25. Kit
25
KIT
These last six weeks had been a test of my willingness to accept help. In other words, a tactical assault on my sanity.
Sky hadn’t been lying about the rebellion amongst my management ranks. Unsurprisingly, it started with Sadie and Lane. They straight up refused to let me do anything with the dude ranch, starting with having my IT guy—the one whose salary and benefits I paid—remove my access to all systems. On top of that, they started using my safety cameras to suss out any activity on my part deemed ‘excessive.’
Traitors.
Worse, the blue-haired manager of my hotel in Gruene had gotten in on the act by shutting me out of the nightly updates, plus the gal who manages my vacation rentals had stopped returning my texts. I’d wanted to fire every last one of ’em, but Sky talked me down. With a hand job, but still. I was told this was for my own good.
I hated it.
Well. Not the hand jobs. Or the blow jobs. Or the massages Sky gave me every evening when he came by to check in on me. Usually in something lacy or silky or feathery. He’d also picked up on my penchant for edging, which he used to his advantage. And, when Sky found out this afternoon that my DMs with Rich’s wife led to her serving him divorce papers, he introduced me to rimming.
I came so hard I almost told him I loved him.
That wasn’t my endorphins playing some trick on me. I’d nearly said it a bunch of times since the surgery, but held back, not wanting to freak him out. Which was hilarious, considering freaking out was my specialty.
But I did. I loved him. I was in love with him. After a few more conversations with Luke, I discovered that when you’re straight, or at least when you think you are, you don’t really think about labeling your sexuality. Everyone else, however, gets the labels. As I began to explore this part of me, I realized how othering—a word I learned from my son’s experience of moving through the world—that could be. Then again, having a label for how I approached relationships and sex was helpful. I still didn’t feel totally comfortable with the queer label, but I was bisexual at a minimum.
Sky-sexual, more like it.
It’d been weeks since I felt queasy admitting that to myself, so . . . progress.
Taking the picture and posting it to social media was purposeful. I didn’t just want others to know he was taken. I wanted him to know I was all in, and I didn’t care if other people saw. I wasn’t gonna fall apart if someone gave me shit for being in love with a man. Those people didn’t matter. Only the people in my life mattered, and not a single one of ’em thought this was a bad idea. In fact, I’m guessing they all thought I was pretty lucky.
Joke was on them, though. I knew I was lucky. And even though I’d hated this recovery period, I had to admit, at least to myself, that slowing down allowed me to rest. Not just from the surgery, but the kind of restorative rest I’d never given myself before.
Time away from my various businesses allowed my mind to go in all sorts of new and interesting directions, with ideas coming at me left, right, and center. So much so that Sky gave me a diary and a nice pen.
“Something to write your thoughts in for when you’re able to conquer the world again.”
Despite his insistence that I didn’t know how to care for myself properly, Sky struggled with it, too. He’d grown weary of that shitty little shack out in the woods but refused to let me put him up in one of my properties. Here, if I had any say in the matter. He was hesitant to stay more than a night or two per week, afraid I’d somehow grow tired of him. Or that I’d panic all over again.
I was going to give him a little more time, a few months maybe, then I was going to put that ridiculous notion to rest, once and for all. Sure, it’d be weird to have my ex-wife and my boyfriend—partner—on the property, but I didn’t give a shit what other people thought. Not anymore.
I was outside grilling, as promised, when Betsy came rumbling up the drive. I stepped over to wave at my man, surprised to see a disgruntled look on his face. He jerked to a stop, swung open the door, grabbed his bag, and tried to exit the vehicle without taking off his seatbelt. Cursing, he released himself and managed to get out, slamming the car door in his wake.
“Sky?” I asked, and he looked up, as if surprised to see me.
“You’re grilling.”
“How observant. We talked about it, and you promised not to withhold sex from me.”
“I don’t think that was the promise, but?—”
“You seem to be in a bit of a mood,” I noted, interrupting him. “Anything you wanna talk about?”
“Oh, you’re one to talk to me about a mood, Mr. Pissy Patient.”
Ouch. But fair.
“And I now feel good enough to both grill a steak to thank you for all the hard work you’ve done for me, plus listen to whatever’s bothering you.”
He rolled his eyes, but I pressed the issue. “So. What’s going on? What’s put you in such a foul mood?”
He set his jaw, shaking his head, like maybe he wasn’t going to tell me. Before I could coax it out of him, he blew air out of his nose, then approached me, putting his head on my shoulder.
“That new patient of mine?” he said into my collarbone.
“Yeah?”
“Complete and utter asshole.”
“Did he do something to you?” I asked, setting my grilling tongs down, ready to ride out and take care of whoever this asshole was.
“No, he didn’t do anything. Except open his big mouth.”
I pulled him into my arms, and he draped himself on me as he kissed my neck.
“What’d he say?” I asked, keeping my voice even.
“I blame myself. Even though I didn’t wear any makeup, I still had on these,” he said, flashing his beautiful nails.
I now knew more about manicures than I ever thought I would. While Sky enjoyed long, bejeweled nails, they were highly impractical for his business, so he kept them short, simple, and, I believed, still pretty.
But there was no denying that red nails stood out on a handsome man wearing scrubs.
“What did he say?” I repeated, pulling him in closer. “Tell me.”
“Just your typical homophobic bullshit. Saying he wasn’t gonna let someone like me look after him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Can’t do that. HIPAA. Besides, his low back issues are going to stay just that. His low back issues.”
I grimaced. I hated back pain even more than knee pain. “His loss, then.”
“Yeah.”
We stood there for a moment, swaying to the sound of the steak sizzling on the grill.
“Sweetheart, I don’t mean this as any kind of judgment, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you truly bothered by somebody’s shitty comment.”
“I could usually give a fuck about someone else’s homophobic bullshit—none of my business, not my miserable life to live.”
“But . . .”
“But he was in such a bad way, and I genuinely wanted to help him. Not being able to ease his pain felt like I’d failed him somehow.”
He snorted, and I responded, “Obviously, you know that’s not true.”
“Obviously,” he said, kissing my jaw. “It’s just . . . it took the entire drive back home telling myself that me wearing nail polish doesn’t give him the right to treat me like shit.”
“That’s damn right,” I said, stifling the joy of hearing him call my house his home. “This is your business. You can run it however the hell you want to. Most of your clients are completely fine with you exactly as you are. It’s not something they have to overlook, it’s something they love about you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know, I know. It’s just . . . I was really starting to feel like I had a handle on the cowboys out here.”
“You do ,” I promised. “We’ve talked about this. Most folks are accepting, and the ones who aren’t huge fans of it will at least let you do your job. It’s a small number of very loud, very self-righteous dickheads, and I don’t mind saying they deserve whatever pain they’ve got coming their way.”
“I’m glad you can say that. I still believe in do no harm , though, even when someone is an asshole. So, I feel like a failure as a healthcare provider when I can’t get through to them.”
“I hear you, baby. But you’re not. You’ve helped so many people out here. Besides, I’ve seen your numbers and you’re already starting to make real money.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Why don’t you go inside, get changed, shower off this shitty afternoon, and pour yourself a glass of wine? I’ll be back inside in a few with the steaks.”
His frown morphed into the beginnings of a smile. “Okay. I’ll do that.”
I squeezed him again, gave him another kiss, and watched him walk off.
“If it makes you feel any better, those scrubs make your ass look fantastic,” I called out after him.
He sent me a wink over his shoulder as he made his way inside. “Damn right they do.”
I sighed as he disappeared inside. I couldn’t wait for my knee to get better so I could have him the way I wanted to have him. There was no way he was gonna let me do that before the six-month mark because Dr. K insisted I stick to the protocol after I’d gone off script that one time.
Didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try and get in there earlier.
By the time the steaks were ready, Sky was leaning up against the island in the kitchen, drinking from the heavy glass of wine in his hand, wearing my old robe, his hair wet.
“Better?”
He took another slug of wine. “Much.”
I set the steaks on the counter, letting them rest while I stood in front of him. Unknotting the robe, I slipped my hands beneath the soft, worn material to explore his trim, perfect body. Over the last several weeks, I’d come to love the angles and curves of his body, and what they did to me. Where there’d once been uncertainty, confidence stood in its place.
“You smell so good,” I murmured, running my nose up the long column of his neck.
“So do you,” he replied, capturing my lips again in a kiss.
I rolled my hips, fully clothed against his open-robed nudity, loving the softness of his skin under my blunt fingertips. I slid my hand around to his backside and took a handful of ass cheek, jiggling it. He pulled away from the kissing, laughing as the last of the evening sun lit his pretty eyes.
“You really are an ass man, aren’t you?”
“I very much am,” I admitted proudly. “And you have the world’s most perfect ass.”
His shy smile made my heart speed up.
“But the thing I love most about you,” I continued, “is your heart.”
His eyes darted to mine, widening. I smiled, shrugging.
“Yeah, I said it.” I took his face in my hands. “I love you. So much.”
His eyes went shiny, and he kissed me. “I love you, too, Kit Baker. You’re the best man I’ve ever known.”
We swayed and kissed there in the kitchen, whispering our I love yous, letting our hands drift over one another. After a few moments, his stomach growled, and we fell into each other, laughing and kissing and laughing some more.
“Let’s get you fed, pretty man, and then go round some bases.”
“Sounds like a plan, cowboy.”