Chapter 2 #2
“It was obvious.” They all turned to look at Franklin who was smirking arrogantly while leaning against the doorway connecting the kitchen to the living room.
“You knew?” Maggie demanded irritably, as if he’d betrayed her by not sharing this previously.
He merely shrugged and replied calmly, “It was clear as day. Those two are head-over-heels for each other. I don’t know why you seem so surprised.”
Maybe Beckett was going cuckoo because Franklin sounded almost fond of them.
“Well, I didn’t see skedaddle!” Cynthia exclaimed, shaking her head. “That just goes to show—those damn gender norms, I just never even considered—” Mumbling disconsolately, she headed towards the kitchen.
Beckett’s feet seemed stuck to the floor, his heart hammering away, as his throat tightened with intense feelings of both relief that he’d finally put his cards on the table and disbelief that it had gone so well.
Sensing this, Hayes wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him against his side, giving him a comforting squeeze.
“You look like you’re in shock,” Maggie said, lightly patting his cheeks and smiling mockingly. “Now is he triggered?”
With an annoyed grunt, Beckett shoved her away, which only made her laugh as she righted herself.
“Way to go on the coming out speech, bro!” She snorted and clapped her hands in a slow, exaggerated manner. “We’re fucking! Really? That’s the best thing you could come up with?”
“You wouldn’t let me talk!” Beckett whined pathetically.
Jackson barked a quick laugh while extending a hand towards Hayes. “Take care of the dumbass, will you?” Jackson asked, squeezing Hayes’ shoulder with his other hand.
“Working on it,” Hayes promised with a nod and warm smile.
Beckett rolled his eyes.
“Now let’s get some grub. I’m fucking starving!” Jackson complained loudly.
“Where’s your wife?” Franklin asked, as Jackson passed him.
“She should be here any minute. She’s in the car—on the phone with her parents,” Jackson replied and headed into the kitchen.
“I’ll go help,” Hayes said, giving Beckett’s upper arm a brief squeeze before following Jackson.
Maggie waited until Hayes was out of sight before whacking Beckett in the middle of the chest, somehow hitting the same place he’d been hit by their mother at the store opening.
“Ouch! What the fuck? Mom must be rubbing off on you!” He’d have a giant bruise there for sure, after Maggie and his mother got done with him.
“Serves you right! Why didn’t you tell me?” She bitched and frowned fiercely.
“Why would I have? I didn’t tell anyone!”
“Yeah but—it could have been our bonding moment! You confide your repressed sexuality to your sister, and I save the day by being your incredible support system!”
“Repressed sexuality? I’d never banged a dude until Hayes, if you must know. And I sure as hell never wanted to either—” He stuttered to a halt, suddenly realizing he was being too loud when discussing such—specifics.
“Really?” Maggie asked skeptically.
“Swear,” Beckett said, holding up three fingers in a mock Scout’s Honor.
“Then how—” Maggie began questioning him.
“Kind of a long story—I got shot and he—”
“You got shot!” His mother’s shrill voice interrupted his story as she came to an abrupt halt in the doorway, holding onto several cartons of Chinese takeout. She looked completely gobsmacked.
“I mean—” Beckett scrambled to cover his tracks. He’d learned a long time ago that it was best not to divulge too much when it came to his job. He needed to stick to generalities and steer clear of anything that sounded even remotely dangerous. She tended to freak out easily.
“It wasn’t that serious! Not like Hayes back in September. It was more the hitman after our asses that was a problem,” he explained hastily, striving for major damage control.
John appeared at the doorway in time to hear this newsflash. He paused and rubbed his cheeks briskly, muttering something about “give me strength” before sitting down at the table.
“Hayes got shot in September!” Cynthia exclaimed with a hand going up to her mouth, looking horrified. “Are you alright? Oh dear! And you’re lifting things!” she panicked, talking directly to Hayes as he walked into the dining room with a pitcher of water and some utensils.
Hayes stopped dead in his tracks, his panicked gaze met Beckett’s, seeking his guidance on what he should say. But Beckett didn’t offer up anything and just shrugged. So, Hayes figured he’d keep his explanation simple, which was sure to take care of the problem.
“I’m fine now. They got everything sorted in surgery,” Hayes said calmly, which did abso-fucking-lutely nothing to calm her down, unfortunately.
“Surgery?!” Cynthia cried out in alarm.
“Argh!” Maggie exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.
“How about we all—sit down and take a deep breath,” John suggested and heaved a put-upon sigh.
Cynthia pursed her lips in obvious displeasure and scrutinized Hayes from head to toe, as if searching for bullet holes, but finally relented and returned to arranging food on the table.
Just as they sat down to eat, Katerina rushed into the dining room and plopped down next to Jackson.
“Sorry to be late! What did I miss? Any eggrolls left?” She was talking about the food, but—
“Oh, nothing much,” Cynthia replied flatly, glaring at her youngest son. “Just that Beckett and Hayes are involved romantically, and they’ve both been shot this year!”
Katerina froze, eyebrows arched in surprise as she glanced back and forth between Cynthia and Beckett for several seconds. Then, with a casual shrug, and proving once again why she was Beckett’s favourite sister-in-law, she picked up her glass of wine to toast the happy couple.
“Well, alright! To boyfriends, bullets, and beautiful stores!” she declared with a bright smile.
Everyone promptly joined her in the toast. Glasses clanked together, as they smiled at one another while avoiding crossing arms, since many believed it caused bad luck.
“For the record—” Beckett said, leaning against Hayes, “this was definitely the wrong time to be sober.”
The remainder of the evening was remarkably tame in comparison.
They talked, played games, and the entire time everything seemed exactly as it had been before, except now Beckett could touch Hayes without needing an obvious excuse.
He’d even dared to snuggle up to him while they were playing Charades.
Charades was always bizarrely challenging with the Théraults, not because they weren’t good at miming, but because Jackson, Maggie, and Beckett had the infuriating habit of shouting the most outrageous things they could come up with.
Finally, it was Cynthia’s turn, and everyone was thoroughly entertained watching her attempt what could only be described as the chicken dance.
“Jesus carrying the cross!” Beckett shouted.
Cynthia looked pissed off and began moving even more erratically.
Maggie barked a laugh and gave Beckett two thumbs up for coming up with that one.
“A T-rex holding her kids!” she yelled, playing off Beckett’s craziness.
The timer sounded, ending Cynthia’s round. She sighed and dropped her card on the table.
“Showering?” John read the card, looking perplexed.
“Jesus, Mom! What were you doing with your arms?” Jackson complained with a frown.
“I was dripping wet!” she exclaimed defensively, nose high in the air, refusing to feel guilty about her insane, albeit energetic, performance.
Okay—so perhaps the Théraults weren’t all that great at miming.
There were a few more moments during the evening when Beckett found his family’s gaze on him and Hayes, but their reaction was never anything but approving or kind.
It was surprisingly easy. Far more so than he’d expected it to be considering his life had always been sprinkled liberally with moments of chaos.
It was getting late when they wrapped up playing Charades. John and Cynthia retired and Jackson and Katerina weren’t far behind. The remaining four stayed up awhile longer to play blackjack. Unsurprisingly, Hayes wiped the floor with all of them.
“I don’t have any proof yet that you’re cheating, but I’m keeping my eye on you,” Maggie warned Hayes as she stood up from the table, pointing her finger at him accusingly with a fierce squint.
Hayes snorted in amusement and shrugged. She headed off for a bathroom break, muttering about thieving Brits and counting cards.
“How’d you get so good at blackjack?” Beckett asked, openly curious.
“Same uncle who taught me to shoot loved to play cards. He had a bit of a gambling habit,” Hayes replied in a carefully neutral tone.
“He was an addict?” Franklin made it sound more like a statement than a question.