9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

IT'S WORTH FIXING

For the rest of the week, Hurricane Brenda/Carole carried us through like an ocean torrent, hurling us out to sea with little to no care for where we landed. She got some great scenes along the way, so every time I found myself doubting her decisions, I would draw in a deep breath and remind myself she was just as heavily vested in this as I.

On Friday, Rivers and I spent the day together writing our speeches for the Muscadine King and Queen crowning that was to take place the next week. Rivers told me since I hadn't returned to crown the next year's winner, the city council was hoping I'd be willing to do so now. Apparently, last year’s winners were killed in a tragic car accident, and they wanted Rivers and I to take their place. The last thing I wanted was to take part in an event that had almost ruined me as a teenager, but with Riv batting his eyes dreamily at me, I didn't have the heart to say no. Even worse, I didn't want to say no. God help me; I was warming to the bastard.

The following Monday, I realized I must've died. That was the only explanation for the chaos unfolding on Aunt Lurlene's front porch. Though it was the ass-crack of dawn—a time when any other rational human being should have been sleeping—someone was banging on the front door. The early-bird knocker was also screaming my name. I touched my phone screen, groaning when the numbers Five, one, and zero lit up in the center. I didn't know who had the audacity to wake me before sunrise, but they would feel the fury of my wrath.

…later.

For the time being, I fully planned on covering my head with a pillow to drown them out. They would have to wait. Sleep took priority.

"Phillip!" the man called out again. "Firecracker? You up there?"

Jesus Christ.

No.

No, Rivers was not at my door. No, he hadn't shown up without invitation, for God knows what. And no, I would not condone his terrible manners and lackluster moral compass by letting him inside.

"Fuck off, Rivers," I shouted.

"What's going on?" Jordan asked from behind me. His arm was hooked around my waist, his morning glory digging into my thigh. "Is it a fire?"

"Worse. It's Rivers," was all I said before burying my face in the pillow. "Get your dick off of me, Jordy. You're leaking on my leg. You know how I feel about uninvited pre-cum."

"Phillip, is that you?" Rivers called out.

"Who else would it be?" Why the hell were the walls so thin? This was supposed to be an antebellum home, but it was like the only thing separating us from the outside world was a gaudy selection of wallpaper. I'd have to remember to advise Aunt Lurlene to invest in insulation.

"Make it stop," Jordan groaned as he pulled the blanket over his head.

Next came the sound of pebbles against glass from the next room over. I assumed Rivers was trying to get my attention by throwing rocks at my window, but it had been years since he'd been in my room. It wasn't terribly shocking that he'd gotten the layout wrong. From my father's bedroom next door, a set of footsteps crashed across the hardwood floors, then he opened the window. I wasn't exactly sure what happened next. All I knew was my father had only gotten a few syllables out before letting out a painful cry.

"Son of a—" Preston screamed, slamming the window shut. The sound of his footsteps thudded down the hall, and without knocking, my bedroom door flung open to reveal the most unwelcome of sights. Preston barged into the room like he had all the right to do so. He was wearing a sleep shirt with a giant panda on the front, and a pair of cutoff sweats. Judging by the speed at which his right eyelid was twitching, I knew he was seconds away from exploding. He had one hand covering his eye, and the other pointed directly at me.

"Motherfucker just threw dirt in my eye. Get your ass down there and get rid of him before I grab my gun."

"What's happening?" Jordan mumbled, wrapping his arms and legs even tighter around me. "Is there a tornado?"

Preston's jaw clenched. "You two sleep in the same bed?"

Jordan's eyes shot open, and his cheeks turned twelve shades of red. "We're not having sex," he said frantically. "Phillip just likes to cuddle."

"Fuck you for that, Jordy," I said, turning my attention back to Preston. "And if you think threatening to murder Rivers is going to get me to do anything, you're sorely mistaken. You can set him on fire for all I care."

"I didn't sign up for this. Not a single second of it. We can't all just prance around making goo-goo eyes at our boyfriends at five in the damn morning. Some of us have actual responsibilities."

"He's not my boyfriend."

"I don't care if he's the damn pope. I ain't having this."

I pulled the covers over my head, shutting Preston out of sight and out of mind. He stormed across my bedroom and jerked the blanket down past my ankles.

"Put on some damn clothes and shut him up. I've got to be down at the orchard in an hour and a half."

"Fine," I huffed, sighing heavily and flinging my hand toward the door. "Out. Just give me a damn second to get dressed, and I'll handle it. Honest to God, this is ridiculous."

"Jordan?" my father asked, ignoring my clear and concise instructions to leave my bedroom. Jordan's head peeked up over my shoulder, and when I looked back at him, he was smiling dreamily. The smile didn't last long. "You two always cuddle in your underwear?"

Jordan's eyes flickered down to his boxer-briefs. He tugged his lip between his teeth, and then, like a dog in heat, he arched his back, accentuating his ass. Preston's tongue traveled the length of his lips, his chest rising and falling slowly.

I sighed. "For God's sake, it's too early to deal with this. Out, Preston. Get out."

When he was gone, I pulled on a pair of shorts. I didn't waste time with a shirt, fearing my father might actually follow through with his threat. It wasn't that I objected to Rivers losing his life at Preston's hand. I just didn't want to be forced to clean up the mess or help hide the body.

Hobbling down the stairs, I couldn't see Rivers through the floor-length window beside the door. For one perfect, beautiful moment, I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he'd finally gotten the hint and sped off like a thief in the night.

No such luck.

He wasn't outside. He was in the sitting room with Aunt Lurlene.

The sound of his laughter crashed against the walls, echoing out into the hallway and up the stairs. Behind the sofa, moonlight poured in from the picture window, lighting up the room. On the couch, Aunt Lurlene sat stoically, wearing another of her ridiculous costumes. I wasn't sure what sort of maniac wears a woman's business suit before dawn, complete with pristinely pressed crimson slacks and a maroon blazer. I also wasn't sure why, under that blazer, she had on a t-shirt with the words RIVERS KNOWS BEST scrawled across the center.

Rivers looked more casual than I'd ever seen him. He was wearing a pair of impossibly tight running shorts and a pink shirt that said, Phillip's Firecrackers Fan Club: Tallulah Chapter . I didn't know where he even got the shirt, but it made my heart swell inside my chest. Sitting with his legs spread, he greeted me with a sight I hadn't expected.

Mary, mother of God.

His bulge was unnecessarily large, and it was almost like he was showing it off on purpose. Daring me to stare at it. Willing me to get lost in the magnificent mound of cloth-covered flesh.

Mission accomplished.

I cleared my throat, leaning against the archway leading into the room. Rivers' eyes caught mine, and a subtle smile spread across his face. At his side, Papa was resting his head against his paws, nuzzling in as close as he could. Apparently, I wasn't the only one Rivers had under his thrall.

"Morning, babe," he said, his voice unnaturally chipper for five in the morning. His eyes dipped down to my chest, lingering far longer than they should have. A feeling of inadequacy spread through me as I realized I was bare in front of him from the waist up. As for the 'babe' comment? If he thought I was letting that slide—that I wouldn't scold him for doling out endearments when the cameras weren't around—well, he'd be right. As unnecessarily uncharacteristic as it was, each time he'd drop the B-word, my insides turned to jelly and my knees went weak.

"Rivers," I said, taking a seat in a rocking chair across from the sofa. I grabbed a throw pillow from the love seat and used it to cover my stomach. "To what do we owe this honor?" Through no action of my own, my eyes dipped down to his crotch.

It was Rivers' turn to clear his throat, pulling me out of the lusty little haze I'd gotten lost in. "Well, aside from the ego-boost," he said, his eyes scanning me from top to toes, "and the lovely view… I've been sent to deliver a message."

"Sounds ominous," I said, grabbing a handful of hardened marshmallows from a candy dish on the end table and popping them into my mouth. "You in the mafia now? Am I going to wake up with a horse's head in my bed next?"

"Is that some sort of euphemism for…" Aunt Lurlene peered around the room as if she expected someone to be lurking in the shadows, listening in on our conversation. Shelling her hand to the side of her mouth, she whispered, "the sex?" I choked on air as Rivers snickered like an immature man-child. "Because if it is, I'm sure I can get Preston to pick you up some of those packages of condoms they sell down at the Pick-n-Save."

"So," I said, much louder than necessary. "Was there something you needed, Rivers?"

"A date would be lovely," he said.

"Pardon?"

"The thing is," he said. "I got a call from Bernadette about an hour ago."

"Who the hell is this Bernadette person everyone keeps mentioning?" I asked.

Ignoring me, he continued, "She thought it might be a good idea if we spent the day together. You know; play it up for the cameras. She suggested I take you somewhere on the square —and this is a direct quote, Firecracker, so don't go giving me one of those mean looks of yours— buy my girlfriend something pretty. "

Girlfriend?

GIRLFRIEND?

"What the hell did you just call me?"

He sighed. "I just told you it was a direct quote. Do you not understand the meaning of that expression?" He paused, batting his eyes. "I guess I can understand. Seems like you're having trouble paying attention to anything other than"—he stared down at his crotch, then back at me—"my sparkling personality."

"I hate you. More than I've ever hated anyone; that's how much I hate you."

"You sure about that?" he teased, spreading his legs a bit wider. Before I could get a single accusatory word out, he hopped up from the couch—his dick bouncing from the movement—and headed my way, kneeling at my side. "If you've got other plans, it's okay. I told her I wasn't sure what your day was looking like, but she said you'd be game. So…" Once again, his eyes dipped, but it wasn't his crotch he was staring at this time. No, Rivers' eyes were locked on his own hand, now resting on my thigh, dangerously close to my no-no zone. I hadn't even felt him touch me; his hand just naturally melded into me, like another limb. He pulled away, mumbling out an unintelligible apology before standing up. "I'd really enjoy it, though. Getting to spend a little time with you, I mean. Even if it isn't on camera. I just thought maybe you might want to spend a little time with me, too."

Without thinking, I grabbed his hand and squeezed. It was an action Mr. Papadopoulos didn't seem to care for, if his rolling eyes were any indication. I could practically feel the contempt radiating out of him. "Yeah. We can do that."

"Yeah?"

I nodded, unable to hold back my smile any longer. Who the hell was I kidding? I was enjoying his company just as much as he was enjoying mine. I knew this wouldn't lead anywhere, but it didn't change the fact that I was warming to the guy.

"Yeah. The square, you said?"

"If that's okay with you," he said, blushing like a nervous virgin.

"You want me to meet you there?"

He shook his head. "I've got to get home and get Beau ready. He's got a project due for science class today. Stayed up half the night getting it ready. My mom came over and stayed the night with us to help, so she's with him now. Shouldn't take me longer than an hour. An hour and a half, max. I was thinking after I drop him off, I could just swing by and pick you up. Maybe go grab a bite and see where the day takes us."

After I agreed and he'd gone, I decided coffee was a must. I would be running on fumes for the rest of the day, so a pick-me-up was in order. Preston was in the kitchen when I entered, pouring himself a cup. I couldn't help but snicker when he brought the mug to his mouth, blowing steam across the brim. Sitting front and center on the mug was a picture of my face. One eye winking, a finger pointing out at the camera.

"What?" he growled, slowly making his way to the kitchen table. He took a seat, setting the cup down and reaching for the newspaper. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You're drinking from a cup with my face on it. It's funny."

"What's funny about it?"

I took a seat across from him, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl in the center of the table. "It's just weird seeing you using it. I only sent it to you as a gag. Figured you'd smash it as soon as you opened the package."

He arched an eyebrow at me, slowly cocking his head to the side. "This is my mug, Phillip. Why would I smash it? What good would that do?"

"Because of my face. It's right there in the center."

"I know what's on my mug. I use it every day. Kind of hard to miss, kid. I don't really understand what's so confusing about it."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Aunt Lurlene muttered as she stalked into the kitchen, shuffling slowly toward the coffee pot. "You two are about as hopeless as an atheist at Sunday service." She sighed as she filled her mug—half coffee, half French vanilla creamer. "I wish you would just sort this foolishness out already. I've tried to look the other way for years, but you're both being purposefully obtuse at this point. Preston," she said, eying my father. "Phillip's saying he doesn't understand why you'd use a mug with his likeness, seeing as he thinks you can't stand the sight of him." Preston's mouth hit the floor, but she continued talking before he could interject. "And Phillip, Preston doesn't hate you. I can see why you might have gotten that impression, but your perception's a bit off, sugar. Always has been. He doesn't hate you. He's just a bit jealous that you got to go out and live your dreams, and his never panned out."

"Auntie," he warned, his eyes narrowed into slits. "I ain't jealous of nothing."

"No," she said, throwing her hands in the air dramatically. "Now, I've sat idly by for the last fifty years, watching you two tiptoe around each other—"

"Fifty years? I'm thirty-six!" I said.

"I'm not having it. Not anymore. Before Phillip leaves, I want you two to sort this out, once and for all. I know you might not want to think about it, but I'm the glue holding this family together. I can't stand the thought of you two disappearing from each other's lives when I'm not around to tether you. Now, I'm going to get dressed for the day, and when I come back out here, I want to see two smiling faces." She eyed my father for a moment before sighing. "Well, one smiling face and whatever the heck that look you get when you're not hating the world is called. Lord knows it can't be considered a smile."

"You're already wearing a business suit. What are you changing into this time?" I asked, though my terribly important question went unacknowledged.

"I smile," he argued, not smiling. "I smile all the time."

"At videos of little children falling off of bicycles, yes. Aside from that? Never. Now, fix this. I want it sorted." She left the room without another word, leaving Preston and me sitting at a table so wide there might as well have been an ocean between us.

Finally, when his coffee cup was eventually empty, he wrapped his fingers around it, gripping tightly. "You really think I hate you?" he said.

"What am I supposed to think? You've hardly said two words to me since I got home."

"I ain't a talker," he said. "You know that."

"Maybe, but you're my father." Our eyes met, and for the first time, I saw it. An ounce of emotion. An inch of appreciation. "I didn't need you to give me big motivational speeches or grand declarations, but I deserved more than what I got from you growing up." The legs of my chair scraped against the kitchen tile, and when I stood, his eyes followed me, trailing my every move. I grabbed my mug, and then his from the table before heading toward the sink. There was a dishcloth next to the coffee pot, and after rinsing my mug, I set it upside down over the rag to dry. There was just enough coffee left for another cup, so I poured it in his and stared at a younger version of me, winking out at the world. The mug was hot against my hand, but I held firm, my burning palm the only indication that this wasn't a dream. "Is it because I'm not like you? I know I was never the manliest guy out there—"

"It ain't…" He sighed, shaking his head. "You aren't ever content with just letting things be. Just leave it alone."

"You heard her. She wants us to sort this out, and you know what? So do I. I'm sick of this thing between us. You've always treated me like this huge burden. I didn't ask to be born." I walked back to the table and set the mug in front of him. He stared down at it, his breathing heavier than it had been. He reached for the sugar shaker sitting in the center of the table but I slapped his hand away. "Four sugars, two cream."

"You remembered?"

"Obviously," I said, taking a seat and patting my lap to motion Mr. Papadopoulos over. "I only fixed it for you every morning for the better part of a decade." Papadop's claws clicked against the tile, and I braced for impact. As his talons pierced their way up my shins, I stared at my father. "The little things. Cream and sugar. Birthdays. Favorite shows, favorite foods. That's family, Preston. Family remembers. Family shows up."

"I always showed up. I was home for supper every night, and then I got you up and ready for school the next day. I did that. Don't tell me about family showing up."

"You never came to my shows. I sent you tickets to every show within a hundred-mile radius, and you never came. Lurlene did. Minnie Sinclair did. Hell, I'm pretty sure Rivers probably showed up to one, too. But not you. Never you."

We sat there for an uncomfortable length of time; him staring silently into his cup of coffee; me gazing out the window. I watched until the sun peeked over the vineyard, sending fractals and rays of light cascading across the vines. Eventually, I glanced down at my phone and realized Rivers would be back soon. I needed to get showered and dressed. As I stood and turned to walk away, my father's voice pierced the silence.

"The Cyndi Lauper song you used to do for your solo number. The slow one. "All Through the Night," I think."

I gripped the back of my chair.

"Always thought it was a really pretty number. Not too hard on the voice. Not so slow it'd put the little kids in the crowd to sleep." He took a sip of his coffee, smiling as the flavor spread across his tongue. "I used to look forward to hearing it at your shows each night." He darted his eyes up, our gazes locking for a split-second before he stared back down at the table. "Every night, Phillip."

"You came?"

"I know you didn't get a lot of hugs or affection from me growing up, but I've never hated you. I want to fix this. If you think it's worth fixing, I mean."

"It is," I promised. "It's worth fixing to me, Preston."

He gave me a nod and took another sip of his steadily-cooling coffee before pointing toward the entryway. "You go on and get dressed. I'll keep lover boy company until you're ready."

As I walked into the hallway, I caught sight of Jordan. He was sitting on the bottom step of the stairway, a half-smile flashing in my direction.

"Don't," I said. "Whatever you're planning on saying, just don't."

"I'm proud of you. Being open and honest. I didn't expect that."

"Yeah, well, clearly the pre-dawn version of me is hellbent on mania. I'll have to scold myself later."

He grabbed my hand and squeezed. "I think pre-dawn Phillip's a pretty great guy."

I huffed out a stream of hot air. "I guess pre-dawn Jordy isn't so bad, either." I gave him a quick nod, and then I was on my way upstairs. Twenty minutes later, I descended the stairs, ready to greet whatever the day had planned for me with a scoff and a scowl. When I caught sight of Rivers, I had to do a double take. I didn't know how he did it. In less than two hours, he'd spruced himself up from the roguish vagabond who'd banged on my door like a pre-dawn maniac, into a more roguish, less vagabondish morning snack. He wore a pair of tight gray slacks with a baby blue button-down shirt that clung to him in all the right places.

Rivers was sitting in the same spot on the sofa he had been when I visually assaulted his mountainous bulge earlier that morning. Beside him, my father sat stoically, his hands clasped in his lap, staring at the wall as if he wanted to strike it down with nothing more than brute, brawn, and his bare fists. Across from them, on the loveseat, Jordan sat scowling at Rivers. The source of Jordan's upset, surprisingly enough, seemed to be Rivers. Apparently, he'd made the grave miscalculation of how close he should sit to my father on the sofa. I didn't know when Jordan's ridiculous, borderline problematic infatuation with Preston had gotten so strong, but we'd need to have a talk soon. The man was almost double his age, after all.

"For Christ's sake," I muttered, passing Jordan and wedging myself between Rivers and Preston. "Just piss on him and call it a day." I arched an eyebrow at my father. “Why are you here? I thought you were supposed to be out of here by 6:30?”

Preston eyed Rivers. “I ain’t leaving a stranger alone in my house. Lurlene might trust him, but I don’t.”

"Hey there, Firecracker," Rivers greeted, far too cheerfully for seven in the morning, and far too calmly after my father essentially just called him a burglar.

"Rivers," I said, giving him a polite, but mostly reserved, nod. "So, what's on the agenda?"

"I figured we could have a breakfast picnic in the square before getting fitted for our outfits."

"Outfits?"

"For the Muscadine King and Queen crowning. Didn't you get the email I sent?"

I turned and glared at Jordan, who was too busy staring longingly at my father to pay me the slightest bit of attention. "Earth to Jordy," I called, snapping my fingers. "What the hell is he talking about?"

Jordan reluctantly tore his gaze away from Preston. "Sorry. I thought I forwarded it to you. He said he wanted to take you somewhere called…" He pulled his tablet into his lap and clicked and clacked at the screen until he found the email. Staring at the screen as if the words on it offended him to his core, he dry-retched. "Dear God. He wants to take you somewhere called A Touch of Taint."

Rivers snickered. "It's actually A Touch of Taunte. Fernando Taunte. You remember him, don't you, Firecracker?"

"Was he the exchange student they caught snorting rat poison in the locker room?"

"The one and only. After he graduated, he got a job down at Tommy's Tuxedos. Worked with Tommy for ten years before he died. It was a real shame what happened," he said. "Tommy and Fernando got married a few weeks after me and Sabrina. We were groomsmen in each other's weddings. I figured maybe we could head down there and get us a pair of matching tuxedos. Thought it would be nice to celebrate in style."

I nudged him with my shoulder. "You're just trying to sneak a peek at me in the changing room."

He nudged me back. "Maybe."

"As fun as that sounds, I've already got my tux. It's a bit tighter around the middle than it used to be, though. Should probably start starving myself now. God knows all these waffles aren't helping."

"I think you look great." His eyes dipped to my midsection, and he reached for me, resting his hand against my hip. "I always thought you looked great. You don't need to change a thing." Then, even though there were no cameras present to capture the moment, I took the compliment. Try as I might, he'd been wearing away the walls I'd erected to keep him out. He was like a termite, gnawing through my insides until I was structurally unsound. He reached for me, his hand resting on my love handle, giving me a gentle stroke with his thumb. "I mean it. Don't change. You're beautiful just as you are." He offered me a quick, insistent nod before sliding his hand around my hip and tugging me toward his side.

I blinked at him. What the hell was that little admission about? There were no cameras in sight. There wasn't a single member of production waiting in the shadows to capture the moment. Just me, Rivers, and a compliment grand enough to bring me to my knees.

"What?" I asked.

"I think you're beautiful."

"You do?"

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"I just…" I blinked at him a few times, trying to find my words. Any words. A word. Hell, I would have settled for a syllable.

Jordan leaned in and grabbed my knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. "It's been a while since he's heard that from someone other than me. You should probably give him a second to process." I was going to set Jordan Miller on fire. I hadn't planned on committing arson when I woke up that morning, but there we were.

"Is that true?" Rivers asked. His finger found my chin, and he used it to tug my face in his direction. "Maybe if I tell you enough, it might just stick." He slapped his thigh and stood, holding a hand out for me. "You ready, beautiful?"

"Y-yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

Once we were in his truck, Rivers stared at me with a curious expression. I'd already fastened myself in and was using the mirror on his visor to make sure I was camera ready for when we finally made it to the town square. I wasn't sure if he could tell my hands were shaking, but I said a silent prayer to the universe that my tiny tremors went unnoticed.

"Firecracker?"

"Yeah?" I asked, using my pinky to push back a particularly uncooperative eyebrow hair.

Before I could react, his hand was unbuckling my seatbelt, and he pulled me close, until I was resting right at his side. He fastened the center seatbelt around me, and then his arm looped around my shoulder. I probably should have pushed him away and returned to my original seat, but it was like my entire body was made of lead. I couldn't have moved if I'd wanted. Even worse, I didn't think I wanted to.

"You comfy?" he said.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the only thing that left me was warm air. Rivers stared at me like he was trying to stare into my soul. With his hand in mine, he flashed that overzealous smile of his and leaned in. Our foreheads touched, and he rocked his head back and forth; the sensation sending sparks of static up and down my spine. For a moment—the most beautiful moment—I thought he might kiss me. That right there, in his unnecessarily oversized pickup truck, Rivers Rivera was going to press his lips against mine and suck. Our noses grazed, the contact quick, but purposeful. Somewhere along the way, his palm landed against the side of my face and I had to close my eyes for fear of falling.

"Beautiful," he whispered. "So damn beautiful, baby." His lips grazed the corner of my mouth and worked upward, landing firmly against my cheek.

It wasn't the first time I'd flirted with Cupid or his ridiculous arrows. Romantic getaways. Leisurely lunches in Paris. Being rocked to sleep in the arms of a kidnapper-slash-Daddy-dom. All of those moments—those tiny, insignificant building blocks that shaped me into the man I am—none of them ever felt as monumental as Rivers Rivera's lips puckered against the side of my face.

And then, as if he hadn't just cracked me to my very foundation, leaving every piece of me raw and exposed for the whole world to see, Rivers flicked on his truck's ignition. As the engine roared to life, he held me against him, as if I was the most precious thing in the entire world.

A section of fabric between his shirt's buttons had bunched thanks to the way he was seated, giving me the slightest glimpse of a hidden grove. Brown skin and more of that thick black chest hair that I'd seen at the ranch. I slid two fingers in the hole and let them rest against his chest, relaxingly running them through his hidden grove of hair.

"Careful," he said. There was a gravelly texture to his voice I'd never heard before. "I pride myself on being a gentleman. You keep that up and you're going to find out just how ungentlemanly I can be."

I bit his shoulder playfully. "That so, Mr. Mayor?"

"Damn straight."