Dreamspinner Press Year Eight Greatest Hits

by Brandon Witt

  He smiled as he took in his family. Only Jason stood out as different. His best friend’s tanned skin and dark hair was a stark contrast to the other five of them. All had fair skin and varying degrees of red hair. Even Dunkyn and Dolan were redheaded, at least mostly. Wendy’s damned bunny, nibbling away on grass in her fenced area beside the driveway, even qualified with her ginger spots. People around town called them the red-family. When Wendy had moved in, they’d just traded one redhead for another.

  “Sorry, Daddy.”

  He hadn’t even noticed Avery until she pulled on the leg of his jeans. He was really out of it. “It’s okay, hunny. Just remember to speak nicely to people. Did Wendy say you could start carving your pumpkin again?” He glanced over at his sister, who nodded, her long silver earrings flashing in the evening sunlight.

  “Travis, would you mind helping Avery real quick? I just need to go in and check on the roast.”

  “Sure, sis.” Travis walked toward her, stretching out his hand for the pumpkin. “I forgot to ask, did Shannon’s folks come out here for lunch today?”

  Wendy narrowed her eyes. “Yes, they did. I meant to call you and thank you for the heads-up about company coming. Luckily we were just doing grilled cheese and tomato soup, so it was easy to compensate.”

  “Oh, sorry about that. I wasn’t thinking.”

  She dropped the small knife into the hollow pumpkin before handing it to him. “You know I’m just giving you a hard time. Besides, Patsy is barely eating anything these days.” She chuckled. “Can’t say the same for Glen, though. I think he had three grilled cheeses, and I lost track of how many times he went back for soup.”

  “Five.”

  Wendy and Travis looked over to Caleb, who was grinning at them. “He had five bowls. I bet Mason and Avery that he’d have four. They won.”

  Mason glanced up, a huge grin plastered on his typically serious face. “Avery said six, but I bet five.”

  Travis gave the six-year-old boy a thumbs-up. “You know your grandpa. He likes to eat, that one.”

  “Amen to that. And, speaking of, I really need to get in there and add more broth, or that roast is gonna be about as flavorful as if Jason made it.” Wendy patted Avery’s head before turning and walking through the open garage door.

  “Don’t even try to pretend you could cook as bad as me, Wendy. Not even on your worst day could you take away my worst-chef-in-America title.” Jason didn’t even look up from where he sat beside Dolan, carving away on his own pumpkin. Travis was pretty sure he was carving the outline of a beer can. Always the classy one, Jason Baker.

  Wendy had already reached the door that led into the house, but she stuck her head back through. “No argument from me there, Jason. You can keep that title, as well as the one naming you town drunk!” She laughed and shut the door behind her.

  Jason yelled after her, “You bet I will! I worked hard for that honor!”

  “Why do I let you hang out with my family again? I should protect my children from your influence.” Travis knelt down on the concrete between Jason and Caleb and Mason. No sooner had he pulled Avery onto his lap than Dunkyn lay down beside him, his back resting against Travis’s thigh.

  “So your kids won’t be boring. Left to you and Wendy, they wouldn’t develop a sense of humor.” Jason stuck the handle of the knife between his teeth, then reached into the cooler behind him and pulled out another can of beer.

  Travis started to make a comeback, but Mason’s small voice cut him off. He glanced back toward his sons. “What’d you say, bud? Couldn’t hear you.”

  Caleb didn’t look up, keeping his full concentration on carving his dog’s likeness into the side of the pumpkin. “He asked if you’d turn up the radio, Dad.”

  “Oh. Sure.” He was thankful for Caleb, but ached at how quickly his oldest son had had to grow up. He was as much of a dad to the twins as Travis was himself. Travis reached over and turned the volume dial on the portable radio. He cringed. “Seriously, Mason? You wanted to hear this crap?”

  Avery glared up at him from his lap. “It’s Taylor Swift, Daddy. Not crap.”

  Travis grinned down at her. “You too, princess? This doesn’t even sound like country music.”

  “She’s pretty good, Trav. I took a date to one of her concerts last year. I got way lucky after….” Jason’s voice trailed off, his dark eyes darting from Travis to Caleb, then back. “Uhm, she’s a good performer.”

  Travis glared at him but was pleased to notice a dark blush rising to Caleb’s cheeks. He’d had the talk with him when he’d turned thirteen last year, and from how shy the boy was, Travis was pretty sure he had nothing to worry about—yet. That was fine with him. He didn’t need to be an accidental grandfather anytime soon. Forty-two was too young to even think about such revulsion. “Still, doesn’t sound like country music. Not like it did back in the day.”

  Jason held up his pumpkin, closing one eye as he inspected it. Yep, definitely an homage to a can of beer. “We know, Travis, we know. You’ll never get over Garth Brooks retiring.”

  “No, I won’t, if this is what country music keeps sounding like. He’s going out on tour again, though, so all will soon be righted.” Travis brushed Avery’s hand away from the pumpkin. “Sweetie, you’ve got to move your fingers. I don’t want you to get cut.”

  Avery’s tone was indignant. “Well, you’re doing his smile wrong. I only want him to have one tooth on top. Not two.”

  “That’s easy to fix, princess.” He angled the knife, slicing the offending left tooth off from the jack-o’-lantern’s grin. “Better?”

  Her hair caught in Travis’s stubble as Avery moved her head from side to side, inspecting her father’s work. Satisfied, she clapped her hands, stretched up, and gave Travis a kiss on the chin. “Perfect! Can I let Nutmeg out now?”

  “Sure, Avery. Go ask Wendy for the leash. The last thing we need is that rabbit running off or getting eaten by an owl.” He helped the little girl get up off his lap and watched her run through the garage and into the house. Then he leaned back, turning toward Jason. “Hey, Jase, throw me a can, will ya?”

  Jason grinned wickedly at him. “Oh sure, Jason’s a drunk and a bad influence. The worst of the town, until Travis Bennett wants a beer, then he’s just fine to mingle with.”

  “Shut up and throw me the damned beer.”

  Jason did.

  “I think the beer can you carved looks a little crushed.”

  “Oh, really? This coming from the guy who just made the most inbred-looking jack-o’-lantern I’ve ever seen. The thing looks like my Arkansas cousins’ kids.”

  Travis was about to offer back another insult when he heard Caleb chuckle. He looked over at his son.

  Caleb shrugged. “Jason has shown me pictures of those kids, Dad. He’s kinda right.” Embarrassed, he returned to carving the pumpkin. In his lap, Mason’s brows were knitted together in concentration, as if he were the one wielding the knife.

  Travis loved hearing his children laughing, especially his sons. Avery was so much like Shannon, one fiery emotion after the next. Either furious, ecstatically happy, or laughing louder than any six-year-old should be able to laugh. His sons were more like him, quiet and reserved. Well, Mason was like him, had been ever since he was born. Happy to let his twin make all the noise. Caleb had been loud and animated, almost as much as Avery, until Shannon got sick. For months after she died, the only people the boy would speak to were his little brother and sister.

  Caleb noticed Travis staring at him. His laughter died instantly, but he offered his father a slow smile.

  Travis flinched as Dolan started barking. The dog bounded from his spot by Jason and rushed to the end of the driveway. A low growl emanated from where Dunkyn lay beside him.

  Jason laughed—snorted, actually, spewing beer out of his nose. He raked his forearm across his face, wiping away the spew. “Well, I’d heard about him, but I never would have believed it.”

  Travis followed his
friend’s line of sight down to where Dolan bounced up and down at the end of the driveway. His bark was ecstatic. The dog had never met a person he didn’t think wanted to pet him.

  A few yards away, running toward them, was the new vet. All six foot whatever of him, all lean muscle and sinew, clad in neon yellow running shoes with pink laces, purple-and-yellow running shorts, and an equally loud tank top. His blond bangs bounced as he slowed to a jog when he got closer to them.

  When the vet—what was his name? Dr. Ryan something. Oh, right. Wesley Ryan. When Dr. Wesley Ryan reached Dolan, who was near to a frenzy by this point, he stopped, knelt down, and began scratching the dog’s head. Travis could hear the warm inflection of the vet’s words to the dog but couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  Travis leaned forward, whether to hear what the man said or to get a better look, he wasn’t certain. At that exact moment, the vet looked up, and their eyes met.

  Wesley Ryan’s eyes widened with recognition, and he stood up quickly. He raised his hand in greeting and opened his mouth. Then, without saying anything, he closed it and took off jogging again. Within a few feet, the vet was running down Airport Road like the devil was chasing him.

  Travis stared after him. His heart was beating hard in his chest.

  Just a reaction to Dolan’s fucking barking.

  He felt Shannon whisper something in his ear.

  He was going crazy.

  Jason laughed, able to do so without wasting beer this time. “I’d heard the new vet was a fag, but wow! I’m surprised there’s not a trail of glitter behind that one.”

  “Uncle Jason!” Caleb’s voice was unusually loud and sharp. “You can never say that word. That’s as bad as the other one you said.”

  Jason recoiled at the rebuke, not used to Caleb ever raising his voice. “Sorry, Caleb. I didn’t mean anything bad by it.”

  Caleb’s words didn’t soften. “Well, don’t say it. There’s a kid at school who gets called that. I can see how much it hurts him. You shouldn’t….” His voice trailed off, distracted. His brows knitted in confusion, and then his gaze flitted up to Travis, concern etched across his face. “Dad, you’re bleeding.”

  “Huh?” Travis glanced down, almost expecting to see a bullet hole in his chest like they show in the movies. Stupid, but that’s how the kid’s voice had sounded. No gaping bullet wounds. The blood was coming from his closed right fist. He’d been gripping the knife blade so tightly, he hadn’t even felt it cutting into his palm. He looked from his bleeding hand to the silhouette of the vet disappearing in the growing dusk.

  Chapter Six

  AFTER KICKING off the fluorescent yellow tennis shoes, Wesley stepped through his front door and glared down at the offending footwear. Pink? I just had to go with pink laces. Thought I was so cute!

  He wasn’t sure what made him angrier—being stupid enough to wear such outlandish clothes in El Dorado or being embarrassed about it. His ex had always given him a hard time about dressing too gay. Whatever that meant. Well, he supposed he knew exactly what it meant now. While Kansas City wasn’t the most liberal place to live, it had nothing on a small country town. What exactly was he trying to prove?

  Walking down the hallway, he had to pause to pull the equally garish compression shorts over his legs. Once in his bedroom, he tossed them in the corner of his closet, promptly followed by the tank top. He caught his reflection in the full-length mirror, naked except for the white ankle socks. I should have jogged like this. Wouldn’t have been any worse.

  Why had he run exactly? Travis Bennett had looked surprised to see him. There hadn’t been any hostility or judgment there. Not that Wesley had stayed long enough to find out.

  One minute he’d paused to pet the cute, hyperactive corgi, and the next thing he knew he was looking up at the burly red bear of a man he’d not been able to get out of his head. Dammit! He had to quit thinking about the guy like that. That was part of the reason he’d come to El Dorado Springs—to be man-free. No romance. No relationship drama. No sex. Just a chance to start over, get a year or so of private practice under his belt. Time to heal. Time to focus on himself, on Wesley Ryan, on who he was without a man to distract him. At least he was lusting after someone who wasn’t an option, not in the slightest, as evidenced by the kids he’d seen in the background.

  Why had he run? Sure, maybe he’d had a wide assortment of lustful thoughts in which Mr. Bennett might have had a starring role, but they were just that. Nothing more than fantasies. The man wouldn’t have been able to read his thoughts.

  Why had he run? He let out a frustrated growl as he admitted it to himself. An actual growl. Him. Growling.

  He was embarrassed to be so damn queer that he’d gone jogging looking like a one-man gay pride parade.

  Embarrassed to be gay.

  Oh. Hell, no. His feet made slapping sounds as he strode back down the hardwood hallway and threw open the front door. Bending down, he scooped up his running shoes. He would not hide who he was. He wasn’t going to tone it down a bit. He hadn’t done it for Todd, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to do it for the random people of El Dorado.

  Not that they’d asked him to.

  Well, good! They’d better not. He was here. He was queer. They’d better get used to it! He had nothing to hide.

  Wesley nodded emphatically, agreeing with the thoughts in his head. The evening breeze blew over his porch, chilling him.

  He let out a yelp, backed up, and swung the door shut.

  Good thing he didn’t have anything to hide, since the only part of him covered was his feet. He slammed his back into the door and slid down onto the floor. What if someone had seen him? What if they called the cops, if he got a ticket for indecent exposure? Panic began to well up, and then laughter broke through.

  Wesley Ryan, thirty-five, with his doctorate degree in veterinary medicine, with his fancy clothes and sports car, sat naked, long legs spread on the floor, and laughed. Laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks. Thank God there weren’t many neighbors around his grandparents’ old house.

  As quickly as the laughter had erupted, it faded away. He was embarrassed about being gay. Ashamed. But the source of the shame floated before his eyes, adding a wash of rage.

  John Wallace.

  He hadn’t been ashamed of being gay or hidden it since he’d come out in high school. Never. Until two nights ago.

  He’d replayed the events of the day over and over in his mind. When he was able to look at the situation in a completely objective manner, which took considerable effort, Wesley thought he might have overreacted. He’d never been in any real danger. Not really. The man had threatened to make him bleed if he told anyone about it, but nothing more. It had been an empty threat. Wesley hadn’t really told the man no. He’d frozen. He’d just stood there, that gross dick slapping against his thigh. He’d not moved a muscle… until he did.

  Where had that come from? He’d never been physically aggressive with anyone, not in his entire life—no playground fights, no drunken brawls at the bars, and never with Todd, not even when it had ended.

  He’d nearly choked a man. He could have killed him. The first time he’d thought that, it seemed overly dramatic, but it wasn’t. He could have. He was pretty sure he’d wanted to. But why? He should have said no, turned, and walked out the damned door.

  The stupidest thing was that he’d gone in the man’s house at all.

  Something about the memory bothered him, though. He couldn’t name it, couldn’t say why, but every time he put himself back into that memory, when he didn’t bother to attempt objectivity, fear seeped into him, as fresh at it had been in the moment. Every synapse in his brain, every fiber of his body screamed, “Danger!”

  So what did that all mean? Why was he suddenly embarrassed about being gay? What did that say about him?

  From the bedroom, the buzzing of his cell phone broke through his thoughts, freeing him.

  After another buzz, Wesley pushed himself
off of the floor, his body feeling unusually stiff.

  By the time he made it back into his bedroom and realized his phone was on the closet floor, tangled in the purple and yellow spandex, the ringing had stopped. He peered at the screen. His mother.

  Good timing as ever. He started to call her back, then paused. He was not going to call her while he was naked. No reason to add more weirdness to the situation.

  He threw on his sweatpants and a T-shirt. Both navy blue. See, I can butch it up, thank you very much. He left his bedroom, walked through the kitchen to get a glass of water, and went to the small office his grandmother had used to pay bills. He flicked on the desk lamp, and soft yellow light filled the room. Wesley leaned back in the chair, taking a moment to settle in before he called his mother back. He loved the small house. Always had. It needed updating. It screamed sixties, and not in a good way. He’d spent many evenings planning what he’d do to improve the place while keeping the spirit of his grandparents. The past day or so, that seemed pointless. His days in El Do truly were limited. Even changing the color of his shoelaces wouldn’t fix all that was wrong.

  A long sigh escaped, leaving him feeling gloomy. At the press of a button, the cell phone lit up. With a swipe over the missed call, he held the phone up to his ear.

  It didn’t even make it to the second ring. “Darling! You called back! How are you, dear?” His mother’s smooth alto voice seemed to fill the room through the earpiece, instantly chasing away some of the sadness.

  “Hi, Mom. I just got in from a run. How are you?”

  She didn’t miss a beat. “What’s wrong, Wesley?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, Mom.”

  Her tone turned sharp, protective. “Don’t you give me that. I know when something is wrong with one of my boys. What is it? Are people giving you a hard time? I told you once you were there for more than just a visit with your grandparents, you’d see what that town was really like. Why I couldn’t get away soon enough. I am so angry at Mom and Dad for leaving that house to you. What did they expect to happen? Why don’t you just come back—”