Justin’s heart had tripped over a few beats when he heard the word last night when he was doing the recording, and it did the same now. Del called them family
He paused the video and dragged his finger along the screen to rewind it a few seconds.
“…know what?” Del asked, smiling at the camera. “It’s a lot more chaotic—and a lot more fun—cooking with family.”
Justin closed his eyes as warmth washed over him and clasped his phone tightly in his hands
* * * *
Del was excited about Abigail’s upcoming visit. So was Harper. With Wyatt it was kind of impossible to tell, and Scarlett didn’t give a damn. Justin liked seeing the way Del’s eyes lit up when he talked about Abigail. Still, as the days drew closer to her visit, Justin found those old anxieties creeping in again.
“What’s with you tonight?” Del asked one night as they sat together on the couch, the kids in bed already.
“Nothing,” Justin said, flashing him a smile. “Just thinking about some stuff.”
Del leaned over and rubbed his thumb against Justin’s cheekbone. “Anything I can help you with?”
Justin didn’t want to unload his insecurities onto him. “Nah, just work stuff. Lloyd knows a guy he says can look at my car and make sure it doesn’t break down on me again, and he’d do it for cheap, but that could still be a couple hundreds of dollars or more, right?”
“It might be.”
“Yeah.” Justin jiggled his leg. “So I might get the guy to come over and have a look and maybe give him a six pack or something for checking it out? That way if I can’t afford it, I haven’t wasted his time.”
“I think that’s a good idea.”
“Except I can’t legally buy a six pack,” Justin said and tried to grin.
“I’ll get you one,” Del said. He looked intently at Justin. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Yeah, except in trying to avoid a discussion about their age gap he’d managed to bring it up in the dumbest way ever. His cheeks burned.
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
Would Del ever get tired of asking that? Would he ever get tired of looking out for Justin? Because he did it for the kids all the time, and he was great at it, but Justin didn’t want to be like the kids. He wanted to be Del’s boyfriend—his partner—not another child he watched over. Except—and it had nothing to do with age this time—how was Justin ever going to be a partner to a man like Del? Justin wasn’t bringing intelligence to the table in this relationship, or financial security, or experience, or even his ambitions or his dreams. He was an O’Dwyer. Del was always going to be way out of his league.
But that didn’t mean that Justin would ever stop wishing he could be enough.
* * * *
On Thursday afternoon, the kids were at Del’s, and Justin was at his place waiting for Lloyd’s friend the car guy to turn up and taking the opportunity to actually get some cleaning done. This house, the one he’d grown up in, felt less like home than it ever had. Justin was scrubbing down the cabinet doors in the kitchen—some of the stains there went back generations, probably—when he heard the crunch of tires on the dirt. He headed for the front door, but the car continued on around to the back.
Justin went back into the kitchen and pushed that door open.
A man was climbing out of an old black Dodge Challenger that was more rust than car. Justin knew that car.
Fuck
“Is that you, Justin?” The man squinted at him, then brushed his lank dark hair back from his face. He was bigger than Justin remembered. Probably spent the last couple of years pumping iron, because what else was there to do inside? “Get down here, kid, and give me a look at you.”
Justin felt numb. Old fears collided with new ones and broke over him in waves. He moved down the steps. “Uncle Steve. I didn’t know you were getting out.”
“You got fucking tall,” Steve said and cuffed him around the back of the head. “Guess you’re back because you heard about Tracey?”
“Yeah.” Justin swallowed.
“Well, what can you do, huh?” Steve asked, and tramped up the back steps into the kitchen. By the time Justin followed him in, he had the refrigerator open and was helping himself to one of the cans of beer Justin had put in there for the car guy. He cracked it open and drank deeply. “Fuck, that’s nice.” He squinted around the kitchen. “Where are the brats?”
“At—” Justin stopped himself. “At their sitter’s.”
“Good,” Steve said with a grunt. “Last I want is to listen to fucking whining all night.”
“Are you staying?” Justin asked, a sick, black feeling rising in his gut.