Chapter 1 #2
“Oh, yes, the good old days when men were men, and a women's place was in the kitchen!” Cynthia interjected in a singsong voice, heavy on the sarcasm as she stared daggers at John.
Beckett had never noticed before, but there was a strong possibility that he might have stolen a few quirky habits from his mother.
“Now, I said nothing of the sort—”
Cynthia frowned and raised her hand in a bid for silence. Evidently, she'd raised some seriously rowdy children since just a raised hand alone could make a grown man cease and desist.
“How about I get you another glass of champagne?” John offered graciously.
Her frown melted away and she looked up at him in total adoration. “That would be sweet, thank you,” she replied, handing over her empty glass.
Beckett’s father took it with a wink, nodded to both Hayes and Beckett, and then headed over to the bar.
“You boys take a look at the jewelry yet? Or have you been hiding in this corner all night?”
Cynthia’s shrewd observation, if nothing else, proved that she was certainly on top of her game as far as Beckett was concerned.
“My crazy tends to flare up in crowds like this,” Beckett responded, because playing the nutjob card excused him from all manner of things.
“And Hayes has separation anxiety,” he added as a little extra insurance.
He leaned towards his mother and said conspiratorially, “I’m trying to wean him, but if I leave him for too long, he wets himself. ”
His mother smacked him in the middle of the chest. Again. He should have worn his Flexcore Tactical Vest tonight under his jacket. He’d have to remember to keep one in his suitcase from now on.
“I don’t know how you put up with him, Hayes,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I swear I tried my best with him, but—even the pastor gave up after a while. Said Sunday school wasn’t the right place for such a special child,” she recalled with an audible sigh of defeat.
Beckett would like to say that wasn’t how it went. But it was all true. Pastor Jones had suffered a full blown panic attack when he’d climbed the rafters of the cathedral on a dare from a classmate.
“I ponder that same question every single day,” Hayes replied with a sympathetic nod. “How about you show me around, Mrs. Thérault? I’d like to take a closer look at Jackson’s new store,” he said with a warm smile.
She looked only too pleased to play tour guide as she tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow.
“Suck-up,” Beckett muttered as Hayes looked back to shoot him a wink.
He watched them merge into the crowd, thinking about how his parents were so amazingly straightforward with everyone.
They never had to pretend to play nice. His mother obviously liked Hayes.
He’d known that from the first day he’d brought him home.
He wasn’t entirely sure what it was about Hayes that she liked, but he speculated that it was because how good this man was at his core.
Beneath that cold, analytical exterior, Hayes was love-starved and would do just about anything to feel as if he belonged.
His personality type called out to Cynthia.
Truly, Beckett had no doubt that his mother would have been well pleased if Maggie had been the one who brought Hayes home—he just wasn’t sure how she’d feel about her son bringing Hayes home.
He didn’t think his parents were homophobic, but then again, they’d never spoken about it before. So, really, who the fuck knew?
“You brought him,” Franklin said coolly, as he sidled up next to Beckett. He’d emerged from the crowd in front of him as Hayes and their mother had disappeared into it.
While he’d noticed Franklin’s approach, he had chosen not to greet him and merely sighed in annoyance.
“Told you I would.”
“Thought you might chicken out,” Franklin remarked as if he considered that to be a strong possibility.
The middle brother of the family, Franklin had always been the smallest. He’d inherited their mother’s slender stature, even though he was still close to 6 feet tall.
He looked right at home among the hoity-toity guests in his custom-tailored black suit, white dress shirt and black satin bowtie.
His hair, a shade lighter than Beckett’s, was cut and styled perfectly.
He looked—sleek. Like a banker or lawyer—like a total douchebag, in other words.
“When have I ever?” Beckett asked, because he was guilty of many things, but he sure as hell had never backed down from a dare or challenge in his life. Never had, never would.
Franklin shrugged and smirked. “You’ve never liked men before—” he added with a snort, as if liking dick meant he’d undergone a complete personality change.
Beckett didn’t waste his time responding to Franklin’s lame attempts to provoke him.
“Still planning on telling them?” Franklin asked, openly curious.
Beckett hated conversations like this with Franklin.
It always felt like there was a snake slithering up to his shoulder and hissing in his ear.
Despite knowing that his brother wanted only the best for him, Beckett still found it was extraordinarily difficult to resist the urge to deliver a solid right hook to his model-perfect jaw.
“Yes,” he answered, keeping it simple and refusing to divulge any details that could be exploited or twisted around.
“And how—”
“Why don’t we talk about you for a change?” Beckett interrupted, turning to face his brother. “Anything interesting to reveal? Any hot babes in your sights?”
Franklin hiked his eyebrows as if to say, “Really?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” Franklin said, shaking his head. And Beckett wasn’t sure why that clearcut refusal hit a nerve.
“Doesn’t it get old after a while?” Beckett demanded, feeling a hot surge of anger and resentment that he didn’t bother to hide.
Franklin looked confused.
“The lone-wolf act? Having no one to share with?” Beckett asked mockingly.
Franklin would have been an excellent poker player. There was nothing to betray the hurt Beckett knew he must be feeling after that last shot. Franklin looked unaffected, blinking blankly at Beckett like he’d been asked about his grocery list.
“We take up the space we are allowed,” Franklin answered with a simple shrug, and yeah—now Beckett looked like a fucking asshole again. Which was really par for the course when dealing with Franklin.