I opened the door as quietly as I could, like maybe if I was silent enough, I could just slip past him and avoid this conversation entirely. But the hinges creaked, and I heard his voice from the kitchen.
“Nick? That you?”
I closed my eyes, took a breath, and stepped inside. “Yeah. It’s me.”
He appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, and I was relieved to see he was fully dressed now, sweatpants and a plain black T-shirt. The white bandage wrapped around his ribs was just visible at the collar.
“You were gone a long time,” he said, his voice careful. Neutral. “I tried calling.”
“I know. Sorry. I was... checking the fences.” The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.
His dark eyes studied me, and I could see him weighing whether to call me on the bullshit. After a moment, he just nodded. “You hungry? I made... well, I attempted to make pasta. It’s probably terrible.”
The normalcy of the question threw me. He was acting like nothing had happened. Like I hadn’t walked in on him in the most vulnerable position possible. Like there wasn’t this massive thing hanging between us that neither of us wanted to address.
“I could eat,” I heard myself say.
I followed him into the kitchen, keeping a careful distance. He moved slowly, favoring his left side, and I watched as he dished out two plates of what looked like reasonably edible spaghetti. The domesticity of it was surreal.
We sat at the small table, and for a few minutes the only sound was silverware against plates. I couldn’t taste anything. My entire focus was on not looking at him, not thinking about what I’d seen, not remembering what I’d done by the creek.
“Nick.” His voice was quiet but firm. “We need to talk about what happened.”
My fork froze halfway to my mouth. “Don’t.” The word came out sharper than I’d meant it to. “We don’t need to talk about it.”
“I think we do.” He set his fork down carefully, wincing slightly at the movement. “I didn’t mean for you to see that. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
Uncomfortable. That was one way to put it. Aroused, confused, terrified… that’s what I really felt.
“It’s fine,” I lied. “You’re a grown man. What you do in your own bed is your business.”
“Is it?” His dark eyes searched my face, and I felt like he could see right through me. See the evidence of what I’d done down by the creek, the want I was trying so desperately to hide. “Because the way you looked at me before you left... that didn’t seem like it was fine.”
Heat flooded my face. “I was surprised. That’s all.”
“Surprised.” He took a step closer, and I fought the urge to back up. “Not disgusted? Not angry?”
“Why would I be angry?”
“Because I was thinking about you.” The words hung in the air between us, heavy and undeniable. “When you walked in, I was... you were what I was thinking about, Nick.”
My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. I should’ve denied it, should’ve told him I didn’t care, that it didn’t matter. But instead, I found myself asking, “Why?”
“Why?” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Because you’re all I can think about lately. The way you look on a horse. The way you cared for me in the hospital. The way you stayed with me even though you didn’t have to.” He moved closer again, close enough that I could smell his cologne mixed with the scent of coffee. “Because when that heifer charged, all I could think was that I had to protect you. That I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but stand there as he closed the distance between us until we were almost touching.
“I want you,” he said quietly, his voice dropping to something rough and honest. “I know that’s not part of our arrangement. I know you’re straight and this is just…inconvenientfor you. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel more than that.”
The confession hung between us, a storm cloud threatening to break. I could see the fear in his eyes, the worry that he’d just crossed a line we couldn’t come back from.
And maybe we had. Maybe everything that had happened today—walking in on him, my reaction down by the creek, this moment right now—had pushed us past the point of no return.
“I’m not...” I started, then stopped. What was I trying to say? That I wasn’t interested? That would be a lie. That I was straight? After what I’d done today, I wasn’t so sure anymore.
“You’re not what?” Dante asked softly.
I looked up at him, at those dark eyes watching me with an intensity that made my stomach flip. At his lips, slightly parted as he waited for my response. At the bruising visible at the collar of his shirt, a reminder of what he’d risked for me.
