Taming Tyler

Epilogue

Mitch

L ast night was a crazy rollercoaster of emotions. It was hard enough sending Ty off to see Catarina and Dale, but hearing his frail, hurt voice on the phone after another verbal abuse session by that asshole nearly tore me to shreds. Then the faceoff with that piece of shit. My hands were itching to rearrange his face, but I know all too well how that song goes. So I opted for just placing my palm smack in the middle of his face. If it wasn’t because I could tell that Catarina was so out of it mentally, I would’ve given her a piece of my mind, too. I may still do it one of these days. She may have checked out of her own life, but that’s no excuse for enabling Dale in his continued abuse of Tyler. It ends now, though. Ty’s with us. With Cal and me.

Last night, we packed most of his stuff and brought it home: his drawing tools and his collection of crop tops and Chucks in all the colors of the rainbow. His two houseplants, Lauren and Humphrey, came too because Ty thought they would get along with Harold the Cactus and the rest of the Green Gang like ‘ a house on fire, Mitch. ’ He didn’t have a lot of stuff; most of it had already migrated over to Cal’s and my house over the past couple of weeks without us even noticing. He did have a small dresser though, but he looked mortified as I attempted to open the drawers. I can only imagine what the brat has in there; probably raided a sex shop at some point. I never did read the fine print on his rap sheet. In the end, I just picked up the entire dresser, carried it down the stairs, and threw it in the back of the car, where something inside drawer number three started vibrating. Jesus. Then I ran upstairs, feeling each of my years in my bones, threw Ty over my shoulder real firefighter style, and ran downstairs again. After sucking off half my face, I sent Ty on his merry way on that devil machine of his while I drove home after him like some overprotective Daddy. Well, if the shoe fits…

“Look at him,” Cal laughs, squeezing my hand. “Look at them,” his voice turns a tad softer. And I do. I look at them as they dive in and out of a huge mountain of fall leaves that Cal and I just raked together on our back lawn. The half-blind dog who has gained her second youth and the most beautiful boy in the world. Our boy. Ty’s squealing, Bree more interested in him than the leaves. With her cataract eyes, she looks at him like he’s the center of everything. Like he makes the damn world spin. She isn’t wrong. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a hundred times. He is everything. He is our everything. Mine, Cal’s, and Bree’s.

Like two lovestruck softies, Cal and I are lying reclined in our garden chairs in matching sweaters that Ty insisted his Daddies should wear because ‘you look so fucking hot, Daddies, when you’re all matchy-matchy’. It’s a little colder today than usual, a crispness in the air that’s perfect for this special day of the year. Thanksgiving. Shit, I have so much to be grateful for. Even more this year now that Ty has come back to me. To us.

“Cal,” I keep my voice low, even though Ty and Bree are engulfed in their own little world of two and only have eyes and ears for each other. “Do you think that—”

“No,” my husband stops me, the firmness of his voice such a contrast to the fondness in his eyes.

“Whatcha mean, no ?” I frown. Cal sighs, then shakes his head, the sun catching the golden strands in his hair and beard, making him glow. Fuck, he’s so gorgeous, my man.

“Babe, I’ve loved you for six years, three months, and twelve days. Whatever’s going through that head of yours, just no.” He smirks, taking another sip of his beer, before nodding at the moving pile of leaves. “Just look at him, babe. If that ain’t a happy boy, I don’t know what is.” I hear the love in his voice, endless and boundless, his hazel gaze spilling over with contentment.

“But don’t you—”

“Nope.”

“Jesus, will you let me finish, Cal?” I groan.

“Only if it’s down my throat or inside my ass,” he bites his bottom lip teasingly, then opens his mouth wide, sticking out his tongue suggestively.

“Okay, it’s official.” I throw him my meanest death glare. “I hate you.”

“You do not ,” he laughs. “You looove me, big guy,” Cal purrs, and he isn’t wrong. I do. I so fucking do. Then his expression turns serious. “Ty’s happy, babe. He’s here with us because he wants to be. Is he missing out on things because he chooses to spend his days with a half-blind dog and a couple of old assholes like us? Maybe. Probably. But dontcha think it’s up to Ty to decide how he wants to live his life? Who he wants to spend it with? Who he wants to love? Don’t treat him like a kid, Mitch. A kid who can’t make up his own mind or doesn’t know his own heart. He’s more than capable of doing that. He’s strong. Fierce, our Ty. And if that gorgeous creature has decided that he loves us and wants to be with us, the hell if I’m gonna waste my time talkin’ him out of it. Because you know it’ll be a waste of time. The brat’s persistent.”

“He is,” I laugh, choking up. “I just love him so hard, Cal.”

“I know you do. But you love him just right. Just like you’ve always loved me just right, babe. You don’t know any other way than to love hard.” Fuck, this man. He always knows exactly what to say to bring me back from that edge of doubt and uncertainty.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” I lean over and he meets me halfway, slamming his lips against mine, sucking the wind right out of my lungs just like he did that first time at the laundromat.

“Hey! No kissy time without me!” Out of the corner of my eye, I see a sulky Ty, his skinny arms crossed in front of his chest, his right boot tap-tap-tapping against the wooden deck. Then he body slams me, pulling an annoyed grunt from Cal’s lips as our connection is broken. “Kiss me instead, Mitchy,” he giggles against my ear, his breath hot and sugary against my skin. “Remember, he’s six years ahead of me,” he scowls. I squirm under his kisses until Cal pulls him back into his lap and starts tickling him.

“Stop it, Cal-Bear!” Ty squeals, squirming in Cal’s lap, but his half-assed attempts at escaping fool no one, not even Bree, who has made it to the deck, too, and is drooling excitedly all over Ty’s legs, her tail wagging happily from side to side. “Bree, help me!” Ty screams. “Daddy’s being mean!”

“You love it, you little incubus,” Cal bites into his neck, leaving more hickeys on Ty’s olive skin. It’s become a beautiful canvas of love bites and beard burns, bearing witness to how crazy his Daddies are for him.

“I plead the Fifth!” Ty laugh-screams, wiggling in his Daddy’s lap until he stills, his eyes locking onto the XXL size bag of marshmallows next to the fire pit that Cal picked up at Walmart yesterday. “ Uhhh , can we make s’mores?” He smacks his lips, that small, innocent gesture going straight to my balls.

“Not until we’ve prepared the food for later,” Cal hums. “Remember, you promised to help, baby.” He pats Ty’s right butt cheek fondly.

That’s Ty’s cue. If there’s anything he loves, it’s helping. He loves feeling needed. Wanted. It’s pretty fucking adorable really, how he breezes through the house with the vacuum cleaner in his short shorts and his EarPods in, bobbing his head to Britney Spears or some shit like that, before the dust even has a chance to settle on the floor.

Jumping from Cal’s lap, he starts bouncing on his feet, the glitter in his orange rain boots catching the last rays of sunshine, dark curls flying all over the place.

“Uhhhh, I can help!” he squeals, clapping his hands together before he pulls me up from the deck chair. “I can wear my apron and my matching hat,” he drones on as he heads for the glass doors to the living room. Of course, he has a matching hat. Then he stops, and he’s nearly stampeded by Cal and me because we’re always as close to his perky little ass as we can get. Turning around, his eyes burn with mischief and Cal sighs because, just like me, he recognizes trouble when he sees it. And the look on Ty’s face is a promise of trouble.

“Can I be the turkey?” Ty blinks, batting his eyelashes. What the actual fuckity-fuck.?

“What the hell are you talking about?” Cal groans, but he isn’t fooling anyone when he adjusts his pants.

“The turkey. Can I be the turkey?” Ty smiles endearingly. “You could baste me, Daddy,” he smirks at Cal. “Juice me up real good, Cal-Bear, so that I’m nice and moist. Use that turkey baster of yours. I bet it fits just right inside my little boy ho—”

“Yeah, there’ll be none of that,” Cal near-whimpers, his face the same color as the canned cranberry sauce he bought yesterday.

“Why not?” Ty huffs, resting his hands indignantly on his narrow hips. “I’ll be all still, like a good boy, while you fill me up with your—”

“No!”

“Spoilsport!” Ty gets up on his toes and shoots daggers at my husband, and it’s all just too fucking hilarious.

“You can be the pie,” I mumble, the words tumbling from my lips before I realize it because, apparently, I’m powerless against this boy who’s once again become everything to me.

“The pie?!” Ty and Cal speak at the same time, Ty’s voice squeaky and excited, Cal’s resigned and tired.

“Sure, why not?” I shrug while Cal opens the glass doors, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath. “I ain’t no baker,” I continue, Cal snorting, “but I think I know how to make a cream pie.”

“I thought we were having pumpkin pie, Daddy. Aren’t we having… Ooohhh…” Ty’s eyes grow wide, then he blushes a crimson that spills straight down to his neckline, as he shifts on his feet. “I love cream pie, Daddy,” he sighs breathlessly, his pupils growing huge, as he leans in and whispers against my ear, “I reeeaaalllyyy love it.”

“I know you do, baby,” I grab his ass, squeezing it tightly, bringing him flush up against me, making him feel what he does to me. What he always does to me. “And Daddy loves making them.”