Page 370

Story: Men of Fort Dale

His mother laughed, pulling away and holding Dean by the shoulders. “Even if you weren’t dating my son, you wouldalwaysbe welcome at my home, Dean. You have a place, no matter what.”

Sloane watched Dean’s schizophrenic reaction to his mother’s words. There were so many emotions flitting across the man’s face even Sloane couldn’t read them all, and he regarded himself as the prime expert on everything Dean. Hedid,however, see the flicker of wetness in the man’s eyes, overwhelmed by her words and the thoughts in his head.

“C’mon, Mom, don’t make him cry in public,” Sloane chided, sliding a hand over Dean’s back and holding it there.

“I’m not going to cry, fuck off,” Dean muttered, looking off to the side.

His mother beamed, reaching out to take her daughters’ hands. “Well, let’s get your baggage, and we can get you home where you belong.”

Sloane nodded, looking pointedly at the baggage claim while Dean was distracted. His mother gave him a knowing smile and dragged his sisters off, oblivious to their complaints. Sloane knew better. His mother was the most observant person he’d ever met.

Sloane waited until he was sure no one was paying attention before looking down at Dean. “You okay?”

Dean huffed, wiping his eyes quickly. “I’ve never...had someone be like that with me. Well, other than you.”

Sloane said nothing, if only because the first words out of his mouth would have been some colorful comment about Dean’s parents. Even with him, Dean didn’t talk much about his parents, and honestly, Sloane couldn’t remember the last time Dean had spoken to them. They were a strange duo, happier to exist in their sterile bubble of higher middle-class Americana. Liberal enough not to turn their son away for being gay, but it was a hollow gesture, born of the same thing that motivated them in everything: appearance.

“She loves you. She loved you before she even met you,” Sloane told him.

Dean nodded jerkily. “I get it.”

“Do you?” Sloane asked.

“No,” Dean admitted with a laugh. “I really don’t. I always knew you had a wonderful mother, but I never?—”

“Never thought you’d ever feel something like that yourself,” Sloane finished for him.

“That’s how Moms are supposed to be, aren’t they?” Dean asked, watching the trio of women as they waited beside the baggage claim.

Sloane wasn’t quite sure what to say. So, instead, he took Dean’s hand firmly in his and squeezed. “Let’s let them show you.”

Dean nodded again, saying nothing but returning Sloane’s grip. His heart ached and soared for his boyfriend, knowing he had been deprived of so much but was being offered the chance for something greater than he’d had before. And if Dean finally had the opportunity to learn what family meant, what love from more than just Sloane could be like, then Sloane would happily suffer through the hell of traveling.

DEAN

By the time the five of them were loaded into Ana’s massive SUV, Dean thought he might be ready for another nap. While he could easily blame that thought on Shawna, who he swore had unlimited energy, he knew it wasn’t that simple. In truth, the warm welcome he’d received, as brief as it had been, was enough to make him want to retreat, curl up against Sloane, and not be forced to deal with anything for a while.

Sloane’s family, however, was not quite as ready for that.

For whatever reason, Dean was placed in the passenger seat while Ana drove. Which meant Sloane and his sisters were in the back. Much to Dean’s amusement, Sloane was between them, looking less like the large, intimidating man he was and instead like an overgrown child.

“Are you boys hungry?” Ana asked as she whirled out of the parking spot, moving the SUV with the speed and agility of a vehicle half its size.

“If it’s not your tamales,” Sloane huffed from the back seat, his accent impeccable, “I don’t want shit.”

“Well, I should hope not. Shit sounds disgusting,” Ana said, giving Dean a wink.

He wasn’t surprised to hear Shawna launch into a string of Spanish aimed at Sloane. Dean glanced in the rearview mirror, watching Sloane’s expression. It lacked confusion but was full of the same affectionate annoyance he expected of the man regarding his sisters. Sloane was technically bilingual, fluent in English and Spanish, but Dean never heard the man speak anything but English unless he talked to his sisters. Even Ana, when she called Sloane, spoke in perfect English, but his sisters, for whatever reason, loved conversing with their older brother in Spanish.

“Sloane tells us you speak some Spanish,” Ana said, her eyes on the rearview mirror even as she pulled out onto the road.

Dean grunted, praying they weren’t hit by a wayward car. “Nothing worth bragging about. Enough to get around if I need to, but not enough to keep up with...uh, that.”

Ana didn’t have to follow his gesture toward the backseat to know what he meant. Shawna was apparently far more fluent than Dean had ever been. If anything, he couldn’t help but think her mouth was built for the Spanish language. To his ears, it was a language that rolled, dipped, and flowed and, with her rapid speech, worked perfectly for her.

Ana laughed softly. “Even when she’s speaking English, people have a hard time keeping up with her.”

“Mama,” Shawna complained.

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