by Peter Styles
My body was jostled against the table with each pound he gave, my toes curling against the linoleum floor, knocking into the nearby chairs. I loved Oliver’s bashfulness, his inexperience and being able to teach him things, but this was my favorite: this rough and needy kind of sex. He was a natural at it, all of it like instinct, the need to get off.
I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer, and by the winded sound of his breathing, neither would Oliver.
My noises pitched higher, shorter with each of his thrusts, cock filling me till there was nothing left to get in, digging hard against my prostate until, finally, with a burst of white and a tingling in my hands, I came hard, splattered on the floor and leaking from my spent erection. He kept at it, plunging deeply into me, and I wanted to do something for him, but the aftershocks were too sweet, my muscles too worn for me to do much of anything but let him use me. Oliver found his own orgasm soon after, pressed deep into me, chest against my back, warm and damp from the heat in the kitchen, hunching his hips and grunting as he filled me.
I breathed in; he smelled like sweat and sunshine and dirt and hard work and, now, sex, too. It was perfect.
“Oliver,” I groaned, for a minute unburdened and happy as he pressed his lips to my shoulder, my back, pulling out of me slowly. He was an attentive lover, careful with me afterwards. I liked that about him.
We cleaned ourselves up slowly and without much talking. It became abundantly clear by the tough, thoughtful look on his face that as nice as our sex had been, he was still thinking about something.
“Is it about what you said before?” I asked, cleaning my cum from beneath the table, because that would really be a gross surprise for whoever sat there the next day.
Oliver crossed his arms and watched me. “I know you know some of it, what with all of the….” He paused, signed. “The trial. The prison thing. But there was more to it. My whole life—I’ve been through shit, Quinn. A lot of shit.”
“Okay?” What was he getting at?
“I could be more than just a fucktoy, you know.” Oliver looked away, and there it was: his gruff bashfulness. “If you’d let me.”
I wadded up my paper towel, tossed it in the trash, trying to think of what to say. More than a fucktoy. It sounded… nice. Scary, but nice. I’d only ever screwed around, hooked up and stolen kisses. There had never been a real relationship, something lasting, let alone with someone I cared about so much.
And that was the thing. Looking at him, I knew I did care about him.
“I know that.” My voice came quietly as I set my head against his chest, cheek to his heartbeat. Oliver’s arm came around me and held me there, welcomed me to his side.
It could be like this all the time, I told myself.
“I just don’t know,” I said slowly, “if I can handle it. Being more than a fuck-buddy to someone right now.”
There was so much going on. A relationship was work. It needed as much attention as a sick mother or running a ranch.
I felt him kiss the top of my head. “Let’s go to bed.”
15
Oliver
When I woke up in his bed the next morning, Quinn was gone.
I hadn’t thought about waking up alone or not, but when it happened, I could feel the distance. It had been there since the night before. I turned over and sighed, hearing footsteps and voices from the floor below.
What are we doing?
After a short shower and dressing, again in yesterday’s clothing—this time washed, at least, as Quinn finally insisted on throwing them in the washer before we’d slept—I came around to the kitchen and found that Quinn wasn’t alone, but it wasn’t the usual crowd of farmhands. It was Quinn and James, and another guy I’d never seen before, dressed too sharp and business-like to be from the farm. He was dark and handsome, Middle Eastern. He noticed me first.
“Good morning,” I said, trying not to feel too awkward intruding on their conversation.
Quinn looked over his shoulder. “Morning. Uh, this is Sawyer.” He gestured to the stranger, who shook my hand. “Sawyer, this is Oliver. One of the hands.”
It felt like a dismissal. I took the hint and made for the coffee maker, trying to pretend my six-foot-something ass wasn’t there. There was a tension in the room, and for the first few minutes of mumbling, I could’ve sworn it was me, but gracias a Dios, it wasn’t.
“You don’t know shit, Sawyer.” It was James, friendly James, who had said it so dismissively.
When I looked at the table, I could tell it was where the tension was coming from: James and Sawyer, and their clear opposition on… whatever they were talking about.
“I do,” Sawyer said, clipped. “It’s my job to know.”
“What’s going on?” I asked, trying to keep tensions down by interjecting a neutral party. Quinn looked at me with a strange look, like maybe I shouldn’t be butting in, but Sawyer thankfully said something before I could be kicked out.
“I’ve found a developer. One of my realtor friends reached out to me this morning. They would take a little piece of the land in the eastern fields, pay rent for it, and—”
“They’d poison it,” James spit.
“They’d build a few facilities for chemical storage, completely secure. It’d be in exchange for a twenty-year lease—that’s guaranteed income for twenty years even if everything else on the farm is failing.”
“What would they want in Worthington?” I asked.
“They want a distribution hub down this way, only no one’s willing to sell it to them.” Sawyer nudged a paper with a lot of numbers towards Quinn, who looked over it silently.
James wasn’t silent. “Right, well there’s good fucking reason for that—last two places they infected. Chemical leaks. They did a lot of damage, Sawyer—”
“I know that.” Sawyer was quick to snap back. “I’ve done my research, and I agree, they aren’t the best option, and they don’t have the best record, but as of right now they are the only ones biting.”
James opened his mouth to say something, but—
“So they’d build a warehouse?” Quinn asked, tone serious.
“Yeah. In twenty years, whatever they built would belong to the ranch for you to do whatever you want with. You could….” He blew out air, spitballing. “You could convert it into a better milk production facility. You could outfit your own slaughterhouse. Whatever you needed. You can’t deny it would be fixing two problems at once.”
“There’s gotta be another way, though.” I said it without thinking, three sets of eyes suddenly on me. “Right?”
“Yes.” James slapped his hand on the table, smile smug. “That is right. Thank you, Oliver, I always knew you were smart.”
As if this was the first evidence of it. I gave him a flat look and saluted him weakly with my coffee cup. “Thanks, James.”
“I appreciate the input, Oliver,” Quinn said, tone just as clipped, a harsh contrast to the soft neediness from the night before. He narrowed his eyes a little. “But I also think this is a little above your pay grade.”
The tension was suddenly not because of James and Sawyer. Now it was me and Quinn. I saw the others look at each other: caught in an apparent lover’s quarrel.
“Yeah,” I said, hand tight around my mug. I offered a forced, small smile to Sawyer. “Of course. You’re right.”
Saying anything more seemed wrong. The silence was heavy and awkward as I set my mug on the table and turned, heading for the front door instead of the back, not looking to go out to the ranch right now. I didn’t have a license, but fuck it, I could walk home, I’d been through worse—
“Oliver—”
I heard my name come as soon as I stepped off the front porch. It was windy out, overcast. I turned and looked as Quinn lingered in the door, before decidedly coming after me.
“I’m sorry,” he said, stopping just short of me. “I just….” He looked down the driveway and swore. “I’m just under a lot of stress right now. I don�
��t need it from you, too….”
He was young and overwhelmed. With a sigh, I realized I couldn’t stay mad at him.
“I understand, you know. I could take some of that out of the equation.” It was a tentative offer again. Quinn said nothing, only licked his lips. I could remember the feeling of them easily by now. I didn’t know what to do with that information. “I… look, I like you, Quinn. In fact, I might even love you.”
His head snapped up at that, eyes wide.
The words kept coming out. “But I’m pretty sure you don’t feel the same. That’s fine.”
“O-Oliver, I—”
“If you feel the same way, say so and I’ll stay.” It was an ultimatum. “But if not, I think it’s best for us to call this off.” Whatever this is. “I’m not asking you to marry me or anything, or to stop worrying about everything else because I know that’s impossible, but… I’m just looking for a little honesty.”
Quinn blew out a little breath, voice just as small. “Honest how?”
“What am I to you?”
It was a huge question—one I needed an answer to.
Quinn swallowed and shook his head. I could hear the light quiver when he spoke again: “I don’t have an answer, I… I’m sorry.”
He really did look sorry. Maybe, had I come along at a less stressful time, the answer might have been clearer. Maybe he would know.
“It’s okay,” I told him, playing down my own honesty now, because truthfully it did hurt. I hadn’t been through a breakup of any kind in a long time, and even then, it hadn’t felt like this. I kept myself even. I watched Quinn look at his boots, more confused than me probably, and still felt that affection for him. A need to be close to him. Clearing my throat, I took a step backwards. “I’m not leaving the ranch—not quitting, I mean—but… I need to get home and handle some business there.”
I was technically supposed to work today, but maybe the distance would do some good. Quinn nodded. “Right. Yeah.”
When it seemed that would be it, I turned towards the road.
Quinn added quickly, “I’m sorry.” It was blurted. I looked to him again. “I didn’t mean to, uh… lead you on, Oliver.”
That, for some reason, hurt worse than him not knowing. I shrugged, covering up the hurt of it. “It was fun, right?”
Quinn nodded.
I nodded, smiling a little. “For both of us, then.”
“Yeah….”
“Oh, and for what it’s worth,” I said, taking one more step backwards towards the road. “Whatever my opinion is worth—the answers to most problems are usually found in your community. Not… not in selling off to people who don’t know or care about you.”
I saw the thought touch him, his lips rolling together as he nodded again. “Thanks, Oliver.”
This time, he seemed like he meant it.
I left it like that, not looking back as I set off down the driveway.
16
Quinn
The minute Oliver turned his back to me, I was making my way into the house.
He needed the space. I got that. It was fine, he could go. There was work I had to do here anyway.
I could hear the yelling before I even reached the screen door, and then it was flying open just shy of my face. James stormed out so quick I had to take a sidestep out of the way to keep from getting bulldozed over; he was piping mad, all red-faced and in need of a getaway.
Less than a few seconds later, the door was opening again, Sawyer letting it shut behind him as he sighed pointedly, shaking his head. “Fucking stubborn,” he muttered.
“What the hell is the deal with you two?” It was rare to see James worked up like that.
Sawyer shut his eyes and sighed again. Rubbed at his temple. “It’s got nothing to do with this,” he told me. The look I gave him told him that was clearly not enough information. “James and I… we’ve got history.”
And, shit, wasn’t today just full of surprises?
“What?”
“It was from a few years ago and just never got dealt with,” Sawyer said, cutting in on any demand I had for something juicy. Not that it was any of my business, but….
“You sure y’all are all right?”
“It’s fine, it’s fine. Ancient history that is long, long over; thank fuck.” He clearly wanted to direct the conversation away from him and James. He visibly adjusted himself, straightening his shoulders as he forced the frustration out of his expression and leveled with me. “Have you decided what you want to do yet?”
Okay, well; none of my business, maybe. I met him where he wanted to be and ran my fingers through my hair. “Shit, I don’t know.” I looked off at all our land—the family’s land.
“Because I can arrange a meeting with these folks, but it’s a big, serious decision.”
I didn’t need him telling me what I already knew. No duh, it was a massive decision—one that would affect my family and its legacy and everyone who worked on the farm, good or bad. “I might need to clear it with my mama,” I told him, because that was stalling enough and also the truth. “I don’t know if she’ll go for it, I….”
Looking out at the driveway, I began to feel something else. This prickling, hollowness in my chest. Oliver had just been standing there. It had taken him minutes to disappear. I swallowed around the feeling.
“I don’t know,” I said again.
Did we just break up?
Yeah. We did. We just broke up, and that’s what that feeling was, that feeling of missing him already, which was dumb and stupid and unnecessary because, honestly, up until a minute ago, I didn’t think there was anything real for us to break up, but now—now it was evident. Was it a mistake? Another thing I was screwing up?
I felt the tidal wave of everything in my life and groaned, eyes shutting as I pressed my head into the wall. It needed a new coat of paint, the whole outside of the house. It was chipping. Just another thing to add to the list.
“Having to deal with all this,” I said to Sawyer. “I never wanted any of it.”
When I opened my eyes, he seemed to be thinking about it. “Yeah… I know, Quinn.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “But right now you’ve got to.”
“I know that.” It was a decision I’d have to make; it wasn’t anything I wanted—running the farm or dealing with my mother’s illness or breaking up with an apparent fucktoy boyfriend ranch hand—I didn’t even know what. I nodded slowly. Fuck it. “I’ll meet with ‘em.”
“The people from the pesticide company?”
“Yeah.”
“What about—”
“My mama?” I asked, watching him nod. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll talk to her. Besides, it’s just a meeting.”
It was two days later that I came around to the hospital again.
I would have come sooner if it wasn’t for the upcoming meeting, days spent working with Sawyer along with every other day-to-day chore I had waiting for me each morning around the ranch. During the day, I put most of my mind into preparing for these pesticide folks to come by, and that was fine, it was a distraction from the very thing I used to use as a distraction—Oliver, and our apparent breakup.
I saw him rarely. He didn’t stop by the homestead more than once a day, and when he did, it was easy to avoid each other. I needed to not think about it right now; I needed to fix everything else that was falling apart in my life but at night, when there was no work to do, it was hard to think of anything but him.
I was thinking of him even now, signing in to visit my mother. Talk about thirsty, right?
“Mama?” I asked, pushing the door open.
Her eyes opened at the sound of my voice. “Hi, dumplin’.”
“Hey, mama.” I shut the door behind me and took a seat in my usual spot. The chair hadn’t moved since I was last here. “How you holding up? They treating you okay out here?”
She laughed a little, but it was more like a wheeze. “Like a got-damn princess.”
Well, at l
east she still had her sense of humor.
“How’s the medicine been?”
“Fine, fine. I’m takin’ it everyday. They make me tired mostly, but… what can you do?”
My lips twitched out of their smile, the sudden feeling like I might start crying like a little kid prickling in my chest. I didn’t want to cry—there was no need to—but everything was suddenly too much again. The farm and Oliver and her, sitting here. This wasn’t the woman who raised me.
“Mama, I hate seeing you stuck in a bed like this,” I told her, taking her hand.
Her face lost the laughter. “I know that.”
“Then why’re you being so stubborn about this, mama?” I gritted my teeth when she huffed, preparing to argue again. “Look, I know they’ve kept asking you about the surgery—”
“That’s right, and I’ve said no every time—”
“I need you to say yes.”
“Quinn, I have told you enough times now—”
“Please,” and this time the desperation was in my voice and it shut her up right quick. I held her hand a little tighter. “I can’t lose you right now. I really… I really can’t.”
Maybe it was the wet sheen to my eyes, or that she hadn’t seen me cry since I was a teenager breaking my leg after jumping off a too-high bale of hay, but she didn’t backtalk this time. She looked at me a long time, even when I looked away, afraid I’d pushed her too far, before she clicked her tongue and sighed.
“All right.” Breezy, light, conceding. I didn’t think she was capable of being any of that.
“What?”
“All right. You’re right.” She looked at me from the corner of her eye. “I ain’t gonna say it again.”
“Mama,” I laughed, a little teary still, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say someone else was right my whole life—”
“Right, well, I hope you were recordin’ it ‘cause it ain’t ever coming out again—”
I sniffled, bowing my head a little. Her knuckles touched my forehead as I held them close. She was still warm, still living.