There’s a Million Things We Haven’t Done

VAL PLOWED through the clean, cool water under a sky of blazing azure, the soft shush of the trees overhead letting him know that there was a breeze to help cut the humidity and heat. He'd set his phone up, playing Hamilton , and he knew that one well enough that even when his head was under the water, the music kept his body moving smoothly in time.

Ye gods, he loved to swim. As impractical as the tiny pool at his house had seemed to be, it had paid for itself because he managed to do laps a couple times a week. His stays at Vinnie's house were almost always punctuated by a daily workout in the much bigger pool, and although Vinnie had left that morning, this day was no exception.

His back, neck, and chest were finally relaxing on their own, his bruises colorful but no longer aching when untouched—or unmedicated. His head felt miles better, and while his freestyle was nowhere near his best time, the feeling of being in the water and using those muscles gently was enough to make him nearly weep with relief.

Five whole days.

Vinnie had negotiated with him to use the pool and the house for an extra night. The nearby town was small and picturesque, Vinnie had stables not far away, and Val and Rory were welcome to saddle up the recommended horses and ride, and of course Vinnie knew Val's weakness was the pool.

"Aw, Vinnie, you don't have to do all this—"

Vinnie shook his head. "Val, it was close. If we'd had to forfeit to the insurance company, we might have lost all this. I insist. Alejandro's our chief of staff, and he'll be bored shitless unless you use him, and he hates that. Makes him feel useless. He's used to working his ass off, so throw him a bone besides laundry, will you?"

Val rolled his eyes, although Alejandro was pretty much the gold standard for having a domestic assistant who could help you completely organize your life.

"I just don't want to take advantage."

Vinnie cocked his head. "C'mon, Val. It could be a honeymoon, or it could be a torrid affair. The point is I want to see you happy. You've been searching for a match, somebody who could deal with your business, deal with your family. Rory seems like he could do both. Take some time to figure it out, okay?"

Val groaned. They were having this conversation on the patio, where they'd met for breakfast, just the two of them. Rory was running—apparently something he usually did in much greater distances than around a semi rig, to keep his leg limber—and it was Val's first unmedicated chance to talk to his friend.

"He might not work out," Val confessed. "I mean, I am really excited to see, but—"

Vinnie laughed shortly. "Val, on any given day even the best relationships could turn on a dime. Say the wrong thing, make the wrong decision, poof!" He made his fingers wiggle. "There goes all your good intentions and good deeds for twenty years, down the hole. You know why they don't?"

Val's eyes were huge. "No, and now I really need to!"

"Because two people who care about each other have already decided they won't let that fucking happen. This is your time to hammer out terms. What are your makes, what are your breaks. Can you decide not to let that fucking happen." Vinnie stood and squeezed Val's shoulder. "Now I've got to go so I can join the girls. I know you'll be gone by the time we get back, but remember—Alejandro is my spy, and he'll tell me if you used my hospitality like it's meant to be used, okay?"

Val stood and they did the bro-hug thing. "Thanks," he said, conceding at last. "It's kind."

"Well, we're not square by a long shot. Have fun."

And with that, Vinnie left down the hallway, waving to Rory as Rory came in from the front.

"He leaving?" Rory asked, sitting down at the table in a sweaty huff and pouring himself a big glass of orange juice.

"Yeah. Car's packed and everything. We just wanted to connect first."

"Hmm…," Rory said thoughtfully. "It's not fair, you know. You've got five brothers by birth, and then you went and found yourself another one. Some of us don't even have one."

Val cocked his head. "You never really did tell me about your family. You said your folks were dead, but that's about all I know."

Rory blew out a breath. "What's to know? My dad split early. We found out he'd died when I was about twenty. Mama was sick by then, so I didn't tell her. She was under no illusions."

"What was she like?" Val asked, suddenly hungry for the knowledge. "Your mom?"

Rory looked like he'd balk at first, and while Val was getting a picture as to why Rory might want to keep such things close to his heart, Val was on the verge of risking… everything on this man. Suddenly the woman who had raised Rory McCauley, with his sardonic sense of humor and the devil in his smile, was of paramount importance to Val.

"C'mon, Rory," Val said, and he found he was pleading. "You turned out okay. What was she like?"

Rory snorted. "If I turned out okay it's because she was the best," he said, and his voice was wistful. "I'm just… if you must know, I'm embarrassed. Anthony was such a great kid. God, he really was. And I was…." He swallowed. "I was a horrible teenager," he confessed. "And horrible teenagers are not kind to their mothers."

Val eyed him with compassion. "Everybody's a horrible teenager," he said. "I used to fight with Dean like a pit bull fought a kitten. I mean, the kid is twelve years my junior—"

"I've worked with Dean," Rory said dryly. "I'm pretty sure he gave as good as he got, even at six. And he's so much like you. It was inevitable. But that's sibling stuff." He let out a short bark of laughter. "I don't have one, but I understand that goes with the territory. This was…." He shook his head, and for a moment Val despaired. He was never going to open up. Rory was always going to keep a part of him far away from his heart, far away from Val, and Val would never really know him.

"I was ashamed of her," he said after a minute. "She was a waitress in a diner, and I was ashamed of her. I used to have to go to the diner after school to do my homework, you know? And one day there was a bank robbery in town, and Mama saw it go down. So the FBI shows up, because it was one of a series of them, and I am in the back stall, doing my homework, drinking all the free fountain soda I could stomach, and trying to crawl backward through the wall with my buttcheeks alone. It seemed like every time she opened her mouth, she let loose something else that the guys in the suits didn't understand. Not her deep Texas drawl, not the way she said y'all, not when she said ‘britches'—every word made me want to fucking disappear."

Val heard it: The deep shame, the self-hatred for being a prick as only a middle schooler could be. He sat and listened, wondering if Rory had ever told this story.

"So the FBI guys are… well, gentle. They're kind. Thinking about it now, I'm pretty sure my mother was shook-up, you know? She saw guys with guns right across the street, and she'd been afraid for her life. But the feds were sweet to her, and she told her story and offered them free drinks, and the guy in charge stood up and said, ‘Now Miss Evie, you sit down here a spell and let me get the coffee.' And Mama says, ‘Could you get my boy a slice of pie? He always has one after school.' And somehow, that seems like the biggest indignity, you know? But he got my mother coffee and stared down her horrible boss who might have fired her otherwise, because he was an ass, and then came to my booth and set the pie in front of me and bent down and…." Rory choked on a laugh. "He whispered, ‘Your mother is an angel, you ungrateful little shit. You treat that woman right and show her some respect.'"

Val grinned at him, surprised, and Rory nodded.

"Yessir, that lawman pretty much scared me straight." He snorted. "Well, as much as he could anyway. But… but that scary-looking guy in the ugly suit thought my mom was something , and… and I realized when I grew up I wanted to be just like him."

Val took in that story with some even breaths, his eyes on Rory's rough-hewn features. He could see that squirmy adolescent kid in the back of the booth, could see him respond to a little bit of tough-love parenting from a stranger with squared shoulders and a lifted chin.

See the sadness that, for a moment, he hadn't appreciated the woman who'd raised him.

"Did you ever see him again?" Val asked.

Rory shook his head. "It's a big bureau, and I didn't make it in until maybe fifteen years later. But it sure did give me something to shoot for. In my behavior too. It was like I needed a man—just one goddamned man—to teach me how to talk to my mother like she was a queen. It's funny how much we take that for granted."

Val nodded. "Yeah. Maybe because there were so many of us kids—and maybe because my parents worked as a team, backing each other up—but my folks managed to effectively drill respect into us. Kindness. I came out, and they loved me, and twenty-five years ago that wasn't something you took for granted. And of course, I paved the way." He chuckled. "My dad actually kept forgetting Prock was straight. I remember him saying, ‘But Dad, I like girls! I won't have a husband like all the others!' and Dad literally doing a double take."

Rory chuckled. "I'm madly jealous, you know," he admitted. "You may have figured that out."

Val nodded thoughtfully, and when he opened his mouth, what he said surprised even him.

"My parents were supposed to go to New York for their honeymoon," he began. "But they were so poor everything went wrong. They took a bus for one thing, so it was more time in the bus than actually on the East Coast, and they rented a car when they got there, but they rented a shitty car that died on them before they'd even cleared Newark. They ended up, by mischance and a terminal misunderstanding of how the New Jersey turnpike system works, in Princeton, New Jersey, and instead of going to the Statue of Liberty, they spent an entire day touring the campus. Now they'd both wanted an education, but Mom had been taking care of younger kids, and Dad had been working on cars since he was sixteen, and that opportunity sort of flew right by. But they spent that day on a college campus, just young enough to be mistaken for students in their best jeans and sneakers, and they got this idea."

Rory blinked at him, eyes growing wide, and Val shrugged rather sheepishly.

"Yeah. They wanted their kids—and even then, I think, Mom was already pregnant with me, and they were planning on a bunch of us, and God love 'em, that's what they had—to shoot for the stars. They wanted their kids to grow up to be lawyers and doctors and to go to school, and they'd had a chance to look at graduation announcements and fliers on campus. By the time they left Princeton, they knew exactly how to let us know that we could be anything we wanted."

"Oh no," Rory said, half in horror, Val reckoned, and half in admiration.

"Oh yes," Val told him. "Valedictorian, Laureate, Salutatorian, Proctor, Dean, Registrar and Chancellor. I'm Valedictorian Princeton Royal, and if you ever meet my parents—"

"I will respect the hell out of them," Rory said softly. "Because their son Val is a fine man."

Val smiled at him and stood, bending down to kiss his cheek. "I'm going to go swim," he said, thinking about moving his body cleanly, about his muscles being loose and cool and relaxed.

About touching Rory's heat like that and taking it inside.

"Want me to join you?"

"Rinse off first," Val said. This time, he kissed Rory's mouth. "And maybe wait for me to dry off after the shower."

Rory deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue inside and dominating Val's mouth before Val pulled away, his breathing a little unsteady.

"And maybe not," Rory said, his own voice gruff. "Maybe I can't wait."

"I'm worth the wait, Rory. Trust me."

And with that he left the table to put on his board shorts and gather a change of clothes for after the shower. And maybe some personal toiletries as well.

He'd used the pool house before. There was a shower and an airy, shaded lounge with big fans, and today there wouldn't be a soul around to know what was going on in there.

He shivered with anticipation as he wandered across the green, turning his face to that stunning sky and enjoying the breeze sweeping down from the mountains in the east.

RIGHT AS his muscles started to protest, as his breathing got a little bit labored, a shadow darkened the end of the pool as he finished his lap. He pulled himself to the edge and grinned up at Rory, who was squatting in the perfect position to block the sun.

"You about done yet?"

Rory was freshly showered, and while he was wearing comfortable clothes—cargo shorts and a madras over a tee—he didn't look ready for the pool.

"I was just thinking about the shower," Val said. "Are you going somewhere?"

"I was thinking about visiting the town after lunch," Rory said. "If you want to. Frankly, I was bored, and the big house was creeping me out." He grinned. "Save me, Val, save me from having to watch TV on a perfectly gorgeous day!"

Val chuckled and moved to the stairs to accept the offered towel. "All right, then," he said. "I'll be out in five." He shivered a bit, the breeze taking a bite after the hour in the water. "Maybe ten. Gotta warm up."

"Take your time," Rory told him, and for no reason at all, Val felt his skin heat.

Maybe they'd taken all the time that had been needed?

The thought was exciting enough to fight the chill.

HIS BODY temp had just begun to normalize, and he was turning the tap off when he felt a gust of fresh air in the humid bathroom. When he opened the frosted door of the spacious cubicle, Rory was there, holding a bath sheet, looking at him with wicked eyes.

"Couldn't wait?" Val murmured. He went to take the bath sheet from him, but Rory spread the thing between his arms and gestured with his chin.

"Let me pamper you a little," he said, bashful enough to be charming. "I understand this is supposed to be a big deal."

"Of course it's a big deal," Val said, stepping into his arms. "It was a big deal when you swaggered across my parking lot, took my shit, and then hit on me."

Rory closed his eyes as he wrapped the towel around Val's body and gathered him in. "You said no," he rumbled, and Val licked a drop of moisture off the column of his throat.

"I didn't want one and done," he said.

"I've never been seduced via danger before," Rory told him, lifting his chin, showing off his clean-shaven throat and obviously begging for the attention.

"It apparently worked." Val sucked gently at the join of his neck, and Rory made a halfhearted attempt to dry his hair before dropping the towel and massaging his scalp through the wet strands.

"You're killing me here," Rory moaned, and Val reached up slightly and tugged on his earlobe with his teeth. "I had a plan, Val Royal. I was gonna—oh God. That's a weakness."

Val breathed out slightly through his nose and stepped back enough to let the bath sheet fall to the floor. Rory had left his shoes outside the changing pavilion, so when Val unbuckled his cargo shorts and shoved down, shorts, belt, boxers, and all fell to the cool tiles at their bare feet. Then Rory pulled away enough to yank off his shirts, and then he captured Val's face between his palms and kissed him.

Val fell into the kiss, allowing Rory to back them across the bathroom to the open door to the pavilion.

The pavilion itself was an airy space, with blinds open to allow the breeze through, ceiling fans of dark teakwood working steadily on, and billowy white curtains, as well as sturdy rattan couches and lounge chairs.

And a bed in the corner, with soft linen bedsheets and a pale blue, light-as-a-feather quilt and plump, decadent pillows. Val knew for a certain that the girls had been known to go down for naps there when they'd had too much sun and were ready for a rest, and he also knew—because Vinnie wasn't shy—that the bed had seen harder use.

And now, the well-laundered quilt was pulled back, revealing a towel laid flat over the sheets, a small bottle of lubricant… and a prescription bottle?

Rory had swung about and was ready to lay Val back on the sheets when Val stopped.

"The bottle?" he asked, eyes crinkling because he was pretty sure he knew what it was.

"PrEP," Rory said, looking disgruntled and the faintest bit embarrassed. "So, you know—I mean, I brought condoms—"

"I haven't done this since my last test," Val told him. "About two years ago. You want proof?" God, this was a mood breaker. It's why he'd used to buy condoms, to avoid this discussion.

"No," Rory whispered, reaching behind Val and repositioning all of the items. "Your word is good."

"Thank God." Val lay back against the pillows, and Rory climbed in bed next to him.

The kiss resumed, and Val lost himself in it, the cool air moving over his body, Rory's flesh heating him to unbearable heights.

Rory's hand on his cock was almost a surprise, because it was raw and earthy and grounding, and Val gasped, arching into his touch.

"One more bit of housekeeping," Rory murmured, moving his head down to suck in Val's nipple as he stroked.

"Now?" Val moaned. "Housekeeping—oh God—harder?"

"No, not harder," Rory taunted, before licking his sensitized nipple again. "I'm topping, right?"

"First," Val breathed.

Rory actually let go of Val's cock. Val grunted and reached down, wrapping Rory's fingers around him again.

"Don't panic, cowboy," Val whispered. "Just make love to me now, and we'll figure the rest out later."

Rory's stroke resumed, followed quickly by Rory's hot mouth, the delirious pressure of his palate, his tongue, his fist, driving Val to distraction.

"You gonna," Val panted, "get around to topping soon—ah! God!"

Rory had slicked his fingers and used them now to slide in past Val's entrance, to fiddle, to play, to stretch. Val planted his feet wide apart, forcing Rory to wriggle between his legs and go to work, one hand stroking, the other hand stretching, and his mouth laving and sucking, while Val buried his hands in that thick shaggy hair and lost his mind.

"Rory!" he gasped. "Gonna—"

"Come," Rory hissed, his breath dusting the wet, sensitized head of Val's cock.

Val cried out softly, thrusting hard down Rory's throat, and he spurt and spurt and—augh! All the stimulus disappeared, and Rory rushed up his body, his greased cock at Val's entrance, knocking softly to come in.

"Please," Val begged, past pride or dignity. Oh Lord, the things this man's touch were doing to his body. He'd forgotten what a man's hands and mouth felt like, but this was bigger somehow. Oh God, had he ever known?

Rory pushed slowly inside, then pulled out, then pushed in again, and Val groaned in completion when he was all the way seated.

"Like a fencepost," Val panted.

Rory chuckled, the sound strained, and started to thrust. "Complaining?"

"God no—bring it on."

Rory might have chuckled again, but he didn't have enough breath to make it resonate. He was thrusting now, his eyes closed tight, his head thrown back. Val wanted to see his face, and he squinted through the sweat running into his eyes to see a look of utter concentration, utter abandonment, so lost in the moment that Val smiled and gave himself over to the euphoria of the act. Every thrust made him shudder, every withdrawal made him cry out, all of it building, building, building—

"Oh God, Rory," he begged. "Come. Please—oh—" Rory pegged Val's gland again, hard, and he lost all cohesion, flew apart, blossomed into a soft needing thing, lost in the fog of submission and orgasm, until Rory cried out and hammered into him, rutting as he came.

For a few moments, Val was awash in the breeze, the white curtains, the lazily spinning ceiling fans, and Rory's harsh breaths in his ear.

Finally Rory said, "My God."

"Yeah," Val whispered happily.

"That was… wow."

"Worth the wait?" Val teased.

Rory's knowing brown eyes were wide and bright as they took in Val's face. "God, you're beautiful, all fucked out and not giving a shit."

Val chuckled and squeezed Rory's cock, still wedged solidly inside him. Rory groaned softly, and Val felt him grow the teeniest bit harder.

"Who says I'm fucked out, old man," he taunted, and Rory grunted, pushing up to his elbows again, body still covering Val's.

"I'll show you old," he growled, and Val moaned ecstatically as Rory began round two.

THE FIVE days weren't enough, Val thought later, but they would have to do.

All those plans for activities Vinnie had laid out for them like summer camp, but in the end, they really did spend most of the time in bed. They did make it to town for a day, but after Val topped Rory on their second night, they both agreed that maybe the horseback ride was out.

Rory was unexpectedly nervous that night, and Val would forever remember the little crinkle of his brow as he came out of the bathroom, showered and fresh and a little defensive.

"So, uhm, how do you want to do this?" Rory asked, almost growling, and Val stared at him.

"You've never, uh, bottomed before?"

"Of course I have," Rory snapped. Then he looked away. "But usually that was with one-night stands, and I just bent over and let them go at it."

Val stared at him. "If you bend over like a mare in season to ‘just let me go at it,' I am walking out of here," he said frankly. Then he came up behind Rory, still wearing the cargo shorts and button-down he'd worn to dinner on the patio, and began to kiss Rory's bare shoulder. "Just let it happen," he murmured, feeling Rory's taut muscles start to relax. "Believe it or not, I know what I'm doing."

Rory gave a rough chuckle as Val kissed his way down Rory's vertebrae. Val squatted behind him, and Rory fell forward, hands on the bed.

Val grabbed the bottle of lube he'd put in his pocket before he discarded his clothes and set it within easy reach before he leaned forward against Rory's backside, rubbing his back, his flanks, his thighs, with a gliding touch and gentleness in his palms and fingers. His fingers drifted along the scar on Rory's thigh, and when Rory tried to hide that, Val whispered, "Don't."

"Unsightly," Rory said with emphasis.

Val kissed it and said, "Proof that you lived," before standing up and resuming the full-body caress.

Rory hummed and fell to his elbows, obviously enjoying himself, and Val leaned forward to lick his ear. "Like this?" he asked.

"Feels best," Rory admitted softly.

"Not face-to-face?" Val asked, making sure.

"Later." Rory moaned softly as Val's hand drifted down and he feathered a touch along Rory's crease, his hole, down under his balls. "Oh wow… I'm starting to really want this," he confessed, so Val did it again, his lips traveling along Rory's shoulder, his neck, even his shoulder blades, while his hand wandered, drifted, dipped—

"Ah!" Rory sighed, and Val could see his upper thighs shaking.

Val grabbed the lubricant this time, and when he slid a finger into Rory's waiting chamber, Rory's sound—the quaking, needy, breathy, begging aahhhh of it, made Val's cock swell and tingle in reaction.

He slicked the head of his own cock and got in position. "Ready?"

Rory buried his face in the mattress and begged.

Fucking Rory McCauley was like riding a bull, Val would decide later. Rory's strong body bucked against his, insisting on more, demanding pleasure, and Val answered with hard thrusts, the slap of their flesh filling the bedroom, filling his senses, pounding through his blood.

Val gripped hard at Rory's lean hips, and when Rory dropped his hand to stroke himself, Val shivered in anticipation.

"God yes," he grunted. "Do it. Stroke it. God, Rory, I want to feel you—"

Rory cried out, spurting against the sheets, and Val kept pounding against the hard clench of Rory's ass on his cock. Rory groaned, falling forward face down, and his hand kept its wild rhythm on his cock as he writhed in orgasm. Val kept fucking, kept fucking, kept—

He buried his roar of climax against Rory's back, and Rory howled into the sheets as they both stuttered to completion, shudders of come racking their bodies, clenching and releasing them as they rode the wave to comedown.

This time, as they lay side by side staring at another lazily spinning ceiling fan, Rory gasped, legs spread apart, knees bent slightly, as he dripped Val's spend from his body to the towel underneath his hips.

"Wow," he said, as Val dragged his fingertips across Rory's sensitive nipples again.

"Wow what?" Val was pretty replete—well, mostly replete. Desire for the man next to him dogged him, like an itch he couldn't scratch or a thirst he couldn't quench. He pinched Rory's nipple to see what he'd do next, and Rory gasped some more.

Val felt his cock quicken in response.

"I'm usually done after something like that," Rory confessed before dragging his own fingers to his steadily rousing cock.

Val gave him a sultry look. "Want to see how done I'm not ?" he asked, shifting on the bed so he was between Rory's bent knees.

Rory moaned and spread his thighs wider, so wanton, so deliciously slutty , that Val's itch was suddenly a fiery burn in his belly.

"Yeah," Rory sighed, as Val moved down to take his long, thick "fencepost" into his mouth for the first time. It still tasted like come from his previous orgasm, and Val sucked it hard, cleaning him off.

This time was slower and harder. This time was face-to-face. This time, as Val's orgasm almost turned him inside out, seeking to spill his ejaculate in Rory's ass, Val thought, It's got to be done, doesn't it?

Even as he slid to the side, exhausted and—oh please, for just a little while?—replete, he heard a mocking echo in his head.

Does it?

And when they woke in the morning, this time Rory was pushing his way insistently into Val's ass, and Val had his first inkling that no. Maybe it wasn't ever going to be done, and that's when he knew his worry with Vinnie had barely touched the surface.

As he buried his face in the pillow and begged for Rory to pillage him, he realized that the worst thing wouldn't be "What if it didn't work out?"

The worst thing would be "What if it did, and we have to change our lives, and neither one of us can."

He'd managed to table the fear before he climaxed that morning, but deep in his heart he knew it would resurface.

Five days. They had five days to get the first of it out of their systems so maybe they could talk like grown-ups on the way home.

AT FIRST, Val could admit it, he was too thrilled to get his truck back to worry overmuch about talking like a grown-up. God, he'd missed driving. Maybe it was the power of being the biggest guy on the road, and maybe it was the way the world was wide open and bursting with promise as he drove.

Maybe it was that the rig was all his—bought and paid for—and he'd earned the right to drive her, and he knew he was good at it.

Maybe it was all of it, plus another dazzling April day in Texas, with three days driving and a good man by his side, but whatever it was, Val couldn't force himself to be the grown-up, to have the grown-up conversation or force discomfort between the two of them as they rode.

Dammit, they were having too much fun!

Rory's company hadn't gotten any worse after the harrowing conclusion of their epic chase or their interlude at Vinnie's. And Rory was less guarded now. He spoke openly about his son, from Anthony leaping off the high dive when he was only five—much to his father's terror—to the boy leaving the house without his mother's knowledge to go search for an ailing cat. He'd been twelve at the time, and they'd found him, cross-legged under a hedge, singing to the poor thing as it passed.

"Augh!" Val said, clutching his chest with one hand as he drove. "Hard to get mad at him for that!"

"I know !" Rory admitted. "Me and his mom were like, ‘Welp.'"

Val countered with a story of his nephews and the escaped hamster that ate the stuffing out of their mother's recliner before meeting a terrible end, and how he and Sal—an interior decorator—and Prock had spent an entire weekend and all their extra pay fixing the recliner and going to find a replacement for poor Hamtaro. When they'd finished, they'd produced a super-recliner with extra-comfortable stain-resistant fabric, working heating elements in the back, neck, and thighs, and a vibrating function.

Rory was full-on belly laughing before Val was done. "Did you all just not… you know, stop ? I mean, that's a lot ."

Val shook his head. "Laure—you've met her on the phone, right?"

"Oh yeah," Rory said. "Pretty levelheaded."

"Yeah, but she'd just squished a hamster and yelled at her kids, and she was trying to start her business because her late husband's military pension was not doing it. When that sibling calls you up a crying mess, you go in and fix it ."

"I guess you do," Rory said, and there was a note in his voice that had Val risking a sideways glance.

"What?" Val asked.

"I love that your family goes to the wall for each other. It was just me and Mama, and that was lonely."

Val hmm ed, because he'd already resolved not to risk the rapport, the drive, the good feeling with anything too deep.

"No, no," Rory said, "out with it. I can see you had a shaft of insight…."

The innuendo in his voice made Val laugh, but he'd ridden Rory enough about being open; he knew Rory wouldn't let it rest.

"Yeah, fine, you caught me," Val said at last. "Maybe it's why you assumed you had to be alone for so long. Because as far as you could see, that's how the world worked. You tried to have a family, but you weren't cut out for that kind of family, and nobody told you that a different kind was an option."

Rory grunted, and Val could sense him struggling for words.

"No, don't say anything now," he told him. "Just chew on that. Tell me more about your kid now —I mean, he do anything that knocks your socks off?"

"Got his degree in business to help me run the gun range," Rory said.

"Damn, that's pretty impressive," Val replied. "You like working with him?"

"I do," Rory said, sounding incredibly satisfied with that part of his life. "He's smart—I mean, he's a smart ass , but he's also damned competent. It's sort of terrifying, really. I taught him to shoot at sixteen, and I was so scared. But he took it seriously. Every damned minute of it. I thought I was going to have to shoot up a favorite toy or something. There's whole articles written up on how to show a young person how serious a thing a gun is."

"That's…." Val was horrified, but then, his dad had shown them when they were eighteen. "God, it didn't come to that?"

"No," Rory said. "No—he just, I don't know. Showed up. Kids are like that, I think. They're crazy little bastards sometimes, rocketing around in their own heads, and you think, ‘Is this going to be that dreamy kid who couldn't remember where he put his wallet every day for a month, or is this gonna be the kid who took care of the geriatric cat every day for a year?' And the rock-solid kid, the steady kid who took things seriously and knew you didn't fuck around with firearms— that's the kid who showed up." Rory paused for a thoughtful moment. "I think… I think if he hadn't, I would have put the firearms away and maybe taught him later. I gave him that damned stuffed cat when me and Connie split so he wouldn't miss me quite as much. It meant something to us. I don't think I could have lived with making him tear it apart with ordnance."

"I think that's a solid way to parent," Val said. "No matter what the shooting magazines say."

Rory grunted. "There's some crazies in the business. I try to run a solid place without any of that weird prepper crap going on, but…."

"I'm very aware of where we live," Val said dryly. "My folks keep making noise about moving to Oregon for retirement, but Dad keeps working for us and not retiring, and I think it would break Mom's heart to move away from the grandkids. It's…." He sighed.

"What?"

"My dad was a long-haul trucker for a while. In fact he got me my first job when it became clear two years of junior college were about all I could stand. I took the idea and ran with it and bought out the old bastard who owned who we worked for and tried to make it a better business. But one of the things I loved about it—still love, in fact—is that I can go anywhere, in the country at least, and still come back home."

"What about when you're ready to get out of it?" Rory asked.

"I figure in five, maybe ten years, I sell the company off. I've had it appraised, done some investing—it should keep me fat and happy until I'm a ripe old age. Then Europe, Africa, Thailand, here I come."

Rory whistled. "Wow. Didn't see that coming."

"Don't you want to travel?" Val asked, a little disappointed. "That was the one thing I really missed about not being rich and having all the scholarships. Chance is going to Croatia for an archeology dig so he can study ancient civilizations. I mean, it's not anything I could have done—requires way more focus in the classroom than I ever had—but God, does that sound cool."

"I'd love to," Rory said, sounding surprised. "I just… I don't know. It never sounded fun alone."

"Well, if you were with me, we wouldn't have to be alone," Val said. "See how that works?"

There was a long silence, and then Rory said, in a funny kind of choked voice, "You do make me think about the future different, Val Royal."

Val preened. "Well, there's some bennies to being a grown-up after all, Rory McCauley."

"I'm beginning to see that."

THE FIRST night, Val found them a decent motel—not a hotel with all the amenities, but something off the highway with good beds and a restaurant nearby that understood vegetables were for eating too. Lots of truckers used it because it was within walking distance of a diesel station, so the place catered to its base. The outside may have looked simple, but if a trucker was going to stay there instead of their rig, its beds, carpet, bathrooms, all needed to be pristine and comfortable, in the way a home was comfortable, otherwise why fork out the money?

He and Rory thought the bed was exactly what was needed, and the night they spent there was acrobatic and, well, loud.

Rory left an extra twenty for the maid, and they slipped away at dawn.

The next night, they were in the vasty nothingness (as Val called it, because he'd always been a fan of Firefly) , and after eating their dinner standing up, Rory had gathered their trash and stashed it in the receptacle in the rig and then kissed Val under the stars.

They'd had to go slow and gentle that night, because they were big men and the bed in the rig wasn't that big, but the quiet around them, the spice and hot dust of the desert, the wild spray of the stars above them, made it a slow and gentle sort of night.

The last day, Rory drove, pushing them toward Bakersfield, where they arrived at Val's truck lot at eleven at night.

Val sighed as Rory parked the rig in its slot, and the force of what he wanted for the two of them crashed down on his shoulders.

"I bet you got lots to catch up on," Rory said, blowing out a breath.

"Yeah," Val agreed. "But I don't need to be at the office until noon."

Rory's mouth quirked up. "I could probably leave about then and go clean up my own business," he said. Then he sobered. "At the very least, I desperately want another night."

Val studied him. "If you spend another night," he said honestly, "I'm just gonna ask for more."

Rory's eyes searched his face. "No harm in asking," he said. "I might do the same."

It wasn't a promise of marriage or a forever vow, but it was enough for Val to clean out the fridge and the trash and grab his dirty clothes and linens so he could drive them both to his little house, and he could let Rory in.

VAL HAD his little "check the house" rituals. Shaw and Russell had done a standup job on plant and fish duty—and they'd even left some stuff in the fridge for breakfast, lunch, and dinner the next day. He ran a check on the pool, with the lights on in the back, with Rory over his shoulder.

"Nice," Rory said softly. "I may have to use that sometime."

"It's small," Val said, remembering the glories of Vinnie's Olympic length beauty, but Rory just slipped his arm around Val's waist and kissed his temple.

"It's a good size," he said. "The kids leave it okay?"

Val walked out to the little whiteboard he kept next to the locked enclosure. "They did a treatment yesterday afternoon," he said. "And they had two friends over, and I've got their phone numbers." He chuckled. "I did not ask for their phone numbers, but you know. Good kids."

"Yup." Val turned his head in the gentle cool of the spring night air and saw Rory, closer than he needed to be, his eyes glowing in the ambient light from the pool itself. "What?"

"I really want to hold you tonight. You got any chores before we both jump in the pool and then turn in?"

Val gave him a brilliant smile. "How'd you know about jumping in the pool?" He'd been longing to do it, but he hated to put Rory off on their last night.

"It's a guess," Rory said. He took a step back and yawned and stretched. "How about I fetch my board shorts from my bag and let you run around and do your thing. I know what it's like to be gone. I'll hop in while you make sure your washer and dryer didn't migrate and there's no blond girls sleeping in your bed."

Val snuck in a kiss before dodging away. "She can find somewhere else to sleep. I'm the only bear allowed."

Rory was still chuckling as they suited actions to words.

Val ran around and misted his window succulents, making sure they were getting enough sun. He checked his tank of neon tetras to see if it needed cleaning. (He had a giant bottom feeder in there that seemed to regard the whole world with fishy malevolence but still kept the tank in good shape, as did his tiny snails.) In good weather—anything less than eighty degrees like tonight—he would run around, open all his windows, and turn on the house fan in the roof to cool things down.

Then he did a load of laundry, checked the fridge—this time to make a list—so he knew what he'd need to get in the morning, and usually he took a shower of a length directly in proportion to how long he'd spent on the road since his last one. This time, he grabbed his board shorts and joined Rory in the pool.

They only swam for half an hour. Long enough for them to do some laps, to stretch some muscles, to shake off the rattles of the road. Then they dried off, shivering a little, and Val hung up his board shorts in the bathroom before slipping into a warm shower.

Rory shucked his own shorts off and hung them next to Val's before he slid into the shower behind him and wrapped those long arms around his shoulders.

Together they quietly washed away the sweat and the grime that came with being on the road, but they could not seem to wash away the melancholy of parting.

Rory topped—he was more comfortable that way, and Val didn't care, not really, as long as they were joined—but it wasn't the actual fucking that carried him over. It was the broken cry Rory gave with his final thrust and the way he cupped Val's face in his hands even as he threw his head back and came.

When it was over, and the moving air in the house had cooled their sweat enough to pull Val's summer blanket over them, Val turned toward him in the darkness and asked the inevitable question.

"And then what happens?"

Rory turned toward him and smiled. "And then they both went to work for a week and a half because they left some shit hanging, and I've got a security gig this weekend, and I need to see how my son is doing."

"And then—"

"And then we make plans for that weekend," Rory said evenly. "And we text in between. And we call. And we—"

Val kissed him quickly, then pulled back, his eyes closing. "Hope. We hope and work to make it so," he said. "That's all I needed to hear."

The next morning he cooked them eggs for breakfast, and they sat at the table and scrolled their phones, making the occasional comment, as though they'd been eating breakfast like that for years. When Val dropped Rory off at his pickup truck, they didn't kiss—because that would be asking for trouble at a lot filled with truckers—but Rory opened the door and grabbed his rifle case and his bag and said, "If you don't hear from me, text. This ain't a game of who wants it more, Val, I swear."

"I want it more," Val told him, not batting an eye.

"I'm starting to doubt it," Rory said, his grim smile showing the challenge had been accepted. "Talk more soon."

A MONTH LATER, Val was thinking they'd call it a draw.

They'd texted—he'd seen pictures of Anthony, who was a stunningly handsome young man, not quite as tall as his father but with an easy smile and a fond look for his dad behind the camera. In return, Val sent pictures of Prock and his kids, including baby Charlie, who was, Val could admit it, the apple of his eye, and Laure and her two sons, both of whom were taller than Val (and he was still mad about that).

There had been one visit, a weekend, torrid and exhausting and delirious, when Val had tossed moderation to the wind and survived on takeout and sex and could have sworn he lost weight and improved his wind.

He couldn't stop craving Rory's skin, his smile, his smell.

He'd made a couple of hauls in that time and had missed Rory riding shotgun, their chatter, his laconic wit—he'd even started listening to classic country, because Rory kept insisting he was missing out.

Rory had taken to humming musical theater when Val called, to prove he still listened. Val knew he was biased. He'd been hunting for a person, a companion, a friend and a lover, before his family had conspired to put Rory McCauley in his life, but now that Rory was in, Val was all in.

He wasn't sure how to tell Rory that, though. Rory had a life. He was busy. He'd done a couple of security gigs in the past month, one of them quite exciting, for a local celebrity. He and Anthony had been busy vetting a new manager for their shooting range—from what Val understood, they were quite extensive, right down to traveling to LA to talk to former employers. Rory was absolutely adamant that they not get somebody irresponsible or offensive or dangerous. He was all about education, moderation, and de-escalation, and he needed his employees to follow suit.

So when Rory sent him a picture of Rory, Anthony, and—of all people—Violet Cassidy, who had turned out to be a levelheaded young woman not usually inclined to throw her breasts at people, and who had been taught to shoot by her father when she was sixteen years old, he could only laugh at the weirdness of life that she had turned out to be the perfect person for the manager job.

She looks much happier here than she did trying to seduce me , he texted back. How'd she end up at your doorstep?

Coincidence , Rory sent back. She needed a job that would pay tuition, because that wasn't bullshit, and she's been certified and permitted for pretty much every gun we own and lease to shoot. When she recognized me, she shook my hand and said, "You've seen the worst of me, so I get it. I'm sorry for wasting your time."

Val blinked. Well, I think the real Violet was a pretty frank young woman—that I wouldn't want to mess with.

My impression too. I told her to sit a spell, have a cup of coffee, and talk. Anthony took her around, and she didn't flirt once. Neither did he. And she knows her shit. I got a good feeling about her.

It's good to see a picture of you and Anthony , Val texted, because he loved comparing them, seeing which features the son got from the father. He figured if he'd been straight, he would have had kids of his own now, and while that wasn't in the cards, he did love happy families.

When do I see the folks ? Rory texted back, and that startled Val into remembering something he'd been meaning to bring up.

We've got a big family barbecue the weekend after this one , Val told him.

Want me to wait to visit you then ? Rory asked.

Val stared at the text, surprised. That's tough, he replied. See you in three days or see you in a week and a half but introduce you to family. He paused. I'll take seeing you in three days. Family can wait. I miss you now.

God, he really did. It wasn't even so much the sex—although his whole body was reminding him that his last drought had been a couple of years, and his entire sex drive had gotten finely tuned during that time with Rory. He was, in fact, hungry for more, his body thirsting for the smell of Rory's skin like this entire part of California usually thirsted for water.

You think I won't show , Rory accused, and Val dialed the phone right there.

"You would too," he said without preamble. "Do you think after all we've been through I wouldn't trust your word?"

"Well, then, why not wait?"

As they texted and talked, Val was doing one of his twice-daily passes around the yard, checking on the rigs he housed there, making sure the drivers were doing what they should, when they should. He knew it was a little bit fussy, but he'd headed off more problems at the pass by being out and about and available for questions than a thousand security guards or supervising foremen could do without him. At Rory's words he stopped and ducked behind a trailer for some faux privacy.

"Because I'm horny," he said, pressed enough for time to be brutally honest. "I want you. I miss you. Yes, I want the whole commitment thing, but I am excited enough about having fun to want to have some first."

Rory's voice went from offended to sultry. "So I'm dessert as well as dinner," he asked.

"And you're also quite a snack," Val told him, borrowing some of his brother Sal's slang. He lowered his voice. "The last two weeks did not go as quickly as I thought it would."

He liked his life, dammit. He loved his job, loved his drivers, and loved his family. But at night when he closed his eyes, he missed the sound of Rory's breathing. In the morning he missed those companionable moments, both of them scrolling their messages, talking briefly, drinking coffee.

The things he'd wanted a man in his life for were missing when Rory wasn't there.

"Same," Rory said softly. "Maybe I can do both?"

"Could you?" Val had never felt so pathetically grateful. "Because boy, that was a rough decision. Man, I would really love for you to meet my parents. Is that sad? That's sad, isn't it. I'm supposed to be a grown man. But Dean and Laure told them, and now Mom's on me for not taking selfies, and—"

"Aw, son," Rory drawled, "if Mama were alive I already would have dragged you to coffee."

Val's chest warmed. "That's quite a compliment," he said, proud.

"Well I miss you too. Yeah. I'll be at your place Saturday morning and leave Monday, and—"

"Bring Anthony," Val blurted. "The next weekend. When you meet my parents."

"Really?" Rory sounded surprised.

"Yeah, really. It'll be big and noisy, and my folks have a bigger pool than mine and a big lawn, and we're not in the middle of a drought, so it'll be a little bit green. I mean…." He suddenly felt awkward. And young. "It's only fair."

"I'll ask him," Rory said. "I… that makes me happy you'd ask."

God, Val hadn't felt this giddy in ages. "So you're coming Saturday?"

"Yeah. In the morning."

Val had never once envied his flamboyant brother Sal—but suddenly he wished he could twirl. "Yay," he said. He was grinning and couldn't seem to stop.

"I'll call you tonight," Rory said. "Around eight?"

"I should be home," Val told him, and then they rung off.

And then he texted Laure that he was bringing company for the picnic.

RORY HELD the Glock 34 as naturally as he held his cowboy hat when he was inside. He sighted the target, let out a breath, and squeezed the trigger as it left his body. The report was dulled by his soundproofed headphones, and he set the gun down, muzzle forward, as he pressed the button to pull the paper target back toward him so he could see it.

"Jesus, Dad," Anthony said with disgust. "You suck."

Rory scowled at his son. "Perfect bullseye," he said.

Anthony took the target from his hands and thrust his finger through the last hole Rory had put in the thing. "Three inches to the left. You always hit dead center. Always. What's wrong?"

Rory shifted from foot to foot and then turned to unload and clean the Glock before putting it back in its case. He'd waited all day for some shooting time for himself, and while Anthony hadn't caught them, he'd seen that the last shot hadn't been the only one that hadn't gone where he'd aimed. He won contests with this gun, dammit. He was an expert marksman . "A little bit off" was not good enough.

When he'd closed the case, he turned toward his son, who had thrown the target away and moved to the next booth to disassemble his own gun. Anthony's target had looked a lot like Rory's—but then while Anthony enjoyed shooting, he wasn't particularly competitive about anything .

"You gonna tell me?" Anthony asked when they both had their gun cases in their hands and were heading for the walk-in safe tucked into the side of the long cinder-block corridors that were the range.

"It's dumb," Rory muttered, feeling about twelve. He'd seen Anthony have conundrums like this when he was dating. Most recently when he'd been seeing a corrections student at CSU Stanislaus. The young woman had been trying to decide between staying in central California after she got her degree or transferring to a law school—that had accepted her—and changing her life goal from law enforcement to the law, period. Anthony had debated with himself as to whether to urge her on to bigger and better things or beg her to stay and make a go of it with him.

In the end, they'd said goodbye, and while Rory was proud of his son, on the one hand, for doing the mature, grown-up thing, on the other hand he wanted his son to have the kind of love he'd fight for. Rory had never had that, until now, and he thought Anthony deserved it.

And that was the thought, right there, that let him share what was bothering him.

"I figured I'd go to Val's this weekend," he said as they both clipped their personal weapons into place in the specially designed safe. Anthony pulled out the tablet and the scanner, handing the scanner to his father so Rory could take a quick inventory of all the weapons that had been pulled that day to lease and then cleaned and replaced into the safe. It was four—they'd closed up a little early because it was slow and they had no appointments.

"Sounds great," Anthony told him. "Violet and I have the weekend, and you don't have any security gigs. Why's that got you all off-target?"

Rory kept scanning. "Well, next weekend is his big family picnic thing. He wants me to come to that too—you're invited."

"Most excellent!" Anthony chirped. "Again, why's that a problem?"

Rory finished the last of the inventory and nodded to Anthony, who closed out the day in the tablet.

"I don't know. I'm excited about both things, really. I just don't want to leave you alone, and what if he ODs on my company? I mean, two visits in a row might send him fleeing for the hills, and—"

"I'm twenty-five," Anthony said bluntly, and Rory followed him out of the small safe area and through the now-darkened range. Together they shut off the lights and locked up, then headed for Rory's pickup, which was the last vehicle in the parking lot.

"Yeah, but it's not fair, you doing all the work at the range, and—"

"Dad, do you like this guy?" Anthony asked.

"Yes." Rory had no doubts on that one.

"Do you love him?"

Rory gaped. "Well, I hadn't thought about—" He stopped himself because of course he had, and after Val's insistence that he face his thoughts and his feelings, he didn't feel right about lying.

"Bullshit," Anthony muttered. "I call bullshit. Pop, we've got Violet—and I insisted on hiring her for a reason. You've got two good managers, and your shooting lessons can all be scheduled on one day a week. Stop fucking around, man. Don't let this thing die because you didn't want to fight for it!"

Rory knew his mouth was opening and closing like a fish, and he wanted to say, "But what about Lisa!" He didn't because mentioning the one that got away felt like fighting dirty.

But Anthony gave him a bleak look and said, "I know what I'm talking about, don't I?"

Rory nodded dumbly, and Anthony held out his hand for the car keys. Rory handed them over, not sure when his son had gotten to be the grown-up in the family, and Anthony muttered, "Get in. You've got shit to do tonight."

"Like what?" Rory asked, finally finding his tongue.

Anthony shot him a look like he was the dumbest asshole on the planet, started the truck, and drove toward their home.

LATER THAT evening, Val bustled out of his truck with a bag of groceries in one hand and his work knapsack over his shoulder so he could hold the phone with the other hand. He wished he hadn't done that thing with the phone, because Laure hadn't left him alone since.

"He knows how big our family is?" Laure asked for the fifty-dozenth time.

"He's met half of us, including you," Val replied for the fifty-dozenth-and-first. "Laure, why is this a problem?"

"I don't want to scare him off!" she said, and that would have really startled him, but his attention was arrested by the figure lounging on the swing in the shadows of his porch.

"Highly doubtful," Val said, happiness clawing through his shock. "He's here."

"What?" She sounded as surprised as he was.

"He's here. Laure, I'll call you back."

He hit End Call and slid the phone into his pocket. He carried his shit up the porch steps because that seemed the thing to do, and came to a stop in front of Rory as he pushed himself up to stand.

"You're here," he said, stating the obvious.

"A surprise to me too," Rory said.

"For a while," Val said, noting the full suitcase and the rifle case on the porch next to the swing.

"Also true." Rory nodded. "If that's okay."

"Oh it is." Val's eyes were going to pop out of his head. "Where's your truck?"

Rory frowned sulkily. "Would you believe my kid has it? Little asshole. We got home from the range, and he packed my bag, grabbed my rifle case from the closet, threw them in the truck while my jaw was still on the floor, and told me to get in."

Val's eyebrows shot up. "Were you… uhm…."

"Being a pain in the ass, according to him," Rory said, still apparently baffled. "Look, all I did was ask him if he thought seeing you two weekends in a row would send you screaming, and suddenly we're heading to Bakersfield. Something about if he'd known I was this stupid he would have lived with his mother. I don't know. I am honestly still boggled."

Val found his lips were disobeying his command to stay firm. His grin popped out again and warmth that had nothing to do with the warm May day flooded through him.

"You're insufferable without me?" he said. "Did I read that right?"

Rory scowled. "I couldn't make up my mind," he protested. "See you this weekend or wait and meet your family. I wanted both, but that seemed a little—"

Val kissed him, hard enough to dissolve his toes. Rory gave a helpless little whimper and opened his mouth, melting into Val's arms with unadulterated need.

"Forward?" Val whispered, pulling back from the kiss.

Rory nodded and rested his forehead on Val's. "I missed you," he confessed nakedly. "Anthony read me the riot act on the way over. Said I could contract my security gigs from here as well as our place, said the whole reason he spent the last month finding Violet was so I could leave the gun range to him." Rory swallowed and added bitterly, "It's like the little shit won't even miss me."

"I don't think that's true," Val said, wondering if Rory didn't recognize family machinations because Anthony and Rory's ex-wife had been Rory's only family for so long. "I think maybe he knows what I know."

"What's that?" Rory asked, and he looked lost enough for Val not to tease him with this.

"That you're finally ready to settle down," Val said, hoping. Please. Please let Rory not fight this. God, seeing him here, on his porch, when Val had been thinking about him all day—it felt so damned right.

But Rory didn't shrug it off or shake his head or push away. "You just feel so damned good." He sighed and melted into Val's arms some more.

Val held him, closing his eyes and smiling to himself. "So," he asked. "Am I going to meet Anthony?"

"You have to," Rory grumbled. "He dropped me off here and told me he was on his way to fetch dinner, and then he was going to come back and hammer out a custody agreement."

Val snickered. He couldn't help it. "I'm sure he gets the smartassery from his mother's side."

Rory rolled his eyes. "Don't feed me bullshit now, son. I just bared my heart to you."

Which made Val sober. "I love you, Rory McCauley. Let's get busy on that rest-of-our-life thing, okay?"

Rory bit his lip, so uncharacteristically uncertain that Val's heart stuttered. "I love you too, Valedictorian Princeton Royal. And I promise, nobody will ever hear your full name from me."

"I believe your promises, Rory," Val said. "Let's get you moved in."

ANTHONY GOT back as Val was clearing out drawers for Rory to use, and Val heard father and son bickering in the kitchen. He left his task with a stack of clothes to put in the guest room closet and then made his way to the source of the good smells being sorted and dealt on his kitchen table.

"All I'm saying," Rory railed as Val entered, "is that it was rude not to give the man a little warning."

Anthony opened up a cupboard and handed his father three plates. "Matching dishes, Pop. He's got matching dishes. This man is ready to nest—I don't think you caught him too off guard."

"The flatware also matches," Val said, leaning against the frame separating the kitchen table from the living room. "And there is artwork in the hallways and wallpaper accents in the bedrooms. Hell, there's even rugs in the bathroom, but some of that is my sister's doing, because she likes to think she can keep six brothers civilized, and some of that is my younger brother's doing, because he's an interior decorator who thinks he can run our lives if he can coordinate our art with our carpet with our furniture."

Rory's son looked even more like Rory in person than he did in his picture. He turned to Val and extended his hand. "God, it's good to meet you."

"Back atcha," Val said, shaking firmly. "Your father is so damned proud of you it's almost revolting. But not quite. You dumped him on my porch, so I can forgive you for being perfect."

Anthony cackled. "Yup!" he crowed. "Did I call it or did I call it! Now what else do we need on the table?"

"Beer, milk, or OJ?" Val asked, rummaging through the fridge. "Ooh—I've got some sodas here too."

"Milk," Anthony said. "Unless I can crash on your couch tonight. I was either going to take Dad's truck and then have him get it sometime next week or have a friend who's driving out our way pick me up. It's your call."

"I've got a guest room," Val said. "I think your dad would really love to have his truck."

" His dad is standing right here!" Rory complained. "When did you two form the coalition to take over my life?"

Anthony gave his father a fond glance. "Dad," he said, with the condescension only a grown son could have for his wayward parent, "you've done a great island impersonation my whole life. And you've been an absolutely stellar father. But I'm grown, and so are you. You get to have somebody good." He smiled at Val. "You're good. I heard the story of your run to Austin about six hundred times now—it gets better every time."

Val preened for a second. "C'mon, Rory, you sit down. Anthony and I will set the table. We'll know you've accepted your fate when you start giving us shit again."

"Oh bullshit," Rory retorted. " You sit down. We're the ones who invaded your house. Let us at least feed you for your trouble."

The bickering started again, but the table got set, and when they finally sat down to some of the best Thai food Val had ever tasted, Val could feel it in his bones.

They were going to be a damned fine family.