Page 77 of Reluctantly You

“Yep.”

We’re silent for a moment and then he blurts, “I could find out who my biological dad is. The PI I hired knows. I just…” his words trail off and he clears his throat. “…I don’t know if I want to know.”

I stare at him for a moment, and then nod in understanding. “That’s fair. He could be an asshole, too.”

“Yeah. Can’t be worse than my not-dad.”

He sighs and finishes off his wine, and holds it out for another pour. He’s a big guy and he did eat, but I also don’t want him drunk for any of this. I want him sober as he confesses his secrets. I want everything to be consensual.

“One more, Mitchell, and then that’s it.”

“Fine.”

I pour him half a cup and he stares at it, swirling it around and watching as the red wine clings to the glass.

“If you want to meet your bio dad, I can be there with you. Or at least bring your brothers…”

“They don’t know. They know nothing.”

“Fuck, Mitchell. You should tell them.”

“They already dislike me. I’m hanging on by a thread with them. This…” he finishes off the glass and swipes a hand across his mouth. “…this would give them an excuse to never see me again.”

“It won’t be like that.”

“It would be. We were never taught how to love. We just learned how to hate.”

“Mitchell.”

“This is too much,” he says, standing abruptly and wobbling slightly.

I move to meet him, my arms wrapping around him and pulling his body into mine.

“You’re not leaving. We talk about it,” I say, and he grumbles, moving to push into me. His face falls to the crook of my neck, and I feel his lips brush against my skin.

But before anything can go further, he pushes away, running a hand down his face.

“No. No.”

I nod, swallowing, pushing my hands into my pockets. “I won’t push you.”

“You’ve pushed me far enough tonight.”

I have. He’s opened up. I want more. I’m salivating for it.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” I suggest, and he scoffs.

“What’s with you and walks?”

“I just like the summer evenings.”

He nods. “Fine, but I need to take a water bottle with me.”

I grab one from the kitchen, slip on some shoes, and then we’re out, our arms brushing as we make our way down the driveway.

“You live in a fancy-as-fuck place.”

“It was an impulse buy,” I admit, giving him some of my truths since he divulged so many of his.

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