Epilogue
MARTY
Christmas at Grandpa and Billy’s was fucking lit.
Like, I knew that it would be, because it always was, but having Dalton with me made it even better.
Grandpa and I got the old sled out and figured out halfway down the hill that we should have checked its structural integrity first, but Dalton was super good at first aid, so it all worked out.
Then Billy banned outdoor activities for the rest of the day, even though we could have gotten the ATVs out, so we sat around inside, the fire burning in the fireplace, and got fucked up on whiskey from Grandpa’s still.
And it wasn’t even Christmas yet. We still had a few days to go!
“Is anyone else comin’ for Christmas?” I asked, even though the ragged blue tarp was still pinned over the cabin’s perfectly sound roof.
Grandpa used it as a deterrent. It helped give my family the impression he’d gone full hillbilly in his retirement, and it meant most of them tended to avoid coming to visit.
It was their loss. Grandpa said his tarp was an asshole filter, and it worked a treat.
“Your dad sent gifts,” Grandpa said. “Haven’t seen hide nor hair of your aunt, ’cept when she slows down to drive past every month.
Bad news for her is that I haven’t fallen off the perch yet.
Worse news is, when I do, she’s not gettin’ a dime!
” He cackled and threw back another shot. “They contacted you?”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “But I said I was coming here for Christmas with Dalton.”
Like it had ever been a serious choice. Grandpa and Billy were awesome, and my parents were still having trouble with the Dalton thing.
Not Dalton specifically, because he was awesome—hello!
A future doctor!—but because he had a dick.
Which again, they didn’t hold against him specifically.
It was just the fact that he sometimes put it in me and vice versa.
Which was a pretty weird fucking thing to get all bent out of shape about, when you thought about it.
Anyway, we didn’t need them to have fun. We were having plenty of it already, and we hadn’t even unpacked yet.
“How was the drive up?” Billy asked, sliding the bowl of chips in my direction.
“Great!” I said, nudging Squirrel’s nose away from the bowl.
It had been more than great. From Harrisonburg all the way out to the cabin, the scenery had looked like something off a Christmas card, with the sunlight sparkling on the snow-clumped branches of the pine trees and the air so cold you could taste the freshness even with the windows up and the heat on in my Jeep.
Even Grandpa’s cabin had looked charming from the outside, wearing its mantle of snow, and it usually looked like it was halfway to falling down.
Also, the potholed driveway from the road was flanked by old pieces of junk and rusted-out machinery.
It was all part of Grandpa’s asshole filter—if you made it past all that, the inside of the cabin was comfortable and modern and toasty warm.
“We missed the bad weather, and Squirrel had a gas station hot dog that made him fart all the way here.”
“That part wasn’t great,” Dalton said with a laugh, holding up my hand to inspect where he’d taped my grazed knuckles after I scraped the shit out of them when me and Grandpa came off the sled.
“It was hilarious! Squirrel kept trying to run away from the stink, and he kept giving us these dirty looks like he thought it was coming from us!”
“He wasn’t the only one trying to get away,” Dalton said. “And I’m pretty sure gas station hot dogs aren’t on Scout’s list of Squirrel-approved foods anyway.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “Scout will never know if you don’t tell him. And anyway, he was nice to me before we left, so I can hold that over him for months.”
“The Talbot-Smith boy?” Grandpa asked, and I nodded and shoved some chips in my face. “I was at Lassiter with one of the Talbot-Smith boys back in the day. Probably be his granddaddy or maybe a great-uncle. They still got sticks up their asses?”
“I think they’re born with them,” I said. “Though Bax Three is pretty chill. Scout’s great, though. You just gotta let him think you think he’s an asshole, and everything’s cool.”
Grandpa snorted. “That sounds like a Talbot-Smith alright.” He shrugged. “Though his granddaddy was a genuine asshole. I went up against him in court more than a few times, and it was like trying to masturbate with a cheese grater.” He pulled a face. “Highly unpleasant.”
“That’s a vivid image,” Billy said wryly. “Thank you for sharing it with us, Martin.”
Grandpa toasted him silently with his empty shot glass.
“Scout’s not like that,” I said. “He just pretends he is. I swear he almost cried when we threw him Fratmas.”
“Fratmas?” Billy asked.
“Like Christmas, but at Alpha Tau.”
Billy laughed. “I figured.”
Dalton helped himself to a chip. “Marty found out that Scout couldn’t have Christmas with his family, so he organized a Christmas celebration for him at Lassiter.”
“Fratmas,” I corrected. “It was epic. I have pictures!”
I pulled out my phone and passed it around.
Someone had taken a picture of Scout when he’d first walked through the door and he was frozen like a deer in the headlights, and it was hilarious.
I was thinking of getting it put on a sweater for next Christmas.
I’d probably get one for Scout and one for me.
He’d never wear his, but I’d make up for it by wearing mine everywhere. Maybe I’d get Trey one too.
There were other pictures too—Squirrel eating a pig’s ear, Squirrel chewing on the wrapping paper, Squirrel in his new sweater and reindeer antlers.
It turned out most of the pictures were of Squirrel, but there were a couple of the brothers as well.
Then Billy swiped too far and handed the phone back in a hurry.
He’d landed on the dick pic I’d sent Dalton last week.
Oops.
“Oh,” I said. “Sorry.”
“Well, I guess the whole family is blessed,” Billy said a little faintly and poured himself another drink.
“It’s all about the lighting,” I said before Dalton gave me a look that clearly said stop talking.
“Son,” Billy said, “I was born at night, but not last night.”
Grandpa slapped his knee and laughed. “Stop trying to steal my man with your saucy photographs, Marty!”
Billy and Dalton exchanged a look that said Jesus, these two, but these were the sort of shenanigans you got when you hitched your wagon to an O’Brien man. Except it probably skipped a generation or something, because my dad was super boring.
“And here I thought the only thing I inherited was the ADHD,” I said.
“Maybe one is compensation for the other,” Grandpa said, and Billy threw a cushion at him.
If Dalton had thought we’d be having a quiet Christmas with some venerable elders, he was wrong.
Then again, he’d stayed here before, so he must have had some idea of what to expect and where I got it from.
And I meant my personality, not my dick.
I hadn’t known about the dick thing before now either, and I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about knowing it.
Eh.
The whiskey would help.
Imust have fallen asleep on the couch because the next thing I knew Dalton was trying to get me on my feet. The pattern on Grandpa’s rug was moving like lines of static on an old television set.
“I need—I need to take Squirrel out to pee.” I stumbled against Dalton.
He put his arm around me. “I already took care of it.”
He was the best.
Dalton, not Squirrel. Though Squirrel was also the best. But mainly Dalton. “You’re the best, boo.”
Billy chuckled and said, “Take your boy to bed, Dalton.”
Dalton laughed and said something in reply but I didn't hear it, too busy trying to make my feet go in a straight line—which was hard when the floor kept moving. I wasn’t sure how we made it to the bedroom, but when we got there, I collapsed on my back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling while I waited for it to stop spinning.
Maybe that last whiskey had been a bad idea.
“You think?” Dalton said dryly, and I realized I’d said that out loud. “The five before it were probably a bad idea too.”
“Aw, boo,” I said and had to close my eyes before I got seasick. “You took Squirrel out?”
“Yeah,” Dalton said.
“Oh, you already said that.”
The mattress dipped as he sat down beside me, and I heard the familiar click of Squirrel’s claws on the floor. He was probably doing that thing where he had to circle three times before settling down. Squirrel, not Dalton.
“Roll onto your side,” Dalton said. “There’s a bucket beside the bed if you need to throw up.”
That was true love right there.
I heaved myself over onto my side and dropped my hand off the edge of the bed. My fingers brushed the edge of the bucket. It was good to know it was there. I opened my eyes to check if the room was still spinning. It was. “Hey, Dalton? I told Scout I loved him.”
“Yeah? What did he say?”
“He punched me. But I think he had a real feeling about it too.” I closed my eyes again. “I do love him. I love all my bros. But I love you most of all.”
“I’m glad,” Dalton said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
The room spun a little more, and I closed my eyes.
A moment later warm air hit the side of my face, and a tongue ran over my ear. It smelled like Dalton had been snacking on salami. “I’d normally be down for this, boo, but I’ve had a lot to drink. I don’t think I could even aim my dick at your ass, let alone get it in.”
“That wasn’t me, Marty,” Dalton said.
I opened my eyes and looked over my shoulder. Squirrel stared back at me. Dalton was on Squirrel’s other side.
“Squirrel, down,” Dalton said, and Squirrel gave me a sad look and jumped off the bed.
Dalton pulled the bedcovers up and reached out and turned off the lamp, plunging the bedroom into darkness. At least that stopped it from spinning. Or it stopped me from seeing it was spinning, which was the same thing. I was still glad that bucket was there, though.
Dalton decided to be the big spoon, and I snuggled back into him as his arms came around me.
“Come on the ATVs with us tomorrow?” I asked him.
“Marty, you’re gonna be so hungover you won’t want to leave the bed.” He pressed a kiss to my shoulder, then rested his head on the pillow. “Did I tell you today how amazing you are?”
“Anyone can get super drunk, Dalton.”
His silent laughter shook the mattress, and whoa—that could be dangerous! I reached for the bucket just in case.
“I meant what you did for Scout,” Dalton said, which yeah, that made more sense.
“Scout’s a bro,” I said, “and he’s a teddy bear once you get past the… everything about him.” I yawned and didn’t throw up. Winning! “Takes some people a while.”
“Not you, huh?” Dalton asked and I could hear the smile in his voice.
“Nah, I figured it out the first second I met him in pledge week.”
“The first second?”
“Okay, the first half hour at the mixer. Knox’s tie was all fucked up, so Scout took him aside and gave him this whole-ass lecture about dress standards and about showing respect for Alpha Tau, and tradition, and history, and all that stuff.
And he showed him like eight different times how to tie it properly.
And everyone else who saw it was like, ‘Who is this uptight asshole?’”
“Not you, though?”
“Eight times, Dalton. He wanted to make sure Knox got it right. If he was really an asshole, he would have ignored him and let him look messed up in front of the committee.”
Dalton kissed my shoulder again. “You figured him out.”
I shrugged and regretted it when my stomach rolled. “Scout cares about people. Just not out loud.”
“You’re very different from him,” Dalton said. “I love that you care very loudly.”
“Aw, boo.” I loved that Dalton cared about people too, in general, in his quiet way, and that he cared about me specifically. He’d put a dressing on my knuckles earlier today and a bucket beside the bed. See? Like I said before. True love, right there. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” he said.
It was the easiest thing in the world to say, and to hear, and it made me smile even though my stomach really didn’t feel so great right now.
He curled his fingers through mine and whispered, “Merry Christmas, Marty.”
My smile grew. “Merry Fratmas, Dalton.”
And then I let sleep take me, because tomorrow was going to be another epic day. And so was every day with Dalton, for the whole rest of our lives.