38. Jimmy
Jimmy
I stared at the simple grave marker I’d used my boot to dust free from snow.
An “R” lay etched in cold rock below me. A cold fucking grave—fitting.
“I signed over your house to some stranger last week, and even though I live here in Pippen Creek again, I’m not allowing memories of your bullshit to haunt me,” I informed the frigid stillness of the town’s graveyard, white puffs of air exiting my lungs.
“There’s no forgiveness in my heart for you.
Never will be. But therapy is helping me to crawl from beneath the trauma you rained over me for years.
I’m going to live my own life now, exactly how I want, without any bullshit from you in my head to tell me I’m nothing more than a worm. ”
I huffed a laugh, hunching tighter into my ugly coat Sutton insisted I wear this morning. Thankfulness for his caring flooded through me as it always did when thoughts of my boyfriend filled my head—which was more often than not.
“I’m madly in love with a man—your son is a flaming gay who gets off on sucking dick and taking it up the ass.
You would be so proud of me.” I snorted, lifting my chin, never more pleased with how I owned my truth.
“I wish you could feel the munching of bugs and real worms eating your ashes, digesting them, then shitting you back out.”
There was nothing left to say but the same two words I’d whispered to his passed out form that night he’d left me bleeding on my bedroom floor.
“Later, loser.”
I sashayed away, truly hoping my dad wallowed in misery in the fiery depths of Satan’s realm even though I didn’t believe in hell—or heaven for that matter, unless Sutton was loving on every inch of my body.
Shivers rippled down my spine as I crawled into my BMW and started the engine. Warmth blasted from the heat vents, and I didn’t even bother glancing at the past over my shoulder while driving toward my future.
Sutton had been cooking since yesterday, teaching me how to prep sausage and sage stuffing, bake pumpkin and apple pies, and make homemade orange cranberry sauce. Brine a massive turkey enough to feed an army, even though only a handful of people were joining us for Thanksgiving.
Jamie and Chaz had already been at the house when I’d gone out for a quick jaunt across town through the dusting of snow we’d gotten overnight. They’d been setting the tables when I’d left.
On Tuesday afternoon, the woman Sutton and I had been meeting with together outside of our individual therapy since that shitty day back in October suggested saying a final goodbye to my father might help in my path toward healing.
We’d been so busy yesterday that I hadn’t found time, but this morning, I was ready to move forward.
Take that one physical step I could toward creating a base for new thought patterns and processes, which was proving to be quite the task, one Sutton focused on too, considering we now shared another connection with motherfucking PTSD.
Some nights, I woke from nightmares. Others, he did.
But we had each other’s backs every single time. A warm body to hold. Words of assurance and edification.
He was my oak, and I was his.
As for Dad? I’d expected to spit a simple, “Fuck you,” as my goodbye but had ended up speaking my mind as Sutton told me to do almost daily.
His constant encouragement and adoring love gave me confidence I’d never thought possible.
The beginnings of freedom had proved addictive, and even though picking apart my trauma every week sometimes left me in tears and huddled in on myself, I was working it out.
Wading through the shit to reach the shores of new beginnings, where nothing would hold me back.
Sutton bravely did the same, and his vulnerability and honesty prompted me to respond in kind. There were no secrets between us, no more manipulative tactics to get what I wanted. I spoke my mind, showed him exactly how needy I was—and he loved me as-is.
A half dozen cars parked along the street in front of Sutton’s and my home, and I practically skipped to the front door, my heart light, my pulse thrumming with excitement.
My first Thanksgiving with family—of a sort.
The last time I’d sat down for a turkey and the fixings had been when I’d been wicked young, living with Dad’s parents because he hadn’t wanted me.
Once they grew too old to care for me, I’d been sent back to him.
Not once did he and I celebrate a single holiday.
Sutton spoiled me at Halloween, and now Turkey Day awaited us, a meal and afternoon we would share with loved ones.
I couldn’t wait for what Christmas would bring, the New Year yet another chance to create new goals. Fulfill hopes and dreams.
Dexter pulled in behind me, and I climbed from my car, waiting for him to join me.
No Christian.
I glanced up the road but didn’t see another car.
Dex scowled while climbing from his Jeep.
“Where’s lover boy?” I teased, and he cursed, striding past me. Chuckling, I followed on his heels.
His on-again/off-again sidekick/fuck buddy—who the hell knew what they were to each other—had been invited to join us.
I guessed he would be a no-show but left the matter lie so as not to antagonize Dex, who’d become like a big brother to me.
The scent of baking turkey wafted over me as he threw open the front door and strode in like he owned the place. His doing so had given him an eyeful of his best friend’s backside while railing me right there in the entryway against the wall the day after Halloween.
He’d knocked ever since.
I hung up my coat and meandered into the kitchen while Dex made a detour for the living room.
Sutton lifted a large casserole dish of stuffing out of the oven and popped in two cookie sheets loaded with rolls before turning toward me and pulling me in against his rock-hard chest.
“You okay, baby?” he murmured against my hair that had been flattened by the beanie he’d insisted I wear while visiting my dad’s grave.
“Better than I’ve ever been.”
He eased back a bit, and I lifted my head so he could read the truth on my face.
Gaze soft, he peered down at me, a small smile curving his lips. “I’m proud of you.”
Four simple words—they never ceased to bring tears to my eyes.
Sutton pressed his lips against mine in a chaste kiss before swatting my ass.
“Oh, yes, please,” I wiggled against him, grinding our groins together.
“Behave,” he ordered, his tone low.
“Yes, daddy,” I whispered and squealed while trying to escape his arms.
Two firm swats on my backside, and he released me.
Winking, I sauntered away, loving how his stare on my ass heated me through and made my heart race.
Jamie and Chaz sat on the love seat in the living room watching football—tradition, they’d said.
I checked in with them along with the scowling twins, Kel and Dex, who shared the other couch, to see if I could get them a beer.
Chaz’s parents held glasses of water—neither drank.
Gram and DJ hadn’t arrived yet but ought to show up soon.
The first time seeing DJ after his dad’s death had been hard. Sutton and I had gone to Gram’s where Carrie had brought her son for a visit. There had been a lot of tears, a lot of sharing what each and every one of our therapists had told us.
DJ had been sober, far from his usual wild self, but he smiled at both of us, hugging Sutton tight.
“You’re still my hero,” he’d whispered with a teary voice, and Sutton had a brief moment of breaking down, his vulnerability and allowing himself to be fully human without excuse a beautiful yet heart-wrenching thing to witness.
Carrie then went on to thank us both for watching out for and investing in her son’s life.
We had bonded in grief and shared trauma, strengthening friendships and gaining another with DJ’s mom.
After grabbing a couple of beers for Kel and Dex, I meandered back into the kitchen.
“Put me to work,” I told Sutton, but he shook his head.
“We’re almost ready. Just need to finish up the gravy while the turkey rests. You helped me prep almost everything yesterday.” He wrapped me up in his arms, lifted me off the floor, and planted a kiss on my waiting mouth. “Love you, baby.”
“Love you more,” I assured him, grinning.
He huffed his disagreement but didn’t argue.
“What’s up with Dex?” I asked once Sutton returned me to my feet and started stirring the pot of gravy he had over a low flame.
“Who knows. He and Christian are probably fighting again.”
“That’s all they do. Must be miserable.” I poured myself a glass of pinot noir and leaned against the counter, watching my man work. He was so damned sexy in his white button-down and jeans, a cartoon turkey apron covering his entire front. I sipped my wine, an appreciative hum escaping me.
Sutton cast a raised eyebrow at me.
I blinked like an innocent who had no intentions other than letting him in on the fact I thought he was hot as hell.
His gaze narrowed.
I winked.
Chuckling, he pulled the rolls from the oven.
The doorbell rang, and I tore myself from his presence, my absolute favorite place to be.
Gram, Carrie, and DJ stood on the stoop, a box of cookies in his hands.
“Come on in,” I said, ushering them through the door into the warmth.
Even though Gram had found someone to rent out her shop, she decided to stick around for this winter, helping to care for her grandson on the days Carrie worked.
I’d made myself available as well, so he often had his chauffeur—me—pick him up in my BMW.
He was my best friend, the years and different maturity levels between us unimportant.
Like with Sutton yet definitely on a different level, DJ and I shared a connection I’d always longed for.
That young boy would be in my life forever, no matter where his destiny might lead him.
“Thanks for coming,” I told Gram, bending down to kiss her cheek.
She patted mine and smiled as DJ scampered off to the kitchen to gift Sutton their donation to our meal.
“Carrie.” I greeted DJ’s mom, hugging her extra long and gentle. “Thank you for sharing this day with us. I know you would probably rather be with your parents?—”
“We’re celebrating tomorrow,” she said with a kind smile.
“Two turkey days.” I huffed a laugh while taking both ladies’ coats. “You’re lucky.”
“We’re lucky to have you and Sutton in our lives,” she tossed back, causing my throat to tighten.
“The guys are watching football,” I said, my voice slightly unsteady.
“Sounds good,” Gram said, shuffling toward the living room. “I just want a soft seat to rest these weary bones.”
Chuckling, Carrie followed after her, making herself comfortable with the other guests.
A short while later, we sat jammed around the dining room table and a folding card table, laughter and kindness surrounding us.
My eyes smarted as I scanned over the group of people who had become like family to me.
Watching Chaz and his dad chat over turkey warmed my heart.
While I would never have the type of healing the two of them had found, I wasn’t bothered, nor did I feel I’d missed out.
Kel no longer scowled thanks to Carrie keeping him in conversation, but underlying grumpiness lingered as it often did with that man.
Dex was deep in conversation with Gram, and DJ’s cheeks were like a chipmunk’s, stuffed full of…stuffing.
Snickering, I glanced at the other end of the table where my man scanned the room, ever the watchful sentinel.
A sigh sank my chest in as our gazes met.
Love you , I could hear him declare.
Love you more, I mouthed.
Smiling, he went back to his turkey, and thankfulness welled inside me.
Peace was slowly returning to our lives—and town.
Both of the Kaufmans had moved after selling The Outdoor Shop, Sarah heading south with their son Austin, and Stefen traveling west. It had been an amicable split, although last I had seen Sarah, she’d been gaunt and pale, burdened by grief.
The gossip, at least, had quieted after Kurt’s burial and the Outdoor Shop’s grand reopening a few days later. Not a single townsfolk left in town limits blamed Sutton for his actions. Adoration and respect for him had only grown.
And me?
I was a happy boy living his best life.
I’d come back here on a whim one warm August afternoon, needing connection and a sense of purpose. The pipe dream had been fulfilled far beyond what I’d ever thought possible.
Eyes smarting like they often did whenever gratitude washed over me, I picked up my glass and held it aloft.
The table quieted around me.
“To family. Forgiveness. Acceptance and love.”
Murmurs of agreement flooded my ears, and I swallowed a sip of my wine, gaze fixed clearly on the one man besides myself who had any say in what steps I took or when I ought to rest.
My hero.
The absolute love of my life.