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The front door opened, and we both turned to look at Fletcher as he slowly made his way out of the house. He was shirtless, love bites all over his skin, wearing a pair of sweatpants that rode low on his hips, revealing that fucking V I just wanted to lick.
“Dad?” he asked, stopping with the screen door open, his hand pressed against it. He looked like he wanted to bolt, and I couldn’t blame him.
Tyler swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing before he pushed off the car and took a tentative step forward. “I’m sorry,” Tyler blurted. “I’m so damn sorry for saying what I did to you yesterday.” He shoved his fingers through his hair again. Fletcher remained immobile on the porch. “Conan made some good points, and as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. You deserve to be happy and chase your own dreams. And if you’re happy with Conan and your dreams don’t align with what I had planned, then that’s okay.”
Fletcher slowly made his way down the steps, his feet still bare. The grass softly crunched beneath his soles as he made his way to his dad. “Do you mean that?”
Tyler nodded. “I do. I wish I could take back all the harsh words I said to you yesterday, but I can’t. And I’m sorry.”
Fletcher hugged him. Immediately, Tyler enveloped him in his hold, a shaky breath leaving his lungs. “I love you, Fletcher. I’ve always loved you, and I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like my love was conditional. It’s not. I promise it’s not.”
Fletcher squeezed him. “Thank you, Dad,” Fletcher rasped. “I love you, too.”
When they parted, I pulled Fletcher into my arms. Leaning down, I pressed my lips to his. “Good morning, baby.”
Fletcher smiled up at me. “Morning.” He looked at Tyler. “You want some breakfast? My stomach woke me up.”
I snorted because, honestly, when the hellwasn’this stomach waking him up? Hell, just last night, he’d woken up from a dead sleep to get a fucking snack. At three fucking A.M.
Tyler looked at his watch and then nodded. “I can fit in breakfast.”
Fletcher grabbed my hand in his and gently tugged me toward the house. I combed my fingers through his hair once we were in the kitchen. “You good?”
He nodded. “I’m good,” he promised. He cupped my jaw, raking his fingertips over my stubble. “Thank you for talking to him.”
I pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll do anything in the world for you, boy.”
Tyler cleared his throat, and both of us turned to look at him. I arched a brow. “I know you two are together now, but that’ll still take me a minute to get used to,” he confessed as I released Fletcher so he could start on breakfast.
“You’ll get used to it.” I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and set it in front of the coffee pot. I wasn’t changing how I was with my boy just because it made Tyler uncomfortable. “Coffee?” I asked him.
Tyler sighed and settled at the breakfast table. “Yeah. Coffee please. Thanks.”
Fletcher stretched up beside me to grab a bowl from the cabinet, and just to irritate Tyler, I grasped Fletcher’s ass cheek and gave it a squeeze. Fletcher winked at me as Tyler groaned.
“Conan…” Tyler grumbled.
I chuckled, a smirk tilting my lips. “Again, you’ll get used to it.”
Tyler just sighed.
EPILOGUE
Conan
TWO YEARS LATER
Some things in life were too amazing to truly put into words. And for me, that thing was Fletcher and our relationship.
Fletcher still took a semester off before starting college, and when I had another truck, he went on the road with me. His best friend, Brent, called him every day, regaling him with stories of college and frat parties and all the pussy he was apparently getting. Tyler called every couple of weeks to check in on him and see how he was doing.
And honestly, Fletcher was glowing. Now that he was attending college and was happy with his career choice, he was acing all of his college courses, and he’d found an amazing community of book readers. All of these readers and authors were now paying him to create character art and book covers. He was so popular now, he had an extensive waitlist for commissions.
I couldn’t lie and say Tyler wasn’t surprised, because he was. Though he supported Fletcher, I didn’t think he thought Fletcher would ever be able to comfortably live off of being an artist and graphic designer. But he was. And I was so fucking proud of him for building his business from scratch and working hard to make it profitable.
“We stopping?” Fletcher asked, looking up from his laptop, which was situated in his lap. He’d been hard at work for the past few hours creating a complicated as fuck cover. Every once in a while, I heard him grumble about it. I hadn’t said much though. My mind had been occupied with my plans for tonight.
I was going to ask Fletcher to marry me.
