Chapter 14
14
Whit Bowman
I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited for it to be Monday as I was this morning when I woke up.
It’s been two days since Conrad’s nana arrived. Two nights of tossing and turning all night. Two mornings of waking up and finding the spot beside me already empty but still warm. Two mornings of lacking any trace of self-control as I roll over and bury my face in his pillow, inhaling the scent of my ex-husband as I ignore the way my dick is harder than it’s been in way too long. The scent that somehow, still to this day, sends a wave of warmth and ease through my body. It’s as infuriating as it is comforting.
Getting ready for work in Conrad’s bathroom brings back so many memories I’d rather not think about, but it’s impossible not to. All the times we’d brush our teeth side by side at night before bed. All the times we’d shower together. How we’d diligently and affectionately wash each other. Our hair, our bodies. The gentle touches. The way he’d hold me as the hot water ran down my back. He’d whisper into my ear as his arms wrapped around me. Under the stream, he’d tell me how much he loved me. How proud he was of me. How he couldn’t imagine his life without me.
Our daily showers together were one of my favorite parts of the day. It was our time.
It’s only been two days, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep this up.
I’m exhausted. It’s barely ten in the morning, and I’m already on my second cup of coffee. Thankfully, I have a full day of appointments ahead of me, so I’m able to submerge myself in work for the next several hours, letting myself forget about the stress that waits for me once I’m off.
By the time I finish up with my last patient of the day, I feel good. Well, better than I was this morning.
Working has always been a happy place for me. I think it helps that I truly love what I do and couldn’t imagine doing anything else day in and day out. Although, as soon as I make it to my truck and get it started, the dread returns with a vengeance, but it’s not because of Conrad and the ranch and the lie that awaits me.
It’s because I’m going to see my dad tonight.
Guilt fills me as I exit the parking lot in the direction of my father’s house. It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve been to see him, and that makes me feel like a crappy son, especially since we live so close by. My relationship with my dad has been strained ever since I was a teenager. Ever since I came out. But it has only gotten worse since my mother died. It was like she was the glue that kept our family together, which is ironic to even think, since she couldn’t keep anything together when she was alive.
I know I should try harder, especially since his health isn’t great, but the idea of that makes my stomach sour. I love my dad, of course I do, and he’s come a long way in accepting who I am, but…I don’t know. It’s like I’ll never be able to forget the look of disgust on his face when I told him I was gay.
I’ll never be able to forget the dismissive way he threw me out of the house. It was harsh. And rash. No matter how many times he apologized for it after, or the way he said he didn’t mean it. That he was just shocked and needed time to process.
I’ll never forget how it felt.
Some days, like today, when I realize I’ve avoided going to see him for weeks, I wonder if I’ve even truly forgiven him. How does someone just get over something like that? You’re supposed to be there for your kids. You’re supposed to be their comfort, their safe space. You’re supposed to love them unconditionally. It was dark and gutting as a confused teenager to realize my home, my family, wasn’t my safe space. Not only that, but I felt horribly judged just for being who I am.
My dad and I have worked on our relationship a lot over the years. We did therapy together, we talked a hell of a lot, and it’s nothing like it was back then, but it’s also nothing like I thought my relationship would be like with him when I was younger. As a kid, you assume you’ll be close with your parents even when you’re an adult. Or at least I did. It’s jarring that the ‘family’ I’m closest to, the ‘family’ I feel the safest with, isn’t that of blood relation at all.
The people who feel the most like family to me are the friends who have proven that they’ll be there for me, no matter what. The friends who have shown up when I needed them the most, with no questions asked. And for many years, it was also Conrad. Conrad was my safe space, my sounding board, my absolute comfort for so many years, and sometimes I find myself missing that. I miss him, even though I shouldn’t. Even though it’s pointless.
And his nana still feels like my family too. Heck, she thinks we are still family. Even if being around Conrad is uncomfortable, being around her is a breath of fresh air. It’s impossible to be around Nora and not feel happy. She’s one of a kind.
Pulling into the driveway of my dad’s house, I can’t help but wish that I could feel the same way about having to see him as I feel around getting to see her. Maybe visiting him would be easier. My chest feels tight, and my palms are sweaty as I walk along the path that leads to the front door. Paul, my father’s live-in nurse, is on the front porch, sitting in his favorite rocking chair.
“Whit, it’s so nice to see you,” he says warmly with a smile. “How have you been?”
“I’ve been good, just working a lot.” I prop my shoulder against the wooden beam, crossing my arms over my chest. “How are you?”
“Doing well,” he replies. “Thanks for asking.”
Paul has been working with my dad for about three years now. In addition to his kidney issues, he’s also diabetic. It’s something he had no troubles managing when my mother was alive, but once she died, it’s like he lost his will to live. He stopped taking care of himself, stopped eating right. There were many emergency room visits before I finally decided hiring somebody to live with him and make sure he took care of himself would be a good, albeit expensive, idea.
“How’s he been?” I tip my chin toward the house, shoving my hands into the pockets of my scrub pants.
“In good spirits. We’ve been taking Callie down to the track twice a day to walk on the days it doesn’t rain, and I think the fresh air is helping him.”
Callie is my dad’s thirteen-year-old black lab.
“Good, glad to hear that.”
“He’s been looking forward to you coming over all day.” Paul grins up at me, and more guilt hits me. “If you want to go on in, he should be in the den watching the game.”
“Big surprise there.” I chuckle. Dad’s always been a major football fan, specifically Copper Lake University football. Something I couldn’t care any less about.
“You staying for dinner?” he asks before I reach the front door. “I’m about to get started on it, but it’s no trouble to make enough for you too. Turkey stuffed bell peppers.”
I force a smile in his direction. “Sure. Thanks, Paul.”
The house smells clinical as I step inside and take off my shoes. It’s quiet, but I can hear the faint buzzing from the TV as I pad across the floor toward the den. My father looks up as I walk in, a smile spreading on his face.
“Hey, Dad.” Giving him an awkward, stiff wave, I sit on the opposite side of the couch as him.
“Hey, son. How you been?”
“Not too bad. How about yourself?”
Turning the volume down, he shifts his body slightly to face me more. “Doing pretty good. Staying as active as I can.”
I nod. “Yeah, Paul told me you guys have been taking Callie to the track. Bet she’s loving that.”
He chuckles. “She certainly has.”
This awkward small talk is painful to sit through, but it’s how things always are between my dad and me. It’s like neither of us knows what to say to the other, nor do we know how to act around each other. It’s so forced, which makes it unbearable. I don’t do small talk very well, especially with somebody like my father.
It’s not often that he asks me about my life outside of the clinic, and sometimes, I find myself wishing I could share more. Bond with him, even. He doesn’t even know Reggie and I broke up, but it feels pointless to bring it up because he never asks about our relationship. In the few years we were together, they only met twice.
Deep down, there’s a part of me that feels like my father and I are more alike than I allow myself to believe. The couple of years leading up to my mom’s death, her drinking got really bad. She was what they’d call a “functional alcoholic,” at least to the outside world. She was a mess at home, and she was a mean drunk, at least to my father. She would take her every frustration out on him, call him names, pick him apart, and because he loved her more than life itself, he took it. He took the emotional beating, and never said anything, not even during her final days. He loved her through it all, and never once talked about leaving. I think there’s a part of me who feels like a failure because I couldn’t love my husband through his downfall the way my father could my mother.
But even thinking that makes me feel ashamed. I left because I had to. It ended with Conrad because he wouldn’t open up to me, and I needed more. And I’m not selfish for that. And frankly, I love my mom, but my dad should’ve done the same. Nobody deserves to be someone’s punching bag, even if you love them. Especially if you love them.
We watch the game together for a while, which is a whole lot of fun for me, talking here and there about the clinic and doctor’s visits he’s had recently before Paul puts us both out of our misery and lets us know dinner is done.
After we finish eating, I offer to do the dishes so Paul doesn’t have to. Mostly because I’m not ready to go home yet, but I’m also not prepared to suffer through any more small talk. Coming here was a mistake, but I feel terrible even thinking that. What kind of person dreads having to see their parent this much? Not for the first time, I find myself wishing we had more in common. I find myself wishing we had a closer relationship.
I think about my friends and the relationships they have with their parents. Sure, not all of them are perfect, but for the most part, a good majority of my friends have great relationships with their dads. Why can’t I? Why do we have to be so different? Growing up, while my dad enjoyed sports and fishing and normal male hobbies—his words, not mine—I found the most joy out of reading or researching, and I still do. Our career paths are about as aligned as our interests go. The one thing we had in common when I was younger was building model airplanes, but it’s something we haven’t shared in a long time.
I dry my hands on the dish towel before folding it and setting it on the counter. Finding my dad back in the den, I stand in the doorway with my hands in my pockets. “Think I’m going to take off,” I murmur. “I’ve got an early morning.”
“Okay, son.” He smiles up at me. “Thanks for coming over. It was nice to see you.”
“Yeah, you too, Dad.”
Saying bye to Paul, who’s back in the rocking chair on the porch, I climb into my truck and make the ten-minute drive back to the ranch. Glancing at the clock on the dash, it’s a little after eight. Maybe, just maybe, Conrad will already be asleep by the time I get there. As I drive down the long gravel road, I realize I’m not that lucky.
Porch light on, Conrad is sitting on the porch swing, boots on like maybe he just finished his evening chores. I park beside his truck, exhaling a deep, calming breath, before climbing out.
“Work late?” he asks, his deep, gruff voice sending a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the temperature outside.
I shake my head, bounding up the steps. Taking a seat on the opposite side of him on the swing, I murmur, “Had dinner at my dad’s. I texted you and let you know earlier.”
“Oh, sorry, I haven’t looked at my phone.”
Huffing out a chuckle, because that is the most Conrad statement ever, I say, “It’s okay.”
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s okay, for the most part. I wasn’t going to stay for dinner, but I felt bad. It’s been, like, two weeks since I saw him last.”
Conrad nods out of the corner of my eye. It’s so cold out I can see my breath as it puffs out in front of me, but something is stopping me from going inside just yet. Maybe the crisp fresh air is what I need after the last few days I’ve had. Besides, if I have to stay here for the time being and pretend to still be married to Conrad, I should probably suck it up and learn to deal with being in his company, otherwise his nana will see right through us.
He chuckles, startling me. Turning my head, I find him already looking at me, a large, tan hand scrubbing over the hair covering his jaw. “What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Do you remember that time you insisted on inviting your folks over for dinner after we got married?”
“Oh my gosh,” I groan. “How could I forget?”
His laugh takes me by surprise. It’s a deep belly laugh that I rarely ever hear come from him. “You insisted on making the pasta from scratch, even though you had never done that before.”
“The man on YouTube made it look so easy.”
“The chef?” he corrects. “Yeah, I’ll bet he did.”
“God, what a disaster that was.” Laughing, I run my fingers through my hair. “My mom looked horrified when we dished up, and they both tried their best to pretend it tasted good. It was nothing but wet mush.”
“It didn’t taste bad,” he says with a shrug.
Turning my head, I look at him, deadpan. “Conrad, it was barely edible. The only decent part of that meal was the steak, and that’s only because you made them.”
“I’m sure your parents appreciated the effort. You were young and had never cooked by yourself. Of course, it wasn’t perfect, but it was the thought that counts.”
“Yeah, well, it’s ten years later, and I’m still a crummy cook.” Chuckling, I murmur, “Some things never change.”
“Guess that’s why you have your husband who can cook for you, huh?”
My stomach dips at the sound of that title falling off his lips. I can feel my cheeks heat, and I can’t look at him. I’m afraid he’ll be able to read how much it affects me.
“Lucky me, I guess,” I tease, trying to keep my tone light.
The juxtaposition between me knowing I need to be careful and protect myself while also desperately wanting to lean into how comfortable I know it can feel with Conrad is jarring. Things are awkward because of me and my issues. Despite him being a horrible conversationalist with most people, we’ve always had an easy time in that department. He was always good at making me laugh or pulling me out of my own head. There’s something about Conrad that’s so calming to me. I never felt like I needed to be anybody but me around him.
Maybe while I’m stuck here, I can make the most of it. Maybe I allow myself to find comfort in chatting with him or being quiet in his presence. Maybe I don’t need to hold up the walls I’ve spent years building and keeping in place.
But could I really do that? Could I really allow myself to be fully at ease around him? And if I did, where would that leave me when his nana returns home and we both go back to our lives?
I agreed to be Conrad’s fake husband, so I think I owe it to both of us to quit overthinking and just go with the flow. Rules were laid out when we decided to do this, so there’s no reason I should be at such an impasse.
“Well,” Conrad starts, standing off the swing. “Guess I better head to bed.”
“I probably should too,” I add, getting up.
As we walk through the door, it hits me that this’ll be the first time we’ve gone to bed at the same time. Not that it really matters, but it feels like it does. My blood whooshes loudly in my ears, heart hammering as I follow behind him, making our way to our room. The house is quiet, Nana clearly already in bed.
“Did you guys have a nice day?” I ask him softly as we enter the room.
“We did,” he replies, closing the door behind me. “We went up to Lou’s for lunch, she ran a couple errands with me, and then we came back here. She made chicken and dumplings for dinner.” He throws me a look over his shoulder as he unbuttons his shirt. “There’re leftovers in the fridge for you to bring to work for lunch tomorrow.”
I avert my gaze, feeling like it’s wrong of me to watch him undress. “Thank you,” I murmur. “That’ll be good.”
The way he saved me a plate makes my stomach twist. It’s something so simple, but it’s thoughtful. A reminder I don’t need of the Conrad I married.
Going into the bathroom, I change into pajamas before brushing my teeth. When I’m finished, Conrad switches places with me so he can do the same as I climb into bed. It feels like an eternity before he comes back out and flips off the lights. My pulse races as he pulls the covers back, the bed dipping as he slips onto his side. His scent surrounds me, and it’s making it hard to breathe.
Conrad rolls onto his side, facing me while I lie flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling. “Thank you for doing this,” he rasps. “I know this isn’t ideal, and probably the last thing you want to be doing, but I appreciate it more than you know.”
My throat tightens, and my mouth goes dry. “It’s no big deal,” I croak out.
“It is a big deal,” he urges. “So, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Goodnight, Whit.”
I make the mistake of turning my head to look at Conrad. Even in the dark room, I can make out the way he’s watching me. It sends goosebumps all over my body. It makes my stomach flip. It makes me want to roll over and curl up under his chin and forget all my worries.
But I can’t do that. So, instead, I stare back up at the ceiling, tamping down the emotion clogging my throat.
“Goodnight,” I whisper.
My body startles awake, eyes flying open, my heart galloping so fast in my chest I can feel it all over. For a moment, I don’t know where I’m at, the unknown causing panic to rise in my chest. My mind is foggy, body drenched in a thin layer of sweat, and my breath is coming out harsh and shallow, like I can’t drag in oxygen fast enough.
Something brushes my arm, and I jerk, my head snapping in the direction, and that’s when I notice Conrad.
Then it all comes back to me.
I’m in his bed.
Concern is etched into his face. Pinched brows, mouth turned down into a frown.
I don’t know what comes over me, or where this flood of emotion comes from, but before I know it, my throat tightens and my eyes fill up with moisture. The organ in my chest is still racing, and I can’t seem to calm myself down.
“C’mere,” Conrad husks, pulling me into his chest. I fight it for about a second before I realize how safe I feel with his arms wrapped around me. Burying my face in the center of his burly chest, the tears spill out of my eyes, streaking my cheeks.
Brushing his fingers through the hair on my nape, Conrad whispers softly into my ear, “Shh, you’re okay, Whit. I got you, you’re okay now. It was just a nightmare.”
My body trembles, and I can’t seem to make it stop or force my mind to slow down.
“I’m sorry,” I pathetically mumble against his chest.
Conrad holds me closer, keeping his mouth beside my ear. I feel him rub his cheek along the side of my head. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
I don’t say anything back. His large hand rubs soothingly over my back as I hold on to him like I’m afraid to let go. I should let go, scoot back onto my own side of the bed, but I can’t. I don’t want to.
“When did they come back?” he asks after a few minutes.
Nightmares used to be a nightly occurrence for me. My therapist thinks they come on from stress. After my dad kicked me out and I moved into the loft above the barn, I was plagued with them. I’d constantly wake up drenched in sweat, and I’d have to learn how to calm myself down because I had nobody around except myself.
Once Conrad caught on to what was happening, he would come comfort me. Hell, he would hold me as I fell asleep long before we ever became anything romantic. I don’t know why the idea of him knowing I’m having nightmares again is so embarrassing, but it is.
“They don’t happen often,” I reply honestly. “But I’ve had them a handful of nights over the last couple of months.” We fall into a comfortable silence as he continues to hold me. His heart beats steadily against my cheek, and there’s something so soothing about feeling him breathe. It evens mine out.
Lifting my head, I pull back just enough to peer up at Conrad. “I’m sorry for waking you up.” My voice is nothing more than a mere whisper in the night, emotion thick around each word.
Conrad’s eyes soften as they take me in. “Whit, you have nothing to be sorry for.”
Bringing his hand up, he swipes a lock of hair off my forehead with his thumb. I freeze at the gentle touch, lips parted, breath catching in my throat. Time seems to stand still while we both hold our breath. It would be so easy to close the distance, to capture his lips with mine. The thought takes me by surprise, and I have to lay my head back onto his chest in fear that if I keep looking at him, I’ll do just that.
I shouldn’t fall asleep in his arms; it’s going to mess with my mind, but I can’t bring myself to pull away. Just for tonight, I allow myself to soak this in.
Just for tonight.