Author's Note: We're back in Richard's shoes! It's a real breakthrough here for our favorite dad.
As always, please send any feedback to [email protected]. It'll help me know if people are actually reading and if the story should keep going. :) The two-part finale is now in the works.
Chapter 6: As We Used To Be
RICHARD
August 2025
My older brother Patrick lived in a tan, single-story house on the outskirts of town now. It was smaller than his old place. But at least it had land. A wide backyard sloped away from the house, offering a sense of privacy that he always claimed to prefer.
I pulled into his driveway one Sunday afternoon, the tires crunching over the gravel. A small photo scanner rode beside me in the passenger seat. I’d been making the rounds among our family all month, collecting old photos and telling everyone the same thing: Lucas’s birthday was coming up, turning eighteen was a big deal, and I wanted to give him something special -- a photo book with some family memories.
Sure, the camping trip, Colorado Bend, the party -- all of that would be great. But I wanted to give Lucas something that said, "This is where you come from, and we'll always be here for you."
The day before, I’d stopped by Enrique’s place. Well, technically my ex-wife Monica's place, but she wasn't home. She was working a Saturday shift, Enrique had said. He opened the door in a tank top that showed off his deltoids. His thick bushes of jet-black pit hair poked through too. He was smiling like always, warm and unbothered by the past. We sat at the kitchen table while I went through boxes of mementos that he and Monica had already pulled out for me.
There was one photo with Lucas beaming a gap-toothed grin after he won a relay race. And one with Lucas at the zoo, his blond hair cut short that summer. And then Lucas playing chess, eyes wrinkled in concentration.
There were some faded ones too: photos of Lucas's dad Justin and his uncle Matt, long ago archived. Justin in football pads, helmet too big. Matt standing stiffly at a science fair, looking annoyed.
“It's a nice thing,” Enrique had said, handing me another stack to curate. “Very nice project.”
"Well, it's from all of us," I'd replied. "Group effort."
Now it was my big brother's turn to pitch in.
Patrick answered the door barefoot, wearing gym shorts and a polyester tee. His red hair was duller than it used to be, but his smile hadn’t changed.
“Richie,” he said, grinning, stepping aside. “Come on in. You want a beer?”
"Let's do it."
Patrick laughed and clapped me on the shoulder as we headed toward the back of the house, where plastic bins were stacked along one wall.
“So you just saw Enrique? You guys still getting along?” he asked, handing me a cold one, then kneeling to pop a lid.
“Always did,” I said. “Kind of had to. Co-parenting and all that.”
"Impressive."
"And remember: Justin really bonded with him when Monica remarried."
"Good guy," he grunted admiringly.
Patrick and I worked in companionable silence, flipping through albums and loose envelopes, in a room that overlooked his backyard. He lingered over some photos longer than others, his thumb catching at the edge of the paper.
“Nice setup,” I said, nodding toward the yard. “You did all right.”
Patrick shrugged. “It’s quieter out here.”
It was indeed. And while his new house might have felt like a step up, it felt like a step inward at the same time. Some space to reflect.
Just outside the sliding door was a large brick terrace with a kidney-shaped pool and a sunken hot tub built for six. The terrace overlooked a sloping expanse, hemmed in by rows of oak trees.
“You ever think about retiring?” I asked.
He snorted.
“I’m serious,” I said. “You’re not young.”
“Neither are you,” he shot back.
We both smiled at that.
Speaking of getting older, I mentioned that Justin and Lucas were in D.C. that very moment touring colleges and staying with Matt and Steven. Patrick nodded, pleased.
“Georgetown? Good school,” he said. “Kiddo's got options.”
"All's good as long as he picks well."
"No UT?" Patrick added, ribbing me.
"I doubt it. He's like Matt that way. Justin says he wants to fly away."
"That's OK. S'long as they fly back sometimes," Patrick said, the insinuation about my younger, usually distant son clear in his voice. "You still talk to Matty?" he added.
"I do. We do. We've actually been talking every weekend now. Since Europe. It's nice," I concluded musingly.
"He still comin' to Camp Harding?" he asked, referring to our family's annual camping trip, a tradition going back decades that now coincided with Lucas's birthday.
"Sure is."
"Good. Nice to see that city boy still remembers how to get down and dirty in the outdoors."
I scoffed and picked up another crate. I rifled through it. This one contained cases of discs. I perused the titles.
2002 - Justin's Graduation
1997 - Colorado Bend
1984 - Patrick's Fun
"Hey Pat," I said. "Anything worth using in here?" Patrick's cheeks flushed. "Oh, those aren't photos," he said offhandedly. "Just some old tapes. Maybe they got mixed up." "Here," he added swiftly, handing me a new stack. "These are from the beach trip a few years ago. When Justin turned 35."
Patrick lifted the crate of DVDs and placed it back in the corner. He turned into the kitchen and offered me another beer, which I happily accepted. The scanner whirred as we fed in print after print.
Patrick cracked another beer for himself, then another.
The sun went down faster than either of us noticed.
* * * * *
We only noticed the time when our eyes began straining.
Eventually, Patrick looked around at the piles and empty bottles on the table and said, “Do you wanna just stay the night? So we can get finish this thing in the morning?"
I hesitated, then nodded.
"Audrey’s out of town anyway,” I thought aloud.
“Where’d she go?”
“Parents,” I said. “Needs space.” I didn't explain how she's been colder with me the last few months. I also pretended not to know why.
I think Patrick saw through me too but said nothing.
“You got some shorts for me to sleep in though?" I said. "I'm sweaty as hell.”
I shifted in my seat, the skin of my scrotum stuck to my thighs.
"You don't sleep naked anymore?" he teased.
I waited.
"All right, follow me," he said, leading me to his bedroom.
At his dresser, he tossed me a pair of gym shorts from the top-most drawer to sleep in.
Then, after a moment’s thought, he threw me a swimsuit too.
“Good night for a swim, right?" he remarked, walking past me. "Pool’s heated.”
He left me in his bedroom to change. I looked down at the gym shorts and the swim trunks that Patrick lent me. They were about a size too big for me.
I smirked, thinking about Patrick's fat dumper.
Oh, make no mistake: nothing crazy -- but he's definitely got some big watermelons back there. I chuckled at the silly comparison and stripped off my T-shirt and shorts.
While I stood there naked in my brother's bedroom, I suddenly felt like I was in his sacred, private space. The place where he strokes. The place were he fucks.
Any sex toys here? I thought to myself with a grin.
I turned and saw an open hamper, nearly full, perched by the corner of the room. I froze.
In the ringing silence, I was reminded of that night in Matt's townhouse a few months ago. The night when I watched Matty get railed by my son-in-law Steven. The night when, in my misguided lust, I'd been tempted -- almost tempted -- to swipe a pair of white trunks hanging out of their hamper. Whether they were Matt's or Steven's, I didn't even know.
I followed my feet to Patrick's hamper and picked through it gingerly. T-shirts, socks, shorts... Boxer briefs. Bingo. I looked back at the bedroom door.
And here was another decision to make. A stronger man could've resisted a second time. But did I even want to? It's just curiosity.
I snatched the first pair of undies that I saw -- light gray, billowy, square-cut. Jockeys.
Before I could hesitate, I brought its interior to my face, eyes closed. I sniffed it right in my big brother's pouch.
One short breath, exploratory. Then a deep, prolonged one that went back to my brain stem.
A rich, earthy scent hit me immediately. I dotted the fabric with my nose and repeated. A saltiness at some points, then the smell of copper, like old pennies, mixed with grass.
My heart pounded in my ears and down my cock. I pressed the cotton closer to my chin and took in the musk.
Daring myself, I poked my tongue out, right on the taint. The texture was rough.
I wondered... Did mine taste the same? Did Matt's or Steven's -- or Justin's for that matter?
From the other corner of the house, I heard the swoosh of the patio door opening. I landed back on earth.
I dropped the undies where I found them and pulled on Patrick's swim shorts. My turgid cock strained to fit in. I returned to the living room.
Walking down the hallway, I felt my dick chub up against the nylon, realizing that my penis was brushing the same pouch that had once touched my brother's.
Through the glass door, I could see Patrick's burly body already by the pool, flicking on the lamps, wearing his own set of trunks and nothing else. His beefy chest was sprinkled with hair just like I remembered. The hot tub was already running. An ice bucket with some more beer sat on the patio table.
I left my clothes on the couch, flipped off most of the lights, and joined him on the terrace.
* * * * *
Outside, the air was humid but colder than when I'd arrived. The stars were fully out. The crickets were just beginning their symphony.
I walked to the edge of the terrace and grabbed another beer. My fourth? I’d lost count.
After setting the bottle on the floor, I eased into the pool. The heat spread up my legs, loosening something in me.
Patrick followed after me and, once submerged, let out a satisfied groan.
“Jesus,” he said. “Worth every damn penny."
We floated there face-up, shoulders brushing occasionally.
At first, we talked about nothing. Then everything. Work, body aches, the cost of house repairs.
Then getting older. How we dealt with being two dads in empty nests.
Then Patrick mentioned our father, offhandedly, and the words kept coming.
“He wasn’t easy,” Patrick said. “You remember that, Richard? He was tough. Tougher than people remember.”
Patrick kept going, floating past me.
“He drank more than anyone knew too,” he said bitterly. “And depended on me a lot. Maybe too much. But that's part of being 'the young man' of the house, as he'd say.”
The water felt suddenly cooler. Patrick didn’t look at me.
“You've never really talked about that," I said, leaning back.
“Didn’t think it mattered.”
I took a swig of beer.
"He wouldn't have gotten through it without you, Pat," I said. "None of us would."
We stayed like that for a while, quiet, the pool lights humming.
Then Patrick climbed out quietly, leaving ripples in his wake.
The tension broke with a loud boom.
Patrick had cannonballed into the water without warning, soaking me completely.
“Jesus,” I shouted, laughing despite myself.
He came up grinning. “Still slow, Richie.”
“Asshole,” I shot back, swatting water at him.
I chased him, splashing, shoving. He dodged my moves, or at least tried.
I pounced on his back to dip him under the surface. He returned the favor.
I pressed him back against the edge of the pool, and he dipped under my arm to escape.
We laughed like idiots, water slapping against our chests, the years peeling off of us in the dark.
For a moment, we were young again -- Pat and Richie. No responsibilities, no reckonings.
For a moment, there was nothing but movement and breath and the easy, ancient knowledge of how to be around each other.
* * * * *
Eventually, we climbed out of the pool and settled by the hot tub. We sat on the edge at first, steam curling around us with our feet in the water.Patrick broke the silence first.
“So Matt's hosting Justin and Lucas, huh?"
"Yep."
"He's a good kid. Always was.”
I nodded.
“Steven’s good for him too," Patrick said.
“Yeah. I’m glad he found that.” I hesitated. “I wasn’t always good at... understanding.”
“Understanding?”
“Him,” I said. “Justin was easier. Familiar... Matt -- I didn’t know what to do with him,” I murmured.
Patrick listened, didn’t interrupt.
“I wish I’d known more,” I went on. “Back then. About... gayness. Or being bi. Or… whatever he is.”
Patrick nodded, kindly. But there was something in his expression, something held back. He opened his mouth like he might say more, then closed it again.
"You should be kinder to yourself, Rich," Patrick said after a while.
"It was all just new to me."
Patrick peered at me sideways again.
"Lots of guys have bi experiences, Richard," he said. "You know that."
Patrick turned and looked at me. Really looked.
Wait, I thought. He couldn't possibly know about Matt and me in Rome, right? Or about Justin last month?
"It's like a rite of passage," he continued, sliding fully into the hot tub, the water rising to his shoulders.
It had been years -- decades -- but hanging around with Patrick like this again, like two carefree teens... It brought back some memories I'd buried long ago in a haze of booze, time, and sheer willpower.
He was talking about college.
I looked askance at Patrick.
"You don't mean--"
"Remember Becky?"
"Damn it, Pat."
I let myself slide into the bubbling water, joining him in the whirlpool, my eyes unfocused and peering back into the recesses of my memory.
Becky Murphy... She was in Patrick's year when we were in college together. Back in '84, I was a freshman. Patrick was a junior and well-liked on campus. Never with a girlfriend, but he sure fucked around. He'd promised that, for my birthday, he'd set me up with a hot chick. I never bought it until, one November day, he said, "Buddy bro, I got the goods." He'd told me to visit his dorm room, where he waited with a blonde bombshell. I recognized her from sorority events on campus. Grade-A tits on a sporty body. They were talking when I arrived and did their best to make me comfortable. Still, my heart raced after a few shots of liquid courage.
Patrick said he'd wait in the common room. Becky pulled me into his bedroom by my hand. But once she peeled off my clothes and hers, Patrick returned. Cornered and uneasy, I shielded myself with his comforter. He was holding a newfangled camcorder. "Thought you might wanna make some memories," he said.
Then before I knew it, at Becky's encouragement, my big brother was undressing himself and joining in, hyping me up, teaching me the ropes. That was the first time Patrick watched me cum.
I looked back at Patrick in the hot tub.
"You got rid of that tape, right?" I asked.
"Yeah, I told you. It's done-zo"
I leaned my head back and looked across the terrace.
"You're welcome, by the way, after all these years," he said with a shit-eating grin. "I set you up with a babe, you lil nerd." He rubbed the back of my head.
"I wasn't a nerd, Patrick. I just wore glasses."
"Sure, whatever, I still got more pussy than you," he smirked. "Probably still do."
I rolled my eyes.
"Is Audrey giving you what you need?" he asked.
"Don't be disgusting."
Patrick laughed. And although I smiled to myself, I knew why I deflected. I didn't want to admit the truth.
"Well, she better appreciate you," he continued, eyeing me closer. "You're lookin' -- you're lookin' good, man."
He slapped me on my right shoulder, and I flexed that arm for him playfully.
"I try. I try."
"I gotta tell ya... Never had sex like we did in college,” he said, looking up at the sky. “Not in my 20s, not with Christa, not after the divorce."
"We just dry up inside, I guess,"
"Speak for yourself, man," Patrick retorted, swatting foamy water in my direction. "I can still get it up."
"It was never a problem for you," I scoffed.
"Remember that time in the library?" he said with glee. "I could've sworn someone was gonna catch us with that girl. What was her name?"
"Hannah."
"No," he said dismissively. "Hannah was the one we fucked my senior year on your rooftop."
"Oh right. Julie was the one in the library."
"Fuck, that's right."
We talked about the few pussies we shared. The memories pumped my cock back up.
I started rubbing the outside of my swim shorts. I could tell Patrick was hard and horny too. His hand hadn't moved from his lap in minutes.
He cleared his throat.
Faintly, he said, "Another session? For old time's sake?"
So he knew I was feeling it too.
Sensing no protest, Patrick lifted his knees from the bench and, under the water's surface, pulled off his swim trunks. The jet bubbles obscured any clear sight through the water.
But then Patrick tossed his trunks off the to the side and lifted himself up to sit on the hot tub's edge. I was face-to-face with his uncut, girthy hog flopping in the air.
He plopped down with a thud, and his cock and balls jostled between his hairy thighs under a full bush. He was only semi-hard, but his cock's thickness was impossible to ignore. It was one of the girthiest I've seen.
I hesitated for the slightest moment, then followed suit.
I stepped out of the borrowed trunks, flung them onto the terrace, and pulled myself up beside him.
Sitting on the edge of the hot tub, we both continued stroking, our bodies inches away from each other.
We worked up our cocks, mostly in silence peppered with whispered memories, stealing a quick glance at the other's dadcock getting bigger and bigger.
Once mine reached full size, I saw Patrick smirk then look at me with a proud grin.
We locked eyes for a moment. Patrick's lips parted slightly. Droplets fell from his hair.
He looked away, processing a thought. Then he slid leisurely into the steaming hot tub, his left hand on my right quad. The water matted his chest hair.
Positioning himself between my legs, he placed his other hand on my other thigh.
"I'll help you out, lil bro," he said, glancing up at me.
He wrapped both hands around my cock and continued stroking its full length.
"Pat--" I said, unable to finish my sentence.
"Richie," he answered teasingly.
He lowered his head over my cock.
A shot of terror passed through me, expecting my brother to go down and suck my dick. Then Patrick hawked up a wad of spit right over my cockhead, forming a pool wrapped by his fingers. His hands rubbed his man-made lube down my shaft. He glided my foreskin up and down the head, his saliva now frothing inside the grooves.
"Oh fuck--" I said, eyes rolling back at the renewed sensitivity.
Patrick let one of his hands roam further down and cup my balls. He massaged my nuts with one hand, while still polishing my knob with the other.
I looked back down. Patrick stared right in my eyes, his face only a couple of feet from mine. His bright green eyes looked down at my lips.
"Sit back," he muttered. "Legs on my shoulders."
I obeyed. With my knees on either side of his head, he continued stroking me. Riding the wave, I leaned back on my forearms and relaxed even more.
Overhead, a canopy of stars -- one of the perks of being this far out from the city.
"Stand up," Patrick said, softer than before.
"What... Why?"
"Just trust me."
Warily, I planted my feet down and lifted my ass off the brick edge of the hot tub, Patrick's hands still grazing my thighs.
"Now turn around," he continued.
"Patrick."
"Stroking feels better from behind. You'll see."
My brain was scrambled with horniness. I trusted his judgment in these matters. Always have.
I rotated slowly, facing the glass door leading into the house. Patrick spread my legs at the knees with his hands. I leaned forward and placed my hands on the rough brick.
With my face outside the cloud of steam now, I could smell the grass and mulch in the air. A dog barked in the distance. In this quiet night, it was the only sound that cut through the water jets' burbling, our heavy breaths, and the waves sloshing around my brother's body and mine.
The water level was up to my mid-thigh. I felt my ballsack hanging low, tickling the surface.
Patrick's hands grabbed my cock from between my legs and pulled it down, pointing it straight into the water. With my cockhead submerged, the heat diffused up the length of my shaft.
My big brother was right. Something about this angle made my cock feel huge. Weighty. The pressure built up in my groin.
Patrick continued to massage my balls and stroke my foreskin down and up. I felt his breath on my asscheeks.
"No skipping leg day, huh?" said Patrick's voice right behind me.
Then a wetness. Pressure right in my center.
"Whoa, what the fuck--" I said with a jolt, shifting forward.
"--Easy, Richie--"
"Patrick, what the hell--"
"It feels good, bro. Just try it."
I choked on my words. My hands clenched the brick harder. I looked straight ahead.
Patrick's tongue explored further, gliding smoothly from the bottom of my nutsack over my taint, stopping just below my hole. He repeated and repeated.
There was my reflection on the sliding glass door, like a watercolor. Harried, sweaty, wild. That version of me staring back looked fuckin' hot, actually. I sized him up. A mature, muscular daddy getting serviced by his buddy... No, by his brother.
It's not a bad thing to get serviced, I thought. It's just getting your nut... And we've fucked girls together before anyway. It's just bonding.
Patrick ran a finger up and down my cock.
At least I thought it was a finger. His tongue? I didn't want to ask.
His soft beard, gently abrasive, brushed both sides of my cleft. I relaxed my hands. I arched my back further to give my big brother easier access to my hole. One of his hands gripped my asscheek harder, the other continued to stroke my shaft.
I heard the whiff of a deep, prolonged inhale underneath me.
Patrick's tongue circled around faster, lapping a ring around my asshole, about an inch from my pucker. I felt the hair in my crack getting plastered around by his tongue.
It's not gay to get your ass licked, I thought. Even chicks do it.
I flexed my back even more and pressed my muscle ass back into my big brother's face.
"Mmmf--" his groan resonated inside me, followed by a chuckle.
Then his tongue flicked right on my pucker... My brother's tongue on my anus. Then twice more.
"Holy fuck! Dude," I yelped. Both his hands stroked my shaft now, his face still in my crack.
Patrick began tongue-fucking me and stroked me down even faster. His other hand resumed its worship of my bull nuts too. He pulled my nutsack further away from my taint and rolled them around like billiard balls.
"We got some nice dad nuts, don't we, brother?" he said into my ass. "Nice we both put them to good use. Dropped our seed."
I grunted.
"At least you made some studs of your own."
I thought back to my younger son Matt's eight-inch cock, hanging heavy after fucking his husband. And then my firstborn son Justin's boner, pulsating in my hands in a steam room. I tried to wave the images away.
"Oh shit," I breathed out. "You were bigger though, Pat. Always wanted to get as big and girthy as you," I admitted.
"Oh, you beat me now, little buddy."
He slapped my cockhead against his palm. Then he squeezed my cock harder, and I felt a pearl of precum escape my piss-slit.
"You need a three-hander to stroke this dong," he said.
I was on the edge. I pictured the two other men whose hands I wanted wrapped around my cock.
No, no, stop it, I thought.
Then it was like Patrick read my mind: "It's a nice big fuckpiece, just like Matt's." He added with a snicker: "Justin's, not so much."
His revelation flew over my head while I was dazed with lust. Instead, I played along.
"Yeah, I love my fat dong," I whimpered.
"Me too, bro."
"You proud of me?"
"Hell yeah, baby bro."
"Yeah?"
"It's a big boy's cock."
"... Is it like Dad's?" I whispered, regressing to my old self.
"Yeah, buddy. Just like our Dad's."
"Oh ffffuuuuuck," I cried out, my glutes clenching around Patrick's nose.
My taint throbbed violently against his chin. My asshole pulsated around the tiniest tip of his tongue. My cumwave broke through the dam.
Bursts of my semen shot underwater. Strands of cum pooled around my legs and my brother's chest.
Panting, I uncoupled my ass from Patrick's face. I staggered around and plopped down on the brick edge. I wiped my brow with the back of my hand, my belly heaving.
Patrick looked at me with a crooked smile and similarly wiped his lips.
"Help me off?" he said.
"Yeah," I said falteringly. "Sit up here."
He lifted himself with a splash and planted his dump truck beside me. His sleeve-tattooed arm wrapped around me. His hairy armpit brushed my shoulder, and I caught a waft of familiar musk.
I focused my gaze on his rock-hard cock and started polishing his knob with my dominant hand. His piss-slit was wide open and his glans was slick and red. I let his foreskin glide over his cockhead a few times. Patrick grunted.
"Fuck yeah, Richie, just like that."
I watched intently. I played with his foreskin some more.
His tongue pressed against his upper lip. "That feels so fuckin' good, buddy."
"Get your nut, bud," I said half-heartedly. In my post-nut clarity, I felt trepidation. A bit guilty and disoriented. But I wanted to pay Patrick back for his service.
"Fuck, focus on the head, Richie."
"Like that, bro?" I added pressure to his cockhead, clenching his foreskin, which wrinkled over the top of his glans. I squeezed the tip in bursts like a stress ball, his silky skin gliding over the head.
"Oh fuck, isn't it great being uncut?" he said.
I snickered, pulling his foreskin fully down and up.
"Fuck, you shoulda left Justin and Matt uncut, bud. Mmff--"
"What?"
"Yeah, some foreskins on the boys. They would've -- ugh -- fuck. They would've loved it -- Gahhh! Fuck!"
Patrick jerked his head back, facing the heavens with his eyes clenched shut.
A thick wad of my brother's cum shot up into the night sky and landed onto his chest. Another rope of his cum shot even higher, landing on his cheek.
The rest dribbled out onto my hand. The wateriest trickles ran right into hot tub, and I discarded the remainder with a flick of my hand.
Patrick caught his breath between mirthful gasps. He shuddered with laughter.
But my face was stone, and iron sat in my chest.
Something about the way he talked about Justin and Matt being uncut.
It reminded me of what he'd said minutes ago about my sons' cock sizes.
Patrick looked at me with that damn crooked smile across his beard again.
"Thanks, bro," he said, ruffling my hair.
I pushed his arm away with a jerk of my shoulder.
"... What did you mean that my cock is just like Matt's'?" I demanded quietly, ice running through my veins.
Patrick sat silently.
"And about Justin's not being as big as mine? How the hell do you know that, Patrick?"
"Richard, it's no big deal--"
"Patrick."
"Justin and I -- I mean, we just had some fun just jerking around forever ago. It was nothing. It was like the summer after he graduated, mostly, and--"
"--Graduated...?"
"Yeah, like '03 or some shit, and--"
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"And-- and-- And Matty, I mean, he wanted that too. He came onto me, dude. It was only a couple years ago. I was just packin' up the old house and we shot the shit to-- to some videos, and--"
I remembered when Matt visited for that. So that means that all this time...
"--and look, you remember what it was like between us too, Richard."
"Patrick."
"It's just foolin' around, dude. It's just guy shit--"
I bolted upright and leapt out of the hot tub, the water rushing down my back. Lying on the ground was Patrick's swimsuit that I'd discarded. I kicked it across the lawn. I grabbed a towel draped across the lawn chair.
"Richard," Patrick called out from behind me.
I was near hyperventilating when I reached the sliding door to the inside of the house. I saw my reflection even closer up, and I barely recognized this man.
I swatted the glass door open, sending it flying sideways.
"Not my fucking sons, Patrick!" I bellowed, as I made my way into the darkened house. "I can't-- There’s… there’s a line--"
I toweled myself off as I reached the living room and began to dress myself, hands shaking. The world felt upside down -- or perhaps reordered into perspective.
Patrick reappeared in the sliding doorway, the lights from the backyard silhouetting his nude frame.
"Bro," he said softer.
I glared at him standing there like an idiot.
"I can't do this. I can't-- This.. I can't fucking believe you. This whole time--" I spat out, after pulling the polo over my head.
"Richie. Buddy."
"Dude. I gotta go."
I slammed the front door behind me.
Back in my truck, I caught my breath myself with my hands on the wheel. I looked at the dashboard. 12:52 a.m.
I pulled out of Patrick's driveway and saw the lights inside his house flicker on. I gathered my thoughts and tried to parse through them as I pulled onto the highway.
What am I feeling? Anger... Betrayal... Jealousy? Or is it envy?
I pressed harder on the accelerator.
Then I remembered that I left the photo scanner back at Patrick's house. The photo book. Lucas's birthday. Oh fuck, fuck no. Shit.
"Fuck!" I slammed my hands on the steering wheel.
I wasn't worried about the gift. I had enough photos stored.
It was the next realization that made my fingernails dig into the leather...
Patrick, Matt, Justin. Enrique, Lucas, me.
In just weeks, we'd all be reconvening for Camp Harding.
--To be continued--
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