His Someone Special

by Sammi Cee

  Davis chewed on his cheek, before asking, “Was he, uh, your boy?”

  I nodded slowly. “Yes, he was.”

  “And you still love him,” he said, matter of factly.

  “No. Oh no, I wish him the best, of course. We were together for eight years, so he was an important part of my life.”

  “May I ask what happened?”

  I sighed; this was the tough part. “I messed up, Davis.”

  His eyebrows arched so high it would have been comical if the situation was remotely funny. “You cheated?”

  “No,” I said, exasperated with the conclusions he kept jumping to. Except—“Actually, what I did was probably worse since I was his Daddy.”

  “Okay. Did you kill him?” he asked in mock-terror.

  The pressure in my chest eased from his teasing. “You silly boy. You think you’re cute, don’t you?” I growled and pulled him closer, tucking him right into my side. I leaned my head onto the top of his, rubbing my cheek along his soft hair. “Jeffrey and I were together for seven years before I opened the bar. From before it opened, I was working long hours to get it ready. Then, once it opened, I stayed many days from open to close making sure everything was on track, that my employees had everything they needed, that the patrons were happy.”

  “That sounds about right if you were starting your own business.”

  “But it wasn’t good for Jeffrey. The bar was my dream, and I guess I thought with the potential it had to provide us a good, stable home, I hyper-focused on it and neglected my boy.”

  “Huh, okay. But what does that have to do with us?” he asked while picking on the edge of his shirt.

  “Well, ultimately, if I’m going to be in a relationship, I want it to be with my own boy. I love being a Daddy. It’s instinctive for me to provide and protect and take care of someone.”

  “You’re a nurturer,” Davis said with a little grin.

  A small bleak piece of my heart warmed that he saw that in me. “I am. Because of that, I’ve avoided relationships.”

  “Because you want to take care of a boy you’ve stayed single? Sir, I don’t understand.”

  His “Sirs” were like music to my ears, but… “I’m not sure how well I’d do being in a typical relationship, Davis. I… I think I want to try, but I’m scared I’ll be overbearing. Traditional relationships have always been lacking for me.”

  He hummed to himself. Then his shoulder squared against my side as he sat straighter. “So you don’t want me to be your boy?”

  I kissed the top of his head. “That’s just it. I do want you to be my boy, but after hurting Jeffrey so badly, I’d decided I was done being a Daddy.”

  “So, because of what happened with your ex you don’t plan on being a Daddy anymore, but you’re also not interested in a traditional relationship, so your plan was what? To stay single forever?”

  It sounded dumb when he put it into words, which was funny since Lawson had asked me the same question a million times in the last eight or nine years and I’d always responded that yes, that was exactly what I intended to do. Hearing those words from Davis though were confusing. I hadn’t felt lonely in the time since Jeffrey left. Yes, I was alone, but my life had been full. I owned a thriving bar with customers who had become friends over the years. I had employees who were more like family. Sex had never been an issue. Owning the bar enticed many all on its own, and it didn’t hurt that I was a handsome guy. Hey, I have a mirror.

  “Sarge?” Davis asked while nudging me in the side with his elbow, shaking me out of the loop of introspection I’d been stuck in since the boy walked into my bar.

  “Sorry. I guess I thought I’d be fine. Until now, I had been.”

  “Until now?”

  I heard hope mixed with a healthy dose of insecurity in his voice, so I admitted the truth. Turning toward him, I cupped his face. “Until this self-conscious, timid boy interviewed for the dishwasher opening, scared and apprehensive to be in my bar, but trying so hard to be brave. Until the same boy took it upon himself to help out a fellow co-worker with a job that wasn’t his own, and then jumped in with both feet to help where he wasn’t comfortable. Until the same boy put all of us under his spell, employees and customers alike, with nothing but his sweet innocence. Until you.”

  A dazzling smile grew across his face at my words. “I didn’t do anything special,” he mumbled.

  “You really didn’t. That’s exactly what I’m saying. It’s you. You’re special.”

  “Now I’m really confused why we can’t date,” he said, perplexed.

  I dropped my hands to his lap and grasped his hands. We stared into each other’s eyes while he nervously chewed on the inside of that cheek. If he was my boy… “Because, I think I’d make a terrible boyfriend, and I’m scared I’ll screw up being a Daddy again. Well, if you’d even consider being my boy which I’m not suggesting—”

  “Of course I want to be your boy,” he responded with that disgruntled tone again. “I wouldn’t have even gone out with you tonight if I didn’t. I knew you were a Daddy, so I looked more stuff up online, and I thought about the guy from the college. Remember? The one I told you about, and he was so happy, and I want that, too.”

  He wanted to be my boy? He’d already thought about it? A part of me, a large part if I was honest with myself, was thrilled. At the same time, thoughts of Jeffrey and how horribly wrong it had gone our last six months together continued to dominate my mind. “You’ve really given this some thought?”

  Shyly, he said, “The only time I’m thinking about anything else is when I’m busy at work. Even then, catching glimpses of you behind the bar and interacting with you makes it hard to stay focused on my tasks instead of imagining what it would be like to be your boy.”

  Boy came out as a whisper, and I gathered him into my arms. This shy, sweet, timid man was laying it all on the line. Willing to entrust his deepest feelings to me, while I was hiding behind the ghost of a past relationship. “How about this? We’ll continue to date and see where it goes.” I pulled back. “However, if it interferes with you staying with me at all, if you feel uncomfortable or it feels like too much pressure, then you have to tell me and we’ll make adjustments. You living with me, and not here, is way more important than my relationship hang-ups.”

  Davis chewed on his inner cheek again, leaving me to question how he didn’t have a hole that we could see into, then said, “I’ll make you a deal.”

  I quirked my brow, utterly charmed by this more forthright side of him. Apparently, all it took was a good make-out session to boost his confidence. “I’ll move out of here and in with you if you’ll give us a real chance. That includes you considering letting me be your boy. I don’t want you to settle. If we’re going to be together, I want to give it a real shot.”

  Concern warred with the relief of him getting out of this place. “What if it doesn’t work out? What if I can’t do it? I don’t want you to feel stuck with me.”

  He tilted his head curiously. “Is that how Jeffrey felt? Stuck?”

  “In the end he did. We’d been living together since after our first date and we had both already known we were interested in pursuing a Daddy/boy dynamic. He moved into the apartment I had at the time and stayed until the day he left for good. Our first huge fight happened opening night of Full Throttle, and it progressively got worse from there. I tried adjusting and accommodating what he needed, but the bar had just opened so…”

  “Did you do the best you could?”

  “Of course, I did. Hurting him was the last thing I wanted to do, and it’s the last thing I’d want to do to you, too. If anything, the bar is even more of my life now than it was then, though.”

  He opened his mouth to respond when we heard loud, angry voices from outside. “Does that happen a lot?” I demanded.

  Again, he opened his mouth, but snapped it shut when a loud bang rang through the air. His face drained of color, and I said, “Pack a bag. You’re staying with me
tonight, and you won’t be coming back here.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Davis

  Sarge’s thunderous expression didn’t leave me any room to argue. Rather than try—because, how could I justify gun shots—I jumped to my feet and rushed to my small bedroom. Sarge was directly behind me.

  “What do you need from the bathroom?” he called while I flung open my closet.

  “Just the stuff in the shower and the medicine cabinet. I have a small bag under the sink,” I answered while I grabbed my battered duffle bag.

  My hands shook as I yanked clothes off the hanger and shoved them into my bag before turning toward the dresser. Snatching up handfuls of underwear and socks, I dumped them in the bag before pulling open another drawer to grab pajamas.

  Bang! Bang!

  It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that noise. In fact, it was getting to the point that not hearing it was almost out of the norm for my building, but Sarge’s concern for me was contagious. And the shots sounded much closer than usual.

  “Here,” Sarge said gruffly and tossed the smaller bag on the bed. “Are you done?”

  “Just about,” I said as I double-checked that I had enough clothes and my phone charger. “I need a few more things.”

  “Make sure to take everything you need. Once we leave here, you won’t be back.”

  Even though I’d told Sarge I’d move in with him, I hadn’t expected it to be right then. I thought we’d go on a few more dates. Maybe I’d get another kiss or two...or three. But a couple of gunshots and suddenly I was fleeing my apartment in the middle of the night, with a growling Daddy ready to kick anyone’s ass who dared to threaten me.

  Nothing I had in my apartment was sentimental, aside from a photo of my mother that sat near my small television. The rest was only stuff I’d managed to buy here and there at a thrift store; but they were only things. They didn’t hold any monetary value to me, or hold memories that would stir every time I looked at them. They were place holders to make my apartment feel like a home—and it never worked.

  I moved toward the living room to grab the photo, and then I went into my kitchen to grab the coffee can that held the tips I’d been saving. After shoving those into my bag, I turned to Sarge, who waited in the bedroom for me to finish.

  “I’m ready,” I told him after zipping up my bag. My voice came out stronger than I felt, but the sirens closing in nearly tested my resolve.

  “Great. Let’s get the hell out of here,” Sarge growled as he grabbed my bag off the bed and hefted it over his shoulder.

  I followed Sarge to the door, taking one last lingering look at the place that I’d been forced to call home, and I didn’t feel a bit of remorse when I shut it firmly behind me. The apartment never felt like home to me. It was a place where I could rest my head and call my own until I could save up for something better. I moved in during a time of desperation, but it was a temporary solution while I searched for permanence. So, I didn’t feel saddened at telling it goodbye—because it wasn’t. It was more...good riddance.

  “Stay close to me, and whatever you do, don’t stop and talk to anyone,” Sarge ordered, before he reached behind him to grasp my hand in his.

  Under different circumstances, I would’ve relished having his warm hand in mine. But there was nothing romantic about this. He wasn’t holding my hand because he wanted to be close to me; he was doing it to ensure we stayed together while we fled the building toward the safety of his truck.

  Sarge’s legs were much longer than mine, so for every one he took, I had to take two to keep up. I was practically galloping beside him while he rushed down the hall toward the stairs. The light overhead flickered, water dropped steadily in the corner from the leaky pipes, and children screamed behind the closed doors as we passed them.

  “Watch your step,” Sarge warned before taking the first step down.

  These were stairs I navigated numerous times a day. I almost had the weakened spots committed to memory, but with Sarge practically pulling me down them, it was a bit tricky. I stumbled a few times, nearly missing a step when Sarge tripped on a crack, but when my feet touched bottom, Sarge didn’t give me a second to catch my breath before he pulled me toward the exit.

  Sarge’s truck was parked in a front spot, and he let go of my hand long enough to retrieve his car keys to hit a few buttons on the fob. The truck rumbled to life with the touch of his thumb, and the headlights flashed as he unlocked the doors. The sirens were even closer, and Sarge cursed under his breath when he heard loud voices coming from the building behind us.

  “Get in,” Sarge ordered when he pulled open the door and tossed my bag in the back.

  I hopped into the truck and buckled my seatbelt before Sarge slammed the door behind me. Then he jogged around the hood to get in on his side. He didn’t bother to fasten his own belt before he put the truck in gear and backed out of the parking spot. Even in the darkened confinements of his truck, I could see the tense set of his shoulders and determination in his eyes.

  When he slammed on the brakes, my head jerked forward a little bit as he shifted into drive, and then he pressed the accelerator to the floor as he sped out of the parking lot.

  “Are you okay?” he asked when the apartment building was behind us and we both could breathe easier.

  “I’m...I’m fine,” I told him. “Just, I can’t believe that happened.”

  “I asked you once back there, and you didn’t have a chance to answer me, so I’m going to ask you again. Does that happen a lot?”

  I looked down and picked at a loose thread on my shirt. “Once or twice...a week.”

  Sarge cursed again. “And what do you do when it does? Call the cops, I’m assuming?”

  I chewed on my cheek as I shook my head. “I didn’t want to draw attention to my place. So, I’d keep quiet until the chaos died down.”

  “Did you hide under the covers until the monsters went away?” Sarge quipped, though the tension in his voice told me he wasn’t really in the joking mood.

  “Something like that,” I answered softly, because when he put it that way, it really was stupid.

  The walls were thin. The doors were flimsy and cheap. It would’ve been easy for someone to bust down the door or shoot a bullet through the walls. My naivete was concerning, but my justification was I did what I had to do at the time. I was proud of myself for sticking it out and not giving up when times were too hard. I busted my ass to get that place, and I scrimped and saved to furnish it. It wasn’t much, but it was mine, and it worked when I needed it. Speaking of which…

  “What about my stuff?”

  “What about it?”

  “You said I wasn’t coming back once I left. What about my other belongings?”

  “You’re moving in with me, right?” Sarge asked. I nodded. “I need you to use words, boy. I can’t watch your movements while I’m keeping my eyes on the road.”

  A shiver ran down my spine, like it did every time he called me “boy”. “Yes, I am.”

  “Do you believe I have everything you need to provide for you?”

  I went to nod my head again but stopped myself. “Yes, I do, sir.”

  Sarge grunted. “Then do you need those belongings?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did you take everything with you that you wanted?”

  I didn’t need to think about it. Everything I wanted and needed was in my duffle bag. “I did.”

  “Then those belongings at the apartment don’t matter. Leave them. The next person who moves in might need them more than you ever did. You’ll have more than you could ever need at home.”

  Home. Would that be what Sarge’s place would be for me? Home? It was too soon to tell, but more than I could ever hope for. Since moving out of my uncle’s, I hadn’t had a place to truly call home.

  “I believe you,” I replied softly. “Hopefully, the next tenants will make use of it.”

  Sarge didn’t say anything for the duration of the
drive, and my head was reeling too much from everything that’d transpired to try to make conversation. It was crazy to think we’d gone from kissing on my futon to fleeing my apartment for safety all in the span of a few minutes. And in the middle of that? We discussed the possibility of a Daddy/boy relationship. How was this my life now, and why did I want it so much? Or better yet, why did I want it to be with Sarge?

  Because he’s shown you that he can keep you safe. And he makes you feel things you hadn’t felt. He sees you when you’ve felt invisible, my brain decided to tell me.

  “We’re here,” Sarge announced when he pulled into a driveway.

  His truck idled as he pushed a button and waited for the garage door to lift. Even though it was dark, the headlights showed me the large, ranch-style house complete with a large front porch and a swing. I immediately envisioned myself lying on the swing while it swayed in the breeze with a good book in my hand. It sounded like heaven, and if this worked out with Sarge, hopefully it’d become a reality.

  Sarge slowly pulled his truck into the two-car garage, and I noted the other side was occupied with a shiny black and chrome motorcycle. I looked at the beast on two wheels and let out a low whistle.

  “She’s beautiful,” I said in awe.

  “Do you know a lot about motorcycles?” Sarge asked when he turned off the truck.

  I shook my head. “Not a thing. But I can appreciate something of beauty when I see it.”

  Sarge grunted again. “Maybe I can teach you a thing or two. It’ll come in handy at the bar.”

  “That’d be great.”

  “Come on. Let’s get inside so you can get settled.”

  Sarge grabbed my bag before I could, and after exiting the truck, I joined Sarge at the door. After unlocking it, he pushed it open and flipped a switch. Light instantly flooded the kitchen and attached dining room. My eyes took in the wooden cabinetry, marble countertops, and stainless-steel appliances. The dining room table was large enough to seat eight, but I was sure it saw more poker games than family-style dinners.

  “I’ll give you the penny tour tomorrow. I’m sure you’d like to take a shower and get unpacked,” Sarge said before grabbing my hand to pull me down the hall.