by Jayce Ellis
Deion finished packing and collapsed at the edge of the bed. He gripped his phone and checked it, hoping against hope for a message from Carlton. But there wasn’t one, and why would there be? He was probably still meeting with Dr. Holmes, discussing all of the shit poor Olivia had been through the past few years. Including, now, the breakup of her soon-to-be adopted father and his partner. Something they really should have considered beforehand.
His phone dinged, and when he glanced down he saw that his driver was five minutes away. Deion stood, smoothed down the edges of the bed he’d made this morning, and fought off his tears, digging his nails into his palms deep enough to leave score marks.
Maybe...maybe he was being too hasty. Carlton didn’t use the word love. But hadn’t he showed it? In his touch, his affection, the way he’d made love to Deion like he was a starving man? Maybe it was Deion asking for too much, to hear those words when actions spoke louder than them anyway.
And look, here you are, giving yourself an excuse to stay. He sighed and mentally cursed the voice in his head. Never mind that it was right. Because the truth was, he didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay right the hell where he was, in Carlton’s arms, and go on avoiding that difficult conversation as long as possible if it meant keeping Carlton in his arms.
His phone dinged again. The driver was here. Deion took another deep breath, sighed, and willed his suitcase out the house and down the stairs. It was time for him to go home.
* * *
The flight back to Chicago was jam-packed. It took Deion forever to figure out why, until he realized Thanksgiving was that week. He hadn’t even noticed. Heck, and what did it say that he’d completely missed it? He’d been there for five and a half weeks, and his life had turned upside down in that short time. What had been meant to be ten days with his friend, laughing it up and frolicking, a final goodbye before he started a new chapter in his life, had turned into the most perfectly domestic shit he could have experienced. And he’d loved every minute, every second of it.
He walked out of the airport into the icy, biting cold of a Chicago winter come early. Which, honestly, felt appropriate. He tightened his light-enough-for-DC-and-way-too-fucking-light-for-Chicago sweater around himself, and hurried into another ride for the trip home. He’d texted his mother from Dulles Airport, telling her he’d left DC, and had taken advantage of the excuse of being on the plane to turn his phone off and ignore what he knew would be a slew of messages from her.
The driver was deep into some post-game analysis about the Bears’ latest loss, so this was as good a time as any. He turned off airplane mode and waited. And it felt as though his phone buzzed for a solid minute. All but one were messages from Ma, demanding he call her immediately when he got home. The last one was from Olivia.
Olivia: I love you, Uncle D. I’m sorry if I said something to make you leave.
Jesus fuck. He responded immediately.
Me: I love you too, Ollie.
Damn, it hurt to write that. That was Carlton’s name for her, but he’d adopted it, if only in his mind.
Me: Don’t you ever think you did anything. I promise you didn’t.
He checked his watch. He was an hour behind them, but it was nine his time. Which meant it was just about time for her to go to bed, and he prayed she saw his message before he did. Thankfully, her response came shortly.
Olivia: Okay good. Uncle C wouldn’t tell me what happened with you two, so I was afraid it was something I’d done.
Me: Never. Your uncle loves you so much, and we both just want what’s best for you.
Olivia: You know, everyone says that, but no one actually ever asks me. Not until today. Dr. Holmes asked, and that was pretty awesome, but everyone else just assumes.
Damn. Short, sweet, to the point, and an absolute evisceration, because she was right. They definitely hadn’t asked Olivia what she wanted. And, sure, maybe part of their relationship had nothing to do with her. But as she’d so smugly stated when she first showed up, she was the catalyst that’d brought them together. They’d done this ostensibly for her, even though he was pretty sure anyone with a half-functioning set of eyes could see it was deeper than that. Still, he responded.
Me: You’re right, and I’m sorry.
Olivia: Is it okay if I text you again?
Me: I’ll be furious if you don’t. I want you to text me. I can’t lose you too.
Olivia: Okay, Uncle D. Love you.
“Love you too. Night.”
“You talking to me?”
Deion jerked his head up. “What?”
The driver looked at him from the rearview mirror and chuckled. “You said ‘I love you too, night.’”
Deion tried to laugh, but it came out shaky. “Shit, didn’t realize I’d said that out loud. My bad.”
The guy waved him off with a grin. “No worries. Looks like we’re here.”
They pulled up to Deion’s house and he climbed out the car, taking a look around with a sigh. He should have been eager to be back here, right? Eager to get on with his life, the one he’d planned before Carlton dropped a curveball on him. But he wasn’t, and he couldn’t fake it. What he wanted right now, more than anything, was to hop back on a plane and force his friend to deal with him. With them and their issues and whatever was still keeping them apart. He wanted to stand outside Carlton’s door and yell until Carlton finally screamed out I love you, goddammit or called the cops. Which Carlton would never do.
But he didn’t do any of that, instead walking up the steps and opening the door.
He was greeted by a coldness inside almost as blistering as the one outside. And as he sat his luggage down and padded to turn up the thermostat, he sighed. Life was back to normal, and he hated every minute of it.
Chapter Nineteen
“Unc, you’re not allowed to wallow all day. I need you to grate the cheese.” Olivia sounded so damn much like her mother, even had that same imperious finger-pointing thing down.
“Wallow? Is that what I’m doing?”
“Um, yeah. And it doesn’t make sense. You and Uncle D have been together for like, twenty years or something. Longer than I’ve been alive. I don’t get how y’all go from...” she trailed off and waved her arms in the general direction of the bedroom “...all that y’all were doing in there, to not talking at all.”
It was a good damn observation, one Carlton didn’t have a ready response for. He’d spent half his life talking to Deion every night before bed, to feeling Deion’s warm body nestled against his, to nothing. And the silence? It was fucking oppressive.
“See, wallowing. It’s our word of the week, Unc, and it’s so apt. That’s another good one, isn’t it?” She winked and went back to the béchamel sauce she hadn’t stopped stirring.
Carlton laughed. It warmed him to see Ollie laughing, smiling like he hadn’t seen in too long. She seemed to like the therapist, who she was seeing twice a week for the time being, and they were gradually working toward another new normal—the one without Deion. He tugged at her hair and ducked out the way when she tried to swat him with a wooden spoon.
The door jingled for a minute before it opened and Trey walked in. “Y’all cooking or playing in there?” he asked with a laugh.
“I’m not making this sauce again,” Olivia said through her giggles. “So if you want mac and cheese, tell Unc to leave me alone and keep grating.”
Trey came over and gave Carlton a one-armed hug, then plopped down at the table and reached into his book bag, setting sweet potatoes, marshmallows, brown sugar, and green beans on the top.
Carlton finished grating one block of cheese and paused, leaning against the counter and facing his nephew. “Gotta admit, I’m surprised you wanted to spend the holiday with your uncle and baby sister.”
Trey smiled slightly and shrugged while he started peeling the sweet potatoes. “Holidays u
sed to be when we’d see you. You’d come over and bring gifts and read stories and play with us and everything and, I guess, I don’t know, I missed that.”
Carlton swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat. He hadn’t known what else to do, how else to behave. It’d never occurred to him that time meant anything to Trey or Olivia. That they’d looked forward to spending those holidays with him too.
“See, look at him. You’re gonna make him wallow more, and I am not here for it. Besides, his girl’s in town for the holiday and he’s probably gonna see her too.” Olivia had finished her sauce and was busy stirring the cheese Carlton had grated into the casserole dish of pasta, sauce, and egg for baking, and dammit, all Carlton could think about was how much Deion would love this. How many times Olivia would chastise him for sneaking handfuls of cheese, which he would’ve volunteered to grate.
Ugh, he hated that Olivia was right. He was wallowing, and it needed to stop. He looked at Trey, who had another casserole dish loaded with seasoned sweet potatoes, and he was busily adding brown sugar and marshmallows to the pan. Carlton cleared his throat again, where a frog seemed to have taken up permanent residence. “How many marshmallows you planning to add?”
“Until the ancestors say enough.” Trey and Olivia spoke in unison, and Carlton choked on air.
Trey grinned. “That’s what Dad always used to say when Mom asked. This was his meal.”
For a moment silence hung in the air, then Olivia slapped the counter. “Okay, enough of that. Turkey will be ready in an hour. That gives us time to chill, and for you to explain why you and Uncle D aren’t talking.”
Trey jerked forward. “Yeah, what’s up with that? Ollie said he was gone, but like, why? What happened?”
Flying hell. Carlton hadn’t expected to have this conversation, though for the love of all that was holy, he didn’t know why. Deion was, whether he knew it or not, accepted it or not, wanted it or not, a part of this family. It didn’t matter if he was here or in Chicago or London, Trey and Olivia had adopted him as their own. If only it were that easy for Carlton.
But if he knew anything about his kids, it was that they weren’t going to let him avoid the topic. He grabbed ciders from the fridge—alcoholic for him, non for them—and sat down. “Long story short is I was afraid I was asking for too much, too soon, and I nutted up.”
“Eww.” Olivia’s nose scrunched up, and Carlton cringed.
“Sorry.” He and Trey had been more blunt in their language when Trey lived there. He had to be careful not to slip into bad habits. “But despite everything he told me, I was afraid he wasn’t ready for jumping into this full family thing.” He’d said the same thing to Lawrence, and the more he said it, the more it sounded like bullshit.
Trey frowned, while Olivia’s brow shot straight to her hairline. Yeah, they didn’t buy that either. “Unc,” Trey started, “did you actually ask Uncle D how he felt?”
“Yeah,” Olivia cut in, before Carlton could answer. “Like, Uncle D always acted like he was down for this whole thing. He never treated us like a burden, or ignored us or anything.”
She and Trey shared a look that made Carlton straighten. “What’s that look for?” he asked.
Trey whistled in a deep breath before letting it out. He rolled his neck side to side, like he needed to psych himself up. “Look, I’m not trying to talk bad about Gram and Pops. They probably thought they were done raising kids when you and Mom moved out. And Mom raised us way differently than Gram and Pops raised y’all. They were mad-ass strict, real old-school, that type of thing. So we butted heads from the beginning.” He chuckled, but Carlton could tell shit wasn’t funny. “I’m pretty sure they were over it within a month.”
“Which is about the time it took you to show up,” Carlton said.
A nod was Trey’s response. “We talked about it,” Olivia said, drawing his attention to her. “Trey didn’t dress manly enough for them, and on top of wanting to play the most unfeminine sport ever, I was probably too in their face about it.” She shrugged and tugged on her lobe, which did little to hide the mirth in her eyes. Carlton laughed. Yeah, Mom didn’t suffer backtalk. She was quick to pop someone on the mouth, something Carrie had hated and vowed never to do with her own kids. Olivia kept going. “You don’t trip, but Gram was not about that life. I would’ve thought Mom and Dad would want someone like you to take care of us, but they still made Gram and Pops the guardians.”
“I was the test case, and it was cool,” Trey said, picking up where Olivia left off. “And it was awesome. But Olivia got both you and Uncle D, in the house and loving on her and being there for her. Like, part of me wants to go back in time and figure out a way to get him out here then.”
“Which is why it’s stupid that you haven’t even talked to him.” Olivia was gearing up, but the timer went off and she turned to the oven. It was a respite, but just barely. “You have to call him, okay?”
Carlton sighed. He was being ruled by his kids. “Fine, I’ll call him.”
“Tonight, Unc. You know you be skirtin’ them edges hella bad if we don’t give you a deadline.”
Goddammit. Tonight was...tonight. Too soon, and he didn’t know what to say. How to not sound like a fool. But Trey and Olivia wouldn’t give him an inch of peace if he didn’t follow through. He held his hands up. “You win. Tonight. I’ll call him tonight.”
Olivia smirked, and Trey sat back with a satisfied smile. Carlton rubbed his eyes with his thumbs and groaned. He was going to need a drink. Maybe more than one.
* * *
Deion very nearly didn’t answer the phone. It was the middle of the damn night, and who in their right mind would be calling?
The potential answers to that question were enough to make him roll to his side, and he didn’t try to stifle his groan. Only two people would call right now: Ma or Carlton. Maybe three now, including Olivia.
He grabbed the phone, but it had stopped ringing, and he checked his missed calls. Sure enough, it was Carlton. He debated whether to call back, but it had to be important, right? Deion clicked on his name.
“Deion,” Carlton said, the word long and drawn out, almost like he was singing.
“Carlton? Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”
“Deion,” Carlton said again, and Deion groaned, understanding washing over him. He was drunk.
Deion pushed himself up against the headboard and ran a hand over his face, then put the phone on speaker. “Carlton? Where’s Olivia?”
There was a long pause, long enough that Deion wondered whether he’d fallen asleep, then, “She’s out with Trey. Black Friday.”
Deion swallowed his curse. He remembered Olivia explaining how she loved Black Friday, had conned her mom into taking her out when she was little and wanted to go again. He’d agreed to go with her, especially since Jaq’s company, Kingsley Enterprises, had some out-of-this-world new collection launching, and a pang of sorrow lanced through him that he wasn’t there for her now.
He shoved that thought to the side. “So, Olivia is good. Why are you calling then?”
“Miss you. Kids said I have to.”
Carlton almost sounded like a child, unable to form a full sentence. Because he was drunk. Deion needed to remember that, so he didn’t take anything out of his friend’s mouth too seriously. But god, why did these conversations always happen when at least one of them wasn’t sober enough for it? It was a shitty coping mechanism.
“Well, tell Olivia and Trey I miss them too.”
“What about me?”
Deion sighed. Was this how this conversation was going to go? “Carlton, I thought we covered this already. You know how I feel about you.”
“You didn’t say you miss me, though.” There was a staticky bit of rustling in the background, then a long groan, the kind that made him think Carlton had also sat up in the bed, and maybe had a hint of
just how fucked up he was.
“How much did you have to drink?” Deion asked, hoping to lighten the mood.
“Too much. Mulled wine and apple cider.”
Yeah, that would do it. Deion could absolutely get wasted off those two drinks. “Why’d you have so much?”
“Had to drink so I could call you.”
Ouch. He hated the thought of his best friend having to get fucked up to call him. That was absolutely not what he was there for. “Why, Carlton?”
Another bout of silence, then Carlton whispered, “I was afraid you wouldn’t answer. Afraid you wouldn’t want to speak to me.”
Dammit. How’d they fallen apart so quickly? For twenty years nothing could break them. Had six weeks together really pushed them over the cliff? “Carlton, you’re my best friend. I will always answer.”
“Even if I fuck everything up?”
“Even then.” So many more words sat on the tip of Deion’s tongue, and there was so much more he wanted to say, but nothing felt right. He’d already laid himself out there once, and he couldn’t do it. Not again.
“Why’d the kids tell you to call?” he asked instead.
“Olivia said I was...” Carlton trailed off, mumbling to himself. “Wallowing!” he nearly shouted, and damn, Deion was glad he’d put it on speakerphone so that yell wasn’t right next to his ear. “She said I was wallowing, and I needed to stop.”
A chuckle escaped. Yes, that sounded exactly like something Olivia would say, and he had no doubt she was one hundred percent serious about it. He’d used the same word to describe himself and his feelings for Carlton once upon a time. “Why were you wallowing?”
