Dreamspinner Press Year Eight Greatest Hits

by Brandon Witt

“Yes, Caleb. I would stop seeing him if you weren’t okay with it.” What had he just done? Damn him.

  Caleb cocked his head, looking reminiscent of Dolan in the motion. “Do you love my dad?”

  Considering he and Travis had only said that once, less than twenty-four hours ago, promptly followed by what seemed to constitute their first fight, it seemed rather wrong to announce it to Travis’s son.

  “Yes. I do. I love your dad.”

  “Then why would you leave him just because I’d tell you to? That doesn’t seem like love.”

  The answer came automatically. “Because he loves you more than me. And he always will.” Wesley hadn’t thought of it quite like that before, but hearing the words in his own voice, he suddenly realized the truth behind them. He was kind of surprised that he was okay with the realization.

  The small smile that curved over Caleb’s lips wasn’t in victory or satisfaction. Maybe it was a smile of relief.

  “Like I said, Dad’s happier than I’ve seen him since Mom died. I didn’t think I’d ever see him like that again. And the twins have never seen it.”

  Wesley’s neediness peeked its head out in that moment, wanting Caleb to declare that Wesley had brought his dad back to life, that he was the answer to a prayer the boy had been waiting on, that he wanted Wesley to be his second dad.

  Caleb nodded slightly. “Yeah, I’m okay with you spending time with my family.”

  WENDY PICKED up Caleb, obviously using every bit of restraint she had to refrain from asking questions—if Caleb had wondered about the status of Wesley and Travis’s relationship, Wendy definitely had. By the time Wesley finished shutting down the clinic, it was past seven, and was long past sunset.

  It was going to be the first night in weeks that Travis and Dunkyn hadn’t come over late in the evening. Before that, Wesley had finally gotten to a place where he liked sleeping on his own. After two years of an endless string of one-night stands, the solitude had been rather refreshing. Honestly, he hadn’t been ready to give it up.

  And here he was again. No sooner had he claimed some strength from being alone than Travis had crawled into his bed and into his heart, making the thought of the lonely night ahead seem endless.

  Maybe this was how it should be. If there was a time for it all to fall apart, this was it. Before he completely fell in love. In love with Travis, in love with the kids, in love with the dogs.

  The kids.

  More than ever, it was crystal clear he hadn’t just been dating Travis. He’d been dating the entire family. To date Travis meant he was implying he was ready to jump into a parental role when the time came. Maybe he could look at it as nothing more than a hook-up with feelings attached.

  If he hadn’t been spending so many dinners at the Bennett house.

  If he hadn’t spent endless hours playing with Avery and Mason and their vast assortment of dolls and toys.

  If he hadn’t taken the kids to the park while Wendy closed up The Crocheted Bunny.

  If, if, if….

  But he had, unbeknownst to him, subconsciously or not, been dating the entire family.

  The idea of kids was daunting. Wesley couldn’t even take care of himself. He used to be able to easily, but the past few years had proven he could barely keep himself sane, let alone care for not one other person, but four.

  But….

  There was always a but.

  Actually, no, there wasn’t. There hadn’t been a but in two years.

  And the only buts with Todd had been along lines of…

  …but at least he’s not abusive.

  …but at least there’s someone to sleep next to.

  …but at least I’m not alone.

  The buts with Travis? The ones that came after “I’m not ready for all of this,” and “he’s got three kids and a dead wife,” and “he wants me to butch it up.”

  The buts for all of those?

  …but I used to want kids, before Todd.

  …but I am happier than I can remember when he’s near.

  …but I love him.

  THE YELLOW Miata hadn’t even pulled into the driveway before Wesley had his cell phone in his hand, trying to figure out what to say to Travis—how to make it right, how to apologize for not seeing the bigger picture.

  When the phone buzzed in his hand, Wesley slammed on the brake, causing the car to lurch and the tires to screech in protest against the pavement.

  He looked down and swiped his thumb across the screen to open the text from Travis.

  Can I come over tonight? I’d like to talk.

  Well, that wasn’t cryptic.

  Not knowing if he should be relieved he was going to see Travis after all or prepare himself for the it’s-not-your-fault-I-don’t-wanna-be-with-a-Nelly talk, Wesley forced his shaking thumb to type back a yes.

  THE HEADLIGHTS of the F-350 flooded through Wesley’s grandparents’ living room curtains sometime after eleven. His living room curtains. Wesley had spent the last few hours doing nothing more than pacing and sweating, playing out entire conversations, gesticulating as he wandered throughout the house. He’d exhausted nearly every scenario, from breakup to makeup sex. All it had really accomplished was to further stress him out and make him feel insane.

  Wesley threw open the front door before Travis had a chance to knock—nothing like playing it cool.

  Travis and Dunkyn stood on the front porch, awash in the yellow light spilling out of the house, frozen patches of snow smattered across the tar-pit darkness of the yard. Dunkyn looked up at Travis, then peered over at Wesley, issuing a whine.

  Wesley just stared at them—well, at Travis. He looked like he’d aged ten years since that morning. His eyes had huge bags under them, and his typical ruddy stubble was more akin to a beard than any five-o’clock shadow. Like Wesley, Travis’s skin had a sheen of sweat. “You look terrible.”

  At that, a smile broke across Travis’s face, and he snorted out a breath of air. “Thanks a lot. You don’t look so great yourself.”

  Wesley lifted his hand to his face, realizing he’d not shaved that morning either. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d let himself go ungroomed.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Oh God, yes! Sorry.” Wesley stepped back, making room.

  Travis entered, closely followed by Dunkyn, who chuffed and shoved his nose into Wesley’s shin.

  Wesley shut the door and bent to pat the corgi’s head. He wanted to plop down on the floor and wrap his arms around the dog. He’d thought he’d be able to read whatever Travis wanted to say in his expression. He couldn’t. It would be so much easier to pay attention to the dog and block out whatever shoe was about to drop.

  He didn’t. He was a big boy, after all. After a moment, long enough to attempt to force his breathing to return to normal, Wesley straightened and faced Travis. Come what may.

  “Listen, Wesley,” Travis began before Wesley could think of what to say, “I am so….” Travis’s voice wandered off as he inspected Wesley’s face. His large fingers grasped Wesley’s jaw and carefully tilted his face toward the light.

  “What?” Wesley wasn’t sure what to do. None of the scenarios he’d practiced had begun like this.

  Travis grinned, suddenly looking younger. He tilted Wesley’s head a bit more, then let go, looking Wesley in the eye. “I never realized your beard was red. You’ve always been so close shaven.”

  “Yeah, I don’t like being unkempt.” He rolled his eyes, realizing how queeny that sounded. “Although I guess you know that already.”

  Travis’s grin broadened. “It’s red, Wesley. Just like the rest of us.”

  Wesley lifted his hand and ran his fingers over his stubble. “Oh. Yeah. I hadn’t thought of that, actually.” Was that a good thing?

  “I’m sorry.”

  Travis’s words caught Wesley completely off guard, even though an apology had been in one of the enactments. One of the better ones. “I was going to say that to you.”

&nbs
p; Travis’s smile faltered. “Why? You didn’t do anything you need to apologize for.”

  He hadn’t? “I overreacted. I was only thinking about me and my feelings. I wasn’t thinking about how… I’m perceived, I guess you could say, could affect your kids. I should have been more open to the idea.”

  “No, Wesley. I owe you an apology. Not the other way around. I want my kids to be exactly who they are. Whoever and whatever they are. Why should I want anything less for you?”

  “Because it could make things harder for your family. Your kids have been through enough. You’ve been through enough. I can try to—”

  Travis cut him off, once again taking his jaw in his hand, this time with his thumb resting over Wesley’s lips. “Don’t you dare. You be who you are. You are brave, and you are unlike anyone I’ve ever known. The thing I loved the most about Shannon was how alive she was and how she was Shannon. There was no one else like her. And though you’re different, that’s exactly how you are.”

  Wesley had definitely missed some scenarios. Not even the best one had gone like this.

  Travis kept talking, his low voice even softer than usual. “I love you. I love you, Wesley. I hate that the first thing I did after telling you that was ask you to change. I don’t want you to change. I want you to just keep being you. To keep being here, with me. With us.” He pulled his thumb away from Wesley’s lips only to cover them with his own.

  Tendrils of fear tickled the back of Wesley’s mind as he sank into Travis’s kiss. The moment to flee mostly unscathed was passing. Now that he was more acutely aware that so much more than he and Travis hung in the balance, he had to decide. If he was going to escape, this was the moment.

  While Wesley couldn’t sweep those tendrils away, he did ignore them. He allowed himself to get lost in the kiss. It was far from the first one he and Travis had shared, but unlike any of the ones that had come before.

  At last, and all too soon, Travis pulled away, though he didn’t lose contact with Wesley. “Will you forgive me? Are you still in this?”

  Screw the tendrils. “Oh, yeah. I’m in this.”

  The crooked smile on Travis’s face made him look nearly childlike, or as close as his thick, rugged features would allow.

  “I love you, Travis.”

  “Good. That makes me a lucky man.” The look in Travis’s eyes shifted. “Can we go fuck now, please?”

  “Oh hell, yeah. And no more condoms.”

  Travis groaned. “Fuuuuck…. And I thought I was tired today. Tomorrow is gonna be rough. We’re not getting any sleep tonight.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  SALT OF the earth. Norma and Willard Bennett were salt of the earth people. That’s how Norma would describe herself and her husband.

  Through the hour-and-a-half drive south from El Dorado, Travis felt himself flashing back to childhood as he prepared to face his parents. He remembered showing them a bad report card, admitting he was the one who broke his mother’s pie plate during a late-night fridge run, confessing that he’d dented the truck coming home buzzed after one of the home games, enduring his mother’s disappointed, long-suffering expression and his father’s belt, and, later, his father’s lectures.

  He’d had it easy. He’d been the favorite child. He might have a few childhood scars, but not many, and nothing most other kids of his generation didn’t have. His sister, on the other hand, had been able to do nothing right.

  Travis had always been easygoing and quiet, and he liked to fly under the radar.

  Wendy was boisterous, questioning, and spirited—everything a girl wasn’t supposed to be.

  Travis might get in trouble at times, but it was expected. Boys would be boys.

  Neither of them had a bad childhood. Not at all. Norma and Willard had been caring parents and loved their children. They might have been a little undemonstrative and militant, but both he and Wendy knew they were loved. They also knew what the expectations were and the consequences should they not be met.

  When Travis had told Wendy he was going to drive to Neosho and spend the night with their folks, catch them up to speed, Wendy had just grinned at him wickedly. “Looks like after thirty-seven years, I’ll finally be the favorite.”

  She was probably right. While their mom had been devastated when her daughter had the selfishness to abandon her husband, surely that was better than her son trying to find a husband of his own.

  Was that what he was doing? Husband?

  Travis shoved the thought away. He was nervous enough without all of that in his head.

  Several miles outside of the city limits, his childhood home grew larger as the F-350 made its way down the long dirt road. The late-January day was bright and clear. All the snow had melted, but ice was in the air. He could feel it. He’d checked the weather. Things were supposed to stay mild for the next couple of days. If he saw so much as a snowflake fall after he’d spoken to his folks, though, Travis was going to jump back in the truck and hightail it home. Big four-by-four or not, no way was he taking the chance of getting iced-in for days with his parents after confession time.

  Travis remained in the cab of his truck for a few moments after parking in front of the faded green house. He was certain his parents knew something was amiss. Sitting outside their house wasn’t going to help much.

  WISHING THAT he prayed, Travis exited the truck, pausing to lift Dunkyn to the ground, and then made his way up to the house. One step up to the porch, and Travis began to pray anyway.

  He was a man in his forties, for crying out loud. He shouldn’t be this fucking nervous seeing his folks. Oops—he’d have to watch his language. He hadn’t slipped up by cursing in front of his parents since high school. As off-balance as he was today, he might slip. That was the last thing they needed.

  Proving that they were aware of his presence, Willard opened the front door before Travis had a chance to knock. Travis stared at his dad behind the mesh of the screen door still between them.

  Maybe he felt like he did because his dad still dwarfed him. Though both he and Wendy had inherited their sturdy build from their father, neither had managed to surpass him. At nearly seventy, Willard had retained most of his six-foot height, and though most of the tons of ranch-earned muscle had shifted into fat, he still struck an impressive figure. Travis never felt small next to anyone except his father.

  Willard motioned to the screen door. “Well, come on in, boy.”

  Travis forced his hand to move; he reached out and pulled open the door, and then nothing stood between them.

  Automatic movements began to return, and Travis stepped through the doorway, Dunkyn at his heels.

  Willard took his son’s hand and gave two firm shakes. “It’s good to see you, Travis. We didn’t expect to see you again until spring.” While they never accepted Travis’s offers of monetary help, they did allow him to buy them bus tickets to come visit the grandkids a few times a year.

  Norma emerged from somewhere behind her husband and padded up to Travis. He bent and wrapped her gently in his arms for a light hug. She was as small and frail as Willard was large. She looked so much older than her sixty-three years.

  Not for the first time, cancer screamed through Travis’s mind as he held her fragile body. He tried to shove the fear away, but he wasn’t quite successful. Her touch was so fleeting Travis barely felt it.

  She pulled back, her sun-weathered face peering up warmly at Travis. “It’s good to see you, son. Such a nice surprise. Christmas already seems like so long ago. I do wish you woulda brought the children. I’m sure they’ve already grown so much in the past month.” She stooped to touch Dunkyn’s nose with her fingertips.

  “Soon, Mom. If you all wanna come up before spring, you just say the word.”

  Willard shut the door, causing the room to darken slightly, though afternoon sun sifted through the yellowed lace curtains of the living room. “Might as well tell us what you got to say. Your mom and I are worried, gotta say. Somebody sick?” He�
�d never been one for small talk.

  “Willard, stop. Travis hasn’t even got a chance to sit yet. Give the boy a moment.” Norma shooed him with a flick of her veiny hands. “You men sit, and I’ll get you some tea. And some pie. I baked one of my gooseberry pies I had frozen in the icebox when you said you was coming, Travis. I know they’re your favorite.” She turned toward the kitchen, then paused, her fearful eyes meeting her son’s. Her voice was even more fragile than usual. “Is anyone sick? Are the kids okay?”

  It seemed Shannon’s sickness had done a number on them all. Though she’d always been too loud and outspoken for Travis’s parents, too much like Wendy, they’d grown to love her, especially after Caleb’s birth.

  “No, Mom. We’re all well and healthy.”

  She sighed, her hand coming to rest over her chest, the strength pouring out of her at her relief. “Praise the Lord.”

  Travis moved toward the kitchen with her. “Let me help you, Mom.”

  “No. Now you git.” She shooed him away again. “You sit with your father. Let me do my job.”

  Travis obliged, knowing it would do no good to argue. He took a seat on the orange sofa next to his father’s recliner. Both chairs had been there for as long as he could remember, probably even before he’d been born. Dunkyn lay down with a grunt and propped his head on the toe of Travis’s boot.

  His father nodded at him but remained silent. Now that everyone’s health was accounted for, he was content to wait for whatever news was coming.

  Travis typically didn’t feel any anxiety in his childhood home, not like what Wendy claimed to experience. She always said that the walls started closing in as soon as she stepped back into the house. It was part of the reason Travis paid for their folks to take the bus to El Do. Now, as he looked around the dated but clean furnishings, all so familiar and loved, Travis had a similar sensation.

  Unlike Wendy, he’d become a master of shoving things away, even as a child. Out of sight, out of mind. As he sat surrounded by his past, memories tugged at him, this time more emotional than visual. He remembered what it felt like to know he was a little different than he was supposed to be, that something was a little off and that whatever it was needed to be hidden, needed to be smothered.