Page 38 of Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang Us, Daddy

As I walk out of my office, AnnaLeigh is at her desk, typing away at her computer, her eyes locked in front of her. Following her line of sight, I notice Pastor Brooks bending over, collecting a piece of paper that must have fallen from his pocket. Once he makes his exit, I stare at AnnaLeigh.

“You can’t just ogle our clients, AnnaLeigh. For goodness’ sake, this is a reputable therapist’s office, not a brothel.”

She licks her lips, staring longingly at the door. “Pastor Brooks is such a cutie-patootie. Young and virile.” I can practically see her heart leaping out of her chest at the admission. “So pretty. So sweet.” Her eyes darken. “So gay.”

I roll my eyes and groan. “AnnaLeigh, we’ve discussed this.”

“I wonder if the little twink he’s been treating with his conversion therapy tactics might want to take a more direct approach to his therapy. A little man-on-woman-as-God-intended approach.”

I close my eyes to stop myself from screaming. I won’t employ a homophobe. “How the heck do you even know about the conversion therapy he’s been practicing?”

She blushes. “I have my ways.”

I knew it. Damn her straight to Hell, I knew hiring a convicted wiretapper was a bad idea, but she’d sworn to me that she was a changed woman. “Dammit, AnnaLeigh. Have you planted a listening device in my office like you did down at the Pick-n-Save? I told you when I hired you that if you pulled that foolishness here, I’d report you. You gave me your word."

“I’ve done nothing of the sort,” she says, quickly turning her attention to her phone as she fumbles with the screen. She’s feverishly tapping on audio files, deleting them one by one, but her finger lingers a bit too long, and accidentally presses play. Pastor Brooks’ voice booms from her phone, claiming he’s overcome his burden for the umpteenth time.

“That’s it,” I interrupt, grabbing her phone and deleting the files myself. “That’s the final straw,” I interrupt. “AnnaLeigh, I’m sorry, but I can’t abide by this any longer. Listening in on my therapy sessions. Your bizarre urge to see homosexual men sleep with women. Those unhinged books you write. I’m sorry. You’re fired.”

“You’re serious?” Her mouth hangs open in shock. “B-but I won’t get to see our lovely Bens anymore. They’re so precious. The matching clothes. Their larger-than-life gay personalities. Those tight little butts.” She lets out a sordid, needy whine, and all I can do is point at the door.

“Don’t ever mention my Bens again. You stay away from them."

Tearfully, she collects her items and walks toward the door. Turning around, her tears have stopped, and she’s got a rabid look in her eyes. “I’ll get them, my pretty. And your little twink son, too.”

With that, she storms out of the office, and I pull out my phone, googling the steps involved in getting a restraining order.

When I finally get home, I kick off my shoes and neatly pile them by the door where they belong. I loosen my tie and unbutton the top button of my shirt. The boys mentioned having a surprise for me, earlier, and it’s what got me through the rest of my day. The way my Bens dote on me and continuously shower me with affection leaves me in a state of disbelief. No one’s ever shown so much care for me. Even when I was still courting my ex-wife, I was the one who had to do all the planning. I planned, I paid, and in return I eventually got a son out of the deal.

I grab snacks and drinks from the kitchen—Funyuns and a Dr. Pepper for Bennet, chips and store-bought guacamole for Benji—before unlocking my phone and sending Tatum a quick message telling him I love him. He won’t reply, because he rarely does, but my phone tells me he sees them all, and that’s good enough for me.

I try to enter the living room, only to be rushed back into the kitchen by Bennet. He walks me toward the kitchen island, taking the snacks from my hand and setting them on the counter. He’s got a determined look in his eyes, and it’s one I’venever seen from him. He isn’t scared or worried, he simply looks decided, though what he’s decided on, I’m not entirely sure.

“I need you to do me a favor,” he whispers, his voice soft but insistent. “The movie we’re going to show you . . . it’spersonal. Something we made just for you. I don’t know if you’re going to like it, or if you’re even ready to see it yet, but . . .” He closes his eyes and nods to himself. “But we can’t keep on going like this. Not without you knowing the truth.”

“Son,” I say, my voice weak, because how are they always so precious? “Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll love it.” I take him by the chin and tug until he’s staring into my eyes. “I’ll love it, because you made it for me.”

He nods. “I know. It just might be a little shocking. Benji’s trying to put on a brave face, but I can tell he’s nervous too.” Bennet’s face is only inches from mine, and I can see the wheels turning in his head from here. I see the kiss coming before he even moves. Bennet leans in and presses a close-mouthed kiss on my lips, lingering a little longer than necessary, but who am I to fault him for craving human contact? He presses his hand to my heart and rests his forehead against mine. “Just don’t be mad at us. Okay? Because we love you, Nate. We love you, and we don’t want to lose?—”

I surprise myself by interrupting his ramblings with a quick kiss on the lips, just as he did with me a second ago. He whimpers softly, practically melting into my arms. It doesn’t last long, but it lasts long enough to make a difference, because when I pull away, my boy is staring at me with dreamy eyes.

“You will never lose me, Bennet. Neither will Benji. Heck, you could tell me you killed a man, and I’d be right there with you, hiding the body. I basically did that with Tatum when he shot the monster. We stayed right by his side. I would’ve killed the man if Tatum gave me the green light. So, just know that whatever’s on that video, it’s not going to change anything.”

He nods, but he’s looking nervous. “Tatum’s your son, though. You have to stand by him.”

“You’re my son, too,” I insist. “You and Benji. You’re mine, and you always will be.”

He’s staring at his feet, unable—or, perhaps, unwilling—to look me in the eye. “Will you hold my hand while we watch? I’m scared.”

I slip my fingers between his and grip his hand. “I’ll hold your hand any time you want. You don’t have to ask.” Leaning in, I kiss his forehead, then motion toward the living room. “Come on. Benji’s probably working himself into a frenzy wondering where we are.”

Strangely enough, Benji’s sitting on the couch when we enter, staring at the floor. His blond hair is looking less like a ball of pretty fluff and more like a rat’s nest. He must’ve been running his fingers through it the way he does when he’s nervous. I hate seeing them so torn up like this.

He doesn’t look up when we approach—not until Bennet kneels in front of him and says, “It’s okay. I talked to him. He’s not going to be mad.” Bennet shoots me a pleading look. “You promised. Didn’t you?”

“I sure did.” I kneel in front of Benji, right beside Bennet, offering them both a hand to hold. Bennet takes the one I’m holding out for him, but Benji just stares at it, too frightened to take what’s his. “Here you go, buddy. Hold my hand.” He looks up at me with glossy eyes, and it’s only now I realize he’s been crying. “Oh, Benji. Baby, no. Don’t cry. Whatever it is, it’s okay. Dad’s not going anywhere. I told Bennet, and I’ll tell you the same. Whatever’s on this video, you don’t have to worry. It’s not going to change how I feel about you.” I press my hand against his heart, needing him to know I’m telling the truth, because the level of disbelief on his face stings like a dang knife to the heart. I’m his safe place. Their safe space. So, why don’t they feel safewith me? When it’s clear he’s not going to answer me, I sigh, letting go of Bennet’s hand and sitting down beside Benji. “I’m here. I’m right here, and I always will be.” Sheepishly, he extends his arm, handing me the remote without looking up at me. I give Bennet a questioning look, and when he gives me his nod of approval, I aim the remote at the screen and click play.

“Hey, Dad,” my Benji says, waving at me on the screen. Strangely enough, they seem to be bathed in semen. It’s slathered all over their skin. “So, there’s something we’ve wanted to talk with you about for a while. Something important, but it’s scary. Life-changing levels of scary.”

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