8. CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER EIGHT
TRAVIS
I wake before the sun rises and before my alarm.
My body’s used to this because of all the mornings I need to get up super early to open the diner.
Like today.
The alarm will probably sound any minute, so I need to turn it off before it wakes Brenden.
I start to move, but then freeze, realizing something.
Brenden.
He went to sleep last night with as much distance between us as this bed allowed.
As if I have cooties.
He was practically falling off the mattress.
Now, obviously having migrated my direction during the night, he’s so close I can smell his shampoo.
Which wouldn’t be a big deal, if it weren’t for these two facts: I’m hard, and his ass is pressed right against my erection.
Taking a deep breath, I roll the other way, careful not to disturb him, and reach for my phone on the nightstand.
I turn off the alarm just in time.
My plan was to sneak out before anyone else is awake, open the diner, then sneak back in here to continue playing the boyfriend role.
There’s no time to freak out about the compromising position we were in.
But believe me, that doesn’t mean I’ll be forgetting about it.
In the dark, I find my clothes and get changed, tucking my dick away and willing it to soften.
I spare only one more quick glance at Brenden’s peacefully sleeping form.
He was a ball of anxiety last night.
I’m glad he seems to have gotten some good sleep.
I sneak downstairs as stealthily as my fairly large body will allow, mindful of the fact that May’s asleep on the couch as I creep past her.
Once I’ve made it out the front door and shut it quietly behind me, I hightail it to my truck and drive away.
As I unlock the diner and dash upstairs to my apartment to change, I mentally run through my checklist of opening tasks, even though the routine is entirely second nature after so many years.
Maybe I’m just trying to distract myself from thinking of how I woke up practically cuddling Brenden.
Morning wood is natural, sure.
But there was a moment there where I had to fight the urge to press farther into his ass, rather than roll away.
That was before I came to my senses, of course.
I can’t remember the last time I slept in a bed with someone else.
Normally, I hook up and leave immediately afterward.
So maybe my body only reacted because of the novelty of it.
But it’s fine.
I shut that shit down.
I don’t actually want to molest Brenden in his sleep.
What isn’t as easy to shut down, though, is the memory of the way he kissed me last night.
It was only supposed to be for practice, so I feel guilty for enjoying it, but I did.
The moment his lips touched mine, it was like a tiny jolt of electricity, zapping me awake from some deep sleep I didn’t even know I was under.
But again, it was practice.
Fake.
Fake boyfriend.
Back in the diner, I flip the chairs down off the tables and wipe all the surfaces, then I get the first pot of coffee brewing.
That’s when I take out my phone to call my dad.
I’ve been checking in with him as often as I can.
Which is mostly due to my guilt about sending him away while he recovers instead of taking care of him myself.
I know that wouldn’t have been practical, but he’s my dad.
Despite our relationship not actually being all that close if you really examine it, I love the stubborn bastard.
He’s the one who stuck around and raised me when my mom left.
I’m talking to him more often now that he’s out of town than I did when he was right here and I could see him every day.
But his fall kind of scared me.
It forced me to confront the idea of losing him one day.
Possibly one day soon.
“Travis!” he answers the phone in lieu of a hello, his voice managing to sound both gruff and happy to talk to me at the same time.
“Hey, Dad.” I press the switch to grind the decaf beans, even though I won’t brew a pot until someone asks for it.
First thing in the morning is not the time people want decaf.
“What the heck is that noise?” he asks.
“Coffee beans,” I tell him, rolling my eyes.
It’s not like he didn’t grow up in this diner the same way I did.
He hums in understanding, then says, “You know Kristy is trying to get me to drink her fancy shit coffee with all these foofy flavors. I’ve told her that I’m a man and coffee should just be coffee, but she keeps trying to sneak them by me. Like I won’t notice the taste of pecan and banana and whatever other weird shit they put in there.”
I bristle at the “I’m a man” comment, grateful he can’t see me my face.
This is the kind of crap I didn’t want to explain to Brenden.
My dad’s not a bad guy.
I really believe that.
But he’s a product of the time in which he was raised, and he doesn’t see anything wrong with letting comments like this about what it means to be a man or not tumble out of his mouth.
Should I correct him and keep trying to nudge him into this century?
Probably.
But I think it’s already clear I’m somewhat of a coward when it comes to him.
So I maintain the status quo.
“You should be watching your caffeine intake anyway.”
“Oh, fuck off with that,” he says, and I laugh.
At least I’m not afraid to harass him about his health.
I ask how he’s doing besides the coffee situation, then listen as he tells me for about the hundredth time how he’s bored out of his mind.
You’d think a man who has worked hard all his life would be able to appreciate taking a break for a while, but he just wants to get back to work.
He could really use a hobby.
Though I’m pretty sure he thinks hobbies are for girls.
“You’ll be walking without crutches and able to come home soon,” I assure him.
“Yeah, yeah. Not soon enough,” he grumbles.
Silently, I disagree with him.
Because if he were to come home now, that would end my ability to help out Brenden with the fake relationship.
I stiffen up like I’m about to get caught out.
As if by even thinking about Brenden, my dad will be able to sense what I’m doing with him.
But, of course, I know he’s not a mind reader.
And honestly, he’s not even the most observant guy.
While I was living in Boston and sharing an apartment with Christian—my ex, and the longest relationship I’ve had—Dad never questioned anything.
Didn’t find it at all strange when we went on a trip to Cancun, just the two of us.
As he complains to me about something else, I’m distracted by the idea of coming out to him.
Which is crazy.
Keeping this part of myself from him has always been my reality, simple as that.
It’s something I came to terms with long ago, and until my talk with Brenden about it the other day, it wasn’t taking up any space in my brain.
Now it’s hard to talk to him and not think about the what if .
What if I told him the truth?
Would he hate me?
Would it ruin our relationship for whatever time we have left together?
I mean, he’s not dying.
It just seems like, since he’s pushing sixty and I’ve gone this long without telling him, there might not be a point to doing it now.
Maybe it would be harsh to force him to confront that I’m not who he thought I was all this time.
Or maybe, again, I’m nothing more than a coward.
It’s still very early when I sneak my way back into Brenden’s house, carrying a bag of ingredients to make breakfast.
After I got the diner set up and ready to go for the day, Benji arrived to cover for me, and I slipped out right as he was flipping the sign on the door from closed to open .
May’s grandparents strike me as early risers, but I’m hoping they’re still asleep.
Although I guess it’s not really suspicious if I left to open my business.
Even if Brenden and I were really dating, that would still be something I needed to do.
This whole lying thing just has me paranoid.
I don’t want to be the one who messes it up and gets us caught out.
As I open the unlocked door and close it behind me, I try to make as little noise as possible to avoid waking May.
Of course, my big dumb ass has to go and whack my knee on a table as I’m crossing behind the couch, and I let out a curse before I can stop myself.
“ Shit! ”
There’s some noise and movement from the couch, so I freeze, feeling stupidly like a teenager about to get caught sneaking in after curfew.
Then May slowly emerges from a nest of blankets and sits up, peering at me while rubbing her eyes.
“Sorry,” I say quietly.
“Go back to sleep.”
“I’m not like my dad,” she tells me, with a sleepy smile.
“Once I’m up, I’m up, but it’s okay.”
I set the bag on the floor and move around to the front of the couch.
“I’m guessing Brenden has to be dragged kicking and screaming out of bed?”
“Sometimes. Usually when he needs to get up and do something he really doesn’t wanna do.”
I chuckle, because I can picture her forcing her dad to get up, even though it should be the other way around.
As she stands, I notice her pajama pants are printed with little pictures of books and coffee cups, which fits her perfectly.
She immediately starts folding her bedding, so I jump in to help.
When we’re done, I tell her I need to put some things in the fridge, and she follows me into the kitchen.
It’s no surprise that she heads straight for the coffee maker.
While she starts a pot, I get to work setting out the things I’ll need to make breakfast for everyone.
We navigate around each other with ease, and that makes me happy in a way I didn’t expect.
Over the years, I’ve spent plenty of time alone with Brenden, but me being alone with May is much rarer.
I like that she seems perfectly comfortable having me here in her space with her.
“You don’t have to cook us breakfast,” she says, eyeing me as she stirs sugar into her coffee.
“I’m trying to make a good impression.”
Her brow furrows thoughtfully.
“But you don’t need to try this hard. You’re doing enough just by being here.”
I shrug.
“It’s for Brenden.”
After a few beats of silence, she says, “I dunno what my dad told you about my grandparents, but they’re not that bad.”
“I’m sure they’re not. Your dad is just...”
“A mess?” she finishes for me, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“Something like that,” I mutter fondly.
He may be a mess sometimes, but he’s also pretty incredible.
“I know I was too young to understand what things were like between them when he first adopted me,” she says.
“But I don’t think he needs to be so worried about everything around them. They don’t hate him.”
As I begin preparing pancake batter, I tell her, “He worries because he loves you so much. He doesn’t want anything to hurt your relationship with them. And I think it’s a bit more complicated than just not wanting them to hate him.”
“Eh. Sometimes I think adults make things more complicated than they need to be.”
I stop what I’m doing and stare at her, processing her words.
She’s probably not wrong.
Brenden certainly complicated his situation with Elise and Grant by lying to them about having a boyfriend.
Thinking about the way we floundered like idiots last night, I remember how May jumped in to save us.
“Hey, thanks for last night. With that save and, uh...” A flush creeps up my neck.
“The stuff you said about me.”
She leans her back against the counter beside me, with her mug cradled in her hands, and offers me a sweet smile.
“It wasn’t hard to come up with a story. The two of you do banter an awful lot. If you guys were in a romcom, that would totally be construed as flirting.” Before I can argue that Brenden and I don’t flirt, she continues.
“And what I said about you always being there for me and my dad wasn’t a lie at all. I hope you know how much he appreciates everything you do for us. We both appreciate it.”
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I admit, “I like seeing both of you happy.”
“My dad likes to pretend he’s always happy, but I’m not a little kid anymore. I can see through him.”
Okay, yeah.
This girl is too perceptive.
“But when he’s around you, he really seems the happiest,” she adds.
“So if... well, if you two actually did want to start something between you, I’d be cool with that. Just so you know.”
Just so I.
.
.
Fuck.
Can she see through me as well as she can see through her dad?
It’s nice to know she’d be okay with the idea of me and him dating.
But hearing her suggest that something really could start between us only reminds me that my dad not knowing I’m gay isn’t the only reason I’ve kept a leash on my feelings for Brenden.
There’s also the fact that he’s a father.
And despite having May’s approval, I can’t stand the idea of dating Brenden and ending up hurting him somehow, because I know that would hurt May too.
I could never do that to this girl who trusts me so much.
In a slightly pathetic attempt to change the subject, I ask her if she wants to help with breakfast.
She gives me a concerned look.
“You know my cooking skills are on par with my dad’s, right?”
I laugh.
“I bet they are, but I happen to be a pretty good cook. I’m sure I could teach you some things.” Like my grandfather taught me.
For a moment, she’s quiet, peering down into her coffee.
But then she lifts her head to meet my gaze, and a broad smile takes over her face.
“I’d love that.”
Despite being someone who’s never been great with kids, or even liked them all that much, I find myself smiling back at her.
Because yeah.
I think I’d love it too.