Page 2 of Matteo's Mettle
Charlie, a former cop, has also been kind enough to be my caretaker during these playdates. He’s a decade my junior, but he’s got Daddy vibes for days. To be honest, I’ve always been a little envious of Asher (who is in his early twenties, has a slender, athletic frame and guileless wide hazel eyes) for his luck finding such a perfect Daddy. Not that I’d be Charlie’s type, obviously, but I badly want what they share together.
I don’t allow myself to regress too far with Charlie. I don’t need him changing me or giving me a bottle. But he does cut up my meals while I’m here and cuddle me on the couch when the three of us enjoy story-time. It’s the most bitter-sweet feeling: I get a taste of the life I want, but I also know this isn’t mine to really enjoy.
“Matt?”
I give myself a little shake at Ash’s repetition of my name. Biting my lip, I offer him a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”
Ash frowns and cocks his head. “About?”
He’s not overly little today, either. He tends to be more fluid in the way he drifts in between his little and big personas, but it is unusual that he’s not letting go during our playdate. I feel a bit guilty, because I can see his concern for me written all over his expressive face and I’m guessing that’s what’s keeping him from losing himself.
Great. Now I’m bringing him down, too.
With a sigh, I drop the orange cylindrical block I’ve been fiddling with for the last few minutes and shrug. “Nothing important.”
His eyes narrow. After observing me for a moment longer, he looks up and over my shoulder, where Charlie’s lounging on the couch with a book. “Charlie, we’re done here,” he declares without any trace of his little self in his words and unfolds himself from his cross-legged position with a grace I wish I could emulate. He climbs to his feet and dusts imaginary lint off his play shorts. Then he offers me his hand.
Taking it, I groan as he helps pull me to my feet where I tower over him. My knees and back protest painfully. Another sign that maybe I really am getting too old for this. I can’t quite school my face in time, and I know that Ash catches the flicker of mourning I just felt.
Still eyeing me carefully, he says, “Let’s get changed, then grab a beer.”
It’s more a demand than a suggestion.
Nodding, I head towards the guest bathroom upstairs where I left my adult clothes and can hear Charlie and Ash murmuring quietly as I go. When I meet them back in the kitchen a handful of minutes later, their combined worry for me is almost palpable.
I offer Charlie a grateful “Thank you” when he hands me a bottle of pale ale, the cap already popped.
Ash and Charlie let me take a deep draw from the amber bottle before Charlie asks, “What’s going on?”
I look back across the kitchen island at him. He’s got his arm wrapped around Ash, but his eyes are narrowed on me. He and I are close in height and build, where Ash is a handful of inches shorter. Charlie’s got a neatly trimmed, thick dark beard and startlingly blue eyes. He’s a handsome man, and Ash is equally pretty. Nestled together as they are, they make a beautiful couple and my heart aches with jealousy and loneliness even more.
Get it together, Brightman.
“It’s nothing,” I try to brush off the question, but these guys know me better than that by now.
While we might only have been in each other’s lives for eighteen months or so, I like to think that we’ve gotten close. I would say that I have connected more with them and Josh than with the other guys in our social circle. It comes from spending so much time on playdates with Ash, I suppose.
As expected, Charlie scoffs. “Matteo,” he goes full Daddy, all stern and expectant.
He’s not my Daddy, but with all the time we’ve spent together with him as my proxy caretaker, I’m still wired to respond. “Ugh, that’s a sneaky tactic, asshole,” I tilt the neck of my beer bottle at him in accusation and he raises an eyebrow, not wavering.Damn it. Swallowing roughly, I look up at the ceiling. “I’m just all up in my head right now. I’m feeling…”Lost. Alone. Hopeless. Broken. Pathetic.“…tired.”
Charlie’s expression remains neutral as he continues to observe me in silence. I pick at the label on my beer bottle, averting my eyes under his scrutiny. But it’s not him who speaks next. It’s Ash.
“You’re lonely.”
Even though they’re delivered softly and with obvious compassion, the words seem to echo around us and I flinch. My shoulders lift and droop in a shrug, and now I really can’t meet either of their gazes.
Running my finger through the condensation dripping down the bottle in my hand, I try to brush the whole thing off. “It’s just…I don’t know…like a midlife crisis. It’s stupid.”
I’ll be turning forty-five in another week, and I assume that’s been a trigger for these feelings. Another birthday to spend on my own. Another sign that I’m aging out of the lifestyle I enjoy so deeply.
Forty-five. Fucking hell.
“It’s not stupid,” Ash argues, slipping out of Charlie’s embrace and circling the kitchen island. He wraps one of his arms around me and pulls my head down to his shoulder. I hate myself for soaking up the affection like a sponge. “Have you thought about-”
“I’m not going back again.” This I am firm on. “Every time I go, it’s the same shit. I can’t…”
Fuck it.
