“Homeschoolis a wonderful thing,” Chad nodded, sliding onto a bench at the table. “Bestthing my parents ever did for me.”
“Yeah,and haveyouguys teaching her?” Ty lifted the corner of his mouth intoan amused grin. “I don’t think so.”
“Well,the second I ask Ali to marry me, I’m bringin’ her along,” Chad replied with anaffirmative nod.
“Howlong you guys been together again?” Devin asked, using a guitar pick to scratchbehind his ear.
Chadpuffed with pride as he said, “Six years.”
Tyand Devin both groaned in unison as I shook my head. Chad raised his hands in aquestioning shrug.
“Man,shit or get off the pot,” Ty nodded, and then added, “And uh, I don’t meanliterally.”
“Huh?”Chad drew his brows together and folded his arms on the table. “Whatcha talkin’about?”
Leaningagainst the wall, I pointed a finger toward the youngest member of our group.“Chadwick—”
“Ireally hate when you call me that,” he groaned. “It’s not my name.”
“Right.My bad.” I nodded apologetically before continuing, “Chaddington Bear, I havenever been married nor will I probably ever be, but evenIknow thatyou’ve been stringing that little lady along for too long. If you like it, puta ring on it, or you know, walk away and find someone else to, uh …occupyyour time. Plenty of chicks love that Southern thing you got going on.”
Chadgroaned as Devin glanced up at me and smirked around his chuckle. “You’re oneseriously eloquent motherfucker, you know that?”
Spreadingmy arms wide, I leaned toward him. “Someone’s gotta tell him like it is. Mightas well be me.”
Pattingmy hand against the wall, I announced, “And with that piece of advice,gentlemen, I’m heading to bed to jerk off and fall into a coma. None of youbetter wake me up tomorrow before eleven. Good. Night.”
Withtheir mumbled wishes for good sleep behind me, I walked to my bunk and hoistedmyself inside, closing the curtain and flipping on the light. I fumbled aroundfor my headphones and cellphone, and scrolled through my library of music.
Ihad a playlist for everything. Working out, cooking, eating, and jamming.Sleeping was no exception and with one tap of my finger, the Foo Fighters’“Walking After You” began to drift at a soothing volume through thenoise-cancelling headphones.
Withan even exhale, I slipped easily into a state of relaxation, gripping the phoneto my chest. Every breath brought me closer to my home and being alone.
Ihated to admit it, but fuck, I was dreading it.
***
Thetown car dropped me off at the door of my house in New York.
“ShouldI get your bags, sir?” the driver asked, turning to glance at me in thebackseat.
“Nah,man; I’m good,” I grinned, slipping him a fifty. “Just pop the trunk.”
Gettingout, I grabbed my suitcases and hoisted them up the gravel walkway. I watchedthe door as I listened to the car back out of the driveway. It was this exact momentwhen I wished there was someone on the other side to open the door and greetme. A butler or a maid would have probably sufficed, just having someone happyto see me. A fucking goldfish, even. But there wasn’t anybody. Nobody there tohug or kiss me, and there was certainly nobody there to open the damn door.
Idropped the bags at the door and fished my keys from a pocket. I had bought thisplace back when I started making a living doing what I loved. I’d been a kidback then, only twenty years old, and I was eager to be on my own. It was amodest house, especially compared to what I was making now, but how much spacedid one guy really need?
“Honey,I’m home!” I shouted from the door, before answering in a high-pitched tone,“Oh, Sebastian. I’ve missed you so fucking much. I can’t wait for you to spenda whole week buried between my legs.” And I rolled my eyes at myself, becausenext to pathetic in the dictionary, you could find a picture of me. SebastianMoore.
Thebags were dragged inside and left next to the stairs as I walked toward thecouch. My mom, bless her, had stopped in on a regular basis to bring in themail and to keep the place dusted and vacuumed. I found the pile of mail on thecoffee table, starting to land slide onto the carpet.
“Bill,bill, bill,” I chanted, picking up envelopes and discarding them to the floor.“Junk, junk, bullshit catalog, bill …”
Isighed, quickly moving through months of amounted crap, until I reached anenvelope that had fallen to the floor. It was handwritten, and whoever it washad used my birth name,Sebastian Morrison, in the address.
“Huh,”I muttered to nobody, and ripped it open.
Sebastian,