Chapter 22
Oakley
Lawson is at the school today, the teachers having gone in to get their classrooms ready before the students return next week.
I saw him off this morning after dropping him back at the ranch house, seeing as he spent the night at my place.
Again. As he’s been doing most nights for the past two weeks.
There’s no way that hasn’t been noticed by his family, not that any of them have said a word about it to me.
I’ve seen a few looks, though. From Jackson.
Remi. Marigold, even. The only two who’ve seemed somewhat oblivious are Colton and Hank, although I don’t know if it’s a matter of not noticing or not being the overly interfering types.
And there’s Wendy, of course. She’s come over with Lawson a couple times for dinner. I can’t tell for sure if I’m imagining her looking a little longer at me and her dad or if she’s figured it out.
Christ. What would I even say to her? Yes, I’m shacking up with your father. Practice safe sex. That might be a minefield better left to Lawson.
When I turn in for the day, I run into a familiar farrier inside the horse barn. One that isn’t Colton. Noah King is bent over a hoof, fixing new shoes on Hazel, the mare I used to ride before I left Montana. He gives me a nod when I pass with Clover.
“Heard she’s yours now,” I say in greeting, stopping outside Clover’s stall.
Noah huffs, an amused if not short sound, his tattoo-covered arms flexing as he works. “She is.”
“Heard Colton’s yours, too.”
He lifts his head, a bemused grin on his face. “I’d love to watch him hear you say that.”
I chuckle, pulling Clover’s saddle loose and lifting his saddle pad off his sweaty back. “It’s a mutual thing, I’m sure.”
“That it is,” Noah says, sounding fond. Which, considering he and Colton were at each other’s throats last I was here, is incredibly odd to bear witness to. “You and Lawson now?”
“Well, shit,” I mutter, staring at the top of the man’s head. “No beating around the bush, huh?”
Noah laughs. “I’m not one for subtlety.”
“No, I guess not. I dunno,” I tell him truthfully. “Still figuring it out.”
He makes a sound as if he gets it. “These Darling brothers need a minute. Don’t take it to heart.”
“What d’you mean?” I ask, swapping Clover’s bridle out for a simple harness.
Noah hems for a moment, his rasp a rhythmic metronome to the brief silence. “Colton took a long time to admit his feelings for me. From what I know, Jackson was the same when it came to Ash. I think obstinance runs in this family’s veins.”
I hum.
Lawson sure is stubborn when he wants to be. But I’m not sure that has anything to do with…us.
It could be wishful thinking on my part, but I swear, I swear, something is changing for him.
It’s small things. Seeking intimacy outside of sex.
Little touches that occur far more frequently than they used to.
Sitting close on the couch instead of in his own space.
The way he’s been looking at me, like he’s thinking hard.
Hell, sleeping in my bed even if we haven’t fucked.
I don’t think Lawson is avoiding any feelings he might have on purpose, if they’re there at all.
I think, like he said, he’s had other people’s voices telling him what’s right when it comes to sex and romance his whole life, so he needs the time to listen to himself. To replace those voices with his own.
And I can give him that time. After all we’ve been through, it’s the least I can do.
“Thanks, Noah. I’ll keep that in mind.”
The man gives me a nod, and I finish getting Clover settled in his stall.
Instead of heading straight home, I make my way to the ranch house, wanting to catch Lawson when he gets back from his first day at the school.
I leave my boots on the deck and head to his room to wait, knowing he won’t mind.
I even change into fresh clothes—Lawson’s, of course—so I don’t leave dirt all over the place.
Spotting his old, ratty reprint of Peter and Wendy, the original novel written by J. M. Barrie, I snatch it off the bookshelf and start to read.
And that’s exactly how Lawson finds me a good hour later, still sitting in his chair at the corner of the room. He pauses in the doorway, but his surprise doesn’t last long. “Hey.”
“Blast from the past,” I tell him, holding up the book.
A smile quirks his lips as he closes the door, setting his laptop bag down. “Finish it?”
“Not even close. Good first day back?”
He nods, even as he all but falls on top of his bed. I huff a laugh, getting up to join him. Lawson doesn’t complain when I start rubbing the tension from the nape of his neck.
“Can’t believe the summer is nearly over,” he mumbles. “Just one more year, and Wendy will be gone.”
My chest pinches in sympathy. “She won’t be gone, Law. Just spreading her wings for a bit.”
He nods, rolling to his side, his eyes running over the book I set onto the bed beside us. “Do you know why I picked the name Wendy?”
“Because you love the story,” I reply easily.
The corner of his lips turn into the briefest of smiles before he shakes his head, one finger tracing the old cover of the novel. “It makes me quite sad, actually.”
“Wait, really? Why?”
Lawson turns onto his back, a sigh escaping his lips as he stares up at the ceiling.
“Peter… He’s a representation of youth. He can never age, can never grow up.
He’s so often depicted as being happy, as any child ought to be.
But do you remember that time he was looking through Wendy’s window, watching her from outside, thinking…
what a lovely sight? A lovely sight he wasn’t a part of.
Peter loved Wendy in his own childlike way, but he knew at that moment he could never join her. ”
Lawson lets out a short, shuddering breath before going on.
“Every single person he loved moved on, Oak. But he was trapped playing pretend. I pity Peter Pan. And that’s why the story has always stuck with me.”
My heart aches at the sadness in his voice. “I didn’t know that.”
Lawson turns his gaze my way, warm brown eyes holding mine. For a second, time stalls. And then Lawson opens his mouth. “That story? It’s the best reminder I have to live. You and Wendy are proof that I have.”
My breath leaves me in a rush, the absolutely astounding impact of those words nearly knocking me to the floor. Have I been that pivotal in shaping Lawson’s view of his life? That important to him?
Lawson lets out another sigh, completely unaware of how he’s cracked me right open. “You smell like cattle.”
My chuckle is more than a little hoarse. “I, uh…haven’t showered yet.”
“C’mon, then.”
Lawson drops his feet to the floor and stands, making his way out into the hall, presumably to start the shower.
I stare at the open doorway, knowing I shouldn’t follow him.
Not when I feel like this. So fragile. Like one wrong press could crack me clean in two.
But my feet carry me forward nonetheless.
Lawson waits for me to join him in the bathroom before closing the door and shedding his clothes. He tugs my shirt—his shirt—off over my head. Then he pulls down my jeans and underwear and drags me into the shower like it’s the simplest thing.
I wash myself with Lawson’s soap as the man watches me passively, his eyes tired. He shampoos his own hair before tipping his face into the spray, letting the soapy suds run down his back. I take my turn rinsing next, Lawson shaking his head slightly at my routine.
“Never understood why you do body first and then hair,” he mutters.
I shrug. “Does it matter?”
“Yes, it matters. You’re dirtying your already clean body with the shampoo.”
“It’s just a different kind of soap,” I point out. “It’s not dirty.”
He grumbles something I don’t catch, so I collect some of the foamy suds from my head and wipe them across his cheek. Lawson’s eyes come alive as he backs me into the wall, wrestling my arm down as I try to cover him in more shampoo bubbles.
“Stop it,” he gripes.
“Nah. But thanks.”
“Christ.” He grunts, grabbing my arm again when I get free. “Oak.”
I flick his forehead, snickering at his scowl. “Admit I’m right and I’ll stop.”
Lawson slips an arm around me, snagging my hair and tugging my head back.
My breath whooshes out of me, my heart beating fast as he pins me to the shower wall with his bulk, nearly equal to mine.
He stops as quickly as he started, no doubt feeling my cock swelling against his hip.
His eyes ping from my face down to my neck, my pulse firing rapidly beneath his gaze.
“Does it feel the same for you?” he asks.
“Does what?” I respond roughly, not following, all of my attention on Lawson’s wet body crowded against my own.
He leans forward, warm lips brushing lightly against my neck. My eyes slip shut, a whisper of breath leaving me.
“This,” Lawson says in answer, brushing his lips against me again, his stubble bristling. “Does it affect you the way it affects me?”
Ah, fuck.
“Yes,” I admit, any part of Lawson touching me as close to heaven as I’ve ever been.
He hums, a pleased sound. When he slips a hand between us, reaching for my cock, I have to stop him, much as it pains me.
“Law… You can’t get me off when there’s a houseful of people a mere fifteen feet below us enjoying their dinner.”
“No?”
My groan is half laugh. “No.”
He hums again, his touch feathering away. “You kinda taste like shampoo.”
After a beat, I boom a laugh.
My heart rate settles as we finish rinsing off, Lawson stepping out of the shower ahead of me. It gives my body some much-needed time to cool down.
Once we’re dressed, me once again in his clothes, he raises an eyebrow. “Dinner?”
I huff. “Why not?”
With my hair as dry as it’ll get, we head downstairs. The dining room is still packed, although the food is dwindling this late in the dinner hour. A couple of the ranchers are heading out, and no one pays us much mind as we join the fray. Mealtimes are always a bit hectic.
Ash seems to be the only one who catches our arrival, his eyes bouncing quickly from me and my damp hair to Lawson’s equally damp locks.
His smile flickers, eyes going wide. Lawson doesn’t notice, sitting down and tugging me into a chair next to him.
He spoons a heaping portion of pasta onto my plate before reaching for a platter of breadsticks.
“Evening, Oakley,” Marigold says from down the table, her voice light. “Lawson dear.”
Lawson tosses his mother a nod, preoccupied with filling our plates.
“Evening,” I tell her, smiling as casually as I can.
She looks amused, and I glance Lawson’s way again. I don’t think he even realizes how obvious we are.
Or maybe he doesn’t care?
Hope blooms in my chest, and I take a bite of the breadstick he passed me, the top covered in garlic, parsley, and parmesan.
“So, Lawson,” Marigold tries again. “Is everything ready for the start of school?”
“Not quite,” Lawson answers, pouring water into his glass and then my own. “But there’s not much left to do.”
“I bet Wendy’s excited for her final year,” Ash says, the blonde man’s free hand resting on the back of Jackson’s chair beside him.
Remi is sitting nearby, too, watching the conversation as he eats his pasta, the simultaneous signing from several occupants of the table like second nature.
Even Colton and Noah are present for dinner, the pair situated on the other side of Ash.
Lawson’s smile is slight. “She is. Yeah.”
Marigold’s expression softens. I have no doubt she understands Lawson’s conflicting emotions over his daughter growing up. My chest aches again at the thought, Lawson’s words about Peter losing everyone he loved still fresh in my mind.
God. No wonder Lawson was so upset with me for leaving. I was the one person he could depend on. The one who promised I’d never go.
And I did just that.
I give the man’s leg a squeeze under the table, feeling like no apology will ever be enough. His eyes meet mine, questioning, but I only send him a smile, not about to dredge up our history right here at the Darling Ranch dinner table.
Colton’s voice breaks through the quiet. “Law, think you’ll try dating again now that you’re single?”
I swear my heart plain stops. Time does, too. A few wide eyes turn Colton’s way, Remi’s included. Other gazes dart from me to Lawson. Lawson himself is sitting frozen with his forkful of pasta halfway to his mouth.
“Colt,” Noah says quietly from beside his boyfriend.
Colton looks from Noah back to Lawson. “What? Wendy would understand. Wouldn’t she?”
“Uh,” Lawson says, lowering his fork to his plate. “Wendy would be fine with it, I’m sure. But… No, that’s not something I want.”
My inhale is short but sharp, cutting through me like glass. I pull my hand off Lawson’s leg, feeling eyes on me. I don’t meet a single one, my entire focus on appearing as impassive as I can.
In my periphery, I can see Remi’s gaze on his oldest brother.
Marigold makes a curious sound. “Lawson, dear…”
“It’s my choice,” Lawson says, his voice firm. “I know what I need to be happy. No one knows that better than me.”
“You’re right,” his mother says, her tone conciliatory but sad.
Noah whispers something to Colton, who doesn’t seem to understand why his question was so loaded.
And me?
I’m fairly certain that future I’d been envisioning, the one where Lawson and I were finally more than friends, just got shattered to dust alongside the shredded remains of my heart.