Daddy [mxm]

17

A breathless, irate Sammy bursts through the door in the middle of my crisis.

"Um," I squeak, "please knock-"

"You have to make him change his mind."

"Excuse me?" I blink.

"He wants to call off the wedding."

"What's...what? Why-"

"Because of your whole drama. Tell him you're okay and he's crazy for doing this to me."

I'm breathless, head spinning.

Shit. How could he publicly shame her like this? They seemed like the perfect couple; no one is going to be able to understand why he would put his friend over his fiancée, especially not the adoption agency. He needs to demonstrate stability; his chances are better as a married man with his own home and he knows that.

"Sammy...I don't know what to say."

"You don't know what to say," Sammy deadpans, desert-dry. "Shit. Of course you're both gay for each other; you're firefighters." She facepalms. "I'm a fucking idiot."

Her hands fly up, agitatedly grasping at the air. "You two always had this thrice-married-twice-divorced dynamic." She sets her lips in a thin, straight line. "No, the egg is on my face. I should've known, but I just didn't want to admit it."

The back of my neck prickles with sweat. "I was just a consolation..." Her hands are trembling. "Our whole life together was just a consolation. I was only in the picture because you weren't. I'll never be his first choice."

"I..." Grappling for words, I settle on: "We never... I never wanted..." My voice cracks.

"Extraordinary," she breathes, marvelling. "Your motivational words have completely unfucked my situation!"

Sammy's eyes shine with tears as her hand passes over her mouth. I remember being on the other side of this sort of heartbroken exchange not too long ago. "You're every fiancée's worst nightmare, Evan."

As soon as she leaves, my back hits the wall and I slide to the floor.

Thoughts whizz around my head like bullets on a battlefield. But the predominant sensation I'm feeling is...relief.

Now that I think about it, there's no way I could've held my peace at their wedding.

•••

"What's wrong with Bret?" Roger and I are feeding the chickens when Roger asks the million-dollar question.

Bret hasn't come out of his room since Sammy left, so he can't play baseball with his little brother like he promised. Once again, the innocent child is affected by the adult drama in the home.

"He'll be okay," I assure Roger. "He's just got a lot of grown-up things to worry about. You'll see when you get to be a big, grown man like us." I flex my arm pointedly.

"Bret called you a baaaby," Roger tattles, sticking his thumbs in his ears and poking his tongue out.

"Did he?" I pout. "That's not very nice."

"Yeah," Roger giggles. "He called you a warm baby."

"A- what?" My smile falters. "What exactly did he say?"

Roger frowns, contemplating.

"A hot...babe..."

"When was this, honey?" I kneel down in front of him.

"I dunno," he shrugs. "He was on his phone, looking at pictures... I just wanted a cookie from the kitchen, 'cause mom said I-"

"Pictures? Of me? Where...on Instagram?"