More Than Everything (Family 3)

Charlie raised one eyebrow as he picked up his drink and took a sip.

“You’re scaring me,” I told him.

“Why? Are you planning on doing something to me that would warrant revenge?”

“No!” I shook my head fervently.

He patted my chest. “Well, then we shouldn’t have any problems.”

Chapter 20

INTRODUCTION

Charlie (“Chase”) Rhodes

I LIVE in Las Vegas, Nevada with—count ’em—not one, but two boyfriends. That sounds like the start to a wild and probably pornographic movie, which would be a partially accurate description of our lives, actually. But we also have two children, a puppy, and a fish.

We used to have two fish, one for each of the kids, but then they decided the fish were lonely so they put them in one tank. They were betta fish, otherwise known as Siamese fighting fish. Ever heard of them? They’re pretty and colorful, and if you put two of them together, they have a gladiator-style match to the fucking death. It’s like a live rendition of the National Geographic channel right on your kitchen counter except with screeching, crying children. Awesome.

All joking aside, life is great. The adoption went through, so I’m legally a father. Bobby and Stephi still see the counselor I’ve been taking them to since I arrived, but she says they’re adjusting so well that we’re down to monthly visits. And my men give it to me hard and deep on a more than frequent basis. Really, what else could I ask for in life?

Which brings me to the next picture in the album. It’s a shot I took on the one-year anniversary of the day we all found each other again. In the picture, Scott and Adan are in our kitchen, surrounded by dirty dishes and who-knows-what on the counters. The air is thick with smoke. Scott is balanced on one foot, wearing oven mitts, and clutching his phone with one hand while gripping his shin with the other. And Adan is holding the landline phone to his ear and yelling.

Ahhh, domestic bliss.

Scott Boone

STEPHI had ballet and Bobby had swim lessons on the one-year anniversary of the day Adan and I walked into Charlie’s apartment and found everything we needed to complete our family. Adan and I decided to leave work early so we could surprise Charlie by making dinner. Part of our plan worked, the other… not so much.

“What are we going to cook?” Adan asked as we got into the car.

“I printed out a recipe for meatloaf from one of those cooking sites. I figured we’d make that and a salad that comes in a bag. That can’t be too hard, right?”

He pulled out of the parking lot and said, “Did you say meatloaf? Charlie won’t let us bring dead animals into the house. Are we going back to meat? Did I miss a memo?”

I chuckled at his use of Charlie’s terminology. He was adamant about having a vegetarian household, which wasn’t a big deal because Adan and I got our fill of meat at lunch. Plus, Charlie cooked every meal at home and he was damn good at it, so it wasn’t as if we could complain.

“It’s vegetarian meatloaf,” I explained.

“Vegetarian meatloaf?” Adan scoffed. “That’s an oxymoron. If it’s meat, it’s not vegetarian and vice versa.”

“Thank you for the English lesson,” I said sarcastically. “It’s got lentils and onions and oats and stuff instead of meat, but the recipe is called vegetarian meatloaf. Deal with it.”

“Fine, whatever.” Adan rolled his eyes. “Do we need to stop at the store or do we have all the ingredients at home?”

“Uh. I’m not sure.” I retrieved the piece of paper from my briefcase. “Do we have—”

“Let me stop you right there,” Adan said. “I’m about as familiar with the contents of our pantry as you, so if you don’t know, it’s a safe bet I don’t either.”

“Then let’s go to the grocery store.”

“Okay.” Adan nodded.

After a few minutes of silence, I said, “Do you think it makes Charlie mad?”

Adan furrowed his brow. “Do I think what makes Charlie mad?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged and chewed my bottom lip. “The fact that we don’t ever help with meals.”

“Or laundry,” Adan added.

“Or laundry,” I repeated.

“Or just about anything else having to do with the house,” Adan said.

“You know what?” I raised my voice in frustration. “Quit trying to help. You’re making it worse.”

“I’m not doing anything other than stating the facts.”

“Yeah, well, the facts make us look like assholes.”

He reached over and squeezed my knee. “Have you ever heard Charlie complain?” he asked.

“Uh, no,” I said after giving it some thought.

“How does he usually react when we sit down and eat something he’s made?”

I thought about Charlie’s proud smile when one or both of us got seconds, which was most nights. “He’s happy,” I said and sighed in relief.

“Yup. And if he wasn’t, he’d tell us and we’d figure out how to change things so they work for all of us. You know that and he does too.”