like their owners. Most days we were fine with our lives and the secret we shared with only a select few but some days—birthdays or anniversaries or Valentine’s—were difficult. But we do not always get to have everything we desire in life. We would make do until I retired. Then we would see what the world condition was like and if my country had shifted from hatred to more acceptance. If not, then we would move onward somehow.
The church appeared on my left, a tiny thing with a lovely steeple. Its white clapboards stood out against the desert pinks, purples, and tans that the noonday sun was bringing to life. I parked, dropped my keys into my front pocket, and weaved my way through the mass of cars in the packed parking lot. I slipped into the cool, dark interior, blessed myself right to left as I’d been taught, and then found a spot to sit in as the priest led the congregation in an opening prayer. Throughout the mass I kept to myself, head bowed, mind on my conversation with the Lord. While a few people may have thought they recognized me, for the most part I had time to reflect, thank God for the blessings he had given me, and ask him to possibly look over the Raptors, as we were good men who had worked so hard to right our sinking ship. God did love a reformed sinner, and no team in the league had sinned so badly or had worked so much for redemption as we had.
When the mass was over I left as silently as I had entered, fished out my phone, and turned it back on. A flood of texts came in from the team, my brother, and Tate thanking me for the ass rub before I left but wondering why just the one cheek and not his cock. Blushing as I read his dirty text a mere ten meters from church, I smiled, nonetheless. Such a tease he was. I loved it, just as I loved him.
I hurried home, eager to eat as I’d only had a slice of toast and a cup of coffee before leaving so we could have a traditional Russian Easter meal when I returned. I’d ordered in all manner of delicious foods from a Russian restaurant in Phoenix. It included Pashka, which was a dish made of curd cheese, nuts, raisins, and candied fruit shaped into a truncated pyramid to symbolize the tomb of Christ. We also had Kulich, a leavened consecrated Easter bread, beautifully decorated hardboiled eggs, and of course Makovnik, which was a poppy seed cake. Later we would feast on spring leg of lamb stuffed with garlic and anchovies, potato galette, and horseradish carrot salad. It had all looked wonderful when it had arrived. Tate had given the food a worrisome glance while muttering about a plain old honey ham with scalloped potatoes. Americans. So rigid about their oversized foods. He would have to learn to try Russian dishes if my plans for the summer came to fruition. As I pulled into my driveway, I pondered if I should tell him what my twin and I had discussed a week ago or keep it as a surprise. Perhaps an Easter gift would be nice…
As soon as I stepped into my house, I found my arms filled with Tate Collins. It was an enthusiastic greeting, his mouth finding mine as Frank chased the cat through the condo.
“Mm, this is nice,” I whispered over his kiss-slick lips. “I was only gone for two hours.”
“Two long hours with a cat and a macaw squabbling. It’s like having two kids.”
He took me by the hand and led me to the sofa. “One cannot stuff a kid into a cage and give him a seed stick to chew on when he is being bad, at least to my knowledge.”
He sat and tugged me down beside him. I flopped to the couch with a grunt, wiggling to face him. His hair was damp, his cheeks unshaven, his cocoa eyes infused with warmth as he gazed at me.
“True. When we have our kids we’ll get them a playpen.”
“Is that not much the same thing?” I teased, reaching up to touch his beautiful face. “I love that we talk now of children. How we will accomplish it I cannot say, but hearing you speak of that future with me fills my heart. I feel as if the heavens come to life in my