Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Dustin
The car rumbles quietly as I drive through the winding roads of Baker’s Creek, the late afternoon light casting a golden hue over the evergreens that line the way.
Santos sits next to me in the passenger seat, relaxed after his lunch with Halsey.
He’s quiet, but it’s not the heavy kind of silence that’s been following us lately.
It’s a peaceful one, like the tension we’ve all been feeling has eased, at least for a little while.
I glance over at him, my fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel. “So, lunch with Halsey went well, huh?” Things with Hals are going well and us . . . okay, I’m a little jealous because they are fixing their shit faster than I’m fixing it with them.
Sleeping next to them is torture because I know that the next morning they’ll be fucking and I’ll be thinking about it while cleaning horse shit—literally.
And what am I supposed to do? It’s not like they don’t invite me, they do.
I just need to be in a good place to let myself love them—and love me.
Fuck, will that ever happen?
“It was nice. We talked about a lot of stuff. She’s . . . she’s good at making me feel like things will be okay, you know?”
“Yeah, she’s good at that.” I clear my throat, breaking the comfortable silence. “Hey, um . . . what do you think about us going on a date?”
”A date? Like are you getting me flowers too?” Santos turns his head toward me, a bit surprised.
“Yeah, if you want,” I say, suddenly a little nervous now that it’s out there. “I mean, we’ve never really . . . done that, have we? Like, a real date. Just the two of us.”
He’s quiet for a second, like he’s thinking it over, and then a slow smile spreads across his face. “No, we haven’t. But I’d like that.”
I can’t help but grin, relieved he’s on board. “Yeah? I was thinking maybe we could go out tomorrow. Just you and me. We could go to Portland or . . . anywhere you want really.”
Santos leans back in his seat. “I’d like that a lot, Dust.”
“We’ll be seen,” I warn him.
“Yes, and maybe someone will catch us kissing again,” he teases. “But this time, you don’t have to call Gavin to clean it up. This time maybe he’ll just say we were out and our beautiful, loving girlfriend stayed home for the night.”
I blink, feeling a rush of emotions I didn’t expect. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, but the hope is already rising inside me.
“I’m ready to come out as the queerest player in the league,” he says with a playful grin. “And if they don’t like it, well, I’ll quit. You’ll have to hire me as a farmhand. Maybe we’ll get an alpaca or two like Halsey wants.”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me, but underneath it, there’s so much more—relief, joy, a sense of freedom I hadn’t even realized I was waiting for. The idea of being with him, openly, of not hiding anymore—it feels huge.
“I’d be happy with a farm full of alpacas as long as you’re there,” I murmur, my voice low but full of meaning. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”
We pull into the driveway of the ranch, the house glowing softly in the setting sun. I park the car, and for a moment, neither of us moves. There’s this quiet tension between us, but not the kind that feels like it’s about to break. It’s the kind that feels like something’s about to happen.
When we finally step out of the car, I help Santos with his crutches, and we head toward the house. Once we’re inside, I stop him, gently taking his arm. “Santos.”
He turns to me, his eyes meeting mine. Without thinking too much about it, I close the space between us and lean in, pressing my lips softly to his.
It’s not the first time we’ve kissed, but this time feels different. This time isn’t rough, angry or demanding. His lips are warm, familiar, and for a moment, everything else fades away.
When we pull apart, he’s smiling, his breath a little unsteady. “That was . . . nice. You taking the role of doting boyfriend?”
I shrug a shoulder. “I’m taking the role of whatever you need me to, San.” But before we can say anything else, his phone buzzes in his pocket.
He frowns, pulling it out and glancing at the screen. His face tightens, and I can see the conflict in his eyes. “It’s my mom.”
I nod, stepping back a little. “You should answer.”
Santos hesitates for a second before pressing the call button and bringing the phone to his ear. “Hey, Mom.”
I can’t hear what she’s saying, but from the way his expression shifts, I can tell it’s not good.
“What? No, Mom, I’m fine,” he says, his voice tight. “I’m not going home with you and Dad. I’m staying here with Dustin and Halsey.”
There’s a long pause as his mother says something on the other end, and I watch as his hand grips his crutch a little tighter, his jaw clenching.
“Yes, that Halsey and Dustin. Or as I like to call them, my partners. We’re trying to get back together after what happened in Blissful Meadows and if you don’t approve . . . Well, I don’t care. You’ll lose a son instead of winning a daughter and another son.”
Another pause, and then he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know. But you’ve never . . . You’ve never stood up to him, Mom. You’ve never told him to back off. He’s been pushing me my whole life, making me feel like I’m not good enough, and you just . . . let it happen.”
His voice cracks at the end, and I can feel the rawness in his words, the years of frustration and hurt finally bubbling to the surface. I take a step closer to him, just to let him know I’m here, but I don’t say anything. This is something he needs to do.
There’s a long silence on the other end, and then, finally, I hear his mother’s voice, faint but clear enough to make out. “Santos . . . I’m sorry.”
He blinks, clearly not expecting that. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” she repeats, her voice heavy with emotion. “We had roles and your dad wanted to make sure you would be the best. I had no idea how to help you, but I thought . . . he was doing it for your own good. You know, my parents were just as strict.”
Santos is quiet for a long moment, his eyes staring at the ground as he processes her words. I can see the struggle in him—the part of him that’s still angry, that still feels the sting of all those years of pressure, and the part of him that’s hearing what he’s needed to hear for so long.
Finally, he exhales slowly. “I get it. But . . . things need to change, Mom. I can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not. And I can’t go back to that house, not right now.”
“I understand,” she says softly. “I just want you to be okay.”
“I’m working on it,” Santos says, his voice softening. “I’m getting there. But I need space, and I need to do this my way.”
There’s another pause, and then she says, “Okay. I’m proud of you, Santos. I know I don’t say it enough, but I am.”
“You okay?” I ask gently, watching the way his shoulders sag.
I sit down beside him, the cushions sinking. Slowly, I reach up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Yeah,” he whispers.
Leaning in, I close the distance between us. Our lips meet softly at first—a tentative connection charged with everything we’ve been holding back. His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining as the kiss deepens. There’s a tenderness in the way he responds, a quiet need that mirrors my own.
When we finally pull apart, his eyes remain closed for a heartbeat longer, as if holding onto the moment. He exhales slowly, a contented sigh. “Thank you,” he murmurs.
I squeeze his hand gently. “Anytime,” I reply, a genuine smile spreading across my face.
He rests his head against the back of the couch, a peaceful expression settling in. “You know,” he says after a pause, “sometimes I forget how easy it can be between us.”
I nod, understanding exactly what he means. “We complicate things, don’t we?”
Santos tilts his head, looking at me with a quiet intensity that pulls me in. There’s something in his eyes I haven’t seen in a long time—a softness, an openness. He swallows hard, as if wrestling with his words before he finally speaks.
“Yeah, we do,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “But I don’t want to anymore. I don’t want us to keep holding back—pretending it’s just . . . something less than what it is.”
I blink, caught off guard by the rawness in his voice. My heart races, knowing exactly what he’s trying to say. I can feel it too—everything that’s been left unsaid between us.
“I love you, Dustin,” he continues, his voice quieter now, but no less powerful. “I’ve loved you for a long time. And I’m so fucking sorry that I never said it or showed it.”
The rush of his words hit me harder than I expected. I stare at him for a beat, my mind racing to catch up with my heart. But deep down, I already know. I’ve always known.
“Santos,” I breathe, my voice trembling. “I love you too.”
I lean in, cupping his face in my hands, feeling the warmth of his skin under my fingertips. Pressing my lips to his in a kiss. It’s a kiss that says everything we haven’t said until now.
When we pull away, his forehead rests against mine, our breaths mingling in the quiet space between us.
“We should . . .” he trails off, his eyes flicking toward the hallway, a slight smirk forming on his lips. “Go to my room.”
I nod, my heart pounding in my chest. “Yeah,” I whisper. “Let’s go.”