Page 87 of The Long Game

“Sam’s twenty-one,” Colton said, his cheerful smile never wavering, though Jack didn’t doubt for a second that he was on guard. “So, not a child.”

“My apologies,” Jack’s mother said to Sam before turning back to Colton. “Are you their personal defender, then?”

Colton beamed at that idea. Sam rolled his eyes. Jack, mostly, was impressed with his mother’s judicious pronoun choice. Jack made a mental note to ask Sam how he’d prefer to be introduced to ensure clarity without creating awkwardness.

“Goodness, you must be related to that Mountie,” Jack’s mother observed as she took in Colton’s bright smile.

Colton leaned closer. “Do we look like him? That’s so awesome. Grady’s my cousin and Sam’s brother. We all thought he was dead, but it turns out he’s just gay, so now Sam and I live here.”

Jack’s mother blinked at the extremely brief version of events, her mouth opening but no sounds coming out.

Sam and Jack shared a look, both fighting not to laugh.

“How…lovely,” Jack’s mother eventually managed. Jack couldn’t remember the last time his mother had gone so long without an acerbic remark. Colton was magic. “And how didIend up with the pleasure of your company?” she added.

And thereit was. It was almost a relief. And, unexpectedly, it seemed to delight Colton.

“Grady is working, so Jack’s keeping us company,” Colton explained before launching into a more detailed retelling of how he’d ended up in Moncton and found Grady. Jack had half a mind to request Colton help unload the truck to limit the oversharing, but his mother listened without comment.

Jack got his coffee and passed Sam his. “Do you want to hang out in here, or do you feel like giving me a hand? I need to do some chores and replace the faucet in the kitchen.”

“I’ll help, if that’s all right.”

“More than. Come on,” he said as he went back out the door. Together they ferried things to and from the truck and took the trash and recycling out. Jack kept one eye on the show unfolding on the couch, sharing looks with Sam as Colton regaled Jack’s mother with every thought in his head—gesturing grandly with his enormous coffee—and Jack’s mother made biting remarks.

Jack and Sam were in the kitchen when Colton dragged Jack’s mother into a conversation about theMurdoch Mysteries, of all things. Apparently, Colton was a fan, because he wasnevergoing to stop surprising Jack. His mother was still acting like Colton’s enthusiasm might be contagious, but there was almost a smile on her lips as Colton did a trulyhorribleimitation of Inspector Brackenreid’s Yorkshire accent.

Shaking his head, Jack squatted down to look beneath the sink. When Sam hesitated, Jack tugged him down, too. “You ever do something like this?”

“Plumbing?” Sam asked dubiously.

“Yeah, sure,” Jack agreed.

“No, it’s…” Sam trailed off. “The family considered it men’s work, and back then I…yeah, so, I never got a chance to learn.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Right, well, that heteronormative bullshit is the reason Grady lives on takeout and ice cream, so I guess I’m going to go against the rules and teach you boys how to cook before Colton gets diabetes and Grady has a heart attack. You with me?”

Sam grinned. “I’m actually a pretty good cook already.”

“Thank god, because I’m going to need your help.”

Sam took the wrench from Jack. “What do you need me to do?”

Jack and Sam stuck their heads into the cabinet, giggling when their shoulders got stuck but making it work. When they came out again, Colton was laughing like a loon. Jack stood, taking in the pinched and vaguely bemused expression on his mother’s face.

“Momma Chevalier, you’re so funny!” Colton crowed.

And while Jack didn’t know what she’d said, he didn’t believe for one moment her commentary had been intended as wit.

“Has he suffered repeated blows to the head?”his mother wondered aloud in French.

Colton cocked his head. “You said something about…my head?”

Jack’s mother sniffed. “Of course you don’t speak French. Don’t they teach you anything in school?”

Jack’s mother took great pride in his family’s Quebecois heritage, which was pretty rich, since her maiden name was Margaret O’Reilly and she’d been born and raised right there in Moncton. Hisfather’sfamily was from Quebec. She did speak flawless French, though.

Colton’s irrepressible nature wasn’t dented in the slightest. “I’ve been living on the street and in homeless shelters for the last two years,” he said with breathtaking honesty. “Obviously, Ididn’t go to school. Maybe I’ll take it when I go back. I guess I’ll have to in the fall.” Colton’s hands were suddenly still.

---