reassurance he needed. With another deep breath, he nodded. He stood still and admired Ben’s intense focus on even the smallest tasks as he undid the top two buttons of Bull’s shirt. His green eyes seemed to pop in color more than usual, likely from the contrasting dark suit. His hair was styled away from his eyes and held in place with some of that magical goop.
Ben took a step back and cleared his throat. He repeatedly flattened his hands down his sides, finally stopping the nervous movements to sign. “You’re staring again. Do I look okay?”
“You look sexy as hell in that suit.”
The wicked smile on Ben’s face was telling. “So do you. Why do you think I had to take a step back?”
Heat rippled through Bull’s body as Ben’s appraising gaze assessed him from head to toe.
He made a mental note… They should play dress up more often.
Thirty minutes later, they stood on the porch of his childhood home. It was still the same beige color with trimmed hedges along the perimeter and paved path to the house. The same big tree in the front lawn and the same concrete half-moon mailbox painted to match the house colors.
Still a beautiful house, but it no longer felt like home.
The mix of flowers that added a touch of color to each window and framed the base of the hedges were missing. Bull’s gaze swept the plain white door. It was odd seeing so much space without a bow or wreath to mark whatever pending holiday approached. The color, the brightness, the…life. That was what his mother had always brought to things. A little chaos and spice to counteract the rigidness and order of his father.
That was the missing ingredient that now made this shell of a house so foreign.
Bull took a centering breath. He hadn’t been this nervous in a while. He glanced over at Ben. Before he had a chance to do anything, the door swung open.
“You’re here!” Natalie yelled and immediately wrapped her arms around them. “Thank you for coming,” she whispered in Bull’s ear.
They stepped inside, the smell of dinner wafting in the air. Knowing Nat, she had made lasagna—the one food she knew was equally loved by both Bull and their father. Ben would eat the lasagna and praise it, but unless it was tucked in between a burger bun with a side of fries, it likely wouldn’t make his list of favorites.
He was there in a show of support, standing at Bull’s side. Vigilant and hyperaware while appearing strong and confident. Tonight, it felt as if their roles had been reversed, and Ben was his guardian.
“Gabe?”
He swallowed heavily at the familiar deep voice. He could take down a half dozen men with nothing more than his bare hands, but one word from his father had him bumbling for something to say.
A gentle press of a hand on his back soothed his nerves.
“Happy Father’s Day, Dad.” He extended his hand.
Even though his father was in his mid-sixties, Francis del Toro stood tall and proud. His hair had more gray than Bull remembered, and his muscles no longer had the definition they once had, but he held his six-foot-two stature with the same military confidence Bull remembered growing up.
And the firmness of his handshake was still as powerful.
“And who is this?”
“Dad, this is Ben.” He turned to face Ben. “This is my dad, Frank.”
Ben’s smile widened as he extended his hand. Frank warily shook his hand, his gaze absently sliding over to Bull before returning to Ben.
“Ben,” he said. Their hands remained clasped in the longest handshake known to man. “And you are?” his father asked as he kept his fierce dark gaze on him.
Bull couldn’t cave and respond for Ben. It would be a weakness in his father’s eyes and the equivalent of waving a red flag in front of the King of Bulls, challenging him to charge at what he perceived to be a vulnerable target.
“Let go of him and he’ll respond.”
Ben clenched and opened his hand the moment Frank released him. “I’m his boyfriend.”
Bull’s chest swelled when the words were signed. He delivered a glare of warning to his father. If his father wanted to be an ass to his own son, fine. But Ben was off limits.
His father pursed his lips. “He’s deaf.” Only his father could make those two words sound like an accusation.
Ben nodded as he signed, “I can also read lips.”
Point for Ben. It was the nicest way Ben could