Page 30 of Pucked Up (Punk as Puck #2)

Beside him sat Micah, who was clearly unaware of who was approaching the table, and I could feel Ford’s tension as he brushed his elbow against mine.

“Did you know?” he hissed against my ear. The sound was obnoxious through my hearing aid, and I winced .

“No. Do you think I’d be standing right here if I did?”

Ford looked torn. Micah was one of our best friends, so the night might go easier with him there, but he was also leaning against Hugo familiarly—and hell, I wasn’t surprised. Micah could get any man to drop their pants with a single whispered word.

“Fuck my life,” I muttered, then shook my head and plowed forward.

My dad spotted me just after Hugo did, and he jumped up, walking over and putting his hands on my shoulders the way he always did.

He towered over me, which was annoying as fuck.

There were days I wished I were an amputee so I could make myself taller just to stop him from looking down on me the way he always did.

“Mon fils.”

“Papa.” My voice was not as warm as his. He leaned in and hugged me. He rarely ever kissed my cheeks, but I’d grown up watching him do it to everyone else he knew here, so I knew it was just a me thing. Luckily, I had my crutches, so I had an excuse not to hug him back.

“We’ll have to speak English tonight,” he was saying, too loud, also something he always did. He never bothered to understand my hearing loss. “For Micah, of course. And you know him, yes?”

Micah stiffened and sat up straight. “Hold the fuck up. Who’s here?”

Ford slid in the booth beside him. “Hey, babe. ”

“Shut the fuck up,” Micah said, his voice carrying. “What are you doing here? Who’s here? Tucker?”

“Nah, he’s busy getting rail—ahhh uh.” I made a slashing noise with my hand. “Having a nice chaste, non-sex date with his husband,” Ford stammered.

I rolled my eyes as I sat beside my father and locked gazes with Hugo. He looked like a deer caught in headlights. “It’s just me,” I told Micah.

“Oh my God, I didn’t know you were coming to this.” He turned and smacked Hugo on the shoulder a little too familiarly. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me they would be here.”

Hugo cleared his throat. “I was…uninformed.” He spoke so quietly I couldn’t hear him, but I could read his lips perfectly.

“Seems we all were,” I shot back.

Hugo glanced at my father. “I didn’t realize your guest tonight was your son.”

“Ah, he always makes such a big deal out of things,” my father said, cuffing me on the shoulder. “You know how he gets.”

Hugo’s face darkened. “How he—I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean.”

My father cleared his throat and glanced at me. “Oh, let’s not be dramatic, eh. Who’s for drinks?”

The conversation stayed awkward, though Micah didn’t seem to understand that.

He also couldn’t tell that I was seething, the feeling worse every time he leaned into Hugo for comfort.

My dad made a couple of comments, but as always, Micah was oblivious, and Hugo was too fucking polite to say anything about it.

That left me sitting in my chair like a goddamn chump, realizing that whatever I thought could have been between me and Hugo was a lie. Or no, it wasn’t a lie. Hugo had been very clear with me that it was physical and nothing more.

He’d agreed to my terms the night we met and hadn’t tried to cross any lines. He was just, very clearly, the sort of man who was happy to add in shit like cuddling and caretaking into his hookups.

Well, that wasn’t for me.

“I’m exhausted,” I said when the server brought around the dessert and drinks menu.

“Son,” my dad said. “Do you always have to spoil a night?”

“Nothing’s spoiled,” Hugo said. There was a hard line of tension in his voice. “Boden looks as exhausted as I feel.”

Micah snorted. “That’s my fault. I kept Hustopher up all night in the train car.”

Hustopher ? My body stiffened, and a moment later, the tension made my legs start to spasm. I held them down, but my father could tell it was happening because he cast me an uncomfortable look, then raised his hand .

“We should get the bill.”

“What’s happening?” Micah whispered to Ford. I couldn’t hear him, but I could read the question off his lips.

“Nothing,” Ford muttered back.

I lost track of their conversation as I looked over at Hugo. His gaze was holding mine firmly. “I should walk you to your room.”

“Oh, ah. I’ll be…fine. Ford and I?—”

“Ford and Micah just made plans to go get gelato,” Hugo said, leaning over the table toward me. “I’m not assuming you can’t get to your room on your own, but if you’d like company, I’m happy to join you. Or perhaps your father?—”

“No,” he and I said at the same time. I cast him a look, and he seemed properly shamed, though he didn’t take it back.

I cleared my throat. I was choking on my pride, but after the plane ride and the tension of knowing that Hugo and Micah had fucked on the train here, I wasn’t sure my legs would hold me up, and my arms had already been giving me trouble.

“Boden,” Hugo said.

Closing my eyes, I nodded. “Thank you.”

“You’ve always been a decent guy, Hugo. Always taking care of people less fortunate?—”

“No,” Hugo said sharply.

My gaze shot over to my dad. He’d said that more than once about me, and it always crawled under my skin like a thousand tiny fire ants, burning and stinging. My dad wasn’t looking at me.

“You know what I mean,” my father said, switching to French. It was obvious he didn’t want to embarrass himself further in front of Ford and Micah, who looked riveted. “You put your entire life on hold for?—”

“No,” Hugo said again. He looked at me, his expression resigned.

He shook his head, then said, “His life was my life. Nothing was on hold.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his wallet and laid several bills on the table.

“For my share. Or the tip. Whatever you want.” He pushed to his feet and slid out the side of the booth, then snagged my crutches from where I’d rested them and offered them to me.

“Thank you.” I had a million burning questions, and I was going to ask at least one of them tonight because what the fuck had just happened? Who put Hugo’s life on hold? Whose life did he share? And how long had he been fucking Micah because that all seemed connected suddenly.

“See you at the room,” Micah called after Hugo as he moved away.

I struggled to my feet, doing my best not to hate one of my best friends because it wasn’t his fucking fault. I hadn’t told anyone, and I knew that even with Tucker and Ford’s giant, gossipy mouths, they wouldn’t have told everyone else my secret.

“I might be late. Very late,” Ford said.

I nodded. “Alright. See you.” I turned to face the last man at the table. “Papa.”

“Don’t give me that look, Boden,” he continued in French. “You are… ”

“Less fortunate?”

“Different.”

I winced. “I suppose I am. See you tomorrow.” I knew he wanted to say more. He wanted to say enough that he could soothe himself because he knew he’d fucked up, but he didn’t want to change. He wanted me to accept the way he saw me.

And sometimes I was sure he wanted me to see myself that same way: broken. Different. Less than.

But I would not let him win.

Hugo was waiting for me at the host stand, and when I reached his side, he slid a tender hand along my jaw. “I know what you’re thinking right now.”

“You don’t.”

“I know some of it. And I’d like to talk.”

Talk. That was all we’d been doing lately, but if I was going to get any answers, it was the only option I had. “Ford will be a while.”

“Then let’s head to your room.”

It felt like a march to my death, and yet, with one foot dragging in front of the other, it also felt like my possible salvation. If I couldn’t have Hugo, maybe this moment would, at least, cure me of that want.