“I’m glad your mom was able to find a new place. The old one was insane.”
My body tenses, my hands clenching around the wheel. Insane how, I want to ask. But Mitch casually clarifies a second later.
“Can’t believe how much that landlord was trying to gouge her on rent.”
Oh. Insane because of the cost. I don’t disagree with that, though the wounded part of me hisses and recoils after putting words in Mitch’s mouth.
“Yeah.”
Mitch looks over at me. I can practically feel his concern, but he doesn’t say anything. I’m not sure what I’d say if he did, but the closer we get to my mom’s place, the more my stomach ties itself into knots.
As I pull up, I see my mom already waiting out on the sidewalk. I smile, though it falters a little as I pull into a parking space. Every time I see her, she looks older than she should. Life’s taken an unfair and shitty toll on her.
She waves at us, and I see Mitch wave back and smile. He gets out of the truck first, and I come around to the other side just in time to see her size him up.
“Sweet Jesus. They must feed you boys an entire cow before bed every night.”
“Sometimes two,” Mitch says, and she laughs at that.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her laugh.
I can feel the protective little wall I’ve built start to crack. It cracks even more when she gives Mitch a big hug. She only comes up to his chest, but she has an impressive bear hug.
“It’s so good to see you boys. Mitch, you’ll have to tell me all about yourself, since my son hasn’t told me a blessed thing.”
I cringe, but Mitch seems to take that with good humor.
“Mitch is going to be moving boxes, Ma,” I remind her.
She waves that off, looking to Mitch. “You can lift and talk at the same time, can’t you? If not, I’m afraid you’re not good enough for my son.”
Good Lord.
Mitch just grins. “I’m probably not good enough for him anyway, but yes, I can lift and talk.”
We go into the house, and he does just that. Mom asks him where he’s from, about his family, his career aspirations, what got him into football. By the time everything’s loaded into the U-Haul, it feels like she’s asked him every question in the book. I’m not sure if she’s grading on a points scale, but she seems to like Mitch’s answers. They’re always truthful—at least from what I know about him—and he never acts bothered by it.
There’s a brief respite after we get everything loaded into the truck. Mom pulls her car out in front of us, and Mitch and I follow after her.
“I think your mom now knows more about me than my own parents do.”
There’s an odd edge to his voice. Annoyance? I guess that would make sense. But no, that isn’t it.
“Yeah, sorry. She can be overbearing with that shit. I’m her only kid, so she’s probably thinking she needs to protect me.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t mind the questions. Really. It’s nice to talk to someone who actually cares about the answers,” he says softly. “I just… hope they’re the ones she wants to hear.”
Now I can identify that strange note in his voice. Holy shit. He’s nervous about impressing my mom.
I don’t know why, but I feel a little bit of warmth spread through me at that thought. I reach over and grip his knee, giving it a brief squeeze.
“Don’t worry. She loves you. And believe me, you’d know it if she didn’t.”
My mom’s like a damn grizzly when she thinks somebody’s taking advantage of me. My last girlfriend learned that the hard way.
We get to her new place—an apartment instead of a house, which kills me—about twenty minutes later. It’s in a better part of town, and pretty close to her job, too. I guess that’s why she chose it.
Mitch and I unload boxes and move furniture, and Mom busies herself with getting the kitchen stuff put away, then immediately pulls it back out so she can start cooking. She dashes out to the store at one point and comes back with an armful of fresh shrimp, which gets a raised eyebrow from me.
“What kind of mother would I be if I couldn’t make my son and his boyfriend a nice shrimp and grits?” is the only answer I get.
To my surprise, when Mitch and I are done getting everything into the house, he pads into the kitchen.
“Anything I can help with, Mrs. Mills?”
I keep quiet, waiting to see what she’s going to do. She always kicks me out of the kitchen.
“Such a sweet boy.” She pats Mitch on the arm. “Can you de-vein shrimp?”
“I… can learn?” He gives her a brilliant smile, and she laughs again.
Then, instead of kicking him out, she actually teaches him how. I watch in amazement. His large hands have trouble with the fine details, but she’s patient with him and he eventually gets the hang of it.
“Can I do anything to help?” I ask.
“Just make sure you’ve brought your appetite. You’re taking home anything that doesn’t get eaten.”
I feel the lightest spark of jealousy, but it doesn’t take me long to realize Mom is trying to be accommodating to Mitch for my sake. And Mitch is responding a lot better than I thought he would.
He makes her laugh again, and those lines etched so deeply into her face seem to ease just a little. She smiles and even sings as she cooks. I haven’t seen her this happy since I was a kid, and I don’t know if I have Mitch to thank for that, but he’s definitely a big part of it.
Watching them together, it just feels… right. Like he could be a part of our family. Like we could come to Mom’s place for a hot meal and he’d fit in just fine.
It’s so unexpected that I’m damn near silent through most of the meal. I never expected this. I expected Mitch to make some well-meant gesture that would set me off again, and that would be that. Proof that he and I can’t really co-exist longterm.
But this gives me hope, even in the face of reality. I’ll likely be leaving for the NFL after this season, and I’m pretty sure Mitch’s family won’t welcome me as readily as my mom has welcomed him. But maybe we can find some way to make this work. And maybe I want to, because as my mom gives Mitch another hug and a kiss before we leave, I start to realize the most damning fact of all:
I think I might be falling for him.
22
Mitch
Right now I’m feeling like damn near anything is possible.
The Tigers are on their way to the Fiesta Bowl. Dante and I have each had a handful of starts this season. Enough for both of us to get seen by the media and recruiters alike. The bowl game will draw a huge crowd, though, and I expect a lot more attention from the NFL since the stakes are so high.
Especially since we’re playing against Ohio State in the semi-finals. The crazy thing is, we’re actually favored to beat them in most circles. Not Ohio, obviously. But everywhere else we’ve got a small lead, and our rank overall in the league is higher than theirs.
There’s every chance we could not only make it to the championship game, but actually win. And that will keep me down here for good.
It helps that things are going well in my personal life, too. The disagreements Dante and I had when I first joined the team seem to be a thing of the past. The two of us have really been in sync since I met his mom. Between her support and the support of the team, I feel like we’re finally hitting our stride.
Except for the pesky fact that Dante will be leaving after the season’s up, destined for greater things.
But I’ve pushed that as far from my mind as I can manage. We’ve got a short break for the holidays before we have to be in Arizona for the bowl game, and my mom has called me every day this week to try and convince me to come home.
If it were just her, my dad, and my brothers, I probably wouldn’t. But Lydia’s going to be there, too, and I can’t pass up the opportunity to see her.
The problem is leaving Dante. We’ll be fine; I’m sure we can weather a few days ap
art. But I still don’t really want to be away from him.
He’s sitting on the couch beside me, his phone up to his ear. We were playing a game of Madden, but I paused it when he got a call from his mom. His whole face lights up when he talks to her, and I watch him now with a smile.
Until I see Dante’s expression sober.
“They can’t get somebody else to cover?”
He looks visibly crushed for a moment before he schools his features.
“Yeah, no. I understand. Sure, we can celebrate… sometime in January, I guess.” He lets out a long breath, his gaze cast toward a far corner of the ceiling. “Love you, too.”
“Something wrong?” I ask immediately after he hangs up.
“They’ve got her working the whole week we’re off. It’s bullshit. She’s worked every fucking holiday for years.”
“You’re planning something for January though, right? At least you’ll get to spend some time with her before…”
I let the words trail off, like the completion to that thought is a death sentence. Some part of my heart thinks it is, even if I’m deliriously happy for Dante’s prospects.
“Yeah, we’ll do something then.” He turns to look at me. “You’re going up to Connecticut, right? I guess I’ll see if Jason and Derek want company.”
“Or you could come with me.”
The words fly out of my mouth before I’m even aware I’ve thought them. Inviting him into the lion’s den that is my family home? Jesus Christ. Good way to scare a guy off.
But as much as my rational side knows it’s likely to be a disaster, another part of me yearns for it. Dante being by my side gives them proof that I’m not just flailing about down here.
And there’s some deep, secret part of me that wants them to meet my boyfriend; wants them to meet the guy I’m trying not to think about maintaining a long distance relationship with. Because despite my best intentions, I’m having a hell of a lot of trouble safe-guarding my heart around him.
“To Connecticut? To meet your family?” He makes a face. “You really think that’s a good idea?”
“I’ve met your family. It only makes sense for you to meet mine.”
“Yeah, but my family is…”
Normal? Sane? Not comprised of people who suck the joy from the room with their very presence? Whatever he’s about to say, he just lets it fade into nothingness.
“Just think about it, okay? It would mean a lot to me.”
He gives me a look that says ‘Are you really using this shit on me?’ and I just smile. After a while, he sighs dramatically and reaches forward to pick up the controller.
“Fine. If you win, I’ll go to Connecticut with you. But I’m not dressing up.”
In the end, I did win. And Dante did dress up.
As our flight lands, we’re both in the same suits we wear when traveling to away games. Dante’s wearing another jacket over his, though, since he was freezing the second we stepped off the plane.
“How is it so fucking cold here?” He puts his arms around himself and huddles pathetically.
We aren’t even outside yet.
“Because everywhere else in the world actually has a winter,” I tease.
This weather feels a whole lot better to me than the 85 degrees it’s been in Florida. I feel more at ease, more in my element, and my mood only improves as we head toward baggage claim.
“Hey, jerk.” Lydia stands by the carousel, trying to look bored. The spark of a smile in her eyes gives her away, though.
I cross the last few steps between us and pull her into a hug. She laughs and smacks my arm in protest, but when I pull back I can see tears shimmering in her eyes. She’d never admit it, and so I don’t call attention to it.
“I thought you were meeting us outside.”
“It’s fucking freezing outside.”
“That’s what I told him,” Dante adds, coming up to stand near us, but not quite a part of our little reunion scene.
Lydia pulls back from me—practically shoves me back, actually—and sizes up Dante. My heart hammers in my chest as I wait for her appraisal. I remember how to breathe again when she smiles.
Even if it’s a sly smile.
“You must be the boyfriend.”
“Guilty as charged,” he says with a grin, hefting a duffel bag over his shoulder.
“I’m still waiting to hear back from the Pope about your sainthood. Putting up with my brother is one thing. Meeting our family? You’re either a saint or a masochist.”
“Pretty sure it’s the latter,” he says with a laugh.
“Yeah, me too. Come on. Grab your shit and let’s get out of here. This place is a zoo.”
It takes us a good fifteen minutes to walk through said zoo and reach the pickup area. I see a Rolls Royce parked out front and I groan.
“Are you kidding me? You had Dad’s driver bring you?”
“His call, not mine. Though I’m not going to complain about the warmed seats.”
Dante stops beside me, and I glance over at him. His expression is unreadable, which doesn’t bode well for me. If this is already freaking him out, he’s not exactly going to love my parents’ place.
“So your family has a driver?” He asks as a man gets out of the front and opens the door for us.
“And a cook and a maid. Pretty ridiculous, huh?” Lydia pipes in merrily. “No offense, Teddy.”
“None taken, ma’am.”
Dante gives me a raised brow look, but we all pile into the back. We pull up to my parents’ place twenty minutes later. Teddy buzzes in through the gate, and as we head up the long, circular drive, I begin to see the opulence that Dante is probably noticing right now.
This place is practically a mansion, with a perfectly manicured lawn—even if it is covered in a dusting of snow at the moment—and a smaller guest house to boot. That house alone is bigger than Dante’s mom’s old place, and just thinking about that fact makes me ill.
He already thinks we come from different worlds. My car, my townhouse, and my insistence on paying for everything have lent credence to that idea. This suggests that we live on totally different planets.
Dante doesn’t say anything, and I feel the tension rise with every step we take toward the door. Instead of the maid answering, though, my mother is there to greet us.
“Mitchell, darling, it’s so good to see you. Oh! You’re so tan!”
She puts her hand on my arm, her signal for me to lean down so she can kiss my cheek.
Lydia pipes up at that. “What, it’s not good to see me? I know I don’t have a tan, but still.”
“You were here earlier, dear,” Mother says. “And what is that in your… I told you we have drinks in the house.”
I look at Lydia, and sure enough, she has a flask in her hand. I have no idea where it came from.
She shrugs, but gives Mom a pleasant smile. “And I’m happy to partake.” Her voice pitches lower, so only Dante and I can hear. “God knows I’ll need it.”
She heads inside, and my mother finally seems to notice Dante.
“Oh, you must be Mitchell’s friend.”
It’s said pleasantly enough, and Dante seems to take it at face value. But I know my mother well enough to know she’s purposefully dancing around the obvious.
“Dante is my boyfriend.”
“Of course, darling. Well, come in, both of you. Louisa is making a lovely roast.”
That gives me hope that we might go straight into dinner, but of course I should know better. When we step inside, I see the dining room table is lined with place settings, but no salad or soup.
The sidebar in the living room, however, is loaded up with decanters and glasses. Lydia’s already helping herself.
“Would you like something to drink… I’m sorry, is it Dennis? I’m so terrible with names.”
“Dante,” he says quietly. “And I’m guessing you don’t have beer.”
My mother blinks at him owlishly.
“Oh,
dear. I didn’t think to buy any. I can send for some, though. I’m afraid I don’t know anything about beer. Is there a brand you like? I’m sure I can send Abigail up to that store on the corner.”
“He was joking, Mom,” I say, trying not to let my agitation show.
My mother laughs it off in her airy way and—without either of us having asked for one—fixes Dante and I both martinis. Dante sips his in silence, and I can’t help the gnawing feeling that I should apologize to him.
I don’t, though. Not yet. Instead, I try to keep Mom engaged so she doesn’t corner Dante.
“Where’s Dad?”
“Oh, finishing up something or other in his office. You know your father. Your brothers are helping him close a deal.”
So everyone’s here. I exchange a glance with Lydia, and she just shrugs before taking the finishing sip of her drink.
The two of us manage to tag-team our mother and keep her occupied for the better part of an hour, until Louisa comes in and announces the salad is ready.
Dante is still deathly quiet, his posture stiff as he follows me to the dining room. I reach for his hand, giving it a squeeze.
“You okay?” I whisper.
“Yeah. Just a lot to take in.”
“I should’ve warned you. We can stay at a hotel if you’d rather.”
He doesn’t get a chance to answer. My father sweeps into the room and sucks all the warmth out of it with his very first stride. He’s as tall and imposing as I remembered when I was a child, even if his hair is mostly grey now. His gaze passes over me for less than a second, and I feel that foolish, hopeful surge. Maybe this time, he’ll smile. Maybe this time, he’ll welcome me home. Maybe this time, he’ll say he’s proud of me.
But no. He moves right past me and starts toward the dining room. He stops just long enough to eye Dante, his gaze unreadable.
“I have paperwork to finish, so have Louisa ready the second course,” he tells the maid.
“Gregory, it’s Christmas Eve!”
“The world doesn’t stop just because it’s a holiday.”
For a split second, I see how crushed my mother looks. She seems to sense my gaze on her, though, and shores up immediately. My brothers wander in, giving barely passable greetings, and Lydia leans closer to Dante, patting his arm.
False Start (Eastshore Tigers Book 2) Page 15
