Dan & Tyler 2 - Wintergreen (25 page)

His bedroom would have been ideal; it had always been a refuge for Dan, the place where he lay staring up at the slanted ceiling and the familiar, irregular stain from a leak caused by a missing tile. Dan could've drawn that stain from memory, he was sure of it.

Walking into that room and finding it scattered with Matt's belongings, unwelcoming, indifferent, would have been yet another reminder of how the hole that Dan left had healed over.

So he went to see the chickens and leaned on the fence, watching them scratch and peck at the earth, industrious and intent. Without intending to, he did begin to consider his options, breaking them down into more than just stay or go. He might not want to plan his life out -- surprises were good, and so was flexibility -- but he wanted more than being Tyler's shadow, and he could do better than odd jobs. He was bright; not school-smart, but not stupid, either, and he was a hard worker.

It wasn't easy to decide what he wanted to do. Factor in Tyler's own future and it got really complicated, because the two of them just didn't overlap. Tyler, in the time that Dan had known him, had lived on what he'd grown and kept his bank balance healthy by playing the market. The gardening had been a necessity dictated by Tyler's desire for isolation, and the share trading was more of a mental exercise to keep Tyler from getting bored -- financial Sudoku.

Dan scowled at a chicken who seemed to be clucking right at him in a motherly, scolding kind of way. He needed a game plan, or Tyler might just drive into the sunset solo.

He began to mentally narrow down some options and broaden others. Staying here and working for his dad alongside Matt had the appeal of familiarity, and he knew he'd be an asset, not a liability -- but he'd also be a reminder of the past to a man who, incredible a thought though it was, had created a new life for himself.

Maybe he and his dad weren't so different after all.

 

Staying in town and coming over for Sunday dinner once a week to make nice… Possible, but there just weren't that many jobs around, and people would talk, which his dad would hate.

And why was he even bothering with any of those options when they didn't have room for Tyler? Dan wasn't sure of much right then, but wanting Tyler with a fierce desperation was an unchanging certainty.

He walked over to the barn and collected a handful or two of feed for the chickens and came back to scatter it for them. He got a kick out of the way they exploded into life, scurrying over, clucking and squawking. They knew what they wanted, and they kept it simple. Of course, they were also fenced in and destined to be fried by Alison.

By the time the last seed had been pecked up and swallowed, Dan had made up his mind. He'd leave with Tyler if he had to chain himself to the truck's hood to get Tyler to take him along, and they'd take that vacation because they'd earned it.

After that, they'd find somewhere to live that suited them both, with Tyler getting the casting vote since it would be his money paying for it -- and that was something Dan didn't like, but it wasn't like there was much he could do to change it, and Tyler genuinely didn't seem to care. Maybe by the ocean…

Buoyed by a fantasy of the two of them fishing off a pier or running a tours-around-the-bay company, Dan gave up on the future in favor of the present. He could hear the tractor running, but when he walked over to the field, Matt was riding on it and his dad was walking over to him, an oily rag in one hand.

"Damn thing drinks oil, I swear," Peter said by way of greeting. He nodded at Dan. "You took off the sling."

"What? Oh, yeah… thought I'd see how it feels without it." Dan wiggled his injured arm cautiously. It didn't hurt too much, though he didn't think he was ready to do more than that, at least not until the stitches were out. "It's okay."

Peter nodded again and would have continued on if Dan hadn't grabbed his dad's arm.

 

"Dad? Can I -- there's something I've got to tell you."

 

"You're going." The lines around Peter's mouth deepened. "That it?"

"I got a call from Tyler," Dan told him. He had to keep this short and leave out the sweet. "Turns out he didn't keep going the way I thought he would. He's staying in town and leaving tomorrow. I'll be going with him."

And if Tyler turned him down, well, Dan was still leaving.

"From what I remember of the Bible, the prodigal son stuck around a bit longer than that," his dad said with an unexpected flash of humor. "I guess there's no point in arguing with you, though. I know what you look like when you've got your heart set on something. Never could figure out a way to change that about you."

"Why did you want to?" Dan asked. "You're kind of like that, too."

Peter sucked air through his teeth meditatively. "Yeah, you could be right. Don't know as how it's made my life much easier, mind you." He met Dan's eyes. "I don't want you getting hurt, son. Not by this Tyler fellow or by anyone or anything." His gaze fell on Dan's arm. "Or anything," he repeated.
"I'll try not to," Dan said, feeling awkward. As emotional scenes went, he'd had more extreme ones with Tyler over breakfast, but that was him and Tyler. When it was him and his dad, the lines were drawn in different places.

"If it helps," his dad said, "you know you've got a place here. Yeah, you feel pushed out of it now, I get that, but Matt's never going to be blood the way you are. And now you can go get in the truck, because you and me are driving into town."

"Town? Why?" Too early for a drink, but that was about all he could think of.

 

"Matt's getting something from his mother and me when he gets married, and it's only fair if you have the same, seeing as how… well."

 

"It's a blessing in disguise. I'd look awful in a white dress," Dan said, the sass just popping out of him.

His dad stared at him in silence for a moment and then chuckled and cuffed the side of Dan's head. "Always were a smartass, weren't you? Well, now you can be a smartass with some money to tide you over."

"You don't have to do that," Dan said, touched by the offer. "I know how things are around here, and you need a cushion in case you have a bad year or two."

 

Peter's face twitched as if he was about to sneeze, and then he grinned. "Cushion? Son, why do you think I got up the nerve to propose to Alison? I've got a whole damn couch."

 

"Huh?" Dan blinked at him in surprise. "What, you won the lottery or something?" Peter shrugged, his grin getting wider, and Dan gaped at him. "You did? God, Dad, that's amazing."

"Surprised the hell out of me, too," Peter admitted. "It was one of those lotteries the cure for cancer people run, with the big prizes. House, cars, boats…Twenty years I've been buying a ticket, figuring if it was for charity it'd do someone some good, and never won a thing. This year, I walked away with a cool half a million." Peter waved his hand dismissively, though a pleased smile was glued to his face. "Not enough to retire on, not today, but enough that I won't be worrying much if we have a drought or a flood, and God knows either's possible. It's sitting in the bank while I figure out what to do with it, but I can't think of a damn thing better to invest in than my son -- both of my sons."

He patted Dan's arm. "So maybe you have more options than you think, son. You can go to college if your heart's set on it, start up a business… You can stand alone." Peter looked at him quizzically. "You're being awful polite and not asking how much."

"Guess I was brought up well," Dan said. He could feel the future he'd just been fretting over, a black hole of uncertainty, light up like a sunrise.
"That you were," Peter said with pardonable satisfaction. "Twenty-five thousand, son. It's not a lot --"

"Are you kidding me?" The words burst out of him. "That's just -- that's too much."

The smile faded from Peter's face, but not his eyes. "You left here with angry words said, and you walked away thinking I hated you because of the way you were. And I won't say you were wrong about that. I didn't like it. I didn't like it one bit, and part of me still doesn't. But I thought you were dead. You were all I had since your momma passed, and you were gone. Alison might have knocked some tolerance into me, but it was thinking you were dead that allowed her to do that, or it would've just slid off me like water off a duck's back because I'm too old to change. It's not too much. It's just what's fair."

Dan sighed and felt his shoulders move down, tension bleeding out of him with the used air. "I still get to say thank you, right?"

 

"Sure, but don't bother writing a note. All I want is for you to remember to call home every once in a while. Not every week -- phone calls are expensive -- but now and then."

 

Dan opened his mouth and closed it again, settling for a quick hug that his father endured stoically.

 

This changed everything -- no, not everything. Independence was good, but standing alone was lonely. He wanted Tyler standing right beside him, close enough to touch.
Chapter Sixteen

Tyler made it to the motel, checked in with his vision narrowed to what he could see without turning his head because that pushed the pain level up way too high, closed the door of his room behind him, and threw up in the toilet a few seconds later.

He hadn't eaten much that day, but that didn't make the process of losing it any more pleasant. The motel, in addition to soap and shampoo, had left a complimentary toothbrush and a tiny tube of toothpaste by the sink, wrapped in plastic that was a bitch to tear off. Since the alternative was rummaging through his case to find his own supplies, Tyler used his teeth to rip through it and fought back a second wave of nausea as he bit down.

Teeth brushed sketchily, mouth rinsed clean of the taste of puke and mint, equally unappealing right then, he lurched toward the bed and crawled onto it, toeing off his shoes on the way. The pillow was cool and yielding, and the room, curtains discreetly drawn, was blessedly dim. He closed his eyes and fell asleep within moments, riding out the storm raging behind his eyes. He had painkillers in his case, too, but sleep was the best cure.

He woke several hours later, shivering in the blast of chilly air from the AC unit, but able to move his head without a spiked ball careening off the inside of his skull. Progress. A shower helped, and by the time he'd dressed again, he felt light-headed from hunger but back to normal.

Braeburn didn't offer anything that qualified as fine dining within walking distance of the motel, but Tyler was too hungry to be picky and too tired of sitting behind a wheel to even consider getting back in his truck. He walked along streets lined with trees in bud and stopped at the first place that smelled good. Roberto's pasta and pizzas might be made by cooks who'd never been closer to Italy than a spaghetti western, and the décor was rustic pine and red and white checked tablecloths, but the mustard cream sauce on Tyler's beef cassarecia packed just enough punch, and he found himself finishing it down to the last piece of red onion.

After tipping his waitress -- young enough for him to wonder if she was a classmate of Dan's -with just a little more than usual because she'd been attentive without bothering him, he went back out onto the street. The sun had set, and the sky was a deep navy blue with a sharp-edged crescent moon pinned to it. Tyler breathed in the spring air and hoped that the mild buzz from half a bottle of Chardonnay would do what it should and let him sleep some more.

He walked a roundabout route back to his room, relying on his good sense of direction to keep him heading the right way. Dan's town. Streets Dan had walked down, stores he'd shopped in… people passing Tyler with a nod or a wary glance that Dan might know… all that was missing was Dan himself.

And Tyler did miss him. With Dan beside him, their arms bumping, Dan's quick smile flashing out, this walk would have been entertaining instead of a saunter to aid digestion on a pleasant evening. Dan added a spice and zing to Tyler's life -- sometimes he added a little too much -- but it was preferable to the bland tastelessness of life without him.

A dog began to bark as Tyler walked past the yard he was guarding. For some reason, baffling since he preferred cats, most dogs loved Tyler. They greeted him with ecstatic wuffs and thrust damp noses into his crotch. Sadly, guard dogs, trained to quivering ferocity, weren't as susceptible to his charm, but that was why God invented trank darts. Tyler smiled as the miniature dachshund caught his scent and whined a welcome. All snap and yap, but no bite.

His smile faded to a shiver of lust as he remembered Dan's teeth digging into his skin, never enough to break the surface, but more than enough to leave Tyler marked up. Claim marks. During sex, bites like that drove both of them wild, even if afterward Tyler retreated into himself a little, disturbed by just how deep those marks went. Dan didn't hide his vulnerabilities; oh, he tried, ducking behind a façade of brash toughness that wouldn't have fooled anyone with eyes, but he was so open that Tyler could read his mood from a look, a word.

Tyler didn't hide his weak spots, he just denied that they existed and usually it wasn't that hard to convince people to see it his way. Convincing himself wasn't all that much harder, either.

He'd reached the street that the motel was on when his phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and stared at it for a moment before flipping it open. Cole, Dan, a wrong number, someone working their way down a list of numbers trying to sell something?

The first two were the most likely, but for once, Tyler would have welcomed a recorded message telling him that his credit card bills could be reduced if he just pressed 'one.'

 

He answered the phone with a terse, "Yes?" and heard a sniff that told him it was Cole. No one else could get quite that much reproof into an inhalation.

 

"Where are you?"

 

Tyler gave the virtually empty street a jaundiced look. Even the parked cars looked as if they'd been there for years and weren't going anywhere. "The middle of nowhere."

 

"More precise." When Tyler didn't reply, Cole said pointedly, "I can track you in under two minutes."

 

"I can destroy this phone in under ten seconds and good luck tracking me then."