Chapter 15

Angelo nearly fell asleep on the couch waiting for Bryan, and he fully blamed that problem on his belly full of good food. Definitely not a lack of interest in what he hoped would happen soon, now that the stitches were out. His incision was healing nicely, and he saw no reason why he and Bryan couldn't get down and dirty with the sex.

Sex he loved having regularly with Bryan, and they'd gotten pretty creative with how they got off together, but Angelo did miss fucking. Giving or receiving, he didn't care. He missed that intimacy and wanted to share it with Bryan. And he hoped Bryan still wanted it, too, especially tonight.

He wasn't so self-centered that Angelo hadn't noticed the odd vibe at dinner, caused by his careless comment over leveraging Patrick's secret fame. He'd stepped in some shit no one wanted to talk about, and he'd kept his mouth shut when Bryan went off to have a private talk with his brother. It hadn't been the most tactful moment of Angelo's life, but he hadn't meant any harm. This was about raising plenty of money for Tim's renovation and reopening, not a plan to line Angelo's own pockets.

No, that's the fake relationship plan.

He stared up at the vaulted ceiling, a little annoyed at himself for the design because he swore he saw cobwebs and dust spiders up there in the rafters. Rafters he couldn't reach with just an extendable Swiffer, and would require borrowing a ladder from Otis if they didn't want those spiders to dislodge, drift down, get inhaled, and choke one of them during a nap.

Great, I'm dreaming of housecleaning. Get a grip, Voltini.

The front door opening startled Angelo awake for the third time in two weeks. He jackknifed upright, his ribs twinging with annoyance at the sudden movement, and fumbled for his phone out of habit. Nearly ten o'clock, a lot later than he expected. Bryan shut the door and shuffled toward him in the darkness, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets.

"You waited up?" Bryan asked.

"Kind of. You and Patrick okay?"

"Yeah, we're fine. I wasn't with him this whole time." He eased into the armchair, shoulders slumped forward. "I ended up taking a long walk. Sorry I didn't text you."

"It's fine." Angelo hadn't texted either. He'd assumed Bryan wanted space and he'd been correct. Points to him? "You work through whatever it was that had you walking in circles after dark on a Tuesday night?"

"I think so. There's just a lot of stuff in my head right now. I used to drink or do drugs to quiet all that chatter, but I can't do that anymore."

"You could always come home to your boyfriend and let him distract you." The b-word slipped out with no effort or conscious consideration, but Angelo didn't sputter or retract. He meant it.

Bryan smiled, his head tilting slightly to the side the way it did when he felt shy—not a reaction Angelo saw often. "Boyfriend. I didn't mean to neglect him. Think he's too tired for an apology? Or should I save it for morning?"

"Oh, now is definitely a good time. And you might want to come closer so the boyfriend can show off something he's been saving for you."

"Really?" Bryan shifted from the chair to the cushion by Angelo's feet, hands now resting loosely in his lap. "Do show."

Angelo grinned as he rucked up the hem of his shirt. His left side only had the faintest shadows of bruises, making the three-inch, reddish scar easy to see on the otherwise golden surface. Bryan's feral smile softened. He reached out with his left hand and brushed his fingertips over the scar, feather-light, almost a caress. "Happy Stitches Removal Day."

"Thank you. They haven't itched for days but I'm still glad to see them go. I feel less like a Brundle Fly and more like a person again."

"Ugh, I don't need images from that movie in my head right now."

"Sorry." While they'd both admired naked, vintage-1986 Jeff Goldblum the other night, The Fly was not sexy pillow talk. Angelo made up for it by reaching behind the pillow his head rested on and removing two things. He handed them both to Bryan.

Bryan stared at the condom and small lube bottle for an infinite moment before meeting his gaze. Desire and a new fierceness simmered there, and Angelo's gut squirmed in a very "yes, please, now!" way. "You positive you're ready?"

"Absolutely. Even thought about playing with myself to get things started, but I didn't want you to miss anything."

"Oh, you are definitely going to start off by playing with yourself. Upstairs. Our room. Now."

The simple, calm orders burned in Angelo's stomach like the smoothest scotch, and he bolted. Off the couch and up the spiral staircase, careful not to trip or otherwise injure himself on his frantic ascent. Not that he'd been against stripping down and fucking on the couch, picture windows wide open to the backyard. He hoped a bed and easier access to the bathroom meant an extended play period.

Angelo was already barefoot, and as soon as he crossed the bedroom threshold, he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it. Tossed it to the floor. Strong arms slid around his waist from behind. Fingers threaded together across his belly and a solid chest pressed against his back. Groin to ass. Hot breath tickled his ear.

"You want me to fuck you, Voltini?" Bryan whispered.

Angelo shivered, arousal surging through him, sending blood straight to his cock and balls. He reached behind to grip the solid globes of Bryan's ass. "You know I do. I've been thinking about it all day. For two fucking weeks, honestly."

Bryan made a soft noise that was almost a purr. His right hand slipped down to cup Angelo's groin through his slacks, squeezing the length of his erection. He pushed into Bryan's hand, needing more pressure on his dick, more skin on skin, just more! Bryan somehow managed his belt and fly one-handed, and the weight of the belt buckle sent his slacks plummeting to the floor with a clunk.

Angelo's pulse raced when rough fingers slid into his briefs and gripped his cock. He groaned, hips thrusting forward, silently demanding more, his body trapped between the hand on his dick and the dick wedged in the crease of his ass. Bryan's free hand slid up his bare chest to rest across his throat. Angelo closed his eyes, as turned on as he was slightly unnerved by the submissive position he was in, at the mercy of someone who probably knew six different ways to completely subdue him in three moves or less.

He moaned and thrust against Bryan's cock, hating the layers of cloth still separating them. Needing bare skin before he exploded out of his own. He shoved his underwear down and kicked them out of the way, leaving Angelo fully naked while Bryan remained dressed. Removing the last barrier to Angelo and everything he wanted to give Bryan—not only tonight but tomorrow, and the day after. Beyond sex, he was giving Bryan his trust.

"I trust you," Angelo whispered.

Bryan nuzzled the side of his neck with his nose and lightly fondled his balls. "Good. Gonna suck you now."

"Fuck yes."

Bryan circled to stand in front of Angelo without releasing him from his touch. His left hand remained firmly around Angelo's dick, while his right skated across his pecs and nipples, down his abs to his lower belly. Angelo parted his lips, hoping for a kiss, but Bryan had another destination in mind for his mouth. He knelt, his right hand now a firm pressure against his inner thigh that threatened to make Angelo either laugh from the ticklishness or kick from the way his nerves twitched.

Bryan licked around the crown of his cock, exploring a bit before dipping into the slit, an infuriating tease that urged a long, gasping pant from Angelo. He might have made another noise he'd never admit was a whine before all sense left him with the intense, wet heat of Bryan's mouth sucking him in. Angelo gripped Bryan's shoulders and fell into the pleasure of Bryan licking, sucking, fucking his cock with lips and tongue and the back of his throat. Fingers massaged his balls until they drew up, hot and tight, and his orgasm was too fucking close, too fucking fast.

Somehow, Bryan knew and pulled off, no longer touching Angelo so abruptly that Angelo swayed. He opened his eyes and grabbed the side of the bed for balance. Bryan was standing by the wall, cheeks flushed and lips wet, still very much the man in charge. He watched Angelo with clear intent, and it took Angelo a moment to remember. To understand the unspoken command.

He grabbed the lube Bryan had put on the night table at some point and climbed onto the bed. Knelt in the middle, knees spread, his wet cock on display, pointing right at Bryan. Jumping straight to fucking was easy and practiced, something that didn't take a lot of thought. It was a means to an orgasm.

Taking their time and playing? Teasing each other with their words and their bodies? Priceless and perfect. A means to something much more precious.

A little turned around by the tender feelings flitting around inside him, Angelo squirted a generous amount of lube onto his fingers, reached around to his crease, and started giving Bryan a show.

Instructing Angelo was a new kind of foreplay that Bryan was becoming quickly addicted to. And it was less about Bryan being bossy or needing to stay in control when they had sex, or even while doing something as simple as cooking supper together in the cramped kitchenette. It was more about Angelo giving the subtle hints that he needed to be instructed, to be told what to do to in some situations.

It was absolutely not a controlling, sub/dom dynamic, or even a power exchange that involved restraints or punishments or harsh commands. Angelo needed a chance to not think, to be allowed to play and explore with the wonder of a boy who'd forgotten how amazing the world really was when all the scary things were tucked away, unable to touch him for a little while. Bryan could give him that without controlling him.

He wanted to give Angelo that safe place. So he leaned against the wall, ignored his own straining dick, and eye-fucked Angelo instead. Angelo, whose gorgeous, tanned body was on display for him, minor flaws and all. He loved that Angelo waxed his chest and abs but left his thick, black pubes alone to nest around his cock. The same dark hair sprinkled along his calves and inner thighs and was thinner on his forearms, and in the five-o'clock shadow he always began sporting just after lunch. The scar on his ribs annoyed Bryan but it was proof of life, that Angelo had been through something and was strong enough now to take steps to help others hurt in the same accident.

He admired the man on his bed, who was slowly working at least one lubed finger in and out of his ass. His lips were parted, his gaze glassy but never wavering from Bryan's, almost challenging Bryan to look away first. Angelo's cockhead glistened with precome, and Bryan longed for another taste.

Not yet.

"What do you feel?" Bryan asked.

"Your finger." Angelo's eyes simmered with arousal and need. "Pushing inside me. Feeling how tight I am for you. You won't touch my prostate because you're a big fucking tease."

"I am a big fucking tease. Love teasing that hole."

"Yeah." He gasped, his hand moving harder. "You're fucking me. Making sure I know."

"Know what?"

"Where your cock's going to be soon. That it's bigger than one—oh. You're pushing in another one."

Bryan licked his lips, heart kicking up several notches, desperate to see those two digits sinking in and out of Angelo's ass. But also more turned on that he couldn't see it, not unless Angelo showed him. Bryan wasn't moving from his spot by the wall. Yet.

"Where are we, Angelo?"

Angelo's Adam's apple bobbed, and he seemed to have trouble swallowing. "The Mulberry house. The staged bedroom. I've got a showing in thirty minutes. We might have an offer coming today, but this can't wait. It might be our last chance to fuck here, and I'm not wasting it."

A quickie before a possible offer on a house Angelo had been trying to sell for months? Every chance the Realtor could arrive early with their clients, or that they wouldn't have time to clean up? Air out the place?

"If we get caught…" Bryan drawled.

"Yeah. Oh!" His hips jerked forward. "No, I don't wanna stop. Not a chance."

"Good. Do you need more fingers? More lube?"

"No. Just your cock, please."

"Then turn around and put your hands on the headboard."

The headboard was cheap press-board screwed to the wall but it served the purpose. Angelo managed to turn around without toppling over, using one hand for balance while the other remained in his crease. Bryan took a step closer for a better look and massaged himself through his jeans, while Angelo braced one hand on the headboard. Tilted his ass into the air, showing off his shiny skin and the two fingers still inside his body.

"I can't fuck you with my fingers up your ass," Bryan said. "Hate to take them out, but I don't think you can take it all at once."

Goosebumps pebbled the skin on Angelo's back, joining the light sheen of sweat already there. His left hand joined his right on the headboard. Bryan shucked his clothes then, his restraint fraying at the edges with a hot man practically begging Bryan to fuck him. He climbed on with the condom, rolled it down his length with trembling fingers, unsure if it was adrenaline or anticipation or both. All or nothing.

"Do you hear that?" Bryan whispered. He gripped Angelo's hips and notched the head of his cock to Angelo's hot entrance. "In the driveway?"

"Fuuuuck." Angelo clenched his hole. "Do it before they catch us."

The begging whine made the fantasy that much more real, and Bryan stopped holding back. He pushed. Angelo bore down. Bryan couldn't look away as his cock disappeared inside Angelo's body on a long, steady glide that had him seeing bursts of bright colors behind his eyelids. Lids he didn't remember closing, and when the rush passed, he opened them.

"Come on." Angelo reached back to pinch Bryan's ass. "Fuck me now, you bastard."

"Oh, I will."

And he did, pulling almost completely out before shoving deep inside, each plunge earning a sharp grunt from Angelo. Bryan's hips slapped loudly against Angelo's ass with every thrust, and the room filled with the sounds of wet skin and panting and wood creaking. Angelo clenched and relaxed over and over, as if trying to keep Bryan trapped inside him, and the added pressure, along with the fantasy of being caught at any moment, was too much. Bryan's balls drew up, warning him of the orgasm boiling inside him.

"Gonna come all over your insides," Bryan hissed. "You'll be creaming your shorts while trying to sell this house, feeling it drip back out the whole time."

Angelo hollered something and his body went tight around Bryan's cock. He shoved backward, fucking himself hard while he came with nothing but air on his dick. Bryan's left hand slid up to grip his shoulder, while his right skimmed under his belly, then down. Angelo hissed through clenched teeth the moment Bryan's fingers brushed his erection. Over the head to play with the semen still clinging to the slit. No longer thrusting while Angelo came back to his senses.

"Keep going," Angelo said. "Come in me."

Not needing a second reassurance, Bryan pulled back and slammed in hard enough that Angelo lost his grip on the headboard. Bryan twisted them so Angelo fell onto his hands and knees, giving Bryan room to fuck without worrying he'd shove Angelo's head into the wall. Bryan stopped thinking and let his body lead, hips pistoning, cock plunging in and out of the tight ass in front of him, guiding Bryan toward his own release.

Bryan's orgasm hit hard and fast and slightly dizzying in its strength. He imagined his come coating Angelo's passage, instead of the condom, of them sharing something that important. He thrust deep and held himself there, breath fanning over the back of Angelo's neck, working to get his own lungs under control. Angelo's body went limp, and Bryan eased them both onto their sides, his cock still buried inside Angelo. After giving himself a moment to enjoy their wonderful physical connection, Bryan gently pulled out then spooned up close, wrapping his arms around Angelo as best he could.

"You hear that now?" Angelo whispered.

"Not sure." Bryan didn't know where the game was going or if it was over. He feathered his fingertips over Angelo's scar. "What do you hear?"

"Silence. Just you and me."

"Yeah? Good."

"I'm glad we waited. This was…fantastic."

"Me too." He didn't want to break the spell by bringing the outside world into bed with them, so Bryan kissed the back of his neck. "I'll get the washcloth."

"In a minute." Angelo pulled his hand off his ribs and kissed each individual knuckle in turn, so gentle and sweet. "Let's just stay here for a little while."

"Okay. I'm not going anywhere."

I promise.

The remainder of February's chill melted into the warmer, moist weather of March, and inched closer to the end of Bryan's probation period. He had his State ID, which still wasn't a driver's license, but it seemed easier to move around in the world with it. He could buy alcohol or cigarettes if he chose, because he had an ID to prove his age (as if his face wouldn't do that, but some places were sticklers). He could prove himself a resident and apply for things, even if he wasn't super worried about rebuilding his credit.

Mostly, he felt closer to normal having the ID. And having a boyfriend he lived with, cared about a hell of a lot, and a job he actually enjoyed. Otis was a great boss, Bryan wore himself out every day, and each night he went home to Angelo and their shared family up the lane. This domestic life full of routines and affection wasn't something Bryan had experienced since he was a boy and Patrick just a baby.

He didn't want to lose any of it, so Bryan lived each day like tomorrow wasn't coming. All he had was right now.

He also had a little white lie he wasn't sure what to do with. Agreeing to be in a for-show relationship with Angelo solely to convince the lawyer had made perfect sense for the first week or so of the plan, while he and Angelo were still in a place of friends-with-benefits. They'd both convinced Russell and Patrick they were pretending to date for the inheritance, but the more their two couples spent together…the less Bryan thought they believed the story. Bryan wasn't pretending anymore to have feelings for Angelo. He didn't want to pretend.

He also wasn't sure how to tell anyone his feelings were real, not even Angelo.

For his part, Dennis Darrow had met with them once, in his office, for less than fifteen minutes. Bryan had gone in expecting to answer questions like he was on a job interview, but Darrow was very relaxed, almost disinterested, and even Angelo was mystified by the brief conversation. Darrow seemed convinced of their story, though, that they'd been dating since the holidays, were living together, and even had selfies on their phones in goofy, affectionate poses.

Fake relationship plan successful? Seemed so. Also, not so fake anymore.

They'd even attended two fundraiser meetings as a couple, both hosted at the home of Clancy Jons and Samir Ford. In a plot twist that had surprised the hell out of Angelo, his own cousin Antoni had agreed to co-chair the fundraiser with Sasha. Antoni reminded Bryan of a shorter, quieter version of Angelo, with the same bull-headed nature and drive to accomplish whatever he set his mind to. And what Antoni had set his mind to this time was helping a local business get back on its feet.

Bryan was also on board with helping behind the scenes, since he had nothing useful to donate to the silent auction. A framed platinum record signed by every member of Lyons Den might have brought decent money, but Bryan didn't want such a direct connection to his past on display the day of the fundraiser. Especially a fundraiser in such a known, public place as Neighborhood Shindig.

The fundraiser was scheduled for the second Sunday in April, which gave the organizers plenty of time to gather items for the silent auction. It was the second biggest draw of the event, right after a performance by someone Sasha and Antoni promised would put butts in seats (or on picnic table benches) and keep them around to buy silent auction tickets and the food truck specials. Bryan had no clue who the performer was, and he had more than a few brief nightmares of walking into Shindig the day of the fundraiser and seeing Tracy warming up on stage.

Angelo was always there to snuggle him back to sleep after those bad dreams. Bryan had never had that sort of constant, unwavering support person by his side before, and now, in this new life he'd been cultivating since his release from prison, he had three people he knew he could always count on: Patrick, Russell and most of all, Angelo Voltini.

He was even spending more time with Robbie and engaging the boy in something none of them had expected him to insist he wanted to join: Little League. One of his buddies at school had been playing since he was six, and Robbie attended his baseball-themed birthday party the last weekend in February. He'd been thrilled when Bryan said he'd played Little League for four years, as well as one year of high school baseball—until his father forced him to quit so he could focus on music.

Instead of bad-mouthing Robbie's grandfather, Bryan volunteered to practice with Robbie in the evening. Robbie wasn't great at hitting the ball but he was fearless as a fielder, and their practices soon became a family activity, with Patrick and Russell pretending to run bases, while Angelo sat on the sidelines and read them random baseball trivia off his phone.

They were all in the bleachers during opening day festivities and enjoyed a picnic lunch with Robbie's teammates and other parents, before their three o'clock game. The Fireflies lost eight to three, but the kids had a great time, and Robbie even caught a pop fly in left field. They celebrated as a family with ice cream sundaes.

Late that night, Bryan and Angelo had their own private celebration.

Bryan even survived a Sunday dinner with Aunt Rita and her three sons. He'd briefly met all of them at Shindig, even the infamous Lorenzo, who'd blackmailed Angelo when they were both teens. Angelo had asked him not to bring it up ("It was a lifetime ago, over and done with," he'd said), and Bryan had agreed. He'd kept his mouth shut about the blackmail, even after Rita brought up Bryan's assault conviction.

Barely.

"Angelo has never brought a man home to meet me," Rita said while dishing out bowls of sauced pasta, "because he knows I will be hard on them. He has bad judgment in who he dates."

"Aunt Rita, please." Angelo rolled his eyes, but Bryan knew him well enough by now to see the hints of mortification hiding beneath the bravado. "Can't the insults wait until dessert, at least?"

"It is not an insult if it is the truth."

"The truth can still be insulting. That's why we learn tact."

"Who needs tact at home with family? We tell the truth here."

Bryan bit the tip of his tongue hard enough the backs of his eyes stung, and he cut his eyes at Lorenzo across the table. Lorenzo was busy shoveling pasta into his mouth, while his brothers were paying close attention to the argument between their mother and cousin.

"Fine, I used to have a bad habit of dating guys who were not relationship material, so I suppose even calling it dating is a bit of a stretch. But Bryan is different."

"Because he is closer to your age? Or because he has a record?"

"Both, actually. He might as well be ten years older than me for how much more mature he is, and the only reason Bryan has a record is because he stood up for his brother. He didn't let a predator fuck with his family."

"Language, Angelo." She looked like someone who'd smack Angelo with a flyswatter if one had been within reach. "I have read the articles. He allowed his temper to control him. I hope he has not shown this temper to you."

Bryan bit his tongue harder, Angelo's hand on his thigh the only thing keeping him in his chair, when shame and anger urged him to leave the house and never look back. But he couldn't do that. Assaulting Lawrence was something he'd done, something he'd admitted to doing and had served time for. He couldn't get pissed off every time someone brought it up. For the last five, almost six months, he'd lived in a bubble of home and work, and now he was interacting with people outside that bubble.

The topic of what he'd been up to for the last six-plus years and why was going to come up, and he needed to be able to discuss it without getting defensive.

"Bryan hasn't even raised his voice at me, much less a fist," Angelo replied, calm anger in his tone now. "He is the best person I've ever been with, and I really see something between us, or I wouldn't have subjected him to an evening of family badgering, no matter how well-intentioned you want to convince yourself it is, Aunt Rita. I am far beyond the age of needing your approval, so if you wish us to remain long enough to tell you how amazing your tiramisu is, let's change the subject."

At this point, even Lorenzo had stopped eating and was staring at Angelo. Rita studied Angelo with an expression Bryan wasn't sure how to interpret (anger? Disappointment? Was she about to grab the nearest weapon and demand Bryan get out of her house?). Several long, tense moments passed before the older woman nodded at Angelo, and then turned a thin smile onto Bryan. "He likes you. Do not give my nephew reason to change his mind on this."

Bryan glanced warily at Angelo, who was smiling at his own plate, and took that as a good sign. "I'll do my best, ma'am," he replied to Rita. "I like him, too. A lot."

"Good, good. Now eat before the orecchiette gets cold."

Now that he had tacit approval from Rita and a name for the odd, ear-shaped pasta in his bowl, Bryan sampled his food and had to admit the woman made an amazing arrabiata sauce. He even agreed to come over for supper again next month.

The third week in March, Angelo nearly did cartwheels across the carriage house living room when he got an offer on the Mulberry house. The number was under asking but after all the fees and taxes, Angelo would still net a small profit. It was the start, he said, of a positive turn in his career, to go along with the hugely positive turn in his personal life. And the tender evening they spent together, moving in bed as one, was as close as either of them had ever come to saying, "I love you."

Bryan wasn't sure if he was in love with Angelo or not, but he had very strong, tender feelings for the high-strung designer whose voice made his heart race, and whose simple presence made him feel seen. Safe. Wanted.

He only attended two fundraiser meetings in early April, because he wasn't a huge part of organizing anything leading up to the day. His assigned job was simply to stand by the silent auction tables, smile, answer any questions ticket holders had, and to make sure no one tried to wander off with one of the prizes. Easy peasy, and it did not require him to sit around at Clancy's house during extra meetings, even though it was a good excuse to hang with Angelo on those evenings.

Some separation was healthy, so Bryan didn't sweat it. He enjoyed time with his brother and nephew, and sometimes Robbie had a Little League game anyway. Finding a true work/life balance was something new and kind of awesome, and Bryan did his best to be there for everyone important to him, especially Robbie.

The day of Bryan's final meeting with his parole officer, he came home with the paperwork stating he had met the terms of his release and was now a free man. His loving family surprised him with a peanut butter crème pie from Byler's. Bryan would never admit he cried a little that night, so beyond happy to have paid his debt and finally have his life back.

The Saturday before the fundraiser, Robbie had a morning game, and their entire cheering section was in the bleachers, snacking on over-salted popcorn and soft drinks from the concession stand run by a local Girl Scout troop. For being the most vocally "not into kids" of their quartet, Angelo was the loudest when it came to challenging the umpire's calls against the Fireflies. The first game he attended, Angelo hadn't known much about the sport besides a strike, a foul and half the lines from the "Who's on First?" skit. Now he knew more about professional baseball than Bryan and Patrick combined, and had even memorized stats on some of the Charlotte Knights and Durham Bulls players.

The change was adorable and endearing as hell.

Russell had been roped into designing a new mascot logo for the team for the parents to use in fundraising and related events that everyone adored. Bryan wouldn't put it past the guy to make a mini puppet version of the mascot at some point. His team spirit was infectious, as was his obvious love for Robbie and Patrick.

Bryan sometimes still had to swallow back a flash of jealousy when he saw the trio together, and he then remind himself this was what they'd all agreed was best for Robbie. He had a stable father, a stable sort-of-stepfather in Russell, and a doting Uncle Bryan and sort-of-Uncle Angelo.

The game ended just before noon with the Fireflies eeking out a one-run win. Robbie had struck out both at-bats, but he'd once again proven amazing in the outfield, so they agreed to hit McDonald's for lunch so Robbie could get a Happy Meal reward. Angelo scoffed at the limited "healthy" options and ordered an overpriced salad. They snagged the last free booth in the middle of the restaurant, which left Bryan anxious about the central location with no walls at his back.

The anxiety was ridiculous, as they were in the middle of a busy, child-filled joint, but Bryan still wasn't a fan of crowded places. Spending four hours at Neighborhood Shindig tomorrow was going to be a huge exercise in anxiety control.

Robbie opened a ketchup packet and squeezed some onto his burger wrapper for his fries, but misjudged his angle and squirted ketchup across the table like an artery burst. Half of the streak landed on Bryan's nuggets, and he laughed. "I'm more of a barbecue sauce guy, but thanks."

"Sorry," Robbie replied. "That's what my hand did."

"When you cut it back in February? I bet."

"And not really a visual we need while eating," Patrick said. "Watch your trajectory next time, bud."

"What's a jatrectory?"

"Trajectory. The direction you're squirting the ketchup. We don't need the table to resemble an accident scene."

"Like Aaron's dad's garage on Thursday?"

All four adults stopped eating to stare at Robbie, who was busy smearing a fry in his ketchup. Aaron was the school friend who'd gotten Robbie into Little League and, come to think of it, Bryan hadn't noticed his father in the bleachers today. Aaron's dad was a big guy with a long beard, who was fond of plaid shirts and easy to spot in a crowd.

"What happened to Aaron's dad?" Patrick asked.

"Aaron said his dad was trying to get the lawn mower to work and something got stuck, and his mom said his dad was a dumbass for not realizing or something, and anyway, Aaron's dad's hand got caught in the blades and his finger got chopped off!" Robbie finished with such a dramatic flourish that Bryan half-expected other tables to applaud the storytelling. "They drove him to the doctor like you drove me, but he needed a lot more stitches, and Aaron said they had to give him a typing cross match, too."

Bryan's stomach churned at those visuals. Patrick put his burger down and covered his mouth with his free hand.

"What's a typing cross match, bud?" Russell asked.

Robbie shrugged. "I dunno, Aaron said it's because he lost so much blood. I said I didn't need one when I cut my hand, I just needed stitches and a big bandage. I didn't need a cross. We don't go to church anyway."

Bryan met Russell's befuddled stare, as much at a loss as Russell. It must have something to do with surgery if Aaron's dad lost a finger to a lawn mower motor.

"Do you mean a type and cross-match?" Angelo asked. "Like his blood type?"

"Maybe, I dunno," Robbie replied. "Do they do that when you lose a finger?"

"I'm sure they do, and with a lot of other things where someone loses a lot of blood. It helps the doctors make sure they give their patient the right kind of blood."

"There are different kinds? I thought it was all red?"

Bryan wasn't sure that a busy McDonald's at lunchtime was the appropriate place for this conversation. Robbie was completely engrossed in the topic, but Patrick looked like he was trying not to be sick. Apparently, handling his own bleeding kid was not a problem but chatting about blood-related topics made him queasy.

Everyone had their squeamish trigger points.

"All blood is red, kiddo," Angelo replied. "But different people have different kinds and we categorize them by letters. And the kind you get depends on what your parents have. It's genetics and something you'll learn all about in organic chemistry or biology when you're a lot older. I learned it in high school and even had to do a family tree of sorts with blood types."

"Oh. What's my blood kind, Daddy?"

"You're type-O like your mom was," Patrick replied.

"Are you O too?"

"Actually, I'm AB, which is a lot more rare." His gentle smile froze in place. "Why don't we talk about this at home, huh? Blood isn't really appropriate for lunch."

"Okay." Robbie reached for his burger and took a big bite, perfectly distracted.

It took Bryan a few additional minutes to understand Patrick's tension: blood types. Patrick being AB was the biggest giveaway that Robbie wasn't biologically his child—if Angelo remembered enough about junior high biology and put the fragmented bits together to form a picture. But Angelo was cutting into his salad with a plastic knife and seemed to have moved past the conversation.

So Bryan pushed it aside and kept eating.