Saddle Up

by A. M. Arthur

  “Nope. Cybercrimes connected him to those private messages. The lead detective called me less than an hour ago with the news.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve had in ages.” Reyes kissed him hard, overjoyed to know that Miles’s tormentor was finally off the streets and in a jail cell where he belonged. “What does that mean, though? What will happen to Dallas?”

  “There will be a hearing, obviously, but he could get up to a year in jail, depending on what the judge decides. And that doesn’t even include the filming me without consent thing, which is its own charge. I don’t remember all the big words the detective used, but Dallas will finally be punished.”

  “Yeah, he will. Did the detective find the full video?”

  Miles shook his head. “Not that he mentioned, but he’s still looking for the other guy in it, too. I just... He’s in jail. Finally.”

  Reyes cupped the back of Miles’s neck and tousled the thick curls of hair at his nape. “Yes, he is. I’m so proud of you for standing up for yourself, Miles. So fucking proud.”

  “Thank you. I’m proud of me, too. I know I’ll have to see him again in court, but I’m not afraid of him anymore. The bogeyman is gone.”

  Grateful for those words, Reyes tucked Miles close to his chest and simply breathed in his boyfriend. Cologne, sweat, grease, and sugar, and all of it wonderful. Unique to his man. Eventually, whatever was in the paper bag got cold and wet and soaked through Reyes’s shirt. Miles pulled out two bottles of sarsaparilla.

  “To celebrate,” Miles said. “I didn’t have anything alcoholic, and if I asked to borrow from Wes, he’d want to know why, and I needed to tell you the news first.”

  Reyes took the offered drink and twisted off the cap, honored that Miles had chosen him first, when Wes had witnessed the Dallas drama firsthand, too. “Then let’s celebrate. To a monster being behind bars where he belongs, and to you slaying the dragon with your own two hands.”

  “To me.” Miles laughed, then clinked the neck of his bottle to Reyes’s. “And to our Dallas-free future.”

  “Hear, hear.”

  After they ate, by silent agreement they shed clothes and slipped into Miles’s bed to make love. They took turns worshipping each other’s bodies. Miles spent long minutes exploring his tattoos, kissing his scars, and making Reyes feel treasured and adored with every brush of lips or touch of fingertips. Reyes turned the tables and found every erogenous zone he could and drove Miles nuts—navel, the back of his left shoulder, his neck, the crease where hip met leg, even the soles of his feet.

  They both came, and they stayed hard as they kept playing. Kept loving each other. Eventually, Miles reached for a condom and lube, and Reyes played more while he prepped his boyfriend. When he finally pushed inside, Miles released a soft, content sigh that sent ripples of love and protectiveness across Reyes’s skin.

  Mine.

  * * *

  Miles kept eye contact as much as possible while Reyes moved inside him, fueled by the love and desire in Reyes’s dark eyes. The naked passion on his face and the silent claim Reyes had tattooed onto Miles’s skin with his lips and tongue. Two nights ago, Reyes had asked Miles to physically claim him in the most intimate way possible.

  I want that, too.

  He squeezed Reyes’s hips, until he stopped moving, eyes asking a silent question. “I want you to take off the condom,” Miles said, surprised at how wrecked his voice was.

  Reyes simply peered down at him, a new kind of lust etching across his face. “Are you absolutely sure?”

  “Yes. I want this with you. When I’m with you, I feel whole and wonderful and clean. Please, my heart.”

  Reyes shuddered, then slowly withdrew. Peeled off the rubber and dumped it to the floor. He squeezed out more lube, and when he nudged his way back inside, Miles released a long, relieved sigh.

  This. This was right. Naked, with no more barriers between them. Exactly as they were always meant to be. And when Reyes came inside him, Miles nearly sobbed with the force of his love and joy. Reyes pushed two fingers in deep to keep his release there while he sucked Miles off.

  Every orgasm with Reyes was a gift, but this one was a revelation. It was everything Miles had always wanted with a partner, everything he’d ever needed. And he’d found it with a big, beautiful, scarred fireman-turned-cowboy. A cowboy who’d seen through the walls Miles had built around his bruised heart and coaxed him back out with patience and love.

  As they lay together, soaking in the afterglow, Miles traced small hearts on Reyes’s chest with a single fingertip. Tattooing his love and gratitude into Reyes’s skin the only way he could, while they kissed and touched and existed in this perfect moment for as long as humanly possible.

  * * *

  The next afternoon, Reyes was in his office doing paperwork—why hadn’t Mack warned him how much damned paperwork came with being head cowboy?—when Robin knocked and stuck his head in the door.

  “What’s up?” Reyes asked.

  “You’ve got a visitor,” Robin replied. “Says his name is Julio Santiago.”

  The world dropped out from beneath Reyes’s feet. Less than twenty-four hours after the most beautiful night of his life, his past had come crashing down on top of him, ready to destroy it all. He went cold all over and the English language escaped him for a moment, his thoughts racing out in Spanish.

  “Dude, you okay?” Robin took two steps inside. “Do you know this guy?”

  It took several tries for Reyes to kick-start his brain again. “Not personally.”

  “You want me to tell him you’re busy? You look like you’re about to blow chunks.”

  “No, I, uh...” The last thing in the world Reyes wanted to do was confront Julio Santiago, but Julio deserved to have his say. Reyes owed him that and more. “No, he can come in.”

  Robin didn’t seem convinced this was a good idea, but he left. Long, agonizing moments later, he returned with a tall, hulking figure behind him. Robin disappeared again, leaving a remnant of Reyes’s past filling the doorway.

  He hadn’t seen Julio since the trial, where Julio was sentenced to twenty years for second-degree murder. The judge had no sympathy for the extenuating circumstances around the murder, and Julio had only been given a public defender, because his family couldn’t afford a decent lawyer. Julio had been nineteen and skinny back then. Now he was nearly forty, bulked up, tatted up, and he had several scars on his face. A crook in his nose. And a scary intensity that made Reyes regret not asking Robin to stay.

  Reyes stood from his desk chair. “Julio.”

  “You were the only one,” Julio said in a gruff voice. “The only one Miguel didn’t name in his suicide note. Why?”

  “I don’t know.” Reyes’s stomach boiled over with acid as his worst mistake roared back into his carefully constructed present, ready to blow it all to pieces. He didn’t know for certain why Miguel hadn’t named him, but he could guess. “How long have you been out?”

  “Six months. Took me a while to track you down, plus I had daily meets with my parole officer for the first three months. Had to get a job and all that shit. Prove I changed.”

  Reyes scanned the guy’s clothes, searching for any telltale bulges, because he had no idea if Julio was here to exact another bout of revenge on his baby brother’s behalf, or simply to beat the shit out of him.

  “You scared, Reyes?” Julio asked. “Scared I came here to kill you, too?”

  “Yes.” Lying had never served him well in the past. “I have no idea why you’re here.”

  “To look you in the eye and call you out for what you did to my brother, cabron.”

  Reyes held Julio’s gaze, his insides shaky. He could defend himself, if necessary, but he didn’t know or trust this man. “I didn’t touch your brother that night.”

  “But you didn’t stop it, either. You stood there an
d watched.”

  “Yes. I was a sixteen-year-old idiot. And I was a coward, afraid if I tried to stop it, I’d take Miguel’s place.”

  Fury flashed in Julio’s eyes. “You don’t get to say his name.”

  “I’m sorry.” Reyes had been sorry every single day for the last twenty years of his life. Sick and undeserving of love for what he’d chosen not to do that night. Until Miles made him believe in love again, and in forgiveness. But there was no forgiving this.

  “Fuck you’re sorry. I don’t give a fuck.”

  “Then what do you want me to say?” Reyes asked. “I’ve never forgiven myself for what happened to your brother, or to you. That judge gave you a shitty deal, and I’m sorry for that.”

  Julio tilted his head a few degrees. “You ain’t mad I killed your boy?”

  “No. I jumped out of the gang a week after Miguel died. I didn’t want that life anymore. I was done ruining lives. Tried to be a better person.”

  “You became a fireman and got another kid killed.”

  Reyes flinched. “Yes, I did.”

  “And now you live on a ranch that likes queer people. How fucking ironic is that?”

  “Pretty ironic, considering I’m in a relationship with a man.”

  Julio’s eyebrows arched. “Yeah, sure you are. Your boyfriend know what you and your pals did to my brother?”

  “No.”

  “Guess that makes you some kind of coward, huh? At least I can say one thing for myself, and it’s that I’m no fucking coward. I faced the shit I did, and I paid for it.”

  Reyes steeled his spine, but Julio was right. He was a coward. He’d come to terms with Luke’s death in that warehouse, but he’d never told anyone about Miguel—not even Mack. He’d hidden that horrible secret from everyone he loved and who loved him back. “I am a coward.” Reyes came out from behind the desk and stood an arm’s reach from Julio. “I was a coward then, and I’m a coward now.”

  Julio sneered at him. “You want some kind of fucking medal for admitting it?”

  “No. Just telling you the truth. I was a coward that night, and it destroyed your life. I own that. I can’t change anything now, all I can do is own what I did.”

  “You want to own it? Start by admitting what you did. You tell this so-called boyfriend what you did. Tell any friends you might have. Let them judge you the way I was judged by my friends and family.”

  Reyes swallowed hard against the rush of acid in his stomach. “I will. And I do have a boyfriend. He’s amazing and kind, and I never wanted to break his heart with this secret, but you’re right. I need to own what I did, even if I lose him.”

  Julio grunted, as if surprised Reyes had agreed so quickly. Maybe he’d looked forward to beating Reyes into submission, maybe bruising him in a way that Reyes couldn’t explain except through more lies.

  “You do that,” Julio said. “I’ve said what I came here to say. Maybe you didn’t touch Miguel that night, but you didn’t help him. You helped kill my brother, and you can rot in hell.” He rattled off a few more choice words in Spanish, before turning to leave. “Oh, wait, one more thing.”

  Reyes saw the fist coming at his face, but he didn’t duck or try to protect himself. Bright, hot pain flared in the side of his mouth, and he crashed backward into his desk. Blood filled his mouth and dribbled down his chin. By the time Reyes got his senses back, Julio was gone.

  “Jesus!” Robin squatted in front of him, alarm all over his face. “Did that guy hit you? Want me to call the sheriff?”

  “No.” He spat a wad of blood to the floor, glad it was hard earth and easy to clean. “No, trust me, I deserved it.”

  Robin scowled, then reached for the box of tissues on the desk. Gave a few wadded ones to Reyes, who gently pressed it against his cut lip. “Honestly can’t say as I believe you’d ever say something to someone to make them hit you.”

  “I did some pretty shitty things when I was a teenager. Ran with a bad crowd. We hurt someone Julio loved, so yeah, I deserved it.”

  “You need help up?”

  “No, but do you mind fetching me some ice? Don’t want this to swell too bad and scare the guests.”

  Robin rolled his eyes at the forced joke, then left. Reyes used the desk to stand, his shoulder a little sore from crashing into it. No matter what he did to hide it, proof of Julio’s visit would be right there on Reyes’s face. He had no choice but to tell Miles the truth tonight. No choice but to accept how Miles reacted to this final admission.

  The truth that Reyes had watched his “friends” bully and torment fifteen-year-old Miguel Santiago for being queer. He’d watched them kidnap Miguel one night, and—sixteen and terrified he might be queer, too—Reyes had watched while they abused him for hours on end. And he’d said and done nothing. Not then, and not three days later, when Miguel committed suicide because of what they’d done.

  “I’m so sorry, Miguel,” Reyes whispered to the empty office. “So sorry.”

  The office didn’t answer back, but so much was said in its silence. No forgiveness. No reprieve. Only one inevitable outcome.

  “I’m so fucking sorry, Miles.” Grief bubbled up inside him, positive he was about to lose the best thing that had ever happened to him, and unsure if he’d survive the loss intact.

  Chapter Twenty

  Miles was in a great mood when he got home Friday night—not the ranch, not the cabin, just home. Despite Shawn calling out sick, he’d handled the kitchen with a little extra help from Emily and Annabelle, and they’d sold out of buffalo burgers before four o’clock. Every time someone teased him about putting together a cookbook of the saloon’s recipes, it seemed less and less like a dumb idea.

  Then again, Miles wasn’t sure he wanted to give away his secrets. He loved that the burger had a following and people visited Bentley just to try it. He’d even seen some fans rumbling online about contacting one of those food shows that featured different restaurants and their signature dishes. The talk delighted Miles, but he had no expectations of anything happening. You probably had to pay those shows to visit you, anyway, and while Miles had a small savings, thanks to a nice paycheck and no rent payments, he wasn’t going to buy publicity when the internet was already doing great things for them.

  Miles went inside with two slices of Vinegar pie to supplement dinner and paused just in the door. Instead of food smells, all he caught were the lightest wisps of Reyes’s deodorant and stale coffee from this morning’s pot. The living room lights were off, and only the light above Reyes’s bed was on.

  Curious, Miles stepped into the bedroom. Reyes sat on his bunk with his back to the wall, legs crossed, hands in his lap. No book, no phone, just waiting. It wasn’t until Miles spotted the bruised cut on Reyes’s mouth that his curiosity shifted into alarm. “What happened?” Miles put the pie on his bed, then sat next to Reyes. “Did a horse kick you?”

  Reyes shook his head no, dark eyes liquid and sad. “No. No, my past showed up today and gave me a well-deserved punch in the face.”

  “What does that mean?” He reached out, but Reyes flinched away from his touch, and that hurt. “Reyes?”

  A single tear slid down Reyes’s left cheek, and Miles’s alarm rose exponentially. “I told you I was in a gang when I was a teenager, and that I did some terrible things before deciding to change.”

  “Yes.” His belly squirmed. Was this that big thing about Reyes’s past that he’d been avoiding? Suddenly, Miles wasn’t sure he wanted to know, especially with the grief-stricken look on Reyes’s face. And the fact that he couldn’t seem to look Miles in the eye.

  “I never told you the exact thing that made me get out.”

  Miles shook his head. “You don’t have to tell me this. We’ve been perfectly happy until now without me knowing.”

  “We have been, but today showed me that I can’t hide from it forever.
The truth always has a way of coming out.”

  “Reyes, I love you. Nothing you’ve done in your past can change that.”

  “I wouldn’t put money on that bet.”

  Miles bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming in frustration and terror. As much as he wanted to know everything about Reyes, something deep inside was screaming at him to leave, to walk away from this truth, because it had the power to ruin everything. “If you’re going to say it, then say it,” Miles blurted, his voice a bit shrill from fear.

  Reyes closed his eyes briefly, and a second tear followed the first. “When you’re in a gang, it’s about loyalty and respect. You don’t narc, you don’t steal from each other, and you aren’t queer. For me the first two were easy, but...the third worried me, and I kept those feelings to myself. Telling anyone would end in a beating, probably broken bones. So I stayed quiet, even after the group started bullying this kid in the neighborhood named Miguel. He was fifteen, effeminate, quiet, and assumed to be queer, so we bullied and harassed him.”

  Miles’s heart clenched at the idea of Reyes bullying another kid. Sure, this was a lifetime ago, but it hurt to hear. And it also hurt knowing the story didn’t end there.

  “One night I get a call to meet the guys in this abandoned house we’d party at sometimes, so I figured it was alcohol and girls and shit. But when I got there...” Reyes wiped his nose. “They had Miguel there. He was naked and tied to an old trash can, and at first, they were just taking turns beating on him with sticks or their fists. Saying things and scaring the shit out of him. I kept watching, trying not to be sick, and hoping it stopped there.”

  Acid boiled in Miles’s stomach. “It didn’t?”

  “No. The guy in charge pulled a dildo out of his cargo shorts pocket, and they...used it to violate Miguel with just spit for lube.”

  The world grayed out briefly as blood rushed from Miles’s head. He was glad to be sitting, because he had to put his head between his knees until the spell passed. Horror stole over him—not only for this poor kid Miguel, but that Reyes could have possibly participated in something like that. In the beating, torture, and rape of a fellow teenager. His sweet, protective Reyes.