Chapter 3

CHAPTER

THREE

SCOUT

N ext weekend, the day Trey and I had to go to Richmond to pick up the stupid window, I woke up to sunlight on my face. It took me a moment to realize I wasn't staring at our bedroom door. Instead, I was staring out the window into a bright and glorious morning, and there was a warm weight at my back, and an arm draped over my naked hip.

Well, shit.

I'd climbed into Trey's bed last night, and hadn't climbed out of it again. Something that could have been easily rectified, except at that moment there was a knock on the door, and the doorknob rattled as it turned.

I rolled off the bed and hit the floor with a thump just as Marty burst in.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "Are you guys—wait, where's Scout?"

Making friends with the dust bunnies under Trey's bed, thanks for asking.

Just kidding. As though Trey would have dust bunnies.

"What?" Trey still sounded half asleep. "The fuck time is it, Marty?"

"Seven," he said.

"What the hell are you doing up at seven? "

"My car ran out of gas," Marty said. "And I want to go to the donut place. It's Saturday. We should have donuts on Saturday. Except nobody else is awake yet."

"I'm not either!"

I stared at Marty's feet as he crossed the floor and sat on my bed.

"Well, Scout is," Marty said. "Where is he? Oh, I'll call him!" Moments later, my phone began to buzz on my nightstand. "Where'd he go without his phone?"

"The fuck should I know?" Trey said, voice muffled by his pillow. "Get out."

"But donuts!"

Trey groaned. "Make one of the pledges drive you. Now get out of my sight before I put you in charge of scrubbing the trash cans."

I stared at Marty's feet and willed him to leave, and it must have worked because a moment later he was gone.

Then Trey's face appeared over the side of the bed. "You okay, bro?"

I awkwardly commando-crawled out from under the bed. The floor was cold and hard and the fall hadn't done my wrist, which was still tender, any favors. It must have shown on my face because the next thing I knew Trey had reached down, warm hands sliding under my armpits and pulling me into a sitting position.

"Thanks." I got to my feet and then sat down on the edge of the bed.

"You crashed hard last night, bro." Trey said, watching me carefully.

"Yeah, well. You sucked all my bones out my dick," I said. I wondered if he'd mention how weird it was that two straight guys had fallen asleep sharing a bed. Then I wondered if it really was that weird.

Then I wondered why I cared.

I'd never spent much time thinking about sex before, and even less time thinking about intimacy, and the places they met where the edges got all blurry. I had a gut feeling one was okay, and the other one wasn't, even though we didn't talk about it. I also had a gut feeling that things were getting blurrier by the day, even though we didn't talk about that either. I liked what we did, but I wasn't sure I'd like how it ended. Because... well, it had to end, right? At some point. We'd move rooms again, or we'd graduate, or something, and we'd both go about our lives like nothing had happened.

Nothing had happened, maybe.

I didn't know anymore.

So much for my good night's sleep. I suddenly felt bone tired just trying to think my way around all the twisting corners and traps my mind had laid for me to stop me from going there. For some reason I thought of Bax teaching me how to ride a bike. How he'd told me I'd stay upright if I just kept pedaling. Which was fine, but sooner or later your legs got tired, and you wobbled into a crash, screaming for Bax to save you.

Well, that last part probably didn't apply to this situation.

Trey tapped my temple with a fingertip. "Earth to Scout?" He was smiling that easy smile of his, the one that said everything was fine, and I took a breath and reminded myself that everything was fine. I was just overthinking, like I always did. It wasn't like Trey was gay either, so there was no reason for this to be anything more than it was, which was two guys making each other feel good. Nothing more, nothing less.

They weren't even blowjobs. They were brojobs.

Trey raised his eyebrows. "What's that smile for?"

"Shut up," I said. "I don't smile."

But I did. For him.

Despite Marty's wakeup call, we didn't roll out of bed until mid-morning. Once Trey had finished laughing at me for hitting the deck like some cut-rate marine, he made me feel better about my bruised ass by giving me a stellar blowjob. Obviously, I returned the favor, and afterward we just lay there for a while, warm and comfortable and fucked-out.

Which meant that by the time we got ourselves downstairs and ate and Trey checked that everyone was doing their assigned chores, it was well after noon before we left for Richmond. Our first stop was the glazier. Fitting the window into the back of my Jeep Wrangler was a pain in the ass but we got it done, wrapping it in a couple of old blankets that Trey had thought to bring along and nestling it carefully in the cargo space with the back seats laid down.

After we'd done that, we went to my appointment at Brooks John, Richmond's premier tailor. When I knew I was coming up for the day, I'd called and booked in for my initial hour-long consultation for my suit for Bax's wedding. The wedding wasn't for a year, but it wasn't like we were picking suits off the rack. No, they were bespoke .

I'd been apologetic when I'd told Trey we'd be making another stop and offered to drop him at the mall, but he'd just grinned, eyes sparkling, and said, "Hell no. You think I'm gonna miss an hour of watching you in your underwear?" The fact he was eager to hang around for the fitting gave me a flutter of excitement in my belly that I couldn't quite explain, except that we were getting in that blurry space again.

The tailor had me out of my clothes and up on a pedestal in no time, and he moved me around like a mannequin while he measured and hummed and took notes. Trey sat in the corner flicking through a magazine. Every time I glanced over from where I was standing, though, his gaze was on me rather than whatever he was pretending to read. The expression on his face clearly said he thought I looked fine as hell, and the heat in his gaze made the butterflies in my stomach swoop in formation.

I wondered if it would be weird to take Trey out to dinner somewhere nice—not a date or anything, just a chance to talk away from thirty pairs of listening frat boy ears.

I was still contemplating asking when my brother Bax strolled through the door.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw me. "Scout? What are you doing here?"

I gestured up and down my near-naked body. "Skydiving. What does it look like?"

Bax laughed. "I'm just here to finalize my fabric selections. Thank fuck you made an appointment. If I have to listen to Mom blather on once more about how you're ‘cutting it fine' I'll go mad."

"Oh, I hear you," I said, having been subjected to the same blathering. I loved my mother, but she turned into a mess of high-strung anxiety at any hint that one of her social events might not run perfectly. "We drove up to collect a window for Marshall so I figured two birds, one stone, y'know?"

Bax seemed to notice Trey sitting in the corner for the first time. "How's it going, Trey?"

Trey gave a one shouldered shrug. "You're going all out for the wedding, huh?"

Bax rolled his eyes. "Honestly, I almost wish I'd taken Mak's suggestion and eloped, but can you imagine the fallout if we had?"

I shuddered. "Bro. Don't even joke about it. Talbot-Smiths don't elope. Mak will wear white, you'll wear a tux, and you'll smile for the camera like the good little Virginia socialites you are."

Bax huffed out a laugh. "Does Mom know you're in town?"

I shrugged, making the tailor let out a long slow breath as he realigned the tape measure across my shoulders. "It's just a quick trip."

Bax crossed his arms over his chest. "But you're coming to dinner, right?"

I shook my head. "Gotta drive back. "

"Dude, it's like twenty-five miles. Come to dinner."

"Wow," Trey said. "Skipping out on your own family? I never realized just what an antisocial little hobbit you are."

"Right?" Bax said. "I keep telling him that."

"Excuse me," I said, face heating. "I am not a damn hobbit."

"No, you're right," Trey said, grinning. "Hobbits are pretty social. You're more of a cranky little goblin."

Bax burst out laughing, then pulled out his phone and dialed. "Hey Mom? I'm at Brooks John picking a suit fabric and guess who's here?"

I waved my arms and shook my head frantically, making the tailor huff with annoyance, but I didn't care. If I went for dinner with my family, that would be the end of my plans to go on a date—I mean, have dinner with —Trey.

I ran my hand sideways over my throat in a slicing gesture and mouthed no, still shaking my head.

Bax ignored me and said, "Scout's having his fitting done." He paused, rolling his eyes. "Well, at least it's done now. And he wanted me to let you know he's coming to dinner."

That asshole.

"Hold on, Mom." He pulled the phone away from his ear and covered it with his hand, speaking in an undertone. "Bro. Come have dinner and be a distraction so I don't have to listen to another evening of wedding talk. Please? "

I imagined Bax having to listen to my mother get in a tizzy over wedding details every time he stopped by, and thought about all the times he'd been there for me growing up. I guessed I could cut him a break. "Fine, but you owe me."

He gave me a thumbs up. "See you soon, Mom." He ended the call. "Thanks, Scout."

"No problem. Go pick your damn fabric," I said, stretching my arms over my head and swiveling my hips from side to side.

The tailor took the hint and laid aside his tape measure, taking Bax over to the other side of the workshop where there were piles of swatches, and, while they were busy, I took the opportunity to wander over to Trey. "So, family dinner."

He looked up, expression unreadable. "That's cool. Go see your folks. Just drop me at a diner, and I'll —"

"Did you want to come with?" I blurted out, and even as I said it, it felt right.

It made sense to introduce Trey to my parents properly. Trey wanted to be a judge. My father was a judge. And wasn't part of being in a fraternity making all those handy connections for later in your career? If this wasn't a perfect example of that, I didn't know what was. Besides, he was my bro .

Trey opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "Sure."

I'd been so sure that he was going to say no that it took a second for his words to sink in. "For real?"

He shrugged. "Why not?"

I felt a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. Bax walked over and held out two swatches of deep gray fabric. "What do you think, Scout? The lighter wool will fall better but the other one has a nicer finish."

I stroked the fabric with my fingertips, considering. "The lighter one. It falls real nice."

"They're the same," Trey said.

"No, they're not," we said in unison.

"Oh my God, you two really are brothers," Trey said, grinning.

"Oh hey, Trey's coming to dinner. That's cool right?"

Bax gave me an odd look. "I kind of assumed he was. Just let Mom know."

Huh.

He was right, though. My mother hated being caught unawares. I fired off a text.

Is it okay if I bring a friend to dinner? We drove up together .

The dots danced across the screen for a moment before she sent back:

Of course, darling. We like to meet your friends.

I sent her a thumbs up and climbed back on my platform, and by the time the guy had finished measuring me I'd had plenty of time to second guess my invitation.

I was pretty sure my parents would like Trey, since he was smart as all hell and well-mannered to boot, which were the kind of things they cared about. But they were also set in their ways, and Trey didn't fit the mold of anyone else I'd brought home.

Once I was done and dressed we stepped outside into the afternoon sun. I hesitated next to my car. "You sure about dinner, bro? My folks are good people, but they're…"

"Old school?" Trey said with a raised eyebrow.

"That."

"It's fine Scout. I've met your daddy before at the Lassiter fundraiser. He was nice as pie. Asked if I was there on a diversity scholarship."

"Oh, God," I moaned, hiding my face in my hands.

Trey snorted. "Nah, bro. It was funny as hell watching him try and climb out of that hole he'd dug once he found out he was wrong." He put a hand on my shoulder. "Seriously, I wanna meet your parents. I mean, you and Bax are good people, so they must be halfway decent. Even if they are wound up tighter'n a pocket watch."

He smiled that easy smile of his, reassuring me, and something loosened in my chest. "Okay. but don't say I didn't warn you."

Trey grinned. "If I can put up with your cranky ass, your parents will be a walk in the park."

He had a point.

When I pulled up in front of my parents' house in Stonewall Court, we were five minutes late, which in my mother's book was as bad as five hours. Still, when I got out of the car, I took a second to close my eyes and inhale. Trey hadn't been wrong when he'd called me antisocial, and an evening with my parents would drain my tolerance for other people for a week.

"Scout?"

I opened my eyes. Trey was watching me, and he traced a fingertip lightly over the nape of my neck, there and gone again, the way he always did when he thought I was stressed. "You cool?"

I let out a breath. "I'm fine." I flashed him a smile to show just how fine I was. "Let's go in before my mother sends out a search party."

He nodded and followed me up the steps and in the front door, where he stopped dead inside the entrance hall. "Bruh," he said in an undertone. "This house is lit."

I followed his gaze, trying to see the place through fresh eyes, and when I took in the inlaid timber floors, the high patterned ceilings, the way the lights gleamed off the polished balcony, and the deep swirls of color running through Persian rug, I realized he was right.

It was pretty lit. I'd just stopped noticing.

"Scout! Is that you?" My mother's voice floated out from the great room. It was followed by the staccato tap of heels on hardwood as she came out to greet us. When she came around the corner into view, her footsteps faltered for just a moment when she saw Trey before she rallied. "And this must be your friend!" She looked between us expectantly.

"Mom, this is Trey. He's my roommate at Alpha Tau."

"Ma'am. Mighty pleased to meet you," Trey said, extending a hand and flashing her a smile.

Mom accepted his hand with a nod and a smile of her own, then clapped her hands together. "Shall we go through to the dining room? Everyone else is already here."

There was no discernable judgment in her tone, but I assumed it anyway, since pretty much everything my mother said was wrapped in a reminder to do better and to be better. Since, in my case, I had Bax as an unreachable example of what that looked like in my parents' eyes, I'd honed my sense of impenetrable cynicism very early on. It wasn't like I could be the golden boy when Bax already had that part sewn up, so instead I leaned hard into indifference. Mom and Dad didn't need to know how hard I studied for my exams, to get those results that weren't quite as good as Bax's were. It was easier, somehow, to pretend that I was lazy and disinterested and that's why I didn't measure up. Plus, Mom loved to have something to complain about to her friends at the country club, so it was win/win.

We followed her through to the informal dining room. Which was honestly exactly the same as the formal dining room, except the table here sat eight instead of sixteen. Dad and Bax and Mak were already seated when Mom swept in.

"He's here!" she announced unnecessarily, since they all had eyes. "And he's brought his friend, Trey...?"

"Trey Montgomery," I said. "Trey, you know Bax, and this is his fiancee, Makaylynn-Leigh."

"Mak," she said, standing up to shake his hand.

"And you've met my father before. Dad, you remember Trey?"

His faint flush said he did. He stood as well, and shook Trey's hand heartily. "Lovely to see you again, young man."

"Trey is Scout's roommate ," Mom said brightly. Then, when nobody had anything to say about that, she said, "Makaylynn-Leigh, would you like to help me with the plates?"

That was one of those trick questions, where the answer wasn't allowed to be ‘Hell, no.' So Mak smiled sweetly, threw Bax a look that said volumes, and said, "I would love to, Mrs. Talbot-Smith."

"So, Trey," my father boomed when Trey and I had taken our seats, "you're an Alpha Tau too?"

"Yes, sir," Trey said.

"Prelaw?"

"Yes, sir."

Dad nodded. "What specialty are you considering?"

"Criminal law, sir," Trey said. "Once I'm a member of the state bar, I want to be an Assistant Commonwealth Attorney."

"It's a fine career path. Lots of opportunity for progression," Dad said with an approving hum, and then dropped in a weird non sequitur. "Mak's keeping her job after the wedding, isn't that right, Baxter?"

"Because it's not the sixties anymore," Bax said, leaning back in his chair and raising his eyebrows.

Dad huffed. "Of course it's not. I was just saying that."

"Drink?" Bax asked, standing and going to the sideboard. "Before Mom whips out the wedding ideas scrapbook again?"

Even Dad laughed at that.

Dinner was Provolone-stuffed pork chops, and a roast potato and green bean salad on the side. It was one of Dad's favorites, and I'd had it every week while growing up. I hadn't realized I'd missed it at Lassiter until I took that first bite. Conversation over dinner veered from mannerly to downright odd, both of my parents asking Trey questions that he answered politely, but caused me to bristle because they were treating him differently from any other friend I'd ever brought to dinner. They never gave their other guests this kind of third degree, and I hated that it was obviously because he was Black. Like, if I'd brought Marty or Casey or Archer with me on today's trip, would Mom be asking what town and what neighborhood they grew up in? Would Dad be grilling him about his grades?

I threw back way too many whiskey sours over dinner to be in any condition to drive back to Lassiter afterward. Trey could have driven, since he was still sober as a judge—not my dad, obviously, who'd been playing catch up with me all night, but some other judge—but Mom was talking about making up one of the guest rooms before we'd even made it through dessert.

"You'll stay, won't you?" she asked over her peach cobbler.

It was another one of her trick questions.

I threw Trey a look, hoping for a lifeline. He didn't give me one. He shrugged and smiled instead.

"Sure," I said. "That would be great."

It wouldn't.

It wasn't .

"Trey," Mom said, "do you like the peach cobbler? It was my grandmother's recipe."

"It's delicious, thank you."

Mom looked pleased. "It's a bit of a family secret. Oh! My mother had to wait until she was married for ten years before Grandma finally shared it with her. But I've already given it to Makaylynn-Leigh, isn't that right, Mak?"

"You have," Mak said brightly.

"Do you cook, Trey?" Mom looked concerned. "Scout doesn't, do you, honey?"

"What?" I asked. "No."

"Trey?" Mom asked.

"Uh, I'm not much of a cook," he said.

Mom pursed her lips. "I'll write the recipe down for you, just in case."

"Oh," he said, shooting me a look. "Thanks."

I shrugged and threw back another whiskey sour. No fucking idea, bro. No fucking idea.

Mom roped Mak and Trey into clearing the table when dinner was done, and told me and Bax to go upstairs and make up the guest room.

"That was bullshit," I said as we struggled over a fitted sheet. "Jesus."

"What?" Bax asked. "I thought they were okay. "

I rolled my eyes. "Of course you did. There was hardly any wedding talk because they were too busy being fucking—fucking racist about Trey."

Bax froze. "What do you mean?"

I threw a pillow at him, and wished I had something heavier at hand. And possibly breakable. "All those questions . About his grades, and his family, and his plans, and all of that bullshit. You think they'd be doing that if he was white ?"

Bax put the pillow down. "Scout," he said, saying my name slowly and carefully like I was some skittish horse he was afraid of spooking. "They weren't asking Trey all that stuff because he's Black."

"What? Of course they were. They'd never ask Archer all that shit. Or Marshall, or Casey."

"Scout," Bax said again. "They asked those exact same questions when I brought Mak home for dinner the first time. It's not because Trey's Black—it's because he's your boyfriend."

"He's my what?" I asked over the sudden screeching sound in my head.

"Your boyfriend," Bax said, tilting his head. "Isn't he?"

Holy fuck.

Okay, so Mom and Dad's questions and non sequiturs were a lot less weird, and a lot more... sequitury, in that context. That crazy, crazy context, since Trey was not my boyfriend.

Holy fucking fuck.

Was he?