Pushing the Limits (Secrets Kept 2)

Isaac drove, probably because he needed to feel in control. When we pulled onto the freeway, he glanced toward me. “Are you sure you’re ready to do this?”

“Are you sure you are? I don’t want to push you.”

“You’re not.” He went quiet for a moment. “I guess I never thought all this would happen. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that it is happening, while being worried that I’m going to lose it.”

“Isaac…”

“She’s your mom, Lane. It’ll break you if she can’t accept this, and I don’t want to be the reason anything hurts you.”

My pulse throbbed, and my chest swelled with his words. “Jesus.”

“Just Isaac is fine.” He looked my way and winked.

“Your heart is so damn big, sometimes I wonder how it fits inside of you.” My fingers suddenly twitched to paint him that way—Isaac with a transparent body and a heart bursting through the seams of him. I could paint nothing but him for the rest of my life and never run out of ideas.

“No, it’s not,” Isaac said. “I’m tough. I’m a badass, grumpy motherfucker who’s hardened by the world and doesn’t give a shit.”

A laugh tumbled from my lips. “Such a scary, cynical, harsh man. It’s a wonder how anyone can stand to be around you.”

“The cynical is not incorrect.”

“Eh, maybe, but mostly you’re the guy who would do anything for a friend or someone you love. The guy who’s funny and enjoys making people laugh. You’re a little cocky, but in an endearing way, not an asshole-ish one. But you also know how to be vulnerable, even if you like to pretend you don’t, and you worry about others before yourself. You make me happier than I ever thought I could be…which is odd, considering I always thought of myself as happy before. Funny how that can change when you see how much better things can get.”

His gaze dashed toward me, then away, a small smile curling the corners of his lips. “Fuck, I kinda feel like I should pull over and blow you for that. It was a good speech.”

“It was, wasn’t it? One of my best. Must be the subject matter.”

“Who’s the one with the heart breaking out of their chest now?” Isaac asked.

“Still you.”

“You’re ruining my reputation, Lane.”

“You’re ruining my reputation, Lane,” I mocked, and we both laughed, which lessened some of the heaviness inside us.

We kept the conversation going for the rest of the drive to our parents’ house. I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t nervous too, my gut weighed down like someone had filled it with rocks. But I just…didn’t want to hide us anymore. The situation didn’t matter. What Isaac and I had was beautiful and shouldn’t be locked away.

“I’ve dated a lot of people over the years,” I said when Isaac pulled into the driveway.

“I hate them all,” he joked.

“Yes, dear. We know you’re possessive,” I teased back. “My point is, I had so many chances to bring someone home, but I never did. I don’t count Jayden because I didn’t want to with him. I did it because I wanted to be home, and that was my way to do it. But those people, I didn’t share them because no matter how much I liked them, deep down I knew it wasn’t real. You’re real, Isaac. We’re real together. And I don’t want to keep that hidden like there’s something wrong with it.”

He reached out, ran his hand through my hair, let it rest on my nape. “I love you. I am so crazy, fucking in love with you, Lane Ryan.”

“I love you too. Now let’s go do this. It’ll be okay. I have to believe that.” I wasn’t sure if I was lying to myself about that or not.

I could hear the TV blaring when we got there. I knocked and pushed the door open. Timothy was sitting on the couch, watching a Western I didn’t recognize. He’d always loved them, but they’d never been my thing. When we were kids, Isaac used to watch them with him. I’d asked him once what he liked about them, and he’d said spending time with his dad.

Isaac looked up to his father more than he ever verbalized. Timothy was the kind of dad who’d take us camping or play football in the backyard with Isaac when we were kids—he was better at those things than words anyway—and I’d always known that more than anything, Isaac wanted to make his dad proud. To make him happy and to be like him.

There was a lot at risk for both of us in being together. It could change a lot of things.

“Is that Willie Nelson?” I asked.

“Yeah. It’s Red Headed Stranger,” Isaac replied.

“You remember that?” Timothy asked.

“Yep. How’s it going, Dad?” Isaac bent over the couch and gave him a one-armed hug.