Reluctantly You (Our Exception Book 3)

Mitch

“Not sure what the fuck I’m doing,” I tell Little Pants as I sit in the camper van, the summer storm washing across my windshield.

I’m parked in a residential area, trying to gather the courage to do what I came here to do. I drove all the way to Northern California, my stomach in knots, trying to pull myself together enough to meet my bio dad.

To meet someone who may end up rejecting me as well.

But honestly, what more could go wrong?

I pull out my phone and call Magnus. The one person who I can trust to support me, who knows exactly where I am, who has been my rock through all of this.

I don’t deserve him.

“Hey,” he says softly, a door shutting and the sound of kids screaming fades slightly. “You okay?”

“Yeah. No. Just…not sure.”

“You there yet?”

“Yeah, outside his house. Just…what if he doesn’t want to see me? What if he doesn’t want me?” My voice breaks, and I hear Magnus sigh.

“There’s no way. I don’t know who this guy is, but he has to want you, Mitch. He has to.”

I hold my breath, unsure what to do, what to say. I have no words.

“Want me to come out? Sem will watch the kids.”

“No, I can…I need to do this alone. I need to face this.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I have to do this alone…well, with Little Pants.”

I stare down at the little orange fluff ball and stroke her tenderly. She’s been a champ this entire time. Only fussed once when she was unsure where we were going, but as the hours dragged on, she slipped into my lap and purred as I drove down the highway.

It calmed me.

If all else fails, I still have her.

Right?

I stare at the well-kept house at the end of the street, the yard abutting a field and shake my head.

“I just needed to hear your voice.”

“Well, I’m here. To talk, whatever you need. And if all else fails, you can come back home. You can stop by our place and meet the kids.”

I let out a small laugh. “And Sem?”

“He’s come to terms with it. I promise.”

I don’t believe that, but at the same time, maybe I deserve a few more black eyes to make up for the shit I put my youngest brother through.

“Fuck, Magnus. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I know.”

I let out a shuddering breath and turn my gaze forward once more.

“I’ll let you know what I decide.”

“Good, and call me as soon as you meet him or if you decide to leave and come straight here.”

I close my eyes and nod.

Magnus is silent a moment and then I hear him sigh. “Just so you know, Gideon’s called. Several times. I haven’t told him where you are.”

“Thanks. I just…he overwhelms me. I don’t know how to feel.”

“Sometimes it’s okay to not know.”

“He just keeps calling me and the messages he leaves…” My voice breaks, and I stare at the ceiling of my van. “I want to call him back, but not yet.”

“You still feel betrayed.”

“Yeah. No. I don’t know what to think.”

That’s not true, not strictly. I think about him all the time. I can’t stop thinking about him. But as for how I feel about his lies? What I want now?

Yeah, that I’m not sure about.

“I get it. But if you ever want me to spill the beans about where you are, I’ll be ready and waiting.”

“Thanks.”

“But Mitch, I honestly wouldn’t put it past him to hire his own investigator and find you himself. He seems pretty determined.”

My heart beats unsteadily. God, I want him to come find me.

Come find me, Gideon. Save me.

“Yeah, he may.”

Magnus shares a little about the kids before we hang up, and I resume staring at the house before shaking my head and turning on the engine.

“I’m not ready yet, Little Pants.”

She just stares up at me and meows.

Fuck. I’m not fucking ready.

I spend another few days driving past his house, sitting outside, and running away like a chicken. I’ve never seen him come out the front door, but I have seen a few people meander in and out, far too young to be the man who made me.

So, here I am, across town in a small hippie restaurant, a salad before me and some kind of kombucha drink in my hand.

Jesus. I think this drink may clear me out.

I take another sip, Little Pants in a small portable animal stroller I bought earlier. I didn’t want to leave her in the van, so I caved and bought this instead.

There have been far too many times someone has stopped to congratulate me on my child.

I fucking hate this shit.

Stabbing at my salad, I glance through the messages Gideon has sent me over the past few days. They’ve grown shorter, less desperate, which I attribute to him being over me. He’s obviously grown tired of this shit.

Tired of me.

Just like everyone else.

Swirls of blue and gray move through my vision and I close my eyes tightly, trying to keep those images from my head.

Instead of sitting in them, I’ll put them to canvas later. It’s a little cramped in my van, but I’ve made it work.

I stare at my paint-covered fingers and sigh.

“Love the kitty,” a deep voice says.

I turn my gaze up and see a man in his early fifties staring down at me, a grin on his dopey face. Fuck, he looks so goddamn happy. It radiates off him in yellows and pinks.

Shit. What must that feel like?

“Yeah, you’re the first one to notice it’s a cat in there and not a baby.”

“Ah, but it’s still your baby, right?” he says and then peers into the carrier, making cute little kissy noises. “She’s a cutie. What’s her name?”

“Little Pants, she came into my house and never left.”

“Fuck, the dream. I’d kill to have a slew of animals just walk right in my place and never leave. My wife would kill me though. Probably for the best that doesn’t happen,” he replies as he stands up and holds out his hand. “What’s your name, son?”

I let my palm slide into his and we shake, something shifting inside of me. A realization, a familiarity. God, what the hell?

I shake it off and reply, “Mitch.”

“Ah, Mitch. Nice, strong name. Well, your baby’s a beauty. I have one of my own. Well, adopted, but still. She’s mine basically. Built her a kitty hotel and everything. Was going to bring her with me, but she wouldn’t come out of her castle.”

“Yeah? What does a kitty castle look like?”

“Shit, well it takes up half the wall. My wife is…not as thrilled about it as me and Curie.”

“And Curie is the cat?”

“Yep. A grouch through and through. You should come over and meet her. She’s in town with her dads.”

I arch an eyebrow at him and he chuckles. “It’s how we are up here. Friendly. Freaks people out mostly, but it’s how it is.”

“Yeah, I’ll think about it,” I lie, and he shrugs.

“No pressure, but listen. I have a goat, too. Two actually. And a pig.” My eyebrows rise and he grins at me. “Think on it. I gotta drop off some veggies in the back, but I’ll stop by on my way out and give you my address.”

I don’t know who this guy is—a swinger of some sort, I’m sure—but still, I’m intrigued. I watch as he moves through the restaurant, chatting with everyone he comes into contact with, stopping in front of two men who are nuzzled into each other and pulling them into a hug.

God, what if I’d had a dad like that?

Someone so openly loving. Who never judged me, who just accepted me for who I was. Maybe I wouldn’t have to hide who I am. Who I’ve been all along.

I don’t fucking know. I really don’t. I’d be a completely different man. More open to love, to loving others.

I stare down at Little Pants and reach into her carrier to pet her soft head. At least I have her, I think as I watch him disappear into the back.

Maybe he’ll forget about me and never offer that invitation. Maybe I’ll never get to meet his grumpy cat or the goats and pig.

My heart sinks just thinking about it, of being rejected again.

But he returns several minutes later, a piece of paper in his hand, a messy scrawl scratched across the paper, a carrot hanging from his lips like a cigar.

“Here,” he says, slapping the paper into my palm. “Promise I’m not a creep, just a friendly dude. Can ask my son. He’s the one over there with his husband.”

I turn and see the two men nuzzling into each other, one practically on the other’s lap.

“They’re gonna be there as well. Just a friendly get-together with some freshly picked veggies and some hand-rolled weed.”

He waggles his eyebrows at me, and I crumple the paper in my palm. “I’ll think on it.”

“Do it. And maybe I’ll see you around. Name’s Basil, by the way.”

I nod absently, something tingling in my brain, as he slaps my back gently before saying goodbye to Little Pants and then turning and walking away.

I watch him go and then unfurl my fingers, my eyes dragging down to the piece of paper in my palm. My vision grows blurry, a swirl of shapes and lines.

Basil.That name.

The address. It’s the same place I’ve sat outside every day this week.

The room spins and I slump in my chair, feeling all the blood rush from my face.

Oh shit.

Oh fucking shit.

It was him.

My dad.

My fingers hover over the phone screen, aching to tell anyone anything about what I’m dealing with, how my heart aches and burns. But how the fuck do I even start? Do they even care?

The only one I’ve told how I feel is Little Pants, and she honestly doesn’t seem to care as long as I’m available to feed her. I’ve debated calling Magnus, but shit, I don’t even know what to say.

What the fuck do I say?

For the past two days, I’ve sat outside Basil’s house, trying to muster the courage to go tell him who I am, but part of me doesn’t want to ruin what he’s built. From what I can see, he has a family. He’s built a nice life and I’m going to come in and wreck it all.

He doesn’t deserve it.

I don’t deserve him.

Even from that short encounter in the restaurant, I knew he was a better man than I’ll ever be.

God, what would my life have been like with a dad like that instead of the one I was given?

I stare forward, my eyes stinging, a swirl of blues and gray, like the tumultuous ocean right before a storm.

Me, I’m the storm. Set on a path to destroy this poor man’s life.

“I can’t do it, Pants. I can’t,” I whisper, and she just stares up at me and purrs, not a care in the world. What the hell would that be like? To not worry, to not be sick with the anxiety I’ve lived with my entire life?

“What if he doesn’t want me?” I murmur, giving voice to my fears, but she just licks her paw. “He probably won’t want me.”

My fist digs into my eye as I swipe those tears away.

It’s okay to cry, I tell myself. My therapist affirmed it. Real men can cry. It doesn’t make me any more gay than I already am.

“What if, after all this, I’m fatherless?” I ask, my voice just a wisp of letters strewn together, a sting of fear and need.

I stare down at my phone just as a message pops up from Gideon. They’ve grown shorter, less frequent, and shit, I miss him. Miss him wanting me too.

Maybe at the end of this it will just be Pants and me on the road. Two abandoned souls searching for something, something that one of us will never find.

My eyes slide back to Gideon’s message and my breath catches.

Gideon

Thinking of you.

I swallow, my throat clicking loudly. Fuck, I miss him. I want him here. I’d be stronger with him by my side. I know that he might have used me early on, when he first bought the company, but now that I’ve had time to think about it, about us, I truly believe that there’s more to us.

More to what we have.

I want it to be true. I so want it to be true.

My eyes slide to my art, the canvas streaked with reds and oranges, blacks and grays. It’s a mess, just like my life. Not a speck of clarity anywhere.

I wet my lips and type out a response on the cracked screen, a moment of panic where I slammed my phone down in a fit of anger when I thought too hard about my life, about the choices I’ve made.

Me

I need you.

My finger shakes as I send it and wait. God, I have no right to ask this of him, none. He should discard me, throw me away. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve him.

We don’t deserve each other.

And yet, seconds later, he replies, my tears flowing freely now. I slump down in my seat, relief surging through me.

Gideon

I’m coming, baby. Just wait.

And before I can respond, my phone flickers and goes black.

Shit.