Irons and Works: The Complete Series

by E M Lindsey

  Mat set his coffee down, then took Wyatt’s free hand and pushed it into his hair. His injury had been behind the ear, almost around the back of his head. He had thick scars from the surgeries, and he could feel the bits of wire and mesh if he dug in hard enough. He felt Wyatt’s fingers prod at the area, and then Wyatt sucked in his breath.

  Mat couldn’t help his laugh. “Yep, right there.”

  “Will it ever come out?” Wyatt asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mat confessed. “I think that’s up to the doctor, but honestly it doesn’t bother me. I mean, I can feel it when it gets really cold which is weird as fuck, but I wear hats in the winter so it’s not as bad. Honestly, I think it’s kind of cool.”

  Wyatt snorted a laugh, shaking his head as he put his hand back in his lap. “I suppose a man with metal through his nipple would find it cool.”

  Mat felt a surge of insecurity—which were becoming less frequent the longer he and Wyatt were together, but still hit from time to time. “Is it gross?”

  Wyatt’s face fell and he reached for Mat’s hand. “No,” he said, then pressed Mat’s knuckles against his lips. “Of course not. I was joking.”

  Mat relaxed a fraction. “Sorry. I get weird about stuff sometimes.”

  “Don’t apologize. Sometimes I forget to be kind.”

  Huffing, Mat shook his head then laid it against Wyatt’s shoulder. “I’m just an idiot. I didn’t think I was ever going to fall in love again. Then you came along, and I guess I’m still figuring out what the hell to do with myself. But I like that you don’t treat me like I’m made of glass. The guys can get a little…you know.”

  Wyatt laughed. “Yes. I know.”

  “They mean well. I guess we’re all a bunch of idiots.” He closed his eyes and fought back a yawn, fatigue pulling at him. He’d gotten the all-clear from the neurologist—the headaches just a byproduct of the injury and not an indication that anything else was wrong, so he’d thrown himself back into work. Wyatt had given him two weeks to get ready for the trip, so Mat had booked as many appointments as he could manage so he’d have a cushion to travel on for however long it took to get Wyatt discharged from the doctor’s care.

  It meant late nights, then early mornings with Wyatt because Mat couldn’t get enough of him. The afternoons belonged to themselves, with Wyatt working and Mat filling in where he could either at the shop or helping Sage get the shelter up and running, and the late nights found them in each other’s arms, in each other’s bodies, climbing to heights of ecstasy Mat had never been able to dream of.

  He wouldn’t have traded it for the world, but he was losing his battle with exhaustion. At his third yawn, Wyatt laughed at him. “Go to sleep, Mateo. We have two hours before we board.”

  Mat sighed. “I ever tell you that you’re the only one who calls me that?”

  “Mateo?” Wyatt repeated.

  Mat shivered. “I like it. It’s…it’s my name, but it feels different coming from you.”

  Wyatt touched his cheek, then drew a line down his nose, making Mat’s eyes heavier. “I’ll wake you when it’s time. I’m going to do a little work, but you can rest your head here.”

  Mat snuggled in deeper, then let sleep take him.

  He roused a little while later with no idea how long he’d been out. His eyes peeled open, and they immediately fixed on Wyatt’s computer. He honestly loved the little device that Wyatt carried with him. It had no screen, just a braille keyboard and track pad, along with the port for his headphones. Wyatt had once showed Mat how he navigated Facebook with it, and it was amazing just how much information he had with absolutely no visuals.

  Right now, he was pretty sure Wyatt was working on a blog post. His main job—as far as Mat knew—was editing content for a publication before it went live. The braille at the bottom of the display was shifting and pulsing out of the little holes, but Wyatt’s hands were still which meant he was listening to audio.

  He reached out and dragged his finger across the display. ‘…and if we are able to gain that sort of funding, it’ll provide an avenue for young women…’

  The words stilled and Wyatt pulled his earbud out. “We still have an hour. Are you uncomfortable?”

  Mat covered his yawn, then moved to sit up, stretching his arms above him. “Nah, I’m good. I could eat though.”

  Wyatt hummed in consideration as he slipped his device back into his bag. “Come then, we can find something before I fill you full of Canadian carbs.”

  Mat laughed, his voice still sleep-rough and a little scratchy. The short nap had revitalized him more than he’d expected, and he had a rush of energy as he stood and cracked his back. Wyatt slipped his bag over his shoulder, then used his cane so he could hold Mat’s hand instead of his arm.

  Mat couldn’t deny the feeling was still a little alien to him—walking hand-in-hand with a man who was his boyfriend. He’d lived in a very protected bubble in Fairfield. It was only on rare occasions that anyone attempted even low-key homophobia in their sleepy little hipster town, and they were always visitors. Even the uppity middle-class white moms who were currently petitioning for Derek and Sage to move the location of their halfway house had some version of social progression.

  Now, though, being exposed to the public like this, Mat couldn’t help but see the side-eyes and the second glances. Most people looked right through them, and in a strange way, it almost felt worse than the open glares. His stomach was in a faint knot by the time they reached the little sports bar which was closest to their gate, and he realized he’d been gripping Wyatt’s hand in a crushing grasp.

  “Sorry,” he muttered as he led the way to the bar.

  Wyatt’s brow was dipped in a frown as he felt out for the chair. He didn’t say anything until they were seated, and his hands rested at the edge of the bar top. “Is it because we’re flying?”

  “No, uh,” Mat said, rubbing the back of his neck. He shifted in the stool, his knee pressing against Wyatt’s thigh, and the contact alone helped ease some of the anxiety. “People were staring.”

  Wyatt let out a tiny laugh. “People always stare at me. It comes with the blindness—the cane or a dog—it invites…investigation.”

  Mat shook his head, but the bartender interrupted to grab their orders. They each got a beer, and Mat ordered a plate of the fried app sampler which wasn’t going to do his stomach any good, but he wanted some comfort food. Wyatt didn’t complain, though Mat knew damn well the guy hated eating out, so he appreciated the concessions his boyfriend was giving him to make him comfortable.

  “It was us,” he finally said. “Holding hands. People were giving us looks. And I don’t care, because fuck them, I am proud of what we have. But it’s…”

  “New?” Wyatt offered.

  Mat sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m being a giant baby about this.”

  Wyatt reached for him, grabbing his hand to press a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “No. You held that secret for a long time, and you didn’t just come out. You burst out of your closet with a boyfriend and a confession to people you cared about. When I first came out,” Wyatt said, then laughed. “Actually, I didn’t care if people stared because I never knew they were doing it. But I could hear them, and it wasn’t easy. Even my family—they love me and accept me, but it’s all in spite of me. Not for who I am.”

  Mat winced. “Is it going to be weird with me being there?”

  “They’re…” Wyatt trailed off with a sigh. “I have a lot of brothers, and they’ll all want to see us—to meet you, mostly. I sent my brother a single email telling him I was coming back for treatment and bringing my boyfriend, and I’ve gotten twenty-six in response asking more about you.”

  “Oh, good,” Mat said dryly.

  Wyatt laughed again, then reached for the beer the bartender dropped off in front of him. After a long drink, he swiped his hand over his mouth and gave Mat a soothing smile. “They never once tried to make Ioan feel out of place—as a boyfriend or as a husband.
They’re very much family, even if they don’t necessarily agree with who I am.”

  “Okay,” Mat said with a faint smile. “I can deal with that.” He had a quick flash of trying to explain all this to his family and his stomach churned. His family loved to play respectability politics—they loved to show a progressive face just enough that people wouldn’t call them bigots, and whatever they said in private was their own business.

  Mat knew, though, if he tried to come out to them, it would be worse than when he told them he’d given up the medical field and decided to take up tattooing. There had been a barrage of phone calls and threats to show up and forcibly bring him home, but when they realized they couldn’t bully him anymore, it all stopped. They didn’t want to exert control, they wanted the power of the threat.

  Telling his family he was bisexual—that he was falling in love with a man—it would only start the cycle again. It would be a fucking miracle that brought him back there.

  The food showed up shortly after, and Mat felt a little calmer about it. He realized he truly didn’t care what strangers thought of him. Wyatt’s family was a different story, but he could hardly change the fact that he wanted Wyatt’s family to like him. Not just like him, but think he was a far better match than the shitty husband who had treated Wyatt like a scapegoat. Mat wanted them to take one look at him and know that he would never, ever be the sort of man capable of something like that.

  It was unrealistic, but all the same, he’d probably be uptight about it until the visit was over. Luckily, he had the flight to worry about, and he wasn’t the best flyer. Wyatt had his braille reader ready though, with The Hobbit pre-loaded to the page that Mat had been working on the week before. It kept him distracted for the first half of the flight, but the stress of being in the air wrecked his concentration.

  “I can’t,” he said, handing the reader back to Wyatt. “I’m feeling too anxious.”

  Wyatt’s brow dipped. “I don’t…I’m sorry. You said animal. I don’t know what you meant to say.”

  Mat’s temple throbbed and his stomach twisted the way it always did when he got a word wrong. His hand went up, absently tracing the textured feeling under his scalp and he sighed. “Sorry. Um. Nervous?” he offered. Not entirely right, but close enough.

  Wyatt reached for his hand and rubbed a thumb over his knuckles. “We’re almost there. We have a taxi to our hotel, then my doctor in the morning to run tests.”

  “Right,” Mat said, because he had made sure to memorize their itinerary before they arrived. “Then your brother’s picking us up?”

  “Declan,” Wyatt confirmed. He turned Mat’s hand over and traced the lines in his palm with the tip of his finger. “Darin may be with him, but only because he can’t ever mind his own business.”

  Mat laughed. He had a sister, and they hadn’t been close in years, but he did remember what it was like. Nothing like his relationship to the guys at the shop, but there was something to be said about growing up with someone in your house. An ally and an enemy all rolled into one. “And you’re the baby.”

  Wyatt groaned. “Trust me, it’s not a good thing.”

  Mat couldn’t help his laugh, nor could he help lean in and kiss his boyfriend. “I can’t wait to see this for myself.”

  They arrived two hours later, a safe but bumpy landing. Mat calmed down the moment they touched the ground and began to taxi, and by the time they began to file out of the plane, he was feeling much more like himself. Wyatt followed the GPS directions to the baggage claim since Mat realized with a laugh that even if the signs were half in English, he couldn’t read them.

  “Okay,” Wyatt said when he’d given directions to the taxi driver, “I’m going to call my brother and let him know we’re in safely and that he cannot come until tomorrow. Do not let me back down.”

  Mat snorted. “Will I be able to understand this conversation, or is it going to be in French?”

  Wyatt sighed. “Probably half. Declan speaks a lot of English since he moved to Nova Scotia. Just…read my tone, don’t let me be weak.”

  Mat took his hand and prepared himself, watching as Wyatt ordered his phone to dial his brother. There was a long pause as they waited, and then Wyatt began rapid French. There was no English at all, in fact, except when Wyatt reluctantly gave his brother Mat’s name. He was pretty sure he recognized the name of the hotel, and there was no mistaking his rapid waterfall of non over and over near the end of the conversation. But he seemed like he had it under control.

  Mat gave his hand a squeeze just to be sure, and Wyatt let out a small breath as he sagged back against the seat. A few seconds later, the call was over, and Mat leaned in to kiss the mottled pink of his boyfriend’s cheeks. “Was it bad?”

  “It was bad,” Wyatt confirmed, “but he’s not coming. However, they’ve planned something. He won’t tell me what, but prepare yourself to meet more family than you want to.”

  “I want to meet them all,” Mat insisted, a small lie, but he wanted Wyatt to stop being so apologetic for having a family who loved him, even if their love was a pain in the ass. “They’re not going to chase me away, you know.”

  Wyatt let out a small hum of contentment as he pulled Mat closer. “Savais-tu que j’étais un voleur? Et je vais voler ton cœur.”

  Mat groaned, even as he leaned in to nip at Wyatt’s earlobe. “What do I have to do to earn a translation for that one?”

  “Just don’t leave,” Wyatt said.

  There was a hint of playfulness in his tone, but a ring of truth to it, betraying the older man’s fear. Mat held him just a little closer and nosed at the shell of his ear. “I’m not going anywhere. At least, not without you. Promets,” he added, not quite sure if he had it right. But he was rewarded with a kiss, so he figured he was close enough.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Wyatt urged Mat to go and find a café, to explore around the city a little while he was stuck getting poked and prodded, failing his field vision tests again and again, having what little sight he had measured and marked. All of his prior testing had been done in Denver, and the doctor was pleased with the results of everything.

  “You’re an excellent candidate,” he told Wyatt when he was finished. “I’ve been happy with my results so far.”

  Wyatt nodded, leaning back in the chair as he fiddled with his cane to keep from rubbing at his eyes. “But no restoration of sight,” he said.

  The doctor let out a small sigh. “Two of my patients regained some vision, but still legally blind. This isn’t a cure. Not yet.”

  Wyatt almost laughed. “I wasn’t expecting it. I don’t regret my blindness, I just hope to keep what I do have.”

  “And that’s one of the reasons I’m glad to take you on as a patient,” he told Wyatt. “I hesitate in working with patients who have unrealistic expectations. It’s good to hope, but to expect a total reversal…?”

  It wouldn’t be the first or the last time Wyatt wondered what it would be like to see. To properly see. Would he take a cure like that? Wyatt had been getting that question from family, friends, and strangers most of his life, and his answer had always been the same, “No. I’m happy with who I am.”

  It was also a lie. Or at least, partially. He was happy with who he was. He was a good man—or at least he tried to be. He was a good partner, and a decent friend. He was intelligent and goal-oriented. Blindness neither contributed nor took away from any of those things. But to say he wouldn’t reach for something he previously thought impossible?

  The real answer was, he didn’t know. He couldn’t know. It was impossible when medical science couldn’t even begin to offer him the chance. But to retain what he had—to gain a little back of what he’d lost the last year? He didn’t feel like a fool hoping this procedure could give him that much at least.

  “I’ll get everything prepared and have you back sometime next week,” the doctor told him. “Then we’ll be checking your results over the next few weeks, and I’ll arrange for your fo
llow-up when you return to the States.”

  “Thank you,” Wyatt said as he rose, extending his hand to the doctor. They shook, then the older man guided him to the front lobby where he could hear Mat talking away to Declan. Wyatt smiled to himself, feeling a rush of affection knowing that Mat was with him—that in spite of their short time together, Mat had given him far more than Ioan had in the last years of their marriage.

  Part of him felt guilty—felt like it was unfair how often he compared Mat to Ioan, but it was all he had. Wyatt’s relationships prior to falling in love and getting married had been short and superficial. And he’d liked it that way, once upon a time. But Ioan had given him a taste of something he hadn’t realized he’d wanted so badly, and now he didn’t want to live without it.

  “So, you’re due back next week after the doctor processes the results and books you a time for the treatment. I’m going to give you a list of care instructions and what to do in the days leading up to the procedure,” the receptionist said.

  A piece of paper touched the edge of Wyatt’s hand, and he ran his fingers over it. “Can you send this to me in an email, or do you have a copy in braille?” he asked a little tersely.

  “I…sorry sir. I didn’t think. Let me just…”

  “It’s fine,” Declan said, startling Wyatt. He felt his brother’s hand reach out to swipe the paper from him, and Wyatt bristled. “I can read it to him.”

  “I’d like an electronic copy,” Wyatt insisted. He took a breath when he felt Mat step up close to him, when the familiar scent of his cologne flooded his nostrils, allowing some of the tension to bleed out of him. “I can read it myself that way.”

  “Your boyfriend could do it too,” Declan pointed out, and Wyatt felt Mat stiffen, heard him let out a strangled noise. They hadn’t told any of Wyatt’s family about Mat’s condition yet—it would be just one more thing his family would use to smother him, and he didn’t have the energy for it.

  Wyatt gritted his teeth and breathed out through his nose. “If I wanted you to decide for me, I would have told you that in the first place.” He turned to face the receptionist and said in French, “My email is on file. If you could please send me an electronic copy, my screen reader will do just fine.”