Chapter 1 #3
John stilled, glancing around to see if anyone had overheard that. No one did.
“I can tell,” Lawson said knowingly. “I used to work with horses that would do the same thing when they had a cramp or were in pain.”
John tilted his chin, curious. “Horses?”
They were deep in the city, and there weren’t any horses for at least twenty miles or more in almost every direction.
“My dad runs a dude ranch in Arizona,” Lawson informed him, and despite his nerves about approaching John, his eyes were locked with his.
Jesus, his eyes were blue, John thought, unable to look away from the stunning color, a mixture of blue and gray.
“A dude ranch?” John stared, slightly dumbfounded, and realized then that he knew absolutely nothing about Lawson, which was pretty normal under their circumstances.
Choosing to work in the emergency department meant nonstop action most days and very little time to socialize.
And even if John did talk to someone, it was either his second-in-command, Dr. Samuels, or the charge nurse, Steph.
Lawson was low on the conversation list.
“Horse ranch for tourists,” Lawson said, his full lips thinning into a tight line. “But also for people who just need to get away from places like this—busy cities or jobs. Get back to nature.”
He nodded, thinking he probably could use a bit of relaxing nature himself. He wondered when the last time was that he was outside long enough to notice it, let alone appreciate it. Standing on the medical tarmac of the hospital’s roof waiting for a helicopter to land didn’t count.
“Anyway,” Lawson shifted. “I, uh, just wanted to see if I can do anything to help?”
“You already did. And it’s nothing to be concerned about, all right? Just a frozen shoulder. I’m working on it with my doctor.” He lied, not really caring. He didn’t have a doctor helping him with his damn shoulder because he didn’t want to be told what it meant.
That he was old. That he needed to slow down. Retire. Maybe see a therapist, which he was doing today, and he hoped like hell that didn’t make him an idiot.
Lawson’s eyes narrowed, taking in the information, “Frozen shoulder? For how long?”
John hesitated, face pinched in mild disapproval of the question.
Lawson’s chin tilted back in sudden understanding that he had overstepped the line again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”
John cut him off by dropping a firm hand on Lawson’s shoulder, squeezing, “It’s fine.
You’re allowed to be concerned. But know I’ve got it handled, all right?
” John noticed the hard muscle beneath Lawson’s scrubs, which he had no right to be noticing, and quickly snatched his hand back.
“It’s time to get outta here anyway. Go ahead and head to the nurses' station for a debrief.”
“Okay,” Lawson said, eyes flickering over him once more before sliding away.
John took another sip, letting his second glass of whiskey at the hotel bar soothe his frustration.
He knew he was a bit old-school in refusing to show any vulnerability at work.
This job took everything from the doctors, staff, and nurses.
And he wasn’t going to make anyone else’s job harder because he was struggling.
He supposed Lawson was trying to be nice, but still, it drew unnecessary attention to him. He had to maintain composure when everyone else broke down or when chaos ensued, as it did nearly daily in his job. It was his duty to be unflappable and maintain course.
So then why did he feel so lost?
Why was his shoulder getting worse, not better?
And how come this aching hole swirled in his chest that he couldn’t seem to fucking shake?
Maybe he needed to escape to Lawson’s dad’s dude ranch for a long weekend and get lost on a trail with a horse.
He snorted. Justine, his sister, would keel over in shock if she saw him on a horse.
They were city kids, with no concept of animals outside the dead ones on their plates.
Their parents wouldn’t even allow them a family dog growing up.
Maybe I could get a dog? Right—and when would I have time to take care of a dog?
John glanced at his phone, noticing an unread text message. He stilled, disappointment already rising in his chest. He knew what this meant. He recognized the number with no name and opened it.
I’m really sorry. I can’t make it tonight. Working a double…
Fuck.
John stared numbly at the text message.
This was supposed to be the night he’d been leading up to with Ben. It had been his night to let go of the control he held so firmly on his life, to find release and pleasure in someone else—to not give to anyone or anything—just take.
Take everything.
Greedily, hungrily, desperately.
His throat clenched and he clicked the screen off, tossing the phone onto the hard marble bar top, his frustration peaking.
He needed this tonight.
He needed to forget about the pain in his shoulder, to forget about these past few months, and feel the weight of a muscled, toned body pressing him down into his hotel bed, pounding into him with the sweet, tantalizing feeling of an orgasm pulsating through every fiber of his being.
He needed for one goddamned second not to feel so alone.
John was supposed to be everyone else’s container, and that meant he couldn’t break—he couldn’t lose his shit.
Hold it together.
Push through.
Don’t show them how weak you fucking are…
John felt his chest ache and a throbbing burn behind his eyelids. He sucked in a controlled breath, commanding his body to hold it together.
I cannot have a fucking breakdown in public. Not in the middle of the bar like a sad, pathetic old man.
Dammit.
John pressed his fingers into the glass, hating how dependent he had become on his fling.
Seeing Ben, bent on his knees, feeding his cock into his mouth one inch at a time, had been exactly what he needed.
John had climaxed those first few times very quickly because it had been so new, so thrilling, so liberating.
He hadn’t realized how much he needed the touch—the sensation of being held.
He raked his fingers through his beard.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
John would once again be alone tonight, stranded on the edge of a vast cliff, with nothing but his thoughts for company. And he never felt this dangerously close before. The emptiness burned through him, and he closed his eyes, vaguely wondering what it would be like to surrender to it.
Stop, John.
Just fucking stop.
You can’t think like this.
This was the second time Ben had stood him up.
John was particular about his home and didn’t like bringing anyone there.
It felt too intimate. Too personal. He preferred the autonomy of a hotel room, with room service and a full bar.
He barely had time to take care of himself these days, let alone have clean sheets or food in his fridge.
He hadn’t even finished unpacking the boxes from his divorce several years ago in the spare bedroom yet.
John’s life and his mess were for his eyes only. He didn’t need the scrutiny, or worse, the concern from someone else.
His phone vibrated. He swallowed the lump in his throat.
Maybe next week...?
No, there would be no other chance with Ben. He couldn’t keep getting his hopes up when he was this fragile. This weak. It felt crushing to admit it to himself, but here he was, aching and alone and so fucking disappointed he wanted to scream and cry and…
John typed his reply.
Have a safe night.
Bubbles. Stop. Then nothing. Ben was smart enough to realize the second missed night would be their last. Both understood the arrangement. No talking, no intimacy. It was easy, fun, and no one got hurt. No emotions, just a release. Because that’s all John could handle at the moment.
Needing a distraction, John opened the last text message from his sister.
Talked to mom. She mentioned the garage door is stalling. Can you fix that? Dad shouldn’t be climbing ladders. Mom bitched about your beard again. I told her you’re going through a midlife crisis and to expect a flashy red sports car next time she sees you.
He smiled at the text and his response.
I’ll come by this weekend and take a look. The beard is a statement piece for the depressed and nearly middle aged. So yeah, I’m keeping it. As for the sports car, I already have two. I was thinking about a motorcycle next. Where are my pictures of Olive and Johnny?
He opened the dozen photos that followed, all of his ridiculously cute five-year-old niece and newborn nephew and smiled.
The dark, bottomless cliff inched out a little further, giving him room to breathe again and permission to step back in his mind.
If you get a motorcycle, Mom will have a stroke.
Good thing her son’s a doctor then.
Ha ha.
He closed the text thread and turned the phone around so he wouldn’t see any more notifications.
Something he’d been doing more often. He had been on a few dating apps and struggled to dedicate any real time to them.
He had been lucky when he met Ben, and the timing of it was convenient.
And it helped that Ben was exactly his type.
Young, handsome, brimming with vitality and sex.
John had been initially surprised to discover he even had a type, but Ben told him briefly that it was normal and not taboo in the gay community to date people of different ages.
His mind flashed briefly to the moment he touched Lawson’s shoulder today—the hard feel of muscles and natural strength beneath his scrubs. His brilliant pale, almost gray blue eyes searched John’s body before awkwardly fumbling away, with a bright blush on his cheeks after John had touched him…
Stop it.
Hooking up with a resident under your watch is out of the question.
Ben was different because I rarely saw him.
I see Lawson every damned day.
He knocked back the rest of the contents of his whiskey, squashing all thoughts of Lawson.
He waved down the bartender for another drink, deciding to get drunk at the bar. When he was ready, he would head up to his hotel room, alone, jerk off into his fist under the hot spray of the luxurious hotel shower, and pass out.
His shoulder ticked.
Sounds like a great fucking night.