Looking At Forever (The Rock Gods Book 4) (35 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Wheland sat beside Rooster in the car, second-guessing his agreement to meet Rooster’s parents for the last hour and a half. He knew they were only a few miles away from Rooster’s parent’s house and the nervous knot in Wheland’s stomach was growing. He looked across the car and watched Rooster driving. His hands were gripping the steering wheel to the point his knuckles were turning white. Rooster looked as nervous as Wheland and that only heightened Wheland’s apprehension. Wheland reached for Rooster’s forearm and curled his fingers around the warm skin. The touch made Rooster glance his way.

“You okay, babe?” Wheland asked.

“I’m a little nervous,” Rooster admitted. “And that’s not because I think they won’t love you, because they will. I’m uneasy because they’ve never seen me with a man, nor have I ever brought a guy home. Know what I mean?”

“I won’t lie. This is more than a bit out of my comfort zone,” Wheland said.

Rooster took Wheland’s hand and laced their fingers. “I’m sorry for pushing you to do this.”

“You’re not making me do anything I don’t want to,” Wheland said. “I plan on being in your life for a long time. It makes perfect sense to meet your family.”

“My sister is cool,” Rooster said. “She’s known for a while I’m gay. She guessed what happened with Reggie all those years ago before I even told her.”

Rooster turned off the main road and onto a road that looked like it was right out of a 1970’s architectural design magazine. All the houses were similar split-level design with partial brick fronts. Rooster slowed down and pulled over to the curb in front of a moderate sized white house with red brick on one side of the front. The opposite side had a two-story addition and a garage attached to the other end. It was bigger than the other houses on the street and nicely landscaped.

“I offered to buy them a new house back when my band made it big,” Rooster explained. “They wanted to stay here, so I paid for the addition and a pool in the backyard.”

Wheland nodded. He had no knowledge of what it must have felt like having a real family. What he was building with Rooster felt like a family, but seeing this house in a quaint neighborhood that screamed “middle America” made Wheland wish he’d had just a fraction of this growing up.

“This isn’t the first house we lived in,” Rooster said. “We had a smaller house in a town a few miles from here when I was little. We moved here when I started getting in to trouble. My parents thought this would fix my rebellious spirit.”

“Rebellious spirit? Is that what you wanna call it?” Wheland teased.

Rooster pulled the keys from the ignition and opened his door. “Okay, smart ass. Grab that bottle in the backseat for me.”

Wheland opened up the rear door and reached for the colorfully wrapped gift and shut the door. He walked around to Rooster’s side and handed him the package.

“Booze for your dad’s birthday?” Wheland asked.

“He loves Wild Turkey,” Rooster said, and winked.

To Wheland’s surprise, Rooster held out his hand for him to take. Wheland glanced at it, then lifted his eyes to Rooster. All Wheland saw in Rooster’s topaz depths was confidence. How could Wheland feel insecure with that gesture being offered to him by the man he loved?

“Come on,” Rooster said. “Let’s go see my parents.”

Wheland extended his arm and allowed Rooster to grasp his hand and lead him up the driveway. They were still about twenty feet from the front door when it burst open and a woman about Rooster’s age bounded down the steps straight at them. Slender, dark-haired, petite, and strikingly pretty with the same color eyes as Rooster; she could only be his sister. She slammed into Rooster nearly toppling him to the ground and wrapped her arms around his neck. Rooster had to drop Wheland’s hand to hug her back.

“Ang, Ang, please,” Rooster said, doing his best to dodge his sister’s affectionate greeting. “I want you to meet someone,” Rooster said.

“I haven’t seen my baby brother in years,” she said. “You’ll have to suffer through my sloppy kisses and hugs and like it.”

Rooster was finally able to grip his sister’s waist and plant her a safe distance away from him. He motioned toward Wheland and smiled.

“This is Wheland,” Rooster said to her, then he looked at Wheland. “And this is my sister Angela.”

Wheland quickly reached to shake her hand, but Angela leaped for him and looped her arms around his shoulders to hug him instead. The sudden embrace caught Wheland off guard. She kissed his cheek, then stepped back.

“Nice to meet you, Wheland,” Angela said and smiled. “Is that your first or last name?”

If he had a nickel for every time someone asked him that question he’d be a very rich man, Wheland thought, and laughed. “My first name is Michael, or Mick.”

“But you can call him Wheland,” Rooster said. “Only I get to call him Mick.”

“Wow, little brother,” Angela said. “Aren’t you protective of your man? Then again, judging by the mark he left on your throat, I’d say you both have a possessive streak.”

Rooster’s hand quickly covered the hickey Wheland had given him. “Is it that noticeable?” Rooster asked his sister.

Angela shrugged. “I’ve seen worse,” she said. “Hell, I’ve had worse myself.”

Wheland did his best to tamp down the heat he could feel pinking his cheeks. He had no shame for loving Rooster and he’d left that mark purposefully for people to know Rooster was his. He hadn’t expected Rooster’s family to see it though and had he known they’d be making this trip to meet, he might have thought differently of marking his man.

Angela’s eyes flicked back and forth between them, then she turned and glanced at the house. “Well, we should go inside,” Angela said.

Rooster’s eyes met Wheland over his sister’s head. Damn, the love Wheland saw floating in them took his breath away.

“I hope you two are hungry,” Angela said, as they started walking toward the house. “Mom has cooked enough to feed a small army.”

Rooster reached for Wheland’s hand again and squeezed it. They walked together up the front stairs and inside the living room of the house. The aromatic smells of Italian food greeted Wheland at the door and his mouth started watering.

“Mom! They’re here,” Angela announced.

A gray-haired woman came from the kitchen, wiping her hands off on an apron tied around her waist. She was a shapely woman, wearing black slacks, long-sleeved red blouse, and a silver cross hanging around her neck. Her smile was brilliant and her skin flawless. Wheland guessed her to be in her early sixties.

“Salvatore! You made it,” the woman said, hurrying across the living room to greet her son.

“Hi, Mom,” Rooster said. He hugged his mother to his chest and kissed the top of her head.

Wheland watched the interaction play out and a lump formed in his throat. Why hadn’t he had any of this when he was young? Maybe if he had he might have been freer with showing affection toward others, instead of keeping his emotions locked up behind thick walls.

“Mom, this is the guy I was telling you about,” Rooster said, looking at Wheland.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Wheland said.

“Ma’am? You make me sound like someone’s granny,” she said. “Please, call me Sophie.”

“I’m Wheland.”

“Well, I can see why my son is so smitten. You’re gorgeous,” Sophie said, and leaned in closer to Wheland. “But, if you hurt him, I’ll hurt you.”

“Mom! Knock off the scare tactics,” Rooster said. “They don’t work and you’re not that scary.”

“I have no intention of ever hurting your son,” Wheland said.

“Ah, good looking and sweet,” she said. “He’s a keeper, Salvatore. Don’t lose him.”

Sophie turned on heel and headed back toward the kitchen. “Get washed up so we can eat,” she said. “Angela, go find your father and tell him the boys are here and dinner is ready.”

Rooster shrugged his shoulders and grinned at Wheland. “Sorry about that,” Rooster said. “She can be a little bossy sometimes, but she means well.”

Wheland gripped the back of Rooster’s neck and pulled him forward to press their foreheads together. “Thank you for bringing me here,” Wheland said. “This means a lot.”

“You may not feel that way after a few hours,” Rooster teased.

Wheland heard someone clearing their throat behind them and stepped away from Rooster.

“Salvatore, I didn’t hear you come in,” the man said.

Wheland’s eyes bounced to the deep voice and saw a tall, lean man standing in the entrance of the living room. He had a thick head of dark wavy hair, dark skin, and the same blazing topaz eyes as Rooster. The man had broad shoulders for his frame and a pretty toned body for an older gentleman.

“Dad, this is Wheland,” Rooster said.

Wheland leaned forward and took the man’s hand.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Marcos,” the man said, pumping Wheland’s hand in a firm handshake.

Rooster handed his father the wrapped bottle. “Happy birthday, Dad,” Rooster said.

“Thank you, son,” Marcos said. “We’ll have a little of this after dinner.”

Marcos set the bottle on the coffee table and reached for Rooster. Wheland watched them embrace and kiss each other on the cheek. Had he ever seen this kind of display of love between a father and son? Was this what it was like to have real parents who loved you? The more Wheland saw, the sadder it made him feel for what he never had as a boy. He swallowed down the raw emotion threatening to choke him, then felt Rooster’s fingers circle his wrist.

“You okay, babe?” Rooster asked him.

Wheland nodded, watching Marcos move into the kitchen and leaving them alone. “I’ve just never experienced a family like this.”

Rooster brought Wheland into the dining room and directed him to the chair opposite his sister. Wheland’s eyes bounced around the platters of food arranged on the cream-colored linen tablecloth. There were stuffed shells sprinkled with Parmesan cheese, raviolis, meatballs, and red sauce, an enormous bowl of salad, and a pan of steaming lasagna. Wheland couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. This was better than any holiday he’d ever experienced. He felt Rooster’s hand squeeze his thigh beneath the table and looked at him.

“Your sister wasn’t kidding when she said there was enough for a small army,” Wheland said.

“My mother never learned how to cook for less than thirty people,” Rooster said.

A moment later, Sophie and Marcos took their seats on opposite ends of the long table. Sophie smiled and lifted up her glass of red wine. “First, I want to welcome Wheland to our table,” she said.

“I can’t thank you enough for having me,” Wheland said. “Everything looks and smells amazing.”

“Perhaps you’d like to do the honor of saying the blessing before we eat?” Sophie asked Wheland.

Wheland looked up from the pan of lasagna. “You want
me
to do the blessing?” Wheland asked.

“Mom, I’m not sure he’s comfortable doing that,” Rooster said.

“I don’t mind,” Wheland said to Rooster.

Sophie set down her glass of wine and folded her hands. Wheland watched her drop her head in prayer and swallowed hard. He hadn’t been raised with any formal religion as part of his life and had no clue what to say. Although he may not be religious, he certainly considered himself to be spiritual and that meant something, right? He’d seen this blessing thing done enough times in movies, he figured he could wing it and see what spilled from his mouth. How bad could he be?

Wheland cleared his throat and closed his eyes. He took a few moments to collect his thoughts and then opened his mouth to speak. “Bless this food we are about to eat and the wonderful family who have invited me to sit at their table. I feel blessed to be in their presence today and so very blessed to have the man sitting beside me in my life. I thank you for all of this. Amen.”

When Wheland finished he opened his eyes. He was surprised to see everyone staring at him and suddenly felt very self-conscious. “I’m sorry. Did I mess that up?” Wheland asked.

“Not at all, Wheland,” Sophie said. “That was beautiful. Thank you. Angela, start passing the food.”

A second later, the clatter of plates and idle chatter began and Wheland was left sitting there stunned. Rooster handed him a plate with a little bit from every platter and a generous serving of lasagna.