Irons and Works: The Complete Series

by E M Lindsey

  That punched another laugh out of Wyatt, though it was more subdued this time. “Absolutely. But right now, I don’t want to go ex-husband hunting. I want to go back to that shitty little house. I want to go online and find a new rental in the city, and I want to leave. Coming here was a mistake.”

  Mat hummed and didn’t let Wyatt go right away. “Was it?”

  Wyatt frowned. “You were there, you saw what happened.”

  “I did.” Mat touched Wyatt’s cheek, dragging his thumb to trace his lips. “But…isn’t it better to know?”

  He was right, of course, though it didn’t make Wyatt feel better. He sagged forward, resting his head against Mat’s collarbone and breathed out a long sigh. “I still want to leave. This place has nothing for me, and the longer we stay…”

  “Chéri,” Mat mimicked in a sweet voice with a terrible accent. He dragged his fingers through the back of Wyatt’s hair, “I’d never ask you to stay anywhere you don’t want to be. Let’s go get some sleep, and we’ll figure the rest out in the morning. Deal?”

  Wyatt murmured, nodding against Mat’s chest, and felt profoundly grateful he wasn’t alone.

  Mat knew the dinner at Wyatt’s parents’ was a disaster from the moment they crossed the threshold into the house. No one was openly hostile or cruel, but Mat had long-since learned to read looks, and it was obvious he was being judged. For what, he wasn’t sure yet. Maybe the head injury—and the fact that he couldn’t fill in certain gaps in Wyatt’s life like driving or reading street signs. Maybe it was the tattoos, or the fact that he didn’t have what most people considered a “respectable job”. Maybe it was the age difference.

  Chances were, it was a combination of all those things. The over-protective nature of Wyatt’s family would make all the things Wyatt liked about him something to use against him, and Mat was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. He wanted to see the contempt behind the polite smiles and careful handshakes, but he didn’t expect it to devolve so damn fast.

  He’d spent most of his time playing with play-dough and Legos in the back room where all the kids were hanging out. Mat didn’t really want kids of his own—he and Melissa had fought about that one more than once because he just never saw himself as a dad. He adored being the fun uncle to Jasmine and Maisy, and getting to know Molly had been the highlight of the last few months. But he’d never wanted that life for himself.

  Still, he liked the fact that the kids were simpler, more honest. Even if most of Wyatt’s nieces and nephews didn’t speak much English, they wore who they were right on the surface. They didn’t need hollow words and empty polite conversation to build a Lego tower and a clay princess. They just needed nimble fingers and a big grin.

  It was nice, until it wasn’t. Until Wyatt came stumbling into the doorway, his face pink with rage, his eyes wide and rolling frantically in his head. The tension in his voice set Mat on edge, and he carefully eased the little two-year-old off his lap and immediately took Wyatt into his arms.

  To say he was surprised by it all would have been a lie, but he couldn’t stop the anger knowing that his family had done this so soon after Wyatt had come home. Then to learn why—to learn that they’d welcomed his ex back into their home after everything the bastard had put Wyatt through—he’d never felt such anger toward a bunch of strangers before.

  Maybe it was better that his family openly rejected him. At least he knew he could take them at face-value. There was no placating, no false kindness. Just an open hostility toward Mat for not being the man they wanted him to be.

  Back at the house, Wyatt took something for his headache, then did a hotel search with Mat until he couldn’t stay awake any longer. Mat continued to look after Wyatt had dropped off, grateful for the braille display and audio on his lover’s laptop, and he managed to find a little rental house not too far from the doctor’s office.

  He took it upon himself to secure the reservation with his own card, then set up a car service to pick them up the next morning just after breakfast. It would give them enough time to wake up, to fuck—if either of them were really in the mood—then to have some breakfast and pack up. Hopefully it wouldn’t be enough time for Wyatt’s family to prepare a second wave and show up before they could get out.

  Mat would gladly fight by Wyatt’s side, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to see Wyatt in that much pain. He was madly and completely in love—even if he hadn’t said it aloud just yet—and he’d give any number of limbs to keep Wyatt from having to go through all this.

  His thoughts had no real peace, but knowing they could leave in the morning was enough to send Mat into a restless slumber, tucked tightly against Wyatt’s side.

  Mat woke the first morning in their new place to the smell of coffee and bacon. He let out a soft groan, his body deliciously sore from Wyatt’s unique way of thanking him the night before, and he luxuriated in the lingering smell of them in the sheets before dragging himself up.

  A quick stop in the bathroom to freshen up only took a couple of minutes, and he padded into the kitchen to find Wyatt at the stove fussing with a pan of eggs. He didn’t turn when Mat entered, but the side of his cheek lifted in his half-grin, and Mat couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around his lover and pressing his nose into the back of his neck.

  “Morning,” Mat mumbled, his voice hoarse from sleep.

  Wyatt laid one hand over Mat’s arms and squeezed. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Mm, once you let me,” Mat said, and punctuated his sentence with a tiny nip to the top of Wyatt’s shoulder. “You?”

  “Better than I thought I would,” Wyatt said. He carefully extracted himself from Mat’s arms, and his hands went in search of the cabinets, locating the mugs for the fresh coffee. “The doctor’s office called to tell me we’re good to go for Thursday.”

  Mat felt a strange pang of anxiety, though he knew the procedure was relatively harmless. Wyatt would be fine—best case scenario he regains some sight, worst case, he’d see no progress. Whatever happened, he would still be here, still with Mat, still safe and alive. It was all that mattered, and it wasn’t worth telling Wyatt about his anxieties.

  “Day after tomorrow? That’s sooner than before, right?” Mat asked as he poured them both coffee, then fetched the cream from the fridge.

  “Mm,” Wyatt said as he turned off the heat to their breakfast. He picked up the tongs and transferred the bacon onto a plate. “It’s good, though. I don’t want to be here any longer than I need to be. We’ll do a follow-up with the doctor, then he’ll send me to a specialist back in Denver.”

  Mat couldn’t help the vague relief in his gut at knowing they wouldn’t be stuck so close to Wyatt’s family and his ex for long. It disappointed him that it had all gone to shit. He wanted to see more of where Wyatt had grown up, wanted to know more about what had created the man he’d fallen for, but not at the expense of Wyatt’s stress and misery.

  “You’re quiet,” Wyatt said after putting the eggs and bacon on the table.

  “It’s nothing.” Mat joined him with the coffee and let their ankles knock together. “I just wish your family didn’t suck so much. It would have been nice to explore the city a little bit.”

  Wyatt chuckled softly as he curled his hands around the mug. “We can, of course. I’m not afraid to venture outside. I’ll have to be careful after the procedure, but we can still do things together. I was considering taking you to a club I used to go to when I was a young, reckless University student.”

  Mat’s cheeks flushed a bit, and he leaned into Wyatt. “Yeah? Your bad-boy phase?”

  Wyatt hummed, setting his mug down to drag his hand along the side of Mat’s face. “I think he’s still in here somewhere. If you want to find him.”

  Mat curled his hand into the front of Wyatt’s shirt and tugged him into a messy, searing-hot kiss. “Yes,” he murmured against the other man’s lips. “I want to know all the pieces of you, Wyatt.”

  Wyatt smiled and humm
ed contentedly before slowly pulling away. “You will, mon coeur. Et j’aimerais être une goutte de sang pour mieux connaître ton cœur.”

  Mat groaned, shaking his head and fighting the urge to reach for Wyatt again. “So mean. You owe me so many translations.”

  Wyatt chuckled quietly. “Maybe I will just teach you French, eh? Then you’ll know them all yourself.”

  “French, Braille, ASL. I barely have a grasp on English,” Mat said with a grin. He picked up his fork and dug into the food as another wave of uncertainty hit him. “I um…I don’t know if I can. I mean, I can retain some of it. But it’s harder for me now.”

  Wyatt’s brows dipped in a frown, and he reached out to lay his hand on Mat’s thigh. “You know I don’t have unrealistic expectations, Mateo. I…” he stopped, then took a breath and Mat saw the way his jaw clenched like he was holding back. Then he squeezed Mat’s thigh harder. “I love you. Exactly as you are—with whatever your limitations are.”

  Mat’s heart thudded against his ribs so hard, he was sure Wyatt could hear it. His ears rang a bit with shock, and he wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t hallucinated the entire thing. Then he forced himself to focus on the warmth of Wyatt’s hand which hadn’t left, even if Wyatt looked like he was about to burst out of his skin.

  It took Mat a second to realize Wyatt was waiting for him to react—to accept his love or reject it, and the longer he was silent, the more it looked like Mat didn’t feel the same way. “I’m sorry, I’m an idiot,” he said in a rush, turning to face Wyatt. He picked up Wyatt’s other hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “I love you.”

  All of the tension bled out of Wyatt, and he sagged forward, his hand going limp in Mat’s. “I wasn’t sure…it…we’ve only just gotten together. I know it’s a lot.”

  “We’ve known each other a while now,” Mat reminded him, shoving his chair over so their thighs pressed together. “It’s not outrageous to think that even those short hours we spent together were enough for me to fall head over heels.”

  Wyatt let out a wet laugh and gathered Mat as close as he could manage. “I didn’t think this could happen to me again. And it’s so…it’s so different to how it was with Ioan.”

  “I get that,” Mat said. He glanced around, his appetite gone, and his eyes locked on the sofa, which was surprisingly comfortable. “Come on, let’s take this somewhere else. This chair is digging into my ass and it’s already sore from last night.”

  Wyatt flushed, but he grinned and nodded, standing up and letting Mat lead the way into the living room. They collapsed against the sofa cushions, Wyatt’s smaller body fitting against him like it was always meant to be there, and Mat buried his nose in Wyatt’s soft hair and breathed in the scent of him.

  “I know you don’t like talking about your ex much,” Mat said in a tone he hoped conveyed that he was fine with whatever Wyatt wanted to tell him. Mat knew the feeling well—the idea of opening up all of his old wounds with Melissa was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. He would, of course, if Wyatt wanted to know. But it was never fun.

  “I don’t,” Wyatt confirmed. “But this past year, and the time I’ve been with you, has put a lot into perspective.” He took Mat’s hand, turning it palm up, and traced lines around his fingers. “I can’t say I didn’t love Ioan. I know I did, but it didn’t feel like this with him. I never felt…consumed. I never wanted to. I think deep down, I always knew that Ioan and I had an expiration date, but I never imagined it ending like that. I never imagined him using me like that.”

  Mat couldn’t help his wince, couldn’t help but draw Wyatt into a firmer embrace. “I hate that he hurt you the way he did.”

  “And I hate that the people who were supposed to love you abandoned you when you needed them the most. I hate that it drove you to think your life wasn’t worth living,” Wyatt said in return as he snuggled deeper into Mat’s arms.

  “For what it’s worth,” Mat said in a soft voice, slightly muffled by the way he’d pressed his face against Wyatt’s hair, “I haven’t felt like that in years.”

  “I know,” Wyatt breathed out. He brought Mat’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. “And for what it’s worth, Ioan’s betrayal helped me find the one place I finally feel at home. So, I suppose what we went through made us a little bit of the men who were ready to fall in love with each other, eh?”

  Mat laughed softly at the quiet, eh, that punctuated so many of Wyatt’s sentences. A little quirk, just slightly foreign to him, and he loved it so much. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.” He carefully turned Wyatt in his arms, putting both hands on his cheeks and stroked the skin there until Wyatt’s dancing eyes opened. He watched them, their movements sluggish as they often were in the morning. He caught a bit of light reflected from the window, the irises lit up gold with it, and his stomach squirmed with just how beautiful Wyatt was. “How do you say I love you in French?”

  Wyatt’s lip quirked up in a half smile. “Je t’aime.”

  “Je t’aime,” Mat repeated.

  “Do you know how to say it in sign language?” Wyatt asked.

  “I do.” Mat lifted Wyatt’s hand and spread his fingers flat. He curled his middle and ring finger in toward his palm, then squeezed gently. “Like that.”

  Wyatt tried it with his other hand, and Mat kissed his knuckles. “I love you in every language.”

  Mat breathed out a soft sigh, pressing their foreheads together, and he couldn’t help his smile. He didn’t respond, not aloud, but in that moment, he didn’t think he needed to.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mat dreamt about the hospital sometimes—of being stuck voiceless and mindless, everything around him just a constant stream of white noise. The sign language had pulled him out of it, even if his brain was too fucked to remember half of what he’d learned. It had given him an anchor, and it was those small things that eventually helped him drag himself out of the accident-induced hell. But in his dreams, he had nothing. In his dreams, his mind was screaming, but his mouth refused to make a sound.

  He’d wake up in a cold sweat, his throat burning with strain, his hands shaking. It didn’t happen often anymore, and not since he met Wyatt, but he knew they’d show up eventually. Someday, he’d have to face his family again, some day he might even have to face Melissa. The idea didn’t terrify him though. It hadn’t in years, not since James and Tony had given him a place and made him feel like he was home. Slowly, the others came into his periphery and the little family had taken him in and never let him go.

  Mat thought about that a lot more after returning to Colorado. Wyatt’s procedure had gone well. There had been some improvement in his vision, though the doctor was fairly certain Wyatt wouldn’t gain anything he considered usable sight. But he felt confident enough in telling Wyatt that the procedure did its job—the results looked promising and there was a strong chance Wyatt would retain what he had left of his vision. It was all Wyatt had hoped for, so the pair had celebrated at one of the clubs Wyatt had frequented during his younger days.

  Mat had even felt bold enough to drag him into the men’s room and suck him off in one of the stalls, Wyatt standing with his head pressed back against the metal door, his hand clamped over his mouth as Mat swallowed him down. Mat had been half-convinced they’d run into Ioan, but the pair managed to make it back to the airport and all the way to Denver without anything worse than a handful of phone calls from Wyatt’s brothers.

  The trip hadn’t gone the way Mat had anticipated it going, but he was hard pressed not to call it success either. When they got back, Mat spent more time over at Wyatt place, feeling strangely comforted in the little guest house more than he did in his own apartment.

  He’d once reveled in having space after Luke had moved out, but now it felt empty. It was strange going to bed on his own when he had Wyatt’s arms waiting to hold him, when warm lips wanted nothing more than to kiss his own. He was feeling really lucky, and that in itself was making him feel an
tsy.

  “Hey man,” came a voice from Mat’s right. He was just clearing up his stall after his last appointment and was half-lost in watching the ink in his water cup solidify.

  He turned to see Sage leaning against his stall door, holding a stack of papers. “So, a friend of mine gave me this,” he said, and he waved them in Mat’s direction, though he didn’t hand them over. “He said that he has severe dyslexia, so he had to take an altered driving test.”

  Mat blinked at him, then frowned. “Okay? Good for your friend?”

  Sage huffed a quiet laugh. “This is about you, asshole. There’s a caveat that says if you have a disability that prevents you from reading, but not from driving or comprehending road laws, you can have someone at the DMV read the test to you. You can get your license back. Dick.”

  Mat blinked, then stood up. “I…seriously?”

  Sage rolled his eyes. “Do you really think I would fuck with you about something like this?”

  And it was true, none of the guys would, but Sage especially. Not only did Sage’s PTSD affect his daily life, but he had spent years taking care of his twin brother’s, which manifested into a far more present affect in his life.

  “I was thinking you could call and make an appointment soon. I mean, if you need to brush up on shit, they have the website. But it hasn’t been that long, right?”

  Mat snorted. “Nah, old man. Not that long.”

  “You just need a copy of your paperwork from the doctor saying you have a reading disability, and you should be good to go.” Sage dropped the papers over the low wall into his own stall for safe keeping. “Call me and let me know when, yeah? I wouldn’t mind driving you.”

  Mat’s chest warmed. He was far closer to James than anyone else in the shop, with Tony a close second, so it was sometimes easy to forget that the twins loved him just as much. “Thanks.”

  Sage grinned at him. “No worries, m’dude. Also James invited us over for dinner this weekend. BBQ or some shit, which I hope he fucking means take out. It’s colder than Frosty’s ball sac out there.”