45. Patrick

Dane had told everyone about me: his team, his mother, his brothers. He'd called each of his softball buddies and "come out" about us. I thought that turn of phrase was funny. He stuck out his chin and said it was adorable and he wouldn't hear otherwise. He'd gone from the big, tough Mr. Never Talk to a sensitive, mushy, spewing-my-name-to-anyone-who-would-listen teddy bear. That felt so insane and special. The way he looked at me, it was like I was the only person who'd ever existed—or would ever exist. Nobody had ever looked at me like that.

So, when Dane suggested I fly back to Kansas with him, I knew it wouldn't be another coming out. They all knew about me. They knew we were together and that things were serious. Still, I was nervous when the first of Dane's brothers pulled into the driveway.

"That'll be Robert. Grady was born late. He might not walk in until we're opening presents."

"Be nice," Mom said, slapping his arm playfully. "Don't you boys call that ‘gay time' or some such?"Dane gawked. I cracked up. "Your mom knows our people!"

"Oh, hon, I'm an honorary gay at this point. Between Dane and Grady, I've learned more about sucking dick than you have—and I was pretty good at it back when their daddy was alive."

"I think I might be sick." Dane bolted out the door toward his brother's car.

Mom and I had tears in our eyes.

"Have you talked to your folks today?" she asked.

The question surprised me. Dane and I had talked about seeing my parents while he was on vacation, celebrating a late Christmas with them, but we hadn't mentioned them since arriving in Kansas.

"They're having a quiet dinner tonight, just the two of them."

She hooked her arm in mine. "That's nice. I bet they miss you."

We stood there, arm in arm, watching as Dane grabbed his middle brother and dangled his feet off the ground. Robert twisted and bucked but was no match for Dane's brawn.

Mom chuckled. "Those boys."

"Were they close growing up?"

Her off hand rested on my forearm, and she patted absently. "Those two? They were inseparable. Robert worshipped Dane and followed him everywhere. I kept waiting for Dane to get over having a shadow. I thought, when he got into high school, he would be too cool with his friends to want a little brother hanging around, but he never did."

"Really? Wasn't Dane a big baseball stud?"

She chuckled. "He was big, and he played baseball. Stud? I'll leave that up to you."

My grin widened, and she rested her head on my shoulder. "By Dane's junior year, Isaiah's health had started to turn. It was hard on all the boys, but Dane … he took it all on himself. I was such a mess. It was all I could do to take care of his brothers. I don't think we would've made it through all that without Dane growing into a strong man at such a young age."

"I see that strength in his eyes," I said without thinking.

Mom pulled back, looking up to meet my gaze. "You really love him, don't you?"

No one had ever asked me that, not even Dane.

I blinked a few times. "Yes, ma'am, I think I do."

"You think?" The steel in her mom voice made me blink again … then grin.

"I do. I love him with all my heart."

She smiled. "That's all I wanted to hear."

The guys made it into the kitchen, Dane laden with a suitcase and laptop, while Robert carried armloads of wrapped presents. Mom patted my arm one last time, then led me in to greet them.

"Well, shit. You don't look like an asshole reporter," Robert said, his country twang far more pronounced than his mom's or Dane's. "That's what my brother said. He called you an ink fucker."

"I did not!" Dane barked, his eyes wide.

"Robert, watch your mouth," Mom said, reaching out to hug her son.

"Ink fucker? I think I like that. Maybe I'll get a T-shirt with that on it."

Dane groaned. "For the love of God, don't encourage him."

Robert held out a hand without letting go of his mom. "Call me Bobby, please. No one else in this house respects me enough to call me what I like."

"Because it's not your name," Mom said.

"Right on cue," Bobby snarked, though his smile remained wide.

Dane leaned over and whispered loud enough for everyone to hear, "This is the tame one. You're gonna die when you meet Grady."

"Oh, fuck me. Gravy Boat isn't here yet?" Bobby asked, more statement than question.

"What do you think?" Dane asked.

"Alright, you boys, out of my kitchen." Mom released her son and began shooing. "Robert"—she stretched her pronunciation—"go settle into your room. I changed the sheets and everything."

"I hope so, Ma. I haven't been home in eight months, and there's no telling what these two have been up to back there."

"Hey!" Dane punched his brother in the arm.

My face and neck flushed with heat.

Bobby laughed and wedged himself and his presents through the opening into the den.

The insistent, almost panicked honking of a car horn turned everyone's attention back to the gravel driveway.

"So much for a calm Christmas. Ru Paul and her reindeer have arrived," Dane muttered.

Mom punched him again. "You behave."

"Me? Have you met your other sons?"

She laughed. "Get out of my kitchen. Go help your brother."

"Again? I just helped one. Can't anybody do anything without me around here?"

"No!" Bobby's voice bellowed from somewhere in the back of the house.

Dane shook his head. "Come with?"

I nodded and followed him outside, gripping my arms and rubbing as I immediately regretted not grabbing a heavy coat. Winter's chill had gripped the area, and the snow was falling even thicker and faster than when we'd arrived. I guessed there was at least four inches on the ground already.

Dane hadn't told me much about his youngest brother, only a few funny stories about when they were kids and got into all sorts of trouble. He hadn't described him or told me anything about his personality. He hadn't given me enough to even know what to expect.

As if any expectation could've prepared me for Grady.

The nineteen-year-old who unfolded from the lime green Toyota something-or-other towered over Dane. I suddenly felt like one of Santa's elves, or Tyrion Lannister from Game of Thrones, except without the sparkling personality and penchant for prostitutes. Grady might have weighed a hundred fifty pounds if he was soaking wet. His cheeks were sunken, and both his shirt and pants hung limp, like tents, across his reed-thin body. And yet, he didn't look unhealthy, just in need of a burger.

What drew me up short was his hair.Where Dane's head was covered in thick, inky blackness and his skin was the sensuous olive of a Native American, Grady was paler than a goth under a glow stick. And his hair …

Sweet baby Jesus. Grady's hair was even more lime green than his car.

And …

The boy looked up from hugging Dane and our eyes met.

Dear god, that's eyeliner. Green eyeliner.

I didn't even know they made green eyeliner.

Grady smiled and raised a hand, giving me that wild Forrest Gump wave, as though we stood a county away from each other.

We were about three feet apart.

"Hi," I said, trying to keep my teeth from chattering.

"Well, hey there, shugah!" I only had a split second to be shocked by his syrupy thick Southern accent before Grady tore himself from Dane's grip, flew around his brother, and swept me up in a hug, twirling me around so my legs soared like one of those fair rides where the seats kicked up from a central pillar and spun until the riders threw up.

"Dane Walker," Grady said, finally setting me down. I wobbled a little, dizzy. "You never said this reporter of yours was so fucking delicious. I could just eat him up right now. How about you give me the family special. Two for one? Big bro can take you from behind while you learn just how high a boy can scream with me in front?"

I was too cold to blush, so all the blood drained into my shoes.

"Grady!" Dane shouted.

Oddly, his voice wasn't filled with anger or indignance. He sounded … amused. I looked past the giant popsicle stick to find Dane covering his mouth, tears welling in his squinted eyes.

Grady leaned over, cupped his hand to his mouth dramatically, and whisper-shouted over the snowstorm, "Don't you let big toughie fool you, he loves a good fuckin'. I bet he lets you slam him a good one, don't he? You tame my big bro yet? Get him a collar? Maybe a harness?"

"Grady!"

"I might have an extra in my bag if you need one. I know I brought a leash. A boy's got to be prepared, right?"

All I could do was blink. Was he saying Dane liked to be controlled? To have someone take charge and … what? Leash him? Oh, holy night. Seriously? Or was he playing with me? I had no idea what to think or how to take Grady. I was so thrown off balance, I thought the world might tilt on its axis. My mouth was open so wide, I could taste the snow as it fell onto my tongue.

Fucking Dane was doubled over, leaning against the car, probably about to pee himself over the whole thing.

"Grab those bags, will you, sweetie?" Grady snapped his fingers at Dane, kicked out his hip like a runway model making a turn, then sashayed past me toward the house, pecking my cheek and pinching my ass as he passed.

I nearly jumped out of my jeans.

Dane actually hit the ground and rolled in the snow at that. Asshole.