25. Clark
Clark
It’d been six months since I dragged my son all the way out to Snow Creek Ranch. Six months of physical therapy selfies and nightly FaceTiming, Beau and Miguel coming out to Chicago, me and River going back out to Snow Creek Ranch.
Me working with my executive team to finalize the sale of the office and to ensure that my moving out-of-state didn’t harm the company.
River, working out his degree path. First, a bachelors in applied fine arts, then his master’s in psychology.
He hadn’t decided yet whether to go for the doctorate, but he had a start.
He also started seeing a trainer, which I somehow got roped into. We were both a little stronger for it, and River rarely needed his walking stick. That may change as he aged, but youth and plain stubbornness were on his side.
More importantly, my son was wearing red today. Because it was Christmas. The first anniversary of his mother’s death, and our last Christmas in Chicago.
We’d been crying on and off for the better part of two days.
He and Miguel have been full steam ahead. Beau and I, on the other hand, have tried to go a little more slowly. This big, life-changing move had a lot of moving parts, a lot of back-and-forth, and the uncertainty of young love.
But I knew the look on my son’s face. He was in love, a forever kind of love, and I suspected that as they got older, Miguel wouldn’t be just River’s boyfriend. He’d eventually be my son, too.
I eyed the wall of photographs above the dining room table, as I frequently did. There, surrounded by photographs of me and River through the years, was the painting he’d made for his mother. Him, a toddler, sitting in and around all of her pretty things, beaming so proudly.
I’d returned to therapy. I was still figuring out how to forgive my ex-wife for what she had done. My therapist said forgiveness didn’t have to be the goal. For me, it did, though.
Revealing the true cause of the accident had lanced a wound, which made things better. But it also—sometimes—still had the power to make things worse. Despite all the wonderful things happening, all the plans being made, River’d had some of his worst days since our time in Snow Creek.
Healing had, for better or worse, allowed him to feel things more deeply and to realize how badly he’d been hurt in the first place.
On those days, he would draw, letting his charcoals tell the truth, no matter how dark and foreboding.
Some days, that little figure in the sketch was bent over double, attacked from all sides.
Then again, he had days when color found its way into his sketches. A red tulip here, a pair of blue eyes there, the palest strip of yellow sunlight.
Which was to say that this had been one long, mostly terrible, genuinely amazing year. I would do anything still, give any amount of money, give up anything—anyone—for my son to not have gone through that.
Since that wasn’t possible, since the only way was forward, I was so, so proud of how far we’d come.
Beau slid in behind me at the bathroom sink, kissing my ear as I dragged the razor down my cheek.
“You look handsome,” I said, admiring his red and green plaid button-down, Wranglers, and going-out boots.
I loved dating a cowboy, by the way. My favorite part, hands down, was discovering that there were levels of hat and boot, depending on the situation. And Christmas dinner was a fancy hat, fancy boot sort of affair.
“You look like mine,” he answered, kissing my cheek.
I willed myself not to tear up before I finished shaving my face. I was mostly successful.
Finishing quickly, I wiped off the excess foam and turned to face him. “Did I miss any spots?”
“I dunno, let me check,” he murmured, kissing every inch of my face.
“I don’t have hair on my forehead,” I pointed out.
“I’m just being thorough. Shush.”
I chuckled as he worked his way around to my mouth.
When I finally stopped laughing enough for his lips to land on mine, I found myself amazed that each kiss we shared was more exciting than the last.
Finally, after several long, delicious kisses, we pulled back, staring into each other’s eyes. We’d taken it slow, slower than River and Miguel. We’d said a lot of things in the hospital but decided to take everything down a notch. No assumptions. No promises. Just … getting to know one another.
None of that slowed what was happening in my heart. I’d fallen in love so deeply I didn’t think I’d ever find my way out of it. Still, I’d been weighing the words on my tongue for months now. And something about right now, about this small, intimate moment in the bathroom, felt right.
“I love you,” I said, running my thumb along his jawline.
My big cowboy, with all of his muscles and brawn, started to cry. “Oh, thank God,” he responded.
And just like that, we were both blubbering. Holding onto each other and just … weeping.
Finally, after the waterworks started to dissipate, I pulled back enough to brush my tears away and put a saucy hand on my hip. “Well? Don’t you wanna say anything back to me?”
He sniffed as he wiped away his own tears, then stroked his beard, as if considering.
I poked his side.
“I’ve loved you since the beginning,” he rumbled in that deep, mountain accent of his. “And I love you now more than ever.”
Well, fuck. More tears.
“God, we’re pathetic.”
He kissed the teardrops from my cheeks. “I don’t mind pathetic.”
“Oh, good. That works in my favor.”
He smiled, broad and warm. “I love you so damn much.”
“I love you, I love you, I love you too,” I sing-songed, dropping a kiss on his lips for each declaration.
We held each other tight, kissing and murmuring “I love you” till we were an incoherent mess.
Finally, after one last, messy kiss, I declared, “And as of next month, I’m gonna be a hell of a lot closer to you.”
“About that…” He grabbed my hips, anchoring me close.
“Yes?” My heart couldn’t take it. “Don’t leave me hanging.”
He tapped his chin, then winked.
“Snow Creek is expanding, bringing in more help. And—no pressure—but Jesse was wondering if I would be staying on the property for much longer.”
Be cool, be cool, be cool. As part of taking it slow, we hadn’t brought up living together since the hospital. But the thing I wanted most in the hospital, to live with Beau and to be close to River and Miguel … that hadn’t changed.
I put my hand to my chest. “Are you officially asking to move in with me?”
“You did say you loved me.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, even though I couldn’t help the twitch of my lips. “You do understand that my love of spreadsheets also extends to the house cleaning plan.”
“You need a spreadsheet to clean your house?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” I asked, sticking my tongue out at him.
“I’ll have you know that I am an excellent roommate, and I pick up after myself, and I rarely leave dirty underwear on the floor.”
I rubbed my hands together, considering. “I don’t mind you leaving your dirty clothes on the floor as long as you don’t mind paying the price.”
“Really?” He twirled me out, then pulled me in close. “What’s the price?”
Oh, how he’d fallen right into my trap.
“I get to edge you for a solid hour, and if you complain even once, I’ll start all over again.”
Beau rubbed his chin, then held up a finger before stalking out of the bathroom. He was moving around in my room, picking up things and putting them down loudly. He returned with a pair of his tighty-whities hanging from his fingertips.
“Well, well, well,” I said, playing along. “What have we here?”
He held the underwear in front of my face, then let it drop to the floor.
“Oh no!” he said, perplexed. “Whatever will we do?”
I shrugged, unconcerned. “It’s only a punishable offense if you leave it there.”
“Look at the time.” He toed the underwear with his boot, sliding it into a corner. “We don’t want to be late for dinner.”
I let my mouth drop open. “You’re seriously going to leave that on my bathroom floor?”
He nodded. “It’s a shame, but you know…” He tapped his watch. “Priorities.”
I pulled him in for a deep, searching kiss. “I love your priorities.”