Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

MONTY

Monty spotted Lucas in the back seat of Kylen's car as he walked out his front door and gave his friend kisses on his cheeks. Kylen tugged him in for a hug—so American, so lovely—and Monty let himself bask for a second. It had been a hellish week, and he was looking forward to getting in the air and cruising for a while.

He knew Bronx was nervous about this. The man had been close to pissing his pants at the thought of his son in a plane, but he hadn't mentioned anything to Monty about it, so he figured the topic would be taboo until Sunday, at the very least.

Opening the door, Monty leaned in toward the teen. "Nice to see you again."

"Same," Lucas said. His eyes were closed, and when his lashes fluttered open a little, Monty realized he wasn't wearing his prosthetics. The flesh under his lids was a sort of pale pink. Startling a bit, only because it was unexpected. "So to speak."

Kylen scoffed as he buckled himself in. "Ignore him. He makes blind jokes to make people uncomfortable. "

"Excuse you. That was a metaphor. Even my old shitty school taught me that," Lucas fired back.

Monty chuckled as he settled in the seat and buckled up. "So long as you didn't make any plane crash metaphors in front of your dad, I think it's fine."

"Oh my God, no. I'm a shithead sometimes, but I'm not a monster," Lucas said. "Though he tried to find a way to ground me all week and failed miserably because I'm a damn delight who never disobeys."

Kylen snorted. "He'll untwist his panties once you've been up a few times. Trust me. Dallas still gets a little freaked about me going up, but he's also shit-scared of flying in general."

Monty smiled, trying not to flush at the thought of Bronx in panties, but he definitely filed that away for later. His big, round ass stretching lace. Fuck. He cleared his throat. "I grew up going out with my grandfather, so it never bothered me. It's the one thing I miss most now that I can't go on my own."

Lucas leaned up between the seats. "Why can't you go on your own? What happened to you?"

"Didn't either of your dads teach you manners?" Kylen said in a rush. He was a little overprotective when it came to Monty sometimes, which made him feel good. Even if he didn't mind Lucas asking.

"Well, one dad didn't talk to me at all until, like, this year. The other one is a useless waste of space who wishes I was never born. So…no."

Monty bowed his head. He could hear the pain and tension in Lucas's voice, and the last thing he wanted to do was make it worse. "I have a neurological condition. The doctors are still trying to figure out exactly what it is. I faint a lot, and I have cataplexy spells. If you know what that is. "

"Narcolepsy," Lucas said. "Friend of mine at school had it. Most of the time, he'd just need to take a lot of naps and eat a shitload of stimulants. But sometimes he'd just, like, collapse in class."

"Mine isn't narcolepsy," Monty said. "I know a few of the triggers. Mostly stress, which is why they don't want me flying on my own. The last thing I want is to careen into a mountain because I lost consciousness."

"A blind pilot and a fainting pilot hit cruising altitude," Lucas said. "Sounds like a joke. I just don't know the punchline yet."

"They landed just fine, thanks to their best friend Kylen, and no one died. The end," Kylen said primly.

Lucas sat back. "It's sad when Dallas is the funny one in the relationship."

Monty grinned, trying to hold back a laugh. His heart was warm and so full. He was an anxious mess at the thought of meeting with his father and brothers Sunday, but it was easy to forget now. The only thing that would have made the flight better was Bronx with him.

But Kylen and Lucas felt like an extension of him in a way. They were family, and Monty was finally starting to feel like he had a place in that. He just didn't know exactly where yet. But he was resolved to talk to Bronx about it because they'd been dancing around what they could be for a few weeks now, and damn if he wasn't ready to reconsider his own boundaries.

He just wanted to make sure they were on the same page.

The only thing he did know for certain was that he couldn't keep this up. He couldn't keep letting Bronx spoil him the way he was without letting his heart get involved. In truth, he was falling, and he was already halfway to the ground.

The mood in the car stayed friendly and kept up with them as they made it onto the plane. Monty sat back, getting comfortable in the passenger seat as Kylen took his time giving a very thorough tour of the plane and the controls. Lucas looked a lot like his dad in various moments when he was concentrating. It was the way he furrowed his brow and the way his tongue poked out at the corner of his mouth as he ran his fingers over the console.

Monty knew that Bronx felt like he hadn't done enough for his son—that he'd been phoning it in for the last few years—but that wasn't entirely true. He was present enough to make an impression on the kid. It was nothing like Monty's relationship with Rod.

There was actual love here.

"Last question for Monty," Kylen said, and Monty jolted back to the present. "Do you mind if we put Bump Dots on stuff?"

Monty frowned. "What dots?"

"It helps me know what things are," Lucas said, holding up a sticker sheet with a bunch of puffy dots in different sizes and colors. "They come right off."

Monty waved his hand. "Oh. Go nuts. It won't bother me. And feel free to keep them on until the joys of piloting have worn off."

"And if they never do?" Lucas challenged, turning to face Monty.

He leaned in close. "Then I guess I know who I'll leave my plane to when I die."

Lucas sat back hard. "So. About that June wedding."

Kylen's eyes went wide. "Sorry? What June wedding?"

Without missing a beat, Lucas shrugged and said, "I'm in love with your friend. It's an age gap romance. Go with it."

Bronx: Why does Kylen think my son is in love with you?

Monty: Because I told him I was leaving my plane to him when I die and he asked me about the June wedding. Kylen caught on and Lucas was covering our asses.

Bronx: I don't know what's worse.

Monty: Me marrying a seventeen-year-old. That's worse.

Bronx: I want to see you soon. I need to kiss the smirk you're wearing off your face.

Monty: Tomorrow. I'm not busy. You can come over whenever you want.

Bronx: Six a.m. work for you?

Monty: There's an old doggy door in the back. If you can fit, six a.m. is fine. See you then.

Bronx: * laughing face* Fantastic. I'll start on my squats now. See you soon, sparky.

Monty: à bient?t, mon petit chou.

Monty was only slightly disappointed when he woke up at eight and Bronx had not managed to crawl through the old doggy door. Though, to be fair, he hadn't left it unlocked. But it would have been the nicest surprise to roll over and have Bronx there with him.

His bed felt strangely empty in ways it never had before, and Monty had never really shared with anyone in his past. Overnight guests had been entirely by accident, and when he had lovers that lasted more than a few days, he was always at their place.

He liked to think of his own as a sanctuary. As his space that belonged to no one else. But with Bronx, it was different. There was an emptiness now that he didn't realize could exist.

God, he needed to talk to him.

Rolling out of bed, he trudged into the bathroom and started the shower before emptying his bladder and then washing up. He took his time on his hair. He knew Bronx wasn't going to be over until later in the afternoon, but Monty was too antsy to lie around and do nothing.

And he was too caught up in his feelings to be able to focus on work.

His day was officially ruined.

He spent a little too long in his walk-in closet before finally deciding on jeans and a plain black T-shirt. His father would give him shit about it, but then again, Rod gave him shit about damn near everything. So why not just lean in.

He was happy with his decision and snagged his phone on the way to the kitchen when he realized there was a message waiting for him.

Bronx: Look out your front window .

Monty frowned and walked to his living room, pulling back the curtain. There, on a lawn chair, was Bronx. He was lounging back with shades on, face tipped up toward the sun. He had his legs stretched out, feet crossed at the ankles, and he looked delicious.

And maybe asleep.

Christ, how long had he been out there? As Monty scrambled for the door, he checked the time the message was sent and realized it was only a few minutes. Relief hit him as he yanked the door open and watched as Bronx slowly climbed to his feet.

He stretched, lithe and graceful. Monty's mouth immediately began to water. "I thought I was going to have to camp out for the morning," Bronx said. He crossed the distance between them and bustled Monty into the nook of the entryway before kissing him.

"Did you really bring a beach chair?"

"Mm. Yes I did. Two of them, in fact. I also mapped out the shortest route to a secluded cove if you don't have too many big plans this afternoon."

Monty pulled back and stared at him. "Not joking?"

Bronx frowned. "Have I ever joked like that? It seems mean."

He hadn't. And Monty realized right then he wouldn't. And this was why his heart was tripping over itself to get to him. "I don't go to the beach very often."

"Can you swim?"

Monty scoffed as he pulled Bronx inside and closed the door. "Yes, I can swim. But I'm a little bit afraid of the water now that I tend to fall unconscious with little warning. That's not how I want to go out."

Bronx kicked his shoes off and followed Monty to the kitchen, brushing past him to get to the coffee maker. Monty couldn't help but wonder how long the man had been awake. He seemed a little jittery.

"How do you want to go out?"

Monty raised his brows. "I don't think I've ever given it a lot of thought. I suppose…kindly. Quietly. A hundred and ten years old, in my sleep."

Bronx hit the button to start a pot of coffee, then yanked Monty close by the loops on his jeans. "I can get behind that." He kissed him again, then groaned as he pulled back. "Sorry. I know this is not what we agreed to."

"You missed me," Monty said.

Bronx nodded, looking directly into his eyes. "I missed you. I thought we could spend the day together. Gage and Lucas are babysitting for a couple of the guys, and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to see the ocean. I didn't get much of that back in Pigeon Ford."

Monty's heart warmed. He'd half suspected Bronx had come by to sleep with him—and he wouldn't have said no. He could think of worse ways to spend a morning and an afternoon. But the fact that Bronx simply wanted to be with him felt like…something else. Something deeper.

"As long as you promise to make sure I don't drown, I'm in."

"I will never let you drown." Bronx grabbed two mugs out of the cabinet and poured. He pushed one of the mugs toward Monty, then sipped his own. Monty loved that he took it black. "Now, drink that. We're having breakfast by the water."

It took Monty twenty minutes to finish his coffee and get ready, but only because Bronx kept stalling him to kiss him until his dick throbbed and his toes curled. But the kisses weren't leading anywhere, and Monty was becoming consumed with the idea that he could have more of this. That this could be his all the time life.

He was starting to see what the fuss was about when it came to relationships, and his fears were fizzling into nothing every time Bronx swiped a hand over the back of his neck, or nibbled at his lower lip, or did something small—like pay him a compliment or help him find his missing shoe.

It would be complicated, connecting their lives. Bronx had a child, and although Lucas was nearing eighteen, Monty knew that there would need to be space for Lucas until they took their last breath.

Fortunately, that didn't scare him.

It only made him envious that he never had anything like that growing up.

His father couldn't wait until he was unburdened with his children. The only reason he kept them around now was his need for control. It was one of the reasons Monty refused to take anything from him. His student loans were his. His mortgage was his. Every utility and credit card payment—all his.

He was beholden to no one, and while that had been another big reason he'd avoided getting involved with anyone before this, now he found himself wanting to share the burden of those things with someone else. Someone he trusted.

Someone like Bronx.

Monty blinked sleepily when he felt Bronx running fingers through his hair. He turned his head on the headrest and smiled. Bronx's gaze was on the road, but his lips were turned up in a small grin. "Was I drifting? "

"A little. I hope I didn't drag you out too early?"

"Mm. I woke up hoping you'd crawled through the doggy door. So no, this is perfect."

Bronx's shoulders shook with his laugh. "I gave it a real hard think, darlin', but I decided I didn't want to face fire and rescue with my ass in the air on a Sunday morning."

Monty felt a rushing, powerful warmth in his chest. Darlin' . He liked all the other names too. Sparky would always make his ears hot and his neck warm. But it wasn't the names themselves. It was that he was precious enough for Bronx to use them so freely. So readily. Like they were there waiting at the tip of his tongue, just for Monty.

Maybe that was foolish. Maybe he did that with everyone. But for the moment, he allowed himself to think he was special. Bronx had once called him precious, and maybe he still was.

They spent most of the drive in comfortable silence, Bronx occasionally reaching over to touch Monty, almost like he was reassuring himself that Monty was there. And Monty stole several long looks at the man he'd fallen for. He looked gorgeous—sun-soaked with flecks of silver lit up in his hair and happy laugh lines in his face.

He was the most beautiful man Monty had ever had the pleasure of knowing—and the only man whose touch would be worth remembering.

Monty was smiling to himself as Bronx turned down Beach Street and followed his GPS to the small public lot. There was pay for parking through a QR code at the entrance to the lot, so Bronx handled that while Monty carefully unpacked the supplies from the back.

Bronx had brought along two chairs with backpack straps, a cooler with a long, sturdy handle, and an umbrella. Monty had almost everything loaded in his arms by the time Bronx returned, and the older man rolled his eyes and bustled Monty against the side of the car, removing both chairs and the umbrella as he kissed him long and slow.

"Nice try."

"I'm not that fragile," Monty protested.

"Yeah, well, my ego is," Bronx fired back with a grin. He stole another quick peck, then slid both chair straps on his left arm and the umbrella on his right. "You can grab the cooler. There's not much in there—just a little breakfast I threw together."

Monty did his best not to give the cooler a dubious look, considering he knew Bronx wasn't great in the kitchen. He hoped either Lucas was behind the meal or a supermarket was. Still, he'd choke down rock-hard burnt toast and tell him it was gourmet if it would make Bronx happy.

They followed a rolled-out wooden path up a small hill that crossed the short dunes that led to the water. The cooler wheels made a soft ka-thud, ka-thud, ka-thud on each of the planks, almost like a rhythmic melody as they made their way to the empty beach.

Bronx looked up and down, then chose a spot at the edge of the high tide line, which was still damp from the morning waves. He eased the chairs down, then reached behind him to pull his shirt off. Monty's mouth went dry.

The man was absurdly good-looking. He was full and hairy. Monty's fingertips knew the softness of his curves intimately, and it took all of his self-control not to pounce. Bronx looked over at him, then ducked his head.

"Staring."

"Can't help it," Monty said. "I can't get over how attractive you are."

"I…" Bronx licked his lips. "Thank you."

Monty grinned, pleased with that response. He knew his words mattered. Letting go of the cooler handle, he began to unfold the chairs as Bronx dug the umbrella into the sand, and it was only a handful of minutes before the two of them were half in the shade, half in the sun with a small picnic on display.

Bronx had stopped by a bakery and picked up croissants—and they didn't look half-bad, which was a surprise. He also had fresh chopped fruit and a carafe of juice with two plastic cocktail cups.

"I know it's not anything fancy," Bronx said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously as he handed one of the juice cups to Monty. "I've tried to be more handy in the kitchen, and I'm just…not."

Monty took the cup, then stretched over the divide between their chairs and pressed a kiss to Bronx's jawline. "It looks amazing. I never did adapt to the big, sugary American breakfasts, so this is perfect."

"In French?"

"En fran?ais," Monty corrected him. "C'est parfait."

"Parfait," Bronx dutifully repeated.

Monty burst into a small fit of laughter. "No, not say . C-e-s-t. C'est," he said, enunciating. "C'est parfait. It's perfect."

"En fran?ais, c'est parfait," Bronx tried. His accent was atrocious, and Monty adored him more for it. "I'll get it eventually."

"I know you will. Your son speaks a little French. He told me right before he landed the plane."

Bronx's face lost a little color, though he didn't look as nervous as before. "He was good, right? Kylen will lie to me if he thinks he's protecting my feelings, but I'd like to know if it was a disaster. "

"It was anything but. It was a very smooth flight, and I'd happily go with him again," Monty said.

"Good," Bronx said from behind a breath. "That's good. I want Lucas to experience everything he possibly can because I know some things are entirely out of his reach. I can let him drive the car in circles in a parking lot, but he'll never get on the road, you know? He'll never have a license. And I doubt anyone would let him enroll in a flight school, but he can have this with you and Kylen. I've spent most of my life trying to be realistic about his limitations without discouraging the things he can do, but it's hard some days. I feel like I'm standing in his way even when I don't mean to be."

"Relax. First of all, you're doing fine. And second, pilots fly mostly blind, so he's not at any kind of disadvantage," Monty assured him. He set his juice down and took Bronx's hand, gently playing with his fingers. "We don't look out the window at the sky for navigation. We use instruments to guide us where we're going. Having a sighted guide for the landing is crucial. Your son will probably never fly alone, but most pilots will never fly alone anyway. I don't think they'll ever let him get a job on a commercial airline—not in our lifetime, and probably not his. But he was good. He took to it very well. You should be proud."

Bronx squeezed Monty's fingers. "I am proud. And scared. And worried I'm fucking it all up. And now mortified that I'm dropping all this on you. I know I sound like a mess."

"You sound like a father who loves his son and cares whether or not he's safe and happy. Not everyone has that."

"No, I know. Dallas and I didn't. And I know he has me, but Jules was…" Bronx bowed his head, trailing off for a mo ment. "I should have left him years ago. Years . Back when the doctor told us that he needed to have his eyes removed and he flipped out because he didn't want some child with a facial…difference." The way he hesitated, Monty had a feeling that Bronx's ex used a much more unkind word, and it made Monty want to find the man and clock him square in the mouth. "I shouldn't have given him the amount of grace or time to get over himself that I did. I will always regret that."

"When did you fall out of love?" Monty asked. It was a dangerous question. Bronx might still love him, and he had a feeling he'd be honest. He was prepared to be gutted.

"I don't even know. It's going to take me a long while and several therapy sessions to work that out. But I think Lucas was around five or six when I noticed how relieved and relaxed I was every time Jules was away for work. And how stressed I was when he was on his way home. I was the go-between for Jules and Luke. Jules spoke to him through me. He never…he never looked at him. He always walked ahead of us on the few public outings he agreed to go on. I was just so caught up in raising Luke that I didn't notice how detached he'd become. Or how much I didn't care."

Monty felt awful for being happy, but he was. He didn't need to wait for some long, drawn-out mourning period. He didn't need to wait for Bronx to take his heart back from someone else.

"I was angry when he left because I didn't want Luke to get hurt. But I couldn't remember the last time he and I slept in bed together. For me, nothing had changed. And when I realized that Luke had known what a shit dad he was the whole time, I was just mad at myself."

"He forgives you. I can tell."

Bronx looked up and laughed very softly. "Yeah. He's a better kid than I was. I was such a petty little brat about everything."

Monty barked a startled laugh. "Yeah?"

"One time, this kid two years older than Dallas was picking on him. He would throw his lunch in the trash or trip him in the hallways at school. At one point, he was tormenting him on the bus every day to the point Dallas had panic attacks about going to school."

"So you beat him up?"

"Ha," Bronx said, rolling his eyes. "I was too old for that, and I couldn't afford to get arrested for beating on some kid. No, I waited until this kid's graduation, and then I fucked his dad."

Monty, who had felt brave enough to drink some of his juice, sprayed it all over his legs. "I'm sorry. You what?"

"I'd spotted his dad's bisexuality years back. He wasn't that much older than me. His name was Daniel. We had a nice roll in the hay. I made sure to fuck him when I knew that little shit was home. I kissed his dad goodbye and then told him, ‘That was for Dallas, asshole.' I don't think my brother ever found out. I'm pretty sure he'd forgotten all about the bullying by then. But I never did." Bronx bit his lower lip, then looked over at Monty. "No one fucks with the people I love."

If Monty wasn't completely and totally, absolutely in love with this man before, he was now.