31. Boston

CHAPTER 31

BOSTON

My flight got in late, but the smell of central California was unmistakable, even in the dark of night. It was all dirt and garlic and a little bit of smog, and by the time I made from the airport in Fresno to my parents' farm, I was already almost used to it again. My parents had offered to pick me up, but with my flight not landing until eleven, I told them it wasn't a hardship to take a taxi. The ride alone in the car gave me time to check in with Ford and do everything I could to steady my racing heart.

Me : Made it to CA.

It took Ford a few minutes to text me back.

Ford : Proof of life.

I sent him a tired looking photo of myself, head resting against the window of the taxi, farmland rolling by in the background .

Ford : I didn't know California looked like that.

Me : Most people don't.

Me : How are you still awake?

Ford : Went out for drinks with Alex.

Ford : Told him about you.

My already frantic heart went into overdrive, and I almost dropped my phone trying to tap out a concerned message in response to him.

Me : Why? What did he say?

Ford : If we're telling your brother when you're home, we have to tell our friends.

Ford : I figured it would be easier to get them out of the way so I don't get ganged up on when Kale finds out.

Me : How did he take it?

Ford : Less surprised than I expected. He's more concerned about my welfare after we've told Kale.

Me : My brother will be fine.

I wasn't so sure, but I needed to convince myself it was the truth. If I was serious about Ford, which I was, then Kale was just going to have to get his head out of his ass and deal with it.

Ford : Alex says good luck with me. Apparently I'm the worst.

Me : I don't think so, but tell him thank you.

Me : I won't keep you if you're out.

Ford : We're back at his place. I'm tucked in for the night.

Another message came through, a photo of Ford in a bed I didn't recognize, his hair messy and tangled around his face like he'd been asleep when I texted.

Me : Did I wake you up?

Ford : I don't mind. I wanted to talk to you.

I swallowed, pushing the call button on the screen of my phone. Ford answered on the first ring and I kept it on speaker so I could look at the picture and match the image of him up with his voice.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said, voice rough and drawn out with the laziness of sleep.

I screwed my eyes shut, angry at myself for all the things I'd left unsaid with Ford on the way to the airport. I had half a mind to turn around and go back to the airport, fly home so I could tell him face to face that I was falling for him. That I'd fallen . But if the feelings were real, they could wait. They'd still feel as urgent on my tongue in three days if they were the truth.

"Ford," I whispered his name, blinking my eyes open to stare at his face. "Sir."

He hummed, and the sheets rustled. "I don't want to get greedy, but I do like the idea of you trying that out more."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said.

"How long until you're at your parents'?" he asked.

"Five minutes probably. The airport isn't far."

Ford let out another low hum that turned into a yawn.

"I didn't mean to wake you up. I'm sorry."

"I wanted it," he said quickly. "I asked you to and you did what you were told. Don't apologize for that."

I took the phone off speaker and pressed it against my ear .

"I'm sorry," I said again, choking off a laugh. "You know what I mean."

"Be a good boy while you're gone, Boston," he murmured.

I pressed the heel of my hand against the base of my cock, urging it to go back to sleep the way I wanted to.

"Yes, Sir."

Ford cursed under his breath.

"Enjoy your time with your family," he said. "I have big plans for us when you're back."

"Telling my brother doesn't sound like my idea of a good time," I said.

"More than that," he promised. Another yawn.

"Go back to sleep, Ford. I'll be at the farm in no time and we can talk tomorrow."

"So bossy." Another yawn, this one longer, drawing his tease out into one long, drawling syllable.

"Goodnight," I said quietly, a confession of love burning on the tip of my tongue.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

I disconnected the call as soon as the cab made a left up the winding gravel of my parents' driveway. The farm was on hundreds of acres, and the road that led to the main house was almost a mile off the main road. Dust kicked up all around the taxi and then it settled, giving me a look at the farm I'd spent the first thirteen years of my life in.

"Right place?" the driver asked after I hadn't moved.

The front screen door swung open and I recognized the looming silhouette of my father in the shadows. Kale and I were both built like him, even if we didn't have all his facial features. Tall and slender with muscles that most people wouldn't notice, bodies made of sharp angles and lines made more for tailored suits than patchwork jeans.

"The right place," I confirmed, pulling cash out of my wallet and handing it over the back of the front seat. "Keep the change."

The driver popped the trunk, and I used my shoulder to open the door. I had my carryon, a slender satchel with a book and my iPad, and not much else. I slung it over my shoulder then went for the trunk. My mom's smaller, rounder figure appeared in the doorway beside my dad, but neither of them moved toward me. I closed the trunk and stepped up onto the first wooden stair, then up, up, up, onto the long wraparound porch that had become a permanent fixture in my dreams.

"Boston," my mom finally said, brushing past my dad and meeting me in the middle of the porch. She wrapped her arms around my waist and pressed her cheek against the middle of my chest. I kissed the top of her head and tried to shuffle us both toward the door. My father met us halfway, wrapping his arms around the two of us, but pulling back enough to let his stare roam unbidden over my face. I wasn't sure what he would see there, and even less certain he'd like what he found.

"Let's get inside," he said, ushering us both inside.

The house was everything you'd expect from a typical farmhouse but with a little bit of flair. A hot pink blanket was thrown half off the couch and whatever movie had been on the TV was paused in the middle of an action scene.

My parents had waited up for me.

"You must be tired," I said to my mom.

She laughed and untangled her arms from around my middle. " You must be tired," she said with a yawn .

"I am," I confirmed. "My body says it's time for the bars to close."

My father laughed and took my suitcase out of my hand.

"Your old room is set up," my dad said, always practical even in light of the circumstances. "Let's get to sleep and we can catch up in the morning."

"I know the way."

I took my bag out of his hand, gave them both a kiss on the cheek, then made my way over the creaking floorboards in front of the bathroom, toward the stairs. My parents' room had always been on the main floor, an office or library space they'd converted to avoid the stairs. Kale and I had shared a room on the second level, a sprawling attic-style room with two twin beds and matching nightstands between them.

The stairs groaned more under my weight than they had before, but I weighed well over a hundred pounds more than I had at thirteen. This was far from my first trip back home after we'd left, but everything felt foreign in a way I didn't know how to articulate. Making my way up the familiar stairs the times before had always felt like a homecoming. This time, it was a reckoning.

I didn't even bother to flip on the lights. I knew my mom hadn't moved anything around. I dropped both my bags, closed my eyes, and counted the steps to my bed. I was asleep before my head hit the freshly washed pillow.

Growing up on a farm had meant it was in my blood to be an early riser, but I slept so long and hard that first night back home, the sun had already cleared the small attic window before I managed to pry my eyes open. Sleep crusted together in the corners and I wiped at my eyes with fingers, rolling onto my back with a pained grunt. The mattress had always been shit, but the room was bright now and I realized the sheets were the same pale blue they were when Kale and I walked away for the very first time.

Stretching, I finally bothered to toe off my sneakers, but it took a valiant effort to crawl out of bed to get my bags. I fished out my charger and plugged it in, then found my phone and put it on charge. I didn't have any more messages from Ford, but I did have one from my brother telling me not to worry about letting him know I'd gotten in safe because he'd tracked my flight and already knew.

If that wasn't typical Kale, I didn't know what was.

My brother was diligent and meticulous, busying himself with everyone else's business as much as his own. I wouldn't have been surprised if he already knew about Ford and me, but that thought was enough to make my blood run cold. Kale had made it a life goal to leverage his four minutes of seniority over me, but the thought of him knowing the whole time and being content to let Ford and I wallow in secrecy was too much for me to entertain.

Sitting up on the ancient oak bed, I stretched my arms over my head and cracked my back, then dug out some fresh clothes and my leather toiletries bag. Kale and I had grown up sharing a decent-sized bathroom across the hall, but as a six-foot tall adult, the shower was smaller than I remembered. The water pressure was as shit as it had always been, but after some muttered cursing and some beginner contortionism, I was freshly washed and ready for the day.

I hadn't quite been able to wash the flight off of me, my head still fuzzy in the way that jetlag had about it, even though I knew in a day or two my equilibrium would be level set. Downstairs, the house sounded quiet, but I wasn't surprised to find my mom in the kitchen, sandwich supplies spread out across the counter.

"Hey, Mom," I said, shuffling toward her.

She turned, eyes warm and smile wide, then quickly enveloped me in another hug. I closed my eyes, leaning into her and trying to separate out the feelings that came from being with her and the ones that were ingrained with being in the farm. The property was in their blood as much as the crown belonged to Christian, and I let that thought be enough to make me stop trying. This place was her and the city was me, and I didn't know when the farm had stopped being mine.

I didn't mean that in the way of saying I wasn't welcome here, but as I separated myself from my mom's welcome home hug so I could sit at the kitchen table, I found myself a visitor, an interloper. She made me a sandwich and brought me coffee, and told me it was nearly eleven in the morning. She and my dad had been up for hours.

Sliding my hands up the sides of my nose, I rubbed the bridge where my glasses sat against my skin, wondering if New York had turned me more into Kale than I'd ever intended. As a teenager, when I thought of home, I'd thought about digging vegetables out of the garden. Even in the city, my upbringing had been rooted as deep inside me as the massive oak tree out back of the house. And sitting at the place that had always felt like home to me, I didn't think of my brother, didn't think of his ridiculous jet or my job or apartment.

When I thought of home, I thought of Ford Carlisle.