At least one of us has something to ride,Wright thought to himself. The joke was there, but Xander was already moving to grab something off the wall next to Benito’s stall and he followed him toward the other end of the barn. Xander explained the layout of the barn as they went. There was a door to the left that Xander moved to. Wright tried to take everything in. The smell of the barn wasn’t the prettiest, but it was still fresh. He knew that they cleaned the stalls out twice a day; mucking, Xander called it. The aisle area, and the open stalls on their left were all clean. According to Patrick, the barn had been rebuilt ten years ago. It was weathered in areas on the outside but looked newinside. The wood was Pine, giving a yellow-orange glow with the setting sun outside.
“This is the tack room,” Xander said. Wright turned back to the door they’d been walking toward. He tore his eyes from the rafters above him to the room. It wasn’t large, about the size of one of the stalls they’d passed. But Wright’s breath caught in his throat when he took in the contents. Xander was moving around, talking, but Wright couldn’t focus on his words. There were saddles on stands, contraptions hanging on the wall. But, to the right against the side wall, were a bunch of ropes. All colors and sizes: tan, blue, red, multi-colored. Immediately, he was back in the living room with his dad. That one piece of rope, hisprized possessionhis dad called it, laying on the mantle of the fireplace under the TV. It was a tan color, rough, frayed. It burned around his wrists and left welts on his back when it hit him.
“Wright?” a voice was right next to him. It wasn’t Xander, but Wright couldn’t tear his eyes away from that corner of the room. Couldn’t stop replaying the last time his dad hit him with that damn rope. It left cuts on his legs for days, which stung every time the fabric of his jeans rubbed against them. And he had to wear the jeans because the bruises would show if not. “Hey, are you okay? Xander-”
A hand on his shoulder finally pushed him back from the memory and he flinched away from the touch. He could feel the tears on his cheeks. Xander was standing in front of him, with a damn rope or something in his hand. Patrick was standing to his right, his hand on his shoulder. Wright looked down at the floor between the three of them.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Xander’s voice was gentle, right in front of his face. “Wright, look at me please.”
“Give him a minute,” Patrick’s voice was deep, steady. Wright took a deep breath, trying to distinguish the different smellsinvading his senses. The hay, that musky scent of leather. He could hear one of the horses whining, something was knocking against the wood with a solid thud. He took another deep breath before he could finally move.
He looked up to see both Patrick and Xander staring at him. For a flash, he saw his father. But he blinked rapidly and shook his head. He couldn’t find the words, but he stepped forward and knocked the thing from Xander’s hand and then wrapped his arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. Xander’s arms held him, one around his back and the other brushing fingers through his hair. Wright closed his eyes and breathed in Xander’s scent. He was sweaty but Xander’s natural scent calmed him, grounded him.
“Take him to the house and y’all get cleaned up,” Patrick was saying. Wright didn’t want to move. Not yet. “I’ll finish up here.”
“No.” Wright said. He tightened his eyes and then tilted his head back to look up at Xander and then over at Patrick. “I’m sorry. I just- We can finish here first. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Patrick said. “And I was about to help Xander with this anyway. It’s why I came in. Just go get cleaned up and we’ll talk about it when you’re ready, okay?”
Wright nodded and Xander led him out of the barn and to the guest house. He squinted against the setting sun until they were back inside. “Take your boots off here, gorgeous.”
He stopped and looked down. His body was going on autopilot, his mind reeling a mile a minute. His boots weren’t muddy, but they were grass stained and he was sure there was dirt underneath them. He and Xander had spent yesterday evening cleaning up inside, dancing and laughing together. Wright spent hours having fun, truly enjoying the most mundane tasks like dusting and wiping out the fridge. He’d never had help cleaning before. It was fun. Xander had made a joke about him being on his knees, which had Wright wigglinghis eyebrows. He’d been rewarded for a good job cleaning with a body consuming orgasm before Xander tucked him to his side and they fell asleep. It’d been another blowjob and Wright wanted to return the favor, but Xander promised him they’d do something soon. He had a plan, he said.
“I’m sorry, Xander.” Wright found his voice as they walked down the hallway. Xander opened the door to the bathroom and flipped the light on. The dull whirr of the exhaust fan gave him a noise to focus on.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Xander whispered. He shrugged out of his flannel and pulled his tee over his head. Wright’s eyes scanned his bare skin. The dark hair that was just thick enough across his chest and down, disappearing past his jeans. His skin was tan, the start of a line where his shirt had been on his arms. His muscles were large. Where Xander could nearly wrap his hand around Wright’s upper arm, he wasn’t sure he could even touch his hands together around Xander’s. “We’ll talk whenever you’re ready. Do you want to shower alone? I can sit right here and wait for you.”
“Not really,” Wright said. He looked down at his own clothes. His hands were by his side. He couldn’t get them to move. “I don’t think I’ll be able to do much more than stand under the water.”
“I’ve got you,” Xander said. He smiled and Wright wanted to sink into his body again. To be safe, to take that memory of his father away for good. Wright let Xander undress him, moving his limbs like a doll. He never took his eyes off Xander’s face. His features were hard, his beard growing in the thickest he’d seen it since they met. He remembered the way it scratched his skin, the way he welcomed that feeling as he laid on the bed while Xander explored his body. He focused on that feeling, replacing each lash of the rope with the memory of Xander. “Come here, baby.”
The shower didn’t last long. Xander kept it short and sweet. He washed his hair and maneuvered him this way and that to rinse him off. Once they were out and towel dried off, Wright finally let his mind take back over and he dressed himself. He settled for a pair of shorts that looked like they were supposed to be mid-thigh length but hit his knees. He paired it with a plain blue tee, one of his own since they’d be going to the main house for supper tonight. Xander dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a red shirt that sat tight across his shoulders and chest. The smallest hint of hair peeked from the stretched collar.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Xander asked when they sat side-by-side on the bed. He was slipping a fresh pair of socks on and Wright curled his toes against the floor. “Was it something I said or did?”
“No,” Wright said quickly. “It was the room. The ropes. It brought up a bad memory for me and I think my brain just went back into shutdown mode.” Xander didn’t say anything else. He put his foot back down and gently took Wright’s hand, interlacing their fingers and lifting it to kiss the back of Wright’s hand. Wright smiled at the small gesture. He looked up into Xander’s eyes, the seriousness of his expression and the way the blue never seemed to dull. Even in the dark night, like when they’d spent hours in his truck bed, his eyes were clear and telling Wright his every thought. At least, he felt like that. “My dad had- has- this rope on display in the living room. He says it was his grandfather’s or great-grandfather’s. I don’t remember. Apparently his side of the family are farmers somewhere up north, I guess. It was an heirloom of sorts passed down through generations.”
Wright took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He focused on the feeling of Xander’s body next to him, his thumb rubbing small circles on his wrist. Doctor Pillar had already texted him with details of the therapist he wanted him to talk to. They hadan initial meeting on Wednesday morning to discuss if she’d be a right fit to help him. He’d have to talk about all of this anyway.
“He liked to use it,” Wright continued. He fought to keep his voice steady, but he could feel that fear and tension, the scrapes and cuts, the reddened skin from it being wrapped around his hands. “When he was especially drunk, he would ramble on about how his family worked hard and that I was a disgrace. He would yell at me for being the reason my mom left and then get mad all over again thinking about that and he’d pull it down from its spot and hit me. Or wrap it around my wrists if I accidentally dropped or spilled something. Said if I didn’t have any hands, at least I’d have an excuse to be useless.”
Xander muttered something under his breath, a curse maybe, but Wright couldn’t understand it. He went willingly when Xander wrapped his arms around him and pulled him to sit on his lap. He did it so effortlessly; it was both welcoming and hot. His brain was in no position to think about that right now. Instead, it calmed at the closeness, the safety that Xander was giving him. What he’d been severely lacking for his whole life. He could barely remember a time when his mom would hold him, comfort him. His dad wanted him to be a man from an early age and that meant coddling wasn’t acceptable. Neither was crying.
But right now, Xander just held him tight as the tears flowed. He hated the balance he was in; knowing he was abused all those years, but not realizing how bad it really was until he had to explain it in pieces to someone who was nothing but kind to him. Yeah, being hit by a parent wasn’t normal, but it was long after that first hit that he learned it. His dad called it tough love. His mom called it discipline when he raised his voice and locked him in his room for hours without food.
He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that. Xander rubbed his hand in a circle on his back, whispered short words in his ear.He massaged his shoulders and the back of his neck, worked his fingertips down Wright’s spine. It was all comforting.
“Thank you,” Wright said with a smile. He lifted his hands to swipe his fingers over Wright’s cheeks and smiled back.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Xander said softly. “I’ll always be here for you. I’m sorry for what you’ve gone through, gorgeous. The more you tell me, the more I wish I could give him a dose of his own medicine.”
“He isn’t worth it,” Wright said. He twisted, repositioning his legs so he was straddling Xander’s lap with his knees on the edge of the bed. He loved how perfectly he fit against the older man. He rested his hands on Xander’s shoulders and looked him directly in the eye. “I just want to focus on this. Being here. Living with you. I like this life.”
“I like this life too,” Xander said. His hands snaked under Wright’s shirt but didn’t move much beyond squeezing his hips. “But I don’t want you to push this down, okay? You were in a lot of pain for a long time, Wright. You need to open up and talk about it. Promise me that you’ll take this therapy seriously.” Wright had told him what the phone number was for before they’d gone to bed that night. “I love that you’re healed physically, but it’s going to take a lot longer to heal the wounds inside.”
“Such a poet.” Wright rolled his eyes. He would take it seriously. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t give Xander a hard time about it. He moved his arms to wrap around his neck, leaning forward just slightly so their faces were only inches apart. “I think I have some other internal wounds that you could help me with sooner than later, though.”
“You had to ruin the moment, didn’t you?”
