“What? I’m playing.” Ducky nodded toward the game as if Dallas couldn’t see for himself.
“What did you mean when you said, ‘not with what I saw’?” Dallas’s leg started to bounce, his anxiety building.
“It’s no big deal. I won’t tell Dad.” The unguarded words caused the air to suction from the room, stealing the oxygen from his lungs. Dallas’s heart stuttered then slammed against his rib cage. His mouth gaped open, but his brain function ceased, causing no words to form at the implication of his father’s involvement.
“What’s that mean, Duck?” He intended his voice to be hard and forceful to gain all of his brother’s attention. Instead, the words came out breathy, weak, and needy. His gaze penetrated Ducky. His internal fear had him drawing in on himself as understanding formed. Whatever Ducky saw made him lift his fingers off the keyboard resulting in instant death and destruction for the characters on the screen.
“The guy was all over you last night. When I looked out the window to make sure it was you, your hand was on his face. You looked happy. I didn’t know if I should interrupt.” Ducky’s words rang with truth and held no shame or condemnation. His brother simply blinked as he laid out the facts for Dallas. He wished he felt the same way. His brain went numb as his body heated, absorbing the magnitude of his utter humiliation. Heat flushed his face.
Time stood still as they stared at one another.
“He was all over you, whispering in your ear. It seemed like you were into it too. I was glad you were happy. You deserve to be hap—”
“Stop.” Dallas’s calloused hands reached up to cover his face. The images Ducky described flooded through his head. He’d been attracted to Greer.
No, not attracted. Impressed with how well the guy was put together.
Fuck that. What a lie. Greer was drop-dead gorgeous.
Dallas had been spellbound by Greer.
No. No. He had worked hard to be the person his parents wanted him to be.
“Dammit.”
“Dallas, I won’t say anything to anyone, especially not to Dad or Donny. I promise,” Ducky said, leaning toward Dallas, his hand squeezing his forearm.
His father would be livid and mortified. If anyone ever found out…no one could ever know. Dallas steeled his spine, pulled his shit together, and looked directly into Ducky’s wide eyes. “What you think you saw was just drunk bullshit. We were both drunk. It wasn’t real.”
Ducky nodded until his nod transitioned into a head shake of no. “Greer wasn’t drunk, but he was real nice. He seems like the kind of guy we thought he was when he bought all his employees a box—”
Dallas cut Ducky off. “Just stop, okay?” His heart threatened to drop out of his chest.
A clammy sweat broke out across his body. Anger made him bolt out of the chair, declaring what he desperately wanted to be the truth. “I’m not into dudes, Duncan. Nothing was going to happen. And for God’s sake, don’t ever say anything to Dad or Mom or Donny. Their bullshit caused me lots of unnecessary pain. It wasn’t fair or right.”
The long-buried wounds rose to the surface. The torture of the mental and physical beatings he’d taken at his father’s hand as he’d tried to beat the gay out of him had pain slashing across his heart. He remembered the feeling of being so alone.
He refused to be that scared boy again, but damn, it was hard.
“Dallas, I would never say anything. I don’t care. You need to be you. You’re worthy and valued for being who you are, just like you tell me.” Ducky’s games were forgotten as he pushed his chair back, away from Dallas, giving him room. “I will always have your back. You know that, right?”
Tears threatened to fall. Dallas’s blinding anger wouldn’t allow him to rationalize Ducky’s truth. He flipped around and left his brother sitting there before he said anything hurtful. Dallas slammed his bedroom door and dropped his ass on the side of the bed. His head fell into his hands. He was so confused and frustrated at the way things were. What would his father say?
He’d worked hard to keep tight control on himself. How could he have let his guard down now?
=?=
Watching in the rearview mirror, Greer backed out of his driveway, absently pushing the button to lower the garage door as his cell phone rang. He slowed at the end of his driveway, working the gearshift while glancing at the caller ID on his dash. He didn’t recognize the local number but felt like living on the edge. He answered blindly through Bluetooth. “Greer Lockhart.”
“Hey, it’s Dylan Reeves. You got a minute?”
Talk about an unexpected blast from the past. “I haven’t talked to you in a couple of years, then I hear your name twice in less than twenty-four hours. Of course I have time,” he said.