Chapter Ten
Torin
Garett walked alongside Torin, the morning air crisp as they crossed the ranch grounds toward the guest house. The building was modest but well-kept, its white exterior gleaming under the sun. Garett pushed open the door, leading Torin inside, down a short hallway, and into the laundry room.
The space was utilitarian: two rows of washing machines and dryers hummed quietly along the walls, their steel surfaces polished to a shine. Long folding tables stretched across the center of the room, and a corkboard on the far wall displayed laminated instructions on using the machines and folding techniques.
Garett gestured toward the bulletin board. “Everything you need to know is up there,” he said, his voice steady but not unkind. He motioned toward a shelf neatly stocked with detergent, fabric softener, and dryer sheets. “Detergent’s here, softener is over there. If you run out, just let someone know. You’ll be working in here with Sam today.”
“Is he a sub too?”
“No, he’s not. He doesn’t have a boyfriend, either.”
“Is he gay?”
“Yes.”
Torin nodded, his eyes scanning the room with mild apprehension.
“Come on, I’ll introduce you,” Garett said, leading Torin down another hallway.
Torin followed Garett across the compound, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket as he tried to ignore the swirl of resentment churning in his chest. The place was sprawling, a mix of buildings and carefully manicured greenery. It was supposed to feel welcoming, but to Torin, it felt like a prison.
They stopped near one of the smaller buildings, where a young man was leaning against the railing of a porch, arms crossed. He looked about Torin’s age—maybe a couple of years older—with a lean, athletic build. Sam wore a navy-blue hoodie and light blue jeans. He locked up his classic motorcycle. His dark hair was tousled, framing his face. His piercing green eyes held a hint of mischief, yet his relaxed posture and gentle smile made Torin think he would be approachable and laid-back nature. Despite his rugged appearance, there was an air of kindness and warmth about him that put Torin at ease.
“Torin, this is Sam,” Garett said, gesturing between them. “He’ll be working with you on most projects.”
Torin nodded slightly, his hands still buried in his pockets. “Hey.”
Sam’s shoulders relaxed as he straightened and offered a hand, his expression warm and inviting. “Good to meet you, Torin.” His voice was calm, with a slight rasp that suggested he’d used it to shout directions or commands one too many times.
Reluctantly, Torin shook his hand, feeling the rough calluses on Sam’s palm. “Yeah, you too.” Torin decided he liked Sam. There was something about Sam that made him feel comfortable.
As they exchanged pleasantries, Torin couldn’t help but study the other man. There was something about Sam’s demeanor—a quiet confidence paired with an underlying edge of weariness. It wasn’t the kind of weariness that came from lack of sleep, but the kind that came from carrying too much for too long.
“Sam’s been with us for a couple of years now,” Garett said, breaking the moment of silence. “He’s one of the best.”
Sam shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not sure about ‘the best,’ but I can hold my own.”
Torin raised an eyebrow. “Hold your own at what?”
“Fixing things, mostly,” Sam replied. “Building, repairing, troubleshooting—you name it. Grew up working with my hands, so it comes naturally.”
Garett clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Sam’s underselling himself. He’s got a knack for taking things apart and putting them back together better than they were before.”
Torin tilted his head. “Where’d you learn all that?”
Sam’s gaze flickered for a moment, a shadow passing over his features before his easy smile returned. “Here and there,” he said lightly. “Grew up in a small town. My dad ran a garage, so I spent most of my childhood elbow-deep in grease. After he passed, I bounced around a bit, trying to figure things out. Ended up here and decided to stick around.”
Torin caught the subtle tension in Sam’s voice when he mentioned his father but decided not to press. He knew what it was like to have parts of your past you didn’t want to dig into.
“Well,” Garett said, his tone encouraging, “you two will have plenty of time to get to know each other. Sam, why don’t you show Torin around while I handle a few things?”
Sam nodded. “Sure thing.” He turned to Torin and gestured toward the path leading deeper into the compound. “Come on, I’ll show you where the magic happens.”
Torin hesitated, glancing at Garett, who gave him a reassuring nod. With a sigh, he followed Sam, feeling the weight of the situation settle a little heavier on his shoulders.
As they walked, Torin couldn’t shake the sense that there was more to Sam than he let on. Something about his calm exterior felt too practiced, too careful, like he’d learned to hide whatever storms were brewing inside. For now, though, Torin decided to let it be. After all, he had his own storms to deal with.
“Garett’s a fair boss, but a word of advice—don’t lie to him. That’ll land you with the worst jobs.” Sam continued, motioning toward the laundry room. “Everyone starts here. It’s the grind before you move on to the bigger stuff. Garett left me here to oversee things, so I’ll make sure you’re not drowning. Sound good?”
“Yeah, sounds good,” Torin said, his New York accent faint but noticeable. Suddenly he didn’t like his accent compared to the others. He seemed out of place. And he couldn’t slow down his speech like the people in Montana. He wasn’t blending in and without a clue how to correct it.
Sam raised an eyebrow. “New Yorker, huh? What brings you all the way out here?”
Torin shrugged. “Needed a change…”
Sam smirked, picking up a basket of clean laundry. “Well, you’re a long way from skyscrapers and subway stations. Let’s get started.”
The two got to work, loading washers and sorting through mountains of laundry. Sam explained the process with a mix of efficiency and humor, his easy-going demeanor putting Torin at ease.
Sam, folding a pair of jeans said, “What’s it like growing up in New York?”
“Busy,” Torin replied, meticulously pairing socks. “Loud. But it’s home, you know? Everything’s always moving, and people are always in a hurry.”
Sam chuckled. “Yeah, this is about as far from that as you can get. Not a lot of noise out here unless a tractor’s running or the cows are restless.”
“It’s different. Quiet’s not bad, though.”
They fell into a rhythm, the work passing faster than Torin expected. Sam shared stories about the ranch, from pranks played among workers to close calls with stubborn cattle. Torin told him about the chaos of city life—the crowded streets, late-night clubs, and traveling in the subway.
By the end of the shift, the two had settled into a camaraderie, their banter light. Garett returned to check on their progress, giving a small nod of approval before heading back out.
As they finished folding the last of the day’s laundry, Sam clapped Torin on the shoulder. “Not bad for your first day. You’ll get the hang of it.”
Torin grinned, feeling a rare sense of accomplishment. “Thanks. Didn’t think I’d ever be this good at folding in mass numbers, but here we are.”
Torin folded the last towel with care, aligning its edges with precision, before placing it on the towering stack beside him. The end of his shift had come, and the faint hum of the laundry room faded into the background as he heard the familiar rumble of Garett’s truck pulling up outside. A flicker of relief washed over him; the day had been long, and Garett’s arrival was always a welcome sight.
Garett leaned against the truck as Torin stepped out of the building, the late-afternoon sun casting a warm glow over everything. He pushed off with a casual ease, meeting Torin halfway with a grin. “Good shift?” Garett asked as Torin climbed into the passenger seat.
Torin nodded, settling into the seat as the truck roared back to life. The road stretched ahead, framed by fields and the occasional fence line, as Garett spoke.
“You did a great job in the laundry room today,” Garett said, glancing at Torin as he shifted gears. “Sam had nothing but good things to say about you. Said you kept up and worked hard. I’m happy with you, Torin.”
The praise caught Torin off guard, and though he didn’t say much, the faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips said enough.
As they neared home, Garett shifted the conversation. “When we get back, I’ll need to get dressed for Cowpokes and you get ready for our visit at Colton’s. We’ve got dinner plans at Colton’s first, and you’ll stay there until I’m done with work tonight.”
Torin nodded again, his mind already moving through the evening ahead. He wondered why Garett repeated things as if he would forget any part of their conversations.
When they pulled into the driveway, Garett parked the truck and led the way inside. Garett quickly showered, swapping out his work clothes for his leather attire for Cowpokes while Torin showered and changed. Garett gave him a once-over and nodded approvingly before they set off on foot to Colton’s house.
The walk was short, the brisk air carrying the faint scent of hay and wood smoke. Colton’s home came into view, its porch light already glowing against the dimming sky. Garett knocked firmly on the door, and moments later, it swung open.
Colton stood in the doorway, a welcoming smile spreading across his face. Behind him, Henry appeared, his easy demeanor matching Colton’s. Garett introduced Torin to both men, and they exchanged warm greetings before stepping inside.
Torin sat at Colton’s dining table, picking at his plate of white fish and chips. The food was delicious, the fish perfectly flaky and the chips crisp, but his appetite was nowhere to be found. Across from him, Garett and Colton laughed and shared stories like old friends, their conversation flowing so naturally it made Torin feel even more out of place.
Colton was a tall man, broad-shouldered and confident, with an easy grin that seemed to light up the room. His dark hair was neatly combed back, and his sharp hazel eyes darted between Garett and the occasional glance at Torin. He wore a simple black button-up shirt and jeans, but there was an undeniable presence about him—calm, assured, and in control.
Torin felt small in comparison. The weight of being here, surrounded by people who clearly knew each other well, pressed down on him. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, wishing he could fade into the background.
“Remember that time in gym class?” Colton said, laughing as he gestured with his fork. “Coach nearly lost his mind when you climbed the rope to the rafters just to avoid running laps.”
Garett chuckled, shaking his head. “Hey, I got down eventually. And it wasn’t my fault Coach couldn’t take a joke.”
Colton grinned. “You haven’t changed.”
Their laughter filled the room, making Torin feel like an outsider in their shared history. He pushed a piece of fish around his plate, pretending to be engaged in his meal.
“Torin,” Colton said suddenly, turning his attention to him. “How are you liking Montana so far?”
Torin startled slightly, looking up. “Uh, it’s…different.” He managed a weak smile. “I’m not used to all the open space and slow talking people.”
Colton nodded, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a warm expression. “It takes time to adjust. You’ll get there.”
Torin nodded but didn’t respond. He felt a pang in his chest, thinking of New York—its noise, its crowded streets, the constant hum of life. He missed Liam. He missed knowing where he fit in the world.
As the conversation shifted back to Garett and Colton reminiscing about high school, Torin’s thoughts drifted. He felt like he didn’t belong here—like he was just a tagalong in Garett’s world. Sure, Garett was supposed to be protecting him, but that didn’t mean he cared about him in any meaningful way. Torin wasn’t a friend, a partner, or even someone Garett seemed to want around. He was just an obligation, and the weight of that realization made his chest ache.
The smell of the food, the clink of silverware, and the occasional burst of laughter from Garett and Colton felt like they were happening in another world. Torin’s world felt smaller, quieter, and lonelier.
“Torin,” Garett’s voice cut through his thoughts, snapping him back to the present. “You alright?”
Torin forced a nod. “Yeah, just tired.”
Garett frowned slightly but didn’t press further. Colton glanced between them but said nothing, his perceptive eyes lingering on Torin for a moment before returning to Garett.
Torin took a sip of water, swallowing the lump in his throat. He felt like a ghost at the table, invisible to the laughter and friendships around him. Homesickness gnawed at him, a steady ache that wouldn’t go away.
As they ate dinner, Torin sat quietly, his mind a million miles away. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get through this, but one thing was clear: he missed home more than ever.