Page 25 of Don’t Call Me Son

He nods against my neck, still sniffling quietly, but I can feel him relaxing into my hold.

…

The rest of the night is soft in a way I didn’t expect.

I run Archie a warm bath, not getting in with him, just sitting on the edge of the tub so I can wash his hair and gently clean him up. He’s quiet and pliant, eyes half-closed, letting me take care of every sore muscle and tender spot. I dry him off carefully, then help him into his favourite soft pyjamas, the worn navy ones he loves.

After that, I order his favourite takeaway; the big cheesy pepperoni pizza with garlic bread and those spicy wings he always steals from my plate. While we wait, I let him pick the movie. He chooses some old, animated film he used to watch as a kid. I don’t mind; I just want him comfortable.

Now it’s 8:40; Sarah won’t be home until 10. I’m lying on the couch when I pat my chest. “C’mere, baby.”

Archie crawls over without hesitation, settling on top of me, his head resting on my chest and his body draped over mine. I pull the big blanket over both of us and wrap my arms around him, one hand sliding up to run slowly through his hair. He lets out the sweetest little sigh and melts against me completely.

I keep stroking his hair, slow and steady, feeling the warmth of him, the way he fits so perfectly against my body. My other hand rubs gentle circles on his back under the blanket. He’s already getting sleepy, breathing steadily. I’m completely content in this moment.

I’ll wait until he falls asleep, then carry him upstairs and tuck him into bed. We’ve still got plenty of time before Sarah gets home. For now, I just hold my boy close, pressing the occasional kiss to the top of his head, perfectly happy to stay right here with him for as long as he needs.

Chapter Ten

Archie

2 Weeks Later

Coach let us off early today, so I’m home by 2, instead of my usual four. It’s still bright and hot out, the kind of afternoon that makes everything feel lighter. I’ve had a good morning at college; decent lectures, laughed with Jay and Kim, even crushed a practice run.

I pay the cab driver via contactless on my phone, and sling my bag over my shoulder, before pulling my keys from the pocket of my clean sweatpants. I’m humming a stupid little tune that’s been stuck in my head all day as I walk up to the front door. The house should be empty. Colt and Mom should both be at work.

I unlock the door quietly, still humming, and step inside; dropping my bag by the door, I kick off my shoes, and close it softly behind me. Mindlessly, I head toward the living room, already looking forward to collapsing on the couch for a bit.

I walk through the doorway and freeze. My mom is completely naked, riding Colt on the couch. For one horrible second, I see everything… her back arched, his hands on her hips, the way they’re moving together. I don’t need to see that; I really, really don’t.

“Oh my god… shit…” I blurt it out before I can stop myself.

Mom gasps. “Archie!”

I’m already spinning on my heel. “Sorry!”

I bolt back toward the front door, heart slamming in my chest. I hear Mom’s panicked voice behind me, “Oh God, Archie, I’m so sorry!” and Colt’s deeper guilty murmur, “Fuck… Archie!”

I snatch my keys and bag from the floor, yank the door open, and slam it shut behind me. My hands are shaking so badly it takes two tries to lock it. I don’t want them coming after me; not right now.

Then I run; I don’t usually react like this. Normally I would’ve just mumbled an apology and gone straight upstairs or headed to a friend’s house. But this… this hurts differently.

I knew Colt still sleeps with Mom, of course he does; he’s married to her. But over the last two weeks he’s been giving me every second he could… touching me, fucking me, praising me, and holding me. We’ve had sex ten times in fourteen days. And somewhere in all that stolen, intense time, I stupidly let myself forget that he’s still doing this with her. That he’s still hers.

My chest feels like it’s cracking open as I run down the street, bag bouncing against my back, eyes stinging. I knew this… I knew this. But knowing it and seeing it are two completely different things.

…

I run for at least a mile, before my legs finally give out. Then collapse onto a bench in the local park, chest heaving, sweat sticking my shirt to my back.

The park is alive around me: dogs chasing balls, kids screaming with laughter, families having picnics on the grass, an old couple feeding ducks by the lake. Normal life moving on like nothing’s wrong.

I drop my bag between my legs and lean forward, elbows on my knees, trying to catch my breath. The guilt slices through me like a knife. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I’m such an idiot. Who the hell fools around with their stepdad? And Colt… Colt’s just as much of a prick for starting all of this. For making me feel seen, making me feel wanted… for fucking me like I actually mattered; I feel sick.

A few minutes later, when my breathing has mostly steadied, a guy sits down on the other end of the bench. I glance over and give him a polite nod. He smiles at first, then his expression drops as he gets a proper look at my face.