Seeing You by Dakota Flint

An excerpt from a novella, Seeing You by Dakota Flint, which is now available from Samhain Publishing.

Blurb:

Love can be found among the pieces of a broken heart.

The night his brother, Simon, was killed in an accident, Dylan took on a double load of guilt. Guilt for walking away unscathed…and for secretly loving Simon’s partner, Wade. Unable to bear the pain, Dylan left the Lazy G ranch to rebuild his life elsewhere.

A year later he reluctantly responds to his sister’s plea to come home, where he finds the Lazy G falling apart. And so is Wade. Wade has stopped caring about the ranch, about everything that should matter most to him.

Though there’s more ranch work than one man can possibly handle, Dylan throws himself into the task. Wondering how he’s going to find the strength to pull Wade out of the fog of grief when his own is still as raw as a fresh wound. Wondering when Wade will finally see that his second chance for happiness is standing right in front of him.

Warning: Contains explicit, emotionally charged m/m sex. Extra box of tissues required. You could use your sleeve, of course, but we don’t recommend it.

Excerpt:

I hadn’t dreamed about the accident in weeks, hadn’t woken up sweating and crying and wondering "why me?" in months. I had recently, in fact, started dreaming of our childhood together, of Simon and Erin and our parents, Annie and Fred. I dreamed of the day I came to live with them when I was six, bewildered by the disappearance of my mother and this concept called death, when this Simon boy sat and held my hand all night when I was too scared to sleep. I dreamed of the time a pair of nine-year-old boys thought they could hitchhike to California instead of doing their chores, but wound up waiting at Miss Flossie’s house for our parents to pick us up while the town librarian fed us stale cookies and Lactaid. I dreamed of the time twelve-year-old Simon tried to convince Erinshe was adopted and was really born at a house located at 666 Damnation Drive, of the moment when she looked at Simon and said, “If you’re trying to make me cry, it won’t work. Dylan was adopted by Mom and Dad and look how lucky we all are.”

Much better dreams than nightmares of blood and death and grief.

My attention was caught by the light flashing on in the kitchen of the ranch house, and I wondered what Wade dreamed about at night. A moment later it looked like the front door had opened, and I squinted, trying to see in the darkness if Wade was outside. Then the moonlight caught him as he stood at the top of the porch steps, his face tilted up to the rain.

I watched as he made his way down the steps, over the mud and grass, to the corral fence. Puzzled, I stared. This wasn’t a drizzle. It was a storm, and even if it were almost summer, a drenching would sap body heat pretty quickly. “Christ, what the hell is he doing? Doesn’t he care if he gets pneumonia?”

Abruptly I realized, no, he didn’t care. That was the point. And just like that, once again I felt the burn of anger infusing my limbs, powering through me as I dragged my Levi’s and boots on, bubbling under the surface as I stomped down the hall and out the door. I didn’t stop until I reached Wade where he was leaning against the fence, and I grabbed his shoulder and whirled him around to face me.

“What are you doing?” I barely recognized my own voice.

He blinked water out of his eyes and stared dumbly at me before saying, “What?”

“I said, what are you doing out here? I know it might seem like a nice night for a walk to you, but I thought I might inform you that it’s fucking pouring outside.”

Wade looked away, as if he was too tired to even look me in the face, and said, “Go back to bed, Dylan.” Then he turned back around to lean on the fence, dismissing me, and my anger turned to rage.

It felt like someone else moving after that. Someone else’s hand grabbing Wade’s shoulder to turn him around again, someone else’s arm that cocked back and let fly straight into Wade’s granite jaw, someone else that watched as Wade’s head snapped back from the force and he stumbled against the fence. Because surely it couldn’t have been me that touched Wade in anger.

But it was definitely me that went down, without a fence to catch me, when Wade’s fist connected to my own jaw. I was sure that would hurt later, but at the moment I couldn’t feel anything except anger and relief that Wade was still fighting.

I scrambled back up out of the mud, and then it was happening so fast, the adrenaline moving through my veins as we both grunted and swore and swung our limbs, that I wasn’t sure who was landing punches where. We were like one beast, ugly and flailing. I hadn’t brawled like this since Johnny Baron, one of the linebackers in high school, had called Simon a faggot when we were juniors.

The rain and mud were making things slippery, and then we were on the ground wrestling like a couple kids in the mud, both of us obviously no longer going for blood. Wade managed to roll me onto my back and straddle me, and I felt mud oozing around my head. I could barely see with the rain falling into my eyes.

It felt like the mud was seeping into my ears, which was just fucking nasty, and I stopped struggling for control and reached out, grabbed a handful of mud and aimed it for Wade’s face.

It landed around his left temple and I smashed it into his hair and ear as best I could. I started laughing when Wade stopped moving and just sat back, looking down at me as if I had suddenly turned into a purple dinosaur.

I laughed and laughed until I was scared I would never stop laughing, and all the while Wade looked down at me with his mouth hanging open in shock. Which just made me bellow more as he was catching mouthfuls of rainwater like that.

Just as Wade was starting to look really concerned, the laughter just dried up, and I became aware that we were out in a thunderstorm and it was pouring, and I hadn’t bothered with a shirt. I wouldn’t be surprised if my nipples were little blue pebbles, and I grinned at the weird thought.

That must have been the final straw, because Wade grabbed my chin and forced me to meet his gaze. “Are you fucking crazy?”

I considered this. “Probably. But if I’m crazy for lying here in the mud and laughing in the rain, aren’t you crazy for watching me do it?”

Wade grinned and said, “Probably.” The grin caught me off guard. It had been so long since I had seen it, making him look unexpectedly boyish despite the years carved into his face. I looked at that grin and the momentarily happy look in his eyes, and I couldn’t breathe.

As if he was deflating, the look faded from his face and he said, “Why did you hit me?”

“Because I couldn’t stand it one more minute. Not one more fucking second.”

“Stand what?”

“Watching you give up.”

“I have not.” But he said it quietly, and I knew he didn’t even believe himself.

“You have. What do you think Simon would say?” I winced as I said this, hating myself for it, and Wade looked like I had punched him again.

“I—”

“Simon died. Not you. I want you to stop acting like it was you that died on that highway.”

“How do you know it wasn’t?”

That physically hurt. “Because that’s bullshit. I watched my brother die in my arms, okay? I watched and for a while, I wish I had, too. You’re not the only one who lost something that day, and I’m sick of watching you wish you could join him when the rest of us are doing the best we can to pick up the pieces.”

Wade snarled back at me, “Why do you care now? You just left. Just packed your bags and left like I was nothing to you. Like this place was nothing to you.”

That left me momentarily speechless. “I… Wade.” I wasn’t sure what to say. I tried again. “I just… I was trying to adjust to a world without my brother in it, and every time I looked at you I kept waiting for you to get angry that I walked away from the crash and Simon didn’t. I just couldn’t stay for that.” I told myself that the burning in my eyes was from the mud and rain.

Wade looked shocked. “You thought that? I… Never.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, not that it did any good. “Christ, I thought a million times that it shouldn’t have been Simon. But I never once thought it should have been you instead.”

I hoped Wade would think it was only rain leaking around my eyes. “I… Thank you. Didn’t want to think of you hating me.”

“No.” Wade was looking down at me, and I was about to ask him to get off me because I could feel my teeth getting ready to chatter, when he let out this weird choking sound. Then he said, “What do you want from me, Dylan?”

Crazy: A free read by Dakota Flint

"If I could turn back ti-ime.”

I rolled over and pulled my pillow over my head. If there was any mercy in this world, that caterwauling would stop.

“If I could find a wa-ay.”

Clearly, mercy had been scared away by the musical abuse too.

“I’d take back those words that hu-uurt you.”

“Okay, that’s it. That. Is. It.” I hopped up and pulled on a pair of cargo pants, not even bothering to button them as I stormed out of my bedroom, out the door, and over to Ben’s backyard.

“And you’d sa-a-ay.”

“You’re not going to say anything in a minute, Ben, because I’m going to shut you up. If you’re lucky it won’t be permanently.” I growled, just to show I meant business.

Ben jumped and whirled around to face me, the paint brush obviously forgotten in his hand.

I saw the glob of blue paint fly off the end of the brush, but I wasn’t quick enough to avoid it landing to the left of my nose. I closed my eyes and counted to ten before opening them again.

“Oh, shit. You scared the bejesus out of me, Nick. Give a little warning next time, why don’t ya.” Ben squinted at me. “Um, here, you got a little something on your…” He motioned to my face.

“Yeah, I know.” I gritted my teeth, but accepted the paint stained rag he offered me. I wiped my face, the smell of turpentine strong. After handing the rag back to him, he just looked at me expectantly, blue paint streaking his shoulder-length sun-bleached hair and his bare, sweaty chest.

“Ben, what time is it?”

“Uuum, six?”

“Right. In the morning.”

“Yeah?”

“And you’re singing.”

“Yep.” The dolt really looked puzzled at this.

“Hello? Anyone home? I’m trying to sleep. And you’re singing at the top of your lungs as if you’re not waking all the animals, pissing off the fishermen in the bay who can probably hear you, and waking me up.”

“Well, I…you’re not very chipper in the mornings, are you?”

“I’m not very…” I trailed off. “Of course I’m not chipper when someone wakes me from a sound sleep by SINGING CHER. What’s wrong with you?”

“Dude, you don’t have to have a conniption. It was on the radio earlier and I got it stuck in my head. I’ll pick something else next time.”

I knew my mouth was hanging open, but I just couldn’t help it. Exchanges with Ben always left me feeling like I should find the nearest wall to bang my head against. I looked for words but couldn’t find any, so I shook my head instead.

After a month of living next door to one loony Benjamin Sparks, I should just be used to this. Turning to go, I glanced at the picnic table he had been hunched over when I stormed outside. Red and white-striped, he was obviously in the middle of painting the blue in the upper left-hand corner. Curious, I said, “That’s…quite the table.”

He didn’t answer and I looked back at him, surprising an odd look on his face as he looked at my chest. I glanced down to check for paint. Nope, I was good.

For some reason, Ben was blushing and looked out towards the choppy water in the bay. “Uh, yeah. It’s for the Legion’s barbecue this Sunday. Told my dad I’d build and paint something. He said to "make it patriotic."”

I nodded, thinking that sounded like Ben’s father, the town sheriff. Sounded like Ben too, volunteering his time. “Right. Well. Very patriotic.” I smiled.

Ben smiled back. He really was very good looking, with the long blonde hair, tanned skin, bright green eyes and a perpetual smile firmly in place. He was just about my height, had the right amount of muscles on his solid frame. In fact, he would have been perfect if he wasn’t crazy.

Certifiable even.

Every exchange I had with him always went the same way, and when he smiled like he was doing now, I knew the doozy was coming.

“You want to help me paint?” Ben looked earnest. And adorable.

“Uh, sure.”

Now, see that was why he was crazy. Or this was crazy. Or maybe it’s that he made me crazy. Because I came out here to tell him to shut the hell up so I could sleep and somehow I managed to sign myself up to help paint a giant flag.

I mean. Seriously.

Ben looked like I had just agreed to give him a million dollars. “Okay, awesome. I’m okay with painting large stripes and stuff, but somehow I think you’ll be better at painting little white stars. Lemme go grab another paintbrush.”

I watched him lope across the grass, up the deck stairs, and into the house, the muscles in his legs flexing as he moved and the navy blue running shorts outlining what had to be the most stellar ass I’d seen in years--something I’d noticed right away, along with how off-beat everything felt up here.

The day I moved in there had been a rowdy party going on next door, and this cute guy had walked over wearing a t-shirt that read, “What if the hokey pokey is what it’s all about?” He introduced himself as “Ben,” offered me a beer, and asked if I wanted in on the game of horseshoes. Ben had taken me around, introducing me to the drunk and the drunker.

Wondering who this “Poor Jimmy” was that everyone kept referring to, I finally asked Ben what the occasion was and he had replied, “Oh. One of the locals ran into a tree last week. He was like a fixture at the local watering holes, and we’re just giving him a good send off. That’s why it’s so insane here right now.”

I had looked at him, looking for the joke and not seeing it. Some guy had died and they were sending him off with horseshoes and Budweiser?

And the insanity had never stopped.

Different way of life up here. Every day was a party. And time was measured by the distance to or from Friday and Saturday nights.

I watched Ben walk towards me, another paintbrush in hand and the easy smile on his face. Our hands brushed as he handed it to me. Was it just me or did his touch linger?

“So since I’m helping you paint before I’ve even had a cup of coffee to fortify myself, will you promise I’ll never have to wake up to hearing Cher at this hour of the morning again?”

Ben laughed and picked up his paintbrush. “You’re awful persnickety, ya know that?”

I snorted and applied myself to painting fifty little white stars as neatly as I could. Mrs. Johnson, my kindergarten teacher, would have been so proud.

After a while I could feel Ben’s gaze on me, but I didn’t look over at him. I heard him sigh.

“Ya know, they don’t have to be perfect. If you mess up a little, it won’t really matter.”

At first I wasn’t sure what he meant, and then I wasn’t sure what to say. It was second-nature to strive for perfection, no matter how small the job.

I guess some things don’t change no matter how far you move.

I sighed.

A few months ago, at the age of 31, I had been well on my way to making partner in a prestigious Boston law firm. But one day I looked at my office, devoid of any personal items or anything that said I had a life outside of work, and decided I couldn’t hack it one more day. Couldn’t stand more of the frequent bouts of hyperventilation and a diet of antacids. I had seen into the future, and chucked my stylish condo, suffocating suits, and choking ties for a rundown cottage, sandals, and cutoffs.

The major perk of never spending the money you worked fourteen hours a day to earn was you built up quite a nest egg. Thanks to my little egg—which looked more like a pebble these days—I was the proud owner of a little place on the water that had seen better days, in a town I’d picked off a map. It came with a dock and a town full of wacky inhabitants. How bohemian.

But it was enough to cure my panic attacks.

Realizing Ben was still staring at me, I shook off my thoughts and looked back at him. “What?”

He started to say something and then bit his lip, obviously changing his mind.

Surprised, I returned to my painting.

***

Late that night I was parked in front of the TV and mindlessly flipping through channels when I heard a car pull up outside. A door slammed and voices floated in through my open windows, the words indistinct.

Probably Ben’s buddies dropping him off after a night on the town. Not this town though. Ben had shown up at my door earlier this evening, looking good enough to eat, and asked if I was up for a pool tournament over at The Jezebel, a bar in the next town over. Feeling like a night in, I waved him off.

The evening had started out with a nap, moved onto the political thriller that had been sitting by my bed for the last three weeks, and then finally moved to present circumstances. I was bored out of my skull.

I got up to look out the window, see if Ben had turned on any lights. Maybe he’d want to chat. Right. At two in the morning. Though honestly, that was probably something that Ben wouldn’t think anything of.

No lights were on that I could see, which meant he probably stumbled straight into bed. Sighing, I started to turn, but stopped when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.

There was a full moon tonight, and I could clearly see someone making their way across Ben’s backyard and down his dock. Then the figure stood at the end of the dock, unmoving. Puzzled, I walked out my back door to get a closer look.

What the hell was Ben doing?

I was halfway across his yard when I saw him suddenly pull his shirt over his head. A second later he shucked his shorts. I stopped moving, immobilized by the sight of the moonlight caressing his skin.

His completely naked skin.

Then I watched, speechless, as he executed a perfect dive straight into the water.

I laughed. Not only was he crazy, he had a death wish.

I ran down the dock and was debating whether to jump in after him, when he surfaced barely a foot from the edge of the dock. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Well, I would have thought that was obvious, Nick. I’m swimming. What are you doing?” Ben grabbed onto the edge of the dock, treading water.

I ignored his question. “Are you insane?”

“No?” He sounded doubtful. Not a good sign. I couldn’t hold back a groan.

“I think the correct answer would be ‘yes.’ You’re swimming alone, in the dark after a night of drinking. Can’t you see how dangerous that is?”

“Well, no. I didn’t drink tonight. See? Not crazy.”

I paused, thinking. “I don’t think swimming by yourself in the dark is particularly safe while sober either.”

Ben laughed, a husky sound that traveled right up my spine. “You know what your problem is, Nick? You think too much.”

And with that, he grabbed my hand and yanked me into the water, clothes and all.

Not expecting it, l swallowed a mouthful of lake water and came up sputtering. “You are fucking insane. What’d you do that for?”

Despite my words, I decided to enjoy the moonlight and the warm lap of water against my skin. Managing to yank off my t-shirt while treading water, I lobbed it up onto the dock with a plop. Then I turned to look at Ben, watching him swim a couple of lazy laps, the curve of his naked ass just visible through the water as he moved.

“The water feels too good to miss out.”

“Hmmm?” He looked really, really good wearing only water, and my mouth watered as I imagined running my tongue down along his spine.

“The water feels great and I didn’t want you to miss out.”

“What?” I had no clue what he was even talking about. I was too busy thinking of all the places on his body I wanted to lick and nibble. And suck. Oh yeah.

Suddenly Ben was right in my face. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Twitterpated.” I felt his thigh brush lightly along mine. “I’m twitterpated.” Seeing Ben’s eyes widen, I realized what I’d said. How dumb did that sound?

“I don’t know, Nick. Maybe I should ask you if you’ve been drinking. ‘Cause I gotta tell you, you’re sounding a little crazy.” Ben was still giving me that wide-eyed look.

I laughed, thinking how nice it was to hear that tone of voice from someone besides myself these days. I grabbed the edge of the dock with one hand to anchor myself and grabbed the back of Ben’s neck with the other hand. Pulling him until his body was pressed against mine, our legs tangled and our lips almost touching, I said, “Well, then I’m finally speaking your language.”

Then I kissed him.

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