SEVENTEEN Blown the Fuck Away
E LLIANA
As I hop into my sleek burgundy Infiniti SUV hybrid, I slide my purse into the passenger seat beside me, the card tucked inside. I know I promised Andre to tell the guys, but now I feel silly about my mini meltdown. I’ve let a ridiculous case of the heebie-jeebies get inside my head when there’s a dozen different explanations for why someone might’ve sent that damn card.
Still, since a promise is a promise, I prepare a speech on my way home. I need it to sound properly nonchalant, and I think I’ve come up with just the right wording as I coast around my paved drive and into my garage.
I park in the second of the three spaces next to my Porsche Taycan, my cherry red sports car that also happens to be fully electric. Gas is high, and while I might have plenty of money these days, I’m practical to my core.
In the other space is Noah’s half rusted Toyota Tacoma and against the back wall is Jackson’s motorcycle, a white Kawasaki Ninja, that while not rusted has definitely seen better days.
I pass through the garage to the door that leads inside the house from beneath the stairs. My stilettos barely have time to cross from cement to tile when I catch a glimpse of Tristan flying at me from the kitchen, his dark eyes more animated than I’ve ever seen them. Without a word, he covers my eyes with his hands and drags me forward.
“What in the actual hell are you doing?” I demand. He’s never done this before.
“Shhhh,” he says maddingly, his voice as animated as his eyes. “It’s a secret.”
I could throw a fit if I wanted, but the playfulness of Tristan’s actions have me intrigued. My chef is a lot of things but playful isn’t typically one of them. What on earth could he possibly be up to?
I’m visualizing some culinary delicacy of his that must’ve taken a ton of extra effort as he half guides, half frog-marches me through the house while blind. We can’t be heading to the kitchen unless he’s aiming to disorient me by taking us on some circuitous route.
Then, I hear a door gliding open, my French patio doors to be precise, and I know we must be going into the backyard.
“Step over that hump,” he instructs. “Be careful not to trip. That’s it.”
I can tell that I’m outside again for sure as my heel comes down on the bricks and flagstones of my patio. As I come to a standstill, I realize I’m hearing sounds I’m not sure I can identify. Some sort of burbling, maybe.
“Jackson, you ready?” Tristan asks, and I’m totally at a loss about everything.
“Ready,” Jackson states, sounding maybe a tad out of breath, and then Tristan’s hand falls off my face.
My mouth drops open as I peer about. I’m on my back patio, but this doesn’t resemble what I remember it looking like. The brick and flagstones shaped into a broad oval are the same, but the landscaping has been completely refreshed.
The dry and scraggly brown bushes that I’d been ignoring since they aren’t front-facing and visible to the neighborhood have been replaced with an array of boxwoods, flowering plants, and even some new trees.
That’s not all, either. There’s a fucking koi pond situated at the exact center. A koi pond featuring footlong fish with splashes of bright red, yellow, and orange on white fins. These are just like the ones I observed as a kid at the National Arboretum. I can’t believe it.
Only at that point do my three men—Noah has appeared like magic as if out of nowhere—shout a single word at me.
“ Surprise !”
Then, they begin to sing the Birthday Song, and heat floods the back of my eyes. I’m so touched I don’t know what to say. As they’re singing, Tristan waves his arms at this spread of food on my cement picnic table which appears to have been given either a facelift or a deep power-washing.
At the center of the spread is a lit two-tiered birthday cake decorated with tons of red roses made from frosting. Real red roses decorate the table, too, and as I look down, I see that the path I’ve been guided down is littered with red rose petals. It’s beautiful and smells heavenly.
Noah has been approaching and once there’s only about ten feet of distance between us, he brings something out from behind his back.
It’s a cat. A precious bundle of gray and black striped fur with white paws on its front feet. And on one of its back ones. Oh my God, it’s the most adorable creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.
I start to reach toward the thing when it flips out, scrambling to be free, and leaps like a flying squirrel out of Noah’s grasp, scampering away.
“Oh, no,” I whisper-cry, terrified it’ll run off and escape.
“That’s okay,” Tristan assures me as he gestures toward something I’m just this instant detecting. “It can’t get out. This is a screened-in catio. See?” He’s right. They’ve screened in about half of my backyard. The screen stretches above the pergola over the table and the koi pond to attach to the top of my wooden privacy fence.
He peers at Jackson who takes over the explanation. “We installed a weatherproof cat tree and a cat door, so the kitty here can wander outside anytime we leave it open. The fuzzball will have free reign.”
“If you’re okay with all of this,” Noah adds, his body language tentative. “Our small project turned into quite a lot.”
“It’s incredible. Better than my wildest dreams. I love it.”
All three men surround me in one massive hug and being encased by them like this is as good as the birthday surprise. It also gives me ideas for the future. I like having my guys this close at the same time.
“Better blow out your candles before the cake is covered in wax,” Tristan reminds me, and I do as he advises.
I would make a wish, but they’ve just made a bunch of them I never thought would happen come true.
Today is beautiful, a sunny sixty-eight, but lately the weather has been cold and windy, which means they must’ve somehow accomplished this colossal feat in much shittier conditions.
“How did you do this?” I ask them.
Tristan and Noah both shrug as Jackson lifts his customary smirk to his lips. Those juicy, full lips. Then, it hits me. This is why Jackson hasn’t been joining me for lunch. He was here. I’m tempted to smack myself on the forehead. I’m that blown the fuck away.
“It was Tristan’s idea,” Noah says. “And he and Jackson came up with the plans.”
“We all pitched in to get it done. Couldn’t have accomplished near as much without Jackson or the kid,” Tristan admits, as candid as always.
I adore that about him.
“We made sure to do the loudest bits while you were at Blingblang,” Jackson tacks on. “Many hands made light work.”
I really don’t know what to say or how to react. Realizing these guys went so above and beyond warms something deep inside of me that I’ve been keeping locked away. They didn’t have to do any of this, yet they did.
I’m still wrapping my head around this embarrassment of riches as we sit down and eat another succulent Tristan meal consisting of every one of my favorites. The birthday cake is of the chocolate ice cream variety, just like I mentioned. He even made a key lime pie with my name spelled out in whipped cream in addition to everything else.
I’m on cloud nine.
“I haven’t had a birthday this special since my dad died. Thank you. Thank you all so much.” It takes a few swallows to keep tears from saturating my voice.
The tabby kitten has been exploring its new domain, and as it edges along the koi pond, occasionally chasing after the fish, I have to find out more.
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
“Girl,” Noah answers, journeying over to her and sitting on the raised brick they used to construct the exterior of the pond.
Coaxing her bit by bit, he somehow convinces her to climb into his arms. He brings her over to me, her engine totally revved with such raucous purrs that I wonder if she’s part bobcat. Regardless, I extend out a hand. I expect her to swipe at it considering her earlier reaction to me, but she nuzzles my wrist instead.
“See, she’s in love with you already,” my firefighter encourages me. “I knew she would be.”
And at that, I fucking melt .
Tristan leans over to pet her along the spine, and her tail fluffs up into a question mark shape.
“Ooh, she likes that,” I point out.
“That’s something I love about animals. Each one is different,” Jackson says, demonstrating that greyhounds aren’t his only area of expertise. “This one has a sweet personality. Just like you.”
I figure he’ll smirk at me or waggle his eyebrows. Yet, he doesn’t. He’s being utterly genuine and heartfelt. Noah’s grinning at me as he nods in agreement, and even Tristan is bestowing me with this tender look.
But I’m not one who gets referred to as sweet. I’ve been called “bitch” for not backing down, and “slut” for how I dress. But never sweet. I don’t even think of myself that way. Yet these three totally unique men who fuck me on a regular basis evidently do.
It gives me enough warm fuzzies that my throat starts to close up.
“What are you going to name her?” Noah inquires, and I have to swallow a couple of times before I can answer.
“How about Three Socks?” I use her physical attributes as a guide. “Might be cute to call her Three for short.”
“Three,” Tristan says the name as if taking it out for a test drive. “It suits her.”
We stay outside until the sun sets and dusk brings the temps down low enough to make us all shiver, especially Tristan. Three has even utilized her kitty door to hightail it back inside. Each of us humans follow suit.
Once out of the elements, the guys start to separate until I interrupt them.
“Come in here,” I tell them. “Sit on the sofa with me. I want you all close.”
They do as I ask, and we chat about everything and nothing. At one point Jackson inquires after my father, and I regale him and the others with stories about how compassionate a soul my dad was.
If you’re looking for sweet, Delvin Pinkerton was the textbook definition.
“It took him over an hour to shovel all that snow from under those tires, but he was able to dig out that family. I thought he’d return all worn out, but instead, he kept smiling. He said it did his heart good to help.”
“Your dad sounds like the best kind of people,” Noah says, and I nod.
“He was. I miss him so much. Especially at times like now, when the holidays are approaching.”
“We’ll do everything we can to make them memorable for you,” Tristan swears, and Noah bobs his head in agreement.
“Have you been having it alone since his passing?” Jackson asks, and I hedge my response.
“Not entirely. I usually share it with friends.”
I do sometimes accompany Andre home, but I always feel like an intrusion there. He and his family go through cycles of bad years and not-as-bad years. They’re Baptists torn by their sworn duty to unconditionally love their gay son while simultaneously condemning him for who he is.
Their so-called hate the sin, not the sinner philosophy might make for a nice soundbite, but in actuality, it seldom if ever works that way. Not for them.
Regardless, whenever he asks me, I go so I can offer him moral support.
When my phone rings from my purse, I ignore it. I’m caught up in this delightful cake and pie-induced buzz, not to mention all the camaraderie the four of us have forged tonight. Also, Three the cat is hilarious.
She spent the last thirty minutes tearing across the living room carpet like a miniature tornado only to perch herself in Jackson’s lap and fall soundly asleep while still sitting upright. When she tumbled over, not only did she not wake, she didn’t so much as blink an eye.
My phone rings over and over, then the text notifications arrive. I never receive calls like this late at night. When I do, they’re almost always from my BFF, but that’s not his ringtone. I figure it’s a bot or spam call, and annoyed, push to my feet. I have to dig through my blackhole of a purse to locate the silly thing, and once I track it down, I glance at the home screen.
And what I see there yanks a strangled gasp from my throat.