As I feel myself ebbing away, I’ve become nostalgic for the way things used to be. My other friends on death row—our loving nickname for the palliative care section of the cancer wing—assure me this is normal.
Everything takes on a sort of golden sheen, and even the sad things seem beautiful. Even dying is a gift.
Somewhere in those crazy, hazy days of Wyatt and I exploring our relationship, working too hard on the ranch, and having no time for anything, we invited Warwick into our bed. It was after a hard day with the horses and a long night of too much tequila. Wyatt glanced at Wick, then cocked his eyebrow at me. I shrugged.Why not.
Wy and Wick played a little, maybe a hand on a cock here or there, but then Warwick and I just…clicked. God, we were fire in bed.
Wyatt was always involved, of course, either fucking my mouth or his, sometimes even taking Wick from behind. That was my favorite, having the weight of both of them on me.
A few weeks after we all started playing together, I realized Warwick and I weren’t just fucking. His kisses were too slow, too deep, his thrusts too sweet. He was making love to me, and it was amazing. Damn near transformative.
But life was moving so fast. We had Trip and big responsibilities. One morning, after Wick had gone back to the bunkhouse following an especially romantic night together, Wyatt quietly sat next to me on the bed.
“I think he’s got feelings for you.”
I nod, loving the honesty that always flows easily between us. “What do you think?”
He breathes in and out, deep and slow. “I’m sorry, baby. I thought I might be fine with it…but I’m not. I saw how he touched you. It was different last night, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“And you liked the difference?”
“Yes.” Pain slashes across his handsome face. “But you didn’t.”
He shakes his head, his eyes glassy.
“Then we’ll stop,” I say, sounding more certain than I feel.
“I don’t want to hurt you though. If you have feelings for him, I can try to…”
I put my hand on his arm. “Love, you have always, always sacrificed for me. This big life we have is because you supported my dreams. And God, I love you for it. But that’s a step too far. You have to be able to love him and love him with me.”
“I’m sorry. I just…I can’t get there.”
“Then that’s game over, Wy. We’ll talk to him tonight.”
It went well, of course, because we were all reasonable humans with a basic understanding of things, but Wyatt and I could tell it hurt him. We offered to answer any questions he had, but he politely declined, swearing up and down that he was fine. Honestly, I expected him to quit, but he didn’t, and it wasn’t like we could afford to lose him. Needing to move forward, we quickly got back into our usual routine.
In retrospect, I probably should’ve examined the speed with which he miraculously returned toGood Old Wick. But then again, maybe I didn’t want to acknowledge the truth of the matter.
Afterward, he started bringing all manner of hookups to the bunkhouse, which had never been his style. Of course, we didn’t have a problem with what he did on his own time, but it did seem reactive. And maybe it stung a little more than I liked to admit.
Still, he stayed and acted like his usually irascible self. It was a mistake, of course, to sleep with an employee. One we never made again.
At some point, I assumed his feelings faded, but with the way he’s looking at me now, I realize I’ve been fooling myself for years. Now that I’m really paying attention, I doubt he’s ever stopped loving me. This fact weighs heavy on my heart, a gift too precious to feel deserving of it.
“So…you’re not coming back to the ranch?” he asks in a trembling voice.
I shake my head. “I need…more care than…Wyatt can give me. I…need him…to not be…a wreck by the end of this.”
Breathing through the words is as painful physically as it is emotionally.
“Sorry to tell you, sweet girl, but you won't have any control over how that goes down. He'll be a wreck either way. He loves you too damn much.”
Wick opens his mouth to say something else but closes it. He hasn’t called mesweet girlsince the last time we were all together.
“It's shitty of me to ask,” I say, pausing for another breath. “But I have a favor.”
