Page 22 of The Trailer Park Twink

He shakes his head and takes a step forward, looking at the place Shelly socked me a few minutes ago. “Tell me, Dallas. Your cheek is swollen and it's red as hell.”

I sigh. Why can't he just leave well enough alone? “Your mom got mad about Minnesota, buddy.”

His eyes bulge. “Tell me she didn't hit you.”

I lift my hands like I'm pleading my case. “I barely felt it. It don't even hurt. What matters now is that we get out of here while she's still sleeping.”

He balls his hand into a fist, pounding his palm against his thigh like he's trying to shake off some of his frustration. “She punched you.”

“Aussie, I promise, it’s going to be fine.”

He shakes his head. “Why does she have to be like this? Why couldn’t I have had a normal mom like everyone else?

I shouldn’t have to be scared that my mom will torch everything I own.

I shouldn’t have to fight her at every turn.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It’s supposed to be .

. . it was always supposed to be me and .

. . and she ruined everything.” When his shoulders start shaking a little harder, my instinct is to go to him, but he must be thinking the same thing, because he whirls around, and I catch sight of him.

My boy.

My sweet, precious boy, his face drenched in darkness, illuminated only by the sliver of silver moonlight filtering in through his blinds.

It’s enough to light up the room, but it ain’t enough to light up his face when he’s turned away from it.

I can’t see his expression very good, but I don’t have to see it to know he’s hurting.

My breath catches in my chest when he takes a step forward and slides his hand into mine.

He guides it behind him and places it on his butt, right over his new tattoo.

Right over the place where he branded me into his flesh.

I know what he’s thinking. We both know I know, but I still can’t bring myself to tell him.

I think I want to. I think I need to tell him that while I don’t know where this thing between us is heading, I’m one-hundred percent on board, but I can’t make my mouth work.

So, instead, I do what I’m able to. I bridge the last of the distance that keeps us apart, and I kiss my boy on the cheek, simple and true.

“I love you, Aussie,” I tell him, because I do. He’s the other half of my heart .

“I love you too, Daddy.” When he rests his head against my chest, simply existing in the moment, the air around us thick with worry over what’s to come with his mother, I allow us this moment, cradling my boy to my chest, right where he belongs.

“We need to get a move on, baby,” I whisper, kissing the top of his head.

“I don’t want to risk her waking up before we’re on the road.

If she messes with any of your stuff while we’re gone, I’ll replace it.

” He nods as he breaks the hug, and every nerve in my body is begging for me to drag him back to my chest where he belongs.

Instead, I pick up the heavy tote and tilt my head toward the door. “Ready when you are.”

He’s chewing on his cheek like he’s lost in thought. Aussie takes the tote out of my hands and places it on the bed, and before I can open my mouth to ask what’s going on, he grabs a half-empty glass of Coca Cola from his nightstand, lifts it over my head, and pours it all over me.

“Austin,” I hiss, trying to stay quiet so I don’t wake his mother, feeling more than a little fed up with this foolishness.

He points at the bathroom.”You’re all sticky. Go take a shower.”

I clench my jaw. I love my Aussie, but there was no point to what he just did, and I kind of want to pull him over my knee so I can teach him right from wrong. To show him it’s absolutely unacceptable to pour soda on your best friend simply because you can .

“No. I’m not sitting next to a sticky Susan for fuck knows how long. Go shower.”

"I wouldn’t need a dang shower if you didn’t throw a drink on me. What the hell was that about?”

He turns around and lifts the lid to his tote, pretending like he’s sorting through his stuff, but everything’s already neatly packed, so there ain’t much reason to be organizing anything. “You stink,” he says matter-of-factly. “You smell like cum and cottage cheese.”

I gape at him. “I do not!”

“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t, but you’re sticky now, so there’s no point in arguing.” He closes his tote and whirls around. “Want you to smell pretty for the trip. Gonna cuddle up next to you the whole drive.”

“Your mother could wake up at any second.”

He shakes his head. “You know she sleeps through everything when she’s coming down from a binge. I promise, we have time. Go shower. Do it for me.”

Reluctantly, I do as he says. After scrubbing the soda off my body—and spending a little extra time cleaning my cock in case he wasn’t lying about the scent of cum and cheese—I dry off and get dressed in a rush, hurrying into the living room and out the front door when I’m done.

The bed cover to my truck is open, so I guess I must have absentmindedly clicked the button on my fob as I passed the front door a minute ago.

I place the tote near my side-mount toolbox, doing a double take, because the combination lock that normally secures the toolbox is resting beside it on the truck bed.

I must’ve forgotten to put it back when I put my work boots in there earlier, since Shelly don’t let me bring them in the house.

I’d just leave them on the porch, but in this trailer park, that’s a sure-fire way to lose the most comfortable work boots you’ve ever owned.

I click the lock back into place, and when I turn around, Aussie is headed my way, holding his bag and a small box of treasured keepsakes.

I peek into the open box and smile when I spot the framed picture of us he usually keeps by his bed.

I put his bag next to the tote, then close the bed cover.

There’s no lid on his keepsake box, so it’s going to have to ride in the back seat.

Once it’s secure, I turn around and hoist Aussie up into the front passenger seat and strap him in his seat belt.

Once we’re on our way, we don’t talk much. He put his hand on top of mine about twenty minutes into the drive, and it stays there for the next five hours until we make it to Tulsa at five.

Pulling into the first restaurant I can find—IHOP of all places, which I know he’ll pitch a fit about—I look over at him, expecting to see a scowl, because I know how he feels about the International House of Pancakes.

I can’t count the number of times he’s lamented about the one back in Tallulah whenever we go out driving, just to get out of the house.

“But, Dallas,” he always whines, sounding adorable each time.

“It’s where white trash goes to die.” I don’t have the heart to tell him that we are technically white trash.

We live in a run-down trailer park, surrounded by tweakers and people who let their toddlers roam around the trailer park unsupervised.

It don’t get much trashier than that. I’m okay being trash, though.

It’s how I was raised. It’s how my boy was raised, too, but Aussie ain’t ever gonna be trash.

He’s a diamond in the rough, sparkling bigger and brighter than every single one of us combined.

His sleeping face is probably the sweetest sight I’ve ever seen.

I didn’t even realize he nodded off. His tummy’s been growling for the last hour, so I thought he was just hiding his hunger from me, but Aussie’s been napping.

Good for him. I kind of want to keep driving, just to make more progress before I have to wake him, but his stomach rumbles again, so I turn off the truck and squeeze his hand.

“Baby?” I call out softly, brushing my thumb across his knuckles. He stirs, blinking a few times to get oriented to the fluorescent light beaming in from the IHOP sign overhead, I guess. “Your stomach’s growling. We need to get some food in you.”

He nods sleeping, patting his tummy. “I’m a hungry, hungry hippo,” he sing-songs playfully.

He’s got this youthful, carefree look on his face, just like he always does when he first wakes up.

Like the filter he sometimes hides behind—dimming the innocent side of him so he doesn’t come across as soft—is down, and I can see the man he truly is underneath. My silly boy. My sweet boy.

Mine. Always.

I tickle his neck, right below his chin. “We made it to Tulsa. Once we’re done here, I figure I could probably make another eight-or-nine hours before we’ll need to stop at a motel to get some rest.”

“I can keep driving while you sleep in the back seat,” he offers, but I quickly shake my head, because it ain’t so much the sleep I’m ready for.

We still have to pick up where we left off.

I want to show him my party trick. I want him to see every inch of me, and I kind of like the idea of him filming it for his OnlyFans.

I figure, if my Aussie looks at me on camera the way he looks at me when we’re alone together, maybe these perverts with their monthly subscriptions will see he’s taken.

That they can’t have him, because he’s mine. My son. Maybe more.

“You . . .” I swallow, feeling a little nervous, if I’m being totally honest. “You said you wanted to see my trick. Said you wanted to show your fans.”

His eyes bulge, and he rapidly nods his head. It’s bobbing up and down so fast, it’s a wonder it hasn’t taken to flight. “Yeah. I want to see it.” He looks out the window, and the smile on his face fades within seconds .

As much as I know myself, I know Aussie, and I know exactly what he’s about to do. The oncoming rage. The flash of disgusted flames in his eyes. My boy is about to unload his sassy side on me, and I can’t fucking wait. I love him like this. Wild. Unhinged. Motherfuckin’ precious.

“Dallas,” he says, blinking slowly.