Coming to Grips

A Ten Rigs Texas Tale

Jen FitzGerald

Knotted Hearts Publishing

Knotted Hearts Publishing

Fort Worth Texas

www.knottedheartspublishing.com

Published in the Unites States of America

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2018 Jen FitzGerald

All rights reserved.

First edition.

ISBN: 978-1-948236-04-1

This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Contributors

Content/copy editing provided by

Alicia Street

iProofreadandMore.com.

Cover art created by

Jo-Anna Walker.

Dedications

To the Cowtown Critiquers aka the Cotton Patch Kids—the five most fabulous women on the planet—you know who you are.

For their love and support through the writing of all the Tex Rigs Texas books.

For the hours spent talking shop as well as the sharing of personal selves.

I cherish our friendships, collectively and individually.

To my husband who still doesn’t get the whole gay romance thing, but who let me have at it anyway.

Chapter One

Kyle Adams rushes down the wide hospital corridor looking for Room 330. The antiseptic smell attacks his nose and his gut churns some more. As long as he focuses on the thick blue line at his feet, he might make it to Chase’s room with his stomach contents intact.

God, he hates hospitals. The building had wavered in front of his eyes for a good fifteen minutes while he sat and stared at it, fingers white-knuckled around the steering wheel, deep breathing and talking himself out of making the forty-five-minute drive back to the ranch.

If it had been anyone besides Chase, he’d have stayed the hell away and welcomed them home when they arrived. But Chase—Chase is his best friend and, well, he’s more than that, even if he doesn’t know it.

Of course, Kyle knows Chase is all right, relatively speaking. A concussion and some sort of damage to his arm. He’ll be released tomorrow, so it can’t be all that bad. But still. Kyle’s heart pounds, and the Sahara has nothing on his throat at the moment, as all his bad memories of trips to the hospital fight against his worry about Chase.

But Chase is fine. Kyle himself is fine. His mother is fine. His little brothers are fine. And his bastard of a father is dead. He stops several feet from Chase’s door and bends over, braces his hands on his knees, and takes a handful of breaths. He’s so close, he can do this. Will do this.

Straightening, he takes the last few steps and knocks lightly on the door.

The door opens slowly and Josh McKinnon, one of the ranch foremen, motions him in. “He’s still a bit out of it, but I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”

Kyle takes a few steps inside and sucks in a breath, his heart going into overdrive. Chase’s discolored face brings back a rush of dark memories, but he pushes them aside with a shake of his head. He takes several deep breaths. In through his nose, out through his mouth. A horse had done this—a frightened creature, not an angry bully of a man.

“You all right, man?” asks Josh, bushy eyebrows rising above his steel-colored eyes.

Kyle shakes his head, then nods. This isn’t about him. “I’m okay. Yeah. I’m fine.” He takes a couple more breaths, and his heart resumes a semi-normal rhythm. He searches out Chase’s gaze.

The greenish-gold of Chase’s eyes is clouded. Whether it’s concern or pain meds, Kyle’s not sure. The wrinkles along Chase’s forehead though...definitely worry. Chase knows what it had taken Kyle to show up. Kyle nods. “I’m fine,” he says.

You sure? Chase asks by raising his eyebrows.

Kyle nods once, then again. Yeah, now that he’s here, now that he’s seen Chase, he’s okay.

Kyle rakes a hand through his dusty hair and shrugs. He’d been in such a hurry to see Chase with his own eyes, he hadn’t bothered going back to the cabin and showering. He’d left his hat in the truck, though; he feels kinda naked without it.

Kyle touches Chase’s knee through the thin white sheet and lightweight blanket covering him. A sprinkling of dirt covers his hair and the crease of his neck and elbows. “Hey, man, you look like crap.”

Chase’s left temple and cheek are reddish purplish and swollen. A couple of stitches hold together a small cut above his left eyebrow. An IV pokes out of his left hand. His right arm displays the same colors as his cheek and is almost twice as big around as the left.

God, he wants to take Chase’s hand, hold it, offer comfort, like any significant other might. But that’s not who they are. Kyle clenches his fists against his thighs. Chase would freak, but Kyle’s feelings are getting harder and harder to hide. He’s never seen Chase even so much as glance at another man, but he’d bet even money Chase isn’t completely straight. But if Kyle crosses the line from best friend to more than friend and things don’t work out, then Kyle will have ruined the one thing in his life he cherishes above everything else.

“I’ve had better days,” Chase says with a bit of a slur. They must’ve given him something for the pain, hence the IV. The quickest and easiest way to administer drugs.

“I’m going to head back,” says Josh, startling Kyle. He’d been so quiet in the background. “Someone will be here tomorrow to get you back to the ranch.”

Chase nods, and a moment later, he and Kyle are alone.

Kyle’s never been so glad that he and Chase opted to live in one of the ranch-owned cabins. Kyle will be relatively close by during Chase’s recovery.

“Dude, you scared the fucking piss out of me,” says Kyle, raking his hands through his hair. Not even going toe-to-toe with his old man at the age of seventeen had shaken him this badly. The time between getting the call about Chase’s injury and walking through that door a few minutes ago had been the longest two and a half hours of his life, even knowing that Chase didn’t have any life-threatening injuries.

“Sorry.”

“Hey, not your fault.” Kyle takes a breath to calm his once-again racing heart. He eyes Chase’s hand lying inert on his lap. “So what’s the prognosis?”

Chase scowls at the offending appendage. “Temporary nerve damage. They say I’ll be out of commission anywhere from six to twelve weeks, and I’ll need physical therapy three days a week.”

“Ugh, yeah, that sucks, man, but don’t worry so much. I’ve got vacation coming—”

Wide hazel eyes look at him in surprise. “Hell no, Kyle. You’re gonna go to Trekstravaganza. You’ve been saving up for that. Looking forward to it. You can’t give that up for me.”

Not giving it up isn’t an option. Chase is his heart, even if he’s clueless, and Kyle shrugs. “It’s a no-brainer. You’re more important than a science fiction con even if the guy playing Jake Sisko from Deep Space Nine is going to be there. There’ll be another one next July.” He grins and Chase shakes his head. “I’ll drive you to rehab. Wipe your ass. Whatever you need. I’ve got your back.”

A faint flush colors Chase’s cheeks and he looks away. Embarrassment looks charming on him and Kyle’s heart thumps hard.

Kyle rubs his thumb over the back of Chase’s hand. The movement finally catches Chase’s eye and his gaze meets Kyle’s with raised eyebrows.

Oh, hell... “Can you feel anything?” Kyle asks, willing the heat in his face not to betray him by turning his flesh any shade of red.

“Uh-uh,” Chase says, watching Kyle’s thumb.

“I’m sorry about your arm,” Kyle says and lets go of Chase’s hand with a pat and stuffs his own into the front pockets of his jeans. He refuses to feel embarrassed, but he hopes Chase is too dopey to notice the color creeping up his neck. That would make more of all of this than Chase needs right now. Luckily, Chase doesn’t seem to be bothered, and the silence stretches comfortably around them. It’s always been this way between them, even during some of their more embarrassing or awkward or deeply personal conversations. Despite the uncomfortable or difficult subjects, they’re almost always on the same wavelength.

A nurse sticks his head in the door and says, “Visiting hours are just about over, sir.” His eyes widen as he recognizes Kyle and then Chase. “Oh, hey, Kyle. Hey, Chase.”

“Morgan, my man, what’s up?”

“Not much.” Morgan comes in and the two clap hands together, pat eat each other’s arms in a bro-hug. He glances at his watch. “Sorry, boys. Time to shut down the wards to inmates only.”

“Yeah. All right.” With a pat to Chase’s leg, Kyle heads for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ace.”

“Kyle?”

Morgan disappears into the hall and Kyle stops, looks back.

Chase is all big eyes and soft heart. “You didn’t have to come. I would have understood.”

Chase’s tender heart is just one of the many reasons Kyle fell for him. Kyle’s hatred of hospitals and why is no secret to Chase. Kyle holds his gaze, hoping his love isn’t shining like a damned beacon. “I know you would have, but me not showing up? Fuck that. God, if anything had happened to you, Chase—it doesn’t bear thinking about. Now go to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

Kyle spends ten minutes psyching himself up again before he walks through the hospital doors, even though he knows that Chase is fine and that he’s only here to pick Chase up and take him home. His pulse still spikes with his first few steps inside, however. There will never be a day when that doesn’t happen. There are just too many bad memories associated with hospitals. With any luck, he’ll never have to step a foot inside a hospital for years. He pulls in a couple deep breaths and lets them out slowly to bring his heart rate down.

Kyle pushes into Chase’s hospital room to find Chase sitting sideways on the bed, paralyzed arm on his lap, and his legs hanging over the edge. The hospital gown gapes, showing off the tanned expanse of his back, and Kyle swallows. God, what he wouldn’t give to see all that smooth tanned flesh as he enters Chase from behind, to slide his hands down the nodules of his spine, over the muscles of his shoulders… Kyle sighs and pushes away his inappropriate thoughts and quirks his hips to allow his dick to shift inside his boxers.

“Hey, dude.”

Chase looks up, pleased surprise lighting up his features, and Kyle’s heart dances a little two step. God, he’s a goner. One of these days, though, he’s going to have to get over his feelings. Or confess. He’s just not certain the risk to their relationship is worth taking the chance of confessing.

“Hey,” Chase says, his tone not quite as peppy as his initial expression indicated.

Kyle eyes Chase. “You all right?”

Chase shakes his head. “No, I’m fine. Really. Thanks. It’s just...I didn’t sleep well. I’m crusty, my head hurts, and my arm doesn’t freaking work.”

“Yeah, man, life fuckin’ sucks for you right now.”

Chase looks at him with big eyes.

Kyle shrugs. “What? Did you want me to sugarcoat it, blow sunshine up your ass?”

“Well, no.”

“Okay then. Let’s get you home, and we can work on making your life less sucky.”

Two sharp raps sound on the door and a woman reminding Kyle of a football coach he once had walks in. She’s tall and barrel-chested but has soft blue eyes and a headful of soft curls. She glances at Kyle before turning her gaze on the obvious patient. “Chase Lewis? I’m Tabitha. I’ll be your physical therapist for the next few months.” She settles her hands in the pockets of her Kermit-green scrub smock, rather than holding it out for Chase to shake. “Before we let you go, we’re gonna get you started on some exercises.”

“You don’t have to wait here,” says Chase. Whether embarrassment or consideration drive his words, Kyle doesn’t know.

“I’m Kyle Adams,” he says, greeting Tabitha. “I’m actually Chase’s roommate and I’m going to be the one making sure he does his exercises as well as hauling his ass back and forth to rehab. You mind if I stay?”

“Not at all. Good idea,” she agrees with a brightening of her expression and a brisk nod. “Let’s get started.”

Thirty minutes later, Chase is panting and looking distressed with big eyes and flushed cheeks. Tabitha’s shown Kyle how to spot and how to help with Chase’s exercises. She’s also given them both a talking to about Chase asking for help and Kyle not helping too much.

“Go ahead and get dressed. Someone will bring in the paperwork, and once you sign off, you’re free to leave.”

“Thanks,” Kyle says for the both of them.

Tabitha leaves the room with a squeak, squeak of her shoes against the tile.

Kyle eyes Chase who stares at the floor. “So—”

“Can you get a nurse?”

Kyle dismisses the immediate hurt that Chase doesn’t want his help. This isn’t about Kyle, though. It’s about Chase, and if he isn’t quite ready for Kyle to step in, then fine. Once they’re home, tucked up in the cabin, in their shared personal space, it’ll be easier. “Sure, yeah. No problem.”

Chapter Two

Once the pizza is decimated and the beer bottles empty, Chase yawns and stretches, his fully functioning arm reaching toward the ceiling and his wounded arm dangling from the elbow, hand flopping around his shoulder. It feels good and weird at the same time. “Man, I’d love a shower, but it seems like a lot of work right now.”

“Yeah, I get that,” says Kyle, glancing over from the rerun of Stargate: Atlantis they’re watching. “I can help if you want.”

“Help?” Chase looks at Kyle wide-eyed and swallows. He’s not sure that’s such a great idea. He’s going to be naked. “In the shower?”

He ducks his head. Well, duh. His hand doesn’t work. Of course, he’s going to need some help. He’s going to need all kinds of help over the next few months. And Kyle is going to be the one providing it. All of it. No matter how personal. Which is the point, right? Who better than his roommate, who just so happens to be his best friend as well?

“If you think you need help, I’m willing,” Kyle says and shrugs.

His offhand manner eases some of Chase’s anxiety.

“A lot of things we do two-handed in the shower by instinct.” Kyle’s eyes skate up and down Chase’s form.

Chase glances down at himself. Can he even get his clothes off? He’s having a hard time focusing on much. His head hurts, his arm’s broke, he’s beat. “Right,” says Chase, clearing his throat and feeling the heat in his cheeks. He’s just…yeah. It’s a lot. “I’m going to take my stuff to my room.”

Chase drops his bag in the corner to empty later and stops with a hand on the doorknob. Part of him just wants to face plant in his bed and pass out, but he’s dirty and he smells, and, yeah, no. When he does collapse, he wants to be clean and comfy. With a sigh, he heads for the bathroom.

Kyle’s nose is now buried in one of the serialized Star Wars novels he devours on a regular basis, kicked back in his chair with his feet propped up on the banged-up coffee table. He looks up and waves at the bathroom. “If you need me I’m here, but see what you can handle on your own. I mean, if you can do it yourself, you should. That’s what Tabitha said.”

“Yeah, okay.” Chase nods. Maybe he won’t need any help at all, because being completely helpless would just be too much.

“Leave the door open, just in case,” calls Kyle.

Chase’s heart sinks, but he acknowledges Kyle with a grunt. Kyle’s right—just in case, but fuck. He leaves the bathroom door cracked an inch.

He’d already toed off his boots, so one less thing to worry about. With his working hand, he grabs handfuls of his tee shirt at various spots around his waist and yanks the cotton from his jeans. It takes a bit of doing since his right arm is just hanging there like a deer carcass, but he finally gets it off too.

He stands bare from the waist up, breathing rapidly at the effort. Exhaustion makes his muscles lethargic and the idea of rushing back to his room and forgetting the whole thing is suddenly very appealing.

No. He needs a shower desperately. Even he can admit how rank he is at this point, and he certainly doesn’t want to climb into bed in this state. With a sigh, he keeps going. His belt turns out to be easy one handed. He’ll need two hands to buckle it though. Both the button and the zipper of his jeans turn out to be easy enough. With his left thumb in the waistband, he works the denim down over his hips until gravity pulls them to his shins and he can kick out of them. Dizziness makes him sway when he lifts his foot to remove a sock. Thinking better of the whole thing, he plops his ass onto the lid of the toilet and yanks them off. Getting back to his feet, he sticks his thumb in the waistband and eases the elastic of his boxers over his hips and butt until they too slide to the floor.

Chase cranks on the water and adjusts the temperature. Closing his eyes, he slips into the almost-too-hot spray and hisses. Bliss despite the effort.

Chase lifts his arm to lean against the wall and stumbles when his hand and forearm fail to do as expected. “Dammit.”

A moment later Kyle asks, “You all right in there?” through the crack in the door, and Chase startles in surprise.

“Yeah... I’m fine.” Chase stands there for a moment, processing. How pathetic is it that he has to stop and think about what to do and how to do it? Well, shit—this is his life for the next few months and he’d better get used to it. Okay, so...what’s going to be easiest? Washing himself? Yes.

The soap immediately shoots out of his palm and he grabs for it with both hands, but, lurches sideways. The soap lands on the shower floor, careening into the corner.

Chase falls into the door. It shoots open and slams against the toilet with a crash that echoes through the small space and makes his head pound. He winces at the stab of pain and continues his descent, coming to land on a knee. Pain shoots up his thigh, and he yowls at the sharp zing.

The shower door swings back and slams him in the right shoulder. He slides to his ass on the cold tiles and yelps. His sharp “Dammit” bounces off the tiles and he hisses.

The bathroom door flies open and Kyle’s on his knees beside Chase a moment later. “You all right?”

“Fuck,” Chase barks, smacking the shower floor with his good hand. The initial pain points ebb away, and he’s left with dull throbbing everywhere. He blinks and nods. He’s okay, but he’ll probably have a bruise on his knee and on his shoulder now as well. “I must look like a complete moron.”

“No, hey, Chase, c’mon. You’re injured and you’ve got a concussion.”

“I’m sitting here bare-assed naked on the floor of the shower. I feel like an idiot.”

“It’s just me, Ace. I’ve seen you in worse shape. Hell—you’ve seen me in far worse shape.” Kyle nudges his shoulder. “What happens in this cabin, stays in this cabin, all right?”

Kyle’s right. Injured is a helluva lot less embarrassing than being falling-down drunk and puking in the Jacobson’s pool. “Yeah, okay…”

“Can you stand up?”

With a nod, Chase pushes to his feet, but sways slightly. Concussion, right. He reaches out his good hand to the wall and anchors himself.

Kyle hovers in the shower doorway, but doesn’t touch him.

“Geeze, I need help like a freaking kid graduating from baths to showers.”

“It’s going to take some time, Chase,” Kyle says softly. “Don’t beat yourself up. All the firsts are going to be tough. The seconds probably will be too.”

“Easy for you to say—you’re not the one who’s got to deal with it.”

Kyle takes a breath. A deep one since Chase hears it over the spray of the shower. “I’m the one standing in the shower with you, dude. I’m the one driving you to rehab. I’m the one—”

“Fuck,” Chase says softly as his stomach sinks and his eyes burn. The events of the last couple of days swirl around him like a dust devil. Shit, he can’t fucking cry right now. On top of everything else, that’d just be embarrassing. He shakes his head. “You’re right. Shit. I’m sorry.” Chase drops his chin to his chest and scrunches his eyes closed. His shoulder hurts. His knee hurts. His ribs hurt. His head hurts. Part of him wishes he was still in a relationship. A nice warm body to curl up against after his shower would ease the rest of his woes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kyle says gently. “Now, get under the spray. I’m going to help this time.”

Chase straightens and steps under the full flow of the water and sighs. The heat and the pounding pressure feel so damned good. He hadn’t been in the hospital long enough to merit a shower. They’d only cleaned him up to diagnose and patch him up, but he’s still grimy from his header in the paddock.

The hot water soaks into his scalp, hot enough to make his skin tingle. It sluices over his face, shoulders, and on down his body. He revels in it and tips his face up and away from his useless arm where the sensation of running water disappears disconcertingly at his elbow.

Kyle undresses, but leaves on his boxer briefs, and steps into the stall behind him. Chase’s own nakedness has never been a source of embarrassment until now. It’s not that he’s embarrassed exactly, but Kyle is in the shower with him and that’s not what they do. Kyle is gay…does he find Chase attractive? Chase fights the blush, ignores the blush. Kyle’s already in here with him, has already seen everything there is to see.

Kyle’s smooths Chase’s hair back from his forehead. “I’m going to wash your hair.”

Chase nods. The shampoo bottle snaps open, then closed again. Kyle works the shampoo into his hair, digs his fingers into the flesh, scrubs and rubs Chase’s head with firm movements of his fingers.

Chase closes his eyes and tries not to groan aloud at the sensation. He loves scalp massages and the ones he gets at the haircutting place in Ten Rigs are way too short. Kyle’s fingers are blunt and strong, and his nails are just long enough to scrape pleasantly along Chase’s scalp. Pleasure ripples through him.

Kyle is thorough, Chase’ll give him that, hands scooping suds back from his forehead, scrubbing, scooping, rubbing, until he pushes Chase back under the water and rinses out the shampoo.

There’s a lack of touch for a moment and then another plastic pop echoes in the stall and the bottle of shower gel appears in Chase’s field of vision, Kyle’s hand tilting it sideways. “Here.”

Chase accepts a dollop of icy blue gel, the scent matching Kyle’s inexpensive grocery store cologne. It smells sporty and clean and like Kyle. Chase immediately feels looser, less tense than he had a few minutes ago.

“Wash whatever you can reach,” Kyle says. “I’ll wash your back.”

Chase rubs the gel against his abs to lather it up and then smooths the suds over his neck, chest, stomach and right arm. Kyle’s hands slick down Chase’s sides, rub over his back, shoulders and hips, and swipe lightly across his butt cheeks. Chase jolts in surprise. “Hey.”

“Hey, what? Lift your arms.” Kyle runs his hands over the wet hair of Chase’s armpits and down his sides. Chase probably looks like a scarecrow with his elbows out and forearms dangling.

“Rinse off,” says Kyle as he slicks something between his hands. When Chase steps backwards, he rubs it into Chase’s hair. Conditioner. Kyle’s fingertips massage again and pleasure skates through Chase once more.

“Shut your eyes,” Kyle says right before nudging him under the spray again. Once the conditioner has been rinsed from Chase’s hair, Kyle turns off the water, swivels Chase around, and pushes him out the shower door.

Chase grabs his towel and dries his face, chest, neck and shoulders, while Kyle does the same to himself as if on a two second time-delay instant replay. Then he pats down Chase’s back, butt, and the backs of his legs, before swiping the towel down his sides and right arm. Lastly, he scrubs Chase’s head, leaving his hair standing up in spikes.

Chase’s relaxed state morphs quickly into frustration, however, as he tries to hold the towel in place with his useless right hand. He can’t get enough pressure against his hip to keep it in place and tuck the other end in. Kyle watches him struggle for a moment, before pushing at his shoulder. “Turn around.”

Chase does so reluctantly. He’s naked, Kyle isn’t. He’s slightly firm from Kyle’s touch, but, thankfully, not obviously hard. Sure, they’d showered after practices and games back in high school, but that was ten years ago and they’d been surrounded by the team then. This is a little more up close and personal than Chase is used to. Kyle pins the terrycloth against Chase’s hip and tucks the corner in, and that’s that.

Chase clears his throat, unable to meet Kyle’s gaze. “Thanks. I’ll just, uh, head to bed.”

Kyle nods, securing his own towel. “Okay. Night then.”

“G’night,” Chase says and rushes from the bathroom.

“Chase...” Kyle calls.

Chase stops, but doesn’t turn around.

“If you need help with anything else, let me know.”

“I’ll be fine,” Chase says, grudgingly. Then remorse washes over him. None of this is Kyle’s fault. He sighs. “But thanks,” he offers in a softer tone. “See you in the morning.”

Chapter Three

Chase wakes up with a start, gaze darting to the window. The light and the sounds are all wrong for six a.m. He searches out his phone, and shit—it’s after eight. He’s late. He scrambles out of bed and falls to the floor in an inelegant heap. His arm throbs above the elbow and everything comes flooding back: the accident and his stay in the hospital.

The last two days are a bit fuzzy though. He studies the ceiling from his spot on the floor and catches his breath. Yeah, right. No work for at least a couple of weeks. No, a month or two. Or more. And God, that sucks.

Light rapping sounds on his door. “You okay?” Kyle calls.

A tidal wave of heat rushes over his naked body and he lets out a breath. “Fine. Be out in a minute.” He hadn’t bothered to get dressed last night after his solo shower, opting instead to crawl into bed and pass out. He’d slept so hard and so good, he’d forgotten about his injury.

Chase gets to his feet. It takes three times as long as it should to put his freakin’ boxers on, and, Christ, he’s got to piss. He almost forgoes the underwear, but he’s twenty-seven, not two, he can hold it, and he finally gets his ass covered. With a breath, he yanks open his bedroom door and hightails it to the john.

Kyle’s sprawled in his favorite armchair again, reading his sci-fi novel. He’s dressed for work, except for his boots, which sit near the door. Right. Kyle has to go back to work today.

“You hungry?” he asks as Chase streaks by.

“Hell, yeah.” Chase doesn’t have to stop and think about it after a day in the hospital and the last two days of doing nothing but sleeping. He’s sure Kyle made him eat, but he has only vague memories of chicken noodle soup and jelly toast. He’s ready for something a little more substantial. His stomach grumbles in agreement.

He manages to relieve himself without making a mess and studies the tube of toothpaste before twisting the cap off with his teeth. The glop of toothpaste is a little larger than he prefers, but for a one-handed gimp, it isn’t too bad. It’s weird using his left hand, but he gets the job done.

Chase enters the main room of their ranch-owned cabin, which he prefers to think of as cozy, not compact. Two small bedrooms flank an open kitchen/living space that’s decorated in bachelor cowboy with a large screen TV and broke-in furniture that only sort of matches. The bathroom, on the same side of the cabin as Chase’s room, adds a tiny L to the rectangle of the structure.

Kyle is more than competently making breakfast, and Chase’s jaw drops. This is a guy whom Chase has never seen prepare more than Pop Tarts or microwave breakfast pizza for breakfast in the sixteen years they’ve known each other. He’ll eat anything anyone sets before him—but cook something for himself? Not so much. Usually Chase cooks or they eat in the mess, and seeing Kyle waiting on him both touches and tickles something inside of him.

Kyle plunks down a couple of plates of fluffy scrambled eggs and several pieces of toast. “Coffee, OJ, or both?”

Chase’s toast is slathered with butter and grape jelly, just the way he likes it. Warm fuzzies burble in his chest at Kyle’s efforts. He isn’t sure why things are affecting him so much, but they are. Must be the concussion. Clearing his throat, he says, “Juice.”

Once they’re done eating, Kyle jumps to his feet. “Okay, I gotta go. Just hauling hay today. I have my cell if you need me. I’ll clean this up later,” he says with a wave at the breakfast mess. “Back this afternoon. Get some rest.”

“I’ve done nothing but rest,” he says to the thud of the now-closed door.

Kyle is gone, and Chase is alone. He wanders around the cabin for a few minutes, his eyes repeatedly straying to the breakfast dishes Kyle said he’d take care of later.

Chase plops onto the sofa and turns on the television. Even with so many channels at his disposal, nothing catches his interest, and he clicks the TV off again. He stares at the ceiling for a while and listens to the sounds of ranch life going on without him. Longing clutches at his chest. The only way he’s going to get back to work sooner rather than later is by doing his physical therapy, but he still feels pretty drained.

Fuck it. Lying around isn’t going to solve anything. Surging up, he pulls out a kitchen chair and does every exercise he can manage on his own. Twice. Sweat pours down his face and his chest heaves for breath. His shoulders and his pecs ache, in a good way for the moment, although he may not agree tomorrow.

After a quick shower to rinse off, he collapses back on the sofa once again.

Coherence comes in stages and Chase realizes he slept yet again. Jesus. It’s past lunch time, though, now, and that surprises him. The last two days of sleeping should have been more than enough rest. The workout and nap have done him good, and he feels refreshed and energetic.

Surely, a bit of housekeeping and some lunch aren’t outside his current capabilities. He runs a hand through his hair and smacks himself in the face instead. “Dammit,” he says, feeling stupid. How can he not remember that his elbow, forearm, and hand don’t function?

The breakfast detritus catches his attention again, so he cranks on the kitchen faucet and lets the water run. He rinses and stacks the dishes. So far, so good. A smile dances around his mouth.

The lid on the tub of margarine snaps on one-handed, the lid of the jelly jar screws on easily. It’s not snug, but it’s tight enough not to come off next time someone grabs it. He puts them both in the fridge.

All righty then. He’s accomplished something; he counts the day as a success so far and he feels jazzed.

Until he glances down at himself, still wearing nothing but his underwear. Heh. Yeah, time to get dressed. It’s close to two at this point. In his room, he looks from the closet to the chest of drawers. Jeans are out of the question. He could probably get them up and fastened, but it’d take more time and effort than he wants to expend right now. Not after this morning’s exercise session. His energy is going to be at a premium for a while. Shorts and a tee shirt it is.

His buzz at getting dressed is short lived as realization dawns. His shirt is on backward. No. Screw it. He doesn’t care. He’s fully dressed, and he didn’t need help.

After all that fuss and nonsense, not to mention breakfast being hours ago, his stomach grumbles in the stillness. How can he keep being so hungry when he hasn’t done much other than sleep?

Okay. So food. Kyle had kept him fed the last couple of days, but now he’s on his own for a while. Surely there’s something he can slap together. Metaphorically speaking of course. He peruses the contents of the fridge, seeing his favorite smoked ham from the deli he doesn’t remember buying. Meaning Kyle had bought it. Another burst of warmth fills his chest. Getting bread is easy since he’d only been able to fold the end of the bag up under the loaf itself. A sandwich will suffice until Kyle comes home.

Some sort of tape seals the package of ham, but he sets it on the counter and uses his useless hand as a weight on one side while he releases the tape with his other. He filches several slices and then works the process in reverse to close the package back up. He’ll have to forgo sandwich cheese, as well as mayo and mustard, but, hey, beggars can’t be choosers. He juggles the sandwich to his mouth and takes a bite. Dry, but edible.

Chase drops into Kyle’s chair and props his feet up on the coffee table. Someone knocks on the door just as he takes another bite and his heart sinks. A familiar silhouette is outlined in the frosted glass of the door. Anna. She was bound to come by, despite the fact they’ve been broken up for a month, give or take. He’d tried to make it as amicable as possible, so he’s not surprised. Not that he wants to see her, but at least he doesn’t have her fussing over him while he recovers. She’d nursed him during a bout of the flu once and had wiped him out more than being sick had.

“Chase? You okay in there?”

The sooner he greets her, the sooner he can get rid of her again. He’s at the door in a heartbeat, yanking it open. “Hey, Anna.”

Her startled expression morphs into a brittle smile, and, right this very moment, he can’t remember what he ever saw in her. Her expression is too suspicious, her eyes too blue, her body too soft. She shoves a container of food in his face and pushes into the cabin.

“I know Kyle’s working today, so I brought you lunch,” she says, eying his hair, which he realizes is sticking straight up, and then his shirt.

Her scrutiny raises his hackles. She isn’t supposed to make him feel inadequate and stupid. Not anymore. That’s part of why he broke up with her.

Kyle doesn’t make him feel like that. “Thanks, but I already ate.”

Her gaze sweeps the room and her animosity settles like a thick fog. She rarely came by even when things were good between them, claiming the place stank like a locker room. That always pissed him off since he’s actually a decent housekeeper. His own gaze darts around, but it looks as though Kyle’s been tidying up after himself at least while Chase has been out of commission.

“A sandwich?” she asks, her eyebrows rising when she spots the partially eaten item on the coffee table.

His stomach twists again.

“It doesn’t look very appetizing. Let me heat this up for you.”

“You don’t have to. A sandwich is a legit meal,” he replies, a painful twinge settling in his shoulders. Everything she says seems like an accusation or a recrimination, and, for the life of him, he has no idea why. He’d done everything in his power to make things right between them, but nothing had been right or good enough.

Her stride hitches when she spots the disarray of the kitchen. Kyle’s defense sits poised on Chase’s tongue, but she doesn’t say anything. Good thing because he’s got no reason to hold his tongue these days. She pops the steam vent on the top of the container and sets the food to reheating.

Her hand reaches toward the faucet, and he blurts, “Please don’t.”

A finely sculpted eyebrow arches as she looks at him. “It’ll only take a few minutes. And I’m happy to help. I know we’re not together anymore…but no hard feelings, Chase. Really.”

“Just…don’t.” His fingernails bite into his palms, and he shakes his head. His tone is enough, apparently, because her hand stills mid-reach and drops to the counter. Manicured fingernails drum on the solid surface of the counter top. Icy blue eyes bore into him. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t blame our breakup on Kyle.”

“Why not?”

The two bites of sandwich he’d consumed sit like a hay bale in his stomach, heavy and dry.

Furrows appear on her forehead and the pale blue of her eyes changes from icy to stormy. Never a good sign, but he’s hard pressed to care.

She turns her back to him, twists on the water, and opens the dishwasher. “I don’t mind helping. I know Kyle has to work.” She rinses off the plates he’d already rinsed and loads them up.

“Anna, stop.”

She looks at him over her shoulder and surprise paints her expression. He gets it. He’s never put his foot down with her, thinking that giving in to her was love. That spoiling her was love. How wrong he’d been.

“Look, I’m almost done. Don’t worry about it.” She drops the silverware in the basket, wipes down the counter, and rinses out the sink and then the dishrag. “See, that didn’t take long at all.” She pivots and smiles at him; it’s over bright and fake. He wants to throttle her; he doesn’t smile back.

And then she’s frowning and closing the distance between them. “Look at you—your shirt’s on backwards.”

“It’s fine,” he says and sidesteps her reaching hands.

A sheen of moisture creeps over her eyes, and her hands drop back to her sides. “It’s not fine, it’s—”

“Anna, stop.” It’s all an act. He sees it so clearly now. He’s not sure when it started, but months before he’d broken it off, he’s sure. And there he’d been, wracking his brain, trying to figure out how to fix things. He sees, now, how broken their relationship really was. Nothing could have repaired it.

Her eyes widen and her mouth snaps shut with an audible click. The microwave beeps just then, and she stirs whatever it is and sets the timer for another couple of minutes. It smells...interesting, and he wrinkles his nose trying to identify even one of the ingredients. Her food is usually edible, even if it lacks discernible origins. Not that he’s eating whatever it is.

He rakes a hand through his hair, using the working hand this time and avoiding the fish slap in front of her. He’s got to get her out of here and make it clear he wants no more visits from her. He doesn’t want her fake care. He doesn’t want her bizarre meals. In fact, he doesn’t want anything from her. Not ever again.

She faces him again.

He takes a breath.

“Anna, look, I appreciate you coming here, but we’re broken up. You need to not come back anymore.”

Color rises on her cheeks and she slowly shakes her head, wrinkles forming on her forehead. She smiles. Chase’s stomach drops.

“That horse clocked you good, didn’t she?”

“What are you talking about?” She’s nuts. That’s all there is to it.

“Then Kyle— He hates me. I know he does. But he has a thing for you. I don’t care what he claims. He poisoned you against me, didn’t he?”

Chase doesn’t know which point to address first. The idea that Kyle has a thing for him is ridiculous, so “poison” it is. “Kyle rarely talked about you at all,” he says.

“And I wonder why that was?”

“Why would he?” Chase has no clue where this is going; he only knows he wants her gone.

“Because he hates me.”

“Maybe he does, but if he never talked about you, then how could he possibly have poisoned me against you?”

Bright red lips purse and icy blue eyes narrow.

“Look, Anna, my breaking up with you had nothing to do with anything Kyle did or didn’t say about you. That was all me. Things between us hadn’t been right for a while. You know it’s true. You know it.”

“I’ll be better,” she says, and tears well up again.

What the fuck? If he hadn’t thought she was crazy before, he sure does now. He’s so fuckin’ glad he gave her the boot.

“I’m sorry,” he says. He’s not, really, but he can fake regret for the sake of diplomacy. “I really am, but we’re never getting back together. We’re over and we’re going to stay that way. Now, if you don’t mind, I have exercises to do.” They make a convenient excuse, even though he’s done them already and then some.

After an exaggerated breath, she blinks away the moisture. “Fine,” she says and marches out the door.

He shuts the door behind her with a firm push and lets out a sigh of relief even though he has a gut feeling he hasn’t seen the last of her. His mind reels at the Mad Hatter moment he just witnessed. She hadn’t made any sense whatsoever.

Unfortunately, her visit has completely tarnished the sheen of accomplishment off his half-eaten sandwich, and he tosses it in the trash. The microwave beeps again, but he doesn’t bother pulling out whatever it is she’d brought over. She’s taken his appetite with her.

The misty ache in his head has become a dull roar, and the bruise on his elbow and the back of his arm pulses in discomfort. He drops to the sofa and closes his eyes.

Chapter Four

The clomp of boots on the porch and the rattle of keys in the lock wake Chase. His eyes snap open to find Kyle hovering over him.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty.”

Chase groans and throws his legs over the side of the couch and sits up, flinching when he uses his injured elbow as a lever. It doesn’t hurt exactly. It just feels odd to use it but not really feel any associated sensations.

As he moves toward the kitchen, Kyle’s scent swirls around Chase, fresh air, hay, and sweat mixing with the lingering traces of his body care products. Chase sniffs appreciatively. It’s only been a few days, but he misses the scents of his job—clean hay, horses, the out-of-doors.

“You hungry?” asks Kyle.

Chase’s stomach grumbles in response.

Kyle chuckles. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

A stack of grilled ham and cheese sandwiches appears on the coffee table twenty minutes later. Kyle clicks the TV on to find the Giants and the Padres battling it out. The Giants’ second baseman tags out the Padres’ runner for the third out. The Giants jog toward the dugout, while the Padres take the field.

“You got dressed,” Kyle says, swiping greasy fingers down his jeans.

“Yep.”

“You cleaned up.” Kyle’s Adam’s apple rises and falls with the swig and swallow of beer he takes.

Chase licks his lips, shifts in his seat. “Um…sorta.” Kyle won’t be happy about him letting Anna barge in.

Kyle’s eyebrow rises. “You slept.”

“A lot.”

“Slug.”

“Yeah, that was strange, but it felt good. Also, I was bored out of my tree.”

“We have four hundred channels, dude. Are you telling me you couldn’t find a game or some porn to watch? That’s pathetic,” Kyle says, grinning.

“Nothing looked interesting, and then I fell asleep, and then Anna came by.”

Kyle tips his beer to his mouth again and glances at Chase. “Oh, shit. What the hell did she want?”

“She said to bring me lunch, but, honestly, I’m not sure. She actually did the dishes.”

Kyle looks at him wide-eyed. “Dude.”

“I know, I know. She just barged in. Wouldn’t listen when I asked her to stop. She wants to get back together, I think.”

Kyle takes another swig. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s possessive and territorial and hates to lose, so I don’t think she’s going down without a fight.”

“It’s been a month. There’s no way in hell I’m getting back with her.”

“She’ll get the message eventually.”

“Yeah, I know.” Chase sighs. He just wants to move on, not keep dealing with a psycho ex-girlfriend.

They eat and watch the rest of the game with Kyle’s usual snarky commentary. For a guy who played high school football in Texas, the man knows enough baseball trivia to choke a Hereford bull. Chase can’t complain though. Watching and attending baseball games with Kyle over the years has been fun and is always something to be looked forward to. Good to know some things stay the same. It’s like a tradition and Chase loves it.

The Giants score a handful of runs, and Kyle stands with a snort. “No surprise how this is going to end. I stink and need a shower. Feel free to join me.”

“Oh, uh...I’m fine.” He flashes Kyle a smile. “I rinsed off earlier, but thanks.”

“Well, look at you being all self-sufficient and shit.”

“Yeah, that’s me—the one-handed wonder.” Chase offers a single jazz hand.

Kyle chuckles and, with a wink, yanks off his tee shirt and heads for the bathroom. “Then I’ll shower all by my lonesome I guess.”

“Just think, you can have all the hot water to yourself,” Chase yells after him, grabbing the remote.

Kyle makes some sort of reply, but Chase doesn’t catch it because the door closes before Kyle gets more than a few words spoken. Something about “hot” and “cowboy,” and Chase really has no fucking clue what’s he talking about.

It’s[ Possibly delete this scene…] barely after seven, and the day is starting to catch up with him. He’s sapped of strength, but if he wants to get out of this cycle of exhaustion, he’s got to keep pushing. Pushing to stay awake, pushing to gain his strength and endurance back. Maybe a walk and some fresh air before bed will help get him back on track. Tapping on the bathroom door, he opens it a crack when Kyle responds.

“I’m going to go for a walk.”

“Take your phone.”

He grabs his phone and wears the sling the hospital sent home with him. It’s still light out, but the ranch bustle has died down. A sheen of sweat immediately covers his exposed skin, and his tee shirt sticks to his back before he’s halfway to the horse barn. Ah, yes, July in Texas.

Chase checks on Jewel first, and she seems none the worse for wear after being spooked by the backfire. She nudges his hand for a treat and he apologizes, rubbing his hand along her forehead and scritching around her ear. He should have thought to bring some carrots or an apple, but he’s been struggling to think straight, what with the accident, his injury, and Anna’s reappearance.

The horses all recognize his voice and half a dozen of them hang their heads over their stall gates. He dutifully says hello and strokes the muzzle or pats the jowl of each and every one.

There’s a hard-packed dirt path that leads out to some of the far paddocks. Usually, Chase rides out there, but he can’t saddle a horse, much less ride one at the moment, nor is he in any hurry. He’s got nothing but time on his hands. He can’t do much about his injury except to dutifully complete his exercises every day, twice a day, and attend rehab three days a week.

Chase walks along as the sun seems to barely move toward twilight. It’s July, though, so he’s got another hour and a half until dark. He keeps walking and lets his mind wander. Anna comes to mind, but, God, she’s the last thing he wants to spend any brainpower on.

Maybe he should call his mom, see how she’s doing, let her know he’s feeling better. He pulls out his phone and decides against it. The battery’s only at nine percent—plenty of charge to call for help if he needs it. Not enough for a conversation with his mother.

The buzz of the cicadas deepens; his shirt sticks in more places and his lungs feel tight in the humidity. The darkness in the east creeps farther toward the west, and he keeps walking.

Anna’s claim that Kyle has a thing for him suddenly springs to mind. The thought is still ludicrous. Why would she even say that? Her claim can be chalked up to purely spiteful intentions. Although why she thinks Kyle liking him would bother Chase, he has no clue. But even if Kyle did like Chase, so what? Lots of people get crushes on their friends and then they get over them.

The sun finally drops below the horizon and Chase finds himself at the far side of the ranch. His arm throbs despite the sling he’d dutifully worn and he’s winded. If he was tired when he left the cabin, now he’s completely spent. Can he even make it back? Eventually, sure, but he hasn’t got the energy, and he’s pretty sure he hasn’t got the wherewithal. He’d probably curl up in the dark somewhere and sleep. He texts Kyle to come and get him.

Chase settles at the base of a light pole while he waits. He soaks up the heat like a sponge, the buzz of insects, the solitude. He hasn’t been completely alone in days. Much as he loves Kyle’s company, this is nice.

The thud of hooves announces Kyle’s arrival twenty minutes later. Adrenaline spikes his pulse when Kyle and Whiskey trot into view. Chase clambers to his feet. He expected the truck.

“You all right?” Kyle asks once he’s drawn the horse to a stop and slides to the ground.

He’s not frantic and freaked out like Anna would have been, calling every ten minutes until Chase would have had to turn his phone off for a moment of peace. Kyle has allowed him his space.

Seeing Kyle here and realizing they’re riding the horse back together brings a mild attack of jitters. He’s got no reason to fear riding Whiskey even if he were riding her alone one-handedly. She’s a mature horse, docile and calm.

“I’m okay,” Chase says. “I just had to expend some energy, you know? I’m not used to lying around doing nothing.”

“Gotcha.”

Chase eyes Whiskey who wears no saddle, just a bridle and reins. “How’re we doing this?”

“I’ll boost you up and then ride behind you to handle Whiskey.” Kyle wears a pleased expression. “I thought you might enjoy a ride.”

A bubble of happiness bursts within Chase and he smiles. Yeah, he would. It’s only been a few days, but he’s missed being out in the fresh air and spending time with the horses.

A few minutes later, they’re situated on Whiskey’s back and Chase is enveloped by Kyle’s well-built frame. The only place they touch is Kyle’s shoulders and arms around Chase’s in order to hold the reins and Kyle’s thighs and knees along Chase’s hips in order to keep his seat.

Kyle keeps Whiskey at a steady trot back toward the main part of the ranch.

“You up for a canter?” asks Kyle in his ear.

“Fuck, yeah,” says Chase.

Kyle clicks his tongue to Whiskey and bucks his hips and they’re off.

He’s plastered to Chase’s back now, leaning forward. He’s got to be, both to control Whiskey and to not fall off. It feels nice. Although he’s glad to be rid of Anna, he’s missed the closeness.

They reach the barn in about ten minutes, and if Chase wasn’t exhausted before, he is now. But he’s also exhilarated. If it wasn’t so ridiculous, he’d say it was the best ride of his life.

Chase drops to a bench and waits while Kyle cares for Whiskey and guides her back into her stall. He’s ready to head home, but he can’t. He’d face plant right into the dirt. He should probably be more embarrassed about that, but he pushed too hard and it’s Kyle. They’ve seen each other in worse shape, so. Yeah.

Kyle loops an arm around Chase’s back and helps him back to the cabin in silence.

Once they reach home, Chase says thanks, and while he really could use a shower after being out in the sultry July evening, there’s no way he wouldn’t fall on his ass or crack his head open.

“Night,” he says and limps to his room. Tomorrow he’s gonna pay for this. Ugh. But he’ll worry about it then. Tearing his clothes off, down to his boxers, he falls face-first into his messy bed and is asleep in minutes.

* * *

Chase sleeps late again and Kyle is gone when he gets up. Surprisingly, he doesn’t hurt like he thought he might after last night’s ramble. Kyle’s left a note that he’ll be back by midday to make lunch and take Chase to rehab. A midsummer front moved in overnight leaving the day dark; thunder grumbles softly across the sky.

Chase putters around and manages a bowl of cereal and a couple of pieces of toast for breakfast. Preparing his food takes longer than it should, and his toast is cold by the time he gets around to eating it.

Yesterday’s efforts have paid off, though, despite his lie-in. Sure, he still feels a bit wasted, but it’s not as bad as yesterday. His shoulders, chest, and back muscles ache, but in the way that indicates he’s done something more than lie around all day.

It’s after ten now, and he supposes he ought to get dressed and ready for the day. His room smells musty though. The sheets definitely need changing after sleeping in them all sticky and sweaty last night. He yanks the bedspread off, followed by the blanket, and then peels the sheets from the mattress. The pillows are a bit of a challenge, but he shoves his right arm down the length of the pillowcase and tugs at the pillow with his left hand.

After tossing the pile of dirty sheets outside his bedroom door, he tries to figure out what to wear. A louder rumble of thunder rolls overhead and he glances out his window. It’s not raining yet, but the storm is on its way. Rain means even worse humidity, which means it’s going to be fuckin’ freezing inside the rehab center while the AC works extra hard to keep the humidity at bay. Thank goodness he owns a pair of sweats because he can wear them over shorts and take them off if he gets hot. Not that he’s expecting to. He much prefers being warm to being cold.

He makes sure to get his tee shirt on front facing and right side out this time too. Grabbing a pair of socks, he stuffs them in a sneaker and carries them to the living room. Kyle will have to help him with those.

So far, this one-handed business hasn’t been as bad as Chase had expected. It’s when he forgets and tries to use his hand for things like pushing off the couch that he runs into trouble.

A knock sounds on the door, followed by the key turning in the lock.

Chase’s stomach drops—Kyle wouldn’t knock.

The door swings open and Anna steps in, holding a black trash bag in her arm. A white plastic grocery bag hangs from her wrist. “Hey, bubba,” she says and beams. “I brought your laundry and some lunch.”

“Why?” he demands. “What part of ‘we’re over’ don’t you understand?”

She frowns and looks perplexed. “Well… Just because we broke up doesn’t mean I can’t offer a helping hand.”

Chase stops, surprised and confused himself. It’s not a side to her he expected, but he’s not letting his guard down. “That’s very, uh, nice of you,” he says.

“We were together for a long time, Chase. I still care about you, you know.”

“Um, okay…” He’s not sure how he feels about her anymore. He was ill at ease with her for months; and her pettiness and self-centered nature had chipped away at his affection for her. “That’s a noble sentiment, but, really, I’m fine. I can take care of myself pretty good. You don’t have to worry about me anymore, okay? Don’t bring me lunch anymore. Don’t come by again. Please.”

How many times has he got to say it?

Her eyes narrow and her lips thin. “You don’t want me because you’re gay, right?”

Chase freezes.

Swallows.

Blinks.

“What?” He doesn’t harbor, has never harbored, any of the confusion or worry or fear Kyle had said he’d experienced when he was struggling with the question of his sexual orientation.

“You heard me.” The vulnerable, deluded Anna is definitely gone now. In her place stands crazy Anna with the glittery eyes and the voice of stone.

“I’m not gay, and it’s time for you to go now.”

Anna scoffs but doesn’t make to move. “Okay…”

Kyle’s boots sound on the porch. Relief fills Chase.

“Chase, you ready?” Kyle calls as he walks through the door dripping wet. His hair sticks up in furrowed spikes from where he’s probably just run his hands through it like a squeegee. His soaked shirt molds to the contours of his well-defined chest.

Kyle stops short and frowns. He glances from Anna to Chase and raises an eyebrow. “Everything all right?”

“Anna was just leaving.”

With a final glare at Chase, she stomps out.

“You okay?” Kyle asks.

Chase nods. “I think she finally got the message, although she wasn’t happy about it.”

“That wasn’t what I asked. Are you okay?”

Anna thinks he’s gay, but other than that…

“I’m...” Chase does a gut check; the tension is gone and his head feels a little light, but otherwise… He nods again. “I’m okay.”

Kyle eyes him for a moment before nodding once too. “Let me change my shirt and I’ll make lunch. Can you turn the oven on?” he asks as he disappears into his room.

“Yeah.” Chase pulls the bag of pre-made biscuits from the freezer, scans for the oven temp and cranks the dial.

* * *

They arrive at the rehab clinic in the pouring down rain, and Chase is definitely glad he wore his sweats. There’s an overhang on the front of the building and Kyle drops him off beneath it. He finds a nearby parking slot and hustles across the short expanse of asphalt without getting too soaked again.

Tabitha gets down to business without much fanfare and Chase is grateful to have his mind taken over by something besides Anna’s accusations and his gimp hand. Tabitha’s polite, but no nonsense. They work through close to a dozen exercises. Some, like the ones he’d learned the other day, are meant to keep the working muscles conditioned and strong. Some are designed to train him how to compensate when he needs two hands, and the rest are meant to stimulate the damaged nerves.

Chase gets clumsy and slow quickly, yesterday’s efforts finally coming back to bite him in the ass. Tabitha remains pleasant and patient with him even when he grouses. By the end of the hour, his heart is thumping, a sheen of sweat irritates his forehead, and wetness has gathered around his armpits, but his elbow tingles a little. Tabitha is pleased by that.

“What about massage?” Kyle asks as they get ready to leave. “When I was in high school and had PT on my leg, they brought in someone a couple of times a week. It made a huge difference. Chase’s injury is different from mine, so I didn’t know if it would be appropriate.”

Tabitha smiles and makes notes on Chase’s chart. “No, no, massage would be great. After today’s workout, Chase could probably use a good massage. It’ll benefit the working muscles more than the non-working ones, since they’re working harder now,” she says, looking at Chase. “I know these new exercises were tough.”

Chase snorts. He’s sweating like a glass of ice water condensating in the August heat. He’d shucked the sweats about a third of the way through the session, much to his surprise.

“Here’s a list of the new exercises and links to YouTube videos that demonstrate them if you forget how they work.” Tabitha hands a sheet of paper to Kyle who folds it up and slides it into a back pocket. “I don’t think Ten Rigs has a massage place, but Snyder might, and there are all kinds of options here in Big Spring. Okay, so—we’ll see you boys Wednesday at three o’clock. Chase, just like before, you need to work through these twice a day, all right?”

Chase groans, but nods. More than anything, he wants to get back to work. So whatever it takes. If this afternoon is anything to go by, though, he’ll be expending more energy in a PT session than he actually does working. Going back to wrangling’ll be a snap in comparison to rehab.

“I know it sucks, cutie, but they’re all designed to keep you in shape and to make sure you can go back to your life and livelihood. That’s the goal.” She pats him on the shoulder. “Hang tough.”

“I know, I know.”

“You’re not doing too much for him, are you?” She turns questioning eyes on Kyle.

He holds up his hands as if in surrender. “No, ma’am. He dresses himself except shoes and socks.”

“I sound like a two-year-old,” Chase grumbles, but all things considered, he’s been managing pretty well.

“No, no, that’s great,” says Tabitha. “Now get out of here so I can go have dinner with my daughter before my next appointment. See you boys in a couple of days.”

Chase follows Kyle down the hall toward the front of the clinic. He’s beat and ready for something to eat. A massage does sound heavenly right about now, but he just wants to go home, eat, and crash.

“Well, hey, Kyle. What are you doing here?” asks a voice Chase recognizes with a tightening in his gut.

It belongs to one of Kyle’s old boyfriends.

Chapter Five

“Hey, hey, man.” Kyle shakes hands with a tall slim guy with spiky blond hair and eyes the color of a tropical lagoon. Kyle turns toward Chase as Chase steps forward to complete the loose circle.

Tyler doesn’t offer his hand to Chase, merely nods and smiles. That’s something at least.

“You remember Chase?” Kyle asks. “Chase, Tyler; Tyler, Chase. Chase is here for rehab and I’m his ride. What are you doing here?”

If Chase had hackles, they’d be bristling. Tyler had been way too sarcastic and arrogant for Chase’s liking back in the day, and had always gotten on Chase’s nerves. Kyle and Tyler had gotten along great, though, and had even maintained a friends-with-benefits relationship for a while, if Chase remembers correctly. Chase isn’t sure if they still have an arrangement, but Kyle’s hook-ups are none of his business.

“I’m the I.T. guy here at the center,” Tyler says, pulling Chase out of his musings. “The receptionist was having a couple of issues with her PC.”

“Ah.” Kyle glances at Chase. “Well, hey, listen, Chase just finished up a brutal session. I know he’s ready to get the hell out of here. It was good seeing you.” Kyle shakes Tyler’s hand again.

“We’ll have to get a beer some time. Are you still losing at pool?” Tyler asks.

Kyle groans, but grins. “Yeah, yeah... See ya.” His wave turns into an invitation for Chase to head for the door. They cross the parking lot under the cover of a light drizzle.

Chase collapses into the front seat of the truck, exhausted and sore now that the adrenaline has begun to dissipate. A massage is sounding better and better, but, unfortunately, home and a hot shower will have to do. The ride back to the ranch is quiet with only the strains of the classic rock station Kyle prefers filling the cab.

“What do you want for dinner?” Kyle asks, startling him from his thoughts. “They’re doing meatloaf at the mess. Or we can grab something here in town. Or there’s a frozen pizza at home.”

“Let’s just do the pizza,” says Chase, dropping his head to the back of the seat. “I stink, I hurt, and I’m not really up to facing people right now, although I really do love Dinah’s meatloaf.”

“I bet she’d send a plate for you if I asked. She likes you for some reason.”

“You’d do that?” Chase asks, rolling his head sideways on the back of the seat to look at Kyle.

“Do what? Risk getting my head bitten off by Dinah the Dragon to bring you meatloaf?”

Dinah the Dragon was all of five foot two and built like a fence slat. Sixty-eight if she was a day, she’d been running the Monahan Ranch mess and dealing with rowdy ranch hands for thirty years. That was after a twenty-year stint in the Navy. No one disrespected Dinah, any time, any place.

“Uh huh.”

“I’d do just about anything for you, you know that.”

Warmth balloons in his chest, but Chase isn’t sure what to say, so he merely nods.

Kyle pulls to a stop in front of the mess and disappears inside.

His words ring in Chase’s head. That’s quite a declaration, although his actions of late back up his words. Chase never doubted he would, but the fact that he’s articulated it means something.

Kyle strolls out the front door fifteen minutes later, a foil cake pan covered in more foil balanced on one hand. He catches Chase’s gaze through the windshield and winks. Chase’s breath catches for a mere moment and he exhales hard. It’s not like Kyle’s never winked at him before. But it’s been a long damned day and he doesn’t even know. It’s whatever. He’s not going to think too hard about it right now.

Kyle yanks open the door and the mouthwatering scent of gravy, potatoes, and rolls fills the cab as Kyle settles the package safely on the seat between them. “Done. I don’t know what it is about you that she likes so much.”

“Her husband,” Chase murmurs. “Says I remind her of him before he went to Vietnam and was killed in action.”

“Well, okay then. Can’t really argue with that, can you?”

* * *

During dinner, an old NASCAR race plays on the big screen for a change of pace while Kyle prattles on about the new greenhorn, the state of the fence line along FM 1205, and the possibility of them attending an Ardmore Armadillo’s game sometime this season. A friend of his from college plays second base for them.

“We should go,” Chase says. His options for fun are limited right now and a road trip and a baseball game seem like a good way to break up the monotony of physical therapy and rehab and long days of not working.

“Yeah?” asks Kyle, looking like he’s just been introduced to the guy who played Marcus Cole on Babylon 5. Excited and surprised. The man does love baseball.

“Yeah.” Going to ball games with Kyle is a lot of fun. He’s a very interactive fan, and he always buys the good seats. No nosebleeds for him. Of course, the Armadillos are an independent baseball league team and the stadiums are generally smaller and the ticket prices way less expensive than at major league ballparks.

“Cool. I’ll check the schedule and buy the tickets.” Grabbing his phone from the coffee table, he swipes and pokes at it for a few minutes and then says, “Sweet.”

“What?”

“There’s a three-day homestand that coincides with my days off week after next. How’s that sound?”

“Let’s do it.”

Kyle swipes and pokes a few more times and says, “Done. We’ll drive up on Thursday morning and come home on Friday in time for rehab.”

Chase groans but nods. “Perfect. Thanks.”

“Can’t skip rehab.”

“I know, I know, but still.”

“Still, yeah.” Kyle tilts his head. “You gonna shower?”

Chase sniffs a pit and makes a face. “Yeah; why?”

“Well, if I’m gonna give you a massage, the shower seems like the best place, don’t you think?”

Everything inside of Chase goes on alert. Kyle had been the gentleman last time. Efficient and neutral. His own reaction worries Chase more than anything. But after yesterday’s exertions and today’s physical therapy, the lure of a massage is pretty overwhelming, but another shower together?

“Uh…us showering together is a little odd, isn’t it? I mean, I can shower on my own.”

Kyle shrugs, looking completely unfazed. “We wouldn’t exactly be showering together. You’ll shower, I guess, then when you’re ready, I’ll come in and provide the massage.”

“I suppose a trip to Snyder or back to Big Spring is a little out of the way.”

Kyle nods, offers a moue of agreement. “It kinda is. Plus, it’d get expensive. Even at, say, twenty bucks a session, that’s sixty bucks a week. Plus gas. I’m perfectly willing to play masseur. I learned a thing or two from Nolan during the three months we went out. He practiced on me a lot.” Kyle waggles his brows. “And he taught me some stuff too.”

At the mention of yet another of Kyle’s exes, Chase’s stomach clenches. Nolan had appropriated a lot of Kyle’s time, to the point where his grades had begun to suffer. Nolan’s long out of Kyle’s life, though, having gone back home to Oklahoma shortly after the two of them had parted ways.

“But if it’s really going to bother you, we can do it out here once you’re done showering. I just figured doing it under the hot water would really help loosen and relax the muscles.”

“Makes sense, but what if someone finds out?”

“What are they gonna find out? That I gave you a massage? After I took you to rehab?” Kyle shrugs. “So what if they do?”

“I know you’re right... Of course you’re right.” Chase is just being paranoid. “A massage would be great. I really appreciate everything you’ve been doing.”

“But...?” Kyle’s eyebrow rises in conjunction with the pitch of his voice.

“Anna’s already accused me of breaking up with her because I’m gay.”

Both of Kyle’s eyebrows go up now.

“She doesn’t need any more ammunition against either one of us.”

“I couldn’t care less what she thinks or says, but if it’ll make you feel better, we’ll deadbolt the door. Since it’s an internal one, no one can get in even if they have a key. If she asks, we’ll tell her the truth.”

Chase opens his mouth to protest, but Kyle continues.

“That she’s no longer welcome in our home, and until she returns the key you gave her, we’ll be using the deadbolt.”

“Okay,” says Chase.

Kyle seems to have all the answers, but one.

Why Chase is agreeing. Even though nerves are still making his pulse hum, he wants a massage, heaven help him. It’s his own physical reaction he fears. He’ll just have to think about something that’s sure to counter the provocative connotations of the whole situation. Like what though? He searches his mind for something bound to derail any sort of arousal. Horse shit and hobbits come to mind. Yeah, that ought to keep his body in check. Horse shit smells disgusting, and he shovels enough of it that he can imagine the odor easily, and hobbits have always freaked him out a little bit. Big feet covered in hair is just gross. He shivers in his head.

“Hey?”

“Hm? Yeah.” He blinks back to reality and finds Kyle peering at him curiously.

“Go ahead and get cleaned up. Holler when you’re ready.”

Chase debates leaving his boxers on, but that would be odd, so he strips down to his birthday suit and starts the shower without fuss despite the tremor in his good hand. The muscles in his shoulders and upper arms protest loudly after his therapy session. The hot water pounds the back of his neck and his shoulders, and, man, it feels good. But as much as he wants to stand there, Kyle’s waiting for him to get clean, and how much better is a massage going to feel?

Washing takes all of five minutes, as does shampooing his hair. He pushes open the shower door and calls Kyle. He hears Kyle’s muffled reply and ducks back under the shower, feeling light-headed and cotton-mouthed all of a sudden.

Is Kyle gonna be naked or is he going to leave on his underwear like he’d done the first time? Chase isn’t sure which he hopes for more. Undies on because the whole situation is still weird, undies off to put them on equal footing.

“Coming in,” says Kyle.

The shower door clicks shut and, Kyle’s presence behind him makes him tremble with nerves.

“Scoot forward. I’m gonna have a quick wash since I’m in here and then we’ll do you.”

Chase coughs as his thirteen-year-old mind swan dives into the gutter.

“You know what I mean,” Kyle says and hisses. “Shit, man, this hot enough?”

“Um. Yeah?” Chase braces his good arm against the cold tile wall and rests his head on his forearm and waits.

“Don’t turn around, okay? I’m dropping my drawers to wash myself.”

Jesus Christ, does he have to make the situation harder than it has to be?

Oh, God. Now Chase is doing it. Chase chokes back a snort. As for Kyle—of course he does. On the other hand, he’s being his usual self, so maybe he isn’t doing anything on purpose.

“Okay, back under the water with you.”

Kyle’s hands clasp onto Chase’s hips. A zing from the point of contact radiates outward in all directions. His dick twitches, and he sucks in a moist draught of air and releases it slowly. Horse shit and hobbits.

“We should look for some shower gel that you really like the scent of—like aromatherapy and a massage all rolled into one.”

Chase just nods. He’s pretty fond of the smell of Kyle’s shower gel, although he’s not feeling very relaxed right now. So maybe something that has no association with Kyle is a good idea.

The pop cap of the bottle of shower gel echoes off the tile, followed by the raspberry of air as Kyle squeezes the liquid into his palm. Kyle slicks his hands together and the sound is suggestive.

Chase stabs his teeth into his bottom lip. What the hell did he do to deserve this singular brand of torture?

Kyle’s thumbs dig into the knotted flesh of his shoulders and Chase bites back another groan. Every nerve ending starts sparking, and he tenses up. Oh, holy hell, his dick pulses. Just what he doesn’t need. A freakin’ hard-on.

“Chill out, dude. It’s a massage. It’s not going to do you any good if you stay so stiff.”

Chase blows out a breath and forces his muscles to go slack. If only he had that much control over his dick. Horse shit and hobbits. Horse shit and hobbits. Horse shit and hobbits.

Dammit. Not working.

Ten, fifteen minutes pass as Kyle kneads Chase’s neck, his shoulders, even his triceps and biceps in both arms. Chase’s arousal grows, and even Kyle’s hands on his injured elbow and paralyzed forearm don’t seem to make a damned bit of difference.

“How’s that feel?” Kyle asks.

“Uh...” Chase chokes on fantastic and says, “Good. Great. Thanks.” And if his voice has gone gruff, he’ll deny it.

“Stay under the hot water till it runs out. I’m gonna go get dressed.”

Chapter Six

Kyle pulls the bedroom door shut behind him and sags against it. His cock aches something fierce, and if he hadn’t escaped, he would have done something he would have most likely regretted.

Massaging Chase in the shower had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, not so much. The other night in the shower hadn’t been too bad, although Chase’s arousal had given him pause. His own had been a given and he’d taken care of it later in bed, to thoughts specifically not of Chase. Orgasm had been achieved, but there hadn’t been much satisfaction in the deed.

Well, he’s opened this can of worms, and he’s just going to have to deal with all those wriggling feelings somehow. For now, though, he’ll ignore them.

Kyle leaves his hard-on unattended, dresses quickly, and goes to make Chase’s bed. The pile of sheets had caught his eye when he’d gotten home, and there’s no way Chase can make his bed one handed.

Kyle sorts through baseball stats in his head while he digs a clean set of sheets from Chase’s closet. He peruses the Major League Baseball schedule in his mind as he secures the corners of the bottom sheet around the mattress; he’s got a whole slew of games to choose from for the next days. As Kyle floats the top sheet over the bed and tucks the end of it under the mattress, he remembers the game he’d attended as a kid with his grandfather and his cousin Jeff, where one of the players had hit a grand slam.

Throw on the blanket...

Since it was the home team, the stadium had given out coupons for free cones at some ice cream shop. Grandpa had taken him and Jeff on the way home. It’s one of his few happy childhood memories.

Lay out the bedspread...

And done. He surveys his work. A freshly made bed, just waiting to be messed back up in the best way ever—a good round of hot sweaty sex.

He groans at the train of thought his mind has decided to board. A destination he doesn’t want to go to.

Kyle scurries from Chase’s room, scooping up the dirty linens and depositing them in his own room for the time being. They’ll be doing laundry tomorrow apparently.

His erection has abated enough, despite the detour his thoughts had taken, that it won’t be noticed.

The water in the bathroom turns off and Chase putters around in there for a few minutes before he comes out, clutching the corners of his towel at his left hip bone.

Chase rolls his shoulders and casts Kyle a small shy smile. “Thanks for the massage. It really helped.”

“Anytime.” Kyle nods, making a concerted effort not to look at Chase’s crotch.

Chase had been aroused again. Kyle wasn’t sure how he’d known, but he had.

Had Chase taken care of business after Kyle had fled? His cock shifts as blood flows back that direction. Shit.

“I’m sure we can find a movie or put a game on if you want. It’s not that late.” He needs to act normal. As if nothing’s out of the ordinary.

“Sounds good. Get me a beer, will you? I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“Can do.” Kyle salutes in acknowledgment. Chase seems to have the same mindset. Keep calm and carry on as if nothing happened. Of course, nothing had happened. Nothing physical between them anyway, not really. Individually, they’d both been turned on, sure. But Chase getting an erection in the shower while being touched doesn’t mean he wants a relationship with a man. With Kyle. He’s a young red-blooded American man—they tend to get turned on easily. Kyle should know.

Kyle fetches a couple of beers from the fridge, pops ‘em open, and clicks on the television.

Chase’s few minutes turns into fifteen, but it’s fine. Thankfully, Kyle’s erection completely deflates by the time Chase plops onto the sofa beside him. They watch the Brewers kick the Pirates’ asses. Chase falls asleep somewhere around the seventh inning stretch, his beer only half drunk, and Kyle spends the rest of the game and the one after that watching Chase sleep, his feelings turning tender at the innocence of Chase’s features. He should have sent Chase to bed after the first game, but Kyle rarely gets to see him like this. Serene and secure enough to sleep soundly. So sue him.

What he wouldn’t give to be able to hold Chase’s hand, rub a thumb across the back of it. To run his hands through Chase’s hair. To get cozy on the couch while watching television. To have Chase fall asleep in his arms. In his bed.

Shit. When had he become such a sap?

About five years ago when you fell in love with your best friend.

When the teams walk across the field shaking hands, Kyle turns off the TV and places a hand on Chase’s knee.

“Hey, Chase, it’s time to go to bed.” Kyle shakes and then pats Chase’s leg. “Ace, wake up.”

Chase snorts softly and sits up. “What-time’s-it?” he asks, his words slurred together as one multi-syllabic word.

“It’s close to one. Go to bed.”

Chase pushes off the couch, but his paralyzed arm gives out and he loses his balance. The apple of his cheek hits Kyle’s shoulder and his forehead comes to rest at the juncture of Kyle’s neck and clavicle.

Kyle’s arm comes up instinctively to circle Chase’s shoulders. He wants to hold him close, hold him in place, nuzzle his hairline. Enjoy the closeness. But that isn’t what they’re about. “Easy there,” he says more tenderly than he intends, but Chase is pretty groggy and pays no heed.

“Sorry,” says Chase, hooking his left hand on the arm of the sofa and pulling himself upright.

Kyle lets him go. “Not a big deal. Go to bed.”

Chase shuffles to his bedroom on wobbly legs.

Kyle closes his own bedroom door and bangs his head lightly against it. He should talk to Chase. They’ve been friends a long time. They’ve talked about practically everything under the sun at one point or another. Except Anna. Except this.

What this though? There is no this at this point.

Kyle wants to confess his feelings, his desire for more, but the words stick in his throat. He’d rather keep things the way they are right now for the rest of their lives than risk a breach they could never recover from.

Although Chase’s continued erections are giving him pause. It’s just not enough to take a chance on yet.

Kyle’s feelings are getting harder and harder to hide, harder to fight, however. If he doesn’t get himself under control, he’s going to give himself away.

* * *

“You ready?” Kyle asks, sliding his wallet into the side pocket of his cargo shorts.

Chase is similarly dressed. “Where are we going?” he asks, climbing into the truck.

“It’s a surprise,” is all Kyle will say. He’s got the day off and despite the laundry and other household chores needing to be done, he’s getting Chase out of the house. Kyle had hated being laid up when he’d broken his leg in middle school. Granted, Chase can get around on his own two feet, but he can’t ride and he can’t drive yet, so he’s still pretty ranch-locked.

When Kyle turns into the Hangar 25 Air Museum parking lot half an hour later, Chase turns wide eyes and a large smile toward him. Kyle’s heart trips over itself.

“Oh, my God,” exclaims Chase, “I’ve been wanting to come back here since that eleventh-grade field trip.”

“I know. So here we are. Let’s go.”

They meander around the hangar, looking at every single plane—not that there are that many. Chase babbles like the aviation nerd that he is, telling Kyle just as much about several of the aircraft as any of the pamphlets or plaques do. Chase’s voice washes over him, its tone and cadence familiar and cherished.

There are only a couple of the planes that you can actually climb into, and Chase does of course. Kyle snaps a couple of pictures of him looking joyful and carefree. Chase hasn’t looked this happy in years. Kyle takes a certain satisfaction in that.

It takes them maybe an hour and a half to view every aircraft. They stop in the little gift shop on the way out and Kyle buys him a key chain, one with an airplane dangling from it.

“What’s this for?” Chase asks.

Kyle shrugs. “Something to remember this place by.” To remember the day by, really. Kyle’ll never forget the look on Chase’s face when they’d turned into the parking lot.

Chapter Seven

Chase rolls out of bed on Thursday to find Kyle up and gone. After the last two days of togetherness, they’ve determined that Chase doesn’t actually need a whole lot of babysitting, and that Kyle can return to a normal schedule, only taking time off when Chase has rehab appointments. Chase’ll skip the exercises he needs help with in the mornings and do them twice in the afternoons when Kyle gets home, one set at the beginning of a session, one set at the end. Hopefully Tabitha will be okay with the alteration as it’ll only happen once a week, twice at most due to the six on, two off work schedule of the ranch.

Chase fumbles through a bowl of cereal and spends a couple of hours on his home exercises. By the time he’s done, his arms and shoulders ache and a thin sheen of sweat covers his upper body. The exercises take a lot of fuckin’ energy, and he’s starving again.

He looks through the cabinets and peers into the fridge looking for something filling, but it appears he’s S-O-L. He can do a lot of things without the use of both hands, but preparing a meal that meets his body’s fuel requirements isn’t one of them. Which means going to the mess for lunch.

Chase showers and dresses relatively quickly—he’s finally getting the hang of something at least. He still doesn’t have the hang of shoes though, so it looks like he’ll be shoving his feet into boots. He’s gonna look like a moron, but whatever. He’s too hungry to care at the moment.

Chase stares, feeling blown away, at the three pair of sneakers sitting next to his crusty dusty boots. Each set of laces has been specially tied to leave enough looseness for him to get his shoes on using his index finger as a shoehorn and enough snugness that he’ll be able to walk without his shoes flapping off his heels.

When had Kyle done this? Of course it was Kyle, because who else has been here. And he used to do that particular lacing to his own shoes back in high school.

Chase snags a pair and sits on the edge of his bed and stares at the shoes in his lap, dumbfounded. He drops the shoes to the floor and wriggles his feet into each one in turn. Chase goes soft and gooey inside like fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. That Kyle, who normally acts quite thoughtlessly and cavalierly, had even realized this would be an issue and then taken the time to prep all three pair of his sneakers and not just one, is amazing and thoughtful and so not like Kyle. The act is much appreciated.

Chase’s stomach growls as if to remind him of the point of shoes in the first place. Right. Lunch. He slides the flap of his wallet into the waistband of his sweats and drops his keys into the pocket. Time to go out on his own for the first time. Nervous energy ripples under his skin, although there really isn’t any reason to be anxious. He’s just going to the mess.

Pulling the door closed behind him, he turns his face to the sun. Summer winds have blown the lingering clouds eastward and the sun shines hot from a bright blue sky. The humidity is still thick, and despite his shower, a sheen of sweat breaks out on his forehead within moments and his tee shirt starts sticking to his lower back.

Hellos, how-are-yous, and good-to-see-you-up-and-abouts pepper his walk. What should have taken ten minutes has taken twenty, but it doesn’t matter. These are his friends and co-workers, and they care about him more than he realized.

He enters the ranch’s mess, something like a cross between a buffet-style restaurant and a school cafeteria. Only with more utilitarian and easy-to-clean tables and chairs since ranch workers come in covered in all kinds of dirt and manure. Chatter and the clinking of cutlery surround him. The cold air washes over him and he shivers for a moment.

Delicious scents of yeasty rolls, thick gravy, and savory beef fill the air and he takes a deep breath. His stomach gurgles in response. He pushes his tray down the railing, looking at the feast spread out in front of him. And, shit, he’s gonna need two hands. He’ll either have to break down and ask someone to cut his food for him or he’ll have to choose things that merely require stabbing or scooping and then shoveling into his mouth.

Today, stabbing or scooping seems like the logical choice. Dinah usually cooks a vat of thick hearty stew that will satisfy both of his basic requirements. Full of protein and filling. He’ll have to ask someone to ladle him up a bowl, but that’s no big deal. Better that than asking them to cut his meat as if he were a toddler. The woman behind him gladly serves him a brimming bowlful when he asks.

Several rolls and a slice of Monahan Ranch’s award-winning chocolate cake end up on his tray as well, and then he’s sliding his tray toward the register.

“Chase, hon, how’re ya doin’?” asks Gloria in her gravelly voice. “It’s good to see you out and about.”

The woman had smoked two packs a day for thirty years until her husband died of lung cancer three months after his diagnosis. She’d gone cold turkey and has been cigarette free for the last ten years, but the damage to her vocal chords is permanent. Hair, more gray than blond, is pulled back into a tight bun, and electric blue eye shadow dusts her lids. It should look tacky, but, somehow, she pulls it off.

“Hey, Gloria,” Chase replies, “I’m doing all right, all things considered.” He offers her a smile.

She eyes his dangling arm. “You’re going to need help with your tray,” she says, turning to peruse the assembled eaters. “Hey, Sorro,” she bellows like a foghorn, “come carry this tray for Lewis.”

Chase pushes back the niglet of embarrassment. If it had been anyone else, Chase himself would have been the first one to help, but he doesn’t like being the center of attention. He better accept the interest as well as the fact that he’s going to require a few helping hands along the way.

Sorro, a tall, rail-thin hand from Guatemala Chase thinks, ambles over and nods to Chase. He sports a thin mustache and a goatee and wears the standard jeans and plaid western shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“‘Preciate it, man,” says Chase. “Bye, Gloria.”

“Don’t be a stranger, now, just ‘cause your arm’s hurt.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Where to, Lewis?” Sorro asks with a slight accent.

Chase waves at the closest empty table. “Anywhere’s fine. Thanks a lot.”

Sorro sets the tray down, and says, “Take it easy,” before sauntering back to his own table.

Chase fetches himself a cup of water and takes a seat. He settles his right arm on the table alongside his tray and grabs a roll. It melts in his mouth even without butter; he almost groans at the fluffy flakes dissipating on his tongue. Thick and rich, the stew smells heavenly, and no doubt, it’s gonna taste just as good as it smells.

Holding the spoon properly in his left hand feels awkward. He’ll have to practice at home. For now, he channels his inner child and fists the stem. Like it matters. Half the ranch hands probably do the same. He scoops up a bite and his mouth waters in anticipation. The savory flavor of the broth flows over his tongue, and he sighs in delight.

“Hi, Chase,” says Anna, dropping into the seat across from him. She smiles, and his stomach makes an unplanned visit to his specially tied shoes.

He’d been so focused on his food, he hadn’t noticed her approach. So much for enjoying his meal.

“Anna,” he says with a nod. Can she not leave him the hell alone? They’ve got nothing more to say to each other.

“How’s your lunch?”

“Fine, thanks.” He takes another bite, too in need of sustenance for her to eliminate his appetite. “Was there something you needed?”

“Not really...just wondering what you’ve been up to?” she asks.

He swallows the broth wrong, which makes him choke and sets off a coughing fit. Had she really just stressed the word up, or had he imagined it? There’s no way she could know that he’s had more erections in the last week and a half than he’d had the last month and a half they were officially together. Getting it up because of a little TLC from his best friend and not from his girlfriend is pretty sad commentary on the state of their relationship.

Her eyebrow rises.

He clears his throat and takes a drink of water. “Sorry. Swallowed wrong. I’ve been up to rehab.”

“Uh huh...”

The hairs on the back of his neck prickle at her tone. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just that no one’s seen much of you since you got home. You and Kyle have been holed up in the cabin since you were released from the hospital.”

Why is she even keeping tabs on him? Of course, if she were truly spying on him, she’d have known they’d gone out both yesterday and the day before. Tuesday’s visit to the aircraft museum had been the fucking bomb—he’s loved planes since childhood. Wednesday, they’d just run errands, but they’d stopped for ice cream in Ten Rigs to combat the heat a little, and it’d just been plain fun. None of that is any of her business.

“And...?” He nods to his arm. “I was injured. I’ve been recuperating. That’s where we live. What of it? Besides, you came by, remember? Kyle was at work, so I’m not sure what you’re insinuating, but there’s nothing going on between Kyle and me.”

LIAR flashes through his brain in neon pink capital letters. The urge to flush is strong, but he takes a deep breath and lets it go. There’s nothing going on besides his body’s unfortunate reaction to certain stimuli.

Isn’t there?

A band of blue jays takes flight in his stomach, flapping and squawking in protest. Okay, so maybe there’s something. He’s not sure what. Now is definitely not the time to even think about it. Not in front of Anna.

She shrugs, eyes cold and mouth pinched.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my lunch.” He’s so glad they’re over. If he could just get her to leave him the hell alone for good, life would be really fucking great, even with his arm not functioning.

A stubborn expression hardens her chin, and she crosses her arms. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Good grief, really? He can’t just pick up his tray and walk away, and she knows it. Although he could leave his lunch. But that means no lunch and her winning whatever game she thinks she’s playing, and he’ll be damned if he’ll let either of those things happen.

“Suit yourself.” He picks up his spoon and takes another bite. The stew has cooled to perfect eating temperature, and he eats with relish. He does his best to ignore her and waves at various people as they come and go. A couple of fellow wranglers stop by and say hello, and they chitchat for a few minutes. Anna sits stone-faced the whole time.

Chase empties his bowl, pushes the tray aside, and sets his cake in front of him. He slides the first bite into his mouth and purposefully lets go a little moan of pleasure louder than it needs to be.

Anna grimaces.

Rich, moist, and chocolaty. Man, he loves cake. Chocolate cake, vanilla cake, pumpkin cake. That’s his favorite. Kyle loves cake too. Anna doesn’t love cake. What is up with that? There has to be something fundamentally wrong with a person who doesn’t like cake. He should have taken it as a sign a long time ago. He might have saved them both a few years they can never get back.

“Oh, man,” he says, “this is so good. You want a piece?” He points to the dessert case. “I’ll buy you one.”

She rises to her feet so quickly the chair slides backwards a foot and she yells, “I don’t want a piece of damned cake. I have to get back to work.”

He shrugs. No, she’s always refused cake, and, by God, he needs more cake in his life. He has no doubt that he still hasn’t seen the last of her, but he can’t count this particular battle as anything other than a win. He salutes and says, “Have a good afternoon.”

Anna’s laser eyes narrow. “I won’t have good afternoon,” she snaps, her voice still at a dozen decibels. “You broke up with me, damn you.”

The mess goes silent and everyone watches her stalk out, her long dark hair twitching with each stomp. Once the doors swing closed, the weight of the stares turn on him.

Strangely, he’s more amused than anything. He should be embarrassed, or angry maybe, but all he can muster at the moment is a huge amount of relief that he’s dodged that raging bull. Although, why, after a month, it’s still a thing, he has no idea.

He lifts his good hand and waves. “She’s a little upset,” he says loud enough for his words to carry.

Chuckles erupt and chatter resumes.

Chase polishes off his cake and rises. Looks down at the tray he can’t bus. He’s about to apologize to Gloria, but a sweet voice stops him.

“Let me get that for you.”

He looks up to find a woman standing next to him.

“Chase Lewis, right?”

The petite blonde sports curves in all the right places and offers him a toothpaste commercial smile.

He smiles back, feeling cheered. “Hi.”

“I’m Bethany. I’m one of the vet techs,” she says as she picks up his tray. “I examined Jewel after the accident.”

“Oh, yeah? I saw her last week, she seemed fine.”

“Yep, she’s okay.” A nod sends her shiny white-blond hair swaying around her jaw. “You’ll probably have to start over with her training, and take her out to one of the far paddocks, away from the center of the ranch, to do it.”

“Yeah. I figured. She’s a sweet horse, but obviously high-strung.”

“Just a little.” Bethany’s eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles.

He nods to his tray. “Thanks, by the way.”

“Sure. No problem.”

“Sorry you had to see all that with Anna. I’m not really sure what that was all about. She seemed perfectly normal while we dated.” Mostly. Until the end.

Bethany chuckles. “You handled her outburst with good humor.”

“Not much choice. Responding any other way seemed like asking for more trouble,” he says as they walk to the clipper window. Escorting her there is the least he can do. She hands his tray to the dish lady on the other side.

“Probably true.” She waves at his obviously limp arm. “How’s the physical therapy going?”

“So far, so good, I guess. I’ve only got a couple of visits under my belt.”

“I’m lucky. I’ve never had to have physical therapy.”

“It’s not for the faint of heart, that’s for sure,” Chase says and pushes open the mess door with his working hand and lets Bethany precede him out the door. The heat smacks him in the face. Even in the shade of the mess’s deep front decking, it’s cloying and heavy.

“I can imagine.” Then she flashes him another bright-white smile. “Well, I’d better get going. It was nice to meet you. See you around,” she says, bounding gracefully down the wide wooden stairs on nimble feet despite the standard shit-kickers she’s wearing. The silky strands of her blond hair glide softly against one another, back and forth with the cadence of her walk.

Chase follows her trajectory until Kyle comes around the corner and lifts his hat to Bethany as he passes. Chase’s eyes are immediately drawn to Kyle’s friendly smile, his plush lips. Something low in Chase’s belly lurches and—what the hell?

When Kyle spots him, his smile widens, and Chase’s breath stalls in his chest.

What the fuck is happening right now? He’s actually more drawn to Kyle than to Bethany. But that’s just best friends, right? It has to be best friends. Because…he isn’t gay.

Is he?

Kyle lopes up the stairs. “How’d lunch go?”

“Uh...” Chase glances back at the mess doors. Seeing Kyle and experiencing that sudden excitement has got him all flustered, and his brain has gone a bit staticky. “Fine. Yeah. Fine.”

Kyle frowns and turns to glance after Bethany. “Who was that?”

“Who was who?” He follows the direction of Kyle’s gaze. A couple of cowhands come around the corner, and who’s he trying to name? The blond woman. “Oh, uh, Bethany? She’s one of the vet techs. Took care of Jewel. After.”

Kyle winks and waggles his eyebrows. “She’s pretty.”

Chase stares in the direction she’d gone. “Yes. Yes, she is...” If you liked petite blond women with green eyes, pretty smiles, and nice figures. Which he presumably had at some point in his life, hadn’t he? But now, apparently, it’s eyes the color of his favorite chestnut mare, a smirky grin, and a broad chest. And what the fuck? His chest constricts and heart starts beating like a horse in full gallop. He gulps in a breath. “Hey, I gotta go.”

“You all right?” Kyle asks, concern etching a vee in his forehead.

“Um, yeah.” No. “I’ll see you later.” Chase nods and hightails it down the stairs.

“See ya…” Kyle’s voice settles on the air after him.

Chase turns down a wide path between a couple of ranch buildings and out of Kyle’s sight. An old white pickup moves to one side. Rust laces the wheel wells and the wide blue stripe down the side is faded. It slows to a stop and the window rolls down. “Hey, Chase, good to see you,” says Mick, one of Chase’s fellow wranglers. “How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks. You going to town?” Chase suddenly needs to be away from the ranch, away from everything associated with Kyle.

“Nah, sorry, man. You okay?”

Shit. Chase must look as out of sorts as he feels. “Yeah. Fine.”

An expression of doubt crosses Mick’s face, but he doesn’t say anything other than, “I think Jessie might be headed to Ten Rigs though. She’s at two.”

“Thanks.” Chase smacks the side of the truck. “Have a good one,” he says and cuts through and around various outbuildings toward the second horse barn. The one Mick, Jessie, Joe, and Chase himself work from and manage the horses in. Monahan Ranch has a dozen horse barns to house and care for the hundreds of horses it owns.

Jessie’s just exiting the barn, plopping her black Stetson on top of her equally black hair and pulling keys from her jeans pocket. Small puffs of dust trail in her booted wake.

“Jessie—”

She looks up and smiles. “Hey, you, how’s it going?”

He shrugs. The fact that she’s his age and wearing braces usually amuses him but he barely lifts his lips to return her smile. “Mick said you might be going to town?”

Something flickers in her brown eyes. “Yep. You need something?”

“A ride?”

She doesn’t ask him if he’s okay, but it’s a near thing; he can tell. With a nod, she says, “Let’s go.”

They climb into some sort of compact SUV that’s seen better days, or probably too much life on a ranch. The deep orange color is camouflaged by dust and bird crap. Receipts and fast food containers litter the inside. Spare change dots the floorboard. Country music blares from the speakers when she cranks on the motor, and she twists the volume button hard reducing the volume to a tolerable level.

“Sorry,” she says, grinning. “My song was on this morning. You know how it is.”

He nods. He does.

Ten Rigs is a fifteen-minute drive from the ranch and Jessie sings along to the radio and leaves him to his silence. Her energy and slightly off-key singing keep him from disappearing completely into his head though.

Chapter Eight

They pass the “Welcome to Ten Rigs, Population 5632” sign and Jessie asks, “Any place special?”

“No, I’ll get out wherever you’re going.”

“You sure? I don’t mind.”

“I just needed to be away from the ranch. Gonna wander around on my own for a while.”

Jessie pulls into a parking slot along the traditional-looking small town Main Street. “Sure.”

Chase exits the car and looks at her over the roof. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you later.”

“See you.” She heads into the Bee Hive Hair & Nail Salon with a wave. Despite mucking stalls and working with the horses, Jessie gets her nails done faithfully every week. Just a simple French manicure like the ones Anna’d gotten. He’d asked why once, since they got ruined more often than not, and she said she likes to remind all the assholes they work with she’s still a woman. Although, how anyone could forget, he’s not sure. She’s got a decent-sized pair of breasts and she doesn’t camouflage them with loose shirts, although she never shows them off like Anna had done.

The sun is bright, it’s hot, and he wishes he’d grabbed a hat. But he’d been too freaked out by his reaction to seeing Kyle smiling at him and had wanted to get away as quickly as possible. He doesn’t even have his phone with him, which he’s gonna get grief for later. He hooks the thumb of his non-working hand into a belt loop since he doesn’t have his sling and heads up the block toward Town Square and some shade. The wooden bench under a huge oak tree squeaks softly when he drops onto it, slouching with his legs kicked out.

With no idea where to even start thinking about what happened, he drops his head to the back of the bench and closes his eyes. Today’s scene replays on the back of his eyelids. Bethany’s departure, Kyle’s approach, Chase’s pleasure at seeing him. It loops a couple of times, and then, slowly, other things start coming into focus too.

Kyle’s deep chuckle and booming laugh, both of which make Chase feel warm inside—more than just friendship warm, he’s gotta admit. Kyle’s corny jokes that never fail to pull Chase out of a funk. His long, strong fingers that knead the aches and pains away. The rounded muscles of Kyle’s chest and arms and the six-pack abs that he works so hard to maintain and that make Chase’s mouth go dry these days. He’d ignored all of that until now, chalking up any random thoughts to rebelling against women or some shit because of Anna, and, more recently, because of his concussion.

All the things Kyle’s done for Chase since the accident march through his mind as well. From cooking actual meals to getting him to and from rehab, tying up his sneakers to making his bed and folding his laundry. That care has made Chase feel cherished and special.

Anna’s assertion that Kyle has a thing for Chase rears up in his thoughts again, too, although it seems just as absurd now as it had when she’d said it. Not half an hour ago, Kyle had implied that he thought Chase liked Bethany and that maybe Chase ought to pursue her. If Kyle liked Chase, why would he even do that? So Chase still isn’t buying her claim.

“Well, hello, Chase, you doing all right, hon?”

Chase startles a bit at the sound, but recognizes the voice immediately. He squints open an eye to see Aunt Marva smiling down at him. Really, she’s his mother’s cousin and his first cousin once removed, but she’s more like a great-aunt. He straightens up and scoots over. “Um, no, not really…”

Marva sits beside him and pats his knee. She’s not wearing her not-a-uniform uniform of khaki shorts, Rockport boots, and boonie hat, so she’s not on mail carrier duty today. Instead, she’s wearing a Rotors tee, knee-length denim pants, and Birkenstocks. Some sort of woven straw visor nestles in her soft gray curls.

“I heard about your arm. Is it bothering y—?” She stops talking; her head swivels as she peers around and across the Square; her lips purse. “What are you doing here?” she asks instead. “Are you here by yourself?”

“A friend gave me a ride.”

Marva kicks her feet out, crossing her ankles, and folds her hands over her stomach. “What’s going on, Buckaroo?”

The name he hasn’t heard in a while pulls a wan smile across his face. Marva’s like the town mom, but more than that, she’s actual family to him and, when things would get bad between Mom and Dad before they divorced, he’d stayed with Marva and Howard.

It’d been Marva on his mom’s side and his cousin Devin on his dad’s side who’d gotten him through the whole coming out thing with Kyle. He snorts humorlessly. Who better, then, than Marva to spill his guts to about this?

“I think…” He peers up into the maple tree, unable to see any blue sky through the thick canopy of leaves. “…I might have feelings for Kyle.”

“Well, Kyle’s a charming fellow, good looking, sweet when he wants to be,” she says.

She doesn’t question that he’s confessing a crush on someone of the same gender, much less it being Kyle. Marva’s one of the most open-minded people he knows. She truly embodies a live-and-let-live philosophy.

“I don’t know if it’s real or just because he’s been taking care of me since the accident.” The showers and massages are between him and Kyle. No one needs to know about those. Any blush he’s feeling can be chalked up to the heat.

“I can see how that could be confusing.” Marva waves to an arm sticking out a car window.

Even though Chase can’t see who it is, he has no doubt Marva knows the driver by make and model alone. After delivering mail and packages in town and the surrounding area for over thirty years, Marva knows everyone.

“You and Kyle are closer than most men friends. Have you talked to him?”

“My sudden epiphany is what led me here. I was talking to this perfectly nice girl—woman—and Kyle walked up. Guess who I was happier to see? I freaked the fu—um, heck out and caught a ride to town.”

She smirks at his catch. “What’s bothering you most about the whole thing?”

Chase has to really think about that… It’s not being gay. He’s got no beef with Kyle or Tyler or any of the other guys he knows who swing that way. He couldn’t care less where they dip their wicks.

He flounders around in his mind trying to pinpoint the source of his unease. Finally he says, “I don’t feel gay.”

“Hmm… And what do you expect that to feel like?” She waves again, this time to a pair of men walking across the Square with a little girl hopping and skipping between them, holding their hands. Their voices float across the expanse of grass, but they’re not loud enough for Chase to make out any words.

“Like Kyle did, I guess, back in high school, when he came out.”

“That was being harassed and hazed for being different and not what some deem acceptable or right.”

“Yeah.” Junior year was hell for them both, more for Kyle by a factor of ten than for Chase, although he got his fair share of shit for being Kyle’s best friend.

“Do you think there’s any one right way to feel happy or sad?” she asks.

“No, of course not.”

“Then I don’t think there’s any one right way to feel or be gay.”

And, okay, she’s got a point; he hums in agreement. “I guess… But I just…I don’t want to ruin our friendship.” Losing Kyle is the last thing he wants.

“Your friendship was forged in fire. Do you really think something like feelings are going to come between you two?”

Chase huffs and it’s almost a laugh, but Marva’s right about that too. “No.”

“Then my advice, for what it’s worth,” she sits up and pats his knee again, “is to ride it out. If you’re not sure what’s real and what’s injury-related, then wait until you’re better. Until things go back to normal. If you still feel more for him than what you did before the accident, then instigate a conversation.”

Chase stands when Marva does and gives her a one-armed hug. “Thanks, Marva.”

“You’re welcome, Roo. Don’t be a stranger, eh? Just ‘cause you’re all grown up.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“You coming to the reunion?”

The Hansard Family Reunion took place every Labor Day weekend out at Pawpaw Point Pavilion.

“Don’t know. Depends on my arm, if I’m back to work, Kyle’s schedule.”

Marva smiles, her blue eyes crinkling behind her wire-rimmed glasses.

He’s always loved how she looks like Santa’s wife, only slimmer. Uncle Howard hadn’t looked anything like Santa though. He was tall, equally slim, and his hair had been thinned out and steel gray up until he’d passed away.

“If you need a ride, call me. Or call your mother.”

Right. He’s really not completely dependent on Kyle for everything. “I will.”

Marva heads off across the Square and Chase is left to his own thoughts once more.

* * *

It’s with a churning in his stomach that Chase steps into the cabin six hours after he fled the ranch.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Kyle jumps from his chair, book tumbling from the coffee table, where he’d tossed it, to the floor. His eyes are big and his hair is sticking up all over the place.

It’s not that Kyle yells or even looks angry, but Chase has a sudden, horrible sense of déjà vu. He flinches and immediately turns around and walks out. Kyle’s response is too much like Chase’s dad’s and too much like Anna’s, although Kyle has never addressed him with this sort of intensity before. Not like this.

Chase walks to the back of Kyle’s truck and hops onto the lowered tailgate.

Kyle comes barreling out of the house and stops off to Chase’s left—hands hanging loosely on his hips, chin to chest. He knows all about Chase’s dad’s tirades. “Shit, Chase, I’m sorry.”

Where Kyle’s dad had used fists, Chase’s had used words. Where Kyle had fought back to protect his much-younger brothers, Chase had taken it because he’d been too young to do anything else.

Kyle plows his hands across his head, eyes sorrowful. “You disappeared and you didn’t take your phone, and I was fuckin’ worried, man.”

“That’s why I’m here and not halfway to the bunkhouse.” Despite the initial rise of panic, he realized instantly why Kyle is upset. His flight response had already kicked in though. All Chase could do was not fly very far.

“Are you all right?”

Chase forces himself to meet Kyle’s gaze. “Yeah.” More or less after this new little freak out. At least the awkwardness he’d been expecting due to his previous meltdown hadn’t come to fruition. “I’m sorry I worried you. I…something came up and I needed some space.”

“Fair enough. Do you want to talk about it?”

Chase shakes his head. “Not right now. At some point. Maybe.”

“Okay, just, next time, please take your phone, okay? I worry.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Shut up.” Kyle’s quiet for a beat before saying, “I made mac and cheese with bacon—with rotini pasta, your favorite. You hungry?”

As if on cue, Chase’s stomach grumbles, but otherwise Chase has no idea what to say. Kyle has never made Chase’s favorite meal for him. Ever. If that doesn’t mean something, Chase is more of an idiot than he thought. He nods and follows Kyle into the cabin.

Chapter Nine

Despite Marva’s advice, Chase can’t help but chew on things. Even so, the evening passes without an excessive amount of awkwardness. Chase had confessed to something being on his mind, so Kyle leaves him to it.

Thankfully, his day had been full, and Chase’s tired enough that he doesn’t dream that night. Now that he’s thinking about Kyle so much, he’s worried he might dream. And if he dreams, there’s no telling what type of scenario his mind might conjure up.

Chase’s third rehab session Friday afternoon goes better than the first or the second. He’d known what to expect, and they hadn’t run into any exes either.

They’ve gone through the drive-through of their favorite fast food chain, loading up on hard shell tacos for Kyle and soft shell tacos for Chase, and have munched their way through half of them by the time they pull up to home.

A half dozen baseball games are on TV and Kyle finally settles on the Rangers, Rays game. They scarf down the remaining tacos and watch the Rays trounce their beloved home team.

Chase pushed himself again today. Between cleaning house and rehab, his arms ache and there’s a tightness across his shoulders and chest. Suddenly all he can think about is a shower. The hot, pounding water. The scent of Kyle’s body wash. The feel of Kyle’s hands working the muscles of his shoulders and arms.

Chase’s thoughts come to a screeching halt— Is it the massage itself or is it actually Kyle’s touch he’s coveting right now? Fuck.

“You ready to shower?”

“What?” Chase blinks and glances at the TV. The teams are crossing the infield, shaking hands.

“Shower?” Kyle repeats, looking perplexed.

What can Chase say? He needs one, he wants one. He forces down the inkling of panic. “Um, yeah. Sure.”

“You thinking about that Bethany chick?”

“Bethany who?” He shakes his head, confused for a moment, but then remembers. His brain is too full of Kyle right now to have much room left for anyone else. “Oh, right. No. Why would I think about her?”

Kyle shrugs, his expression clearly asking why he wouldn’t be. “I don’t know. She’s cute and she seems nice.”

“Anna and I have only been broken up for just over a month now. I don’t know that I’m in the market for another girlfriend.” It’s as good an excuse as any even though it’s not an accurate one. He has zero interest in Bethany.

Kyle shrugs again. “Sure. I understand. Anna might take a while to recover from.”

Chase snorts. That’s an understatement. But Chase doesn’t want to think about either woman. He needs a shower, and he can’t deny a massage would feel pretty damn great right about now. “I’m, uh...gonna go get in the shower now. I’ll let you know when I’m ready, um, finished.”

Kyle picks up his book and crosses his ankles on the coffee table. “I’ll just read then.”

Chase scurries into the bathroom. He brushes his teeth while his heart tries to hammer its way out of his rib cage. He needs to chill out. He’s going to shower and then Kyle’s going to come in and massage his sore achy muscles. Just like the last time. That’s all. Nothing’s changed except that Chase thinks he feels something for Kyle. That’s all.

Another wave of nerves crashes over him as he strips. The tiles are cold under his feet, and the initial spray of water makes him jump. He doesn’t make the water as hot as previous showers since Kyle prefers cooler temps.

He drops his head forward. Great—so now he’s taking Kyle’s preferences into consideration? Not a bad thing, Chase, you just don’t have to do it now. Right. He ratchets up the hot water back up a tick and steps beneath the spray. The stinging heat cascades over him and he sighs.

His relationship with Anna is over and that suits him just fine, but whatever he’s feeling for Kyle is crazy and confusing. Chase can’t really deny he’s got some sort of feelings going on anymore—but he’s not gay. At least, he’s never considered the possibility before. Never had a reason to.

“You ready?” Kyle asks through the crack in the door.

Chase startles and swallows back a groan. He peers at the water swirling around and down the drain. “Um, no. Sorry. Give me a few more minutes.”

“What are you doing in there? Jacking off?”

“What? No,” he says, his voice rising an octave. “What the hell do you care?”

“I don’t care, but I don’t really want to take a cold shower.”

“Yeah, yeah...” Chase washes his body, but not his hair since that’s apparently part of the massage, finally calling for Kyle to come in.

Kyle enters the bathroom, stripped down to his briefs again, and steps into the stall behind Chase.

“All right, step back,” Kyle says. He squirts shampoo into his hands and sets to work, scrubbing with his fingertips. The tingles travel from Chase’s big head to his little head. Let the distraction begin...

“Rinse,” Kyle says, nudging him into the water and then working his hands through Chase’s hair to make sure all the shampoo is gone.

And then the massage starts. First the conditioner and the scalp massage, then the neck. Chills skitter down Chase’s body despite the warm steamy environment, and a whoosh of satisfaction and relaxation washes over him.

He needs something worse than horse shit and hobbits to distract him though. Instead, he recalls Anna with the hard eyes and the erratic behavior. He sighs in relief as his dick remains limp, but when Kyle’s fingers dig into the tired muscles of his shoulders and his strong hands squeeze and work Chase’s good arm, all he can focus on is how awesome it feels. His scalp tingles and a zing of electricity shoots down his spine. And, fuck, he’s instantly sporting a half-chub.

Is there any damned point in trying to will away his arousal while Kyle kneads the base of his skull and the back of his neck with his thumbs? Chase’s head falls forward, enjoying Kyle’s touch.

Upper right arm, upper left. Kyle squeezes and rubs. When Kyle handles his injured arm this time, Chase doesn’t tense up, just breathes through it. Closing his eyes, he lets himself take pleasure from Kyle’s hands on his body, innocent as his touch is. It feels so damned good. Chase can admit it, if only to himself, right? Denying his enjoyment seems counter-productive to the purpose of the massage anyway, so why the hell not?

His dick grows thick and heavy between his legs. As long as Kyle stays behind him, he isn’t going to worry about it. Better to not make a big deal out of it. It’s happening. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

* * *

The next week passes in a routine of breakfast and exercises before Kyle heads out to work. Chase passes the days working some of the easier exercises on his own for a second and sometimes a third time, as well as visiting the horse barn for a few hours each day so the horses don’t forget him. He helps out Mick, Jessie, and Joe as best he can, brushing horses and putting away tack. Feeling useless makes him restless and helping out is as good a way as any to combat that. Plus, he’s still getting a paycheck, so he should do something to earn it.

He’s finally gotten past feeling completely exhausted at the end of the day, although he’s worn out enough to sleep like the dead.

And suddenly, it’s rehab day once again, and Chase has been antsy and looking forward to his massage. A low-level buzz simmers beneath his skin all day.

Kyle enters the bathroom and Chase steps forward to keep his crotch away from Kyle’s gaze and to let Kyle wash himself. He visualizes Kyle’s actions by the sounds of the water, and the thought of Kyle’s strong hands running all over his own body, across his pecs, down his abs, over his junk, sends signals to Chase’s groin.

With a huff, Chase gives up on fighting his arousal or being embarrassed any longer. What’s the point? It happens, and they both know it. They’ve shared a handful of showers at this point, and there’s no way Kyle hasn’t noticed.

Of course, a minor firming is one thing. A full blown, hard-as-nails erection is something else. Chase could always go the horse-shit-and-hobbits route again, he supposes. Not that that ever works for long. Not once Kyle’s hands start to work their magic. It’s the calluses that get Chase most—the roughened spots on Kyle’s hands that drag deliciously over Chase’s skin sending electric shocks skittering up and down his spine.

Has Kyle been affected at all? Chase hasn’t been brave enough to risk even a peek. But why should Kyle be hard? None of his actions have been more than helping, maybe enthusiastic helping, but mere helping nonetheless. Kyle’s a gay man, so there’s a difference between touching to help someone and touching for pleasure. And Chase is his best friend, not a potential lay.

There’s a pause in Kyle’s ministrations. “I’m gonna try something and if it’s unwelcome, then elbow me in the gut.”

Before Chase can open his eyes or ask or even imagine what Kyle might try, Kyle’s hand is on Chase’s dick, stroking with the same brisk efficiency he uses for the massages. Chase’s eyes fly open and the air whooshes from his lungs, leaving him light-headed.

Kyle’s hand is on my dick.

Kyle’s strokes slow just slightly, and, if possible, the new pace feels even better. Firm, even, long tugs. Sparks shoot up Chase’s spine.

He should say something. Stop Kyle. Loudly proclaim his heterosexuality.

But he doesn’t. He can’t. Because having someone else touch him so intimately feels so damned good. Great even. His eyes flutter shut again. It feels far better than it should, and he should pull out of Kyle’s grasp, deny he wants this... But he can’t bring himself to open his mouth or move. He can’t make sense of much but the heat and pressure surrounding his dick.

Chase’s heart beats in time to the throbbing in his groin. Kyle’s hand grips and slides along Chase’s dick with practiced ease, because, of course, Kyle masturbates. He’s a red-blooded American man with a healthy libido.

Chase holds himself in check and exhales harder than he meant to in an effort to relieve the decidedly strong urge to thrust into Kyle’s fist. Kyle’s pace increases again as if hearing Chase’s unspoken plea, tugging at his aching flesh quickly and firmly, squeezing tight around the head before plunging down the shaft again.

It’s as if Chase is screwing Kyle’s fist, except he’s not moving. At least he doesn’t think he is; his eyes have rolled to the back of his head and his head is somewhere in the vicinity of the clouds.

Chase’s ass is clenched tightly, his balls are tucked up close to his body, and chills rush over him as his orgasm bears down on him like a pissed off bull after a rodeo clown. Kyle tugs and strokes. His heavy breathing sounds behind Chase, and Chase comes with a guttural groan and the force of a fire hydrant being opened, spurt after spurt of jizz shooting onto the floor of the shower and being washed away by the swirls of water.

He falls forward to lean against the wall and catch his breath, Kyle’s hand dropping away. Fucking hell…that was…yeah…good. He’s still a bit floaty as he hauls air in and out of his lungs.

Kyle shuts off the water and pushes out of the shower.

Chase follows and grabs his towel, covering his head to hide his face under the guise of scrubbing his hair dry.

It hits him. Oh my fucking God—

Kyle has just given him a hand job.

In the shower.

What’s he supposed to think or say? What does it mean? Does it mean anything? Is Chase supposed to thank Kyle? Is he supposed to return the favor? Is Kyle even affected?

Kyle dries Chase’s back and right side and arm. “Good night,” he says, his voice sounding completely calm, normal.

The door snicks shut before Chase can utter a reply. The walls vibrate slightly when Kyle’s bedroom door closes a moment later.

Chase yanks the towel from his head and finishes drying himself off. His reflection in the mirror peers back at him with flushed cheeks, whether from the shower or being jacked off, he isn’t sure.

Could what they’d just done be considered sex? One-sided sex, to be sure, but still... Screw covering himself. Kyle’s in his room and the bathroom door’s a few feet from Chase’s bedroom door. He makes a break for it.

Chase climbs into bed, his thoughts churning wildly. What had Kyle been thinking? Showering together is already a way more intimate activity than platonic friends usually share, but with his arm—special circumstances. Kyle, being gay, knows another man’s dick is off limits unless they’re together or in a place where it’s expected, like a club or something. Chase has no inkling as to why Kyle would have taken such a chance...

What Chase does know, awkwardness and curiosity aside, is that Kyle’s hand on his dick had felt better than anything he’d experienced in years—despite having a girlfriend and sex on the regular. That, and his world view has tilted on its axis. Kyle touched him—masturbated him—and it had felt so, so good. But how’s he supposed to feel about the fact that it happened at all? How’s he supposed to feel about Kyle? He won’t be able to look him in the eye in the morning, that’s for sure.

Something like that isn’t really breakfast conversation, although they’ve discussed a lot of crazy things over Pop Tarts or cold pizza over the years... For the first time in their ten-year-plus friendship, things are going to be a bit awkward.

What if Kyle wants to do it again the next time they shower? Chase’s gut swoops at the thought. Does he want to do it again? Yes blooms in his brain like a flower during time-lapse photography.

It’s after two in the morning at this point, but Chase can’t help himself...he grasps his dick with his clumsy left hand and strokes himself to the memory of Kyle’s hand on his body. It takes a little longer this time, but he comes again. His body’s sated, but his mind is buzzing.

Chase knows, as surely as he knows the sun is gonna rise, that if Kyle wants to do it again, he won’t say no.

* * *

What the fuck has he just done? Kyle has to get out of the bathroom. He pats Chase dry and forces himself to say good night and sound normal doing it. Chase hides under his towel, and Kyle can’t blame him.

Kyle flees to his room and shoves the door closed hard enough to rattle the cabin. He winces and hopes Chase is too preoccupied to give Kyle’s flight too much significance.

His cock throbs, aches for attention... Bracing himself with one hand on the door, he grabs his cock with the other. A combination of relief and need quiver through him. He’d give anything to have Chase’s hand on him right now. He’s so turned on that he comes in four strokes, his chest heaving as if he’s been chased by White Lightning, the meanest bull on the rodeo circuit.

After cleaning up his mess, he collapses into bed and stares at the ceiling.

What the hell had possessed him to break down and touch Chase? He’s known about Chase’s hard-ons from the very first night they showered—over a week ago now. At the time, Kyle’d passed it off as nothing more than an involuntary physical reaction to being in the shower and having someone’s hand on him in such an intimate way.

But there was something in the air. Something about Chase’s demeanor that prickled Kyle’s gaydar.

Chase has never looked at a man before, but despite the string of girlfriends in high school and college and his relationship with Anna, Kyle knows Chase hadn’t found those relationships to be the be-all and end-all of his life. Instead, he’d been engrossed in his own activities, his education, and whatever Kyle had going on. Girlfriends were only ever afterthoughts.

Before Anna, Chase frequently forgot dates or to even call the woman in his life. That’s why most of his relationships had been so short-lived. He’d made an effort with Anna and their relationship had lasted a few years, but there were still times when she didn’t even appear to be on his radar.

But lately Chase had taken to texting Kyle throughout the day—a joke or baseball trivia or just a random observation about his day. Kyle had chalked it up to Chase being bored. He didn’t mind at all, would have gone crazy himself if he couldn’t work. But then Kyle would look up to find Chase’s eyes on him. It’d started happening more and more often and Kyle hadn’t wanted to hope. When less space seemed to be between them on the sofa while they ate or watched TV, Kyle couldn’t help but hope.

The kicker, though, was the change in Chase’s demeanor in the shower. Kyle hadn’t ascribed Chase’s erections to his own nearness, his own touch, but after multiple hard-ons, Kyle started to wonder. Today, though, Chase suddenly embraced the shower and allowed himself to enjoy the massage.

Kyle’s done enough research to know there are many points along the sexual orientation spectrum, and Chase doesn’t fit neatly into any of them even though appearances say otherwise.

Kyle had taken a huge chance.

Chase hadn’t said no, hadn’t pulled away. Instead, he’d accepted Kyle’s attentions and had come and come hard. If only Kyle could’ve watched. Wishes he could’ve seen Chase’s face. It would have been beautiful as fuck.

Kyle just hopes that Chase won’t freak out, won’t pretend that nothing happened.

Chapter Ten

Kyle is up before the sun has fully crested the horizon. He’s off today, which means he has no reason to leave the cabin and avoid facing Chase. He almost wishes he had to work. And here he was worried that Chase was going to freak out. He snorts as he tugs on a pair of big boy basketball shorts.

They definitely have to have a conversation now. No matter how awkward. They can’t avoid acknowledging, at least, what happened. Kyle will apologize if need be, but God, he hopes it won’t be necessary. Chase isn’t strictly gay. Kyle’s pretty sure he’s pansexual. If Chase had been straight, Kyle’s sure he’d have taken a blow to the face, the gut, or the ‘nads. The fact that he didn’t means something. So.

Kyle finds the sci-fi channel and is happy to see re-runs of Babylon 5 playing, leaving the volume at a murmur. He doesn’t want to actually wake Chase up yet…he’s still got to figure what he wants to say. Chase’s favorite breakfast casserole magically appears while he thinks about it.

He’s no closer to knowing how to broach the subject when Chase shuffles out just as Kyle pulls the baking dish from the oven. He’s wearing nothing but boxers and sporting bed head of the highest order, and Kyle wants to tumble him back into bed and do wicked, wicked things with him. Yeah. He clears his throat.

“Smells good,” Chase says, voice gruff with sleep and color high on his cheeks.

“Morning,” Kyle says, feeling a prickle of nerves across his neck and shoulders. Time’s up.

“I’m just gonna…” Chase points at the bathroom even as he’s heading that way.

Kyle sets the table and turns off the TV. He serves up two platefuls of egg, tater nugget, and bacon casserole, takes a seat, and waits.

Chase slides into his chair. He studies the casserole, picks up his fork.

“About last night…” Kyle says softly.

Chase nods.

“I, ah…” Fuck. Kyle has no idea what to say. He’s not sorry, so he doesn’t want to apologize unless he really crossed a line. He’s pretty sure he didn’t. He also doesn’t want to make more out of it than it was—is, at the moment. He sure as hell doesn’t want to explain much. Not right now.

I noticed you were hard and thought you could use a hand.

I’ve wanted to touch your dick since high school.

I couldn’t fucking help myself.

All true, but not at the same time. There’s so much more to it.

Kyle swipes a hand down his face. “Honestly, I don’t know what to say.”

Chase hums, swallows. “Um, it’s fine.” He dares to glance up. There’s a flush across his chest and up his neck. His eyes are shy, but not angry.

“Do I need to apologize?”

Chase shakes his head. “It was…it was nice.” “Nice” comes out a bit higher pitched than Chase’s usual tone, and Kyle smiles. Relief floods him with warmth.

“Okay.” It was more than nice, Kyle thinks, but he gets it. This is awkward as fuck, and, okay, moving on. It doesn’t appear that he’s damaged their friendship. He’ll take it. “So, uh…what do you want to do today?”

Chapter Eleven

Kyle and Chase both sleep late on Thursday, the day of their trip to Ardmore. As late as two super-early risers can, which means they’re both up and moving around by seven thirty. Kyle prepares a leisurely breakfast, and, afterward, they tidy up the cabin and are on the road by noon.

The four-and-a-half hour drive to Ardmore is pleasant. They talk about the ranch, baseball, Chase’s recovery, and all kinds of other shared interests as well as memorable events and trips from their past.

They don’t talk about continued hand jobs or the change in their relationship. They should at some point, probably, but for right now, things are fine.

Kyle pulls up to the Hampton Inn & Suites, and Chase whistles.

“Going fancy on me, huh?”

Compared to the other hotels on the block, yeah, it’s fancy. For a baseball game in Ardmore, Oklahoma, yeah, it’s fancy. If Kyle’s true intent had been seduction, this place isn’t even in the ballpark.

Kyle turns in his seat. “No matter what we tell other people, Chase, this is a date. So, yes, I went fancy on you.”

Chase’s mouth forms an O, and Kyle’s stomach lurches just a bit. Shit. It’s not what he meant to say. He meant to make a joke. But he wants to stake his claim. He wants Chase to have some inkling of how he feels. That this is serious.

“We’ve never not talked about stuff. You’re important to me, and I want you to know I’m not just playing around.”

There’s a blush on Chase’s cheeks. “I didn’t think you were.”

“Good. So anyway, this is a date. If you’re okay with it being a date.”

Chase glances out at the hotel and he’s quiet for so long that Kyle’s gut starts quivering. All he can do is wait with his heart in his throat.

Chase finally looks shyly at Kyle. “Yeah. Okay.”

Kyle’s breath whooshes out. Oh, thank fuck. God, if he’d screwed this up…but he didn’t.

Chase grins. “I’ve never been taken on a date before. I’ve always done the taking. As far as first dates go, this is pretty damn good.”

Kyle snorts. “Well, I suppose it depends on your perspective, but I think so too. C’mon. Let’s check in and go find some dinner before the game.”

They’re assigned a rear room on the fourth floor. The view is a field of scrubby trees behind the hotel, but it’s better than a parking lot. The two queen beds tease Kyle with their size and their nearness. He’d chosen a double queen room partly for appearances, but mostly because they’ve never slept together, in either sense of the phrase.

Kyle hopes that changes soon, but Chase has only dated and had sex with women. Sharing a bed with a man is probably a step Chase isn’t ready to take just yet, considering he hasn’t touched Kyle’s dick in return at this point.

It’s been a week since Kyle took a chance. And while he’s masturbated Chase after every massage since, Chase hasn’t responded in kind. Which is fine, of course. This is all new to Chase, and Kyle won’t push Chase to go faster than he’s ready for. But, God, he can’t wait to have Chase’s hands on him. ‘Course, Kyle’ll probably blow his load as soon as Chase touches him, but Kyle can’t bring himself to care. It’ll be fucking amazing.

“Hey, there’s a sit-down pizza place a couple of blocks over,” Chase says, pulling Kyle from his musings.

Thankful to have to turn around to grab his keys and the room card, Kyle adjusts his dick. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s go.”

* * *

August evenings in South Central Oklahoma aren’t much different from August evenings in West Texas—hot and humid. The ballpark is about ten times smaller than the Texas ballpark in Arlington. While not new, it appears well maintained with beige cinder block walls and white wood framework. Ardmore must love it some baseball. Their seats are along the third base line, right behind the dugout, and Kyle shouts to his friend Dakota when he appears on the field for warm-ups. Three hours or so later, the Armadillos pull off a win against the North Platte Pioneers.

Kyle’s pumped, and his wide grin and sparkling eyes make Chase warm on the inside. It’s been a great first date so far, except it doesn’t feel entirely like a first date. Although, to be honest, he’s not sure what that should feel like with two guys.

“Hey, you want to go out with the team?” Kyle asks, bumping Chase’s shoulder with his own as they pass through the tunnel from the stadium bowl to the outer concourse. “Dakota invited us.”

“Sure, yeah.”

“You okay? Your arm bothering you? ‘Cause we can go back to the hotel, if you’d rather.”

Part of him would rather go back to their room, because Kyle’s been attentive and tactile, and Chase wants it to remain just the two of them. But Kyle’s excited about seeing his friend, so Chase isn’t going to say no.

“My arm’s fine.” He’d brought and is wearing his sling; it’s a visual indication that his arm’s out of commission, and strangers don’t ask.

Kyle pulls him out of the stream of traffic, which there’s not much left of because they’d been sitting in the first row and, so, most everyone else filed out before they did. “But you’re not.”

Chase sighs. “It’s stupid.”

“C’mon. Talk to me.”

“I thought this was a date,” he says and groans. That’s so not what he meant to say.

Surprise flashes across Kyle’s face. “It is, why?”

When Kyle had first blurted it out, Chase had been surprised. It’s not like they hadn’t gone to ball games as just friends dozens of time over the years. This being a date set expectations, and, maybe, now that he’s thinking about it, it shouldn’t. They’re still just them, even though there’s a little more to “them” than there was before. He takes a breath and lets those expectations go. The night’s far from over. And it is only a first date.

Chase shakes his head. “Sorry. It’s not important.” But his gaze is immediately drawn to a man and a woman walking toward the exit, holding hands. Kyle glances in that direction, before looking at Chase with big brown eyes and an earnest expression. “You want to hold hands?”

“Um, I mean…yeah?” God, he feels like an idiot. Or a teenage girl. Anna wasn’t overly physical and it had never bothered him. But after sitting through the ball game with Kyle in almost constant physical contact—a knee, a shoulder, an ankle—Chase wants to stay in contact. He likes the closeness and the sense of connection.

Kyle looks surprised again. “If you want to hold hands, I’m happy to hold hands.” He takes Chase’s hand in his and a thrill scurries up Chase’s spine. “The reason I didn’t is because a) this is pretty new for you and I didn’t know it was something you wanted, and b) every queer relationship is different and, out of all the guys I’ve actually dated, only one wanted to hold hands. I didn’t want to make an ass out of either of us.” His eyebrow arches in a question.

“Oh. Yeah. Okay.” A flush of heat licks up the back of his neck. Chase feels really stupid now, because this new improved considerate Kyle isn’t something he’s used to. “Sorry, sorry. I… Thank you.”

“No reason to be sorry, but you’re welcome. Now let’s go.”

Their hands fit comfortably together, and they walk hand-in-hand to the truck. The low heat of contentment simmers in Chase’s belly. He’d never felt like this with Anna, even when things were at their best between them. Chase isn’t going analyze that too deeply.

Kyle holds his hand during the ten-minute drive to the bar and on the walk from the car into the bar.

The large nondescript building on the side of the road that houses Ruby’s Tavern looks like it was built before they were born. Chase isn’t sure what decade, but it’s got an odd roof line, and old wood paneling covers sections on either side of the entrance at an angle. It might even be an old grocery store for how large it is and the double set of hydraulic doors. Music carries across the parking lot as the doors open and close and, surprisingly, it’s not country.

Inside, it’s mostly dim with a dance floor in the center flanked by booths and tables on either side. Low-level colored lights illuminate the dance floor both from above and below. Bar counters stretch across the front on both sides of the doors. A food counter takes up one back corner and restrooms take up the other.

There’s a large group of men in the back corner on the side of the restrooms, and they head that direction.

“Still okay?” Kyle asks. Chase nods and squeezes his hand in confirmation.

“Where the hell is Dakota?” Kyle hollers when he approaches the group, most of them wearing red ball caps with white script As and looking freshly showered. Must be the team.

Half a dozen loud voices offer some form of hello and a tall heavyset guy steps forward. “Kyle, you dog. Good to see you. What brings you to Ardmore?”

“Armadillos baseball, what else?”

Several guys close enough to hear hoot and holler. Kyle and Dakota clasp hands and bro-hug.

“Great game, by the way, guys,” Kyle says.

More cheers and whistles go up.

“Dakota, this is Chase. Chase, Dakota.”

Dakota holds out a hand and immediately pulls back upon seeing Chase’s arm in a sling. “Sorry, man, but nice to meet you.” His smile is big and bright. “The girls are bringing over several pitchers, feel free to help yourselves. Dudes,” Dakota addresses his teammates, “my friends Kyle and Chase from Ten Rigs, Texas. They came to watch us play.”

“Thanks for the win,” Kyle shouts, earning him another blast of happy noise.

The players mostly clump together and chatter. Some break off to dance. Dakota sidles up to a pretty redhead and she nods; they too head to the dance floor.

Chase is drawn into conversations about baseball and horses and injuries. He’s handed one beer, then a second, and a third, enjoying the buzz he’s cultivating. He’s on a date. With Kyle. He’s feeling good. Happy.

Kyle leans close. He nods toward the dance floor. “You wanna?”

Chase is just drunk enough that his first response isn’t fuck, no. Holding hands is one thing. Dancing is something else, although he’s not sure why. But, fuck it, they’re on a date, and the likelihood of ever seeing these guys again is slim. If they don’t accept what he and Kyle have going on, then he and Kyle can just leave.

“Yeah, okay.” Kyle’s grin is so worth it.

The dance floor is crowded, but not overly so. Kyle raises his arms, and his hips swing back and forth in time with the deep bass. Chase moves too. Not as fluid as Kyle, probably, but whatever. Glancing around, Chase notes several other same-gender couples and the tightness in his shoulders eases. His relief is short-lived when Kyle gyrates into his personal space.

Legs slotted together, Kyle’s forearms rest on Chase’s shoulders, and their foreheads touch. Chase settles his working hand on Kyle’s hip and they sway together. Sparks zing from where their thighs brush together. Kyle’s leg doesn’t touch Chase’s junk and Chase’s doesn’t touch Kyle’s, but it’s a near thing.

Want curls low in Chase’s gut, and it’s different from what he’s felt before, during their showers or when Kyle touches him. Three times, but who’s counting? That had been more abstract, more detached. That had taken place in the vacuum of the shower, and they hadn’t been face to face.

It’s become more personal, more real. This is them, on a date. In public. It’s a high to show his affection for Kyle and for Kyle to show his in return in front of other people. Chase’s skin tingles and his breathing shallows and he wants. Canting his head, he tilts his chin forward and presses his lips against Kyle’s. Kyle gasps, in surprise no doubt, before cupping Chase’s head and pressing harder, although he doesn’t deepen the kiss. Chase is a little disappointed, but they are on the dance floor, and it’s fine. Kyle smiles against Chase’s lips and Chase can’t help smiling in return.

“That was nice.” Kyle scrapes his fingers along Chase’s scalp and Chase’s dick gets interested.

The song comes to a close and they return to the Armadillos.

“So, you two are together then?” asks Dakota, eyeballing them.

And shit. Chase freezes. It’s dark enough that Chase can’t read the look in Dakota’s shadowed eyes. Athletes are notoriously homophobic. Just because dudes are dancing on the darkened dance floor surrounded by other dancing people doesn’t mean this group of ball players is going to accept a pair of dating men into their inner circle.

“Just, but yeah,” Kyle says, squeezing Chase’s hand.

“Cool. Congrats, I guess. Is that what people say?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Kyle shrugs.

Chase exhales in relief once again. This being out shit isn’t for the faint of heart. And then it hits him. It’s going to be a whole ‘nother ballgame when they get back home. Going on a date among people who have no idea who he is or that he’s dated women his whole life until now is one thing. Being a couple in front of people who know his history is going to invite a lot of looks, as well as questions he’s got no answers for. He’s not sure he’s ready for that.

“All right, kids, next round’s on me,” says Dakota loud enough to be heard by his teammates over the thumpa thumpa. “Kyle, come help me.”

Kyle smacks a kiss to Chase’s temple. “Be right back.”

“’Kay.”

Chase glances around at this motley group of men, of teammates, laughing and joking, to find a guy holding out a beer. “Thanks.”

“Connor Kulyk, short stop. Are you Chase or Kyle?”

Connor is Chase’s height, but much slimmer than him and skinnier than pretty much all of his teammates. His eyes are light-colored, but it’s hard to tell much more than that in this place.

“Chase Lewis. Nice to meet you. Great play there in the third.” Connor’d caught a line drive that should have made it to center field.

The groups of players reassemble themselves as a few more players hit the dance floor.

He grins big. “Thanks, man. My hand was stinging, even through the leather.” He takes a sip of his beer. “So you’re from Ten Rigs, huh?”

“Mm hmm.” Chase nods, tipping his glass to his lips.

“Do you know Marva Maple?”

Chase grins. “Who doesn’t know Marva, but yeah, she’s my great-aunt. You know Marva?”

Connor nods, smiling back. “I met her this past February, on a cruise.”

“Oh, yeah—she mentioned meeting a ball player. That was you then?”

Connor’s head dips forward. “That was me. She, uh,” he glances around, “she really helped me.”

Based on Connor’s sudden behavior and vague reference, Chase can guess what sort of help. “That’s great. I’m glad. She’s helped me too over the years.”

“My sister didn’t know about me.” Connor’s eyes dart back and forth. He takes a drink. “Marva encouraged me to tell her. And it was the best thing I ever did. I met my boyfriend on that cruise and he’s not in the closet.”

“Is he here?” Chase asks, peering around.

Connor shakes his head, looking horrified. “I’m not out to the guys. Drew lives in Austin. He flies to wherever the team is playing every so often and we spend time together.”

“I’m glad it worked out. You know,” Chase cocks his head, “Dakota seemed pretty okay with Kyle and me. If you need someone to have your back and get a read on the rest of your team, he might be a good place to start.”

“You think?” Connor’s gaze searches out Dakota’s form on the dance floor. “I don’t know, man. It’s a risk.”

More so for Connor than for himself, Chase realizes. Everyone knows about Kyle at the ranch. Going public as a couple will invite questions and teasing, maybe, but no outright rejection or harassment.

“It’s your call, of course, but he seems like a good guy. He’s been friends with Kyle since college, and, as far as I know, he’s never had an issue with Kyle being gay.”

“Hmm. Okay.” Connor’s smile is small, but he looks calmer than he had when he first approached Chase. “It’s something to consider. Thanks.”

Dakota and Kyle return just then, Dakota with a pitcher in each hand and Kyle with a trayful of clean glasses and a large bowl of pretzels.

“Hey,” says Kyle, friendly enough, but he sizes Connor up.

“Stop,” says Chase. “This is Connor and he’s got a significant other.”

“Ah, my bad,” Kyle says, expression becoming sheepish. “Nice to meet you then.”

The two exchange a handshake.

“Not to be rude, but you ready?” Kyle asks, draping an arm across Chase’s shoulders. To Connor he says, “We’ve got to head back in the morning.”

“Sure, yeah. Say hello to Marva, would you? And tell her she and Wanda need to come to another game before the season’s over.”

“Will do. Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too.” With a nod, Connor ducks back into the group.

Taking Chase’s hand yet again, Kyle drags him toward Dakota and they say their goodbyes.

The drive back to the hotel isn’t long, but Kyle’s hand moves from Chase’s hand to his knee and up and down his thigh. The arousal he’d developed while on the dance floor hadn’t disappeared completely during his conversation with Connor, and it comes rushing back now under Kyle’s touch.

They don’t touch on the way from the car and through the lobby, nodding to the sleepy-looking young man behind the desk as they pass. It’s just past one a.m. When the elevators whoosh shut, Kyle’s in Chase’s personal space, bracketing his shoulders with a hand braced on either side. Kyle trails kisses along Chase’s neck, sucking on the flesh above his jugular. Chase gasps at how good that feels. His jeans are suddenly tight and his dick aches to be touched. His fingers itch to touch.

Kyle drags his tongue up along Chase’s neck, around his Adam’s apple, and over the curve of his chin. Kyle nips his bottom lip and soothes the mild sting with a swipe of his tongue before instigating a deep kiss. Lips are the only place they’re touching, and everything in Chase wants to feel the press of Kyle’s body against his own.

Fuck, Chase has never felt like this before. Their heavy breathing echoes off the brushed steel walls of the elevator car. The ding echoes and Kyle pulls back, eyes dark, lips red and slick. Chase’s heart is pounding so hard, he’s surprised the thumps aren’t echoing in the small space.

As soon as the door to their room closes behind him, Chase snags the back of Kyle’s shirt. Kyle turns and Chase crowds him into the wall, pushing off his ball cap and tugging at his shirt.

“Kyle, Kyle…please,” he says. Asking for what, he’s not sure. He’s never done any of this, but he wants to.

Kyle pulls off his shirt. Chase struggles out of his sling and yanks his own shirt off one-handed before pressing against Kyle, cupping his erection through the denim of his cargo shorts. He wants to feel Kyle’s flesh, wants to do for Kyle what Kyle’s done for him—provide some pleasure.

Except they’re not naked and he’s hampered by his non-dominant hand and fumbles with the button of Kyle’s shorts.

“Fuck, Chase, let me—” Kyle tugs the button open and the zip down. He pushes his shorts and boxers down to his knees.

Chase curls a hand around Kyle, velvet over steel, and he swallows hard. His blood thrums, his skin prickles, and he didn’t know. He just didn’t know. He can’t do anything with his right arm or hand, but he can do what’s needed with his left—rub at Kyle’s dick.

Kyle’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling as he gasps into Chase’s mouth, hips bucking forward into Chase’s touch. Chase plays alone for only a moment before Kyle grapples at the fastenings of Chase’s shorts and shoves his hand into Chase’s waistband.

Kyle straightens up and they stand there, foreheads resting on each other’s shoulders, jerking each other off. It’s all very frantic and desperate and it feels so fucking good.

With a gasp, Chase comes first, his hand flagging as his orgasm shudders through him, making a mess inside of his underwear. He couldn’t care less, honestly. And suddenly Chase wants very badly to see Kyle come as well. He lifts his head, and his fist picks up speed again.

“Chase,” groans Kyle, and his head thumps against the wall, face slack, eyes glazed in the blue fluorescence of the parking lot lights streaming through the window. His abs tighten and his cock throbs once and then he comes, pulsing all over Chase’s hand. Chase’s strokes slow, but he can’t stop touching Kyle, feeling the weight of Kyle’s balls in his hands, holding his dick as it softens.

Both of them are breathing hard, gazes locked. Chase has no idea what to do with a hand coated with jizz. Kyle’s hand is still in Chase’s pants. He blinks and then smiles.

With the hand not in Chase’s pants, Kyle tugs Chase forward. The kiss is soft, reverent. It might be the sweetest kiss Chase has ever had. Kyle nuzzles his nose against Chase’s, along his cheek, and the faint scrape of five o’clock shadow against five o’clock rasps between them.

Once they decide to let each other go, Kyle scoops his tee shirt from the floor and wipes Chase’s hand clean and then his own. Leaning forward, he cups Chase’s jaw. His kisses are small little sips of Chase. The left corner of the mouth, the swell of his lower lip, a thumb pressed to his chin.

Chase sighs and parts his lips. Kyle smiles against his mouth. The kisses deepen with a scrape of teeth, the warm wet of tongue as Kyle slants his mouth across Chase’s. It’s lush more than heated, and he pulls back way too soon to rest his forehead against Chase’s shoulder. “Let’s go to bed.”

Chase flushes. He’s never done any of this, and he’d be lying if he claimed he wasn’t nervous despite his big words and confident thoughts earlier. Not to mention tackling Kyle to a wall.

Kyle tsks, shakes his head. Chase marvels and worries in equal measure about what comes next.

“Nothing, babe,” Kyle says as if reading his thoughts.

Kyle yanks back the covers and they tumble into one of the beds, limbs tangling as he arranges the sheet over them. They face each other. Chase on his right side, arm stretched out, with his hand pinned beneath Kyle’s side. His left hand is free to hold Kyle, to touch him. Kyle’s expression is one of wonder and love. How the hell had Chase not noticed?

“Things with Anna were never like this,” Chase says. Even after just one time, he knows this without a doubt.

“I wouldn’t think so,” Kyle replies with a grin. “I don’t exactly have the same plumbing.”

Chase sobers. “I don’t mean physically.”

Kyle runs the backs of his fingers gently along Chase’s cheek. “I know you don’t, Ace. Don’t worry about it right now, all right?”

Chase nods.

Kyle closes the space between them and puts his mouth on Chase’s again. A long leg wraps around Chase’s thigh and he inches closer until their erections are sliding and rubbing against each other. Kyle places Chase’s hand on their bodies, circles it with his own, and starts stroking. Slow, steady movements that feel amazing. Chase’s body jerks, small explosions fire along his skin, his breath stutters, and his hips roll forward and back. A groan tears from his throat, and, surprisingly, he comes again. Kyle’s breath echoes in sharp pants tinged with deep moans. His leg tightens around Chase, and there’s another burst of warm wetness on their hands and Chase’s stomach.

Their chests rise and fall in tandem and Kyle looks at him again with those dark eyes that Chase realizes he’s always found fascinating. Attractive. They’re so dark right now, Chase is having a hard time separating iris from pupil. He lets himself float in the emotions there, drown in the intensity of it all.

Chase kisses him, as deeply, as passionately as he can, pouring out his feelings through actions. He’s never felt closer to anyone. The kissing and caressing slow and they finally fall asleep.

* * *

Kyle lies there for a moment wondering what woke him. It’s early, but the sun’s up and shining in through the still-uncovered window. The only thing he can ascribe his waking to is just having Chase in his bed. He’s never been so content, so happy in his life. It isn’t about the sex at all. They hadn’t even done much, but it was the best night he’s had in a long time—because Chase is in his bed at last.

Chase’s sooty lashes fan out across his tanned cheeks, and he sports more than five o’clock shadow, but he’s beautiful. Kyle’s heart’s full and the hollow ache he’s hidden and ignored for years is gone. He watches Chase sleep, the rise and fall of his muscled chest; he marvels at the smooth lines of his face and smiles at the wildness of his hair.

Chase’s lashes flutter and then his eyes are open and glancing around, trying to get his bearings. Kyle’s gut tightens. How does Chase feel right now? Does he regret what they’d done or will he—

Their eyes meet.

Kyle inhales, holds his breath.

Chase smiles, and the breath he was holding streams out. They stare at each other for a while, and Kyle’s comfortable with the silence.

“Been awake long?” Chase asks.

“Not too long,” Kyle replies.

“Were you watching me sleep?”

“Yes.”

Several emotions cross Chase’s face, but he doesn’t say anything. They gaze for a little longer and Chase finally says, “Good morning.”

“It damn sure is,” says Kyle, leaning over to kiss him, a chaste, lingering kiss to the side of his mouth. Chase presses back.

They lie watching each other again when Chase says, “So, last night...that was...”

Every muscle in Kyle’s body tenses. “Please don’t tell me you’re—”

Chase shakes his head. “No, I don’t regret it at all. I just...” He sighs, studies the lightly textured ceiling.

“You just what?”

“I’ve only ever dated women. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Kyle laces their fingers together. “As long as you’re not walking away, take all the time you need to figure your shit out. I’ve waited five years for this moment. I can wait another six months, a year.” He doubts it’ll be that long. Not really. But Chase needs to know that the time is his to take, as well as the reassurance that Kyle’ll be there. In reality, they’ve been in a relationship for years, their friendship aside. The only thing they’ve gotten from others for the last four years is sex. He’ll give Chase whatever space he needs.

Chase surges to his working elbow, causing him to lean slightly toward Kyle, a frown marring his handsome features. “Am I going to be the woman in our relationship?”

“What?” Kyle snorts. At least Chase is thinking of them in a relationship.

“You know, since you’ve been gay forever—am I going to be thought of as the, I don’t know, the woman, the feminine one, between the two of us?”

“In all the years we’ve been friends, has anyone ever thought that?”

Chase shrugs. “I don’t know. It never occurred to me to worry about it. But I dated women, so our standing as the men in our relationships had been equal, I guess.”

He has a point and Kyle mulls it over for a moment. “To be honest, Chase, I don’t know. There’s nothing we can do about what people think. Some people are gonna be haters. They’re going to be rude, they’re going to disapprove. I know you remember what I—we—went through when I came out. But the people who know us, who love us, they’re not going to think anything but ‘bout damn time.”

Chase chuckles. “If you say so.”

“But if it makes you feel better, I’ll let you be the man.”

“Shut up,” he says around a grin that slides off his face a moment later.

“Now what?”

A blush creeps up his neck and colors his shoulders. “I really don’t know what I’m doing... You’ve been gay forever, have had relationships with men. Sex...” His voice comes out strangled when he says “sex.”

Kyle swallows a smile. “We’ve had sex, Chase, just FYI.”

He nods. “Okay, right. But, um, I have no idea how to be in a relationship with another guy.”

“It’s about being with a person—not whether that person is a man or a woman. You were in a relationship with Anna; you’ve been in a relationship with me. We’ve been friends a long time and not much about our relationship is going to change. The penetrative sex, when we get to it, which is what I think you meant before, will be further expression of how we feel about each other, not just getting off like in porno movies. I mean, I hope there’ll be times when it’s mostly physical, when we just want to tear each other’s clothes off and go for it—” Kyle waggles his brows, and color trickles up and over Chase’s scruffy jaw. “—but most of the time it’ll probably be the small expressions of affection that turn into more.”

“I just don’t want you to be less than satisfied with any aspect of our relationship.”

Kyle’s heart feels like an over-filled balloon, ready to burst. He sniffs back the slight burn of emotion in his nose. He gets to have this. He finally gets the one person who’s always understood him best, loved him most. “That’ll never happen. You’ll learn me and I’ll learn you. No part of the process changes because we share a gender.”

“What if I’m just not...” He falls back and stares at the ceiling again.

“Not what?” An edge tinges Kyle’s voice at Chase’s small, quiet tone. He knows who caused that insecurity.

Chase hears it and frowns. “I never got the feeling from Anna that sex with me was more than...nice.” He closes his eyes as the blush completely takes over his face.

A red-hot burst of anger at Anna spikes inside Kyle’s gut. How she could have made Chase feel any less than what he is just pokes the beast within him. But she’s not here, and neither of them needs any negative vibes filling their newfound togetherness.

Kyle cards his fingers through Chase’s rat’s nest of hair. “That probably had more to do with the trouble between you two than any skill either of you possesses or lacks. I know you had doubts for a while.”

“Maybe...”

“Chase, look at me.”

He waits for Chase to turn his head.

“Last night was awesome. When you took charge? Yeah, that was seriously hot. I haven’t felt so good or come so hard in ages.” He isn’t going to admit it was because he hadn’t been with anyone in several months, even before Chase’s accident.

“Really?”

“Really.” Kyle leans in and kisses him again, licking into his mouth, nibbling his lip, sucking his chin. It’s a little after eight, early-riser syndrome striking again, and checkout isn’t for a few more hours. The have plenty of time to lose themselves in each other once more.

Chapter Twelve

Kyle floats through the next week on clouds of deep-seated contentment and sexual satisfaction that he’d never expected. They haven’t gotten much farther than hand jobs and blow jobs and rutting…lots and lots of rutting, but Kyle doesn’t care. There’s plenty of time for all the rest. Chase is blossoming like a flowering tree in spring, slow but steady. Kyle hates the feminine connotation, considering Chase’s concern about being perceived as the more feminine partner, but it’s the damn truth. And it’s awesome to be a party to.

Thank God Kyle’s work duties—more fence repair work along another of the farm-to-market roads that edges ranch property—have him working alone. The goofy grin he’s wearing 24/7 would invite questions, and Chase is still feeling a little self-conscious back here at the ranch about the two of them. He’s trying to wrap his own head around the change, and he’s not ready to explain things to anyone else.

So Kyle lets the happiness bubble up and out of him by giggling randomly like a middle-school girl and belting out every song that comes on the radio to the blue sky and occasional cluster of cattle he comes across. They look at him with those big dark eyes, flick their ears at his off-key singing, and snap their tails at the buzzing flies. He laughs and sings louder.

And then it’s Friday again. Kyle has the day off, so they run errands and do chores and make out in the privacy of the cabin. It’s been a good day, and aside from Chase’s injury and the need for rehab, Kyle can imagine the two of them like this for years to come.

They’re doing exercises at home as per usual, since Chase’s PT appointment has been pushed to tomorrow. Kyle sits in the chair opposite Chase and performs each and every exercise with him. “You know what? I think we need to increase your reps.”

“What? Are you kidding? I just got to where I’m not huffing and puffing.”

“Exactly,” says Kyle with a poke to Chase’s shoulder. “You’ve reached a plateau. Time to up the stakes. Or maybe you need to add a session.”

“Maybe we should ask Tabitha about it tomorrow?” Chase arches an eyebrow. “She’s the therapist after all.”

“Hey, it’s not like I’m not familiar with physical therapy, but, yes, better safe than sorry. Wouldn’t want to ramp up too soon and set you back.”

They flex and stretch and make circles with their arms in silence for a few minutes.

“I think I’m going to incorporate this one into my regular workout,” Kyle says. “I can feel a difference in my shoulders and triceps. You wouldn’t think they’d have that much impact, but damn.”

Once they finish that exercise, Kyle scoots his chair behind Chase’s and slightly to the right so he can spot while Chase does the next exercise. Chase sails through the first ten reps, but his movements slow slightly and he has to work a bit harder on the next set. After the next seven or eight, Chase is pushing hard and sweat beads on his neck.

“You were saying,” he puffs.

“Dude,” Kyle exclaims.

Chase startles and peers over his shoulder at Kyle. “What?”

“Your elbow—I think it’s sort of working. Try to bend it.”

Chase’s pulse spikes, and he laughs. “I don’t know if I can...”

With concerted effort, he holds his arm out straight, although his hand still dangles at the wrist—and it stays straight. His heart beats double time and he can’t help the smile. “Hell, yeah—I’m finally getting better.”

“Of course, you are.” Kyle grins. “Now try to bend your arm...”

Slowly, the forearm swings forward and his hand touches his pec. He straightens his arm again and repeats the process several times until the motion is fluid and easy.

“Oh my God—I’m finally actually seeing progress. Man, I can’t even tell you how relieved I am.” It seemed like he was getting nowhere, even though Tabitha assured him at every session that he was progressing. He’s just glad to see it with his own two eyes. All the worry he’s been carrying around bubbles out of him on a laugh.[ Chases POV in the middle of Kyle’s POV—FIX!] “Yeah.”

“I think this calls for a celebration. Let’s go out.”

Since the change in their status quo, they’d stayed in more often than not to snuggle and make out, but going out, celebrating sounds like fun. Chase grins and nods. “All right.” He glances between them, some of his exuberance fading. “We can’t like this. Well, uh...we’re going to need to shower.”

Sweat soaks both their tee shirts.

“We are, yes.” Kyle cocks his head. “What’s worrying you?”

“If we shower together, if you touch me, right now, before we go out together, I don’t know... I feel like everyone will know. It’s not that I’m embarrassed, I’m really not. I just... I just want it to stay ours alone for a little longer.” He sighs and fiddles with the hem of his shorts. “That’s stupid, right?”

Kyle pulls him close and rubs their noses together. With a peck to the side of Chase’s mouth, he says, “It’s not stupid. Go take a shower.”

Chase smiles sheepishly and a faint flush creeps across his face. “Thanks. Hey, you should go first. You’ll be quicker and I don’t want to use all the hot water.”

“Can do.” Kyle kisses Chase’s cheek and turns toward the bathroom, yanking off his tee shirt as he goes.

Chase unabashedly watches the muscles shift and roll across Kyle’s back, watches the flex of his biceps. He can do that now. Watch Kyle and admire his body. Chase’s dick perks up—precisely what he didn’t want to happen, so he forces himself to think about what to wear. He could get away with sweats and a tee shirt, but they’re celebrating, so he’ll ask Kyle to help him with jeans and button-up shirt.

* * *

By the time he and Kyle reach Black Gold, the lights are low and the dance floor is full. It’s Friday night, after all.

The dance floor is full of couples whirling about to a Kenny Chesney song, the band’s lead singer doing justice to the original artist. Juicy burgers and tangy barbecue scent the air along with an underpinning of sweat and animal manure. It sounds worse than it actually smells, and it makes Chase miss his job more than ever. It’s been a month since the accident. He hopes recovery is akin to a snowball rolling downhill, and that he’ll be back to work sooner rather than later.

Shorty Erickson has reeled Kyle into their never-ending pool rivalry. Chase watches Kyle lose the first game and has gone to get another round as the last handful of balls of the second game wait to get shot across the felt and into whichever pockets seem most likely.

He carries their fresh beers to a newly emptied table and perches on one of the stools. He watches the people around them eating, talking, laughing, dancing. The band plays mostly country but throws in a few classic rock hits now and again to keep things interesting.

The status change in his relationship with Kyle and his own physical breakthrough make it a good night. Nothing could bring him down right now.

The second beer has gone straight to his bladder, and when he catches Kyle’s eye, he indicates the hallway leading to the restrooms with his thumb. Kyle winks and nods, and a thrill rushes through Chase’s system at the evidence of affection just for him. Chase can’t remember the last time he felt so happy, so joyful. It’s been more than four years ago, that’s for damn sure, and he just wants to enjoy it. He finishes his business, washes his hand, and steps into the hall.

The door closes behind him with a squeak and a body gloms onto him in the barely lit space. A woman’s body. Every nerve ending goes on alert and his hand comes to rest on her waist. The cloying scent of jasmine fills his nose.

Anna?

Heat flares in his gut. He steps backwards, but because of her hold on him, she staggers forward. Warm lips plaster sloppy, alcoholic kisses along his neck and jaw. The stench of rum and Coke mixed with her perfume makes Chase’s stomach roil.

“Chase...” says Anna.

Chase grips her hip and pushes, but her nails dig into one shoulder and the other bicep. “Ow— Dammit, Anna, let go of me.” She holds fast and he curses his dead hand. Without it, he’s at a slight disadvantage.

She presses her breasts, overflowing from her vee-necked tee shirt, against his chest. Why does she feel the need to show them off? He’d always hated that. “Anna, what the hell are you doing? Knock it the fuck off.” He pushes against her hip again, but she’s strong for someone so obviously drunk. He’s got to free himself from her clutches.

“Oh, Chase... I’ve missed you soo much...” All her S’s are slurred, and her breath rivals a distillery for smell.

She grinds her pelvis into his and then runs a hand over his crotch.

He’s so surprised, he freezes. His heart somersaults into his throat, and he sees red. “That’s enough,” he barks. Wedging his working hand between them, he shoves hard on her chest. She stumbles backwards and into the wall, her head hitting the wood paneling with a thud.

She blinks at him and rubs the back of her head. “Oww...that...hurt.”

“Serves you right. Don’t come near me again.” He stalks past her, anger and disbelief making him shake. She has some fucking nerve, drunk or not. The acrid taste of bile tickles the back of his throat. The thought of her hands on him again, her mouth on him makes him sick.

Oh, God—Kyle can’t find out. He’ll go ballistic. Which means Chase needs to calm down, catch his breath; otherwise he’ll give it away. He needs to forget about it for the rest of this evening at least.

Chase exits the hall and glances toward the pool tables. Kyle sits at the table Chase had commandeered earlier, his back to Chase. Chase pulls in several deep breaths and lets them out slowly, his heart finally returning to normal. When he feels as though he can act as if nothing happened, he returns to the table.

“Hey,” Kyle says, pushing Chase’s beer across the table. “Took you long enough.”

Chase grabs the beer, but doesn’t take a drink. Watches the dance floor for a moment. “Sorry, one of those things...” he says, with a shrug, although he can’t quite meet Kyle’s eyes. Not yet.

“Gotcha.”

Chase sighs in relief. His anger dissipating further.

“I could do with some food,” Kyle says, getting to his feet. “What about you? I’m buyin’.”

Chase smiles then, relaxing even more. As long as Anna doesn’t come anywhere near him, he’ll be fine.

“A regular burger and some fries’d be great, thanks. And can you get me some water?”

Crinkles form at the corner of Kyle’s eyes when he looks at him. “You all right?”

“Yeah, ‘course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Kyle shrugs. “Okay. I’ll go order. Back shortly.” He claps him on the shoulder, squeezing lightly. Warmth glows in Chase’s stomach, chasing away the last of the chill that the run-in with Anna had left behind.

“‘Kay.” Chase watches him saunter away. Kyle’s jeans hug his lean hips and deceptively slim thighs. The black tee shirt against the tanned skin of his arms and throat is a big turn-on. Chase sucks in a surprised breath.

Well, damn—how’d he fall so fast?

But was it fast...?

They’ve been friends a long time, and he’s always found Kyle attractive.

That realization stops his thoughts in their tracks for a moment. Huh. He’s always found Kyle attractive. The thought should surprise him more than it does, but it’s just, whatever. It’s a fact and there’s no denying it. So, yeah.

Kyle disappears into the crowd, heads toward the walk-up window.

Chase taps his foot in time to the music and watches the people shuffling and twirling on the dance floor. One song ends and another begins. Some people leave the dance floor; others head onto it.

His beer is halfway to his mouth when he spots Anna sashaying his direction. He sets his bottle on the table with an unintentional clunk. His stomach clenches and he fights the urge to go in search of Kyle. But Kyle should return any minute now, and why should Chase allow Anna to scare him off? She’s nothing more than a pathetic drunk. After that stunt she’d pulled, however—does she even remember?—he wants no part of her.

Anna stops abruptly as if she just remembered she needed to and stumbles sideways before straightening back up.

Christ. He swipes a hand down his face.

“So...” she says, although it sounds more like “show.” Chase winces. He can’t remember ever seeing her so drunk.

“Anna,” he replies with a nod. He waits, hoping she’ll forget or pass out or just go away.

“I asked the band to play, uh, “Every Storm.”” She snaps her fingers ineffectually as she remembers the song title. “Come on, Chase, come dance with me.”

Every S sounds like an SH. She tilts her head sideways and holds out her hand. The motion sends her lurching to the left and into someone’s chair. The seated woman grimaces at Anna, then at Chase, and shakes her head before turning back to her friend.

“No,” he says firmly, so there’s no question. He wouldn’t dance with her if she paid him at this point.

“Aw, come on, don’t be a spoil sport. It’s your favorite song,” she says in a slurred sing-song voice.

“I don’t want to dance with you. Please leave me alone.” He’s only being polite ‘cause his momma raised him right.

She frowns and stumbles again. Blinks to focus on his face. “You know...” she says, her voice loud enough to make Chase flinch. The song ends and it’s quiet for a moment. “…just because you’re gay doesn’t mean we can’t dance.”

The people around them turn to goggle.

Chase jumps to his feet. Humiliation and every ounce of anger he feels whirls in his gut, mixing as if his stomach were a blender. Heat licks his face and his heart pounds against his ribs.

Who the hell does she think she is? First, she gropes him and then she has the audacity to call him gay in public?

Clearly and loudly so she can’t misunderstand, Chase says, “I. Am. Not. Gay. I don’t want to be gay. If being gay means being ridiculed, discriminated against, or beat up, then you couldn’t pay me a million dollars to be gay.”

“Is that a fact...?” Anna sneers, suddenly seeming much less inebriated. “Well, cowboy, I’ve seen the way you look at your best friend, Kyle. All moon-eyed and dopey.”

A blast furnace of heat radiates off Chase’s face, and his stomach churns so much he almost feels sick. “What the hell are you talking about? Kyle’s my best friend, has been my best friend for over ten years. That’s all there is between us. All there will ever be between us. So don’t ever say such a stupid thing about me again.”

The crowd remains silent, staring at him. His chest heaves as if he’s just run a 5K marathon and embarrassment washes over him like a tsunami. Even Anna, in her drunken state, appears stunned. Oh God oh God oh God. What has he done? He’s crossed a line. He’s only had two beers, but it wouldn’t matter if he’d had ten. Nothing can excuse the sentiments that have just come out of his mouth.

And, shit, where’s Kyle? Please let him have been in the john. Chase scans the faces in front of him. No Kyle.

A whisper of movement draws his gaze, though, and Kyle steps out from behind the guy standing behind Anna. Chase’s stomach lurches, and his beer definitely threatens to make a return appearance. He swallows hard.

The look of utter betrayal on Kyle’s face slays Chase as nothing else could have. Before Chase’s brain can even engage, Kyle is gone, pushing through the crowd toward the exit.

Chase can’t catch his breath and his vision narrows and darkens. What has he done? What the hell has he just done? His mouth goes dry, and his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. He couldn’t call after Kyle to save either of their lives, even if a freight train had been barreling toward them.

The band begins playing again, but people are still staring. Chase has to get out of there. He pushes through the crowd and out the door. The hot humid air is like a wet blanket after the cool crisp air of the bar. The neon “Black Gold Dance Hall and Saloon” sign stretched across the roof casts a bright golden glow on the parking lot. He wipes his forehead and scans the lot for Kyle, but he’s nowhere in sight. It’s not really a big surprise.

Tears prickle Chase’s eyes and burn his nose. After everything they’ve been to each other, after everything that has happened this past couple of weeks, after the chance Kyle had taken revealing his feelings... What the fuck has Chase just done?

Dammit.

With a mouthful of angry, thoughtless words, Chase has just shoved everything back in Kyle’s face and then slapped him for good measure.

A whirlwind of self-loathing roils inside Chase. He needs to get home.

Oh, God, how’s he going to get home? Kyle’s left him at the bar—which is no less than he deserves at this point, but he still needs to get home.

Chase crosses the lot and stares at the empty slot where the truck had been. His brain spins... Should he call a cab? Should he walk? Should he beg a ride from someone else from the ranch? Who’d be willing to give him a lift after his awful display of cowardice? Because that’s what it boils down to. He’d been afraid to admit to the world that he loved Kyle in that way. In a gay way. And how that must have gored Kyle’s heart like the horn from a raging bull.

He hears the crunch of boots a split second before he hears the voice. His heart leaps only to crash land on the gravel. He whirls around to find Bethany standing there.

“Hey, cowboy, need a ride?”

Sympathy laces her voice and expression. That’s something at least. She must have been inside. Will his humiliation never end? He’d better accept it now though. There are enough ranch employees in the bar that everyone on the ranch will know all the sordid details by morning.

“You sure you want to be seen with the biggest asshole in the state of Texas?”

“That would be Anna.”

He offers a facsimile of a smile and nods. “Not really, but thanks.”

He’s exhausted all of a sudden, and he just wants his bed.

“My car’s over here,” she says, leading the way to a small vehicle that reminds him of the Blueberry in the TV show Psych. Only hers is lime green. A nice little feminine car.

He wants the truck and he misses Kyle’s presence. His definitely masculine presence. Maybe Chase is gay? He still doesn’t feel gay, but what the fuck else explains his feelings? Fuck. His head hurts.

The drive is silent save the murmuring of the radio at very low volume, which, he could swear is tuned to the same station Kyle prefers. Dammit. His heart hurts too. The glass of the passenger window is cool against his forehead, and he watches the darkness rush past.

Bethany pulls up to the cabin, but doesn’t turn off the engine.

“Thanks again,” he says and pops open the door. “I owe you one.”

She shakes her head. “If you need to talk...”

What’s there to say? I’m in love with my gay best friend, but I’m not gay, and we’ve already done gay things...

“Um, yeah, thanks.” He sounds like a fuckin’ moron. Well, he is a moron. With a nod and another half-hearted smile, he exits her car and shuts the door. She backs out and drives away, the purring of her engine quickly fading into nothingness.

Chapter Thirteen

The cabin is dark. He’s here, and Kyle obviously is not. Disappointment drops his shoulders as Chase steps onto the porch, his boots echoing loudly. He wasn’t expecting, so much as hoping. He pats the front of his jeans for his keys, and his stomach sinks.

“Aw hell.” No keys. He’d left his behind because Kyle had driven.

With only one working hand, removing the screen on his bedroom window and climbing in that way is out of the question.

So...he’s insulted and hurt his best friend—and lover? —or is it boyfriend? He’s stuck outside with no way of getting into his house unless said best friend and wounded lover comes home, which seems highly unlikely any time soon. Can the night get any freaking worse?

A flash of lightning lights up the sky to the west and a crack of thunder follows, making him jump.

In his misery, he’d failed to notice the incoming weather. The wind whirls around him, and a string of expletives that would make his Navy grandfather proud erupts. The storm front has moved in and the temperature has dropped a little, but it’s still sticky as fuck.

A sonic boom of thunder crashes through the sky and the low, heavy clouds decide they can’t hold their load any longer. Chase is soaked in a matter of seconds. Well, shit. Looks like he’s sleeping in the horse barn.

There’s probably a spare bunk to be had in the bunkhouse; there usually is. But he isn’t in the mood to deal with people or the inevitable questions. He’d rather find a corner of the barn to sleep in, with the horses for company.

The barn’s empty when he arrives, thank goodness. He digs up a relatively clean horse blanket and finds an empty stall with clean hay to hunker down in. He fumbles open the buttons of his shirt with his left hand, all the while fighting shivers from the drenching as well as from images of Kyle’s fingers doing the exact same thing not five hours ago. The memory of Kyle’s fingers along his sternum and stomach sends a different kind of shiver through him. Will he ever get to feel Kyle’s touch again or has he ruined everything?

The struggle to pry wet denim from wet flesh is an effective buzz kill, however. The stuff sticks like burrs to his skin, but sleeping in wet jeans should be avoided whenever possible so he works the clinging fabric from his body. He has to save his boxers a couple times in the process, but he finally stands there in his wet shorts. He hangs his clothes on the stall wall. It takes a couple of attempts to get the blanket around himself, but he still trembles with a bit of a chill. He settles himself along the opposite wall from his dripping clothes and gets as comfortable as he can.

Ranch hands sleeping one off in the stalls isn’t a usual occurrence these days, but it isn’t unheard of, so no one should bother him.

Sleep, unfortunately, is a long time coming.

* * *

Kyle drives for a couple of hours, up and down local roads, along the other side of the fence line he’d been working the day of Chase’s accident, watching another wave of angry weather roll in and feeling its force inside and out.

Chase’s words echo in his head like gunshots in a canyon.

After everything that had happened between them, Chase’s words hurt and hurt badly. How could Kyle have misjudged him on such a spectacular scale?

Did you? asks a small voice. With a snort, he dismisses it. Of course he had. Because what the hell else could have happened?

Chase’s body had responded to Kyle’s touch, for fuck’s sake. And last week, Chase had finally reciprocated, had taken charge and it’d been better than Kyle’d imagined.

This past week of sharing a bed has been a dream come true. Waking up tangled in the bed sheets and each other is the best thing ever. The sex, such as it is at this point, is good too.

They live together, work together, play together—and for all those awful things to come out of Chase’s mouth... God, it just fucking hurts.

The green digital display on the dash flips over to 12:01. He can’t go home; he isn’t ready to face Chase yet. Kyle takes in his location and gets his bearing, pulls a quick u-turn. Fifteen minutes later, he pulls into the parking lot of an apartment complex that needs a little TLC.

Kyle pounds on the door of Tyler’s second-floor apartment. Yeah, it’s after midnight, but Tyler’s a night owl. Or he used to be, once upon a time. They both had been.

The door opens finally, and Tyler squints against the harsh fluorescent street light illuminating the parking lot below. “Well, look who we have here,” he drawls.

“Don’t fuck with me. Can I crash on your couch?”

Tyler’s eyebrows rise as he steps back, but he remains quiet and closes the door against the stiff wind and rumbling thunder.

He’s an old friend and occasional hookup. It’s been a couple of years though, and that isn’t why Kyle’s here. They know each other well enough for Tyler to understand. They’d dated while Kyle and Chase had been in college. Tyler had attended DeVry for a computer technology certification. Chase knows the nature of their relationship and would be hurt by Kyle’s choice of refuge. Kyle can’t deny it’d been deliberate.

Tyler fetches him some dry clothes and tosses a pillow and blanket on the sofa. “You’re more than welcome to share the bed. I’ll keep my hands and other things to myself.”

Kyle sends him a foul look and shakes his head.

Tyler’s bedroom door closes quietly. Kyle peels off his damp clothes, hangs them over the shower curtain to dry, and puts on the too-long sweats and too-snug tee shirt.

He knows just how to arrange himself comfortably on the old sofa. Knows where the lumps and the holes are after many months of sleeping on it. Almost like an old lover—but he doesn’t want to think of lovers right now. Instead, he watches the lightning flash through the partially open mini-blinds, listens as the thunder rolls closer, listens as the next wave of the storm batters the roof of the building and the cars in the parking lot. Listens and watches until he falls asleep, no closer to making any sense of what happened.

* * *

Coffee making procedures rouse Kyle from sleep. He lies there for a few minutes, but the resulting gurgle and the smooth, rich scent lures him off the sofa and into the kitchen. He takes a seat at the small square pub table.

Tyler remains quiet, just pulls two mugs from the cupboard as well as the sugar and assorted creamers. Tyler likes flavored coffee. Kyle usually swills his ranch coffee black—it’s a means to an end on work days—but today he’ll indulge in something a little more flavorful. While the coffee finishes brewing, Tyler pulls a package of waffles from the freezer, drops four squares into the toaster, and sets the table.

He pours coffee and waits for the toaster. It pops a few minutes later and he tosses a pair of waffles on each plate before settling more into the toaster. Then he sits, prepares his coffee and his food, and begins eating.

Kyle does the same and they eat in companionable silence. The window over the kitchen sink is open several inches allowing the bird chatter to float in on the humid air.

Tyler’s hair sticks up in odd directions and his thin tee shirt doesn’t quite hide the fading hickey on his collarbone. He looks the same as he had on many of their own mornings after.

Kyle points his chin towards the mark. “Is my being here going to get you into trouble?”

Tyler shakes his head. “Nah, I texted Alex last night. Told him you were here. So.” He shrugs. “Which side of the scene were you on?”

Kyle’s eyes widen.

“Alex tends bar at Black Gold. He called me on a break and mentioned there’d been some sort of dust-up between a woman and a couple of cowboys. When you showed up on my doorstep at twelve thirty in the morning, I put two and two together and figured you were one of the cowboys.” Tyler blows across the steaming liquid in his mug.

Kyle nods, shovels in a bite of waffle, swallows. “I was on the receiving end.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

Kyle raises an eyebrow and takes another bite. “What’s there to talk about?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.” Tyler takes a bite, chews, swallows. “Who was the other guy?”

“Does it matter?”

“You look like it matters.”

Kyle sighs. He really doesn’t want to talk about it. He shoves a wedge of waffle dripping with syrup into his mouth.

Now Tyler’s eyebrow goes up. “So what happened to Chase’s arm?”

Kyle glares.

Tyler grins. “Chase, huh?”

Kyle presses his lips together and nods once. He hates that Tyler knows him so well.

“I thought Chase was straight as a fence post?”

Kyle shakes his head. “Chase is...special.”

“We’re all special, Kyle,” Tyler says with a wink.

“Fuck you.” Kyle slurps coffee and eats another bite of waffle.

“Thanks, but I’m pretty attached to Alex. I don’t think he’d appreciate that much.” Tyler reaches across the table and taps the back of Kyle’s hand with his forefinger. “Tell me about Chase.”

Kyle shakes his head again.

“You know you want to. Whatever happened, you’re still nuts about the guy. Oh...wait...” Tyler cocks his head for a moment, eyes narrowing, mouth pursing. “You’ve been nuts about the guy. For quite some time, I take it.”

“God, I hate you.”

Tyler chuckles. “Yeah, right. That’s why you showed up at my door in the middle of the night. So...?”

“I think Chase is what some call pansexual. He’s attracted to certain qualities about people. Loyalty, compassion, whatever. He’s attracted to a person, not necessarily a gender.”

Tyler snorts. “So what’s he see in you?”

“Fuck you,” Kyle says again, although there’s no heat in it. They’ve known each other a long time.

“All right, go on. Pansexual...?”

“I did a boatload of reading when I came out. I keep up as the field of sexual orientation evolves. I’ve thought about going back to school and writing a fucking thesis on it.”

Tyler’s laugh echoes in the small kitchen. “I really miss your sense of humor.” He takes another drink of his coffee and Kyle finishes his waffles. “So you and Chase...?”

“Chase and I, we...” Kyle’s at a loss. Made love sounds so romantic and official. While it’d been good, great even, it wasn’t making love.

Wasn’t it?

He closes his eyes and sighs. It was definitely more than a fuck or a roll in the hay. His chest constricts, and he gazes into the buttery, syrupy goo on his plate. “I thought he was attracted to me, thought he wanted to be with me. We fooled around, more than fooled around.”

“So what happened at the bar?” Tyler’s voice goes quiet.

Kyle shrugs. “His ex said something to him. I don’t know what. Next thing I know, Chase is proclaiming that we’re only best friends and that’s all we’ll ever be.” Just thinking about it brings back the stab of pain, the white-hot hurt, the crushing grip of betrayal.

Tyler’s hand covers his, his blue eyes soft and sympathetic. “That wasn’t about you or his feelings for you at all, you realize?”

“Of course it was. It was like some experiment he tried or something and it failed.”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “Mr. I-could-write-a-thesis, your very real, very justified hurt is clouding your judgment.”

“He said flat out—”

“I know what he said, Kyle. But let’s think about things from his perspective for a moment.”

“I don’t want to think about things from his perspective. I want to be mad.”

Tyler lifts his mug in acknowledgment. “And so you should be, but when you’re done being mad, you need to forgive him.”

“Why?”

“Because you love him.” Tyler’s tone rises on the last word, turning his statement into a question.

Kyle closes his eyes, hangs his head, and sighs. “God help me, but yeah.”

“Is he the one?”

Kyle lifts his gaze to meet Tyler’s. “Why do you think you and I didn’t work out?” he asks softly.

“That long, huh?”

“Not consciously, but looking back? Yeah.”

“Well, congrats.”

“A little premature, don’t you think?”

Tyler laughs again. “Are you ready to walk away and never look back?”

“Hell, no.”

“Then you’ll be mad for a while, Chase will get his head screwed on straight and do whatever he’s got to do to make amends, and you two will live happily ever after.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Simple, not easy.”

* * *

Kyle pulls up to the cabin and frowns. Chase should have been up and moving around by now. Blinds open, something. Where the hell is he? You went to an ex’s house, maybe he did the same...says an evil little voice. He shakes his head. The only ex Chase has is Anna, and considering she was the catalyst for their current situation, there’s no way he’d go to her.

Kyle hurries inside. The place looks exactly as it had the previous evening when they’d gone out. He taps on Chase’s bedroom door before pushing it open with one hand. It’s empty—the bed hasn’t even been slept in and his towel from yesterday’s shower lies in a heap on the floor. Kyle’s gaze lights on Chase’s keys sitting in their usual spot on his dresser, and he groans. Aw, hell. He isn’t here, not because he’d chosen not to be, but because he’d been locked out.

Okay, so… Where the hell would he go?

There’s that cute vet tech Chase had met. But no. He doesn’t know her well enough, never said much about her.

The bunk house? No, not after what happened at Black Gold. The possibility of people having witnessed his outburst too likely for his comfort. He’d want to wallow in his misery in private.

The barn then.

Kyle hustles to the barn Chase usually works from. A handful of other wranglers are busy with their daily tasks. Kyle loves his horse, Andromeda, loves horses in general, but the day-to-day grind of mucking stalls and carting horse crap around isn’t his bottle of beer.

“Anyone seen Chase?”

“Second to last stall, left side.”

“Thanks.” Kyle rushes down the hard-packed dirt floor of the barn’s wide aisle.

Chase lies rolled up like a taquito, his head sticking out of the striped blanket at one end, his long bare feet poking out of the other. His clothes hang from the stall wall. Kyle’s torn between wanting to feel bad and feeling slightly avenged that he’d suffered some sort of comeuppance.

Kyle kneels down and shakes his shoulder. “Chase. Wake up. C’mon.”

Chase blinks awake. His eyes focus and go wide. “Oh, God, Kyle...” He groans and turns his face away.

But not before Kyle sees the color rush over his face. Remorse and/or embarrassment. Good. Kyle stands and yanks Chase’s still-soggy clothes from the wall.

“C’mon. Get up. Home and into the shower with you. Then your bed.” As if there’s any question of whose bed Chase would hunker down in.

“Why are you doing this?” Chase asks, struggling to his feet. Kyle refrains from helping, but is granted a flash of light brown flesh in all of Chase’s flailing.

“Because you don’t need to catch a summer cold.”

“Kyle, I—”

“Whatever you have to say—” Kyle holds up a hand. “—I don’t want to hear it right now.” He may be royally pissed off, but he really doesn’t want Chase getting sick.

The walk back to the cabin transpires in silence except for the occasional clunk of Chase’s boots knocking together as he carries them and the hisses and gasps from Chase walking barefooted.

Kyle opens the door to the cabin, tosses Chase’s clothes into the bathroom with a splat, and then disappears into his bedroom with a firm click of the catch.

Chapter Fourteen

Chase stumbles into the bathroom and showers as instructed. The hot water warms him up physically, but the cold inside of him fails to dissipate. He’s hurt the one person he loves above all others.

He should do his physical therapy, but he’s cold, achy, and exhausted. His arm hurts, his head hurts, his hearts hurts. Guilty and at a loss as to what to do, he can’t deal with any of it until he’s had more sleep. That much he knows. Chase burrows into his bed and forces his mind black and blank until sleep finally overtakes him.

Chase wakens to the sound of hammering and, ugh, someone’s repairing something or another. The events of last night and this morning come back in a stampede of emotions. Ones he doesn’t want to experience. But he deserves them—every single one of them. And just like the earth after the pummeling of thousands of hooves, he feels battered and bruised. Again or still, he’s not sure which. Fear, embarrassment, remorse, dread, confusion, have all been stirred up and pounded into one large lump of jerk.

It’d been nine-ish when he’d crashed, and it’s almost one now. He cocks his head to listen. No sound trickles in from the living room, so Kyle’s gone. Not that Chase blames him. Chase wouldn’t want to be around someone who’d said the horrible things he’d said either. Kyle needs his space. Chase needs to come up with an apology befitting the crime. He drags himself from bed and wanders into the living room.

Kyle’s bedroom door is ajar. A quick peek out the blinds tells him Kyle’s definitely gone. Chase pushes into Kyle’s room and sits on the bed where they’d done things—hot things, tender things, loving things. Did they count as lovemaking? Despite what he’d said out loud at the bar in front of witnesses, he does actually love Kyle the way he should have loved Anna. Deeply and forever. White picket fence and a dog love. Maybe a kid or two. Kyle never talks about them, but, then again, he hasn’t been in a serious relationship in...Chase considers it...several years.

Realization pours over him like a bucket of ice water. Kyle has harbored feelings for him for years apparently—he loves you, you dolt. Oh God, oh God, oh God... That makes Chase’s behavior even more unforgivable.

He curls an arm over his gut and bends over against the ache.

How had he not recognized Kyle’s feelings until now?

Well, why would you?

Chase had been in a relationship with a woman for almost four years until a month and a half ago. Men have never been on his radar as potential romantic interests ever. Kyle has never said or done anything until Chase had gotten hurt. Until a couple of weeks ago in the shower.

A bullet point list of everything Kyle’s done forms in his head.

He showed up at the hospital despite his intense loathing for them.

He’d volunteered to help Chase in whatever capacity he needed. Luckily, it hadn’t been as intensive as it could have been.

He’d bailed on his first-ever sci-fi con that he’d saved for and looked forward to for months in order to be on call for Chase.

He’d cooked, actually cooked, for Chase.

He’d tied Chase’s sneakers for single-handed putting on.

And despite his hurt and anger, Kyle came looking for him this morning when, by all rights, he should have left him to suffer on the cold hard dirt floor of a horse stall.

Chase is a fucking moron.

He’s hurt his best friend.

He might have ruined their relationship.

He might have lost the chance at something special.

Dammit.

Chase wanders back into the living room. I don’t feel gay whirls around and around in his head. He picks up the remote and sets it down.

He doesn’t feel gay—whatever that might feel like. Chase doesn’t feel, nor has he ever felt, the way Kyle had confessed to feeling about his sexuality back in high school.

Chase picks up a throw pillow, slaps it against his leg, and drops it back into Kyle’s chair.

Images of the various girls and women he’s dated over the years float through Chase’s mind. How had he felt with them?

Fine, good. Nothing special. He’d liked them, but hadn’t ever been head over heels for any of them. Had never wanted to be near any of them twenty-four/seven.

Like he did with Kyle. He hadn’t even wanted to spend that much time Anna.

He’d never wanted to share his most intimate, personal thoughts with them.

Like he did with Kyle.

Had never imagined his future with any of them.

Like he did with Kyle.

Chase gasps and he goes cold all over.

Oh, holy hell.

Has he been in love with Kyle all this time and never realized it?

He collapses onto the sofa and swipes a hand over his face.

Being with Kyle feels right, feels satisfying, feels like completion, as goofy as that sounds. As if a part of him he hadn’t known he’d been missing has suddenly been returned.

He’s in love with his best friend.

And his best friend is royally pissed off at him right now.

* * *

The last couple of days since Chase stuck his foot in his mouth have dragged by. Slowly.

Kyle has helped him with his exercises at home and has driven him to and from rehab on Monday, but their usually companionable silences are anything but right now. Conversation is minimal. Tension is thick and heavy. Time spent hanging out doesn’t happen. Instead, Kyle works odd jobs around the ranch even on his off days, although nothing that seems to take him too far should Chase need him. Chase needs him, all right, but not in any way that would necessitate a 911 call while he worked.

In the evenings, Kyle buries his nose in his books, having churned through two already and is over halfway through the third. There’s no baseball playing in the background. No Star Trek.

Chase has apologized several times. Kyle has accepted his apologies and thanked him, but he remains distant. There have been no more shared showers, no more massages, no more mutual masturbation. Chase has been sleeping in his own bed, and it’s…awful and lonely. It’s crazy how quickly he’d become accustomed to having Kyle curled up next to him all night, every night. He misses the closeness. He just plain misses his best friend, everything else aside.

They need to talk. A heart-to-heart. Chase needs to explain why he’d said what he’d said, although he honestly has no freaking clue. He has to tell Kyle what happened with Anna.

Chase stands opposite Kyle seated in his chair, the coffee table between them. The leaden atmosphere is getting to him. Something has got to give. Kyle courteously looks up from his book, but otherwise makes no overture.

“Kyle, look...we should talk.”

“About?” His eyebrow arches.

“Us.”

“I didn’t know there was an us.”

Chase winces. Kyle’s words hurt. Yeah. He can’t imagine how Kyle must have felt. Hurt and humiliated for sure.

Chase slides his working fingers through his hair. “I’m so sorry—you know I am. We need to talk this out, get past it. I need you to forgive me.”

Kyle’s lips thin, his chest rises and falls. When he meets Chase’s gaze, there’s a hardness there. A hardness that has never been directed at him before. Fuck. The mantle of cold he’s been wearing tightens. A dozen horseshoes weighs down his gut.

“When did this become about you?” Kyle asks, his tone sharp.

Chase opens his mouth, then closes it again. His hope wilts in the face of Kyle’s animosity.

“I couldn’t care less what you need right now. I’m fuckin’ pissed off and until I’m good and ready to forgive you, you can fuckin’ deal with it.” He jumps from his chair, tosses his book into it, and leaves the cabin.

His words are a punch to the gut. Chase doubles over, working arm across his stomach, and tries to catch his breath. He feels lightheaded, stunned. That hadn’t gone the way he thought—hoped—it would. What the hell’s he going to do now?

Unfortunately, all he can do is wait. But he considers Kyle’s words and feels even more like a shithead. Kyle is right—he gets to decide when to forgive Chase, and Chase just has to suck it up.

So Kyle needs his space, he needs to be mad, Chase finally understands that—how could he not after Kyle so helpfully pointed it out. Once the forgiveness comes, though, an apology isn’t going to be enough. Chase has a feeling that something will be irrevocably broken if he allows the incident to fade into history with nothing more than a simple apology. Any conversation they have after Kyle is ready to talk will be important, but equally important, Chase thinks, is some sort of grand gesture.

His betrayal had been awful and big and very, very public. Whatever he decides to do needs to be equally big and public and the opposite of awful. Kyle needs to know, needs to see that Chase really isn’t afraid to express his feelings in public. Chase is though. Afraid. Part of it is his reticence to be in the spotlight at all. Part of it is that he actually is, if not afraid exactly, then nervous about going public with something so personal and private. Kyle’s experiences as a teen had been horrendous. Sure, that had been ten years ago, and Chase has never witnessed any sort of blatant homophobia in his time on the ranch, but the thought of going public is still nerve wracking.

But as Kyle was so vehement about pointing out, this isn’t about Chase, and he’ll do anything to make it up to Kyle. He needs to say, in a big, public way, how much Kyle means to him.

Now, how to do that?

Chase has done a bad thing in a big way and he needs to nut up and fix their friendship in front of an audience. The same audience he’d broken it in front of or as near to it as he can get. That means Black Gold.

So Chase plans his coming out—he’s still not gay, but whatever. He plans his public apology.

When he suggests they go out on Saturday night, after yet another day of stilted conversation during housekeeping and errands, Kyle agrees almost too enthusiastically. Neither one of them wants to spend another evening holed up in a cabin fraught with tension. For the first time in their ten-year-plus friendship, things are strained and awkward. Chase hates it, and he’s sure Kyle does too, but the onus is on Chase to mend the fence. Hopefully, tonight will end the stalemate.

Chapter Fifteen

Chase is nervous as hell. His dinner sits like a hay bale in his gut. The desire to bounce his leg during the drive is huge, but he doesn’t want to give the game away, wants everything to be a surprise, so he has to act natural. Well, as natural as it’s possible to act right now.

The dance hall is crowded as usual. It almost doesn’t matter what night of the week it is. Since the ranch is a seven-day-a-week operation, one seventh of its employees, give or take, are off on any given day. But today is Friday. It’s still early, though, so the crowd will only grow in the next couple of hours. The band is just setting up. Music blares from the jukebox for the time being.

“I see Shorty,” Kyle says, out of common courtesy, nothing more. His voice is flat, his words clipped. “I’m going to see if he wants a rematch.”

Chase nods. “I’ll grab us some beers.”

Chase surveys the crowd on his way to the bar. He doesn’t see Anna as of yet. She’s bound to show up though. He has no desire to face her, but she needs to hear his words if at all possible. She’ll be able to say “I told you so.” But more importantly she’ll know for good and all that their relationship is over.

“Two Shiner Bocks,” Chase says to Alex. He trades bills for bottles and joins Kyle at the pool tables.

The place fills a little more and Anna arrives, although, thankfully, she doesn’t see him. He’ll be just as happy to stay out of her crosshairs for the foreseeable future.

Chase hasn’t seen or spoken to her since his meltdown. He doesn’t particularly want to see her now. Her reaction to his apology and announcement is the one he least wants or cares about. He sighs and resists the urge to pick the label off of his beer and jiggle his leg.

Chase’s tired of the chasm between him and Kyle, and he’s tired of waiting for the big fix. If an opportunity doesn’t present itself soon, he might go stark raving mad.

The band has tuned their instruments and they’re into their second song when Kyle and Shorty finish their game, Kyle walking away the winner for a change with an extra twenty in his pocket.

“I gotta take a leak,” says Kyle.

Chase nods and his stomach flips. The current song is well over halfway finished. No time like the present, he thinks, with a deep breath.

As soon as Kyle is out of sight, Chase hurries over to the stage. The song is winding to a close and he waits for it to end. He’s already talked to the lead singer/guitar player. They’re expecting the interruption at some point. The sooner, the better in Chase’s mind.

Marty offers Chase a nod when he sees him hovering at the bottom of the stairs to the stage.

Chase’s heart pounds against his ribcage and the beer he’s just consumed threatens to foam over. He swallows, takes a breath. He can do this. Has to do this. No matter how it turns out.

The final note hangs in the air for a long moment and then fades. The dancers clap and some of them move off the dance floor.

“Hey, folks, if I could have your attention?”

It seems like the whole crowd quiets down, having expected another song and not an announcement, and turns its attention to Marty.

Chase wipes his hands down his thighs to remove the sudden moisture.

“I have a young man here who’d like to say a few words. Chase?”

Chase steps onto the stage and accepts the proffered mic. He scans the crowd and notes Anna moving forward through the bodies. He swallows a groan as his stomach belly flops onto the dance floor. He feels physical pain.

He squints out at the crowd. Where the fuck is Kyle? He should be out of the john by now. Even so, it’s time to do this thing.

“Uh, hi... I’m Chase Lewis—” The audio screeches and a collective “ouch” sounds from crowd. “I’m a wrangler at the Monahan Ranch...” He looks at the mic, his stomach sinking. Shit—is it not working? No, no, no...he just wants to say his piece and be done with it, not stand up on the stage being goggled at.

“Lemme see, Chase,” Marty says, taking the mic back.

Sweat beads between Chase’s shoulder blades and rolls down his spine into his underwear. One of the stagehands fiddles with the wired mic, eliciting another screech, but when he speaks into the device, his “testing” echoes across the bar. A cheer goes up and Chase finds himself in possession of a microphone once again.

He looks down to gather his wits and composure, looks right into Kyle’s big brown fathomless eyes. Chase’s stomach loop-de-loops, and it’s suddenly become difficult to breathe.

Curiosity is written all over Kyle’s face.

Right. Showtime.

“Hi again. I’m Chase Lewis. I’m a wrangler at the Monahan Ranch.” A few cheers sound. “Uh...I’m sure some, if not most of you know me, at least by sight. Maybe you know me as the guy who got kicked by a horse and is temporarily paralyzed.” He shrugs his right shoulder, causing his arm to move slightly.

A couple of people call his name. Someone whistles. He smiles nervously. “Thanks. Yeah, so. The reason I’m up here tonight...if you were here last Friday, you might have witnessed my outburst.”

The crowd quiets again. He’s surprised the rapid thud of his heart isn’t being picked up by the microphone.

He looks down at Kyle and points at him. “This here is my best friend, Kyle. We’ve been best friends for about thirteen years now. We’ve weathered a lot of things together...”

The attention of the entire bar is now on Chase. It’s dead quiet. No one’s playing pool or throwing darts. There’s no clinking of glasses at the bar even. The spotlight’s on him figuratively and literally and the sweat beads on his forehead. He swipes his forearm across it. His throat feels like someone’s got their hands around it. His head feels as if it could float right off his body. He takes a breath. The sooner he says his piece, the sooner he can flee.

“I said some nasty things last week. Things that really hurt Kyle. Things I regret. Things I wish I could unsay, but since I can’t, I can only apologize. In public. To Kyle.”

He meets Kyle’s gaze again. “Kyle, I’m so sorry. I have no excuse and I’m asking right here, right now, will you forgive me?”

Cheers and applause echo through the building.

Kyle nods. “Of course, I forgive you, Chase. Thank you.” Not that Chase can really hear him; there’s too much noise now. He can make out the shape of his words though.

Chase takes another breath. The apology was the easy part. “I’d, uh...also like to set the record straight about some of those things I said.”

The noise abates again.

Kyle cocks his head, his eyebrow rises. He might have been expecting the public apology, but Chase knows he won’t be anticipating what’s coming next. He scans the crowd, gaze not stopping anyplace particular.

“As I said before, Kyle’s my best friend, I hope that never changes. But when I stated that’s all we were, it was a lie...things had changed between us. That’s what made my words so reprehensible.”

Chase hears a gasp and a few murmurs. His knees feel like jelly. Kyle looks dumbstruck.

Chase clear his throat a little. “I’ve never thought of myself as gay. I’m not sure I actually am gay, but whatever I am, I love Kyle as a best friend and...I love him as more than a best friend. Kyle, I hope we can work towards being partners for life.”

Cheers and clapping break out again, along with a couple of whistles and some catcalls.

Kyle turns away, disappears into the people behind him. Chase’s stomach lurches, his vision goes black, and he gasps for air. Oh, God, oh, God... Kyle’s walking away. Oh, God, Chase’s broken them for good. What the heck was he gonn—

He feels arms around him and goes slack. Chase breathes in the smell of cologne and that underlying scent of outdoors and sunshine that he always associates with Kyle. He opens his eyes to see Kyle. Kyle’s hugging him. Chase chokes back a sob of relief, pulls in lungfuls of air, and throws his working arm around him. “Kyle.”

“God, Chase, I don’t know what to say. The apology was appreciated and more than enough. The rest was amazing and wonderful, and I love you too.”

A huge awww... sounds from the crowd and they break apart, Kyle looking as surprised as Chase feels.

“Oh, God,” Chase says, realizing the mic is still in his hands. He thrusts it back to Marty and follows Kyle off the stage to friendly laughter.

Hands clap Chase on the shoulder as they wind their way back to the seating area.

The opening chords of “God Bless the Broken Road” begin, and Chase grabs Kyle’s hand, tugging him around to face him. “Kyle, will you dance with me?” Chase had asked them to play it. He hadn’t planned on dancing to it, but he’d had a teacher back in middle school who used to say go big or go home. He might as well go all the way.

Kyle’s mouth opens, then closes. “Are you sure? Making a public confession is one thing. A public display is something else altogether.”

“I’m sure.” Chase nods. “I want to prove to you that I’m all in.”

“Announcing you love me to the whole damn world was pretty good proof, Ace.” Kyle leads Chase a few steps onto the dance floor.

It’s a slow song and it’s awkward because they’re both men and men are supposed to lead.

“You ask, you lead,” says Kyle with a smirk and shrug.

With a quick rearrangement of arms and Kyle holding tightly to his right hand, they’re dancing, circling slowly to the tune.

It’s odd and awkward and wonderful at the same time, and Chase has no desire to be anywhere else than here in Kyle’s arms. Or with Kyle in his arms. Whatever. His heart is full and he can’t help the smile.

Epilogue

Two Years Later

Kyle sits in the truck, staring at the hospital. He’s got no reason to fear walking into the building this time, but bad memories die hard. With a deep breath, he exits the truck and walks across the parking lot. What’s it say that he parked as far from the door as he could?

The sun is high and shining brightly. Scattered fluffy clouds dot the September sky. The American flag and Texas flag snap crisply in the wind.

“There you are,” calls Chase, drawing Kyle’s attention to the sexy figure hurrying toward him.

Chase throws his arms around Kyle right there in the middle of the parking lot, kisses Kyle’s neck, and says, “Hey, stop freaking out. I’m going to be with you the whole time.”

Kyle buries his face in Chase’s neck, feeling lightweight now, despite their location. There was a time when he’d never have believed that Chase and he would be together, much less married.

He and Chase married! It’s been the best year of Kyle’s life.

Chase pulls from the embrace and links his fingers with Kyle’s. “C’mon, let’s go check on Carrie. It won’t be long now.”

Kyle grins. “Okay.”

They reach the hydraulic entrance doors and Kyle’s steps flag, but Chase says, “I love you,” and tugs him through. He never gets tired of hearing Chase say those three words. He likes “let’s go to bed” a lot too, but “I love you” never fails to melt him like a Chocolate Kiss on top of a peanut butter cookie.

In the elevator, Chase crowds him into the corner, cupping his face, kissing him deep, only pulling away when the ding signals a floor stop. It’s their destination and a frisson of disappointment swirls through Kyle. Chase steps back and adjusts his fly, then waggles his eyebrows as if he knows exactly what Kyle’s thinking. He probably does. “Later, babe; just wait till I get you home.”

Kyle shifts too, smiling. Celebratory sex. Oh, yeah. “Can’t wait.”

Once they’d worked their shit out, Chase had embraced their relationship and hot man sex with a vengeance that had taken Kyle by surprise. Not that he’s complaining; not complaining at all.

Chase’s mom, Denise, appears in the corridor outside the open elevator doors. “There you two are—” She gives them the eagle eye and slams her hand on her hips. “Were you two making out in the elevator?”

Chase’s face goes red, but he’s grinning.

Kyle laughs. “We sure were.”

“You boys need to grow up. You’re about to be dads.”

“Not growing up if that means I can’t show my man my love when the opportunity presents itself,” says Kyle. He hooks an arm around Chase’s neck and plants one on the side of his head.

Chase hugs him again. “You’re trying to miss the birth, aren’t you?”

“Not a chance, Ace. Let’s go meet our kid.”

They follow Denise to the birthing center hand-in-hand. After washing up, they don the surgical gowns they’re handed and join Carrie in her suite.

Kyle licks her face. “Hey, Momma, how you?”

She laughs through her breaths as the contraction wanes. “As well as can be expected, asshole, while trying to push your bowling ball of a kid out a hole the size of a golf ball. Be nice to me.”

They’d gotten so lucky that a co-worker of Denise’s had a daughter who’d gotten pregnant and hadn’t wanted to keep her baby. The timing had been perfect, and Kyle and Carrie get along like a house on fire. They have the same sense of humor, a lot of the same tastes, and, best of all, the same dark brown eyes. After multiple meetings, they’d come to an agreement and drawn up paperwork for an independent adoption, and here they are.

“It won’t be long now,” says the obstetrician. “The baby’ll be crowning with the next contraction or two. Carrie says you two are allowed to watch if you want.” He looks from Kyle to Chase.

Chase’s face has gone cherry tomato red and Kyle laughs. Of the two of them, only Chase has had an up-close-and-personal experience with a woman’s vagina. Why he’s embarrassed, Kyle has no idea. First of all, this is Carrie. And second of all, there’s nothing remotely sexy or sexual about this—he’s seen enough creatures give birth to know that, at least.

But Chase nods and Kyle nods back. Kyle doesn’t have much desire to look at a woman’s private parts, either, but for the birth of his kid, he’ll make an exception. They might not be able to go this route if they decide to have more kids.

Twenty minutes later, Chase is holding a squalling, squirming eight pound, three ounce baby boy. He holds the baby for a mere minute before handing him to Kyle. “Your son, Dad…” he says softly, hazel eyes shining with happiness.

Kyle looks down at their kid. A kid he never knew he wanted. Didn’t want until Chase started gazing longingly at pregnant women and baby strollers. They’d gone round in circles about it for a while.

Kyle had been hesitant. Neither of their fathers had been the greatest examples of parenthood. At the end of the day, though, Kyle knew he was nothing like his father, and he could rarely deny Chase anything. Then they’d met Carrie, and Kyle knew he’d lost any semblance of fight he had left.

“Does he have a name?” asks Carrie, lying back, sweaty and flushed while the doctor finishes up whatever business he’s tending to in her nether regions.

Chase and Kyle exchange a look. “Devin. Devin Lewis Adams,” says Chase. “After my cousin…if not for him, we might not be friends, much less together.”

“Oh, God, boys,” says Denise with teary eyes. “That’s a lovely way to honor Devin.” To Carrie, whose hand she’s still holding, she says, “He was killed in action last year.”

“Oh, you guys, I love it,” says Carrie. There’s emotion in her voice.

“Okay, Dads,” says a nurse, “I’m Nancy. Let’s get y’all moved to a different room so we can get Carrie cleaned up and let her rest. Last bits of paperwork can be signed in a few hours.”

Nurse Nancy, wearing scrubs covered in Winnie-the-Poohs and Piglets, pushes the hospital-grade bassinet out of the birthing suite with Kyle and Chase right behind her. Once they’re in a small visitation room, she attaches typical hospital bracelets to them both. “This is your all-access baby pass for as long as he’s here. Leave them on until you get home with baby for good, all right?”

They both nod.

“So I’ll just leave you to it for a while. Enjoy your son.” She offers a wink and leaves them alone.

The visitation room is just a very small sitting room, except with standard-issue hospital furniture and a rocking chair. A small TV hangs across from the loveseat, but they have no need for television at the moment. They track time by the movement of the sun through the window.

Nancy checks on them every so often, shows them how to feed Devin and change him, offers little tidbits of advice about their first days at home alone, but otherwise leaves them to bond.

Just before eight p.m., she returns. “How’s it going, fellas?”

They both grin like loons.

She smiles back. “Well, visiting hours are over. We’d like to keep him overnight just to make sure nothing crops up. You can spend the night with him here or he can stay in the nursery and you two can get one last full night’s sleep.” She smiles kindly. “I recommend the latter.”

Kyle looks at Chase and Chase looks back, his grin going wide, eyebrow going up. There’s a certain sparkle in his eye and Kyle knows that sparkle. It’s the same one from the elevator. The one promising sex later. Full night’s sleep. Yeah, right. Kyle snorts. They can sleep in…

With a last little snuggle and a kiss to Devin’s forehead, Chase settles him back into his hospital bed.

“Thanks, Nancy,” says Kyle, “we’re gonna take you up on your offer of one last night of freedom.”

“Sleep, fellas. Get some sleep.”

“We will eventually.” Kyle snags Chases hand, and they make their way out into the hot summer evening.

Two years ago, Kyle had taken Chase home from the hospital and had had to put him into his own bed. Now, he gets to take him home and tackle him into their shared bed. He hooks an arm around Chase’s neck and smacks a kiss to Chase’s temple. “Love you, Ace.”

Ain’t life grand?

End Notes

Thank you for downloading this e-book. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your vendor of choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

The following trademarked items appear in Coming to Grips. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmark mention in this work of fiction: Deep Space Nine, Jake Sisko, Stargate: Atlantis, Star Wars, Kellogg’s Pop Tarts, Disney’s Sleeping Beauty, San Francisco Giants, San Diego Padres, United States Navy, NASCAR, Marcus Cole, Babylon 5, Milwaukee Brewers, Pittsburgh Pirates, the Hangar 25 Air Museum, Stetson, Rockport, Birkenstock, Texas Rangers, Tampa Bay Rays, Hampton Inn & Suites, Kenny Chesney, Coca Cola, “Every Storm” by Gary Alan, Psych, DeVry University, Star Trek, Shiner Bock, “God Bless the Broken Road” by Rascal Flatts, Hershey’s Chocolate Kiss, A.A. Milne’s Winnie the Pooh and Piglet: Disney’s animated version.

All Major League Baseball games watched on TV in this book are between real teams and are accurate 2017 match-ups as per the MLB schedule. Any action or wins/losses/scores referenced, however, were made up by the author as games hadn’t been played as of the writing of the book.

The Ardmore Armadillos and the North Platte Pioneers are figments of the author’s imagination.

About Jen

Jen FitzGerald has loved romance since her Winnie the Pooh days. Christopher Robin and Piglet have always been platonic soul mates. As a teen, Jen cut her romance teeth on Silhouette’s teen romance line and Danielle Steele books concurrently. She’s still an avid reader, but these days, Jen has added writing romances of her own to her list of fun things to do.

Jen lives in Fort Worth, Texas, with her husband and dog. Their three children are now adults and out terrorizing the world at large instead of them. When not working her day job, Jen spends a lot of time reading, writing, watching sports, and perusing her social media platforms of preference. She also enjoys music, cross stitching, and chatting online with writer friends.

Find her online at her blog, A Time for Everything or on Facebook.

Books by Jen FitzGerald

For the Love of Scott

Ten Rigs Texas, Book 1

Love On Deck

Ten Rigs Texas, Book 2

Absent Without Leave

Ten Rigs Texas, Book 3

Rock the Cradle of Love

Ten Rigs Texas, Book 4

Coming to Grips

Ten Rigs Texas, Book 5

Coming soon in the Ten Rigs Texas series

Hot Fun in the Summertime

Ten Rigs Texas, Book 6

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Hot Fun in the Summertime

Book Six of the Ten Rigs Texas series

Chapter One

Cole Reid follows Pammy and the shelter dog that she’d brought in for Susan to look at through the vet clinic. He thought he’d recognized Pammy’s voice and had come to investigate why his cousin was in the clinic. Shaggy’s nails click on the concrete floor as they pass the large birdcage with the resident large breed cockatoo. The bird squawks at them and puffs up her pale pink feathers. Cole taps a fingernail on the cage. “Easy, girl.”

“You coming to the reunion?” Pammy asks, stopping at the glass front doors of the clinic. Blue-tinted hair is piled on her head. A small stud sits in the flesh of her left eyebrow. The Houston Astros tee is faded and bleach-splotched; multiple holes and rips mar her jeans. The red Chucks have seen better days. Of course, she works at the kennel, so he gets why she appears so scraggly at the moment.

“I am.” Cole nods. “I’m back in Ten Rigs. No excuse not to.” He offers her a lopsided smile that feels more like a grimace on the inside. It’s his first family reunion since his freshman year at A&M what seems like a lifetime ago. In reality, it’s been six years, and so much has happened.

Pammy throws her arms around him. “Well, cuz, I, for one, am glad you’re back. I want you to meet Rafe.”

“Rafe, huh?” Cole’s eyebrow arches. This time his smile is genuine.

She nods. “Rafael Sanchez, my boyfriend. We’re not at that point yet, but I think he’s the one. So, yeah. What about you? Family rumor mill is churning overtime that all work and no boyfriend is making Cole a very dull and crabby boy.”

And that’s not a surprise. Maybe he is dull and crabby, but he’s earned the right.

“Well, you know, I’ve been a little busy becoming a veterinarian for six out of the last ten years.” Not to mention the death of his fiancé that he had to deal with on top of some epic coursework. He hasn’t had the time, energy, or even the inclination to be in another relationship.

“I know, man, but seriously. You’ve been home, what? A year? Maybe it’s time to find happiness again.” After a wink and a snap of her chewing gum, she adds, “Or at least a little fun.”

Cole huffs a laugh. There’s a decent club in Big Spring that he visits every once in a while to do just that. Casual, no-pressure hookups to take care of his physical needs when his own hand just doesn’t do the trick. “I have fun.”

A surprised expression rounds her big gray eyes, and a smirk twists her lips. “Do you now? Gilmore Girls marathons and Chunky Monkey ice cream binges?”

“Hey, watch it, squirt. It’s How I Met Your Mother and Blue Bell’s Pecan Praline’s ‘n Cream. I’m a proper Texas boy.”

Pammy laughs, head thrown back. “Fair enough. Okay.” She presses a kiss to his cheek. “See you at the lake then. Bye, Kara!” The German shepherd limps out the door ahead of Pammy, his back-left paw wrapped in gauze.

“See you,” says Cole.

“Bye,” says Kara.

Cole turns to Kara, sitting quietly behind the receptionist’s desk, typing away. Crinkles frame her eyes and the corners of her mouth are turned up.

“Does everyone seriously think I’m that pathetic? That I don’t have a life?” He looks up into the rafters of the open-ceiling grid-work and sighs.

“They’re just worried about you,” Kara says, drawing his gaze. “You’ve worked so hard for the last several years. The ranchers and their livestock love you, for sure, but that won’t keep you warm at night. Pammy’s right; you deserve some happiness.”

Everyone’s forgetting that happiness was snatched away from him, not once, not twice, but three times. The fates don’t seem to think he deserves it.

“Maybe you should sign up for one of those meet-people activity groups,” says Kara.

“A dating site?” he scoffs. Call him old-fashioned, but that kind of thing isn’t for him.

“Not a dating site.” She shakes her head, still typing away. Her copper-colored curls bounce with the motion. Dark brown eyes glance at him. “Just group activities—trips to amusement parks or museums, hiking or camping trips. Wine tasting, cooking classes, all kinds of things. My aunt got divorced a couple of years ago after being married for fifteen years, and she had few friends outside her and her ex’s shared friends. She joined one of those organizations and says it was one of the best decisions she made. Now she goes and does all the time.”

“Huh.” He is starting to settle back into the ebb and flow of Ten Rigs life. The workload has evened out. Truth be told, he could use a few more friends outside of his family. He could use some friends, period. Hiking, wine tasting, amusement parks all sound like fun. Relationships, though…he’s done with those. They never seem to work out. “Maybe,” he says. “In the meantime, I’m going to have to endure a long weekend of pitying looks and nosy questions, aren’t I?”

Kara throws him a wink. “Well, you could just stay home and plow through Orange is the New Black and a couple of gallons of Blue Bunny’s Bunny Tracks.”

* * *

Tucker Naughton wiggles his toes inside the foot soaker. The lavender scent of the Epsom salts floats up on the steam of the hot-as-he-can-stand water. His aching tootsies are screaming their thanks. The library hadn’t been any busier than usual today, but perhaps wandering around the apartment in his bare feet yesterday hadn’t been such a good idea. The rug in the living room of his and Kara’s tiny little two-bedroom is worn thin and the wood flooring is uneven, but it had been so hot, he couldn’t stand having anything on his feet.

“So, now, poor Cole’s freaking out because he thinks everyone in his family pities him.” Kara takes a bite of her Bunny Tracks ice cream. She’s lying stretched out on their old nubby sofa, ankles resting on the arm with foam spreaders between her brightly painted toes.

Tucker sighs. If only he could pull off that shade of purple. “He should take a date to that family thing. Show ‘em all he’s out and proud.” He slides a spoon in and out of his mouth and “mmms” around a bite of rocky road. The cold chocolate melts in his mouth, and God, does he love chocolate.

“That’s the problem. He doesn’t know many people in Ten Rigs or anywhere else that I can gather.”

“Hmm…” says Tucker, taking another delicious bite. They eat in companionable silence for a few moments.

Tucker knows Cole a little bit. He is Kara’s boss, after all. They’ve met several times.

Cole’s around his height, but he’s bulkier—in that way that looks effortless but comes from hard physical labor and a little help from regular workouts. With dark hair, eyes that could be light brown or hazel—Tucker’s never been close enough to tell—and a Roman nose, Cole is classically handsome, and Tucker wouldn’t mind getting all up in Cole’s business, that’s for damn sure.

“I’ll be his date.” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Or think the whole thing through. Tucker’s not a subtle gay and Cole seems as straitlaced as a gay man can be. The likelihood of Cole agreeing to such a thing is pretty slim, so Tucker releases the breath he’d taken in surprise at his own crazy idea.

“Wait. What?” Kara sits up and looks at him, her brown eyes wide. “Really? You’d do that?”

Well, shit. Would he? He gazes into his mostly empty pint of ice cream. He swallows the marshmallows and nuts in his mouth and seriously considers it. “Well, let’s see…long weekend at the lake. That’s fun. Free food? I’m so there. Three days with hunky Dr. Cole Reid? How could anyone consider that a hardship, right? I mean, have you seen the guy?”

Okay, so maybe Tucker lusts after Cole a little more than he wants to admit to Kara. Also, Cole may not, probably won’t, want to share anything more physical than a buss on the cheek or loose hand-holding to complete the charade. That’s if he agrees to the idea at all. “Sure. If he agrees, I’m in.”

Which he won’t. Because he’s mature and grown up and why would he?

“Seriously?”

“Yes, Kara.” Tucker pulls his feet from the footbath and sets them on the towel on the floor. “Seriously.” Why the hell not? The chances of Cole agreeing are slim. “Remember when he treated Benji last winter? I kind of owe him.”

She nods and makes a sad face. Ultimately, Benji had had to be put to sleep, but Cole had treated Benji free of charge. “I miss that cat.” Then she squeals like a teenager and snatches her phone off the table. It takes a few moments, but then she’s jabbering at the person on the other end. Tucker’s going to assume it’s Cole, although he wholeheartedly believes in what they say about assuming. He’s been an ass more than once in his life. Hell, more than once this year. You’d think he’d learn. But all things considered, it’s a pretty safe bet she’s talking to Cole.

Kara stares at her phone and then looks at Tucker with surprised glee etched on her face. “Oh my God—he said yes.”

Tucker’s heart stops and then stutters back into a rhythm.

Well.

That’s…surprising. But okay. Tucker agreed. Cole agreed. So they’ve got a weekend-long date. Tucker’s not sure how to feel about the whole thing now that it’s suddenly become a reality. Cole’s way out of his league, but what the hell? It’s a weekend. Afterward, they go their separate ways. No harm, no foul.

“Show up at his place the Friday night before and go over the details of your relationship.” She makes air quotes when she says relationship. “Texting you his address now...”

Chapter Two

Cole’s whole body vibrates as he chops veggies for a salad to go with the lasagna. In hindsight, parading a fake boyfriend around in front of his family is a spectacularly bad idea. Kicking off the charade under his twin’s nose is bad times ten. He’d have called the whole thing off, only he hasn’t got Tucker’s cell number. Kara, the traitor, isn’t answering hers.

The doorbell rings and Cole drops the knife to the granite countertop with a clatter. Dammit. He’s got to get a hold of himself or the jig will be up.

Connie’s eyebrows arch. She leaves off petting the white Italian leather of his sofa and heads toward the door. “You expecting someone?”

Shit. Show time.

“Um, yes…” Cole grabs a dishtowel to dry his hands and follows her.

“There’s a very good-looking guy out there.” Her eye is to the peephole, and her close proximity to the hard wood muffles her words a bit.

“Yeah, that’s my—” Boyfriend. The word dies in his throat.

The deadbolt schlicks unlocked and Connie pulls the oak door open. “Hello?”

Cole’s breath hitches. He’d forgotten how modelesque Tucker actually is with his chiseled jaw, cleft chin, and high cheekbones. Not to mention his incredibly svelte body.

There’s a beat of surprised silence, and then Tucker says, “Well, hi, there. I’m Tucker. And you must be…” Over bright blue eyes, his plush dark eyebrows arch in question, and he holds out a hand.

Connie slides her hand into Tucker’s. “Connie.”

Cole shakes himself out of his shocked silence and says, “Tucker, this is my twin sister Connie.” Cole swipes sweaty hands down his thighs. “Connie, this is Tucker…my boyfriend.” The word feels strange in his mouth. Not bad strange, just unusual; he hasn’t used the term in years.

Connie turns wide brown eyes that match his own toward him, hand still clasped in Tucker’s. “Your what? Matthew Cole Reid, since when do you have a boyfriend?”

~*~*~

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