Chapter 7
Lawson
“Lawson, sweetie, help me with the whipped cream?”
“Mom,” Oakley starts, a warning in his tone.
“No, it’s fine,” I assure him. “I’m happy to help.”
Sienna graces me with a wide smile. “See, I knew I always liked you. Here.”
Oakley shakes his head as his mother sets me up with the portable mixer. She places a carton of heavy cream down, pulls the countertop canister of sugar over, and pats my shoulder.
We’re in the elder Beaumonts’ house, the two-story farmhouse-style home as familiar to me as any other I’ve lived in.
The lavender wallpaper in the entry. The mosaic of colors in the kitchen tiles that reminds me of a vegetable garden at the height of summer.
The nick in the banister at the foot of the stairs.
That one’s Oakley’s fault. He took a piece out of it when we were seven and thought riding an old-fashioned wooden sled down the stairs would be a good idea. It wasn’t.
I swear his parents left the nick just to use as fodder against the both of us.
Oakley brings plates and utensils outside at the behest of Sienna as I pour the heavy cream into the chilled bowl.
The clang of the beaters against ceramic drowns out most else for the minute it takes to whip the cream, a spoonful of sugar added near the end.
All set, I put the mixer aside and bring the whipped cream out back.
The table is already set up, dinner laid out and Robert, Oakley’s dad, cranking up the umbrella.
It offers some shade as we take our seats, bees and the occasional hummingbird flitting around the plentiful gardens Sienna has always kept.
She thanks me as I set the bowl of whipped cream beside what looks like a peach pie.
“Dig in,” Robert says with a grin.
Oakley passes me the platter of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets with an eyebrow raised, a hefty dose of can you believe this? in his expression. I keep my amusement to myself as I take a few of the nuggets, glad to see hamburgers are waiting, as well.
“So, Lawson,” Sienna starts, pouring herself a glass of lemonade. “Tell us what you’ve been up to these past many years.”
Oakley makes a disapproving sound. “Hey, now. I damn well know you had Lawson and Wendy over plenty while I was gone, so the guilt trip ain’t gonna work. Try again.”
Sienna chuckles, unperturbed by her son’s halfhearted ire. “How’d you get him back?” she asks instead.
I glance Oakley’s way. He’s already into his burger. “You want to tell the story or should I?”
He rolls his eyes, waving a hand to give me the go-ahead.
I refocus on Sienna and Robert, both giving me their rapt attention. “I showed up and told him he was coming home.”
“That easy?” Robert asks, an eyebrow raised.
Oakley gets most of his looks from his father. The same perpetually ruffled, light brown hair, same sharp cheekbones and heavy scruff. Robert’s eyes are pure blue, however. Sienna carries the brown and a far shorter stature.
“I wasn’t taking no for an answer,” I tell the elder Mr. Beaumont.
His laugh has Oakley doing his best to look put-out.
“Well, we’re all glad you’re home,” Sienna says to her son. “We can get the deed to your house transferred over anytime.”
“I’m buying it back,” Oakley says. “You’re not just giving it to me.”
“Sure,” Sienna agrees. “Now tell us how our favorite grandcow is doing.”
Oakley catches his parents up to speed on Belladonna and her thieving ways, threatening more than once to remove her access to the indoors. He’ll never do it. He may grumble and complain about the cow, but she’s family to him. Just like Wendy.
We end our dinner with peach pie, a few birds singing as the trees cast long shadows over the yard. Even with the lingering scent of the grill on the air, the smell of flowers is strong here, the gardens perfuming the patio where we’re sitting.
Being that it’s summer, no one is in any hurry to get a move on. It’s late by the time Oakley and I leave his parents’ house, the man himself the only one with work in the morning. Since I picked him up, I drop him back off, my mind tumbling over the conversation we had the other day.
Maybe Oakley can sense it, because he doesn’t say goodbye. “Come on. Have a drink with me.”
Nodding, I follow him into the house. Oakley unlocks the back door, giving Bell access before he heads into the kitchen, pouring a finger each of Darling whiskey into two glasses.
“Christ,” I mutter.
He merely chuckles. “I won’t get you drunk.”
“So you say.”
We take seats on the couch, bootless feet propped on the coffee table and the silence stretching for a moment.
Emotion clogs my throat as I realize just how much I’ve missed this.
Sitting with Oakley. Talking to him like this, in person, where I can see his face and he can see mine.
There’s no one else in my life I’ve ever felt as comfortable being open with.
Oakley said I’m forthright, and with him, that’s true.
It’s not as easy with everybody else. Not when it comes to the personal thoughts inside my head.
“You wanna start or should I pry it out of you?” Oakley asks.
I take a small sip of my whiskey. “I think… I’d like to get fucked.”
Oakley coughs, jackknifing forward as he thumps his chest. “Jesus.”
“By a man,” I clarify.
“Yeah, I figured as much,” he ekes out, voice tight. “That was not what I was expecting.”
I give him a minute to get his breathing under control. “Oak… I want you to be the one to do it.”
He jumps up, setting his glass on the coffee table as he rounds the surface, using it like a shield between him and me. His eyes are wide, incredulity written across every line of his face and body. “What?”
“You’re pan,” I point out. “You’ve fucked plenty of people, guys included.”
“Not my best friend,” he says, running his hand roughly through his hair.
I scoot to the edge of the couch, trying to figure out how to make him understand. “There’s no one I trust more than you. I want to try it. It’s something I have to do. I want it to be you, Oak. But if you don’t want to, I’ll find someone else.”
“Jesus,” he says again, spinning away.
“You said you’re here for whatever I need from you,” I remind him.
“I didn’t think you’d ask for sex. My God, Law. Don’t you think that would make things awkward between us?”
“No.”
He turns back to face me, eyebrows high. “No?”
“No,” I repeat. “We jerked off together once.”
“When we were, like, fifteen. To porn. We certainly didn’t touch. We barely even looked at each other.”
“But it didn’t get awkward, did it?”
Oakley huffs a big breath, shaking his head as he examines me. “Where the fuck is this coming from? How long have you been thinking about this?”
“A while,” I admit as he sits down across from me. “Since before the split.”
He waves his hand in a go on gesture.
I finish my whiskey, setting the glass down beside Oakley’s. “Laura and I weren’t all that sexually compatible. It’s not something I realized at first, not until long after Wendy was born when things started to fizzle. I…was having trouble staying engaged in those activities.”
“You never said anything.”
“Yeah, well, who wants to admit they have no interest in their spouse? I felt terrible. Like maybe something in me was broken.”
Oakley’s expression softens. “Law. You’re not broken.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do, actually. If you’re wanting sex but are lacking the physical response, there are things you can do to help with that. If you’re just not interested in it, that’s another matter entirely. Neither makes you broken.”
I ease out a breath, looking over at the wall where three portraits of cows sit above a cupboard filled with games. The pictures were added after Oakley left, chosen by his mom. Each of the cows is wearing a flower crown. One is even white, like Bell.
“We tried different things,” I tell Oakley. “To spice up our sex life. Most of it didn’t make a difference. Lingerie and toys. Porn, even. The only thing that I got remotely excited about was…”
His voice is gentle. “What?”
“When Laura would peg me.”
I finally bring my gaze back to Oakley. He’s doing his best not to react, but I can see his surprise. I know how he feels, not having expected I would like it as much as I do.
“So now you want to be fucked by a guy,” he fills in. “Why not a woman?”
I shrug, even though it’s a question I’ve been mulling over since Laura and I called it quits. “Because I’m not sure what I am,” I finally admit. “And I needa find out.”
Oakley falls back against his chair, puffing out a breath. “Jesus Christ, Law. I don’t think anyone in the history of ever would be as nonchalant about this as you.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to set my mind on it.”
“And now there’s no changing course, is there?” He shakes his head a little. “You realize I can’t be the one to fuck you, right?”
“Why not? Do you see me as a brother?”
He huffs what might be a laugh. “No. I see you as a friend.”
“Sometimes friends fuck.”
His eyebrow lifts. “And sometimes it ends badly.”
“It won’t end badly,” I say, sure of it.
“Lawson Darling. Did you bring me back here to settle your sexuality crisis?”
I refrain from rolling my eyes. “No. I brought you back because you’re my closest friend, and you being gone made no damn sense. Do we needa go over this again?”
Oakley groans. “Lord grant me strength.”
“Maybe it won’t be what I think,” I say seriously, my chest tight. “Maybe I won’t like it with a man. But I won’t regret trying. I know there are guys out there who’d be happy to be my first experience. But I’d feel safer, Oakley, if it’s you.”
He sobers quickly, his expression a mixture of emotions far too complex for me to fully unravel. “It’s a bad idea.”
“Why?”
“It could get messy.”
“Isn’t that kinda the point?”
Oakley stills before amusement steals over his eyes. He keeps his lips pressed in a firm line, trying not to betray himself. “Lawson, you better use a fucking condom.”
“You can make sure of it if it’s you.”
“Do not threaten me with irresponsibility,” he says, pointing a finger my way. “You’re too damn by the book not to practice safe sex, anyway. Good grief, I cannot believe this is a conversation we’re having.”
I chuckle, and Oakley shakes his head, leaning forward to swipe his drink off the coffee table. He downs the whiskey, holding the empty glass in his hands as he stares at me.
“In all seriousness,” he says slowly, “I’m really glad you’re telling me this, Lawson. I’m glad you know you can trust me. I just… I can’t have sex with you.”
I pull in a short breath, nodding, even as the disappointment at his words is sharp in my chest. I knew there was a chance he’d say no. That he’d think it was too weird. Or that I might not be his type in the first place.
I just wanted it to be him. The idea of some stranger fucking me isn’t nearly as appealing as it being the man I know better than I know myself some days.
“If you change your mind…” I say, letting the sentence hang.
Oakley nods, his face set in a frown. He clears his throat. “You can crash here tonight if you want.”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, that tiny pour of whiskey not enough to affect me. I stand, feeling all sorts of turned around and unspun, like a bundle of yarn halfway to being a shirt.
“Law,” Oakley says, voice soft.
“I’m fine.”
“Jesus,” he mutters. The next second, Oakley is skirting the coffee table, his arms coming around me tight. My face presses to the bend of his neck, and I cling back, wishing I had more answers than questions.
It shouldn’t be so hard, figuring myself out, should it?
I’ve had forty-three years to try, and I’m still not certain of something as fundamental to my being as my sexuality.
My parents were always open with us, always encouraging us to be proud of whoever it is we are.
Every single one of my brothers is queer.
Even Colton figured it out, his bisexuality.
It’s never been something I was scared of or unwilling to accept. But my brothers’ experiences aren’t my own.
And I don’t know how to explain something I don’t even have words for.
“It’ll be all right,” Oakley says, his voice passing near my ear, gentle and sure. “You’ll figure it out, Law.”
I wanted to figure it out with you.
I don’t say it. It’s too much.
I won’t guilt Oakley into sex. Not ever. Especially not after what I experienced with Laura.
“Yeah,” I answer, even though I feel as unsure as ever. “Night, Oak.”
He lets me go, a softly spoken, “Good night, Law,” accompanying me to the door. I stick my feet in my boots, check to make sure I have my keys and wallet, and head outside.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t find a single pixie dancing under the light of the moon.