Page 14 of The Trailer Park Twink
It’s my turn to raise a brow, because we both know that’s not true. “Want to bet?”
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down when he swallows, and I notice beads of perspiration forming on his neck. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Try and stop me.” There’s a smile quirked in thecorner of his mouth, and my God, the sight of it is enough to make my knees wobble. He ain’t been happy like this in months. He ain’t ever happy like this with anyone else. Knowing I’m the person he’s comfortable letting loose around should make me sad, because it means I’ve failed to teach him proper socialization skills . . . but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes my heart beat faster, because this man—this small, waifish little guy—is mine. My son. My buddy. My heart.
“Get dressed. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
He bites his lip and stares at me through the screen. “Do you think I should sneak outside and meet you by the road?”
I roll my eyes. “A man don’t hide from his problems, Aussie.” I watch as he cringes, and it hits me that he probably took that as a slight on him. That ain’t how I meant it. I wasn’t trying to make him feel bad for hiding in his room to avoid her. When I say shit like that I ain’t talking about him. I ain’t never talked bad about him. “I meant me, buddy. I wasn’t talking about you.”
He shakes his head, not looking me in the eyes. “I’m a man too. I know you don’t think of me as one, but I am.”
“Of course you’re a man.” I wait for him to look me in the eyes, and when he does, I try to make my voice as calm as I can manage. It ain’t easy when all I wanna do is shove my thoughts inside his head so he knows how highly I think of him. I wish to God that I could, because these little miscommunicationsbetween us aren’t anything new. It seems like I’m constantly sticking my foot in my mouth around him. “When I say stupid shit like that, it ain’t because I don’t think you’re a man. I say it because you’re my son. Maybe not flesh and blood, but you might as well be. I look at you and I still see that same scared, closeted little guy I met, four years back. My boy.”
“I wasn’t a boy. I was eighteen.” He stares at me, his eyes pleading, but I have no idea what he’s begging for. I wish he’d just spit it out, once and for all, because trying to figure out what I’m doing wrong makes my stomach churn. Anything he ever wants is his. He knows that. All he has to do is ask. “I’m a man, Dallas.”
I nod. “You are. I’m really sorry for hurting your feelings. I promise, I won’t say nothing like that again.” I clear my throat and look at the clock on my dash. It’s only a few minutes after one, so leaving now means forfeiting six hours of pay. That’s almost two-hundred bucks I ought to be saving for our future, but I’d gladly live in squalor for the rest of my life if it meant keeping Austin happy. “Alright, just give me a few and I’ll pickyou up. We’ll go do something special, okay?”
“You spoil me,” he says sheepishly as pink clings to his cheeks.
“And I’ll keep on spoiling you for as long as I want. Get dressed, okay? And stay the fuck off that website.”
Hopping out of my pickup, I head back into the machine shop and find Bubba welding at his station. When he sees me approach, he turns off his torch, lifts his helmet, and wipes the sweat off his face with his sleeve. “D-Bag?”
I roll my eyes. “The one and only. I need to go. I’m real sorry, buddy. Aussie is going through some shit right now, and he needs me.”
Bubba waves me off dismissively. “You haven’t left early in months. You’re fine, bro.”
Johnny approaches with a bottle of water and hands it to Bubba. “Are you leaving?”
“Yeah. Aussie needs me.”
“Well, if you guys want to get out of the house tonight, we’re all meeting up at Bubba’s. Clint’s doing tattoos. It’s probably going to be an all-nighter.”
Bubba nods. “Clint and Queerbait are taking my boy’s room. He’s with his momma this week. Johnny was gonna take the sleeper sofa, but we can probably fix a pallet for him instead.”
Johnny blushes. “I could just stay with you.”
For the first time since I’ve known him, Bubba blushes too. “We can do that.” He turns to me and grins. “You’re doing your party trick tonight.”
My eyes bulge. “Not with my son in the room. Have you lost your mind?”
“Bro, he came in front of you last night. He ain’t gonna be offended or anything. Hell, he’ll probably be proud. Fuck knows I would be, if you were my old man.”
I shake my head emphatically. “No. I ain’t playing. Don’t even mention it to him. That stays with the Core Four. No one else needs to know.”
Rolling his eyes, he relents, motioning for me to go home, so that’s what I do. Heading out, I send Aussie a text, letting him know I’m on my way. I pull up his profile one final time, once I’ve started the truck again. He’s lowered his membership price to six bucks. That’s less than a pack of Shelly’s cigarettes cost.
I’d be lying if I said I’ve never been curious about what’s behind the paywall. He has hundreds of pictures, and way too many videos, but there are no previews at all. I don’t know what the heck he’s showing these people, and it’s driving me crazy with worry.
It’s not like I’m seeking out my son’s content, I’m just trying to keep him safe.
That’s what I tell myself as I take a deep breath and confirm my new subscription.
I’m not going to look. Not yet, at least. Not until there’s reason to worry. The option is there if I need it. To keep him safe. To protect my boy.
So why is my finger itching to bring the page back up?
If I knew the special night Dallas promised me would be nothing more than an at-home tattoo party with four of his workplace besties, I probably would have passed on the offer. For God’s sake, these are oilfield men. Big, rugged, burly looking bastards with beards reaching halfway down their chests, probably. Men who wear super-tight jeans, accentuating every curve of their body. Men who use mere flame to meld precious metals together, day in, day out. A room filled with big, sexy men . . . and little old me.
