11. Abi

CHAPTER 11

ABI

T he little one's little friends have been sleeping for the last two days, thanks to the serum he insists I drug them with. Tatum has been by their sides the entire time. Holding them. Cooling their foreheads with damp cloths. Turning them from one side to the other so they aren't sore when they wake. Part of me wonders if this will be what Tatum's like, should we ever have a child.

He must realize I'm nervous, because Tatum has made several attempts to ease my apprehension. Nothing has dulled the fearful ache in my chest. Our tether—the unbreakable string he insists connects us—feels as if it's being pulled to its limit. Each day that passes, it feels like the bond is weakening.

No. Not weakening. It's simply returning to the men he loved first. He claims their love is strictly platonic, but the men were in a relationship for over six months. Just as long as we've been ... well, whatever it is we are at the moment.

He can claim there's nothing between them until the sun falls from the sky, the facts will not change. I love him more than he can ever love me. Since bringing Benjamin and Bennet home and locking them in Tatum's childhood bedroom, my little one has made no effort to rekindle the spark we ignited in Benito's guest room. He's given me no hint of a possible repeat of the sexual bond we shared after destroying Benito's possessions. There have been no lascivious text messages with depraved sexual threats tucked between unnecessary eye roll emojis. Just quick kisses on the cheek done mostly in passing.

Tatum is a small man, and his bed is just as small. A full-size mattress that barely fits two people, much less three twinks and—his words—a "gargantuan sloth." He's offered to sleep on top of me so we don't have to spend the night apart, but the first night we attempted it, he couldn't seem to get comfortable. So, with nowhere else to rest, I've been sleeping on the pull-out sofa in the living room. Three nights not spent by his side. Three nights of longing for something that feels like it's slipping away from me.

We're meant to be planning our joint bachelor parties today, but he's been at Benji's and Bennet's side the entire time. I know the young men will be terrified when they wake, but I'm just as frightened. Frightened I'm losing the man I love. Frightened he'll send me away once the wedding is over. Perhaps, worst of all, frightened resentment will fester, growing and rotting inside Tatum's heart like a flesh-eating virus. I do not know how I will cope if he ends up hating me once this is all over.

Last night, I told Tatum I would not drug his friends again. They will need to wake to work through whatever turmoil they're facing. Plans will need to be made. Arrangements for housing. Ways they might avoid Benito in the future. Tatum wasn't happy by the end of our discussion, but he knows keeping them sedated will solve nothing, and we are quickly running out of time.

And, while Tatum watches over his friends, Brody, Scotty, Fiona, Tatum's parents, and myself have been putting the finishing touches on our upcoming double wedding. Each time I return to Tatum's room, he hasn't moved an inch. He just sits on the bed, his back against the headboard, watching them intently. Last night, he was cuddled up at Benji's side, one leg over the man's thighs, hugging him tightly. The night before, he had Bennet's head pressed firmly against his heart, murmuring sweet nothings to the unconscious man. The moment he caught sight of me, Tatum smiled like it was the most normal thing in the world. In our little bungalow in Winawana, cuddling with Fiona was par for the course. In his childhood bed, clinging desperately to men he once loved, it feels different.

Worse are the pitying looks being thrown my way. Each time I see Brody, he gives me a sympathetic smile, but he can save his sympathy for someone who needs it. I am fine. A welcome change has been Scotty's attitude toward me. Usually, he seethes and hisses at me like a viper. The last three days, he has been uncharacteristically kind to me. There have been no death threats thrown my way. No rusty railroad spikes poking through the mattress of the sleeper sofa because I made the grave mistake of scolding him in front of his friends and family. In fact, he's been somewhat of a shoulder to lean on. He even hugged me once, though he quickly course-corrected, claiming there was a spider on my shoulder. He slapped me directly in the face once the words were out, stating the spider had hopped onto my cheek.

Mercifully, the St. James family have also taken me under their wings in Tatum's absence. We've stayed up late at night, me getting to know them, them getting to know me. They must notice how worried I am, because Lindsay has cornered me on several occasions, reminding me of the fact she's never seen Tatum as happy as he is with me. It's a touchstone I hold on to when he's holed away in his childhood bed, caring for the men who loved him first.

I'm downstairs, nursing a sugary cup of cocoa when I hear it. A squeak. A squeal. Then, a bedroom door opening and footsteps dashing down the stairs. Tatum rounds the corner, his eyes wide as the moon itself.

"Abi," he says to me, and I'd be lying if I said the word doesn't temporarily put my mind at ease. "They just woke up, and Benji's freaking out. I need you to talk some sense into him."

With a sigh, I stand, following his lead. Once we're on the second-floor landing, I hear Benjamin weeping behind Tatum's bedroom door. Tatum turns around and flashes me a nervous smile.

"I know I've been distant," he starts, but I shake my head. Now is not the time for well-meant placations.

"He's crying. We should calm him."

Tatum's face screws up, whether in confusion or disappointment, I'm not sure. He gives me a resigned nod before opening the door, allowing me entry. Once inside, I watch as Benjamin's eyes widen in fear, and he tries to back away. Unfortunately, Tatum insisted we keep him restrained, so he doesn't make it very far. At his side, somehow, Bennet has freed his arms from the restraints holding him to the bed, and he's stumbled upon the butcher's knife I'd put in the nightstand days ago. Damn.

"Little one," I say, but he quickly shakes his head.

"Remind me, Abi, why do you keep a knife in the bedside drawer?"

"To keep you safe, little one," I say with a sigh.

"He's aiming a knife at me. How safe am I right now?"

"He will not hurt you."

"That's not the point," Tatum squeaks, his voice taking on a shrill tone. "Replace Bennet with an armed intruder, and I'd be dead as a doornail right now. Good fucking job."

"If the knife makes you uncomfortable, you could have removed it at any time," I remind him. Then I see it. A hint of mayhem on his face. "You like it. Don't you? A knife. A grenade launcher. You live for the danger."

"I live for the day you eventually die. That's what I live for. God, Abi. Way to turn this around on me."

"Say it."

Tatum groans. "Okay, well, maybe it's kind of hot knowing I can grab it and press it against your throat, should the need to ejaculate arise in the middle of the night. I'm a man, Abi. You can't fault me for it. I have no control over my penis."

"You needn't threaten me, sweetheart," I say, bumping his shoulder with mine. "You may ejaculate on me whenever the mood strikes." His cheeks flush red, and he opens his mouth to argue, only to be cut off.

"Wait. Are you two together?" It's Bennet speaking. He's staring at us incredulously.

"Hello," I say, grinning to put him at ease. "I am Kincaid. Tatum is my husband." The way he cocks his head to the side as if I'm stupid does not sit right with me. "The little one belongs to me now. You may not have him back."

At my side, Tatum groans. "For fuck's sake. Calm down, caveman. He's been through the ringer. Be nice to him."

Wanting to show Tatum I do have a basic understanding of social graces, I fix a smile on my face. Judging by the Bens' reactions, it must not be terribly convincing. They seem horrified. I take a careful step forward, lifting my hand and waving. "Hello."

"Don't talk to him," Bennet says, holding the knife toward me. "Tatum, what the fuck?"

"Everything is okay," I say, taking another step forward.

"No!" Benjamin cries. "Stay away from me." He looks at Tatum with an expression that screams betrayal. "You let him drug me! How could you?"

"Benji, babes, please? I need you to calm down. You're safe." Tatum sits on the edge of his bed, rubbing his hand up and down Benjamin's stomach. "It's just Abi. He's here to help." Tatum inches farther onto the bed and rests his hand over Benjamin's heart. "If you won't trust him, then trust me. I'd never let anything happen to you. You know that."

"You already hurt me. You hurt me, you hurt Bennet, and you hurt Benito."

"Fuck Benito," Tatum growls. "Fuck his entire existence. He's a goddessdamned sadist. The man doesn't care about anyone but himself."

"He loves me," Benjamin says with a sniffle. "He said so."

Tatum nods. "He used to say the same to me. Then, he forced me to sit in a chair and watch as he stole you from me, night after night. I hung on as long as I could stand it, but it broke something in me. I don't want it to break you too."

"Tate?" Bennet says, his voice shaky.

"But you said you liked it," Benjamin says, and it sounds like he's pleading for the words to be true. "The chair. You said you enjoyed watching him dominate us."

Tatum nods. "I said what I had to say to keep both of you. He's not a good man. He's cruel for sport. Benito isn't happy unless he has someone to torture." He dabs tears from his eyes and sniffles. "I took as much torture as I could handle, but a heart can only take so much hurt. When I left, I thought you'd all be happy together. I promise, I didn't think he'd set his sights on you."

"You're just jealous," Benji insists, but he doesn't sound as if he believes the words himself. "Stop trying to take him away from us. We already lost you and Austin. We ain't got nothing left to lose."

"Benjamin," Bennet says, squeezing his friend's shoulder. "Tatum's right."

"He's not right. He's never been right. Tatum ran away and left us all alone." He turns and glares at Tatum. "You said you loved us, and then you ran off without even saying goodbye."

Tatum raises his hand to his heart and pat-pat-pats it against his chest. "I ran from him. Not from you."

It's the first time he's admitted to running instead of holding on to claims of kidnapping. The admission sends my heart fluttering in my chest, but the happiness swelling inside shrinks when he says, "And now, it's your turn. You and Bennet. You're coming home with us." He leans in and kisses Benjamin's forehead, and all I can do is clench my fist. The commune is already overrun with murder-happy killers and terroristic twinks. There simply isn't room.

"Yeah?" Benjamin asks hopefully. When Tatum nods his head in agreement, a rare smile settles on Benjamin's fearful face. "Can we go back? To the way we were, I mean. Me, you, and Bennet." He darts his eyes in my direction and stares as if he's sizing me up. The corner of his lip curls up even higher. "Maybe that guy too. He's cute—he just needs to cool it with the drugging." Benji's tearful eyes find mine. "It's not nice, mister."

Tatum chuckles, but inside, I'm panicking. I've never been one for monogamy. It's not that I was ever opposed to it, I just couldn't fathom the idea of only sleeping with one person—with one sex—for the rest of my life. Now, with Tatum, my soul craves it. Him and me. Me and him. No one else. I do not wish to share him.

"We can talk about that later. All I know is I'm not leaving you with Nito. That's not happening. He had you in a cage," he says to Benjamin, then turns to Bennet. "He put you in the attic and forbade you from leaving."

"He's only gone for a week. We were fine," Benjamin replies, but at his side, Bennet's hand sneaks closer until it's resting on Benji's knee. They lock eyes, and there's a shared look between them, then with Tatum. It's as if they're trauma bonded, and there's this thing they share I'll never be a part of. I should not be jealous of these men, but I am. They've done nothing to me, but whatever they have with my little one almost feels sacred, and it's driving me mad.

"You're coming home with us whether you like it or not. I left you behind once. I'm not making the same mistake again."

"Little one," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "We have no open rooms at the Winawana Wagon House."

He looks over his shoulder and glares at me. "They can share with us." He smiles at Benjamin, lightly tickling the man's stomach. "Would you like that, Benji? Our cuddle game is the stuff of legends. That's what you used to tell me, remember?" His fingers twinkle up the twink's chest, and he lightly tickles his neck.

My eyes widen at the admission. He cannot be serious. Our home—if one can even call it that—is roughly the size of the bedroom we're standing in now. There's no space for them. Not to mention my plan for asking Fiona to find a new dwelling once we return. For all intents and purposes, Tatum and I are married. Sure, he's voiced his plans to have it annulled once we make it home— if he comes home —but we've made progress in our relationship since then. He's admitted his feelings. He's shown his love in so many ways this past week. Now, it's as if he's taking those unintended admissions and tossing them out his bedroom window to make room for his ex-boyfriends. It strikes up a rage in me, the likes of which I've never felt before.

"I missed you so much," Benji whispers. "I love you, Tater Tot." The moment Tatum's hand caresses Benjamin's cheek and Bennet leans in closer to be a part of their trio, something snaps inside me, and I jolt up from the bed, startling them. The Bens looks fearful ... and so does Tatum. It's a sight that twists at my insides, but I don't let the guilt hold me back.

All my life, it's felt like I've been walking through a hellscape, endlessly searching for a way out, and Tatum was my safe passage. Now, these men—these tiny, insignificant, irrelevant men—are threatening to take that passage away from me.

"Nyet," I snap, startling all of them. "Nyet to bringing them home. Nyet to bringing them into our bed. Nyet, nyet, nyet, Tatum!" Tatum says nothing. He simply stares at me, confused over my sudden bout of anger. "I would like to speak with you." I turn my gaze to the Bens and glare. "Alone."

Tatum fixes a smile on his face before looking back at his ex-boyfriends. "I'm going to be right back, babes." He stares at the straps holding Benjamin to the bed and frowns. "If I untie you, you're not going to run off, are you?"

"Nyet to that too! No untying," I shout even louder than before. Tatum jerks his head in my direction. "I wish to speak with you, Tatum. Right now." I whirl around and march toward the door, slamming it open with my palm. Behind me, Tatum curses under his breath. Once I'm downstairs, Mr. St. James is staring at us from his seat on the sofa. When he notices the expression on my face, his eyes dart here, there, and everywhere except at me. The look on his face is like a gut-punch. He almost seems fearful. I don't want them to see this side of me, but I'm unable to contain the anger swelling inside me. I've killed men for touching what belongs to me before. Part of me—the darkest part of me that Tatum doesn't often see—wants to kill Benjamin and Bennet, if only to neutralize the threat. Instead, I mumble an apology to Mr. St. James and head toward the kitchen, wanting to make a quick exit into the backyard before making an even bigger fool of myself.

Unfortunately, fate is not on my side. In the kitchen, Mrs. St. James is getting lunch ready. She is on a video call with Fiona, muttering something about rosemary chicken as if the world hasn't just been ripped off its axis, and we're not all flailing into the universe with no recourse or any real destination. She waves at me and asks if I'd like to help her set the table, but it feels like someone has their hands wrapped around my throat, and I can barely breathe. I push past, my cheeks scorching with heat. There's a set of French doors leading out to the back deck, and I try to steady my hands long enough to twist the knob.

On the deck, I take a seat on the steps leading to the yard, drinking in the scenery. Behind the neighborhood, there is a vast East Texas forest with tall pine trees that almost look as if they touch the sky. Part of me wishes I could climb one until I've got my head back in the clouds where it belongs.

I've loved Tatum, and now I'm going to lose him.

"Abi," he whispers, placing his hand on my shoulder. I didn't even hear him approach. I can't look at him, though I want to. God, I want to. I shrug him off and inch away from his touch. He sighs dramatically like the action is the most annoying thing he's ever witnessed. "You're acting like a toddler." He walks down the steps until he's facing me. "Talk to me." I shake my head, but it just earns me a scowl. "You have nothing to be jealous of." He kneels on the steps in front of me and presses his hands against my chest. "I promise."

I growl at him and slap his hands away. "Do not touch."

He cocks an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"No touching. I am not in the mood."

I stand up, sending him toppling back. My hand instinctively wraps around his waist, and I manage to catch him before he falls.

"Jesus. Warn a guy next time."

"How dare you, Tatum?"

"How dare me ?"

I nod in agreement. "Correct. How dare you? You invite your lovers to your family's home. Into our bed, little one. You ignore me for days. Then, when they wake, you practically molest them."

"It isn't like that. You know it's not. Besides, your lover has been invading our space for the last six months. I don't think you have any room to talk."

"Not my lover. Not my anything. I have not slept with her since the night Brody killed Scotty's father. I ended things with her. For you."

"I never asked you to end things with her."

"You needn't ask. The jealousy was written all over your face. Every time she kissed me, you looked as if you wanted to shove an assault rifle down her throat and hold down the trigger."

"Yes," he says, looking away, "well, I've warned her on many occasions that her use of maroon lipstick was an affront to all I hold dear. She would only have herself to blame, if I had."

"I am being serious. I wish you would do the same."

"You're not being serious. You're being a baby."

"Am not."

He rolls his eyes. "Are so."

"You're the baby," I retort, releasing the hold I have on him and folding my arms over my chest. "Waah, my husband kidnapped me. Waah, I beg him to drug me then I act like a victim when he grants my wish. Waah-waah-waah, he hasn't stuck his finger inside me for half an hour. That is you. That is what you sound like. Waah-waah-waah. Always with the crying." The corner of his lip curls. "Do not laugh at me," I growl. I can feel heat rising in my cheeks, and I know I must be losing any ounce of respect he's held for me with these antics, but try as I might, I cannot stop the words from tumbling out. "Boo-hoo. That's you."

Tatum reaches for me, and at first, I believe he may comfort me. I would welcome it. I would be grateful for it. Alas, it is not meant to be. Instead, his hand drops down, and he tickles my neck. "If anyone's behaving like a baby right now, it's you." He tickles me again. "You're so fucking adorable like this."

I smack his hand away. Not enough to hurt him, I just want him away from me. "Stop taunting me."

"I'm not taunting you, I'm being serious. I love this side of you. Protective. Possessive." He shoves his palms against me, sending me toppling onto my ass. My back hits the step, making me wince. Tatum must think this is a game, because he snickers under his breath as he straddles my lap. "Now, if you're done playing the big, grumpy bastard, I would really appreciate it if you'd just talk to me. For fuck's sake, how are we ever going to forge anything resembling a relationship if you just shut down when times get hard."

There's too much affection in his eyes at the moment, so I close mine, shutting him out. When he leans closer, he does not stop until our noses touch. All I can do is keep my eyes closed tightly, because if I open them, he will see everything. How terrified I am that these men will take him from me. I cannot lose him, and as long as I keep my eyes clamped shut, he is still mine. I can live in this imaginary land where our bond hasn't been fractured and broken by two men who no longer have claim to Tatum. Two men who could give him a normal life, unlike me .

"Baby?" he whispers. "Please look at me."

I bite my lip and shake my head. "Can't."

He digs his fingers into my thighs hard enough to make me wince. "Okay." There's warmth against my cheek. A kiss, perhaps? "If you can't look at me, will you at least talk to me?"

Sighing, I lean forward, my forehead resting on his chest. "I'm frightened," I finally admit. "You have history." My arms wrap around his waist, and I pull him as close as I can get him. "They will take you from me." He tugs my chin with his finger, lifting my face. When his thumb brushes back and forth against my lip, I finally open my eyes, surprised to see he looks just as frightened as me.

" We have history. Me and you. Six months' worth of it. I'm finally starting to come around to this thing between us, and now you're pushing me away? That's not going to happen. I refuse to allow it. You said you wanted to be my boyfriend the other night. Remember? Boyfriends talk through their issues." Leaning closer, he pecks me on the lips. "I don't want a relationship with them. I just want my friends to be safe. If you don't want them in our home, we can build them another one. Well, you can build it. I know nothing about the construction of homes or habitats."

"They will take you from me," I repeat, my voice cracked and broken and raw. "I do not wish to lose you."

"I don't wish to lose you, either." He kisses the corner of my mouth. "I'm sorry, Abi. I just got excited at the thought of getting to save them. Because I went through what they're going through now, and I don't want them to hurt the way I did." He presses his hand to my cheek and leans in. "I want you to listen to this, because I'm not saying it again." His lips feather against my cheek, all the way to my ear, where he whispers, "I don't want anyone else. I only want you."

Another kiss, but it's different this time. His mouth parts, allowing me entry. As fearful as I am about what comes next, I can't deny him this. I can't deny either of us this moment. So, I open my mouth and welcome him home. His hand touches the back of my neck, pulling me in closer. As his nails dig into my flesh, his tongue enters my mouth, and it's enough to make me see stars. The warm wetness. The bumpy texture of his tongue. The unmistakable taste of cinnamon tea. It's like an awakening. Before I realize what's happening, Tatum has my jeans unbuttoned, and he's tearing his mouth away from mine. His breathing heavily, his chest rising then falling as he stares hungrily into my eyes. Sliding down from my lap, he kneels in front of me, never once breaking eye contact as he unzips my jeans.

"I care for you," he says. "Let me prove it."

I reach for him, touching his cheek with my palm. "No, little one." I look over my shoulder at the French doors leading into his family's home. "I do not want your mother or father to find us this way."

His fingers spill over the waistband of my underwear, and he pulls them down far enough that my pubes are peeking out. It's been a week or two since I've trimmed, and I worry he might not enjoy the way the hair tickles against his skin. I couldn't be more wrong if I tried, it seems, because he barrels forward, burying his nose in the hair now growing like weeds, and inhales. He's fucking breathing me in as if I'm the only oxygen he'll ever need. "Fuck, baby." He's panting, his warm breath seeping through my underwear's fabric. "Never shave again. Okay? I fucking love you like this."

He must hear my breath hitch at the admission, because he jerks his head up and stares at me. I'm not sure what he's feeling. His face is a kaleidoscope of emotions, each one mixing and melding with the next.

"I didn't mean it like ..." he begins, but trails off, his face radiating regret. I close my eyes and sigh, reaching down and removing his hands from my underwear.

"Until you decide what you do or don't feel for me, I think we should stop with the sex. "

His eyes widen and he shakes his head. "Abi, I'm not saying I don't?—"

"I know," I say, because I do. "But I'm recklessly, dangerously in love with you. If you leave me ... when you leave me, I do not know how I will recover. My heart already breaks at the thought, so I must keep it safe."

He touches my chest. "You can trust me with it."

I shake my head. "No, I cannot. I want to, but I want you to be happy, even if it isn't with me." I button my jeans and stand, watching Tatum's eyes as they burn holes through me. His jaw is trembling, and despite what I've just told him, I cannot stand to see him in pain. I hold my arms out for him and motion him toward me. When he makes no move to stand, I kneel in front of him and take what I hope will one day be mine. His legs wrap around my back, his arms clinging to me like he's afraid I might let him fall. Silly man, he's the one letting me slip from his grasp.

"I do care for you. More than I've ever cared for anyone," he admits.

"I know," I say, kissing the side of his face. "I just hope one day you're able to allow yourself to be happy." His skin is warm against mine, and I want more from him, so I kiss his scalp, letting my lips linger this time.

"I'm not going to stop cuddling with you. Whether you're protecting your heart or not, you don't get to stop snuggling." When he looks up at me, he's got a worried expression on his face. "Okay?" The words are a plea, and it's one I do not wish to deny him.

"Alright."

He buries his head in the crook of my shoulder and hugs me just as hard as I'm hugging him. "Please don't give up on me, Daddy," he whispers.

I squeeze his ass, allowing my finger to trail closer to his crack. I've missed it almost as much as I miss the way things were before the Bens entered our fold. Tatum's clinging to me with an unbearable grip. I know what he needs. Reassurance. To be told he's still my good boy. There's only one way I know to bring him back from the edge of self-doubt. I bring my finger to my mouth, slicking it for his comfort. With his face burrowed into my neck, I don't know if he even realizes what I'm doing.

I slip my finger beneath his shorts, and my body trembles when I hear him gasp. "Deep breath, my love," I whisper. "Here it comes."

The moment I'm inside him, it's as if the rest of the world fades away. He clenches tight around me, reminding me of what I stand to lose at the end of this.

Tatum's mother calls out the window for us, and as I stand, I hold Tatum right against me, refusing to set him down. I try to ease my finger out of him, but he flexes his entrance even tighter. "No. Please? Just keep it there."

"We have to go inside. I need you to let me go or your family will see."

"Don't care." He shakes his head, his silky hair tickling the side of my face. "Too bad, so sad for them. Don't take it out. I don't care anymore." His hole tightens around my finger as if he's giving it a hug. "This is a part of us. It's not as if you're stroking my cock in the living room for all to see. It's almost like our way of holding hands." He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and stares at me. There's a bit of wetness in his eyes, and it's a sight that sends my heart splintering in my chest. "Please?"

Leaning closer, I press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Alright."

Once we make it inside, I spot Mrs. St. James leaning forward against the kitchen island. She's smiling at her phone, her thumbs tapping rapidly at the keyboard. Her phone makes a whooshing sound before she locks the screen and slides it into her pocket. Our eyes lock, and I watch as her gaze falls to Tatum's backside. Her eyes widen, but to my surprise, she simply smiles and winks at me.

"Tatum?"

He pulls himself away from my neck and stares at her. On the back porch, he claimed he no longer cared if his parents knew this is the way I comfort him. Now, with reality settling in, his tiny body is shaking in my arms. "Yes, ma'am?"

She gives her son a smile before nudging her head toward the archway that leads into the living room. "Dad's in there with Benjamin and Bennet. Why don't you boys go in? I'll let you know when lunch is ready."

"He untied Benji?" Tatum asks.

She shakes her head. "I untied him. For heaven's sake, I don't know what this little game is you boys get up to with the ropes and the random weapons I keep finding around the house, but I'm not having you keep the poor boys chained to a bed for days on end."

Tatum's eyes narrow. "We had them tied up for a reason. They're already on the fence about running off. Sweet Rinna, Almighty, it's as if you haven't heard a fucking word I've?—"

"Abdulov?" Mrs. St. James interrupts, her voice sterner than I've ever heard it. I give her an acknowledging grunt. "If you'll remove your finger from ... wherever you're keeping it hidden, I'd appreciate it if you'd give my son a quick pop on the backside. I won't stand for blatant disrespect." She sets her sights on Tatum. "You're not going to get away with it. Not in this house, you won't. Apologize."

"Sorry," he grumbles. "But if either of them run away?—"

"Then we will track them down. Good Lord, it's as if you have no faith in me whatsoever. I raised your heathenish behind, I think I can handle Bennet and Benjamin." She waves us away with the flick of a wrist. "Now, go on. Skedaddle. I've got a salad to toss, then Fiona and I are heading up in town to get our outfits for the big day. She says she's going to make me look like a lipstick lesbian, whatever the heck that means."

She turns and opens the refrigerator, pulling out a pack of lettuce and an assortment of pre-cut vegetables. As she busies herself with the salad, I lean closer and whisper into Tatum's ear, "If it helps my case, I've been told I'm an excellent salad tosser." The grip his entrance has on my finger tightens, and I have to chuckle when he whimpers into my ear.

"She's such a sweet woman," Tatum's mother says.

"I wouldn't necessarily call her sweet," Tatum argues. "She can be a monster at times. I'd be careful, if I were you. I've seen her cut off a man's thumb for calling me a faggot."

"I really wish you wouldn't use that word. You know it makes me uncomfortable."

Tatum rolls his eyes. "I've been called a ‘faggot' more times than I can count. While I appreciate your allyship, it isn't your word to police, so I'm very uninterested in that opinion."

Mrs. St. James shrugs and sighs, then it's like a lightbulb goes off in her head. A warm smile settles on her face as she practically sings, "Fiona removed a man's thumb for you?" she asks, her eyes brimming with tears, though I can't think of a single reason the admission might make her weepy. "She wasn't lying. She really does love you."

Tatum arches an eyebrow. "You've talked about me with her?"

"We've talked about a lot of things," she says. "Did you know she was a beauty pageant queen? She showed me pictures of all her trophies. She still hosts pageants sometimes, too." The look on her face radiates pride, and maybe something a bit more brewing beneath the surface. "She said she's going to come down next spring and let me tag along to one she's presenting in Dallas." She grabs a baby carrot and pops it into her mouth, chewing obnoxiously with her mouth open. She studies her son for a moment before circling the kitchen island and standing in front of us. Leaning in, she kisses her son's forehead. "I'm proud of you, Tatum."

"For what?"

"For being yourself. For not letting anyone steal your sparkle. When you were little, I used to worry about how hard life would be for you. People weren't always as accepting as they are now—especially in Texas—and I knew it would be hard for you." Her voice is small at first. Almost fragile in nature. Then her eyes narrow, and nods decidedly. "You never let anyone shame you for being gay. You didn't take anyone's guff. It takes a tough person to live their life so confidently. Sometimes, I wish I was more like you when I was younger." Before Tatum can respond, she pops his bottom and flashes me a smile. "Go on. Both of you. If I don't get this finished, it might be my thumb Fiona's cutting off. Out you go."

I carry him out of the kitchen, toward the archway. When we enter the living room, I'm worried about what Mr. St. James might think should he see where my hand is resting. My eyes widen a bit when I see him on the sofa. He's got his legs propped on the coffee table. Resting on either side of him are Bennet and Benjamin. Bennet's casually flipping through a magazine, looking more bored than anyone I've ever seen. His legs are in front of him, and he's got as much room between himself and Mr. St. James as humanly possible. On the other side, Benjamin is a stark contrast. He clings to and climbs on Mr. St. James like an overactive toddler. He has his legs draped over the older man's, and he's driving a Hot Wheels car up and down the man's biceps, making "vroom-vroom" sounds. For his part, Mr. St. James seems smitten with the boy.

I'm not sure what they were like when they were still in Tatum's fold. I can't help but feel inadequate, because his family seems to have history with these men. History I will never be privy to. How many times have they sat at the table as a family? How many special events were held while they were together? We are leaving in just a few days' time, and who knows how long it will be before Tatum and I can make another visit. Texas is hardly a hop and a skip down the street.

It's a deep, bitter, unwelcome pain that spreads through my chest when I realize what I'm asking Tatum to give up, simply to keep me happy. Should he choose to return to Washington, he will lose his friends. His family. His everything. I do not know how long it will be before resentment seeps in .

It takes me a moment to realize Benjamin and Mr. St. James are in the middle of a discussion. While Benji darts his eyes back and forth between his friend and the older man.

"Bennet?" Benji says, his voice soft. He sounds frightened. "You promise you're not mad at me?"

Bennet peeks over the top of his magazine, one eyebrow raised. While his friend may be the epitome of sunshine, Bennet seems to radiate rainy days and dreary weather. That's why I'm taken aback when his expression softens.

"I'm not mad, baby. Promise."

"But what are we supposed to do now? What about when Nito comes home?"

"Benji?" He sets the magazine beside him and leans over Mr. St. James's lap, squeezing his friend's hand. Unfortunately, with it resting on the older man's thigh, Bennet inadvertently grazes Mr. St. James's bulge. Mr. St. James gasps, but quickly composes himself, resting a hand on Benjamin's shoulder. Neither of the Bens seem to have taken notice, but when I look at Tatum, his jaw is clenched, so I'm fairly confident it wasn't unseen by him.

"Yeah, Bennet?"

"What did I tell you earlier? As long as I've got you, I don't care. You're the only person I care about in the world. So, shut up and quit asking. My answer isn't changing."

"But where are we going to go? We can't just run away with Tatum. That's crazy. His boyfriend keeps giving me the evil eye, so he's probably going to try to kill me."

"His boyfriend is right here," I point out.

Benjamin makes a high-pitched sound and scurries closer to Bennet, trapping Mr. St. James between them. The older man looks scandalized by all of their antics, but he does not push them away.

"Don't let him hurt me, Daddy—" Benji's eyes widen and Bennet sighs. "Bennet, we don't—We ain't got a Daddy anymore. Who's going to take care of us? Who are we going to?— "

"I will," Bennet says decidedly. "I'll take care of you. You don't have to be scared of anything. As long as we're together, we're going to be okay, remember?"

Benji nods but doesn't seem very convinced.

"Until you boys find yourselves a daddy," Mr. St. James interjects. "You're both welcome to stay here. I'd be more than happy to help you find a third for your relationship. Tatum's leaving in a few days, so his room will be free."

That gets Tatum's attention. He quickly pulls away from me and stares at his father with his mouth hanging open. I can tell there's a sea of sass ready to pour out of his mouth, but as he watches his father console his friend, Tatum's eyebrows scrunch together in the center of his forehead. He studies them for a while, his lips curling when Mr. St. James takes Benjamin's nose between his knuckles. When he pulls it away, his thumb is poking through his fingers, and he jokes, "I got your nose."

"Quit it," Bennet growls, slapping Mr. St. James's hand away from his friend's face. "Stop bothering him."

While Bennet seems annoyed by the situation, Benjamin's worry fades, and a smile settles on his face. He giggles like a child and quickly reaches for Mr. St. James's hand, playfully shouting, "Give it back!"

As they continue their ridiculous game, Tatum continues clenching and unclenching his entrance around me, not stopping when I whisper, "Naughty boy," into his ear.

His eyes flash with mischief. "You ain't seen nothing yet."