Page 18 of Matthias’s Protective Embrace (Cardinal Falls #3)

Chapter Twelve

FRANK

I’ve never been someone who loved the holidays.

Not that I’m complaining about getting a few days off work and school for Thanksgiving.

I can use the break. It’s the appeal of the holiday, in general, that escapes me.

And maybe if I wanted the extra time with my family things would be better, but as it stands, I’d rather be pouring concrete on a one-hundred-degree day in July.

Which is saying something because I hate the heat.

Having my brother and his wife here for Thanksgiving isn’t helping.

My brother is enough of a pain on his own.

Ethan never shuts up about how wonderful his life is.

The perfect job. The perfect house. Add his wife, Criselle, into the mix, and I get nauseous every time I walk into the living room.

If my family knew I was taking classes, maybe I could slip away to do homework.

Without that as an excuse, hiding in my bedroom is purely antisocial behavior.

I’m not a great son, but I’m not that bad. Yet .

So, here I am, sitting in the living room, surrounded by my family, and the only thing I feel is lonely. I can’t help but wonder what Matthias is doing today. I meant to ask, but I worried he’d think I was trying to weasel my way into his celebration.

“Frank, how’s the job hunt going?”

Leave it to Ethan to bring that up today.

Can I get one day where people aren’t pushing me into something else?

Especially a day dedicated to eating. One of the few where most of the items are on my list of things I can eat.

Turkey is perfect. I can eat poultry since it’s not a mammal, plus almost all the vegetable dishes.

Everything except the green bean casserole, which I never liked anyway.

It’s the perfect meal for my issues, so I want to eat to my heart’s content and then fall into a food coma. Is that so much to ask?

“Going well.” Which is true by my standards.

I’m not looking for anything because I’m exactly where I want to be.

Not permanently, but for now. I’m hoping that the semester ends well, and I can use that as proof that I’m back in school, earning good grades, and should continue down this path. It’s not a great plan, but it’s mine.

“Really? Any interviews?” my mother asks, leaning forward with an expectant look.

“Not yet.” Probably because I haven’t sent out any applications.

Being part of Sam’s crew is perfect for me.

The hours are manageable, I’m finally feeling confident in my abilities, and the pay’s not bad.

If I didn’t have tuition expenses and my medical bills to pay off, it’d be more than enough for me to live on. Alone. In my own apartment.

“Well, it’s tough to get your foot in the door right now. That’s why it’s helpful to know someone.”

My brother would know. He only got his job because his friend’s father is a vice president at the company.

Otherwise, he’d be in my shoes. Though at least he graduated from college.

It’d help if he wasn’t so perfect all the time.

Sometimes, I wish he’d mess up just once.

I know, it makes me a terrible person to wish for stuff like that.

Don’t worry, my spot in hell has been reserved for a long time.

“I know. That’s why I’m trying to network as much as possible.

” Does hanging out in my client’s house count?

He’s successful. If I asked, I’m sure he’d help me think about a career path or find a job somewhere.

I don’t want to ask, though. He’s done so much more for me than he should.

Only a little while ago, he was leaving out water bottles for me so I didn’t get dehydrated.

He still does that, but now he does so much more.

I’m already in debt to him, things I’ll never be able to pay back.

I don’t want to have to owe people my entire life.

I want to stand on my own two feet for once.

Have my own home—even if it’s rented—and pay my own way.

It seems like such a small dream compared to people around me, but it’s important to me. And still so far out of reach.

“How? I’m not sure you’re meeting the right people at those clubs you go to.”

I can hear the emphasis on those . I came out to my family a long time ago, though it took me a while to figure out I was pansexual. It’s not like you can take one of those Buzzfeed quizzes and get an answer to your sexuality.

Those clubs are the various queer ones I tend to frequent.

Or used to. I haven’t been to one in over a year.

Maybe longer. Not the wild twenties I dreamed of back in high school.

I used to go to them on the nights they were eighteen and up, getting the bright yellow wristband that said UNDER 21 to keep me away from the bar.

I always imagined what it would be like when I could take advantage of everything they had to offer.

I guess that’s one dream that will never come true.

“I don’t go to the clubs that often,” I mumble. “I meet a lot of people through Sam’s company. They’re good contacts.”

Although apparently, I wasn’t at the right club to meet Matthias. Or at least there on the right night. After overhearing his conversation with Sam, I couldn’t help but do a little research.

Fine, a lot of research. I could write a ten-page essay on the topic in a few short hours, though I suspect Cardinal Falls Community College doesn’t offer any classes on kink.

Of course, I was aware of Daddy-boy relationships before; I don’t live under a rock or anything.

Even known a few people in one. It never occurred to me to be interested in it for myself.

Now that I’ve thought about it, a lot, my curiosity is piqued.

I’m not sure if that’s more about the lifestyle or the person.

“They let you talk to the clients?” My sister-in-law says it as though I’m some sort of monster that should be kept away from the people.

“It’s hard to know what people want if you don’t talk to them.” That’s probably pushing the truth unless we count Matthias.

“Tone.” My mother warns. It’s like I’m thirteen all over again. “Dinner should be ready in twenty minutes. Why don’t you go wash up?”

I’m thankful for the break in conversation.

It gives me a few minutes to retire to the basement, wash my hands, and compose myself.

I know better than to let my brother and his wife get under my skin.

He’s done it my whole life, and my family always sides with him.

It’s been that way for as long as I can remember.

Hard to imagine it ever changing. Especially when I’m the one living at home and barely managing to get by .

I try to spend as much time downstairs as possible, but eventually, I make my way back upstairs and join my mom in the kitchen.

“What can I help with?” I might be annoyed, but I’m still polite.

Plus, I really do love my mother. I was a handful as a child, hyperactive and often in trouble, and she never gave up on me.

“Can you start taking things into the dining room for me?”

“Sure thing.” I grab the sweet and mashed potatoes and deliver them to the dining room table.

I note the books are still piled around the edge of the room and shake my head.

Guess they’ll be relegated to next year’s sale.

Returning to the kitchen, I grab the stuffing and the basket of rolls.

Holidays here are never overly formal, but my mom goes all out when she can, getting out the good wedding china.

When everyone’s seated, we dig in. Despite the donations to the church garage sale, we’re not big on praying or speeches around here.

It’s an eating holiday, and that’s where the focus is.

I reach for the mashed potatoes, grabbing the big spoon.

“Oh, I forgot, you can’t have those.” I freeze; a big scoop of potatoes suspended in the air over the top of my plate.

“I added butter and cream to them. The recipe online said it would make them more decadent.” I drop the spoon back into the bowl, spitting potatoes across part of the table.

“Really?”

“I honestly forget about your thing.” My jaw tenses at the word thing . As though I made a choice to turn my whole life upside down to make meals difficult for everyone else. “You can still have the sweet potatoes, turkey, and rolls.”

Tears burn in the back of my eyes. I won’t cry. It’s just potatoes. Not that big of a deal. So what if I looked forward to them for weeks? Or that they’re one of my favorite foods? Or that I hate sweet potatoes? “Okay,” I say through gritted teeth.

The conversation around me continues, but I don’t have it in me to participate. Anything that comes my way is met with a one-word answer or grunt. I eat the turkey and a roll, but nothing else. Even after I’ve had a few helpings, I feel empty.

“Since Frank helped set the table, the rest of you can help me clean.” Honestly, I think she wants to get away from me. My seething is likely visible to everyone in the room, but I don’t care. Is it so hard to give up a new recipe to make me feel welcome in my own house with my own family?

I excuse myself with a bullshit excuse about needing to check on some things and retire to my room. The rest of the family is getting ready to watch a movie, a Thanksgiving family tradition. Personally, I’m not very excited about that option.

I throw myself down on my bed and scroll through my notifications until I spot one from Matthias.

Matthias

Happy Thanksgiving

Seeing the message warms my heart. I don’t expect him to be thinking about me. Especially when he’s enjoying time with his friends and family. He seems like the type to go all out for the holidays.

Me

Happy Thanksgiving.

I toss in a couple of turkey emojis for good measure.

Matthias

How’s your day?

Fine.

How was it really?