By the first rains of spring, Scottie had gotten comfortable living in the cottage. His brother had tried to pay rent, grumbling when he ignored the offer. Silus being situated in a decent flat made him happy.

Made Silus’s mum happy as well, until they both realised Zeb planned to live with him. Scottie wanted to have a few words, maybe more than words, with him. Gray reminded him it would be slightly hypocritical.

Slightly.

Zeb and Silus were both old enough to make their own decisions. Scottie knew his brother tended to be more mature than he’d been at his age. They’d be fine.

He hoped. Remi wouldn’t appreciate it if his younger cousin wound up in a hospital. Scottie took the care of his sibling seriously.

In the months since his breakdown after the funeral, Scottie had worked hard at dealing with his anger. He didn’t want to fall apart anytime something difficult happened. His father had provided a living example of where that road ended.

His rehab sponsor had challenged him to do more for others. Silus suggested it meant he should “stop being such a selfish arsehole.” A bit rich coming from his brother who currently lived rent-free in his old flat.

Sobriety hadn’t changed his personality. Scottie did, however, see the point of perhaps stepping outside of himself. He spent several weeks considering what he might do.

In the end, Gray provided the best idea. He’d suggested Scottie find a way to help kids who’d grown up similarly to himself. They’d both experienced how an abusive home could impact a child’s life long into adulthood.

A brilliant idea.

His only problem came from his being too lazy to run his own charity or find one to work with on his own. Scottie pressed his tech-savvy brother into doing the research for him. They eventually found a Cardiff non-profit that worked specifically with at-risk youths from troubled homes.

The first meeting with the youngsters, who ranged in age from eight to eighteen, left him greatly humbled. Scottie listened to their stories; many were worse than his own. He suddenly could understand more clearly what made Gray give so freely of himself to Alice and Alex.

Like him, most of the kids had no one standing in their corner, offering encouragement and safety. Scottie didn’t quite know how much of a difference his presence made. He hoped if nothing else, the world seemed a bit less bleak.

He’d come a long way from the battered boy who stumbled onto a rugby pitch.

He was proud of himself.

In the midst of all of this, Scottie had gotten a call from the caretaker at the cemetery. They’d had a bit of trouble. He steeled himself to deal with yet another drama indirectly related to his father.

“I’d hoped to never have to come here again.” Scottie grimaced at the new stone marking his dad’s grave. “Well, I don’t feel like taking a piss on it—so that’s something.”

Vandals had ruined several gravestones in the cemetery. Scottie had commissioned the new one and come out to see it with Gray. Silus had picked out the design for both of them, while he paid for it.

Gray stood beside him, offering silent support, as he’d done throughout everything. “Not sure the caretakers would appreciate you urinating on a grave, even if your old man deserved it.”

“Could spit on it.” Scottie considered it seriously but instead turned his back on the name in granite mocking him. “That’s my good deed done.”

“For the week?”

“For the rest of my fucking life,” Scottie snorted in slightly bitter amusement. “I repaid his abuse with kindness by paying his hospital bills, covering his funeral, and ensuring a decent memorial to his name. It’s enough.”

“You didn’t owe him a thing.” Gray followed him down the winding path. “You didn’t do it for him in any case.”

“Or for me.” Scottie paused with his hands on the gate leading to the car park. “I did it for Silus. If I hadn’t, he would’ve emptied his bank account to care for our old man. In the end, his heart would’ve been broken by our dad’s bitterness while his little bit of money evaporated into nothing.”

The majority of his rare moments of selflessness generally revolved around Silus. His brother brought out the best in him. The gravestone had been yet another example of it.

“I’m proud of you.” Gray dropped a hand onto his shoulder, pushing him through the gate toward the Jaguar. “Would you like a treat, kitten?”

“You’re a fucking arsehole.” Scottie scowled at him—more annoyed with his instant reaction to the tone in his Dominant’s voice. “Yes, I would.”

Gray chuckled darkly at the admission. “Poor boy. I’ll drive. You’re going to be too busy to focus on road safety.”

Fuck me.

I’m already fucking hard.

And Gray ensured Scottie stayed hard for the next few hours.

In the car, in the kitchen, and finally in the back garden.

On his hands and knees, hidden by the tall hedges, Scottie didn’t quite remember how they’d gone from the vehicle through the house and finally outside. The ring around his cock stopping his release held almost all of his attention. Gray’s cock had the rest of his focus as it slid in and out of him.

They eventually collapsed on the grass, completely spent, to stare up at the fluffy clouds drifting by while trying to catch their breaths. Scottie thought they’d need to move inside soon even if their sides were pressed together. It was still too early in the year to be starkers outside for too long.

The comfortable silence between them drew Scottie’s thoughts away from his pleasurably sore body to other thoughts. He’d found submission often cleared his mind in a way nothing else ever had. Not that I’ll ever admit it to anyone—other than Gray.

His thoughts inevitably turned to his father and the family legacy. In many ways, Scottie had broken the cycle of drinking and violence. At times, he might still struggle with wanting a drink or losing his temper, but overall, he’d grown up.

He hoped his courage to change ensured Silus never fell into many of the same traps. His brother had had a better start than he did. It didn’t mean Monk blood didn’t run in his veins.

Nature versus nurture?

His therapist had a lot to say on the topic. Scottie didn’t quite believe in all the philosophical nonsense. He couldn’t deny his childhood had greatly affected him, so perhaps it was a bit of both.

The words stayed with him long after the bruises had faded, all of the words his father had flung at him, sharp enough to leave him bleeding as if struck by a knife. Scottie had often used whisky to drown all of it out.

“He was wrong.”

“Who?” Gray lifted his head up off the grass to glance over at him. “Wrong about what?”

“My old man.” Scottie toyed with the bracelet on his wrist. He’d been surprised at first when Gray mentioned getting him one. The more he’d thought about it, the more he looked forward to having the constant physical reminder of their connection. “Bastard said I’ve never amount to anything, and I’d die miserably without anyone to mourn me.”

“Sounds more like what happened to him,” Gray remarked.

“I made something of myself. Might’ve fucked up a time or two, but I didn’t wind up living in a cardboard box, drunk off my arse.” Scottie dropped his fingers from his wrist to rest on Gray’s forearm. “Not miserable or alone—not anymore.”

Not ever again.