Page 22 of Coaching Prince Charming

“Fine,” I sighed. “Fine, just give me a minute to get ready.”

The two boys bumped fists together, and I rolled my eyes. I put my attire together on the go, grabbing a long-sleeved shirt with a small flower pattern to break the monotony and dark pants that emphasized my physique. Despite everything, I knew I was a vain man, and it felt good to wear something custom-made for my body.

Beckett insisted on getting us an Uber from my place. The brewery was a little further out, and I didn’t feel like leaving my car there after caving in and having a drink. It was ironic how Beckett offered to pay, considering that I had loaded his trust fund for academic purposes, but I couldn’t tease him too hard. The simple fact was that I never stopped being proud of this kid.

We got out of the car in front of a run-down building. There were descending stairs on the sidewalk in front of the building and music coming from below. A few young guys and girls were standing a few paces away from us, sharing a joint, and one shot us a suspicious look until we moved toward the stairs.

“I’m too old for this shit,” I grumbled.

“Keep saying that and it might come true,” Beckett warned me.

“He’s right,” Caden agreed. “I don’t think I ever met an older thirty-eight-year-old.”

I snorted. “Just get in.”

We entered a dimly lit pub with a rugged yet warm interior. Red brick, wood, and industrial themes paired with dark orange lights. Most of the tables were occupied, but there were a few in the back where shadows prevailed over the lights, and we carried our tall glasses of craft beer to one of those. Beckett had, once again, pointedly insisted on paying, but when we sat down, he shot me a grin. “Thanks for the drinks, Uncle.”

“My pleasure,” I said, and I meant it. It wasn’t like I hadn’t planned for my nephew to have some fun in college when I established his fund. “I didn’t realize there would be live music on a Tuesday night.”

“Neither did I,” Beckett said. “Surprises are never-ending.”

“This indie crowd doesn’t have weekends,” Caden explained.

I tasted my beer and wrinkled my nose.

Beckett scoffed. “You’re as sensitive as a fair maiden, Uncle. It’s just hops.”

“I’m used to more refined flavors, nephew,” I growled. “I shouldn’t trust a college student to pick my drinks.”

“That’s precisely who you should trust,” Beckett argued. “We have the most fun. Don’t we, babe?”

“I can’t disagree with that,” Caden said, glancing so lovingly at Beckett that my heart sank. They were wonderful, and they reminded me of all I had chosen not to have. When I had been their age, I could have taken that path, but it would have cost me everything that made me who I was.

“Are you ready for the big game?” I asked casually.

That was an easy conversation starter for both of them. Beckett and Caden could talk endlessly about hockey. The talk veered off to their futures. They talked about their ambitions, their teammates, and their time together. It was genuinely sweet to see two boys their age function in such a compatible way. They didn’t agree on everything. They hardly ever did. Few things happened without them raising hell, but they rarely made the wrong decision simply because arguing over every detail was their nature and made for a thorough decision-making process.

When a screeching voice from the stage on the far end of the pub pulled all of our gazes, I almost spat my beer. “Is that Ron Rigby?” I asked. “What the hell’s going on, guys?”

Caden was as surprised as I was, but Beckett seemed to be having the best time of his life. He laughed out loud. “This is ‘Bohemian Rhapsody,’” he declared. “Who the hell’s got a gun on this guy to force him out on the stage?”

Ron Rigby trudged through the song, butchering most of it with a shameless grin on his face.

“Did you know about this?” I asked them both. I’d hoped not to run into familiar faces for once. Or faces that found mine familiar.

“Nope,” Caden said.

Beckett shook his head. “The ways the universe works, huh?”

People were paying attention to the stage while Ron Rigby decimated the final verses.

“Did he have to pick such a long song?” Beckett joked.

I leaned in toward them both. “If I hear you teasing this kid once, you’ll answer for it. Understood?”

“Understood,” Beckett said casually.

Caden was more serious when he looked at me. “We wouldn’t do that.”

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