by E M Lindsey
“He’s waiting for me. I only have a moment. Our flight leaves in a few hours and we need to check in early,” he told her.
“Oh,” she said, her tone falling. “Do you want to come in?”
“Is dad here?” he asked, not taking a step even as she backed up and opened the door further.
“He’s at the hardware store with Declan so they can fix up the plank on the back porch that sticks out so you don’t…” She stopped.
“I think you know I won’t be coming back. But it’ll be good for them to fix it. The kids could trip.” He squeezed the harness tighter. “I know you heard what happened with Ioan.”
“I don’t know what got into that boy,” she started, so he held up a hand to quiet her.
“You would have known—all of you would have known—if you’d bothered to listen to me. You were too excited that a good looking, sighted man wanted to marry me. You didn’t stop to see his flaws—to consider he had any. Even after he did what he did at the school, you thought I was better off either under his care, or under yours. I have a doctorate, I’ve owned more than one home, I have a retirement plan, and an ex-husband, and a life. I’ve built a career from the ground up without hand-outs just like anyone else did, and yet you thought of them like tricks—like a trained circus dog.”
“Wyatt,” she chastised, but he shook his head.
“No, maman. No. Whether or not you want to admit it, those things drove me away. And there will come a time when you’re forced to face that reality—when I don’t come back and you want to wonder why—you’ll remember you already know. The fact that you allowed him back into this house—that you would imply my love of another man who doesn’t look the way you think he should somehow implies my guilt in what Ioan did…” His voice started to shake, and he forced himself to take a calming breath. “I love you, maman. You, the boys, dad. I love the kids and I love this house, but I was also drowning. I’m going home with Mat—to the house we bought together. If you ever want to visit for the holidays, you’ll all be welcome. But on our terms.”
“Wyatt,” she breathed again.
He reached out, taking her shoulder, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Tell dad I’m sorry I missed him.”
He turned on his heel after that, letting Apollo guide him to the car. He was shaking, ignoring her cry after him, and he gave Mat a nod, letting him know it was okay to go. He was glad he couldn’t see then—that he wouldn’t have to live with the image of her standing there, heart-broken and empty as they drove away. But he couldn’t be responsible for her feelings anymore. He couldn’t sacrifice his happiness, his hard-won independence, or the love of his life simply because she wanted him to.
It was time to start living for himself.
“You good, cowboy?” Mat asked after some time on the road.
Wyatt reached for his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Yes, mon âme. I’m absolutely perfect.”
Epilogue
Mat didn’t love flying, and the small as shit little jet they had to take from Denver to Tucson made his stomach twist. He had no idea how something so miniscule was going to handle air currents, and the turbulence proved him right.
They landed without too much struggle though, and he stared in awe at the way the heat wafted up in clear waves off the tarmac as the plane began to taxi. It didn’t pull up to the terminal, instead letting the passengers off at a stairway with a path that led to the airport doors, and he got his first taste of Arizona.
He was immediately hit with intense heat, and he gripped Wyatt’s arm in surprise. “Oof, what the fuck?” he demanded.
Wyatt laughed. “If you had bothered to tell me this surprise was going to take us to the South West, I would have warned you that May was not going to be spring-weather as you know it.”
“This must be what Satan’s asshole feels like on the inside,” Mat bitched as they made their way to the doors. It made sense why Wyatt had insisted on putting Apollo in the world’s most adorable boots now. The tarmac looked hot enough to bake cookies—and he briefly wondered if those memes he’d seen on Facebook were actually true.
“Are you going to spoil the rest of the surprise now?” Wyatt asked as they made their way into a lobby, both sighing with relief at a blast of AC.
Mat rolled his eyes as he squeezed Mat’s hand. “I’m sure you can guess by now. I mean, it’s not like I’d go to fucking Arizona for fun.”
“The view is nice,” Wyatt commented dryly.
“Smartass,” Mat retorted. He glanced around, eyes locking on a little arrow next to a symbol with a car on it, then quickly led the way to pick up the car he’d ordered online.
It wasn’t long before the pair of them were safely ensconced in the air conditioning, speeding down the road and following the GPS toward the freeway which would take them further east to the one place Mat had been thinking about since the night he’d broken down and Wyatt had managed to soothe him with the Old West, gun-fights, and the tragic death of Val Kilmer.
“Does it look like the movie?” Wyatt asked after they reached the open highway.
Mat hummed as he glanced at the wide expanse of brown dirt and dusty shrubs. The mountains in the distance looked like gentle rolling hills compared to the Rockies that surrounded their little town, but he couldn’t deny there was a sort of beauty to the terrain. “It’s weirdly greener than I expected it to be,” Mat told him. “I mean, no trees or anything, but the movie was a lot more barren.”
Wyatt hummed a bit, then smiled. “Another gain from no sight—reality can’t contradict my fantasy.”
Mat let out a startled laugh. “I mean…true. I wouldn’t want to live here, but I’d be happy to come visit again.” And maybe marry you here, in this place I never expected to mean anything to me at all, though he didn’t say that aloud. Not yet.
The drive was longer than he’d expected. It had taken him some time to find a place for them to stay, but he’d managed a room in Tombstone itself, right on the main street where—he was promised—they’d have first rate access to the afternoon gun fight. He’d hesitated at first, wondering how much Wyatt would actually benefit from it, but he knew this was something that meant a lot to his boyfriend. He wanted the entire experience—he wanted to show Wyatt that all of him, even the campy ridiculous parts of him, were the things he’d fallen madly in love with.
“Well?” Wyatt demanded once the car began to slow. “How is it?”
“I kind of don’t want to tell you,” Mat admitted, staring around at a modern, suburban neighborhood.
“I’m not expecting it to be the literal Old West,” Wyatt complained. “Humor me.”
Mat laughed. “Okay, there’s trees—which very obviously are not native plants—a lot of cactus, and the asshole in front of us is going nineteen in his fucking Prius and he’s got a Borg sticker on the back which tells you everything you need to know about his personality. But I can see the town ahead—the buildings. There’s a horse-drawn carriage there too.”
Wyatt perked up, eyes glittering as they danced, his hand on the door handle gripping tighter. “Plans to do that, eh?”
“We’re doing all of it, babe. Dinner at the Crystal Palace, carriage ride, we’re going to dress up like cowboys and have an old timey photo taken. I’m going to find the most ridiculous fucking T-shirt with Val Kilmer’s face on it and you’re going to wear that shit all the time when we get back.” Mat’s heart was in his throat, thumping, threatening to choke him with just how much he loved this man.
Wyatt bit his lip, trying to hold back his obviously overwhelmed emotions. “What first?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“Hotel,” Mat promised.
The parking lot was dirt, and the dust and heat were uncomfortable as he climbed out, but he didn’t hate it. Wyatt joined him as Mat dragged their suit cases out of the back seat, then the pair of them linked hands and Wyatt ordered Apollo forward with his soft, French command.
Check in was easy enough, and Mat managed
to secure the horseback riding tour which was the piece de resistance of their trip. It left first thing in the morning—stopping in the desert for a lunch, and Mat had prepared the staff for his plans. Big plans, plans that made him sick to his stomach because he knew he wanted this, but he couldn’t bring himself to be sure that Wyatt would. After all, he was still a disaster, and prone to being a mess.
They’d been living together for a winter and a spring. Going into summer, and it was far from perfect. Mat wasn’t always great about keeping his shit put away, and his moods got the better of him when he was in pain. And he forgot things, more than he remembered them on some days. And Wyatt was unbearably picky about everything, and he was quick to get angry—though always quick to forgive or apologize—he was a little immature at times, and sensitive about growing older, and he was working through old anxiety from his failed marriage.
But there was so much more than that. There was unending love, and there was the promise of a future so fucking much better than Mat could have ever imagined. And Mat was still getting used to being allowed to have this—being allowed to be himself in every single way—but he had come too far to let it go. So he was taking this risk, he was refusing to buckle under the pressure of expectation and fear. He brought Wyatt’s hand to his lips and kissed it as they approached the front desk.
“You ready for all this, cowboy?”
Wyatt laughed. “More than you know.”
“…boys, you need to put away those guns…”
Pop. POP POP POP!
Wyatt jumped, both startled and thrilled, clinging to Mat’s hand as the gunfire sounded off. He could smell the acrid scent of the blanks, feel the energy of the crowd near him, though he appreciated that, thanks to summer, it was almost dead. The actor’s voices barely carried, but all the same, it was something he never thought he’d get to experience.
There was dust under his feet, and in his nose, and under his nails. He was drenched in sweat and far too thirsty. He felt out of his element, and somehow also deep in it with Mat at his side and Apollo at his knee.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the gunfight at the OK Corral!”
There was scattered applause, but Wyatt didn’t register any of it as Mat turned him, a hand on his cheek, lips on his own. “Well, cowboy?”
Wyatt snorted. “Everything I dreamed and more. Tell me what’s next.”
“Next is food, because I’m starving, and I think I’ve sweated out the six bottles of water I drank on the walk over here. Then the evening carriage ride.” Mat tugged his hand, and Wyatt ordered Apollo forward.
“And then?” he pressed.
“Greedy today,” Mat teased. Wyatt could hear a faint murmur of a crowd at the saloon, and he felt a small thrill because for as much as the place had been done-up and re-built, this was authentic. A lot of it would be lost on Wyatt, the bullet holes too high for him to touch, the newspaper clippings behind glass in words Mat couldn’t read, but he had a feeling it would be enough just to be there.
“Well?” Wyatt demanded for the hundredth time since they’d arrived in the town. “How does it look?”
Mat laughed and leaned over to kiss him as they took their seat at the table. “It’s perfect. It’s exactly what it should be.” He cleared his throat and touched the menu, frustrated they didn’t have better accommodations, but he’d taken his own precautions and handed Wyatt an earbud so they could listen to the menu online.
“I’m gonna get me a sarsaparilla,” Mat said in his most James accent.
Wyatt snorted a laugh. “That was terrible.”
“All the same, you don’t want me whiskey drunk before tonight.” His voice dropped an octave, and Wyatt felt that right in his cock, which twitched against the zipper of his jeans. “You good, cowboy?”
“Not if you keep that up,” Wyatt warned him. Mat seemed to take the warning as serious enough, and he backed up with a slight chuckle, taking Wyatt’s hand in his and stroking his thumb over his knuckles. “Order for me,” Wyatt said after they’d finished. “I don’t even care. I’m exhausted, but more than that, I’m just happy to be here with you.”
Mat cleared his throat, and his voice was suspiciously thick when he said, “You got it. As long as you trust me.”
“With my life,” Wyatt said, and he had never meant something so much in his life.
Their room was full of camp and absurdity—themed like the jail complete with cuffs and iron bars. Mat tested their resolve that night as Wyatt gripped them while Mat fucked him so hard the floor creaked, and the pair of them collapsed in the bed after that, Mat feeling a wash of guilt when Apollo looked over at him with sleepy eyes.
“God, fucking in front of the dog is seriously giving me a complex,” Mat complained, pushing his sweaty face into Wyatt’s shoulder.
Wyatt hummed. “He doesn’t watch us at home.”
“Yeah, but here…” Mat sighed, rolling onto his back so the air from the little AC unit could cool him down. “I can live with it, but he looks so judgmental.”
Wyatt laughed, covering his face with one hand. “I don’t think he’s criticizing your technique, mon âme. We’re probably a nature video to him.”
“That’s even worse,” Mat complained, but he was grinning now, rolling onto his side to kiss Wyatt, though he kept their bodies apart because of the heat. Even at night, it was a little oppressive, and he wondered how people suffered through this.
“A high electric bill,” Wyatt had said earlier. “It’s why we’re here to visit, not stay.”
Mat didn’t mind, of course. He’d sacrifice every single one of his comforts to see the smile on Wyatt’s face when he got to don a cowboy hat and a gun holster for the photo. Mat half considered going drag for it—picking up one of the frilly dresses, but then Wyatt mentioned something about gay cowboys and all bets were off.
The image of Wyatt looking dusty and fierce was burned into his mind, making him harder than he expected—and that was definitely a fantasy he hadn’t considered before that moment. He’d been hard all through the carriage ride, barely able to focus on the person giving the tour, but it didn’t matter much.
Apollo got to ride on the seat with his head hanging out of the window, and Wyatt sat back with his eyes closed and the most beatific smile on his face that Mat would give his right arm to keep there forever. It was perfect, and it had taken all of Mat’s resolve not to drop to his knees right there in the carriage and fuck all his other plans.
“I’m falling asleep,” Wyatt murmured, and Mat turned his head to see the way Wyatt’s face had softened. “Do you mind?”
“Nope,” Mat said. “We have an early surprise tomorrow.” He kissed his temple, then linked their hands together, and drifted off.
“…the gunfight at the OK Corral!”
“Are you annoyed that I dragged you to this again?” Wyatt asked, but Mat wasn’t listening. He was looking over to the four men dressed in black dusters and big hats, and as he gave them the nod, they started over.
“Gentlemen,” slurred the one dressed as Doc Holliday. “It looks like we got ourselves a romance brewin’.”
Mat’s heart was thundering in his chest, and for one, single panicked moment, he wanted to turn back. Because what if Wyatt said no, what if he was content with the way things were?
Wyatt startled at the sound of the voice, reaching for Mat’s arm. “What…”
“You know there ain’t room in this town for two Wyatt’s,” the man dressed as Wyatt Earp said. The four of them chuckled, and Mat felt Wyatt’s hand increase in pressure, even as his mouth twitched into a grin.
“Mateo,” Wyatt muttered, “what did you do?” But Mat had no time to answer.
“I believed you dropped somethin’, sir,” Earp said. The box Mat had carefully handed over with a trust he offered to almost no man, sat in the middle of Earp’s palm. His fingers brushed Wyatt’s, who jumped, then took it. “For the record, we might be a bit unlucky in love, but you two look like you got a bright future
ahead of you. Thanks for comin’ down, boys. And good luck.” Mat knew that bit was meant for him, but his nerves made it impossible to answer.
There was probably no mistaking it—Wyatt had been married once, which meant he’d been proposed to once—or he’d done the proposing. Either way, it was obvious Wyatt knew what was happening the moment he curled his hand around the object.
Mat was shaking, but he still managed to sink to one knee. Rocks bit into his jeans, and there was a trail of fat, red ants a few inches away, but none of that mattered. He took Wyatt’s hand into his own. He was profoundly aware of his audience right then, but he didn’t care. Not when Wyatt’s eyes had gone wide behind his shades, when his hand trembled in Mat’s. “I um. I’m going to fuck this up, I know it. My words feel really wrong right now.”
“They sound fine,” Wyatt said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Mat wasn’t sure if that was the truth or not, but he didn’t much care, either. “I love you. I think I knew I would fall in love with you that first day you pulled me back from the ledge, and it terrified me. Hell, it still terrifies me. I didn’t think it was possible for me to feel this way about anything. But here we are.”
Wyatt let out a wet laugh, dragging his thumb over the box as he held it, his other hand squeezing Mat’s even tighter. “Mateo…”
“I’ll always love the way you say my name, and the way your brow twitches when you’re really pissed. I love the way the sun makes your grey hair look like strands of actual silver, and the way you’ve smiled more so your lines are deeper. Because it means you’re happy. It means I have actually managed to put my mark on you, even if it wasn’t with ink.”
Wyatt’s eyes fluttered closed, and he brought his hand to Mat’s cheek, cupping it. His thumb ran over his skin, then lower to trace his lips. “All of that is true.”
“You owe me about a dozen French translations, but I don’t need them, because I know what they all mean. And I mean them to. I’d be an idiot to squander this, so I’m hoping you’ll say yes.”