Page 49 of The Boy from Half Moon

“And I’ll call,” he agreed.

For once in my life, I had something to look forward to.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: Tate

“You can’t keep ignoring your boss, baby,” Alec’s voice message said. My skin crawled. “I’m back from Seattle tomorrow. Meet me for dinner,” his recorded voice continued. “Call if you can.”

I tapped the red delete button and laid my cell down, staring at my computer screen. Alec had been in Seattle all week, taking part in a huge case the firm was involved in. When I suggested going instead, he reminded me he’d been on the case for three long years. In other words, I couldn’t step in no matter how much I wanted a return visit to my hometown. I missed a few friends and the clam chowder at Ivar’s restaurant on the waterfront.

I’d managed to avoid Alec for a few days after my sleepover. He’d tried to control the narrative, telling me I could stay over as often as I wanted. I clarified that I’d been intoxicated and horny and that our one-sided sex was a one-time event, which was a big difference from being his new boyfriend.

“Then the next time, we’ll make sure it’s two-sided,” he’d wisecracked.

There’d be no next time if I had my way. The idea of dating a man so self-absorbed, so label-conscious, and so social-climbing, had zero appeal. Yes, Alec was handsome and rich, but I’d had that in Seattle with my ex. And yes, he was an expert cock sucker, he’d proved that too.

But what he wasn’t was a shy, hidden-away country boy, who lived on a ranch in what I feared was a cult. At a minimum, he lived inside an insulated religion with very strict rules and views. Every self-argument and all my analysis supported not proceeding with Luke, but I couldn’t convince my heart to listen to my brain. Hell, it wouldn’t even listen to common sense. A nineteen-year-old? Really, Tate?

My heart was focused on someone who I knew was the wrong choice. Luke was almost twenty but had the experiences of a teenage boy. Now, of course, he also had the body of an Adonis and the physical appeal of every fantasy I’d ever had about being manhandled by a young country hunk.

He was quiet, timid, shy, and all the other Little House on the Prairie attributes I should run from, but he was also genuine. The biggest problem, if one could consider it a problem, and the slightly pathetic reason I couldn’t walk away from him? He was a walking, living, breathing, sex-on-a-stick stud.

Which exposed another problem. He claimed to be a sexual abuse victim from a young age, and I believed him. I doubted Luke could lie about such a sensitive subject, not to mention his negative physical reaction to the discussion of sex lent credence to his story.

As much as I was concerned for his welfare, and trust me, his abuse was the absolute most important thing of my worries for him, I still felt he wanted more with me and for us. I’d been struggling with what that could be.

I glanced at my cell, in a real battle over making a decision. “Hmmm,” I pondered, wondering whether I should make the call. My fingers tapped the edge of my desk. “She is the professional,” I mumbled.

“Hi, honey. Your father just asked yesterday if I’d heard from you,” Mom said immediately after picking up the phone.

“Hi, Mom. You got a minute?”

“Honey, you sound upset. Is everything okay down there?” she asked, sounding like Oregon was a million miles south of Seattle.

“I’m fine, Mom, but I have someone—a friend, actually—that I’m worried about,” I began. “Well, he’s suffered something bad and I know you have the expertise, so…”

“How bad, honey?” she asked, her tone instantly becoming professional as soon as I asked for her advice. “Is your friend seeing a licensed therapist, Tate?”

“He can’t access care,” I stated. “His life is complicated and… well, no, he can’t afford therapy.” I figured I should involve her as little as possible, even though it had been me calling her.

“Well, okay, honey. You tell your friend he can trust that whatever you tell me is between us.”

This would be more difficult than I thought, and my mother was an educated woman who knew her son’s life story. The fact was that if I truly wanted advice I could use with Luke, I needed to be honest.

“Actually, Mom. I need the advice,” I confessed.

“But you didn’t say that, Tate.”

“I know, Mom. I just don’t need a heavy speech about this,” I said, feeling like a shitty son. “Maybe it’s best I drop this.”

“Let me ask you this first, honey. Are you okay? Is the real patient you?”

My mother was a licensed family therapist. Her career had provided enough life lessons, first-hand information, and overheard phone conversations to know a thing or two about therapy and its uses. I trusted her opinion and valued her applied privacy.

“I’m doing well, Mom. Truly,” I began, pausing for a second. “To be honest, I’ve met a man who… well… who I think I might get involved with,” I explained. “We’re at that early-stage thing, so maybe it won’t happen, but I really don’t want to add to his issues.”

“And of course, you’re certain he’s equipped for a relationship with you?” she inquired, therapist hat back on.

I laughed. “Is anyone equipped anymore, Mom?”

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