Chapter 9
nine
saúl
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
No matter where I went or what I did, I couldn’t get that tear-streaked face out of my head.
What the fuck.
“What’s up with you, boss?”
Dwight.
I whipped around just as he leaned against the head post of the stable. “Even Swiftheart is keepin’ her distance. Didn’t know that mare of yours understood personal space.”
I scoffed. “Clearly, she does.”
And I didn’t blame her. She had tried to approach me, but my steps had been too rough, too abrupt, and none of her usual scenting had helped, which had made her nervous in return.
I really should step out of here, but after the horses didn’t help, and leather didn’t help either, mostly because I couldn’t bear staying inside the house, but also because I didn’t have the patience to shape the material, I figured I could expend some of the energy with some good old manual labor.
The horse stables had been the closest.
I wiped some hay off my breeches.
“What did you want?”
“Nothin’, boss.” Dwight grabbed another rake as he spoke. “The guys were wonderin’, is all. You’re not the type to lash out at work.”
“I’m not lashing out.”
It was mostly pride that had me replying. Of course I was lashing out. What the fuck was wrong with me, having zero manners like that? Sure, Cam had been extra vulnerable because he’d been wearing—
But I might’ve as well caught him jerking off or doing anything else I hadn’t had consent to witness.
Fuck.
All because I didn’t think straight when it came to him, and one of the ranch hands had opened his mouth and hit a bit close to home, to scars that hadn’t clearly healed after all these years.
“Sure. So is it the new vet?”
“The fuck do you mean?”
Dwight shrugged. “Your dad was around today. Kept talkin’ about how it was about time you got close to someone or somethin’. Figured it wasn’t a secret if he’s talkin’ to us about it.”
I finished cleaning up one of the hay beds, huffing up the hay, before I could even think of a way to answer. “You and I know Da is full of shit. There’s no getting close to no one.”
Definitely not now.
I’d really done it, hadn’t I? Cam had only started opening up.
He’d only started to be more relaxed and not act as if every movement was a fucking threat to his well-being.
And now, even if he decided to stay—because I still was of half a mind he’d wanted me to leave so that he could make a run for the hills—it would be back to square one.
Except now I’d have the confirmation that he was a Little, but one I couldn’t help the way he might want from someone.
Maybe I should hit up the local club. I hadn’t been there in a decade, and I couldn’t imagine they held the best opinion of me, but there were other Littles there, and they tended to team up, didn’t they? They might take him in.
Or maybe I could tone it down and just leave a pamphlet for their website somewhere he could see it. I had to have a few of those around.
It could help if he had someone—a few someones—to go out with on his days off or have playtime with. The Daddies and Mommies and other D-types there were trustworthy. Last time I’d been, anyway. Vetting had been thorough as fuck. It had annoyed the hell out of me when I’d applied to be a member.
For all the good that did me.
I could imagine the nightmare it would be if I tried to reapply.
No, thanks.
But it didn’t mean Cam shouldn’t.
“Why?”
“Huh?”
“Why there’s no gettin’ close to no one?” Was he trying to mimic my voice? I didn’t talk like that. It was beyond the point. “You’re a catch, man. Guys like Cameron are all over guys like you.”
I huffed. “And you know that now?”
“Well, yeah.” Dwight snorted. “Some things in the scene don’t change.”
“When’s the last time you’ve even been part of the scene, as you put it?”
The gay club scene. Dwight always referred to it as such, which had made me give more of a double-take at first. Scene was how I’d always thought of BDSM spaces, but good ol’ bisexual Dwight had a way with words. One came to learn that tidbit about him quickly.
“Christmas, I think? There was a special you would’ve liked. Some twinks trying their luck with a mechanical bull.”
I shook my head. Dwight had decided all on his own that twinks were my one and only type after he tried to proposition me one night and I’d turned him down.
He didn’t make it weird or anything afterward, but from time to time, he liked to rib me with it, and keeping in mind he was the one ranch hand I still stayed closed with, I let him get away with it.
“Sure thing.”
“But seriously, Saúl.”
Dwight took off his hat, revealing the blonde hair he was teased for every now and again.
“Fuck off.”
Taking off his hat meant time for a heart to heart and I was not in the mood to rehash the past or flay myself open.
What I needed to do was get out of my head, drive back to the house, and hope and pray that Cam hadn’t left and that he wasn’t back to being the spooked little thing he’d been when he arrived months ago.
Saddle Up was approaching, too, which meant I’d be gone for two weeks, and that would be time for him to stew some more—or an excuse for him to pack up without a single person to stop him.
And to think I’d been considering asking him to come with me. Sofía used to do it, but she couldn’t this year, and donations always surged when we had a proper vet giving updates on the animals and explaining fancy, doctor shit.
“Later, first you listen.”
“Fine.” If I didn’t have a choice, at least I could make it quick. “Get on with it.”
Dwight glared at me. Another day, I would recoil. Today, I wouldn’t fight back if he decided a well-placed hit was what this day called for.
“You are not to blame for that shit with Roy.” He squared up as he spoke, because apparently, he was not pulling punches.
“No one thinks you are, either. Well, fine, not anymore. The point is, he left, yeah, and he fucked us all up, and people were angry and they didn’t know shit about handlin’ their emotions and needed a punching bag, but they’re distant with you because you are distant.
You drove everyone away, and you’re not letting them in, and it’s fucking sad to see, but now you’re not even lettin’ newcomers in, even though they definitely have nothin’ to do with that mess. ”
I grunted. “I am one hundred percent to blame for Roy.”
It had been my responsibility to see the signs, and I hadn’t.
I hadn’t been able to react, and we almost lost the entire sanctuary and a bunch of the most critical animals because of it—because he had an episode, even though I’d promised everyone it wouldn’t be an issue when word spread out about his diagnosis.
It wasn’t even the diagnosis. I knew that much, just…
everything that was going on around that time.
Roy had felt trapped. Overwhelmed. He didn’t feel like the rest of the workers liked him—and most of them didn’t—and I’d convinced him that they did and gaslighted him into believing it instead of addressing the issue or simply providing comfort.
And shit had gone down.
And everyone had turned on me, because when their discourse had turned ableist, to say the least, I’d lashed out and defended the man who almost ended their livelihood.
All because I was nothing if not loyal to the ones I deemed my friends—and because the kind of shit they’d said made me retch to this day.
“You. Are. Not.” He punctuated each word with a push to my chest. “Roy had shit to work through, and he was an irresponsible piece of shit for draggin’ that here with vulnerable animals and people makin’ a living, and takin’ advantage of that bleedin’ heart of yours, boss.”
“Right.”
Dwight huffed. “So what’s the deal with the vet? Because he looks like he’s ready to eat you up every time you’re not lookin’.”
He definitely didn’t. Did he?
It was hard with Dwight. The man thought that sex or thoughts about sex were the one true way to cheer up people.
Not that it mattered anyway. “Well, we’ll be lucky if he lasts the week.”
“Shit.” At least the attitude was gone from his face—not that I preferred the ghostly pallor. “Why? You fought? He’s not happy with the work? Burnin’ out? I tried to tell him he needed to take it easy, but I think I spooked him, so I’ve been keepin’ my distance.”
He probably had, but I snorted, wishing that was the issue. “It’s complicated.”
“So tell me about it.”
“Afraid I can’t.”
Under no circumstances would I tell Dwight about the diapers, or the age play that came with it, or why I even knew what any of those words meant. That was a Pandora’s Box that would stay closed for as long as I managed to keep it shut.
Indefinitely, if I had my way.
Dwight grunted. “Is this your usual I’m blamin’ myself for everythin’, or somethin’ else?”
“The latter. And stop mimicking my voice. It’s creepy.”
“Whatever.” Dwight huffed. “You’re just mad I’m good at it.”
“You really aren’t.”
He hadn’t changed my mind on shit, either, but maybe that hadn’t been the point. I felt somewhat better, with less pressure threatening to cave in my chest.