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Chapter 9

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JOHN

JOHN GROANED when his alarm went off the next morning. He rolled over and silenced the noise, then seriously considered going right back to sleep. Except it was Monday already. Christ . John rubbed his eyes and got up, shuffling into the bathroom to relieve his bladder. What he needed was another weekend. Hell . Maybe a vacation.

Because as hard as Wine Fest had been, yesterday was worse.

John shuffled into the kitchen just as his coffee machine finished brewing. He poured himself a cup and turned around, leaning back against the counter while he waited for the coffee to work its magic.

He yawned and rubbed his eyes again, then finished his coffee and poured another cup, staying right where he was. John knew that if he went to sit down yet, he'd give in to the exhaustion and go back to bed. A part of him was sorely tempted to skip work that day, except he'd never called in sick a day in his life and he wasn't about to start now.

John closed his eyes, cradling his mug in both hands. Poor Adam . He'd felt completely useless and out of his depths yesterday, watching Adam fall apart like that. John shook his head. He'd been running purely on instinct and best guesses, and those weren't enough.

It didn't help that they were facing a problem so big, it seemed like it simply couldn't be fixed. And John hated messiness. Whether that be actual filth or clutter or simply a financial, emotional, or logistical problem, he had to fix it. Had to find a solution. The sooner, the better. Hell . He should have been trying to fix this the moment he and Adam reconnected back in December.

But what the hell was the solution to Adam's grief? How was John supposed to fix that? How was he supposed to help Adam get over those feelings of guilt when he couldn't even get over his own?

Which was exactly why he hadn't done anything about it. He couldn't face his own issues surrounding Frank Barnes's death, so how could he even begin to help Adam do the same?

It had been so much easier to just float along in their happy little bubble and ignore it. But now that bubble had burst. Real life was flooding in, and John didn't even know where to start.

John breathed a humorless laugh and rolled his eyes skyward. "Man, I wish you guys were here," he muttered to himself, thinking of his parents. "I could really use your advice right about now."

He shook his head and laughed at himself, feeling ridiculous, but the thought still held true. His parents had an amazing relationship. They'd had their share of arguments like any couple, of course, but they never let an issue linger. Everything was discussed rationally and calmly, a solution found sooner rather than later so that they never went to bed angry. It left them in a perpetual honeymooning state. John had found it annoying as a kid, seeing how sappy they were with one another all the time, but once he'd gotten into adulthood and started to appreciate how happy and strong they were as a couple, he'd envied them. Hell, his father had literally died of a broken heart after Mom passed away. The man simply couldn't go on living without his other half.

And John felt that with Adam. The boy was his other half. Always had been, even during the eight long years they'd been separated. It was why he'd never dated anyone seriously, despite thinking Adam was lost to him for good. But he had no idea how to be there for Adam now other than to keep his promise of being present. Of never abandoning him again. It was why he'd sat there, simply holding Adam, the entire time the boy had cried yesterday even though the tears made him feel uncomfortable and helpless, making him itch to run away. But he'd known he couldn't leave Adam like that. He'd had to show the boy he was there for him.

Still, he doubted that would be enough to truly fix what Adam was facing in the long run.

John eyed his phone, sitting on a table by the door to the garage. Maybe he should call Pete. His little brother had been married for over a decade, and even though the couple had their share of problems, John knew their foundation was rock-solid. Even when Pete called to vent about a fight he'd had with his wife, John heard nothing but love underneath the frustration.

It had been the same with their parents.

John's stomach grumbled, cutting off his thoughts. He turned around and set down his mug so he could make himself some eggs, then carried everything over to the couch. His little house had room for a small dining table, but he'd never seen the use in having one, considering he lived alone. Even now, with Adam coming over most weekends, he couldn't justify buying one because they preferred eating while watching a movie, anyway. Besides, a table would be just one more thing to have to step around or clean.

He thought of the spare bedroom in Adam's apartment and shuddered. Christ . Maybe he should start there. Encourage Adam to get rid of the clutter. Maybe it would help the boy let go of some of his grief. Reduce a physical, tangible burden tied to the past in order to help alleviate some of the emotional burden.

But just thinking about all that mess made his skin crawl. John shuddered again, glancing around his minimalist space, still feeling the need to get rid of something and help soothe that itch.

John's glance stopped on his guitar. He set his mug on a coaster and dug into his eggs, eyeing the instrument with a wince as he thought about Adam's outburst yesterday. John hadn't wanted all of their friends and acquaintances to know that he was musically inclined. That was something he kept for himself. Just like the riesling fields at work, John had always used his music as a private escape. A way to decompress and stay connected to Adam. And just like with the riesling fields, even though he had Adam in his life now, he still thought of his music as a private way to keep Adam in his heart. For eight long years, music was all he'd had left of the boy. Memories of the two of them sitting on the living room floor, John playing while Adam sang whatever lyrics John had written. It was their own little bubble. Something the outside world never touched. Something untainted by anything as harsh as reality.

There was no way in hell John could ever play in public. Let alone sing. The very thought made him feel nauseated. Adam loved the spotlight—and he liked sharing it with others even more—but John wanted to stay as far from such a thing as humanly possible. The closest he'd ever wanted to get was writing the songs that Adam would sing. Staying behind the scenes. Out of sight. Having an audience enjoy his words was enough, even if they never knew the words were his.

John pushed his empty plate away, eyeing his guitar again. He was up and crossing the room before he even realized he'd decided to move. John grabbed his guitar and spread all his songwriting notebooks across the coffee table, glancing from one to another as he sat back down and checked the instrument's tune.

He didn't really have time for this. What he needed to do was get to work early and start tackling the mountain of things that had been piling up during Wine Fest. But he also knew that if he didn't give himself this moment—a chance to reset after a long, trying weekend—he'd be distracted and useless.

John softly plucked at the strings, then stopped and reached for the notebook Adam had given him years ago. The one that read Rhyme and Riesling on the cover. John paused as a shiver ran down his spine. Christ . There it was again.

That inexplicable, tingling sense of doom.

He shook off the feeling and slammed the cover open, quickly flipping past that first, blank page and searching through all the pages that followed. When he got to "December Dreams," his first attempt at a song about his love for Adam, John stopped and resettled himself with his guitar.

He opened his mouth and tried singing the first line, then cringed and shook his head. Hell . He couldn't even sing there in the privacy of his own home. So he tried just playing the music instead while imagining the words.

Except an acoustic guitar wasn't right for this song. The lyrics had been written for a progressive rock piece that Adam's band had composed. The instrument in John's hands wouldn't do it justice.

John sighed, letting his gaze linger on the words he'd written, but even that didn't satisfy him. There was always something lacking about that song. He stared at the verses, trying to figure out what exactly was missing, but the longer he sat there, the further he felt from an answer.

He set the guitar aside and flipped back to the first page in the notebook. Adam's Song . The blank lines taunted him, like always. John turned to his other notebooks, the ones he used for writing rough drafts of his songs. Only when they were complete did John transcribe the final lyrics into the notebook Adam had given him.

Which was why that first page was still so damnably empty.

John flipped rapidly through the messy pages of one notebook, then turned to the next when he didn't find what he was looking for. Finally, he spotted some scraps of lyrics he'd been attempting to make rhyme for Adam's Song .

Because every other line had to rhyme, at the very least, even just in pairs. John's need for order wouldn't allow anything less.

John cursed and shook his head, flipping through a few more pages. He stopped when he found the only complete verse he'd managed to write. It had one rhyme that wasn't quite exact, but it was close, and as he read over the words, he felt a smile take over his face, thinking of the day Adam had come out to him.

Oh, the day that I first saw you

It seemed my life had just begun

You turned those grey eyes on me

And I found myself undone

My hands were shy, my mind was scared

But the heart defies all plans

Oh, if I could just be with you

Man to man

John's heart clenched. He still couldn't believe what a difference that day had made. Adam coming out as trans—declaring himself Adam instead of Evelyn— had utterly rocked his world. John's skin felt tight all over as he thought about giving Adam his first haircut and then seeing the utter, bone-deep joy on the boy's face immediately afterwards. Adam had looked so happy and alive in that moment. So free.

Somehow, John had to get him back to that. Giving the boy that haircut had been like starting to dig Adam out of a deep, dark hole, bringing him into light and life. But this hole—the one full of Adam's grief and guilt—was so much deeper and darker. Then again, it was all the same thing, really, all tied together. Adam's guilt over his dad's death wouldn't allow him to complete his transition. The poor boy was stuck. Trapped down there in the abyss. John had to get him out. Get him all the way to freedom.

Still, the how of that problem eluded him.

John closed his notebooks with a sigh and put everything away. He finished his coffee in a few, quick gulps, then washed the dishes and wiped down the counters before he went to get dressed for work.

Despite the time he'd spent sitting with his guitar, John still managed to get all the way across town before rush hour. There wasn't even any traffic on the country road that led to Vista Robles Winery, and as he turned up the driveway and followed one of the dirt roads that ran through the vineyard, John felt a hint of peace settle in his chest. The sight of the sleepy, foggy land was just what he needed.

He drove out to the barrel room, where his office was located, and parked his truck near a stand of oak trees, knowing they would keep his truck shaded for most of the day. The moment he shut off the engine, John heard footsteps approaching, crunching over the dirt. Shit . That was Everett, out for his morning jog. John jumped out of his truck and raced into the office, pushing the door shut before the footsteps could get any closer. He braced his hands on the door and paused to listen, hoping Everett would go right on by and not knock on his door. It was too damned early for human interaction. Besides, John wasn't ready to face the man after yesterday.

John peeked out the window. Everett continued up the road, merely glancing in John's direction but never slowing his pace. John waited until the man disappeared from sight, then stepped back from the window and let out a heavy exhale.

He started to turn away when he suddenly pictured Everett dead somehow, making it too late for John to apologize to the man. A gut-wrenching twist of guilt hit him straight in the stomach, almost making him heave. John flew out the door, barely pausing to listen for Everett's footsteps before he took off after the man. He knew it was irrational, but he couldn't make himself stop. The panic crawled under his skin, making him certain that what happened with Frank Barnes would happen all over again now.

Everett must have heard him coming. He glanced over his shoulder before slowing to a fast walk, pacing back and forth across the dirt road while John caught up to him.

"Christ, you're fast," John blurted out when he reached him. He braced his hands on his knees and bent over, trying to catch his breath.

Everett chuckled, not looking the least bit winded. "Finally getting it back." When John gave him a puzzled look, Everett shrugged one shoulder. "I used to run almost every day for years. But after my marriage fell apart and my best friend stabbed me in the back, it always seemed like a drink sounded better at the end of the day than putting on my running shoes. Long story," he added with a laugh before a beaming smile took over his face. "Morgan's been encouraging me to get back in the habit because he knows I enjoy it. Besides…" He swept an arm out. "Can't beat this for a track. It's so much nicer than the smoggy city streets. And since it's literally my backyard, I don't really have any excuse."

John breathed a laugh as the panic slowly dissipated. Everett and Morgan lived right there on the vineyard property, in an old barn that Everett had converted into a house last year. The barn had contained nothing but broken equipment and old junk before Everett took over the vineyard. John definitely didn't miss that unsightly mess one bit. It had always made him itchy just to drive by it, let alone set foot inside.

But his laugh quickly died when he remembered why he'd rushed after Everett in the first place. "I'm sorry," he blurted out.

Everett frowned in confusion and tilted his head as he asked, "For what?"

"For interrupting your run, for one," John said, "but mostly for what happened yesterday. The way Adam behaved…"

Everett shrugged. "So he had a little too much to drink. Happens to the best of us."

John winced. "I should have seen it coming. Or done something. Had better control–"

"John, you can't control everything." Everett laughed. "Trust me, I've tried." He shook his head. "Some things, you just have to let go. I know that's not easy for men like us, but it's true. And, sometimes, we need to let our boys make their own mistakes." He breathed another laugh. "You know, besides working at the coffee shop with Adam, Morgan has a photography business on the side. And he's pretty much done all of it on his own. Sometimes, he'll come to me for advice, but mostly it's all him. And, yeah, there are times when I want to jump in and tell him he can do something a different way or a better way, but that's not my job. My job is to be there for him when he needs my encouragement or support, and to back off when he wants to figure it out on his own." He shrugged. "He makes mistakes and he learns from them, and the pride he gains from that experience is more than worth not barging my way in and taking control."

John crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. That advice was all well and good for someone like Morgan, but Adam was different. His boy thrived on being told what to do. John could see it every time. Adam would go from having an almost haunted look in his eyes to bearing an expression so full of bone-deep relief, it nearly took John's breath away.

He was half-tempted to make Adam clear out that third bedroom. Then make him put the urn somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Then make Adam call him Daddy .

He could take all those decisions right out of Adam's hands. Force the issue.

Except a part of him also knew how easily that could backfire. When it came to obeying, anything to do with Adam's dad was a hard limit.

"John?" Everett asked.

John shook his head. "Sorry." He cleared his throat. "I should let you get back to your run." He took a step back. "And I'm sorry again. For yesterday," he added, needing to repeat the words even though Everett didn't seem upset by what happened.

"Hey, John?" Everett called after him.

John turned back. "Yeah?"

"We're family now," Everett said, then lifted a hand and described a circle in the air. "You, me, Beau, Mav, Laurie, Griff, Theo. We daddies and our boys. If you guys need help, you're not alone. I hope you know that."

John shoved his hands into his pockets and managed a nod, feeling uncomfortably trapped between two parts of his world. Work and personal life weren't supposed to overlap. Then again, he supposed that would be unavoidable now that he was dating his boss's fiancé's best friend.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to say anything in response, merely nodding again and turning away to trudge back to his office.

Because he wasn't one of them. He never could be. Unlike the others, John wasn't Daddy .

And that was half the problem.

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