Chapter Eleven
Nate awoke curled around a warm body without a trace of confusion over who was nestled in his arms or how they’d gotten there. He’d slept better than he had in ages. Those late-night rendezvous between him and Wesley were becoming a habit and one he didn’t mind even a little.
Wesley was right, though. Sharing a bed had been a spectacularly bad idea.
He wouldn’t regret doing so, couldn’t regret it, but it couldn’t happen again.
Getting used to sleeping with someone only to go their separate ways sooner rather than later invited the sharp sting of loss, especially when what they had wasn’t his to keep.
Wesley shifted slightly and a few muscles tensed under Nate’s fingers. He was awake, easily discernible from the way his body went from slack and weightless to subtly present.
“Good morning,” Nate said.
“Mmm, hi,” Wesley replied, soft and sleepy. His body slackened once more as if reassured Nate wasn’t going to push him right out from under the covers and onto the floor.
“How’d you sleep?”
Wesley hummed an affirmative. “You?”
“Surprisingly, yeah. Since I haven’t shared a bed with anyone in forever, I wasn’t sure how well I’d actually sleep with another person in my bed with me.”
“What time is it anyway?”
Nate rolled backward, noting the brightness of the world beyond his window blinds, and grabbed his phone. “Close to ten.”
“Wow. We both must have really needed that.”
It was Nate’s turn to make a noise in lieu of agreement.
“I suppose we ought to get up and get the day started.”
“Ought we?” Nate asked, but Wesley was right. Once they left the warm coziness of the bedding, there’d be no going back. They both knew it.
“Nature’s calling me.”
“Same here.” Nate sighed. “Let’s meet in the kitchen for brunch in twenty minutes or so.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
They moved through the next twenty minutes in quiet harmony, easing into the rhythm of the morning. Like a real couple would. If only…
* * * * *
Wesley entered the kitchen and was summarily shooed right back out, cup of coffee in hand. “I can help. I feel a lot better than even yesterday.” Amazing what a good night’s sleep next to a hot man could do.
“Glad to hear that, but there’s not much left to do. Have a seat.” Nate set two large, shallow dinner bowls and a platter on the raised stretch of counter space. Silverware jangled as Nate grabbed what was needed from the drawer and then came around to the dining table.
Wesley peered at the contents of the bowl Nate set in front of him.
Some sort of beef was piled next to a mound of quinoa.
Bite-sized chunks of tomato and avocado added bright splashes of color.
The platter boasted several slices of toast with almond butter and sliced bananas.
He reached for a piece of toast. “This looks interesting. Good, but interesting.”
“Lean protein and complex carbs. Rich in antioxidants—” He pointed at the tomatoes, then at the avocados. “—healthy fats and anti-inflammatory benefits.”
They ate in harmonious silence for a while. Once Wesley had consumed about half the beef and a third of the quinoa, he asked, “What do you think about going to the Bob Kerrey Bridge today?”
“Are you up for that?” Nate’s eyebrow arched and he took a huge bite of toast.
“We’ve been holed up in here for close to a week, and I could really use some fresh air and sunshine. A little walking can’t hurt. As long as you’re not planning to sprint to the center of the bridge, I should be fine. Besides, there are benches along the bridge if I need to sit.”
“Only if you’re sure.”
With a nod, Wesley said, “I’m sure.”
Thirty minutes later, they’d parked and were headed for the walking path that would get them onto the bridge. But first they passed the tr—
“What is that?” Nate asked with a chuckle.
OMAR was made of bronze and sat on a flat rock in the shade of the bridge. He was blue from the top of his pointy hair to the tips of his four fingers and three toes. He wore a white tee shirt and orange shorts.
“That’s OMAR, the blue bridge troll. You want to take a picture for your social media?”
“Good idea. Show fans I’m checking out the city. I’ll post later though, once we’re back at the condo.”
“Gimme your phone, I’ll take the picture.”
“Let’s take one together.”
“Not for your official social media.”
“I don’t care about that.” Nate arched an eyebrow. “Nate Hennessey, vocal ally, nice to meet you.”
Wesley swiped a hand at him. The man had no sense of self-preservation. “I know you don’t, but I don’t need my location documented on the Internet right now—”
“Oh, shit. Right. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Get over there next to OMAR and smile so I can take your picture.”
Nate walked over, pointed at OMAR, and pasted on a smile that Wesley could tell was his public persona smile and not the true one that revealed a missing tooth and made the corners of his eyes crinkle. Wesley captured the image and held the phone out.
“Now, us together,” Nate said, tone firm.
“My face looks like a bruised pear. It’ll look horrible.” Not that he would refuse because then he’d have a picture of the real Nate—something that probably few other people had.
“It’ll be fine. No one’s gonna see it but me. I promise.” Nate stuck out his bottom lip again, damn him, and Wesley was helpless to resist the combination of pouty lip and twinkling eyes.
“Share it with me,” Wesley said once the moment had been captured. “Now—let’s go enjoy the sun and the view.”
The trek up the sloped ramp left Wesley breathless, and he stopped to catch his breath on the bridge proper.
They leaned on the bridge rail, side by side, watching the water ripple below them. A soft wind ruffled past them, cool in contrast to the warmth of the sun, the air rich with the earthiness of mud and damp soil.
Wesley sighed and pushed away from the railing. “Reminds me of staying with my grandparents when I was a kid. All that’s missing is the scent of laundry detergent on the breeze and the wobbly buzz of the ceiling fan in the kitchen.”
Nate fell in step beside him. “Where was that?”
“North of Durant, Oklahoma on the Blue River. Grampa farmed. The house overlooked a private pond, and Gramma always had the windows open. No AC back then.”
Wesley’s gaze drifted along the river’s edge, reminding him of the pond. “That was a long time ago,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Sounds idyllic—was it?”
The bridge wasn’t overly crowded, and they walked on the right side as if they were cars on a road.
“Some of my favorite memories. My sister and I would run all over the property, go swimming in the pond, and help Gramma in the garden. Sometimes Grampa would let us ride on the tractor.”
“You have a sister?”
Wesley nodded. “She’s a couple of years younger than me.”
“Where does she live?”
“Last I heard, she’s in Oklahoma City.”
Nate gave him a sideways glance. “Last you heard…” He shook his head as if he understood the unspoken part of the story. “Never mind, none of my business. I take it that’s not where you grew up then?”
“No. I grew up an hour and a half south of Oklahoma City in Lone Grove, just west of Ardmore.”
“Wow. You’re a ways from home too.”
A wash of heat licked up Wesley’s face. “Yeah. I moved up here for a guy and never left.” Leaving town wasn’t his finest hour, but he’d gotten away from home and had no desire to go back.
“And the guy…he’s not in the picture.”
With a shake of his head, Wesley said, “We parted ways about a year later. That was six years ago.”
“Were you already a teacher?”
“I had three years of school under my belt and the last year took me another three. But I made it happen. Worked two jobs, took online classes, and squeezed in in-person classes when I could.” Those years had been some of the hardest, loneliest years of his life.
He’d lived on store-brand mac and cheese and chicken broth, splurging on a roast chicken once a week for protein.
It hadn’t been just the lack of money; it had been the isolation, too. He’d never had anyone to turn to, never felt like he had a place. Somehow, he’d just kept going, one foot in front of the other, because that’s what people did when they had nothing else to rely on.
“Eventually, I moved to Plattsmouth and substitute taught while I finished the last few classes. I did my student teaching at the elementary school there and they hired me the following school year. This year will be my third year as a full-fledged teacher.”
“Wow, that’s impressive. That you stuck with your education despite the hurdles. Is it dumb or, I don’t know, inappropriate to say I’m proud of you?”
A wave of warmth curled through Wesley. He shook his head.
He’d never heard praise from anyone who mattered, and never in a way that sank in the way Nate’s did.
The principal and his co-workers had offered compliments before, but those had always felt perfunctory.
This was different—this felt genuine. “Thanks.”
“Yeah. Sure. Did you always want to be a teacher?”
“Yes, actually. Since I was in middle school. I experienced first-hand the transition of young children into monsters, and I thought that if I became a teacher, I could foster a little more acceptance and kindness into that age group.”
“Shouldn’t you be teaching fifth or sixth grade then?”
“I should be, yes, but there are several teachers with more seniority, so I have third grade for now. Which is a lovely age, to be honest. I hope I’m sowing enough seeds in these kids and nurturing them appropriately that they—the seeds, that is—keep blossoming for years to come.”
Nate flashed one of those rare genuine smiles that made his eyes sparkle. “I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t.”
More warmth bloomed in his chest. He was getting too used to the way he felt when he was with Nate, too comfortable in the soft glow of his approval.
He hadn’t realized how starved he was for real acknowledgment—how badly he needed someone to see him, not just what he did—until Nate’s quiet praise settled into the cracks he didn’t even know were there.
Wesley shifted uncomfortably. Was it possible he was starting to feel too much, too fast?
He’d be moving back home soon. If he were smart, he’d start distancing himself now, before this thing between them grew into something more complicated.
But could he? Could he really pull back from this connection that felt… real?
“Oh, hey look. Here we are. The border of Nebraska and Iowa.” A few people were ahead of them taking pictures, so they slowed to wait their turn.
Wesley assessed his fatigue. They’d walked at such a meandering pace that he wasn’t winded per se, but his torso ached just from being upright for so long.
It was a good discomfort, though, a beneficial one.
The muscles needed to be stretched, worked, loosened.
School started in three weeks. He had in-service in a couple weeks. Ugh.
“Our turn,” said Nate, tugging Wesley by the elbow. “Let’s both be in two places at once.”
They faced one another, straddling the state line and grinning.
Nate took a picture of his sneakered feet to post to social media in the next day or two, and then they asked a mom pushing a stroller to take a picture of them together.
Wesley stood in front of Nate, leaning slightly to the east while Nate leaned a bit to the west. She took the picture and handed Wesley his phone back.
It was only a picture—so why did it feel like proof of something he shouldn’t want?