Page 33 of Dark & Deceitful

“If they have a problem with it, they have Dad, Pops, and Tarek to deal with. And me. I’m scariest of them all.” I throw my hands out to show how scary I can be, and I twist my face into something terrifying. Sort of.

The scariness isn’t effective when my son chuckles. It’s low and shakes his entire frame. I try not to take offense. “That’s true.”

“Which part?”

“That you’re the scariest.” Shaking his head, Fog smiles at my level of ridiculousness. He knows I’m right.

“See. I got your back, and… Dad and Pops already know, so you might as well tell them. They’ve been waiting, too.”

Fog blinks as if he didn’t expect me to say that. “Dadknows?Popsknows?”

“Duh.” Listen, as much as I love my son and would have waited until the end of time for him to tell me he was into dudes, he wasn’t exactly covert when he made off-handed comments about attractive actors and the number of men’s magazines with built, older men I found in his room was enough to confirm any suspicion. Those mixed with his lack of dating females, and I easily put two and two together.

“And Dad doesn’t care?” Fog asks as if that’s news to him.

“Why would he care unless the guy you’re dating is a douchebag?”

“Because he’s Dad.”

“Exactly. He’s Dad. Raised by Pops, one of the most open-minded men I’ve ever met.” There’s not a single bigoted bone in either of their bodies. Just because Fog and Dark haven’t been on the best of terms doesn’t mean he’s some asshole father who would hate or disown his kid for loving whoever he loved. If Fogsuddenly said he was into imaginary rainbow fairies and needed to catch them in a magical net made of silk, they’d weave the net themselves and help him catch a fairy. No questions asked. That’s what you do for family.

Fog rolls the tiger’s eye between his thick fingers. “Tarek warned me.”

“Warned you how?”

“That I was being an idiot.”

Then Tarek was right.

“Because you were worried?” I ask to be sure. “Wait. Is this why you haven’t been texting me back lately?”

Looking everywhere but me, Fog replies a quiet, “Yes.”

This kid. Ugh. Every call and text has been met with one or two-word responses. Never full sentences. It’s been going on for months. I asked Tarek about it. He said Fog was busy. That he’d get back to me soon. I chalked it up to young adulthood. Not everyone wants to chat with their mom once they’re grown. They’re too cool for that. It happens. Eventually, most outgrow that phase. Or so I hear.

Crowding him with my much smaller body, I pop my kid upside his skull. “Calvin Fog, don’t do that shit again,” I scold.

My son snickers and rubs the side of his head. “I won’t.” He smiles down at me as if he finds me cute. To him, I probably am. That’s what happens when you have boys who are already taller than you before they hit high school.

“I mean it.” I wag my finger at him like only moms can. “We’re a family. We get through things together.” Finished getting my point across, I put my finger weapon away. “Now, do you have a picture of your boyfriend? Does Tarek like him? Is he another Sacred Sinner? Does he know your mom is a little crazy?” I rattle off, sounding far more like Cell than I care to admit.

Pulling out his phone from his front pants pocket, Fog opens it with a swipe. And there he is… My son’s boyfriend is on the screen when he holds it out for me.

Wow. Okay. That’s not what I was expecting. Perhaps a cute twink. Someone younger.

“He’s older than you,” I observe, noting the lines accentuating his eyes and bracketing his lips as he smiles. Attractive, but older, much older. Dark’s gonna murder him.

“He is,” Fog confirms with an adorable, shy grin, swiping to show me another picture and then another of his boyfriend. He has good taste, I’ll give him that.

When he lands on a shirtless photo, I grow slightly uncomfortable. “Don’t tell your father,” I whisper-hiss, knowing Dark will want to murder this guy. A pocket-sized, college-age boy. Perfect. This guy… Correction…. Thisman… is much older and just as big as Fog, and we’ve already established how large my son is.

Frowning down at me, Fog appears confused. “Don’t tell Dad what?”

“Any of this.” I gesture to his phone and the photo of his man wearing a club vest.

“But you said he already knows.”

“He does. Unofficially. If you tell him, he’s gonna ask the same questions, and he’s gonna hate you’re dating a manthatage.”

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