Chapter Nineteen #2
“Well, that’s fuckin’ bullshit,” Marcus gripes, barely keeping his volume down. “These people, they’re what? Supposedly adults? Saying things like that to a child? Fuck is wrong with them?!”
I nod. “They’ve harbored—well, still harbor, apparently—a lot of hatred towards me for Aaron’s condition.
They blame my foolhardy ways for him being in the state that he’s in now.
Now Cam’s torn between wanting to go see his papa, spend some time with him for Thanksgiving, but he’s upset because they’re making him feel guilty about still living with me. ”
“You’re his fa-ther,” Marcus hisses.
“Not technically,” I sign before my gaze falls to the floor.
He tilts my chin up and gets right in my face.
“You cut that bullshit out right now,” he huffs.
His eyes dart towards Brody’s room for a millisecond before he lowers his voice even lower.
“Blood does not make you a father, love does. I have spent the past eleven years raising a son who is not biologically mine, yet I would hang the goddamn moon for him. Ivy?” He gestures pointedly at the snake tank in the living room.
“Prime example, but that’s not all. I would do whatever it takes to make sure that Brody knows that he is safe and that he has a parent who loves him unconditionally.
I have seen, first hand, how you and Cam get along—you’re not simply providing him with his basic needs, you are caring for him.
You adore him, and he reciprocates that the best way a teenager knows how to. You. Are. His. Father.”
By the time he is done with his tirade, his chest is heaving, and he’s more wound up than I have ever seen him before. Papa Bear Mode: activated. My god, I love this man. I love him. I tell him so by pressing the sign onto his chest, right above his heart.
“I love you too,” he says, pulling me into a hug, damn near lifting me off my feet. Nope, scratch that, he actually does lift me off my feet, setting me on the countertop and stepping between my legs. He rests his huge palms on my thighs, leans in, and kisses me.
“We’re going to get this figured out,” he promises me, murmuring on my lips. “Cam shouldn’t be made to choose, nor should he have seeing his papa dangled over his head. Both you and him deserve access to Aaron, to help care for Aaron, to be able to keep Aaron involved with your lives.”
Oddly, I see his eyes flit up towards Lauren’s home office in the loft of their house, before focusing back on mine.
I’m not able to inquire about what that look was for before he starts speaking again.
“Now, super important question here. One that will define whether or not you and I are truly soulmates even. What’s going on top of this meatloaf before it goes into the oven? ” He narrows his eyes at me.
I chuckle. Cameron, still in the living room with Lauren, peeks over the back of the couch and answers for me, “He always puts barbeque sauce on it.”
“Marry me now, Caleb Wi—Dupris!” Marcus hoots, spinning out from between my legs and doing a happy dance. “Marry me right fuckin’ now! Boring ass ketchup has absolutely no place on meatloaf, and I will stand on that soapbox until the day they bury me!”
Lauren scoffs, shaking her head, while a laugh bubbles out of Cameron.
Brody calls out from his bedroom, “Then why do we put ketchup on hamburgers?”
“Because they’re two separate things!” Marcus shouts back.
“Not really, if you think about it,” Brody hums, stepping out into the kitchen.
“He’s not wrong,” I agree.
Brody smirks at me. “You know? You’re alright. I guess you can stay for dinner,” he deadpans, shrugging.
I gotta say, I love the kid’s dry wit.
Marcus snorts. “Thanks for allowing it, King Brode. Now, get on over here and start disrobing some of these spuds.”
Brody wrinkles his nose. “No thanks.”
Cameron chuckles. “Why not? Dude, it’s so satisfying. It’s like a fits-in-your-palm zen garden.”
“What’s a zen garden?”
“You know that tray of Kinetic Sand that you have in your bedroom? The one you rake when you’re feeling crappy?”
“Yeah?”
“That.”
“So, like a fidget?”
Cam nods. “Kinda like that, but when you’re done peeling them, you get to eat them. Mashed potatoes are hella rewarding.”
And apparently, that’s all it takes for the boys to sit down at the island together and start peeling potatoes…
I slip into bed, now occupying what has apparently become my spot, facing Lauren. She smiles sweetly, reaching over to cup my cheek. I cover her hand with mine, slipping her palm over my lips so I can press a kiss to it.
Marcus, per what has become his usual, is already out cold—snoring, even though he swears up and down he doesn't. I’m not shocked that he’s already passed out though.
He works his fuckin’ ass off everyday out on the boat.
Not that I don’t, but Marcus puts in, like, double the effort.
When I was telling Lauren about it, she looked surprised.
He used to flit from job to job, not really giving much of a shit about any of them. The fact that he’s been at this one for months now, without losing the mojo he has for it, really is a testament to how much he must enjoy the work. I, on the other hand, enjoy the company more.
I truly enjoy being a part of both Marcus and Lauren’s lives everyday.
I just plain enjoy life again, without feeling the constant need to go out and do something wild and adventurous.
Sure, it’d be nice to get back into some of my old hobbies, but I don’t feel the yearning like I used to.
That feeling has been replaced by the joy I get from the simplicities around here.
“You’re never going to sleep, if your mind keeps reeling like that,” Lauren notes in a whisper.
I shrug lightly. “I don’t have to be up early tomorrow…”
She grins. “You mean I get to sleep in, sandwiched between my two favorite men? Sold. Hell, some may even say I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”
I shake my head. “It’s me who is the lucky one.”
From behind Lauren, I hear, “I’m not doing too shabby myself.”
She giggles. “Ope! Guess who finally stopped sawing lumber over there…”
Marcus lifts his head up and narrows his eyes at Lauren. “Are you insinuating that I snore?”
“It’s either that or your dream truck runs on diesel…”
He must give her ass a teasing pinch because suddenly, her hips flick forward—she nearly misses kneeing me in the balls again when she curls up and away from him. “Damn, man. Watch it over there. I’m not prepared to start wearing cups to bed.”
He reaches his long arm over her body so he can cup my junk. “I’ll save you, like the knight in a jersey-cotton nightdress that I am.” Then, his cupping turns into more of a stroke, and I start to grow hard.
“Mmm, there he is,” he hums, his touch turning more intentional than casual. He nudges Lauren forward, scooting in closer behind her. His hand dips down below the waistband of my sweatpants and curls around my shaft. “Ooh, commando…”
“I’d sleep naked if it weren’t for the boys,” I sign one-handed.
“Me too.” Lauren sighs dreamily, rutting her hips between us. “God, Marco, you’re hard as hell right now.”
He nods. “Of course, love. I’m in bed with the two people that get me horny as hell. Can you blame me?”
She peers over her shoulder at him. “Are you sure you’re not having some reverse-bisexual awakening over there?”
“Positive,” he hums. “You know I love it when you wear your dick the most. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t not enjoy you riding my dick, either, but dang—when you get all frisky with Earl, I’m a goner…”
“Where is this infamous Earl, anyway?” I ask.
“Nightstand behind you,” Marcus states matter-of-factly. “Probably feeling a little neglected lately, come to think of it.”
Lauren giggles. “Because you’ve been getting railed by Caleb instead.”
“Not nearly as often as I’d like though.” Marcus pouts, fixing me with a pointed look.
“Chopped liver,” Lauren sing-songs playfully.
She and I haven’t had actual penetrative sex, but we certainly—and I mean definitely—have gotten very good at mastering our oral game. Holy frig. Even if she is never ready to get to that point with anyone besides Marcus, I’m by no means feeling dejected at all.
Marcus snorts. “Do not lay there and try to convince me that your needs are not all being met as well, woman. Christ, just last week you were bragging about how Caleb gave you, and I quote, the best orgasm you’ve ever had.”
“Oh, I did, did I?” I smirk at her smugly. “Funny, you didn’t admit that to my face. When was that?”
Lauren scoffs. “I fucking squirted—squir-ted—on your face, Caleb. I would think that would be admission enough. Hell, I thought the female squirt was just a goddamn fable up until that point!”
Marcus and I both just start laughing, then he yanks his hand out of my pants, where he has been lazily stroking me—keeping me hard, but not taking it further—to fist-bump me.
“Oh-ho-ho,” Lauren remarks, rearing away to regard Marcus and me equally, “Don’t you start bro-ing it out, acting like passing me back and forth is some sort of accomplishment in the Kingdom of Brochacholand.”
“Oh, no, that’s not—” I start to sign, but Marcus cuts me off by, at the same time, saying, “You don’t seriously think that, do you?”
She just blinks, her head rolling between the two of us.
“Lo, the absolute last thing you are is a possession to me. The same goes for Caleb, that much I know,” Marcus states, looking to me for confirmation, which I nod to.
“You know how much I love when the three of us can all get together, and share in the love making together, but you know as well as I do how infrequently that can be accomplished—because, fuckin’ life, you know? ”
She nods, chewing on her lip. Rare vulnerability showing.
“Marco does not lose his Polo,” he says, sounding like it’s a much-needed reminder for her, before kissing her lips.