Page 8 of Parts of Us


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Seconds later, Santiago tore out of the parking lot, and I slipped my hands under my legs to keep from fidgeting.

Gael reached over and put on my seat belt.

Deep breaths.

He’s fine. Or he’s going to be.

He promised.

“Everything will be perfect once work slows down, baby boy. And in the meantime, what do you think is better for my health—broccoli and plain chicken in between life-sucking meetings, or…you stopping by to cheer me up with pizza?”

I bit down on my lip to prevent pathetic whimpers from breaking free, and I stared unseeingly out the window as we left Fairfax behind.

It’d become my goal to make Uncle Lucian smile really big during his lunch hour. Work was just…too much for him—he was tired and stressed out. And, according to Daddy, Lucian had been slowing things down the past year. So I couldn’t imagine what his schedule had looked like before Cameron and I had made honest men of Daddy and Uncle Lucian. So to speak. I mean, technically, marriage had been discussed, so that counted. Lucian wanted to propose to Cameron. And that was one of the ways I’d made him smile! Shortly before Christmas, I’d brought over fried chicken sandwiches and a catalogue of rings and stuff.

Uncle Lucian appreciated a good catalogue.

“Do you think he will say yes?”

I sniffled and hurriedly wiped at my cheeks.

“We’ll be there soon, Noa.” Gael tried to comfort me.

And what if we got to the hospital and Lucian was dead?

I’d break.

Our lives were supposed to be perfect. They’d been perfect, for me, anyway, since last year when the four of us had become a family. We were talking stars aligning and all that crap. I was finally with my KC, Cameron was finally with his Lucian, and together…we were everything. And more than that, we had our fuck-awesome kink community. We had plans almost every weekend! I got to see my kink friends, Gael among them, and…yeah, life was great.

Tonight was supposed to be just another wonderful night. I had band practice, and then I was gonna Uber it home and hopefully make it in time to have dessert with the others, ’cause Master Dean, Santiago, and Gael had been invited to dinner.

I could only think of one thing that was supposed to worry me right now, and that was finally coming clean to my mom.

In my defense, it hadn’t been my fault that it’d taken so long. At first, yeah, because I’d convinced KC to wait till we’d officially moved in together. Because let’s face it, nobody wanted to have that discussion. Oh hey, Mom, just so you know, I’m dating your ex-husband…you know, the man who was kind of my dad for twelve years… Yeah, we’re living together with Cameron and Lucian.

I scratched the side of my head and caught Santiago staring at me in the rearview. A beat later, he inserted one of his earbuds and hauled out his phone to make a call.

You have to be okay, Uncle Lucian!

This time, I couldn’t stop the whimper. Fear shot through me, and grief and worry and…

He had to be okay!

I blinked hard and wiped angrily at the tears falling down.

“Remember, boy. Once you’ve told your mother, we’re going straight to the car dealership.”

I sniffled again and shook my head. I didn’t fucking want a car. Lucian had given Cameron a new ride last year—and that made more sense because Cameron was always running errands. I preferred to be picked up and spend more time with whoever drove me. I didn’t care if it was Lucian, Daddy, or Cameron. I always wanted those extra minutes with them. Sometimes, we took detours to buy something on the way home. Sometimes, we stopped by House Mclean. Sometimes, we went for a drive just for the sake of it.

Daddy had tried to offer me a new car for months, thinking I’d somehow be persuaded to tell Mom sooner.

If anything, it’d made me wanna stall further.

I’d caved shortly before the holidays and promised to tell her “next weekend,” and then…well, my mom was gonna be my mom. She’d fallen off the wagon. Cameron and I had come over with groceries, only to find her drunk on the floor of her kitchen, where she’d been searching through the trash for what she claimed was a “winning ticket.”

Usually, it was one or the other. Booze, painkillers, or gambling. Not this time.

I scrubbed my hands over my face as a heavy blanket of exhaustion fell over me.

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