Chapter Fourteen
Apollo arranged to leave the base early enough on Friday to pick the girls up from day camp and drop them off at Pat and Marilyn’s house. They lived in a historic Mission-style home not far from either Apollo’s house or the day camp. It had been important to Neal to stay close to his parents, and since his trust fund was the one helping to buy the house, Apollo had conceded instead of pushing for something closer to base. The first few times he’d visited after Neal’s death had been hard—he saw Neal’s ghost everywhere in the house where he’d bounded up the steps to first introduce Apollo to his parents, the place where they had both raced to share the news of the surrogacy, the house filled with memories of Neal growing up.
Even now Apollo had to avert his eyes from the line of pictures on the wall of the entryway. Luckily, the girls were hopping around and swinging their backpacks and making the sort of distraction he needed.
“You sure you want to drive in Friday traffic?” he asked Marilyn as Pat greeted the girls and took their luggage. Pat had on a polo shirt and jaunty white visor. She looked like an aging cruise director, right down to the clipboard she toted in one hand.
“We’ll be fine.” Marilyn made an airy gesture. Unlike Pat’s efficient outfit, she was wearing a long vest over colorful leggings with donuts on them. “I’ve picked out several good spots to stop for dinner depending on how far we get. Healthy places before you ask.”
“Hey, I’m not that bad,” Apollo said even though he totally was.
“Yes, you are.” Marilyn patted his cheek. “And we love you for it, and I promise to text you when we’re at the hotel.”
“I’m not sure they’ll sleep—”
“Apollo.” Marilyn’s voice was stern. “This will be fun. And you should have fun too. What do you have planned for tonight? Maybe head to the brewery for a beer or see if those friends of yours will go out—”
“Not the brewery.” Apollo wasn’t exactly proud of it, but he still avoided Neal’s favorite restaurants. And no way was he in the mood for the Brass Rail or another popular night spot. Truth be told, the only plans he had centered around the leap in his pulse every time he remembered that he got to be alone with Dylan that night. “I’ll come up with something.”
Dylan deserves more than Netflix and chill. The thought wormed its way into his head and refused to let go, even after he said goodbye to Marilyn and Pat and ensured that the girls were buckled up.
He sat in the car for long moments after the girls and their grandmothers departed, trying not to get all emotional about his babies going somewhere far away without him. Get a grip.
A sports car filled with young people zoomed into the driveway of the house next door to Marilyn and Pat. They piled out of the car, laughing and shoving, already well on their way to a toasty Friday night. Was I ever that young?
Man, he missed Dustin. Dustin who remembered who Apollo was before all of this. Dustin who could help him sort out the jumble of emotions... Dustin who would kill you if he knew what you were up to with his brother.
Okay, not Dustin. But someone. Apollo wished there was one person he could talk to without guilt or judgment or...
Dylan. He was that person, or at least could be, like last night when he’d listened to him ramble and reassured him and not made him feel stupid for his worries. And Dylan hadn’t seen much of San Diego since coming into town.
Apollo didn’t feel up to taking Dylan around the same Hillcrest haunts Neal had loved, but filed away at home he had a gift certificate for Il Fornaio. Marilyn had won it at an auction to benefit the Men’s Chorus and stuck it in his stocking at Christmas, but Apollo hadn’t felt up to using it at the time. It was the sort of spot popular with the anniversary dinner and third date crowd, not at all his sort of place. But, Dylan would probably jump at the chance to explore the Coronado waterfront and eat a nice steak and pasta. He wasn’t that different from the kids in the car, the ones now spilling onto the balcony of the neighbor’s house, laughing and looking for a good time. Dylan deserved more than a pizza and some groping.
Before he could overthink it, he grabbed his phone from the console. Surely there wasn’t any harm in seeing if there was a table free at a reasonable hour? It didn’t have to be a date date. It could just be him doing something nice for Dylan. Yeah. That was all this was. But even deciding that didn’t quiet the buzz in his pulse or the quickening in his stomach.