Page 16 of Don’t Call Me Son

Sarah sighs tiredly and kicks off her shoes. “Right, my boys. I’ve had a long day, and I really need to sleep. I don’t start until noon tomorrow, but still…”

Archie gives her a soft smile. “Night, Mom. Thanks for coming tonight.”

She steps forward and squeezes his cheek affectionately. “I loved it. I want you to know I’m never too busy for you, son.”

I nod at her, gesturing toward the stairs. “I’ll take you up, love.”

Archie heads toward the laundry room off the kitchen, track bag slung over his shoulder. It’s not unusual; he often dumps his dirty kit straight into the machine and heads upstairs in just his boxers. I’ve seen it a hundred times before; I just never noticed it the way I do now.

I follow Sarah upstairs, one hand resting gently on her lower back. In our bedroom she undresses quietly, slipping into one of her soft sleep shirts and crawling under the covers. I stay on top of the duvet, lying beside her and pulling her into my arms. She melts against me immediately, tucking her head under my chin. She lives for these moments; when I make her feel small and safe and protected. I hold her close, rubbing slow circles on her back until her breathing evens out.

She murmurs sleepily against my chest, “Love you, Colt.”

I smile into her hair and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Love you too, hon.”

And yet I can’t stop thinking about her son. Even now, with Sarah tucked against my chest, my mind keeps drifting downstairs. To Archie in the laundry room, probably stripping out of his track kit, sweaty and exhausted, maybe walking around in nothing but those loose boxers I told him to wear this morning. I keep picturing the way he looked on the track tonight; glowing with that rare, pure joy he gets when he runs. Then I remember how he leaned into me after the race. How grateful he looked when I praised him. My boy.

I tighten my arm around Sarah just a little, pressing another kiss to the top of her head. I do love her; deeply. But the hunger I feel for Archie is something else entirely; darker and greedy. It doesn’t replace what I feel for her; it exists right alongside it, sharp and demanding.

I wonder what he’s doing right now. If he’s sore. If he’s still thinking about the way I leaned in and called him “baby.”

Sarah murmurs something sleepy and content, completely unaware. I close my eyes and keep rubbing her back, slow and soothing, while my mind stays fixed on the boy downstairs. Soon.

…

Twenty minutes later Sarah is fully asleep, snoring that soft, familiar little rumble she always makes when she’s completely worn out. I carefully pull myself free from her arms, rolling her gently and tucking the blanket around her so she stays warm and comfortable. She barely stirs, just lets out a contented sigh and sinks deeper into the pillow. I watch her for a second then slip out of bed.

The house is quiet as I move downstairs. I check the living room, the kitchen, and even poke my head into the laundry room. No Archie; his track bag is still sitting by the washing machine, but he’s not there.

I frown heading back upstairs and check his bedroom; empty. Bed still made from this morning; that uneasy feeling coils tighter in my stomach.

Then I hear a soft splash of water as I step back into the hallway. I walk quietly toward the main bathroom. The door is pulled shut but not locked. I stop just outside, listening. Another gentle splash, followed by the low ripple of water as someone shifts in the tub. Archie’s in there. I lean against the doorframe, one hand resting lightly on the wood, listening to the quiet sounds of him soaking. The house is otherwise silent except for the faint snoring coming from down the hall.

I don’t push the door open; I just stand here in the dark hallway, pulse steady but heavy, wondering what’s going through his head after everything that happened today.

I should go in; the urge is there… heavy, almost magnetic. I want to push that door open, see him naked and soaking in the tub, maybe sit on the edge and run my hand through his wet hair, tell him again how proud I am of him today. He deserves someone looking after him right now; he ran his heart out. But my wife is literally sleeping twenty feet down the hall.

Shaking my head hard, jaw tight, I force myself to step back. Then move quietly down the stairs, trying not to make a sound. I slump down onto the couch in the dark living room, the only light coming from the hallway. I sit here with my elbows on my knees, head hanging.

Why the fuck did I cave this morning? I should’ve ignored it. The craving would’ve passed eventually, right? But I didn’t ignore it… I walked in, I touched him, I took him. I took Archie’s virginity. As much as anyone can take someone’s virginity in this kind of situation… I still did it; I was the first one inside him. The first one to hear him fall apart like that.

I lean forward and bury my face in my hands, dragging my fingers through my hair. My life was perfect. I had a beautiful, loving wife who adored me. A smart, hardworking stepson I was proud of. A good job and a solid home. And now? Now I don’t know if I can put this genie back in the bottle… I don’t even know if I want to.

…

I’ve been sitting here in the dark for at least half an hour. I only know because I’ve been staring at the clock above the fireplace, watching the hands tick forward slowly while my thoughts churned in circles. I keep coming back to the same painful truth: I can’t have both of them. I can’t keep Sarah and claim Archie too. It’s selfish, it’s disgusting; it’s so incredibly fucked up to want them both like this. But God… I want him so badly.

The sound of bare feet on the floor pulls me out of it. The light flicks on and Archie walks in, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly thinking the room was empty.

He jumps hard when he sees me sitting here in the dark. “Oh, fucking hell, Colt… what the fuck are you doing sitting in the dark?”

I let out a low, tired laugh, but my eyes betray me the second they land on him. He’s only wearing an open robe with just his boxers underneath. His hair is still damp and completely messy from where he clearly just scrubbed a towel over it. He looks soft, tired, and fuckable.

Archie catches me staring and glances down at himself. His cheeks flush as he quickly pulls the robe closed and ties it, clearing his throat; he reaches for the TV remote on the coffee table like nothing happened.

He always waits until this time of night to watch anything; respectful, never wanting to disturb Sarah and me if we’re still up.

He drops into the armchair across from me without another word. I don’t speak; I just watch him. Kim and Jay’s words from earlier keep replaying in my head.