by Lynda Aicher
“How’s the brand?” He’d emailed care instructions and received a short thanks.
His frown lifted, hesitation filtering into his eyes. He wet his lips, and Ash dared to hope. Then his lip cocked up, the smirk sinking the last of Ash’s dreams.
“Did you have to write your whole name?” He winked. “ ‘Ash’ would’ve been fine.”
His heart hardened before it broke any further. “You call me ‘Asher.’ ” The cold leaked into his voice, and he almost bailed. The hurt dug beneath his walls and laughed at his ideals. Was this worth it? Was he?
Sawyer looked away, chin lifting as he stared down the street. A car passed on the road, time shifting by when Ash wanted it to stop, to go back to the other night when he’d held Sawyer tight and poured his love into him. Could he have changed the outcome then? Taken a different path that didn’t have Sawyer sprinting from everything Ash offered?
From what Sawyer wanted but was afraid to have?
“I have to go home.” Sawyer was dropping the act—finally. The tightness around his words said something, though Asher couldn’t define it. “This was only a summer gig.”
“I know.” They’d both known the entire summer. “It doesn’t have to be final, though. There are planes and phones and—”
“Stop,” Sawyer snapped. He squeezed his eyes closed, pain flashing on his face before he covered his mouth and wiped it away. A gentle defeat remained behind when he shook his head. “I can’t. Okay?” He opened his eyes to stare at Ash, so much communicated without words—like always.
And Ash listened. Heard the pain and fear, the longing and doubts. The years of habits he understood. His own roots were cemented into this very driveway and were slowly suffocating him. He was dying inside, and he’d had no understanding of that until Sawyer had shown him what it was like to fully live.
“Will you help me with something?” He marveled at the level tone of his voice and the steady sweep of his hand when he motioned to the house. “Then you can hit the road.” Sawyer’s obligation to Kick had ended with his last run down the White Salmon River that morning. And by the looks of it, his SUV was packed and ready to go.
He could’ve left for home without coming back to Portland, but he hadn’t. Ash was listening to that too—but was he interpreting it correctly?
Sawyer’s study of him dragged on. A line of sweat slithered down Ash’s back, doubts creeping in to shake his resolve. What am I doing?
“With what?” Sawyer shoved his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts. Suspicion wrinkled his brow, tinged his voice. “I need to hit the road soon.”
He would go no matter what Ash did or said. Exposing Sawyer to his parents, and hoping against everything that their love for their son was larger than their faith, was crazy. He didn’t need to open himself up that way.
And if Ash ran now, he might never make it back to this point.
“Asher.”
His mother’s voice sped through the air to nail him in the heart. He spun around, breath held to see her standing in the open doorway of their little Craftsman. Her scowl yanked him back to his childhood, the reprimand in her tone familiar and comforting for the love it carried. Was it unconditional, though?
“What are you doing out here?” She shielded her eyes against the sun, her apron stretching over her front. “Who’s that with you?”
Panic seized his voice for a moment before he pushed through it. “Hey, Mom.” He motioned back to Sawyer, a glance catching the fear before Sawyer locked it behind a stony glare. “This is Sawyer, my—”
“Sorry, ma’am,” Sawyer called over him. He flashed a charming smile, voice filled with warmth and manners. “I didn’t mean to keep him. I was just leaving.”
Ash froze at the coldness that’d settled into Sawyer’s eyes. He opened his mouth to say more, but the words he’d longed to say would not come out. He’d lost the courage that’d brought him to this point.
“You’re welcome to come inside,” his mother offered. “It’s hot out here.”
“Thank you.” Sawyer’s smile was strained now, but it was doubtful his mother would be able to tell. “But I have to get going.” He looked directly at Ash when he spoke next, voice lowered. “I’m not worth it.”
He was striding to his car before Ash processed the words. Then he was running to catch up, his mother forgotten in his desperation to reach him. He caught the car door before Sawyer could slam it shut, breath gusting out around the fear and love confusing everything.
“You are,” he insisted. “Don’t you get that? You are more than worth it.”
Sawyer’s head was shaking before he finished. “No.” Sadness underlined the firmness. “That,” he said, pointing at the house, “is precious. I’m…I can’t…No.” His hard, impenetrable glare fell back into place. “Don’t give that up for me.” His voice cracked.
“I’m not,” Ash insisted. He gripped the edge of the door so tightly his fingers ached. “I’m being myself. Showing them who I am and trusting in their love. Can’t you do the same for me?”
There it was, laid out and covering everything he longed for. What he wanted to believe, even if he’d doubted it before.
Sawyer stared straight ahead, hands holding the steering wheel in a vice grip that turned his knuckles white. “I can’t give you what you want.”
“But you already have.” Sawyer either couldn’t see that or refused to believe it. “You trust me with your pain and I’ve never abused that. How is this different?”
The slow turn of his head was calculated, warnings flying at Ash before he spoke. “One.” He pointed at the house. “This right here is a dick move. It’s a huge presumption you didn’t even discuss with me. Second, tell me how branding your name onto my dick wasn’t overstepping your bounds?”
Ash cringed, the digs striking hard. “You could’ve said no.”
“You’re right. I could’ve. I am. You said you’d listen, so hear me now. Stop.”
The word destroyed the last of his hope and smacked him back a step. Stop. Nothing else could’ve gotten him to retreat so quickly. It dug a knife into his chest and brought a clean end to the scene.
Only this wasn’t a scene.
He swallowed, let his hand fall away from the door. A coldness swept in to center him as he analyzed his actions. He’d been willing to take a leap, only Sawyer wasn’t there with him. His risk wouldn’t get him a reward. Not this time. It’d get him nothing but more pain.
“All right.” He took another step back, logic sinking in to overrule the emotions that’d dared to break free. “Stay safe, Sawyer.”
He walked away, pride moving him forward. There was no point in fighting when Sawyer didn’t want his help. Didn’t need him. He should’ve seen this coming—had seen it. But he’d chosen to ignore the signs.
Sawyer’s car door slammed, his engine roaring to life before he pulled away from the curb. He tracked it all without turning around. There was no point.
His mother was still waiting at the door, her face impossible to read. He should say something, but what? That was my lover. I’m sorry. I love you. Nothing fit. He’d come here today determined to be himself and believe in his family, and now he had no idea what to trust or who he was.
Son. Brother. Friend. Geek. Gay. Sadist. Lover.
Did any of them mean more than the other?
He got in his truck and drove away. He couldn’t look at his mother, his guilt at leaving without a word eating away at him before he hit the corner. But he couldn’t be here.
And he couldn’t be with Sawyer, either.
Which left him back where he’d been before Sawyer had stepped in and changed everything. A man hiding behind an image and bound by constraints he feared he’d never break free of.
Chapter 26
Dust billowed around the car, his tires crunching over the path that rocked the SUV in the familiar bump and roll. Sawyer finally took a full breath, tension flowing from his shoulders and pooling at the base of
his spine. The jagged rock edges and sunburnt vista welcomed him like a good friend.
He’d made it home.
The sun hung low in the sky on its path to the western horizon, elongating the shadows and setting the cliffs ablaze. Damn he’d missed this. The open space and blinding blue skies. The endless views that proclaimed exactly how small he was in the world and how stunning nature could be.
He ran a hand through his hair and reached for his coffee that’d turned cold over two hours ago. He’d made the drive from Portland in a straight shot, with just one three-hour nap in a truck stop outside of Twin Falls, Idaho. His yawn stretched the limits of his jaw as he set his empty travel mug back in the cup holder.
The private road wove through his property. The twenty acres bordered government-owned recreational land, which meant his isolated spot would remain that way. His parents had been smart and strategic when they’d purchased this land, and their desire for an off-the-grid style of life had fed his love of nature and the outdoors.
It’d also led to their death.
He made the right turn onto the barely visible road on impulse more than plan. Blackbrush and creosote encroached on, and in some spots took over, the narrow lane and scraped the underside of his SUV as he drove over it. Any scratch marks on the paint could be buffed out if he cared enough to worry about them.
His brain had clicked off before he’d left the city of Portland and he’d stayed on autopilot the entire ride back home. Thinking hurt like hell, or maybe it was feeling that tore at his heart and hammered away at his skull. He hadn’t done much of either in years, and he remembered why now.
The path cleared a bend and he slowed. He sucked in a breath and forced himself to keep his foot on the gas pedal. The last fifty feet passed in a blur of memories and dried-up tears. An ache bloomed in his chest, and he released the trapped air in a gasp. Why am I here?
He shifted into Park and turned the engine off without thought. The quiet hit almost immediately, and emphasized the pounding of his heart. Sunlight shone over part of the area, the rest hidden within the shadows of the nearby cliffs.
Heat swelled into the cab and he lowered the windows. A slight breeze wafted in, the warm air heavy with sage. He inhaled automatically, sucking the welcomed scent down until he couldn’t hold any more. He’d missed it. All of it.
But a part of him had been glad to let it go, to forget the sorrow and discover a slice of peace—when he’d only wanted escape.
Asher floated into his thoughts, and he didn’t shut them down this time. He was long gone and there was little chance he’d ever see him again. Or that Asher would want to see him.
Fuck. He rubbed a hand over his face, his whiskers scraping his palm before he bolted from the car. The full force of the high-desert heat baked into his bones in another welcome. His sigh bled away more of the frustration and left him drained.
Every part of him hurt, from his head to his toes. He couldn’t even piss without wincing—or remembering.
More memories—more things to forget. Would they ever stop piling up?
He stepped around a clump of sagebrush, plucked a bloom from an end. He rubbed it between his fingers as he approached the charred remains of his family home. The crumbling, blackened brick of the fireplace was the only landmark that remained. Nature and time had washed away most of the debris. Scavengers took the rest. Rotted boards lay among rusted metal pipes and the determined desert vegetation that’d grown among the wreckage.
He held his fingers to his nose and let the ground sage replace the long-gone scent of ash and death. The wood structure had burned so quick and hot that very little had been salvageable. All of his mother’s handmade quilts and crafts along with the stacks of photo albums, his sisters’ favorite dolls, and his dad’s collection of books had all been lost. He hadn’t cared about any of his own belongings. It was his family’s things that’d meant so much.
The hours spent around that damn fireplace under his mom’s quilts when his dad had insisted it was enough to heat the house. The games played and books read for entertainment because they didn’t have a TV. Those memories were bitter now, coated with the overriding flames and smoke that still haunted him.
Could he have saved them if he’d been home? Would he have woken when the fire started and gotten his family out? Would it have been better if he’d died with them, the whole family taken at once? Those questions and more had chased him until he’d gone mad.
That was when he’d discovered the healing power of physical pain. It’d saved him in ways hours of therapy and well-intentioned friends hadn’t been able to.
He rubbed his thigh, thoughts migrating back to the first few years after Mick had taken him in. His dad’s best friend and companion in minimalist living, Mick and his dad had crafted more than one contraption together in their quest for renewable energy. It was one of those inventions that’d overloaded the electrical wires and started the house fire. A part of him always wondered if Mick’s kindness and patience with him was his way of absolving his own guilt.
The low bubble of the nearby creek brought its own wave of memories. He’d spent hours splashing and digging in the water, his two little sisters not far behind him. His sandals crunched over the rock as he walked around the perimeter of the remains. He forced himself to come here every year on the anniversary of the fire; otherwise he avoided it. He’d purposely built his own house on the far edge of the property where a large butte blocked his sight of this area.
He was two days early this time. Why had he come? Almost fifteen years later and he was still living in the past. His life revolved around not remembering when he’d never let himself forget.
When was long enough good enough? Would his penance ever end?
Only if he let it.
He closed his eyes and let the truth sink into the core of his pain. The old wounds bled freely now, coursing through him on a mellow path that encircled his heart. He’d kept everyone out, hoarded his suffering while blaming himself for living.
But he wasn’t really living. Surviving was very different from living. He’d known that for a while. The loneliness had been creeping in to suffocate him in his solitude. There were dozens of people he could’ve sought out, acquaintances and old friends who would’ve welcomed him if he’d only made the effort. But taking that first step had been terrifying.
Which is why he’d ended up in Oregon for the summer.
His attempt at baby-stepping his way back into life had failed miserably. Or been wildly successful, if he wanted to look at it that way. What were the chances that he’d connect so deeply with the first guy he let into his life? About the same as finding an ethical sadist who understood his need for pain and cared enough to worry about his safety even when Sawyer didn’t care himself.
When had that happened? And when had he started to care again?
He shut down his rambling thoughts and tried to simply be. He’d managed that for a long time. Existed in the moment with no concern for before or after. And when he’d forget how to do that, he sought out the pain. There was a quiet there too. Nothing could break through the pain. Not his aching heart or dark guilt. Not the loneliness or desperation.
Until Asher. He’d crashed through the surface pain and dug until he’d uncovered the source.
“Fuck!” he screamed into the silence, cried his anger, and got nothing in return. The curse echoed off the canyon walls and faded too quickly.
The hurt was growing now that Asher had freed it. It chased him whenever he let his shields down. Hounded him to what? Acknowledge it? Feed it? Let it go? He didn’t know, but it wouldn’t leave him alone.
Asher. It all came back to him. To his persistence and strength. His understanding and, fuck—his love. Why had he said those words? They’d uncovered a longing in Sawyer he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge and was too damn afraid to identify.
Loving anyone only brought pain. The kind he didn’t know if he could survive again. He’d barely survived the la
st time. What would he do if he let himself love Asher and then lost him too?
He stared at the wrecked space that had once been his whole world. Was it still? He’d spent almost as many years without his family as he had with them. He’d stayed on this land because he couldn’t get himself to leave, but it was slowly sucking his life away.
He turned to stare at the mountains in the distance. He couldn’t go on like this. Couldn’t keep living for four people who’d been dead for years. But how did he move on?
Asher had offered him a lifeline and he’d rejected it out of fear. He smoothed a hand over his dick and sucked in the flash of fire that shot through his groin. The blisters had receded to leave a series of dark red letters that formed Asher’s name. He savored the sting and pressed down harder when it started to fade.
The intensity was decreasing with each day it healed. Soon his name would be all that remained. That would eventually fade away too. Four to six weeks, then Asher would be completely gone.
The stab to his heart hit like a physical punch. He winced and breathed through the cramp until it lessened. He couldn’t go on like this, living in fear without living at all. Running from everyone while hiding in this valley.
He was thirty years old and his life stretched before him in an endless repetition of emptiness. Asher didn’t deserve the messed-up shit that was him. He also hadn’t deserved the cruel brush-off he’d given him back in Portland. Yet the thought of all Asher could’ve lost by coming out to his parents brought his fear raging back.
Family was too precious and too easily lost without deliberately shoving them away. He knew that all too well. And Asher had been willing to risk his family for him. Why? Sawyer couldn’t love him, not with the baggage he continued to carry and the guilt he refused to let go of. But how did he get rid of it?
“I love you, Mom and Dad.” His voice shook into the silence, throat aching with tears he wouldn’t let fall. “Lilly Pie and Molly Goat—” His voice cracked, and he coughed. “I miss you guys so much. I’m sorry…”