“My father is from around here. From Northern Lake, actually, which is why I set up a research project there. I’m hoping to find out what happened to him. My professor doesn’t know that part, and neither does my mom, but I’m skipping a few steps.”
He took a deep breath, organizing his thoughts. This, too, had been a dream he’d had for years. He’d always felt like a part of him had been missing, not knowing what had happened to his father.
“My father was a sales rep for a company that made bottled water. He was traveling for work to California, where he met my mom, who was a waitress at a restaurant he had dinner at a few times. They had a one-night stand, but when he was tasked with setting up a new plant in California, they got involved. A year later, my mom got pregnant with me. They never married, but she told me he was supportive of her keeping the baby and helped her out with money. He’s also listed as my father on my birth certificate.”
“W-w-what happened? You s-said he w-walked out on your m-mom?”
“His job in California ended, so he had to go back to New York. They stayed in touch until I was three, and he visited us a few times, my mom told me. He asked her to move to New York, obviously bringing me, and she was seriously considering it. Then he fell off the face of the planet. Gone. His phone was disconnected, he’d moved out of the address she had for him, and that was it. She figured he was tired of her, and stopped looking for him.”
“D-d-did you hire s-someone to f-find him?”
“No.” He could have, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it. “Money has always been tight, so we couldn’t waste it on trying to find a man who clearly wanted nothing more to do with us.”
Augustus’s eyes were kind. “B-b-but you’re here, l-looking for him.”
Yeah, Quentin should have known Augustus would see through his tough attitude. With a sigh, he put his fork down and pushed back his empty plate. “I need to know why he ghosted her, what made him change his mind.”
Augustus’s eyes became even softer, and his big, calloused hand covered Quentin’s. “Y-you w-w-w-want to know if he r-r-rejected you.”
“Yeah,” Quentin whispered. “I know I’m setting myself up for massive rejection and disappointment, but I need the closure. All these years, I’ve wondered if maybe something happened to him, you know? Maybe he had an accident and died or had had amnesia or…”
He stopped talking, his face flushing with the embarrassment of the childish, naïve stories he’d made up over the years. Augustus squeezed his hand, his silent look of understanding more of a comfort than eloquent words could have been.
Quentin sighed, his body feeling heavy and achy all of a sudden. “It’s foolishness, this whole endeavor. Rationally, I know that. But emotionally, I’m still that little boy who’s hoping his dad will come back.”
He hated that his throat closed up when he said that. Hated that stabbing pain in his heart. Hated that even as he uttered the words, he still hoped that it had all been a misunderstanding. But most of all, he hated that despite telling himself a million times he was gonna get hurt, he couldn’t change course. He needed to know.
“Hope is n-n-never f-f-oolish,” Augustus said, and it hit Quentin so deep that he slid off his chair and crossed over to Augustus, who instantly pushed his chair back to make room for him. Quentin nestled himself on that firm lap, on those thighs that were like tree trunks, and he laid his head against the big man’s shoulder.
They sat like that for a while, Quentin’s thoughts wandering in all kinds of directions until something hit him. “Your father, is he still in prison?”
Augustus made a sound of disgust. “N-n-no. He s-served t-t-ten years and g-got out on g-g-good behavior r-right before my m-m-mom died. He d-disapp-p-peared. N-never even s-showed up at her f-f-f-funeral.”
Quentin couldn’t hold back the gasp, and he pushed against Augustus’s shoulder so he could sit up and meet his eyes. “You’re shitting me. He’s out?”
Augustus nodded, shrinking a little, probably from Quentin’s tone, which had been way sharper than he’d intended. It was just that he had so many questions now. Like, why the hell was Augustus paying off his father’s debts?
He put his hand against Augustus’s cheek, his beard soft under his fingers. “Have you seen him since? Or even spoken to him?”
Augustus’s answer was silent as a breeze. “N-n-no.”
And suddenly Quentin understood his remarks about hope. Deep inside, even Augustus still had hope his father would come back. Hope is never foolish, Augustus had said, and he would know. Quentin nestled back against him, and they sat like that for a long time.
15
Augustus loved having Quentin on his lap. He hadn't thought it possible for someone to look this delicate and fragile while at the same time being so strong. Quentin reminded him of Legolas, the elf from Lord of the Rings. He had that same innate grace, that fluidity of movement, so effortless and beautiful. But at the same time, he was just as deadly.
The way he’d stood up for Augustus with Willis and Monroe, Augustus had never seen anything like it. His mother had tried to have his back, but she'd been a soft-spoken woman by nature, not one to raise her voice. Quentin was fearless, on fire, and it did something to Augustus deep inside. To see someone defend you like that, how could you not fall in love?
He might not be experienced when it came to love and sex and relationships—and that was an understatement—but he wasn't stupid. He'd read enough books, had watched enough movies to know that it was way too soon to talk about love. Love didn't happen just like that. Except it was hard to describe what he felt inside as anything else, so that was something he would have to think about.
For now, they had different priorities. Quentin's body had gone slack against him, and Augustus guessed he was minutes away from falling asleep. "Do you w-w-want to go t-to bed?" he asked.
Quentin yawned, and it made Augustus smile. "Yeah, I'm super tired, and my body is aching everywhere."
Augustus frowned. Had it been too much for him? Quentin wasn't used to this physical exertion, especially not in the cold. "I have s-s-some p-painkillers if you want."
Quentin sat up, then stretched out with another yawn. "Nah, I'm good. But thank you. I just need to sleep."
He couldn't invite him into his bed. That, too, was too fast, wasn't it? Then again, they'd had sex. His body might not be troubled by the snow shoveling and the physical labor he’d done today, but he still felt Quentin's lingering presence in his ass. Not that he wanted painkillers for that. Hell no. He liked being reminded of what they had shared. It was a promise for more, and that thought alone made his heart skip a few beats.
"I n-need to do a l-l-last round of checkups around the p-prop-perty," he said. "But you don't have to w-wait for that. You should b-be w-warm enough in your room, since I p-p-put an extra comf-f-forter on your b-bed."
Quentin slid off his lap and stood before him, hands on his hips. "If you think I'll be sleeping on my own tonight, you are not as smart as I thought you were."
Heat exploded in Augustus’s belly. "I didn't w-want to p-présumé."