20. Jagger

Jagger

C am's sandalwood scent is the first thing I notice when I wake up, only this time it comes from the hard chest I'm using as a pillow, not the sheets on his bed. Which means yesterday wasn't a dream.

Part of me thought it might've been, since I didn't start my day with the intention of having a boyfriend by the end of it, and I'm pretty fucking stoked to see that it's real.

I also feel a little bit like an idiot for not realizing Cam should've been my boyfriend all this time, but better late than never, I guess. Can't say I'm looking forward to everyone claiming they saw this coming a mile away. Which they'll sure as shit do, but fuck it. I'll take their ribbing if it means I don't have to pretend Cam is nothing more than a friend.

I'm looking forward to that part of publicly dating someone, actually. Kissing them whenever I want, holding hands, all that shit. That needs to be on the agenda for today. I have to re-stock all my fruits and veggies so I'll have him take me to Target and I'll hold that fucker's hand the whole time.

"You think too loud," Cam rumbles as he stirs beneath me.

"I didn't say anything. "

"You didn't have to. I feel the gears in your head turning." He arches into a stretch, as much as he can with me as a blanket, and sighs. "You gonna tell me what you have in store for us today or do I have to fuck it out of you?"

"That's an option?"

"I assumed that's how you wanted the morning to go since your boner is resting on my thigh."

After swiveling my hips, I realize he's right, and it takes me a second to process the fact I'm hard and wasn't thinking about getting laid, but rather holding the fucker's hand. Now that he's pointed out my situation, I've got a one-track mind.

"My dick is on board with that idea. Let's do it in the shower. We haven't tried that yet."

One super hot—and then ball-shriveling cold—shower later, and we're off to replenish my stock of produce.

"You have any ideas for that original recipe you wanted to push?" he asks as we park.

"Well, so far none of you have been able to finish a full glass of my juice, so I'm thinking maybe I follow an existing recipe then put my own spin on it." I come around to his side of the truck and take his hand.

"Makes sense." He looks at our hands then glances at me. "You sure?"

"Yep."

He gives a noncommittal shrug and matches his steps to mine, giving me another quizzical look when I hand him a basket instead of grabbing a cart.

"I can't hold your hand if you're pushing a cart."

He bites back an amused grin. "I wasn't expecting you to be all in on the PDA. "

"What's the point of having a boyfriend if you don't get the full boyfriend experience?"

Cam looks at me over his shoulder as he leads us toward the produce section. "What's that entail?"

"I'm not totally sure since I've never had a boyfriend, or been a boyfriend, but hand holding and kissing, obviously. Sleepovers. Texting each other all the time. Eating all our meals together. Shower sex." We stop in front of the apples, and I pick one up to inspect it without taking my hand out of Cam's. "Oh, and dick pics. That's a critical part, I think."

"Why would I need a picture of your dick when I can see it in person?"

An older lady side-eyes us before drifting away with a huff, but I'm in too good of a mood to care. Plus, I think her reaction is more about our topic of conversation than two men holding hands, which I can't blame her for.

"You need a picture so you can see it when we're not together." I put the apple in the basket and select another one.

"We're always together."

"You need one so you can see it when I can't take it out. Like right here. I'd get arrested for indecent exposure if I showed it to you now, but if you had a picture, you could be looking at it while I shop."

"You're right. I don't know what I was thinking." Cam rolls his eyes as he adds an apple to our pile. "Every guy needs a picture of his boyfriend's dick. In case of emergencies."

"Exactly." I step between him and the display and press my lips to his. "Never leave home without your emergency dick pic."

This time it's a middle-aged lady who walks away in a tizzy, and the two of us crack up laughing.

"Think she recognized you?" Cam wipes a stray tear from his eye .

"Nah, she's not my demographic." I shrug and drag him toward the carrots.

"We should probably keep our conversations PG in public though, just in case."

"I'm not gonna hide us in a closet, Cam."

"I don't want you to. I'm saying we shouldn't talk about dick pics in the grocery store."

"Fair." I toss some carrots in the basket, and we move to the green stuff. "Do they make unflavored protein powder? I need a protein option that isn't strawberry, chocolate or vanilla."

"The green shit you have in your hand is where you get the protein. Why are you asking if… You don't have an existing recipe to put your own spin on, do you?"

"Not yet." I give him a guilty smile.

"I thought the whole point of coming here was to get what you needed for the recipe you wanted to tinker with?"

"The main goal was to do boyfriend shit in public. Getting stuff for the juicer is just a bonus."

"So I'm the shiny new toy you want to show off?" Cam tugs on my hand in a way that has me stumbling into his chest.

"Yes," I bob my head decisively and get both a laugh and a kiss in return. Score!

We take our time going through the store and picking out what we want, holding hands like a cheesy couple, and I love every second of it. Right up until we get to the truck, and I come face to face with a ghost. Or more accurately, a future version of myself.

Years worth of things I dreamed of saying in this moment flood my head, everything from where've you been to why'd you leave to I forgive you or I hate you , but I can't get any of them to become words in my mouth. Instead, I just stand here, gaping at the man I never expected to see again as he looks me up and down, taking stock of what I've become. Assessing.

I do the same.

He's shorter than I remember—or I'm taller—and there are deep lines around his eyes as he squints at me. There's a faint hint of silver at his temples, which might make him look distinguished if his hair didn't have a sheen to it that makes it seem slightly dirty. Not greasy just…not clean. He's still handsome though. Enough that I'm not surprised when I notice a woman pushing a kid in a cart doing a double take as she passes by.

After what feels like an eternity of silence, Cam gently pulls me back and steps in front of me, partially shielding me from view. "Can we help you?"

"You can have your guard dog stand down." My dad looks at me beyond Cam's shoulder. "I'm not here to hurt you."

"Why are you here?" Cam doesn't budge.

"To see my son, obviously." He starts to take a step toward us, faltering when Cam straightens to his full height. Realizing he can't physically get past my boyfriend, he changes tactics. "I was hoping to talk to you, Jags. Alone."

Hearing that nickname for the first time in years snaps me out of my stupor, barely. "Where I go, Cam goes."

"This is family business, son."

"Cam is more my family than you are." Since the man doesn't so much as wince, I can tell he's not here to make amends. That doesn't really surprise me after all these years though, it hurts more than I expected.

I guess ten-year-old me still wants him to be the man I thought he was. The guy who would take me camping or roughhouse in the living room until Mom would tell us to knock it off. Even then, he would disappoint me by not showing up when he was supposed to, but he never made me feel like he resented me. It's partly why his disappearance was so hard to comprehend.

For years, I expected him to come back with an explanation or an apology, something that would make his absence more of a misunderstanding than a situation he deliberately caused. I'm not sure when I stopped believing he'd come back, but I suppose that's around the time I accepted that if he did, it wouldn't be because he missed me.

Still, it's hard to reconcile the expressionless man before me with the guy I called Dad. It makes me wonder if my memories of him are real, or clouded by the innocent perspective children have.

My dad gives me a calculated once over, clicks his tongue, and says, "Fair enough. I'm in a bit of a bind, and I need you to help me out."

"I knew it," Cam grunts beside me. "He wants to cash in on your success."

"Think of it as collecting a debt," my dad shrugs a listless shoulder. "I took care of you, now you take care of me."

"Mom's the one who took care of me," I say.

"She paid the bills. I watched you."

"You watched him when it served your purpose, like getting you out of a shift at work or playing the starving kid card so you could get a meal. Otherwise you dropped him off and left him, which is why he came home with me every day." Cam's jaw is locked so tight I'm worried he might break a tooth, and even though it's my psyche at stake here, I find myself rubbing Cam's neck to loosen him up. "You remember that, right?" he asks me. "Don't let him convince you he's owed anything."

"I won't," I tell Cam, though truthfully, I didn't remember any of that until just now. My memories were about going to the park and getting ice cream and shit. I'd sort of forgotten what came next was a fight between him and my mom when she found out.

What else am I remembering incorrectly?

"I thought you might be too young to remember all I did for you," my dad drawls, "so I brought an incentive." He pulls his phone from his pocket right as I have a flashback of Bennet talking about a guy in a leather jacket at the bar.

"You're the one who took the video," I say as he hits play.

"What do you kids call it nowadays? Gay chicken?" he asks as video Cam pulls me in for a kiss that's every bit as scorching as I believed it would be. "Kind of a stupid game for a prospective NFL star to play if you ask me. People might believe it's real. Especially if I post this."

I can't explain whether it's anger over my dad trying to use my boyfriend against me or a desire to prove that I'm nothing like him, but something gives me the courage to fight back.

Facing Cam, I give him a little wink as I tilt my head toward the phone playing our video. "Told you that shit would be hot."

"You trying to call my bluff?" My dad pockets his phone with a scowl. "It won't work. Fifty grand or I post it."

"What makes you think he has fifty grand?" Cam asks as I say, "Make sure to tag me. I've been wanting to find a copy of that shit ever since I heard someone filmed it."

"Don't play brave, son. You know what could happen to your draft prospects if people think you're queer?"

"The NFL's official position is that they're accepting, so if my stats are good and they don't take me I guess I have a case, huh?" That's a bluff—I have no idea what'll happen if I try to get drafted with a boyfriend, but since Cruz is in my same boat I'm sure we'll figure it out .

"You really want to test that theory? Fifty grand and you'll never have to find out," my dad says.

"What kind of prick tries to blackmail his own son?" Cam scowls at him.

"The kind who never got to do what he wanted in life since he got saddled with a kid," my dad spits back, convincing me once and for all that my memories of the guy are clouded by the childlike hero worship tons of kids have for their dads. Now I know better.

"Look old man," I start. "Do whatever you want with that video. It wasn't a game and I'm not ashamed of it. People will either accept that I'm with Cam or they won't, and I really don't give a shit which way they lean. I'm happy. That's all that matters"

I move to get in the car when my dad blocks my path. "Maybe you should take a day or two to think about that, just so you don't do something you'll regret."

Before I can respond a giant fist grabs his shirt and lifts up, so he's forced to rise on his toes if he wants to breathe.

Fuck, that's hot. I mean, I always liked how Cam made me feel safe, but under the boyfriend lens, I realize it's sexy on top of being sweet.

"Come anywhere near him again and you'll be the one to regret it," Cam seethes. "Now, get the fuck out of here before we call the police." He shoves my dad hard enough that the guy has to take a few steps back to avoid going down, but Cam sticks to me like glue until I'm inside to make sure he can't get close to me again.

He rounds the truck and drives through the open space in front of us so we don't get close enough that my dad can claim we hit him. Which after that conversation, I'm inclined to think he'd do.

Damn, I really had blinders on as a kid.

I'd sort of suspected that after a decade of silence, but having it confirmed is… freeing . Not that I'm magically healed of the fear that I wasn't good enough or that I'll end up like him, I just have a better grasp on the fact some of those fears are rooted in memories that are flawed.

Hopefully, one day, when it sinks in that his actions had nothing to do with me, they'll be gone for good. For now, it's a lot to take in, and I think I'm still in a mild state of shock about it.

Several blocks later, Cam finally loosens his grip on the wheel and casts a quick glance in my direction, where I'm sitting just as rigidly as he is.

"On a scale of one to ten how fucked up was that?" he asks.

It's exactly the ice breaker I need, and I fight back a smile as I answer.

"Who knew my dad could end up being worse than Liam's?" I wonder aloud, thinking about how our roommate's decision to stay at Front Range University with Cruz instead of going to the school his dad preferred left him penniless. "I never thought I'd have a reason to say it, but I'd prefer being cut off to being blackmailed."

"Yeah, that's an oddly better scenario," Cam agrees, though he too looks like he can't believe it has to be said.

It's quiet for another few blocks before he says, "You did good back there. I know it must've been hard to see him and hear him say all that shit, but you didn't let him get to you."

"He almost did," I admit. Though I end up speaking to the hem of my shirt, incapable of looking at Cam, just in case it turns out he's only trying to make me feel better. I'll know it if I see his face, so I don't look.

"Yeah, he's good at manipulating people. But you're better at blocking him out than he is at getting under your skin. I mean it," Cam adds, like he knows I need to hear that.

My lip pulls up in an almost smile. "Thanks."

"You think he'll post that video?" Cam asks after a beat .

"I honestly don't care if he does. I'd do it myself if I had a copy."

"Think you should warn your sponsors it might come out?" There's a hesitance to his question I don't like, so I reach for his arm and guide his hand off the wheel and into mine.

"My love life is my business. It doesn't have anything to do with them, and I shouldn't have to give anyone a heads up that there's a video of me kissing a guy when I wouldn't do that if it was a girl."

"Yeah, but we still don't know if your dad is right about the drafting queer players thing. I don't want your options to be limited because of me."

I squeeze his hand in mine. "I want to get to the NFL. That hasn't changed, but the past few weeks have taught me that where I end up is just as important as who I'm with. Maybe even less so. The rest is just…a bonus, I guess."

"Making the NFL is a bonus?"

A few weeks ago, I would've thought going pro was all that mattered. Particularly since I was convinced Cam would be with me for that. As a platonic life partner. But now… Now that I've learned that we have chemistry and—I think—a more intimate connection than what I realized…then yeah. The NFL is the bonus.

"It's still my dream, but how shitty would it be to achieve that dream if you aren't there with me?"

"How shitty would it be if I'm the one that keeps you from living the dream?" Cam retorts.

I really feel like he's overreacting, but since he's been playing the role of my protector for over a decade, I get that he's worried about doing me more harm than good.

"Trust my process, Cama… Cam ." I doubt that'll reassure him since it's not a solid plan, but it tends to work for me more often than not .

"You don't have a process, Kitcat." He rolls his eyes at me, but instead of looking frustrated he seems sort of amused.

"Trust me then."

His eyes lock onto mine with unwavering certainty. "I do."