39. Dylan

CHAPTER 39

DYLAN

Alex bought a brand new set of pots and pans, and while I sat at the island and watched him take each piece out of the box, I blocked my parents’ phone number. I hadn’t gone into detail with Alex about what the message from my dad had said, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t thought about it almost every day since he’d left it. In fact, I’d thought about a lot of things since I’d gotten that voicemail, the most prevalent of which being if I really wanted to keep working or not.

I struggled sometimes to reconcile the differences between the way my dad controlled my access to money against the way Alex shared it so freely with me. I wasn’t going to wake up all of a sudden one day and suddenly unlearn a lifetime of conditioning around money and the expectations that came with it, but Alex was right when he said he was a patient man. He was far more patient and understanding than I would ever be.

After pulling the small fry pan out of the box, he stopped and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, adjusting his glasses and squinting at whatever had shown up on his screen.

“Everything okay?” I asked when his easy smile began to tilt down into a frown.

“It’s fine.” He dropped his phone onto the counter and set to tearing down the now empty box. “Just the delivery on your guitar is delayed.”

“You ordered one?”

“Of course.”

“How did you know what kind I wanted?” I asked, head cocked to the side in amusement.

In reality, it didn’t matter what kind I wanted. A guitar was a guitar and being cleared to play again was enough. I would have managed it on a box with rubber bands if that was all Alex had gotten for me.

Flattening the box, he folded it in half, pressing it against his chest and turning to face me. “You told me once. I couldn’t remember the model number, so I asked Brooks to ask Tate.”

“Tate doesn’t know a thing about instruments.”

“But he had pictures of the one you had before and it wasn’t terribly hard to figure out it was a Martin D45.”

I dragged my tongue across the front of my teeth trying to make sense of the casual way he’d said that to me. The work he’d done to get me what I needed without bothering me with the details of it. It was more than anyone else had ever done for me before and more than anyone would probably ever do again.

“I love you,” I said softly, deciding in that moment I was going to call Athena and thank her for the opportunity to return, but let her know bartending just wasn’t for me anymore.

“I know.” Alex came around the island and kissed the top of my head. “I’m going to go throw this out.”

Alone in the kitchen, I swiped open my messages with Tate.

You schemer.

Tate

Did your present come?

It’s late, but he told me about it.

I hope he got the right one.

He did

Of course he did.

He loves you.

I know.

Has he talked to you about the farm?

Not yet.

We should go again, but it’s hard with you working the weekends.

I debated the merits of typing everything out to Tate, but didn’t think my fingers had the stamina to get through it, so I called him instead. He answered on the first ring.

“It wasn’t a surprise or anything,” Tate said instead of hello.

“I didn’t think it was.” I laughed. “But I’ve been working weekends so that’s probably why he hasn’t brought it up.”

“Is work a sore subject?”

“Not at all, but…I’m thinking I’m going to quit.”

Tate made an amused sound on the other end of the call. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve never wanted to work,” he said, and I could picture the roll of his eyes. “You worked so you could play music and now you can just play music.”

“I mean, not really.”

“You’re cleared, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“So it’s a new development,” he said. “It makes sense to me that you quit your job so you can focus on music.”

I scrubbed a hand down my face with a sigh.

“It’s a lot of work sometimes to remind myself that his love isn’t conditional,” I said. “It’s what I’m used to.”

“Hey! My love isn’t conditional,” Tate raised his voice at me in jest, and I missed my best friend so much.

“I know,” I told him, blinking back a wave of unwanted tears. “You were the first.”

“That’s hardly…” He trailed off, both of us realizing I was right.

I cleared my throat. “Anyway. I’ll bring up the farm. But won’t Boston care if we keep inviting ourselves to his house?”

“My understanding of the situation is no.”

On the other end of the house, the front door closed and I slid off the barstool. “I’ll let you know what he says.”

“Let’s get together soon,” Tate said. “Without them. Just like old times, right?”

The tears I’d managed to hold back finally escaped, freely making their way down my cheeks and my jaw.

“Yeah,” I choked out, hoping he couldn’t hear the wetness in my voice. “Just like old times.”

“Brooks is calling,” Tate said, happiness woven through his tone. “I’ll talk to you soon, Dylan.”

“Yeah, bye.”

I barely managed to disconnect the call before letting out a sob strong enough to send me to my knees in the middle of the kitchen. The slap of Alex’s footfalls raced down the hall and he was there—like always—wrapping his arms around me and holding me up before my knees hit the floor.

“What’s wrong?” he asked frantically, pushing my hair out of my face and scanning my face for any sign of injury. He dragged his hands up my arms, going softer on the left side when he reached my shoulder. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“No, I just…”

Another sob ripped out of me, and I grabbed Alex’s shirt in my fist, holding onto him for dear life. I shook my head, gasping a breath and pressing myself tighter against him. He rocked back onto his heels and took us both the rest of the way down to the ground. Bearing the brunt of both our weights, Alex managed to cradle me on his lap, stroking his fingers down the center of my back until I was able to calm myself.

Quieting down, I flexed my fingers, letting go of the sweaty mess my hand had made of the front of his shirt. He kept his hands moving over me, the soft and steady pace up and down the length of my back until my cries died down into sniffles.

“Are you hurt?” he asked me again, quieter but no less urgent.

I shook my head.

“I’ve been thinking about a lot lately, and I just got off the phone with Tate, and he told me that you loved me.”

Alex chuckled, kissing the top of my head. “I didn’t think that was news.”

“It’s not, even if I still…that doesn’t matter. He said we should get together like old times, just me and him.”

Alex’s hand faltered, then resumed its track up and down the knobs of my spine.

“Did you not want to?”

“No, I do.” Another wet cry tumbled out of my mouth and, embarrassingly, I wiped my snotty nose on his shirt. “It was just so nice to think about things being the way they were before.”

Beneath me, Alex tensed, but didn’t say a word.

“The way they were before,” I said quickly, “but better because I have you now.”

“Better than before,” he said, tightening his arms around me.

“I want to quit my job,” I told him.

“Okay.”

That was it.

That was the extent of the conversation. I didn’t need to tell him anything else, didn’t need to explain myself or justify it. My brain gave me a flashback of the conversation I’d had with my parents when I wanted to pursue music, the argument, the bartering, and with Alex there was none of that. Being with him was easy as breathing and just as necessary for my survival.

I wiggled my right arm until Alex relaxed his hold on me enough for me to lean back. Swiping the tears off my face, I gave a valiant sniffle. “Tate said something about going to the farm.”

Alex chuckled, tracing his fingers across my cheeks to wipe the rest of the drying tears away. “I take it you’re done with the first part of the conversation?”

“Was there more to it?”

He gave me a quick smile, eyes sparkling. “No. I’m just still getting used to this version of you.”

“What version?”

“The one who isn’t scared to ask for what he wants. What he deserves.”

I swallowed thickly, pinching my nose in hopes it would stifle the running. I was still getting used to that version of me too. My own unfamiliarity with myself was part of what had inspired the outburst in the first place because even though Tate was correct that it would be like old times, it would also never be like old times again.

And I was glad for that.

“And what do I deserve?” I prompted, blinking slowly.

“Whatever you want,” Alex rasped, pulling his lower lip into his mouth to worry it with his tongue. “So, you want to go to the farm?”

“Tate said we’d been invited.”

“It’s an open door,” he said.

“I missed it last time.”

“So did I.” Alex’s mouth twisted into half a smile. “But maybe that’s because I was meant to be there with you.”

“I should have gone.”

He shook his head, pressing his finger over my lips. “Don’t start that. You can go this time and all the other times.”

“Okay.” I kissed the pad of his finger, and he bent it at the knuckle, pushing it in past my teeth.

I opened for him, some sort of conditioning kicking in because my dick immediately twitched to attention. The response must not have been lost on him because Alex added a second finger and a third, depressing my tongue as he stretched his way toward the back of my throat. Reflex had me pulling away when the first gag retched up from my throat, but he moved quicker than me. With his other hand cradled around the back of my head, Alex pushed his fingers toward my throat, sliding deeper when I gagged the second time.

“Right here,” he said, catching my stare and holding it. My jaw ached, spread wide to accommodate the stretch of his hand between my teeth. “Right here is where my cock goes next time you suck it. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said, the words garbled around the intrusion in my mouth.

Alex leaned in close, kissing the top of his fingers and my upper lip, sliding his tongue around his knuckles and over my teeth. I wanted him to kiss me more fully, wanted access to his mouth, and the way he made out with me even with his hand in the way was enough to have me fighting against his hold on my head in every direction I could manage to move.

“I love when you call me Sir,” he whispered into my mouth, giving his fingers one last push down my throat before releasing his hold and taking both of his hands away.

I gasped and sputtered, coughing and throwing up spit all over the kitchen floor as I tried to catch my breath. Alex stood, bringing me eye level with his thick erection, but instead of taking off his pants, he reached behind him and pulled his shirt over his head. Tossing the tear-stained and crumpled garment onto the floor, he stepped away, palming his cock just out of reach.

“You made a mess on the floor again, Dylan,” he said quietly, shoving his hand into his pants and stroking his cock. “You know where the cleaning supplies are. Clean up after yourself and then come find me.”