed him honesty. “My six sisters have done a great job increasing the world’s population. Well, except Rashmi. I adore my nieces and nephews. Would lay my life on the line for each of them. Would take over their care if that ever became necessary.” I blew out a breath. “But that’s not where I’m at for myself. I don’t want to say I’m selfish—I donate money to charity, volunteer my time when I have it, drive an electric vehicle, and am careful with my carbon footprint. I want to leave the best world I can for the kids.
“But I don’t want kids of my own. Now, if you have a burning desire to have them, then that’s a negotiation we can enter into. I’m not averse to it—”
“You just said you don’t want kids of your own.”
“Uh…” Slowly, I nodded. “True. But I don’t want to dictate the parameters of the relationship. If you have a strong desire—a need—for kids, then we can have that discussion.”
Slowly, he nodded. “I don’t. Want kids. I build houses for families with kids who need a home. I also donate time teaching kids about how to get into the trades. But I’m pretty sure I’d be a shitty dad.”
“Foster—”
He shook his hand. “Part of me wants to be just like PJ. To make a difference in kids’ lives. To have that kind of an impact. But I recognize that’s not me. Justin and I talked about this. And he said some of what Stanley told you. He always knew he wanted to be a dad. He had that burning need. I don’t…and he told me that was okay. I thought maybe foster kids. Older, you know? But I don’t want to go through all that’s involved.” He held my gaze. “I like the relationship we have, and that would change if we had a young person in the house. I want to be your pup. To be the best pup ever. Maybe that’s selfish, but that’s also enough for me.”
I smiled, pressing a hand to his cheek. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He nodded emphatically.
“Well, after tomorrow, if you had any doubts, you’ll know one way or the other.”
He cocked his head.
“Seventeen kids ranging in age from seventeen to toddler.”
His eyes widened.
I laughed. “I did warn you.”
“Yeah, you did.” He straightened his spine. “I’m sure I’ll cope just fine.”
I believed him. I really did. After a moment, I drew in a deep breath. “I have something to ask you.”
He cocked his head. “You can ask me anything.”
“This is big, Foster. And you need to know two things.”
He nodded.
“First, that you can say no. No for now, or no forever.”
His brow furrowed.
“The second thing is that you don’t have to answer me now, okay? In fact, I’d almost prefer you didn’t. Take you time, okay? This is a big decision.”
“You’re scaring me.”
“I’m asking you to move in with me.” I rushed out the words. I didn’t mean my parents’ place, of course. But somewhere we could call our own.
“May I answer now?”
I considered. “I think maybe sleeping on it might be a good idea. Unless the answer is a quick no, in which case it’s fine to say now.”
He bit his lower lip. “I like the idea of thinking about it some more. Would you move in here? Would we move into your place?”
“We would have discussions. Negotiations. We’d work something out that we both agree with. Does that make sense?”
He nodded.
“Now…how about some play?”
His eyes lit.
“Why don’t we head upstairs? You’ve got a mat, right? For play?” Because knees on hard floors didn’t always work best.
He nodded.
“Okay, why don’t you get into puppy mode, and I’ll be up to join you in a few minutes.”
“Oh, yay.” He clapped his hands. He dropped a kiss to my cheek and practically scampered up the stairs.
You’ve done the right thing. He needs time to think. You’re always a man of action, and sometimes you railroad people into agreeing to do things when they’re not ready. Waiting is good. It might’ve been difficult for me to conceive, but I believed my inner voice.
“Ready, Daddy.”
I grinned as I headed upstairs. I’d worn jeans and a T-shirt, hoping we might play tonight.
When I entered the bedroom, I found Foster on the floor, sitting up. He’d donned puppy pajamas, his fake ears, and had a grin a mile wide. Before him lay a couple of stuffies and a rope.
Lightning quick, I grabbed the rope.
He lunged for it and managed to snag an end.
We played tug-of-war. We wrestled. We cuddled with stuffies, and he told me their stories. Most he’d found at charity stores. He’d wanted to give them second lives, and he liked the idea his money was going to do some good.
I had priced out some new stuffies. The pet store had a line of inexpensive ones, and I snagged one each of this year’s variety. The money from the sales went to their pet-rescue program. I wasn’t convinced they could withstand a determined dog’s grip with its teeth, but I was certain Foster would take care of them. I had the lovingly wrapped gifts hidden in my SUV along with a dozen other presents. I’d gone overboard. I was all about spoiling my pup.
When he was exhausted, I asked, “Now, is Sparky ready for bed, or does Foster want something?”
“Sparky wants cuddles and then his bed…if that’s okay.”
“Of course it is.” Foster chose his dog bed about half the time—usually after his sessions with Justin. I doubted he’d made the connection. And I wasn’t going to do it for him.
I coaxed him into bed with his favorite stuffie, then I pulled the cover over him and gave him lots of scritches and kisses. He drifted off quickly. Likely tired from all the play. We’d have to do that more often, as he’d clearly enjoyed himself.
And so had I.
My own sleep was slower in coming as I worried about what Foster’s answer to my question might be and whether my family would scare him away forever.