Knock On Wood (BoyxBoy)

chapter fifteen. kevin.

When I open my eyes, the first think I see is a stop light. Double D was off the bike, shaking me.

"Kevin?" he asks worriedly.

"How long have we been sitting here?"

"Only about five minutes," he says, his voice calming down.

I look behind me and see a woman with tan skin and long black hair in a black SUV, violently honking her horn and screaming curses in another language out of her window.

"Damn," I say. "Sorry, Double D. I zoned out."

"Well, I don't think this woman will handle us staying any longer than we already have," he warns jokingly. "Shall we proceed home?"

"Yes, we shall," I mock.

He rolls his eyes jokingly and jumps behind me again. I start the bike and drive home.

The front door of my house was open when we got there. I wasn't sure how, because I knew that I made sure to lock it.

"Stay behind me," I tell Double D as I carefully open the door. "Hello?"

"Who the fuck is at my door?" a deep voice asks from the kitchen.

My breathing hitches and I stand up straight, walking into the living room and forgetting about the boy standing at my door.

"Dad?" I ask.

"Kevin," he says.

Heavy feet echo into the living room and I turn on the light. My father is a large man; tall and muscular with his black hair trimmed into a buzz cut. He was wearing a wife beater and light-colored jeans as well as his dark-brown steel toe boots.

"Dad," I whisper.

"What? What is it?" His deep voice demands, sounding as if my voice ha annoyed him.

"I... I didn't think you'd be home tonight," I say quietly.

"Oh, really?" he asks. "And why's that?"

"Well," I gulp. "You've been gone for so many weeks."

"The job got tough," he says, taking a swig of his beer. "Had to stay a while."

"Yeah..."

"Who's that?" he asks, pointing his bottle at Double D.

"N-Nobody," I say. "Just a friend."

"Really?" he asks. "Only a friend?"

"Y-Yeah, Dad," I lie. "What else would he be?"

"Oh, I don't know," he says, plopping down on his dark red leather recliner. "I just thought he was more than that to you."

He takes another swig and continues. "Because he was riding bitch on the back of my bike when you came in."

My heart leaps into my throat. "You saw?"

He scoffs. "Well, sure, I didn't know it was you two because of your tinted helmets, but I'm not blind. When you came in, I was right here watching you."

"Well," I gulp. "So what if he was riding behind me?"

"Straight men don't share a bike, dumbass," he says loudly, taking another quick drink of his beer. "They use their own or take a car."

"W-Well, he doesn't have a car," I retort.

"Are you talking back?" He asks angrily.

He gets up, puts his drink on the coffee table in the center of the room, and walks toward me.