Epilogue II

The brownstone's kitchen has seen me through multiple failures and some epic successes. My best dish by far, according to Drew, is filet mignon and truffle asparagus, which I sort of resent because cooking a good steak isn't hard at all, especially filet. It's almost impossible to fuck up. Chicken, however, is a fickle little bitch, and Drew usually says something along the lines of "good try" when I serve it.

He's a terrible cook, though. It's like he has a total blind spot in his brain when it comes to seasoning anything, so the kitchen has become more or less mine, which is why I'm here on this sunny summer day serving bacon and pancakes to Drew's mother and his youngest sister Angie. They're in town for a few days, seeing the sights and shopping.

Angie is by far my favorite of Drew's sisters whom I met at our wedding in May. And yes, it took that long for Drew to introduce me to his whole family.

And I wouldn't necessarily call it an introduction either, more of an ambush. He'd sent his mom an invitation, obviously, but we wanted to keep the wedding small. That was shortly after we finally moved to Brooklyn, and after a move like that, neither of us wanted the additional stress of planning a wedding.

We kept it super casual. So, when his mom showed up at our little rooftop ceremony with all the girls except Peggy in tow, it was a surprise to both of us.

Needless to say, my parents had to read about the wedding after the fact in the society pages. And so did Peggy if she ever bothers to read shit like that.

"Smells sooo good," Angie gushes, grabbing for three slices of bacon as soon as it's within her reach.

"What do you ladies have planned for today?"

Charlotte, or Charlie for short, Drew's mom, answers me in her soft, quiet voice. "Washington Square Park, Soho—she wants to try that edible cookie dough." Charlie wrinkles her nose at that, but I'm intrigued.

"Is that a thing?"

Angie leans forward, blond hair swinging. "You don't know about it?"

"Can you bring me back some?"

"What flavor?"

"Um…chocolate chip? No—mint chocolate chip if they have it."

"I'm sure they do," the twenty-one-year-old Harvard pre-med student says confidently. She's smart as fuck, so I trust her judgement.

Yesterday, Drew and I took them to Times Square to see his billboard. He's been the face and body for Primal products for more than two years now. The new company now outsells Axe even among teen male-identifying consumers, which I obviously attribute to Drew's godlike beauty. Who could resist? Lord knows, I couldn't.

Now, I don't love that there's an 8,000-square-foot digital screen displaying my husband's nearly naked body in high definition at Broadway and 54th, but at least I know whose filet is his favorite.

"Is Drew going with you?" I ask. We hadn't talked much last night, and he was still asleep this morning when I felt the need to play host.

"No," Charlie says. "I think we wore you two out plenty yesterday, and I realize we didn't give you much notice when we popped in."

I sit at the table and fix myself a plate. "Let us take you out to dinner tonight, though. I'll make reservations—best pasta in Brooklyn."

Angie snorts. "Drew eats pasta?"

"Sometimes."

Drew walks into the sunny kitchen in gray joggers and a t-shirt. His bed head game is strong today. He mumbles good morning and heads straight for the Nespresso. I drag my eyes away from his perfect ass and pour syrup on my pancakes. I know exactly how I want to spend my day.

He takes turns ruffling my hair and then Angie's before he sits and inhales a slice of bacon. He has the same conversation I just had with them about today's plans, and he slides a look my way along with a delicious smirk.

If I didn't know better, I'd say he was trying to get me pregnant. We have sex almost as often as I used to jerk off.

He blames my hair, which I've let grow out a few inches at the request of a few designers I walk for who like to be able to tie it back. For my part, I blame his confidence. Brewd was hot, but Primal's Drew Riley is next level. And while neither of us is completely sure whether we've ever gotten "gay sex" right, we've nailed our own dynamic. And nailed it and nailed it…

And now I have a hard on in front of his mother. Perfect.

When the ladies finish their breakfast and go upstairs to get ready for their trek to Manhattan, Drew and I linger at the table, sipping coffee and holding hands. We're utterly disgusting. We might as well have heart eyes.

I roll mine and groan. "Sap," I say.

"If you could read my mind right now, that's the last word you'd use."

I run my thumb over his inner wrist where his most recent tattoo is. It's our wedding date. Sap is a pretty safe bet. "Okay, babe."

He moves my hand to his crotch and the hard bulge tenting his joggers. I can't stop myself from stroking it while he leans back in his chair and closes his eyes. "Fuck, yes. I'm gonna wreck you today. Good luck sitting down at dinner."

"Do you think your mother would be traumatized if she came back down and found me blowing you under the table?"

"Ask me if I care right now."

I laugh and take my hand off his dick. "We actually need to go to the grocery store."

"I need to get a haircut and pick up my prescriptions, too, but it can wait. So can fresh produce."

"What if I said I'm not in the mood?"

"I'd ask when you stopped loving me."

"Fine." I stand to clear the plates. "I guess I might be a little in the mood."

"I'll do the dishes and see my mom and Angie off. You just head up and make yourself ready for me."

"Any special requests?"

"Mm…Leather cock ring and weed lube."

"I should have never told you about weed lube."

"Well, you did…and now I'm hooked."

We try not to use the weed lube too often. I'm afraid if we use it too much, we won't be able to enjoy sex without it, so just to be on the safe side, we only bust it out when we know we've got a whole day we can dedicate to fucking.

Before I leave the kitchen, I squeeze his ass and press a kiss on the nape of his neck. "See you soon."

"Yeah, you will."

I head upstairs, with a boner, to "get ready" for him. Once I'm done in the bathroom, I make the bed, locate the items he requested, and scroll TikTok until I hear Charlie and Angie clomping down the stairs.

I take a dick pick and send it to Drew.

He responds with My sister almost saw that.

I laugh. Oops.

I send him another, more ridiculous selfie of me licking my bicep.

His reply to that one is Jesus, why is that hot?

Huh. Good to know. Three and a half years together, and we can still surprise each other. I call that success.

The sound of the front door closing gets me rock hard. I strap on the cock ring and have just arranged myself perfectly on the mattress when Drew appears in the doorway.

He blinks a few times with his mouth slightly agape before he snaps out of it. "I—uh—you—fuck—" He licks his lips. "Your father's here."

I bolt upright and my dick screams at the way the position change stretches my balls. "What?"

"He's in the living room."

"My father?"

"Yeah. What do you want to do?"

I wrestle the leather ring off my base while my entire being rebels at this unexpected and potentially traumatic cockblock. "Did he say why he was here?"

"He just asked to see you."

"Is he dying?"

"He looks the same as he did last time."

Last timemeaning brunch three years ago.

My boner is withering by the second as I get out of bed and find some clothes. I pick out a hoodie because the front pocket gives me a sense of security, and then I pull on a worn-out pair of jeans.

When I walk out of the bedroom and realize Drew isn't following me, I look back at him. "Come on!" I snap.

He hops to attention and hurries to catch up with me, mumbling, "Sorry. I didn't know if you wanted privacy."

To show him how much I don't want that, I clasp my hand around his and hold on tight. I might not have been nervous the last time I went to talk to my father, but I've changed since then.

I've learned how to love, and I've learned what it feels like to truly hurt. I've learned independence, and I've also leaned into codependence. I'm tough, but these days I save all my bravado for the runway and the bedroom.

Loving Drew taught me I break easy, and one of the reasons for that is in my living room—our home—right now.

When we reach the bottom of the stairs, I watch for a moment as my dad squints at a picture on the bookshelf of me and Drew from our wedding day. He's reaching for the frame when I clear my throat.

He startles, straightening up. "Ollie."

"Dad. What the hell are you doing here?"

He's dressed casually for him in a pin-striped button-down and khaki pants. He smooths the front of his shirt like he would if there were a tie there and glances at the white-knuckle grip I have on Drew's hand.

"I guess you probably wouldn't believe me if I said I was just in the neighborhood."

"Is Mom dead?"

He frowns. "Oh. No. Absolutely not. Still alive and kicking."

"Then why are you here?" I ask again, but softer this time.

"I wanted to see you," he says simply. "It's been awhile."

My mouth is dry. My heart is racing, my hand is sweating.

"And you, too, Drew. I was wondering if I might buy you both lunch?"

"We just ate," I say.

"Would anyone like a drink?" Drew asks. "I think I could use one. Mimosas? That's brunchy, right?"

My father nods politely at the offer, and I reluctantly let go of Drew's hand so he can go to the kitchen. Sound carries in this place, so I know he'll come back if I need him.

I approach my dad with caution, but stop a few feet away, shoving both hands into the pocket of my hoodie. "Hey," I say.

"Hey." His voice comes out a raspy whisper, and his eyes are a watery blue. Like very watery…

I gulp and press my lips together, trying to control the strong emotion surging in my chest. All I can say is it's not anger or rage—yet. I'm not sure what it is—like a stem cell that hasn't decided what it wants to be, but way, way bigger.

"So, this is where I live," I say giving the space a quick glance.

He nods, also taking a look around. "With Drew."

"Yeah. Him, too."

Silence.

I take a small step away, looking over my shoulder to see if Drew is coming back yet. A champagne cork pops, so it'll be another minute.

"How are things?" I ask.

"Business is good. I had another clean colonoscopy so that was…" He shakes his head and chuckles awkwardly. "Also good."

"That's great news."

"What did we talk about before all this?" he asks.

"Hard to say," I tell him.

"How are you?"

"I'm uh…happy. I'm very, very happy."

His eyes get super watery, and he smiles at me. "It shows."

"I got married—for real this time—in case you didn't hear about that."

"I did hear about it," he says. "Congratulations."

"Thank you."

Finally, Drew is in the room again, handing over some alcohol. Briefly, I wonder whether he used the wrong champagne, but he's not stupid. As soon as I take a sip, this is confirmed.

My father nods at him. "I've been seeing those ads of yours everywhere. You seem to be doing really well for yourself. Healthy."

Jesus—could this be more awkward?

Drew pats his abs and quirks a wry grin. "I try to take care of myself. Heard your colon's clear. Way to go."

I laugh. I can't help it.

Luckily my dad does, too, and there's a slight crack in the ice.

Drew squeezes my shoulder. "Why don't you show your dad around? You have all the before pictures, right? It's a miracle what he did with this place, Mr. Arnaud. You'll be very impressed."

My dad looks to me. "If you don't mind… I'd love to see it."

"Uh, yeah. Sure." I get out my phone and scroll to the brownstone photo album. One hour and a narrated home tour later, I've had the longest conversation with my father since I told him I wanted to take a gap year.

Drew is on the couch in the living room when we return, and he smiles softly up at the two of us.

"I guess I've taken up enough of your day. I appreciate the tour and…the, uh…chance."

"Me, too," I find myself saying.

"Olivier, I know I've made a lot of mistakes."

"I mean…" I shuffle my feet. "I wasn't perfect either…"

"You were a child. You are my son. And I do love you for whatever that's worth anymore. Once your mother stopped breathing down my neck, and I was able to understand what had happened—who you told me you were—the man you are—I didn't have anything but pride and so much regret, Ollie. I'm so sorry."

Now both of us have watery eyes. I'm being too gentle. I can actually taste my own tears at this point. "I'm really sorry, too."

"You have nothing to apologize for. You did what you felt like you had to do in an impossible situation, and I don't blame you one bit." He claps a hand on my arm, and I freeze. I can't even remember the last time he touched me.

It undoes me so thoroughly I wind up throwing myself at him.

He hugs me so fucking tight I can't catch my breath. He smells like my childhood. He smells like before. And also like…

I pull away. "Is that Primal aftershave?"

"You know, they say my generation is the most susceptible to advertising."

I make some insane noise between a laugh and a sob and let him go. I smooth his shirt out for him, and he ruffles my hair. "Next time you're in the city, let's meet up, okay?"

"Just you," I tell him.

He nods in understanding. "I look forward to it." He gives my shoulder a firm squeeze and turns to Drew who's now off the couch and moving toward my side. "Drew."

They shake hands, but I swear I can tell they're both wanting hugs.

Maybe next time.

Once the goodbyes are over, and I walk my father out, I close the door and lean back on it to face Drew. "What the fuck just happened to me?"

"You got cockblocked by your dad."

"I don't know whether to laugh or cry."

He closes in on me, his hands on my hips as his body presses my back to the door.

"Jesus, can I process this for two seconds?" I ask breathless already from the feel and warmth of my chronically hard-up husband.

"I don't want you overanalyzing this. This was good. It was only good. You are so, so loved."

"But my mom?—"

He shuts me up with a kiss that is so deep and well executed, I forget my mother's name. Fuck her.

I totally won.

I got the guy, a bestselling book, a career—and I even have my name. Plus, the nicest brownstone on the block with a bed that's tragically empty.

Drew pulls away slowly, opening his eyes just enough to let me know we're back on the same page. "Now," he says, his lips grazing my jaw. "Where were we?"

THE END