Chapter 21 #3
“I know you’ve got complicated feelings about being back here,” John began slowly, fingers reaching for the collar on Wyatt’s shirt and stroking the stubble beneath his jaw.
“And I certainly don’t want to add to it, but…
” He glanced over his shoulder at Charity, his eyes crinkling in a warm smile before sliding back to Wyatt and holding it.
“I think I would love to see your home through your eyes someday. Me being the student, you being the teacher. Teaching me how to ride a horse, do the whole cowboy thing. I am positive I would love every second of it.”
“Even cleaning out a stall?” Wyatt asked, throat clenching.
John scrubbed the back of his neck, bashful and so heart-stoppingly cute. “Yeah. Sign me up, John Wayne.”
Emotion welled up inside him and he nodded. “I would love that.”
John's smile reflected his love and excitement, and Wyatt couldn’t hold back any longer, giving him another thorough, ravishing kiss. John swayed and melded into him. Their embrace wasn’t sexual, it was love. Their vulnerability, it was just them. Without barriers, expectations, or shame.
“And just so we’re clear,” Wyatt rasped between kisses. “This place was my home. It’s not anymore, John. You are.”
He mentally attempted to ingrain the image of John, just like this, in his mind to hold forever. His reaction, his happiness, his glow.
“I want everything from you,” Wyatt whispered, dropping his temple to his.
“And I’ll always give it,” John murmured, trembling against him.
But Wyatt wasn’t done. He wanted to rip all the armor off of John and never be pushed away again.
“I want you to give me what you can’t—what you won’t—because that’s what I need,” Wyatt framed his face in his hands, forcing him to look at him. “I need all of it, because all of it is you, and I love you.”
“Yeah, ok,” he breathed as tears, fat and heavy, slid down his handsome face. “Fuck, I love you so much. You see me, you see all of me, and that’s a gift. You’re a gift. You’re a good man—a good fuckin’ soul. How’d I get so lucky?”
He slowly kissed his tears away, holding him. “That’s my line.”
They kissed one last time, and then Wyatt showed him how to bridle a horse, and together they led Charity out of the barn. Her pretty mahogany-gray hair shone under the sunlight as she moved with muscular grace across the trail back to the house.
He tethered her to the horse post outside by the porch, and together they helped his father out of bed and into the wheelchair. John carefully maneuvered the oxygen tank as he guided him out onto the porch.
His father didn’t say anything, but he sighed when he was settled outside, seeing Charity and the sprawling ranch.
Everything his father had built and loved so dearly.
Wyatt knew his father’s love was reflected not in his words, but in his labor and time.
He swallowed his grief and proceeded to brush Charity, teaching John how to do it and how to talk to her.
John was an attentive, easy student, taking his instruction effortlessly.
The Arizona sun was glowing in an orange haze, illuminating his father’s pale skin as he leaned back, taking it in.
They spent a long time out there.
Carol brought out a bottle of wine and Nancy made a simple pasta dish that they enjoyed for dinner on the porch.
Wyatt’s father didn’t say much as he watched the sunset and the horse.
He didn’t eat, didn’t drink. Wyatt had glanced at the oxygen monitor, knowing his father’s heart rate was steadily declining throughout the day.
Nancy had called the hospice nurse, and she was on her way to be with the family.
“She needs to be bedded,” His father ordered gruffly, indicating to Charity.
“Yes, sir,” Wyatt said automatically, getting to his feet and noticing how the sun was tucking itself behind the distant horizon, taking him back to countless times his father had given this order around this time.
“Can it wait?” John asked quietly, checking his father’s monitors, a grim line flattening his lips.
“Yeah.” Wyatt noticed his father’s eyes were barely open, but just enough to focus on John. “You my doctor?”
John smiled politely, “At the moment, yes.”
“My boy’s trainin’ to be a doctor.”
John hummed and nodded, sliding his hands into his jeans pockets, so casually attuned and listening the way he would with a patient, or with him.
“Is that right?” John asked.
“Workin’ in the city,” his father rasped. “Big city doctor.”
“Impressive.”
“Damn right,” his father said, surprising him. “He’s—he’s a good kid.”
John nodded, “I couldn’t agree more.”
Wyatt’s father’s gaze studied John’s. “You know him?”
“I do,” John murmured. “I happen to love him very much.”
Wyatt stilled, eyes darting to his father’s, waiting for the reaction.
His father nodded weakly. “Good.”
Wyatt’s heart broke, tears racing down his face.
Forgiveness was complicated. Hard. And yet, also so fucking soft and fragile, like a warm tear on a cheek, or like the drifting of new snow through the air.
He had a choice at that moment: keep holding on to his anger and hurt, or accept his father.
Accept that this man did the best he could with what he was capable of, and maybe that was enough.
Because the forgiveness wasn’t for his father… it was for himself.
He shuddered and knelt down to his father’s side, emotion clogging his throat as he reached for his frail fingers. “I’m here, Dad.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Wyatt managed to say through his tears.
“It’s not,” he muttered. “I didn’t—I failed you. I shouldn’t have hurt you. I shouldn’t have kicked you out—denied the only good thing in my whole fuckin’ little life.”
“Stop.”
“I…” he sighed again, guilt pinching around his lips. “I should’ve done better by you.”
His heart broke even more, remorse eating away at him and feeling like he, too, should’ve done more than just run—that he should’ve done more than just a phone call here or there. That maybe…
No, no regrets.
Not now.
Don’t let our last moments be like this.
John gave Wyatt a silent look full of compassion and tenderness. He thought of the first time he lost a patient at the ED and how John had been there, holding him with simply a look.
“Your last words aren’t allowed to be an apology, Dad,” Wyatt whispered, kissing his forehead.
“Love you, son,” his father whispered, gurgled and strained, and his eyes were wet with tears.
“I love you, too.”
The next few days happened in a blur. His father passed in his sleep that night, with Wyatt by his bedside. Nancy and Carol had already made funeral arrangements, and the lawyer came by with the deed to the ranch, which Wyatt signed over to his aunts, who sobbed upon receiving it from him.
This wasn’t his life anymore.
The funeral was small, yet he was surprised to see Mateo’s pregnant sister had come to pay her respects wearing a pretty floral coral dress, her husband by her side.
He greeted her with a hug and a kiss, they exchanged pleasantries, and then he introduced John to her.
It felt good to see the warmth in her bright brown eyes as she shook John’s hand, and tears unexpectedly swelled in his throat.
He never knew what closure was until that moment.
Mateo had been his first love.
And John was his last love. His true love.
Everything had come full circle.
The plane ride was short, but he was exhausted by the time they made it back to John’s place the following day.
John called the hospital and requested another week off for both of them, as well as a meeting with Tanya when he got back to inform them of their relationship, which Wyatt agreed to. He wasn’t worried and was ready to take whatever consequences they might face, and so was John.
They spent the next few days moving Wyatt into John’s place.
He was still adjusting to this being his home, but was slowly getting used to it, especially now that his things were there.
Jin was excited for him. They agreed to make time for each other and planned brunch for the following week to fill him in on all the details.
Wyatt finished breaking down the last box and stuffed it into the recycle bin. He headed back inside and closed the front door, pausing at the sight of his cowboy boots next to John’s shoes.
I belong here.
I’m loved here.
His thoughts stilled him. John had truly worked hard on making this place feel like his.
Feel like home. Wyatt’s grief had rolled in waves the last few days, but every time he needed comfort, John was there.
He knew it would take time to move through the grief and he was okay with that, because he was okay. He was more than okay.
He was home.
He was loved.
And he couldn’t wait to start this next phase of his life with the man of his dreams by his side.
“I’m too tired to cook. How does pizza sound?” John asked from the kitchen, pulling out two beers from the fridge.
He tore his gaze away from the shoes and strolled into the kitchen, taking the cold beer John handed him. “Sounds good.” He cracked the can open and took a sip, letting the carbonated flavor pop on his tongue. “So… now that I’m moved in, do you prefer summer or fall weddings?”
John choked on his beer and came up laughing. “Easy, cowboy, we've got time.”
“I prefer fall,” Wyatt continued, smirking. “Cooler weather, and if we wanna have it outside, which I think we should—”
“Wyatt—”
“We should probably plan for early next fall, because I want your dad to be there.”
John’s tone softened, “Wyatt…”
“Because he needs to see his son happy,” he pressed on determinedly. “He needs to know you’re taken care of.”
John’s throat bobbed, and he reached for him. “We don’t have to be married for him to see that.”
“He does. He’s a romantic, just like his son.”
He tilted his head into Wyatt’s, sighing. “I love you so damn much.”
“I love you more,” he murmured back. “We should host Christmas.”
John kissed him. “My parents usually host, it’s sorta their thing.”
“Okay,” Wyatt kissed him back, nipping his lower lip. “We can host New Year's.”
“Yes, we can.”
“And I’ll propose in front of everyone there. Champagne, ring in the bubbles, make it a whole big thing.”
John laughed, blushing, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”
Wyatt shook his head, smiling. “Never when it comes to you.”
John stared right through him and into his soul. “Good. I love you.”
“I love you.”