Page 6

Chapter Six

Isaiah

“ Y ou make the best sapasui.” I gave Mama my winningest smile.

She ruffled my short hair. “You scored the winning goal. So I make your favorite. Seems simple to me.”

Given how hard she worked at her day job, it was hardly fair for her to come home and make my favorite meal. She enjoyed spoiling me, though.

And I sort of enjoyed being spoiled…so it all worked out.

“Are you working Thanksgiving?”

She shook her head. “No, but I’m working Christmas.”

“That’s good of you.”

“Well, my baby is all grown up. I figure I can take the extra shifts and let the mothers and fathers be home with their children.” She pointed her fork at me. “Will you be okay?”

“Of course. Maybe Johnnie and I can do something.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That boy is trouble.”

I burst out laughing. “Mama, he’s older than I am. And he’s never in trouble .”

“No, trouble just follows him around.”

Okay, so he might’ve gotten a woman pregnant last year.

He’d been prepared to marry her. She’d miscarried and had ended the relationship. He hadn’t said anything, but he’d been heartbroken.

I think he’d kind of liked the idea of being a dad.

Despite everything, he’d been prepared to try to make the relationship work. Apparently the woman hadn’t felt the same way.

“He’s trying.”

“He is that.” She arched an eyebrow. “But you’re sticking to the nice boys, right?”

Mama had figured out I was gay almost before I had.

She’d respected my decision not to come out until I’d been in the league a year, though.

From age fourteen to twenty-four, I’d hidden who I really was.

Not ideal for a young man with raging hormones—but I’d had a larger goal in mind.

I wanted to play professional rugby. To me, that meant staying in the closet.

“Nice boys…” I eyed my mother.

“What?” She might’ve snapped that. Then she waved her fork at me. “Are you going to the bars again?”

“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing. I’ve met some very nice men at those bars .”

She pursed her lips. “Why don’t you try going to the cultural center? Or you could come to church.”

A discussion we’d had often. “I don’t fit in there, Mama.”

“Things are changing.” She wrinkled her nose.

On this we’d agreed to disagree. I didn’t believe in God or divine intervention.

Mama believed fervently and went to church whenever she could. The community had always taken care of her when she needed help, and she was always happy to give back.

I didn’t feel the same kinship.

“So what are you planning for Thanksgiving? I leave for Toronto the next day.”

“A feast, of course. Your grandmother is asking when you’ll visit her.”

Since my grandmother lived thousands of miles away, the comment caught me off guard. “It’s not a great time right now—”

She waved me off. “It’s never a good time. You’re off over Christmas. I’m working. Book a ticket and go home.”

Home was somewhere I hadn’t been since I was three.

After the divorce, my mother had returned to Canada to work in a care home. Eventually, her nursing credentials, which she’d earned while living in New Zealand, had been recognized and she’d started working at St. Paul’s.

I was so damn proud of her

We’d only been back to the island, my father’s home, a handful of times. Mostly because of the expense. That, and Mama worked a lot of hours.

I grasped her hand. “I worry about you.”

She patted my hand. “I have fifteen more years, and then I can retire.”

“Mama, you work in the emergency department. Can’t you find somewhere quieter?” On the couple of occasions I’d visited, the place had been organized chaos. Or, that one time, pandemonium.

“You worry too much, and we’re off topic.”

Oh shit .

“When are you going to bring a nice boy home to meet your mama?”

I closed my eyes, trying to blot out the image of the rough Badarse.

I tried not to think about how hard he’d made me come.

Or how he’d walked out. “I just haven’t met the right man yet.

Man, not boy.” She knew I had a thing for older guys.

“But as soon as I meet someone who might meet your standards, I’ll bring him around. ”

“Harrumph.” She grumped. “You think I have high standards.”

“You do have high standards.” I squeezed her hand. “And I love you for it.”

As I drove home, I considered her words. Why couldn’t I meet a nice boy and settle down? I wanted all the things Roger had—a wonderful partner, great kids, and true stability.

Nothing like the life Johnnie lived. I adored him, but didn’t want to be like him either.

Which circled me back to Badarse. If I took him at face value, he was just a guy who liked to ride men hard, and then leave them wanting more.

God knew, I wanted more.

More ecstasy.

More intimacy.

More of him…

Instead of heading back to my condo, I turned my car toward the bar I’d been to last night.

Was it really just last night?

Four hours later, after having turned down a couple of nice men, I was done.

Okay, maybe nice was wrong. They’d been sexy as hell. And all twinks who clearly wanted to bottom.

No rough-and-tumble guys who wanted to drill me into the mattress.

Give up. You’ll never find him. And if he’d wanted a return trip, he would’ve left his number.

I couldn’t argue with that. So I curled up with Mamba and watched the sports recap, only crawling into bed when I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer.