3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

PISTON

"What the hell was that about?" Jag asks in a low voice after we all pretend not to watch Hero lead Milo into the back room.

"The kid thinks Hero is his dad," Tex butts in to explain, as if we didn't all just hear the exact same thing.

Granted, I think they all probably heard it better than I did since I can't hear much over the sound of blood rushing in my ears.

I had my tongue down Hero's son's throat last night. I swallowed his moans while we rolled around on the hard-as-cement motel bed and felt the shape of his erection against my thigh. A hot, heavy feeling pulses in my gut, some combination of guilt and the desperate desire to do it all again.

I nearly defiled the kid and all I want to do is finish the job. I want to put my filthy hands all over him and hear him moan my name right in my ear.

Jag hums, seemingly to himself. I'm still trying not to stare in the direction that they disappeared and failing miserably, but I can feel his eyes on me anyway. "Not really the part I was most curious about, but okay," he mutters.

My heart jumps again and I swallow around the rising bile in my throat. I force my attention back to my sketch pad without really seeing it.

"Do you think it's true?" Arrow asks.

"Yeah. They look exactly alike." I give up trying to draw, tossing my pad down and spinning around on my chair so I won't be able to see the doorway to the back room anymore.

"Do they?" Tex uses his thumb to tip his cowboy hat back a few inches so it's not casting as much of a shadow over his face. "I didn't get that good of a look."

"Seems like Piston did," Jag says, an unmistakable edge of goading in his voice.

Fine, he picked up on the fact that I obviously recognized Milo when he walked in, but he doesn't know anything more than that. He's fishing, hoping I'll spill my guts like any of the rest of these big mouths would. Fat chance. I learned how to keep secrets young, and that's a skill that never leaves you.

I shrug one shoulder.

It's only a few minutes later when footsteps have us all looking towards the back of the shop again. Milo's head is ducked, so I can't see his expression. The necklace he was wearing when he came in is wrapped around his fist now and he doesn't even look my way as he hustles out through the door.

I'm out of my chair before I can think about it, spinning towards Hero as soon as the door closes behind Milo. I close the space between us in only a few steps, stopping with my face right in front of his.

"What the fuck did you say to him?" I bark.

Hero's thick eyebrows pull together, and to my left, Arrow coughs. The sound is pointed, shaking me from whatever impulsive fog dragged me out of my chair. What the fuck am I doing? Getting up in Hero's face? That's not me. Even the harsh edge in my voice is out of character, and they all know it. I swallow and take a step back, crossing my arms and rubbing one hand over the rough stubble on my chin.

"What happened?" I ask more evenly.

Hero shakes his head, looking dazed now that I'm not flying off the handle at him. He wanders over to his chair and plops down hard enough that it rolls back an inch under his weight. I can't imagine what the woman in Jag's chair thinks right now. Probably that she didn't realize she would be attending a live taping of the Jerry Springer show when she booked this tattoo. All of us, except for Jag, crowd around Hero. Arrow pats his shoulder, and Tex hops up to sit on the client chair right in front of him while I hover off to the side, trying to remember how to act normal.

I only met the kid last night. I don't know why I'm so invested in this whole thing. Except that he sounded so sad and nervous about meeting his dad, and whatever happened, he practically sprinted out of here in less than five minutes.

"So, uh, he said he's my kid?" Hero rubs the back of his neck with a faraway look in his eyes.

"Do you think he is?" Arrow asks, squeezing his shoulder.

"I don't know. He said his mom's name is Emily, which, I mean, who the fuck remembers the name of a woman they slept with once almost thirty years ago?" He shrugs weakly. "But he knew my name, obviously, and he had a necklace that used to belong to me. He said his mom told him she took it as a souvenir that night."

"Like a serial killer?" Jag quips.

Tex chuckles and Arrow glares past me at Jag.

"Not helping, man."

Hero doesn't really seem to be listening to any of the bickering though, his gaze still unfocused like he's lost in thought.

"I guess I should get a DNA test?"

"Not a bad first step," Arrow agrees.

"What does he want though? Is he looking for money or something? Can he sue you for back child support or anything as an adult?" Tex wonders out loud.

I grit my teeth at the suggestion that Milo just showed up to shake him down. But fuck if I know. That could be exactly why he's here.

Hero shakes his head.

"I don't know. He didn't say. He just rushed through all of his reasons for believing I'm his dad, and I told him I needed to process everything. That's when he took off." He rakes his fingers through his beard. "I don't understand why she never told me. My ass has been right here in Fall Crosse for all forty-six years of my life. I'm not exactly hard to find. Hell, Milo didn't seem to have any trouble finding me."

The corners of his eyes tighten, and he bounces his knee. It reminds me of Milo's show of nerves last night at the bar, and a fresh wave of guilt washes over me. As fucked up as this situation is though, as unfair as it feels, it's obvious Hero needs the kind of steady, clear-headed advice they all rely on me for. I crouch and meet his eyes, putting my hand on his knee to still his leg. The fog clears and he finally focuses on me.

"Who the hell knows why she didn't say anything. Maybe she had good reasons for it or maybe she had shit reasons, but either way it doesn't change what happened. It fucking sucks that you missed out on getting to actually raise him. It's completely fucking unfair that you got blindsided like this." He nods vehemently and I squeeze his knee. "But he's here now. He wants to get to know you now . You can't turn back time, but you can try to figure out how to be a dad now."

Everyone is silent for a second, and then Jag lets out a low whistle.

"Damn, does anyone else get goose bumps when Piston gives those speeches of his?"

I chuckle and push myself back to standing. Hero still looks a little rattled, but I can tell he's going to do the right thing. If there's a tiny amount of relief in knowing that Hero getting to know Milo means Milo will stick around Fall Crosse longer, I'll never admit it. If anything, it makes the whole thing harder on me. An hour ago, I was psyched to take a cute guy out on a date tonight and see where things might lead; now that same tempting man is going to be hanging around for fuck knows how long, completely untouchable.

I roll my shoulders to shake out the tension and pull my phone out of my pocket to double check my appointment schedule for today while I shuffle back over towards my workstation. There's a text notification waiting for me as soon as the screen comes to life. My gut clenches and I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one is paying attention before I click to open it.

MILO: Soooo…. That was weird. Sorry for that whole thing. Can I still see you again?

I stare at the message for a minute, the war between guilt and desire returning full force. I can't imagine a bigger violation of the bro code than hooking up with my friend's newly discovered son. Hero would deck me, and I wouldn't blame him. Hell, they would all be justified in kicking me out of the club, buying me out of the shop, and never speaking to me again. Something like that would cause an irreparable rift.

With all the logic stacked to one side, I finally manage to wrestle the insistent pulse of longing into submission. I start to type out a response, letting him know it can't happen, but before I can send it, another text comes through.

MILO: Please?

Fuck.

That one word hits me in the center of my chest. I at least owe it to him to tell him to his face, right? I delete my unfinished text and retype it.

PISTON: Hero is one of my best friends. This is really complicated now. If you want, we can meet for dinner and talk about it?

I reread my own text and then type one more just to avoid any confusion or hurt feelings later.

PISTON: As friends.

I grit my teeth and swallow down the urge to rage about how much this sucks. Like I told Hero a few minutes ago, it is what it is, and all any of us can do now is deal with it. The typing bubble pops up and disappears a few times until a response finally comes through.

MILO: Sure…

MILO

As friends .

Ugh.

I press the channel button on the remote hard, slamming my thumb down on it again and again, not really even seeing the shows that flicker by before the channel switches again. I don't even want to watch TV. I groan and hit the power button, then toss the remote onto the bed beside me.

This day couldn't have gone worse. Hero looked like I'd hit him with a frying pan when I finally managed to get my thoughts together and explain to him in full sentences who I am. I get that he needs to process. It's totally understandable. But it still fucking blows.

I chew on my thumbnail, occasionally stopping to spit out the flakes of nail polish that chip off and land on my tongue.

I don't know what I was expecting. I mean, obviously I didn't think the guy I tried to hook up with last night before chickening out would be friends with my dad. But besides that, I guess maybe I built up some stupid fantasy in my head where Hero would be thrilled to find out he had a son, that he'd tell me he'd always dreamed of having a kid, and then, I don't know, pull me into his arms to hug me.

I huff out a laugh, spit out the last bit of nail polish I chip off my thumb, then swing my legs over the side of the bed.

I don't see why the Piston thing should even be an issue. I'm hoping Hero wants to get to know me, and yeah, he provided half my DNA, but it's not like he's my dad dad. He didn't change my diapers or teach me how to ride a bike. As far as he's concerned, I'm just another grown-ass dude, and who I sleep with—assuming I ever actually sleep with anyone —isn't any of his business.

Maybe that's all Piston needs to hear. Sure, it's a little weird, but so what? We're both adults. I mean, sure, on paper I'm not the adultiest adult in the world. I don't have a career path or a savings account or even a place to live, but I'm twenty-eight, dammit, which means I'm legally allowed to go to war, buy alcohol and even weed in most states, rent a car, and fuck any other adult I want as long as it's consensual. I nod sharply at my own excellent point.

I push myself to my feet, drag my fingers through my hair, and glance down at the clothes I'm wearing. It's the same graphic tee I wore to the shop earlier, featuring a hissing opossum and the words "The horrors persist but so do I." It's a winner, there's no doubt about that, but I might have a better shot at convincing Piston I'm an adult if I wear something else.

I strip my shirt over my head, tossing it onto the bed inside out, then rifle through my suitcase. Everything inside is crumpled and most of it is in need of a wash after the bus ride from Colorado to here and several days in the motel, all without access to a laundry. I manage to find a gray V-neck t-shirt towards the bottom though that passes the sniff test and has minimal wrinkles.

Once I'm dressed, I slip my shoes on and step out the door. It swings closed slowly behind me and it's not until I hear the click of the automatic lock that I bother to pat my pockets.

"Fuck me," I groan, leaning back against the door, banging my head on it with a sigh. I've been here three days, and this is already the third key I've had to ask for. The bored burnout at the desk probably thinks I'm handing my key out to randos everywhere I go.

The roar of a motorcycle engine thunders down the street. My eyes fly open and worries about my room key and wallet vanish immediately. Piston and I agreed to meet at a burger place around the corner, but maybe he decided to come pick me up instead? A second later, the motorcycle in question comes into view, pulling into the motel parking lot. He rides straight towards me, pulling into the same spot as last night. Except, as soon as he cuts the engine, I can tell it isn't Piston. He's broader and bulkier. He swings his leg over his bike to dismount and pulls off his helmet. My breath catches and the flutters that filled my stomach when I thought it was Piston coming to pick me up turn into a different kind of nerves.

"Hey," I say weakly, then clear my throat and try again. "I wasn't expecting you to come by."

Hero grimaces, tucking his helmet under his arm and taking a step forward onto the sidewalk a few feet in front of me.

"Yeah, listen, I'm sorry about how I reacted earlier. You threw me for a loop, kid." He chuckles. "It's not your fault, but it was kind of a sucker punch to find out I have a nearly thirty-year-old son I never knew about."

I nod in understanding.

"I don't know why she never told you." I wish I could offer him insight into the incomprehensible mind of Emily O'Malley, but even after twenty-eight years as her son, his guess is probably as good as mine.

"She must've had her reasons," he says gruffly. "Do you think…" He glances away, then back at me. "Maybe we could go grab a bite to eat and talk?"

"Uh…" I drum my fingers against my thigh. "I already have dinner plans, actually."

Maybe I should cancel them? I came all the way here to meet my dad and now he's standing right in front of me, offering to get to know me. That should take priority over getting shot down face-to-face by the most gorgeous man I've ever laid eyes on. I chew my lip and tap my fingers a little faster.

"I could—" I start to say at the same time Hero says, "That's okay."

We both stop talking and share an awkward smile.

"That's okay," he says again. "Why don't you swing by the shop again tomorrow and we can go out for lunch."

I let out a breath and nod.

"Yeah, that sounds great."

"Cool." He shifts on his feet and rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. It's weirdly comforting to know I'm not the only one feeling awkward as fuck about this whole thing. "Do you want a ride to wherever you're headed?"

My heart jolts.

"No, that's okay," I say in a hurry. I can't imagine having my dad drop me off for my ‘convince Piston we should still fool around' dinner would help my cause much.

"Oh, okay." He drifts back towards his Harley, then offers me a twitch of a smile. "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"See you tomorrow."

He pulls his helmet back on, hops on his bike, and roars away as quickly as he appeared. I let out another long breath and sag against the door a second time.

Maybe I really should focus on prioritizing the thing I came here for. I could go to dinner, let Piston let me down gently, and forget last night even happened. Hell, barely anything happened at all. It was nothing more than kissing… The best, hottest makeout session of my life, but still just kissing. This is exactly the kind of thing that always lands me in trouble—getting distracted by pretty, shiny new things every time I take a step towards a goal. I get a job and suddenly a new hobby is way more appealing to focus all my time on. I spend time making a plan for something and then completely abandon it on step one. I switched my college major four times before dropping out with plenty of debt but no degree to speak of.

Even as I stand here chewing my lip until the tang of blood hits my tongue, trying to convince myself that Piston is probably right, this is too messy and too distracting, I already know I don't care.

Where's the thrill in life without a little mess? The question is, can I convince Piston to see it the same way?