Mine

Chapter Twenty-Seven

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

JT

“C ome on, young buck. You can keep up,” Marshall teases as we go on our morning jog. It’s something he’s done occasionally, but the past few weeks, I’ve started to join him too. I don’t quite love it the way he does, but I do have an appreciation for it. I like having the time with him, but even more than that, I like how it makes me feel afterward. It’s just the forcing-myself-to-jog part that’s exhausting while I’m doing it.

“You’ve never shown your age more than you just did by saying young buck ,” I tease.

Marshall turns around, jogging backward in front of me like he’s doing something as simple as brushing his teeth. “You like my age, and clearly, I haven’t given you reason to complain. Who’s the one who can’t keep up with whom?” He winks, which is such an un-Marshall thing to do that I can’t help laughing. God, I love him.

“If orgasms are involved, we both know it would be me leaving you in the dust.” It’s a lie, of course. Marshall has no trouble keeping up with me, but the mock indignation on his face makes me chuckle again.

He stops going backward, darting toward me, and before I can get away, Marshall grabs me, bends, and lifts me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing. “Someone is being a little brat.”

He swats my ass while I dissolve into laughter. “Oh my God. Put me down before you throw out your back.”

“I can do this all day.” He walks, me hanging over his shoulder, giving me the perfect opportunity to spank his ass, something he didn’t see coming.

“I only like being on the other end of that.” He pants heavily, dramatically, like he’s struggling to breathe. He only takes a couple more steps before setting me on my feet. “I, in fact, cannot do that all day.”

He smiles, and I feel it in my chest. I wrap my arms around him, cheek against his chest. “You make me so happy. I love you.” I know I make him happy too. I’ve never seen Marshall laugh as much as he does with me, never seen the lightness and playfulness in him that he now has. He’s letting go in ways he never allowed himself to before, something he deserves so much, and I hate that my parents aren’t around to see it. Hate that they’ve turned this beautiful thing between us into something ugly, that Marshall has to trade his happiness for the brother he loves.

It’s not fair.

And I hate how much I miss them too.

Every day it grows even more.

“I love you too.” Marshall kisses the top of my sweaty head. “And you make me so happy that sometimes I don’t believe it’s real. But that’s not going to get you out of finishing this jog. We have to hurry so I can get to work.” He grabs my hand and tugs me, but I go willingly. I’m only pretending to complain about running before the sun even comes up; in actuality, I’m loving every moment I share with him.

*

I stare at the unanswered texts from Mom while Reggie and I hang out at the apartment I haven’t slept at in weeks. I was mostly at Marshall’s before the threesome, but I’ve been at his house every single night since. After our jog today, Marshall had showered and gone to work, and I’d been lonely, so I’d come over to see my friend. Before, I used to hang out with Mom sometimes when I didn’t have work, or I’d go out to lunch with Dad. Most of the time, I complained about it, knowing we’d get into some argument about one thing or another, but now that I don’t have those moments with them, I realize how much I enjoyed everything except the fighting.

I switch over to the messages from Dad. He hasn’t sent any in two weeks; I didn’t answer any of his previous texts that were in response to the one where I told him I won’t be a part of their lives just for them to judge me for Marshall, and if they can’t accept him, that means they can’t accept me.

“You miss them, huh?” Reggie says, coming up behind me as I sit at the small kitchen table.

“Yeah, even more now than in the beginning. We have such a complicated relationship. Both of them would make me so angry—Dad more than Mom—but we had fun too. I know how lucky I was to have parents who would have given me anything, and I never for one second didn’t feel their love.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sure that has to be hard.” He sits beside me. “Why don’t you call them? Talk to them? They clearly want to make up with you.”

“Yeah, with me, but not Marshall. It’s not fair. I would feel terrible doing that to him.”

“I don’t know your man well, but I know him enough to know he wouldn’t blame you, that he wants you to have a relationship with your parents.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” We’ve actually gotten into a couple of small arguments about it lately, the only thing we disagree about. Marshall wants me to call them, to see them, but I won’t. Not when I know they don’t understand or accept us, not when I know they’re going to look at my relationship with the only man I’ve ever loved and tell me it’s wrong. If Marshall and I are wrong, then I’m wrong, and that’s not something you should ever say to someone you love. “He really wants me to talk to them, but I can’t, not yet. And really, for people who know me… That’s what I don’t understand about my parents. They know me. They know how strong-willed I am. They know I don’t do anything unless it’s what I want, so how can they look at me and Marshall and not see that if this is what I’m doing with him, it’s because I love it or need it and not because he brought me into some kink cult, like they seem to believe.”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.” Reggie reaches over and squeezes my hand. Even though we’d hooked up before, I’d wondered if it would be awkward after our threesome, but it hasn’t been. It’s been just like before, only now sex is off the table between us. “As someone who’s seen you actually receiving some of that kink-cult stuff, I can vouch that you love and crave every second of it.”

I laugh, thankful for the complete unconditional acceptance I’ve found in Reggie and Marshall. Hopefully one day I can find it with my parents too.

“I’m worried about him, though… Marshall is hurting but pretends he’s not. He doesn’t talk about it. He and Dad own this cabin in Asheville, and they have this whole dude thing out there every year. It’s coming up in a couple of weeks, and I see that weighing on Marshall.”

I’ve gone back and forth on the best way to do it. Mention it? Offer to go? It’s not me he wants to be there with, and I can’t take my dad’s place.

“It’s just really fucking shitty, and I want to make it better for him.”

“I know, but you can’t. He’s a grown man, and he chose you. He knew what he was giving up.”

True, but that doesn’t help me deal with the fact that he shouldn’t have to give anything up because he loves me. Neither of us should have to.

We hang out until it’s time for me to go to work. I get to the restaurant a few minutes early, just as Marty, the master chef, is getting off for the day. We meet in the breakroom.

“We have a new special today, something we’ve never made before.” He explains an Italian sausage dish to me that sounds delicious. “I thought about you right away. I think you’ll like it, but I want your opinion on it. I’d like to spice it up a bit.”

His words leave me speechless. He wants my opinion?

Marty laughs. “Why are you looking at me like a dying fish?”

That sparks my ability to speak into action again. “I’m just trying to figure out why you’d want my opinion. I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m not a chef.”

“You’re not a chef, but you have a natural inclination for food, and you enjoy it. Your instincts are good. We’ve taken your advice before.”

“Yeah, but that’s when I just offered it. You don’t ever ask.” Most of the time, I assume they are placating me, wondering why the guy who doesn’t know what he’s talking about won’t shut up. Even then, it’s usually one of the other chefs. Not Marty.

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. I keep wondering when you’re going to tell me you’re leaving for culinary school.”

I’m pretty sure I do the fish face again, and the back of my neck tingles. I love cooking. Obviously, I know that, and I can’t pretend the thought of becoming a chef hasn’t ever pricked at my subconscious, but I never took it seriously, never allowed myself to really consider it until this moment. Hell, even Marshall has hinted about it, though he’d never come straight out and asked about it, which I’ve been grateful for. I think he doesn’t mention it because of the contention between me and my parents about school—and probably because of our age difference and relationship dynamic. Marshall wants to keep those lines clear, doesn’t want me to feel he’s being like them, and…holy shit.

“Are you okay?” Marty asks when I sit down in a chair.

“Yeah… I just… I think I want to be a chef.” But I’d never allowed myself to consider it, to see or acknowledge this burning need inside me, because it feels like saying my parents were right, like what I’m doing now isn’t enough, or like I have to go through some kind of schooling to be happy and productive.

Marty chuckles. “Are you just figuring that out?”

Yes, yes I am. Kinda. “It’s complicated.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I believe you’ll be great. We need more chefs like you in the triangle.” Marty gives me a smile and walks out while I try to wrap my head around what just happened and what I might do.

I’m in a bit of a daze my whole shift. My heart races as I drive home to Marshall, wanting to share this with him, wanting his opinion because I trust him more than anyone in this world.

He’s waiting for me downstairs in the living room, like he always does. It’s such a silly thing to get used to, to look forward to, but I love that we go up to bed together every night, that Marshall doesn’t go up without me.

After taking off my shoes, I immediately go to my knees and crawl over to him. He watches me curiously. “You look happy. What happened?”

I wait to reply until I’m kneeling between his legs, looking at my Sir.

“I want to be a chef.”

He grins. “I know.”

“But you didn’t tell me.”

“Because I knew you would come to that conclusion yourself, and more importantly, I knew you needed to come to that conclusion yourself. It couldn’t have anything to do with me, John, Callie, or anyone else.”

Any last nerves or questions I might have felt simply…dissolve, melt into nothing. I’m going to be a chef because it’s what I want and for no other reason. “You always give me exactly what I need, even when I don’t know you’re doing it.”

He tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s…sad. Happy for me, but the pain inside him is growing. “I’m just a man, Jay. I’m not perfect. I make mistakes. I get things wrong.”

“I know, but you also take the time to see things others don’t. You try more than most people, and you always lead with this.” I press my hand to his chest, right above his heart. “I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t for you, and I’m so fucking thrilled, but…”

“But you want to share it with them.”

“No.” I shake my head. “It’ll just make them think they were right all along.”

“Two things can be true at once. Sometimes people tend to think things have to be one or the other, and not everything does. You can want to share it with them because they’re your parents and you love them, while also not wanting to because you believe they’ll think they were right all along. It’s okay to want to share this with them. It’s okay to call and tell them. It’s okay to have a relationship with them, even if I can’t. I want you to have a relationship with them. It kills me to think of you losing them because of me.”

“It kills you to lose them yourself.”

Marshall looks away from me, and I want nothing more than to fix this for him. To give my Sir his family back.

“I’m proud of you,” he says, rather than responding to what I said. “And if you need my help, you have it. If you want to be an independent little shit, I won’t like it, but I’ll accept it.”

Because school costs money I don’t have, and I sure as shit won’t take it from my parents.

A few months ago, I wouldn’t have wanted to take it from Marshall either, but I’ve grown, changed. Being with him has shown me new ways of looking at things. “I would like that…your help. I’ll pay you back in blowjobs and meals?”

He chuckles, his smile now reaching his ears, then grabs my face. “Good boy. But how can you pay me back with what’s already mine?”

Because I am his. And always will be.

“Let’s go upstairs. I need my little cock sleeve to keep my cock warm tonight.”

I lick my lips. “I can’t wait.”