4. Anders
FOUR
ANDERS
Danny: Parker dropped your man at his place last night. She said it’s in a scary part of town, and she wants him to move in with us. I’ve got no problem giving him a safe place to stay, but if he were mine, I’d want to know. So, this is your heads-up. Take care of what’s yours, or I will.
It’s been days since I last saw Henry, and after reading Danny’s text, it’s taking every inch of my self-control not to drive down to the garage to make sure my boy’s okay and knows he’ll be sleeping in my bed from now on. Only I’m not a psycho or a kidnapper…even though I kind of wish I was.
Distracted and frustrated, I pace my living room, immediately turning around and walking in the opposite direction when I hit the front door.
I’m not entirely sure how he got it, but Danny texted me Henry’s number yesterday, and since it appeared in my inbox, I’ve spent every moment convincing myself not to contact him.
Henry is mine. I know it as surely as I know that claiming him would be the absolute wrong thing to do.
But the more time that passes, the harder it is to convince myself why I shouldn’t just tell him he belongs to me.
He’s gay, I’m bi. I’m older than him, but not so old that I look like his dad.
I’m a controlling, dominant alpha male, but I can tone it down.
I could stop being me. I could be gentle and relaxed and…
nope. No, that’s not going to happen. If I touch him, if I even allow myself to think about him being mine, I’ll have given him a set of rules and explained how deliciously painful the consequences of breaking them would be before he could tell me to fuck off.
But maybe he’s into that. When I saw him at the diner, he didn’t fight me feeding him. He wasn’t aggressively against my desire to care for him. In fact, he almost seemed like he was enjoying my attention. Well, maybe not enjoying it, but he never asked me to stop.
But that still doesn’t mean I can claim him. Texting him isn’t crossing a line, though…right? I’ve asked myself this question a million times, but fuck it…it’s only a harmless text.
My feet stop moving, and I pull my cell from my pocket and type his number into the text app. I haven’t saved his number into my contacts because if I do, that will make his presence in my life permanent and push me one step closer to me laying claim to him.
Me: Hello, Boy.
The moment I hit send, I regret it. What the fuck is wrong with me? I didn’t even use his name. This is the first text I’ve sent him and I’m already addressing him like he’s my sub, not a guy I’ve literally met once and have zero connection with outside of my own head.
But even as regret is ripping a hole in my stomach, I add his number to my cell and save it into my contacts, because I’ve crossed a line and it’s too late to fight it now.
When my cell beeps, I’m shocked. I figured he’d ignore me, or worse, block me.
My Boy: Who is this?
Me: It’s Anders, we met at the diner the other night.
My Boy: Oh, hi.
His response is fucking adorable. I’ve met so many brats who would have pretended not to remember me or who would have instantly replied with a dick or ass picture. Yet it’s Henry’s innocent “Oh, hi.” that has my dick pulsing with need.
Me: Where are you?
It’s four p.m. on a weekday. He’s at work, but I think a part of me wants to know he’ll answer me, even if it’s something I already know the answer to.
My Boy: At work.
Me: What time do you finish? I’ll give you a ride home.
My Boy: …
My Boy: …
My Boy: …
The three dots flash on, then off again three times before his reply finally comes through.
My Boy: It’s nice of you to offer, but I already prepaid for my bus ticket.
Me: You’re not taking the bus, it’s dangerous.
My Boy: …
My Boy: …
Those fucking dots make anger surge up from my stomach until I’m gritting my teeth to stop myself from growling. I’m not interested in his stupid arguments. If I say I’m driving him home, then I’m driving him home.
Checking my watch, I growl when I realize that it’s been three minutes since I last texted him, and he hasn’t replied. I want to go to him and demand he come with me, but even if I drive down to town now, he’ll still have over an hour left to work before I can make him leave with me.
Unsure what else to do, I continue to pace, staring at the screen of my cell and willing him to reply. When he hasn’t five minutes later, I text him again.
Me: I’ll be waiting when you finish work to take you home. Do not try to leave without me.
After I hit send, I shove my cell into my pocket. It doesn’t matter if he replies or what kind of argument he has to try to convince me he doesn’t need a ride. It’s happening, and there’s nothing he can say or do to change that.
Grabbing my keys, I throw open the front door, then slam it behind me. The Barnett’s live in a massive house just up the hill from the cul-de-sac of homes that me and the rest of the smoke jumpers live in.
Personally, I don’t really understand their desire to share space with their family, but all seven Barnetts, and their wives and kids, live in one massive family home.
In the time that I’ve been in Montana, they’ve added several additions to the main log home to allow for their growing families, but they still all eat together every night in the original house.
I’ve been their guest for meals, barbecues, parties, and get-togethers dozens of times.
They’re sociable folk who enjoy entertaining their friends and ridiculously large family.
So, without a second thought, I stride up the hill and knock on their front door without worrying about invading their personal space.
Beau Barnett, the oldest of the Barnett brothers, answers the door cradling a small baby in his arms. Honestly, I’ve lost count of how many kids the brothers actually have, but the baby Beau is holding could be his, or it could be one of his many nieces or nephews.
I’m sure once they all grow up, I’ll learn their names and who is who, but babies all kind of look alike, so I don’t bother trying to recognize which one this is.
“Hey, Anders, are you okay?” Beau asks.
“Hey, Beau, I’m good thanks. Is Penn or Bay at home?”
“Sure, Penn is here. Come on in and I’ll let him know you want to see him,” Beau says, pushing open the front door and gesturing for me to follow him in.
Closing the front door behind me, I follow Beau into the huge living space that is strewn with toys and baby paraphernalia.
“Take a seat. Do you want a coffee?” Beau asks.
“Sure. But you have your hands full, I can make my own if you point me in the direction of the mugs?” I offer.
“Mugs are in the cabinet above the coffee machine,” Beau says with a laugh, crossing the room to one of the doors that once led to a bedroom but now serves as the entrance into an apartment that’s built straight off the main house.
The layout of the Barnett home is crazy. The seven bedrooms that once belonged to the brothers now all lead to apartments of varying sizes. I’d love to see a floor plan of the whole place, because I’ve never actually been past the main shared space of the original house.
“Hey Anders, is everything okay?” Penn asks as he emerges through the door to his apartment a few minutes later in sweatpants, his hair disheveled and appearance rumpled.
“Hey, I’m sorry, is this a bad time?” I ask, filling a mug with coffee, then taking the bottle of creamer from Beau when he appears beside me holding it.
“No, it’s fine. Poppy is sick. She’s been up puking all night. The doctor thinks it’s just a bug and she should start to feel better soon, but I hate it when any of my girls are sick.”
“Man, I should have called first. It’s fine, go back to your family,” I tell him, putting my mug of coffee on the counter as I turn to leave.
“Anders, you came up here for something. So, what’s up? Poppy and Lulu are asleep, and the others are with Cora and Huck. I’ve got time.”
Inhaling sharply, I nod and reach for my coffee again, like the caffeine will make this less weird. “I wanted to talk to you about Henry.”
“Henry?” Penn says, his brow furrowing.
Telling even more people about my sexuality and attraction to Henry feels like it could be a mistake, but if anyone is going to understand what I’m feeling, it’s going to be the Barnetts. “Henry is mine,” I say, not bothering to sugarcoat it.
“Yours,” Penn says slowly, trying to hide the hint of surprise in his voice.
Covering a snort of laughter by clearing his throat, Beau slaps me on the shoulder as he passes me and takes a seat on the sofa, positioning the baby on his chest, his arm still wrapped around its tiny body.
“I can see it,” Beau says, with a nod. “He seems like a nice kid.”
“So, you’re together?” Penn asks, motioning for me to sit as he takes a seat in a chair.
“No,” I say quickly.
“Okay. Gotta be honest, I’m not sure what exactly you’re asking for here,” Penn says with a wry smile.
Sighing, I rub at my forehead with my palm. “I don’t really know either,” I admit.
“You planning on claiming him?” Beau asks, his voice rough but with zero judgment.
“I’m too old?—”
“There’s over twenty years between me and Bonnie,” Beau says, cutting off my protest.
“He’s…I have a type, and if I’m honest, he’s not what I normally go for.”
“Unless you’re hiding a husband or wife somewhere we don’t know about, your type clearly hasn’t been working out. Maybe it’s time to try something new,” Beau suggests with a knowing smirk.
Scoffing lightly, I dip my head in acknowledgment. “I’m a fucking possessive bastard.”
Both Barnetts laugh loud and long. “You’re preaching to the choir. We’re all fucking crazy over our women,” Beau says.