by J. M. Snyder
With a laugh, Lane reminded him, “This is Virginia. Tonight it’s cold as shit and next week it’ll be in the eighties. So like I said, if it isn’t too cold—”
“No,” Remy said again. “I have a whole house to clean and straighten. I’m not cleaning out that pool, too. At least, not until after we’re married.”
Lane raised one eyebrow. “I wonder how early the court opens in the morning.”
“Until after we get back from Hawaii,” Remy clarified. “Jeez, come on. You’re getting to be as bad as my son when you want something.”
Wrapping his arms around Remy’s waist, Lane let himself be led out into the cool evening. “I’ve got all I ever wanted right here.”
* * * *
The first Monday in November, Remy picked Braden up from school and brought him back to the new house to stay over. Technically it was a school night, but Tuesday there were no classes because it was Election Day, and both Lane and Remy decided to take off and spend the day with Remy’s son. Monday Lane came home a little early to make sure the chili he’d put in the slow cooker before he left for work in the morning was almost ready to serve. As much as he enjoyed Braden’s company, he didn’t want to let Braden cook. The only thing the boy knew how to make was SpaghettiO’s, and while there was a can in the cabinet if Braden wanted to heat it up, Lane sure as hell wasn’t going to eat it.
He heard Remy pull into the gravel drive and wiped his hands on a dish towel. He turned off the stove, where a pot of noodles was just about ready to drain. Braden did like spaghetti, and Lane thought he might get a kick out of Cincinnati-style chili. The slow cooker was on warm, the dining room table was set, everything was ready to go, but Lane suspected Braden would want a tour of the new place first. He hurried to meet them at the door.
The doorbell rang just as he turned the knob. “Cool sound!” Braden squealed when Lane opened the door. He grinned and cocked his head to one side, listening as the chimes faded away into the house. “I love this place!”
“You’ll love it even more in the summer,” Lane told him. “Come in, come in. Don’t just stand out on the porch.”
“Why?” Braden asked, but he took two steps into the foyer and dropped his duffle bag on the floor by his feet. His eyes were wide as he tried to look everywhere at once.
Lane moved the bag off to the side, out of the way. “So your dad can come in, too.”
“No, I mean, why will I love it even more in the summer?” Braden unzipped his coat and started to take it off, but stopped with one arm out and one arm still in the jacket. “Is that a real fireplace?”
“Sure is.” Lane helped Braden take off his coat all the way. As he hung it up in the hall closet, he heard Remy’s footsteps on the porch and turned to blow a kiss in his lover’s direction. “There you are.”
Remy closed the door and shucked off his jacket. “That doesn’t count and you know it. I want a do-over.”
“Dad!” Braden shrieked, as if they weren’t all standing in the same small space. His voice echoed almost as well as the doorbell had. “Lane says that’s a real fireplace!”
“I know. I live here.” Rolling his eyes, Remy handed his coat to Lane. But when Lane tried to take it, Remy held on, forcing him to step closer. He did, and they met in a sweet kiss.
Behind them, Braden made a sound of disgust. “Ew, you’re just as bad as Mom and Uncle Mike. Are you going to do the kissy stuff the whole time I’m here?”
“Yeah, Brae,” Remy muttered, kissing Lane again. “We do it just to piss you off.”
“I want to see my room already!” Braden shoved his way between his father and Lane.
For a moment, Lane wondered if this wasn’t going to be a repeat of the moody performance from the year before, when they first met. Then Braden hadn’t known Remy was bisexual, and had walked in on a tender moment between the two men. From the start, he’d been openly hostile towards Lane, and it wasn’t until Remy finally managed to talk to him about it that he admitted he was afraid Lane would make his father gay. Since then, things had been better between the three of them—it helped that his mother’s boyfriend was, in Braden’s opinion, unhip and uncool. Lane had Mike beat in every possible category, from fashion to music to movies. The only thing was Braden still had issues seeing his father kissing another man, even if that man was Lane.
Fortunately, though, it wasn’t Remy Braden wanted to show him around the new house. No. Taking Lane’s hand in his, Braden pulled his father’s fiancé towards the fireplace, which separated the living room from the den. “Tell me why I’ll love it even more in the summer,” he said again. “Where’s my room? Dad said I have my own room.”
“It’s upstairs.” Lane laughed as Braden changed course in mid-step and started up the stairs.
The staircase wound up dramatically from the foyer, designed to allow the sunlight from the patio doors in the kitchen to stream into the hallway and illuminate the interior of the home. Braden kept one hand tight on Lane’s, and ran the other up the curved railing, his sneakers squeaking on the polished wooden steps. Looking over his shoulder, Lane called to Remy, “You coming?”
With a grin, Remy shook his head in exasperation. “Don’t I smell dinner cooking?”
“It’s staying warm,” Lane told him. “We’ll eat after someone has a look at his room.”
“I have the whole upstairs to myself!” Braden cried. His voice echoed down the hallway and he whooped with delight at the sound. “What happens in the summer? Tell me already!”
Lane hurried after him. “There’s a pool—”
Braden stopped so suddenly, Lane almost ran him over. “A pool? No way!” He turned on his heel and started back downstairs.
Lane caught him before he went too far. “It’s covered up now. You can’t see it. We’ll have to wait until the weather warms up.”
With an ignoble pout, Braden crossed his arms in front of his chest. “No fair.”
Lane glanced back at Remy, now halfway up the stairs. “I know, but your dad said no.”
“Hey,” Remy warned. “Don’t start that.”
“What? You did,” Lane reminded him. “I said if it’s warm enough—”
“It isn’t.” Remy shook his head at Braden, whose eyes had lit up with hope. “No. It isn’t. And if you don’t believe me, I can call your mother and ask her what she thinks.”
Braden pouted harder. “She’ll say no.”
“Exactly.” Remy reached the step where they waited and ruffled his son’s hair. Perturbed, Braden swatted his hand away. “Now let’s take a look at your room, and then go eat before the noodles get all soggy. Lane made chili spaghetti.”
Braden scrunched up his face. “That isn’t a real thing.”
But Lane nodded in agreement. “It is. You put chili on top of spaghetti noodles and presto! Chili spaghetti. They eat it in Cincinnati.”
“Where is that?” Braden asked.
At least his mind was off the pool now, and he didn’t object when Lane guided him up the rest of the steps to see which bedroom was his.
* * * *
Dinner had been surprisingly good, and Braden had announced he wouldn’t eat spaghetti any other way ever again. “Not even as SpaghettiO’s?” Remy had asked. “Because I bought a can for you for lunch tomorrow, but I guess I can take it back…”
“No, I’ll eat it,” Braden quickly assured his father. “But that isn’t real spaghetti. That’s spaghetti in a can.”
Eventually Lane had taken Braden out onto the porch and shown him the pool, which was covered by a white tarp already coated with a few fall leaves. Braden’s eyes threatened to pop out of his head. “It’s inground? You never said it was inground! Wait until I tell all my friends! They’re going to hate me!”
But from the way he’d said it, Lane didn’t think that bothered Braden much. In fact, by the time he went to bed, he was already talking about having a pool party at the end of the school year, as long as his father promised no kissy-face when his friends were around. “
I told you I wouldn’t,” Remy said. “Not around your friends. But I never said anything about not doing it around you…”
With that, Remy had tackled Lane onto the couch and kissed him hard against the cushions while Braden protested noisily. When Braden climbed onto Remy’s back to try to stop them, Remy rolled off Lane and off the couch completely. He pinned Braden to the floor and tickling his son while Braden giggled amid a fit of helpless hiccups. Lane watched for a moment, then came to Braden’s rescue, knocking Remy aside and tickling him until he begged for mercy.
Which led to more kissing, and Braden clambering atop Lane this time, trying to tug them apart. “You two kiss too much,” he complained. “Is that all you do?”
Lane exchanged an amused look with Remy. “It isn’t the only thing.”
Remy swept the hair back from Braden’s brow. “One day you’ll understand.”
Braden stuck out his tongue in disgust. “You mean sex, don’t you? I don’t want to understand.”
“I think it’s somebody’s bedtime,” Remy said. Before Braden could protest, he added, “You don’t have to go to sleep, you just have to go upstairs. Deal?”
“So you two can kiss some more,” Braden muttered under his breath.
Winking at Lane, Remy said, “Well, you can stay down here and watch.”
Braden’s socked feet skidded on the wood floor as he ran for the stairs. “Get me out of here!”
Now it was shortly before midnight, long after Braden had gone to bed, and Remy was in the den checking his email one last time while Lane finished up in the bathroom. He came out in a faded T-shirt and lounge pants; not his favorite thing to sleep in, because he preferred to lay next to his lover in the buff, but with Braden under their roof, he didn’t want to run the risk of being caught naked by a nine-year-old boy. Leaning against the door to their bedroom, Lane watched Remy put away his laptop, then stand and stretch. “Coming to bed?” he purred.
“Oh, I’m coming, all right,” Remy replied.
In a few steps he had crossed the den to stand before Lane. For a long moment, he stared at Lane, who stared back; the sounds of their breathing were loud between them in the quiet stillness of the rest of the house. Time seemed to stretch out like taffy, a minute pulled into an eternity, as Remy looked at Lane, waiting. Then Lane pressed his lips together, and Remy’s gaze dropped to Lane’s mouth. “I want you,” he whispered.
“I’m all yours,” Lane said, just as softly.
Remy leaned in, covering Lane’s mouth with his. His lover tasted as sweet as always, and Lane closed his eyes as he gave into this kiss, this man. His man, forever. He gripped Remy’s shoulders as Remy’s hands ran up under the T-shirt Lane wore. His touch was warm and strong, firm, his hands familiar and right against Lane’s skin. He pulled Lane closer, and Lane curved into Remy. With a moan, Lane opened to his lover and Remy delved into him as he eased his arms around Remy’s neck, hugging him tight.
A faint creak made Lane pause. He turned his head slightly and Remy sighed. “Just the house settling,” he murmured against Lane’s ear.
Lane opened his eyes. “You sure?”
It came again, a furtive sound, definitely a footstep this time. Remy dropped his head to Lane’s shoulder and growled deep in the back of his throat. “Braden,” he called out.
Suddenly Braden’s small head popped up through the fireplace, which was empty but open into the living room. His hair was mussed but he looked wide-eyed, as if he hadn’t been asleep at all. “Hey, you guys.”
Remy rolled his eyes before turning to look over his shoulder at his son. “You should be in bed, young man. It’s late—”
“I can’t sleep.” Braden disappeared for a moment, but they heard his feet shuffling down the hall, and then he was in the den. He ducked his head, looking much younger than his nine years. “It’s too quiet upstairs all by myself.”
“Brae—” Remy started.
Lane shook his head. “It’s okay,” he whispered. Louder, he asked, “Do you maybe want to sleep down here?”
Now Remy glared at him. “Lane—”
“Just for tonight.”
Braden’s face lit up. “Yes!”
“That couch folds out,” Lane reminded Remy. Extracting himself from his lover’s embrace, he came down into the den and started to move things aside to fold out the futon. “You can sleep out here while your daddy and I sleep in our own bed. Will that work for you?”
Braden nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“Maybe for him, but what about me?” Remy wanted to know.
Lane blew him a kiss. “It’s only for one night.”
Remy sighed. “You say that now, but I’m going to remind you about that when we get to Hawaii next month.”
Chapter 5
All year long, the wedding loomed on the last page of the calendar, always an upcoming event that didn’t feel like it would ever actually happen. But as November faded into December, time picked up speed and the days started to flash by, and before Remy knew it, he found himself in line at the airport with Lane and Braden, waiting to board their flight to Honolulu the week before Christmas. As much as he loved Lane, it was the thought of spending the holidays with everyone else they’d invited to their wedding that filled him with dread.
Half-joking, Remy nudged his lover and said, “Is it too late to call the whole thing off and get married here instead?”
Braden scowled over the top of his Nintendo DS. “Dad, no! You said we could go to Hawaii! You promised!”
With a grin, Lane shifted his briefcase from one shoulder to the other. “Don’t worry, kiddo,” he assured Remy’s son, “we’re still going to Hawaii. The tickets are non-refundable.”
“What’s that mean?” Braden asked, frowning.
“It means Lane’s friend Chell screwed me royally,” Remy groused.
Braden frowned harder. “Screwed you how?”
Lane nudged Remy’s leg with his foot. “Don’t say things like that,” he whispered, though from the way Braden stared at him, he knew Remy’s son heard him anyway. “You know he’ll repeat it later.”
Taking a step closer to them, Braden elbowed his way between the two men and looked up at his father. “Screwed you how?” he asked again.
Remy sighed. “We have to go to Hawaii because I can’t get my money back from the tickets, okay?”
“I thought we were going so you two can get married,” Braden said. “Mom says guys can’t marry other guys here, so we have to go somewhere else where it’s okay.”
Remy glanced around—a moment before, the waiting lounge had been a noisy, bustling area, a hive of activity, but when Braden spoke, miraculously everyone seemed to fall silent and his little boy voice rang out like judgment through the airport terminal. Heads started to turn in their direction and Remy felt his face heat under the sudden scrutiny. Lane ducked his head, embarrassed, as well.
Braden didn’t seem to notice. “Is that true, Dad?” he asked. “Can you two really not get married here?”
Damn, was his voice getting louder? “Brae, hush,” Remy murmured. “Play your game, okay?”
But his DS was the last thing on Braden’s mind now. “Will you get in trouble when you get back?” he wanted to know. “Will they put you in jail? Dad—”
“What? No.” Remy patted his son’s shoulder and avoided meeting anyone’s eye. “It’s legal now here, too. We’re just going to Hawaii after all because we already planned this trip months ago. Lane’s friend bought the tickets and they’re non-refundable, which means we can’t turn them in and get our money back, so even though we can get married here now, we still have to go to Hawaii anyway. Because we already have tickets. Does that make sense?”
Braden’s frown didn’t quite disappear. “So you promise you won’t get in trouble for marrying another guy when we get back?”
Beside Remy, Lane snickered. “Yeah, laugh,” Remy muttered. “If they get me, they’ll have to get you, too. I can’t be gay all by myself.”
> A small fist caught Remy in the side. “Hey!” he cried, laughing as he dodged Braden’s next punch. “What’d you do that for?”
“You told me Lane didn’t make you gay!” Braden cried, his voice raising an octave or two.
Remy turned away from the stares the other passengers were giving them. “Brae, please,” he muttered as Lane laughed out loud.
“But Dad—”
“Braden, play your game,” Remy snapped; to Lane, he added, “You, stop it. This isn’t funny. People are staring.”
Lane shrugged, amused. “Who cares? This is great stuff.”
“Lane, don’t,” Remy warned. Was it too much to ask that this trip be over with already? If he hadn’t paid so much for the tickets, he’d just as soon go home already. Let Lane try getting married without him.
Braden made one more attempt to continue his argument. “Da-ad—”
“Not another word until we’re actually on the plane,” Remy said. “From either one of you.”
With a pout, Braden returned to his DS, but not before turning his back to his father. Remy glared around him, daring anyone to say anything. Just one word—he was ready for a fight, a confrontation, something to allow him to let off a little steam. Come on, he pleaded silently, staring down a large, body builder type who just looked homophobic.
Suddenly warm arms enveloped him from behind, and Remy found himself caught up in a tight embrace. Lane rested his chin on Remy’s shoulder as he looped his arms around Remy’s waist. “Hey you,” he breathed into Remy’s ear. “Lighten up a little, will you? In fourteen hours, we’ll be on island time, wasting away in Margaritaville.”
“I need a margarita now,” Remy muttered, leaning back against Lane and savoring the feel of his lover’s body behind his.
Lane blew softly into his ear. His lover’s breath tickled, sending a shiver of delight down Remy’s spine that made his cock and balls feel heavy in the front of his jeans. “Great, turn me on now,” he added, covering Lane’s hands with his own. “Not only will I have to sit in an uncomfortable seat with a hard-on for the next fourteen hours, but we won’t be able to do anything about it tonight, either, because someone will be in the room with us. Again.”
