Dreamspinner Press Year Eight Greatest Hits

by Brandon Witt

  Avery, in full Elsa splendor, zoomed down the slide at breakneck speed, her red hair whipping behind her as she bellowed “Let It Go” at the top of her lungs. Avery caught Wesley’s grimace at her screeching high note. He quickly gave a poor whinny imitation, in an attempt to cover his expression.

  Standing up at the end of the slide, Avery placed both hands on her hips. “Wesley! That is a horse sound. You’re a reindeer!”

  “Oh, right.” Wesley opened his mouth, then stopped. “What sound do reindeer make?”

  Avery scrunched up her face as she considered.

  Mason hopped off the swing he’d been using. “Reindeer eat carrots.”

  “Right!” Avery pointed her finger at Wesley. “Sven, eat carrots!” She hopped off the end of the slide and began to run to climb back up the ladder before pausing to admonish him again. “But don’t eat Mason’s, I mean, Olaf’s nose. And, Mason, Olaf waddles. You need to waddle.”

  Obediently, Mason began waddling back and forth, more like a penguin impersonation than a brainless snowman, but it seemed to satisfy his sister, who nodded, then continued on her journey up the slide.

  A few more waddling steps brought Mason to Wesley’s side. He whispered in a barely audible voice, “I’m tired of that song, Wesley.”

  Wesley laughed but looked up to make sure Avery wasn’t overhearing. “Me too, buddy. Should we try to get her to switch to Cinderella?”

  Mason shook his head. “No. I don’t wanna be a mouse today.”

  God that kid was cute. So serious and sweet. “What do you wanna do?”

  He shrugged. “I dunno. Caleb said we could play Plants vs. Zombies tonight.”

  “Oh.” Wesley struggled to keep up. “On his school iPad?”

  Mason nodded, his eyes wide with excitement. “Yeah, we just got the double pea shooter and the one that breathes fire!”

  “Really? That’s awesome. You’ll have to show me.” Wesley had no idea what the kid was talking about.

  “Olaf!” Avery stood at the top of the slide, pointing down the steps. “Olaf!”

  Wesley leaned closer to the boy. “Mason, that’s you, buddy.”

  “Oh, right!” Mason turned and walked toward his sister. At her glare, he began a fast-paced waddle.

  Satisfied, Avery shook her long hair behind her like the movie star she was. “Olaf, Hans is trying to break into my ice castle. Come get rid of him!”

  Wesley looked up at her in confusion. “Am I Hans?”

  She rolled her eyes, looking much more like a sixteen-year-old than a first grader. “No, Wesley. You’re the reindeer, not Hans.” She motioned in irritation at whatever invisible villain was at the bottom of the ice castle disguised as a slide. “You just stay there and eat carrots!”

  “You got it, Avery. And hold on to the handle, sweetie. You’re really high up.”

  “I’m Elsa, not Avery!”

  “Oh, right. Elsa, would you please hold on to the handle?”

  Obediently she gripped the curved bar at the top of the slide, then turned back to bossing her snowman brother around.

  Forgotten for the moment, Wesley watched the twins play together. While he could see Travis in all three of the kids, he enjoyed watching Mason the most. The stocky little guy was basically Travis’s clone. At first, when he’d started spending more time with Travis’s kids, he thought Avery was rather a spoiled princess, and not in a good way. And she was, but when he took the time to really observe, Wesley noticed how she was constantly adjusting to Mason, just as he was to her. She was definitely the leader, but clearly loved her twin. She was also possibly a little more advanced than her brother in a few ways. She often stopped to help Mason tie his shoe or guide him to where missing puzzle pieces ought to be placed. Wesley’s brother Josh’s two oldest kids, Vanessa and Kaylee, fought like harpies. Of course they were teenagers, but they’d always been rather combative. While there were small arguments from time to time, Travis’s children genuinely seemed to love each other. It was almost strange. And watching Caleb parent the twins endeared him to Wesley. He was probably the greatest kid Wesley had ever met.

  Kids. The thought still terrified him. He was in this. He was in love with Travis, and he had fallen in love with all three of the kids. While the thought of the added responsibly of children made the relationship that much more daunting, it also made the risk of hurt so much worse. The breakup with Todd had nearly been more than he could handle. What if things didn’t work out with Travis? He wouldn’t lose just a boyfriend. He’d lose the kids and Wendy. He’d lose an entire family.

  Even the couple of times he’d spent with Shannon’s parents had made them begin to feel like family as well.

  It was too much, and it was too messy.

  Maybe that’s what was making it better than anything he’d ever experienced.

  It was why he really didn’t see any other option than buying Cheryl’s and why he didn’t want any other option. He wanted this to work. He needed this to work.

  It was going to work.

  After another twenty minutes of playing with the twins, which included a brief transition into The Lion King where the twins were Simba and Nala, and Wesley the dreaded Scar, Wesley and the kids walked back through the park. They paused at the spigots to drink the frigid, rusty spring water, then continued to Main Street and walked, rosy cheeked, in to The Crocheted Bunny.

  Though he hadn’t heard the voice in months and hadn’t thought of the man in nearly as long, Wesley felt like ice water had just been poured over him instead of stepping into the heated store.

  “Missy spent hours on this crap, and it came out looking like shit. She followed every damned direction.” A loud bang on a wooden surface reverberated up to the tin ceiling.

  Though Wendy’s voice was strained, Wesley could hear her effort to remain cordial. “Mr. Wallace, I’ve already said I’d give you a refund. I’m not sure what else you expect me to do.”

  There was another slam on the wooden counter. “I want the time Missy spent on this to be reimbursed.”

  In the racket, the two of them hadn’t heard Wesley and the twins enter the store. Forcing his voice to be calm, Wesley bent to whisper to Mason and Avery. “You guys go to the playroom; take Nutmeg with you if you want, okay? Everything is going to be fine. I’m just gonna help Mr. Wallace leave.”

  His small chest puffing up bravely, Mason nodded, grabbed Avery’s hand, and pulled her toward the opposite side of the store where Nutmeg’s little farm was hidden. For a moment, it looked like Avery was going to protest, but with another tug from her brother she turned and followed after him.

  Wesley was only a few feet from the counter when Wendy noticed him, her eyes widening in relief.

  Midyell, John Wallace turned to look over his shoulder, following Wendy’s gaze. When he recognized Wesley, his words trailed off.

  For a moment, Wesley couldn’t identify the expression that crossed over the pockmarked face. Whatever it was vanished before he could name it, anger filling the man’s features once more. “Well, if it isn’t the town faggot. Imagine seeing you out and about. I didn’t figure you went anywhere without Bennett’s cock up your ass.”

  Wendy’s face flared in anger. “You listen here—”

  Wesley rushed forward, that strange voice rising up within him as it had that night in the Wallace house. He reached for John’s neck once more but was able to force his hand back down before making contact this time. His whisper was low enough to be clear to Wendy and John, but not loud enough to carry over to the twins. “Now, you listen here, you fucker. There are kids in here right now. You’ll watch what you say, and you’ll also be careful of how you treat this lady.” The protectiveness that surged through him was surprising. He gave himself over to whatever the feeling was. “You need to leave. Now.”

  John cowered for a second and looked like he was going to comply, but only for a second. “You don’t have your boyfriend or his other fuck buddy like you did at the feedstore. What are
you gonna do, pussy?”

  Wesley took a step closer—somewhere in the back of his mind, his old self cringed and tried to get him to slow down. He pushed it away with barely any effort, letting that other voice in him take over. “Travis and Jason weren’t in your house that night either. And it wasn’t me who pissed on the floor.”

  John’s face darkened, and he glanced over at Wendy before glaring back at Wesley. “You shut the fuck up, faggot.” His words didn’t have the same conviction they’d had moments before.

  Wesley closed the space between them and looked down into the shorter man’s face. They were close enough he could smell John’s sour scent. “Get the fuck outta here, or I’ll tell everyone in town about that night.”

  John’s lower teeth bit into his lip, and he glared.

  “Try me.” To his own disbelief, Wesley wished John would. That he would try to do something to him right then and there.

  A second longer of glaring, maybe seeing the determination in Wesley’s eyes, and John shoved past Wesley and walked, stiff-backed, out the front door. He swung it open so it crashed into the wall and swayed on its hinges. From somewhere in the back of the store, Wesley heard Avery’s startled yelp.

  WESLEY REACHED for the carved name, then paused a hairsbreadth away. The edges of the S were slightly smoothed out over the marble.

  Shannon Avery Pope Bennett

  He let his hand fall. He couldn’t bring himself to touch her. It felt sacred. It felt like Travis.

  Hell, it felt like Shannon.

  He’d never met the woman, but it felt as if she was always there. He knew her as surely as if they were best friends—best friends in love with the same man.

  Wesley kneeled on the ground, the hard layer of snow crunching and instantly making the denim wet.

  He continued to stare at her name. Seeing it carved in a headstone seemed abstract. It didn’t really make sense. She was real enough to him that it felt peculiar to see her death spelled out before him. So irrefutable.

  There wasn’t a sense of loss. It would have been strange if there were, although he felt guilty that the sensation didn’t come. Her death had caused so much pain for the people he loved, for a man and children they both loved.

  Despite Travis’s assertion that he loved Wesley as much as Shannon, Wesley didn’t believe it. He believed Travis believed it, but that didn’t make it necessarily so. How could he? She was the mother of his children. She was his childhood sweetheart. They’d spent… how long together? How could Travis feel anything even remotely similar for him?

  How could he ever?

  I will never stop loving you, Wesley. Not ever. Even if you leave.

  A scraping noise caused Wesley to look up. Overhead, a squirrel scampered over one of the twisting branches of the old oak. Wesley squinted at the animal’s progress in the brightness of the dying sun. He watched until the little animal disappeared inside a crack in the trunk.

  When he returned his attention to the grave, it suddenly seemed like what it was—a grave, a marker of death. He was a mere six feet from Shannon’s bones. From what was left of Caleb, Avery, and Mason’s mother. Of Travis’s wife.

  Please don’t leave. I can’t lose you both.

  Would Travis love him if Shannon had lived?

  If Travis could choose, if he had to choose, would he bring Shannon back and let Wesley go?

  What was wrong with him? How could he ask such questions? How could he even allow himself to think such things?

  How selfish could he be?

  And, really, what difference did it make?

  Shannon was dead. Travis couldn’t bring her back.

  Wesley was here.

  He was second best. But he was alive, and he was here. And he loved Travis. And Travis thought he loved him.

  Even if you get out of this bed and leave, I will love you for the rest of my life.

  That wasn’t fair, was it?

  Travis did love him. Wesley knew it. He could feel it. He could see it.

  It wasn’t a competition for first or second place, or any place at all.

  Maybe it was even pathetic to question it. Travis had done more than prove that the love he claimed to feel was real. He’d chosen Wesley over his parents and his best friend, over what was easy and expected.

  Travis chose to love him.

  I will never stop loving you, Wesley. Not ever. Even if you leave.

  Wesley did believe him. He really did.

  And by God, he loved Travis back. Enough to stay in this town if need be. Enough to put up with whispered looks and being known as a faggot.

  Actually, that word was already losing its effect. Shame was leaving. The next person who called him that was going to find out Travis hadn’t fallen for some pathetic queen who was afraid to break a nail.

  Scarves, swishy walk, and fancy clothes or not, if one more person called him a faggot, he was gonna smash a tiara onto his head and show whoever it was that he wasn’t going to take it. He’d done it with that asshole Wallace just the other day. He’d do it again.

  His own laugh startled him as it broke through the icy silence of the graveyard. Wesley couldn’t suppress a grin as he addressed Shannon’s headstone. “You’re not gonna be the only one with a temper.”

  The past two years aside, he wasn’t a wimp. Goddamn fucking right, as Travis would say. Wesley Ryan was no wimp.

  He’d come to this town to get his life back under control. To be himself once more.

  And here he was–Wesley Ryan.

  He was a veterinarian, and a damn good one.

  He was over that douche bag of a cheating boyfriend.

  He was over taking shit from anybody.

  He was in love with Travis Bennett and his three kids.

  And he was secure enough to love a man who would always be in love with two people. At least he was going to be.

  Wesley reached out and touched Shannon’s name, feeling the love he saw in Travis’s eyes for his wife and feeling the love he saw in Travis’s eyes for him.

  “You must have been truly amazing to have someone love you as much as Travis does.” His eyes burned, but he refused to let the tears fall.

  He didn’t speak it out loud. It seemed both prideful and rather disrespectful to do so. He felt it, rather than thought it. Shannon had been amazing to inspire such love. What must that say about him that Travis now loved him as well?

  Wesley traced the S of Shannon’s name, knowing his finger mapped a pattern the man he loved had traveled countless times.

  “I will love your children with everything I have, Shannon. I will die for them if the need arises.” The tears were hot over his frozen cheeks. “I will love Travis for the rest of my life, and we will be a family. Your children and your husband will never be without love. Ever. I will believe that you will watch over us, that you approve of what you see.” His voice broke and caught in his throat.

  “Thank you for giving them to me. All of them. Thank you.”

  A cool breeze washed over him, chilling his tears.

  Though not clear, Wesley heard and understood.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  IT WAS the twenty-third of March, and Iris Linley closed up Rose Petal’s Place an hour early, just like she did on the twenty-third of every month. After choosing the best flowers from her stock, she made her way to the cemetery, the two bouquets resting on the passenger seat. Like she did every month, she parked her car outside the wrought iron gates that marked the cemetery entrance. True, there were gravel paths for cars between the rows of graves, but if Iris had her way, vehicles would be struck from the hallowed grounds.

  Trudging past the gates, her rubber boots crunching through the crusty layer of snow, Iris made her way through rows and rows of graves. Down one rolling hill, up another, and then down the second, stopping halfway. As always, she passed Vern’s grave without more than a second glance. She had waited until he died to move his burial plot. There was no way she was going to have him spend ete
rnity resting beside their boys, and one day, herself. He’d been a lousy father and an even worse husband. His constant philandering was the least of his flaws. Other than leaving their house quieter, the day he died had been one of the most freeing days of her life.

  The sun wouldn’t set for a couple more hours, but the day was already growing dark with heavy clouds rolling in. Probably meant more snow, but hopefully not ice. Iris pulled her thick yellow jacket tighter around her girth. She’d never been a small-boned, waifish thing, but after the boys, well, food was good. It helped her forget. Vern had chosen the bottle and women; both those were sins. Of course, he’d chosen those sins long before they lost the boys.

  Iris knew gluttony was a sin too, but, well, God had to give her something. He’d taken everything else.

  God forgive her thoughts. Please.

  She laid the bundle of lilies at Jack’s grave and an arrangement of baby’s breath and roses in front of Dean’s tombstone. No matter what other flowers she chose, Dean always got baby’s breath. He was her baby.

  Iris didn’t cry. It had been years since she’d cried by their graves. She couldn’t even remember their faces. She gotten rid of every photo in the house in a rage after… one of their funerals… she couldn’t remember which one. She remembered the fire in the backyard, and Vern screaming at her. Finally hitting her.

  Wasn’t that horrible? That had to make her a horrible mother. She couldn’t remember her children’s faces or voices or laughs. None of it. She was horrible.

  They came to her in her dreams, Dean more often than Jack. She would be able to see them at times, right after the dreams ended and she woke up. If she didn’t open her eyes right away, they would stay with her for a bit. She would remember them. But then they were gone.

  They’d died exactly three months apart, to the day. Jack had gotten into a fight in jail on the three-month anniversary of his little brother’s suicide. Iris knew it had been intentional. Though not by his own hands, Jack had killed himself as surely as Dean had.