Chapter Twenty

CHAPTER TWENTY

Dusty

It’s barely been a week, but I already love living with Morgan. We haven’t started looking at places in Santa Monica yet, but I hope we can find something that doesn’t feel too…I don’t know…city for me.

We’ve been spending our Saturday morning working on the Mustang, when my phone buzzes. I assume it’s Mom wanting to ask something about dinner tonight. She and Dad are coming over as planned, and I’m going to tell them about moving at the end of the summer. Even though it’s early and there’s still a lot of time before that happens, the sooner I tell them the better. But it’s not Mom’s name on the screen.

It’s Rhett’s.

Worry sets off a bomb inside my chest because Rhett and I haven’t spoken since I left his house a week ago, and he’s not the kind of guy to reach out first. Is it something with their dad? With East?

My pulse thuds in my ears as I swipe my finger across the screen to open my phone, while shoving to my feet.

Morgan can read me so easily that he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head, not wanting to worry him, and open the text.

Rhett: I thought I was the workaholic?

I breathe out a sigh of relief. He must have driven by and seen my Jeep to know I’m at the shop on a day off. And just like East showing up to clean was his apology, this text from Rhett is his way of saying everything is okay between us. The weight that drops off my chest is proof of how much I really needed this.

Me: I’m working on my Mustang, so this is more for fun. Morgan is here too. Do you want to come help?

I know the answer, but it’s still important to me to ask.

“Everything okay?” Morgan asks from his place by the Mustang.

“Yeah, it’s Rhett. He messaged to call me a workaholic. I can’t believe he reached out first.”

I glance over at Morgan to see his reaction, but he just gives me a small smile. “Guess he knows you’re a good man and that anything you said is because you care about him.”

Which doesn’t come as a shock to me. I do think Rhett knows I care about him, in the only way he can understand it.

“I invited him to help,” I tell Morgan just as my phone alerts me to another message.

Rhett: I can’t. I have stuff to do. We’re good, though. Talk soon.

“Is he coming?” Morgan asks. I cock a brow in response, and he chuckles. “Stupid question.”

“Yes…we all know how stubborn the three of you can be.” I walk over to him and wrap my arms around him, the truth teasing my thoughts. “But thank you.”

“For being okay with him coming to help?”

I shake my head. “For talking to Rhett for me.” I don’t know how I know that Morgan did, but there’s not a part of me that doubts it. Maybe it’s because of his response when we talked about Rhett the other night, coupled with Rhett messaging out of the blue, but the reason I heard from Rhett today is because of the man in my arms, and that means something to me. It means everything to me.

Morgan sighs. “I wasn’t going to tell you.”

“You don’t have to. I know you as well as I know myself.”

He nods and kisses my temple. “But he messaged because of you, not me. Because you’re important to Rhett.”

“Wow…you didn’t even burst into flames when you said that.”

He tugs at his shirt. “I’m feeling a little hot under the collar. Maybe it will still happen.” We laugh together, Morgan’s hold on me tightening. “I’m serious, Dust. He cares about you. We’re fucked up.”

How many times has he said that to me? I hate that he feels it’s true. “You’re traumatized. There’s a difference. And I know he does. Just like I know you love me.”

We kiss, and then I can’t help but drop to my knees and blow him. He’s sexy and mine and he talked to Rhett for me.

Once I swallow his salty load, we get back to work. And while I feel higher than I ever have, I can’t seem to shake the dull ache of melancholy. Moving is a huge deal. I’ll get over it and settle in, but I didn’t expect it to linger in everything I do.

We stay at the shop for a few more hours before heading home. We’re making a roast and potatoes for dinner, so we shower and then get it started right away.

Morgan moves around me in the kitchen, the two of us bumping into each other, handing over a spoon or some salt. Being with him like this helps to hide the sadness, makes it less noticeable.

I have Morgan now, and there’s nothing I’ve ever wanted more than him.

When it’s almost time for my parents to arrive, Morgan leans against the counter and pulls me close. He cups my face, then slides his hand to rest on my nape, fingers threading through the hair at the back of my head. “Are you nervous?”

“A little bit. I know they’ll be upset—not as in angry. They’ll just miss me.”

Morgan drops his forehead to mine, his breath whispering across my lips. “We can figure something out…long distance or—”

“No. I want to be with you. I just fucking got you. I’m not going to have us separated now.”

He sighs, a heaviness to it that worries me. “Thank you. For loving me the way you do.”

In response, I press my lips to his, then seek entrance with my tongue. Morgan gives it to me, my hands moving to his hips, holding him tightly enough that I could leave bruises behind. I don’t ever want to let him go.

Morgan’s tongue dances with mine, but we don’t get to play nearly as much as I’d like because there’s a knock at the door.

“Cockblocked by my parents,” I tease, earning a chuckle from Morgan.

He adjusts his erection, and I do the same before heading to the door. Morgan grabs my wrist before I can go far. “I love you, Dusty.”

“I know.” I wink, he lets go, and I let my parents in.

Mom playfully pushes right past me. “I see you all the time. I want to see Morgan.”

They meet each other halfway, arms around each other. He closes his eyes, hugging her tightly, burying his face in her hair.

“I missed you so much, you silly boy. I can’t believe you haven’t come to visit,” Mom tells him.

“I know. I’m sorry. I messed up. It won’t happen again. I know how lucky I am to have your family.” He nuzzles her again, the way someone would do to their own mother, and while I’m sure Allison is in the back of his head, it’s also because he’s always loved my mom so much.

“It’s in the past. You’re home now, and that’s what matters.” She leans back. “Look at you! So handsome. Isn’t he handsome, Dusty?”

“So hot,” I tease. My dad chuckles, then makes his way over to Morgan too.

“Good to see you again, son.” Dad hugs him next.

“You too.”

“I’m not going to call you handsome, though,” Dad jokes, the four of us getting a good laugh out of it. They’re so fucking great. I know how much I lucked out in the parents department. All I have to do is look at Morgan to know how bad it can be.

“It smells good in here,” Mom says.

The four of us sit in the living room and talk. Mom and Dad grill Morgan about his life in Santa Monica and what he’s been doing the last ten years. It’s not hard to notice everything he says revolves around work, business functions, and things like that. What does Morgan do for fun? He doesn’t talk about hiking, or camping, or hell, the Hollywood Walk of Fame or the Santa Monica Pier.

He does mention his friend Spencer and the work he does at the LBGTQ Center in Santa Monica. In a lot of ways, he feels like the only bright spot in Morgan’s world there.

Eventually, dinner is done, and we sit down at the table, plates filled with meat, potatoes, and carrots.

We’re halfway through the meal, me laughing at something Morgan says, when Mom speaks. “I missed seeing the two of you together. It does my heart good. I can’t tell you how many times I would just watch the two of you play, or listen to you giggle half the night, and I’d just smile.”

“There’s always been a special connection between them,” Dad adds. “It felt like I had two sons…though judging by the way the two of you have been looking at each other all night, I’m assuming that’s probably not the best way to put it.”

Mom and Dad chuckle.

“Morgan can still be like a son to you.” Mom winks our way.

“Do you know what you’re going to do here? For work?” Dad asks, then scoops another bite into this mouth.

My throat tightens, words struggling to break free. Heaviness weighs down the air around us as my parents wait for a response.

“Actually, I’m going to California with Morgan at the end of the summer.”

Dad frowns. “What do you mean?”

Morgan reaches over and takes my hand, holding it on top of the table. “Dusty has agreed to move to California with me. I know it’s surprising and will take some getting used to, but we love each other and want to be together. We’ll come back often. I’ll organize things at work—whatever I have to do.” He looks at me. “We lost so much time. And I know that’s my fault. I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused all of you, but I promise I’ll make up for it.”

“I can always come home,” I say. “But I’ve spent my whole life here. I’m curious what it’s like somewhere else. All I know is Birchbark. There’s a whole world out there to see.”

Neither of my parents speaks right away. They share a look.

“What about the shop?” Dad asks.

“I trust Easton. And I’ll also hire someone else with experience. Like Morgan said, we’ll come back often. Sometimes I might come back without him.”

The worry is clear in the wrinkles around their eyes, in the set of their mouths, the way they’re now holding hands like Morgan and I are.

“I’ll do what I can too,” Dad finally says. I didn’t expect any other kind of response from them. This is just how they are.

“I can’t pretend I’m not going to miss you like crazy. How will I survive without my favorite person? But we support the two of you and want you to be happy.”

The tension inside me eases.

“I want to make him happy. I have so much to make up for,” Morgan says, voice soft and full of emotion. I take him in, his dark scruff and brown eyes, the perfect bow shape of his mouth. It damn near stops my heart.

“I’ll make you a list,” I joke before I get too mushy at the table with my folks.

“You brat,” Morgan counters, but leans over and presses a kiss to my lips. That simple touch makes everything okay.

Dinner is slightly awkward after that, but we finish eating, and then Mom insists on helping clean up. We share more laughs, Mom and Dad talking about work and life, before Dad says, “We should probably head out.”

When Mom wraps her arms around me in a hug, her voice is low, mouth close to my ear when she asks, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure about everything when it comes to him.” I can’t get any more honest than that.