Daddy [mxm]

12

Bret's anger lasts a grand whopping total of one day. He texts me: let's grab lunch, and I'm relieved to remember that my best friend never could hold a grudge.

Rudy isn't wasting any time, wanting to launch into training right away, but I've got a few spare hours before he wants us to be at the track. So I say yes.

Bret calls me while I'm cleaning Bella's tack.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"I'm on my way."

"Okay."

"Okay, see you soon."

Not long after the brief and pointless call, Bret picks me up in his battered Ford truck, and we're back to our goofy selves.

"That feeling you get when your best buddy comes in close and starts to gaze into your eyes," he snickers. "Holding his shoulder feels like a boulder in the mountains..."

"You wrap in close over the arm rest," I continue, giggling, "and his tongue feels like the off roads of the Rockies rolling around in your mouth..." I lick his neck, eyes screwed shut with laughter.

"That's the feeling of driving a Ford truck. Men will be men!"

"No girls allowed," we chorus in unison.

This is how I wish things could be between us again - the way they were, before Sammy.

"Hey, man... I'm sorry about what I said." Bret's face is serious now. "No matter what, you're my bro and I love you."

"I love you too."

Upon our arrival at the steakhouse, we're seated and given the menus.

"I don't know if I want the Caesar salad or the scallops for my appetizer," I fret.

"You order the salad, I'll order the scallops and we'll share."

"Good idea. We can do the same with the sides." My salivary glands are aroused. The menu is rife with hearty options like beef tenderloin, porterhouse, tomahawk, striploin, ribeye, T-bone...

"So, ready to race?" Bret flicks my chin.

"I guess..." I smile, offering an insouciant shrug.

"What, you're not excited?"

I take a sip of my lemon water and swill it around in my mouth, afraid of admitting out loud that I'm not thrilled about this obviously incredible opportunity.

"This is more your dad's thing than mine, to be honest." I'm strangely obsessed with the way that sounds. Your dad. Rudy's a dad. Somehow that makes everything we did so much hotter. Little does Bret know, his dad is my daddy.

Bret looks at me imploringly so I try my best to formulate the problem. It's not really a problem, per se; it's just... I have no experience with racing and still Rudy expects me to excel. I'm thrilled that he has enough faith and confidence in me to expect me to succeed without any practice. He trusts that I can show up and succeed based solely on my talent. But I fear the burning shame that makes it hard to meet his gaze when I mess up. Every wrong move - even a wrong chord on the guitar - feels like a personal affront against him. If this doesn't work out, it'll be crushing for everyone involved. But if it does, it'll be Rudy's dream come true...

"So tell him to fuck off and use the time to write."

"Oh yeah; I've had no time to write lately." But that's mostly thanks to your mom constantly up and leaving me with her sons, I don't add. Avery and Roger are a delight, but between them and my job and Bella and my struggles to capture Rudy's heart... I'm stretched pretty thin, and not in the good way.