My Home Is With You [LGBT+]
RIShan17 · 55 chapters · 53,334 words
Prologue
IT WAS JANUARY 8, 20XX WHEN our entire life was destroyed by an evil man’s single decision.
I was in the backseat of the car when I heard my mom curse as she received a news notification on her phone.
A few muttered curses escaping her immediately, “shit, ahora sé que ese viejo solo está vivo por el infierno. Viejo maldito.”
Looking back at it now, I can’t help but snicker at her choice words of shit, I know that old man is only alive because of hell’s existence. Damned old man.
At the time though, I didn’t know what exactly happened. I could only feel the sting of tears blurring my vision as I looked down at my own phone and read the article’s title:
‘We will lose practically everything’: Salvadorans devastated by TPS decision.
I felt my heart sink, a lump forming quickly in my throat. I looked up and in the rearview mirror met my dad’s stare, his hope slowly dying too.
I was unsatisfied. I needed more. I needed reassurance that everything would be okay.
“¿Y ahora?” I asked quietly, what now?
I pushed the box of donuts away, no longer feeling hungry as my seatbelt tightened over my tummy.
They must’ve not heard me, not really because they never answered.
They simply started arguing about what actually happened, my dad wondering if they’ll have an extension on the thingy ( TPS, I remind myself) and my mom explaining for the fifth time that it’s not set in stone. Yet.
It didn’t matter then anyway; my dad has been in this country illegally for the nearly 20 years that I’ve been alive. And my mom… she’s hanging onto hope that they’ll give her enough time for when I turn 21. But for that point, it was still an entire year away.
Her dark molten eyes look back at me as she says, “ahora me voy aferrar a dios y a mi hijo.”
I didn’t know how to feel about that, even now I still don’t know.
Now I’m going to grasp onto God and my son.
A pressure landing on my shoulders I never quite wanted. A God I still question the existence of.
I looked down at my strawberry milk, not tasting at all like I remember it used to be. It’s thick and not nearly as sweet as when I was a kid, chalky. I suppose that’s what happens when a child is forced to grow up. Not that I was a child anymore.
I remember clenching my fists in my lap. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my family, but that pressure is also constricting my chest. The thing is, I know there’s nothing I can do. Not then, not now. And it makes me feel useless .
My mom had reached her hand out to grasp mine and slowly I relaxed. I saw her grab onto her phone next and she immediately began calling and shooting texts to my aunts and older brother.
I can still remember the inkling feeling of dejection clinging to the kitchen when we finally got home. My dad had left without another word after only being home for five minutes, his thumb pressing against the red rubber power button to shut off the TV, screen turning black and shutting off the news that was looping as if on repeat.
We already knew everything there was to know.
Now all we had left to do, was cling onto hope.
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Update 12/28/2023
In light of recent world events and because I would rather stop support major corporations such as Amz, I have deleted my account with them and thus the printed version (and perhaps even the kindle version) is no longer available. So, I will be uploading everything on here in the meant time. Please be patient as I try to update once a week to keep everyone in suspense.
Enjoy!
One
I’M STARTLED AWAKE by a loud pounding on the door right outside my room.
My heart skyrockets at the sound and I bury myself under my blanket, trying to ignore the deafening booming rattling the walls. But the knocking is incessant and loud and demanding.
I hear a small creak on the floorboards right outside. I blearily search for my phone on my bed, hand opened wide and palm patting around until I finally find it. I curl my fingers around it and turn on the flashlight, using it to guide me as I stumble out of bed and crack open my door. I immediately see my mom with her finger pressed over her pursed lips as she gets on her tippy toes to peer out the peephole.
“Open up!” A man booms.
Loud.
Apathetic.
I can just see how she pales as she faces me before her eyes land on my dad. I look at him as well and I just know what’s going to happen next.
A horror movie.
It’s the only way I can describe the gut wrenching feeling that twists my insides.
My older brother appears from his own room then, dark bags under tired eyes, but as soon as he takes in the situation, he’s on high alert. Brown eyes completely wide and filled with fear he will deny ’til his last breath.
It’s then that we hear children crying and parents screaming as they’re dragged out of their homes. With tears stinging my eyes, I turn to my dad and shake my head, but he wraps his hand on the doorknob despite my silent protests and opens the door.
Two men push inside our home rather rudely, immediately asking for documentation and proof of legal entry to the country. My dad raises his hands as he walks to his room and grabs his wallet. He hands over his expired license, face scrunched up in pain.
His license has been expired for over 10 years. It seems his luck has run out.
They ask for valid documentation.
But they already know the answer to that.
With a slow shake of his head he looks at them, pleadingly.
They don’t care. They pounce.
“Arrest him.”
No , I mouth as the tears I managed to hold back finally fall.
With a firm look my mother hands over her own expired TPS papers. She applied not even two months ago, but she’s still waiting for the renewed version, the process dragging on longer than it has ever taken before. And my brother, who was here because of DACA, has no choice but just give himself over.
Because out government couldn’t come to a fucking agreement. Because they sided with a fraud.
“No,” I whisper hoarsely.
I see my mom hand them over my birth certificate and passport. The men exchange looks as they stare at me before nodding and giving me my papers with a shove.
“Take them away,” one of them nods, pushing my dad out the door.
It feels like time stops. But upon seeing my dad stumble I break free from the chains of fear holding me back.
“No!” I scream.
I hurry to reach for my mom’s hand as she’s dragged out of her home.
It’s not fair, damnit!
“IT’S NOT FAIR!”
Someone pushes me back and all I feel is a flare of pain in the back of my head as the world tilts back.
I think I hear her scream.
Her voice thick with anguish.
My name the last thing I hear.
Her tears the last thing I see with her image blurred by my own.
“Oseias! “
Two
THE DISORIENTATION MAKES THE DIZZINESS worse as I manage to flutter my eyes open.
My head pounds with a blinding headache and I reach back with a trembling hand to touch the place the pain radiates from most. I wince at the sharp sting and when I pull my hand back, I can see flakes of rusty red on my fingertips.
With a pain filled groan, I push myself up on my elbows before I’m carefully crawling to my room.
I use the bed as support for my weight when I manage to push myself onto trembling legs.
With a deep breath I close my eyes tightly shut, the world is still spinning and dark spots swim in front of my blurry vision.
What should I do?
Tears slip past my clenched eyes as the first sob finally escapes.
What do I do?
It’s not like I have a job. I was a full-time student, and my parents rejected the idea of letting me work until I got my degree.
And now, I’m lost.
I use the wall as my clutch to make my way toward my parents’ room. The blanket is nearly falling off the bed and I pick it up and crawl atop the sheets. It’s cold.
Shivering I bury myself in the furry blanket and try to sleep, try to forget about this nightmare. Try to pretend this isn’t happening. It can’t possibly happening, not to me, not my family.
It works for a minute.
As my vision slips into darkness I can just pretend that everything is okay and that my parents are right outside talking and laughing. It makes the ache hurt less. That is, until morning comes.
I find myself rudely awoken for the second time within a span of twenty-four hours. A loud ringing echoes throughout the empty apartment and all I can do is squint at the streaming sun filtering through thin blinds. Eventually the sound becomes unbearable, and I find myself overstimulated to the point that my frustration continues to grow with each ticking second.
I reach for the annoying thing as I watch people walk outside through the window, talking and laughing. It’s too fucking early for this.
How can they be so happy when I’m so miserable inside? How can today look so perfect when I feel like I’m slowly dying?
Finally I find what is causing all the ruckus. My mom’s cellphone is blaring for attention, and I find myself trying to make sense of what I’m looking at. The caller ID reads Abogada , and I immediately know it’s the lawyer taking my mom’s case for residency. When it finally clicks that this may the answer to all my prayers, I answer the call with a grunt, “Hello?”
“ Hello? “
Ah right, she was probably expecting my mom to answer.
“This is Oseias,” I sniff, “Oseias Lopez.”
“ I’m glad you answered Oseias , I just wanted to inform you that I spoke with your parents, “ the lady begins kindly.
I silently nod before realizing I should probably give her a verbal response, “What’s going to happen? Are… are they going to be deported?”
“ Unfortunately ,“ she sighs a bit weary, “ I’ve already sent the papers for your mother’s residency, but that can take a few months up to a year or more, so the best bet is that they’ll deport her, so she’ll have to wait in El Salvador until it’s processed. But I can’t say the same for your brother and father .“
“But if she gets her residency, my dad will have to come too, right? Since they’re married,” I wonder hopefully.
“ Of course, but it may take longer for him since he has been here illegally for years and has a record. “
“But it was expunged,” I protest.
“ It’s still something the government needs to know of to make sure he’s not a danger to society -“
“He’s not!”
“ I know that, they’ll know that, but it’s a process. “ A pause, “ You’ll be receiving letters with the progress of your mother’s case. When everything is approved, we can start trying to bring her back .“
“In a year?”
“If not more. Each case is always different. “
I bite my lip. I want to scream in frustration.
“ Oseias ?“
“Yes, I understand, thank you.”
The line goes dead, and I stare at the phone, my mom’s phone, with dull, red-rimmed eyes.
A knock on the door startles me from my dark contemplation, and I carefully go and see Sergio standing in the doorway looking run down.
My heart drops.
I don’t have any money, and, in a month, I’ll be kicked out. That’s what he says will happen if I don’t manage to pay rent.
It’s his job to inform me, and I already knew as such.
Just… fuck… can’t they just give me a few days to just… just assimilate the fact that I’m completely alone now…
I just lost my family.
I can vaguely hear children crying next door and I can’t help, but join them with my own silent tears as the door finally closes.
How am I supposed to come up with $1,150 every month?
Not to mention the bills I’ll have to pay as well.
I sink down to my knees.
My entire world crumbling and falling apart at the seams.
How am I going to survive a year, and possibly more, alone?
With trembling hands, I reach for my phone and start looking, I need a job.
I can survive without light and heat, but I cannot survive without a roof over my head.
Three
THE ACCEPTANCE AND REQUEST for an interview comes as a shock a day and a half later. There are nervous butterflies in my stomach as I read from a website how to prepare for an interview.
I take a deep breath.
And then another.
And another.
Until finally, I suck it up and dress as nice as possible to walk into my interview.
The chain restaurant has been recently renovated and the gust of air-conditioned air makes me shiver as I push open the door.
My steps are slow and uncertain, but I continue on my way to the counter. I can feel how my hands immediately get clammy while my heart beats too fast for my own chest.
The woman at the front is beautiful. Her dark skin is flawless and complemented well by the red shirt and dark visor holding her braids back.
She barely glances me up and down before pointing to the back and I offer a weak smile and a thanks as I head toward the hidden office.
The door is wide open. Timidly, I peer inside.
“Hi,” I greet softly.
“Name’s Robert Williams,” the man grins wide.
He stands and offers me his outstretched hand. The handshake is firm and his hand is warm in mine as I take it.
“Oseias Lopez,” I smile nervously.
He waves vaguely toward an empty chair and I take a seat.
“Alright,” Mr. Williams begins straight to business, “Do you have your resume?”
I nod, “Yes.”
His eyes skim the paper, dark finger running across the page as his lips mumble the words silently.
“College dropout?”
I nod, biting my bottom lip as he continues, “no previous work experience?”
I know he won’t judge me, many people who come here looking for a job don’t have much experience to begin with.
“Tell me, why should I consider you for this position?”
“My major was mathematics, and I passed the classes I took with A’s and B’s which can be very beneficial when ringing up a customer. I’ve also worked as a volunteer in the NPHS Canuck Store as a cashier, so I have experience dealing with customers of various ages,” I explain shakily, “I consider myself responsible and dedicated to my work and I’d also be opened to be cross-trained for the kitchen as well.”
“Alright,” he nods, “I’m sold.”
I stare at the manager in surprise, “Really?”
“Of course!” No further explanation, “We can discuss how much and how often you will be paid.”
“Yes, please,” I agree.
“You’ll start off getting paid a little less than $10 an hour, we can arrange how many hours you’ll work as you get used to the workload,” he continues, “and pay is biweekly, in other words every two weeks.”
“Thank you,” I breathe, “thank you, thank you so much Mr. Williams!”
He offers me a small genuine smile, “Call me Robert. You can start Friday.”
With a small sense of accomplishment, I shake the man’s hand and leave with my papers clutched to my chest. I realize that even if I work full-time, it won’t be nearly enough to pay rent and buy food. I can survive skipping a few meals, but I know that I need to get more money. And in order to do so I need to find something else.
With a heavy sigh, I head home. There’s nothing else I can do for today. I jab the key in the shitty doorknob and walk inside. When I reach the apartment, I go in search for spare change to buy a handful of instant ramen noodles.
I stumble upon a box I’ve never seen before, and as I dig through it; I find money already stashed for next month’s rent.
My heart feels lighter at the sight as tears brim my eyes. I can take a little bit now and replace it when I get my first pay. With that in mind, I walk to a corner store only a block away and start buying condiments and soups, enough to last me a week. Maybe a week and a half if I push it.
With the light bags in my hand, I rush back to the apartment and hurriedly place water in a pot to let it boil.
It’s then that I receive a call from one of my younger cousins.
My blood freezes over and there’s a second of hesitation before I answer.
“Alessandra?” I answer in lieu of greeting.
“ Oseias? “
It’s her pitiful sniffles that make my heart ache and clench.
At that broken sound, I turn off the gas and watch the flame instantly die.
“Yeah? What’s wrong?”
“ They took my mom and Mickey, and now they want to take us too. “
“What?” I ask, my heart stuttering in my chest.
“ They’re here! ICE! “
“Where are you?”
“ We went to Tia’s house but they’re not here. We can hear them; they’re checking everywhere and taking people. Gabriela and Miguel are crying, what do I do? They’re going to find us and take us! “
“Don’t panic, take a deep breath and stay hidden. I’m on my way,” I say as I grab my keys and shoes.
“ Okay but don’t hang up, “ she begs.
“I won’t, I won’t hang up, okay Aless? Hide for as long as you can.”
“ Okay… hurry. “
I can hear the faint cries from Gabriela and Miguel, I can hear Alessandra’s labored breathing as she desperately tries to stop her own tears.
I’m sprinting to my dad’s 1997 Honda Civic in no time.
I turn the key in the ignition and bring the car to life. With fear gripping my heart, I tear out of the parking lot and drive toward a complex of apartments 15 minutes away from my home.
When I finally get there, I notice many people standing outside, ICE vehicles parked hazardously in the front parking lot as officers drag immigrants outside of their homes and into tightly packed vans.
A knot forms in the pit of my stomach, imagining how my own family had to be shoved inside the back of those vans.
I park the car a ways back and leave the car running. There’s a faint fear that I’ll come back, and the car will be gone, stolen, but It’s better than grabbing unwanted attention from the officials.
Swallowing the lump forming in my throat, I run.
I avoid the police and ICE officers, hastily rushing toward the back of the building Aless said they would be in.
The phone is tightly clutched in my hand as I press it against my ear, “Al.”
A whimper, “ Oso? “
“Head downstairs to the laundry room.”
“ What? “
“Laundry room in the back,” I hiss.
“ But if I open that door the alarms will go off, “ she mumbles, even as her steps echo down a flight of stairs.
“Only if we hold it open for too long. Are you there?”
“ I, uh, yes, we’re here. “
The line goes dead.
There’s nothing but silence engulfing me.
I wait with bated breath.
And wait.
It’s been too long.
I have half the mind to smash a window open and search for them myself until-
“Oso!”
Relief.
It’s like a drug.
My arms are opened wide as Aless and Gabriela run toward me. I wrap them in a hug and hold them close and tight.
So tight that I’m afraid to let go.
I look down at the three-month-old baby squished between me and Alessandra, her arms probably sore from comforting him.
I take off my hoodie, shivering as I grab the baby to wrap him up as best I can. He doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t cry either.
So, expressive for being such a tiny little thing.
The door falls closed with a thud and thank heaven we didn’t trigger the stupid alarm.
“Come on,” I whisper.
I tug at Gabriela’s little hand as Alessandra stumbles hot on our heels.
“Get in the car,” I order.
“ Vamos Gabriela,“ Alessandra ushers her toward the backseat, but Gabriela shakes her head, her round eyes landing back on the building, wanting to go back. I know how it feels. I know the fear and desperation she must be warring with inside. But we don’t have time, that luxury has been ripped from us.
“Please,” Aless begs, “ tenemos que irnos !“
We have to go. Now.
Tears well up in her eyes and I take charge. I hand Miguel back to Alessandra and tug on Gabriela’s hand.
“Wait in the car, I need to look for your papers and for clothes and formula, we won’t take long.”
Aless nods and hands me her key.
Gabriela is quiet as she follows me, tripping on her little feet, once, twice-
I pick her up and she buries her face in the crook of my neck.
“It’s going to be ok,” I soothe.
She nods, “I miss mi mamí.”
“I know baby,” I coo, “I know.”
I reach the apartments and swipe the card for the back door, waiting impatiently for the red light to turn green.
Carrying Gabriela only makes me slower and it’s harder to sneak around, but we manage. And although I hate doing it, I search through the messy apartment until I find what we need and stuff it in empty garbage bags.
I turn to Gabriela and find her clutching two baby blankets, hers and Miguel’s.
Fuck this shit.
Four
GABRIELA TAKES MY HAND back as we approach the car in record time. I make out Alessandra struggling with a wailing baby in her arms.
The black plastic bag falls from my hand and I take the baby in my arms immediately. Aless busies herself by digging through their belongings until she finds a clean bottle, formula, and water.
She’s a godsend as she prepares the baby’s milk.
I press the nipple to his trembling lips and he wastes no time to latch on, his crying turning into pitiful sniffles as he curls up in my arms.
I hum softly, watching his teary eyes flutter closed. Wet lashes clumped together and still glistening.
“Are we leaving already?” Alessandra whispers.
“Yeah, in a minute.”
Gabriela climbs into the back seat and Alessandra shoves the bags into the trunk.
I bite back a yawn and hope my exhaustion goes unnoticed.
It doesn’t.
Her brows furrow in concern, but she doesn’t say anything.
I’m almost glad.
I hate to see her worry when she’s only ten, there’s still so much for her to learn and understand.
She takes her baby brother back and ducks inside the car where Gabriela cuddles next to her. Two pairs of wide eyes stare back at me.
I can do this.
We can do this.
I close the door gentle and go around to the driver’s side. The heater is on full blast and static from the radio fills the silence.
The drive doesn’t drag on like it typically does.
There are occasional sniffles and soft whispering that picks up.
A red light here, a green light there.
Finally, home .
The parking lot is a bumpy ride as we drive through and as put the gear in shift I peer into the rearview mirror and meet Alessandra’s gaze.
My stomach turns.
It reminds me of that day, weeks ago, when I met my dad’s own gaze.
I shift the gear into park and just… just take a moment to breathe.
“We’re here Gabby,” I hear Alessandra whisper.
Gabriela stirs from her light sleep and she yawns with a stretch.
With a yawn of my own that I can’t hold back; I slip out the car and head toward the back. The door is open, and I take Miguel from Alessandra’s arms.
“Just bring the important stuff,” I tell Aless, “I can grab the rest tomorrow.”
She nods and grabs ahold of Gabriela’s hand. I look at the pair and can’t help but focus on the differences between the two.
Gabriela raises a thin brow expectantly and I return it with a smile of mild amusement. I brush back one of her crooked pigtails sticking out like Boo.
“Vamos?”
“Let’s go,” She nods.
Five
WE’VE BEEN LIVING TOGETHER for a week and I’ve never been more exhausted before. Gabriela sleeps with Alessandra in what used to be my room while I sleep in my parent’s room with Miguel. He cries often and sometimes it’s hard feeding him. I can tell he doesn’t like the new formula much, but at least he still eats when he’s hungry enough.
I drop him off first. I stop by my neighbor’s apartment, coincidentally my niece’s home, who was willing to watch Miguel while I work. It’s complicated.
The girls are still able to attend school, thank God for public education.
“Adios,” the older woman smiles as she bounces Miguel.
“Bye,” I wave as I follow after my girls.
In a matter of minutes, Aless is standing in front of her school and rushing toward her friends with a hasty wave thrown my way.
Lastly, Gabriela.
She’s been getting the worst end of it.
She’s three and aware enough to know her parents aren’t coming home, but she misses them and has nightmares about that day. Some nights she sneaks into the room I sleep in and she stays with me and Miguel. I don’t say anything. I simply hold her tight until her tears stop and her breaths even.
It’s the only thing I can do.
“Bye baby,” I smile as I hand her over to her daycare teacher.
She looks at me pleadingly.
She’s scared that I won’t come back for her. She’s terrified.
“Ya vengo, okay? Solo voy a ir a comprar donuts para que coman,” I lie. I’ll be back for her, but I’m not actually going to buy them donuts.
Reluctantly, she let’s go of my hand with the promise of sweets.
I’m about to pivot and leave, a piece of my heart breaking at her wide tear-filled eyes. That is, until I stumble upon a small tan-skinned, indigenous woman who looks at Gabriela, then glares right at me.
She used to like me. I used to babysit her son. But she can’t fathom the fact that her own niece and nephew prefer staying with me than her. To be fair, Miguel doesn’t exactly talk, but Gabby refuses to go with her, insisting on staying with me and Aless.
I tilt my head and say a quick hesitant good morning.
She ignores me.
I was taught to be respectful. If she wants to be immature, then that’s her problem.
I hurry to my first job of the day.
I managed to land a part-time gig at DD in the mornings. I greet the people at the register before heading to the back.
I first asked to be placed as a cashier much like I did at the fast food restaurant, but they said that they had a surplus of cashiers working the register. So, they asked if I could back instead.
I found out bakers get paid more, not by much, but it’s still more than what I would’ve made.
I now make what I need to pay for rent and electricity and still get enough left over for food. It’s not a lot, not when I’m spending most of it on the kids. But it’s a heavy weight off my shoulders and I can breathe just a smidge easier now.
Quickly, I tie my apron around my waist and take out the dough. I roll it with a pin, stretch it, and warm it up to form the donut shapes.
I don’t take a break and as soon as my shift is over, I head to my second job right across the street. I guess it’s convenient to live in such a small town. No car, no worry on gas money I won’t be able to afford.
I change my flour covered shirt to the standard red one with the logo embroidered over my right breast pocket. I put on a black cap and hurry behind the register.
It’s a slow day.
By the second hour, I take my first break and go pick up Aless and Gabby. I drop them off at the apartment and tell the oldest to pick up Miguel and to do her homework. She nods obediently although I know she secretly prefers to procrastinate.
Her eyes widen as soon as I hand her a box of donuts. The perks of working at a coffee shop is that I can bring discounted treats home.
With a smile I say, “eat as many as you want, they’re for you and Gabby.”
They nod eagerly and hurry toward the complex.
I watch them disappear inside the building before turning back.
I don’t eat, but it’s okay. So long as they have something to munch on, I know I’m doing something right.
Tired and sluggish, I return to work to finish the rest of my shift with small bathroom breaks. My stomach rumbles on occasion at the smell of unhealthy food but I bite my tongue. I choose to ignore the ache, and settle with rubbing my tummy until the hunger pang goes away.
The forced smile that is plastered on my face never wavers even as I call, “next customer please.”
Six
I WANT TO SAY that things are great.
And they are!
For the most part.
I have a rare day off and we spend it cleaning the house, I sweep and Alessandra mops right after while Eye of The Tiger by Survivor blasts from my phone.
It isn’t long before I’m washing the dishes and Aless is feeding Miguel, the fussy almost four-month-old just starting to teeth like the early bird he is and it’s causing big fat crocodile tears to roll down his flushed chubby cheeks as he babbles nonsense.
Aless looks a bit frustrated that he won’t stop crying, so I wipe my hands and we trade off. Gabby is watching everything from her seat, sipping on some apple juice and playing with her stuffed Minnie Mouse toys.
“Qué paso Miguel?
What’s wrong?
What did that mean older sister do?” I coo softly.
Aless scoffs as she turns to scrubbing a particularly nasty plate and I barely hide my small smirk when she rolls her eyes.
My smile turns into a grimace, however, when I feel a wet slap on my cheek and find Miguel’s hand covered in saliva hitting my face to grab my attention.
“Okay, okay, I’ll get your teething toys,” I sigh.
I grab a teething toy from the freezer and tell the girls that I’m heading for my room where I lay down and watch as Miguel suckles on the toy contently.
His bright wide eyes slowly dim and droop now that he finally gets some relief from the constant ache in his gums.
And just now do I notice how exhausted I really am, how sore my body feels. Every movement causes a twinge to run through my shoulders, a constant reminder from rolling the dough every morning. My feet ache and are swollen from the many hours I stand behind the cash register.
And even when I finally have a day off, I can’t relax. I need to take care of the kids. I need to make sure our home isn’t a pigsty and it’s moments like this that I remember everything my mom has ever done for me.
I miss her.
It’s the last coherent thought before I fall asleep.
Warm bodies snuggling close and dipping the mattress with their weight.
Just five minutes.
Just five more minutes.
Jus-
“Oseias!”
“Hm? What is it? Time’s it?” I slur, eyes opening but clenching soon after when the sunlight peeking from the horizon of buildings momentarily blinds me.
Fuuuuuck .
“It’s 7:47,” Alessandra mutters through a yawn.
“Fudge!” I bolt upright, censoring my cusses like second nature now.
Exhaustedly, I get up and get dressed. Alessandra does the same after helping Gabby into a flowery dress, followed by her socks and shoes.
“Go brush your teeth,” I shoo.
Gabriela takes a small red chair and drags it in front of a mirror on a dresser pressed against the right wall. I grab a brush and begin detangling her short sleek hair. With a small huff I grab two small pink rubber bands and tie two pigtails. I’ve seen my mom do this countless of times to my niece, Anabella.
Why can’t I get it right? I bite my lip.
Remembering her only brings a frown to my lips.
The door is slammed open, and I startle.
Speak of the devil.
“Bella!”
“Morning ’Seias!” She grins widely.
That complicated story is my niece. My brother fell in love with our neighbor’s oldest daughter, and they had Anabella. Shortly after her birth there was a falling out and they separated. Who knows what they tell her about us? But she knows she is loved by us and at heart she’s still a daddy’s girl.
So, she avoids his room like the plague. Memories of her dad make her sad when she can’t see him.
Doña Ena, her grandmother, and the woman who babysits Miguel, told me that my niece had witnessed her dad being dragged away. Heard him begging to not let his little girl see him like that. The officers didn’t care and only told him to shut up.
“Morning Bella,” I smile, blinking away the tears.
Nearly two months and it still hurts, still stings.
“Ya termine,” I huff in defeat, “I’m done, go play before we gotta go.”
“Tank you!” Gabby smiles, the gap of her missing front teeth making me smile in return.
Small but genuine.
She can still sense the hurt because she pauses and holds onto my hand tightly.
“I’m ok,” I assure.
She nods and let’s go in favor of running around the apartment with Bella.
Without another word, I turn to Miguel. He glares at me but is otherwise calm when I change his dirty diaper and pajamas.
When everyone is ready, I drop off Miguel and Anabella downstairs.
She waves at Gabby goodbye before running off.
Doña Ena steps from behind her and smiles at me.
“Buenos días,” I greet, good morning .
“Buenos días,” she returns.
Afterwards, I drop off Aless and Gabby at their respective schools before heading to work.
When I get there, I head to the back as per usual.
I barely finish tying the apron around my waist when the manager approaches me, a frown on her lips.
“Good morning,” I smile.
“We need to talk Oseias,” she says sternly.
Straight to the point. Ok.
Confused, I nod and follow her to her office where one of the cashiers is waiting.
My heart skips a beat.
“Take a seat Oseias,” she orders.
I do as I am told and wait anxiously, hating how my hands begin to sweat.
“As you know I’ve been doing inventory of the cash this week and certain things have not added up,” she begins.
I bite my lip.
“I appreciate you covering for Parikh when he called out, but it has been brought to my attention that money has gone missing since that day.”
Her hands fold atop of her desk and her expression becomes sterner, “Now, if it were just five, maybe even ten, bucks I could oversee that. However, $100 every day for the past week is a bit excessive, don’t you think? It adds up to over $500 gone.”
The dots are adding up.
I’m slowly realizing what she’s implying.
Anger boils in my blood.
How?
How could they!
“Mr. Colton has some very accusatory claims against you and I just wanted to get things straight,” she sighs, “the money has been missing since your shift.”
“I haven’t stolen anything,” I say, defending myself immediately.
“Ever since working at the register,” Colton butts in, “You have been coming in earlier than usual to your shift. You didn’t have access prior, but since taking over for Parikh that day I can imagine that you now know how to get into the register without a problem. It’s only logical that you’d use that knowledge inappropriately.”
“Some days I need to start working the dough early, especially when we’re running low. Not to mention that I switched with Charlie three weeks ago, so now I’m the one who receives the deliveries,” I explain, voice cracking in desperation.
I’ve never stolen.
I was raised better.
Sure, I’m struggling, but I would never stoop so low.
“And the money, if stolen, could be an employee who stays until late and closes the store,” I add.
“That is true, and looking at the schedules, you, Mr. Colton are one of the employees who has stayed ’til closing. I’ve informed Kevin to see me in my office when he arrives, but I need a confession from you boys. I need to know what happened to that money because we won’t tolerate such things from happening. You’re adults now, and if we have to, we will get the police involved.”
Colton shoots me a glare and I shrink in my seat.
He’s never liked me, none of them ever have and I can feel it in the way they look at me. I can sense the manager’s full suspicion falling on me, because of my skin color, my name, because I’m not white.
I wonder? Will they accuse Parikh too?
“We will launch an investigation and look through the cameras. Considering the length this has been going on for, it may take a couple of days.”
She stares at me expectantly, but all I can do is stare right back.
“Why don’t you take those days off, Oseias.”
I can’t believe I’ve been accused of stealing money.
It frustrates me.
Just when everything was going fine, just when I was starting to fall into routine, everything comes crashing down.
“Ok.”
“Effective today.”
I stand up and nod, I grab my belongings and untie my apron before hanging it on the rack in the back.
I walk out and hurry home, tears burning my eyes and blocking the back of my throat.
I grip my hair and tug until it hurts, until I’m brought back to this fucking reality. I know I’m not a thief, and I know they won’t find anything against me, not really. But what gets to me most, is that I’ll have to stop working at DD for however long it takes to check over everything. I’ll have to stop working… I won’t get paid… I won’t make enough.
With a sniffle I look at the dark sky, the moon hidden among the clouds. What do I do now?
Aren’t things just great?
Seven
IT WAS AN IMPULSE.
It was desperation.
I was walking back home when I passed by a small family clinic. One I remember from my childhood vividly that I haven’t gone to in over a year. My hand had reached out to the flyer stuck to the wall before I even thought about it, fingers running along the words as my eyes skimmed the paper. It’s pastel pink in color with black Times New Roman printed on it. Bold and big.
It was the first time I’d ever seen something like it, and I felt a small smile twitch on my lips.
It was like my breath got stuck in my throat as I reread the flyer, lips mouthing the words but no sound coming out. A promise. A guarantee at extra money.
So, now I’m here.
My hands are clammy and trembling as my leg bounces up and down without my permission while I wait for my name to be called.
I try to calm my racing heart, my hand clutching that same flyer from three days ago tightly.
When I’m finally called up, the nurse raises a brow, but slides the ridiculous packet of papers I need to sign toward me.
Despite my wariness, I don’t hesitate to give my consent and with a small nod she leads me down a corridor to a small room.
The doctor is kind. His hair is a light shade of sunny blonde with streaks of grey nearly snowy white that glistens under the fluorescent lights.
“Hello,” he greets, wide smile reassuring me, and I can’t help but smile back, “Mr. Lopez, my name is Dr. Phillips, why don’t you have a seat and relax.”
We shake hands before I hop onto the small medical bed and he starts his examination. He is gentle when his aged fingers dig into my stomach, just below my navel and I can’t help but shiver when the air conditioner laps at my exposed skin.
“Sexual tendencies?”
“Uhm,” my face burns in embarrassment, “Single… I’ve never… I mean once, but not currently.”
He hums, “Sexual orientation?”
“’Gay?” I mutter, my heart racing, why’d I have to make is sound like a question?
I want to mentally slap myself.
But the doctor’s smile only turns warmer, kind with his understanding. He’s the first person I ever came out to, too afraid to even discuss the topic with my slightly homophobic family.
“So, you plan on settling down?”
“Eventually,” I shrug, “I thought this would be a good opportunity and see how it goes.”
“And it is, but there are risks,” he warns.
I nod, I read the fine print.
“And there’s no guarantee that it’ll take,” he reminds.
“I’m aware… I know that it’ll hurt if it doesn’t take but right now, I can’t get my hopes up for a distant future, I… I actually…” I trail off.
“You did it for the money?”
“Yeah,” I breathe, “I’m at a tight spot right now.”
“And that’s understandable,” the doctor says, “Alright, we’ll run some blood tests and get some samples, and, in a week, we’ll tell you if we can proceed. You can go up front and get an advancement for taking your time in helping us with our research.”
I fix my skewed clothing and shake the doctor’s hand one last time before doing as told.
I head up to the front desk and a bit nervously wait for the receptionist to look up. When she does, she offers me a smile and hands me a white envelope.
“Thank you,” I say.
“See you in a week,” she waves.
Taking a deep breath once outside, I walk home, my pocket feeling slightly heavy but my heart light.
Subconsciously, I rub my stomach.
I’m doing the right thing, it’s for the money.
Somehow, I still feel selfish.
Eight
THE PROCEDURE WAS SIMPLE, to say the least.
It was a small incision below the navel and one under the scrotum and inside the anal canal just above the prostate. The surgery would last about 2-3 hours with no foreseen complications. Minimal bleeding but lots of pain after the anesthesia wore off.
A grunt of pain draws the nurse’s attention toward the uncomfortable hospital bed I occupy. She helps me sit up, but the smallest of movements causes my eyes to tear up with the sharp sting of pain. She says that it’s normal.
I spend two days and one night in the small hospital, being released with a clean bill of health afterwards.
“You’re a bit underweight for your height and age so beware of dizzy spells from the pills. Remember to take them with food,” the doctor says.
“Okay,” I mumble as I watch the older man read over the small bottles of pills and explain each one.
“This one is for the hormone imbalance you’ll be facing. This medication will hopefully allow your body to accept the uterus. Due to the increase of different hormones, you might experience a bit of bleeding on or about every 28 days.”
With a small grimace I nod along and take the first bottle.
“This one will help with the pain, it’ll only last for a week which should be enough to help you manage, try to avoid heavy lifting.”
I stare at both little bottles rattling in my hold, “is that it?”
“Almost. These are vitamins,” the doctor says with a look.
I look at the slightly larger bottle in his wrinkled hand, “Vitamins?”
“You’re underweight, these vitamins will help you gain a little more. They should also help with any fatigue. This should last for about a month or two.”
When I have everything in my backpack, I stand up slowly, carefully. I mask a wince when I take the first step toward the doctor to shake his hand.
“Come back in a month to see the progress and how your body is handling the changes. Hopefully, if your body accepts these changes, within three to six months you should be able to conceive naturally,” the doctor smiles as he hands me an envelope with my name on it, “any questions?”
“Uh, um what if… if I don’t want to? I mean… not so soon?” I ask a bit embarrassed.
“Condoms are not always 100% effective, true. So, I suppose we can prescribe some contraceptive pills with a smaller dosage than what some women would usually take. You should feel a few minor cramps here or there, but if they get too painful to handle before your next appointment, come in immediately. It could be your body’s way of rejecting the womb.”
That terrifies me a bit. I’m not good at handling pain, I can barely stand the twinges I can feel below my navel and further down south. But what terrifies me most is the fact that this could go wrong.
I never gave much thought to having children before.
Mostly because I knew I was gay and didn’t think I’d ever have the chance to physically carry a baby.
But science is a bit more advance now.
People are a bit more opened minded and are trying to help all couples conceive.
I know I could never raise a baby on my own. It’s hard enough with Miguel. Regardless of the sleepless nights and dirty nappies, I can’t help but look forward to the new little things that little tyke learns every second of every day.
I walk outside the small hospital and rest a hand on my slightly swollen belly.
Just thinking that there’s a possibility I could have a baby that’s my own, and imagining having a baby that’s mine makes my heart flutter and fill with an inexplicable warmth. It would kill me if this didn’t work, because some day, in a very distant future, I wouldn’t mind having a baby that was half me and half the person I love (whoever that may be).
But not now.
I’m more than content with the kids I have at home.
Nine
BY THE TIME I finally get a call from the Dunkin manager asking to return the following day, I owe almost two months’ worth of rent and am absolutely exhausted from working overtime at the fast food joint despite doctor’s orders to take it easy. Even then, all those extra hours only seem to amount to nothing as my paycheck gets smaller and smaller each time.
With a tired smile I look at Aless as we head inside. Gabby holds my hand while Miguel sits on my hip. He’s not too heavy, but at six months old he’s definitely growing and only getting bigger. As I adjust him a bit, a hunger pang makes me lose my breath and my stomach growls loudly.
I let go of Gabby’s hand and rub my stomach soothingly, cheeks heating up in embarrassment as I look around the nearly empty library to make sure nobody heard.
Slightly out of breath and feeling a bit dizzy from lack of proper nutrition, I take a seat beside Aless in the small computer section. I place Miguel down and watch as Gabby leads him to the kid’s section where they look at the picture books. I keep an eye on them even as I pretend that everything is okay.
Sluggishly, I pull out my library card and fire up the computer in front of me, making good use of the hour I have. I look through FB, noticing a message from my mom and a small smile twitches on my lip. Sometimes, these little messages I manage to read once a week keep me going.
I tell her that they’re doing everything that they can to speed up the process for her residency, but the truth is, that that two year mark has now turned into three.
I plan to send her whatever is left over from my next paycheck, heaven knows what my family has to live through over there.
Just as I wait for her reply, I scroll through the feed only to pause at an advertisement.
Ads are everywhere, true, but they’re usually about trivial things like clothes or useless products. This one is… different .
It’s a man with a black mask sensually kissing down someone’s smooth pale throat. It’s advertising a website and the mini description that follows reads:
SugarMeetBaby.co
An exquisite site where sugar mommies and daddies find the right sugar baby to spoil and love.
Each profile is manually certified so there is no risk. It’s free and easy to navigate. Join now!
I’ve never seen such an ad before, didn’t even know such sites advertised at all. I guess I was wrong.
I hear a cry and quickly turn to the kids only to find them entertained and in their own little world. A woman with a bawling child on her hip gives me an apologetic look as she hurries outside to calm her daughter. Feeling relieved that nothing happened to my own brood, I turn back to the monitor only to find that I accidentally clicked the ridiculous sugar whatever ad.
I move the cursor over the red “X” at the top, but curiosity gets the best of me. Making sure nobody is actually looking at my screen, I scroll down and read the supposed testimonials.
I want to scoff at some of them.
And yet I find myself clicking the Become A Member button. It’s stupid and I feel like an idiot, but I fill everything out and press submit. I scroll through FB and upload a photo to my profile after altering it just a bit, so I’m not completely exposed. I don’t expect anything from it, to be honest.
I can only think of wrinkly old men looking for someone 30 years their junior. Or maybe a lewd man looking for a quick fuck.
And still, I sit there looking at my profile, wondering if maybe there is a decent guy who wouldn’t mind helping me financially without expecting sex in return. Maybe just some company. I could dig that.
My heart races when I see a notification pop up. I hesitate to open it. But again my impulses get the best of me.
I slowly click on the tab and regret it instantly.
Dick pics.
Not a surprise, but there goes any hope I had left when I receive three more similar pictures within the next 20 minutes.
This was a mistake and I can’t tell if my ego is hurt or not.
I head to settings and try to delete my account, only to find that I need to wait a 15 day period because apparently everything is done and reviewed “manually”.
Slightly disappointed and disgusted, I logout and exit out of everything.
Bad idea, that was a bad, terrible, horrible idea.
“Oso?”
My heart stops at the sound of my name, but soon realize that Alessandra didn’t see anything she shouldn’t have.
“Done?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she sighs.
We print out whatever she needs for her science project and head home without another word.
I try to forget what I just signed myself up for.
Ten
I LOOK AT MY TAUNTING cellphone, fingers tapping against the counter as the annoying blinking light flickers every second.
I’ve blocked almost every person who has sent me a DM without even bothering to read them. In thirteen days, I will be able to delete my account and frankly, I can’t wait. I can’t wait to stop the feeling of dread I get whenever Aless asks to borrow my phone to use the calculator for some math problem. Or when Gabby simply chooses to take it to play on the preinstalled games.
It would be one less thing to worry about.
I pick up my phone and open the damn thing to block and delete the new conversation with determination.
I start up the app and hover over the conversation started five minutes ago.
I take a gamble and open it first, otherwise I won’t be able to get rid of it. Stupid app.
From: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
To: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
Hey [12:34]
I look at my phone wondering if I should reply. The message is relatively simple with no inappropriate attachments added to it, which is a first.
From: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
To: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
Hi [12:39]
I wait for a bit, my heart racing inexplicably when I get a reply a few minutes later.
From: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
To: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
How are you? [12:42]
I debate on what to respond before typing.
From: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
To: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
Surviving, you? [12:44]
This time it takes longer for his reply, so I put my phone away with a sigh. I choose to head back to work before I get yelled at.
By the time I clock out, I forget about the messages. I’m so exhausted all I’m focused on is getting home as fast as I can.
“Oseias!”
I smile tiredly at the tykes who greet me at the door with hugs.
I scoop up Miguel in my arms and we shuffle to the kitchen where I whip up something really quick for dinner.
I heat up some sopa de frijoles and start on some arroz amarillo, remembering my mom’s recipe by heart.
“’Seias, can we get some tortillas?”
“All right, but you get to do la masa while I wipe and heat up the comal.”
She nods and hurries to get a bowl where she proceeds to pour the Maseca flour and some water.
While she tries to get a decent consistency, I heat up the comal on the stove.
I’ve never been good at making tortillas. Being the youngest, my mom had always tried to teach me how to cook, since she never had the girl she always wanted. Not to mention that my older brothers couldn’t be bothered to learn. Their job was to sit there and wait to be served. After all, they were expected to marry women who already knew how to cook for them.
Well, at least Aless doesn’t judge how shitty they turn out.
She’s happy to eat some misshapen tortillas with crema, queso, arroz, and frijoles.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” She asks around a spoonful of food.
“Yeah, I’ll eat,” I nod, “But after I’m done feeding Gabby and Miguel.”
I struggle between watching Gabriela and making sure she doesn’t burn herself and Miguel who is impossible to feed without getting him completely dirty.
Half an hour later, Aless and Gabby are off to change into their pjs.
I stare at Miguel, feeling slightly defeated.
With a sigh, I pick him up and head for the sink with the dirty dishes in one hand.
I place him on the floor so he can crawl around while I wash the dishes as fast as I can.
I then give chase to Miguel so he can finally take a bath.
“Bubba!” He squeals when I finally drag him to the sink where the water is running lukewarm, his baby shampoo waiting nearby.
“Alessandra! Get Miguel some pajamas!”
“OK!”
Within 20 minutes, Miguel is squeaky clean, and I’m completely soaked.
Alessandra snickers at me, pointing at my hair. I reach up and grimace.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“Uhuh,” she giggles.
I dry and change Miguel. He’s knocked out within minutes and I take the opportunity to clean up.
Everyone is asleep when I come out of the shower, having forgotten to actually eat something myself.
I head to my and Miguel’s room where I proceed to throw on some sweats and a plain tee.
I look at my phone to double check my schedule for tomorrow when I see the familiar blinking red light.
I open the app and skim over the message without conscious thought.
From: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
To: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
Sorry, I got stuck in a meeting and just got home [22:26]
I smile at my phone without even realizing it.
From: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
To: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
It’s okay, I’m sure you’re a busy man [22:28]
From: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
To: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
Sorry, I’m just messaging you when it’s convenient for me, what about you? Are you busy? [22:29]
From: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
To: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
Not particularly busy, just a bit tired [22:30]
From: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
To: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
If you’re tired, then maybe you should rest and go to sleep. It might be my fault for bothering you so late [22:33]
From: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
To: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
No, you’re not bothering me. Just had a hard time at work as per usual. Plus, it’s not that late yet [22:34]
From: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
To: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
What
do you say about
forgetting work for a little bit? [22:36]
I bite my lip wondering what he means by that. I choose to ask him instead of dwelling upon it.
From: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
To: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
And what does th
at
entail? [22:39]
From: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
To: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
What if we talked about something else? Something less stressful, like about you, your likes, your hobbies? What do you say? [22:41]
From: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
To: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
21 questions? [22:42]
From: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
To: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
Only if you want [22:44]
My heart seems to skip a beat at that. The fact that he’s focusing and emphasizing my comfort makes me feel at ease.
From: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
To: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
Favorite food? [23:00]
From: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
To: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
Spicy anything, you? [23:01]
From: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
To: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
Korean, type of music? [23:22]
From: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
To: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
I’ll listen to almost anything, much like I’d eat almost anything 😅 [23:24]
From: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
To: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
Same 😊 Current favorite song? [23:25]
From: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
To: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
You proably won’t know it, so don’t make fun of me [23:26]
*probably [23:26]
From: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
To: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
How old do you think I am? I’m not deaf so it can’t be that bad. Tell me [23:28]
From: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
To: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
Not yet you mean, and it’s a language barrier, not an age thing… though that could be it too
lol. If you must know, it’s
Mi Hogar Eres Tu [23:29]
From: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
To: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
Ahh you’re right, never heard of it [23:31]
From: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
To: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
If it makes you feel any better, second fave is Somebody to Love [23:33]
From: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
To: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
Queen, right? Wait, you didn’t answer how old? [23:34]
From: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
To: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
Don’t judge me. Old? 😶
[23:37]
From: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
To: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
Tuesday, April 20, 20xx
OK you’re not exactly wrong #foreveryoung 😁 [23:40]
…
From: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
To: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
Wednesday, April 21, 20xx
Favorite book? [00:13]
From: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
To: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
Wednesday, April 21, 20xx
It by Stephen King or Cell or any of his works honestly [00:15]
…
From: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
To: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
Wednesday, April 21, 20xx
I know it’s getting late so last question, promise. Can we meet? [02:01]
…
From: M.D. (Sugar Daddy)
To: Joseph (Sugar Baby)
Wednesday, April 21, 20xx
Good night, Joseph [02:55]
…
Waking up I open my eyes with a groan before reaching for my phone on instinct. I can’t help but smile as I re-read the texts.
So, it wasn’t a dream.
Eleven
I STARE AT MY PHONE and I can’t stop the small smile that twitches on my lip. I’ve been talking to M. D. for over a month now and he seems like a genuinely nice person. We’ve switched from that horrid website to exchanging phone numbers and every time I receive a message from him my heart seems to skip a beat without my consent.
“Ready Oseias?” Charlie asks with a bump to my shoulder and a wide excited smile.
I grin at the redhead that has slowly become a close friend since my return to the store.
I head for the cash register upfront, covering for someone who called in sick not long ago. Again .
Charlie heads to the front door to open up before bringing out the donuts from the back and stacking them on the racks.
This morning things are a bit slower than usual, but we don’t mind.
Lunch rolls around and the door opens with a chime.
A tall, ridiculously gorgeous man strides in confidently.
To be honest, I’m a bit uncomfortable and more than intimidated by him. He exudes confidence and power. He’s the definition of white, privileged, and rich. He pisses me off.
“Good morning, how may I help you?” I ask politely, but sharp.
“A medium coffee would be nice, black, no sugar please.”
I nod as I punch in his order in the computer before hurrying to prepare his bitter drink. In Miguel’s eloquent baby speech, yuck .
I top it and slide it over.
“Anything else?”
“A vanilla chai, small. Two Old Fashioned and a Boston Kreme donut.”
I nod and complete his order before ringing him up, “Your total is $6.26.”
The man pulls out his wallet from the inside breast pocket of his gray suit jacket. He hands me a Benjamin Franklin with a smile. I glare at the money as I pop open the register and count his change to hand it to him.
That was unnecessary and uncalled for. Why would someone flaunt their money like that when there are people struggling to survive?
But everything I felt up until this point suddenly vanishes and is replaced with a twisting feeling of guilt as I watch him stuff every nickel, every dime, every 20 and every single, into the tipping jar.
I stare wide eyed, mouth gaping like a fish out of water in surprise.
“Thank you, Joseph,” the man in gray says, his eyes crinkling at the corner, blue eyes bright and smile soft, kind .
My breath hitches.
“Do you mind if we talk for a bit?” He asks.
My heart clenches tight inside my chest.
“Yes,” I answer quickly, “I mean no, I don’t mind, I… let me get someone to cover for me,” I stutter.
I drag Charlie to the front where she takes on the next costumer. She doesn’t ask any questions, instead she eyes the man warily.
But I ignore her worry and lead the man toward an empty table in the back where he pulls out a chair for me before he takes a seat right across. I suddenly feel shy and embarrassed.
“Sorry for surprising you like this,” he begins, toothy smile too bright and pristine.
He slides over the small cup of what I know is vanilla chai.
My favorite.
“I know it’s more than a little weird, but I figured why not,” he shrugs.
I can only stare at him, barely breathing.
“Joseph?”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, “It’s just… you’re gorgeous .”
He laughs, the chuckle smooth like the liquid he downs and rumbling deep from his sculpted, defined chest I can just imagine.
“Thank you. You’re beautiful as well,” he says.
My cheeks heat up at that, “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me when I’m only stating the truth,” he smiles, “My name is Maximilian Doyle. You may know me as M.D. from, well, you know.”
“I’m Oseias,” I breathe, “Oseias Lopez.”
He raises a brow and for a moment I wonder why he looks like a confused child.
“Oh! Right … Joseph was just an alias or umm what I consider my American name,” I blush.
Sweet Jesus, it feels hot in here.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Maximilian replies, “ Oseias .“
And the way my given name rolls off his tongue makes my body shiver.
Holy shit!
“I’m sorry, I just… what,” I stammer, “how did you find me?”
“Luck I suppose,” he shrugs, “but not entirely coincidental.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I asked to meet with you, it was because I knew I had a planned trip to NJ. I didn’t actually count on meeting you here though, but as soon as I saw you, I recognized you. I knew you.”
Isn’t fate funny?
“I’m still… a bit surprised and kind of embarrassed,” I confess, taking the stupid employee cap off.
He takes it from my hand and stares at it for a bit, “Why? You’re amazing and absolutely breathtaking.”
“Even if I’m covered in frosting and coffee and dough?”
“Especially so,” he grins, reaching out to wipe his thumb across my cheek where a bit of flour painted my skin.
I can’t help the butterflies in my stomach, nor the small shiver running up my spine and I find myself asking, “How long are you staying?”
“I’ll probably leave when I get what I want,” he answers before taking another sip.
“And what is it that you want?” I ask.
No filter, no brain.
I want to slap myself for being so- so-
“I’m trying to come to an agreement with S&M to expand my horizons, so it could be a week, maybe two. I’m still trying to determine if this will really be beneficial for my enterprise. Unfortunately, I’ll have to return to Cali eventually.”
“Oh…”
“Don’t sound so disappointed,” he chuckles.
I look up at his stubbled face, falling in love with those baby blue eyes and soft smile directed solely at me.
“I really like it here. I’m actually finalizing a few things and soon will have a townhouse in Mantoloking.”
Of course, it’s where all the rich people live. And I’m suddenly, cruelly, reminded of the differences between him and I. We live in completely different worlds.
“That’s… That’s great, but I should really get back to work,” I mutter, taking my hat back and standing, ready to leave.
I feel his warm soft hand wrap around my wrist, pulling me back.
I look at him, his warm smile gone and replaced with a slight frown.
“Oseias,” he calls a bit confused.
“Mr. Doyle, I should really get back to wor-”
He hands me the bag of donuts.
He leans in and I don’t stop him, I don’t push him away, as his lips brush against my forehead.
“It was really nice meeting you,” he whispers.
I stand frozen as he walks away, walks and doesn’t look back.
I don’t understand why, but my chest aches.
The paper bag crinkles under my hands as I clutch onto it tightly.
I swallow the inexplicable hurt and go back to work.
Twelve
I’M EXHAUSTED. My arms hurt from kneading the dough and stretching it this way and that. I feel a bit hot, and the heat gets worse when I near the ovens and the fryer. I’m covered in flour and sweat. My feet ache from standing so much and I’m starving.
I bite lip when the smell of freshly made donuts and pastries wafts toward me and I clutch onto the table before I fall from the intense hunger pangs.
Fortunately, Charlie stops by, but the expression she wears isn’t her normal cheerful one.
“W’as wrong?” I ask tiredly.
“Someone’s here to see you,” she answers before she wiggles her perfectly sculpted brows as a sly grin slowly takes over her face, “it’s Mr. Sexy.”
My cheeks heat up and I slowly take off my apron before walking outside where the smell of coffee hits me like a truck.
And she’s right. Maximilian is sitting in the back where we sat yesterday, waiting patiently with what I assume is a cup of bitter coffee and another with chai. I’m tempted to ignore him until he goes away, but without even realizing it, I’m crossing the room and find myself standing right in front of the man.
His face instantly lights up and I can’t help finding it endearing. It’s like time slows down and a small smile of my own tugs on my lips.
He stands, ready to pull the chair out for me before I stop him, my hand barely wrapping around his. Suddenly my smile is gone as I dig through my pockets, making him look on in confusion.
“Here,” I whisper, handing him what I counted to be over a thousand dollars.
He stares at the money owlishly, unwilling to take it.
“Look, I don’t know what impression you got from me or why you did what you did, but I nearly had a heart attack when I found that in the bag of donuts. So, please take it back, I’m perfectly capable of-”
“Stop,” he interrupts firmly, kindly.
I shut up and stare at him with wide doe eyes.
He cups my cheek in his hand, thumb caressing my flushed skin as he sighs.
“You gonna explain?”
He nods, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I realized it wasn’t a great move, but I didn’t want anyone giving you trouble if they saw me just handing you money.”
My lips press into a firm line, knowing he’s not quite done.
“I simply didn’t want anyone giving you a hard time. This money isn’t anything bad, I promise. It’s just me paying you for your company and your time. It’s what we both signed up for, and I counted yesterday as the beginning of whatever this could be,” he waves vaguely between us.
“You mean…?”
He steps around the table and closer still to my body, his breath practically ghosts over my ear causing a shiver to crawl up my spin. Voice thick and husky, he whispers, “I mean, I want to be your daddy.”
Holy shit.
Those words are enough to stir something I haven’t felt before, or at least, haven’t had the time to think about. Arousal. I’m fucking aroused and he pulls back smiling at me all innocent as if he didn’t just make my knees weak with that proposal. And that infuriating smile only makes me want to melt in his hands.
“I…” I don’t know what to say, but the words are spilling without my consent in an instant, “I want to be your baby.”
And that’s enough to make him chuckle in delight, to have him wrap his arms around my waist and pull me close to him.
My breath catches when I feel his… his manhood . Carefully hidden, but without a doubt hard .
He lets me go and apologizes even though he’s not sincere. He’s smiling from ear to ear like the Cheshire cat.
He pulls out the chair for me and finally I relent.
“I’m not going to demand anything from you,” he begins a bit more sober, “I want your comfort and safety above all else. This means, that if there’s something you don’t like, then you need to tell me.”
I nod, biting my lip.
“What is it?” He demands..
“Just… I’ve never… I’m not comfortable with having sex,” I shrug, “I don’t want money in exchange for sex… I’m not like that .”
“Hey,” he whispers, lifting my chin up so I can peer into his beautiful blue eyes, “I’m not going to demand anything you can’t give. I want your companionship. I want your friendship and above all else, I want to get to know you. I’m not doing this for sex, I’m not like other vulgar men on the site. I have my self-worth, and you have yours. Whatever happens, happens. But I will never force you into something you do not want. Understood?”
I breathe a sigh of relief, “yes.”
His grin is back, “ Now, do you mind if I see your phone?“
A bit embarrassed, I take out my crappy phone and hand it over. He doesn’t comment on it, simply takes out an expensive looking iPhone from his breast pocket and hands it to me as he tucks away what was mine.
“This is for being with me today, but also because I figured this would be a better way to communicate. I really think we should talk and meet up more when you’re not working, so we can figure things out. Just know that I really like you Joseph.”
I raise a brow and he laughs embarrassedly, shoulders tensing, “Shit, sorry, I meant, Oseias.”
I snort, “dude, relax.”
He relaxes again, “I’m really glad I got to meet you,” he says sincerely.
I take the phone and stare at the black screen before muttering a soft, “I’m glad I met you too and it’s okay, you can call me Joseph if you’d like.”
“No,” Maximilian states firmly, “that it is not your name, your name is Oseias and that’s what I’ll call you. I’ll get used to it, I promise. It’s just that all this time I’ve known and thought about you as Joseph. I’ll adapt.”
His chair scrapes the floor as he stands and approaches my seat. He leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead once again, “I need to get going, but I promise to call tonight.”
With a hum I agree, “I’ll be waiting.”
He lingers as if he doesn’t really want to go.
I don’t want him to go.
“Take care.”
“You too,” I whisper.
The door chimes when it opens, his footsteps fading with the last ding.
I hate to watch him go, but man do I love to see him leave.
If I’m honest, my chest doesn’t hurt like before. I could even argue that I feel lighter. I feel… giddy .
Thirteen
WE MEET UP. We text. We talk.
Most importantly, we get to know one another.
Intimately, in ways that sometimes words can’t even describe.
I learn his likes and dislikes.
And I learn a lot about myself too.
Like the fact that I love the sound of his voice.
Or the way he always kisses my forehead before he says goodbye.
Or his eyes.
His hands.
His smile.
So, it’s not entirely awkward, but I do feel out of place when I find myself sitting in the backseat of an expensive car with Maximilian by my side a couple weeks after meeting in person.
“Are you hungry?” He asks.
I look at him, a lie on my tongue, but I nod with a small pout I don’t realize I wear until he traces my bottom lip with his thumb.
“Alright, anything in particular?”
“Pizza?” I offer, not sure what else to think of.
“Pizza?” He grins.
“You have had it before… right?” I ask with a tilt of my head curiously.
“Of course, I have, but our tastes might be different,” he chuckles.
“I… I hadn’t thought of that to be honest. And by different, you mean what exactly?”
“Hm, I don’t know. Caviar?”
“On pizza? You’re shitting me right?”
His bark of laughter startles me.
“Yes, caviar on pizza should not be a thing.”
I snort, “pineapple is where it’s at.”
He shoots me a glare before shaking his head, “Whatever and wherever you choose to eat, is fine by me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course,” he assures, wrapping his arm around my shoulder.
So, we head to a small Pizza Hut 27 minutes away from my home. Surprisingly, he allows me to order for us both when we take our seats.
It isn’t long before we’re waiting for our cheesy goodness, sipping on some cherry soda and filling up on breadsticks.
“It’s small here, but the pizza is amazing, and the service is great. I used to come here with my parents all the time,” I explain with a bittersweet smile.
Maximilian nods, looking around the establishment and I can tell he likes it. Of course, he does, it feels like home.
Something inside my chest clenches tightly and I feel my eyes water, so I cast my gaze away, desperately willing the tears to go away.
“Are you okay?” He asks concerned.
“Yeah,” I lie through the lump forming in my throat, “I’m fine.”
I force myself to look at him with a painful smile. He knows better, I know .
“I’m alright, Mr. Doyle,” I insist.
“Maximilian,” he rolls his eyes, “or Max if you prefer. Anything but Mr. Doyle, we’ve been over this.”
He’s right. We have.
“Which is how I know you’re not okay,” he continues, “you only call me that when you’re distressed.”
My cheeks feel hot, I hadn’t noticed, “Do I?”
“I’m serious Oseias, you can tell me anything, you know right? I’m not here to judge you or make your life difficult.”
“I know Max,” I mumble, “and you will never know how much I appreciate that.”
At the sound of his name, he visibly relaxes, and his smile somehow makes the hurt feel better, “I like how my name sounds on your lips.”
I bite my lip, now self-conscious, “I-”
Of course, at that precise moment, our server arrives with a steaming pie and the smell makes my mouth water.
“That smells amazing,” Maximilian sighs.
“Enjoy,” our server nods before disappearing.
“What were you going to say?”
Blushing I shake my head, “nothing, Max, let’s eat.”
We dig in, looking like ridiculous chipmunks with slice after slice of the gooey goodness that seems to melt in our mouths.
“What about your chauffeur?” I ask around a mouthful of crust.
Maximilian looks slightly confused and it occurs to me that he’s never thought of this before.
I ask the server for a pizza to go and although Maximilian looks amused, he doesn’t comment on it.
“This isn’t for us,” I warn him.
“If you say so,” he nods obediently.
We finish up and I make to pay with the money Maximilian has been giving me these past few days, but he refuses and simply pulls out a card. He signs the receipt with a flourish and discards his own copy.
“Ready?” He asks.
“Definitely, I’m absolutely stuffed,” I nod, having a bit of difficulty getting up.
Hearing Maximilian’s chuckle makes me pause for a moment, and I can’t help but admire him. He’s gorgeous, truly Mr. Perfect. But it’s then that I catch a glimpse of a wedding band around his ring finger on his left hand.
My heart nearly stops at the sight.
“Shall we go?”
He offers me his arm while he carries the pizza and extra breadsticks in his other hand. I follow without complaint, but I can’t tear my eyes away from that ring. My mind is filled with these festering thoughts until they’re all I can think of. Each worse than the last.
“eias… Oseias… Oseias?”
I snap out of it and look at his baby blue eyes.
With a few beats of silence, I look away and find that we’re at the local park. I wonder how long I’ve been so out of it.
“You’ve been kind of quiet since we left the restaurant, are you okay?”
“Just thinking,” I whisper.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
“Just a penny?” I joke lightheartedly.
His laugh brings me back, grounds me as I prepare myself.
“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” I wonder.
“I don’t mind, ask away,” he says, “and I’ll try to answer as best I can.”
“Why did you sign up to be uh… a sugar daddy?”
It’s embarrassing to actually ask about it, but I can’t help wondering what went wrong, what made him sign up. Just… why?
And now I’m glad that there’s barely anyone in the playground as we sit on the swings and sway with the gentle breeze.
It seems like Maximilian can read me like a book, because he looks at the ring on his finger and twirls it around, deep in thought.
For a moment I think he won’t answer.
“You want to know about this more than anything… right?” He asks as he slides the ring off of his finger.
I nod a bit in shame. I have no right to ask or to make assumptions, but I want something more. I don’t want to be his mistress(?).
Fuck.
I just don’t want to be an affair.
“I don’t want to be a homewrecker,” I admit.
A thick blanket of silence falls over us for a brief moment.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers at last, brows furrowed as he puts on the ring again.
I look at the ground, wondering why it hurts.
I close my eyes, clenching the chains of the swings tightly in my fists when I hear the familiar creak of Maximilian’s swing as he stands.
His hand wraps around mine and he pulls me up until I’m flush against his body.
“Before I met you my life had been turned upside down in the worst ways possible. To be honest, I’m still working through a few things. But know this, you are not a homewrecker, and this is not an affair. You’ve become important to me in a span of a couple months, and I don’t want to hurt you. It’s the last thing I want. Right now, though, I’m not ready to talk. However, one day this ring will be gone. So, please trust me. Please wait for me.”
I can see the sincerity in his eyes, and I nod, because there are still some things that I’m not willing to share either.
“I’ll wait for you,” I mumble.
He tilts my chin up and I don’t expect the soft chaste kiss that’s pressed on my lips, but I melt at his touch as I cling onto him.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
Fourteen
I’M SILENT AS JAMES, Maximilian’s chauffeur, drives us home. My cheek is pressed against the cool glass of the fogged-up window as I’m drowned in my thoughts. But honestly, I don’t know what to think. My mind is jumbled with feelings I don’t yet understand.
When I realize it’s been more than five minutes since we moved, since the light turned green, I wipe the condensation off the window and peer outside. There’s traffic, a ridiculous line of silent cars that don’t usually jam at this hour.
It’s then I see it. A blanket of smoke clouding the dark sky. The loud wailing of fire trucks racing toward the burning building suddenly echoing through my ears.
My heart stops.
We’re not too far from my home, from the fire.
Without thinking I rip my seatbelt off and open the door. I vaguely hear James and Max calling out to me, but I can’t stop. I stare at the flames licking at the walls, pieces of plaster crumbling to the ground like cookie crumbs.
Someone stops me.
I look up with wide panicked eyes as I beg them to let me go, my only family is in there damnit!
I hear terrified screams. And I break free from the police officer’s hold and disappear.
I run around the back cutting through the parking lot and search for a rock I shove into my pocket before climbing up the shitty fire escape covered in chipped paint.
There’s a fire raging on from the kitchen underneath the apartment I live in. It’s spreading and the smoke is thick, it’s suffocating.
The doors are jammed.
I take out the rock and slam it on the windowpane embedded in the kitchen door.
With my sweater I brush away as many broken jagged shards of glass as I can before crawling through.
I try to ignore the sting of the remaining glass digging into my arms and legs.
The smoke thickens.
I’m blinded by darkness, my lungs suddenly burning with each drag of breath I try to take.
I’m disoriented, but I follow the cries of fear.
I ignore the feeling of heat slowly engulfing me.
I’m scared.
I trip over something and find the floors obscured by pieces of the ceiling bathed in waves of flames.
Tears sting my eyes, but I push away the burning debris with whatever I can.
“’Seias!”
I look up in time to see Doña Ena, my niece, and cousins huddled by an opened window screaming for help. Immediately I take Miguel and lead the small group toward the door only for a piece of flaming plaster to fall in our path.
The fire only spreads more quickly.
I try to think.
“Abajo!” I yell through the bellowing of destruction, get down!
They get down where the smoke is slowly twirling in thin whisps. I let Miguel cover his chubby face with my shirt as I try to kick the burning thing out of our path.
When I finally manage to move it just an inch, I reach for the main entrance to the apartment, only to find the metal door (although resistant) hot. Without thinking, my hand curls around the knob, my skin burning, melting. I bite back a scream as tears roll down my soot covered cheeks.
I take in a ragged breath, then another.
I place Miguel down on unsteady feet and start banging on the door, shoving against it with my shoulder. I search for something heavy; regretting having left the rock outside.
I find the now empty can of a useless fire extinguisher (required to be in every apartment) before I slam it again the doorknob. I can’t feel anything else but relief as the door finally opens. I rush everyone out into the hall where firemen are leading people outside.
I’m about to follow when I see Anabella staring at the apartment, brown eyes filled with tears. I call out her name, but she doesn’t hear.
She disappears within the clouds of smoke as I scream and follow after her.
She’s looking desperately through the burning pile of what used to be her toys. She approaches a blackened teddy bear that she picks up with trembling hands.
Tears slip down her cheeks leaving pale traces of tanned skin.
She clutches the teddy bear as she screams for her daddy. For my brother.
My heart breaks.
Everything he ever bought for her is burned. Every memory, every moment, she had managed to hold on to after he was deported was destroyed in a matter of minutes.
Every memory, gone .
I hold her back away from the fire and tell her to look away. With trembling arms, she hugs me tight. I manage to push her out the apartment, and just as I’m about to leave, something heavy falls. The crash sounds like thunder before lightning.
It’s feels like I’m being crushed.
My vision swims black.
Fifteen
I THINK I WAVE IN and out of consciousness.
I hear voices, soft and urgent.
I hear my name being called in desperation.
I feel someone’s touch.
Soft. Careful. Reluctant.
But I can’t seem to wake up.
It hurts.
Everything hurts.
My head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, my eyes feel heavy, and my throat is parched. Every breath I take feels like it burns my lungs. My body aches and everything hurts.
I don’t want to wake up.
“Oseias,” someone calls.
It’s that voice again.
Calling me softly, gently.
Tender and deep.
The voice sounds familiar, soothing like a cool balm on my aching conscious.
With the bit of strength I have, I open my eyes, squinting against the dim lights of the hospital room that still hurt .
I can’t see. My vision is clouded with blotches of darkness, small snippets of blurred light filtering through.
A warm hand reaches down and grabs onto my hand. But a small whimper escapes my dry lips as I try to pull away, away from the sharp numbing pain that suddenly engulfs me.
“I’m sorry baby boy.”
“Max?” I croak weakly.
“Hey there,” he smiles, a small, worried crease between his eyebrows appearing as he peers down at me.
I reach out and smooth the frown away with the tips of my fingers.
He catches my hand, gently, carefully. Slowly he brings my hand to his lips and he presses a small kiss to my palm and it’s then that I notice gauze wrapped around it.
“Wha’ happened?” I slur tiredly.
He reaches for a cup of water and carefully helps me sit up so I can take a sip, but it only makes the scratchiness worse. It hurts.
“Building caught fire, someone left the stove on. You went inside and nearly died,” Maximilian explains.
He sounds angry, frustrated. But relieved.
So relieved.
“Had to,” I mumble, eyes a bit droopy.
“I know,” he whispers.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t baby, you did what you had to for your family,” he sighs.
I squeeze his hand as best I can, wincing at the tiniest of movements.
“You inhaled too much smoke so you’re on oxygen for now. Most of your injuries were superficial… But your hands…” Maximilian trails off.
“Hurts,” I frown.
“I know sweetheart,I’ll go get a nurse.”
Sixteen
ALMOST EVERYTHING was destroyed.
My home was suddenly gone, and I found myself in a crippling depression as I lay in a hospital bed hooked to oxygen so my lungs could be cleared from all the poison I inhaled.
“Oseias?”
I look toward the door where someone I never expected to see stands.
She steps forward, tear tracks staining her cheeks, makeup smeared, and clothes wrinkled and in disarray. She approaches my bed but avoids looking at the mess my body is, covered in bandages and red burns that sting. I can only assume that I’ll have scares as a pleasant reminder of one of the worst days of my life.
“How do you feel?” She asks, reaching for one of my damaged hands.
I pull away, yanking my hand out of her grasp and biting back a scream of agony and frustration.
I want to make a sassy retort like, how do you think?
But I don’t.
I stay silent and simply stare at her.
“I think it’s best if the kids stay at our place,” a new voice says.
Her husband.
I always liked him; he has always been kind. It’s probably because of that, that I don’t understand how he can deal with her attitude sometimes.
“Oh really?” I croak exhausted, voice dripping with sarcasm.
“You’re welcome to stay with us?” She adds with a lilt of a question at the end.
“Oh, is that an invitation?” I can’t help but glare.
“We’re simply trying to help,” she says, her own eyes narrowing as her arms cross over her chest.
“How kind of you. So, then you won’t mind me asking where were you when our parents, your fucking sisters, were deported? Where were you when Alessandra called me in tears, terrified? Where were you when I struggled with two fucking jobs just to make enough for rent and three kids? Where were you when I needed my family, when I needed guidance because I wasn’t fucking ready to be an adult? Where were you when I was starving? When they barely had enough food to eat? WHERE WERE YOU!” I scream, tears rolling down my temples and wetting the pillow beneath my head.
Her face turns a cherry red in anger, “I have my own family to take care of!”
“We are your family! As far as I’m concerned, you were out wasting money on a bullshit diet and going out with your fucking friend, knowing full well that we were struggling to survive! You preferred a woman who calls herself your friend than your own fucking family, so don’t tell me about your bullshit. Your six-year-old doesn’t even take that much time from you.”
I’ve never cursed at her before. She’s only a few years older than me, but she is my aunt, she was someone I had to respect. But I’m tired. I’m tired of respecting someone who doesn’t respect and care for others who matter. I’m so damn tired of her pity and suddenly faked concern that I can see right through.
I tilt my chin up, daring her or her husband to tell me I’m wrong.
“You can’t,” I continue, “you can’t take them. They’re mine, you can’t take the kids from me.”
“I can,” She frowns, “You’re not even 21 yet and as you said, you’re not financially stable to raise them. They’re going to live with me until we figure things out. You’re welcome to come.”
I can see her swallow her pride as she tries to approach me and tell me she does care for me, that she’s sorry when she’s not, “and I-I’m so-”
I flinch away from her, “get out.”
She stares at me in disbelief. Refusing to move after she offered me her pity and help.
I can almost see her thinking; I will not be humiliated.
“Get. Out,” I grit, hands curling painfully into fists.
“Oseias,” she begins stubbornly.
“I think you should leave,” Maximilian interrupts, having heard the commotion from outside.
His icy blue eyes narrow as he steps between the bed and my aunt protectively, “He told you to leave, so please respect his decision.”
“Who do you think you are, buddy?” My aunt’s husband asks, through his confusion.
He has never met Maximilian before and my aunt stares at him agape in mild surprise and outrage.
“He’s my friend,” I intervene, “now please leave.”
“Look who’s taking. You really prefer some stranger over us? You’re family?” She asks as if hurt.
“No, I simply prefer someone who isn’t fake and actually cares about my wellbeing. Now please leave, I’m really tired,” I mutter, “and if you’re really taking the kids… please just… love them? It’s the least you could do.”
I can tell that Maximilian is having a hard time keeping his composure as he shows them the way out with a simple gesture toward the door. I want to reach out and ease the tension that’s built upon his shoulders. I want to tell him that I’m okay. But I don’t.
I wait until my aunt stomps out of my hospital room like a child about to throw a tantrum.
Her husband hangs back for a minute, eyeing Maximilian with clear mistrust.
And although he looks at Max, his words are directed to me, “We’ll take care of them, all of them, so don’t worry, ok? We should have taken all of you in and I’m sorry this had to happen for us to realize how much you’ve been struggling. I hope you get better Oseias.”
He leaves and I’ve never felt as relieved as I feel now.
Maximilian approaches me without restraint and takes my hand in his, carefully uncurling my fingers.
I wince as I loosen my grip with his gentle coaxing, and I can hear him tsk when he sees red staining the once white bandages.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, not really knowing what I’m apologizing for.
“Don’t be, you’re okay and you needed to get that off your chest. I’ll get someone to take a look at this,” he says, a small smile directed at me.
“Thanks,” I sniffle as I wipe away a stray tear.
He leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead, “You’re welcome baby boy.”
Seventeen
I LOOK AT MAXIMILIAN through tired hazy eyes, his arm is carefully slung over my waist, pulling me closer to his warm body. The bed is ridiculously small for the both of us, but we make it work. He smells like coffee and tobacco.
“You smoke?” I ask curiously, trying to make small talk before I wave into unconsciousness again.
“Not often, just when I’m stressed,” he answers.
“’s bad for you,” I chide.
He smiles and presses a kiss to my dry lips. I don’t push him away, simply enjoying this moment, enjoying his soft lips on mine.
A sigh escapes from me when we part.
He holds me closer, tighter, as if afraid I’ll disappear.
He mutters next to my ear, genuine concern dripping from his voice, “What will you do now?”
I bury my face in the crook of his neck, “I don’t know. Look for a shelter maybe… I honestly don’t know.”
He presses a kiss to my ear, whispering, “Do you remember that house I was planning on buying in Mantoloking?”
I nod.
“I didn’t go through with it,” he says, “I couldn’t.”
“Why?” I wonder.
“Found another house. It’s smaller and still in a good neighborhood. It’s on the other side of highway 22, in Providence,” he answers.
“Providence?”
It’s a predominantly white town with families of high incomes considering how nice the houses look.
I’ve been there many times, my older brother used to work around there for several years. The majority of the people there are nice for the most part. But I still can’t grasp why Maximilian would’ve chosen some place like Providence over Mantoloking.
“Why there?”
“Fell for the house to be honest. It’s small yet spacious with two stories, two bedrooms, a study, and 2 bathrooms. The kitchen is big and modern. And the location is breathtaking,” he grins like a little kid, “There’s a small park with a lake nearby.”
“Sounds beautiful,” I smile back, knowing exactly what he’s talking about.
“It is,” he nods and sobers up, “I actually already bought it.”
I stare at him in surprise.
“And I want you to move in with me.”
My breath catches in my throat.
I push away from him and look at him with wide eyes, “Wait what?”
He sits up and looks at me seriously, “I’m not going to let you bounce from shelter to shelter. I bought the house in a rush to be honest because I didn’t want to continue staying at a hotel. I wanted a place to call my own, but without being so far away from you. I figured that staying close would let us get to know each other. But with what happened, I don’t want you homeless or starving. If you’re uncomfortable with moving in with me, then I can pay a room for you at the hotel I stayed at for however long you need.”
“I’d feel like I was intruding in on your space,” I mumble.
He chuckles as he cups my cheek in his hand, “The house came with some furnishings, but I’ve decided to donate most of them. I’ve only bought a bed for the master bedroom. I was actually planning on asking your opinion on furniture and whatnot, because I wanted this house to be a place for you to be comfortable in. That is, if you ever wanted to come over. A safe haven if you will.”
“Really?”
He tilts my chin up and kisses me one last time, “I told you I would never do anything that you’re not comfortable with. Tell me what you need, tell me what makes you comfortable or uncomfortable, tell me what you want.”
I remember those words, his promises.
“Unfortunately, I won’t be able to stay at the house long,” he frowns a bit, “I need to go back to CA in a couple weeks ago, just until I’m sure you’re okay, that you’re safe and settled.
I throw my arms around him to hug him as best as I can. I bite my lip to stop my ugly cries from resounding in the small hospital room. His arms wrap around my waist again.
“Thank you, Max,” I whisper hoarsely, “thank you so much.”
Eighteen
MAX GUIDES ME INSIDE the huge empty house with a hand on my lower back. I grab onto his forearm, eyes taking in the sight around me. The house is bare and cold, stripped of any memories or personalities.
And yet, “It’s… wow.”
“Thought you’d like it,” Max grins.
“And I thought you said this was a small house,” I retort.
“It is!” He defends, “It’s smaller than the one in Mantoloking.”
I shake my head and hide my amused smile as I part away from him so I can explore. I can feel his gaze watching my every move, making sure I don’t stumble and fall with how weak I still feel. He follows behind me like a lost puppy and the more I get to know him, the more I fall in lo-
Nope.
No.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes,” I nod and jokingly say, “but it’s missing something.”
“Like all the furniture?” He laughs, “Don’t worry I brought some catalogues so we can flip through them and order whatever we want.”
We sit in the middle of what should be the living room. There are stacks of promised catalogues between us as we sit crisscross applesauce on the floor.
It’s then that I finally notice that Maximilian is wearing loose casual clothing. Black denim jeans with a plain white Henley that hugs his body just right. His 5 o’clock is slowly turning into a stubbled beard and his hair is a gorgeous mess.
The bright sunlight streaming through the bare windows makes his blue eyes shimmer. The soft glow accentuates the greys and greens swirling inside them. Like a brewing storm of perfection.
“What?” He asks, lips upturned into a kind smile.
“Nothing,” I blush, embarrassed at being caught staring.
Timidly I reach for a magazine and try to flip through it to distract myself.
“Can you?” He asks, brows furrowed.
I frown as I look at my bandaged hands with only the tips of my fingers exposed, “I think I can.”
“Alright, tell me if you need anything,” he nods.
We lapse into a comfortable silence until I look at the prices on the listed items. I grab another magazine and find everything ridiculously expensive as well. With a small pout I reach out and tug on Maximilian’s shirt.
“What’s wrong?” He asks.
I flip the book and show it to him, “’s expensive.”
He smiles, “I know. Don’t worry about it, I’m paying for anything you want. This place is as much yours as it is mine.”
My frown only deepens. I know this. He’s reassured me countless of times before we even left the hospital.
But after living comfortably with a low budget, it just seems wrong to waste so much money on a simple cushion with no style.
“It’s okay,” he insists, reaching toward me.
I go willingly as he pulls me onto his lap. I lean my head on his shoulder and watch as he resumes flipping for the both of us.
“Just tell me when you see something you like,” he whispers, “don’t think about the money.”
It takes a long time, mostly because I do the exact opposite as he tells me. I can’t stop thinking about all the money he’s going to spend. Not to mention that he’s planning on taking me clothes shopping considering everything I owned turned to ash.
“That one,” I finally mumble.
He stops, thumbing the page as he stares at the set.
It looks simple yet pretty. The living room set consists of a couch, a loveseat, and a recliner all in leather, black. The coffee table is modern glass with oak branches holding it up and the curtains are a sage green.
Beautiful.
“It’s wonderful,” Max nods as he reaches for a sticky note to bookmark the page.
Max chooses to install a soft matching sage fluffy alfombra … fuck what’s it called in English?
“What’s this?” I ask as I squint at the page, “I can’t remember the word.”
I know for a fact it’s not a carpet, it’s similar but-
“A rug?” He answers, almost as if questioning his own response.
I feel like an idiot and my expression must have shown how stupid I feel because Max laughs before he comforts me.
“Sorry,” he huffs, struggling to regain his composure and failing, “just, you looked so pissed and disgruntled when I told you.”
I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest as best I can.
He kisses the pout on my lips before standing up and helping me.
“I’m sorry for laughing,” he apologizes with a small cough.
“I’m glad I could amuse you,” I sigh, a true smile tugging at my lips, “You always seem so stressed and up tight. It’s… It’s the first time I’ve seen you so relaxed, you’re almost a different person.”
“I’ve been worried about you,” he shrugs as he leads me to the kitchen were there’s a first aid kit on one of the counters.
“I’m sorry for causing you stress.”
“I’ve been stressed,” he nods, “but you’re not the sole cause. What happened to you absolutely terrified me, but I’m going through a few things as well.”
He’s careful as he slowly unravels the bandages on my hands.
“Will you tell me?” I ask.
He smiles sadly, “I will, I promise. But right now, let me focus on you.”
Nineteen
MY HEART RACES as Max casually walks inside the room. We’ve slept in the same room before, when I was hospitalized, but the bed was a bit too small for the both of us to lay comfortably. Now we’re sharing a single bed, more than comfortable for the both of us. And still, I find that we gravitate towards each other.
“You tired?” He asks quietly, voice soft and the timber soothing.
“A bit,” I nod, trying to smother a yawn with little to no success.
But the effort makes him smile, something sweet and sleepy, hands subconsciously reaching out to me and pulling me closer to his warmth.
I don’t resist, not when he’s so comfortable and warm. So, I lay my head on his broad chest without a thought. My ear pressed against his chest and my thoughts drowning in the lub-dub sound of his beating heart.
“How do you feel my baby boy?” He asks eventually, hand running up and down my back soothingly, mindful of how sensitive I’ve become with the burn marks still marring my skin.
And there it is again.
That nickname reserved just for me. It makes me feel warm. I’m almost embarrassed, but it feels so good to be his baby.
Maybe it’s the sleep.
Or maybe it’s the softness of the question, the nonchalant way he calls me his and baby boy.
Or maybe my brain to mouth filter is malfunctioning again because I don’t find anything wrong when I answer, “I’m fine daddy.”
And it’s only when the silence stretches for a bit too long to be comfortable that my sleep addled mind catches up with what I said.
My face heats up.
It’s like the words are stuck on replay in my brain.
Hoping that the silence means he either didn’t hear or he’s already fast asleep, I try to shimmy out of his tight, yet gentle, grasp. As if I’m simply turning in my own sleep.
But the silence is broken with the clearing of a throat.
And I’m still too mortified to speak.
I don’t want to see his weirded out and disgusted reaction.
“Never thought those words would turn me on,” he whispers hoarsely.
I’m a bit flabbergasted at that.
It takes my mind another second to register before I’m burying my face in his chest to hide, “Please don’t lie. Be honest, it’s weird, I know it is.”
His chuckle is low and throaty, amusement he can’t quite hide bleeding through.
“This is what we both signed up for,” and I can hear the grin in his voice, “you’re my baby.”
My breath hitches in my throat as I feel my lower region take interest. I feel kind of dirty and I finally break free from his hold, turning around so he doesn’t feel the aching hardness between my legs pressed against his thigh.
His arm slings around my waist, his lips pressing against the curve of my ear. His warm breath is ticklish as he whispers, “You don’t believe me?”
A noise I have never made before escapes my lip to confirm that I do not in fact believe him.
But it all ends when his arm pulls me back, my back pressed to his chest, our bodies lined together, and I feel it .
I feel his hard cock pressing against my pert ass and a soft gasp escapes my lips.
“Not disgusting. I can’t say that I don’t find it sexy, after all, I want to take care of you however you let me baby boy. I want to make you feel good if you want that too.”
“Oh god,” I moan.
“This is what you do to me baby,” he whispers huskily, “You drive me mad.”
“I’m sorry,” I squeak out.
He buries his face into my neck before pressing a kiss to a burn mark on my shoulder.
“Hurts,” I hiss.
I can feel his smile falter before he orders, “Sit up baby.”
I do as I am told, biting my lip to prevent anything else to escape without my consent.
I see Max reach for the prescribed mupirocin ointment. He uncaps the tube and begins to methodically rub the soothing balm on the nastier stinging burns on my body.
“Sorry,” he mumbles with a small frown.
“You didn’t hurt me on purpose. We both know it’ll take time before I heal,” I whisper, “give it a few weeks.”
“I hate seeing you in pain,” he mutters.
My heart skips a beat and I force him to stop so I can turn around to face him, “and I hate seeing you sad.”
I reach out and cup his cheek in my palm. His scruff tickles my exposed fingertips as I pull him closer and peck his lips.
I can see he’s struggling to hold something back. I don’t know what, but the words are on the tip of his tongue.
“I…” he pauses, thinking about what to really say, “I need you to tell me what you like, what you want from me. If you have anything you want to try, you want to experience and explore. Tell me.”
My face turns an embarrassed shade of maroon red.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly, voice a bit shaky, “I’ve never had sex like this before. Never really thought of what I’d like.”
“We’ll take it slow. We’ll learn together, our likes and dislikes. We’ll go as slow as you want. Right now, right now let me focus on you.”
Biting my lip and a bit hesitant, I mumble a quiet, “Thank you for taking care of me… daddy.”
His smile returns, brighter and more at ease.
“Come ’ere baby boy.”
Twenty
WEEKS, IT HAS BEEN WEEKS . Of living with Max, of healing, of getting used to something I’ve never had before.
It’s all so different now.
So… quiet.
I stare at the blank screen of my phone having just finished a call with Aless and the kids. I miss them. There’s a hurt in my heart like a puzzle piece missing since they’ve been gone. But they’re safe. They’re still with family and they have a roof over their heads and food!
So much food.
At least that’s what I understood from Miguel’s baby babble. He’s approaching a year in two months and he’s still growing like a weed and Gabby cut her hair! Aless is going to start a new school come September with new friends.
And Bella… she’s gone.
Settled at a different state and just… growing up miles away from what used to be her home.
I blink away the tears. A reminder that my own family is still stuck in another country waiting for news that just doesn’t come fast enough.
This system is skewed.
It’s grueling and demanding and all for nothing.
For simple radio silence.
At least my family has a shot of returning safely if, when , the paperwork is complete and approved.
My aunts and uncles who were unlucky enough to get deported will have to come back illegally if resources allow. Because Aless is still a minor. Because she’s not 21. Because she doesn’t count, and the other kids don’t matter. They don’t matter because if they did, they wouldn’t have been separated. They would still have their parents.
“Hey,” a soft voice disrupts those awful thoughts.
I blink away the tears and offer Max a warm smile, “hi.”
“You, ok?”
“Hm, never better.”
He raises a brow and I know he doesn’t believe me because he sits next to me and squeezes my knee tenderly. I stare at his hand and I can’t resist placing my own on top of his.
There’s a difference.
Between him and me.
Him and I.
His hands are soft and big, veiny with pale skin and freckles scattered here and there. Mine are small, tanned, and burned.
Healed yet scarred.
Sensation is numb even though the doctors said I’d get it back.
Just not now.
Eventually.
“I’m okay,” I reassure.
“You miss them,” he states.
“I do.”
“They can come over, baby, you don’t have to pine over them.”
I smile because I know this. He’s told me millions of times before. But it’s not that simple. It never is.
“My aunt would never let me,” I say.
“She would if you ask.”
He’s encouraging and it’s sweet, but not enough.
“I’m gay.”
Another raise of a brow, “I hadn’t noticed.”
That brings out a genuine laugh from my chapped lips. However, as I sober up, I look into his eyes and sigh, “she knows now.”
A flash of realization, “Oh.”
“Yes, oh. I think… I think my mom knows too,” I frown, “she hasn’t been answering my texts… or calls. I think she hates me. She has always been opened about her… opinions. It’s why I never came out to her, to them.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“I am too.”
“It’ll get better.”
It’s a promise.
I’ve repeated that mantra in my mind since I heard that song from Todrick Hall. It’s funny how I remember that now. How he knows .
“I know.”
He wants to say something else, comfort me perhaps, but his phone rings and I know it’s important.
It’s the way his brows furrow in contemplation.
“Go,” I urge, “answer.”
His gaze flickers up to meet mine.
I roll my eyes as I recline on the new leather-bound sofa and nudge his thigh with my foot.
“Go,” I insist.
Reluctantly he does as told.
He disappears down the hallway and into his study where I can faintly hear him answer the call before the door is closed.
With a muffled yawn I curl up on the sofa in front of the ridiculously enormous TV on the other side of the room.
I grab the remote before flipping through without paying attention until I land on something reasonably interesting, John Wick .
With a hum I pause the movie at the beginning and stretch, moaning when my back cracks and my tensed muscles relax. I head toward the kitchen to make some popcorn and grab other snacks and drinks.
The smell of butter clogs my nose and makes my mouth water. The unpredictable sound of pop, pop, pop breaks the quiet.
It’s been a bit and Max is still on the phone. Calls don’t usually last this long. Not work-related calls at least.
I grab the goods and dump them on the coffee table before debating on seeking him out. We agreed on movie night and he’s been stressed lately. I don’t want to intrude, or interrupt, but my feet shuffle toward the study before I can even process what my body is doing.
Carefully, I push open the door.
“Ian, not right now,” Max says exasperated.
I stand at the entrance and watch him stress through the phone.
His face is an angry shade of red, his face contorted in frustration. However, as soon as those piercing eyes land on mine, his face softens.
“I’m tired of discussing this right now. We’ll talk later,” he sighs.
I bite my lip.
Definitely stressed.
Every time his phone rings he gets this look.
It grows worse and worse each time.
“What I do now is none of your concern, Ian, goodbye.”
Without another word, Max hangs up.
Despite my curiosity, I don’t ask.
It’s not my place.
“Are you okay?” I wonder in concern, it’s my turn to worry about him.
“I’m fine, what’s wrong baby?”
I can never get used to this, no matter how much I love it, “Nothin’ was wondering if you’d like to watch that movie with me.”
He smiles before nodding, his tense body relaxing, “Yes, of course baby.”
With my hand in his, we return to the living room and curl up in front of the TV. I sit between his legs and rest against his chest, the bowl of popcorn on my lap.
The movie finally begins, and I shove a handful of popcorn in my mouth.
His amused chuckle is everything to me. It’s kind and warm and soothing.
And his hands .
They wander around my sides. Thick fingers drumming along until I feel ticklish even through my clothes. And they go lower and lower, rubbing over my thighs teasingly slow before reaching the bowl as if that was the intention the entire time.
I look up at him, but his eyes are focused on the screen.
Still, there’s a smirk playing on those lips, plush and soft.
A mischievous little upturn.
My heart clenches and aches in a good way at the sight.
“The movie started,” he smiles down at me.
“It started 26 minutes ago,” I agree.
His lips finally touch mine in a chaste peck and I melt.
Fingers rubbing soothing circles into my inner thighs, popcorn accidentally knocked out of my lap as my hold on the bowl grows slack.
“Shit,” I curse as I pull back and stare at the mess wide-eyed.
He huffs out a small laugh before grabbing my chin and making me look at him.
I bite my lip.
He splays his thighs and I get on my knees in between them.
His hands wrap loosely around my neck, thumbs gently tracing patterns on my warm skin.
“Beautiful,” he praises.
I feel a blush bloom across my sun-kissed face before he pulls me in and our lips almost brush.
But he stops.
Our noses bumping into each other’s as he stares into my eyes.
“Can I kiss you?”
I whimper, “ Yes .“
God, yes, please yes!
Twenty One
I TILT MY HEAD to the side and let Max suck and lick, bite and mark.
“Max,” I whisper breathlessly.
“What’s wrong baby boy?” He asks huskily.
I press my lips against his. With little hesitation he shoves his tongue inside my mouth, exploring everything I have to offer. It’s getting hot and how I wish I could fan myself. His hands sneak under my tee, gently touching everything he can.
I gasp as his thumbs brush over my nipples. The stimulation odd yet arousing as they stiffen in pleasure.
“Wait,” I whimper, “ Max .“
“What’s wrong baby?” He repeats.
“More,” I beg.
“More?”
“ More , daddy,“ I nod, biting his lower lip which is now kiss swollen and red.
“How much more?”
His question makes me pause.
There’s that tilt to his head that makes him look like a curious child.
His eyes, though, are pools of dark arousal and anything but innocent.
They hold a promise of pain and pleasure and I want it all.
“Anything, everything,” I gasp.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!” I respond eagerly.
“Kaleidoscope.”
“Wha-What?”
“If you’re scared, if it’s too much, if you want me to stop for whatever reason, just say kaleidoscope.”
I nod my understanding.
But he’s not satisfied with that.
He grips my chin and looks into my eyes, “Do you understand?”
Another nod.
He growls in what I can only assume is frustration.
My eyes widen as he slips from beneath me. His hands are tortuous as they tug down my sweatpants to reveal nothing but skin.
“Commando?” He questions.
“Always,” I blush, “at least at home.”
He licks his lips like he wants to eat me alive, but he holds back. That’s not how I will learn.
I realize that very soon when he suddenly flips me so I’m over the arm of the sofa, my ass exposed for his hungry eyes to see and devour.
His hand is warm, and the touch makes me squirm.
It’s only then that I realize cool metal wrapping around my wrists.
I can only gawk at the sight of handcuffs, heart skipping a beat.
The sound of skin against skin is not enough to jolt me out of my surprise, but the sting against my right buttock is.
“Say it, baby boy,” another slap, “I need to hear you say it.”
The sting only grows with each time his palm lands on my skin, a whimper spilling from my lips as I refuse to answer. Each hit is consistent yet punishing, and I can’t speak over the whimpers and moans escaping my lips. I can’t concentrate.
The pain hurts in a good way.
Every time his hand comes down, my hips lurch forward, and my achingly hard erection rubs against the leather. It’s dry and uncomfortable until precum dribbles from my tip and smears against it.
“Daddy,” I whine, rattling the handcuffs.
I want to see. I want to see his face, I want to touch, to kiss, I want-
“I need to know you understand, Oseias .”
My name on his tongue, his teeth in my flesh and his hand rubbing the sting-
My back arches.
I’m close, so close , just a little more, just-
His hand curls around the base of my erection, his fingers squeezing and stopping me at the precipice.
My breathing is erratic, and I ache to go over the edge, I need more, I need him .
“Don’t be a bad boy, Oseias.”
That doesn’t sit well with me. I’m not a bad boy.
“Kaleidoscope,” I whimper, wriggling and aching, “it means to stop if you’re hurting me. Please, daddy, I need more.”
A satisfied purr, “Good boy.”
His slick hand slowly pumps me, up and down.
One, two, three strokes and I’m gone.
My eyes roll into the back of my head as bright colors obscure my vision like an array of a kaleidoscope.
My cum paints the leather as sweat licks at my skin, the air finally cooling the heat that once pooled in my belly.
Max guides me back and I flop onto my back away from the spill of cum on the sofa.
“Are you ok baby?”
His voice sounds far away and warbled.
All I can do is nod.
“Was I too rough?”
“No,” I croak tiredly.
His smile is blinding when I can finally open my eyes.
“Bath time?”
I wrinkle my nose, “yeah, I feel sticky.”
He hums and I can only stare as he bows down and licks! at my spend, licks at my pudge and cock like it’s candy .
“That’s gross daddy,” I hiccup, rattling my handcuffs and demanding he stop.
“Then why do you taste divine?”
The look in his eye, the way he licks his shiny lips.
“More,” I whisper without coherent thought.
“More?”
“Please?”
He nods.
So much for bath time.
The handcuffs come off and I crawl onto his lap facing him.
He frowns at the hiss that escapes my lips when my sore bottom is cushioned on his knee.
“Too harsh?”
“Just right,” I shrug.
He smiles, his fingers tracing my brow reverently.
“Where’d you hide the cuffs?” I wonder.
“My pocket,” he smiles sheepishly.
“The lube? Wait, let me guess, your pocket?”
“Don’t be cheeky.”
I tug at his shirt, “I can be a brat if I want to, now off.”
As an afterthought, “please?”
He complies and I ogle his chest.
Sparse dark blonde hair curled against toned skin, muscled, and well-defined.
His hands cup my ass and I feel a slickened finger rub at my entrance. I tense before he tells me to relax. He’ll stop if I want to, if I tell him to.
“It’s ok,” I assure, “I’m ok, I want it, I want more.”
The first finger is thick and even though I force myself to relax there is still some resistance.
In and out.
Slow and rhythmic.
“Ok?”
A nod.
A second finger joins in soon and this time I can’t stop from tensing.
It stings and it draws a soft whine of pain out as I toss my head back and breathe deeply.
“It’s ok baby,” Max coos, his lips a cooling balm as he kisses my chest and neck.
He doesn’t move.
Not until I’m ready.
Not until my hips wiggle on his lap, “you can move.”
“You sure?”
“Yes,” I nod, eyes screwed shut.
He moves.
His fingers push in and drag out.
In and out.
They stretch and scissor my core open.
It feels weird.
Not painful, not anymore.
And then-
His middle finger brushes against something.
I jolt and moan at the unexpected sensation.
“Found it,” he smirks smugly.
“Found what?” I pant.
“This,” he brushes against the little bundle of nerves again.
He rubs and rubs that place that makes me see stars and his thumb joins in, soothing my perinium.
“Think you can handle one more?”
“Yeah,” I breathe.
A third finger.
The stretch is a bit bearable, a bit more uncomfortable than the last.
But he doesn’t stop moving his fingers, doesn’t stop brushing against that spot.
“Good?”
“Good, yes.”
His fingers slip out and I feel empty at the loss.
He unzips his jeans and I stare at the bulge of his hard cock tenting his briefs. His left-hand wraps around my hip as he shimmies down the offending clothing. His erection slips free, and I gawk at the sight. Thick and curved in a nest of trimmed curls.
“Ready?”
I gulp.
“We can stop,” he offers.
“No,” I shake my head, I don’t want to stop.
I purposely settle on his lap, letting his cock rub teasingly between my slick cheeks. My breath hitches at the feel.
He kisses my forehead, and we lock eyes.
He lifts my hips and slowly pulls me onto his erection.
The head slides inside, the rosette of my ass opening and dragging him in.
“Oh God,” I gasp.
Inch by aching inch my body accommodates his cock.
In a smooth glide he’s settled into my warmth.
I’m panting and breathless.
Big, he’s so big .
He grins, looking as winded as I feel and just on the edge of pleasure, his hands leaving bruises on my hips, on my waist, on my thighs.
“Easy,” he coos.
I stare at this man.
This gentle giant who has shown me something amazing.
And my heart seizes.
I know what this is.
Twenty Two
WITH HIS HANDS on my hips, he maneuvers me so that I lay on the sofa. I stare up at him through hazy eyes before he dips down and kisses me fervently.
I drag my nails across his back as our shared kisses drag on and deepens .
His cock settled inside my ass; skin stretched around it.
“Please daddy,” I beg, intentionally tightening around his length.
He worships every scar and mark left on my body from that horrible night of the fire.
“Daddy,” I choke out.
“It’s okay baby boy, daddy’s got you,” he assures, “my little minx.”
Max starts gentle, like he’s holding back. He pulls out only to push back inside, slow and steady. His cock occasionally hitting that little spot inside.
“Fuck,” I curse.
“Relax baby,” he whispers.
“So big, daddy,” I gasp.
“Tight, baby boy, you’re so tight,” he hisses, thrusting again and again.
A litany of pleasure falls from my lips, “More, faster, please, harder .”
He gives me what I want.
Pleasures me and takes me to new heights.
Faster.
Harder.
More.
Give and take.
He’s gentle with a punishing pace.
Thick cock dragging along my insides.
And he hits something.
It’s different.
It aches in a weirder way.
It makes my toes curl, causes my back to arch into each thrust as my hands on his biceps tighten.
My nails dig into his skin and leave behind little red crescents.
“Ma-Max!”
His brow is furrowed, sweat beading down his face and covering his body like a blanket.
There’s a look of concentration with concern swirling in his blue eyes.
I gasp.
I can’t tear my eyes away from his.
His thrusts become erratic as he holds my gaze.
He fucks into me so good, so hard and fast.
I can’t think properly.
Only him.
There has only been him.
Another harsh thrust and my breath hitches as I orgasm.
My legs settled on his hips, wrapped around him only to drag him deeper. Max’s name on my lips like a sinful prayer.
He tenses and buries himself even deeper, slowing his thrusts into gentle rutting of his hips.
I swallow thickly and brush his mussed hair from his face. He looks down at me with that dorky smile of his and I fall a little more.
“You look beautiful.”
My warm cheeks heat up more at the sweet compliment. All I can do is hum in thanks for his soft-spoken words. My throat too sore from screaming his name.
“We should probably move,” he comments thoughtfully, “get you comfortable in bed.”
The sound of the bed sounds heavenly.
The leather is becoming uncomfortable on our sticky tangled bodies.
He slips out gently, carefully.
I grimace at the feel of cum dribbling down my skin.
There’s a niggling at the back of my brain, as if I’m missing something.
As if we shouldn’t have done this.
“Are you alright?”
The furrow of my brow disappears as I nod, “yeah.”
I take his proffered hand and stand.
My legs hurt and my body is sore in all the right places. Places I didn’t even know could hurt so good.
“Can you walk?”
I look down at my body littered in hickies and bruises.
Cum painting my thighs and stomach.
My legs tremble and if I take a step, I fear I might fall.
“Help me?”
“Of course,” he answers.
His arm wraps around my waist as I lean against him, most of my weight on him as we make our way to our bedroom.
Movie long forgotten.
Popcorn still scattered around.
The trek is short lived as I hobble toward the bed while Max disappears into the bathroom.
I lay back and tuck a pillow behind my aching hips. I run my shaky hands over my body, following the contour of fat and bone. I delve my right hand into the mess between my thighs. My fingers brush over my puffy entrance, tender and sore.
Max reappears then.
His gaze following my hands, my left rising to my chest and playing with my nipples.
His eyes darken.
“Are you not satisfied little one?”
A hic, “never.”
He snorts but saunters his way to our bed. He crawls in between my thighs, tongue licking over his bottom lip.
“Devour me daddy,” I purr.
He groans, pulling me closer by the hips, “how about you do the work this time around?”
He flips us so now I’m the one on top of him, the one in control .
He places his hands behind his head for support and stares at me expectantly.
I can see the way his fingers close and flex as if to stop himself from reaching out, from touching me.
I hesitate before steeling my resolve.
I place my thighs over his hips before sinking onto his hard cock again.
“You’re so warm,” he coos, “Still so tight around me.”
I blush.
“You can do it, baby, you can take whatever you want from daddy.”
I nod.
I raise up and slowly sink back down.
Up and down.
Different, deeper.
“Daddy,” I groan.
“That’s it baby.”
I bounce on his lap, taking his cock over and over again.
It’s frustrating, I can’t get the angle right.
I can’t-
A gasp.
“Found it?” He asks amused.
I want to wipe that stupid smirk of his face.
Instead, I bring my hips down harder, taking him deeper and brushing against my prostate again.
It draws out a startled moan from him and the sound is like music to my ears. His little breaths hitching, his moans, his groans, his gasps. I take it all in. I commit it to memory as I fuck myself on his cock.
“So good daddy,” I sniffle, a tear pricking at my eyes with how overwhelmed I feel.
“Shh,” he hushes.
He sits up and the angle changes.
It’s enough to cause me to clench around him, to orgasm.
It’s pain and dry, nothing coming out.
“Hey, hey,” he coos, “It’s ok, I got you, baby. You’re safe.”
“I’m safe,” I hiccough.
“Need me to stop?”
“No, just… just fuck me.”
He does.
He takes care of me.
He’s gentle when he can control himself.
Is rough when I beg him.
He’s cautious but worships my body, makes me feel good.
I’m drunk on him.
With a groan and a few more deep thrusts, Max spills inside me again and again.
His cum painting my walls as I tighten around his thick cock slowly softening.
My world tilts off its axis for a second and I close my eyes against the onslaught of feelings .
When I come to, I see Max’s concerned face.
I reach out with my hand and smooth his furrowed brow. He presses a kiss to my forehead.
“I love you,” I whisper hoarsely, voice nearly gone from crying out his name, “I love you Max.”
Twenty Three
I MOAN TIREDLY, loving the way Max’s warm hand travels up and down my back, soothing me into a light doze until all I can think of is his gentle teasing touch.
With closed eyes, I rest my head on his chest, listening to his calm heartbeat sync with mine.
I feel warm in his arms, safe and wanted.
“How do you feel?” He asks, voice thick from sleep.
“Tired, sore,” I mumble honestly, a small shy smile following, “satisfied.”
He chuckles, the rumbling sound coming from within his chest and jostling me just a bit. It doesn’t bother me. I love the sound of his laugh, the ease of his touch and caress as he holds me flush against his body.
I nuzzle against him before stretching, arching my back and snuggling with Max like a calico cat.
My eyes flutter close as I feel him press a kiss to my forehead, my eyelids, my nose, and my lips.
I wish it didn’t hurt so much.
I wish I didn’t love him as much as I do now.
“Sleep baby boy, daddy needs to take care of some work,” he sighs.
I watch through droopy eyes as he carefully slips out of bed and puts on some sweats and a t-shirt. I can’t help but laugh when I notice that he’s going commando. At my soft snort he turns his attention toward me. I peer at him through a fold of the blankets drowning me, only to see him wink.
When he’s gone, I curl up and grab his pillow to bury my flushed face in the warm fabric.
The room smells of sex, of us.
And as much as I want to sleep, within an hour of dozing in and out of consciousness, my tummy decides to grumble.
“Hungry?” Max asks from the doorway with this look I can’t quite name.
I blush in slight mortification, but nod nonetheless as I sit up.
His smile grows when he sees me wince at the slightest of motion, my cheeks burning.
“Let’s take that bath I promised you,” he says, “then we’ll order some food, I’m thinking pancakes? How does that sound?”
“Sounds amaze-balls,” I answer honestly.
Another snort.
He approaches the bed and leans down to press a kiss to my cheek, “Stay here while I get the water running.”
I wait obediently on the bed with the sheets wrapped around my shoulders as he strides toward the bathroom.
I shift uncomfortably once or twice, but my attention shifts to Max’s phone on the nightstand which begins vibrating incessantly until it cuts off only to start again.
It stops and starts without pause.
I look toward the bathroom before making up my mind and reach for it.
It must be important if they won’t stop calling. I can at least answer it and pass it to Max once he comes out of the bathroom.
So, without a second’s hesitation I hit the bright green button, “Hel-”
I don’t manage to get a word in when a woman immediately answers before I can even articulate a greeting, “ Max, when are you coming back? It’s almost as if you’ve forgotten I exist, like I’m not your wife- “
I stare in surprise when the phone is slipped from my hand in a single swoop, Max taking over in an instant.
But it’s not my imagination.
What she said…
Wife .
Did I hear wrong?
I look at the man, at the ring in his left hand where the phone is precariously held.
Max… has a wife?
I tune in just before he hangs up with a scowl marring his handsome face.
“I told you to stop calling, whatever we have we’ll settle when I go back,” he hisses.
I’ve never seen him so… angry .
I flinch when he tosses the phone with a huff and I’m a bit terrified.
“Oseias,” he calls.
I don’t, can’t , look at him.
“Look at me please,” he begs.
My heart is hammering loud inside my chest, blood is rushing to my head, and I’m left cold.
The warmth of the past two days of sex and love and care gone.
In its place there is something akin to repulsion on my behalf.
What the fuck did I just do?
Did I… Did I just ruin a marriage? Was I just a paramour? A fling? A home wrecker .
“Oseias-”
“You lied,” I whisper in horror, “you said, and I believed you, and you lied!”
“No,” he grits, grabbing my chin in a gentle hold and forcing me to look at him, “I told you that you are not
a homewrecker, and you are not. Oseias, please look at me.“
Tears blur my vision, I can’t.
I can’t look at him when I feel disgust at my own actions.
I let myself be swept away.
A heavy put-upon sigh, “Oseias, you are not a homewrecker, I did not lie about that. And this, this is not an affair. This, between us, is something more. You mean so much to me, so much more than I can ever manage to explain.”
My heart stutters at his words, but doubt takes ahold of it, “Bu-”
“Please, Oseias,” he pleads, “just a bit more. When I come back from CA, I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything, everything you want to know, so please be patient. Please believe me.”
I bite my lip and reach out to cup his stubbled cheek.
My instincts shout at me no, but the word is out before I can stop it, “Okay.”
Because I want to believe him, I want to trust him.
I just don’t know if I can, not anymore.
He pulls me up with him as he stands, holding me flush against his body in a warm embrace. I close my eyes, hoping I made the right decision.
Knowing that perhaps I did not.
Twenty Four
“AN EMERGENCY OF SORTS came up and I have to be in Cali next week. I’ve put it off for as long as I could, baby boy.”
An emergency he had said.
I wonder, is it his wife?
It’s been a week since that call shattered my perspective of Max and our relationship.
And it’s been a week since Max was later called for an impromptu trip back to CA where he has an emergency to attend to. CA, the state where I do not doubt his wife still resides in.
I can’t help but stare after Max, tired eyes following him around the room as he packs a single duffel for his (hopefully) brief trip.
A soft sleepy moan escapes my lips when I manage to stretch my limbs. I sit up in bed carefully, quickly drawing Max’s attention. Despite looking a bit haggard and worried, he smiles at me almost adoringly.
It’s hard to be mad at him when his words sound so sincere, when his touch is so gentle.
The bed dips with his weight as he takes a seat beside me and I rest my head on his shoulder. A warm smile twitches on my lips when our hands lock, and fingers interlace. Contently, I close my eyes and revel in the feel of his lips pressing a kiss atop my head. I melt with each gesture.
“It’s hard to stay mad at you,” I whisper softly, “you know I’ll miss you.”
His hand squeezes mine just a bit more while he sighs, “I know, baby boy, and I’ll miss you more, so much more.”
I bite my lip as we lapse into silence.
Max reaches out, thumb tracing beneath my bottom lip until I stop gnawing on it.
He leans down to press a gentle kiss on my red swollen lips, carefully sucking on it.
I want to ask him to stay, to not go.
I want to beg.
It’s not in my right though.
Because even though he’s reassured me that we are more, I know well enough we are not.
I slip from his hold and get on my knees before him. He looks down at me, his gaze tender and full of adoration.
For me?
Or for what I’m about to do?
I’m overthinking too much.
Too worried about what’s outside these walls.
I want to forget.
I want to fuck.
I want to remember that I belong to him and he belongs to me.
Only me.
I tug at his pants and undo his belt before dragging the zipper down with my teeth.
His hands delve into the mess of curls on my head as he tugs it back.
I stare back at him, my own hands working at his briefs until his half-mast is exposed.
I lower my face until my lips wrap around the head of his cock quickly hardening under my touch.
“Oseias.”
I suck at the tip before taking in another inch.
Don’t.
Don’t call me by my name.
Not right now.
Not here.
I want to feel safe.
I’m your baby boy.
Call me yours.
“My baby boy,” he coos.
I take him in whole, gagging as his cock reaches the back of my throat. I swallow reflexively, my eyes stinging with tears.
He groans at the feel, “fuck baby.”
I breathe through my nose before moving, bobbing my head up and down the length of his hard cock in the cavern of my mouth.
Saliva and precum spills from my lips as I suck and slurp and nibble.
His fingers grasp at the strands of my hair, and he tugs harder
Yes, make me yours, play with me, be rough, use me.
Please!
He takes control and I’m only too glad to relinquish it all.
He grabs the back of my head and forces me to take him over and over.
More.
Give me more daddy.
“So pretty,” he breathes as he pulls me back and off of his cock.
My throat hurts and I can’t stop the coughs that wrack my body.
He doesn’t ask if I’m ok.
I don’t need his tender loving.
I need his rough hands; I need to be bruised and marked.
I need to be reprimanded.
I need to be reminded of who I belong to.
He pulls me up before shoving me onto the bed.
“Hands and knees baby boy,” he orders.
I obey with a petulant pout, “daddy.”
He rubs his cock in between my ass cheeks. He leans in, his chest pressed to my back, his left hand on my hip and his right intertwining with my own.
“What is it baby?”
“Stop teasing,” I whine breathlessly.
His chuckle is throaty, “if you say so.”
He pulls out the plug and tosses it aside before replacing the small toy with something bigger, so much bigger.
He glides inside inch by torturous inch.
“A toy can never replace me,” he growls, “you are mine; do you understand?”
I hang my head low, eyes screwed shut as I try to adjust to his girth. He gives me no pleasure.
His pace is fast and punishing, the squelch of slick and cum filling the room. Skin slapping against skin.
“Understand?”
A hand comes down on my ass, pink blossoming after the sting of the slap.
“Yes!” I yelp.
“Mine,” he repeats.
“Yours!” I sob, “I’m yours!”
“And I’m yours,” he swears.
He groans.
“Please Max,” I whimper, “please daddy.”
His thick cock nudges against my prostate until I’m crying out his name, back arching and cum dribbling from my fading erection.
He doesn’t stop, not even as my body begins to feel numb and tingly. Each thrust against my prostrate making me whimper in pain.
“Too much,” I sniffle.
He doesn’t stop.
I don’t want him to stop.
Not until he spills inside with a final thrust and a sigh of relief.
We fall onto our sides, his softening cock still buried inside my ass.
Our erratic breathing slowing into soft pants of exertion.
Moments later and he finally catches his breath enough to ask, “Did I hurt you?”
Breathless and a bit out of it, I shake my head weakly.
He nuzzles against my neck, sucking hickies, biting and licking.
He pulls back, admiring his work, the wreck that he’s made of me.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, “you know that baby boy?”
Before I can answer, before my brain can play catch up. He pulls out carefully.
His hands trail over my body, eyes drinking in every detail he’s marked on my skin.
He grabs the toy he carelessly threw away and begins cleaning it with a cloth nearby. I follow his movements with my eyes, parting my thighs when he brings the toy closer.
I close my eyes and moan, my back arching as he gently slips it back inside my fucked out little hole. The glide is smooth with the added cum he’s left behind. He traces the puffy ring tenderly, before bringing the slick to my lips.
I open them and lick at our mingled cum and slick.
“Good boy.”
My cock gives a valiant twitch which causes a full body shudder and dry spell.
“Interesting,” he hums before tidying up.
I watch as he zips up his dress pants. There are stains on them that will be hard to come out and I wonder if he knows about them or if he’s oblivious. He winks at me as he buckles his belt and throws on his suit jacket.
Ah, so he knows.
He tucks in his shirt and fixes the buttons on the collar and sleeves. He also buttons the jacket which hide the stains well enough.
I sit up with a wince and watch as he finishes packing.
Before he zips the duffle bag closed, he digs through it and pulls out a shirt.
“Put this on, baby boy.”
With a nod I do as told and slip on the oversized pastel blue button up to cover up.
I stand from the bed on wobbly legs because it’s now or never.
Max’s arm immediately wraps around my waist as I stumble.
“Sorry,” I mutter in mild embarrassment.
“It’s okay, baby” he assures, a small, pleased smile tugging on his lips.
Max picks up the duffel and we make our way to the living room, toward the main entrance.
I grab onto his arm, reluctant on letting him go.
He doesn’t look happy either.
He’s struggling with an internal battle that I wish I knew of.
On the tips of my toes, I press a kiss to his scruffy jaw.
He leans down to kiss my forehead before kissing me chastely on the lips.
“I’ll be home soon,” he whispers, “I promise, within a few weeks, I’ll be back. I’ll come back to you.”
I nod, swallowing past the inexplicable lump forming in my throat as my eyes get misty.
His hand cups my cheek and his thumb brushes underneath my eye.
“I promise, Oseias,” he assures, strong arms wrapping around me tightly.
Like he’s afraid of letting me go.
We want this moment to last.
Want these seconds to stretch forever.
But he needs to go.
“I’ll call you when I get there,” he promises just as he steps away.
I should not be surprised, that he’s the first to let go.
“Stay safe,” I wish.
He nods and he kisses me one last time, fierce and full of adoration, devotion.
I shiver when his warmth is gone, but I try not to think about it, about him leaving even as I watch his back turn to me.
I don’t want to think about what could happen.
I stand in the doorway wearing nothing else but his shirt, sweat cooling on my skin and cum still running down my thighs.
When he’s gone, when I can’t see the car anymore, I close the door with a light thud. I press my back against the wood and take a deep breath, trying to ease the pain in my chest.
I push off the door and limp toward our bedroom.
I get into bed, and for a moment I pretend like I’m not alone, pretend that Max is still here.
I grab his pillow and bury my face in the plush. I pretend that it’s him. I close my eyes and imagine the rhythmic beating of his heart. The sound that has lulled me to sleep on so many nights. The sound of his heavy breathing and beating heart which keep the nightmares at bay.
I hate feeling like this.
I don’t know what to do, what to think, what to feel.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
I still think about Max, particularly his wife.
There are so many scenarios plaguing my thoughts, each worse than the last.
I hate not knowing.
But I promised.
I trust him.
Maximilian has been nothing but kind, patient, understanding, loving… perfect.
And still… I’m hesitant.
Another deep breath.
And another.
Sleep is hard to find.
Twenty Five
I’m startled awake by the soft ringing emitting from my cell phone. A bit groggy, I reach for it blindly on the nightstand and answer with bleary, half opened, eyes.
“’alo?”
“ Oseias, baby? “
My brows furrow as my mind tries to catch up, “Daddy?”
“ Yes, baby ,“ Max answers, amusement seeping into his voice.
I pull my phone back and blink at the screen, trying to make sense of the numbers to tell the time.
I press it back against my ear, “How was your flight?”
“ Long ,“ he sighs.
I carefully sit up in bed and wipe away a bit of dribble from the corner of my mouth.
“You must be exhausted,” I frown, noticing how worn out he sounds.
“ A little, but hearing your voice makes it all better. “
I can’t help but smile at that.
“ Did you eat yet? “ He asks.
I groan, fuck my lower back is killing me!
“No, not yet. As soon as you left, I guess I fell asleep,” I shrug, still mildly confused as to how long I’ve been out.
“ I’m glad you caught up on some rest. Sorry for wearing you out baby boy, “ he says, not at all sounding apologetic for his actions.
“I’m okay, Max, just a bit sore, but refreshed after that nap,” I assure, a small grin overtaking my features.
“ Go take a shower and then eat, “ he orders.
“Is that an order, daddy?”
“ Be a good boy, Oseias. Or do you want daddy to punish you? “
“Depends,” I snicker.
“ On what exactly? “
“How daddy plans on punishing me,” I tease.
“ You little minx, go. I’ll call you when I get out of my meeting. “
“Meeting?”
Max sighs, “ Yeah, meeting. “
“You just got there,” I state with a worried frown.
Isn’t there a time difference or something?
It’s already dark here if the lack of light filtering through the curtains is anything to go by. Shouldn’t he be resting? Or at home?
“ I’ve put off work a bit too long, baby. I need to fix a few things, make sure the company is running and will continue to run smoothly in my absence. “
“What?”
I’m confused. His absence?
“ I’ll tell you the details later, sweetheart, I’ll call you when I can. And eat something please, take care of yourself.“
“I,” The call ends with a click and I stare at the dark screen, “will.”
With a small frown, I whisper a soft meaningless, “bye.”
I slip out of bed and do as told.
I turn on the water and plug up the tub. I watch as it swirls around, and ripples erupt from the surface as the porcelain fills. I huff in discomfort as I switch my weight from side to side. In resignation I reach back and slowly tug at the plug.
My nose wrinkles as the full feeling disappears. I dip into warm water and moan as my sore muscles slowly relax and give way. Eventually I’ll have to get up and properly wash.
For now, I scrub at my skin and watch the suds slide off.
I can’t help but imagine Max’s hands, his lips, his sinful touch as I trace the marks left on my skin. I bite my lip, breath hitching as my eyes close.
A bit embarrassed I finish up and step out the bathroom, mirror fogged up with steam.
I wrap myself in a fluffy towel and change into an oversized tee (Max’s) and some boxers. Then I wander to the kitchen where I look for something to eat.
My search is for naught when not a moment too soon the doorbell rings.
My brows furrow as I turn and go answer it, forgetting my dignity even exists.
I open the door and stare into empty space.
Just as I’m about to close the door I see it.
A brown paper bag laying innocently on the welcome mat.
Oh?
I reach for it and bring it inside, the promise of food wafting to my nose as I close the door.
I grin dopily as I pull out the food. Impossible whoppers wrapped neatly inside with scattered fries.
I head to the living room with my prize of goods and turn on the TV to scroll through Netflix.
I eat my fill and barely noticed when I fall asleep again.
Max doesn’t call.
Twenty Six
I STARE AT THE CEILING with my hands folded across my stomach and phone laying atop my chest. My legs are crossed at the ankles and I’m cocooned in the warmth of the blanket, yet I feel cold.
There’s something in the pit of my stomach and a little voice in my head that taunts, “I told you so,” like a broken record.
I should have known.
Scratch that, I did know.
I knew all along this would happen, but I chose to ignore it.
I knew there would be no calls or texts.
Nothing but radio silence.
Instead, I chose to cling onto Max and his sweet nothings.
I chose to lose myself in his touch and his soft-spoken words.
I chose this.
I chose to stay and trust.
For what?
For the lingering pain that only manages to grow as the seconds tick by.
I have no one to blame other than myself for the pain in my chest that makes my heart squeeze tight and knocks the wind out of my lungs.
I turn onto my side and barely even flinch when my phone falls onto the wooden floor with a dull thud. My eyes sting and they’re red and swollen, my nose runny and throat aching.
Exhausted and emotionally drained, I curl up and close my eyes, willing myself to fall asleep, if only for a few hours. I just want that bliss of darkness, where I don’t dream, don’t think.
But I can feel the cold empty space behind me, wishing more than anything to have Max’s warmth again.
The length of his body pressed against my back, his hands soft and warm and keeping the cold at bay.
Reality though, is that he is not here.
And this house has never felt so alone, so big.
With a sniffle I finally manage to fall into a light doze.
The kind where darkness is at the brink of embracing me and offering that escape which I desire, but not allowing the reprieve.
A tear or two escape and dampen my pillow without my consent. I’m tired.
I’m so fucking tired but I cannot sleep.
I twist and I toss, and I turn.
The clock is blaring 1:43 AM and I’m still awake.
It’s only then that I hear my phone vibrating.
I don’t move.
My body feels too heavy, and I debate on ignoring it.
It stops.
And I breathe a bit easier, letting my eyes droop closed only to startle when the vibrations pick up again.
Groggily, I reach for it.
Hoping it’ll stop.
“Hel’o?” I answer weakly, slightly annoyed.
“ Oseias? “
A second ticks.
Another.
And finally, “Max?”
“ Oseias…“ For a moment he sounds relieved, until I can hear the concern bleeding through, “Are you okay? “
“I’m fine,” I mumble.
“ … You’ve been crying, “ he states.
“No, I haven’t,” I lie.
Does he really care?
He’s calling, isn’t he?
Only took him three days.
“ Oseias, don’t lie to me please .“
I don’t answer, I deflate as the internal struggle just vanishes. I’m too tired to think.
But my silence is enough for Max to understand.
“ I’m sorry, Oseias. “
My heart suddenly stops at those words, why is he apologizing?
I sit up carefully in bed.
Three days.
Three days of no calls, only to hear, I’m sorry , from his lips now.
Sorry for what?
Is he not coming back?
Was I right?
Is he-
“ I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner, “ he elaborates, “ I’m sorry for making you cry, baby. I’ve been swarmed with work and meetings ever since I arrived. “
I swallow thickly, he’s sorry .
“I miss you,” I sniff.
“ I’m sorry baby boy, I’m so sorry.“
“It-It’s okay,” I manage.
“No, it’s not. I know it’s not. Be honest with me, Oseias.”
I wipe away a stubborn tear, “I simply don’t feel well and it’s almost two in the morning. I just sound tired and exhausted.”
“ I… I’m sorry, I didn’t take account for the time difference, “ and I can hear the frown through his voice.
I can picture the stress lines on his handsome face contorting it and causing him to look older than he probably is.
“It’s okay,” I smile tiredly, “I’m just glad I can finally hear your voice.”
He sighs again.
He’s been doing that a lot.
“Are you okay?” I ask in turn.
“ No, not really. Baby boy, you have no idea how much I miss you. “
“I miss you too,” I whisper, “So much, Max.”
“ I know sweetheart, just a few more weeks. “
Biting my lip, I sigh, “I know you’re busy, just… don’t push yourself. Don’t rush on anything. If you overwork yourself, you might get sick.”
“ I’ll keep that in mind baby, “ he promises, “ If I can’t call you, I’ll text you, okay? I won’t simply disappear like I did these past few days. I promise, and I’ll make it up to you. I won’t hurt you again or worry you. “
“Okay,” I breathe in relief, “Okay, Max.”
“ Sleep, sweetheart. You sound terrible ,“ he says.
“Gee, thanks,” I huff.
His laugh is contagious and before the line disconnects, he calls my name one last time, “ Oseias. “
“Yes?”
“I… nothing, sorry. Goodnight, baby.”
Slightly confused, but feeling lighter than before, I mutter a timid, “Goodnight, daddy.”
This has made me realize that our relationship isn’t perfect.
But Max keeps true to his word.
He texts me every morning.
Calls whenever he can and wishes me goodnight at the end of the day (regardless of the time difference).
We fall into a routine.
And I fall more in love with him.
Twenty Seven
I MOAN.
With a hitch of my breath, I slip another finger inside, fucking myself as best I can until tears sting my eyes with frustration. Feels good. But it’s not enough. I’m sensitive and… and wet . And that’s a whole new other thing I cannot process because I yearn and ache. The tips of my fingers brush against my prostate, back arching at the sensation.
More.
More.
I need more .
My mouth hangs slightly open in a silent moan, toes curling as I approach my orgasm.
“Please,” I whimper to no one in particular.
Please.
I need-
Need more.
Need Max.
My legs tremble with my weight, hips up and thighs spread.
My phone rings but I ignore it.
I’m so close.
I need him, oh fuck, I need him on me, in me.
“Daddy,” I choke out as I answer desperately, grappling for the phone with barely any coordination.
“ Oseias? “ Max asks in concern.
“Fuck, daddy,” I whimper.
Max curses on the other line before taking control, “ what’s wrong baby boy? “
“I can’t,” I moan, “can’t! I want more. Need you, daddy!”
“ I know baby, but daddy’s busy. Have you been a good boy? “
“Yes, fuck, daddy, I’ve been good,” I blabber, “I’ve been so good daddy, just for you. I’m a good boy.”
Max chuckles, and it’s so good to hear his voice. To hear him, picture him.
“ Alright baby, I need you to go to my study, “ he orders.
I whine in protest, but his voice hardens, and firmly says, “ go to my study. Now , baby. “
I obey, and scramble off the bed, fingers slipping out easily as I briefly wipe them on the sheets.
“ Top left drawer, “ Max says.
With trembling hands, I open the drawer aforementioned and find a black box.
“ It’s a present for you baby. “
I take a seat on his chair and plant my feet on the floor, so it doesn’t swivel around with my weight. I place the phone on speaker and on top of his desk before holding the box gingerly in my hands.
“ Open it .“
It’s another open, one I’m too eager to obey.
I open the box with nimble fingers and to my pleasure I find a vibrator. It looks sleek and expensive laying in its box innocently. Biting my lip, I pick it up from its confines. It’s heft in a good way, thick and smooth and curved .
“ Do you like it? “
My heart is racing inside my chest but the hesitation breaks as I slowly push it inside. I’m so wet and stretched, that I don’t even need more lube. The base rests just against my perineum, that thin skin between the scrotum and my stretched entrance. It’s feels good. Big.
But it’s not the same.
For now, it’s enough.
“ Already inside baby? “
“Yes, daddy,” I gasp, breath hitching.
“ Good, turn it on baby, “ he says, a small groan of his own escaping.
The first shock wave nearly sends me over the edge.
A shout of surprise that tapers into a drawn-out filthy moan leaves my lips.
“ Fuck, baby, you sound amazing. “
“Nghh oh fuck, daddy.”
“ Be a good boy and close your eyes. “
I close my eyes, hips rocking, trying to get more friction.
“ Picture it’s me, baby. Imagine my hands on your body, imagine my thick cock inside. Fucking you, slow and hard, just like you like it. Imagine my lips on your skin, my teeth scraping against your shoulder, my breath near your ear. My body rocking beside yours .“
Fuck.
“Daddy,” I cry.
“ That’s it, sweetheart. Fuck yourself on daddy, slowly, just like that. “
My back arches as the vibrator abuses my prostate, until my vision whites out and all I think of is Max. Cum spills from my cock in a warm gush until I’m left panting and shivering.
My hands tremble as I whine in overstimulation.
Stop, too much!
Finally, I manage to shut it off, the trembles still wracking through my body.
“ Shit, baby, “ Max huffs over the line.
“Sorry,” I mumble weakly, mildly concerned for the expensive leather-bound chair I just dirtied.
I’m still trying to catch my breath.
“ It’s okay, daddy’s not mad. Although I do have to punish you baby, “ he says, composure slowly coloring his voice.
“Hm?” I question tiredly, “How come?”
My voice does not sound petulant even if he says otherwise.
“ What if it wasn’t daddy who was calling? What if you answered a stranger with that voice of yours? Begging to be fucked. Only daddy can hear you wrecked, make you a mess. “
“Mmm, yes daddy, only you can fuck me so thoroughly, even miles away,” I nod in agreement.
“ My little minx, “ he sighs in faux exasperation.
“Yours daddy,” I smile.
“ Go clean up, baby. I’ll call you when I’m decent. “
“Okay daddy.”
Twenty Eight
IT STARTS WITH A SENSE of vertigo almost 5 weeks after Max’s departure.
My vision blacks out for a split second when I stand from my perch on the sofa, and it feels as if the world is spinning around me. My heart beats faster and hands become clammy at the odd and sudden sensation. It makes nausea bubble in the pit of my stomach, the feeling causing me to gag.
I stumble toward the closest wall for support, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths to gain my composure. And it takes a few deeper even breaths for the world to stop spinning uncontrollably and the nausea to settle.
Carefully, I trudge toward the kitchen, where I grab some cereal, thinking the lightheadedness was simply from lack of food and the nausea has now receded into the back of my mind.
It hasn’t been the first time I’ve been gripped tightly by the nausea or the dizzying spells. It was a constant reminder of the lack of food I had before meeting Max. This is nothing new.
So, I grab bowl and pour some milk over the little fruity balls of cereal.
And although I finish the Trix, the milk tastes odd on my tongue.
As if it has gone bad.
But I check the date and read it again only to find that the milk is still good. In fact, there are still weeks before it even expires
Something in my chest hurts, my stomach bubbles once more and it revolts . The strong sensation of heartburn sends me rushing toward the sink where everything I just ate just comes right back up. My eyes water as I clutch the edge, retching violently until I’m left flushed, sweaty, and panting. The mere smell of my vomit overwhelms me and forces me to lean over again, body trembling with the force of my puking.
Oh fuck.
I stumble away and try to breathe in.
My throat feels raw from the stomach acid and the effort has left me cold and shivering.
I feel weak and drained, and I don’t want to clean that mess up.
Still, I force my self to slowly approach the sink and turn on the faucet, watching as mushed reds and blues and greens gurgle and bubble before finally going down the drain.
Fuck, I hope it doesn’t get clogged.
I cover my mouth again and force the nausea at bay even as my eyes sting again.
One… two… three…
I grab the nearest cup and fill it with water before gulping it down. The cool liquid soothes the sting in the back of my throat, and then I take the opportunity to rinse even though I know I need to brush my teeth again.
The sound of my phone vibrating against the counter captures my attention. With furrowed brows I reach for it, a small weak smile twitching on my lips when I see it’s from Max.
“Hello?” I rasp tiredly.
“ Hey baby boy,“ A pause, “What’s wrong, Oseias? “
And it must be something in the way I answered that gets him on high alert.
“Nothing,” I cough weakly.
“ Oseias? “
“I’m okay, Max.”
Lie.
I lean against the counter and breath heavily when dark spots swim through my vision again.
“ Oseias? Baby? “
“Sorry, I’m okay. I just need some water.”
He doesn’t sound convinced, in fact, I’m surprised he even called me. He said he needed to attend a meeting around noon.
It’s when I check my phone, that I realize he sent at least five messages and a missed call within the span of thirty minutes.
Ah , must’ve finished early.
“ If you don’t feel well, please tell me ,“ he pleads.
And I can practically hear, see , his concerned pout through the phone.
“I’m fine, don’t worry.”
But despite saying that, reassuring him and myself, it doesn’t get better.
What starts as mild nausea, turns into something constant. The feeling of fatigue follows me regardless of how many hours I sleep or how many naps I take. My body feels sore, and I feel bloated. The lightheadedness nearly topples me every morning when I rush to vomit.
I avoid Max’s ever-growing concern and I try to convince myself that everything is okay. But nearly a week later I make the decision to go to the little clinic down the street where I used to live. I call an uber and give the kind woman my old address before walking the rest of the way.
My back aches and although the urge to throw up has subsided a bit, the dull pain in my lower abdomen makes me walk slower than usual.
“Hello, do you have an appointment or is this a walk-in?” The receptionist asks, not once sparing me a glance as I approach her.
“Walk-in,” I answer breathless.
I sign a few papers before I’m directed to the waiting room where my nerves irrationally spike. My hands get cold and sweaty, my body trembles from the cold AC which is standard in any clinic or hospital. I swallow back my nerves and the urge to vomit. But there’s no relief, not until a nurse calls me in.
She’s young, kind and shows genuine concern.
She asks simple questions I find no difficulty in answering as she takes my temperature.
We move on to my height and weight.
“You’ve gained a few pounds, which is good considering how underweight you were before,” she remarks.
I don’t say anything, too focused on breathing through the nausea.
She then takes my blood pressure, frowning when she notes how high it is.
“It’s not a concern now, but it could have underlying causes that might escalate and make it worse. It could also be what’s causing your symptoms, but… that doesn’t seem quite right. I’ll get the doctor so he can check you over,” she explains gently.
I nod and relax when she goes in search for said doctor.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, tensing when I hear footsteps approach the room within minutes.
“Mr. Lopez!”
I peer at the doctor and give him a weak smile, “hello.”
It’s the same doctor who I participated in the research study for. I like him, he’s nice.
We shake hands and it’s down to business.
He fires the same questions I answered for the nurse as he checks my heart, breathing, blood pressure, and whatnot.
As he flips over what I assume is my medical chart, he pauses. A look crossing over his aged face.
“Have you become sexually active recently?”
Sexually… active?
My face heats up at the question.
But my embarrassment is overshadowed with the fast flutter of my heart at the sudden realization.
“When was the last time you’ve had your cycle?”
“Two… almost three months ago. I was hospitalized after receiving second degree burns. I got my cycle while in the hospital but… it didn’t last as long as it has before,” I explain.
He nods with a thoughtful hum, “That’s probably due to the pain medication and any antibiotics you may have been on. Depending on how strong they are, some medications can intervene with someone’s menstrual cycle. They can make the days of your cycle shorter, stop the flow altogether, or make the flow excessively heavy. It depends how your body handles it, so I’m not too surprised. But your cycle should have slowly regulated itself again by now.”
I gulp, because I know exactly what he’s implying, “couple weeks after… when I was discharged and healed, more or less, I started a more… intimate relationship with my… partner?”
Man, this is mortifying.
The doctor nods, writing it down in my chart, “Did you use any protection?”
“Yes,” I stop, eyes slowly widening in rapidly spreading horror, “ No .“
His gaze flickers up to me in what I can only assume is either concern or sympathy or worse – both .
He simply offers me a reassuring smile before instructing me to lay down. He pokes and probes, focusing on my swollen belly.
I hiss, back arching just so, at a particular press.
After the physical exam is done and over with, the doctor orders for an ultrasound and sleuth of blood work.
“And lastly, a urine sample if you don’t mind.”
And the nervous butterflies are back.
Minutes tick by after I have everything done.
Minutes of silence, of my leg bouncing with nerves and my teeth gnawing at my nails and cuticles.
Finally, a soft knock on the door.
I feel like my head is underwater.
“This is Dr. Garcia, she’s a wonderful obstetrician who partnered with us for the study. She is more than happy to take over your care-”
The rest kind of fades out. My focus is on one word. Obstetrician… that’s… that’s a baby doctor, right?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she grins, her personality bubbly and warm and kind, “I just want to do a quick ultrasound to make sure everything is ok.”
I have my heart in my hand, but I consent, nonetheless. I raise my shirt and unbutton my jeans before laying back down.
She clicks something on the keyboard and then presses a doohickey into my lower belly among some gel she placed.
She hums in concentration, but it isn’t long before a small, pleased smile overtakes her features when she finds what she’s looking for.
She turns the screen toward me.
And my heart stops.
“There, that little blob, is a healthy-looking fetus. I suppose congratulations are in order, Mr. Lopez, you’re about seven weeks pregnant, the surgery was a success!”
Twenty Nine
I SIT CRISSCROSS ON THE BED, staring at the ultrasound picture of my baby. My heart seems to skip a beat as I trace the little outline reverently before I place a hand on my belly.
And I slowly realize that I need to leave. The warmth I feel in my heart is replaced with a cold sense of dread. I love Max, but… does he love me?
He has done so much for me, true, but having a baby… omitting the fact that I could get pregnant, though unintentionally… I just don’t think he’d go as far as to accept me… us .
Me and our baby.
My heart aches at that.
I want more than anything to feel him, see him. I want to hear his voice. I want so much more. More than he might be willing to give.
I stare at my phone and I reach for it.
A pale blue light signals a new text message.
I don’t open it.
I don’t read it.
Because I’m terrified.
I bring my knees to my chest, hugging myself as best I can. I don’t move, the phone now at my feet.
Staring at me accusingly.
Waiting to be answered.
But I’m scared.
So scared and unprepared.
Slowly and carefully, so as not to upset my stomach, I slip out of bed and grab a bag where I stuff some of the clothes Max has bought me to replace the ones I lost. They’re the only things I’m willing to take.
As I fold one of Max’s shirts and stuff it in the bag, I make up my mind.
Within three days I’ll leave.
I’ll get a job again, find a shelter in the meantime.
I’ll disappear before Max gets back.
And leave behind everything.
I’ll survive for my baby.
The creak of the front door captures my attention as soon as it’s swung open.
My brows furrow in confusion.
I slowly approach the living room, hoping it’s not Max as something heavy quickly forms in the pit of my gut at the mere thought.
But it’s not him.
And the relief that it’s not him is quickly replaced by fear.
It’s a man I don’t know, have never even met before.
He’s tall with dirty blond hair, almost a light golden chestnut color. He has an uncanny resemblance to Max that makes my heart skip and although he’s not much older than me, he seems mature, professional .
I stand like a deer caught in headlights, eyes focusing on the keys in his veiny hand, ring spinning around his index finger casually.
His dark eyes land on me and my breath hitches as a shiver runs down my spine. His eyes narrow, mouth curved in a sneer.
“Who’re you?” He demands, door wide opened behind him.
“I… I’m sorry, but I should be the one asking that,” I stammer, forcing a semblance of composure I do not feel, “how did you get the keys to my home?”
“Your home?” He scoffs, “You’re the intruder here. Your name isn’t on the title of this house. As far as I know, this place belongs to Maximilian Doyle and if anything, I should be calling the cops on you.”
My face heats up, hands curling into fists, “And who do you think you are?”
“The name is Ian Doyle ,” he smirks, “Maximilian’s son.”
The color drains from my face within seconds.
Son?
Max has a son?
My eyes grow wide at the revelation as I take a staggering step back. I feel something hot burn inside me, something that clashes with the constant nausea that accompanies me.
I’m frozen in place, breathing harshly until Ian, until Max’s son , grasps my upper arm tightly in his hold.
“Oh wait, I know exactly who you are,” he hisses, voice dropping and filled with venom, “You’re the nobody that ruined my family. You’re the dirt that’s contaminating the air we breathe with your mere presence.”
“No,” I argue feebly, trying and failing to free myself.
Ian drags me through the front door, pushing me outside none too gently.
I barely manage to stop myself from stumbling to the ground, hand covering my belly protectively.
“Do all of us a favor, and just disappear, go back to your fucking country. Stop ruining my father’s life, you home-wrecking slut.”
Tears sting my eyes. Tears that no matter how much I wipe away, keep cascading down my cheeks.
The door is slammed shut and I can hear the lock clicking into place.
I feel near panic.
Bile burning the back of my throat.
I swallow down the sick feeling, sniffling as I turn my back to what I thought was my home.
My heart constricts and my chest hurts because Max lied, he’s lied to me all along.
And it hurts because I was right.
I made the wrong choice in believing in him.
I ’m making the right choice in leaving now.
Even if I walk away with only the clothes on my back, so long as I never have to feel this betrayed again, so long as I can survive for my baby and spare them the heartbreak, I’ll never look back.
Thirty
ALTHOUGH IT’S STILL EARLY in the beginning of Autumn, the days are becoming windy, and the nights only become colder. Without a proper sweater or jacket, I’m left shivering and cold. Sniffling pathetically.
And as the sun sets in the horizon, dipping lower and disappearing behind the rows of trees, the temperature drops with it. A breeze knocks the breath out of me as the gust envelopes me in its phantom touch.
But I’ve gone numb.
I’m exhausted and tired, feet aching from walking around all day.
I don’t know what leads me to this place, but as I stand in the middle of the lot, I trudge toward a bench.
My breath comes in short pants when I finally take a seat, not far from the swings Max and I once occupied on our first date.
My heart aches at the memory, now bitter with the reality.
With a wince, I breathe out. My body hurts and I can’t fight it anymore. I’m so tired.
I lay down on the uncomfortable wooden seat and close my eyes, curling up as best I can to keep as much warmth as possible, hoping the baby and I make it through one more night.
It isn’t long before I fall into a sense of sleep, teeth chattering as my breath comes in short puffs of winter’s breath.
Thirty One
HIS JAW CLENCHES TIGHT as his hands curl into fists.
Another call goes unanswered.
It been a week and he’s gotten nothing.
At first, he did not think anything of it.
“Who are you calling anyway?” Ian asks as he steps inside the office.
With a sigh, Max hangs up.
“It’s a private matter,” he deflects.
Ian doesn’t believe him; he’s probably calling that wh-
Before he can finish that bitter thought, Max asks, “And where have you been?”
“I asked for a few personal days,” the younger Doyle shrugs.
Max huffs at the vague response but doesn’t pry.
For a moment he forgets about Oseias and focuses on work, like the workaholic he is.
But it’s when he’s in the comfort of his apartment that he tries calling him again and again until his phone is nearly dead. His calls go straight to voicemail and all his texts are ignored. Something grasps his heart and constricts it until he can barely think or even breathe through the worry, because this isn’t something his baby boy would do.
Without much fuss he demands to change the date to sign the papers that are holding him back.
And when they’re before him the following week, he signs without hesitation. He can finally breathe in relief as the shackles around him come undone with a flourish of his wrist.
He doesn’t even bother packing afterwards. Doesn’t say a word about his departure to the company either. Trusting Ian to continue running it as smoothly as he had before.
So, he simply grabs everything that’s important, a few documents and the papers that set him free, before catching the next flight to the other side of the country, where his heart belongs.
He has never felt as relieved as he does when the plane lands a few hours later.
And, although exhausted, he practically buzzes with excitement when he sees his home come into view from the backseat of the car his chauffeur drives.
He steps out of the car before James even comes to a complete stop, quickly rushing toward the house.
The sky is dark, streaks of silver light the only thing that guides his way to the entrance. He won’t lie, his heart is racing inside his chest as the lock clicks and gives way. He swings the door open carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible just in case his baby boy is sleeping.
But when he finally reaches their room, his heart stops.
There’s a mess atop their bed, clothes strewn about and half packed into a small duffel bag.
Oseias’s phone lays on the mattress beside the mess, lifeless.
He swallows thickly, calling out his lover’s name and searching for the younger man. But he’s gone.
He’s just gone…
Maximilian tries to look around, to figure out where his lover could have gone.
He wonders what could’ve happened to Oseias, to his lover who was already planning on leaving by the evidence of his half-made bag.
A piece of paper catches his eye, laying innocently underneath the dead phone. He reaches for it and when he flips it over his heart stops.
For a brief moment he feels anger burn through him. He feels confused and betrayed.
That is, until he reads the header and finds Oseias’s name as the patient.
Five-week gestation.
Five weeks pregnant .
The ultrasound was taken nearly two weeks ago by the date printed at the corner.
Max doesn’t know how to feel as he plops on the bed, breathing a bit harshly, head cradled in his hands and elbows on his knees as he tries to think.
His eyes stray to the ultrasound more than once and he knows what he needs to do. He needs to find Oseias, he needs to clear up everything.
He needs to know.
With his heart in his throat, he traces the small figure barely distinguishable among the dark space surrounding it. But it’s there.
It’s right below his lover’s heart.
Thirty Two
I BITE MY LIP, taking a deep breath as I pick up the tray of food.
My stomach grumbles but my throat feels raw with the unrelenting nausea-induced vomiting.
Carefully, I take the food to the table up front, ignoring the pain caused by blisters on the soles of my feet. Exhausted and drained and entirely too uncomfortable at nine weeks pregnant, I plaster a smile on my face. It’s nothing I haven’t done before.
“Anything else?” I ask pleasantly.
They shake their heads and thank me before I’m waved over to another table.
And the cycle repeats.
All day.
Aside from the aches and pains of being on my feet all day, my chest feels… sensitive as it chafes against my shirt. The dark jeans I managed to snag from the shelter nearly 20-something minutes away from the restaurant, are now too snug around my waist as my belly pokes out.
With a grimace I rub my belly soothingly, hating the constant nausea and morning sickness, but loving the little culprit causing my discomfort.
With a deep breath, I try to ignore the wave of dizziness that suddenly hits me. I lean against the wall for support, stopping just for a brief second, just to catch my breath.
Fernando, a busser, approaches me with mild concern.
“Hey,” he calls softly.
I fix my composure and hide the grimace on my face as I ask what’s up, “hey, que paso?”
“Disculpe, tiene mesa tres?”
Do I have table three?
I tilt my head as I look at the tables set up and filled with people.
Of course, I do, and I tell him as such, reassuring him that I’m on my way to tend to the new arrival, “si, ya voy.”
“Gracias,” he thanks me and walks away.
Sluggishly, and thankful my shift is almost over, I tend to my last costumer.
I dig out the paper pad from the pocket of my apron and grab a hold of a pen, “Hello, how are you, can I get you anything?”
“Yes, A coffee, black. No cream or sugar.”
I focus on writing the man’s order down even though it’s so simple I know I’ll remember it. However, I also know that if I look anywhere other than down, I might get dizzy again.
“Would you like anything else?” I mumble, closing my eyes for a few seconds, leaning my hand on the table for support.
I hear the chair scrape against the floor, the man’s hand on my back running up and down soothingly. I don’t think I have the energy to look up at him, to move without toppling over. I breathe harshly, wishing the world would stop spinning around me already.
“Easy,” he whispers, breath tickling my cheek as he guides me to a seat, “Are you okay? You seem pale.”
“Dizzy,” I mutter tiredly.
“Have you eaten?”
I shake my head.
How am I supposed to tell this man that I can’t afford the food sold in the restaurant, that the only thing I can afford is water because it’s technically free .
I hear him talking, but he sounds far away.
My brows furrow in confusion. Through the haziness I can distinguish his voice. It sounds familiar.
I try to open my eyes, but the lights make everything so much worse forcing me to close them shut again.
“Easy,” he repeats, handing me a glass of water.
I take a sip, letting the cool liquid glide down my sore throat.
“Better?”
I nod.
His hands are back, rubbing soothingly over my tensed shoulders.
Slowly I relax and finally look around the restaurant until my eyes land on the man.
“Max,” I breathe, surprised.
“Hm?”
My heart seems to skip a beat and I can’t tear my eyes away from him. Because he’s back…
… he’s here.
I push back the chair, nearly toppling it over as I stand abruptly.
I try to get away from him, but he grabs my wrists.
His hold is tight, gentle.
“We need to talk.”
“Let me go,” I order, voice wavering.
“Oseias,” he says, voice hard and stern.
“Please, Max, let me go.”
Max doesn’t say anything as he leaves some money on the table before dragging me out of the restaurant.
I don’t struggle.
It’s not like I have the strength to fight back.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not angry, hurt, and scared.
We stop around back, in the parking lot of the restaurant by a sleek car.
I’ve seen Max angry.
I’ve seen him focused.
But I’ve never seen him as serious and grave as he is now.
He turns around to face me, reaches out to me.
And before I know it, I’m in his arms.
I’m motionless for a few seconds.
I can’t help but hesitate, because he’s lied to me.
And still, after everything, I wrap my arms around him in a tight hug and sob.
“You’re back,” I whisper, voice feeble as tears rolls down my cheeks.
Max buries his nose in the crook of my neck, humming contently now that we’re together, “I’m back.”
We stay like that for a few moments.
A few moments of warmth and peace.
But all too soon, he takes a step back. And yet his hands don’t leave my body as they rest on my hips, thumbs rubbing gentle circles over my clothed skin.
He kneels down before me, ignoring how his expensive suit will no doubt get ruined by the grit.
My heart stops.
Because he huffs a small laugh, a smile taking over his handsome features, happy crinkles at the corners of his eyes as he kisses my belly reverently.
“You’re pregnant,” he whispers awed.
He peers up at me and I can see tears glistening in his gorgeous blue eyes.
My heart aches, it feels like I’m falling in love all over again.
I trace his cheek, relishing the feel of his stubble tickling my fingertips. Because he’s here.
This is real.
Slightly breathless at the sight before me, of Max rubbing his nose against my belly as he kisses it one more time, I confirm with a whisper, “Yeah, I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a daddy.”
Thirty Three
THE DRIVE BACK HOME is silent and somewhat tense.
There’s something on his mind.
There’s something on mine too.
With a smooth twist of the wheel, Max parks in front of the house and kills the engine.
We don’t talk.
Not right away at least.
There are so many things I want to say, I want to ask. But now I can’t. The words don’t seem to come out. I can’t find them to express what I feel.
“Are you okay?” He finally asks.
I look at him a bit confused until I see his eyes focused on my hand, which rests atop my belly, rubbing gently and soothingly.
“We’re okay,” I confirm, voice soft.
With a soft sigh, he reaches for my chin and brings our lips together in a fervent kiss.
Panting, he says, “we really need to talk.”
My heart clenches at those words.
I almost don’t want to know. I don’t want to know, not if it’ll hurt.
His eyes soften when he sees my stubborn tears rolling down my cheeks again, his thumb gently swiping them away.
I hate this.
I hate feeling so vulnerable.
“It’s okay, sweetheart, deep breaths,” he coaxes.
I turn away from him and look out the window with a sniffle, accusing him, “you lied to me.”
He sighs, “I know you’re hurt and angry. But please, please , let me explain.”
I wait for him to continue, to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Again.
Because I never seem to learn.
Because there are things, I still need to tell him, things I need to clear as well.
“Baby boy,” he calls, “Please look at me.”
Reluctantly, I do as I am told and face him.
He grabs my hand in his, our fingers interlacing together over the consol.
“I was young and stupid,” he begins, eyes hazy as if he were reminiscing, “There were many things I still didn’t know about myself then, that I do now. But out of fear I decided to do what I always knew. Because it was safe. It meant that I wouldn’t make a mistake. But I made many, and now all I hold are their regrets.”
My heart aches at those words as I look at him, look at the man he is today.
I try to picture him as he describes, but I can’t.
“I married my high school sweetheart,” he continues, a small sad smile marring his profile, “I thought I loved her. I tried to believe I did. But deep down I didn’t, and still I was content with what we had. We were both fools, but she played me well. Better even.”
I don’t think I like where this is going.
He continues, “When we were 22, just as I was taking over my father’s business, we had a son. We started a family. I think this is what I regret most.”
I stop breathing.
He… regrets having Ian?
A soft chuckle, “Don’t jump to conclusions baby boy, I don’t regret having a baby. In fact, I was in awe and even happy, but the truth of the matter is that we were slowly falling out of love. What kind of example were we, as parents, setting? What expectation was he going to grow up with? Ian, my son, was and still is someone I cherish and willing to give everything for. But my unhappiness with his mother made me make many mistakes.”
I pull his hand onto my lap before pressing it to my belly. He finally faces me and gives me a warm smile, his hand rubbing at my belly soothingly.
“And my biggest mistake was never being there for him. He grew up with his mother, and I simply spoiled him. I gave him everything he ever wanted to fill the void I left with my absence. I started to realize that I spent more time at the office or travelling for work, than I did at home. I started to realize that I intentionally did so. Because we weren’t happy. I wasn’t happy. Because I did not love her. The space between us seemed to grow bigger and our interactions were limited to constant arguments as she grew bitter. And she wasn’t any different than I. I think she truly resents his existence.”
A tear escapes my eye. Picturing a little boy waiting for an absentee father and mother who what? Barely acknowledged him.
“Max,” I cry, reaching out for him and cradling him against my body as best I can.
He breathes in deeply, allowing this bit of comfort from my warmth.
“She cheated on me. It wouldn’t have hurt as much if she hadn’t cheated with one of my closest friends. That’s what hurt most. Finding them in what was our bed, naked. Fucking. Her betrayal. Her lies. All of it. She was miserable, but she never left. Do you want to know why?”
I nod.
“Because in the end, she was only in it for the money. Deep down I knew. I always knew. I was naive. To be honest, these past few months have been hell. With the discovery of her betrayal, I immediately filed for divorce. I wasn’t going to sustain her vanity while she rolled around in our bedsheets with someone I trusted and helped. But if there’s anything I admire, it’s her stubbornness. She’s fought tooth and nail to garner half of my wealth from the farce of our marriage. But I fought harder, and I still won.”
Even if Max did win, I still feel fury boil in my blood.
How could she be so… so descarada . How could she still be such a bitch ?
“When we met, I was actually trying out the application for the developer, who happens to be a good friend of mine. It was also a way to distract myself while giving my money to someone who actually needed it. You seemed honest. You were incredibly funny and witty, and every day I looked forward to our late-night conversations. Without a word I knew you were struggling; I knew you were hardworking, and I knew you wouldn’t simply take my money without doing something in return. But I also knew you had dignity, you had character and you weren’t selling yourself. You were understanding and kind.”
His soft praises make the tears well up in my eyes again, and I try to wipe my nose as he continues zealously.
“You’re absolutely amazing, and there’s not a day I regret meeting you. Leaving you, for however long I did, was the hardest thing I had to do.”
And it’s then that I catch sight of his hand.
His bare hand.
“But now you’re free,” I whisper.
He smiles, “I’m finally free to be with who I want.”
I can’t help but feel relief now that the ring is gone, now that the chains holding Max back are finally broken.
“Ian, my son, doesn’t know the cause of our divorce yet, and I’m sure my ex-wife will no doubt make it seem like it was my fault. But Ian is an adult now, he can decide for himself what and who he chooses to believe.”
“Ian… He’s hurt by your separation… right?”
“I imagine so,” Max nods, a small frown on his lips, “he’s confused. His mother and I… We weren’t happy, but we never hinted at divorce either. For him it might have seemed like a sudden decision. But the truth is, I took too long in making it.”
That explains a lot.
Why he was suddenly at the doorstep of our home, accusing me of ruining his family.
And I know that despite the happiness Max feels now that he has his freedom back, he’s still in pain. He’s mourning the past and I can’t hold that against him. He lost the person he thought he loved, and he lost a friend he thought he trusted.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he coos, “don’t cry baby boy.”
My laugh is a bit garbled, a bit wet with tears. Embarrassed, I wipe them away as best I can.
“Sorry,” I huff.
He kisses my forehead gently, “I know I might’ve hurt you, but I didn’t lie. You were never a homewrecker; you weren’t my affair. You were my liberation. And I’m genuinely happy with you, Oseias. I’m so incredibly happy to have you in my arms again. To have both of you beside.”
The relief in my heart is palpable. I truly love this man.
Thirty Four
“I’M SORRY,” I HICCUP, sniffling pitifully against the sleeve of my sweater.
Max doesn’t say anything. He simply waits for me to continue, to explain, patiently.
He holds my hand in his and rubs a soothing circle on my palm as my heart races inside my chest.
I take a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment to gather my thoughts.
“I’m so sorry, Max. I’m sorry,” I whisper softly.
The silence grows between us and I’m left cold, shivering.
I feel Max’s hand cup my cheek. Subconsciously, I turn toward him, and I open my eyes slowly as he presses a kiss to my lips.
His lips on mine, they feel like heaven.
I return the gesture, giving everything that I am to our kiss until I can’t breathe.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp, panting softly against Max’s plush parted lips, “Max, I’m sorry. I should have told you. I should’ve told you that I could get pregnant. That I had the surgery in a time of desperation. I don’t want you to think that I omitted this to tie you down. I was stressed with work, with everything. And then the fire happened and I just…. I genuinely forgot. I shouldn’t have, but I did. Max, I’m so sorry. Please.”
With a small sigh he backs off, leaning against his seat as if to think.
My heart leaps to my throat until I feel like I’m choking as I wait in anticipation for him to say something, anything .
“I never once questioned the existence of our baby,” he admits, “I saw the ultrasound and I was confused, hurt. I saw your name and realization suddenly hit me. I don’t know the practicalities, but I’ve seen as technology, science, and medicine have advanced and continue to do so. I’m almost 47, Oseias. I’ve seen the world change and evolve . And still I simply needed to confirm it with you.”
I hold my breath.
“But when I saw you, I couldn’t stop myself,” he chuckles softly, “The relief I felt when you said yes, when you confirmed that you are carrying our baby, it was immense. It never once crossed my mind that you were using me, because I know you and your body. In a short amount of time, I’ve become attuned to you… I’m not angry about the baby, and you don’t have to apologize for their existence. What I am, though, is hurt that you left. You left carrying a secret inside of you with no plans of telling me.”
Shame quickly colors my face as I look down at my lap, “I’m sorry.”
“I know, baby boy,” he says, “Now, will you tell me? Why you left? And why you left absolutely everything behind?”
And I debate on telling him exactly what happened.
About Ian.
But I don’t.
Max loves Ian. After all, Ian is his son. Ian who was simply worried about his father, his family, and just as hurt about everything that was happening.
“I was scared,” I confess, “I was so scared and panicked. I’m still terrified.”
Max takes my hand in his again and presses a warm kiss to my palm, “I’m just as terrified.”
A small laugh escapes between my kiss swollen lips as I sneak a peek at him, “Really?”
“Really,” he nods.
I lean over, ignoring the way the seat belt pulls me back, so I can kiss him again and again.
“Are we okay?” I wonder timidly, nervously.
“Better than,” he assures, his hand slipping over to caress my belly.
“Thank you!” I embrace him tight.
Thirty Five
I BURY MY FACE in the crook of Max’s neck, breathing deeply to try and fight off the nausea.
I feel as his arm tightens around my waist just so, mumbling sleepily under his breath. Biting my lip, I clench my eyes tightly shut, body tensing. But within minutes I have to physically rip myself away from Max and rush to the bathroom where I immediately heave, my hands clenching onto the throne until my knuckles turn white.
Disoriented, I feel warm hands rubbing my back soothingly as I lean over and try to expel the contents in my stomach and a lung.
“Oh fuck,” I groan.
“Deep breathes,” Max whispers.
I feel weak, drained. There was nothing to expel. But I’m still so tired and my throat is still sore. I feel Max press a kiss to my head, feeling a slight frown on his lips.
“You need to eat,” he states.
“No,” I moan, “No, oh god.”
I lean over once more, hating this feeling more than anything.
“Shit, baby boy. You really need to eat.”
I shake my head, but I know he’s right.
I haven’t eaten properly in days, not even after returning home.
He carefully helps me stand. I lean heavily against him, my world suddenly lurching left and tipping over.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he coos as he guides me to the sink.
Max stands behind me, his arms on either side securely, as I brush my teeth.
“Better?” He asks concerned.
I manage a small nod.
He then guides me to our bed, and I gladly slump against the pillows. This fatigue is killing me. Max doesn’t say anything. All I hear are his footsteps getting fainter and fainter until I can barely hear them as he walks down to the kitchen.
I don’t know when, but somehow, I manage to fall asleep.
Perhaps half an hour later, I feel Max gently shaking me awake.
His voice is soft and cajoling.
“Max?” I mutter tiredly.
“Come on, baby boy. Sit up,” he urges.
I sit up slowly and immediately a warm cup is gently placed in my hands.
I look down to discover a cup of steaming tea.
“Ginger tea,” he explains, “It should help with the nausea.”
“Since when do we have tea?” I pout as I bring the cup to my dry lips.
He smiles sheepishly, “since I went to the store.”
I roll my eyes affectionately before taking a sip. I’ve never been one to enjoy tea, mostly because my family rarely ever bought any. The odd taste leaves something to be desired for, but I like the way it soothes my aching throat.
Max, who takes a seat beside me, makes sure I drink as much as I can before removing the cup from my weak grasp. He then reaches for a plate and I immediately turn away.
“Baby,” he sighs, “sweetheart, you need to eat.”
I shake my head, glaring at him accusingly.
“Oseias, I know you feel nauseous and overall shitty. But you need to eat, for you and the baby.”
Reluctantly, I glance at what’s piled on the plate. There are a couple pieces of toast with some strawberry jelly on the side, a protein bar, and a small cup of yogurt.
I scrunch my nose at the sight of the yogurt and immediately give the cup to Max. God, it reminds me of vomit and Miguel’s spit up.
I can see him raise a brow from the corner of my eye, and just to please him, I grab a piece of toast and dip it in the jelly before munch on it contently.
It goes down easy enough and the next bite isn’t so hard to swallow.
“Good?” He asks.
I nod, reaching for the protein bar next.
“Good boy,” Max praises, kissing my forehead.
“How did you know?”
A beautiful pink blush dusts his cheeks, “parents.com said this is good for morning sickness.”
That makes me smile and I make sure to polish my plate.
I can’t help but watch him as he disappears out of sight with the plate and empty cup in his hand.
I’m not going to lie; I feel a whole lot better. I’m still exhausted, but the world isn’t suddenly tilting off its axis anymore and the nausea doesn’t make me run for the hills either.
I pat my belly fondly, a small smile on my lips, “Daddy’s taking good care of us, isn’t he?”
“I’m glad you think so,” Max grins from the doorway, “this really doesn’t compare to what you’re going through and what your body is doing to protect and nourish our baby, but I want to feel useful. I want to be with you every step of the way.”
I feel a small blush creeping onto my cheeks.
“Now, what does my baby boy want to do?”
“Nothing,” I smile, “just cuddle.”
He slips into bed again and I immediately snuggle against him. He runs his fingers through my messy hair, and I sigh in contentment.
I want nothing more than to be in his arms.
But the peace is disrupted when I sit up as I’m struck by a sudden realization, “Shit.”
“What? What is it?”
“It’s Miguel’s birthday!”
Maximilian huffs a small laugh before tugging me down again. I try to wriggle away but he stops me with a kiss.
“Don’t worry, we’ll send him something, now sleep, rest.”
Reluctantly I do, “Okay.”
Thirty Six
I BREATHE A BIT EASIER as I finally relieve myself in the bathroom.
It isn’t until I’m done, that I notice my jeans are tighter and snugger around my belly, making it borderline uncomfortable to wear. With a huff, I wash up and go in search for something looser and accommodating, something more fitting around my thickening waist. I find a pair of sweats that fit just right and snag one of Max’s t-shirts.
It’s when I pass by a mirror that I notice so much more.
I turn to my side and look at my reflection. My belly protrudes more than it did a few weeks ago and I can’t help but smile. I hike up the soft cotton shirt over my belly and place a hand on the gentle curve of my growing belly. My breath hitches at the sight.
I bite my lip when I feel those little nervous flutters from inside again, wondering what that could be.
“Baby’s gotten bigger,” Max notes, leaning against the doorway with a relaxed smile in place.
“Definitely bigger and constantly pressing down on my bladder too,” I complain, but my own smile never wavers.
He approaches us until his hands are on my hips, lips against mine in a slow languid kiss.
“You look beautiful,” he whispers, “happy and healthy.”
My cheeks burn at his soft reverent praises, my heart skipping a beat as he nibbles on my ear.
I wrap my arms around him, my belly pressing against him as our bodies flush together. I’m starting to get aroused simply by his touch, by his caress on my sensitive skin. His fingertips leaving a trail of tingling sensation in their wake.
“Max,” I moan breathily.
That’s when he stops.
It’s as if he were suddenly burned. Every time I want more, I beg and ask, he turns away. His hands leave my body, and he becomes closed off. Despite all his praises, I bite my lip and wonder if it’s because I’m getting bigger. Am I really not attractive anymore?
“We should get going,” he says, clearing his throat with a cough, “Don’t want to be late to see our little one.”
With a small frown I nod, carefully fixing my skewed clothes.
And despite being flustered and a bit frustrated, I notice Max staring. His eyes never once leaving my body.
I try to shy away from his stare, and duck into our bedroom where I search for my shoes.
All the while, I feel those blue eyes follow me.
“You’re wearing my shirt,” Max says, voice growing tight.
I blush and with a small shrug, I explain, “mine are starting to fit snug.”
His footsteps are precise, measured, as he wraps his arms around me from behind, until his hands rest on my baby bump.
“You’re breathtaking,” he whispers.
My body tenses, but I don’t respond. If I’m so handsome, beautiful, and breathtaking, then why won’t he touch me? Why won’t he hold me like I want?
With a small huff I turn away and head outside where James waits with the back door to the car wide open. Max follows behind a bit lost, a bit confused.
He gets in and the door is closed.
The drive is silent and unbearable.
Max’s arm is slung around my waist casually. But I sit facing away from him, hand rubbing soothingly at my belly to calm the flutters until we arrive at the small clinic.
Screw him.
Literally, I want to screw him.
Preferable on our bed, but at this moment anywhere will do.
The car comes to a complete stop and my fantasy shatters.
He opens the door and waits for me to crawl out before we’re heading inside. We don’t even have to wait before a nurse calls my name and leads the way.
“Hello, doll. Welcome back,” Dr. Garcia greets, bright red lips turned up in a warm smile, “how are you and the baby today?”
“Hi,” I smile shyly, “we’re good so far.”
“And is this your-”
“Partner,” I interrupt, “he is uh my partner.”
“Well with a cute daddy like you and a handsome papa like Mr…”
“Doyle,” Max offers, reaching out to shake her hand.
“Like Mr. Doyle,” she smiles politely, “I’m sure this baby will be an adorable little heart breaker.”
I breathe in relief, watching as they interact.
After that, Max doesn’t really say anything. He simply watches curiously as Dr. Garcia takes my weight and blood pressure. Her soft hums the only thing filling the silence as she writes everything in my chart.
“How have you been feeling lately? How’s the nausea and fatigue now that you’re 14 weeks?” She finally asks.
“The nausea is more manageable now,” I confess as I hop onto the examination bed, “but the fatigue is kind of always there.”
“That sounds about right,” she nods.
“I’m also uh, going to the bathroom a lot. It’s almost like a constant urge to pee,” I confess.
“As the baby gets bigger and your uterus expands to accommodate the baby, that’ll be a natural occurrence. Now, I know Mr. Doyle is your partner, but I want to know if you’ll be comfortable with him in the room while I do a quick physical.”
I know exactly what kind of physical it’ll be, and I bite my lip as I contemplate whether I truly want Max there with me or not. I look at him. He doesn’t seem bothered, but I know he would prefer staying by my side.
“He can stay,” I whisper, “If uh, if it’s okay and if he wants to.”
“Of course, I want to,” Max assures, leaning down to kiss the top of my head.
“Alright, sweetie,” she pats reassuringly, “whatever you’re comfortable with.”
I shimmy out of the sweats and place my legs on the cushioned stirrups with my face burning a bright red. My eyes stray to the ceiling as Dr. Garcia does what she needs to do, her gloved hand checking and probing.
“Any bleeding?”
“None,” I breathe.
“Pain?”
“Just a little, more discomfort than anything.”
Max’s hand slips into mine, silently giving me strength.
And while on the uncomfortable topic, there’s something niggling at the back of my mind that I hesitate to speak up about.
She, however, seems to notice, “Is there something else weighing on your mind?”
I squeeze Max’s hand, avoiding Max and the doctor’s curious stares.
“Oseias?” Max prompts, a small, worried crease between his brows.
Reluctantly, I take a deep breath and say what’s been bothering me as I shift to get as comfortable as I can, “I umm… I’ve been feeling… wet , down there.”
“That’s normal. The way the procedure went was to ensure natural conception, so essentially, it’s like a cervix is above your prostate. During pregnancy, your body will produce more estrogen and progesterone which causes the discharge. This discharge is typically to protect you and the baby from any bacteria that may cause an infection and harm either of you,” she explains, “it’s normal to experience this and keep in mind that it might get worse as you get closer to your due date because for you, this will help your cervix dilate and will make it easier to have the baby naturally. That is, if you choose to go through this route as the birth plan.”
“We haven’t really talked about it,” I whisper.
“And that’s okay, you still have time and right now you should focus on yourself and the baby. At this point in your pregnancy the risk of miscarriage has significantly dropped but remember that it’s still slightly higher for you because you’re a man.”
Max seems to take it all in, making a mental note of everything. It isn’t long before I’m allowed to change back and recline against the bed as the ultrasound machine whirs to life.
My eyes are immediately glued to the screen as Dr. Garcia presses the transducer wand against my belly.
My breath is stolen when I see it.
“Is that… is that the baby?” Max asks, voice thick with emotion.
“That’s the baby,” the doctor nods, “and they’re looking really healthy if only a bit small at 14 weeks.”
I feel my throat tighten as tears blur my vision. That’s our baby, wiggling and moving and sucking its thumb.
And then. Thump, thump, thump.
“And that mis amigos, is the baby’s heartbeat. Fast and steady.”
“Wow,” Max says breathlessly, “That’s our baby, Oseias. Look at them, look how they suck their little thumb.”
My soft sniffle draws Max’s attention away from the screen and back to me. And I know he can’t help himself as he leans down and kisses me fervently, with everything he has to give.
“Thank you,” he croaks, “Thank you for carrying our baby, Oseias.”
I wipe away the tears trickling down his cheeks, kissing him just as hard, “Thank you for giving me this gift.”
Thirty Seven
IT’S NEARLY FIVE in the morning, but no matter what I do, I can’t go back to sleep. I turn to my side and look at Max’s sleeping profile. He looks so relaxed and defenseless, and I just can’t help myself from tracing his lips, his breathing soft and even.
I shimmy out of my boxers and slowly crawl over Max’s sleeping form, sitting on his thighs. I wriggle about, feeling how something slick slowly dribbles out of my achingly needy hole.
If I were in the right state of mind, I would probably stop myself. But it’s hard to restrain myself when I ache for him.
I want Max, I need him, like I need air to breathe.
I carefully, sensually, pull down his briefs and immediately drink up the sight of his glorious cock slowly thickening at my gentle teasing.
It isn’t long before I sit atop his cock, satisfying the deep need to be fucked and toyed with.
The simple glide of his delicious cock inside of me is almost enough to cause an orgasm. Cum dribbling from the head of my sensitive cock.
But not yet.
Still not enough to satisfy my want.
Panting softly, I plant my hands on Max’s broad chest before carefully rising and falling, setting a steady rhythm as I ride him.
My eyes close at the feeling, pupils dilated with pleasure, and lips parted as whimpered moans escape.
Max’s name on my tongue, falling like a litany of sensual curses.
I want more.
I whimper when I feel gentle, steady hands on my hips.
“Max,” I gasp, body trembling as his cock brushes against my prostate again.
“ Shit Oseias,“ he groans, not completely awake yet even as he thrusts his hips to meet my rhythm.
“Please,” I choke, “Please, oh fuck.”
It’s then that those beautiful hazy eyes open and look at me.
He’s still dazed and disoriented, but when he realizes what I’m doing, his hands tighten on my hips.
“Oseias!” He grits.
“Max, please,” I beg.
He stops thrusting, his hands on my hips slowing my movements until I can’t continue.
I let out a frustrated groan.
“Oseias. No,” he says firmly.
“Please, Max. I need, I really need you please,” I huff, tears brimming my eyes.
“Oseias,” He carefully flips us over until he’s above me, slowly pulling out.
I whimper at the sudden loss.
The tears finally fall as Max mutters under his breath, cleaning us up as best he can. But I don’t let him touch me. Instead, I scramble from the bed and rush to his study, locking the door behind me.
“Oseias!” Max calls from behind me, “Oseias, open the door.”
I feel disgusting and horny and Max is distant and won’t touch me anymore and, fuck.
I sit on his leather-bound chair, ignoring the way the slick and pre-cum pools on the seat beneath me as I search the drawer.
When I find what I’m looking for, I simply shove the vibrator inside.
“Oseias, please open the door.”
Biting my lip, I try to disguise the gasp that falls from my lips when the first shock travels up my spine, back arching.
“Oseias!”
I’m so lost in my pleasure that I don’t even realize when the door is finally opened. When Max finally manages to barge in.
But he stops mid rush, eyes drawn to my ass, hole stretched around the length of the vibrator.
“Oseias,” Max groans.
“Not enough,” I choke, “not enough, please, please , daddy.”
Max gulps, taking slow hesitant steps toward me.
I won’t lie.
I’m slightly mortified at being caught so desperate, but I put on a show, nonetheless.
Max, however, is having none of it.
He clears his desk before he places me on it, carefully taking out the toy and replacing it with his achingly hard cock.
It’s almost like a wave of relief crashes over me as Max fucks me. He bites and sucks at my neck, leaving bruises and hickies as he thrusts slow and deep.
So, fucking, deep
.
My back arches when I finally reach my orgasm, body tensing.
“Fuck, baby boy.”
We’re both panting messes, foreheads touching as we try to catch our breaths.
I look at him, eyes still glistening with tears, salty stains on my flushed cheeks and hands curling into fists.
“Hey, baby boy,” he coos, “what’s wrong?”
“You find me disgusting, right? ’s why you refuse to touch me anymore, right?”
Max is left speechless before he composes himself, “No. You’re so handsome and-”
“Then why?” I interrupt, “Why do you push me away? Why are you still lying to me when you can’t even touch me?”
“Oseias, stop,” he growls, a single hand holding onto my wrists above my head as I try to escape, “Oseias, listen to me.”
With a petulant pout I wait for him to explain.
“You’re gorgeous and you drive me wild, sweetheart. But I’m terrified of hurting either of you. You’re not supposed to be doing anything strenuous and it’s been hell trying to hold myself back from devouring you,” he confesses.
It’s my turn to feel speechless.
In a small voice I still ask, “really?”
“Yes, baby, really. I’m sorry if I made you feel bad, I just… It’s hard for me to express myself, especially when it comes to you. But you’re beautiful, believe me. You look so happy and fuck, baby. You’re perfect, a healthy pregnancy glow around you that is driving me crazy. It’s hard to keep my hands to myself. But if I let go, if I give in, I’ll hurt you and that’s the last thing I want.”
He lets go of my hands and with a small sniffle I hug him. He’s mindful of my baby bump as he reciprocates.
“I’m sorry I made you cry, sweetheart,” he soothes.
“No,” I shake my head, “I’ve been so emotional and so… so aroused . I know you would never hurt us, not intentionally. And you won’t, you won’t hurt us. We can have sex, so long as we go slow and gentle. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that you were struggling as well. And despite the assurances that it’s okay, we don’t have to have sex if you’re afraid. To be honest, I’m also scared of everything. There’s so much that could go wrong, but every time I feel a little flutter from our baby, everything seems alright.”
I guide his hand to my belly, wishing he could feel what I feel. Wishing he could feel how our baby stretches and moves about.
He laughs a small chuckle, rubbing my belly soothingly, “Don’t apologize, baby boy. You’re the one doing so much more. We can try having more sex, I’ll be gentle. I’m not going to let this happen again. I won’t hurt you again. I promise.”
I bat my lashes, “so can I have birthday sex?”
He rolls his eyes, “your birthday isn’t until Christmas.”
“That’s literally tomorrow,” I huff petulantly
“That’s literally next week,” he snorts.
Thirty Eight
AS A CHILD I SLOWLY lost interest in the meaning of my birthday. Maybe it defines me as a selfish person or maybe I am justified. Who am I to decide?
But ever since I was little my birthday had always been overshadowed by Christmas to the point that I just didn’t view the day as mine.
My birthday is Christmas Eve, but in many Hispanic cultures celebrate Christmas on the 24th and not the typical 25th. It used to be exciting to exclaim my birthday landed on such a day. Lately it had simply become tedious.
“You don’t want to celebrate Christmas?” Max asks.
“No,” I shrug, “just my birthday if that’s ok… if it’s fine with you, maybe… maybe we can even see the kids.”
Max looks at me in surprise, “No, yeah, it is I’m just… yes.”
The subject of my cousins is another touchy topic we have avoided.
I’ve piled excuses as to why I should not or could not see them. At first it was my recovery and the trauma of the fire and then the exposure of my sexuality, but now… now it’s the baby bump I can barely hide at eighteen weeks.
But this is something so good, something I want to share.
This is something I know they will love and be happy about, something truly worth celebrating.
Maybe perhaps this time I can overshadow a capitalist driven holiday.
“Ok,” he says, mostly to himself, “Ok, we can pick them up and set something up. Presents?”
I smile, “of course, they’re still kids, but they’ll open them on actual Christmas.”
“Well duh,” he snorts, “when else will they open it.”
Oh, how naïve, “I want tres leches cake.”
“Anything else?”
I contemplate.
He would give me the world if I asked and I know as such, “Maybe some take out?”
He grins, “and you’re sure about that?”
“Of course,” I scrunch up my nose, “why wouldn’t I be?”
“Don’t complain when you get heartburn again.”
“But it’s so good!”
“I know baby boy, just reminding you of what happened last time.”
“Heartburn means baby has a head full of hair!”
“Baby probably isn’t even developed enough to have hair.”
I gasp and cover the sides of my belly with my hands, “they can hear you!”
“Good,” and he kneels before me to press a kiss to my swollen belly, “that means they can hear how loved they are.”
“Yeah,” I breathe, “they’re really loved.”
His smile is blinding.
Thirty Nine
I TUG AT THE KNITTED JUMPER over my belly and fix the beanie on my head as I make my way to the car where Max is waiting patiently. I open the passenger door and slip inside while rubbing my hands together, “no James?”
“Holiday,” Max grunts as he clicks on his own seatbelt, “I give him a couple days off every holiday, sometimes a couple weeks.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I note.
“No,” Max snorts, “it’s just being an understanding human being, he has a family too and I take that into account. Everyone who works for me receives the same benefits.”
“Screw capitalism,” I grin.
“Screw capitalism,” he agrees.
The drive to the red brick house isn’t too bad from our home. I haven’t been here in months . Maybe over a year. Nostalgia hits too close for comfort.
The sight of the white door being yanked open snaps me from my stupor and before Max can properly park, I’m out of the car.
My arms are opened wide as I take all three of the kids into my arms.
“’eias!”
“Miguel!” I coo.
“Look, look, look!”
It’s hard to divide my attention for three kids, let alone four, but I flicker my gaze and find JJ staring at me like he wants to say something. JJ being my aunt’s only son.
“Come ’ere,” I urge.
It’s enough for him to crack a smile and run into my legs for a hug.
“Happy birthday ’eias,” he mumbles into my sweater.
“Happy Christmas kiddo,” I return.
“Christmas is tomorrow,” he retorts.
“Let’s keep it that way!”
Miguel tugs at my pants and I look down to see him demanding I pick him up. His little fists opening and closing until I comply.
He rests his head on my shoulder, his little feet dangling by my hips.
“Are you… are you pregnant ?” Aless asks.
Her eyes are wide in shock as she stares at the way my sweater curves around my belly.
I look at her sheepishly and wink at her.
“Oh my God!” She yells.
“Duuude,” I groan, “shut up.”
“Sorry,” she apologizes, giggles erupting from her lips, “but… holy crap ’eias!”
“No worries and I know .”
“That’s so weird,” she awes, quickly adding on, “but cool!”
“Look ’eias!”
I can’t continue our conversation when Gabriela grabs my attention next.
I look at the new gaps in her teeth that she shows me proudly.
“The too-f fairy lef me monies for my teef,” she grins.
“You’re so old now,” I laugh.
She looks affronted, “I’m still little!”
I can feel Max’s presence behind me, and I turn around to find him looking at me and the children hesitantly.
“Oseias.”
I turn back and am faced with my uncle. My aunt is still in the doorway and refusing to approach.
Which is fine by me.
Max stands a bit protectively in front of me, hiding the way my belly bulges out.
“Hi,” I greet.
“Happy birthday,” he nods, looking at me from over Max’s shoulder.
“Thank you, um happy holidays.”
Max reaches for something in his pocket then and pulls out an envelope which he hands to my uncle.
“Merry Christmas Mr. Rivas,” Max offers politely.
“Thank you, we uh didn-”
“No,” I interrupt, “don’t worry about it, letting us take the kids is more than enough.”
He nods hesitantly, but he lets us leave without a fuss.
For once I do not have to worry about anyone other than the ones I love.
My birthday is blessed as we get home with loud chatter and baby babble filling the space between us.
Forty
I’M SLIGHTLY DROWSY, still sluggish from the nap I just took as my bare feet hit the cold floor with each step I take.
I quietly approach Max’s study and with a small yawn, without even bothering to actually knock, I push open the broken door.
I find Max standing before the large windowpane, the sun bright and bathing him and the room in a warm golden glow. He looks weary but his eyes are sharp and as cold as the first flakes of snow outside. His hand is clenched into a fist by his side as he talks on the phone. I frown at the sight.
Don’t get me wrong, he looks fucking sexy, but even I can tell that he’s angry… stressed.
I carefully rub the sleep from my eyes as I waddle toward Max, carefully wrapping my arms around the older man from behind with my belly pressing against his back.
At that, Max turns around. His fist loosening hand that warm hand landing on my hip before he hangs up without so much as a goodbye.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, cupping his cheeks in my hands as he sighs.
“Nothing, baby boy. Nothing I can’t take care of,” he assures.
I bite my lip, but I can’t keep the question at the tip of my tongue from escaping, “is it Ian?”
He sighs, briefly closing his eyes in mild exhaustion and exasperation.
I hate seeing him like this, seeing him so hopeless when it comes to his son.
“Max?” I frown.
He looks at me through hooded eyes, hand gently cradling my swollen belly as the baby shifts underneath my skin.
He hums, a small smile temporarily removing the frown from his own lips when he feels a small nudge against his palm.
But the moment ends, “I honestly don’t know what else to do, but I’m tired. I’m so tired of arguing and fighting with him. To be honest, I’ve avoided answering his calls and his questions. But now that I finally gathered the courage to pick up, to try and be honest, I wanted nothing more than to ignore his accusations. He’s stubborn and he’s still angry and filled with hurt. I just don’t know how many lies his mother has told him about me, about us. How many times she’s ruined my image to make herself better, to victimize herself. All I know is that I’m losing my son, and I don’t know how to get him back. I don’t know how to make him understand.”
His shoulders slump in something akin to defeat and I hate that, but I don’t know what else to say to wipe that sad look away from his face.
I can only watch as he and his son fall apart. And it feels like my fault regardless of what really happened.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize.
His eyes shift to mine, they narrow into small slits, “you don’t have to apologize. This isn’t your fault.”
“I know,” I sigh, “I know, but… but it feels like it is.”
“Don’t. You have no reason to feel like that. I am the one who made the mistakes. And I love Ian, he’s my son, but I’m done sacrificing my happiness for someone else. He’s an adult now and I want to be with you, Oseias. You and our baby have become my everything.”
I sniffle a small shy smile on my lips, “You’re my everything too.”
It’s as good as an I love you from him.
Forty One
I’M BREATHING HARSHLY, hiding in the bathroom as I try to calm my racing heart.
I hear crying, it’s muffled as if the source were underwater.
Far away.
My heart stops.
When I look down, I notice that any evidence of pregnancy was simply gone.
But the crying is persistent.
With trembling hands, I unlock the door and twist the knob to get out.
To follow the wails.
My steps echo around me, but they’re too loud in the otherwise quiet house.
Too, too loud.
It’s when I reach the nursery that I finally breathe easier. I quickly pick up the small newborn in my arms, cooing as I wipe away the big tears rolling down chubby cheeks.
I feel my heart constrict inside my chest at the sight. I know exactly who this is, and I never thought I’d ever feel so much love and adoration for someone so tiny and perfect.
“Hey there,” I whisper, “don’t cry, baby.”
The crying slowly turns into small sniffles.
But this small sense of peace is broken by loud thudding.
I look at the opened door, heart suddenly racing.
I slip out of the nursery and follow the sound to the front door.
It’s Max.
I approach him with a small smile, relief at the sight.
And he smiles back.
But it’s different.
He’s different.
The smile is cruel, eyes cold as he suddenly and without warning rips away the baby from my arms.
“M-Max?”
I take a staggering step back.
This isn’t Max.
My breath hitches when I feel callous hands grabbing my arms, holding me back as I try to reach out.
As I try to take back my baby.
I panic.
I can’t see their faces, they’re nothing but blurs.
And still I know I’ve seen them before. I recognize their jackets, those taunting letters printed on the front and back.
I’ve witnessed how they destroy families without a smidge of compassion.
I was there.
“No,” I whisper hoarsely, shaking my head in denial, “Please, no, you can’t.”
Max doesn’t look at me.
His gaze shifts to empty blankets, the baby gone.
Tears blur my vision as my throat becomes sore from screaming, from begging.
I can’t breathe.
NO!
Forty Two
“OSEIAS!”
I struggle to sit up, gasping desperately for breath, and trembling with a cold sweat as I’m startled awake.
Max is beside me, his eyes warm and filled with concern as he rubs my back soothingly.
Tears blur my vision, and I allow them to roll down my dark cheeks inconsolably.
“Sweetheart,” he coos.
I lean against his warmth, sniffling pitifully as I hide my face in his chest, sobbing brokenly.
“It’s okay baby, it was just a nightmare. You’re okay,” he whispers.
I try to catch my breath, listening to his strong steady heartbeat through the white noise of panic.
But I’m still shocked and confused and scared.
I think I’m going to be sick.
I carefully untangle myself from Max and rush to the bathroom where the nausea finally wins the tug-a-war.
Max is there.
He’s rubbing my lower back and murmuring sweet promises until I’m done, until my heart stops pounding inside my ears.
He helps me stand as I struggle with the added weight.
I brush my teeth and quietly follow Max to the kitchen where he silently works on boiling water.
There’s a joke at the tip of my tongue. That one about boiling the hell out of the water. But it’s inappropriate and I realize I cannot pretend I am unaffected by what that was. Whatever that nightmare was. I can’t tell a joke and hope my fears and anxiety continue to stay hidden in the depths I refuse to acknowledge. It’s not just me anymore.
“Here you go.”
I take the cup of tea without question, hints of lavender and chamomile clouding my nose.
I take a sip before looking around our home in suspicion. My heart races when I realize how familiar and accurate the doors and rooms from my nightmare are.
But they’re not the same.
I have to remind myself that they are not the same.
The chair across from my seat scrapes alone the floor and Max lands heavily in it with his own cup of tea.
I don’t talk and neither does he, not until my heart finally calms down.
“Are you okay?” He asks after calm minutes of silence.
I nod mutely, wiping away the remnants of my salty tears.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
And it occurs to me that I’ve never completely opened up to Max before.
That my festering fears are memories from my past suddenly attaching themselves to my present.
I stare at what remains of my lap, free hand rubbing the side of my belly as the baby kicks.
“I hated you when we first met,” I confess.
He snorts and I’m glad he finds it funny.
A small smile twitches on my lips as well before I continue.
“You seemed like one of those rich people who are privileged and like to flaunt their wealth to anyone who will see. I was struggling to survive at the time. And I was so angry that this person suddenly came in and demanded the world at their feet. But the truth is, you weren’t like that. You were kind and respectful and that kind of pissed me off more. I wanted to think that you were presumptuous and a dick. But… You weren’t. You were perfect.”
He reaches over to wipe away a tear on my cheek and I’m so tired of always crying, of feeling like this.
“A white man comes to power and wants to change all the rules. He chooses to increase his own wealth than to care for the people he promised to protect under oath. He is firm in destroying families and willing to watch children suffer in silent fear. I thought you were like that too. And I hate myself for it because I was the one like that man, I was creating assumptions based on the color of your skin and the way you dressed. And I’ve never felt so angry before, so hurt and ashamed by my own thoughts. Because it wasn’t you who tore my family apart.”
“I never wanted to ask,” Max confesses, “but I was curious about your family, about the children you rescued that night of the fire. I wanted to ask why you were so… hesitant and so… tired .”
“My parents and older brother were deported a bit more than a year ago,” I whisper, “we were sleeping when we heard the ruckus, when we heard children crying and parents screaming, begging .”
“Oseias,” he whispers.
“I don’t like to take much of the allowance you give me for myself. I usually send a portion to my parents because they need it more than I do. I love them despite everything. I love my family and watching them getting dragged away from the place they called home it… it’s something I can never forget. Those kids I rescued, those kids you welcomed into our home had to live through the same nightmare I did. They called me and I gave everything for them and their education. I refused for the system to separate them, to take them and place them into stranger’s homes. But I realized that I couldn’t anymore. I was just starting to learn what being an adult was. I was still a kid when I had to drop everything so I could learn to survive, not live.”
Max frowns, carefully standing and bringing me into his arms.
“I made the choice of letting my aunt take them because I couldn’t anymore. And it feels like I’ve failed. But carrying our baby, knowing a little person will depend on me, it scares me. I never want them to feel like I felt, and I never want to feel like I’ve failed them too. But realizing that they’ll be here soon enough and that anything could happen, it terrifies me and leaves me breathless. The past is still haunting me, and I don’t want to lose the baby, I don’t want to lose you.”
Forty Three
A FEW WEEKS LATER finds me in the cozy kitchen of our home, a sense of calm washing over me as I hum softly to myself.
I make some coconut and lime rice with carne guisada for dinner, while Max works in his study, choosing to hold a conference meeting through Zoom.
I turn off the stove, giving the food one last taste test and loving how it turned out.
It reminds me of my mom and there’s a homesickness churning in my gut as I set the food on the plates.
I can’t help but whisper the fond memories of my childhood to my restless baby, huffing with a small laugh as they kick and wriggle about.
It’s when I’m grabbing something to drink that I hear my phone vibrating on the table.
Curiously, I pick up my phone, but don’t answer right away.
It’s an unknown number, but the area code seems familiar.
I finally answer with a befuddled, “Hello?”
There’s not even a greeting as a woman sneers, “ So it’s true, Max really is a fag.“
I gape at the sudden rudeness and homophobic slur directed toward the person I love.
“Who are you and how did you get my number?”
“ I’m Max’s wife ,“ she huffs.
Without hesitation I correct, “Ex-wife, you mean.”
She laughs cruelly, “ You think you’re so special? But the truth is, that you are nothing. Max will get bored of you and toss you aside. He’ll realize what a gold digger you are and come back to me, because he loves me. You’re just a simple pass time. “
“No, he doesn’t,” I grit, “he never loved you and please don’t confuse me with you. From what I know, you were the one who used Max for his money, you were the one who cheated on him with his best friend. You destroyed everything you could’ve had with such an amazing man. And if you think he’ll ever go back to the miserable life he had by your side, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“ You’ve got it all wrong. I would never betray Max. You might’ve seduced Max and stolen him from me, but I’ll make sure you pay for ruining my marriage. I refuse to believe that Max is some faggot, fucking another man. It’s absurd to picture him with a nobody like you, disgusting and pitiful .“
My face turns an angry shade of red, “Do me a favor and delete my number. You’re just bitter because Max is finally happy. You want to destroy his happiness so much that you’re stooping so low. But I won’t let you hurt him, not anymore. You’ve done more than enough and now Max is moving on. He might’ve loved you, but he doesn’t anymore. So, drown in your own self-loathing, but stop ruining Max’s life.”
I’m slightly out of breath when I finally hang up, refusing to let that woman utter another word.
With a frown, I rub my belly. Ignoring the small sharp pain slowly building on my side as the baby kicks relentlessly.
Max appears with a bright grin from around the corner and I immediately feign a smile.
“Are you finished?” I ask.
“Yes, everything went well. Within a few weeks I’ll attend the function for the grand opening of the building.”
“Congrats,” I grin, giving him a hug as best I can.
“What about you? Are you okay? You seem a little pale,” he notes.
“I’m okay,” I lie.
He nods before leading the way to the dining room where the food awaits.
“This smells amazing, baby boy. Looks incredible too.”
And I can’t help but gloat, “Tastes even better.”
Max, like the true gentleman he is, pulls out a chair for me first before he takes the seat across.
We make idle talk as we eat, Max humming in appreciation for the delicious food every once in a while.
I try to keep the facade that everything is okay, choosing not to let our evening be ruined. But it’s hard to hide the wince when the pain returns tenfold.
It’s so bad I’m left breathless for a split second.
“Oseias?”
“I’m sorry, what?” I pant softly, tuning into the conversation again.
“Is something wrong?”
“No,” I breathe, “just a little tired.”
It’s not a complete lie. These past few days I’ve had trouble finding a position to sleep in, the baby constantly pressing against my bladder and kicking nonstop as they wriggle at night to get comfortable.
“Alright, sweetheart,” he relents after some time.
I offer him a thankful smile before standing up and piling the dirty dishes to wash up.
I’m by the sink, the running water masking my small groans of pain when my belly tightens again.
It hurts.
Holy fuck , it hurts.
One of the dripping plates slip from my hold as I grasp the counter for purchase, trying to ride out the wave of agony that crashes over me.
I hear as it breaks and shatters, but I’m too focused on keeping my breathing even and my eyes closed shut. A small, pained groan escapes my dry lips, back arching as I cup my belly, feeling how it tightens with a contraction.
“No,” I whimper, “’s too early.”
“Oseias? Shit, baby. Oseias, what’s wrong?”
I can’t speak.
The words suddenly dry up in my throat as I feel something trickle down my thighs, my sweats staining red.
I look at Max, eyes begging him to help.
I’m breathing harshly when Max’s trembling hands guide us outside to his car, the Bentley rarely used is now covered in fluid and blood.
I cry out when I feel another, another contraction, build up.
“Max,” I choke out.
Max is focused, concentrated on getting us to the hospital even as he takes my hand in his. I squeeze it tightly in time with the pain that seems to be almost constant now. Insistent and breathtaking.
This isn’t like the Braxton Hicks I’ve experienced.
This is worse.
So much worse.
My back arches, desperately trying to relieve the pressure building up as my body tenses.
“It’s too early,” I whimper brokenly, it’s too early for our baby.
I’m only 29 weeks into my pregnancy, barely into my third trimester.
Tears glisten in my eyes at the thought, at the thought that my baby won’t make it.
“’s too early,” I sob.
“I know baby boy, but it’ll be okay. We’re almost there.”
I’m taken in immediately and I can’t help but cry as Max is forced to wait outside.
It’s like one of my worst nightmares coming to life.
It hurts.
It hurts!
Please, my baby.
Someone, please save my baby.
Forty Four
IT FEELS LIKE I’M UNDERWATER.
Everything sounds distant and muffled.
I hear the drag of a chair scrape against the floor as Max sits beside the small hospital bed I occupy. I can just picture him with his head in his hands and heart in his throat full of worry.
I know he hates this. He hates seeing me get hurt over and over again. I know.
I sigh softly when his hand suddenly rests atop of my bare baby bump, my darker skin warm and tingly under his fingertips. I know he yearns to feel the baby’s kicks, to feel how our baby stretches and turns. I want to feel too. I want nothing more than to feel our baby wriggle about.
But the baby hasn’t moved at all.
The only thing reassuring him (reassuring me) that our baby is alive , is the feel of a heart monitor strapped around my belly.
The door creaks open gently.
I hear light footsteps approach the foot of the bed before the cooling balm of Dr. Garcia’s voice greets with a subdued, “Mr. Doyle?”
Her voice is no longer bubbly, and it doesn’t contain the excitement she showed on our first appointment.
It’s soft and grave.
And I have so many questions on the tip of my tongue, but I’m so tired.
I don’t want to wake up.
I want our baby to be okay.
The kind woman sighs, “Mr. Lopez suffered what is known as a partial placental abruption. It’s when the placenta detaches from the womb. It’s a complication that varies in severity. A complete abruption can result in an emergency cesarean because it would mean the baby would not be getting oxygen, food, nutrients, or anything to sustain them. At this stage of Oseias’s pregnancy, it would be hard to keep the fetus alive outside the womb. The baby is still developing, still growing and dependent on the mother, in this case, father. Unfortunately, these things can’t always be detected, and the cause is sometimes unknown. But stress, on both him and baby, is a big factor. Being exposed to overwhelming emotions of anger or fear can lead to complications that may go undetected.”
Stress.
I knew I shouldn’t have let that call get to me, but… but I just couldn’t control, couldn’t stop, the raw anger and emotion I felt toward that descarada .
“But they’re okay, right? What does Oseias suffering a partial abruption mean?” Max asks, voice desperate.
“It means the placenta didn’t completely detach and the baby is still getting what they need to survive, to grow, and develop,” Dr. Garcia explains, “and although this is already a complication in itself, an abruption can cause other problems related solely to the fetus and the development, so please keep this in mind. Luckily, the baby’s heart was not in distress. You won’t feel them move about as much after experiencing something so traumatic and stressful, though. And that’s normal.”
My heart aches.
And I feel a tear slip down my cheek and soak the pillow beneath my head.
I can’t help but remember when Max would tell our baby silly stories, his hand on my belly and enjoying the little kicks fluttering under my skin as I snorted in laughter.
Now our baby is scared.
How did it go so wrong?
“Mr. Doyle, I’m not going to lie. Not to you and not to Oseias. If the baby had shown signs of distress, we would’ve needed an emergency cesarean scheduled immediately. I know Oseias wouldn’t have wanted that, not since deciding the birthing plan. But it would’ve been the safer route, or we would risk losing both. Right now, both Oseias and baby are safe. However, there is a risk of the abruption becoming worse. It could certainly go from a partial to a complete abruption. This will make everything worse and harder for Oseias’s body. It could be dangerous for the baby as you may now know. When Oseias wakes up, which should be soon, you both need to discuss this. You need to make a decision.”
The mere thought of… of losing our baby.
I feel so guilty.
I can’t help but think, this is all my fault .
“As a professional,” he begins, “What would you recommend?”
“Oseias is a strong person. In my honest opinion, I would suggest trying and waiting until his body goes into natural labor. He can make it to full term and have a healthy baby, only if he follows our instructions. He needs to be calm, and will no doubt be placed on bed rest for the remainder of his pregnancy, as strenuous and harsh movements may make the abruption worse. It’s the only thing we can do for now, to ensure that the baby will be born and survive outside utero.”
Max mumbles a weak thanks to the obstetrician.
I feel the press of his lips in a kiss to my warm forehead, “Please wake up soon, baby boy. You’ll both pull through, so please Oseias.”
With some difficulty, and with a heavy pain in my heart, my eyes slowly flutter open.
I squint against the dim light of the private hospital room and choke out a pathetic, “I’m sorry, Maximilian.”
Forty Five
MAX CAREFULLY GUIDES ME INSIDE our home, his hand on my lower back as he ushers me toward a loveseat.
I cautiously lower myself with ease, a small grunt of effort on my lips when I try to get comfortable.
A fluffy pillow is soon slipped behind my lower back and I moan as the pressure is relieved with the added cushion. Max’s lips curve into a pleased smile, but there’s a constant fear and look of concern in his eyes.
I hate it.
“We’re okay,” I rasp tiredly, “we’re home.”
He nods mutely before kneeling in front of me, his hand on my swollen belly.
He’s been doing that a lot lately. But he always breathes a small sigh of disappointment when he doesn’t feel our baby move.
It’s a feeling I can relate to. It’s a feeling I don’t quite like.
I want to feel our baby move, I want them to stretch and kick and… and just be born healthy.
With a frown, I run my hand through his messy hair.
He really needs a haircut.
He needs to trim his beard too.
“What’s wrong?” I ask softly.
We haven’t spoken since the hospital.
He hasn’t asked why I apologized after waking up nearly a week ago. He simply pecked my cheek and told me to rest, to sleep. Nothing was my fault.
But I know something is bothering him, something is gnawing at him.
He looks more tired and weary. Stress mars his face with worry. He looks way older than he really is.
With a deep breath, he slips his hand under the stretched fabric of my tee. His touch is warm and soothing as he rubs soft little circles and traces ticklish patterns on the taut skin of my belly.
“I was angry when you apologized in the hospital,” he begins, “I’m still angry. You have nothing to apologize for. You’rewonderful. You’re doing so much to take care of our baby as they grow inside you. You’re amazing and you don’t have to deal with a bigoted person who feels superior to everyone else. Oseias, I know about the call.”
My breath catches and I turn away from his piercing gaze.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were finally happy,” I whisper, “your hard work was finally coming to fruition and you no longer had this grief and sadness around you. You smiled more, you laughed more. I loved seeing how your eyes would crinkle at the corner, how you would grin so brightly I would literally stop breathing at the sight. I didn’t want her to continue hurting you, to continue ruining your happiness.”
“My happiness, Oseias, is you. She’s my past, but you are my present. You and our baby are my future. There’s nothing she could’ve said then that would have ruined my happiness when I was by your side,” he assures, “So please, don’t stress about her. She’s nothing now and she shouldn’t be worth our time. I’m free to be with who I want. And I want to be with you, both of you.”
Tears glisten in my eyes with each word of adoration that escapes his lips as they press against mine. They’re warm and soft, his tongue slipping inside my mouth. His gaze softens and turns into something tender.
“Max,” I whimper breathily.
He pulls away, his breathing just as harsh as mine, “Sorry, baby boy. I shouldn’t get carried away.”
I nod, feeling my racing heart calm.
And then, timidly, I try to wriggle away with a bright flush on my cheeks as he tries to lift my shirt.
“Oseias?”
“No, Max,” I protest.
“Don’t move,” he orders, eyes sharp.
My breath hitches when I do as told and watch as he carefully does as he pleases. My baby bump slowly revealed within moments.
“Max,” I whine, cheeks burning in embarrassment.
I try to hide, to cover up again.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Max asks.
I feel stupid when I whisper, “I’m ugly.”
Max’s plump lips form a small “o” shape at that before he huffs a small chuckle, “baby boy, you’re absolutely gorgeous.”
I roll my eyes, “not anymore.”
“And why is that?”
Ever since I started showing more and more, as I got bigger and the baby grew, I’ve hidden from Max’s eyes. I craved sex, but my insecurities won over. And the rare times I couldn’t hold back after hitting five months, I’ve always worn a shirt to hide.
“Stretch marks and I’m fat now!”
“Oh? My baby boy is feeling insecure because of stretch marks?”
I nod, “don’t you dare laugh, this is your fault.”
“I’m not laughing,” Max assures.
He ignores my small complaints as he lifts my shirt again and presses kiss after kiss on the stretch marks decorating my belly.
“Max,” I mumble.
“You’re beautiful, Oseias. Don’t ever think otherwise. Be proud of these marks, be proud of yourself and your body because you’re doing something amazing.”
Forty Six
I STRUGGLE TO REACH for my phone when it goes off on the stand beside the bed. With a small painful grunt, I finally feel my fingertips wrap around it.
I stare at the number briefly and I feel my heart pound inside my chest with a small pang of regret. But without hesitating, I answer.
My voice is small, boyish, when I answer, “ Hola mamí. “
It’s like I’m five years old again when I hear her voice after so long.
My mom has always been a force to be reckoned with. She’s always been just on the side of angry. Her attitude has always demanded respect. But since being deported that fire has been subdued.
She never got angry when I refused to stay on the phone for more than two minutes at a time these past few months. She was understanding, she figured I was working hard to make money to send over. And at some point, I struggled to work for them, for me.
But ever since meeting Max, the roles have reversed.
She has been the one avoiding my calls, my texts.
I know why.
On some level I understand, but it doesn’t make it right and it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
I tune back into the conversation, clearly, she’s ignoring the elephant in the room.
She sounds worried.
“ Estoy bien ,“ I interrupt with a whisper. And then…
Then I feel a tear roll down my cheek. I never thought of the anguish I’ve caused her this past year. I haven’t talked to her about anything, barely even said hello. I look at my belly and I know, no matter how old this tyke gets, when they start living the life that they choose I would at least want to hear their voice. Even if it’s just to say hello and goodbye.
But I haven’t given my mom that privilege.
And I feel like shit because, what kind of a son am I?
“ Perdón ,“ I apologize ashamed, “I’m sorry mamí .”
She laughs and although it breaks a bit, it’s her loud and boisterous laugh that I remember so well. That, as a kid, used to hurt my ears.
I swallow my chuckle, hiding my own laughter behind my hand to muffle the sound.
Max steps into the room, then.
A confused look on his face when he spots me on the phone.
He’s done everything to protect me, to protect us.
He’s blocked any and every number that could possibly relate to his ex-wife from my phone. Not to mention the giant argument I know he got into when he chose to call her himself.
“Who is it?” He mouths curiously.
I pat the space beside me on the bed for him to join us.
He takes a seat and rests his head on my chest as he curls up by my side. He’s mindful of the sensitivity plaguing my swollen chest as his hand cups my belly, the baby giving a weak kick in response.
I sober up then.
The reminder of our baby, of what I would feel in her place.
“ Perdón por no llamarle más seguido ,“ I say softly, I’m so sorry for not reaching you more, for not trying harder.
But my apologies will never bring back the moments I could’ve spent with her on the phone. The advice I could have received, and the love we could’ve shared as the family we are.
She says it’s okay.
That she knows I’ve been struggling lately.
But she just wanted to hear my voice.
I wonder why.
“ Un sueño, “ she says as a vague explanation, voice conspiratorially.
I feel a shiver run up my spine.
Un sueño? A dream. We all dream. We all have nightmares. This wasn’t a dream though, this was a premonition if she’s willingly bringing it up. Because when my mom “dreams”, they simply tend to come true. It’s this tight feeling in her chest when it comes to her children and the ones she loves that warns her of danger. As if something, as if her heart, is reaching out to her about something that could potentially hurt her family.
But she says that I’ll be okay.
That I sound happy, healthy.
And before hanging up, she says we’ll see each other soon.
I want to.
I want to see her, my dad, my brothers, everyone, so badly. I want to see everyone and laugh and cry and hug.
“Your mom?” Max asks as I stare at my phone, the screen now dark.
“Yes,” I answer, “She wanted to hear my voice, it’s been a long time since we’ve talked.”
“You miss her,” he states.
I nod, “I miss everyone, but I have a family here now.”
“Is that why you’ve been avoiding them? Because of me? Because our baby?”
I want to negate that.
It’s not that I’m ashamed of Max or our baby. Our small little family.
It’s just… “I’m scared.”
He frowns, “Why? Why would you be scared?”
“No matter how open-minded people have become, how accepting of this wonderful community we share a part in are… there are still people that hate us for who we are and who we love. My parents… my family are not as accepting. My mom would disown me in an instant, and I know she knows. But the words have not left my mouth, so she has not said or done anything. To her, ignorance is bliss.
My dad might stand up for me, because he loves me regardless. But she will never truly accept me. She doesn’t mind other people being gay or lesbian or bisexual or anything else. But when that ‘disease’ touches her family, it’s a whole other thing. Right now, I’m more scared for our baby. I don’t want them to hate them, they’re innocent and not even here yet. I don’t want them to view our baby as something… something bad .“
“Our baby isn’t bad. They’re our baby, they’re something amazing and beautiful. They’re our most precious good . And I know it’ll be hard, but it’s okay if they don’t accept us right away. They love you. I’m sure of it. If they don’t accept you for you, or our baby, then it’ll be okay. I may not be perfect and I’m certainly not a replacement for so many people you care for, but I’m your family too. And I’ll always be with you, so long as you want me to.”
“Of course, I want you to. I want to be with you. You are my choice. I love you,” I smile.
He grins, “good, because I wanted to show you something.”
I raise a brow when he disappears to his study to retrieve a few papers.
He’s nervous as he hands them to me.
And my breath catches.
“I never wanted to place my name beside Audrey’s when we bought our home in CA. It was more than enough sealing our marriage. I guess it’s because I always knew we wouldn’t last. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of taking my home away from me when it would be over. But after our nasty divorce, regardless of winning, I ended up selling the house. I didn’t need it and didn’t want those memories anymore to be frank. But with you, you’re a new story in my life. A completely new book I want to continue reading. You’re honest, funny, and kind. You’re not fake and you don’t pretend to be something you’re not. I trust you; I care for you. And this house, this place, is as much yours as it is mine. This is our home.”
“Oh,” I breathe, “you want me to… to sign?”
“Only if you want,” Max nods.
And he’s doing that nervous little shuffle with his feet, a quirk I picked up on when we first started living together.
And it hits me.
He literally wants this place to be ours. With my name beside his.
“This is a small simple house, but we’ve turned it into something ours,” he shrugs.
I sign my name a bit hesitantly. This is big, especially after all Max has been through.
But there’s a certainty in his gaze.
And my hesitation disappears as I finish with a small flourish.
It almost feels surreal to actually own something, to have my name next to Max’s on the deed to the house.
“Thank you,” I smile, “Thank you for trusting me.”
Max rolls his eyes, “of course I trust you.”
He pecks my temple before putting away the papers and coming back to bed, to our little nest of comfort.
“I really love you, Max.”
And he doesn’t need to say anything to know that he loves me too.
Forty Seven
A SENSE OF RELIEF AND HAPPINESS marks the day I finally hit 33 weeks into pregnancy. Just a bit over eight months now. But as happy as I am, I also face new challenges.
It’s harder to get up from bed when the baby is a constant reminder that they’re getting bigger. It’s a constant pressure on my bladder that makes me waddle with Max’s support to the bathroom. I can’t even go properly anymore and it’s embarrassing when Max has to help with that too. But I wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world if it means that our baby is safe and healthy.
And they are.
They’re almost here and it’s exciting and nerve-wracking and I want them in my arms.
The fear of losing this baby is replaced with the looming fear of parenthood. A challenge I am more than prepared to face with Max by my side.
“I shouldn’t be going,” the older man huffs as he struggles with his tie.
I roll my eyes as I watch from my perch on the loveseat, hand on my belly and telling him reassurances, “we’ll be fine, Max.”
He throws the expensive silk tie in frustration and with a bit of difficulty, I stand up and waddle toward him.
His hands land on my hips as I take the tie and wrap it around the collar of the unbuttoned dress shirt slipped over his broad shoulders.
“You should be resting,” he says.
“And I am, I’m not doing anything strenuous. The doctor said I could move about as long as I don’t stress,” I remind, quoting Dr. Garcia who reassured us only a few days ago that everything was going as smoothly as possible.
“Still,” he pouts.
I smile, loving his concern but knowing he can’t be cooped up in our home. Especially not today.
“You need to go,” I insist gently.
“That doesn’t mean I want to go,” he argues, plopping onto a vacant seat.
I step up before him and continue to fix his tie into place. Now, at eye level with my belly, he presses a soft kiss to it.
He wears a ridiculous grin when he feels a small weak nudge against his lips.
“Baby’s hand,” I smile.
“Is it now?” He hums in amazement.
“Mmhm.”
And despite our little moment of happiness, I can’t help but catch his concerned sigh, “I really don’t want to go, to leave you alone.”
“I know, but I’m technically not alone,” I shrug, patting the side of my belly briefly.
“You know what I mean, baby boy. What if you go into labor?”
And it’s a serious concern.
Just because we’ve made it this far doesn’t mean we’re out of the woods yet.
“We’ll be okay,” I promise, “I won’t stress, and I won’t do anything strenuous. We’ll do what we’ve been doing. Our baby is happy right now and they don’t seem to want to come out right now or any time soon.”
“Bu-”
“Don’t jinx it,” I interrupt, a finger on his lips, “I want you to go, this is important. For you and the company. You need to go, Max.”
“I wish you could come with me,” he mumbles.
“I wish I could too,” I agree, “But even if I could, I wouldn’t. You know that.”
“If it’s because of-”
“It’s exactly because of that, so please Max. This is a big moment for you and I’m so proud of you… and so is Ian. He’s going to be there, and I think… I think both of you need to talk.”
He’s hesitant. His lips are downcast. And I know he knows because he rests his face on his palm, elbow on the arm of the loveseat, with a look of contemplation.
I carefully lower myself beside him and snuggle as best I can.
“I know you’re worried about us,” I continue softly, encouragingly, “but I want you to go to the function. It’s the opening of your new company and the success of the merger.”
He needs to get out of the house. He needs to talk to Ian and spend time with his son, regardless of what he’s said or what has happened between them. They’re still family and Max still loves Ian.
“Go,” I urge, “we’ll be home, safe.”
He nods, still unsure but agreeing either way.
“I’ll be home as soon as I can,” he promises.
“I know,” I smile, “We’ll be here waiting for you.”
He breathes deeply as he wraps his arm around me, his lips warm against my forehead.
“I’ll be home soon.”
Forty Eight
WITH MAX GONE I find myself with nothing to do. I’m still on bed rest so there’s only so much I can do.
A soft sigh escapes my lips when I turn on the TV and curl up on the loveseat, bundled in a warm fluffy blanket and surrounded by throw-pillows.
It doesn’t take long for my eyes to feel heavy and a yawn to fall from my lips as I flicker between shows on Netflix. There’snothing to watch. There’s nothing to do. I swear I’ve seen all of it.
I reach for the remote and turn off the TV, deciding to go to bed earlier than usual. Maybe this time I’ll finally find a comfortable position for me and our little stubborn baby.
I’m just about to heave myself up from the couch when I hear a knock on the door. Confused I look at the time. It’s only been an hour since Max left. It can’t be him and even if he was back for whatever reason, he has the key.
I think I’m so tired I’m starting to hear things.
Until of course, I hear it again.
I reach for a hoodie Max bought me a few days ago that, is not only comfortable and warm, but also manages to hide my pregnancy quite a bit. I’m bigger and slower now, but I make do.
Sluggishly, I waddle to the door and on the fourth impatient knock, I twist the doorknob and yank it open.
And my heart stops as my breathing hitches.
I can’t force myself to greet the people at the door, I can’t force myself to move, not until they talk.
“Mr. Lopez?”
I nod numbly, carefully moving aside to let them in.
What else can I do?
Resist arrest?
I do, however, feel panic set in.
Somehow, the baby’s sluggish movement is enough to help ground myself. I take a deep breath and follow the officials inside my home, the door closing behind me with finality.
I’ve sealed my fate, haven’t I?
And I learn a couple things with this visit. Each realization making something sick twist in my stomach, but I don’t stress. I promised Max.
I remind myself that I didn’t do anything wrong. I need to remind myself that I shouldn’t stress.
But I know that look.
In their eyes, I’m already condemned. I’ve already done something wrong.
“Mr. Lopez, we have reason to suspect that you’ve renounced any right you may have had as a citizen,” the female office begins.
“What?” I question, voice growing higher in my confused panic.
I was born here; I can’t just lose my citizenship.
But then the man takes over in a hard cold voice with little sympathy and he says, “We have evidence that you applied and signed for a foreign citizenship, thus renouncing your right to be here.”
“But I didn’t,” I argue.
The woman shares a look with her partner before her gaze softens. But as kind as she tries to deliver the blow, nothing prepares me for the moment she retrieves the papers.
She hands them over and it’s hard to read them when my hands tremble uncontrollably and tears blur my sight.
But it’s there.
That’s my signature.
On a piece of paper that I have never seen in my life before.
My signature is in dull blue ink and unmistakably screaming my renunciation of my rights as a citizen.
“You are now under our custody as an alien immigrant,” she states.
“I didn’t sign this,” I whisper feebly, this isn’t right.
I never signed anything pertaining to… to this mess.
I didn’t!
“Mr. Lopez,” the man calls, eyes narrowing, “you have also been accused of the abduction of three children at the beginning of last year.”
And my blood boils, “they are my family! I had a right to take them in when you took away their parents! They called me terrified and in tears!”
“The right thing to do would have been to let social workers take their case and then appropriately determine whether you were capable of taking care of them.”
“They would’ve been separated,” I whisper, “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I took care of them properly. I took them in as the family we are.”
“But you didn’t have the resources to adequately provide for them.”
“But they called me, asked me to pick them up. I didn’t force them; I gave them choices. I didn’t kidnap or abduct them,” I defend, “or whatever the hell you wanna call it.”
“ Kidnapping , even with good intentions, is still kidnapping. They are underage and cannot make proper decisions and you were not fit to have them in your custody as a provider. Now please don’t make this harder than it has to be for you. You will be judged accordingly for all your transgressions.“
I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
I need to remind myself not to stress.
I can’t and won’t hurt my baby anymore.
Even if the ones doing the kidnapping here are them.
When my eyes flutter open, I nod and let the kinder officer lead the way out my home.
I’m slower at walking, it’s difficult when I need to stop to breathe properly.
And it’s then they notice.
“You’re pregnant?” She questions.
I nod tiredly, “yes.”
The man looks disgusted before continuing to their vehicle.
The woman, on the other hand, matches my pace and takes my arm to give me support as I trudge to the back of the van.
Bold yellow letters stating exactly who they are.
ICE.
“Thank you,” I huff weakly.
And it’s just before I step inside the car that I see her.
It’s a woman looking our way, a small, pleased smirk on her self-satisfied face.
Oh … that looks familiar.
Without hesitating, I know who she is.
Audrey -fucking-Doyle .
Forty Nine
“I DON’T LIKE HIM,” Ian states firmly when he finally gets Maximilian alone, “he could literally be your son. How could you leave mom for… for a faggot ?”
Max grits his teeth and clenches his hand into a fist, “don’t you dare insult Oseias.”
“Or what? I just don’t understand why you would ever be like this, why you would let a slut ruin our family.”
Max slams his fist against the wall in rage, “Don’t you dare insult Oseias again, Ian! I’m telling you now. This family was already falling apart long before I ever met him. Why can’t you see that I don’t love Audrey, that I wasn’t happy with her?”
“But you’re happy with a home wrecking wetback Mex-”
And Max sees red.
He has never raised his hand against his son. He has never yelled or screamed at him. But that is enough disrespect.
To a certain degree he understands Ian is pissed, but that doesn’t excuse the insults and the racial slurs directed at his lover.
And as he grabs his son by the collar of his shirt, he still sees the defiance burning in his eyes.
And Max can’t.
He’s so frustrated.
He’s so angry at Ian.
It hurts to breathe, to swallow past the lump in his throat. He feels weak and stupid in front of Ian. Pathetic.
But it’s hard.
It’s hard when he can’t continue to look at the man before him, at the man his son has become.
And he’s tired.
“Sometimes,” he whispers, voice hoarse, “I question whether you’re really my son.”
And for Ian, it’s like a punch in the stomach as he looks at his father in surprise.
“I really wonder, Ian… and it hurts more than anything to know that regardless of whether I am or am not, I still failed as the father I could have been. The father I should have been to you.”
Ian is speechless, but when he finds his voice it’s weak and confused, “what do you mean?”
“I never cheated on your mother, Ian. I don’t know what she’s told you and I frankly do not care. Whether you chose to believe me or her, it’s up to you. You are an adult now and I am tired of pretending everything was and is okay. Because it’s not, it never was, and it never will be. Not unless I tell you now.”
Ian, despite his reluctance, listens to his father with his heart in his throat.
“The reason I pushed for a divorce after years of enduring a loveless marriage, of putting up with your mother, was because I caught her cheating. She was the one who was in our bed with another man. A man who I helped and considered a friend. I was the one betrayed and I don’t know for how long she has been deceitful. I don’t know, Ian… I don’t know if you’re really my son. But even if you’re not, I still and will always love you, that will never change.”
The younger Doyle sucks in a sharp breath at the admission.
He wants to deny his father’s words as truth. He wants to continue believing his mother was right, that Max is really at fault. It was just easier to believe that. But Max has never lied to him, has never given him reason to mistrust him.
“I couldn’t stay beside that woman anymore,” Max continues, “And at the time of such a low blow, I found Oseias. And he was funny and understanding. I found relief with him. I found something I thought I would never experience. I love him,” he confesses, “I love him more than anything. And you… you still have a place in my heart, Ian, because I watched you grow up. Deep down I know you turned into a fine young man, but your mother is like poison. I’m sorry I never had the courage to speak to you and I know it might be too late. I know you might never believe me, and that’s okay. I can’t force you to do anything you do not want.”
Maximilian pulls his son into a gentle hug, “I’m really tired of arguing with you. I finally found my happiness, Ian, and I hope you find yours too. To be honest, I rather be oblivious to the truth of my paternity to you. No matter what, I will always be your father. Whether you accept Oseias or not, that’s up to you. If you ever need me, you know where to look, right?”
Ian has never felt more confused or hurt before.
He watches as the older man he’s admired as his father, as a role model, walks away. And he can’t breathe.
His hands shake as he pulls out his cell phone.
He needs to know the truth.
But deep down… he already knows.
There’s no need to call when he already knows.
Fifty
A/N: When I first wrote this story back in 2016, I tried to figure out the logistics of deporting a U.S. citizen and came to the conclusion you are reading now. It’s unfortunate that today, in 2025, someone could simply be walking on the street and be targeted/kidnapped by ICE due to blatant racism. To all my fellow U.S. readers, stay safe and stand strong.
▪︎■▪︎■▪︎
I WAIT AND WAIT for Max to pick up, staring at the clock overhead and reading 11:13 pm. I know he must be preparing for a closing speech, but I need to tell him. I need to hear his voice, his reassurances.
And when he finally answers I breathe a rushed breath of relief at the sound of his voice.
“ Hello ?“
“Max,” I struggle.
“ Oseias? Sweetheart, what’s wrong? “ And there’s the immediate panic in his voice that twists my heart.
And everything spills in a single breath, tears stinging my eyes as I tell him where I am.
He does exactly what I expect him to, his voice soothing and reassuring, “I t’s
okay baby
boy, deep breaths and don’t stress. I’ll get my
lawyer and
we’ll figure this out. “
But I shake my head, “Max, this could take weeks… months.”
And as hard as it is to do, I tell him my plan, “I’m going to ask to leave… to self-deport.”
“ You’re going to let them deport you? But you didn’t sign anything
, someone
forged your signature! For fuck’s sake, you’re pregnant Oseias, you shouldn’t even be up and about at this stage .“
“Don’t you think I don’t know that? Because I do! I know , Max, but I don’t have months . I want to be selfish, I don’t want to lose my baby,” I sniffle, “Please, I don’t want to have our baby while I’m locked up awaiting a trial to figure this mess out. I don’t… I don’t want to have our baby and only hold them for a few minutes so they can be taken away from me. I know you’ll protect them, and I know you’ll be a good father to them, but I want to be selfish. I want to hold our baby for longer than five minutes. Please, Max, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but please understand.”
My voice grows weak and it’s harder to speak as I beg. I want to be with Max, I want to raise this baby with him but… but the thought of not holding them, of missing the first few weeks of our baby’s life… I don’t want that.
“ Oseias, sweetheart, listen to me. Breathe baby, you have to breathe. In and out.“
Through the panic of my suffocating tears, I listen to his voice and take a deep breath to calm down.
“ That’s it, good boy ,“ he praises softly.
Any background noise that might have surrounded Max before, is suddenly gone. And it’s just him and me, our breathing harsh and desperate to hear one another.
“ I won’t ask you to give up our baby, not like that because you’re right. I’ll get the custody while they figure this out, but you’ll be locked away. And that’s assuming they won’t ‘lose’ our baby in the system. I refuse to let that happen, to let them rip the baby away from your arms. We talked about this, before. It won’t happen. I’ll contact my lawyer and push for them to do as you say. And I swear, Oseias, the moment we prove your innocence I’ll look for you. I’ll find you and bring you home, I promise you.“
I’m a blubbering mess with tears and snot staining my face as I whisper, “I love you Max. Thank you.”
For once I wish he could say it back.
Fifty One
THE FIRST THING I NOTICE is the unbearable wave of heat that suddenly brushes against my sensitive skin when I step off the plane.
It’s ridiculously hot and hard to breathe in, the air thick and heavy with the humidity. I can practically see the heat rise off of the pavement in waves of hazy blurry colors. A sheen of sweat covers my body in minutes of standing dazed among the crowd of people weaving in and out.
It takes far longer to register that this is really happening, that I’m thousands of miles away from Max, from our home.
My heart constricts at the painful thought.
I wipe away the tears that suddenly roll down my flushed cheeks with the back of my hand.
There’s already a vast contrast between the riddling heat of Central America compared to the cool beginnings of Spring in North America.
Struggling, I grab a small bag filled with clothes and essentials before waddling to the entrance where I see someone familiar, someone I thought I’d never see any time soon.
And if this is the only good thing to come out of this mess, at least it’s something.
“Oseias!” He calls, his arms wrapping around me in an instant.
And I’m surprised at the familial gesture. He’s never been one for hugs and kind words.
But regardless, I return the hug just as tight, “I missed you.”
He laughs, voice thick with an accent as he says, “we missed you too.”
And just before I pull back, the baby decides to give a hard kick. Baby kicks hard enough for my older brother to feel the little nudge against his own stomach.
And he pulls away in surprise, eyes wide as he finally notices my rounded belly.
“What the…” he trails off.
And a bit shy, scared really, I pat my belly, “I’m pregnant.”
“But you’re… you’re a guy, Oso,” he gawks, “and you never said… what?”
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, I was scared.”
“Shit,” he curses, “ y quien es? Que maldito te sedujo -“
I stop his accusatory and offensive words directed at Max as he asks who the hell knocked up his little brother, “he’s not a bad man.”
He stares at me and raises a brow.
“He’s not, he loves me, and he has taken care of me and the baby.”
“He’s not bad,” he scoffs, “ pero permitió que te deportaran. “
“I allowed myself to be deported,” I explain, “me, not Max… el no tiene la culpa. “
He’s not at fault for my current situation. I chose to be deported, not him, never him.
“How did this even happen?”
“The baby or the deportation?”
“I’m not stupid Oso, I know the science behind it and although I do not approve of it, it’s not like I can stop you from making stupid decisions. Clearly,” he snorts, “but yes, como diablos did you get deported? You’re a citizen.”
“It’s a long story and I’m… I’m tired. Also apparently, I’m not anymore. Not that they needed much “proof” to deport me. Things are… crazy now for lack of a better word.“
He nods in understanding, carefully leading me away from the disgusted stares of the few people who have started to notice my belly.
And I try to hide behind him, to hide away from the stares and chismes. Stupid gossip.
My brother takes my bag and slings it over his shoulder, and I can’t help but notice that he’s put on muscle and lost some weight.
“How far along are you?” He asks casually.
“About 35 weeks,” I shrug, “almost 36.”
“Shit, you’re about to pop!” he exclaims in shock.
My cheeks tint red as I nod, “yeah.”
“Sorry, it’s just… you’re actually pregnant .”
“I know,” I whisper, a small smile on my lips.
“And you love him,” he notes, “Max or whatever his name is.”
I look up, tilting my head in wonder
“The baby’s dad,” he adds, “you love him, don’t you? I mean, you’re having his baby, so I thought… you know.”
“Well…. You heard about the clinical trials I guess, but it’s still all so relatively new. Honestly, I had the procedure done a few months after you were deported. I was desperate and the trial paid well enough to cover rent after I was fired” I confess, “but it was before I met, Max.”
“Max, right.”
“His name is Maximilian Doyle,” I mumble, “and the baby wasn’t expected to be honest, but I don’t regret it, I don’t regret anything.”
“So, you do love him.”
I nod, trying to mask my embarrassment with a cough, “I love him, and he treats me right. I know he loves us.”
“Then why are you here again?”
I roll my eyes again with the same questions.
The hour-long drive from point A to point B is awkward and tense, even as I fill the silence with everything that’s happened in the past few months.
I tell him everything and he clenches his hand around the steering wheel.
“You should have stayed,” he says.
I look down at my belly with a small frown.
“What opportunity do you think that baby will have here? I know it would have been hard if they had taken the baby from you, Oseias, but you should’ve thought about the baby’s well-being first and foremost.”
“I-I know, but-”
“If this Max person is as you say he is, he would’ve done everything for you and the baby. What guarantees that he’ll keep his word now that you’re here?”
“I trust him,” I frown, gripping the seatbelt, “he’ll fix everything and come find us.”
“And until then what? Oseias, you won’t get proper medical care here. And after what happened? Shit Oseias, you could’ve lost that baby from a placental abruption! The hospitals aren’t the best here, our medicine isn’t as advanced, what if they don’t even know what to do! What if something goes wrong ?”
“I can give birth to this baby naturally, it’s the plan Max and I agreed on-”
“And you would’ve still gotten better medical attention in the States! What if they turn you away because it’s taboo for a man to carry and have a baby! You know how they are.”
“No, I don’t,” I hiss, breathing harshly, “I was seven the last time I came here, it’s been nearly 14 years! I don’t know anyone here aside from you, mom, and dad! I only know about our extended family here because we had occasional phone calls but that was only on birthdays and holidays! So, no, I don’t know anyone or anything here!”
“Oseias-”
“I’m fucking terrified! I don’t want to be here, it’s hot and I’m scared because I know they’ll all look at me and ridicule me and damn me for loving this baby, for loving Max.”
“Oseias, you need to breathe,” my brother says, his eyes glancing at me every few seconds.
“Don’t tell me to breathe when it feels like I’m suffocating! I’m scared and I want to go home! This isn’t my home!”
And he pulls over the side of the terribly paved road, parking the car and stepping out of the driver’s seat in seconds.
In an instant he’s by my side, yanking the door open and telling me to take a deep breath as he digs for a cool bottle of water in the back.
“Easy, now,” he soothes, dark skinned hand brushing away my hair from my sweat slick forehead.
And I can’t stop the waterworks, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scream, it’s just… I’m scared and overwhelmed.”
“It’s okay, Oso. It’s okay, just breathe,” he assures.
I nod, leaning back against the seat and taking deep breaths, eyes closing against the bright sunlight.
“Better?”
I nod weakly.
“I know you’re scared,” he whispers gently, “Honestly, in your shoes I’d be just as terrified, but you’re so strong and amazing, Oseias. I know you’ll pull through and don’t worry about anything.”
“You know mom and dad won’t want me there when they find out, I won’t have anywhere to go,” I sniffle.
“Who says we’re going to Chalate?” He grins.
I look at him with wide red rimmed eyes, “where are we going?”
“We’re going to Ojos de Agua. The house grandma stole from mom is now officially under my name.”
“But doesn’t she… doesn’t grandma live there?” I ask, knowing that our grandma is worse than our mother when it comes to… to this.
“She does,” he nods, “but it’s my house now, and I chose who can live with me. You’re my baby brother and you need a home. We’re family regardless of who you love. I love you, Oseias. You and this baby need a roof and food, and I’m more than happy to provide for you until this so-called Max comes for you.”
I hug him as best I can and with a bright smile, he places his hand on my belly as the baby kicks, “Shit that’s so weird.”
Fifty Two
THE HEAT IS REPLACED with looks of revulsion, so I tend to hide in the room my older brother has assigned as mine.
My mom knows I’m around.
Everyone does.
But nobody comes. Part of me wonders if it’s because my brother warned them to stay away. I’m positive that they all know about the baby. Just as I’m sure they’re all disgusted. I don’t want to dwell on that though. It’s what I expected anyway.
So, I confine myself to bed rest as the doctor suggested weeks ago.
The bed is small and a bit springy, but it’s better than sleeping on the floor. The nausea is back and the food tastes different, is different, but I eat when I can.
I spend the days making a small cot with soft blankets and pillows for my little unborn baby beside my bed.
My brother brings some baby clothes which only seems to fuel my nesting. He fulfills any cravings I might get as well, but it’s hard when the mercado (the market) is so far away. I always feel bad when he goes at odd hours of the night, asking to borrow our uncle’s truck to go into the nearest town for snacks.
But I’m thankful.
After days of self-confinement, I waddle out the room and head to the kitchen, knowing that at this time our grandmother should be gone.
I rummage through the fridge where I find a small bowl of green mangos and my mouth instantly waters.
I peel a few and cover them in hot sauce, alguashte, and a pinch of salt.
And just as I’m about to retreat to my room, my heart stops for a brief moment as my body tenses.
“ Solo para eso eres bueno ,“ my grandmother huffs with a disapproving shake of her head, that’s all you’re good for.
I look up and am surprised to find my mother with the woman who calls herself my grandma. It’s a shock after their falling out, but I guess this country is only so big for the both of them. I wonder, did she ever grovel for forgiveness? Or did my mom have no other choice? Which one swallowed their pride? Or did they come to truce with no actual resolution to a grudge held as old as time?
Regardless, my mom doesn’t say anything. Her eyes darken as she simply stares at me. It seems like she’s finally accepting the truth in the rumors that seem to burn like wildfire through town.
My cheeks burn in shame and I’m suddenly not hungry anymore.
“ Perdón ,“ I apologize softly, “ ya me iba. “
I was just leaving, I assure before shuffling out of the kitchen, intent on hiding in my room. The bowl of sour fruit long forgotten on the countertop.
For the rest of the day, I lay in bed feeling unmotivated and unproductive.
I can hear them talking in the small living area of the house. I hear their laughter and it occurs to me that so much has changed in a year.
I look at my belly as I curl up on my side.
I miss Max.
And as much as I’d like to wallow in my self-pity and grief, I’m forced to get up almost an hour later to go to the bathroom.
I struggle to get up and peer out before hurrying toward the bathroom.
But I’m not even halfway there when I need to stop to take a deep breath.
A sharp pain stabs my side so abruptly that it leaves me gasping for air.
The pain is worse than Braxton Hicks, stronger even.
“Fuck,” I whimper, eyes watering as another pain builds up and tightens my insides right after.
I bite my lip, breathing harshly, but I can’t hide my cries as my back arches and my knees threaten to buckle.
“Oseias?”
I look up at my older brother, sweaty from the unbearable heat and humidity that seems to be a constant here.
He’s back from work and I’ve never been more grateful as I reach out to him, “hurts.”
He guides me back to my room in concern, but I tell him to stop, eyes widening in horror when I feel something wet drenching my sweatpants.
I’m not ready.
Baby’s not ready.
We still need two more weeks.
“Shit, is-is it time?” My brother asks, voice wavering as he stares at the growing patch of wetness on my pants.
I moan in agony as I’m struck by another contraction, barely managing a weak nod against his shoulder.
“Okay,” he says, “okay, let’s get you to bed.”
And I’m laying down again, body covered in sweat and trembling with effort minutes later.
I bite down on a pillow to muffle my cries and whimpers as I labor. But it hurts, it hurts!
I’m hot and exhausted and I can’t.
I shimmy out of my soiled sweats, breath hitching when I see blood.
“It’s okay,” my brother reassures, voice weak and faint, “you’ll be okay.”
But hours later, I’m ready to give in.
I’m tired and sore.
I just want to close my eyes.
“Oseias!”
“It hurts,” I moan weakly, “hurts a lot.”
I can see how shaken my brother is now. He’s pale and nauseated, hands shaking.
Is this how he was when my niece was born? In any other situation I would have made fun of him.
As it is, he may be the only one who can help me through this.
I bury my face in the pillow, voice hoarse from sobbing.
And I can’t help the strain as I’m hit with a contraction right on top of another.
They’re getting closer.
Stronger.
Worse .
“I can’t,” I whimper.
“Yes, you can,” he states firmly, hand squeezing my knee gently.
“It hurts,” I gasp.
“I know, Oseias. But just think of how close you are to holding your baby,” he encourages.
And the urge to push becomes unbearable as the viscous fluid dribbling from my gaping entrance thickens.
I can’t hold back anymore.
I heave a deep breath as I push until my face turns red and I can’t breathe anymore.
“Fuck, Oseias you need to breathe,” my brother instructions.
And as much as we’re both uncomfortable with the situation, he peers under the thin sheet protecting my lower half from view to see any progress.
But he backs off looking paler than usual.
The urge to push builds up again and I give in to it, desperate to find relief.
And that’s when the door opens.
My mother has a bowl of water, scissors, and string in her hand. My grandmother carries a bundle of mantas, blankets, and towels.
The older matriarch says something, but I can’t hear through my cries of agony.
It’s all too much.
It’s overwhelming.
“Oseias, stop!”
I shake my head, I can’t stop. I need to push; fuck I need to-
“If you don’t stop, you’ll hurt yourself and the baby,” my brother translates, voice firm.
He’s in control again, carefully helping me sit up as he dabs away the sweat on my forehead with a wet rag.
“It hurts,” I cry tiredly.
“I know. I know it does, but it’ll be over soon.”
Soon turns into nightfall and right into sunrise again.
The sun is bright, and it hurts my eyes.
Everyone is tired, utterly exhausted.
“Uno mas,” my mom says, hands on my knees to make sure I don’t close them again.
But I’m too tired to push anymore, to fight with the pain, “no.”
“Oseias,” she glares, voice softening, “ ya casi, por favor. Uno mas. “
Her words are encouraging, just one more push, I’m almost there, just one more.
It’s a mantra I repeat in my head as my lips move wordlessly.
I lick my lips before my back arches as I push with everything I have left, and it feels 10 times worse when soft warm hands carefully guide the baby out of my womb with a gentle press atop my swollen belly.
But I finally feel the relief I’ve been craving.
And I’m oddly empty.
My body is incredibly sore, completely battered.
I’m still in pain.
But nothing compares to the moment I hear my baby’s first cry.
It’s sharp and slightly angry, almost like a little gurgle of rage.
And I can’t stop from following the little body tinged in blood with my gaze, breathing harshly as tears blur my vision.
These are tears of pain and pure happiness.
They’re perfect and so, so tiny.
That’s my little baby.
God, the baby I’ve been carrying around and loving and protecting, they’re finally here and my arms ache to hold them.
I wish Max were here.
I wish he could see how perfect our little baby is, how absolutely beautiful they are as they wave their little fists in the air as they’re cleaned up.
“Congratulations,” my brother whispers softly, voice filled with awe as he reveals, “you gave birth to an adorable and slightly angry little boy.”
Fifty Three
AFTER PASSING THE PLACENTA, I beg to hold my baby boy with arms outstretched and aching.
“ Por favor ,“ I plead hoarsely, “please.”
And I know something is wrong the moment my mom hands me the tiny little white bundle of blankets.
But I choose to ignore it as my heart clenches tight with so much love, it’s almost hard to breathe through the intense emotion. And I can’t help but place my pinky in his little hand, watching in rapt amazement as he wraps his tiny fingers around mine and holds it tight. My breath hitches at the sight.
“Hi there,” I whisper reverently, “Hi there my little sweetheart, my little troublemaker.”
He’s curled up in a little ball shivering and trembling, not swaddled tight enough as he kicks and stretches free. It’s hard to believe that this little being was inside of me. It’s hard to believe that he’s finally here in my arms.
But time seems to stop when the blankets slip off from his peddling feet.
He starts crying at the sudden cold despite how humid it is, and I can’t stop from staring at his little legs.
My heart constricting at the sight.
I look up at my mom with tears in my eyes.
She looks sympathetic, ready to comfort me.
But it’s my grandmother’s words that kill me, “ eso es castigo de dios. “
And I’m angry at her insensitive words, that this is a punishment from God.
What God? Damnit!
I turn to my brother, voice shaking and cracking with anger, “tell her to leave, please.”
But she doesn’t budge.
She stares at my baby and I hate it! I hate how she looks at us in contempt.
“Tell her to go! Now. “
My brother nods, ushering our grandmother out despite her protests. My mother is ready to follow after them, but before leaving she stops by the bed and kisses my forehead.
I try to brush it off.
She probably thinks the same as her. She probably thinks it’s also a punishment from God.
I cradle my baby closer, holding him tighter in my arms as to protect him from the world and its cruel reality.
“ Después de todo que me conto Theo, “ my mom says kindly, “y o sé que él es un guerrero y tienes que creerlo también. “
She leaves after that, her steps a soft echo through the silence broken by my harsh breathing.
She’s right. After everything I’ve had to live through and faced even while carrying this baby, my son is a warrior regardless of any disabilities. And I believe it, I believe her.
We will pull through.
“Our grandmother’s wrong, you know that right?” Theo carefully approaches.
Deep down I know he’s right, but the tears roll down my cheeks regardless, “I know that. It just hurts to know that I failed. He’s only a few minutes old and I already failed him.”
“You didn’t fail him, it happens,” he comforts, “it might’ve been a result from the complications you faced during pregnancy, but there’s nothing that could’ve been done, and you know that. You did everything right, but things happen. And your baby, he’s as our mom said. He’s a warrior. A little fighter.”
I nod, “He is. He’s my little fighter and I love him anyway.”
I lean down and kiss the little stump that should be his left foot. This is just a milestone that we’ll get through.
“I love you baby,” I coo softly to my little boy.
He simply blinks up lazily at me with big dark blue eyes before sticking his hand in his mouth and suckling.
Timid, but refusing to let my baby go hungry, I carefully guide him to my swollen nipple. It feels weird and it takes a while for him to properly latch on, but once he gets going, he doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied.
My brother muffles a small laugh before taking a seat beside us, “so, what’re you going to name him?”
“Morgan,” I smile, loving the way his hand curls into a loose fist against my bare chest, “his name is Morgan Doyle-Lopez.”
And he’s so beautiful.
He’s mine.
Epilogue
I CROUCH DOWN WITH A SMALL PROUD GRIN on my face as I guide Morgan to stand. I let go of his chubby little hands and he balances, swaying back and forth and completely unsteady. But he tries his best. He’s still unused to the prosthetic my brother bought for him as a gift the moment he started lifting himself up after crawling.
Theo hasn’t told me where he got the money from. Frankly, I do not wish to know either. It’s more than enough that I know how expensive my baby’s prosthetic is. I still remember how hopeless I felt when I found out I could never afford it.
So, I’m thankful.
So very thankful for everything he’s done, and I appreciate him.
Because my baby’s gurgles of pure happiness mean everything to me.
His eyes are blown wide in wonderment and confusion at his own little feet, moving his little shoe covered prosthetic back and forth. His awe is precious, and his giggles are my everything.
“ Ven aqui ,“ I call, “come here.”
Morgan peers at me with wide cerulean eyes. His hair is thin, slick, and a light golden brown that has been blown messy by the wind. His pale cheeks are rosy from the heat and he’s covered in a sheen of sweat and dirt from playing outside.
He looks so much like Max that it hurts.
I love my little boy, my precious good.
“Dada!” He squeals in delight.
“Yes, baby boy, soy yo,” I smile.
“Da!”
He’s unsteady and wobbly as he rushes toward me, but as soon as he’s within arm’s reach, I pick him up in a single swooping motion and sit him upon my hip.
His giggles fill my heart with warmth.
His wide gummy smile, which reveals two pearly milk teeth poking from the bottom, makes me forget the sadness I carry.
“Dada,” he squeals, “dadadada!”
“I love you, baby,” I smile, nuzzling his hair, “I love you so much.”
He shoves his hand in his mouth, leaning his head on my chest as he suckles, and I’m reminded of the first moment I held him.
“I love you, baby,” I coo softly, making my way back to the house.
Ten months.
I’ve watched my baby grow up and learn and play and live and enjoy.
I’ve held him through rough nights, I’ve kissed all his booboos and have loved him since the moment I knew he existed.
I fell in love with him all over again when I first held him in my arms.
Ten months without Max.
Ten months with just each other and the speculation of a culture that does not understand.
I’m not mad.
Though I miss Max’s voice, his touch, his laugh, I know he’s doing everything he can to get us home.
Twelve to seventeen-and-a-half months. That’s how long it takes to gain citizenship in the U.S.
And maybe it’s the guilt for my selfish actions that I have refused to reach out to Max, or maybe it’s the stubbornness that I rather see Max in person again that makes me avoid even looking at the progress of my case.
It doesn’t matter.
I have something precious to occupy my time with. I have someone who depends on me.
I pause at the sound of my name carried through a light breeze. My body tenses as I recognize the voice.
I don’t move, I don’t turn around.
“Oseias.”
Because if I turn around and it’s simply a figment of my imagination I may break.
“Dada,” Morgan whispers against my neck, turning around and looking behind me.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
I count to ten.
At three I hear the footsteps approach.
At five I feel a warm hand land on my hip.
At six I hear Morgan’s delighted giggle.
At eight I turn around.
And he smells good, he smells like home.
Our home.
At ten I press my lips against his, his beard scratchy and prickly against my chin but it’s good.
He’s so good.
Finally, we break apart, his smile blinding in the sun.
And he picks up the pieces and puts me back together.
“I’m sorry it took my so long to get to you,” he whispers, throat clicking.
I shake my head, I knew what would happen the moment I signed to be self-deported. It wasn’t his fault. I tell him as much but there guilt riddled in his gaze. Our foreheads press together and in soft spoken Spanish he says, “Te amo, Oseias.”
These are the words I’ve yearned to hear, “I love you.”
And it’s then that Morgan demands our attention. I peer down at him and allow the man before us to look at the little one in my arms.
With a smile of relief and adoration I tell Morgan, “baby, meet your other daddy.”
The squeal that escapes Morgan can only be described as wind-chimes of delight. The chuckle that escapes the man I love is one of utter happiness, “Hello there Morgan, our little warrior.”
His baby babble is enough to fill the space between us. There is nothing more to say.
“I love you, Oseias, I love you so much, both of you.”
I smile tenderly as I cup his cheek, “Thank you for giving me a home. I realized that no matter where we are, you will always be my home, my everything. I love you. So much.”
“Likewise,” he’s breathless, a small smile on his own rosy plump lips, “my home is with you, my love, both of you.”
“Always with you.”
Fin
![Cover of My Home Is With You [LGBT+]](/story-covers/my-home-is-with-you-lgbt_271117246.webp)
