The monotony of the drive from the wide-open spaces of the Texas panhandle to the once quiet, but now exploding with new growth, town of Prosper just north of Dallas is a rite of passage for anyone who has made the trek. The road stretches endlessly, the asphalt ribboning through miles of flat, featureless land. It’s not the sort of drive that rewards you with scenic beauty or noteworthy landmarks; rather, it’s the kind of journey that tests your patience, both as a driver and as a passenger. Though it’s not as bad as the interminable stretch of endless, undulating cornfields that I remember from childhood road trips through Nebraska and Kansas, it still has a way of wearing you down. By the time you finally arrive at your destination, you’ve been mentally drained, even if you’ve hardly spoken a word the whole trip.
Shane, to his credit, seemed unfazed by the road’s unchanging monotony. His concentration was steadfast, his eyes locked onto the highway with an almost robotic focus. On the other hand, I was struggling to stay awake from the very start. We had left just as the sun was peeking over the horizon, the light casting long shadows over the empty roads, but I could already feel the weight of the drive creeping in. I was nodding off within the first thirty minutes, my head lolling from side to side as I fought the pull of sleep.
The drive was set to take us five and a half hours east, and aside from the one necessary stop for breakfast burritos, we had no delays. We both needed fuel, Shane with his strong coffee, and me with something a little sweeter, a cold apple juice to settle my stomach. The air was cool as we pulled into the drive-thru, and the faint smell of sizzling grease hit me as soon as Shane rolled down the window. The hash browns, golden, crispy, and impossibly tempting, waved their greasy allure toward me. I hadn't planned on it, but I was hungry. So, I added them to the order without hesitation.
For anyone who's spent enough time with a partner, you start to notice certain things. Little things, at first, that might seem trivial, but then, over time, you begin to realize just how well you know each other. Take Shane and me, for example. In the few seconds it took me to decide that two hash browns simply weren’t enough, I could already sense Shane’s thoughts. He didn’t want any, or so he said. I did; one hash brown didn’t seem nearly sufficient. I wanted two. So, I ordered four. Shane shot me that look, the one that meant he was thinking that I was probably being a little overindulgent, maybe even a little greedy. But here’s the thing: who ended up eating two of those crispy little delights by the time we were back on the road? That’s right. Shane did. And I got my two. Do I know that man, or what?
We drove on, the miles stretching out before us like a never-ending ribbon, the soft hum of the tires against the road and the occasional rustling of the paper bag as I plucked out yet another hash brown. Neither of us said much, but in that silence, there was a quiet kind of understanding. We knew the road ahead would continue to stretch on, long and unchanging, and we would pass the time in the simplest of ways, comforting ourselves with food, the rhythmic sound of the engine, and the quiet companionship of the journey.
I wasn’t sure how far into the trip we were, an hour, maybe two, but the steady hum of the tires against the asphalt had lulled us into a quiet that felt almost fragile. The late afternoon light slanted through the windshield, catching dust motes in its golden net. I let it sit for a while, the silence, before breaking it.
“I’ve been thinking,” I said, my voice sounding louder than I meant it to. “About us. About having a baby when we get out of school.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Shane bite his lower lip. The gesture was small, but it set off alarms in me. I didn’t read that as a good sign. Still, I pushed forward.
“We’ll have Welcome House, and once we’ve got steady jobs, I think we should start looking for a surrogate. We’ll need to do everything legally, of course. Make sure the paperwork is ironclad so she can’t take the baby away later.”
Shane’s eyes didn’t leave the road. His hands stayed steady on the wheel, but when he spoke, his voice carried the neutral calm I’d heard him use when he was pretending not to tip his hand. “What about adopting?”
I turned to study him, but his expression gave me nothing. He could have been cross-examining a witness.
“That’s an option,” I admitted, “but with a surrogate the baby would be related to us genetically. You know… part of us.”
“Which one of us?”
“We could mix the sperm,” I suggested quickly. “That way we wouldn’t know who the genetic donor is. We’d both be fathers, in a way. And as the child grows, well… we’d probably figure it out from resemblance, but by then it wouldn’t matter.”
Shane was silent a moment, then without any shift in tone he said, “Unless she sleeps with someone else and it ends up being his kid.”
My stomach tightened. Fuck. He’s not for this. Or maybe he just needed more time to absorb it. I tried to lighten it with a joke. “We’d give her a pregnancy test first, and maybe keep her under lock and key until we’re sure she’s carrying ours.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, the faintest crack in his courtroom mask. He knew I was kidding.
Shane matched me with a deadpan of his own. “We could keep her locked up until she delivers, let her nurse the baby for a month, then knock her over the head and bury her in the backyard. Save ourselves the fee.”
Relief loosened my chest. Okay. He’s processing. He’s joking now.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” I said, playing along. “We’d save a bundle. My only concern is how many times we’d have to, you know, fuck her to get her pregnant. And what if you liked it more than being with me?”
That broke him. He turned and burst into laughter, his shoulders shaking as he tried to keep the car steady. When he calmed down enough to breathe, he said, “Except for the fucking and killing part, well, maybe not the killing part, it’s worth thinking about. You know I want a family with you.”
“I think you were the one who brought up knocking her over the head,” I teased.
“Yeah, but you know I was joking. I’m not the violent type.”
I chose not to remind him of the day in high school when he’d decked a guy for making fun of Joey, the kid with Down’s Syndrome. I’d never seen Shane so angry, never seen his fist fly so fast. But then he’d knelt by Joey, hugged him, and asked if he was okay. Shane wasn’t violent, no, but he could be fierce if the cause was right.
“I’ll tell you what, Tay,” he said finally.
“Yes, Shane,” I answered with a grin I couldn’t hide.
“Let’s look into the logistics over Christmas break.”
“Such big words,” I teased. “Where’d you learn logistics? You know it turns me on when you use ten-dollar words.”
“Stop it,” he said, though his smile betrayed him. “You get turned on just when I walk in the room.”
“I can’t help it,” I said. “You’re just that awesome.”
“I’m going to awesome you.”
I laughed. “I hope so. But before we get too awesome, we should probably pick up some condoms. I don’t think your sister would appreciate us spraying our love juice all over her guest sheets.”
“I already thought of that,” Shane said, smug. “Bought a box last week. They’re in my bag.”
“Another reason I love you.” I blew him a kiss, then tapped my phone screen. The Waze app mocked me with how far we still had to go.
By the time we pulled up in front of Shane’s sister’s house, the sky had dipped toward twilight, leaving the brick façade of the McMansion washed in the peachy glow of sunset. I’d heard of houses like this, but never seen one up close. It sprawled across the manicured lawn, three garage doors wide, every line screaming money.
Beau, Sharon’s husband, came out to wave us toward the third garage door. Shane cut the engine, and the quiet rang in my ears. We climbed out, and Beau gave Shane a warm hug before shaking my hand firmly.
Two small whirlwinds, Misty and Rainey, tumbled out the front door behind Sharon. Their squeals of delight broke into the cooling air as they barreled toward their uncle. All those FaceTime calls must have worked, because they clung to Shane as though no time had passed. Misty looked more and more like her mother, and Rainey looked like a mix of Shane and Beau with a touch of Shane’s father thrown in.
I tried not to think of my own sister and her kids. Tried not to let the lump in my throat win.
Then Misty ran straight at me, arms raised in the universal plea: Pick me up.
“Uncle Tay!” she squealed.
And just like that, the lump broke me. Tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her little brow furrowing.
“Nothing, sweetheart. I’m just so happy to see you. I love you so much.”
She giggled, unbothered by my tears, and wrapped her arms around my neck. A tug at my pant leg drew my eyes downward, where Rainey stood with the same expectant gesture. I scooped him up, and he announced solemnly, “We’re having turkey.”
“Misty,” Shane called, opening his arms. “Don’t give all my kisses away.”
“I’ve got plenty,” she said, wriggling to face him. “I’ve been saving them.”
Sharon reached me then, kissed my cheek softly. “I’m so glad you’re here. You’ve made Shane so happy. I can’t believe it took you idiots so long to figure it out.”
“That’s ‘cause we’re idiots,” I said with a laugh, trying to swallow back the last of my tears.
Shane slung the duffle bag over his shoulder, and together we stepped into the house, into family, into warmth, into whatever the future might hold.
The four of us sat around Sharon and Beau’s dining table, the faint scratch of cards sliding across the polished wood competing with the occasional rattle of ice in someone’s glass. A vanilla-scented candle burned nearby, its flickering light softening the sharp edges of the room, but it couldn’t ease the tension building in my chest.
Sharon and Beau had insisted they’d let Shane know about card night, and Shane, sheepish as ever, admitted he’d forgotten to pass it on to me. I’d never played Canasta before, just heard of it in passing, and though the rules weren’t impossible, I could already tell this was a game best suited to people who had a rhythm. Every time Sharon and Beau slapped their melds onto the table with that sharp snap, my pulse jumped. I forced myself to breathe slowly through my nose, trying to stay calm, trying not to let the competition gnaw at me.
Shane sat across from me, his posture relaxed, though the way he chewed on the inside of his cheek betrayed his nerves. He always did that when he felt the night was headed somewhere unpredictable. I thought it was just the cards.
Then Beau leaned back in his chair, having just emptied his hand with a flourish. He stretched his arms above his head and said, almost casually, “You know, we need to talk about this baby thing.”
The words hit the table with more weight than any card could.
I saw Shane glance up at him, quick, wary, and then over at Sharon. His expression carried the weary resignation of a man who’d been cornered into something before it was time. His eyes, though, found me for the briefest moment, almost apologetic.
I tried to sound casual, though a knot twisted in my stomach. “What baby thing?”
Beau’s response was so flat, so matter-of-fact, that I almost thought he was serious. “The one where you impregnate my wife. What the hell do you mean, what baby thing?”
The blood drained from my face so fast that I felt lightheaded. Nausea churned through me like a tide rising too fast to escape. My gaze flicked to Shane. His eyes were downcast, locked on his folded hands like he’d rehearsed the grain of his skin.
“Beau,” Sharon said softly, warning in her voice.
And then Beau cracked. A laugh spilled out of him, half chuckle, half mischievous giggle. He waved one hand in the air, as though to brush away the tension he’d created. “OK, OK. I’m punking you. Relax. I know you’re not planning to screw her to knock her up.”
Relief and irritation tangled in my chest, leaving me speechless.
But Shane spoke. His voice was tight, more fragile than I’d heard in a long time. “I haven’t… I haven’t discussed this with Taylor. So you’ve kind of blindsided him.” He shifted in his chair and finally looked at me, his eyes raw with something unspoken. “Sharon has offered to be our surrogate. We’d just have to cover the medical costs, the doctor bills, medication.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and then his gaze went back to Sharon before returning to me. “And… the baby would be genetically related…” His voice faltered, cracked. Tears shimmered suddenly at the edges of his eyes. “…The baby would be genetically related to both of us.”
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. A hot tightness gripped my lip, and then I felt it begin to tremble. Tears blurred my vision before I could stop them. I turned toward Sharon and found her already crying, shoulders shaking, her hands folded tightly on the table as though holding herself together.
My eyes darted to Beau, bracing for another joke. Instead, he was smiling, warm and open, his face lit with a sincerity I hadn’t expected.
“You’re OK with this?” My voice came out cracked, ragged.
He nodded without hesitation. “There’s no greater joy than having a kid. You two… you’re the best brothers-in-law I could ask for. Sharon and I talked about it, really talked about it, and we want this for you.”
The words cracked something open in me. “Oh, Sharon, I…” The rest tangled in my throat, too heavy to push out. My body trembled as tears poured freely down my face. Her generosity, their generosity, was beyond anything I had ever imagined.
Shane reached across the table, his hand finding mine, his eyes shining with tears he didn’t bother to hide. Sharon’s hand followed, and then Beau’s, and soon the four of us were connected, the circle closed.
The game lay forgotten between us, cards scattered, drinks sweating against the wood, as a different kind of bond filled the room. Love of family. Hope for the future. The unthinkable gift of a child who would be ours.
Later that night, Shane and I stepped into the shower together, the steam curling around us like a living thing. Water cascaded over his shoulders and down his chest, glistening on his skin. We kissed slowly at first, mouths brushing, breaths mingling, until one kiss deepened, then another—soft but lingering, like the first sips of wine after a long day.
I pressed my lips along the sharp line of his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin, moving up to the tender spot just below his ear. As I did, I felt his body respond, his hardness pressing, insistent but unhurried, into my thigh. The quiet sound of the water mixed with his soft, uneven breathing.
With a kind of reverence, I worked shampoo and then conditioner through the hair on his chest, my fingers gliding over it. He had more now than he had the first time we were together; it suited him, made him seem even more like the man I’d fallen in love with. Feeling it beneath my hands sent a slow ache of arousal pooling low in my belly. He closed his eyes and let me touch him, a faint smile at the corners of his mouth.
When we finally turned off the water, neither of us reached for towels right away. We helped dry one another slowly, our fingers lingering at shoulders and hips, drawing out the moment. Grins kept flickering onto our faces—shy, irrepressible, and almost boyish, as though we were discovering each other again for the first time.
I stepped back to take him in fully, droplets of water still tracing down his skin. He could have been carved from marble, a living Greek statue, well-proportioned, not overly muscular, simply beautiful. The only thing that broke the illusion was his manhood. He always claimed he was “average,” but even now, semi-erect, he was far beyond anything any sculpture had ever dared.
I reached for his hand and tugged him gently toward the bedroom.
He grabbed a towel on the way, voice low and husky. “I think we’ll need this.”
I pressed myself against him, letting my body say what my voice couldn’t yet, and kissed him again.
He bent to my ear, his breath warm and trembling. “I want you now more than I ever have.”
Wordlessly, I led him to the bed, took the towel from his hand, and spread it across the sheets like a quiet invitation. I guided him down onto it, kissing him deeply as I moved between his legs, our bodies fitting together with practiced familiarity and still, somehow, newness. His soft moans told me to go on.
My lips drifted to his chin, down the column of his neck, pausing at each nipple. My tongue teased until they hardened beneath it; his breath caught audibly. I kept descending, tasting his skin, pressing kisses along the sculpted planes of his abdomen. By the time my head reached his groin, his erection was heavy and full, a silent affirmation of every touch. I drew my tongue along the length of him once, slowly, savoring the shudder that went through him.
My hand eased his legs apart, exposing the most private part of him. The cooler air of the room made him quiver slightly. Although rimming was not my favorite act, I knew how much he loved it, and that knowledge itself aroused me. I bent and began to work, saliva slicking the area, my tongue tracing patterns around the ring of muscle.
Shane’s hand flew to his mouth to stifle the sounds rising from his throat. The sight filled me with a quiet triumph: he was so lost in pleasure that he had to cover himself. He tilted his hips, granting me easier access, and I slid a finger in, slow and careful, while my tongue continued its dance.
A small, involuntary squeal escaped him, high, almost mouse-like, and before it could echo, I moved up to cover his mouth with mine. His hand sought me blindly, fingers wrapping around my shaft, guiding me to him. Gently, insistently, he adjusted me until I began to press into him, the heat of his body enveloping me inch by inch.
I started a slow rhythm, my hips moving in and out of him as our mouths stayed joined, my tongue pushing between his lips to swallow his moans. His hands clutched at my back; his legs tightened around me.
Within moments, but moments that seemed suspended in time, I felt him grip me from the inside, his body convulsing around me as release overtook him. His climax sprayed across our chins and chests, warm and startling. I kept moving, picking up speed, drawn helplessly toward my own release. Just before I reached it, I pulled out, shuddering, and spilled across his chest and belly, mingling with his.
He looked up at me, eyes still glassy. “Tay, why didn’t you come inside? You know how much you like that.”
I kissed him softly, brushing his damp hair from his forehead. “I didn’t want you to leak onto the sheets during the night,” I murmured. “And I knew you’d need another shower before bed anyway. Believe me, I wasn’t short-changed.”
He smiled, tender, vulnerable. “I love you.”
“I know.” My throat tightened, eyes blurring with sudden tears. “And I love you more than anything.”
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