Page 38 of The Story of You
“No fair. We already listened to his stupid Garth Brooks song. I’m only fighting for my right to party.”
Asher zips it. Interesting. But is that a “good boy for Daddy” zipped lip or a “I’m plotting your murder” zipped lip? Guess I’ll see. He doesn’t say much these days. Not to me anyway.
“Call Garth Brooks stupid again and I’ll just be spankin’ you, dear,” I say.
Darius smiles. Something young and vulnerable rises to the surface. His body decompresses as if a knot deep within has let go. He leans into me like he did at breakfast, but this time he slings a leg over Asher and grips one of his hands keeping the three of us linked.
I take a chance—a really big chance—and reach over to give Asher’s shoulder a squeeze with a shaky hand. We do share a bed. Limbs end up tangled through the night. Our touch boundaries have already been tangled. I brace myself for whatever comes.
His body follows my hand as I pull it away so I can place it back on the steering wheel. Huh. Not sure if he noticed.
God, those two. They’re like angry cats clawing at each other—until they’re fucking or sleeping—but when the top cat shows they lie down.
“Text the baby eagle bird and tell him to be ready in greenhouse-building clothes.”
Darius pulls out his phone. “He doesn’t know we’re coming? This’ll be good. The prima ballerina will be pissed.”
“Why?” Asher says.
“Because he’s a spoiled little brat. It’s about time someone made him do something. I say this with love.”
* * *
Wyatt
We enter the backyard through the gate on the side of the house. I had supplies and tools delivered here yesterday, and I’m not quite sorted yet, but we can do that today. I’ve already measured it out, but we need to do some lawn mowing. Can Oliver be trusted with a lawn mower? I remember his face as he stared blankly at the stove. Maybe not.
He’s lying on a sun lounger, half-naked, dressed in only a very tiny speedo, his blue eyes shielded by sunglasses and that damn book open with his nose buried in it.
“I said building clothes,” I say to him, holding my hand out for the book.
He’s graceful as he slides off the sun lounger. “Yeah, about that. I totally want to help, but if I lose an eye that’s not going to end well for anyone, and I like you, Wyatt. Um, sir.”
Okay, yeah. I guess I could tone down the protective older-brother anger a touch. The kid inspires it and I can’t stop thinking about him. “How long you been readin’ that today?”
He looks around. “Too long—but I’m okay, I promise,” he adds. “Julius is here. He went in to grab his sunglasses.”
“Give him the book before his head explodes, Oli,” Darius says. “Major, I have an idea if you’re open.”
Oliver hands the book to me. I look at Darius. “What’s that, darlin’?”
He doesn’t get to say it. Julius shows at the sliding glass door and Oliver’s body sighs.He’s worried about him.I hate that. Haven’t they talked yet? It only sets off my radar more.
Like they’re in a freaking musical, Julius dances over to him, and Oliver—never able to help himself—lifts onto his toes and does some fancy jumping ballet move toward him. Julius catches him like he does on stage, balancing him in the air before gently setting his bare feet onto the grass.
“Missed you, baby,” Oliver says.
Julius murmurs something in Italian that makes Oliver smile.
“Wanna hear my idea, Major?” Darius says in my ear.
“Yes.”
“Enlist Julius instead. Oliver and I will bring you, him, and Asher snacks. He really will lose an eye and I don’t feel like digging my own grave when Silas finds out.”
Yeah, that’s probably what’s best. “Why didn’t you say something in the truck?”
“Because I wanted to see you bein’ all protective of him, and it’s real cute by the way. I love that you’re so protective of baby eagle bird. Silas will like that.”
