Page 37 of After the Rain

The drive home was torture in the best possible way. I kept one hand on the wheel and the other on Ezra's thigh, my thumb stroking along the seam of his jeans. Every time I hit a red light, I leaned over to kiss his neck, his jaw, anywhere I could reach.

"Wade," he gasped as I found that spot behind his ear that made him shiver.

"I love the way you say my name," I murmured against his throat.

By the time we reached my driveway, we were both breathing hard, flushed, and trying not to act like teenagers. The air between us crackled with everything unsaid and everything we were trying to hold back.

The porch light was still on—Kane’s doing, no doubt—and I could see silhouettes through the living room window. They were waiting, just like we agreed.

Kane opened the front door before I even got the key in. “Cooper went down easy. Jazz finished the leftover pasta and cursed at your thermostat for fifteen minutes.”

Jazz appeared behind him with a smirk. “Kid’s out cold. House didn’t burn down. We’re off the clock.”

I grinned. “Thanks, both of you. Seriously.”

They slipped out with one last teasing look, and suddenly the house was quiet again—just me and Ezra and the rush of everything we weren’t ready to stop feeling.

We spent the rest of the evening on the couch, hands roaming, mouths meeting in kisses that left us both aching for more. Every touch was drawn out, reverent, like we were trying to memorize the moment, not rush it.

Later, Ezra curled against my side, his hair slipping through my fingers as I absently stroked it.

“This feels like a different world,” he whispered.

"Better world," I corrected, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Though I have to say, the breadsticks there don't compare to Cooper's Pop Rocks cereal idea."

"Nothing could compare to that level of innovation."

"We're raising a future food scientist."

"Or a future chaos agent. Could go either way."

The weekend brought even more domestic bliss. Saturday morning started with Cooper bouncing on my bed at dawn, demanding pancakes and announcing his intention to "help" with every step of the process.

"I can crack eggs," he declared, standing on a kitchen chair with an egg in each small hand.

"Carefully," I warned, knowing this was about to get messy.

"I'm always careful," Cooper said, immediately proving himself wrong by cracking both eggs directly onto the counter instead of into the bowl.

"Good thing we have extra eggs," Ezra observed mildly, grabbing paper towels.

"And extra counter space to clean," I added, watching Cooper survey his handiwork with pride.

"Cooking is harder than it looks," Cooper announced.

"That's why we practice," Ezra said, helping him crack the replacement eggs properly. "Everyone makes mistakes when they're learning."

"Even you?"

"Especially me. Ask your dad about the first time I tried to make dinner for you guys."

I laughed, remembering the smoke alarm incident from two weeks ago. "Let's just say the fire department didn't need to come, but it was close."

"What happened?" Cooper asked, eyes wide with delight at the prospect of adult incompetence.

“Mr. Mitchell tried to cook salmon," I explained, earning myself a playful shove from Ezra.

"The recipe said 'high heat,'" Ezra defended. "It didn't specify how high."

"Apparently not 'surface of the sun' high," I said.

"The salmon was... well done," Ezra admitted.

"The salmon was charcoal," I corrected. "We ordered pizza instead."

"And now you know why I stick to simple foods," Ezra said to Cooper. "Like pancakes. Much harder to burn pancakes."

"Challenge accepted," I muttered, which made both of them laugh.

The treehouse construction turned into an all-day project. Ezra proved surprisingly handy with power tools, and I found every excuse to brush against him, to steady him when he climbed the ladder, to hand him tools that required our fingers to touch.

"You're being awfully helpful," Ezra observed when I pressed against his back for the third time while "helping" him measure a board.

"I'm a very hands-on supervisor," I replied, my breath warm against his ear.

"Daddy, are you going to help or just stand there touching Mr. Mitchell?" Cooper called from his branch perch.

"Multitasking," I called back, making Ezra laugh.

"No, Daddy, the floor goes this way," Cooper directed, pointing with the authority of a seven-year-old architect. "And Mr. Mitchell, can you make the walls taller? I want to be able to stand up in there when I'm a grown-up."

"How tall do you plan to be?" Ezra asked, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Really tall. Like, giant tall. Maybe eight feet."

"That's going to be one expensive treehouse if we have to accommodate eight-foot Cooper," I observed.

"I'll pay you back when I'm a famous dinosaur scientist," Cooper said with absolute confidence in his future career prospects.

"Deal," I said. "But if you end up being an accountant, you still owe me for the extra lumber."

"I won't be an accountant. Accountants don't get to dig up dinosaur bones."

"Fair point."

By evening, we had the basic structure completed, and Cooper was already making plans for interior decoration that involved "at least seventeen pillows and maybe a mini-fridge."

"Where exactly are we supposed to run electricity for this mini-fridge?" Ezra asked reasonably.

"Details," Cooper waved off his concern. "That's what grown-ups are for."

Sunday afternoon brought more serious conversations about our future. Ezra and I sat on the porch swing while Cooper "tested" his treehouse by spending an hour up there with his comic books. I had my arm around Ezra's shoulders, my fingers playing with the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

"I've been thinking about your offer," Ezra said, his head resting against my shoulder.

"And?" I asked, pressing a kiss to his temple.

"And I want to say yes. But I want to make sure we're doing this for the right reasons, not just because it's convenient or because we're caught up in the honeymoon phase." His hand found my thigh, fingers tracing absent patterns that made it hard to concentrate on the serious conversation.

"What would be the right reasons?" I asked, my thumb stroking along his collarbone.

Ezra was quiet for a moment, watching Cooper arrange pillows through the treehouse window. "Because we're building something real. Because Cooper needs stability and consistency. Because I love you both and want to be part of this family officially."

"Those sound like pretty good reasons to me." I tilted his chin up so I could see his eyes, then kissed him softly.

"There are practical considerations too," he said against my lips. "What happens if things get complicated with my job again? What if the community backlash gets worse? What if moving in together makes us a bigger target?"

"Then we deal with it together," I said simply, my hand sliding up to cup his face. "Ezra, I can't promise it'll be easy. But I can promise that whatever comes, we face it as a team."

"I know. I just... I've never done this before. The moving in together thing. I don't want to screw it up."

"You won't screw it up. And if we both screw it up, at least we'll do it together." I pulled him closer, needing the physical contact to anchor this conversation.

That made him smile. "When you put it like that, how can I refuse?"

"Is that a yes?"

"That's a 'let me think about it for another day or two and then probably yes.'"

"I can live with probably yes," I said, sealing it with another kiss that lasted longer than it should have with Cooper potentially watching from his treehouse.

The evening ended with quiet contentment as we prepared for another week of work and school, but now as a family unit that was becoming more solid and real every day.

Cooper fell asleep in the treehouse despite our warnings about the cold, and we had to carry him inside wrapped in blankets, grumbling about "ruining his adventure. "

"Daddy!" Cooper called as I rounded the corner of the house. "Look what Mr. Mitchell helped me make!"

He held up an elaborate volcano model, complete with painted rocks and a carefully constructed crater. "We're going to make it erupt tomorrow for show-and-tell!"

"That's incredible, buddy," I said, genuinely impressed with their handiwork. "What's the secret ingredient?"

"Baking soda and vinegar," Cooper whispered conspiratorially. "Mr. Mitchell says it's all about chemical reactions."

"The same chemical reactions that are going to destroy your kitchen table if we're not careful," Ezra added, appearing with protective plastic sheets.

"It's science, Mr. Mitchell. Science is messy."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Dinner was chaos in the best possible way—Cooper explaining volcanic formations between bites of spaghetti, Ezra adding scientific details that made him feel like a junior geologist, all of us laughing when Cooper attempted to demonstrate lava flow with his marinara sauce.

"This is actually educational," Cooper declared, creating elaborate sauce patterns on his plate.

"This is actually making a mess," I corrected.

"Educational messes are the best kind," Ezra said diplomatically.

"Grandpa Fletcher asked me lots of questions about Mr. Mitchell when Mommy picked me up yesterday," Cooper said casually, still focused on his sauce volcano.

The innocent statement sent ice through my veins. I caught Ezra's sharp glance across the table, both of us suddenly alert to danger we'd been foolish to ignore.

"What kind of questions?" I asked, keeping my voice carefully neutral.

"He wanted to know if Mr. Mitchell sleeps over and if you and he kiss like grown-ups do." Cooper's matter-of-fact delivery made the revelation even more chilling. "I told him yes because lying is wrong, right? But then Mommy got upset and told Grandpa to stop asking me questions."

My appetite vanished completely. Richard was using Cooper as an information source, pumping him for details about our relationship. The manipulation was sophisticated and disgusting.

"Cooper, did Grandpa Fletcher ask you anything else?"

"He wanted to know if I like having Mr. Mitchell around, and if you two ever fight, and if Mr. Mitchell ever gets mad at me." Cooper paused, seeming to sense the tension he'd created. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, buddy. You did nothing wrong." I forced reassurance into my voice while my mind raced through implications. "But from now on, if any grown-up asks you questions about our family, you tell them to talk to me instead, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy. Are you and Mr. Mitchell in trouble?"

"No, Cooper. We're not in trouble. Some grown-ups just ask too many questions sometimes."

The moment Cooper headed upstairs for his bath, I was dialing Sarah's number with shaking hands.

"Wade?" Sarah's voice was tight with stress when she answered. "I was going to call you tonight."

"What the hell is happening with your parents?"

"They've hired a private investigator," she said without preamble. "Wade, they have photographs of you and Ezra together, statements from neighbors, detailed documentation of his presence in Cooper's life."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "What kind of photographs?"

"Kissing on your front porch. Ezra's car in your driveway overnight. The two of you holding hands at Cooper's birthday party." Sarah's voice cracked with strain. "They're preparing to file for emergency custody."

The room spun around me. Emergency custody meant they believed Cooper was in immediate danger. It meant supervised visits, court hearings, my relationship with my son reduced to a few hours a week under official observation.

"On what grounds?"

"Unstable lifestyle. Inappropriate relationship choices. Exposing Cooper to sexual content unsuitable for his age." Sarah was crying now, her words coming in broken rushes. "Wade, the papers will be served tomorrow. I tried to talk them out of it, but they won't listen."

Ezra appeared in the kitchen doorway, his face pale with understanding. He'd heard enough to know our world was about to implode.

"Sarah, Cooper is happy and healthy. He's thriving academically and socially. There's no evidence of harm or inappropriate exposure."

"I know that. You know that. But they have lawyers and money and connections in the family court system." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Wade, they think they can prove that your relationship with Ezra is harmful to Cooper's development."

The systematic preparation suggested this attack had been planned for weeks, maybe months. While I'd been building a life with Ezra, the Fletchers had been building a case against me.

"What can I do?"

"Get a lawyer. A good one. And Wade... maybe consider keeping things quiet with Ezra until this is resolved."

The suggestion felt like a knife between my ribs. Hide who I was. Pretend the most important relationship in my adult life didn't exist. Teach Cooper that love was conditional, subject to other people's approval.

"I can't do that, Sarah."

"You might have to if you want to keep him."

After we hung up, I sat in my kitchen staring at Cooper's volcano project, feeling like everything I'd built was about to be destroyed by people who saw our love as a threat instead of a blessing.

Ezra sat beside me, his hand finding mine across the table. "Whatever happens, we don't let them tear us apart."

"They could take him away from me," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Then we fight. We get the best lawyer money can buy, we document Cooper's happiness and stability, we show the court that love makes families, not prejudice."

"And if we lose?"

Ezra was quiet for a long moment, his thumb stroking across my knuckles in the gesture that had become our shorthand for comfort.

"Then we keep fighting. But Wade, I need you to know something—if staying with me costs you Cooper, I'll step back. I love you, but I won't be the reason you lose your son."

"No," I said fiercely, gripping his hand tighter. "That's exactly what they want. They want us to tear ourselves apart so they don't have to."

That night, we held each other in my bed, both aware that our newfound happiness was about to be tested by the most serious threat we'd faced. The house felt different around us, like walls that had been solid were suddenly made of paper.

"Whatever happens tomorrow, remember that what we have is real," I whispered into the darkness. "They can't take that away from us."

But as I lay awake listening to Ezra's breathing, I knew that custody battles could destroy even the strongest relationships. Love might not be enough to protect us from people determined to tear our family apart.

The papers would come tomorrow, and with them, the fight of our lives.