Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
WILDER
T hey pried themselves away from each other only when Cash’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Wilder felt it against his hip, laughing into Cash’s mouth at the sensation.
“That’ll be one of the boys,” Cash said. “Time to head back.”
“Come to my room,” Wilder said, not yet willing to give him up. His room faced the rest of the ranch, and someone could see him coming or going, but Wilder didn’t care. “Come to my room and spend the night.”
Cash’s smile was a brighter and more beautiful glow than all the stars in the sky above them. “I’d love to.”
Wilder’s mouth felt oversensitive as they made their way through the throng of people inside and out the front door, where the others had congregated while they waited for the stragglers.
Billy looked them both up and down. “Where’d you two run off to?”
A brief spike of irritation hit Wilder. It wasn’t Billy’s business where they’d been.
Cash opened his mouth to speak, but Clyde interrupted. “That’s the last of us. Everybody get to the truck. I’m ready to hit the hay. Take the same seats you had on the ride up here. I ain’t waiting for y’all to figure out another round of who-sits-where.”
Which would put Billy in the front and Wilder and Cash in the truck bed again. Did Clyde know, or suspect, what was going on between them? Or was he just generally trying to keep Billy and Wilder away from each other?
Billy headed for the truck with Wayne and Darryl, and Clyde shot Cash a wink.
Well. That settled that. Someone knew the truth, and it wasn’t the end of the world.
He was giddy as he climbed into the back of the truck. His body barely registered the cold as he sat, accepting a blanket Cash handed him and flushing when he realized he meant for them to share. Hidden under the wool, Cash’s hand found his thigh. Clyde gave Wayne the usual lecture about not standing up, and then they were off, the truck growling out into the night.
Cash’s idly exploring fingers found his inseam. Innocent at first, or so Wilder thought. They stroked back and forth in place for a little while and then moved, following the line up Wilder’s thigh. Wilder held his breath as he neared his groin, torn between his need for secrecy and his desire to be touched. He waited for Cash’s decision, and some part of him recognized with resignation that he would accept whatever Cash chose to give him. He was that far gone on the man. If Cash wanted to stick a hand down his pants right here in front of Darryl and Wayne, far be it from Wilder to refuse him.
But Cash didn’t do that. He stopped just shy of Wilder’s growing bulge, his fingers playing with the inseam but going no further.
Wilder turned his head, pleased to see Cash’s face was flushed under the passing streetlights. He was certain he looked just as affected.
“You’re a goddamn tease,” he murmured, shifting slightly.
Cash’s face split into a grin. “Would you like me to stop?”
“Don’t you dare.” He didn’t want Cash to ever stop touching him. He slipped a hand under the blanket to wrap around Cash’s wrist, intending to hold him there, but Cash’s hand turned to meet his, tangling their fingers together.
“I won’t,” Cash said solemnly, his honey brown eyes deep with intent, and Wilder knew he wasn’t just talking about his hand on Wilder’s leg.
Holding hands under a blanket on a cold Autumn night, Wilder felt like his past and present selves were colliding. It was such a simple thing, holding hands with a boy he liked, and yet he’d never dared to do it. He’d missed out on so many rights of passage as a kid. His life had frozen while he was in prison, and now that he was free, he still felt eighteen in a lot of ways, picking up right where he’d left off.
He couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather pick things up with. Cash was his safe place to land. He could safely stitch his past and present together with Cash’s help. That much he knew.
The ranch was dark and quiet when the truck ambled to a stop in front of the bunkhouse. A few of the guys muttered farewells as they departed for their rooms, and when the last of them was out of the truck, Clyde drove away to park it around the side of the building, leaving Wilder and Cash standing alone.
Cash looked askance at him. “Do you want to see my room?”
Wilder perked up, and Cash leaned in, as though he needed further bribery, and whispered in Wilder’s ear, “I have lube.”
Wilder closed his eyes. “Fuck yeah I want to see your room.”
Cash chuckled, a molten sound that sent sparks exploding under Wilder’s skin, and took Wilder’s hand. “Come on, then.”
Cash’s room was on the back side of the bunkhouse, along with the laundry room. He shot Wilder a starlit smile as he keyed open the door and pushed it open, inviting Wilder to cross the threshold first.
It looked much more like a home than Wilder’s bare-bones room did. A warm, western-style rug covered the floor. An ancient, oak trunk sat by the foot of the bed, which was larger than Wilder’s and had a different headboard. There was a small television sitting on the dresser. A framed photograph of a horse hung on the wall by the window, above a narrow, waist-high bookcase that was packed with books.
“The next time I’m bedridden, I’m staying in here,” he declared. It was bold of him, because no one knew about them. They’d have to explain why Wilder wasn’t staying in his own room, if that happened. But maybe, just maybe, he would be ready to be honest with the world by then.
“There better not be a next time,” Cash said, turning him around.
Smiling, Wilder opened his mouth to respond, but Cash cut him off with a searing kiss. He sighed into it, cradling Cash’s face.
They undressed each other unhurriedly, discarded clothing leaving a trail in their wake toward the bed. Fully naked together for the first time, Cash pushed Wilder down onto the bed. He went eagerly as Cash grabbed the lube.
Wilder tucked an arm behind his head and drank in the sight of Cash’s naked body with appreciation. Sun-kissed and dusted with coarse black hair, he was broad and healthy. Not as lean as Wilder, his muscles were thicker and covered in a healthy layer of fat that made it obvious he was a man of labor. He probably had incredible stamina.
Wilder cleared his throat. “I feel like I should state for the record, before we begin, that I’ve never actually done this before.”
Cash paused with one knee on the bed, quirking a curious brow at him. “At all?”
“I’ve never taken anyone, no. I’ve, ah, used a finger on myself here and there. Nothing more than that.”
Cash nodded slowly, crawling over. Wilder’s legs parted for him at once, accepting him on top of him easily.
“Is that surprising?” Wilder asked tentatively.
“No,” Cash said, kissing him softly. “I know there are clichés about prison, but,” he tapped the knife tattoo on Wilder’s neck, “I also believe you crafted this reputation while you were in there for a reason.”
All the air rushed from Wilder’s lungs. “I did. But it’s not all a lie, y’know. I really did kill people. Not just… the one that got me in there in the first place.”
Cash shrugged one shoulder, fingers combing idly through Wilder’s chestnut brown hair. “I believe you. It doesn’t change how I feel about you. If you ever want to tell me about it, I’ll listen. You may have done some bad things, but you’re not a bad man. You’ll never convince me of that. You’ll never convince me you did those things just because you felt like it. I think you’ve always been a survivor, and that’s exactly what you did, even in prison. You found a way to survive.”
Wilder’s eyes burned. “Jesus Christ.” He wiped his eyes. “How do you do that?”
Cash kissed him sweetly. “Learning you has been one of the greatest pleasures of my life. I don’t know how many times I have to say I think you’re incredible before you start to believe me.”
Wilder’s mouth curled into a reluctant smile. “A few more, at least.”
They got lost in each other’s mouths after that, tongues tangling and bodies rocking. When they finally parted, they were both breathless.
“Would you rather do it the other way around this time?” Cash offered.
Wilder bit his lip. The idea of being inside Cash was appealing, but… “No, I want this. I want it to be you, and I want it to be tonight.”
Cash’s smile was like moonlight, glowing and beautiful. “We’ll go slow.”
“I trust you.” Terrifying, exhilarating, and the most honest he could ever remember being.
His hands shook as Cash kissed his way down his body. Nerves gave way to pleasure as Cash’s mouth expertly took his length, and he barely noticed when the first slick finger entered his body. Heat shot through him as a second finger squeezed inside. The stretch burned, but it was a good pain. A healing pain. He needed Cash more than air.
Cash took his time, guiding him almost to the brink again and again, stretching him open with gentle care. By the time Cash declared him ready, he was mindless with need, a puddle of sensation on the mattress, pliant and willing for anything.
Cash pushed his knees up, pressing their lips together as he lined himself up and eased inside. A strangled sound got caught in Wilder’s throat as Cash’s thick cock split him open. He was so, so grateful this hadn’t happened in prison, couldn’t imagine anyone else taking what he was giving Cash now.
“You okay, baby?” Cash asked as another inch sank inside.
Wilder nodded, despite his trembling body and watering eyes. “I’m fine. I’m good. Don’t stop.”
Cash watched his face as he flexed his hips, wiping the tears away as he pushed all the way to the root. “Am I hurting you?”
He shook his head, then realized it was a lie. “It’s a good pain.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, yes, please…”
“Okay, okay,” Cash soothed, kissing him quiet. “Just breathe. That’s it.”
They breathed together for a few moments, and then Cash moved, pulling out just slightly and pushing back in, drawing a moan from them both.
“Still okay?”
“So good,” Wilder moaned. “More, please.”
“Absolutely.”
He widened his pace, driving in and out of Wilder with slow, measured purpose. Every press inside hit him at just the right angle, sending sparks of pleasure hurtling up his spine. He clung to Cash’s back, his quiet sounds building until desperate cries spilled unhindered past his lips. He lost himself to the hot glide of their bodies, forgetting all but the sensation of Cash filling him up.
When Cash slipped a hand between their bodies to take his neglected length in hand, he hissed, thighs tightening around Cash’s thick waist.
“Oh, Cash, ‘m gonna come,” he moaned, throwing his head back.
“Yeah, baby, do it, do it. Let me see it.” Cash smeared open-mouthed kisses across his chest, bending to suck a nipple into his mouth, and fireworks went off behind Wilder’s eyelids.
His back arched as he came, squeezing his eyes shut and groaning. Above him, Cash moaned, thrusting into him hard and shuddering as he followed him over the edge, his cock jerking in Wilder’s sensitive hole.
Deep inside Wilder, something slotted into place. Like he’d been walking around with an open wound all this time, and now someone had finally put a balm over it and snuffed out the pain. He could breathe for the first time in years, and his throat tightened at the realization. The pain might not be truly gone, because the wound was still there, but it wasn’t killing him anymore. The moment he’d met Cash, it had started to heal.
The angry boy he’d once been and the jaded man he’d become were both soothed. This was an experience he should have had years ago. Like Lain starting his family and getting married, Wilder was now taking steps to become a fully realized human being. No more bars caging him in. Just freedom, here in the arms of a good man.
His breath hitched, and Cash raised his head to look down at him in alarm.
“Baby,” he said, taking Wilder’s face in his hands.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he whimpered, trying to hide his face only to have Cash bat his hands away.
He pulled out gently and rolled them, letting Wilder hide against his chest as sobs wracked through him. One hand swept up and down his back, and the other combed through his mussed hair, soothing.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Cash said softly. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. Everything’s gonna be okay, you’ll see.”
The wildest thing was that Wilder believed him. Now that he had Cash, now that he had his freedom, now that he was picking up the pieces of the life he’d left behind when he was sentenced, everything would be okay. The system had thrown him out into a world he no longer understood, and he’d flailed and kicked and struggled, but somehow he’d figured out this whole swimming thing, and now his head was safely above water. He was going to be okay.
When his tears finally dried, he moved up the bed until he and Cash were sharing a pillow, face to face with their hands clasped between them and their legs entwined under the blankets. Neither of them spoke for a while. Cash seemed to be in no hurry to break the silence, and Wilder needed time to work himself up to what he wanted to say.
“When I was sent to prison, I was a scrawny, eighteen-year-old kid,” he croaked, his eyes firmly on the way their fingers fit together. “You said you’d heard the clichés about prison—well, a lot of them are true. Plenty of guys when I went in called me ‘twink’ and made threats about getting me alone in the shower or whatever. I was scared out of my mind. One minute I was going to high school and working the ranch, and the next I was a murderer trapped behind bars with a bunch of guys that were somehow a hell of a lot worse than I was.”
Cash made a noise of understanding but didn’t interrupt.
“I grieved for a while, cried myself to sleep in my bunk at night and hated myself for screwing up my life. It felt like I was in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. But eventually, I had to pick up the pieces and make do with the hand I’d accidentally given myself. I might’ve been secretly gay, but that didn’t mean I wanted to bend over for the first guy who laid claim to me in there. Which meant I needed to give myself a different reputation. I couldn’t be the scared kid who cried all the time and wanted to go home. I knew I had what it took to protect myself, because I’d done it with Dad. So, when the first guy tried to catch me off-guard in the shower, I fought back. I don’t want to go into a lot of detail, but I sent him to the infirmary with multiple injuries.”
“Good for you,” Cash murmured.
Wilder chuckled. “I adopted this permanent scowl on my face, hoping it would scare others off. Kept to myself. The next guy who tried me, same thing. It turned into a fight, and we both wound up in the infirmary. After the first year, I got this tattoo.” He turned their hands and gestured to the five dots between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s a prison symbol. The prisoner is in the center, and the dots around him represent four walls. It was a reminder to myself that I had to make do with the situation I was in. ‘This is my life now,’ that kind of thing.”
“Jesus.”
Wilder’s mouth twisted. “After that first year, I’d made enough of a reputation for people to know not to fuck with me, but I still had some who saw me as a challenge. It became more about beating me and showing the others they were bigger and badder. Another year of that, and I got the next tat.” He brought his other hand up between them, showing Cash the EWMN on his knuckles.
“Evil, wicked, mean, nasty?” Cash guessed.
Wilder blinked in surprise. “You know what it means?”
“Clyde told me. He had a cousin who did time.”
“Ah. Well, yeah. I wanted it to be a sign for people to leave me alone.”
“Did they?”
“Some. The crowning achievement of my dangerous-felon persona came when my cellmate, Randall, came to me and said the skinheads were giving him trouble. Randall was mixed race, you see, and he was also a heroin addict. Skinny and vulnerable. He, uh.” Wilder stopped, wondering how much he should say about his and Randall’s agreement.
“No judgment, remember?” Cash whispered. “Not from me. Not ever.”
Wilder sighed. “He wanted my help. He wanted me to kill the skinhead who was fucking with him, and since he didn’t have anything to pay me with, he offered—other services. And by that point, I’d been in for two years with no relief but my hand.” He gave Cash an imploring look.
Cash shook his head, leaning in for a sweet kiss. “No judgment, baby.”
“I’d have killed that particular skinhead for free,” Wilder confessed with a wry smile. “He was an asshole. Randall was a nice guy who needed somebody to have his back, and he was the only one who’d ever offered me anything. Everybody else just wanted to take. Randall wanted a mutually beneficial arrangement—and a blowjob from somebody I knew couldn’t overpower me sounded ideal. So I took him up on it. Used a strip of fabric from a blanket, caught the skinhead alone, choked him out.
“The knife tattoo was Randall’s idea. He told me what it meant. The tattoo artist confirmed it. After I got it, everyone knew I was the one who’d offed the skinhead, but people messed with me less. I had a service they might want to take advantage of now. There were two others over the years. One offered me cigarettes, which is basically currency on the inside, and since I don’t smoke, it set me up nicely. The other one was a young guy, toward the end of my time. He didn’t have a damn thing to offer me, and he wasn’t jaded enough to even think of offering sexual favors. He… He reminded me of me, I guess, when I first went in, so I did it as a favor to him. Wanted to be there for him in a way no one was for me.”
“That was kind of you,” Cash said.
Wilder shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe. Not sure how he’s faring now that I’m not around to look after him.”
“How long was he in for?”
“Five years, I think. He’d done one when I was released. Told me he was a transient and got arrested breaking into people’s homes for supplies. Too many people have home security cameras now.”
“Tough break,” Cash said lightly—a little too lightly, and Wilder shot him an amused look.
“Is that a tone of judgment I hear?” he teased.
“I said I wouldn’t judge you .” Cash smiled reluctantly. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t judge them, either.”
“You can judge some of them,” Wilder allowed, tucking an arm under his head. “Some of them absolutely do bad shit on purpose and fully intend to do more the minute they’re released. Lucky for me, I only had one dad to kill, so the odds of a repeat offense are low.”
Cash sputtered out a scandalized laugh.
Wilder beamed at him. “Thanks for laughing at that. Not many would’ve.”
Cash’s face softened, and he reached up to brush callused fingers delicately across Wilder’s cheek. “I’m not sure I could have survived in that kind of environment. You’re an incredibly strong, resilient man. Being a survivor doesn’t mean you’re bad.”
“Tell that to the rest of the town.”
“I will,” Cash swore seriously. “One person at a time. But I still think we should start with Lain.”
Wilder squirmed.
“I know you’re not ready yet, and that’s fine. But when you two are ready to finally have it out, I’ll be right there with you. Okay?”
Wilder blew out a breath. “He doesn’t care what I have to say, Cash.”
“Does that mean it shouldn’t still be said? For your own sake? Aren’t there things you wish you could say to him? Things you sat in that cell and dwelled on for eight years ?”
Wilder’s eyes were dangerously wet again. “Yes,” he rasped. “Of course. He never came to visit, you know? Which I expected, I guess. The night it happened, I remember the shock on his face when it was over. Dad wasn’t moving, and Lain said ‘You orphaned us. He was all we had.’ And then he didn’t even come to the trial. He gave them permission to use his medical records and show the court that Dad had been beating us that night, but he never showed up. And the prosecutor pointed that out to the jury. ‘You use his medical records for your defense, but isn’t it true that he hasn’t spoken to you since that night?’”
Cash scowled. “They shouldn’t have done that. That was a low blow.”
“They were making a point that my own brother thought I was too dangerous to support. But I got ten years, not life, so I guess my story was sympathetic enough to give me a lightened sentence. Once I was in, I tried to call him a few times. To apologize or try to explain or something. Beg him to come and see me, because I felt like I was losing my mind. But he never took my calls.”
“How’d you wind up coming here when you were released, then? Didn’t you contact him?”
“I stopped calling for years. I called maybe a dozen times that first year, because I had nothing to do but dwell on all the poor choices I’d made that led me to where I was. It took me a while to figure out that he was never going to answer. I didn’t want to come here, because I knew he didn’t want me here, but I didn’t have anywhere else to go. So when my early parole was approved, I gave it one last shot. I called, and this time, eight years later, he finally answered.” He could admit, at least to himself, that he’d wondered why Lain finally answered that one. What changed? Or had time simply dulled Lain’s feelings about what happened back then? He’d never know unless they sat down and talked about it.
Cash frowned mulishly. “He should’ve taken your calls before then. You’re his brother .”
“I killed his father,” he whispered, with none of the glibness he usually infused that statement with. “Even if Dad was a piece of shit, Lain was right, he was all we had. I think… that’s how Lain sees it. Killing him ruined Lain’s life.”
“Ruined his life?” Cash repeated, incredulous. “Look around. The ranch is thriving. He’s got a beautiful wife and wonderful daughter. You think he’d have any of that if your dad was still in charge of this place?”
“I know, I know. I’m just telling you what I think he thinks. Killing him thrust Lain into this huge, stressful role, running the ranch all alone. I don’t think he ever wanted that.”
“Maybe things were hard for him in the beginning,” Cash said, “but he’s so much better off now. Hell, he’s been running this whole ranch himself, and I know for a fact that he loves this place. Maybe he didn’t really want it then, but he’s turned it into a home. He wouldn’t have any of this if you hadn’t done what you did. Best case scenario, if your dad was still out of the picture at this point, Lain would probably be sharing it all with you.”
Something lurched through Wilder at that realization, and he turned away to stare up at the ceiling. Was that true? Was half the ranch supposed to have been his? He’d always wanted to run this ranch his way, without Dad’s interference. Did he throw away his teenage dream the night he killed him?
“That never occurred to you?” Cash asked softly.
“No. It made sense that Lain took over with Dad and me—gone. But I never thought about whether I had a claim to the ranch.”
Cash winced. “Would you… want it? I’ll admit, I worried in the beginning that Lain’s estranged brother would come in and try to bully his way into part-ownership of the ranch. But then I met you. You wouldn’t have done something like that.”
“No, I wouldn’t have. I understand the concern, though. Family member you’ve never heard of before suddenly shows up now that things are running smoothly, it’s normal to be suspicious. I just… didn’t have anywhere else to go. I even looked into a few halfway houses and construction jobs near the prison, because I wasn’t sure Lain would even let me come here. I needed a fallback plan.”
Cash guided his head to turn and kissed him. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”
Wilder smiled, tentatively hoping they could shed the weight of this conversation now. He’d done it. He’d told his whole, sordid story, and Cash had listened without judgment, just like he promised. The last layer of his armor was gone, at least between him and Cash, and he felt lighter than ever.
“Me, too,” he whispered, kissing Cash again. And again. And again. Just because he could.
“Stay,” Cash pleaded as they rolled, Wilder’s legs parting to straddle Cash’s hips. “Stay the night.”
“Okay, if you’re really gonna twist my arm about it,” Wilder teased, rolling his hips and dragging their swelling erections against each other.
Cash laughed.