Chapter Thirty-one
Mike
Mike waited until Rayne was inside the house before he put his gloves back on and joined his sons by the exotic flower bed. The three of them got to work, and Mike didn’t have to give either of his boys instructions on what to do. Trent started to pull weeds while Bishop began to spread out a new layer of mulch. It was quiet for a long time while they enjoyed working together on something all of them were naturally great at. Both Bishop and Trent had worked for Mike’s company last year and learned the trade before Bishop started his own landscape design business and Trent went into the construction field full-time with his good friend Summer.
“So, Mike. What’s new with you?” Trent asked, full of sarcasm. He took a beer out of Mike’s cooler and tossed one to both of them before he closed the lid and sat on top of it. His sons were making themselves comfortable, which meant Mike’s time was up. He could no longer avoid this conversation.
“Stressful,” Mike answered with truth because it was. At least up until Rayne put his hands all over him—then things got very calm.
“Where’s he sleeping?” Bishop asked bluntly, and Mike answered in the same fashion.
“The guest room is his, but it won’t be long before he’s sleeping in my bed.” Because that’s what Mike wanted. He was going to tell Rayne tonight that if he wanted him, then Mike was all his. He understood his responsibilities going in, and he believed he could be the supportive, understanding, non-judging partner that Rayne needed him to be.
“Dad,” Trent chuckled. “What in the actual fuck? You’re gay… well, bisexual?”
“If you say so.” Mike shrugged, then took a long swig of his beer.
“What do you mean ‘if I say so’?” Trent scoffed. “You’ve always been with women, and now you’re hot for a guy younger than your own sons.”
Mike glanced away for a split second. Although he’d kept his expression neutral, Bishop still caught it. Of course he did.
“Have you only been with women?” Bishop asked straight up.
“No.”
“When?”
“You were young, before Trent came… you might not remember him.”
“Try me.”
Mike stared his son in his eyes. This was how he and Bishop communicated. More like lifelong friends than father and son, blunt and straight to the damn point. No being coy or beating around the bush. It was all straight, no chaser, when they talked. So, Mike could understand Bishop’s attitude about being kept in the dark about something so important, something they could’ve maybe bonded over years ago.
“His name was Jameson, but everyone called him—”
“Slick,” Bishop finished. “Well, damn. We lived with him when I was in like first or second grade.”
Mike nodded. He stared across the lawn at the white azalea bushes as he remembered that pivotal time in his life. A time when he was truly happy regardless of how messy his life was. When he came home… there was nothing but peace.
“You were seven, B. And yeah, everyone called him Slick. By the time I was twenty-two, I was head SGT at Arms in the Devil Wreckers.”
Trent whistled, and Bishop’s chest deflated. Sergeant was the third highest-ranked position in a motorcycle gang, and to have that title so young, his boys probably assumed that Mike had done some pretty deplorable shit to work his way up that despicable ladder.
“Slick came in as a hang around, but it wasn’t long before I found him working right under me.” Mike curved his mouth into a wry grin. “He was cunning and smart as fuck. Could weasel his way out of anything, and that’s why we called him that. It’s why I started calling him that.”
Jameson had slithered his way beneath Mike’s skin and into his heart in the sneakiest, most unfair way there was, and Mike hadn’t stood a chance.
“Y’know, they say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” Mike shook his head and stared at Bishop. “That’s bullshit. It’s through his kid.”
“I remember him because we were always doing stuff. He’d take me to the park, the zoo—he took me to a ball game once. He walked me to school every morning, and he…” Bishop trailed off as if all the missing pieces were falling into place.
“He made sure you did your homework, and he cooked dinner for you… healthy fuckin’ dinners.” Mike couldn’t help the slight tilt of his mouth anytime he thought of those years. “He even went to a parent-teacher conference once. The school hadn’t been able to reach me for weeks, so he just… he just stepped in and did it and made sure you were able to stay in school.”
“Where were you?” Trent asked.
“I was the sergeant, T, so I was at the club day and night, keeping shit in check. That was my job, and it was the only way I knew to pay the rent and keep my li’l homie fed.”
“Man… so you two started…”