After he left, I sat alone on my couch, staring at the pill bottle. Four pills today. When had that become normal? When had I started justifying extra doses and measuring time between pills like some kind of optimization strategy?
I thought about what Dusty had said, about grieving, about processing instead of numbing. The idea of feeling everything I'dbeen avoiding made my chest tight with anxiety. But maybe that was the point. Maybe the panic I'd been carrying around was partly withdrawal, partly genuine emotion I'd been too afraid to face.
My phone buzzed with a text from Ruben:Pittsburg wants to talk back-up QB job if Broncos cut you. Also ESPN wants interview about comeback timeline. Can you call tomorrow?
I stared at the message for a long time, then set the phone aside.If the pain gets too bad, call me instead. My fingers itched to make that call, to see if he wanted to just come over and sleep next to me, let me return the favor with an early morning blow job. But neither of us needed that right now. Dusty was getting ready to leave this place for a new opportunity, and I needed to figure out my next step so I could give Ruben a call.
Relationships are just another form of pain I don't need right now, I told myself. This, what was happening with Dusty and me was therapy and friendship, nothing more. Because caring meant vulnerability, and vulnerability meant the possibility of loss. I'd already lost my career, my marriage, my sense of who I was supposed to be. I couldn't afford to lose anything else.
Chapter Five
Dusty
I was guiding the afternoon yoga class through a gentle hip opener sequence when the studio door opened. Eight guests were spread across their mats, breathing finally steady after we'd worked through various tensions—the crushing weight of public personas, bitter betrayals in the boardroom, the specific kind of exhaustion that came from having everything and feeling nothing.
The usual knots that brought these men to The Ranch.
Vincent appeared in the doorway with Kaiden, another staff member, beside him. His expression was perfectly composed, but something in his eyes caught my attention. He gave me a nod toward the door.
“Gentlemen,” Vincent said to the class, his voice carrying that warm authority that made everyone feel taken care of, “Kaiden is going to guide you through the last portion of today's session. He's an excellent mentor and a vibrant spirit here at The Ranch.”
Kaiden stepped forward, standing tall at 6'2” with his chubby frame reflecting approachability. His dark hair, styled in a slickpompadour, added a retro flair that complemented his animated personality. He flashed his infectious smile, deep brown eyes radiating warmth, making everyone feel instantly at ease. “We'll finish with some gentle twists and a longer meditation today,” he said, his voice bright and playful. “Just continue breathing as Dusty taught you, and let your worries float away!” He gestured expressively, guiding the class with an easy charm that lifted their spirits.
I caught Vincent's eye and saw the tension in his jaw. Whatever this was about, it was serious. In seven years of working at The Ranch, I'd never seen him interrupt a session unless it was urgent. The last time had been when a guest had a heart episode in the sauna. Vincent had handled that with the same calm efficiency I saw now, though I could read the concern beneath his professional mask.
“Thank you all for a beautiful practice today,” I said to the class, grabbing my water bottle and towel. “Kaiden will take excellent care of you for the final sequence.”
The transition was seamless—Vincent had made sure of that. But as soon as we were out of the studio and the door closed behind us, Vincent's composed facade shifted.
“It's Cord,” he said as we walked quickly across the courtyard toward the medical wing. The October sun was warm on our backs, but his words sent a chill through me. “Dr. Hart called me twenty minutes ago. He's having some kind of crisis, and threatening to leave.”
I hadn't seen Cord since our session two nights ago—he'd texted yesterday to cancel, saying his shoulder was flaring up and he needed rest. I'd offered to come by, but he'd insisted he just needed to sleep it off. Later that evening, Ramon mentioned seeing Cord heading into the Dark Room, one of the Ranch's spaces for anonymous hookups. I'd figured that meant he wasfeeling better, more confident in his body again. That's what this place was for, after all: sexual exploration without judgment.
My stomach dropped. “What happened?”
We found Dr. Hart in the hallway of the medical clinic, his calm demeanor frayed around the edges.
“He's asking for you specifically,” Hart said, and I could hear the concern threading through his professional tone.
“What happened?”
“He ran out of his pain medication. Came here demanding more, but I can't just prescribe Schedule II narcotics without proper documentation. He needs to contact his primary physician.” Hart ran a hand through his graying hair, a gesture I'd rarely seen from him. “The thing is, his shoulder pain seems manageable. It's the anxiety about not having the pills that's the actual issue. Classic dependency behavior.”
Through the examination room door, I could hear Cord's voice, sharp with desperation. The sound made something twist in my chest.
“He's threatening to leave?”
“Says if he can't get what he needs here, he'll go somewhere that can help him.” Hart's expression was grim. “Vincent thought you might talk him down since you've been working with him.”
I knew what “somewhere that can help him” meant. Back to Denver, back to doctors who might not ask the right questions. Back to the spiral that brought him here in the first place. The image of Cord alone in some sterile apartment, medicating himself into numbness, made my hands clench.
I took a deep breath, trying to center myself the way I taught others. “I'll talk to him,” I said, though part of me wondered what the hell I was supposed to say. I was good with bodies and breath, with helping people find peace through movement.But this? This was different. This was Cord, and the thought of failing him made my chest hurt.
Vincent put a hand on my shoulder, warm and grounding. “Just be yourself, Dusty. You've connected with him in ways none of us have managed.”
I pushed through the examination room door and found Cord pacing like a caged mountain cat. The late afternoon light slanted through the blinds, casting bars of shadow across his face. His good hand clutched his phone so tight his knuckles were white, and energy radiated off him in waves. Not withdrawal, but pure anxiety. He looked younger somehow, like the weight of everything was crushing him.
“Cord.”
