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Carrie looks as confused as I do. “You mean you don’t remember that?”
My head wavers once more. “Unnn uhhhh,” I reply. “Wait a second—it was—was it on Monday—” I stammer, briefly glancing towards the bathroom door. “I’ve forgotten some things after my fall that night.”
Her brows furl with a look of concern. “Yeah, you told me that evening that Reid saved you from snorting coke,” she replies. “And you guys had a huge argument about snooping around his office, because he caught you red hande—”
I interject Carrie. “SoI DIDgo snooping around his office?”
She nods unequivocally. “Yep,” she confirms. “You sure did.”
I’m astounded that I can’t remember the most important details from Monday. First of all, I don’t remember almost snorting cocaine. I’ve been clean from pain pills for the last handful of years. Hell would have to freeze over before I try an illegal substance. As for the snooping and fight, her mention is ushering in a brand new wave of memories. Almost as if my brain is piecing together a puzzle, locking one side in place with another.
No sooner do I hear Daddy Reid let out a sneeze, when I feel a sharp tingle shoot straight through my cock. With it comes a short flashback of being in a padded room as he’s seen standing beside me in a leather harness. However, the memory is brief and fleeting.Did we have some type of make-up play session? Oh my God—ELECTRICITY?
A cough falls from my windpipes, louder than the bathroom faucet. “So the fight—we—” I stammer, digging a finger into my chin. “Did I mention anything about his playroom?”
Carrie nods, wincing at the sound of my last word. “You did mention on Monday that he chained you to a bench and poured candlewax all over you, after using a thin switch,” she confirms. “Which by the way, that would be a riding crop, Kragen,” she adds, apparently chuckling at my lack of BDSM toy knowledge.
“And the cocaine?” I pipe back up, raising my forefinger. “That was where, again?”
“You said it was at Reid’s cousin’s mansion,” she informs me, rolling her eyes. “Sorry Kragen, this is my wife calling and I have to answer,” she adds. “Call me tomorrow, okay?”
I can’t get another word out before my FaceTime screen diminishes. No time is wasted hurrying over to shut off the water on full blast, then returning to my bedroom. Daddy’s scampering back and forth from my doorway to the closet.
“Sorry about that,” I blurt. “Carrie needed to talk to me about something urgent.”
His head tilts to the side. “Everything okay, my boy?”
I nod. “Uh huh,” I reply. “Just gay friend shit, you know.”
Reid lowers another box from the closet shelf, blowing a thin film of dust from its secured corners. “Wonder what’s in here?” He asks, looking curiously over his shoulder.
The box in question happens to be labeled—Kragen's yearbooks.However, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Daddy knows I’ve never been the popular type. And given the nasty splotch above my brow line, he probably sees right through the deception. I’d sooner have faked the fucking plague than to have attended picture day at school. Unfortunately, the only year with a black box indicating no photograph, is from the same month when I fell down the gymnasium bleachers.
When he curiously reveals the contents, a loud snicker falls from his lips. Meanwhile, both eyes roll straight back as he turns his head. “I knew you were a naughty little boy,” he affirms. “Rodrigo Mendonça, huh?” He asks, tossing the gay porn magazine straight towards me.
I barely catch the glossy publication with both open palms, hugging it close to my chest. “Why the fuck not?” I shrug. “He’s my favorite D.I.L.F.,” I clarify, immediately grimacing. “Before you, that is.”
Daddy Reid raises an eyebrow. “I was gonna say—”
My reply interrupts his thought, quickly changing the subject to my nearly packed bedroom. “Do you think we’ll need to ship my bed also?” I ask, pointing behind me. “Or will I even have my own room?”
He nods. “Yes, you’ll have your own bed,” he replies assuredly. “There might be a night here and there when you want your own space,” he adds, dropping the box of porn to my lavender carpet. “As your Island Daddy, I must respect that basic need.”
I tilt my head, curiously wondering if any of his other boys had their own rooms. “Did Wade have one of—”
Fuck.Judging by the instant scowl on his face, my impetuous question upset him. I thought he was fine about the news article. It’s not like they had any love lost once the boy corroded his whole world. But it seems I’ll need to help him process the developing turn of events, in order for me to feel secure in moving.
I clear my throat as Candace is seen passing by in the hallway. “We’re almost done here, what would you say to a couple slices of the best pizza Mesa County has to offer?”
It takes him a moment to reply, as if changing the subject seemed to be insensitive on my part. I opened the can, but failed to allow the worms to come falling out. Reid shuffles the few paces in my direction, extending an arm around my neck.
“Your wish is my command,” he mutters softly.
He takes my hand on our trip downstairs, hurrying into the mudroom so I can retrieve my keys from their hook. “Momma, we’re going out to The Hot Tomato for dinner.”
She yells something back at us from the den. Though Reid and I are far enough out the door, unable to clearly make out what she said. He follows behind me to the gravel covered driveway, where I unlock the driver’s door of my red Ford Aerostar van. My sight catches the bizarre look on Daddy’s face, as I hop up behind the wheel.
“Come on, it’s a twenty minute drive to Fruita and they’re gonna have a packed house by five,” I alert, pointing to the time on my Apple Watch.
