Page 48 of Loving You

Monty grimaced. “And you prevent that now?”

“He’s got his own en suite, so he’s safe from random toothpaste-shaped bottles. I don’t know if Dallas told you, but he’s totally blind. He was born mostly blind with cysts growing around his optic nerves, and he ended up needing to have both eyes removed when he was about six months old.”

Monty tried not to let horror show on his face. As a baby, it was ideal. He would have never known a world different. But the choice his fathers had faced must have been a nightmare.

“He’s cool with it. Don’t feel sorry for him,” Bronx said.

Monty shook his head. “It wasn’t that. I just imagine it was hard for you to make a choice like that.”

Bronx’s face did something complicated, and then helet out a breath. “You know, in all the years I’ve had this kid, no one ever said that to me. And I’ve gotten some wacky fucking responses.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “But yeah, it sucked. My ex was pissed about it, but I trusted the doctors, and Luke wasn’t in pain anymore. I have no regrets. He’s a good kid.”

“I’m excited to meet him.”

“Well, fuck, don’t say that. He’s a teenager and a meddling one at that. He’s definitely going to embarrass me. But he’s also my favorite person in the world, so I really want this to go well.”

Monty was half-tempted to remind him that it didn’t matter if it didn’t go well. This wasn’t supposed to go anywhere. But he knew the both of them were already toeing that line, and it was only a matter of time before one of them crossed it.

He knew himself that if Bronx asked him to face his fear of being a burden and a shitty boyfriend to be his—completely and totally—he would. Without a moment of hesitation. And he was starting to think that Bronx might feel the same way about him.

He let himself out and kept in close as Bronx led the way inside. The house was dim. No lights were on, and all the windows were open, but the sun was almost set. Bronx flipped a few switches, then gestured around at the living room. “Feel free to get comfy. I think Luke’s in his room.”

“Luke’s in the kitchen studying for the test Marc’s giving me on Tuesday,” came a voice from the other room. “But please bring your boy toy in here so I can make you both horribly uncomfortable.”

“Fuck my life,” Bronx muttered. He hesitated, then took Monty’s hand and tugged him through a little alcove and around a corner into a dark kitchen. Bronx ran his handalong the wall and eventually flipped a switch to reveal a boy who looked a bit like Dallas sitting at the kitchen table in front of a laptop.

His gaze was very wide, eyes very green and pointed at the far wall. Prosthetics, Monty assumed.

Lucas smiled. “Well?”

“Son, this is my friend Monty. Monty, this is the boy I call son who is on thin ice if he embarrasses me too much. His name is Luke Skywalker?—”

“Really? You want to start a war, old man?” Lucas demanded. He stood up and used one hand on the edge of the table to make his way around, then stuck his other out toward them. “I’m Lucas,notnamed after George or Skywalker or anything ridiculous like that.”

“I happen to be a fan,” Monty said, stepping forward to take the boy’s hand. His grip was strong—too strong, obviously on purpose. Monty couldn’t help but smile. “But I won’t hold your hatred against you.”

“As long as you don’t make any ‘you are my father’ jokes, we’re cool.” Lucas pulled his arm back and began to twitch his fingers at his sides in rhythmic gestures. “Monty, right? My uncle and Kylen’s friend. Hella rich guy with a private plane?”

Monty snorted. “Hell of a rich grandfather who died and left it to me. Middle-class lawyer just getting started with a mountain of student loan bills,” he corrected.

Lucas grinned wider. “Okay. I like you. I approve. I hear June is a good season for weddings.”

Bronx choked. “What did I say? We arefriends.”

“Yeah, and I’m going to have a career in streetcar racing,” Lucas fired back. “Anyway, I made enchiladas. There’s a timer on the oven. I’m going to be super rude and study until we eat because even though I know Lane won’tlet Marc fire me, he will let him put me on, like, potato duty. Or salads.”

“You don’t like salads?” Monty wondered.

Lucas laughed. “I used to love them. Then I had to make them for a dinner rush, and we’re officially mortal enemies. Now, run along, you two. Go make out and let me have my quiet kitchen back.”

Instead of obeying his son, Bronx walked over with a heavy gait, and Monty smiled when he realized Lucas knew what was coming. He lifted his head as Bronx reached down to pet his hair, and he kissed his son on the forehead.

“Love you.”

“Now you’re embarrassing yourself,” Lucas said, grinning from ear to ear. “I love you too. Now, seriously, bruh, get out.”

This time, Bronx did obey. He tugged on Monty’s hand and pulled him into the living room, flicking the light back off as he went. They settled on the sofa after a beat, and Bronx kicked his feet up, keeping Monty close but not in his arms, which stung a little.

But he also understood why. There were lines, and crossing them in front of Bronx’s son was probably not the best idea.

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