The Dad Code

By Imogen Markwell-Tweed

In the world of Kennedy, Illinois, non-competitive soapbox derbies, Gideon Chase’s son, Matthew, is a legend. He’s won two years in a row and, not for nothing, Gideon’s sure he’ll win this year, too. That is, until the Perrys move to Kennedy.
Matthew and Andy Perry hate each other… so, because they’re good dads, Gideon and Riley Perry hate each other too. Matthew’s already lost his mother; Gideon’s not about to let him experience the disappointment of breaking his winning streak. He’ll throw hands with anyone’s dad, even if he does try and tell Matty to be nice.
But Riley’s divorce is fresh, and he’s not about to let his son lose the tournament and the household he grew up in all in one summer. He might not be a competitive person, but Andy is — so he’ll learn. Even if he does think Gideon Chase is sort of fascinating and handsome… in a villainous, enemies-first-and-last sort of way.
But when a misunderstanding places the two of them in the middle of a relationship that is as fake as it is plausible, Gideon and Riley realize there might just be more to each other than they first thought.
This enemies-to-lovers queer romance follows two single dads trying their best in the hottest summer of their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Shorts
• Release date: Oct 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781094413709

Imogen Markwell-Tweed

Imogen Markwell-Tweed is a queer romance writer and editor based in St. Louis. When she's not writing or hanging out with her dog, IMT can be found putting her media degrees to use by binge-watching trashy television. All of her stories promise queer protagonists, healthy relationships, and happily ever afters. @unrealimogen on Twitter and Instagram.

Book preview

Chapter One: Gideon

Gideon Chase looks at the mess in front of him and contemplates, not for the first time, the possibility that he’s a terrible father.

His ten-year-old, Matty, stares up at him with the perfect mix of sheepishness and innocence. He’s a great actor, the little squirt, and Gideon thinks if the kid had taken up acting lessons instead of derby racing, they wouldn’t even be in this mess.

Matthew? Gideon draws out the two syllables until it feels like at least four. Matty winces but quickly plasters on that same fake expression. Gideon has to be careful not to smile. Would you care to weave me a tale about how this happened?

He doesn’t bother asking for the truth. It’s obvious, anyway, and Matty will never give this up easily.

Well, Dad, see…, Matty launches into a story. It’s pretty amusing. The masked bandits feel like a bit of a stretch but, hey, he’s the one who introduced Matty to action movies. It’s more his fault than it is the kid’s. Gideon ends up perched on the wooden work bench, head cradled in his hands, as he listens. Acting school, writing class, literally anything but derby racing would be good for the kid. And, Gideon will admit, good for him.

Gideon hates derby racing. He doesn’t get the appeal. He doesn’t get the same enthusiasm the other dads seem to get, watching their kids pile into these tiny little death traps, and he doesn’t like pitting his kid against other kids. But, hey. Gideon used to play baseball. He hated it, sure, but….

Well, fine. He doesn’t have a good analogy from his own childhood, because he’s always hated competition. But Matty loves it and he loves Matty, which is why their garage is basically a building workshop for half the year and why coming outside to discover the soapbox car they’ve been building for two months is now in pieces is quite so upsetting for him.

"—and, Dad, look, you’re not gonna believe it, but then they started shouting in Russian and dismantling the car all by—"

Dismantling? How did you learn that word? Gideon furrows his brow.

Matty rolls his eyes. I’m ten. We do spelling tests.

Gideon waves him off like that’s irrelevant. Big word.

Matty points to his chest. Big kid.

Aw, man. Gideon’s heart clenches. His kid… is just… so cute. He looks around the messy garage and the broken car. So… hypothetically… what do you think these — sorry, what did you call them?

Russian Masked Bandits on a routine anti-derby sweep, Matty supplies.

Gideon snaps his fingers. Right. So what do you think these Russian Masked Bandits on a routine anti-derby sweep took offense with? Specifically?

Matty toes the ground with his shoe and shrugs. He looks down and the mop of red hair is so much like his mom’s that for a minute, Gideon can’t breathe.

It’s okay, kid, Gideon says. He sighs and Matty’s head snaps up, eyebrows raised. We’ll just… rebuild it.

Matty brightens. "There’s this thing with the wheels, if we make them bigger, we can definitely go like a million miles faster!"

Gideon picks up a loose piece of wood. He thinks it might once have been the siding. I don’t know that I want you to be able to go a million miles at all, Gideon answers honestly.

Matty rolls his eyes. In that moment, the next two years flash before Gideon’s eyes and he imagines his son as a teenager, petulant and convinced he’s better than him. It makes him ache for Sarah so badly that he can’t breathe. Then Matty glances back up at him, chattering away about the derby race, and the moment is gone.

Losing Sarah a decade ago was the hardest thing Gideon’s ever been through. Even raising Matty by himself wasn’t as hard as that. Though he’s long since had time to grieve and mourn her properly, sometimes thinking of her and all that she would love about this spitfire kid makes him lose his breath.

We should get going, Matty interrupts himself. He starts haphazardly packing a backpack. Gideon stands over him and plucks out things like screwdrivers and blocks of wood, ignoring his son’s protests.

"You’re not taking a weapon to the picnic." He uses his toughest voice.

As it has since Matty turned two, it doesn’t work. "I want — he snatches the screwdriver back — to show Ryan and the guys how I can take apart a bike."

Yep, don’t care. Gideon places the tools back on the highest shelf and gives Matty a firm look. This time he folds under it and gruffly throws his weaponless pack on his back.

Fine, Matty huffs out. But I want three scoops of ice cream, then!

Gideon holds out a hand. Deal.

Matty grins and shakes his hand. Gideon bites back a laugh. Sucker. He would’ve done four scoops just to get them out of there.

He loads Matty into the back of the car, ignoring his protests that he’s old enough to sit in the front now, and lets him choose the music to alleviate that hardship. The fifteen-minute drive to the park where Camp Kennedy is held has never felt longer. Matty sings loudly and Gideon winces the entire ride.

Good pipes, he lies when they pull into the parking lot. Already, the park’s full. Matty’s grumbling to himself about how they’re super late and no amount of telling him the actual time — twenty minutes early, thanks, Matt — is helping. Gideon resigns himself to being at fault for this supposed sub-par arrival time and just grabs the kid’s backpack silently.

Sometimes he thinks being a dad is 90 percent nodding while fervently disagreeing with everything that leaves his child’s mouth. The other 10 percent, though, definitely makes that worth it.

He wonders if he should switch careers to therapist. He’s got that nodding-while-disapproving thing down.

Kennedy has really gone all out this year. As the bright summer sun beams down on them, Gideon leads Matty through the weaving groups of people with a hand on his shoulder. There’s more than one bouncy house this year, for God’s sake.

This camp is a staple of Kennedy, Illinois. Every year, all the kids between ages eight and thirteen in the town and surrounding areas gather together for a three-week-long day camp. They learn about camping and plants and fishing. They get to play all sorts of sports and learn all sorts of crafts, though Matty always refuses to take those seriously despite Gideon’s best efforts at getting his kid a well-rounded extracurricular load. It starts and ends with a big, all-family picnic. On the last day there are even competitions. The biggest one, of course, being the soapbox derby. This is Matty’s third year at camp and, not for nothing, he’s already got trophies from the first two years.

Gideon cares intensely because Matty, a few years ago, demanded he did. He figures if his tiny little eight-year-old looks him in the eye and begs him to be passionate about something, he can be passionate about something. God. Matty was cute.

The kid in question wheels around and looks at him with wide eyes. "Dad, can we please, please, please sign up for the three-legged race this time?"

Gideon frowns. Less cute now. I would rather be boiled.

Matty frowns. It’s cute. It’s weaning his resolve. He dips his head, crossing his arms, and, despite feeling himself breaking, Gideon is powerless to do anything but sigh heavily and agree.

"Fine, but if I break my leg, you’re mowing the lawn for the rest of the summer."

Aye aye, Captain! Matty gives him a little salute before breaking off into a dead sprint toward the sign-up table. Gideon barely has enough time to yell, Be careful! before Matty’s lost in the sea of people.

Well, all right then. Gideon throws his hands up and looks around for the refreshment table. He should put that kid on a leash. But, much like when Gideon was ten and walking his neighbor’s Great Dane, he’s sure Matty would just yank him around.

Gideon tries one last time to spot his kid in the crowd and then walks over to the drinks. It’s blistering hot outside, so humid he can feel the sweat dripping down the concaves of his face, and he lets himself imagine ten years from now, when Gideon won’t need to be outside during summer-camp picnics at all because Matty will be too old.

The bucket of lemonade is almost empty. There’s only one pink lemonade left and then there’s just diet lemonades for days. No one likes diet lemonade. Gideon reaches out to grab the last pink bottle.

Someone else’s hand beats him there.

Gideon watches as, like in a slow-motion horror film, a stranger’s hand curls around the lemonade bottle and wrenches it from the ice. Cool water splashes on Gideon, he’s so close. His fingers close, clenching together, having failed to reach the bottle in time.

My pink lemonade, he whispers.

He lets his eyes fall shut. Disappointment curls around his lungs. He was really looking forward to that lemonade.

Uh… you okay there?

Gideon’s eyes snap up to glare at the traitor. There’s a code in this hell they call the annual picnic, and grabbing another man’s lemonade is in clear violation. He’s got

Reviews for The Dad Code

[Kelsey Laurent · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The absolute best! Loved this story and loved the added nuance of our two main characters being dads!

[L'eau · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Sweet story. Needs another edit, especially since the names get mixed up in the end.

[Colin O'Brien · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

It’s the mother fricken soap boys! So fun and so original!