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“Such as?”
He blew out a breath and sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “My parents were never there for me when I went through a rough patch, Lucian. I can’t do that to Christine. I care for her too much. Now,” he was quick to tack on, “that doesn’t mean I have to be together with her. I’m really fucking pissed about what she did. But if she needs help, I owe it to myself to be better for her than my folks were to me.”
Christ. Then he went and said something like that.
KC had this exterior that screamed jock, now as much as back in high school. He was the picture of a dream son. Good grades, just minor rebellion moments that “the grown-ups” could laugh about today, good college, good prospects. He was a fucking lawyer, for chrissakes. But despite that—or, if we were to take a stab at ignoring stereotypes—and…aside from all that, he had the most giving heart.
I’d been thinking about stereotypes a lot lately.
“This is going to sound extremely random,” I said, “but have you heard of a type of dominance and submission called age play?”
KC frowned. “You wanna talk about BDSM now?”
“Humor me.”
He gave an impatient look and scratched his eyebrow. “Uh, sure. Role-play with age differences.”
I nodded. “Right. And I attended a kink party last weekend where I learned more about that. Supposedly, it’s not all about role-play. You can go deeper and call yourself a Daddy Dom, Mommy Domme, and Little. It’s more—it’s an identity. It’s part of who you are, much like I identify myself as a Master.”
KC responded with an And? expression, eyebrows hitched, hands open. “What’s your point?”
“I think it’s part of who you are,” I repeated. “I believe you fit that bill, KC. And outside the parameters of a kink relationship, maybe it’s easier for you to be taken advantage of because it’s in your nature to nurture.” I paused. “It’s not the first time you’ve wanted to do something for someone else because your parents didn’t do it for you.”
That made him knit his brows together and look down.
“I’m not saying don’t help Christine,” I wanted to be sure to add. “I don’t know her. I don’t know that she has problems. I’m only saying you need limits that are a bit more clear-cut—like in BDSM. It wouldn’t hurt if you established some, if only for yourself, if you’re going to continue to be there for her and Noa.”
He looked up again, and I got the distinct feeling of where I went wrong. I shouldn’t have included Noa in my speech. I should’ve stopped at Christine.
“There’s no limit to what a parent will do for their kid, Lucian,” he told me. “Within reason, obviously. I’m not going to help him bury a body when he gets older, but I’m not leaving his side either. I love that boy.”
I inclined my head, understanding the principle. My own father had been that way with me.
“With Christine, then,” I amended. “If she needs help, by all means. As long as it doesn’t crush you in the process. You have a hectic job, you’re providing for an entire family, and?—”
“I don’t like the way she is sometimes toward Noa,” he blurted out. “Okay? That’s the fucking problem. He’s not even ten yet, and she puts too much on his shoulders.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, and in that very moment, he looked a decade older. “The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that she has a problem, and it doesn’t always have to be about how much you do something. Take alcohol, for instance. I don’t necessarily think it’s the amount you consume that makes you an alcoholic. I think it’s how you handle it.”
I wasn’t sure I was following, and it probably showed.
“I can easily have a beer every day,” he said. “Whether it’s during a work lunch or when I get home or when I catch a game. A beer here, glass of wine there. Whatever. I can handle it. I can also go weeks without a single sip. But Christine? She doesn’t drink often—maybe once a month, if that. But she gets so shitfaced that she can’t control herself, and then she’s hollering for Noa to take care of Mommy when she’s hungover.”
I grimaced. Okay, that wasn’t right. Poor boy.
That’s why…
The thought entered my head, and in a fraction of a second, the words tumbled out. “That’s why you’re considering marrying her.” I couldn’t help how it came out as an accusation. “It would give you more control over Noa. You want to protect him.”
His silence and how quickly he broke eye contact confirmed everything. How fucking conniving of my friend. Tragic and worrisome, but conniving.
* * *
Present day
I blinked drowsily, unsure if I had ever woken up before everyone else before. Usually, it was KC who got up first, at least out here in the cabin.
I yawned and squeezed Cam to me, then kissed the top of his head before I carefully slipped out of bed.
The sight of Noa sleeping on top of KC put a smile on my face. You never knew what position you’d find those two in. Fucking ninjas.
