Plans and Certainties
“YOU GUYS ready to come out yet?” The voice was that of an older man, one who had grown to be familiar in the last few months since Dean had brought home Bailey and his father.
“Down here, Mr. Dodge,” Reg called. “All clear?”
“Yessir, and boy, it was a treat to watch your mother chew out those big strapping morons in the full metal jackets for being cowards.”
Reg gave a little laugh and gestured for the boys, then Anthony, to go before him.
He didn’t want to tell the truth, which was he’d actually thought of Julie Royal going up against ICE, and the thought had made his stomach hurt.
His mother, who had treated every kid in the neighborhood as hers at one time or another, had not taken kindly to the military incursion of racism in her country, in her state, or in her town.
“She’s okay?” Reg asked as he emerged into the long shadows of early evening in September.
“Yeah. Dean and Marcus waved their badges around, and Dean pretty much made his contempt known.” Connor made to spit and then seemed to remember he was in his own kitchen. “Assholes. Begging your boys’ pardon.”
“No, sir,” said the irrepressible Ilia. “We’re right on board with that.”
Connor grinned at the boy and ruffled his hair. “You’re somethin’.” He winked at Reynaldo. “He’s somethin’ to keep in line—you got your hands full.”
Reynaldo smiled shyly, and then an unmistakable, highly welcome aroma hit both boys.
“Sir?” Ilia said, almost transported. “Is that pizza I smell?”
“Why yes it is. We made a show of going off for some take and bake, and now it’s baking, and we thought it might be time for you boys to come out.”
“I am all for this,” Reynaldo said, nodding.
“Well, I’ve got two pizzas here for you boys,” Connor said, before giving Anthony and Reg meaningful looks. “And the grown-ups are gonna go meet in the house.”
“That’s not right!” Reynaldo protested. “I mean, you’re going to be discussing our fate, right?”
Reg grimaced. “Yes,” he said, without apology, “but we’re also discussing all the illegal things my family is going to do to keep you safe. This way you have plausible deniability if we all get caught.”
“Too late,” Ilia said. “We already know about the computer equipment—”
“But not what my brothers and I are going to do with it,” Reg told him.
Then, because he knew it wasn’t fair and the kids had a right to determine their own future, he said, “Look—let us talk about it, figure out how to contact your mother and your aunt, and then I’ll present you with options.
We’re not trying to take control away from you—we’re trying to come up with some ideas that don’t suck, and it’s easier when just being in the room with us isn’t another crime for you guys. Do you understand?”
The boys nodded glumly, and Anthony spoke up.
“Listen, guys, you already know we’re not turning you over to anybody’s killer family, and we just spent hours hiding from ICE. Can you at least trust us to keep you safe?”
This time, the nods were a little less glum, and as Connor went to get the first pizza out of the oven, Reynaldo gave them an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely.
“I’m sorrier,” Reg said. “You guys have been so brave today. And irritating. But mostly brave.”
Ilia grinned at him. “You are way more interesting than I ever imagined,” he said. “Come on, Rey, let’s set the table and ask if the dog can come in. I can hear her scratching, and I want to feed her pizza crust so she can fart.”
“That’s so gross!” Reynaldo exclaimed, with more than a touch of admiration.
“Good luck, Connor!” Anthony called, and then grabbed Reg’s hand. “Come on. I’m trying to show some self-control, but it’s really turning my key that there are other pizzas in the main house.”
Reg nodded, because he’d managed to keep the boys out of the wrapped supplies, because keeping the vermin out was a pain in the ass, but he’d been getting damned hungry down in the tunnel as well.
Together they exited out the back door, letting Catherine in (and rubbing her silky ears as they walked by) and then out into the stillness of sunset.
“It’s the one time the wind dies down,” Reg said, his footsteps slowing as the air grew close. On the one hand, it was still warm enough to make him sweat, but on the other hand, the quiet from the almost incessant wind that blew through the Central Valley was a luxury.
“I know,” Anthony said, and for a moment he seemed content to let their strides sync as they skirted the fence that marked the pool before continuing on to the main house.
But as they were passing it, one stray breeze breathed over them, and Anthony stopped.
Reg turned toward him to see what was up and was suddenly arrested by the sober expression on Anthony’s long, handsome face.
“What?” he asked, confused.
“This.” And then Anthony closed the distance between them quickly and placed a quiet, gentle kiss on Reg’s lips.
Reg made a soft sound of need and found himself leaning forward as Anthony pulled away.
“Wha—”
“The boys are right,” Anthony murmured. “Life’s too short to put off a kiss like that.”
“But—”
“More. Later.” Anthony raised his thumb to brush Reg’s lips. “I’ll promise if you will.”
Reg nodded. “Yes,” he rasped.
“I’ll hold you to it.”
Another quick kiss, one that made Reg long for a real kiss—with exploring and touching all along their bodies, with open mouths and tongues and everything he’d ever been promised in all the storybooks—and then Anthony pulled away and grabbed his hand, and this time he was the one being pulled along toward his parents’ house in confusion.
His one overriding thought was that he couldn’t believe the most ambitious he’d been able to get about that night had been Frida Kahlo!
His mother’s kitchen was the same as always—even the smell of pizza, although take and bake was far superior to frozen.
As he and Anthony walked in, his father pointed them to the counter, where a variety of pizzas sat cooling, all of them with missing pieces, and a stack of paper plates stood waiting to be filled.
There was even salad, which Reg planned to serve himself after he washed his hands.
The conversation was already in full swing.
“Yes, Mom,” Dean was saying dutifully as Reg neared the sink, “you’re right, they’re all bad people, but sending an entire agency into the fiery depths of hell isn’t sound policy any more than their current tactics are sound policy.”
“I beg to differ,” Marcus said, “but I do see how it would be difficult to implement.”
Dean shook his head. “Okay, okay—it is sound policy, but figuring out who goes straight to hell and how they get there is going to take some doing.”
“They were bastards,” Julie said shortly, before turning her unhappy gaze to Reg and Anthony. “You boys okay? Your kids okay too?”
“Yes, Miss Julie,” Anthony said, the deference in his voice as he spoke to Reg’s mother as endearing as everything else about him. “And as much fun as your policies would be to implement, I think we need to work on the short term here.”
She let out a sigh, and Reg dried his hands before bending down to where she sat and kissing her cheek.
Julie Royal was a small, graying, wiry woman in her sixties, still strong after seven children and heartbreak Reg wasn’t even sure his siblings remembered.
And boy, had she never backed down from a fight.
Reg’s father, Ed, was also slightly built, with a plain face and ears that stuck out a little from his thinning hair. Together, they were two of the best people Reg knew and his gold standard for how a marriage should work.
Not perfectly, not always smoothly, and definitely with swearing, but with a solid sense of partnership.
As Reg grabbed his pizza and settled down next to Anthony at a table that could easily accommodate five more people, he wondered if Anthony was ready for that sort of pressure, but then Dean started speaking and there were other things to worry about.
“Okay,” Dean said, nodding to Marcus for the go-ahead. “You were right about ICE—they had no idea who they were looking for, and they were very surprised to find a recovering FEEB in a wheelchair. I love that you wore your ID on the lanyard, by the way,” Dean told his partner with dry humor.
Dean was average height, as were most of the Royal siblings, with dark hair in a G-man cut and hazel eyes. Reg figured he was the second prettiest of the boys, coming in after Chance, and all of them were far behind their sister, who was gloriously beautiful.
In contrast, his partner, Marcus Cabrillo, was taller, dark-skinned, and mouth-wateringly gorgeous in an “I am a Latin god” sort of way, complete with dimples and a cleft in his chin.
But their complete disdain for any sort of authority gave them matching expressions of contempt, recalcitrance, and superiority that Reg was sure could hinder anybody’s appreciation of their looks.
Well, except for Bailey, Dean’s boyfriend, who sat next to Dean now, a sweet-faced doctor with shaggy blond hair, lake-blue eyes, and freckles. Bailey’s expression of adoration as he listened to Dean and Marcus banter was borderline nauseating, but only because Dean was Reg’s brother.
Marcus smirked. “I told them it was because I knew all they understood was brown on the color scale, so I thought I’d give them something concrete they could look up on their phones.”
“And that was when we walked in,” Reg’s mom said. “I swear, Marcus, they were going to dump you out of your chair.”
“Yes, they were,” Marcus said complacently. “And now they’re going to hear about getting their pay docked for assaulting an officer, because as much as our boss hates us, he doesn’t fucking play.”
“You already sent that, right?” Dean asked. “And he doesn’t hate us. He hates me. You he tolerates. He thinks I’m the reason you always get into trouble.”
Marcus shook his head. “You are the reason I always get into trouble. Back me up here, Bailey.”
Bailey shrugged. “He’s right, Dean,” he said before taking a bite of pizza. “You do tend to barrel right over rules and the people who make them.”