Page 113 of Sweet Vengeance
“We’ll start this summer.” I hold his chin, tilt his head up, and press my lips to his.
I feel eyes on us, and at first, I think it’s probably just asshole motherfuckers staring at two men kissing in the middle of the airport, but when I turn and see a man with blond, curly hair, round-rimmed glasses, and the world’s kindest smile watching us from beside carousel eight, I know exactly who it is.
Ollie turns right after, drops his bag and runs to his father, the two of them hugging and crying right there for all to see. I love how fucking strong he is, how open, that he doesn’t care about showing his emotions no matter who’s around, and looking at the two of them, I know where he got it.
My life has never been like that unless the emotion we’re talking about is anger, pride, or strength, but there’s something so much braver about how Ollie and his father do it, and maybe even in how me, Rory, and Tiernan show it, so much more than our fathers ever did.
Ollie’s dad looks up at me, tears in his eyes while hugging his son, and waves me over. I take Ollie’s bag, unsure what to do or say, but then he’s pulling me into their embrace too, that easily accepting me because his son loves me.
Not gonna lie, I’m stiff and uncomfortable, and Ollie must sense it because a moment later, he pulls back.
“Dad, this is Cillian. Cil, this is my dad, Oliver.”
I kinda wish he hadn’t gone for the shortened version of my name right now. It’s a little too close to home. Still, I hold my hand out for Oliver. He smiles when he shakes it.
“Nice to meet you, sir,” I tell him.
“Please, call me Oliver.”
“Oliver,” I agree.
He wraps one arm around me and one around Ollie. “Come on, boys. Let’s go home.”
We walk to his vehicle, an older Jeep Cherokee, and I put both bags in the back. Ollie tries to get me to sit in the front, but I don’t. Once he’s climbed in, I get in the back and just…listen to them chat. They talk like they’re not on the phone together often, like they just enjoy each other’s company, laughing and sharing and doing their best to pull me into the conversation. Mostly, though, I just enjoy listening to them.
They have a small, homey house in an older neighborhood. We bring our bags to Ollie’s room, and the first thing I say is, “You didn’t tell me you and your dad are twins.” Ollie’s hair just doesn’t have the same curl.
“Wild, huh?”
“It is.” They talk and act alike too.
We join Oliver in the living room. He does his best to get to know me, asking questions about me and my family. I get nervous answering some of them, but it’s clear that with him, it all comes from the heart. He wants to learn about me because his son is in love with me. That’s the kind of man he is.
We go through family photos, and they tell me stories about each and every one. Ollie’s mom was beautiful, and though he looks a lot like his father, I see her in him too.
Oliver had stew in the Crock-Pot, and the three of us eat at the table together.
“I’ll do the dishes,” I offer.
“I’ll help,” Ollie says.
“That’s okay,” his father replies. “I’ll help him. I know you like to take a shower after flying.”
But he hadn’t, I’m sure because he knows I’m nervous about being alone with his father.
Ollie’s gaze meets mine, questioning, and I give him a small nod. I can do this. I’ve fucking helped torture people,for Christ’s sake. I can wash dishes with my boyfriend’s dad.
“Okay. I’ll be back.” Ollie gives me a kiss, then slips from the room.
“I can do these by myself. You cooked,” I say.
“I don’t mind helping. I don’t often run the dishwasher with it being just me, so I’ve gotten in the habit of handwashing.”
“Well, at least let me do that part.”
“I’ll rinse.”
Oliver joins me at the sink, the two of us washing dishes together. I try to envision my father doing this with Ollie, but as hard as I try, I can’t see it.
