Chapter 16 #2
“You bring me to life in ways I never thought possible,” John whispered, kissing his neck, his soft beard stroking him.
Wyatt wanted to hear every whispered confession, but not here. He pulled back from their embrace, fingers pressed against John’s lips. “As much as I wanna hear more—and trust me, I do—anything said after an orgasm doesn’t count.”
John sighed and smiled, “Okay.”
He sucked in a breath. “Okay.”
“Come home with me.”
“Yes, sir.”
They stayed to hear which cowboy had won the evening's performance, which was, of course, Wyatt. Jin had intentionally played Pony by Ginuwine for Hobbs, and he only got half the amount of donations that Wyatt managed to earn.
“No one cares about Pony for Hobbs, because no one can outdo Channing,” Wyatt explained before he went onstage to accept the roaring applause for his victory next to Jin, who thanked and applauded the crowd for their generous donations.
The bar gave Wyatt one of their souvenir shirts to wear home, themed for the evening reading: "Gay cowboys love me."
John picked up Mexican food on the way back to his place, and they gratefully demolished their burritos with a couple of glasses of wine, followed by a lovely shower together.
After managing another orgasm under the hot spray of the shower, both men were thoroughly exhausted and stumbled into John’s massive king-sized bed.
The silk navy blue sheets felt like heaven against Wyatt’s naked flesh as they snuggled together. The weighted feeling of John’s arm draped over him, the soft inhalation of his breath, and the silence of the house…
Wyatt didn’t even remember falling asleep.
He felt the warmth of the sunlight on his skin first as he slowly opened his eyes, squinting initially at the dazzling rays of light peeking through John’s blackout curtains that never seemed to be fully closed. He sighed and realized his cheek was resting on a deliciously furry, warm chest.
“Good morning,” John hummed.
Unable to resist, he slid his fingers through his chest hair, loving the springy, thick feel of it. “Good morning.”
“I haven’t slept that good in a long time,” John confessed, seeming to marvel at this fact.
“Multiple orgasms will do that to you.” Wyatt kissed his chest, inching closer and casually tossing his leg over his, not wanting to leave this bed all day if they could manage it.
“Did you ride bulls as a cowboy?” he asked, his fingers tracing up and down Wyatt’s naked back. “I was wondering that last night after watching you.”
He shook his head. “I like my neck and skull where they are.”
John chuckled.
“I never rode,” he explained. “But Mateo took me to a couple of rodeo bars. I couldn’t drink, but I could do that. He taught me how to line dance that summer, too.”
“He sounds like a good man.”
“He was.”
“Do you think—had he lived—that you and he…?”
Wyatt knew what he was asking and had often wondered the same thing over the years. “I dunno. Sometimes I think we could’ve made a go at it. Other days, I’m not so sure. I think it would’ve been hard for him to leave behind being a ranch hand. It was his whole life. It wasn’t mine.”
“Have you talked to your father since he kicked you out?” John asked quietly.
“No,” he replied with a sigh, knowing John wouldn’t judge him for that.
“I have a confession,” John said unexpectedly. “I may have spoken to your… um, Aunt Nancy the other day.”
Alarm shot through his bloodstream like gasoline and Wyatt quickly sat up, “You what?”
John lifted both hands in a defensive gesture. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interfere with your family life, that’s not my place. But she called the ED the other day, insisting on talking to you.”
“So, you talked to her instead?” he asked, unable to keep the accusatory tone from his voice.
“I had to,” Dr. Donnelly replied. “You were in with Samuels on a cardiac patient, and I had no intention of dragging you out to talk to someone who shouldn’t have called the ED in the first place if it wasn’t an emergency.”
Air exhaled from Wyatt’s lungs and the panic in his chest tapered off. “So—it wasn’t an emergency?”
“No, it was not.”
“What did she want?”
“To talk to you.” John’s eyebrows lifted, “She said you’ve been ignoring her calls and her texts. She sounded worried. Should I be worried?”
“Is this John or Dr. Donnelly asking?”
John exhaled, scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “Sorry, you’re right. It’s none of my business.”
Wyatt folded the sheet over his lap, deciding it was his business. Or at least, he wanted it to be. “My dad isn’t doing well.”
John held his gaze, listening.
Wyatt’s throat closed, and he cleared it.
This was not how he wanted to spend his lazy day in bed with John.
He raked his fingers through his hair, feeling inexplicably nervous.
Normally, he was good at talking about his feelings with almost everything, except when the topic was about his father and the real reason he left home.
“He was diagnosed with prostate cancer a couple of years ago. The treatment was going well, last I heard, until it wasn’t. Then my aunts started callin’, askin’ me to come back.”
John straightened, shifting back against the headboard. “Is he…?”
“Dying?” Frustration swelled in his chest. “Probably.”
“You don’t want to see him?”
“I dunno,” Wyatt breathed. “I dunno…”
He pushed his fingers into his eyes, deciding right then and there to give voice to the hurt that haunted him—the reason he’d been running ever since Mateo had died. He had never really felt settled over the last seven years, like a restless horse trapped in a stable, needing to run.
Just say it.
“I blame him for what happened to Mateo,” he admitted. “And… I blame myself. I don’t know if I can ever go back there.”
John stilled, holding his gaze.
His fists curled into his lap. “My father worked those horses into the ground. Him getting cancer was the best thing for them.” He knew it sounded cruel, but he didn’t care. His relationship with his father was complicated and layered. He loved the old man, but in some ways, he hated him, too.
He glanced over the slope of John’s neck, seeing the bruised hickey he had given him last night, and some of the anger released from his gut. Not at the sight of the bruise, but the shoulder. Seeing him so relaxed, no longer in pain, settled his raging heart.
“It’s why I recognized what was happening to you.
How burnt out you were,” he said. “The horses would get like that sometimes. So beaten down by his grueling fuckin’ schedule that they’d lock up—freeze.
I spent hours at the barn after the ranch was closed, working those knotted muscles so they could walk pain-free the next day.
Mateo knew what I was doin’. Didn’t say anything about it.
Had the best summer of my life, and then all hell broke loose and I was banned from ever coming back to the ranch—to those horses.
I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye. ”
John reached for him, gently opening his fists and slipping his fingers through Wyatt’s. His hand was warm and comforting. Emotion welled in his throat, hating himself still for what had happened all those years ago.
“Then one morning, I got the call about Mateo. That he had to be airlifted to the hospital. His back was broken because a horse fell on him,” he gritted out.
“But she didn’t fall. She didn’t get startled on the trail either, because she was the most fucking experienced horse on that ranch.
She locked up on Mateo and fell, crushing him and breaking her shoulder.
She was my responsibility. I should’ve told my dad she wasn’t good to ride.
Her shoulder was frozen,” he admitted, and John’s eyes widened in surprise.
The shame welled up inside him like a crushing avalanche, and he jerked his hand away from John’s soothing touch. He didn’t deserve it.
Wyatt pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes, refusing to imagine Mateo, strong and sure, broken beneath his favorite horse. Both were so scared and hurt, clinging to each other, neither of them knowing that the fall would be fatal for them both.
“They shot her in the head on the trail. Nothing they could do. They might as well have shot Mateo, too, because he died the second he got on that horse. And that’s my fault. That’s my father’s fault. I knew, and I didn’t do anything.”
John’s hands framed his face firmly, shaking his head, eyes intense. “No, you can’t think like that.”
“I can’t stop thinking like that,” Wyatt croaked out, painful tears finally breaking him. “It’s why I can’t go back there. I look at that dyin’ old man, and it should be me.”
“I’m so sorry,” John whispered thickly, embracing him.
“It should’ve been me,” he ground out harshly between sobs. “I should’ve been on that horse. I should’ve told him…”
“Wyatt, it’s not your fault. It’s not. Horrible things happen all the time. We see it at work every day. We can’t put that on ourselves. We can’t, or it will kill us.”
Wyatt blinked through his tears, holding to his anchor—his rock. And yet, John wasn’t perfect. He struggled, just like Wyatt, and there was something about that fact that calmed and reassured him.
“You’re a good man,” John whispered. “It’s why Mateo loved you. It’s why…”
John’s words stopped short, and he leaned back, eyes clear despite the emotion reflected in the dark ocean blues. Wyatt stopped breathing, heart hammering so hard he was sure John could hear it.
John slowly wiped his thumb across Wyatt’s face, chasing away a tear. “My older brother committed suicide when I was in high school.”
Wyatt sucked in a breath, stunned.
“I was the last person he ever talked to,” John admitted, grief lining his expression.
“He called the house to talk to Mom. She was out with Dad, seeing a movie with our sister that night. I was at home because I was supposed to be studying for a test. But I wasn’t.
I was waiting for…” he shook his head, and his eyes crinkled with that half-smile.
“The version of this story I usually tell is that I was waiting for my friend, James Day, to call.
But the real version of events was that I was agonizing over my ‘friend’ calling.
“Because I had a crush. My first ever, and I was so nervous and confused…”
John paused to drop soft, delicate kisses over Wyatt’s knuckles.
“I’ve never told anyone that. I was so ashamed of myself because I didn’t want to talk to my boring older brother who was away at college.
I couldn’t wait to get off the phone with him.
And Jacob, my brother, was in pain. He was suffering, and I had no idea. ”
Wyatt opened his hand, dragging John’s open palm to his mouth and kissing it, throat aching from the story and unable to imagine the grief—the trauma—the blame he must have felt for a long time, never getting to be fully honest with anyone until now.
He understood now why John was so closed off. Because he felt responsible in some ways for his brother’s death, the way Wyatt did with Mateo.
“I hated myself so much, for so long, that I buried that boy deep, deep down until there was nothing left of him.” John’s tears fell, and yet he wasn’t fighting them this time.
He accepted them, without shame, and Wyatt had never seen anything so strong, so beautiful in his life.
“I thought that I had to do right by Jacob and give back to others, the way I should’ve given to him.
I spent nearly my whole life in blame and shame, Wyatt.
And I can tell you one thing that I have learned from it. ”
John’s gaze impaled him. “Nothing. Because the truth is, I got to be the one who talked to my brother on the last day of his life. I got that. Not my parents or my sister—me. And I love the fact that my brother got to hear my voice before he left us. He got to hear someone who loved him, even though he couldn’t love himself enough to stay with us.
And that day you found me at the bar, I didn’t believe anymore that I was enough… ”
Wyatt stilled, fingers clenching over John’s hand.
“Our minds take us to dark places. The shame will invade your thoughts, your feelings, and your memories if you let it. But you can’t let it.
I won’t let you,” John's voice broke. “This last month has changed me. You’ve changed me. I’m not selfish for wanting to talk to my crush instead of my brother.
I’m not selfish for wanting you. And God help me, I want you.
No, I need you, Wyatt. I need you here, with me, through all this shit—this pain—this crazy fucking life.
So, please don’t blame yourself for what you couldn’t have stopped.
You did what you could, and Mateo knows that. ”
Wyatt’s heart broke and reshaped in that instant. He leaped into John’s arms and held him close, the pieces of his heart melding together. His heart took on a new piece—a piece of John.
“How are you so good?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
John released a weak laugh, “I have no idea. Just born this way, I guess.”
He searched his face, seeing the vulnerability and unease from sharing so much of himself so that he could ease Wyatt’s suffering.
“Thank you for telling me,” Wyatt whispered. “About your brother.”
“I’m glad you told me about what happened. If you need anything…” his voice was a thready, wonderful rasp that reached into his soul and continued to soothe his wrecked, aching heart. “I’m here. I wanna take care of you too, you know.”
He hummed, kissing away John’s tears. “I wanna spend the day with you.”
John smiled, lines crinkling around his eyes. “And how would you like to spend it, baby?”
“I have a few ideas.”
“Please tell me it doesn’t involve leaving this room?”
Wyatt grinned and they kissed, sinking into one another and saying with their bodies what they couldn’t yet say with their hearts.