Chapter 31
Thirty-One
Closer to Free
Spence
It’s shocking how much butter goes into French scrambled eggs.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat regular scrambled eggs again.
After Betti and Bette paraded me through their favorite haunts in the village—tiny bookstores and boutiques, a bakery that smelled like heaven, the pottery studio where Betti asked me to recreate that scene from Ghost—Ryan took me by the elbow and steered me into the bustling community kitchen.
He introduced me to everyone by name, all these cheerful people in aprons, and then handed me his knife roll like it was a sacred object.
We made lunch for the residents together: quiches in every variety, a vat of tomato-basil soup, and Betty’s scrambled eggs.
Ryan told me they were a requirement, that he’d won her over with them years ago.
I tried not to ruin anything as I chopped and stirred, let him talk about how this place had become a second home over the years.
He’d never mentioned any of it before, not to me, and when I suggested he film something for his cooking series he shut it down fast.
“No,” he said, eyes sharp. “No one knows about this, Spence. You’re the only person I’ve brought here.
It’s just mine. But you’re welcome any time.
I like the idea of sharing this with you.
” I just stared at him, dumbstruck. He kept going like it was no big deal.
“Besides, I don’t want to put them on display.
They’re not props and I don’t do this for recognition. ”
Now, driving home, my mind is still spinning. Ryan Buterbaugh. The guy I took one look at and wrote off as a meathead, a walking jock stereotype is nothing like I thought, and it unsettles something deep in me.
“Whatcha thinking about?” Ryan’s voice snaps me out of my spiral.
I laugh softly. “Just thinking how sweet it is that you take time out of your busy schedule to aim that sunshine of yours their way for a few hours.”
He shifts, angling toward me in the passenger seat. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. “And that maybe I was unfair about you. Just because you’re a jock.”
I don’t have to look to know he’s grinning like a fool. Slowly, his hand creeps onto my thigh. “I bet it makes you want to kiss me, doesn’t it?” He starts rubbing slow circles and my grip on the wheel tightens until my knuckles ache.
“Ryan, we’ve been over this.”
He grins wider, fingers still moving. “Yeah, and I mean, I can’t say I understood it completely, but I respect it. And our little arrangement worked for me, too. I get good dick on the regular without having to risk being outed.”
I can’t respond, the only thing I can focus on is the word worked. Past tense.
Ryan’s voice softens. “It’s just something shifted after my injury. You care, at least a little, or you wouldn’t be doing all this.”
I let out a long breath. “You’re right.”
His hand freezes. “Wait, I am?”
I laugh, shaky. “I have serious trust issues, Ryan. That’s not on you. Travis really fucked me up, but honestly, there was more before him. It was a hard period of time in my life. He was the last straw.”
Ryan’s voice goes low and rough. “I still want to find that motherfucker.”
I shake my head. “That’s sweet. But even before Travis, kissing always meant more to me than sex. Maybe I’m messed up, but that’s just how I’m wired. After Travis, I promised myself I wouldn’t kiss another man until I knew, without a doubt, he was the one.”
Ryan hums, and it sounds a little dejected.
“And” I continue, “I can’t get to ‘without a doubt’ with someone who isn’t fully out. If I let myself fall for you, then saw you on TMZ with some blonde actress, it would destroy me, Ryan. So, no, kissing is off the table.”
Ryan’s hand falls away and panic prickles up my spine. I can’t believe I just spilled all of that. He says nothing, and I’m about to apologize or maybe just jump out of the moving car when I hear an outgoing ring tone. I look over and Ryan has his phone on speaker.
“Hey Butters, what’s up?” Anthony’s voice fills the car.
“Not much. Hey, I’ve made a decision. I want completely out of my contract. I’m going to retire and cite the injury. But Anthony?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not going to focus on recovery just so I can play football. My leg will never be the same, we all know it, and I’m out for the season anyway. I don’t want to entertain any wait and see scenarios. Just get me the best exit you can. I know it may cost me, but I’m done.”
Anthony sighs. “I’m sorry, Butters. I’m behind you one hundred percent. If you’re sure, I’ll take care of everything.”
Ryan’s eyes flick to me. “Oh, I’m sure.” He keeps staring. “Oh, and Anthony?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to need you to set up a few interviews sometime in the future. There’s something I need to share when the time’s right.”
“Consider it done.”
“Thanks,” Ryan says, and hangs up.
I swallow, unsure if any of that just happened or if it was some kind of fever dream. There’s no way—
He taps the dash. “Pull over.”
“Ryan, what?”
“Pull. Over.”
I panic. Looking for a way out of this conversation, I look down at my shirt, then say, “No, it’s a cardigan.”
Nothing. Not a peep.
I look over quickly and he’s actually glaring at me.
Shit.
“Seriously, Spence?” He throws his hands in the air. “You finally meet me at my level with a cheesy pun, and you choose this moment?”
I wince. “Sorry?”
“And it’s from my second favorite movie of all time? You should be ashamed of yourself,” he pouts, but his tone is lighter now. I can tell he’s trying not laugh, and I suddenly understand why quick-witted jocks get away with so much.
“I’m sorry! I panicked, okay!” I shout-laugh nervously.
“Just pull the car over, Spence.”
I spot a gas station and swing the car in, parking by the ice chest. He takes his seatbelt off and turns to me, eyes earnest. “Spence, look at me.”
I do. Hesitantly.
“I don’t want you to feel pressured by what I just did. But I’m laying all my cards out. I’ve wanted out of football for a while. Between the injury and you, I have the motivation.”
I can feel my eyes widen.
Ryan puts up a hand. “And by you, I mean I think there’s something here, Spencer Stark.
I’m not saying you’re the whole reason, but you’re worth someone giving everything up for.
I’d like the chance to get to that point with you.
I don’t expect you to shove your tongue down my throat after today. ” He grins.
I laugh, a weak, wild sound.
“I’m patient Spence,” he says, “and I respect what kissing means to you. I’m just asking you to consider that maybe, just maybe, I might be your ‘without a doubt’ man.”
My mouth drops open, but before I can respond, my phone starts going off in the console between us. I glance down and catch Ryan looking at it too. Tyler's name flashes across the screen. I pick it up and see a series of texts in rapid succession:
Tyler:
SOS
HELP
Really hot cop came into the center today to volunteer.
I think he was flirting with me. What do I do?
Oh shit. Is that off limits because I work here now?
Spennnnce hellllllp!
I chuckle, shaking my head. Tyler. God, I'm proud of that kid. It's been almost three years since I first met him, that scrawny seventeen-year-old with nothing but a backpack full of trauma.
I look over and freeze. Ryan is staring straight ahead through the windshield, arms folded tight across his chest, jaw set in a hard line.
“What's the matter with you?”
“Nothing.” He humphs.
“Out with it, Ryan.”
He turns his head, gaze fixed out the passenger window, avoiding me completely. His voice comes out soft, almost wounded. “You should just drop me off and go kiss Tyler.”
I jolt. “What—”
Oh shit. I haven't mentioned Tyler to him. Not once. But to be fair, Ryan and I were just gym-and-fuck buddies until his injury made me realize he was more than that.
I'm protective of Tyler. It's not like I would have casually introduced them. Still, it’s been several weeks since my realization. I’ve met Tyler for dinner a couple times in those weeks, and I didn’t even think to take Ryan. God, I can be a real shit sometimes.
Way to go, Stark.
Ryan whips back toward me, eyes blazing. “What, you have nothing to say? I thought we agreed we weren't going to fuck other people while we were doing,” he waves his hand between us, “whatever this is.”
“Ry—”
“No.” He cuts me off, leaning forward. “I've seen this Tyler person blow up your phone several times since I've been staying with you. I haven't said anything because I didn't think it was my place to, but fuck that. You're going to be my man, Perfect, and no one is getting in my way.”
My jaw hangs open. I have to bite back the smile threatening to take over my face.
“Oh my God,” I finally manage. “You're jealous. Again.”
“Fucking right. Again.”
I sigh, pick up my phone, and type out a quick message to Tyler: Meet me at the diner in thirty minutes.
When I look up, Ryan is staring at me, eyes narrowed. “Making arrangements to go meet your hussy?”
I laugh under my breath. “Stop talking, Ryan, and put your seatbelt back on. We're making a pit stop before going home.”
Twenty minutes later, we're walking, well, I'm walking, Ryan's hobbling on crutches, into Tom's Diner.
A few heads turn, recognizing him. I watch him slip on that public persona, the charming football star, and I hate it for him.
I'm sure no one gives a second thought to him being here with me.
Everything about me screams agent or attorney, and that's likely people's assumption.
Still, it has to be exhausting for him, always considering if something as simple as having dinner with a guy would fling open the closet doors.
Flo sees us as she crosses the room, coffee pot in hand, and nods toward my regular booth.
I lead Ryan over and help him slide in, propping his crutches behind us.
Then I slide in next to him. He looks at me, clearly questioning why I'm not sitting across from him.
Flo comes over with menus, drops one in front of each of us and one in the empty spot across.
Ryan eyes it, looking between me and Flo.
“Good to see you, Ryan,” Flo says. “I don't think I've ever seen you here for dinner.”
“No ma'am. I've only been for breakfast with Anthony and Chance.”
He’s always so damn polite. It’s irritatingly sexy.
“I love those boys,” Flo responds. She fills my cup without asking, then nods to Ryan's. “Coffee?”
“Yeah, thanks.” He slides his cup over.
She's filling it when the front door jingles.
Tyler walks in, short black hair messy but stylish, wearing a V-neck so deep it almost shows his belly button, tattoos scattered across his torso visible through the cut in the fabric.
Leather bands on both wrists, black jeans, black construction boots, and a silky scarf wound through his belt loops.
Tyler has such a great eye. He really did find his calling.
He arrives at the table, pretends to check a watch on his wrist. “Dinner at four o'clock? Were you hoping they have an early bird special, old man?”
Flo laughs and smacks his arm. “I have bras older than Spencer, you little shit.”
Tyler gives her a bright smile.
“Now get your cute little ass in the booth and be nice. I'll be back to get your order.”
Flo walks off and Tyler plops down, then his eyes widen. “Holy shit! You're Ryan Buterbaugh.”
I sigh. “Ryan, meet Tyler.”
I look over. Ryan's eyes are ping-ponging between Tyler and me. Tyler looks confused too. I take a drink of my coffee, set the cup down. “Tyler is kind of a surrogate little brother.”
Tyler clucks his tongue. “Don't undersell it, old man.” He looks at Ryan. “He saved my ass from getting beaten to a pulp a few years ago. Then he basically saved me from a life on the streets. I'd probably be drugged-up and bouncing between seedy motels with strange men if it wasn't for Spencer.”
Ryan's eyes are still bouncing between us. Then he snaps his fingers and says, “Wait. I've seen you at the youth center a couple times when I've popped in to see Anthony.”
Tyler smiles. “Yep. I work there now.”
“Well, shit,” Ryan beams. “Good to meet you, little man.”
Tyler scoffs. “Psh. Nothing little about me.”
Ryan's looks at me. “Are you sure you're not actually related?”
I chuckle. “I'm sure. But, yeah, um, this is Tyler.”
I watch Ryan's eyes shift from understanding to guilt, and honestly, that's not why I brought him here. Ryan swallows. “So, when he texts you, he needs you.” He looks down into his coffee, voice soft. “I'm sorry.”
Tyler's eyes bounce between us. “Wait. What's going on here?” I try to kick his shin under the table but miss. “Did you think I was one of Spencer's tricks?” He continues, “Because, ew.”
I cough. “Tyler—”
His eyes widen. “Oh shit, are you two banging?”
I immediately say, “No,” to protect Ryan's privacy, but a split second later, Ryan says, “Yes, we are.”
I snap my head over to look at him. He shrugs, then says to Tyler, “I haven't come out publicly yet, so I’d appreciate it if you’d keep it under your hat for a bit, but I'm taking steps to come out.”
Tyler falls back against the booth. “Wow. And you're doing this for Spencer?”
I swallow, and watch Ryan nod. “Partly. It's more for me to live as my authentic self. So I can deserve someone as incredible as Spencer.”
My heart bangs against my chest.
“Yeah, he is pretty great,” Tyler adds.
I just sit there, unable to form words. I don't know what I was expecting, having them meet, but I sure wasn't expecting them to team up to wreck me.
Ryan bumps his shoulder against mine. “Hey, let's order some food. I'm starved.”
I just nod.
Ryan, louder than necessary, says, “Excuse me, Flo.”