Long after we’ve eaten, I’m stuffed and a little woozy, not really paying attention to much except the sweet sound of bullfrogs and crickets rising in the twilight air. My cousin Melody disturbs my cozy relaxation when she drops a photograph album in the middle of the table and starts telling everyone within earshot about the Disney cruise she and her family just returned from.

A dozen kids crowd around the book, slowly leafing through its thick pages, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the exotic images captured within.

Ordinarily, I’d take the first opportunity to slink away, leaving the mom-brigade to compare notes, regaling one another with their tales of princess parties and water wings, but I notice something unusual.

Jordan is front and center, commandeering the book, pointing at the pictures, his face full of animation as he shows his sister and baby brother one after another of those photographs. I slide in behind him, so I can see what he sees.

“Look at that,” he says. “I think that’s from Pirates of the Caribbean,” he says, pointing at a character dressed up in a crazy Disney outfit, his arms wrapped around a delighted child who is—at this moment—feasting on banana pudding at another table. She’s Melody’s youngest daughter.

“What’s ‘Caribbean?’” Chrissy asks, peering up at Jordan.

He shrugs. “Not sure. There was a movie about it though. I saw the DVD at Wal-Mart.”

Jesus. These kids haven’t seen Pirates of the Caribbean? Have they ever seen a Disney film? Have they ever been to the movies at all?

I look around, catching Jack’s eye. I wave him over.

“Check this out,” I say. “Look at how excited he is.”

Jack watches as Jordan turns the page. He lingers over an image of a giant rock wall, dotted with people climbing and hanging off it.

“Wow,” Jordan says. “That’s so cool.”

“That’s high,” Joey says, sliding under his brother, getting in front of the photo book. Jordan backs up, giving him room.

“I’d love to see that up close,” Jordan says. “I bet I could climb all the way to the top and not be scared.”

“Look at this one,” Chrissy says, pointing at a picture of a room full of little girls about her own age, all dressed up like princesses, wearing sparkly shoes and flowing skirts. “Look at how pretty they are.”

“What do you think?” I ask Jack. “A ship full of kids—happy kids—playing all day long. Movies. Shows. A week of pure make believe in the tropics? It might be a good break for them.”

Jack grins at me. “Are you drunk?” he asks. “That must cost a fortune.”

“It doesn’t,” Melody says, interrupting, eavesdropping on us. She slips between me and Jack, smiling up at me. “I work in HR at Bristol Compressors in Abingdon, handling travel arrangements for the management team. I get a great deal on airlines, and as a perk, get some super vacation packages thrown in as incentive. I can get you booked on a cruise with all the upgrades for a whole lot less than you’d think.” Melody winks at me.

“I’ve got a bunch of unused vacation,” I say to Jack.

“I’m all for it,” he admits, warming to the idea. “If we can afford it. I’ve got some money saved up.”

“So do I,” I say, “How much does it cost?” I ask Melody.

“Depends,” she says. “Call me tomorrow and we’ll discuss details. I’ll give you my work number.”

Jordan raises his head from the photo album, peering up at me. “Are you guys serious?” he asks. “You think we might really be able to do this?”

Chrissy and Joey look up too, all of them with questioning, hopeful eyes.

“We’ll see,” I say to Jordan. “It’ll depend on a lot of things, like being good in school. No more notes from the teacher, doing your chores before you’re asked, and looking out for your brother and sister? Would you like to try and then we’ll see?”

Jordan nods. “Yeah,” he says, pausing. “Yeah, we can try that.”

“That means that we’ll help you make plans on how to succeed at school. We’ll get you set up with the guidance counselor, and we’ll be there every step of the way.”

Jordan gives me a look, and it’s clear he’s trying to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He chews his lip for a moment and then nods. “Yeah, okay.”

I return my gaze to Jack, raising a hopeful eyebrow. “We’ll see about the cruise,” I say. “Can’t hurt to look into it.”

* * *

With a satisfied smile brightening his face, Jordan plops his report card down in front of my plate of potatoes, baked chicken, and lightly steamed brussel sprouts.

“Look,” he urges. “Look what my teachers said.”

I open the envelope, reviewing his grades and the comments recorded by his teachers. He’s earned all A’s and B’s, garnering comments like, ‘Much improved,’ and ‘Excellent turnaround,’ along with my personal favorite, ‘Jordan has found his joy, and its name is Pre-Algebra,’ accompanied by a bright smiley-face.

His homeroom teacher, who only six-weeks ago kept him after school writing sentences for calling her a bitch, writes, ‘Whatever has come over Jordan, please, do more of it! He’s shining!’

I slide the report card across the table to Jack for his consideration. Jack takes a long look then gives an approving smile. “Proud of you, kiddo,” he says. “You’re doing good.”

Jordan smiles again, pleased with himself. “Do we get to go on the Disney cruise?” he asks.

“We’ve put a deposit down,” I tell him. “But I have a question to ask before we finalize it.”

Jordan regards me with caution. “What?” he asks.

“Do you like doing well in school? Do you like it when the teachers say encouraging things?”

He nods, hesitating.

“Has it gotten easier to do well since we’ve helped you figure out what you need to do?”

He nods again, this time with less hesitation.

“After we come back from the cruise, do you think you’ll still do well?”

He considers the question. “I think I’ll keep doing okay,” he says. “It’s easier to make friends when you’re the smart kid in class. And there’s this math olympics thing I want to try out for. Only two kids from each grade get to go, and I want to. I’m the smartest kid in math class, so I’m pretty sure I can do it. I’ve already jumped way ahead in the textbook. If I make it to that, I can go to math camp this summer, and then go straight into the advanced classes next year. If I do that, by ninth grade I’ll be taking senior classes—calculus and stuff.”

Jordan delivers this news without fanfare, simply stating his ambitions with matter-of-fact determination.

Jack and I both look at one another, trying to mask our surprise.

“That’s awesome,” Jack says. “I’m really glad you love math. I loved it too. What other classes do you like?”

He shrugs. “I like them all,” he says. “I like science almost as much as math, especially doing all the experiments we get to do. I made gun powder the other day when the teacher wasn’t paying attention. I got the recipe from a book in the library. I knew I’d get in trouble if she saw it, so I flushed it. I just wanted to see if it would work. It did.”

Alrighty then. We have a little Einstein on our hands, or maybe a UniBomber. Either way, he is super smart.

“Cool,” I say, forking my potatoes nonchalantly. “Don’t make any more gunpowder. Find a cure for cancer instead.”

Jordan grins at me, diving into his dinner. “That’s harder. Cancer’s really complicated. It’s not just one thing. There’s not just one cure.”

Chrissy laughs at all of us. “Gun powder and cancer. All I want to do is go swimming in the pool on the ship, and I don’t have to cure cancer or take algebra to do it. I don’t even know what algebra is.”

“You’ll know soon enough,” Jordan says to her. “I’ll help you with your homework, ‘cause it’s awesome. It’s like solving puzzles. It’s so cool.”

“I like puzzles!” Joey chimes in. “Can I play too?”

“Sure,” Jordan says. “But first you have to learn how to divide fractions, and you won’t get to that until forth grade, so be patient. That’s a different kind of puzzle.”

What started off as a whim, half-considered at the Manning family party on a Sunday afternoon, has materialized into a certain proposition. Jordan has held up his end of the bargain, and now we need to hold up our end.

After the kids are in bed, the dishes washed and put away, and everything readied for an early start to another school day tomorrow, Jack and I settle in for an hour of grown-up time just to ourselves.

“I talked to my captain and I think I can get a full week between Thanksgiving and Christmas,” Jack says. “If I work both holidays so other people can take them off.”

“Both holidays?” I ask. “That’ll suck for me and the kids if you’re gone for both.”

He shakes his head at me, stripping down to his boxers before climbing into bed.

“I’ve got it all worked out,” he says. “I talked to Kathi and Griff, and they’re willing to do Thanksgiving at their place, and then I’ll go in for second shift. We’ll get more than half a day to eat to our hearts content, and I’ll still work a full shift.”

“Okay,” I say. “What about Christmas? That’s a big deal.”

“Third shift,” Jack says. “I’ll go in at eleven p.m. on Christmas Eve and I’m back by eight a.m. I won’t miss much. No one wants to work third shift on Christmas Eve because it’s a dead shift, and nobody wants to miss playing Santa Clause. Can you handle Santa Clause?”

I nod. Jack is the ultimate problem solver. “As long as you’re back by breakfast to watch the kids open their presents, it’s all great.”

I lean over, kissing him, nuzzling him, pulling him close.

“You’re the best,” I whisper. “We’re going to have such a great time with the kids,”

Jacks nestles against me. “There’s one more thing I want to float by you to see what you think,” he says, laying his hand on my chest.

“What’s that?”

“I talked to Kathi about this, and she thinks it’s a good idea.”

“What is it?” I press, pulling back. If he talked to Kathi about it before bringing it up to me, it must be weighing on him.

“My mother,” Jack says. “She lives in Vero Beach. When Kathi told her about you and me and the kids, she was really happy to hear about it. She’s broken up with her boyfriend, and she’s called me a few times. We’ve talked. She’s trying. She’s reaching out.”

Okay.

“I was thinking, maybe… if you’re okay with it… she could come too, to help with the kids, and maybe give us some free time to ourselves on the cruise. There’s lots of adults-only stuff to do, and the kids would like not being under our thumb all the time. Plus, it might go a long way toward easing things between me and my mother. I really want her to meet you and love you as much as I do.”

I sit up on my elbow so I can see Jack better. He rarely speaks of his mother, and when he does, it’s usually tinged with regret and disappointment. She didn’t react well when he came out, and then she hooked up with some guy half her age, which freaked Jack out.

“I think that would be great,” I say. “It would be cool for the kids to have a real grandmother, and to have the chance to get to know her.”

Jack sits up too, facing me, a smile coming to his face. “You really think so?” he asks. “You know, she’s alright. She’s been through a lot of stuff. My dad was a son-of-a-bitch, but she did her best to shield me from it. She’s kind of a lioness when it comes down to it. And she’s grown up a lot. She’s really excited about meeting the kids.”

“I can’t wait to meet her,” I say, happy he wants me to. I reach forward, rubbing the solid muscles of his shoulder with my thumb. “Have I mentioned I love you?”

Jack smiles. “Not nearly enough.”

“I love you, more than algebra or Santa Claus. You’re the absolute best.”

“I really am,” Jack teases, leaning in, kissing me, nicking my lip that way he does that drives me crazy. “Don’t ever forget it.”

“How could I forget it?” I ask, purring against his skin. “You’re always lurking, right here, ready to remind me.”

I return Jack’s kisses, pushing him into the mattress—all too eager to climb over him and hold him down.

“Should I remind you how much I like this?” I growl, rocking my hips into his cock. The friction’s already got me growing hard at the touch.

“Always,” Jack huffs. His body relaxes beneath mine, eye unwavering as he gazes up at me. “You could show me.”

“I’ll do that.”

I lay down a line of soft kisses and aggressive nips from Jack’s Adam’s apple to his navel while my fingers busy themselves tweaking his nipples. Every little sensation, every touch, plays Jack like a fiddle. God—I love making him whine, love the way his back arches off the bed.

His cock stands up hard, pressing against my belly as I work.

Jack is so perfect; dense muscle and sinew, long, lean lines and supple skin. He’s not over-bound with muscle like a lot of guys. Instead, he’s cut and sculpted, an object fit for worship. My tongue and teeth do their best to pay proper homage, but my dick—it wants to own him. I’ve grown to love every inch of him—and now, I need a little bit of payback.

Instead, I decide to take my time and do this right.

Working my way down, I kick Jack’s legs wide apart with my knees, then crouch low, using my tongue to explore and tease the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. He tastes so good, salty and hot; I want to eat him up, and I will.

I go deeper, inching closer, licking and lapping. Jack’s hips roll up toward me slightly, his hard cock rubs against my cheek.

“God, that feels so fucking good,” he moans, fingers digging biting nails into my shoulders before they trail up to tug at my hair. “Don’t stop.”

“I’m not stopping.” I trace my tongue around the base of his beautiful, swollen cock, teasing a flick to the underside.

“Oh, god,” Jack cries as I reach the head of his shaft. I suckle around it, twirling my tongue at the head. Fuck; the taste of him, that salty slick precum that slides along my tongue makes me moan around him. I glide up and down, taking him deep, lips tight as I bob on his dick, letting him fill my mouth and throat like it’s the last thing I’m ever gonna taste.

Just to rock his world, I gently slide my pinky into his hole. The smallest intrusion, I seek out that single, sweet little spot that’ll send him all the way over the edge—

“Fuck!” Jack huffs. His cock twitches hard in my mouth; I grin.

There you are.

I carry on, massaging him from below while my mouth works magic from above.

“I’m... gonna cum…” Jack whines, his body going rigid, his fingers gripping my hair, pulling and pushing in time with my attentions.

When he does, it’s an eruption of salty, thick heat. I drink it down, eager to take every drop without waste. When he’s done and going soft, I spit what’s left in my hand, using the other to push his thighs apart and slather the mess he’s made all over his asshole.

“Oh fuck, Dillon,” he sighs.

He’s still in the bliss, blind from his orgasm.

Jack moans, eyes fluttering; he’s helpless against me as I insert a finger, then two, stretching him wide. I get him open enough to take me without pain—but he’s going to feel me. And he does, body stiffening as I push eagerly into him. He’s a fucking vision as his back arches and his Adam’s apple bobs with the ecstasy laced cry that fills the room while I fill him.

This… This right here, is fucking perfect.

His fingers grip the sheets beside him, making fists in the cloth. His eyes sear shut, his breaths come short and shallow as I move in deeper, pressing in harder. My whole body rocks into his with relentless thrusts. This is perfect. This is us, mindless, fit together like a hand in its glove.

Jacks eyes open narrow, hooded with heat and lust. He watches me ride him, his hands lifting to grip my biceps. He breaths are deeper now, in rhythm with mine. His body relaxes, his eyes fix on me.

There’s no need to say anything. We both feel this shared intensity. We’re superheated energy, wrapped in a silly, sappy love that means everything, allowing anything.

We’re fearless, unstoppable, unbreakable—and finally, we both know it.

I grin at Jack, unable to hold back, my eyes locked on his.

“Love you, baby,” I groan, biting my lip. It’s one last thrust deep within him before my body erupts, coming apart in Jack’s arms like a mountain slide. I collapse in a slumped heap on him, panting with nothing between us but a thin layer of slick sweat and a downpour of true love.