Page 39 of Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang Us, Daddy

On our oversized flatscreen, Bennet squeezes Benji’s hand in the video, telling his best friend, “He loves us, baby. He’s not going to hurt us.”

I grab the remote and pause the clip long enough to assure him. “He’s right,” I tell Benji. “I’ll never hurt you.” Benji’s shoulder touches my arm, and he leans his head against me. It’s such a simple act, but it’s one that tugs at my heartstrings. His hand is right beside me, and I’m not missing my opportunity. The second our hands touch, it feels like half my soul’s been awakened. The other half is still holding out for more. For Bennet. He’s still kneeling in front of his friend, but I want him closer. I pat the empty space on my other side, thankful when he takes a seat without arguing. Our hands lock, and here it is. That sense of completion. A knowingness that all is right with the world. Why the heck do these boys have such an effect on me? I’ve spent twenty years hanging on to a woman who’s been steadily letting go more and more, bit by bit. My self-confidence is non-existent, but I swear to God, sometimes the looks these boys give me make me feel like I’m . . . beautiful.

Benji takes the remote from where I rested it on my thigh and resumes the video. “We did something a minute ago,” he says on screen. “Something I think you’d be really proud of.” Inthe video, Benji takes Bennet’s hand and brings it to his mouth. He kisses his knuckles one by one, the same way I do with them. “He’s my boyfriend now.”

My heart rate skyrockets. Boyfriends? My boys? My jaw must be on the floor, because Bennet’s staring at me with a subtle smile hiding in the corners of his lips.

“I’m so happy for you, boys,” I say, but that little twinge in my heart won’t go away, and I don’t understand why. “Really. If anyone deserves it, it’s?—”

Benji places a hand over my mouth. “It’s not over yet. There’s more to it, so keep watching.”

“Just remember to stay calm,” Bennet adds.

“Cool as a cucumber,” I say once Benji removes his hand from my mouth. On screen, Bennet is still staring nervously at the camera.

“It’s new, and it’s awesome,” Benji continues on screen, turning and staring at Bennet beside him. “I didn’t know this was possible. That there was a way for us to be more than what we already were. But the thing is, we’re still not complete, because we don’t have a Daddy.” Bennet mumbles something under his breath, and Benji stares at him, grinning. “Exactly. That’s where you come in, Dad.”

I grab the remote and press pause. “So that’s it, then? You want me to find you a Daddy?” Why does it feel like my insides are being ripped out? Just the thought of some other man—maybe a man who isn’t terribly kind—laying claim to these boys or calling them “son” makes me see red. Will he remember to tell them how special they are? Will he touch them? Maybe even hurt them?

I’ll kill anyone who tries.

Tatum and Scotty call their boyfriends murder daddies because they’re assassins. I think I might be a murder daddy because I see no issue in crushing anyone who hurts my boys.

Bennet sighs and grabs the remote, pressing play. “Just watch.”

“And before you start freaking out, thinking we want someone else to be our Daddy,” Bennet says once the video resumes. “That’s not what this is.”

“See?” Bennet whispers beside me. “We know you, Nate. The way I know Benji, that’s the way we know you.”

I don’t get a chance to respond to those words, because Bennet’s overtaken the screen, his cheeks a rosy shade of red. “We want you, Nate. We want you to be our Daddy.”

“It makes sense,” Benji quickly adds, beaming at the camera. “You love us. You always take care of us. You let me wear your cum, Dad. Bennet and I have talked it over until we were blue in the face—you’re the part of us that’s missing. The glue that keeps us held together. And I know you’re probably scared and feel like your whole world’s falling apart, but I’m right beside you, Dad. My hand’s right there for the taking, and I promise, if you take it, you don’t ever have to let it go. You keep telling us you’ll never hurt us, but you’ve been hurt too. You were broken just as badly as we were.” Bennet stares at Benji, cupping his face and kissing him gently on the lips. My insides might be scrambled, but seeing them like that, their love so strong it almost feels tangible, makes my heart flutter. “You don’t ever have to hurt again. We won’t let you. We might not be big and strong like you, but you’re ours, just like we’re yours, and we take care of what belongs to us.”

Benji and Bennet share a look before turning back to the camera, beaming bashfully. “We love you,” they say in unison.

With the video over, I launch up from the couch, feeling too jittery to sit still. I pace the floor, trying to make sense of this in my head.

Daddy?

They don’t want me to be their dad, they want me to be Daddy. Their Daddy. The one I’ve been pushing them to find for the last two months.

“You promised you wouldn’t be mad,” Benji reminds me, his voice soft and frightened. “You promised,Dad.”

I shudder at the word. God. I almost forgot that’s who I am to him. His dad. The dad he wants to become his Daddy. Ah, hell. Is this incest? Pseudocest? I’m a licensed sexologist, for God’s sake, I should know these things. Why can’t I keep my thoughts from scattering?

My mind rushes back to so many moments we’ve shared. Bennet rutting against me until he came. Benji asking me to wear his seed. Their desire to share my bed. Has it all been an elaborate act just to land their ex-boyfriend’s dad? Is it right to feel used? Because I do. I was lied to by their repeated acts of omission, and, while I’m not angry with them for harboring feelings for me, it makes me queasy that they didn’t come to me about it.

I sigh, because how the hell can I be mad at them? I asked them to share their feelings, and that’s what they’ve done. If I blow up now, they’ll never trust me again.

I pause in front of the television and stare at them on screen. Thanks to the video’s high quality, I can spot something on the bed beside them. Benji’s phone is on, and there’s a shirtless picture of myself, taken half a decade ago on a family vacation. How far back did he have to scroll through my social media profiles to find it? And why does he even need it?

My heart slams in my chest. “Why do you have that picture of me?” I ask, though I don’t know if I want to hear the answer. When I turn to Benji, he’s leaning back on the couch, his arms crossed over his chest.

“You know why.”

“Benj,” Bennet hisses, but his best friend simply shakes his head, refusing to look away from me.

“You know why I have it. Don’t you, Dad?”

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