Page 76 of The History Between Us

Maybe if I say it enough, I’ll believe it.

34

William Andino, One Month Later

“Youmadethese?” My eyes lift, lips twitching with amusement. Colt’s standing before me inmypair of Winnie pajama pants that he got me for Christmas, no shirt, an apron tied around his neck with eggplants and peaches all over it, and a black headband on his head, holding back his messy, dark brown strands that have gotten so much longer in the last month than I’ve ever seen them. “Like, homemade?”

He nods, proud, a crooked smile on his face. “Cope gave me the recipe, but he didn’t help me this time. Made the sausage gravy myself too.”

Lately, Colt’s been taking an interest in baking. Specifically, bread. He even brought over a giant mason jar filled with a sourdough starter that he named Bertha. Whatever the hell that means. He has one at his house too. In between training at the arena, he’s been trying out various recipes that he gets from his mom or the internet. Some have been an epic failure, but some—like I think this one might be—aredelicious. And it’s cute watching him focus and try to get it just right.

The sound of the front door closing reaches us in the kitchen, and a moment later, my dad walks in, Winnie following closely behind him. “What smells so dang good?” he asks.

“Colt made homemade biscuits and gravy for breakfast.”

My dad’s gaze slides over to Colt, a huge grin spreading on his face. “You did? Well, ain’t that something.”

“Hungry?” Colt asks him, brow quirked.

“You know I am.”

If there’s one thing about Roger Andino, it’s that he’s always down to eat. Even with age, that hasn’t lessened.

Dad and I set the table while Colt finishes what he’s doing in the kitchen. Once it’s all done, we dish up and sit around the table, scarfing down the—very delicious—biscuits and gravy.

“Colt, these are incredible,” I tell him in between bites. “This may be your best creation yet.”

“I’m with Will,” my dad adds.

“You guys can just call me Berry Crocker.” He snorts, clearly pleased with himself, and I can’t help but chuckle.

“Your appointment is this week, right?” I ask him.

He nods, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Yes, and I’m hoping to get cleared finally.”

Colt’s been working his ass off, trying to get back to where he was pre-injury. I’m proud of how far he’s come, and how responsible he’s been about it. Aside from that one time right after the accident where he was working out when he shouldn’t have, he’s been taking it slow and following doctor’s orders for everything.

“I’ve got a good feeling about it,” I tell him, trying to reassure him because I know he’s anxious. “You’ve come so far, and you’re doing so well.”

The last month has been nothing short of amazing. Getting to be out in the open with him and my feelings for him, getting to hold his hand in public. Kiss him while we’re out and about. Max and I still aren’t on the best of terms, but we’re getting there. I think it’ll be a slow process, but it’s one I’m willing to be patient about. His relationship with Colt is probably going to take a little more time, mostly due to how stubborn Colt is. He would never admit it, but I think he’s hurt, more than anything, and that hurt is causing him to want to turn the other cheek and not even try to mend the relationship.

Which, of course, is every bit his right, and he’s entitled to his own feelings, but I think if he put the stubborn hat to the side, took his own feelings out of it, he’d see where Max is coming from. It doesn’t help that Max is equally stubborn as his son.

Sunday dinners are still paused for the time being, but I think with time, things will be okay. Trish has come over to Colt’s a few times, and we had her over for dinner the other night here. She seems a lot more on board with our relationship than Max does. I want to say it’s surprising, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s really not. She’s a loving, open-minded person, and all she wants is for her son to be happy. Max does too, but it’s different because of our friendship.

We finish eating, and I clean up the kitchen and the breakfast dishes while Colt heads up to my room to shower for the day. We’ve been spending a lot of time together, taking turns staying at each other’s houses, but lately, it’s been more of him at my house. I can’t deny how much I love waking up with him in my bed. And even though he’s never come out and said as much, I know my dad really enjoys having Colt around too. Their relationship warms my heart.

Prior to leaving Seattle, I had a feeling Dad was lonely, and had been since my mom died, but he didn’t want to say anything. Being here now, seeing him with Colt and with me, I know I was right. His mood is so much brighter now than it was whenever I would video chat with him. Moving back was the right call, on so many counts. It feels like everything I have now has happened exactly as it was supposed to. Everything in life led me to this moment, and I couldn’t be more thankful.

The idea of asking Colt to move in with me has been playing around in my mind, but I worry it’s too soon. Then again, everything with us seems to happen quicker than I thought it would, and nothing has ever felt better. Maybe that’s just how we are. And we spend nearly every night together anyway. Would it really make that much of a difference?

I don’t know. I don’t have to decide today, but I sure want to.

I wander out to the living room, finding my dad taking his usual late morning nap in his recliner, with Winnie passed out on his lap too. Smiling to myself, I bound up the stairs, finding Colt in nothing more than a towel in my room, water droplets clinging to his chest and shoulders.

He smirks when he sees me, and fuck, the sight takes my breath away and has my blood pumping hotter. Despite fucking him into the mattress just last night, I’m already dying for more.

“Lose the towel,” I growl, stalking toward him.

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