Chapter 9
Nine
Remi
“Do you want a salad with it?”
Lukas snorts and shakes his head. “No, I don’t want a salad with dinner.”
Chuckling, I hold my hands up and say, “Hey, what kind of responsible adult would I be if I didn’t at least offer you some veggies with dinner?”
“Do you want one?”
I pretend to think about it for a moment. “Nah, I’m good. Besides, it’s lasagna… There’s tomatoes in the sauce.”
As I grab the garlic bread from the oven, Lukas finishes setting the table.
In all the time I’ve lived here, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve eaten a meal at this table.
I’m shamelessly a sit-in-front-of-the-TV-in-the-living-room type of guy, but now that Lukas is here, I’m trying to be better about utilizing the dining room more.
When you’re sitting on the couch and eating, it’s easy to get lost in whatever show is on.
Doesn’t really leave much time for conversation.
And I’ve noticed, dinnertime is when Lukas and I do the most conversing, which I’ve grown to enjoy in the short time he’s been here.
After we dish up, I pour us each a glass of sweet tea before joining him at the table.
The old phone his dad gave him last year sits on the chair beside him, along with his headphones.
The phone isn’t hooked up to any plan, and he can’t use it to call anybody, but it’s what he uses to listen to music.
And the kid’s got good taste, I’ll give him that.
“How was school?” I ask before biting into hot, garlicky, cheesy goodness. So fucking good.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Fine, I guess.”
“Did you eat lunch with anybody…special?”
I bite back a grin when Lukas glowers at me from across the table, a deep pink staining his cheeks. “Yeah, but her friends sat with us too, and they’re so annoyin’.”
A few days ago, when I was picking Lukas up from school, I found out—through no help from him—that he’s crushing on a girl in his class. She was giving him heart-shaped eyes as he climbed into my truck, and he nervously waved at her before quickly averting his gaze.
Taylor Preston.
That’s her name. Something he finally told me after much persistence on my part. She’s in a couple of his classes, and since they’re both really into Pokémon cards and the periodic table, I told him he should ask if she wants to have lunch with him.
I’m kind of surprised he actually did it, but I’m proud of him.
“Why are they annoyin’?”
“They’re just…” Lukas gestures in front of him. “Giggly.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, that’s girls for ya.”
“Yeah, well, it would’ve been better if they weren’t there.”
“Maybe Taylor was nervous, and bringin’ them along made her feel more comfortable.”
He shrugs again before mumbling, “Maybe.”
“Is this your first time likin’ somebody?”
“I guess, yeah.” Lukas stabs his fork into a bite of lasagna before shoveling it into his mouth. “I mean, I’ve thought girls were pretty before, but it’s never felt like this. I don’t know.”
My chest warms, and a smile curves my lips, but I hide it before he can see. I like that he’s starting to open up a little to me, but I have a feeling—from experience as a teenager myself—that if I make it a big deal, he’ll shut down. Can’t have that.
“Well, one piece of advice I’ll give ya is that you’re not just dealin’ with her; you’re dealin’ with her whole world.
A girl’s friends are her safety net. They’re always goin’ to be there, and the quicker you accept that, the better.
If they trust you, that matters. You don’t need to impress them, but be polite, listen, and don’t act like they’re in the way.
Doin’ those things will get you further than brushin’ ’em off and actin’ annoyed whenever they’re around. ”
His face screws up. “But what if I don’t like them? What if they suck?”
Laughter bubbles out of me. “They might, but they’re important to her for a reason. Do Taylor’s friends suck?”
Breathing out a small chuckle, he stares down at his plate, moving the food around. “I don’t know. Today was the first time I hung out with them.”
“Well, maybe find out if they’re into the same things you and Taylor are the next time y’all have lunch together.”
“If there is a next time,” he murmurs.
“Aww, I’m sure there will be, kid.” A thought pops into my head. “Why don’t you invite your friends next time too? It might feel less awkward if you have your people around.”
Lukas has two boys he’s close to. He’ll sometimes stay after school to hang out with them. I’ve only met them one time, real quickly when I was picking him up, but they seem like solid, genuine friends.
Once we finish eating, Lukas helps me clear the table before I do the dishes.
As I’m rinsing them and loading the dishwasher, the thought of therapy pops into my head again.
I talked to a few guys at work and did a little internet research, and I found a couple of therapists in the area that specialize in trauma and grief, but before I decide on one and make an appointment, I need to make sure Lukas is open to the idea.
I don’t know why I’m so nervous about having this conversation, though.
Just the thought of it has my heart racing.
This is a unique situation we’re in, and I don’t want to accidentally overstep or push him into something he’s not comfortable with.
I left a voicemail with his grandma earlier this week, but I haven’t heard back.
In fact, I haven’t heard from her at all since Lukas moved in.
Who knows… She’s probably been busy getting settled in at her sister’s and she’ll call me back in a few days.
But I’m not holding my breath. When she said she wasn’t interested in raising another teenage boy, I kind of thought she’d still want to be kept in the loop. Maybe that’s not the case.
Placing the last plate on the bottom rack, I toss a detergent pod into the dishwasher before starting it. Lukas is in the shower, so I turn on my show while I wait for him to get out, deciding to get this over with tonight.
It’s not a big deal.
It’ll be fine.
This won’t be the last time I have to have an uncomfortable talk. This is what I signed up for when I agreed to take him in, so I better get used to it. Hell, this’ll actually be great practice for all the other big, awkward conversations to come as he gets older.
It’ll be fine. I got this.
It’s impossible to focus on anything happening on the TV, so I grab my phone, deciding to keep my mind off it a different way. A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth as I find the contact I’m looking for and start a new text message.
Me: Meet me at the studio tomorrow night. 8pm. And I’m warning you, if you don’t show up, I will drive to your house and bring you there myself. *smirk emoji*
Sending the message, I don’t expect to get a response.
Gentry is a man of few words, and he has been for as long as I’ve known him.
The thought of him reading the message has me chuckling to myself, though.
I can picture the look on his face so clearly in my mind—a deep scowl, his lips pressed together in a thin line, and he’ll probably even roll his eyes and scoff.
I can remember the exact moment my crush on my best friend’s dad began.
Or at least, the exact summer. I was fifteen and learning how to drive for the first time.
Hollis and I somehow convinced Gentry to teach me since my dad was dead and my mom worked odd hours at the hospital.
Plus, the idea of her sitting in the passenger seat while I was behind the wheel was enough to give me hives.
It took a little—er, a lot—of convincing, but he finally agreed, and I couldn’t believe it.
Up until about five years ago, Gentry drove a nice-ass teal and white 1968 Ford F100 short bed that was once his dad’s, and driving it was a dream. Such a beautiful truck.
There was only one time when Gentry took me out for a lesson without Hollis.
It’s been so long, I can’t even remember why he couldn’t come.
He let me drive through the winding back roads surrounding the creek.
The sun was high in the sky and warm, windows were down, the radio playing old country music.
It was the perfect day for a drive. We were out for close to an hour, and as he was driving us back to the ranch, I noticed things about him that I hadn’t before.
Like his hands. They wrapped around the steering wheel like they were made for it.
His palms were broad, knuckles scarred with age and years of work on the ranch.
And his arms. Fuck, his arms. Thick, corded veins decorated his forearms, dark against his rich, sun-kissed skin.
I remember, so vividly, the way light caught the dark, coarse hairs along his arms and how the grip he had on the steering wheel made muscle shift and flex beneath the surface.
His arms were the epitome of strength. It was quiet but unmistakable, and it made my mouth dry.
A well-worn Stetson sat atop his head, like it did every other day, and he had a toothpick poking out from between his lips.
Dark stubble covered the lower half of his face, peppered with gray even back then.
In that moment, sitting in the passenger seat of his truck, I’d never seen a more beautiful, rugged man.
My stomach fluttered and my heart pounded against my ribs in a way I’d never experienced before.
Since that day, I’ve never looked at him the same.
Spending the night at Hollis’s was a special kind of torture after that, but the delicious kind.
The one that leaves you feeling crazed and starving.
I’ve spent many nights fantasizing about acting on the urges I have, but I know that’s all they’ll ever be.
Fantasies.
The bathroom door creaks as it opens, pulling me from the erotic images flashing through my mind. Images of me pinned to the side of Gentry’s barn by a rough, strong hand to the back of my neck and his wide, hard body pressed into mine as his cock fills my ass.
Fuck, I wish.
Glancing over, I meet Lukas’s gaze as he strolls into the living room. Time to shift gears.
“We’re almost out of body wash,” he says.
“I’ll grab some more at the store tomorrow.”
He nods slowly, dropping down on the other end of the couch. “Cool.”
“Hey, there’s somethin’ I wanna talk to you about,” I say, my heart in my throat.
“Okay...” he says slowly, cautiously. “What’s up?”
“It’s nothin’ bad,” I assure him. “I’ve been thinkin’, with everythin’ that’s happened in the last couple months, and with all the change you’ve been through, it might be a good idea to…talk to someone.”
His brows pinch together. “Talk to someone?”
“You know, like a therapist.”
“Oh, uh, really?”
“Yeah, it’s not a big deal. I just think it might be good for you to have a safe, neutral place to talk about whatever you may be feelin’.
Speakin’ from experience, I know how hard it is to make sense of everythin’ after goin’ through somethin’ like you did.
I imagine the feelings and the grief is overwhelming and confusin’ sometimes. ”
Lukas stares at his hands linked in his lap. “What if I don’t wanna talk about it?”
My heart squeezes. “I get that, kid. Believe me, I do. But what you’ve been through—losing your parent, gettin’ ripped out of the only life you knew, everythin’ changin’ all at once—that’s a hell of a lot for anyone, especially at your age.”
There’s a long moment of silence, but it’s not tense. I give Lukas the space and time he needs to digest what I’m suggesting.
Finally, he meets my gaze. “Yeah, but I don’t know what there is to talk about,” he admits. “Sure, I’m sad that my dad’s gone, but talkin’ about it isn’t goin’ to bring him back. No therapist is goin’ to be able to fix that.”
I see so much of my own journey in Lukas. It gives me chills.
“A therapist isn’t there to fix you, because you aren’t broken. They’re there to give you a place where you don’t have to be strong, where you can say things you might not even be able to put into words yet.”
His eyes get misty, and my heart aches for him. For what he’s going through.
I push on, knowing he needs to hear this.
“If there’s one thing I learned when I lost my dad, it’s that grief has a not so funny way of sneakin’ up on you if you try to avoid it.
I went through it all, textbook grief. I was angry, numb, sadder than I ever thought possible.
I felt empty. All of it affected every aspect of my life.
School, my relationship with my mom, even my sleep.
” I take a breath as those moments come back to me.
Therapy wasn’t as normalized as it is now, so I had no choice but to figure it out on my own, and let me tell ya…
I wish my mom would’ve put me in therapy.
Probably would’ve worked through it all a hell of a lot quicker. ”
Lukas breathes out a nervous laugh. “That makes sense.” Chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment, he asks, “Can I think about it?”
“Of course, you can. You ain’t gotta decide anythin’ tonight, or even this week. I’ll be here whenever you figure out what you’re comfortable with, and we can go from there. Deal?”
His shoulders relax a little. “Yeah. Deal.”
I toss Lukas the remote after that, letting him pick something for us to watch. He’s mostly quiet for the rest of the evening, but I expected that. All things considered, that didn’t go half-bad. He didn’t outright shut down the idea. That has to be a good sign. I guess time will tell.
It’s not until later, when I lock up and get ready for bed, that I notice Gentry responded to my text. My body warms as I climb into bed and click on it.
Daddy Moore: Fine.
I re-read the four-letter word about half a dozen times, my skin tingling and my eyebrows clear up to my hairline.
Fine.
Hmph. Not at all what I expected him to say, but I’ll take it.
In less than twenty-four hours, I’ll be all alone with my best friend’s sexy-as-hell dad, giving him a private lesson in pottery…
This sounds like a scenario out of a wet dream, and I’m here for it.