Chapter Twelve

Callum

D on’t ask me where the day went because I have no clue. From baking banana buns with Ty to now ogling a bare-chested Mitch mowing the lawn on my grandaddy’s old garden tractor, an equally bare-chested Ty sitting behind him, his frail, pale arms wrapped around my man, I’ve lost count. Resting the cool beer bottle against my forehead, I take them in. The man that I’ve loved for six years and then some and the kid that bulldozed his way into our life recently, claiming a place I’m starting to think was always his.

Their eager intermingled voices drift toward me from the back of our large property, Mitch’s deep bass and Ty’s much lighter, loftier one. My chest expands, and it feels like my fucking heart is growing in my chest. Just growing and growing with every second, minute, and hour spent in this cabin, on this land, my favorite place on earth, with Mitch and Ty. The feeling started blossoming this morning when my hands swallowed up Ty’s on the kitchen island, a weird combination of protectiveness and pride growing inside me. Protective because, for some reason, I can’t stand when the kid doubts himself, questioning his ability to do something, or puts himself down. And pride because he’s amazing when he listens and puts his mind to something. For a moment, I think I understood how it feels to be a parent.

I want Ty happy and safe and cared for all the fucking time. It’s become my new obsession. I can’t bear it when he frowns or when that plush bottom lip starts to wobble. I just can’t. It physically pains me, just like it does when Mitch isn’t happy. And I saw it in my husband’s gaze, too, while he watched us this morning. The lines are starting to blur. Mitch and Ty. Ty and Mitch. Ty, Mitch, and I. It’s all spinning around in my head, confusing the shit out of me, and I know that I have to talk to Mitch about it. Soon. Only… I’m not sure what to tell him. What to say. Because my thoughts are anything but fatherly. They’re something else entirely if I’m being honest with myself. Desire. Desire wormed its way into my thoughts when I was fucking Mitch last night. A forbidden desire for Ty to be there, too. Between us, beneath us, wrapped all around us. Shit.

“Sweetheart, I think we finally killed it!” Mitch laughs, panting as he runs up the stairs to the deck, pulling me from my thoughts. Coming to a stop in front of me, his grass-stained fingers wrap around the armrests on my lounger as beads of sweat drip from his forehead and land on my T-shirt. “You know what that means,” he smiles broadly, cheekily, a spark flying through his eyes.

Reaching out, I run my fingers through his sweaty bangs, a laugh escaping me too. Shaking my head, I groan, “I thought you forgot about that.”

“What? No way, sweetheart.” He leans in and buries his face against my neck, rubbing sweat into my skin, and I fucking love it. I love this version of Mitch. The version he morphs into as soon as we leave LA and head for the cabin. Licking along my neck, nibbling at my now goosebumps-covered skin, he sends shivers through my body, although the day’s as hot as they come. My hands find his chest, my fingers sweeping through his coarse salt-and-pepper chest hair. He’s so furry, my man. The air between us becomes heady and pungent, and Mitch shudders against me. “The S130,” he bites the digits into my skin, pulling a hiss from my lips. I can’t help chuckling. Mitch has had his eyes on this particular John Deere lawn tractor for ages.

“Well, babe,” I hum into his hair. “It better be as good as they say because it’ll make a good dent in our savings.” Pulling back, he throws me a winning smile, his blue eyes sparkling in the late afternoon sun.

“You know what they say,” he smirks, and I just know that something adorably corny is going to follow. “Best bang for the buck.” He winks.

“Who’s talking about me behind my back?!” Tyler yells, bouncing up the stairs. “Not that it ain’t true,” he cackles, wiggling his slim hips from side to side, the motion making those goddamn nipple piercings sparkle in the sun. My dick notices, too, because it instantly goes from the semi that Mitch induced to full mast.

I hurry to pull Mitch into my lap and when he settles on my hardness, a whimper wafts from his lips. Ty looks at first Mitch, then at me, and then just shrugs. Settling down on the deck, his slender, tattooed legs pulled up against his chest, he wraps his arms around himself. His golden eyes are nothing but two slits against the sharp sun, the cluster of freckles glowing across the bridge of his nose. I want nothing more than to maneuver Mitch over to one thigh and then tell Ty to come sit on the other. One arm wrapped around each of them. I just know they’ll both fit perfectly, tucked against my chest. Shit.

“Can we have a cozy movie night?” Ty chirps while Bree comes to lie down next to him with a contented grunt. Reaching out, he buries his fingers in her thick fur, his pink nails disappearing into her unruly curls. I barely manage to disguise a traitorous moan with a cough. Pushing his plush pink lips into the pout of all pouts, Ty bats his eyelashes exaggeratedly. “Pleeeaaassse, Daddies,” he begs.

“Sure,” Mitch hums, letting the Daddies slide, still riding high on the fact he’s getting the John Deere S130. “We’ve only got Rambo though, right sweetheart?” he nuzzles his nose against my beard as I nod quietly.

“Yas!” Ty beams. “I fucking love Rambo. He’s sooo hot,” he pretends to swoon against Bree. “He should be called Stallion instead of Stallone, dontcha think? I bet he’s got a real weapon of mass destruction buried in—”

“Right!” I croak, slapping my hands together. “Movie night it is! But not before you go clean up. Both of you.” In the meantime, I’ll go stick my head in the freezer or strap my dick down or something. Whatever it’ll take to get my rogue libido under control. Whatever it takes.

Movie night lasts all but twenty minutes before Tyler starts snoring between us, the country air knocking him out flat. He looks all snuggly—too snuggly—as he sits leaning up against Mitch’s shoulder, his mouth slightly agape, his baby-blue headband again adorably askew. I nearly swallowed my tongue earlier when Ty came down the stairs in a pair of equally baby-blue sleep shorts with small clouds on them. Leaving nothing to the imagination, they were paired with a fluffy white sweater, the neckline sliding halfway down his right shoulder. He got a slight sunburn today, the skin of his shoulder bone matching the rosy hue of his cheeks. Smelling like bubblegum and all things forbidden, he wiggled in between us, his shorts riding up, revealing just how high his leg tattoos go. Yep, all the fucking way.

Mitch chuckles quietly as Ty grunts against his shoulder, mumbling something unintelligible. Pulling him closer to him, the muscles of my husband’s upper arm nearly burst through the seams of his gray tee. There’s something strangely domestic and natural about the whole scene, Sylvester stitching up a wound in the middle of nowhere, Ty snoring peacefully, Mitch’s eyes spilling over with something I can’t define.

“How did we get here?” Mitch’s mellow voice slides through the quiet. For a split second, I contemplate feigning ignorance, but that’s not who we are, Mitch and I. Shrugging, shame burning through my limbs, I whisper, “I… I don’t know.” I shake my head, my gaze moving to Tyler, my fingers itching to trace the outline of his still-stubborn chin even now when he’s fast asleep. “Mitch… I…” The words elude me, afraid of what they’ll do to me, to us, when I find them.

“You like him,” Mitch says like he would say you like strawberries or you like your coffee pitch black.

“I’m sorry,” I rasp. “I’m so sorry, babe.” Mitch nods as he reaches out his hand, wrapping it around the back of my neck. Pulling me in, his lips find mine in a messy, hungry kiss, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth. He tastes salty and sweet and everything in between. Everything that I love and hold dear in this world. Everything that I just know will cause my imminent destruction if I should ever lose it. If I should ever lose him. Mitch. My Mitch. The best person I know.

As he sucks my tongue into the wet heat of his mouth, a groan grows in his chest while Tyler stirs between us. Instinctively, I want to break away, but Mitch’s strong fingers have me in a fierce grip while he ravishes my mouth. There’s something commanding about his presence, his kiss possessive in a new way. Like he’s staking his claim, but with an underlying vulnerability. The kiss grows sloppy, saliva smeared against my lips, chin, and cheeks. It’s animalistic, accompanied by grunts and hisses whenever Mitch bites my lips. Eventually, he breaks away, a single string of saliva connecting our mouths. Fire battles restraint in my husband’s eyes as he bends down, breaking our connection momentarily, pressing a soft kiss against Tyler’s forehead. His lips linger for a few seconds before his gaze is back on mine.

“Let’s go to bed, sweetheart,” he whispers. Oh, thank God. If I’m still his sweetheart, I can bear anything. As long as Mitch still calls me sweetheart, everything is good and right in the world. I nod quietly as I look at Tyler, but Mitch is already wrapping his free arm underneath his legs as he stands up, pulling Tyler with him. Shifting him in his arms, Mitch starts toward the stairs while I turn off the TV and check the doors. Bree looks at me accusingly for Mitch stealing her bed partner, but I just shrug, then pat her head.

When I get upstairs, Mitch is waiting for me, still cradling a sleeping Tyler in his strong arms. He looks down at Ty like he’s his most treasured possession, a fire in his eyes that conveys everything that my husband hasn’t told me yet. You like him.

Pulling the comforter aside, I wait for Mitch to place Ty in the middle of our bed and it finally occurs to me why we got the kingsize in the first place. It’s not because I hog the bed or because I like moving Mitch around when I fuck him. It’s not because Bree sometimes sneaks up here and settles down at our feet. No, we got it because we were making room for Ty. Already, back then, we were making room for him. It’s written all over Mitch’s face as he places Ty down carefully on the sheets, and it’s evident in every one of his gentle movements as he tucks him in. It’s there when we strip down to our boxers silently in the darkness and when he gestures at me to get into bed next to Ty while he flanks him on the other side. Ty was always here, if not in person, then in Mitch’s heart, just like he’s starting to worm his way into mine too.

Reaching out my hand across Ty’s waist, I find my husband’s fingers waiting for me on the other side. With a sigh, I wrap myself around Tyler’s small frame, burying my nose in the soft curls at the nape of his neck. Mitch squeezes my fingers, his thick thigh wrapping around Ty’s hip, his shin brushing against mine. Tyler stirs, fumbling blindly in the dark.

“Mitch,” he slurs, an edge of panic in his voice. “Where’re you going?”

“Shhh,” Mitch coos. “I’m not going anywhere. Go back to sleep,” he reassures him.

“Where’s Cal?” Ty speaks, his voice barely audibly.

“I’m right here, Ty. I’m right here, sweet boy,” I rasp against his ear, squeezing Mitch’s hand as I pull Ty closer to me. He sighs against Mitch’s chest, a low mewl leaving his lips. “You sleep now. We’re here.”

“You won’t go?” he asks, a world of vulnerability in those three words.

“Never,” Mitch says, a slight tremble in his voice. “Now sleep, sweet boy,” Mitch hums, repeating my words, making my world solid and secure.