Chapter Six
Beau
Istepped through the front door of my apartment in Boston and dropped my bag onto the floor.
Home sweet home, I thought as I glanced around the room and inhaled the familiar scent of pine.
I had a cleaning crew come in once a week to tidy up, since I wasn’t always here.
Pictures of Cole hung on the wall. A few of me with his late mother together, but they were mostly of him.
The day he came home from the hospital. His first birthday.
The Christmas he got his first pair of skates.
His eighth-grade graduation. When his high school hockey team won the playoffs last year.
I was proud of the young man he had become.
“Cole, I’m home!” I called out to my son and heard the soft sounds of his socked feet as he walked into the living room. “You have a hug for your old man?”
Cole rolled his eyes but stepped into my arms. “How was your flight?”
He didn’t linger long, being a teenager and all, but he hugged me back, which was all I wanted. To feel a brief moment of love for a second from my pride and joy.
“Good.” I ruffled his hair playfully and laughed when he pushed my hand away. “It’s good to be home, though. I missed you. How was your game last night?”
I knew his team had lost, but I wanted to hear it from my son. “We bombed,” Cole muttered and dropped down onto the couch, his dark hair flopping into his eyes.
“There’s always next time,” I reminded him as I eased myself down onto the sofa. “Want to talk about it?”
Cole shook his head. He got like that sometimes after a loss.
Closed off and quiet. He was so much like his mother that it was scary.
He was built like me, tall and broad shouldered, but he looked like his mother.
He had her chestnut brown curls, her soft smile, and the freckles across his nose.
But Cole’s blue eyes matched mine. I was thankful he also inherited my love of hockey, although I would have been happy cheering him on if he played basketball, football, or any other sport. He was my son, after all.
“Okay, then, how was everything else while I was gone? Did you have fun with your grandparents?” I leaned back on the couch.
My parents lived in Florida, but Trish’s parents had moved to Boston along with us when I got drafted.
They had stayed after she died, grieved with me, and then helped me pick up the pieces.
I wasn’t sure I would have been able to raise Cole without their help.
Patty and Don were good people. They treated me like family, and I was grateful for that.
And most importantly, they helped with Cole whenever I needed.
My son lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. “It was fine.”
He glanced over at me, his wayward curls flopping over one eye. He lifted the backwards baseball cap from his head, dragged a hand through his hair and dropped the hat back into place.
“That’s it? Just fine?”
“Dad, they’re old. What else do you expect me to say?”
I snorted. “They’re in their early sixties. That’s hardy old.” Says the man who’s pushing forty.
“They made me watch a Netflix documentary with them about Ted Bundy. That’s messed up, Dad. I should be out having fun with my friends, not learning about serial killers.” Cole wrinkled his nose. “It was weird, and then—this is the best part—they tried to talk to me about girls.”
Oh boy. “And what did you tell them?” I tilted my head as Cole’s ears burned red.
My son’s sexuality was no one’s business, and if they’d made him feel bad in any way, I would make sure that was the last time they tried to have that conversation with him.
“The truth. That I wasn’t interested in just girls. That I liked boys, too.”
“And their response?”
Cole brushed the hair from his eyes as he met my gaze. “They were cool about it. They asked me if I had a boyfriend, and if I was practicing safe sex.”
“Yikes.” I chuckled softly. “Jax is engaged.” Cole knew that some of my teammates were gay, but he knew nothing about me or my bisexuality. I knew how kids his age could be, even if being queer had become more accepted. “He proposed to Maverick after our last game.”
Cole nodded his head. “Cool.” He stood up. “Does that mean I get to meet Mulligan Downtown sometime? I mean, two members have come out; so it might be fun to talk to them about it.”
“I can ask. I’m not making any promises, though. I met the rest of them.” I watched Cole’s eyes grow wide. “You still have a crush on Killian?”
He shook his head. “Nah, not anymore.”
“He seems like an interesting guy.” I added.
Cole had been over-the-moon excited when Killian had come out as bisexual. There had been posters of him and the rest of the band plastered all over his bedroom, along with the hockey players he idolized.
Cole folded his arms over his chest. “What about Dean? Did you meet him? He’s hot with all those tattoos and the nipple piercings. Plus, I dig the green hair. Sexy.”
“Uh, he was there.” I was too busy trying to wrap my head around the fact that I had touched Dean Frost and that my son thought he was hot.
Cole’s brows shot up. “Did you talk to him? What is he like? He has serious rizz. Do you think you could introduce me to him? I mean, if they ever come around here again. I’d be low-key about it.” His entire face had gone red, his pupils blown wide.
“Sure.” I had no idea what he had just said to me. Kids these days had their own way of talking. I tried not to think about how I had made out with Dean. Among other things.
He grinned. “Thanks, Dad. I’m going to bed.” He headed back to his room. “Glad you’re home,” he called and then I heard the sound of his door close.
I grabbed my bag from the floor and decided to take a quick shower before I went to bed.
WHEN I GOT UP THE NEXT morning, Cole had already left for school, and the apartment was eerily quiet.
I sipped my coffee at the kitchen table, scrolling mindlessly through my phone before I opened Instagram.
Which is how I found myself creeping on Dean’s profile.
Being a popular hockey player had its perks, but he had double the followers I had.
Apparently, being a Grammy-winning musician had way more perks.
There were younger pictures of Dean with Maverick, fresh faced and free of tattoos.
Beaming at the camera. Dean behind his guitar, another with him with his arm around a dark-haired girl whom I assumed was Helena, and some of the band.
Some, where Killian scowled with anger in his blue eyes, Maverick with ice in his fake smile, and Blake with his arms folded over his chest like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Where the four of them looked less than brothers and more like strangers forced to be together.
Yet they had still put out music that had changed the rock world.
I scrolled to the top to find a few newer ones. One post a couple of days ago of Dean and Maverick, their heads pressed together as they sat on someone’s front porch talking. They were both smiling and obviously happy.
The last one was posted a couple of hours ago.
Dean with his newly dyed hair, a shy smile on his face.
He had a Terrier’s shirt on that he must have gotten from Jax, but I couldn’t help but puff out my chest. Dean wasn’t mine, but I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if he was.
Would he want to be? It was the one-word caption beneath it, Pink, that had me doing something stupid.
I liked the photo, started to follow him, and waited.
It took nearly five minutes, like he was on his phone or just anticipating my move.
Dean: Creeping on me now?
Beau: Just admiring my handy work.
Dean: Is that so?
Beau: Your fans seem to like it.
Dean: It doesn’t matter what they think.
Beau: Isn’t it always about them? What does PR think?
Dean: Lou freaks out about everything. She’ll be fine. At least I didn’t publicly announce my bisexuality and that I had a boyfriend all at once.
Beau: Yeah, Killian likes to draw attention to himself, huh?
Dean: He loves it. He’s an attention whore. But then again, he’s the lead singer. They’re sort of known for that.
Beau: How’s your brother?
Dean: Maverick is going to be okay. He has Jackson, and I can hear them laughing together right now. That’s really all that matters.
Beau: Are you still in North Carolina?
Dean: Uh, no, we’re in Boston. Maverick invited me to come back with them for a couple of days, and I couldn’t say no. It’s nice having my brother back again. I thought I would stay for a little while. Or until they kick me out. Their couch is kind of comfy.
Don’t do it, Beau. Don’t do it. It’s a bad idea. You said one and done. You don’t date.
Beau: We could hang out again. If you want.
Dean: By hang out, do you mean more hand jobs?
Beau: We could do that, too, if you wanted.
Dean: I wouldn’t say no. But I would like to get to know you a little more.
That sounded almost like a date. Something I didn’t do. Not after Trish. Not when I had Cole to think about. But we could be friends. Friends spent time together. They texted. They went out to dinner. They didn’t give one another hand jobs or kiss, though.
Dean: Maverick, Jax, and I are just hanging out here. You could come over if you want.
Beau: I’m literally two floors up.
Dean: Wait, really?
Beau: Really.
Dean: Then I’ll be up in five minutes.
And I felt like a teenager when Dean followed me back on Instagram.