“Dom, huh?” Wayne shook Dom’s hand, surveying him. “That’s a name.”
Dom almost felt embarrassed—mainly because he really liked dominating Wayne’s son in bed. The nickname fit almost too well. “My friends call me that. Short for Dominic McCoy.”
“Well, it’s good to meet you, Mr. McCoy,” Wayne said. “And Jesse—you’re a firefighter now!” He puffed up his chest. “That’s great news.”
Sinclair smiled, looking like a little boy who had received the best present ever.
Opal beamed when Dom kissed the back of her hand. “Oh, you didn’t have to,” she said, but she was pleased anyway.
“Jesse told me about you.” Dom gave her a smile. “He said you’re the best mom in the world. And that you invented the flower crown.”
Opal seemed delighted. Dom turned, meeting Sinclair’s eyes. Just to check if he shouldn’t have introduced them as coworkers. But Sinclair seemed comfortable with that, so Dom was content to stand back, and let Sinclair continue with his reunion.
“How did you get this scar?” Opal murmured, touching the large, silvery 301 on Sinclair’s shoulder. “Did they... cut your skin off?”
Sinclair scowled. “That was from the forge. They had a row of iron numbers in the coals, just waiting for the new prisoners. I have one on my hip, too. Every test subject got them. Some of the guys with faded marks were brought back to the forge so they could be re-stamped again.”
The sheer cruelty turned Dom’s stomach. “Red-hot iron?”
“Yeah.” Sinclair looked away. “And I’d thought that was bad. That was the easiest part of it.”
Dom really, really wanted to punch someone in the face. Sinclair had been fourteen. Dom didn’t know how he would’ve dealt with it, himself, at that kind of age. It would’ve fucked with his mind so bad. Hoping to escape, or be rescued. Only to have that hope dashed, over and over.
And Sinclair just looked so hopeful, so pleased, whenever Dom kissed him.
Dom regretted being such a jerk to him in their earlier years. If he’d just asked Nate what Sinclair had been through, if he’d just been a little kinder—he would’ve made Sinclair’s life so much easier.
“Sinclair,” he blurted, not realizing that Sinclair was in the middle of a conversation with his parents.
Sinclair looked up. And so did Opal and Wayne. Because they were all Sinclairs.
“Ah, sorry.” Dom’s face heated. “I meant Jesse.”
A small, delighted smile curved Sinclair’s lips. He looked like he wanted to step over to Dom, except he hesitated. Sinclair turned back to his parents. “Is my... Is my old room still there?”
Opal smiled wryly. “It’s always been there, hon. Just the way you left it. But I did go in to clear out your empty bowls. And your dirty laundry.”
Sinclair flushed, glancing at Dom. “I was fourteen, Mom!”
He needed a kiss or five, whenever he was flustered like that.
Opal grinned. “You’re not living in a sty anymore?”
“No! I’m going to look at my room,” Sinclair muttered. “Be out soon.” He was about to turn away, when he frowned. “I love you, Mom and Dad, but don’t tell any more embarrassing stories about me, okay? Not in front of Dom.”
Sinclair stalked over, grabbing Dom’s arm. “You’re coming with me.”
Dom had just enough time to nod at Sinclair’s parents, before Sinclair dragged him down a hallway, opening a door with a computer game sign hanging on it. In pixelated, hand-drawn letters, it read, Jesse’s Room.
Inside, the room was dusted, smelling faintly like lemon. Video games filled one shelf, and an outdated computer sat on a small desk. His bed was tiny. So was the one T-shirt hanging from the closet door.
“You were a small kid,” Dom murmured.
Sinclair rounded on him, scrutinizing Dom’s face. “What were you gonna say to me?”
He looked so curious, so eager. Dom kissed him, tasting his lips, sliding into his mouth, groaning when Sinclair opened for him. Sinclair sighed, slipping his fingers into Dom’s hair.
“Just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Dom murmured against his lips. “For being a jerk when we first met.”
Sinclair blinked. Then he smiled crookedly, biting hard on Dom’s lip. He broke skin—with it came a jolt of pain—but Dom didn’t mind. “Yeah, you were a damn asshole,” Sinclair growled. “And I wanted to punch you and fuck you and make you eat your words.”
“You’ve done all three,” Dom said, grinning.
Sinclair grinned back. “Now I have.”
Dom kissed him again. Then he paused, remembering the awkwardness from a few minutes ago. “Would you rather I call you by your name? Instead of Sinclair.”
Surprise flickered through Sinclair’s face. But he shook his head.
“Why?”
Sinclair’s cheeks turned pink. “When you call me Sinclair... You aren’t saying something for someone else to hear. You’re talking to me alone. It’s like... you’re only paying attention to me.”
Like I’m special, Sinclair didn’t say, but Dom heard it.
Dom smiled, hauling him close. He sucked on Sinclair’s earlobe and growled, “Sinclair.” His alpha shivered, drawing a quick breath.
Oh, Dom was going to have fun with that tonight.
He kissed down Sinclair’s neck, then asked, “Was there something else you wanted to do in here? Aside from letting me kiss you?”
Sinclair laughed, pushing him off. “I wanted to show you my favorite stuff! Like—Like all my games. And my toys. This was my favorite truck. And here’s Mr. Teddles, he’s a duck. But he’s not an ordinary duck, you know. He was an undercover police officer patrolling my closet.”
He pulled out various toys, shoving them into Dom’s arms. Dom sat on Sinclair’s bed, just watching as cheerful enthusiasm took over him. More toys filled his lap—stuffed animals and plastic vehicles and old action figures—to the point where he was surrounded by Sinclair’s favorite things.
Never in a million years, would Dom have expected to be here. Being nostalgic with this man.
Sinclair turned, suddenly. And he stared at Dom with a warm, soft look in his eyes. Then he pulled his phone out, holding it carefully in front of Dom.
“What’re you doing?” Dom stared suspiciously at him.
“Taking a picture. I’m showing the rest.” Sinclair tapped on his screen.
He
