Don't Ask, Don't Tell

Chapter 36

So Ben was engaged. No cold feet or rocky ground so far. Not a single hint of shame for all the values hopping. ‘Only fools don’t change their minds. And I’m only a fool for love.’ Now that statement should have come with a warning, but ultimately, good for him. And who knew? Maybe a new emotional fulfillment would cure his insufferable assholery. Wedding plans, moving house, swapping his Camaro for a Denny-endorsed Honda, helping Tessa with the fitness center; hopefully the complete restructure of his life would make him even blinder to the subtle shifts taking place under his watch. 

Plus, Tessa was the mother-guide figure Ben so desperately needed, so she could teach him some boundaries. The fact he could fuck her made it a perfect match. How he managed to pull someone like her would remain a mystery for generations to come.

The only downside to Ben’s happy ending was that Rivers had been tasked with being his best man. He’d had to put on his pristine Dress Blues in a record heatwave and stand in a chapel for an hour, or it would break Granny Jacobs’ heart if his grandson didn’t sign legal paperwork in the house of the Lord. Time to find out if he’d burst into flames the second he stepped foot into a church. God hated faggots and communists, after all. A mutual sentiment.

A droplet of sweat trailed down Rivers’ neck, a premonition of the heat that awaited him in hell. But even if he did end up in the fire pit for sucking dick, he’d be toughened by sleeping in the barracks with no air-con and a broken fan. Satan had nothing on him.

A timid puff of air wrestled through the lowered blind and dissolved before giving any respite to Rivers’ clammy skin. Enough of the torture. He planted his naked soles on the carpet and dragged himself to his feet, drying his upper lip. Hydration and ventilation became his mission. The cup of water on his nightstand had become broth, so he snatched an iced bottle from the mini fridge and opened the door, bringing the laughter on TV to a whisper—nobody deserved a middle of the night rerun of Mrs. Doubtfire. 

Only when he stepped over the threshold, like breaking a wall of fire, the air turned from unbearable to breathable. Five feet from him, Samuel’s silhouette materialized in the dull light of the cloudy moonlight. His broad shoulders were pinched and his back tense as he leaned on the banister, head low.

“Everything alright?” 

Samuel swung around. “Hey! Yeah.” He glanced at the phone in his hand and waved it. “Just… Stuff.”

Rivers nodded, sitting on the red tiles of the walkway. It had to be Cheryl. Who else would call at three in the morning?

“Cheryl asked me to go see her next weekend.” Samuel’s eyes flashed wide as if caught blabbering a secret. “It’s our anniversary. Apparently, she has a surprise for me.”

With a swing of the bottle, iced water flooded Rivers’ dry throat, placating that burning annoyance that pierced his skull. Our anniversary. “A surprise, uh?”

At least, it couldn’t be an ultrasound. That would put the fucking cherry on top of the fruit cake.

Samuel rubbed his neck, frowning. “I hate surprises.”

Rivers’ shoulders relaxed. “So you’re not going?”

“I’ll see.” Samuel slid against the rail, sitting across from Rivers. “Why are you awake?”

No consolation in Samuel’s dismissal of the matter. But a big, fat, ‘hell no’ was too much to ask.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but it’s a million and five.”

A cute scoff brightened Samuel’s face. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Hey, you might be used to this with your desert shield. But I’m from Boston—”