Chapter 20 #2
Technically, their stories didn’t line up. He had told Justine he loved Wyatt twice now, and even Wyatt didn’t know this yet. And besides, his parents loved him and would love him no matter who he loved, so it made sense that his mother’s reaction was so… unbothered. He smiled.
“I have an idea,” he said, kissing the side of Wyatt’s stubbled cheek.
Wyatt hummed, their bodies brushing.
“Well, more of a request.”
Wyatt’s eyes leveled with his. “Go on.”
John sucked in a nervous breath. “I know that normally at this point we—well, we have fun.” He felt ridiculously self-conscious all of a sudden. “And I know I sorta promised something earlier. But I like this, too. A lot, actually. Could we sit outside and just…?”
“Are you asking to not have sex and talk?” Wyatt teased, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll open another bottle of wine,” he said easily, already heading for the kitchen, and paused. “Do you have a sweater I could borrow?”
John nodded, loving the idea of seeing his sweater on his cowboy.
A few moments later, John joined Wyatt on the patio and noticed that he had grabbed not only a fresh bottle of wine and their glasses, but also a pumpkin pie with two forks.
His chest warmed and he smiled as he handed Wyatt his favorite old sweater from a trip he took to Tahoe a few years back. He slipped it on, the blue sweater fitting him perfectly. Wyatt then promptly patted the spot beside him on the outdoor sofa.
John snuggled close beside him, feeling the heat from the firepit warming him, but not as well as Wyatt.
“Serious question,” Wyatt said in that thready, deep voice that turned his insides to goo. “Whipped cream or no whipped cream?” he hitched his chin to the pumpkin pie.
John smirked, “On you or the pie?”
“I thought you said you wanted to chill.”
“Oh, I do, but I also love it when your voice drops like that. It’s so fucking sexy. It gives me goosebumps almost every time.”
A glorious blush sparkled on his cowboy’s cheeks. “It’s the tone I use with patients when they're scared—or the horses when they need to be calmed. Or…”
John saw the glimmer of mischief in his pale blues.
“Seducing you,” Wyatt admitted.
“You’ve known this whole time?” he asked, surprised but not. Wyatt could read him like an open book, so of course he figured out how his voice set his pulse racing.
Pride flashed on the younger man’s face as he murmured, “I figured it out the first night I had you in bed.”
His chest tingled and he reached for him, kissing him, blood heating in his veins like lava as he kissed down his jawline to the red hickey on his neck and ravishing him once more.
Wyatt let out a whimpering sigh, “Fuck me.”
John closed his eyes, loving how desperate he sounded. How good he felt against him. How perfect his evening had been once he had shown up.
“I think I plan to do exactly that…” he drawled, causing Wyatt to gasp a breathy sigh. “…Later.”
Wyatt’s next sound was slight disappointment and a pout.
John snorted in surprise, releasing him, “Are you seriously pouting?”
“What?” Wyatt whined. “Just because I like to ride you like the best damn stallion in all of LA doesn’t mean this cowboy doesn’t like to be taken out for a ride himself every once in a while.”
He chuckled, leaning forward to share the pumpkin pie as they sipped their wine.
“Thank you for coming tonight,” John said after a few minutes, setting the empty pie tin on the ground. “I liked seeing you here, with my family.”
“Thanks for letting me stay. I’m sorry—”
“Don’t apologize for anything. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I shouldn’t have just shown up tonight.”
John sighed, “And I shouldn’t have shut you out.” He reached for his hand, their fingers tangling. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m the one who’s sorry.”
Wyatt’s fingers wrapped with his, his voice gentle as he said, “You ran.”
He tilted his head to the side and acknowledged the truth, knowing what he was referring to: Wyatt’s vulnerable confession of love for him after he was attacked.
John didn’t want him to take back the words.
And a part of him was terrified of hearing it again, because only a few months ago he had been steps away from the black void in his soul.
And he wasn’t sure he was ready to let love in yet.
No matter how much he wanted it—needed it. How much he felt it for Wyatt.
“I ran,” John acknowledged in a harsh grate.
Wyatt’s pale blue eyes sparkled against the orange light of the fire. “I suppose after life-altering orgasms and almost getting your head cut off aren’t exactly the best times to confess anything.”
Once more surprised by Wyatt’s levity and lightness, John pressed his firm kiss into his knuckles. Or maybe it was the best time, he thought.
“Where did you go?” Wyatt asked quietly.
His eyes searched his, frowning.
“Samuels was worried about you when you left my room. He mentioned he saw you take the stairs.”
John swallowed, averting his gaze, unable to hold it. “Outside. Just went to get some air.”
Wyatt nodded slowly, knowingly. “On the roof?”
Fuck.
“Only quiet place in the whole damned hospital,” John said, noting the defensive armor pushing against his chest, wanting to protect himself.
“Look at me,” Wyatt’s voice was direct and low.
Something told him not to, to run again—to not let him see how scared he was.
Because in this moment, he knew Wyatt would see it again, the love and the fear, meshed together in this horrible fucking knot that he couldn’t untangle, that was stuck in the hollow of his throat and in the pit of his soul.
He finally did, sucking in a deep breath and staring head-on into the face of the man he couldn’t hide anything from.
Wyatt’s gaze was unexpectedly soft, almost tender, as he drew his hands into his lips, kissing each finger one at a time. Not in a sensual way, but an affectionate one. “I’m not worried, just so you know.”
“About?”
“You.”
The aching pit tightened in his stomach and he trembled.
He hadn’t expected that. He had learned at a young age that armoring himself, suppressing his emotions with family and friends, was a way to control not only what they saw when they looked at him, but also to protect them from worrying. Especially his parents.
“Why not?” John asked tightly.
“I think you believe that being sensitive makes you weak. It doesn’t. It’s the strongest thing about you. And you run from it because you have some shit in your head about, I dunno, being a man? A failure? Enough?”
He sucked in a breath, disconcerted at how paper-thin his armor was against Wyatt.
“You don’t ever have to hide it from me,” his cowboy whispered. “I wish you didn’t feel ashamed about the most incredible part of you.”
The invisible weight strapped to his shoulders slowly began to slide down his back and off his body.
“Your emotions don’t scare me, John.” Wyatt reached for the back of his neck, dragging him into a tender kiss. “It’s your armor that does.”
Speechless, emotion gripping his heart like a fist, Wyatt once more pressed his lips against his before leaning back to begin rubbing his shoulder again, and he let out a hiss of pain.
“When Samuels said you tackled that asshole with your shoulder, I knew you’d be sore.”
A weak laugh spilled out and his incredible, sexy, compassionate cowboy rubbed his shoulder down, humming low and throaty, forcing John to relax again.
After several minutes, John was sprawled out on the sofa, shoulder thoroughly taken care of, sipping wine and stroking his fingers through Wyatt’s soft hair. He loved the feel of his head on his lap as they gazed into the fire and the dark landscape of his backyard.
“Tell me about your dad,” Wyatt asked softly.
Maybe because he was so relaxed, he felt that he could talk about his dad.
Or maybe it was because it was Wyatt asking.
“He was diagnosed last year with dementia. We had been seeing signs for a while, though. He’d forget small things, telling the same stories, losing his sense of direction in the grocery store he’d been going to for nearly twenty years. ”
He blinked back the emotion swirling behind his eyes. “My dad and I were pretty close, especially after Jacob died. We’ve always been a close family. I can’t imagine not seeing them as often as we do. Hell, I’d babysit Olive more if I had more free time.”
“You’re lucky,” Wyatt murmured.
John glanced down at the highlighted blond locks curling through his fingers.
“Yeah, we are.” He took a sip of wine, letting his emotions settle, letting the quiet stillness of the night roll over his body and the warmth of Wyatt against him.
“My parents were lucky, too. They fell in love fast and hard. Said ‘I love you’ after only three months and got engaged within a year. My parents found their soulmates, and it made me and my sister silly romantics too, believing in true love.”
“Do you still?” his voice was barely above a whisper, but he heard it.
“The honest answer… I dunno anymore. I spent nearly ten years married to a woman I thought I loved. I eventually realized that it wasn’t love—it was people-pleasing and avoidance.
She worked a lot. I worked a lot. Whenever we finally were in the same place at the same time, we were too exhausted to do much other than sleep.
We didn’t do this,” he admitted roughly.
“Do what?”
“Cuddle by the fireplace and just talk.”
Wyatt’s hand reached over and found his, dragging it away from his hair and over his chest. The steady beat of his heart ticked beneath his palm, soothing him.