A Hollow Voice

by scaryfangirl2001

Summary:

In the heat of the moment, David confirms his wife's suspicions - and he goes to his lover instead

Chapter 1: Chopping Onions

 

David and Jane prepare dinner in the kitchen; David mans the oven while Jane chops onions. There's a layer of aggressive tension in the air as they work. Their synchronicity is off-kilter, and it only infuriates David further.

 

"Get those onions chopped right," he orders, "They're going to be here in an hour."

 

"Well, if you hadn't forgotten your friends were coming over tonight, we wouldn't be in such a rush," she snaps, chopping harshly against the cutting board.

 

"If you break that board, I'm holding you accountable for another one."

 

"So much concern for your damn board," she snarks. "What if I cut my finger?"

 

"Don't get any blood in the food."

 

She bites her tongue when Pal runs through the kitchen. Where that dog is, the kids are sure to follow. D.W. lets out an ear-splitting screech, calling for her mom.

 

"We're in the kitchen!" She pauses the preparations to call her 6-year-old daughter.

 

"Keep chopping," David hisses under his breath.

 

The kids burst into the kitchen before Jane can say anything. Arthur chases after Pal, who crawls underneath the circular table. D.W. chases after her brother, wailing.

 

"Mom!! Mom! Arthur said he'd play Confuse the Goose with me, but he won't."

 

"I said maybe," Arthur retorts. "But I have to do homework. How can I do homework if she's staring at me like a dope?"

 

Swallowing the anger that's bubbling beneath the surface, David glances at D.W. without moving away from his meal preparations. "Isn't there something you can do until Arthur is ready to play?"

 

She pouts, "But if I don't bother him, he'll never play with me."

 

Arthur crosses his arms. "I never said I'd play. I said maybe."

 

The anger surfaces when both parents give the kids stern looks, and the older child looks over at his sister.

 

"Okay, I'll play with her."

 

"I'll stop bothering him."

 

The kids look depressed as they leave the kitchen but, when David moves a pot to the sink, searching for a strainer, he notices that his wife has taken another break.

 

"Chop the fucking onions," he growls.

 

"I'm chopping! I'm chopping!"

 

She moves her arms wildly, accidentally knocking over a milk carton. She lets out a yelp, alerting David in time to see the milk and bowl of batter fall on the floor.

 

"What the hell, Jane?" He raises his voice. "They'll be any minute now."

 

"Don't you dare snap at me, David. You put it there!"

 

"I don't have time to argue about this."

 

"Oh? Then why don't we argue about where you were when Arthur got injured down at the dump!?"

 

He pauses his cleaning and glares daggers at her. "That was in July, and you want to bring it up now!?"

 

"Why not?" She counters, lowering to her knees with a sponge.

 

"That was five months ago, for one!"

 

"And yet you remember."

 

"Hard not to, when you keep reminding me," he scowls. "Get up and use a damn mop. I already have to start the batter all over again!"

 

She purposely bumps into him, causing him to spill more milk, as she maneuvers around the kitchen to grab the mop.

 

"Oh, just leave it!"

 

"Oh, just answer me for once!"

 

"You really wanna know where I was when our son went around hiding his knee scrape this summer?"

 

Lowering her eyebrows, she leans close, angrily demanding, "Yes, I really wanna know."

 

Shoving the remainder of the milk carton toward her chest, David hisses, "I was busy getting fucked by the one person who knows how to make me happy."

 

He leaves her scrambling with the carton and sponge as he storms out the door and through the living room. Luckily, the kids are nowhere to be seen; he yanks his jacket off the coat rack, nearly making it fall. He belatedly realizes the door slamming probably reverberated through the house, but he can't bring himself to care.

 

Chapter 2: Reunited

Summary:

the kids talk & David arrives at Nigel's house

Arthur is working on a very long math assignment when D.W. comes in, crying out for her brother. Arthur's immediate reaction is to call for his mom since D.W. is violating their agreement, but she stops him. He takes a good look at her and says that if she saw something scary, then go tell Dad.

 

"I can't!" She cries. "Mom and Dad are the ones being scary."

 

"What do you mean?" He asks, setting down his pencil.

 

"Didn't you hear the big slam?"

 

"Yeah," he shrugs, "but I thought you were just being dramatic again."

 

"It was Dad," she corrects him. "Mom and Dad were yelling at each other in the kitchen. And I started crawling down the stairs when I saw Dad. He looked so mad, and he slammed the door when he left."

 

"Wait a minute! What did they say?"

 

"I didn't hear it exactly. It's not important anyway. What's important is that they hate each other."

 

He takes in her tears and decides that he believes her. She's a tricky sibling, but this isn't something she would lie about.

 

"Why would they hate each other?" He asks nobody in particular.

 

"I don't know. What did you do today?"

 

"Me?" He asks offendedly. "If it's one of our faults, it's because you're such a big pain!"

 

"Well, you never practice the piano enough!"

 

"You slide your peas under the plate!"

 

Kate begins crying from their arguing; they hadn't realized their toddler sister had crawled over. They sigh; Arthur walks over to pick her up and console her. D.W. sighs defeatedly, sitting on the edge of her brother's bed.

 

"Arthur, what if they never speak to each other again?"

 

---

 

David pulls his car up a familiar driveway. Just as he exits the station wagon, he runs into his lover's arms.

 

"Davey? What are you, are you okay?"

 

"Jane, she... just, I need to cancel the thing. The, all the food is ruined, I..."

 

"Come inside," he calmly tells him. "I'll call Paige, Francis, and Prue."

 

Nigel doesn't drop his hand from the small of David's back as he guides him inside the house. David has lost all of his fight and anger; he's so exhausted. He lets Nigel bring him inside. He's compliant as Nigel sheds his jacket and brings him to the couch. David barely notices when Nigel removes his shoes for him, but he leans into the kiss placed on his forehead.

 

"Here's the VCR remote. There's an episode of Spooky Poo waiting in there. Go ahead and start it while I make the phone calls."

 

"Thank you," he whispers in a hollow voice.

 

Nigel gently squeezes David's shoulder as he leaves the room. David lets out a slow exhale as he turns on the TV and starts the episode. He mindlessly watches as Mystery Assimilation visits a remote island to investigate reports of a ghostly pirate haunting the local lighthouse. Spooky Poo, the titular character, springs into action after Thelma offers him and Aggie some Spooky Treets. Realistically, David knows Nigel isn't gone long. He only has three numbers to call, and the information that the luncheon is off will only take less than a minute. He knows that episodes of Spooky Poo only last about twenty minutes when the commercials are subtracted. And yet, it feels like forever before the taller man reenters the living room.

 

"Where are we?" He asks casually, referring to the episode.

 

"Taffy and Bedhead are in the tunnel," he mumbles.

 

"Ah, the secret cave episode," Nigel nods with a serious expression. "Scoot."

 

David inches forward a tad, allowing Nigel to slide in behind him. The men take a moment to adjust their bodies. Nigel stretches out the length of the couch, resting his head comfortably on the armrest so he can clearly see the television despite watching every episode of the classic show several times. David settles where his head reaches Nigel's nape, close enough that he can feel his lover's breath and heartbeat, calming him further. Once David stops wriggling, Nigel reaches around, wrapping an arm around David's waist to steady him and keep him from rolling off the couch.

 

"Can I explain later?" David asks quietly as the gang is reunited onscreen.

 

"Of course," the teacher answers easily. "I'd never force you until you're ready." He presses another soft kiss to the top of his head and lightly squeezes the arm around his waist. "Let's watch the pirates."

 

David sighs gratefully, melting into his lover's embrace.

 

Chapter 3: Aloha Coconut Blizzard

Summary:

inside, you will find introspection, a massage between two men, and D.W. bashing
read at your own discretion

A few episodes of Spooky Poo later, David's tense frame has completely deflated. Nigel can feel the subtle shift in David’s body as his lover surrenders to sleep. The tension in David’s muscles gradually melts away under the gentle rhythm of Nigel’s heartbeat, each exhale echoing the comfort of their shared space. Nigel's arms cradle David like a fragile treasure, wrapping him in a cocoon of safety and warmth as though he could shield him from the world outside. And yet, a flicker of worry dances in Nigel’s mind. He glances at David’s serene face, softened by slumber, and his heart swells with gratitude for this moment of intimacy. But beneath that gratitude lies a lingering question that gnaws at him: what happened at home?

 

Only a couple of hours ago, David arrived in the driveway, and Nigel focuses on the caterer's anxious expression still etched in his memory. It plays on repeat. His brow was furrowed and his eyes were wide with unspoken concerns. He wonders what shadows from his family have crept into their haven, leaving David so worked up and unsettled. As Nigel brushes his fingers lightly through David's hair, he resolves to uncover the truth, to ease the burdens that weigh on his lover’s heart. He presses a gentle kiss along his hairline, quietly vowing to be David's protector.

 

His heart swells with affection as he listens to David’s rhythmic, steady breathing, the soft sound of REM sleep louder than the end credits onscreen. At least, that's how it sounds to the teacher. He tenderly maneuvers David's head onto a plush throw pillow, the fabric cool and inviting against his lover's cheek. With a soft squeeze of reassurance, he slips off the couch, careful not to disturb the peaceful slumber that envelops David like a comforting cocoon. He then reaches for the blanket draped over a nearby chair, the fabric warm to the touch, and he drapes it over David, tucking it in snugly, ensuring he'll be swaddled in warmth. Watching David’s face, serene and relaxed, Nigel tiptoes to the kitchen, the floor creaking softly beneath his feet.

 

In the kitchen, sunlight streams through the window, casting a golden hue over the countertops as he rummaged through a small Rolodex filled with culinary notes, each card infused with memories of laughter and love shared over countless meals. Particularly the ones that David had eagerly taught Nigel to bake. Today, he settles on the Aloha Coconut Blizzard cake — a dessert that promised sweetness and a hint of tropical escape. With the ingredients laid out before him, Nigel’s fingers dances through flour and sugar, his thoughts lingering on David's heartache. As he whisks the batter, the rhythmic motion allows his mind to wander. Nigel's heart aches for him, knowing that Jane's shadow looms large in David's life, casting a pall of sadness and anger that's difficult to shake. Folding the batter, Nigel quietly curses Jane, not for the first time. Feeling a fierce determination, he strives to make David smile again.

 

---

 

David wakes to a delightful concoction of scents swirling around him, the sweet, succulent aroma of ripe peaches mingling with the tropical essence of bananas. The fragrance is inviting enough to coax him from the depths of sleep like a gentle whisper promising a sunny morning. Blinking against the soft light, shielded only by the partially opened curtains, he hears the familiar sound of a VHS tape rewinding. He leans backward into the warmth he expects from his lover, but all he finds is the blanket's fabric and the unyielding back of the couch. Frowning, he surveys the cozy space adorned with mismatched furniture and a scattering of colorful throw pillows. The absence of Nigel's comforting presence does things to David's heart that he can't begin to express. The same intoxicating scent of baking that brought him from his slumber pierces the air again, calling him from his spiral.

 

David carefully folds the blanket that had been sheltering him, and he tosses it onto the back of the couch. His heart swells with affection as he recognizes the specific aroma of his beloved Aloha Coconut Blizzard cake. A smile falls across his lips as his mind drifts back to early January, almost two years prior.

 

His youngest child, Katherine, is just a month old. She's lying in her bassinet, crying over the  whirlwind of toddler tantrums. D.W. is inconsolable over a missing snowball she’d stored away in the freezer during a citywide blackout caused by an unexpected blizzard last month. Seven-year-olds Arthur, Buster, and Francine complain since D.W. is wrecking their fun while searching the house for the lost wintry craft on a plate.

 

"I need some quiet," David groans, stepping into the hall bathroom behind his wife. "Why is there no quiet in this house? It is just a snowball."

 

"She's only three, dear," Jane reminds him, more with exasperation than affection.

 

"Yeah, yeah."

 

The older kids aren't making the cacophony any easier, with their complaints echoing like a triad of persistent drones through the house. Seeking respite that he's not finding with his wife, David makes an impulsive decision to leave. He tosses out some flimsy excuse to her, ditching everyone as he grabs his jacket and drives to Nigel's house for true tranquility. He uses the key that Nigel gave him years back, the one he carries on the second keychain that he keeps in his jacket pocket, slipping into the house and shucking off his shoes. Wandering a bit, he finds  Nigel deeply engrossed in crafting a new marionette for the children's theater at the community center. He slumps against the doorway, affectionately watching the man he loves.

 

"Business or pleasure?" Nigel asks without looking up, recognizing the presence a few feet away.

 

David makes some odd noise in the back of his throat, making Nigel glance over at him. Taking in  David's worn expression, he sets aside his work and rushes over to his lover's side.

 

"Dave, you look awful."

 

"Just what I wanted to hear," he chuckles weakly, pressing into the man's warmth.

 

"Come on," he tells him quietly, "let's go upstairs."

 

Nigel ushers David into the sanctuary of his bedroom. There, the atmosphere transforms into a haven of soft ambient lighting that casts a warm glow across the space, illuminating the inviting four-poster bed and its plush, calming fabrics. Nigel lays a blanket across the comforter and lights a few candles. The air is soon infused with the soothing scent of lavender and eucalyptus, wrapping around them like a comforting embrace. As David reclines onto the bed, his worries and stress begin to fade. A small smile creeps up as the gentle, smooth jazz fills the room. He lies there in serenity as Nigel joins him, helping to deprive him of his button-up.

 

With each deliberate stroke of Nigel's skilled hands, the tension in David's muscles dissipates. The rhythmic movements, expertly applied with just the right pressure, melt away layers of stress that have built up like an unwelcome weight. Waves of relaxation wash over him, easing tight shoulders and releasing the knots that life has woven into his body. The warmth of the massage oil glides smoothly, enhancing the experience as soothing sensations radiate from the points of contact, leaving a trail of calm in their wake. Time stands still in Nigel's bedroom, David's burdens becoming nothing but a distant memory. Afterward, as they lay on the bed, David pours out his frustrations, the words spilling forth like a cathartic release. Nigel kisses him tenderly, that familiar, intoxicating kiss that brings a flood of comforting memories from their college days — days when everything felt so simple, uncomplicated by fame and expectation.

 

Brandishing a teasing smile that sparkles with mischief, David takes Nigel's hand, playfully tugging him downstairs, leading him into the cozy kitchen where  sunlight streams through the window, casting a warm glow. Nigel leans against the counter as David begins rummaging around.  The cabinets creak open, revealing a treasure trove of ingredients. David feigns concentration as his eyes dart dramatically from one thing to the other. Feeling the  weight of Nigel’s affectionate gaze lingering on him, David sways to and fro, searching for the elusive canned pineapples, playing it up as he enthusiastically indulges in the flirtatious energy. With a playful little shake of his ass, he hears a short bout of laughter from behind. Locating the can up high, he stretches on his tiptoes, suddenly finding himself  ensnared in Nigel’s strong arms.

 

"I daresay I've caught myself a Daveybird."

 

His laughter fills the kitchen, echoing off the walls when Nigel picks him up at the waist, twirling him. David leans back, peppering his neck with a few kisses, purposely finding a ticklish spot that results in Nigel losing his grip.  The kitchen is alive with laughter and the sweet aroma of coconut wafting through the air as David and Nigel dance around each other, flour dusting their faces like a playful frosting. With a twinkle in David's eye, he secretly scoops the silky white batter into a bowl but, just as he turns, Nigel playfully swats him with a glob of gooey mixture. A splash of chaos is smattered across the countertop, and David lightheartedly shoves the other man.

 

"Alright, alright. It's time for me to teach."

 

David guides Nigel through the delicate art of baking his beloved Aloha Coconut Blizzard cake — a signature creation from David's catering business that has clients raving. He meticulously explains each step: the way to fold the coconut flakes gently into the batter, how to whip the cream to a soft peak, and the secret ingredient that adds a hint of tropical paradise. Flour-covered hands work in tandem, the lovers'  camaraderie growing stronger with every playful toss of batter and shared glance. David feels a sense of pride in trusting Nigel with the secrets of his culinary knowledge, in a way he never does with Jane.

 

"I tossed the snowball," he confesses. "I needed space for some catering supplies, and it's just a snowball."

 

He doesn't hear any reminders of his daughter's age. Instead, Nigel chuckles quietly, agreeing with him. David laughs along, feeling free.

 

Back in the present, David continues chuckling softly, now to himself. Fully aware of Nigel’s intentions and the comfort that awaits him, he ejects the Spooky Poo tape with anticipation and walks toward the kitchen, eager to see his lover.

 

Chapter 4: Simmering Anger

Summary:

sorry, kids, but the angst train is pulling up to the station

D.W. sits curled up in her favorite corner of her bedroom; her small hands clasped tightly around her stuffed bunny, its fur slightly matted from countless hugs. The echoes of her parents’ earlier argument still linger in the air, the storm of shouts and the slammed front door that had earlier left her heart racing. While the tension wrapped around her, Arthur had managed to soothe their baby sister, Kate, back to sleep. Their mother hasn't come upstairs since their dad left, and they haven't gone searching for her.

 

Her mind racing with worry, D.W. addresses her brother with wide eyes. "What if Daddy's car catches on fire? He can't stop, drop, and roll in a car! What if he has to go to the hospital and get stitches?"

 

The thought sends a shiver down her spine, and she buries her face in her stuffed bunny’s soft ear as though the plush toy could stop the overwhelming fears from swirling in her head. Arthur leans against the wall nearby, his arms crossed.

 

"Well, you got stitches before. That wasn’t too bad, was it?” he replies, recalling the needle and the nurse's comforting smile.

 

D.W. shakes her head vigorously, her brown curls bouncing with the motion. "No, but the Tibbles hit me with a swing. Daddy’s in a car. And we don’t know where he is!”

 

Her voice rises in pitch as she begins envisioning other calamities that her father might face.

 

"What if Daddy runs into the Tooth Fairy on the road? What if she’s mad that I tricked her and she kidnaps Daddy?”

 

Arthur's voice is steadier when he says, "Well, I don’t think the Tooth Fairy goes after grown-ups."

 

"Oh," she nods in relief, "that's good, then."

 

She squeezes her bunny as a yawn escapes. Arthur tells her to go to sleep, that he'll stay up as long as he can, and he'll wake her up when their dad returns.

 

---

 

"Are you going back?" Nigel asks, his fork slicing through the rich, velvety layers of cake.

 

The decadent crumbs tumble to his plate like fallen leaves. The question hangs in the air, heavy and charged, as he gazes at David, searching his face for answers. David’s silence stretches, a taut string pulled tight between them, filled with unspoken thoughts. Silence fills the kitchen and they're still cocooned in a private storm building at the table. When David finally speaks, his voice is a whisper, one that pierces through to the heart of the matter. 

 

"I have to."

 

The words tumble from his lips like a reluctant confession, each syllable weighted with the gravity of inevitability. Nigel’s heart sinks; it’s the response he both anticipated and dreaded, a bitter truth that stings like a cold wind on a winter’s day.

 

"Jane doesn’t treat you like a husband," Nigel asserts, the simmering anger in his tone as sharp as the knife he used to cut the cake. "She barely treats you like a person."

 

David looks down at his half-eaten piece of cake, the rich flavors suddenly muted by the heaviness of the conversation. His heart is conflicted, almost torn in half.

 

“I have to, for the kids,” he counters, the resignation evident in his voice, a man caught between duty and desire. “I love you, I do. But the kids are so young. They need me at home.”

 

His words hang in the air like a haunting melody, a painful reminder of the life he feels compelled to return to, even as his heart aches for the life he wishes he could embrace. Nigel gazes intently at his lover, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air between them. His heart aches as he considers the tangled web of their lives. David is bound by the chains of a marriage, the woman whose unplanned pregnancy had altered the course of their futures. The sun has gone down, now filtering an orange hue through the window, casting soft shadows on David’s face, illuminating the deep lines of worry.

 

“I love you, too, David,” Nigel breathes, squeezing David’s hand in his own, a fleeting connection that sparks comfort and despair. He inhales deeply, trying to steady himself, the scent of David — a mix of sandalwood and something uniquely his — filling his senses. “But you can’t stay here. I-- I think I need my sister right now. I'm sorry.”

 

His voice breaks slightly, the admission raw and vulnerable, and he knows the truth in his words; he needs solace, a refuge to navigate this emotional storm.

 

“Don’t be,” David replies, his voice tinged with sorrow. “It’s my fault.”

 

There’s a resignation in his tone, a man trapped by circumstances, yet each word feels like a dagger twisting in Nigel’s chest.

 

“It’s Jane’s fault,” Nigel counters, the anger boiling beneath his calm exterior, his frustration aimed not at David, but at the situation. “She trapped you into a loveless marriage by getting pregnant.” The words spill out, a desperate bid to untangle the blame that binds them, to make sense of the chaos that threatens to suffocate them both. “Just… come back in a few days, okay? Give me time?”

 

David is left standing on the precipice of heartbreak, knowing he must walk away, at least for now, even as his heart yearns to stay.

 

He nods understandingly and kisses the hand in his as he reluctantly stands. "All the time in the world."

 

Chapter 5: A Minefield

Summary:

Nigel confides in Patty (his sister), while David confides in Thora (his mom)

As the door swings open with a sudden creak, Patty enters the living room, kicking off her shoes as her presence is commanding enough to fill the space with an electric tension. She certainly broke a few speed limits to get here so fast. Nigel paces back and forth, his hands raking through his tousled hair in a flurry of frustration. The urgency in his voice slices through the air when he calls out to her, his anxiety palpable. 

 

"What am I going to do, Patty? Why did I ask him to choose? Of course, he chose the kids, and-" His words tumble out desperately, a burden weighing heavily.

 

Patty crosses her arms and gives him a firm look of unwavering authority. "And nothing. You need to look out for you too, not just your boyfriend."

 

Her tone is sharp, cutting through her younger brother's vulnerable plea.

 

Indignation ignites in his voice when he replies, "Patty, I teach fourth graders all week. I don't want to be referred to as someone's boyfriend. It makes me feel nine."

 

Unfazed, Patty shoots back quickly, "Lover, then. Why don't you think about your well-being?"

 

With the sudden shift, frustration clashes with independence and expectations. He strives to dispel the tension and chooses to do so by redirecting the conversation with a fragile truce.

 

"I-- Do you want some cake?"

 

He gestures toward the kitchen table where the remnants of the Aloha cake sit untouched, a bittersweet reminder of hours earlier. Patty's expression momentarily softens, but she has never let him off the hook so easily.

 

"Emil," she warns him gently yet insistently, using his first given name.

 

He lets out a deep, resigned breath that speaks volumes. "He has kids, Patricia. Young kids."

 

Stark reality crashes into the conversation with those words, and Patty is resigned as she takes a seat and cuts into the cake.

 

---

 

The sun dips low in the sky as David drives, his mind swirling like a whirlpool of thoughts and emotions. The familiar streets blur past, each turn leading him closer to his mother’s house - a sanctuary he hadn’t anticipated needing. As he pulls into the driveway, he happens to glance at his reflection. His hair is a tousled mess and his clothes hang on him as if they're a second skin, rumpled and unkempt. By the time David steps onto the porch, Thors opens the door, her eyes sharp and knowing. She's always possessed an uncanny ability to sense when something was amiss, and today is no exception. He feels her eyes tracing him, and he feels the dried tears beneath his eyelashes. Crumbs from the earlier cake cling to the corners of his mouth. He carries no bags, no belongings — only the weight of his heartache and the storm that brews inside.

 

“Come in, dear,” she says gently. “Did you have a falling out with Nigel? Do I need to call Lisa?”

 

The concern in her tone is unmistakable; she's always liked Nigel. Still, David feels his cheeks flush crimson, a rush of embarrassment flooding him.

 

“Mom, we’re adults now. No, you don’t need to call his mom.”

 

She nods and guides her son into the house. David instinctively kicks off his shoes, a habit ingrained from countless visits to Nigel. Thora notices, of course, but doesn't say anything. Her son needs his space. A sense of comfort swallows him as he takes in the soft, familiar scent of old memories - it's different when he's here without the wife and kids. Once seated on the well-worn couch, he sinks into the cushions. Thora moves around him, walking over to the video cabinet.

 

Her fingers gliding over the titles, she innocently asks, “Do you want to watch some Spooky Poo?”

 

Discomfort litters David's face. it's a beloved cartoon, and he remembers watching it countless times over here, usually with Nigel. Thora notices the way his shoulders tighten, so she skips ahead to some other of her son's favorites.

 

In a more neutral tone, she proposes, “There’s also The Nooks of Dazzler, Star Wreck, or Me-Man and the Masters of the Galaxy."

 

“I’ll take The Nooks,” he says with a heavy sigh, leaning back against the couch.

 

An episode and a half later, the rhythmic creaking of Thora’s rocking chair punctuates the quiet as she meticulously crochets a delicate pattern, her needles clicking like a soothing metronome. David absently watches as the bumbling Sheriff Dogg spies on sisters Flo and Brooke at their quaint bed-and-breakfast onscreen, but it's his voice that finally breaks the tranquility.

 

"Mom?" His single-word question hangs in the air, weighted with the gravity of his internal struggle. "Do you think I should leave Jane?"

 

Thora sets down her needles and glances over at him. “I think you should consider which one makes you happier,” she replies thoughtfully, emphasizing ‘happier’ — a subtle hint at her true feelings about David’s wife.

 

It's clear that while Thora loves her grandchildren fiercely, her tolerance for Jane is fraying at the edges. David’s shoulders slump as he processes her words, the weight of his family situation pressing down on him.

 

“Kate’s only two. I can’t leave her, can I?” he murmurs, mostly to himself.

 

Thora's heart aches for her son, the desperation and hope in his voice, making him appear so much younger. “Even if you decide to leave her, you wouldn't be leaving the kids, David,” she reassures him.

 

In a tone firm yet gentle, she discusses the possibilities of joint custody, or even hiring a lawyer to gain full custody. David’s mind races, shaking his head in protest. Images of his days spent with Nigel, and he doesn't want to subject the man to what's essentially a daycare that won't end since his days are filled with young children who have no ties to him. Aside from Arthur, he supposes. But that's another story.  The tension in the room ebbs and flows as they talk, but the words are no match for the turmoil surrounding David's heart.

 

---

 

In the dim light of late afternoon, Jane’s voice slices through the stillness. Her words are sharp and impatient as they echo; it's the first time she's spoken to the kids in hours. Rather than the comforting aroma of a home-cooked meal, a faint, acrid scent of smoke lingers in the air. D.W. lies nestled among a fortress of blankets and stuffed animals, her tiny body curled protectively around her beloved rabbit.

 

"Wake up, sleepyhead," Arthur gently nudges her away.

 

Rubbing her eyes as she blinks into the dim light, she whispers, "Is Daddy back?”

 

He frowns, "I don't think so. But Mom's calling us for dinner."

 

The house has been a minefield since the explosive fight earlier. Arthur carefully lifts Kate from her makeshift pallet of plush animals, watching as D.W.'s hand trembles slightly when she reaches for the doorknob.

 

"Don’t worry, I’ll be right beside you the whole time," he promises.

 

Turning the knob, she nods slowly. "O-Okay, if you promise."

 

Arthur nods back, gently squeezing her shoulder. "I promise."

 

Chapter 6: Off Your Rocker

Summary:

this chapter...
Jane scares the kids, Nigel goes drinking with his sister, and David bakes cookies with his mom

 

POSTING NOW TO CELEBRATE AO3 BACK ONLINE (Super thankful to the people who made it happen)

Arthur and D.W. tiptoe down the stairs; Arthur cradles their chubby two-year-old sister with her soft curls and sleepy expression. There's an unspoken tension in the air, and a venture to the kitchen feels cautious. When they enter, Arthur notices that the dining table is neatly set, bright plates gleaming, but there is one glaring omission: no high chair at the side. He exchanges a furtive glance with D.W., who's already perching herself on her regular chair, her small feet dangling above the floor. With a silent nod of reassurance, Arthur one-handedly collects the chair. He winces at the sound the chair makes as it scrapes against the floor.

 

"I've got it, honey," Jane tells him sharply.

 

Arthur nods, reflexively gripping Kate tighter. Jane tells her son to sit with his sister as she wrestles the high chair into place, the noise of her exertion causing Kate to stir awake, her big eyes blinking in confusion. Arthur and D.W. exchange fearful glances as Jane abruptly grabs the squirming toddler. In a swift move, Jane briskly straps Kate into the chair and dumps a plastic bowl of lukewarm spaghetti in front of her, the noodles clumped together in a rather unappealing fashion. She leaves for only a moment, long enough to bring in a tray of ham sandwiches and potato skins, the food looking less than appetizing under the harsh kitchen lights. Arthur takes in the discolored potato skins as Jane hastily fills their glasses with lemonade. David is the chef in the family and it shows.

 

“Eat,” she commands, her voice brokering no room for argument.

 

Arthur leans across the table, cautiously serving D.W., who picks at her food with a frown, unsure of what to make of it. Arthur takes a tentative bite of his sandwich and immediately regrets it; the bread is stale, and the flavor is lacking.

 

“Problem?” Jane’s voice cuts through the silence with a hint of annoyance lurking beneath her question.

 

 “No, Mom,” Arthur immediately assures her despite his anxious heart racing.

 

To prove it, he quickly chews the rough sandwich. Dinner is eaten in an uncomfortable hush that feels like a heavy fog. As the older siblings try to make their way through the meal, little Kate suddenly launches her bowl of spaghetti from her high chair, the noodles cascading through the air like a defiant waterfall. Arthur leaps from his seat, eyes wide, trying to catch it. His reflexes falter, and the bowl unceremoniously falls in a splat on his head. The scene is momentarily absurd and, if this were a normal day, they'd be laughing about it. Unfortunately, Jane’s reaction is devoid of humor. She stands slowly but, rather than tending to the chaos of spaghetti and tears, her fury takes precedence.

 

“Arthur, go to bed,” she commands, her voice sharp.

 

“I’m sorry, Mom, I—” Arthur stammers.

 

“I don’t want to hear it. Take the bowl off your head and go to bed,” she snaps. Arthur tentatively complies, placing the near-empty bowl on the table. As he turns to leave, Jane speaks up again. "Take D.W. with you.”

 

As D.W. is only five, she instinctively defends herself with, "I didn’t do anything!”

 

"To bed!" Jane repeats herself, raising her voice.

 

D.W. slides from the table and Arthur takes her hand, leading her away from the tension suffocating the kitchen.

 

They've just reached the edge of the room when D.W. quietly asks her brother, “When’s Dad coming back?”

 

“Who knows!?” Jane's voice trails after them before Arthur can respond. They turn around to watch their mother pacing with her fingers clenching in her hair, muttering, "Who cares? He doesn’t or he wouldn’t be galavanting around with that dummy-building, cake-eating, Spoo—”

 

The words spill out like a release valve for her pent-up emotions, drifting into silence as she descends into the basement. But the house is far from quiet as D.W. and Kate begin to cry due to Jane's demeanor. Arthur stands frozen, still holding D.W.'s hand and spaghetti dripping from his hair, but speechless.

 

---

 

The clap of Patty's hands echoes around the living room like an unwelcome guest. "That's enough moping around, Cakey Strings," she exclaims, "We're going to the Falls."

 

She refers to Daisy Falls, a vibrant karaoke bar uptown where the neon lights danced in rhythm with off-key renditions of beloved songs. It's run by a friend of theirs, Katherine "Kitty" Sweetwater, a whirlwind of energy who transforms from a dedicated teacher by day to a masterful bartender by night. Her warm smile and infectious laugh draw patrons like moths to a flame, promising an escape from their everyday troubles. However, Nigel remains unenthused. He slumps further into the couch.

 

"We don't need to go to a bar; I'm fine here at home," he replies, his voice flat and weary.

 

"Nigel, as your big sister, it is my duty to get you so damn drunk off your rocker that you’ll be forgetting all about that boytoy of yours—"

 

"David is not my boytoy!" Nigel interjects sharply in defiance.

 

He knows it's just a playful jab from his mischievous sister, but his emotions have been in a tizzy. Patty tilts her head, a knowing look in her eyes as she appraises him. Her voice is firm with tough love when she speaks.

 

"Boytoy, boyfriend, lover, whatever you want to call him. You might love each other; I'll believe that. But he's not leaving his wife anytime soon, so we are going drinking."

 

Nigel sighs, accepting his fate.

 

---

---

 

The kitchen is alive with the inviting mix of warm chocolate chip cookies and the remnants of a small Chinese takeaway dinner. Flour dusts her apron like fresh-fallen snow as she gracefully bustles about the kitchen. Her hands deftly fold the rich, melting chocolate chips into the creamy embrace of cookie dough, each motion accompanied by a soft hum of a forgotten song and the domestic clatter of utensils. She glances at David, who stands sullenly by the mixing bowl. He's staring off into space with a wistful expression written clearly on his face. Her heart aches for him.

 

"You know, this used to be your favorite part - sneaking spoonfuls of the dough before they went in the oven," she recalls.

 

David nods slowly, the corners of his mouth betraying the hint of a smile, even as his eyes drift past the window. At first, she thinks that might be the only acknowledgment she'll receive, so she returns to the batter. But then she only barely catches his whisper of admission.

 

"Yeah, I remember. Those were good times." His eyes fall to the floor, adding, "Simple times."

 

Thora's heart swells for her son, remembering when he and his siblings were young children running amuck and carefree. She wipes new stains on her apron and reaches out, her fingers gingerly squeezing his hand to anchor him.

 

"Hey now, don't go getting all broody on me," she chides lightly, "I know things are complicated with you and Jane, but running back to her isn't the only answer."

 

David finally meets her gaze, desperation flickering in his eyes like a candle fighting against the dark. "I can't just abandon the kids, Mom. Kate is so young, and Arthur needs his dad. I have to at least try, for them."

 

The weight of responsibility is etched deep into the man's features, but Thora sympathetically shakes her head. An involuntary tsk escapes her lips.

 

"I understand, love. But you can't keep living a lie, denying who you are. That's no way to raise those little ones."

 

She lets her words hang in the air; she needs her son to understand. When she finds some semblance of clarity in his eyes, she rubs her thumbs over his knuckles to garner his attention again.

 

"That's why I think a trip to the old fishing hole would do you a world of good. A chance to clear your head, reconnect with yourself."

 

The mere mention of the fishing hole evokes memories of sun-drenched afternoons spent in the gentle company of nature. The fishing hole is a cherished sanctuary hidden deep within the lush greenery of the woods. The cool, clear waters glisten like a thousand diamonds under the sun, inviting and serene. David can still remember the laughter shared with his father, lines cast into the water in hopeful anticipation of a catch, and the echoes of their adventures ringing through the trees. Now that his dad is gone, very few people know of its existence. When he was a teenager, he had taken Nigel there, where their birdwatching expedition had hilariously gone awry, resulting in fits of laughter and playful teasing that continue to linger in his mind. The only other person is standing in front of him. While Thora doesn't fish, the tranquility of the picturesque lake resonates with her.

 

As the gears turn in David's mind, Thora envisions herself in the little boat with the rhythmic sound of the water lapping against the sides providing a soothing backdrop. It's a wonderful soundtrack for crocheting. She can already feel the warmth of the December sun on her skin and the distant calls of birds creating a perfect symphony. David loses some tension in his body as his lips curve into a more natural smile.

 

“Makes sense."

 

"So, it's settled," she exclaims, squeezing his hand once more before releasing it. "Tomorrow, we'll pack a picnic and spend the day down by the water. Just you, me, and the tranquility of that special place. What do you say?"

 

David's smile is much fuller as he shifts closer to participate in their baking project. "Sounds perfect, Mom. Thank you."

 

She beams radiantly even as David playfully steals a small mound of batter, savoring the sweet taste on his finger before placing the tray into the oven.

 

---

 

As Patty and Nigel push open the heavy wooden door of Daisy Falls, a warm wave invites them to the cozy bar. The rich aroma of spiced cider mingles with the scent of freshly prepared nachos, creating a festive and comforting atmosphere. Their eyes scan the bustling room, with the older sibling landing on their friend Kitty Sweetwater, who weaves gracefully between tables, her vibrant persona lighting up the space. With her hair pulled back in a playful ponytail, she catches sight of them and smiles radiantly. Behind the polished wooden bar, Sally McGill waves at the newcomers. She's a young bartender with an impish charm. Despite her youthful appearance - almost as if she could still be in high school - she maneuvers the drink shaker with the confidence of a seasoned pro. Always diligent, she keeps her ID at the ready, just in case.

 

"Hey, Ratburn sibs. What can I get you?"

 

Patty opens her mouth to order her usual when a familiar voice interrupts, "I see a chocolate martini and a whiskey sour in their futures."

 

Rubella Deegan recently graduated from Elwood City High School; she heads the karaoke side of the bar. She leans against a relatively clean side of the bar, accepting a drink that Sally serves her. Patty nods at her choice of a whiskey sour, and Nigel quietly thanks her though his eyes fall on her vibrant cocktail choice. She catches him in the act, rolling her eyes playfully before taking a sip.

 

"It's a Shirley Temple, relax. Besides, it's winter vacation. That means no school. Let loose."

 

Her laughter rings like a jingle bell as she leaves them behind. A storm rages in Nigel's heart, glancing at a worn leather stool. Patty rolls her eyes and practically shoves the chocolate martini into Nigel's hands when their drinks are made.

 

"Come on, Strings, don't be such a wet blanket. I think I see Oliver over there - the perfect opportunity to network!"

 

Nigel's eyes widen in panic, trying in vain to duck behind a row of indoor desert plants. Patty sighs at her brother's dramatics, grabbing him by the elbow. When he persists, she raises a challenging eyebrow.

 

"I can't, Patty," he urgently whispers. "His daughter is in my class. I can't let him see me in a bar."

 

She chuckles affectionately. "And this is why I'm an event planner. Alright, let's go snoop around; see if we can find one of your friends."

 

"I'd rather not," he mutters under his breath, though he follows his sister as she leads him away from the garbageman.

 

As they walk, his fingers trace the rim of the glass in his hand. The chocolate martini, with its creamy swirl topped with a dusting of cocoa, looks deceptively inviting, but the sweetness does little to mask the bitterness of his recent heartbreak. She acts as his anchor, keeping him from succumbing to the turbulent sea of his thoughts. He vacantly registers the soft glow of the neon lights as he and Patty weave through the throng of patrons. She's on the prowl for a vacant booth; just as they approach a wobbly table near the back, a familiar voice cuts across the noise. Nigel spots his rival educators and friends; they gravitate toward them, and the voice's owner playfully smirks upon seeing him.

 

"Nigel, is that you?" Hope teases with mock disapproval, "And on a school night?" She holds aloft her frosty piña colada like a trophy.

 

Despite himself, Nigel lifts his chocolate martini in a mock toast, the deep brown liquid swirling enticingly. He and Patty arrive at the booth where Hope sits.

 

"It's winter break, my dear," he finally points out. "Why not indulge?"

 

Perched beside Hope, Trevor raises his sapphire cocktail and chimes in with a "Hear, hear!"

 

Chip is lounging effortlessly across the table, his Cuba Libre glistening in the low light. With the sudden revelry around the table, he grins lopsidedly and joins the fun. It's obvious that he's already got several drinks in him. Nigel feels a nostalgic warmth as he slides into the booth, his sister at his side. As he settles, he notices an extra glass at their table but, before he can even question it, his best friend arrives.

 

"Hey, Nigel. Glad to see you up and about,” Paige greets him, gracefully sliding between the Ratburn siblings.

 

She collects her grasshopper from the table while Patty initiates some spirited discussion on, well, Nigel isn't really listening. Instead, he leans into Paige's comforting presence, letting everything else wash over him.

 

Chapter 7: Avalanching

Summary:

David escapes with his mom, Nigel nurses a hangover, and the kids are not running away

Notes:

Wow! Has it really been a MONTH since the last update? So sorry about that!

David and Thora are up before the sun, as the first light of dawn paints the sky in hues of pink and gold. Though eager to spend the day fishing at their favorite spot on the lake in the woods, David's heart remains heavy. Thora carefully packs her crochet supplies, while David fills his tackle box with all the necessary gear.  As they load up the car, Thora feels a pang of sadness for her son and a sense of fondness for Nigel. She's always thought he would make a better partner for David than Jane ever could.

 

Driving toward the hiking trail, David sits quietly in the passenger seat, lost in thought. When Thora glances at him from the corner of her eyes, she can see the pain in his eyes, and she wants nothing more than to make it all go away. But this is something he needs to solve on his own. David and Thora make their way down the familiar path to the lake, the only sound being the softened crunch of their footsteps against the cool, damp earth that covers the forest floor. The sun peeks through the trees, casting a warm glow on the path ahead. Despite the number of times she has visited, Thora still marvels at the beauty of the surroundings, the birds chirping melodiously in the background, and the gentle rustle of the leaves in the wind. 

 

This is David's favorite form of escape, second only to his sanctuary with Nigel. Thinking about his lover has him feeling lost and confused, even amid the natural beauty around him.

 

The sound of rushing water reaches their ears as the mother-son duo emerges from the dense foliage.  The lake shimmers like a precious gem, its surface rippling gently in the early light. The air is filled with the sweet scent of pine and wildflowers as Thora sets up her crocheting supplies under a shady tree, and David launches their boat into the calm waters. David rows them out to their favorite fishing spot, a secluded area where the fish always seem to be biting. Her crochet hook soon clicks away as she works on her current project; David casts his line into the water, silently waiting for a bite.

 

David watches his mother in silence, the rhythmic clicking of the crochet hooks becoming a soothing backdrop to his turbulent thoughts. He loved Jane once, he knows. But when did her heart become stone? It's Nigel who now holds his heart. It's Nigel who makes him feel alive in a way he never knew could happen. It's Nigel, with his laughter like music and his touch like fire. Thora eventually catches onto the direction of his turmoil as she sets down her needles and places a hand on his arm. He's grateful for the support, for the anchor. Without it, he'd surely collapse.

 

---

 

A soft glow filters through the curtains as Arthur's Bionic Bunny alarm clock strikes 5 am. Its shrill ring pierces the early morning silence. Immediately, Arthur's eyes flutter open, his arm shooting out instinctively to silence the clock before the third ring can disturb the tranquility. Extricating himself from his warm cocoon of blankets, Arthur tiptoes across the room, careful not to disturb his slumbering mother, Jane, who sleeps just down the hall. Cold, harsh words echo in Arthur's mind as he recalls the tension-filled dinner that had ended abruptly, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth and unsettling thoughts swirling in his mind. A simple question about their father's return was like an unspoken trigger. While Arthur doesn't fully understand this situation, he knows enough to sense his mom isn't in a stable state of mind.

 

Last night before bed, Arthur decided he was going to shield his younger siblings from any further wrath. He moves with purpose, noticing D.W. stirring in the corner. He quietly instructs her to prepare the essentials for their little sister, Kate. He fills two backpacks - his with dog treats and comics; hers with crayons, a coloring book, and her Mary Moo Cow doll. Swiftly grabbing the stroller and his loyal dog Pal's leash, Arthur then stops at his desk. With meticulous penmanship, he jots down a note for their mom, detailing their planned day out and assuring her that they will return in time for dinner.

 

"Are we running away, Arthur?" D.W. asks as she descends the stairs behind her brother.

 

"Not exactly," he whispers back, "We're leaving a note. But we can't wake Mom."

 

She doesn't reply and waits as he magnetizes the note to the refrigerator, and they slip out the back door. Making their way through the quiet neighborhood, the cool December morning air kisses their cheeks. D.W. juggles the diaper bag, her hand clenched around Pal's leash despite her protests against the dog. The kids are quiet, the only sound being the chirping of birds and the soft padding of Pal's paws on the pavement. As they walk, Arthur's mind races with thoughts of his dad's whereabouts and his mom unraveling.

 

"What does 'avalanching' mean?" D.W. unknowingly cuts into his thoughts as they walk down the sidewalk.

 

"Where'd you hear that?" Arthur asks, unsure where this is coming from.

 

"Mom said it last night, remember?"

 

Taking a moment to think about the whirlwind of chaos, Arthur corrects her, "She said 'galavanting'."

 

She frowns, "Well, what does that mean, then? And what does it have to do with Dad? Is he eating cake with another family? Is he ever coming home?"

 

"He only left yesterday."

 

"Yeah," she nods, "but he left after a big fight with Mom. And he slammed the door. And now he's eating cake with another family. A stupid family."

 

Arthur shakes his head, "Why are you calling them stupid?"

 

D.W. crosses her arms, "Mom said they were dummies."

 

He rolls his eyes. "She did not. She said he was galavanting with a dummy-building, cake-eating... I think I might know where Dad is."

 

D.W. perks up, "But what does 'galavanting' mean?"

 

Adjusting the baby sling, Arthur explains, "'Galavanting' means to roam or wander in search of pleasure or amusement. It doesn't mean Dad is eating cake with another family. It just means he's out having fun somewhere."

 

As D.W. processes this new information, her eyes widen. "Oh, so Dad's just out having fun? Then why is Mom so mad?"

 

He shrugs. "I guess because he didn't invite her. But I think I know where he might be. Let's go find him."

 

---

 

Nigel groans as the harsh light filtering through the blinds sears into his pounding headache. He shifts on the unfamiliar couch, trying to piece together the events of the previous night. Rubbing his temples, he vaguely recalls the difficult conversation he had with his lover, which had led to his older sister whisking him away to drown his sorrows at a nearby bar.

 

As the memories slowly come to him through the sludge that is his hungover mind, Nigel realizes he's at his best friend Paige's house. He must have crashed there after a night of heavy drinking. He groans again, remembering how the bartender had given him discounted drinks because he's also a teacher. The shots had been flowing freely, and Nigel had eventually found himself up on stage belting out karaoke with Paige, Hope, and Trevor. There's a blurry memory trying to surface in which Chip showed off some bartending tricks near midnight, drawing cheers and applause from the crowd. The room had been spinning by that point, and Nigel had lost track of how much he had consumed.

 

Now, as he shifts on the couch, the smell of alcohol and vomit wafts up from his clothes. He closes his eyes, trying to tamp down the rising nausea. Opening them again, he finds Hope sprawled out on the floor next to someone he can't quite identify. Squinting through the haze of his hangover, he realizes with a start that it's his baby sister Dentia. Nigel can't believe he doesn't even remember her joining them last night. What happened? Gingerly sitting up, Nigel winces at the throbbing in his head. How will he piece together the events of last night? As his mind swirls in panic and despair, he manages to pull himself up from the couch and stagger into the kitchen.

 

Paige is brewing a pot of coffee. When she notices him, she gives him a sympathetic smile over the countertop. "Rough night, huh?"

 

He mutters something unintelligible as he slumps into a kitchen table. When the coffee is done, she hands him a steaming mug, which he gratefully accepts. He takes a sip, letting the warmth soothe his aching head before he speaks.

 

"I don't even remember Dentia showing up last night. What happened there?"

 

"As I recall, she showed up around midnight. You were pretty out of it by then. Don't worry, she's fine. Just sleeping it off."

 

"Damn," he winces. "I'll have to make it up to her. And to David," he adds with a frown.

 

"You two will work it out. You always do. But for now, let's focus on getting rid of this hangover."

 

While she works on brewing an elixir to cure the pounding headache and churning stomach, Hope stirs from the other room. Back in college, she never missed an opportunity to tease him, especially when he was nursing a hangover. When she appears in the kitchen, she's accompanied by a stack of Polaroid pictures.

 

"You were wild last night, Nige," she teases knowingly.

 

Nigel, looking worse for wear with a pounding headache and parched throat, squints at her. "Why are you so loud?"

 

Hope simply shrugs, unfazed by her friend's grumpiness. "You drank more than me. It was like college again."

 

Nigel winces at the mention of their wild college days. "God, I hope not."

 

Hope laughs, quiet but carefree. "I've got pictures."

 

Nigel's eyes widen in horror and he worries his lower lip as he sifts through evidence of their wild night. There are pictures of him dancing on tables, singing karaoke at the top of his lungs, and even one where he was attempting to do a keg stand. He can feel the embarrassment creeping up his neck as Hope laughs at his expense.

 

"Relax, buddy," Hope reassures him. "I think we got 'em all. Most of 'em were taken in the parking lot and the car, anyway."

 

Nigel lets out a sigh of relief, grateful that at least there are no embarrassing photos taken within the confines of the bar they visited the night before. He makes a mental note to thank the taxi driver who had safely driven them here. Before they can begin to talk further, Paige sets down a steaming pot. She collects two glasses and pours some strange-colored liquid for them.

 

"What is that?" Hope asks aghast, eyeing the neon green liquid warily.

 

"Hangover elixir," she explains easily. "It's filled with all sorts of herbs and ingredients to help cure your hangover." When Hope continues to stare dubiously, Paige sarcastically adds, "It's magic; just drink it."

 

Nigel takes a hesitant sip, surprised by the sweet and tangy taste that fills his mouth. Despite the odd combination, he can feel it settling his upset stomach. He lifts his glass in thanks as Hope takes a tentative sip.

 

"Once Dentia wakes up, I'll take you three out for brunch," Paige comments.

 

"Three?" Nigel blinks. "Where's Patty?"

 

Hope giggles, "Someone got lucky!"

 

Nigel blushes, not wanting to think of the implications. "Brunch sounds nice."

 

---

 

Arthur rocks Kate in the sling as he and D.W. make their way across the park. The December sun shines down on them as they walk; Pal happily wags his little tail, and Kate's chubby cheeks peek out from beneath the fabric. They listen to the sounds of the city coming to life around them. The distant hum of traffic, the rustle of leaves in the trees, and the chatter of birds in the bushes.

 

"Can we go, Arthur?" D.W. asks, her eyes wide with excitement as she points out the festivities.

 

"Well, not today," Arthur replies, glancing down at Kate who begins to fuss in the sling. "They're setting up for Happy Crazy Wow Day tomorrow."

 

D.W.'s face falls slightly at the news, but she perks up again when Arthur mentions their dad. "Where's he having fun, and why didn't he invite Mom?" she asks, her curiosity getting the best of her.

 

Arthur chuckles at her change in demeanor and points at a house near the corner of the park. "I think he's over there."

 

D.W. cocks her head at the unfamiliar house. "Who lives there?" she asks, tugging on Pal's leash as he sniffs around a nearby tree.

 

"My teacher," he says. "He usually helps set up for the fairs and stuff."

 

"Really? That's so cool!"

 

---

 

Jane wakes up in a cold bed, yesterday's events pulsating through her mind like a whirlwind. It had been a nightmare. She can still hear the echo of her argument with David in the kitchen. It started innocently enough, chopping onions for a last-minute meal he was preparing for his friends. Since Jane isn't a cook, she struggled with the task. As the onions lay in uneven chunks on the cutting board, David's patience wore thin. And then he dropped the bombshell.

 

Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, she makes some rude comments about her husband and his betrayal. She fantasizes about slipping something into his food to get pregnant with their fourth child and keep him tied to her. It had worked twice before, with D.W. and Kate, after the first unplanned pregnancy with Arthur. Speaking of the kids, last night, she was unable to stay in the kitchen without breaking down. She knows the dinner was unappetizing, but she was on edge.

 

D.W.'s question about their father's whereabouts was asked innocently, but it was the breaking point.

 

Jane steps away from the bed and stands in front of the mirror, her reflection staring back at her as she hesitates to look at herself. She can't remember the last time she had truly taken the time to care for herself. Her hair is a tangled mess, her eyes tired from lack of sleep and the weight of her crumbling marriage. Standing alone in the empty room, she feels only anger and betrayal. And defiance surging beneath everything else. Sighing, she strips off her clothes and reaches for a fresh set of underwear. She thinks about what she could do this weekend. Maybe drop the kids off at her dad's and call Bitzi for a few nights on the town.

 

She grabs an overnight bag and packs her essentials, making her way downstairs. She belatedly realizes how quiet the house is, and she starts getting a little worried when she enters the kitchen and finds the note that Arthur wrote. Satisfied that the kids will either be at the park or library by late afternoon, she grabs her keys and heads off to the newspaper to catch Bitzi. Staring at the house, she realizes that she doesn't need David to be happy. He hasn't been making her happy for a long time, and she no longer wants this life.

 

Chapter 8: English Muffin

Summary:

Arthur goes searching for his dad (who's out fishing with Thora)
And Paige plays Team Mom for her hungover friends

Notes:

Q: does anyone still like Jane?

The mid-morning sun hangs lazily in the sky, casting a near-golden glow over the suburban neighborhood. D.W. sits on the front porch, her small fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the peeling paint of the railing. She lets out a sigh that seems to echo her palpable boredom. Pal wags his tail nearby, his leash tied securely to one of the slats in Mr. Ratburn's balustrade. Arthur paces back and forth in front of the porch, his brow furrowed in frustration. Kate, on the other hand, sits content in her stroller, her chubby hands playing with the locks that secures her in place. Arthur had been so confident that they'd find their dad at his teacher's house. After all, their father and the teacher have been friends since high school, a fact that their dad often mentions with pride. As Arthur rings the doorbell for what feels like the hundredth time, he sighs in defeat. Where could their dad be if not here?

 

"We can't go back home, Arthur," D.W. speaks up. "Mom will be so mad."

 

Though Arthur agrees, he's unsure where else to go. He's quiet a little too long, so D.W. suggests somewhere.

 

"Let's just go see James. Or Binky."

 

Although James is a boy in D.W.'s kindergarten class, his older sister Molly tends to torment Arthur and his friends. Binky, on the other hand, is in Arthur's fourth grade class and has a baby sister who's Kate's age. Binky has also been teaching some younger kids wrestling moves and ballet, so he's one of D.W.'s friends despite the age difference.

 

"Okay, how about this," Arthur counters, "I'll drop you off at Binky's, and then I'll go to the library. Miss Turner is friends with Mr. Ratburn, maybe she knows where Dad is."

 

D.W. nods, hopping off the porch with enthusiasm. Arthur unties Pal's leash, handing it over to her as he clicks the safety off the stroller. He and Kate lead the way, with the toddler giggling happily and the stroller wheels bouncing along the uneven pavement. The neighborhood is buzzing with more activity, and D.W. excitedly chatters about adventures that she's had with Binky. Arthur listens to his sister, though he keeps a watchful eye on his surroundings, in case he spots his dad or teacher. They soon approach the familiar sight of the red-brick facade and the well-kept garden, and Arthur raps on the door.

 

After a moment, Binky's mom answers, smiling when she sees the kids. "Oh, Binky's out back, teaching pirouettes to Mei Lin."

 

D.W. eagerly tugs on Pal's leash, running toward the back fence.

 

"Thanks, Mrs. Barnes," Arthur tells her. "I need to go to the library, so would you mind watching them for a few hours?"

 

"No trouble at all," she replies, taking the stroller and baby sling (plus Pal's dog treats). "Have fun, dear."

 

He doesn't correct her and, with a quick goodbye, he heads to the library with only his backpack.

 

---

 

Thora sits quietly on the small rowboat, her fingers deftly moving the crochet needle as she weaves colorful threads into a splendid blanket. The warm December sun filters nicely through the woodland as she bends over her work with unwavering focus. This blanket is not just another project; it's a labor of love destined to be a gift for Nigel this Christmas. Just as she finishes several rows, a gleeful cry interrupts her concentration. Thora looks up to see her son with excitement clearly written on his face. With zero hesitation, he leaps into action, the line pulling taut as he skillfully reels in his catch – a magnificent rainbow trout, its scales shimmering like precious jewels under the winter sunlight.

 

A swell of pride washes over her as her grown son immerses himself in the sheer joy of the catch. It reminds her of the days long ago when he was a child. Times when she and her late husband nurtured his love for the outdoors.

 

As David expertly works to free the trout from the hook, his movements are precise and gentle, respecting the other lake creatures. Thora sets aside her crochet work and opens the cooler to keep the trout fresh until he's ready to clean it. With the trout safely stored and the boat now a haven of tidiness, David picks up the oars, guiding them smoothly back to the mouth. Once they reach the shore, David secures the boat and ensures everything is in order. As he busies himself with the last tasks, Thora finds a comfortable rock by the water's edge to continue her crochet work.

 

The trip back to Thora's house isn't very long but the tension has dissolved to joy. David sits in the passenger seat, his previous somber expression replaced with much lighter energy. As the radio plays softly in the background, a familiar tune begins to fill the car. 'Punky's Dilemma' by Simon & Garfunkel. David's face lights up, and without hesitation, he cranks up the volume and starts singing along with fervor. Thora chuckles at her son's enthusiasm, his voice blending harmoniously with the melody.

 

♫ Wish I was an English muffin

'Bout to make the most out of a toaster...

I'd ease myself down,
Comin' up brown...

I prefer boysenberry
More than any ordinary jam...
I'm a "Citizens for Boysenberry Jam" fan...

Ah, South California...

If I become a first lieutenant
Would you put my photo on your piano? ♪♪

 

She rolls down the windows, letting the cool breeze and the music wash over them. As she joins him, she steals a glance at his newfound zest. He belts out the lyrics with abandon, and Thora is happy to see how his mood has shifted.

 

---

 

"Good morning, Arthur," a warm voice calls out when the preteen pushes open the heavy oak doors and enters the library.

 

The library is an extensive area, about the size of a museum, with several partially filled book carts on the ground floor. Arthur beelines to the check-out desk, only to find a different librarian than the one he came for.

 

"Hi, Mrs. Lancaster. Is Miss Turner in?"

 

She shakes her head, strands of brunette hair escaping from her bun. "Oh, no, dear. Miss Turner had a minor emergency. She won't be back until Monday."

 

Disappointment flickers across Arthur's face. "Oh..." he mumbles softly. "Any chance Mr. Ratburn is in the puppet play area?"

 

"I'm afraid not, Arthur," Mrs. Lancaster replies kindly. "Perhaps closer to Christmas. Is there something I can help you with today? Any books you're looking for?"

 

Arthur sighs again and shakes his head. "No, it's okay. I was just looking for my dad. Miss Turner and Mr. Ratburn are his friends."

 

Sympathy shines in Mrs. Lancaster's eyes as she leans forward. "Do you know any other places your dad might visit? Or perhaps his other friends in town?"

 

Arthur contemplates this, scoffing his feet against the linoleum for a moment.

 

Then, his face brightens slightly. "Actually, yeah! May I borrow the phone, Mrs. Lancaster?"

 

The librarian chuckles softly and gestures toward the staff phone on the desk. "Of course, Arthur. Go right ahead. You've proven to be responsible enough."

 

Arthur slides under the barrier and picks up the receiver, dialing a familiar number. While waiting for the person on the other end to pick up, he watches as the staff room next to him opens. He vaguely recognizes the woman but doesn't identify her as his teacher's sister. Patty stretches and approaches Mrs. Lancaster with a flirty smile.

 

"Thanks for letting me crash with you," she says with a kiss on the librarian's cheek.

 

"Absolutely," she replies loftily, "I couldn't let you drive drunk. You know you can always call on me for help."

 

With a mischievous wink, Patty jokes, "I'll call on you a lot more when you leave your husband."

 

Patty saunters away, smiling when she hears the other woman's fond laughter. Behind them, Arthur sighs resignedly. The phone clicked through, but the deadpan greeting he receives isn't who he planned to talk with.

 

"Hi, Molly. It's Arthur."

 

"What do you want?" The older preteen sneers. "James is at the Tibble Terrors, and Mom's shopping."

 

Arthur groans in disappointment. "I was just looking for my dad," he explains.

 

"Did you call the catering company?" Molly's sharp question pierces through the line, prompting Arthur to smack his head against the nearby table in frustration. The silence that follows is damning. "I'll take your silence to mean 'no'," Molly concludes curtly before hanging up.

 

---

 

Paige, Dentia, Hope, and Nigel stumble into Manny's Diner, their heavy feet echoing against the checkered tiles while the faint smell of brewing coffee envelops them like a warm blanket. Corey, the kind waitress with her ever-present smile, greets them with an easygoing familiarity.

 

"Hi, Corey. We need the hangover classic," Paige informs her.

 

Corey nods knowingly and disappears into the kitchen without needing to jot down individual orders. The booth they settle into drapes its worn cushions around them like a cozy cocoon, offering solace from the mid-morning light streaming through the windows. Nigel slumps into the seat, his eyes clouded with thoughts of love lost and uncertainties ahead. His vivacious baby sister who radiates kindness with every smile, sits beside him. Hope slides in across from Nigel, and Paige sits at the head of the table. Her gaze shifts between her friends out of protectiveness.

 

Corey stops by the table with two strawberry milkshakes and two vanilla milkshakes. "For hydration," she explains with a twinkle in her eyes. "Your classics will be out shortly."

 

Nigel and Dentia immediately reach for the strawberry ones, giving a shake of salt into it and stirring with the given straw. They do this in synchronicity; Hope and Paige smirk at the alikeness but say nothing as they take their vanilla shakes. The drinks disappear in a flurry of straws and sips. As they wait for their hangover classics to arrive, Paige turns to Nigel with a look of concern.

 

"Will you be going back home, or do you need some more activities?"

 

Nigel hesitates. While he'd like to go back home, he's unsure if he can without thinking about David. He should never have given him an ultimatum.

 

Before he can respond, Dentis interjects with, "We can go back to my house and play board games!"

 

Nigel smiles in agreement, just in time for the hangover classics to arrive in all their greasy glory.

 

---

 

At Thora's house, the early afternoon sun paints the sky in a kaleidoscope of natural colors. She sits in her favorite rocking chair with her crochet hook swiftly weaving through colorful yarn. David carries the cooler into the kitchen, eager to put his culinary finesse to good use. With practiced hands, he takes the fish to the spotless kitchen counter and begins his meticulous preparations. The sharp knife moves with precision, effortlessly scaling, gutting, and filleting the fish before rinsing it under cool water, washing away any traces of the sea. He then turns to his mom's old-fashioned Rolodex, a treasure trove of family recipes passed down through generations. While Jane and the kids don't care for his more complicated gourmet dishes, Thora has always been supportive.

 

After much deliberation, he settled on a recipe close to his heart. He starts with a refreshing cucumber and avocado mousse, a delicate yet vibrant accompaniment to the rich flavor of the trout. The sounds of the food processor hum in the background as David expertly peels, seeds, and cuts the cucumber, blending it with ripe avocado, a splash of lime juice, a dollop of sour cream, and a hint of cayenne pepper for a subtle kick. The mixture transforms into a silky green mousse. Next comes the blanc, a velvety sauce that will elevate the dish to new heights.

 

Shallots sizzle in a saucepan, mingling with dry white wine and vinegar to create a symphony of aromas. David's hands move with finesse as he adds cream and whisks in cubes of butter, one by one until the sauce becomes a smooth, glossy texture. A squeeze of lemon zest, a sprinkle of fresh chives, and a dash of seasoning bring the blanc to life, its richness promising to complement the delicate trout. With the accompaniments prepared, David turns his attention to the star of the meal: the trout. Each fillet is tenderly patted dry, and seasoned with a sprinkle of salt and cracked pepper; ready to be seared to perfection. The skillet sizzles as olive oil shimmers, embracing the fillets skin-side down with a gentle hiss. The air fills with the aroma of butter and fish as the trout cooks, the skin crisping to a golden hue under David's watchful eye.

 

He then dances around the kitchen, flipping the fillets, adding a pat of butter to the pan, and caringly basting the fish to ensure it cooks evenly. 

 

As the final touches are added to the fish, David calls out, "Okay, Mom! Lunch is ready!"

 

The clinking of crochet needles ceases as Thora sets down her blanket. She walks into the kitchen, her eyes lighting up as she retrieves two delicate plates from their designated cabinet. As David skillfully plates the dishes, he expertly spoons a velvety dollop of refrigerated cucumber-avocado mousse onto each plate, its vibrant green hue a striking contrast to the pristine white porcelain. Carefully laying a pan-seared rainbow trout fillet atop the mousse, he meticulously drizzles a warm lemon chive beurre blanc around the plates, infusing the air with an enticing aroma.

 

Thora returns to the table with two wine glasses from the cupboard and a forgotten bottle of white wine she had stashed away months ago. She presents the Pinot Grigio like she's Vanna White and asks her son, "What are we eating?"

 

David beams at her, announcing his meal like he's Hannibal Lecter at a dinner party, "Pan-Seared Rainbow Trout with Cucumber-Avocado Mousse, Lemon Chive Beurre Blanc, and Microgreens."

 

Her eyes widen in awe, marveling at his creativity with her simple ingredients. "It looks beautiful, David."

 

Sitting down at the elegantly set table, the pair savors the exquisite lunch before them. The delicate trout melts in their mouths, the mousse lending a creamy richness to each bite, while the tangy beurre blanc adds a burst of citrusy zest that tantalizes their senses. In the quiet intimacy of the early afternoon light, David speaks gently and with gratitude.

 

"Thank you, Mom. I needed this."

 

---

 

Bitzi serves each of her impromptu guests a grilled cheese beside the cup of tomato soup she's ladled from the stovetop.

 

"This is a fine lunch," Jane sighs.

 

"One would think you'd have plenty to eat in that house of yours," Prue teases.

 

"Nothing pronounceable," she mutters bitterly, dipping a corner of the sandwich into the steaming tomato soup. "He can never just make something simple like this."

 

"Well, he's a caterer, dear. It's in his blood," Bitzi replies knowingly.

 

"Doesn't mean he has to bring it home," Prue quips in Jane's defense.

 

"Thank you!"

 

The conversation switches gears as Bitzi pours glasses of lemonade to complement their little meal.

 

"Are you certain your father won't mind looking after our children this weekend?" Bitzi eventually asks.

 

Jane scoffs lightly, Please. He loves our kids. What's three more?"

 

Prue nods in agreement, "And Molly practically runs our house."

 

"Then it's settled."

 

---

 

Arthur's footsteps are heavy as he trudges through the familiar paths of the park, his heart weighed down. The chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze feel like a mocking backdrop to his troubled thoughts. Just as he reaches beyond where the festivities are building, he recognizes two voices in the air. Francine waves enthusiastically when she spots him, jogging over.

 

"Hey! We're playing hockey down the street," she energetically informs him

 

"Her team's down a player because Alex had to go home," Sue Ellen chimes in.

 

Arthur's thoughts are preoccupied but he manages a small nod in acknowledgment.

 

Sue Ellen cocks her head to the side and remarks, "You look like you're looking for something. If you lost something, Fern's writing poetry under the apple tree."

 

He smiles weakly as he confesses, "I've actually been looking for my dad. He didn't come home last night."

 

Francine's eyes widen in surprise, "Wait, seriously?"

 

Arthur nods solemnly, the weight of the situation heavy on his shoulders. "Yeah. He and Mom got into a big fight yesterday, so I've spent all morning looking."

 

"My dad had a bad day yesterday, and Catherine says he went to Miss Sweetwater's bar downtown."

 

Arthur's brows furrow. "I don't think Dad would go to a bar. But I don't know where else to look. Do you know where it is?"

 

She shakes her head, "No, but Catherine's at the ice cream shop." Behind Arthur, her attention shifts to another classmate passing by. "Hey, Maria! We're playing hockey down the street!"

 

She runs after the girl. Before joining her, Sue Ellen turns to Arthur with sincere empathy. "Good luck finding your dad."

 

He thanks her and watches them walk away.

 

Chapter 9: Painful Choices and Sheeple

Summary:

oh boy, folks. this is a long 'un

 

Arthur continues his search while David makes a BIG decision
Meanwhile, Jane and her friends take a girls' day

Stuffed from their hangover cure at the diner, the quartet of friends arrives at Dentia's cozy abode. The youngest of the group kicks off her shoes and bounces toward the kitchen after letting the others inside.

 

"Shoes off, please!" She calls behind her.

 

Paige exchanges a knowing glance with Hope as the trio settles into the plush armchairs of the living room. Afternoon's sunlight illuminates without blinding them. When Dentia returns, she bears a treasure trove of board games. She sprawls the eclectic mix across the coffee table like a colorful mosaic.

 

"Okay! We have Trivial Pursuit, Life, Monopoly, Mouse Trap, Scrabble, Cluedo, Battleship, Guess Who, Operation, Candyland, and Twister. What's first?"

 

"We're not playing Scrabble with a walking encyclopedia," Hope takes a playful jab at Paige's unmatched vocabulary prowess.

 

Scrabble is taken away, and Trivial Pursuit is considered equally daunting for similar reasons.

 

"Battleship and Guess Who are more suited for one-on-one matchups," Paige suggests.

 

Dentia agrees, swiftly removing the said games from the lineup. Monopoly is vetoed by both Hope and Paige, citing past experiences of interminable gameplay and spirited disagreements. Nigel, leaning back in his chair, voices his stance against Mouse Trap, eliciting a laugh from Dentia.

 

"Of course, Big Brother. That leaves us with Life, Cluedo, Operation, Candyland, and Twister. Where shall we commence our gaming adventure?" Dentia poses the question.

 

After much deliberation and good-natured banter, the group settles on a round of Cluedo, the classic murder mystery board game.

 

---

 

Thora and David finish their meal, and the older of the two rises from the table, already moving to clear the dishes. "I'll wash the dishes, dear. You cooked, after all."

 

David shakes his head and playfully counters, "How about you wash, and I'll dry?"

 

She agrees and they work in quiet harmony. The warm water flows over Thora's hands, the gentle clink of dishes growing to be a soothing soundtrack to their shared chore. They hum an old disco tune under their breath, their hips swaying in time to the music. As David dries the last saucepan, he turns to face his mother, his eyes serious and determined.

 

"Mom, I've made up my mind. I will leave Jane, but not just for Nigel. But for myself. I... I deserve happiness."

 

Thora's smile widens in radiant love, proud of her son's decision. She lowers the dish in her hand into the suds, haphazardly wiping her hands on a dish towel hanging from a lower cabinet. She enfolds David in a warm, comforting embrace. He all but throws himself into her arms.

 

"Painful choices lie ahead, my dear," Thora murmurs, her voice soothing against the uncertainty that looms. "But you will make it through. You've always been stronger than you think."

 

As David steps out of his mother's cozy house, liberation washes over him. The midday sun casts long shadows on the quiet street, and a gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the trees. His heart beats with a newfound vigor, each step carrying him further away from the suffocating weight of his failing marriage. The drive to City Hall is smooth, the hum of the engine a soothing companion as he navigates the familiar streets. The Friday afternoon traffic is lighter than usual, a stroke of luck that aligns perfectly with his newfound determination. By the time he pulls up to the imposing building, his confidence has swelled to fill every corner of his being. Stepping inside, the cool air of the lobby envelops him, carrying with it a faint scent of bureaucracy. Officials in smart suits bustle about, their footsteps echoing on the polished floors. David makes his way to the nearest booth, where a middle-aged woman with kind eyes looks up from her paperwork to greet him.

 

"Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you today?" Her voice is warm and welcoming, contrasting the tension coiling in David's stomach.

 

Clearing his throat, he straightens his shoulders. "I'd like papers to file for divorce," he says, the words ringing out in the stillness of the room.

 

The woman's kind expression falters for a moment, a flicker of empathy crossing her features before she composes herself. "Of course, sir. I'll need some information from you. Please fill out these forms."

 

She slides a stack of papers across the countertop. As he settles into a chair and begins to fill out the forms, memories flood his mind like an unruly tide. Images of happier times with his wife, laughter shared, dreams woven together, now tainted by resentment and regret. The weight of his decision bears down on him, but he pushes through, each stroke of the pen a step closer to freedom. The minutes tick by, reverberating in the room.

 

Once he completes the forms, David hands them back to the woman, who accepts them with a nod of understanding. Her eyes held a wordless acknowledgment of the pain he carries within him. When the woman hands him a receipt, signaling the completion of the paperwork, a sense of finality settles over him. The weight that has burdened him for so long lifted, replaced by a sense of lightness he had almost forgotten existed. He only needs her signature, and then he'll be free to live life how he wants.

 

---

 

When Arthur enters the quaint ice cream shop, he immediately finds Catherine sitting with Rubella, their milkshakes half-finished in front of them. He hesitates, unsure of how to approach the older girls. They're almost twice his age, and he feels out of place in their company. Gathering his courage, he clears his throat and steps closer to their table.

 

"Uh, hey, Catherine," Arthur mumbles, his voice slightly shaky.

 

Catherine looks up, her eyebrow quirking. "Francine's friend, right?"

 

He nods, glad she remembers him. "Yeah, that's me. Um, Francine told me where your dad went last night. And, well, my dad, he... he might have gone there too."

 

She blinks slowly and exchanges a glance with Rubella before turning back to the younger boy. "Let me get this straight: you want me, a 16-year-old, to take you, a 9-year-old, to Miss Sweetwater's bar halfway across town?"

 

He nods desperately, "To find my dad? Yeah, please. I have to find him."

 

She appraises him but shrugs. "Sure, why not? I know the way."

 

Catherine and Rubella finish their milkshakes, and the girls go their separate ways. Catherine then leads Arthur away from the ice cream shop, their footsteps echoing in the cobblestone streets. She doesn't have a car, so she decides to take him through a series of shortcuts - avoiding the main roads crowded with cars and people - that she often uses to navigate the city. The streets grow quieter as they move farther away from the bustling town center, the sounds of traffic fading into the background. The tall buildings give way to smaller, more rundown structures, and the air grows heavy with a sense of unease. But Arthur presses on, unwavering as he follows the teenager's lead. 

 

Catherine talks vaguely about her dad's frequent visits to the place, and how he works with a lot of underappreciative people, so the family doesn't judge his habits. After what feels like hours of walking, the vibrant neon lights of the karaoke bar uptown beckons from a distance. When they finally arrive, however, Arthur is downtrodden to see that it's still and silent. Catherine leads Arthur to the back entrance, where a friendly face greets them. She's in her twenties, has orange hair, and is wearing a purple jacket.

 

"Hey, Sal," Catherine greets her, "can we come in for a few?"

 

She glances at the boy next to her friend but shrugs, holding the door open. "Guess so. I can make Shirley Temples or chocolate milk. What's up?"

 

As she talks, she guides them into the back staff room where she's got a video game paused. Arthur's eyes widen when he realizes it's Bionic Bunny III: Vengeance of the Sheeple. It's a new game: one he has been dreaming of playing with Buster. While Arthur is distracted, Catherine speaks with Sally. Sally confirms her days - Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays - and then checks the ledger after Catherine vaguely explains Arthur's situation. She comes up empty-handed, of course, but she quickly claps her hands.

 

"I can make Shirley Temples. Do you want one?"

 

Catherine shakes her head, nudging her friend. "No thanks, Sal. I just had a shake at the shoppe."

 

Arthur looks away from the video game when Sally addresses him. Developing an instant crush on her, he says, "Um, okay. I guess."

 

Sally and Catherine smirk lightly at his response; the bartender leads the duo back to the main room, disappearing into the depths of the bar to fetch the ingredients. As she returns with the vibrant bottles of grenadine, soda, and cherries, Arthur's eyes widen in awe at the colorful array before him. Catherine's gaze turns thoughtful as she glances around the dimly lit room, her mind elsewhere.

 

"Did you see any of the Ratburns last night?" She quietly asks Sally.

 

"All 3, actually," she reveals, a knowing glint in her eyes. It's not much of a secret to the teenagers and young adults around town that the caterer and the teacher spend a lot of their time together. "They left with the librarian."

 

"Thanks, Sal," Catherine murmurs gratefully.

 

Sally smiles, handing the expertly crafted Shirley Temple to the curious 9-year-old. The scent of cherries and fizz lingers as he sips the intriguing drink.

 

---

 

Prue feels the warm summer breeze tousling her hair as she drives her sleek blue Cadillac down the winding country roads. The top is down, allowing the sunlight to dance on her skin, filling her with a sense of freedom she hasn't felt in a long time. Jane sits beside her, her hands up in the air, the wind whipping through her hair, a rare smile gracing her lips. Bitzi sits in the back, her headscarf flapping in the wind, and her laughter ringing out against the backdrop of the roaring engine. Despite the carefree facade they put on, each of the women carries burdens that weigh heavily on their hearts. Aside from Jane and her cheating husband, Prue was recently fired from her job, and Bitzi fears the distance growing between her and her son.

 

As they slow down, Prue glances at her passenger and urges, "You need to confront him, Jane. You can't keep living like this."

 

Jane shifts her gaze to the horizon, admitting, "I know, but I just can't bring myself to do it. It's like...I'm afraid of what I might find."

 

As they approach a scenic overlook with an outdoor cafe, Prue slows the car to a stop, and the three women step out for an easy dinner.

 

---

 

Buster has spent the better part of the night devouring a cheesy pizza while watching an old Bionic Bunny rerun on TV. Dressed in bright purple space-themed pajamas, he's startled by the unexpected knock on his door. He cautiously opens it, only to find Molly and her brother James standing on his doorstep. Buster initially blinks in surprise, a half-eaten slice of pizza still hanging precariously from his mouth.

 

"Uh, hi? Want some pizza?"

 

James glances at Molly with a questioning look, silently seeking her approval. She nods with a small smirk, her eyes shifting back to Buster.

 

"Sure."

 

Inviting the unexpected guests in, Buster leads them through the cluttered living room to the well-worn couch where he was sitting moments before. James eagerly accepts the invitation and scrambles onto the sofa, his chubby hands reaching out for a slice of the gooey, cheesy delight. Molly, a little more reserved, opts to stand but doesn't decline the offer, picking up a slice herself. The three kids watch the rerun, eating their pizza in silence. When the show goes into a commercial, Buster can't resist his curiosity.

 

"So, uh, what made you guys come over?"

 

Molly hefts a backpack that Buster hasn't even noticed she's carrying. Glancing over at James, Buster spots another backpack resting on the couch next to the little boy, who is now happily munching on his pizza.

 

"Mom sent us to get you packed. They're sending us to a farm for the weekend," Molly explains matter-of-factly.

 

Clueless, Buster's face scrunches up in confusion. "What?"

 

Molly vaguely explains what she knows: that they're being sent - along with Arthur, D.W., and Kate - to stay at some farm for the weekend so their moms can have some getaway. Buster is still confused after the explanation, but he doesn't question the Tough Customer. When the episode ends, he goes upstairs and packs a bag.

 

---

 

Catherine walks ahead, her long shadow stretching out on the pavement. She turns to look at Arthur, who seems torn between two conflicting desires. Arthur desperately longs to find his dad. However, he also knows that he needs to pick up his younger sisters...

 

"There's a payphone down the street if you need to call your mom or whatever," she suggests when she notices his hesitation.

 

He nods gratefully and catches up to her as they continue down the street. When they reach the old payphone standing stoically on the corner, Catherine stands guard a short distance away. Instead of risking the chance to invoke his mother's rage from last night, Arthur places two quarters into the slot and dials Binky's house. The phone rings a few times before a familiar voice answers.

 

"Barnes residence. This is Binky," says the voice on the other end.

 

"Hey, it's Arthur," he replies softly.

 

Binky's voice brightens up. "Oh, hey! My mom wanted to know if D.W. and Kate were staying for dinner. She tried calling your house, but your parents didn't answer."

 

Arthur hesitates for a moment, his mind racing with thoughts. “Oh, yeah. They can stay if that's alright. I'm eating somewhere else, and I'll pick them up after,” he finally responds.

 

"Alright. We're having meatloaf and mashed potatoes if you change your mind," Binky offers.

 

"Thanks!" Arthur says before gently hanging up the receiver, a faint smile on his lips.

 

Turning to Catherine, he finds her watching him with a reassuring smile and hands on her hips. "All good?"

 

"Yeah," he replies, nodding slowly.

 

"Good," she pats his shoulder. "We can take the bus to get most of the way there."

 

She leads him to a bus stop where they luckily don't need to wait too long. As the bus trundles through the quiet streets, Arthur stares out of the window. Catherine, sitting beside him, reaches out to hold his hand in a comforting gesture. Finally, the bus arrives at their destination – at the street corner for the local librarian's house, where Miss Turne resides. They walk in silence, but Catherine can tell that Arthur is growing more anxious the closer they get. Upon reaching the librarian's house, however, they find the front door locked, with no sign of Miss Turner's presence. As they stand on the deserted porch, Catherine places a comforting hand on Arthur's shoulder and offers him a small but sincere apology.

 

"I'm sorry, Arthur, but how about we grab a bite to eat? It's getting late, past 8 o'clock. Let's head to Pizza Paula's for a quick dinner."

 

Arthur nods faintly, pulling his jacket closer to him. With weary steps, they walk through the chilly evening, the glow of street lamps casting long shadows on the frost-covered pavement. The crisp air nips at their cheeks as they make their way to the cozy neighborhood pizzeria. Upon entering the warmth of Pizza Paula's, the scent of bubbling cheese and savory tomato sauce envelops them, offering solace in the form of a few slices of delicious pizza. Catherine orders a personal pizza for them, and Arthur watches with hunger and somberness. They settle into a booth near the back, listening to the soft hum of conversation and clinking of glasses. The slices are washed down with cool glasses of complimentary water.

 

After finishing their impromptu dinner, Catherine takes Arthur by the hand, leading him back out into the winter night. The glow of the streetlamps now illuminates their path as they walk to Catherine's apartment, the chilly air carrying the promise of snowflakes to come. Catherine fishes out her keys when they arrive, and they're greeted by her mom.

 

"Well, it's good to see you finally," Laverne exclaims, her eyes drifting to Arthur. "Oh, hello, Arthur. Did you want to stay for dinner?"

 

Before Arthur can explain his long ordeal, Catherine chimes in with a rueful explanation for his unexpected arrival. "I found him at the pizza place. He took the wrong bus."

 

Laverne's expression softens in understanding. "Oh, dear," she murmurs, her concern evident. "Do you want me to drive you home, Arthur?"

 

Arthur hesitates once again, his thoughts flickering with uncertainty. "Uh... can you take me to my friend's house, actually? My sisters are there."

 

The woman nods, already pulling on her jacket in readiness. "Of course," she replies kindly. "Thank you, Catherine. The matzo ball soup is in the refrigerator. I'll make sure Arthur gets home safely."

 

---

 

As the sun begins its slow descent below the horizon, David drives around aimlessly. He dreads the inevitable confrontation awaiting him at home. His mind races with excuses and justifications, and then glances at the time on his dashboard – 8:37 PM. The thought of walking through the front door to face his wife's disapproving stare makes his stomach churn. But at the same time, he longs to see his kids, tuck them into bed, and share a few moments of their day before they drift off to dreamland. He drives past the familiar route that leads back to his mom's house, tempting him with the comfort of familiarity and the welcome respite. He considers calling a friend, maybe inviting himself over for a late dinner, but something inside him rebels against the notion.

 

Instead, he impulsively approaches the familiar intersection where the road splits off into Anacostia, a small neighborhood on the outskirts of Elwood City. Without a second thought, he veers off the main road and onto the winding streets of Anacostia, drawn toward a beacon of familiarity in the form of a quaint family-owned restaurant called Hamburger Castle. The neon sign outside the restaurant flickers to life, casting a soft glow over the empty parking lot. Hamburger Castle is now owned by his old friend Abraham Frensky. Memories flood back to him – of late-night burgers shared over laughter, youthful dreams, and ambitions discussed over greasy fries and milkshakes.

 

David pushes the glass door of the quaint diner, the familiar jingle of the bell above him echoing through his ears. Stepping inside, the warmth of the restaurant embraces him like an old friend, enveloping him in a wave of nostalgia. The enticing scent of sizzling burgers and frying onions wafts through the air, mingling with the soft hum of chatter and clinking of cutlery. Abraham, the burly owner of the diner, catches sight of David, and a wide grin spreads across his face.

 

"As I live and breathe. David! I was beginning to think you forgot I existed!" He then bellows toward the back, "Jackson!"

 

From behind the grill, Jackson emerges, a tall man with friendly eyes and a welcoming smile. He reaches out and warmly shakes David's hand, his voice filled with genuine concern, "Hey, man. How's things shakin'?"

 

David sighs. If it were any random server or if he had arrived earlier, he would've brushed off the question. But these are his friends. He suggests that he'll order first and then he'll explain everything. With only two other customers, an elderly couple nestled in a cozy booth near the window, David settles onto a worn barstool. He nods at Abraham and asks for his usual, a classic bacon cheeseburger with a side of crispy fries. As Abraham sets to work in the kitchen, Jackson pulls up a stool next to David. They can see Abraham from a little glass-less window, so David takes a deep breath, listening to the clatter of dishes and the gentle sizzling of the grill before recounting the recent events.

 

"Yesterday was a helluva day. I got into a vicious fight with my wife. You remember Jane, right?"

 

He pauses to glance at the men. They obviously recall who she is but, by the looks on their faces, they aren't too fond of her.

 

"Yeah, well, there was some painful honesty in that fight. Worst one we've ever had in nine years of marriage. I confessed to an affair I've been having and left them. I mean, I, I went to his house and stayed a while, but I had to give him space after we talked."

 

"You wanted to go back for the kids," Abraham says knowingly as he flips the burger patty.

 

David nods. Abraham and Jackson have two daughters, Chloe and Jamie. "How are the girls?"

 

"Growing up too fast," Jackson tells him. "Chloe's taking French lessons, can you believe that? French! In fourth grade!"

 

"And Jamie went on her first date last week," Abraham adds. "A boy in her science class named Mitchell. They went to the zoo."

 

David smiles softly. "Arthur joined Nigel's community theater group last week. And Kate's toddling everywhere."

 

"What about the middle one?" Jackson asks. "The one with the initials."

 

He sighs, "Well, she's at that age where she changes her mind every few days. I know she wants to ride a pony and meet the singing cow on that show she watches."

 

The men hum and David goes silent for a moment, focusing on the food that Abraham brings out. A steaming burger oozing with melted cheese and a generous heap of golden fries. He takes a moment to savor the simple pleasure of a hot meal. After a few bites into his burger, he continues his story.

 

"So, yeah. He was polite about it. Saying he just needs space. It wasn't a breakup but it still felt awful. I drove around a bit, but my car still took me to Mom's place."

 

"A beacon in the storm of your emotions," Abraham quotes.

 

He nods. "That about sums it up. I watched some old reruns and just shattered on her couch. She didn't pry; kept working on her latest crocheting project. I slept over with her. I couldn't face Jane or the kids."

 

"Plenty understandable," Jackson consoles him while snagging a fry.

 

"But then today... we got up early to go fishing, and I had time to sit and think. It was after we caught the fish when I was in her kitchen making a meal out of it that I decided."

 

He resumes eating, not noticing the looks Abraham and Jackson pass over his head. Abraham has since grabbed a rag to clean the bar, but he seems to lose the silent battle.

 

"Decide?"

 

David nods, swallowing. "I went to city hall and filed for divorce. It isn't fair to Nigel and, I realized, it isn't fair to me."

 

It's the first time he's said his lover's name, albeit accidentally. He blushes furiously, but neither of the men seems too surprised by this outcome. Jackson gives him a solid pat on the back. When David chances to look up, Abraham nods understandingly, and the former exhales slowly. And he returns to his dinner.

 

Chapter 10: Haze of Pleasure

Summary:

Jane is taking off

ALSO! We get some nice, sweet reunion time
(the rating has changed to Explicit)

The four friends sit surrounded by an array of colorful board games. Nigel, Hope, Dentia, and Paige have been on a marathon of games all day long. Hope was victorious in Cluedo, sparking playful teasing from Nigel, who jokingly attributed her success to her supposed "naturally shady nature." Although everyone tried their hand at mastering the intricate art of surgery in Operation, it became apparent that their talents lay elsewhere. Midway through their game of Candyland, Dentia took it upon herself to assign each player a character from the colorful board.

 

"Well, Paige is obviously Gramma Nut," she declared with a mischievous grin. Paige protested, unsure of how she had earned the title, but Dentia pressed on with, "Look at how well you've taken care of us and our hangovers, Gramma."

 

When Paige responded by flopping onto a pile of pillows, Dentia designated Hope as the cheerful gumdrop boy, Jolly. She accepted her role; Dentia then claimed the persona of Gloppy for herself, before dubbing Nigel as Lord Licorice, much to his mock dismay.

 

"What about the lumberjack?" Paige questioned, moving slightly to be heard.

 

"Mr. Mint? I don't know. I see him as more of a chef and..."

 

She trails off and all eyes fall on Nigel, implying the obvious. Caught off guard by the silent scrutiny, Nigel's smile faltered briefly before he composed himself.

 

"Mister Mint and Lord Licorice, hmm?"

 

Following the colorful game, Dentia helps them dress like their characters before beginning a rousing match of The Game of Life. Embodying Gloppy, Dentia has become an unmarried millionaire. Hope is Jolly, juggling her roles as a dedicated wife and industrious worker. Paige is placed in her Gramma Nutt persona with a husband and kid, earning money as a demolition expert. And then there's Nigel, identifying as Lord Licorice. He's a doctor with a husband and two children. A soft sigh escapes his lips as his thoughts drift, staring at the little green car and its inhabitants.

 

He glances away from the board game when Dentia breezes into the room with treats of hospitality. She carries a tray of steaming mugs of hot cocoa and homemade cookies. Nigel's brow furrows when he notices there are only two mugs. Ready to voice this, Paige subtly nudges him.

 

"Your turn," she reminds him.

 

Nigel flicks the spinner, moving his car across the board until it lands on a child square, adding another girl to his already bustling car full of players. He stands suddenly, a decision crystal clear in his mind.

 

"What's up?" Hope asks as she spins for her turn.

 

Nigel looks around the little circle, saying, "Paige can adopt my kids. I need to go back home,” he pauses, remembering the whereabouts of his car, “I’ll take a taxi.”

 

"Actually..." Paige stands next to him, "Dentia can adopt your kids and Hope can adopt mine. I need to get the library set up for the festival at the park tomorrow. We can share a taxi.”

 

Dentia grins, producing two travel mugs and two baggies of cookies. "I had a feeling.”

 

Paige makes the call, and Nigel heads outside to watch for the taxi after bidding goodbyes.

 

---

 

Prue's hands grip the steering wheel tightly as she navigates the dark, icy roads, the clock ticking past nine. Beside her sits Bitzi as they await their girls' weekend. Jane sits in the back, listening to the soft crunch of snow beneath the tires. The car hums along the deserted streets but, when they pull into Jane's driveway, she taps the back of their headrests as she slips out of the car and hurries inside.

 

"Kids? Is anyone here?" Jane's voice echoes when she enters the house.

 

Not hearing a response, she shrugs, deciding they must be at Buster's. She goes upstairs to pack for the weekend. She goes to her room first, packing a suitcase for her weekend with the girls. Leaving it in the hall, she rummages through the kids' rooms. She finds Arthur's worn camping backpack, oblivious to the duct tape holding it together.

 

"What would he need?" She questions herself, filling it with an assortment of clothes, a book, and toys scattered on the floor.

 

Moving on to D.W.'s room, Jane discovers a pink backpack adorned with ponies. She fills it with tiny shirts, a jacket, and a pair of Mary Janes, alongside picture books and a beloved Mary Moo Cow doll. Finally, in the nursery, she locates a depleted diaper bag, salvaging a few essentials and unknowingly grabbing mismatched shoes in her haste.

 

Meanwhile, outside, Buster, Molly, and James arrive down the sidewalk. The kids are clad in winter gear, the brisk air sending playful shivers down their spines. Molly identifies her mom's Cadillac, and James runs over to the driver's side.

 

"How are all of us going to fit in here?" James asks.

 

Prue chuckles, "Oh, no, son. We're not taking you. A friend of Jane's will be here to pick you up."

 

Molly crosses her arms, expressing her doubt, "And we trust them?"

 

"Jane trusts him," Prue reasons.

 

Buster takes it at face value and bids goodbye to his mom as he jogs inside to talk to his best friend, only to be surprised that Arthur isn't there. Molly and James follow him, settling on the couch. Jane heads downstairs shortly after, the kids' bags slung over her shoulder and her heavy suitcase weighing her down. The wood creaks under her weight. When she glances into the living room, she spots Molly and James sitting on the couch and approaches them.

 

"Did you pack for your trip?"

 

Molly numbly toes her backpack on the floor, while James proudly displays his bag with a lopsided smile on his face.

 

"We did, Mrs. Read."

 

She nods approvingly and, believing her kids are with Buster, says, "Good. Billings will be here soon to drive you kids. Arthur, D.W., and Kate should be here soon as well. When they get here, you can tell them their bags are already packed.”

 

"Sure," Molly replies.

 

"Thanks, kids," she smiles loftily. "Have a good weekend."

 

Jane walks out the front door, not bothering to lock up since her kids aren't home yet. Just as Jane reaches the Cadillac, Buster walks into the living room from the kitchen, munching on an apple.

 

---

 

The air is brisk and cold, nipping at noses and ears as Arthur stands at the end of the Barnes' driveway, waving goodbye to Laverne. He pulls his navy blue jacket closer around him, its warmth providing a shield against the biting winter chill. When he reaches the doorstep, Mrs. Barnes opens the door with a warm smile.

 

"Hello, Arthur. Your sisters are all set, but if you don't mind, I'd like to drive you home," she greets him with genuine concern.

 

He realizes it comes from a place due to how late, dark, and cold it is. He nods gratefully, accepting her offer, and she presses a button on her key fob before returning inside. The silver minivan unlocks with a quick chirp, and the sliding door releases with a soft click. Arthur climbs into the left middle seat, the leather cold against his legs. Mrs. Barnes soon walks out, carrying Kate in her arms and holding onto Pal, by his leash. She carefully secures Kate in Mei Lin's car seat at the back, tucking her into a cozy blanket as Pal nestles beside the toddler, providing warmth and comfort in the frosty night.

 

D.W. excitedly bounds into the van, taking the seat next to her brother. Her rosy cheeks are already flushed from the cold. Mrs. Barnes closes the door with a soft thud, walking around to the driver's seat. Before starting the engine, Mrs. Barnes turns to the children with a smile.

 

"All set?" she asks.

 

"Yep!" D.W. says enthusiastically.

 

Arthur nods in agreement, exhausted after the long day. Mrs. Barnes steers the vehicle out of the driveway, the tires crunching softly on the snow-covered pavement. The cozy interior of the minivan contrasts with the frosty world outside, offering a cocoon of warmth and safety for the children on their journey home. Driving through the quiet streets, Arthur feels at peace. He knows it will likely change when he gets home but, for now, he's at peace.

 

---

 

The neon sign of Hamburger Castle flickers off at ten, signaling the end of another bustling Friday night. David offers to help clean up, but the small staff politely declines his offer, assuring him they have it under control. David reluctantly bids them farewell, but his mind is elsewhere. He knows he needs to show the divorce papers to his estranged wife and have her sign, but the mere thought of facing her stirs emotions he'd rather not face. On the off chance that Jane would be asleep by the time he comes home, he'd love to see the kids. But he knows they will have questions he isn't ready to answer.

 

He yearns to be with his lover; giving Nigel the space he needs is a tormenting task. Thoughts of him have consumed David's every waking moment. Driving aimlessly through the quiet streets, David realizes he's on a familiar road - the third time in twenty minutes he has taken the same turn. Like his subconscious is leading the way. As he again approaches Nigel's house, he pulls his car to the side of the road, parking across from Nigel's house. He cuts off his lights but leaves the engine running for warmth, contemplating the stillness around him. Smoke rises from chimneys around him and shadows dance on the snow-covered ground. The soft glow of street lamps casts a warm light on the icy pavement when Nigel suddenly appears outside his house. His velvet purple robe caresses his frame like a cloak of royalty. The cold night air nips at David's skin as he steps out of his car, a shiver running through him when Nigel beckons him inside with a languid gesture.

 

There's only a second's worth of hesitation, a flicker of uncertainty in David's eyes before he succumbs to the pull of Nigel's embrace. Their bodies meet, a collision of warmth and longing as Nigel's arms wrap around him, pulling him close. The touch of their skin ignites a spark that smolders beneath the surface, waiting to erupt into flames. Nigel's lips find David's with a tenderness that speaks of silent yearning. The kiss is a symphony of emotions, a melody of passion that envelops them in a haze of desire. David feels a rush of familiarity mingled with an intoxicating sense of discovery.

 

"It's been entirely too long," Nigel murmurs against David's lips, his voice a husky whisper.

 

With a gentle tug, Nigel leads David inside. The air is heavy with the scent of incense and desire, a heady aroma that stirs something wild and untamed within David's soul. As they move through the dimly lit hallway, their footsteps echoing in the silence, a current of electricity crackles between them, drawing them closer with each passing moment. Nigel's touch is a promise of ecstasy, a tantalizing caress that leaves David breathless and wanting more. In a sudden blur of motion, Nigel presses David against the wall, his hands roaming across David's body with a hunger that matches his own.

 

"I need you," he hisses, biting into the nape of his neck.

 

Their clothes are shed, stumbling over obstacles in the way of a primal need that demands to be satisfied. In seconds, they lie entwined on the silk sheets of Nigel's bed, their bodies moving in a dance of passion and abandon. The room is a symphony of moans and whispered endearments, a crescendo of pleasure that rises to an exquisite climax.

 

"David?" Nigel calls out, his voice laced with humor, trying to penetrate the haze of passion.

 

"N-n-niiiigel," he moans in response.

 

Thoroughly entertained by the situation unfolding before him, Nigel raps his knuckles against the car window with a playful smirk and mischievous eyes. The sudden sound pierces through the fabric, jolting David awake with a start. His eyes blink open in bewilderment, a flush staining his cheeks as the remnants of his dream fade into the recesses of his mind. A telltale wet spot on his trousers serves as a stark reminder of the intensity of his subconscious desires. Caught in embarrassment, David's gaze flickers between his soiled pants and the enigmatic figure standing outside. The man is wearing the plush velvet purple robe of David's dreams, though he's clad in Spooky Poo pajamas beneath it.

 

"Why don't you come inside, darling?" Nigel's voice is a sultry invitation, his eyes twinkling. "I'll help you take care of that."

 

Swallowing hard against his seductive allure, David nods tentatively and steps out of the car to follow his lover inside. Drawn drapes cascade from the windows, and the rooms are dimly lit. Nigel takes David's hand and leads him up the stairs, his robe billowing behind him like a cloak. They're at Nigel's bedroom door in no time and, before David can fully process what's happening, the door swings open. Nigel uses his hold on David's hand to propel him forward, pulling the latter into his strong embrace. David feels himself pedaling backward until he's fervently pinned against the door.

 

The kiss that follows is like a bolt of lightning; deep, intense, and brimming with a raw, primal need. All of David's previous anxieties and worries melt away, leaving only the overwhelming warmth of Nigel's lips against his own. As they kiss, Nigel's hands wander, fumbling with the zipper on David's jacket before sliding around to find his neck, fingers massaging his scalp. David savors the sensation, letting himself be consumed. He clings to Nigel's pajama top, his grip tight and desperate.

 

When Nigel deepens the kiss, David's heart feels like it's ready to combust. Tears threaten to spill from his eyes and he knows he needs to pull away. He's on the verge of completely falling apart, overwhelmed by the intensity. And yet, with a shaky breath, David instead moves closer to Nigel. His arms wrap around him like an anchor, but the urge to cry is almost unbearable. He manages to hold back, but it's Nigel's voice that breaks through the haze.

 

"Hey, you alright?"

 

"I've just..." David gasps, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper, "I've missed this so much."

 

Nigel tenderly brushes away David's tears, bringing their foreheads together. "I've missed this, too," he confesses.

 

David chuckles softly, "I'm not young and handsome anymore, though."

 

Nigel laughs melodically, threading his fingers through David's hair. "Neither am I."

 

David smiles with renewed passion, pulling the other man closer. "Now, that's about the biggest lie I've ever heard."

 

Their lips meet again, wrapped in each other's arms. With their outer layers carelessly strewn across the floor, Nigel's fingers tremble in anticipation as he slowly unbuttons David's shirt, revealing a flush of embarrassment that creeps up David's neck. Nigel boldly angles his thigh between David's legs, igniting a wave of tingling sensations that sends David gasping for breath. Nigel's hands roam everywhere, carving a path of heat along David's skin.

 

Each touch, every lingering kiss on David's neck, is a revelation of longing. David is consumed by Nigel's presence, losing himself in the swirl of emotions and physical sensations that pulse between them. 

 

“Nigel,” David whispers breathlessly. "Please. I want you.”

 

Nigel is the only thing he craves. Nigel's body; raw and unfiltered. They surrender together as David mentally swears to never let Nigel go again. Nigel gently guides David toward the bed, where they shed their shirts, revealing a contrast of sculpted muscles against the soft glow of the room. David feels his heart skip a beat at the sight of Nigel's chest and abs. A smirk crawls across Nigel's lips and, with a hungry fervor, he presses David into the mattress, their bodies merging in a dance of want and need. David's hands are firmly held in place by Nigel, the mere touch sending shivers down his spine. Nigel's dominance is a weakness that David welcomes and desires.

 

“God, it’s been so long…” Nigel grounds out.

 

David can only respond with a desperate sound, his hips instinctively seeking out that elusive friction. The scruff of Nigel's beard grazes against his skin, igniting a fire. As Nigel ventures along David's belt, a pang of insecurity grips him. He's merely the joke compared to Nigel's magnetic presence. Yet, as Nigel's warm hand slips beneath David's underwear, a surge of lust overtakes him, his hidden desires laid bare. He moans in want, longing, and unspoken connection.

 

Stripped of their inhibitions and their clothing, they lay exposed. With an enthrallment that borders on madness, Nigel lifts David's legs, anchoring them over his shoulders. Amid the heat and desire, David feels a rush of embarrassment wash over him, a blush rising to his cheeks as Nigel's gaze bears into him. Their embrace is almost suffocating. Nigel's lips find David's, driving them forward, their bodies moving in perfect synchrony. Nigel's touch is possessive, his grip firm as he explores David's form with a hunger that matches his own. In the tangled sheets, Nigel smiles from above, obviously appreciating the devotion David is giving him.

 

In a rough, heady voice, he whispers, "I'll go slow. I promise."

 

He inserts two fingers into his own mouth, sucking them teasingly to David's praise and humming with contentment. David watches him through half-lidded eyes, holding onto his round shoulders. When Nigel inserts the first wet finger, David lets out the breath he hasn't realized he's been holding, and both men moan as another finger enters. Nigel is equally as horny as David, his forehead digging into the hook of his lover's neckline. Fingers work gently, and David rocks lightly, practically automatically. A wave of pleasure and nostalgia surges through them. David lays on his bed, his heart racing in anticipation. He knows what he wants, and he's waited long enough. Nigel is the man he desires.

 

Nigel, with his dominant nature and scruffy beard, has a way of making David feel desires he never knew existed. As they kiss and touch, David knows it's time to surrender completely to this man. David reaches down to grab Nigel's large and extremely hard cock.

 

"Nigel," David pants, his breath hot against Nigel's ear. "I want you to fuck me."

 

David feels a rush of power in making this request. It's a demand that not many men would make, but he trusts Nigel implicitly. He wants to feel Nigel inside him, claiming his body, and possessing him completely. Nigel moans at David's bold request, his hand jerking David's cock in response. David arches his back, thrusting his hips up to meet Nigel's hand, his need growing by the second.

 

"Please," David stammers, his voice hoarse and full of desire. "I need you to fuck me, Nigel. I can't wait any longer."

 

Nigel's prick twitches at David's desperate plea. He repositions himself behind David, his cock hovering at the entrance to David's hole, teasingly sliding against the sensitive rim.

 

"Are you sure, baby?" Nigel whispers, his breath hot against David's neck. "Once I'm in, I won't be able to stop."

 

David whimpers, his hands clutching at the sheets. "I know. I want you to take me, own me. Please, Nigel. Fuck me now."

 

With a growl, Nigel grips David's hips and pushes forward. David's breath catches in his throat as he feels the thick cock stretch him open. It burns deliciously as Nigel enters him, inch by inch, filling him up completely.

 

"Oh fuck!" David cries out, his voice echoing in the room. "It feels so good."

 

Nigel pauses, allowing David a moment to adjust to the intrusion. David's body clenches around Nigel, massaging his cock, causing him to moan.

 

"Relax, baby," Nigel whispers, his hands soothing on David's back. "I've got you. Just feel me inside you."

 

David nods, his eyes closed as he focuses on the sensation. Nigel's cock is incredible, stretching him in a way he's never experienced with anyone else. Ever. It's a strange combination of pleasure and discomfort, but the pleasure is rapidly winning out. As if reading his mind, Nigel begins to move, his hips snapping forward. David gasps as he feels Nigel's cock hitting his prostate with each thrust. Sparks of pleasure shoot through his body, and he reaches down to grasp his neglected cock.

 

"No," Nigel growls, slapping David's hand away and holding his wrists above his head with one hand while using the other to guide his thrusts. "I want you to come just from my cock fucking your ass."

 

David whines, his body yearning for release. "Please, let me touch myself. I need it."

 

Nigel releases David's hands and brings them down to hold David's knees in place, spreading his legs wider. "No touching," he says, his voice firm. "I want to be the only one who can make you come."

 

David bites his lip, his chest heaving as he nods his acceptance. He loves how Nigel takes control, dominating him completely. He wants to please this man, to show him that he can take whatever he wants to give. Nigel leans over David, their sweaty bodies pressing together as he kisses David deeply. David moans into the kiss, his tongue tangling with Nigel's, their passion building. Nigel's cock twitches inside David, and he begins to move again, his thrusts powerful and deep. David is in ecstasy, his body on fire. He can feel Nigel's cock throbbing inside him, the wet slapping of their skin filling the room. He's aware of his own cock, leaking pre-cum, but he dares not touch it, obeying Nigel's command.

 

"Fuck, you're so tight," Nigel grunts, his breath hot against David's ear. "I'm not going to last much longer."

 

David's body is on edge, his orgasm building with each thrust. "Come for me, Nigel," he whispers, "Please. Fill me with your cum."

 

Nigel's hips stutter and he releases David's knees, reaching down to pull David's legs up, bending them at the knees, and pushing them back toward his chest. This new position allows him to go even deeper, and David cries out as he feels Nigel hitting his prostate dead-on with each stroke.

 

"Oh God, I'm close," David pants, his body shaking. "So close."

 

Nigel leans down, his mouth by David's ear. "Come with me, baby," he growls. "Let me feel your ass clench around my cock as we come together."

 

David's body tenses, his cock throbbing wildly as his orgasm takes over. He cries out, his body convulsing as waves of pleasure wash over him. At the same time, Nigel rams into him, holding still as he fills David's ass with his hot cum.

 

"Fuck, David!" Nigel roars, his body trembling as he unloads inside David.

 

David feels Nigel's cock twitching inside him, each pulse sending another jolt of pleasure through his sensitive body. He's never felt so filled, so complete. As their orgasms subside, Nigel lowers David's legs and withdraws his softening cock, causing David to whimper at the loss. Nigel collapses on the bed beside David, pulling him into his arms.

 

"That was incredible," David whispers, his gasp in awe.

 

Nigel kisses David's forehead. "You were incredible," he corrects. "I've never felt anything like that before."

 

The haze of pleasure slowly fades away, leaving David gasping for air. He opens his eyes to see Nigel collapsed on top of him, their sweat-slicked bodies still connected. A thin sheen of sweat covers Nigel's forehead, and his chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath. David reaches up to stroke Nigel's cheek, his fingers tracing the lines of exhaustion around his eyes. 

 

"You okay?" he asks softly.

 

Nigel lets out a long, shaky breath before answering. "Yeah," he says hoarsely. "I'm fine. Just... wow."

 

David smiles at the amazement in Nigel's voice. As they lay together, catching their breath, David feels a sense of contentment wash over him. He's known Nigel for years, and despite the ups and downs of their relationship, he still loves him deeply. And he knows that this time around, things will be different. They will face whatever challenges come their way, together. He pulls the other man down for a slow, tender kiss, savoring the taste of their fluids on his lips.

 

"I've missed you," he murmurs against Nigel's mouth.

 

Nigel's response is to tighten his embrace, his fingers laced through David's hair. "I've missed you too," he whispers.

 

David smiles, snuggling closer to Nigel. He feels a sense of satisfaction and contentment as he drifts off to sleep.

 

Chapter 11: A Cruel Illusion

Summary:

Jane kills D.W. (sorta), and Nigel reassures David with several little deaths

Notes:

New Tags:

Nightmares
Graphic Description
Implied/Referenced Character Death
But not exactly
Morbid

Jane, with a heart as cold as the winter night, is in the driver's seat, her eyes gleaming with a sinister gleam. The car, a metallic beast, roars to life, its engine growling, and the bass from the radio pulsates through the vehicle, silencing the desperate pleas of her young daughter, D.W. The five-year-old's eyes, wide with fear, plead for her mother's attention, but Jane is oblivious, caught up in her world of laughter and camaraderie with her friends. Bitzi, in the passenger seat, shouts over the music, declaring her love for the song, her excitement palpable.

 

As the car shifts into gear, it inches forward, its tires crunching over the frozen driveway, a cruel march toward the innocent child. D.W., unaware of the impending doom, stands frozen, her breath visible in the cold air, a delicate cloud of innocence. The car, a menacing force, looms closer, its size dwarfing the small girl.

 

In a horrifying instant, the vehicle strikes D.W., her tiny body no match for the brutal impact. She is sent flying, her screams tearing through the air, shattering the night's tranquility. But inside the car, the women are oblivious, their laughter and singing drowning out the child's agony. D.W. lands with a thud, her back hitting the ground, the wind knocked out of her lungs, her eyes reflecting the shock and pain.

 

"This song is my anthem!" Julie shouts, her voice slurred from alcohol, as the car continues its relentless march.

 

The tires show no mercy, crushing D.W.'s fragile body, bones snapping and organs failing under immense pressure. Her screams, once high-pitched, transform into a primal, gut-wrenching roar, each breath a battle against the crushing force. Jane, her senses numbed by alcohol, joins in the chorus, her voice blending with the music, a twisted celebration.

 

D.W.'s pleas for mercy go unheard as tears freeze on her cheeks. Her screams fade to pitiful whimpers, her body in a broken, twisted form, lying helplessly under the car. The vehicle pauses, its weight pressing down, before Jane, in her drunken state, forgets her hesitation and presses the accelerator, freeing the car from the grip of her daughter's broken body.

 

The child remains motionless, her eyes, once full of life, now stare blankly at the starry sky, forever frozen in terror. Her spine, a mangled ruin, ensures she will never move again. The silence is deafening, interrupted only by the retreating sound of the car's engine and the faint, dying whimpers of a life cruelly taken. Unaware of the tragedy they've caused, the women rev the car, their laughter echoing in the night, a cruel contrast to the horror they've left behind.

 

With a twisted smile, Jane turns to her friends and declares, "Girls, let's get another drink!" The car speeds away, leaving destruction in its wake, as the women's laughter lingers.

 

---

 

David's eyes snap open, the nightmare still clinging to his consciousness like a dark, suffocating blanket. The room is shrouded in darkness, mirroring the abyss that has just torn through his mind. Images of his daughter's tragic fate flash relentlessly, a cruel slideshow imprinted on his waking vision. He gasps for air, his breath rapid and shallow, as if the fear from the dream still constricts his lungs.

 

Disorientation clouds his senses, and panic surges through his veins. The sheets are damp with sweat, and his body trembles, a physical reaction to the lingering terror. He tries to scream, but his voice fails, trapped in the silent prison of his fear. Nigel, the pillar of strength that he is, senses the disturbance, his love and devotion acting as a compass. With gentle determination, he pulls David into a comforting embrace, a sanctuary from the storm. David's body, rigid and tense, slowly yields to Nigel's touch, his muscles relaxing into the safety of his lover's arms.

 

"Shh, my love," Nigel whispers, his voice a soothing balm. "You're safe. It was just a dream, a cruel illusion." His warm breath caresses David's ear, a tangible anchor to reality. "I'm right here, and nothing will harm you."

 

David's breathing synchronizes with Nigel's, each breath a step towards tranquility. The nightmare's grip weakens, and reality slowly seeps in. He feels the solidity of the bed, the softness of the sheets, and the steady rhythm of Nigel's heart against his own. The horrifying images fade, replaced by the reassuring weight of Nigel's embrace.

 

"Jane... and D.W.," David manages to utter, his voice hoarse and raw. "I witnessed it all. She ran over our daughter, Nigel. I heard D.W.'s screams, so vivid and real. I was helpless to stop it." The words spill out, a torrent of fear and anguish, as David tries to expel the nightmare's remnants.

 

Nigel holds him tighter, his embrace a silent vow of protection. "Hush, my love. It's over. You're awake, and I'm here. Let the dream fade away."

 

David's body, once rigid with fear, melts into Nigel's arms, finding solace in the familiar scent and touch. The panic subsides, leaving behind a trembling aftermath. Nigel's steady presence guides David back to the present, where the nightmare's hold loosens, and he can breathe again, safe in the arms of his savior.

 

"I...I...Nigel..." David whispers, his voice trembling.

 

Nigel tightens his embrace, his thumb stroking David's arm gently. "Take your time, my love. You don't have to speak if you're not ready."

 

David takes a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the darkness. "I need to get them away, Nigel. I can't let her hurt the children. I know what she's capable of, and I need to protect them."

 

Nigel's heart aches with determination. "We will, David. We'll take the kids and disappear. I promise, no one will harm them. But first, let's get you some water, and we'll plan our escape. You're safe with me, and I'll keep you that way."

 

David's eyes reflect surprise at Nigel's unwavering commitment. The idea of someone loving him and his children so deeply, especially after the nightmare, is overwhelming. He can't help but express his amazement.

 

"Nigel, you...you'd adopt the kids? All three of them? But they're not yours, and they're all different ages. Arthur is almost a teenager, and Kate is just a toddler. It's a massive responsibility, and I don't want to burden you." David's voice trembles, his eyes a mix of hope and worry.

 

Nigel takes David's hands in his, his eyes filled with determination. "David, listen. I love you, and I love those children. I see the pain Jane has inflicted, and I'll do everything to protect them. As a teacher, I understand the challenges, and I embrace them. Arthur, Kate, and even D.W. will be our family. I'll fight for them as if they were born from my own blood."

 

David's breath catches, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I, I can't believe it. You'd do that for us? For me?"

 

Nigel pulls David into a tight embrace, his voice steady and emotional. "I'd move mountains for you, David. I want to give those children the love and stability they deserve, and I want to give you the family you deserve. We'll get through this divorce, and together, we'll create a new life; a better one."

 

David's heart overflows with gratitude and love for this man, who is willing to battle the world for their happiness. He returns Nigel's embrace, his resolve fortified. Together, they will fight for their future and rescue the children from Jane's cruel grasp. The men lay entwined in each other's arms, their love a powerful force against the night's darkness, when Nigel senses David's need for reassurance, and he takes charge, his dominant nature intertwining with his tender affection.

 

"Let me show you how deeply I care, my love," Nigel whispers, his breath hot against David's sensitive skin.

 

He guides David onto the bed with gentle dominance, his strong hands caressing David's body, igniting a trail of desire. David, eager to surrender, arches his back, offering himself willingly to his lover's touch. Nigel's lips descend, leaving a path of kisses along David's chest, his tongue teasing and tantalizing, eliciting moans of pleasure from David's lips. His hands explore with purpose, knowing exactly how to drive David wild. David squirms beneath him, his body responding eagerly to Nigel's skilled caresses.

 

"You belong to me, David," Nigel growls softly, his voice sending shivers down David's spine. "And I'll protect what's mine."

 

He captures David's mouth in a passionate kiss, their tongues entwining in a familiar dance. David's hands clutch at Nigel's shoulders, his fingernails digging in, marking his lover as his own. As the night unfolds, Nigel's dominance intensifies his love and care evident in every stroke and touch. He teases David, pushing him to the brink of ecstasy, only to pull back, prolonging the pleasure. David surrenders completely, trusting Nigel implicitly, as his lover guides him through the peaks and valleys of desire.

 

In the aftermath, their hearts race, and their bodies glisten with sweat, clinging to each other tightly. David, sated and at peace, finds solace in Nigel's dominant embrace, ready to face the world with his lover by his side. The bedroom is a realm where passion reigns supreme. Nigel, the tender dominant, orchestrates a symphony of pleasure, his eyes gleaming with love and lust.

 

His fingers, skilled and purposeful, trace patterns of desire on David's skin, sending shivers down his spine. Nigel's lips brush against David's, a tantalizing tease, before delving deeper into a devouring kiss. David moans into Nigel's mouth, his hands tangling in his lover's hair, surrendering to the sensation. Nigel's hands roam freely, claiming David's body as his own. He cups David's face, his thumbs brushing over his jaw, then trailing down to grasp his hips, pulling him closer. David's body responds instinctively, his arousal growing with each touch, each caress a promise of more.

 

"You're exquisite, my love," Nigel whispers, his hot breath against David's ear. "And I'm here to pleasure you."

 

He lowers himself, his lips leaving a trail of kisses until he reaches David's throbbing erection. Nigel's mouth envelops David, his tongue swirling and sucking, driving him wild with pleasure. David cries out, his hands gripping the sheets, as Nigel's skilled mouth teases and torments, bringing him to the edge and then pulling back.

 

"Please, Nigel," David begs, his voice hoarse. "More... please, my love."

 

Nigel, the tender dominant, complies, his fingers joining his mouth in a symphony of sensations. He prepares David with his fingers, his mouth relentless in its assault. David's body trembles, his cries filling the room, as Nigel teases and pleases, pushing him to the brink again and again.

 

Finally, as David hovers on the precipice of release, Nigel positions himself, his desire evident. With a swift motion, he enters David, claiming him fully. David cries out, welcoming the invasion, as Nigel begins to move, his pace deliberate, each thrust a declaration of love and possession. Their bodies move in perfect harmony, slick with sweat, under the moonlight. Nigel's dominance shines as he controls the rhythm, driving David to new heights of pleasure. David surrenders completely, trusting Nigel to guide him through the storm of sensations.

 

As their climax nears, Nigel's movements become urgent, his name a mantra on David's lips. "Nigel... oh, Nigel... I love you..." Gasps punctuate David's words as he shatters, his release overwhelming.

 

Nigel follows, his body convulsing, filling David with his essence, their cries of pleasure intertwining. In the stillness that follows, they lie entangled, hearts pounding, and bodies sated.

 

David, his eyes shining with adoration, turns to Nigel, his dominant lover, and whispers, "You complete me. My body and soul are yours forever."

 

Nigel, his chest heaving, kisses David tenderly, sealing their unbreakable bond. "Forever, my love. I'll always be here, to pleasure and protect you."

 

Chapter 12: Tasting You

Summary:

The kids adjust. More importantly, David and Nigel make good of their lost time together

Mrs. Barnes' minivan rumbles to a stop in front of the Read residence, its tires crunching on the gravel driveway. The children inside shift restlessly, Arthur casting an anxious glance at D.W., worried about their mom's temper. Mrs. Barnes leaves the engine on idle while turning back to face her passengers.

 

"Do you need any help, kids?" she asks gently.

 

Arthur musters a small smile, answering, "No, thanks. We've got it."

 

He quickly unbuckles his seatbelt and shuffles to the back of the minivan. D.W. mimics his movements, unbuckling herself and eagerly reaching for Pal's leash and her backpack. Arthur carefully unstraps Kate from her car seat, quickly securing her in the baby sling that he drapes over his chest. He hoists the diaper bag, stroller, and his backpack, easily balancing the weight. The trio emerges from the minivan, the moonlight enveloping them as they wave goodbye to Mrs. Barnes, who lingers in her seat with a watchful eye, ensuring the children make it safely into the house.

 

Pushing open the front door, Arthur is met with a collective gasp that has his heart leaping in surprise. The living room is filled with unexpected guests, their eyes glued to the television screen which illuminate their faces in a flickering glow. Arthur halts, taking in the scene before him, his initial relief at not finding his mom quickly overshadowed by confusion. Molly and James sit side by side, their eyes glued to the screen. Buster lounges on the floor, his attention divided between the TV and a comic book splayed open in front of him. And then, there's another face in the sea. Arthur's brows furrow in disbelief as recognition dawns on him.

 

"Mr. Billings?" he asks, surprised.

 

"Hey, Arthur. I'm glad you're here," he greets, a warm smile stretching across his face. "Hi, D.W."

 

She eyes him suspiciously. "Do I know you?"

 

Billings chuckles gently, "I started working for your grandpa just a little after Katherine was born."

 

D.W. remains unconvinced, shooting Arthur a doubtful look. Her brother shrugs nonchalantly; it's been roughly two years, so D.W. was only three. Before Arthur even got his glasses, which she doesn't remember either.

 

"But true," he answers, turning back to Billings. "But true. What are you doing here?"

 

"Oh, I'm bringing you lot to your grandpa's farm for the weekend," he reveals, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

 

Arthur's eyes widen in shock, as Jane obviously had told him none of this. His gaze darts to the other kids in the room. Judging by their faces, Billings had evidently briefed them on the plan before Arthur and his sisters arrived. Buster shrugs helplessly at him while Molly and James mostly ignore him, continuing to watch Bionic Bunny on mute. Kate coos softly from her baby sling, reminding Arthur of her presence.

 

"May I?" Billings asks with a gentle smile, directing his gaze towards the adorable toddler.

 

Arthur nods his consent, deftly adjusting the straps of the carrier so he can pass Kate over to the babysitter. Billings' eyes light up as he takes the little girl, his face breaking into a wide grin as he begins to fuss over her. Kate responds with happy giggles, her eyes sparkling with joy. When the show comes to an end, Billings reaches over and turns off the TV, prompting a collective groan from the kids. However, Billings simply addresses the children, outlining their sleeping arrangements for the night.

 

"Alright, due to the late hour, we're going to have some naptime before we leave. Buster, you can share Arthur's bed. And James can share with D.W. I'm going to see what Kate needs and put her in her crib," he smiles, his movements purposeful as he attends to the youngest member of the group. He then turns his attention to the eldest child. "Molly, you can take the master bed; I'll take the couch. Set your alarms for 5 o'clock. We'll need to get a headstart."

 

With that, he claps his hands, and the kids disperse to prepare for bed.

 

Molly carries her backpack upstairs, easily finding the master bed, grateful to see that there's an attached bath. She selects her outfit for tomorrow and sets out her pajamas: a tank top and a pair of gym shorts. She then sets her fantasy book on the nightstand and begins to run a bath. Arthur and Buster are in the hall bathroom, engaging in a tooth-brushing race. They laugh as toothpaste froths and toothbrushes dance wildly, but Arthur eventually emerges victorious, flashing his friend a triumphant grin. Billings walks inside as they're finishing up so he can run a lukewarm bath for the toddler.

 

With their teeth sparkling clean, the boys retreat to Arthur's bedroom, changing into their pajamas. Nearby, in D.W.'s bedroom, she carefully selects her favorite pair of pajamas as her mom didn't pack them. She's meticulous, matching the patterns on her shirt to her bottoms. As she does this, James peruses her bookshelf for an Easy-to-Read book. After finding an Amelia Bedelia book, he heads downstairs for a cup of warm milk. Once D.W. finds the right set of pajamas, she grabs a random picture book from the shelf and collects her rabbit plush from where it sits on her toy chest. She snuggles on the floor with the rabbit and immerses herself in a world of vivid illustrations as she awaits her turn for a bubbly bath.

 

Kate splashes and giggles with her bath toys until her cheeks are flushed with joy. Billings then tenderly dries her off after the bath, dressing her in soft, cozy pajamas. As he carries her back to the nursery, he knocks on D.W.'s open door.

 

"Bathroom's free," he quietly tells her.

 

D.W. jumps up with her pajamas in her arms, leaving the book and rabbit on the floor. James, who has since returned with his milk, doesn't look away from his book as she leaves. She quickly runs her own bath, surrounding herself with floating toys and fluffy bubbles. Billings checks in on the boys then, smiling when he sees flashlights under the covers, knowing that they're likely reading comics under there. He doesn't mind and continues with Kate to the nursery. He finds a bottle of formula and a heater built into the table. He's not sure whether Kate has been weaned but, since it's there, he sets things up and settles with her in the rocking chair.

 

When Molly steps out of her refreshing warm bath scented with her favorite lavender bath salts, she brushes her hair, changes into her pajamas, and settles into the bed with her book, delving into the next chapter and losing herself in the magical world of adventure and mystery. By one in the morning, the five-year-olds have fallen asleep with their books. Kate is nestled in her crib, while Billings rests on the couch. The nine-year-olds are asleep beneath the covers with the comic books like Billings thought. While Molly's body is relaxed, her mind races due to the unfamiliar room. Her brother has slept over a few times with D.W., but she's not close to anyone in this house, so it's weird for her.

 

---

 

Nigel wakes unexpectedly just past 3 AM, feeling a pressure on his chest, reminding him of their reunion last night. David's chest steadily rises and falls, and the warmth of his lover's body comforts him. As Nigel gazes down at the man he loves, a smile creeps on his face and his mind begins to wander. Jane constantly belittles and abuses David, but Nigel can't bear the thought of losing him. He traces the lines of David's face with his fingertips, memorizing every curve and angle, as his absent thoughts turn to desperate imaginings. How can he keep David by his side as they navigate the treacherous waters of infidelity and deceit?

 

If it weren't for the kids, perhaps they could run away together and start a new life in a place where no one knew their secrets. Despite the impossibility, Nigel envisions a small cottage by the sea, where they can live in peace and love without fear of judgment or condemnation. He can almost hear the sound of the waves crashing against the shore; and feel the cool salt breeze on his skin as he holds David close. 

 

Reality unfortunately creeps in, dispelling Nigel's fanciful dreams. David has a family that depends on him. Nigel knows he could never ask David to give up everything for him, no matter how strong their love is. The weight of their situation presses down on Nigel's chest, suffocating him with its cruel inevitability. When he then cradles his lover in the darkness, he feels him shift. Gazing down, he finds David's eyes fluttering open.

 

"What's on your mind?" His voice carries a sleepy edge, struggling to focus in the dimly lit room.

 

Nigel bites his lower lip before admitting with vulnerability, "I... I've had these fantasies about whisking you away from your family."

 

David's expression softens but his voice is firm as he responds, "I'm leaving her. I filed for divorce yesterday. The papers are out in my car."

 

Nigel's heart skips a beat as he takes in David's confession. The thought of having this man all to himself sends a rush of desire through his body. As they kiss, Nigel's hands roam over David's body, exploring every inch of skin he can reach. He wants to brand David as his own, to leave his mark on every part of him. David moans into the kiss, his tongue tangling with Nigel's, tasting the sweetness of their mutual desire. Nigel's hands map their way to David's chest, squeezing and caressing the firm flesh. He tweaks David's nipples between his thumb and forefinger, rolling and tugging gently, enjoying the way David squirms and gasps at the sensation. Nigel wants to hear those delicious sounds again and again.

 

"You are mine now, David," Nigel whispers between kisses. "All mine. And I'm going to mark you as such."

 

David whimpers at the promise, his cock twitching with anticipation. "Y-yes, Nigel. Please. Take me. Make me yours."

 

Nigel smiles against David's lips, his scruff tickling David's smooth skin. He breaks the kiss and trails kisses down David's jawline, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin of his neck. David tilts his head back, granting Nigel better access, moaning softly as he feels Nigel's teeth graze his neck.

 

"Here," David breathes, guiding Nigel's head to the spot he craves. "Mark me here. Please, Nigel. I need it."

 

With a growl, Nigel latches his mouth onto the tender skin of David's neck, sucking hard as he bites down. David cries out, his hands tangling in Nigel's hair, holding him in place as he claims him. Nigel's teeth break the skin, and he moans at the taste of David's copper blood, so exotic and erotic. As Nigel sucks and laves at the wound, he feels David's body relax into the mattress, surrendering completely to the sensation. David's cock is rock hard, straining towards his belly, a bead of pre-cum forming at the tip. Nigel's dick throbs in response, aching to be buried inside David once more. Releasing David's neck, Nigel presses soft kisses to the bite mark, soothing the tender flesh.

 

"Mine," he whispers possessively, before trailing kisses down David's chest, pausing to lavish attention on his pert nipples, then further down, past David's rock-hard abs, until he reaches the thick cock that is begging for his attention.

 

Nigel looks up at David through his lashes, his eyes dark with desire. "You taste so fucking good," he murmurs, before wrapping his lips around David's length, taking him deep into his mouth.

 

David gasps, his hips bucking off the bed as he feels the wet heat of Nigel's mouth engulfing him. Nigel's tongue swirls and teases, caressing the sensitive underside of David's cock as he bobs his head up and down, taking him deeper with each stroke.

 

"Oh fuck, Nigel!" David cries out, his hands gripping the bedsheets. "Your mouth... it's so good. Suck me harder."

 

Nigel hums in response, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure up David's spine. He swirls his tongue around the head of David's cock, teasing the slit before taking him back into his warm, wet mouth. His hands cups David's heavy balls, massaging them gently as he sucks and strokes with expertise.

 

David writhes on the bed, his hips thrusting gently as he struggles for control. "I'm close, Nigel. So close. Oh fuck, don't stop."

 

Nigel moans in response, the sound vibrating around David's cock, sending shocks of pleasure straight to his balls. He sucks harder, his lips tight around David's girth, his tongue flat against the sensitive underside. With a shout, David comes, his hips bucking off the bed as he shoots his load down Nigel's throat. Nigel eagerly swallows around him, milking David's cock with his mouth until he drains every last drop. David lays panting on the bed, his body buzzing with pleasure. He feels Nigel's hot breath on his sensitive cock as he nuzzles his groin, then tenderly kisses the inside of his thighs.

 

"That was... incredible," David manages to say, reaching out to tangle his fingers in Nigel's hair. He pulls him up, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss, tasting himself on Nigel's tongue.

 

Nigel hums into the kiss, his body demanding more. David can feel his cock, hard and insistent against his thigh.

 

"My turn to take care of you," David whispers, his eyes sparkling with wicked intent.

 

Sitting up, David pushes Nigel back against the pillows, then climbs onto the bed, positioning himself between Nigel's thighs. Leaning forward, David nuzzles Nigel's neck, inhaling his musky scent as his hands roam over Nigel's broad chest.

 

"David, please," Nigel begs, his voice thick with need. "Suck me. Suck my cock."

 

David smiles against Nigel's skin, his breath hot and teasing. "As you wish," he murmurs, trailing kisses down Nigel's chest, pausing to nip at his nipples, then further down, until he reaches the object of his desire. 

 

David takes his time, kissing and licking his way down Nigel's shaft, reveling in the feel of Nigel's hands tangling in his hair. He swirls his tongue around the head of Nigel's cock, tasting the bead of pre-cum that has formed, then sucks it into his mouth, moaning softly as he did so.

 

Nigel arches off the bed, his hands fisting in the sheets as he is the one who now struggles for control. "Fuck, David! Your mouth..."

 

David takes Nigel deep into his throat, his nose buried in the crisp hair at the base of his cock. He hollows his cheeks, sucking hard as he bobs his head up and down, his tongue teasing and flicking the sensitive underside.

 

"Oh God, I'm gonna cum!" Nigel cries out, his hips thrusting gently as he loses all control.

 

David hums in encouragement, taking Nigel even deeper as he comes, swallowing around his length to milk him dry. He sucks gently as Nigel rides out his orgasm, his body trembling with the force of it. Collapsing onto the bed, Nigel pulls David up to lie beside him, then rolls to the side to slot their bodies together, chest to chest, cock to ass.

 

"I love feeling you like this," Nigel whispers, nipping at David's ear. "Your hot body against mine."

 

David shivers at the sensation of Nigel's breath on his ear, his cock twitching in response. "You haven't seen hot yet," he teases, reaching behind him to squeeze Nigel's ass. "Turn over."

 

Nigel does as he was told, presenting his ass to David, who wastes no time in spreading his cheeks and burying his face in the crease, his tongue darting out to tease Nigel's hole.

 

"Oh fuck!" Nigel cries out, his body jerking at the sensation. "David, what are you doing to me?"

 

David chuckles, the sound vibrating against Nigel's sensitive skin. "Tasting you," he replies, before laving at Nigel's hole with long, broad strokes of his tongue.

 

Nigel groans, his ass clenching as he tries to push back against David's tongue. "More," he begs. "Please, David, I need more."

 

David obliges, probing deeper with his tongue, then swiping it up and down, slicking Nigel's hole with his saliva. He inserts a finger, then two, scissoring and stretching as he prepares Nigel for what is to come.

 

"Your ass is so tight," David murmurs, his breath hot against Nigel's skin. "But my cock is going to feel so good buried inside it."

 

"Fuck yes," Nigel hisses, reaching back to grab David's hips and pull him closer. "Fuck me, David. Now."

 

---

 

The cold, dark mid-December morning settles over the Read house as 5 AM rings out, stirring the sleepy household awake. Alarms blare, jolting the kids from their dreams. Buster groggily stumbles out of his pajamas, borrowing a cozy sweater and sweatpants from Arthur. His best friend grabs his teddy bear Stanley and Bionic Bunny walkie-talkie since his mom failed to pack them yesterday. Stopping by his desk, Arthur also nabs his spare glasses and writes a quick letter for his dad to read, confident that he'll eventually return home. His pen scribbles across the paper, detailing their whereabouts. He and Buster then race down the hall, passing D.W.'s room.

 

She clutches her rabbit plush as she changes into the outfit she picked out the night before. James blearily drops D.W.'s 'Amelia Bedelia' book into his backpack since he didn't finish it. He then changes into a random button-up shirt and shorts before following her into the hall. Molly takes some time to stretch and then puts her book in her backpack and changes into a ripped denim shirt for aesthetic, despite the chilly weather outside.

 

Billings is already in the kitchen and greets the boys when they run in. Despite being unfamiliar with the chaos of children, he bustles around in the kitchen. He fixes the crowd a quick breakfast to fuel their adventurous day. Kate is already dressed and seated in her high chair, her chubby cheeks rosy with the early morning chill. Arthur notices that she's secured in the chair and is even wearing a bib - something his own mother hadn't done yesterday. As the sun timidly peeks through the frosty windows, the last of the kids enter the kitchen and crowd around the table while Billings dishes out their meal.

 

Once breakfast is eaten, belongings are double-checked, and everyone piles into Billings' Camaro, and they are off.

 

Chapter 13: A Single, Accusatory Question and a Subtle Heart

David's heart pounds a frantic rhythm against his ribs as he turns the key in the front door lock. The house looms before him, a silent, imposing witness to years of turmoil and shattered dreams. For what feels like an eternity, he has been steeling himself for this precise, agonizing moment. The moment he will finally confront Jane and force her hand, making her sign the divorce papers.

 

When he steps inside, the air immediately feels thick, heavy with unspoken words and the cloying scent of pent-up emotions. The familiar aroma of home, once a comfort, now mingles with the bitter taste of regret, a metallic tang on his tongue. The house is eerily quiet, and the usual cacophony of children's laughter and playful shouts is conspicuously absent. Their absence is a chilling reminder of the emptiness that has settled into every corner of this once-bustling household. With tentative, almost fearful steps, David begins his search. He checks the kitchen, the living room, the children's bedrooms – each space a tableau of lingering memories, each empty room deepening the gnawing anxiety in his gut.

 

There is no sign of Jane. More importantly, there is no trace of the kids. He pushes the rising panic aside, searching for any clue as to where his children are. Finally, he reaches Arthur's room. The door is slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness beckoning him in. The sight that greets him tears at his heart, a sharp, visceral pain. Arthur's desk, usually a glorious mess of crayon drawings, scattered toy parts, and half-finished projects, now holds only a single, stark piece of paper. David picks it up, his hands trembling uncontrollably with a mixture of anticipation and dread, the crinkle of the cheap paper loud in the oppressive silence.

 

The letter is written in Arthur's familiar, messy handwriting, the careful, looping script of a nine-year-old trying his best:

Dear Dad,

I hope you come home soon. Mom left. I don't know where she went. We're going to Grandpa's farm in Shelbytown, Pennsylvania. D.W. and Kate are coming, and Buster and Molly and James, too. Pal is with me.

I heard you and Mom yelling a lot a few days ago. Was it because Mom was mad you were having fun with Mr. Ratburn and she didn't get to come? Mom's been yelling at us a lot lately, and she doesn't know how to cook.

Please don't worry about us. We'll be at Grandpa's. I miss you.

Love,

Arthur

 

The innocent honesty of a child's observations, unfiltered and stark, cuts through David's soul like a freshly sharpened knife. The simplicity of Arthur’s words, devoid of malice or even full understanding, lays bare the wreckage of his marriage, a wound exposed to the cold air. With a heavy heart that aches with each beat, David folds the letter carefully, creasing the paper along its existing folds, and tucks it into his pocket. The silence in the house now feels suffocating, a physical weight pressing down on him, amplifying the gravity of his decision, the immense, irreversible step he is about to take.

 

With a final, decisive click, David turns off the main water valve, then flips the circuit breakers, plunging the house into a deeper, colder silence. Darkness swallows the already dim rooms. He moves through the house with purpose, packing his bags quickly, methodically. As he works, his mind drifts, a welcome escape from the suffocating emptiness of the house, to Nigel, his partner, waiting for him with open arms, a beacon of warmth and understanding. Nigel, who accepts him completely, who sees past the mess and loves him anyway.

 

He zips the last bag shut, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet. With one last, lingering look around the empty house, a final farewell to a life that no longer exists, David takes a deep, shaky breath. He turns, grips the doorknob, and closes the front door behind him, the latch clicking shut with a finality that rings in his ears. He's leaving behind this house, this shell of a home, and the woman who once shared it. But he isn’t alone. He and his lover, Nigel, will face this together. They will fight for his kids, for a new kind of family, a new future.

 

---

 

Meanwhile, Billings’ dark green Camaro turns down one last winding road, a ribbon of asphalt cutting through the snow-covered plains on the quiet outskirts of Shelbytown. The gentle, almost imperceptible hum of the Camaro’s engine fills the chilly air, a constant companion as he finally spots the last gas station, a beacon of light and warmth, looming ahead. The winter sun, a pale, watery disk, begins its slow dip behind the horizon, casting a soft, golden-orange glow over the frost-kissed landscape, painting the snowdrifts in hues of peach and rose.

 

As the car rolls to a smooth, quiet stop beside the pumps, Billings takes a moment to stretch his long legs, the muscles stiff from hours of driving. He breathes in the crisp, cold air, letting it fill his lungs, a cleansing breath. He knows it’s essential to take a break, to shake off the road fatigue, especially with the eclectic, energetic group of travelers he has in tow. With a practiced hand, he cracks the windows for Pal, the loyal golden puppy who sits contentedly in the back seat, his tail thumping a soft rhythm against the upholstery. He makes sure the Camaro is securely locked, a silent, protective click.

 

Turning his attention to the kids, Billings implements his tried-and-tested Buddy System, a method born of experience and a desire for controlled chaos. He pairs up the playful and bright-eyed D.W. with the rebellious, street-smart Molly, whose sharp wit is hidden behind a curtain of dark red hair. The quiet and observant James silently trails behind the classic duo of curious minds and boundless energy, Arthur and Buster. Handing each group a crisp ten-dollar bill, freshly folded and uncreased, Billings issues his instructions, his voice calm and clear: they are to buy snacks, gloves, hats, books, or games from the convenience mart attached to the station, a small, brightly lit oasis against the encroaching twilight.

 

The bundles of unrestrained energy file out of the car, their laughter mingling with the soft, mournful sound of the wind whistling through the bare, skeletal trees. Excited chatter fills the air, a cheerful counterpoint to the desolate landscape, as they scamper towards the convenience mart, their eyes wide with the promise of sugary snacks and shiny trinkets. Molly and D.W., a surprisingly effective team despite their age difference, dart off immediately to the candy aisle, a sugary wonderland, debating animatedly between gummy bears and chocolate bars, their voices hushed in mock-seriousness. Arthur and Buster, meanwhile, head directly for the magazine rack, their heads together, eagerly searching for the latest comic books, their fingers tracing the colorful covers.

 

With the older kids taken care of, Billings carefully, almost tenderly, secures Kate into her comfy baby sling. Her tiny head, covered in soft, wispy hair, nests against his chest. With a tender smile, a flicker of warmth in his usually serious eyes, he pulls out her floral-patterned diaper bag and checks to ensure everything is in order – wipes, fresh diapers, a spare onesie, a small, half-eaten banana. Satisfied, he sets about his routine car checks, a meticulous ritual performed before every leg of a long journey. He meticulously examines that all fluids are filled – oil, coolant, wiper fluid – that tires are correctly inflated, their treads still deep and grippy, and that wiper blades are in good condition, ready to sweep away any unexpected snowfall.

 

Billings casts a fond, almost paternal gaze at the scene unfolding before him, a small, chaotic symphony of childhood joy. He watches the children weave in and out of aisles, their figures momentarily silhouetted against the fluorescent lights of the store, their faces lit up with pure, unadulterated joy, a fleeting moment of peace before the next leg of their journey.

 

With a final, audible click, the gas pump signals that the tank is full, its digital display flashing a triumphant "DONE." He glances at his watch, the illuminated dial showing that the kids have been gone for a while, perhaps a bit too long. Tucking Kate securely against his chest, her small weight a comforting presence, he makes his way toward the restroom, a worn canvas bag of diapers slung over his shoulder. Inside, the low, steady hum of the heater is a welcome relief from the biting cold outside, a comforting warmth seeping into his bones.

 

Billings gently sets Kate down on the changing table, its cool, plastic surface a stark contrast to his warm chest, his movements careful and deliberate, practiced from countless diaper changes. As he tends to her, his large hands surprisingly gentle, he can’t help but marvel at her innocent curiosity, her bright, unblinking eyes, her chubby fingers reaching out instinctively to touch the world with wonder, to grasp at the very air. Once Kate is clean and cozy in a fresh diaper, a faint scent of baby powder filling the small room, Billings hoists her back into the baby sling, her little head nestled comfortably against his chest, her small hand reaching up to grasp a button on his jacket.

 

Unfortunately, at that precise moment, a woman with a distinctive, gravity-defying swooping hairstyle, a theatrical cascade of perfectly coiffed blonde, walks into the baby changing area. Her eyes, sharp and judgmental, immediately fix on Billings and Kate. Without letting him utter a single word, before he can even offer a polite greeting, she barrages him with a single, accusatory question: "Where's your wife?"

 

Caught entirely off guard, his mind still on the children in the convenience mart, he stammers out the truth, "I'm… I'm single."

 

Her face immediately contorts, twisting into a mask of outrage. She unleashes a high-pitched, piercing scream that reverberates off the tiled walls, accusing him, without a shred of evidence, of being "a pervert and a kidnapper!"

 

She won't listen to reason, her eyes blazing with self-righteous fury, and she lunges forward, attempting to wrench Kate from his arms. Kate, startled and terrified by the sudden noise and the woman’s aggressive movements, immediately starts to cry, a small, wounded sound that quickly escalates into a full-blown wail. Almost as if on cue, a sudden flurry of movement fills the doorway as the other five kids, drawn by Kate’s cries and the woman’s shrieks, arrive on the scene, followed closely by two bewildered-looking gas station clerks, their faces etched with confusion and concern.

 

The woman, emboldened by the growing audience, points a trembling, accusatory finger at Billings and shrieks, "I demand a pay phone! I'm calling the police to report a pervert looking in babies' diapers!"

 

The children, however, immediately refute her wild claims, their voices rising in a chorus of indignant protest.

 

"He's not!" D.W. cries, her voice surprisingly loud for a five-year-old.

 

"He's our friend!" Buster adds, his face flushed with anger.

 

The clerks, caught in the middle of this bizarre tableau, keep asking questions, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of confusion. Then, Molly and Arthur step up, a surprising, formidable duo. Molly, with her intimidating presence as a Tough Customer, moves with a purposeful stride, placing herself squarely between the venomous woman and Billings, her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed, radiating an aura of unwavering protectiveness. Her silent, defiant stance is enough to keep the woman at bay, a visible barrier. Arthur, meanwhile, acts with a maturity beyond his years. He gently, carefully collects his baby sister from Billings, his small hands surprisingly steady, and expertly attaches the sling to his own front, securing Kate against his small, still-growing body.

 

This allows Billings to speak to the enraged woman and try to de-escalate the volatile situation without further harming the already distressed infant. Unfortunately, the venomous woman, thwarted in her initial attack, merely redirects her audacity, her eyes now gleaming with a fresh, horrifying accusation. She turns her wrath on Arthur, spouting new, outrageous claims.

 

"The filthy boy is hurting the baby!" she screams, her voice cracking with manufactured indignation. "Arrest him! He’s a child abuser!"

 

D.W., ever the quick-witted and fiercely loyal younger sister, can't hold back. "You're a poopy-head!" she yells, the best insult a five-year-old can muster, her small face contorted in disgust.

 

Predictably, this does not go over well with the woman, who visibly bristles, her face turning a dangerous shade of crimson. Already contorted with fury, the woman's face deepens to a mottled, angry red.

 

“A poopy-head?!” she shrieks, her voice rising to an even higher, more unbearable pitch. “You foul-mouthed little brat! Your parents clearly didn’t raise you right!” She glares at D.W., who, despite her small stature, stands her ground, a defiant set to her jaw.

 

“Leave my sister alone!” Arthur calls out, his voice tight with a mixture of fear and growing anger.

 

He tightens his grip on Kate, who continues to sob, her small body trembling against his. The woman, ignoring his plea, takes a step forward, her hand reaching out, fingers splayed, intent on grabbing Arthur.

 

“I’m making a citizen’s arrest!” she declares, her eyes wide with a crazed self-importance. “You’re hurting that baby, and I won’t stand for it!”

 

Molly, however, is quicker. She pivots, her slight frame suddenly becoming a formidable barrier, stepping directly into the woman's path. “You touch him,” Molly warns, her voice low and steady, laced with an edge of pure ice, “and you’ll regret it. Trust me.” Her eyes, usually obscured by her fringe, flash with a surprising intensity that makes even the abrasive woman hesitate for a split second.

 

The two gas station clerks, a young man named Gary and an older woman named Brenda, exchange bewildered glances. Gary, who looks barely out of high school, tries to intervene, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “Ma’am, please, there’s no need for this. Let’s just calm down.”

 

Brenda, more experienced in handling irate customers, steps forward cautiously. “What exactly is going on here?” she asks, her gaze sweeping from the furious woman to Billings, then to the cluster of children. Her eyes linger on Kate, still crying in Arthur’s arms.

 

Billings, regaining his composure, speaks calmly, his voice cutting through the rising chaos. “This woman just walked in and started screaming accusations. I’m traveling with these children. I was changing the baby’s diaper, and she immediately jumped to conclusions.” He gestures towards Arthur and Kate. "He's consoling his sister. She’s upset because of all the shouting.”

 

“A likely story!” the woman screeches, her face a mask of disbelief. “He’s clearly a pervert with a kidnapped baby! Look at that poor infant, terrified! And that boy is rough with her!”

 

Arthur, despite his rising panic, gently bounces Kate, murmuring soothing words to her. “It’s okay, Katey, it’s okay,” he whispers, shielding her face from the woman’s venomous gaze.

 

His brow is furrowed with concentration as he tries to keep his voice steady for his sister’s sake, even as his heart hammers against his ribs. He feels the woman’s eyes burning into him, hears her outrageous lies, but he focuses on Kate.

 

James, the quietest of the group, suddenly pipes up, his small voice surprisingly clear. “She’s not scared of Billings! She likes him! You’re being mean!”

 

D.W., seizing the moment, points a small, accusing finger at the woman. “And you’re a big, mean bully! And you smell like old socks!”

 

This unexpected, childish insult seems to deflate the woman’s self-righteous fury for a moment, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly. But it’s a momentary reprieve. She lunges again, directly at Arthur, clearly intending to grab Kate.

 

“Give me that baby!” she demands, her voice guttural with desperation.

 

But Molly is ready. With a swift, almost imperceptible movement, she sidesteps the woman’s lunge, forcing her to stumble past her. As the woman loses her balance, Molly extends her foot just enough to catch the woman’s heel. There’s a yelp, a flailing of arms, and then a loud thud as the woman lands squarely on her backside, her ridiculous hairstyle now askew. A collective gasp goes through the small group. Gary claps a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh, while Brenda stares, wide-eyed.

 

The woman scrambles to her feet, her face now a thunderous storm of humiliation and rage. “You… you little hooligan! I’m calling the police on all of you!” She scrambles towards the counter where the payphone hangs.

 

“Hold on a minute, ma’am,” Brenda interjects, stepping in front of the payphone, blocking the woman’s access. “I think we need to get to the bottom of this. These children seem to know this man very well, and they’re defending him.” She turns to Arthur, her voice softening. “Honey, is this man your dad?”

 

Arthur, still trying to soothe Kate, who has now quieted to a shaky whimper, looks up, his eyes meeting Brenda’s. “He’s… he’s my grandpa's friend, Mr. Billings,” he explains, carefully. “My mom sent him to pick us up from our house. We’re going to my grandpa’s farm.” He shifts Kate in the sling, trying to make her more comfortable. He can still feel the woman’s angry gaze on him, burning into his back, making him feel like an object under scrutiny, not a protective brother.

 

Buster steps forward, nodding vigorously. “Yeah! Mr. Billings is really nice! He got us snacks!” He holds up his bag of chips, as if offering proof of Billings’ good character.

 

Gary, recovering from his suppressed amusement, speaks up. “Look, ma’am, they’re clearly not kidnapped. And that little girl isn’t being hurt. She’s just upset because you’re screaming.” He gestures vaguely at the woman’s disheveled appearance.

 

The woman bristles, adjusting her hair with trembling hands. “This is outrageous! I’m a concerned citizen! He’s a pervert! They’re all lying!” She points dramatically at Molly. “And that girl assaulted me!”

 

Molly merely raises an eyebrow, a flicker of a smirk playing on her lips. “You fell, lady. Maybe watch where you’re going.”

 

Billings steps forward again, his voice firm, his patience wearing thin. “Ma’am, I understand your concern, but you are making baseless accusations and scaring these children. If you feel the need to call the police, then I suggest you do. But I assure you, there is nothing illicit happening here. These are children in my care, and I will not have them subjected to your harassment.” He pulls out his wallet, retrieving his driver’s license and a folded piece of paper. “Here is my identification, and here is a notarized letter from their mothers, giving me permission to travel with them.” He holds them out for Brenda to see.

 

Brenda takes the documents, her eyes scanning the letter, then flicking to Billings’ ID. Her expression softens, and a look of understanding dawns on her face. She hands them back to Billings. “Well, that certainly clears things up,” she says, her tone pointed as she glances at the irate woman. “Ma’am, it seems like there’s been a misunderstanding. Mr. Billings has all the proper documentation.”

 

The woman, however, is not swayed. Her face, a mask of stubborn conviction, refuses to accept the truth. “Documentation can be faked! He’s still a pervert! I know a pervert when I see one! And that boy is clearly in on it!” She points at Arthur again, her finger jabbing the air, trying to incite more chaos. “He’s hurting that baby, just look at her!”

 

Arthur flinches, his heart sinking. He feels Kate wriggle, whimpering again, and he tightens his hold, trying to be as gentle as possible. The woman’s words echo in his mind, making him doubt himself. He hates that this woman’s anger is making his baby sister cry even more. He just wants to get Kate to stop crying, to get away from this loud, angry woman. He feels a fresh wave of frustration and helplessness wash over him, but he won't let go of Kate. He just won't.

 

Billings, seeing the distress on Arthur’s face and the renewed tears from Kate, steps forward again, his voice now laced with a steely edge. “Ma’am, I work for their grandfather, who owns the farm where we are headed. Their mother is away, and I was asked to bring them to their grandfather’s for the holidays.” He speaks slowly, distinctly, trying to penetrate her unyielding conviction with simple facts. “There is no kidnapping. There is no abuse. You are causing a scene, distressing these children, and interfering with their safe transport.”

 

The woman’s eyes narrow, her gaze flicking between Billings and Arthur. “A likely story!" She repeats, "A man taking children to a farm without their mother? And the father isn’t here? Sounds like a setup for something nefarious!” She steps towards Arthur, her hand still outstretched, as if she believes she can simply snatch Kate away. “That poor baby needs to be rescued from you and that… that filthy boy!”

 

Sensing the renewed threat, Molly moves with surprising speed. She positions herself directly in front of Arthur, her body a shield.

 

“Leave him alone!” she snarls, a flash of pure protective fury in her eyes. “He’s being a good brother! You’re the one making her cry!”

 

D.W., ever the vocal one, chimes in, "Yeah! You're a big, mean octopus monster!"

 

Brenda, the older clerk, steps around the counter, her face set. “That’s enough, ma’am,” she says, her voice firm. “You are disrupting my business and harassing customers. If you don’t leave now, I will call the police and have you removed for disturbing the peace and making false accusations.”

 

She pulls a corded phone from beneath the counter, holding it up, her finger hovering over the buttons. The woman hesitates, her eyes darting from Brenda to Billings, then to the determined faces of the children. The threat of actual police involvement, of being on the receiving end of a call to law enforcement, gives her pause. Her bravado, which had been fueled by self-righteous indignation, begins to crack under the weight of genuine consequences.

 

Gary, the younger clerk, speaks up, his voice still a bit shaky but gaining confidence. “Yeah, and we have security cameras, too, ma’am. Everything you’ve said and done is on tape.” He gestures vaguely towards a small, dome-shaped camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling.

 

This seems to be the breaking point. The woman’s face pales slightly. The idea of her outburst being recorded, of potential legal repercussions, finally overrides her outrage. She casts one last venomous glare at Billings and the children, particularly at Molly, who meets her gaze unflinchingly.

 

“This isn’t over,” she hisses, more to herself than to anyone else, before turning on her heel and stalking out of the gas station, her ridiculous hairstyle bobbing angrily as she disappears into the twilight.

 

A collective sigh of relief ripples through the small group. Kate, sensing the shift in tension, slowly quiets down, her whimpers subsiding to soft sniffles as Arthur continues to rock her gently. Brenda lowers the phone, a weary but satisfied expression on her face.

 

“Good riddance,” she mutters under her breath, then turns to Billings and the children. “Are you all alright?”

 

Billings nods, a grateful smile touching his lips. “We are now, thank you. You were a big help.” He looks at the children, pride swelling in his chest. “All of you. You were very brave.”

 

Molly, still somewhat on alert, relaxes her stance. D.W. beams, clearly proud of her “poopy-head” insult. Buster, meanwhile, is already engrossed in his comic book again, as if the entire dramatic episode had been nothing more than a brief interlude. James, ever watchful, gives a small, knowing nod. Arthur, though, is still focused on Kate. He gently unlatches the sling from his front, carefully passing his baby sister back to Billings.

 

“She’s better now,” he says softly, his small hand stroking Kate’s head. He feels a deep exhaustion setting in, the adrenaline slowly leaving his system, leaving behind a lingering unease. He still feels the burning eyes of the woman on him, her words echoing in his ears. “He’s hurting that baby… that boy…”

 

Billings takes Kate, murmuring thanks to Arthur. “You did great, buddy. You’re a wonderful brother.” He looks around at the still-slightly-tense atmosphere of the gas station. “I think it’s time we get back on the road.”

 

Brenda and Gary, still buzzing with a mixture of shock and relief, usher the children towards the small display of toys and candy near the counter. “For your troubles,” Brenda says kindly, her smile genuine now. Gary, looking less flustered, offers a handful of lollipops and small plastic cars. For Kate, Brenda finds a soft, plush teddy bear, its fur a comforting cream color.

 

D.W. grins, clutching a bright pink lollipop. Her earlier defiance is replaced by a triumphant satisfaction. “We showed her!” she declares, looking at Molly for affirmation.

 

Molly, though she doesn’t smile, allows a flicker of pride to cross her features as she pockets a bag of sour gummies. James, however, remains quiet, clutching a small, unchosen toy car. He looks uncomfortable, his eyes darting towards the door where the woman had exited, as if expecting her to reappear. Buster, already unwrapping a new comic book, seems entirely indifferent to the drama, his world now contained within the colorful panels. Kate, nestled back in Billings’ arms, has finally cried herself to sleep, her small, tear-streaked face pressed against his chest, the new teddy bear clutched in one tiny fist.

 

Arthur, though, is still unsettled. The image of the woman’s furious face, her pointed finger, and her venomous words replay in his mind. “He’s hurting that baby!… that boy…” He feels a knot in his stomach, a lingering shame that he couldn't stop Kate from crying, that he couldn't entirely protect her from the woman’s anger. He watches Billings carefully secure Kate in her car seat, the soft fabric of the bear a stark contrast to the harshness of the recent encounter.

 

As Billings finishes, he turns to Arthur, his expression thoughtful. “Hey, buddy,” he says softly, kneeling down so he’s at eye level with the boy. The fluorescent lights of the gas station cast a harsh glow on their faces. “You did really well in there, you know.”

 

Arthur shrugs, looking down at his sneakers. “Kate was still crying.” His voice is small, barely a whisper.

 

Billings reaches out, gently placing a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “She was crying because that woman was loud and scary, not because of anything you did. You were amazing, Arthur. You kept her safe, and you were so gentle with her. You were a good big brother.” He pauses, letting his words sink in. “That woman… she was just angry and confused. She didn’t know what she was talking about. Sometimes, people say mean things when they’re upset, even if they’re not true.”

 

Arthur slowly looks up, meeting Billings’ gaze. “But she said I was hurting her.”

 

“She was wrong,” Billings states firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt. “Completely, utterly wrong. I saw you. You were trying your best to comfort Kate, and you did. She’s asleep now because she feels safe with us. She feels safe with you.” He squeezes Arthur’s shoulder gently. “Don’t let her words stick in your head, okay? You’re a good kid, Arthur. A really good kid. And a great brother.”

 

Arthur considers this, and a flicker of relief eases the tightness in his chest. He still feels a little wobbly, but Billings’ words are a balm, slowly soothing the sting of the woman’s accusations. He gives a small nod. “Okay.”

 

“Good,” Billings says, standing up. “Now, let’s get this show on the road. Grandpa’s farm isn’t much further.”

 

---

 

The drive through unfamiliar streets stretches out, a ribbon of asphalt unspooling beneath David’s tires. He doesn’t mind the length; in fact, he welcomes it. The scenic route takes him through rolling hills, their winter-bare trees etched against the pale sky, and then into lush, evergreen forests, their deep greens a comforting contrast to the muted landscape. The beauty of nature unfolds before him, a quiet, majestic panorama that soothes his frayed nerves and lifts his spirits, even amidst the turmoil of his personal life. The sun, a pale winter orb, shines brightly in the sky, casting a warm, almost ethereal glow over the frosted landscape.

 

When he finally arrives in Crown City, the late afternoon sun already beginning its descent, David parks his car on a bustling side street. He takes a moment, before stepping out, to simply appreciate the city’s vibrant energy. People bustle about, a steady stream of humanity, going about their daily lives, their laughter and chatter a lively hum that fills the crisp air. The streets are lined with colorful shops and quaint cafes, each one beckoning with promises of hidden treasures and warm, inviting aromas. Determined to find the perfect gift for Nigel, something truly special, David sets off toward the jewelry district.

 

He scans the storefronts, his eyes searching for anything that catches his eye, anything that whispers of Nigel. And then he sees it: a small, unassuming boutique jewelry store, tucked between a bustling bakery and a quiet bookstore. A handcrafted sign, elegant in its simplicity, reads ‘Aurora Creations’. Intrigued by the name, by the quiet promise of something unique, David pushes open the heavy wooden door and steps inside. The store is a feast for the senses, a world apart from the busy street outside. The walls are lined with shelves of glittering gems and sparkling baubles, each piece catching the soft light and reflecting it back in a thousand tiny rainbows.

 

The air is filled with the subtle, earthy scent of polished metal and fine leather, a rich, artisanal aroma. David’s eyes light up as he takes in the beauty of the pieces on display, each one more exquisite, more thoughtfully crafted than the last. A friendly woman behind the counter, her silver hair pulled back in a neat bun, greets him with a warm smile, her eyes twinkling with a gentle curiosity.

 

“Welcome to Aurora Creations,” she says, her voice soft and inviting. “How can I help you today?”

 

David takes a deep breath, a sense of excitement bubbling inside him, a welcome counterpoint to the earlier dread. “I’m looking to create a custom-made piece of jewelry,” he explains, his voice a little softer than usual. “It’s for my partner, Nigel. I want it to be special, something that truly reflects our connection and his passions, and mine too.”

 

The woman nods understandingly, her smile widening. “That’s a wonderful idea. Let’s go to the back; our artisan can help you bring your vision to life.” She leads him to a workbench in the back of the store, where a skilled artisan, a man with calloused hands and keen, focused eyes, is bent over a piece of silver, his movements precise and graceful.

 

“Good evening,” the artisan says, looking up, his gaze direct and attentive. “What are you envisioning?”

 

David takes a moment, gathering his thoughts, then begins to describe Nigel. “Nigel loves birdwatching,” he starts, a fond smile touching his lips. “And he’s passionate about theater, a real enthusiast. He’s also a teacher.” David pauses, then adds, “And me, I’m a caterer, and fishing is my other big passion. I want the bracelet to incorporate all of these elements somehow.”

 

The artisan’s brow furrows in thought, his eyes distant as he processes the information. Then, a slow smile spreads across his face, and his eyes light up with an idea. “How about a bracelet that features individual charms, each one representing one of these interests?” he suggests, his voice thoughtful. “We can have a tiny, delicate theater mask for Nigel’s love of the stage, a beautifully detailed bird charm for his birdwatching hobby, and a miniature fishing lure charm for your passion for fishing. And, of course, we can add in some small cooking utensil charms – a tiny whisk, a little chef’s hat – to represent your career as a caterer.”

 

David’s eyes widen in delight at the suggestion. It’s perfect, exactly what he hadn’t known he was looking for. “That sounds absolutely perfect!” he exclaims, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. “Can we also have our initials engraved on the back of each charm, just a small ‘D’ and an ‘N’, along with a tiny, subtle heart?”

 

The artisan nods, already sketching out the design on a piece of parchment paper, his pencil moving with practiced ease. “Of course, David. This bracelet will be a true symbol of your love and commitment to Nigel, a wearable story of your shared lives.”

 

As the artisan works, his hands moving with incredible precision and grace, David finds himself lost in thought, his mind drifting back to the early days of their relationship. He remembers the first time he had met Nigel, the instant connection they had felt, a spark that had ignited something deep within him. He recalls the way their hearts had seemed to beat as one, even then. He thinks of all the moments they had shared together, the quiet evenings, the boisterous laughter, the comforting tears, the highs, and the lows that had forged their bond. And he knows, with an unwavering certainty, that Nigel is the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with, the one who makes him feel truly seen and loved.

 

Hours pass in a blur as the artisan crafts the piece with meticulous care and dedication, each movement a testament to his skill and artistry. The gentle tap of his tiny hammer, the soft rasp of a file, the quiet hum of a polishing wheel – these sounds become a soothing rhythm. Finally, it is done. A sleek silver bracelet, each charm a miniature work of art, gleaming softly in the shop’s warm light.

 

David holds the piece in his hands, feeling its delicate weight against his palm, the cool metal a tangible representation of his feelings. It is perfect, just as he had imagined—a physical representation of their passionate connection and his unwavering devotion to Nigel, a secret promise held in silver and tiny symbols. He thanks the artisan profusely, his heart overflowing with gratitude for the beautiful gift he now holds in his hands.

 

Leaving the warm, softly lit sanctuary of Aurora Creations, David feels a profound, almost overwhelming sense of peace and contentment wash over him, a calm that settles deep in his bones, chasing away the last vestiges of the day’s earlier anxieties. The heavy door swings shut behind him with a soft click, muffling the tinkling of the bell inside, and he steps back onto the bustling sidewalk of Crown City. The sun, a fiery orb now clinging to the horizon, casts a warm, golden light over the city, painting the brick buildings in hues of orange and rose, stretching long, purple shadows across the pavement. The air, crisp and cold with the approaching night, feels invigorating, a sharp contrast to the heated emotions that had consumed him earlier in the day.

 

He walks back to his car; the silver bracelet is nestled securely in a small velvet pouch within a discreet paper bag, a tangible weight in his hand, a secret promise. Each step feels lighter, imbued with a newfound purpose. He knows, with an absolute, unwavering certainty, that Nigel will love this gift, that Nigel will understand the unspoken message woven into each tiny, meticulously crafted charm. He will see the love, the commitment, the future David envisions for them.

 

As he pulls out of the city, the vibrant hum of urban life slowly fades behind him, replaced by the quieter rhythm of the open road. The streetlights, one by one, give way to the vast, inky blackness of the countryside, punctuated only by the distant gleam of farm lights and the occasional passing car. The cold air, now truly biting, seeps into the car, despite the heater blowing steadily, but David barely notices. His mind is consumed, not by the chill, but by the warmth radiating from the small package on the passenger seat.

 

He glances at it, and a small, knowing smile touches his lips. The bracelet isn’t just jewelry; it’s a physical manifestation of their journey, a testament to their unconventional, deeply passionate connection. He thinks of the tiny theater mask, the delicate bird, the sturdy fishing lure, and the miniature cooking utensils. Each piece of their individual worlds is now bound together and inextricably linked. And the initials, D and N, intertwined with a small heart, a private symbol of their union.  His thoughts drift back to the early hours of this very morning, to the intimate confessions shared in the dim glow of the bedroom. Nigel’s raw vulnerability, admitting his fantasies of whisking David away, of escaping the messy reality of David’s marriage. And David’s confession, the words he had uttered, were firm and resolute.

 

“I’m leaving her. I filed for divorce yesterday. The papers are out in my car.”

 

The memory of Nigel’s stunned, then elated, reaction sends a shiver of pleasure through him, a warmth that spreads from his core. He recalls the intensity of Nigel’s touch, the possessive whispers.

 

“You are mine now, David. All mine. And I’m going to mark you as such.”

 

The bite on his neck still tingles, a faint, tender ache, a visible declaration of ownership that thrills him to his core. It’s a mark of their defiance, a testament to a love that refuses to be confined by societal expectations or the wreckage of a failed marriage. He remembers the intoxicating taste of Nigel on his tongue, the raw hunger, the complete surrender in each other’s arms. That kind of connection, that profound intimacy, is something he has never experienced before, a revelation that has reshaped his entire world. The divorce, though a necessary and painful step, now feels less like an ending and more like a beginning.

 

Jane’s constant belittling, her verbal abuse, the suffocating atmosphere of their home – all of it is fading, becoming a distant, unpleasant memory. Nigel is his anchor, his safe harbor, the one person who sees him, truly sees him, and loves him unconditionally. The weight of his old life, the facade he had maintained for so long, is slowly lifting, replaced by a lightness he hadn’t realized he was missing.

 

He thinks of the quiet cottage by the sea that Nigel had fantasized about, the sound of waves, the cool salt breeze. While a complete escape might not be possible, not with the children, the spirit of that dream feels closer than ever. They are building their version of that cottage, not by the sea, but in the quiet, shared moments, in the understanding glances, in the unwavering support they offer each other. The bracelet is a tangible piece of that new foundation, a promise of a future built on honesty and mutual desire.

 

The road ahead is dark, the headlights cutting a path through the gloom, but David feels no apprehension. The anticipation of seeing Nigel again, of presenting him with this gift, of seeing the joy in his eyes, fills him with a vibrant energy. He pictures Nigel’s reaction: the initial surprise, the slow dawning of understanding, the soft smile, and then the inevitable, passionate kiss that will seal the moment. He imagines the bracelet clasped around Nigel’s wrist, a constant reminder of their bond, of the love that has blossomed in the most unexpected of circumstances.

 

He presses down on the accelerator, eager to close the distance, eager to be back in Nigel’s arms. The car hums, a steady, comforting drone, carrying him towards the man who has become his world. The challenges ahead are immense, the path uncertain, but with Nigel by his side, David knows they can face anything. Their love, unconventional and fiercely private, is a force, a quiet revolution in his life, and the bracelet is its shining, silent declaration. He is coming home, not to an empty house, but to a full heart, to the man who makes him whole.

 

Chapter 14: Cold Comfort and Warm Embrace

The grandfather clock in the main hall of Dave Walker’s rundown farmhouse strikes past ten, its deep, resonant chimes echoing through the cavernous, unheated space. Outside, the mid-December wind, a relentless, chilling force, creeps through the countless cracks in the old farmhouse’s weathered planks, whistling a mournful tune through every crevice. Inside, the main room, a large, sprawling space that serves as kitchen, living area, and makeshift sanctuary, is the only refuge for the six children.

 

The room is a study in contrasts: chaotic and cozy at the same time, a testament to hurried occupation. There’s no central heating, a fact made painfully clear by the icy air that bites at exposed skin. The children are gathered in a tight cluster around the crackling fireplace, the only source of warmth in the entire sprawling farmhouse. They’ve scavenged whatever they could find to keep the fire going – old wooden planks, splintered and rough, bundles of dried, brittle hay that hiss and pop as they catch fire, and even some torn pages from a discarded newspaper, their newsprint quickly curling into ash.

 

Despite their collective, desperate efforts, the room is freezing, a stark, painful contrast to the intense, dancing warmth of the flames.

 

The walls, once painted a cheerful yellow, are now peeling in long, curling strips, revealing the rough plaster beneath. The floorboards, ancient and worn, creak underfoot with every shift of weight, their groans sounding like the sighs of the house itself. The ceiling, high above, has numerous patches where the thatch had long since fallen away, allowing startling glimpses of the star-strewn, inky black sky above, a constant reminder of the vast, cold expanse outside.

 

The only furniture in the room is a rickety wooden table, its surface scarred with generations of use, and a few mismatched chairs, their paint chipped and legs wobbly, looking as if they might collapse at any moment. Molly huddles closest to the fire, her thin jacket pulled tight around her, and instinctively wraps a threadbare, faded blanket around her shivering brother, James, who sits beside her, his knees drawn up to his chest.

 

“Arthur, break that blue chair,” Molly instructs, her voice low but firm, her breath misting slightly in the cold air. She points to a particularly wobbly, paint-chipped chair near the wall. “We can use one of its legs to take turns poking the fire. It’s the only thing keeping us warm.”

 

Arthur nods, his face grim with determination. He grabs the chair, its wood dry and brittle with age, and with a grunt, snaps off one of its legs, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet room.

 

“This place is haunted,” Buster points out, his voice a low, conspiratorial whisper, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fascination. He glances nervously towards the dark corners of the room, where shadows dance and stretch. “I heard strange noises coming from the attic earlier. Like… like something dragging its feet.”

 

James, already on edge, whimpers softly when he hears a long, drawn-out howl from outside, the sound carried on the wind. He buries his face deeper into Molly’s side.

 

Molly, ever the pragmatist, tries to reassure him, her arm tightening around his shoulders. “Don’t be silly, James. It’s probably just the wind,” she says, though a shiver runs down her own spine. “We need to stay calm and watch out for each other.”

 

D.W., looking around nervously, her eyes darting from the flickering shadows to the gaping holes in the ceiling, tugs on Arthur’s sleeve. “I don’t like this place, Arthur. Can’t we go back home?” Her voice is small, laced with a plea.

 

Despite his own unease, Arthur pats her gently on the back, trying to project a bravery he doesn’t entirely feel. “We can’t leave just yet, D.W. We need to be brave and stick together.” He glances at Kate, who is nestled in a pile of blankets near the fire, her eyes wide, taking everything in.

 

James, still trembling slightly, points a small, trembling finger to the flickering shadows on the wall, distorted by the dancing flames. “Look, Molly! There’s a monster in the corner!”

 

Molly chuckles softly, a warm, comforting sound in the cold room. She pulls him closer. “That’s just the shadows, sweetie. Nothing to be afraid of. Let’s all sit closer to the fire and tell stories to pass the time. Who wants to go first?” She looks around at the eager faces, trying to inject some normalcy into their strange predicament.

 

D.W. theatrically claps her hands excitedly, her earlier fear momentarily forgotten. “I do, I do! I’ll tell a story about a brave knight who defeated a dragon!”

 

Seeing her sister's excitement, Kate giggles and claps her tiny hands together, joyfully squealing, “Jagon! Jagon!”

 

Molly smiles, a genuine warmth spreading across her face as she looks at the children, their faces illuminated by the firelight. “Alright, D.W., go ahead. Let’s forget about the cold and the creaky old farmhouse for now. Let’s get lost in your story.”

 

The flames dance higher, casting long, shifting shadows that seem to swallow the cold, if only for a little while.

 

---

 

Meanwhile, in Elwood City, the familiar click of a key in the lock announces David’s arrival at Nigel’s house. He steps inside, the warmth of the home immediately enveloping him, a stark contrast to the cold, empty house he had left behind just hours earlier. He’s somewhat surprised by the sight that greets him: Nigel, standing precariously on a small, wobbly ladder in the middle of the living room, wearing nothing but a pair of well-worn denim overalls. The denim strains enticingly across his broad shoulders and narrow hips, leaving little to the imagination of what lies beneath. He’s wrestling with the wiring of a new ceiling fan, a tangle of wires and metal blades hanging above his head.

 

Nigel looks down, his brow furrowed in concentration, then his eyes light up as he sees David. “Oh, good, you’re home,” he says, a relieved smile spreading across his face. He gestures with a wire stripper. “Could you hand me the Phillips head down there? The one with the red handle.”

 

David leans against the doorframe, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as his gaze drifts from Nigel’s face down the length of his body, lingering on the inviting expanse of bare skin visible beneath the open overalls. “Only if I can watch,” he drawls, his voice low and suggestive.

 

Nigel pauses, his head tilted, then lets out a surprised, incredulous laugh, the sound warm and rich. “You want to watch me screw in the ceiling fan?” He shakes his head, a hint of blush rising on his cheeks.

 

David pushes off the doorframe, moving closer, his eyes sparkling with wicked intent. “Oh, baby,” he purrs, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he reaches the base of the ladder, “you were born to screw.”

 

Nigel’s blush deepens, spreading across his neck and ears. He tries to look stern, but a small, involuntary smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “David Ernest Alvin Read!” he scolds, though his voice is laced with amusement and a hint of pleasure at the blatant flirtation.

 

David grins, a triumphant glint in his eyes. He spots the Phillips head screwdriver on the floor and picks it up. Instead of simply handing it up, he climbs onto the small ladder, positioning himself directly behind Nigel. He purposely presses his body against Nigel’s back, letting his own warmth seep through the thin denim of the overalls, a deliberate act of intimacy. He feels the firm muscle of Nigel’s back, the slight give of his flesh, and then, with an “accidentally-on-purpose” dip, his hips press intimately into Nigel’s backside. He leans in close, his breath warm against Nigel’s ear, before finally handing over the tool, their fingers brushing, a spark passing between them.

 

Nigel, momentarily flustered but undeniably aroused by the unexpected contact, takes the screwdriver with a slight gasp. He quickly, almost frantically, finishes screwing in the middle of the ceiling fan, his hands working with practiced efficiency, trying to ignore the delicious pressure of David’s body against his. The last screw tightens with a satisfying click.

 

With the fan securely in place, Nigel doesn’t hesitate. He swings one leg over the side of the ladder, then the other, descending quickly. Before his feet even touch the ground, he turns, his eyes dark with desire, and tackles his lover, pulling David into a fierce, hungry embrace. Their bodies collide with a soft thud, and a different kind of heat now fills the room. Nigel’s hands roam David’s body with urgency, tracing the lines of his muscles through his shirt. David responds with equal fervor, his fingers tangling in Nigel’s hair, pulling him closer as their lips crash together in a passionate kiss. The taste of Nigel, the feel of his skin, sends a rush of desire through David, making him ache with need.

 

Breaking away from the kiss, Nigel’s breath ragged, he murmurs against David’s lips, “I need you now.”

 

His hands move to the buttons of David’s shirt, deftly undoing them one by one, revealing the smooth, taut skin beneath. David shivers at the touch, his own hands working to free Nigel from his overalls, pushing them down over his hips. The fabric catches on Nigel’s erection, and David takes a moment to appreciate the sight, his fingers brushing against the hard length, making Nigel gasp. As the overalls fall to the floor, Nigel steps out of them, his body now fully exposed, his erection straining against the fabric of his boxers.

 

David’s gaze roams over him, appreciating the sight, before he reaches out, his fingers tracing the line of Nigel’s jaw, down his neck, and across his chest, making Nigel shiver with anticipation.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” David whispers, his voice thick with desire. He leans in, his lips capturing Nigel’s in another searing kiss, his hands exploring every inch of his body, memorizing the feel of him. “I love how your skin feels against mine,” he murmurs, his lips moving to Nigel’s neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin.

 

Nigel’s hands reach David’s belt, working it open with fumbling haste. He pushes down David’s pants, freeing his erection, his fingers wrapping around the thick length, stroking gently. David groans, his hips bucking into Nigel’s touch, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

 

“Nige,” David murmurs, his voice a low growl, “I need to be inside you.” He looks around the room, his eyes landing on the open curtains, the soft light of the setting sun filtering through. “Anyone could see us,” he says, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “They could see how much you want me.”

 

Nigel’s eyes meet David’s, dark with desire and trust. He nods, his voice barely a whisper, “Yes, please. I want you to take me, right here, right now.”

 

David guides Nigel to the couch, urging him to lie down. He grabs a bottle of lube from the side table, pouring a generous amount onto his fingers. He leans over Nigel, his lips capturing his in a deep kiss as his fingers find Nigel’s entrance, circling gently before slowly pushing inside. Nigel gasps, his body tensing momentarily before relaxing, allowing David’s fingers to stretch and prepare him. The sensation is overwhelming, sending waves of pleasure through his body, making him ache with need.

 

“David,” he whispers, his voice pleading, “I need you. I need you inside me.”

 

David positions himself at Nigel’s entrance, his eyes locked on Nigel’s as he slowly pushes inside, feeling the tight, hot grip of Nigel’s body around him. Nigel’s eyes flutter closed, a soft moan escaping his lips as David fills him completely.

 

“You feel so good,” David murmurs, his voice strained with effort. “So tight, so hot.”

 

They begin to move together, their bodies finding a rhythm, their breaths syncing, their hearts pounding in unison. The room fills with the sounds of their lovemaking, the soft gasps, the low moans, the wet slaps of skin against skin. David’s hands roam over Nigel’s body, tracing the lines of his muscles, the curve of his hips, the firmness of his ass. Nigel’s hands clutch at David’s shoulders, his nails digging into the skin, urging him deeper, harder.

 

“Harder, David,” Nigel gasps, his body arching into David’s thrusts. “I need more. I need all of you.”

 

David complies, his hips moving faster, his thrusts deeper, his body slamming into Nigel’s with a fierce intensity. The couch creaks and groans beneath them, the sound mingling with their ragged breaths and desperate moans. David’s body is slick with sweat, his muscles tense with effort, his heart pounding in his chest.

 

“Nigel,” David groans, his voice strained, “you feel so good. So tight, so wet. I could fuck you forever.”

 

Nigel’s body trembles beneath David, his muscles clenching around David’s length, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “David,” he cries out, his voice desperate, “I’m close. I’m so close.”

 

David reaches between them, his fingers wrapping around Nigel’s erection, stroking in time with his thrusts. The added sensation sends Nigel over the edge, his body convulsing as he comes, his release spilling over David’s hand, coating his stomach. The sight and sound of Nigel’s orgasm send David over the edge, his body shuddering as he finds his release, his seed spilling into Nigel, filling him completely. They collapse together, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. David rolls to the side, pulling Nigel with him, holding him close as they come down from the height of their passion.

 

“Nigel,” David whispers, his voice soft, a gentle vibration against the skin of Nigel’s neck. “I love you. I always will.”

 

The words sink into Nigel’s consciousness as he lies still on the living room floor, his body a trembling vessel of quiet ecstasy. The deep-pile carpet is a soft cradle beneath him, its woven fibers a subtle, textured map against his bare back. He doesn’t open his eyes, a blissful smile playing on his lips. The scent of David—a mix of sandalwood, fresh laundry, and the musk of their shared passion—is the only thing he wants to breathe. The faint, distant sounds of the city are silenced by the ringing in his ears, a beautiful, high-pitched hum that is the aftershocks of their lovemaking.

 

It is a world reduced to David’s presence, the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing, the weight of his arm draped over Nigel’s waist, the faint tremor of his own body. He feels safe, cherished, and complete. Nigel smiles, his eyes closed, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of their lovemaking.

 

“I love you, too, David, Nigel breathes, his own voice a fragile thread in the silent room. “Always.”

 

A few minutes pass, suspended in the amber light that filters in through the blinds. The moment feels infinite, a perfect stasis, but the world outside eventually pulls at them. David’s arm tightens for a final, lingering moment before he shifts, the movement a ripple of regret. The abrupt coolness of the air on Nigel’s skin makes him sigh, a soft sound of loss. He opens his eyes, blinking up at the low, coffered ceiling, a familiar pattern of light and shadow. David sits up, the planes of his back and shoulders a defined silhouette against the faint glow of the city. He runs a hand through his hair, the messy strands clinging to his forehead. Nigel rolls onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow to look at him.

 

The question is a quiet ache in his throat. He knows it must be asked, to ground their bliss in the stark reality of David’s life. “Did Jane… did she sign the papers?”

 

David’s shoulders slump. He doesn’t speak at first, just exhales a long, disappointed sigh, and the sound is a gust of wind that rustles the silence between them. The question hangs in the air, a phantom weight. David reaches into the pocket of the jeans he'd shed moments ago, his movements slow and deliberate. He pulls out a folded sheet of paper and holds it out to Nigel. It’s not the legal document Nigel expected. It is a child’s drawing of a dog with large, floppy ears and a stick-like figure in the background, with a short letter attached.

 

“She wasn’t there,” David says, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, the words a raw confession.

 

Nigel’s heart sinks. A frown etches itself between his brows. He takes the paper from David, his fingers brushing against David’s, a small point of contact that feels like an electric current. He unfolds the sheet of paper, the creases sharp and stubborn. His eyes scan the messy, childlike scrawl, each letter formed with an earnest, unpracticed hand. It’s an innocent letter; the paper is the kind a child would use in class, its lines a comforting guide for the penmanship.

 

Dear Dad, I hope you come home soon. Mom left. I don't know where she went. We're going to Grandpa's farm in Shelbytown, Pennsylvania. D.W. and Kate are coming, and Buster and Molly and James, too. Pal is with me. I heard you and Mom yelling a lot a few days ago. Was it because Mom was mad you were having fun with Mr. Ratburn and she didn't get to come? Mom's been yelling at us a lot lately, and she doesn't know how to cook. Please don't worry about us. We'll be at Grandpa's. I miss you. Love, Arthur

 

The words swim before Nigel's eyes, a simple, painful report from the mind of a nine-year-old. The name "Mr. Ratburn" catches his eye, an innocent, casual mention that makes his cheeks burn with a rush of heat. It is a sudden, sharp jolt of reality. He knows Arthur as a student, a child in his class, and here is this young boy, his student, trying to make sense of the chaos in his parents' life, seeing their relationship through a lens of naive innocence. Its simplicity is what hurts the most.

 

Arthur thinks the argument was over a trip to the zoo or a fun day out. He cannot comprehend the complex, agonizing truth that has been fracturing his family for months. Nigel’s chest feels tight, a mix of guilt, sadness, and an immense tenderness for the child.

 

David’s hand lands gently on Nigel’s knee, the touch a grounding force. His voice is low, a gravelly whisper. “She wasn’t there, Nigel. There was no note. No message. Nothing. Just… the silence of the house and this letter from my son.”

 

Nigel folds the letter back along its creases, a physical act of containment for the overflowing emotions it holds. He places it carefully on the floor between them. He looks into David’s eyes, the deep brown a swirling vortex of anger, frustration, and love.

 

“I know what I should be doing,” David continues, his jaw tight. “I should be calling her. I should be calling my son. I should be worried about where they are, what they are doing, and how they are. I should have a sense of urgency. But the truth is, I don’t.” He pauses, and his eyes soften, a raw vulnerability gleaming in their depths. “The only thing I feel is a sense of relief. And the only thing I want to do is be right here with you. I am not going to waste my time and energy searching for her when I could be here. With you. You are my home, Nigel. You are all I care about.”

 

David’s words are a promise, an anchor in the storm of their lives. He reaches for Nigel’s hand and weaves their fingers together. The simple act of touch speaks volumes. Nigel squeezes his hand, and a wave of relief washes over him, the tension that had held him taut for so long finally beginning to unravel. The cool, still air of the room seems to settle. David’s eyes find the charm bracelet lying on a small, round table beside the sofa. He picks up the sleek silver chain, its weight solid and cool in his palm. The charms glimmer under the low light, a constellation of tiny, meaningful tokens. He takes Nigel’s wrist and, with a soft click, fastens the bracelet around it.

 

Nigel’s breath catches in his throat. He holds his wrist up, studying the charms with a sense of wonder. There’s a tiny, delicate theater mask, its features etched with such precision he can almost see the difference between tragedy and comedy. Beside it, a beautifully detailed bird, its wings half-spread as if in mid-flight. Next, a miniature graduation cap with a tassel dangling from its side. On another charm, a tiny, gleaming fishing lure, its silver hook catching the light. And finally, a miniature whisk, so small and perfect, with a little chef’s hat resting on its handle. Nigel's eyes widen, his heart swelling with an emotion so profound it threatens to overflow. He turns each charm over, and on the back of each, a tiny, almost imperceptible engraving: a small ‘D’ and an ‘N’, connected by a subtle, perfect heart.

 

“This is where I was when I disappeared,” David says, his voice thick with emotion. “I went to get this for you. I was not leaving you. I was making something for you, to show you that no matter what, I will always be here for you.”

 

A single tear slips down Nigel’s cheek. It isn’t a tear of sadness, but of overwhelming gratitude, of a profound and abiding love that feels more real than anything he has ever known. He leans his head against David’s shoulder, a silent gesture of surrender and acceptance. They are a single entity, two halves of a whole, bathed in the soft, fading light of the day, their bodies a testament to a love that is finally, irrevocably, their own.

 

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 11 of Ratread Love