Their Boy (The Game 2)

If he continued this way, his next birthday just might look like my twenty-second one last week.

I’d spent it with Vincent—for all intents and purposes, my driver—and Rosa, the woman who’d cooked all my meals since I was in diapers. Diapers that she’d changed.

I didn’t mean to be ungrateful to them. I loved them very much. Hell, it was why I urged Vincent to get away. Or, I wanted to urge him. I would have, had I not been so terrified of losing him.

Rosa had a husband, kids, and grandkids to come home to every day.

“Don’t you want children?” I wondered. “A wife?”

I wasn’t a complete fool; I knew his job came with perks many would only dream of. His pay was substantial, and my father had given him his own condo across the river in Arlington. He had access to our summer residence and Dad’s cars there that I didn’t know what to do with. And so on, and so on.

However, he rarely took the time to enjoy those perks.

“There’s time,” Vincent replied with an easy smile. “You know what I see when I drive you around? I see people rushing through life like it’s some fucking contest they gotta win. And the price? Death. I’m good, thanks.”

“Hm.” I glanced out the window again, not sure I agreed with him. Yes, people were often rushing—toward goals and happiness. Wasn’t that the point? Because, why drag out the stuff we didn’t like?

Anyway… I shook my head and tried to clear it. The end of May was approaching, and I was looking forward to my one and only social event. The munch two subs hosted for my BDSM community once a month.

Okay, it was a bit bold to call it my community. I’d only attended a handful of kink events in the past three years, and I couldn’t seem to form lasting connections anymore.

I used to have a lot of friends.

These days, I’d dare say I had two—outside of my online life. And it was just my luck that Abel, whom I knew best, lived across the country. He was from the Seattle area and had only been out here because he’d played hockey for Pittsburgh.

Because of his NHL status, he’d wanted to keep a low profile with kink, hence making trips to DC for that.

He was visiting me in a few weeks, and I couldn’t wait.

He was my age, yet he’d already found the love of his life. They were engaged now.

I should suggest he bring his Daddy Dom. Then we could attend an event together, and I would feel braver. Hopefully brave enough to approach another Dominant and possibly even play. My heart rate kicked up a notch at the mere thought of it. I hadn’t played in over a year, and it’d been a disaster.* * *As soon as we crossed into Georgetown, the familiar unease settled in my stomach. It was a nice area with picturesque townhouses and a lot of history, but I didn’t see the beauty anymore. My street was just off the tourist path, though many still came here to take pictures of the old houses. They were all narrow, three-story homes painted in different colors.

When my parents bought our house, they’d renovated it and Dad had jumped through bureaucratic hoops to get the permit so Mom could have the house painted dark blue. It’d been her favorite color, and Dad hated saying no to her.

She’d dedicated her life to helping others, he used to say, so it was his job to make sure she got whatever little she wanted for herself.

Our home made me nauseated.

It’d once been my favorite place on earth. Now, it was dead. Like a light had been flicked off, even as the interior was well-maintained and you hardly ever found a speck of dust. It’d been repainted last year too. The white paint that covered the stoop and the concrete wall around the property, as well as framed the windows, was blinding in the sun.

All I saw were childhood memories being peeled off the fucking walls.

I left the car in a depressed mood and trailed up the steps, passing the flower beds Rosa took care of for Mom’s sake, and I unlocked the door.

In that second, right as I stepped inside, I could almost believe Mom and Dad were alive. Mom’s perfume still lingered, and Rosa wasn’t the type of person to switch brands on fabric softeners and cleaning supplies. All of it combined simply smelled of warmth and family.

It was fake.

It was a lie.

A museum was what it was, managed by Dad’s best friend, Richard.

“Is that you, Kit?” Rosa called from the kitchen.

“Yes.” I took off my shoes and joined her. She was by the stove, humming to the song playing. My Spanish wasn’t very good, so I didn’t understand much of it. I appreciated the food a lot more. Rosa was from El Salvador and cooked like a goddess. “It smells good.”