I smiled against his skin, warmth spreading through me. "Spring's nice. Wildflowers everywhere. Fall's good too. Cooler temperatures, clearer skies for stargazing." I lifted my head to look at him. "But honestly, I'd find something cool for us to do whenever you could get away."
His eyes crinkled at the corners. "I'd like that."
He pulled me up for another kiss, slow and sweet, full of possibility. In that moment, three days didn't seem like an ending anymore. Just a pause before whatever came next.
Chapter Ten
Cord
The breathing exercises worked without me fighting them. Twenty minutes of meditation on the cabin's front porch, watching morning light filter through oak leaves, and my mind stayed mostly quiet. Not silent, no, that wasn't how this worked. But manageable. Like someone had switched the radio from static to actual music, something I could follow instead of noise that made me want to put my fist through a wall.
Processing emotions instead of white-knuckling through them was strange. Like learning to swim after years of barely treading water.
“Four counts in, hold for four, out for six,” I murmured, watching a mockingbird hop between branches. The rhythm came naturally now, my lungs cooperating instead of fighting me.
When my mind started spinning toward worst-case scenarios—career over, money running out, everyone talking about the quarterback who lost his shit—I could pull it back. Not every time, but enough that I wasn't drowning.
“Looking zen as hell out there,” Dusty said from the doorway, coffee mug in hand. His hair was still mussed from sleep, catching the morning light. Everything about him suggested self-reliance, from the way he'd built his career to how he handled his art supplies to the careful way he discussed his gallery plans. Like someone who'd learned early not to depend on others.
“Feeling pretty zen, actually.” I stood, rolling my shoulder. Still stiff in the mornings, the damaged muscles protesting after hours of immobility, but the sharp edge of panic that usually accompanied the pain had dulled. “That's new.”
“Progress.”
He handed me a mug, and we settled into the two mismatched chairs Vincent had left on the porch. The silence between us was comfortable, the kind you couldn't force or fake.
My phone sat silent on the cabin's kitchen counter where I'd left it that first night. Three days of ignoring the outside world, and the world hadn't ended. Ruben was probably losing his mind, but that was his problem. For once, other people's urgency didn't feel like my emergency.
“Can I ask you something?” I said, watching steam curl from my coffee.
“Shoot.”
“When did you know you were gay? And when did you actually come out?”
Dusty's eyebrows rose. He took a long sip of coffee before answering, like he was organizing his thoughts. “About myself? Since I was maybe fourteen, fifteen. Started noticing I was watching the boys' swim team for different reasons than my friends were.”
“What finally made you ready to come out?”
“Got tired of pretending I was someone else.” He leaned back in his chair, the old wood creaking. “Tired of dating women andfeeling like I was lying to everyone, including myself. My senior year of high school, I took Ashley Hart to prom. Sweet girl, gorgeous, everyone said we looked perfect together. And I spent the whole night wishing I was slow-dancing with her brother instead.”
The image made me smile. “How'd your family take it?”
“My mom was okay with it. Think she already knew, honestly. She just hugged me and said she wanted me to be happy.” His voice softened with the memory. “My dad had passed by then, so I never got to tell him. Sometimes I wonder if he would've understood.”
“And your brothers?”
“Sam was protective, wanted to fight anyone who gave me shit about it. Jake just shrugged and asked if this meant he had better odds with the ladies now that I was out of the running.” Dusty grinned. “What about you? I know the media story, but what's the real version?”
“Since college, probably. Maybe even high school.” The admission felt easier here, with October morning air crisp around us and no one to perform for. “But I was good at compartmentalizing. Football, family expectations, the whole Catholic guilt thing… easier to just focus on the next game, next season.”
“Until it wasn't.”
“Until I hit twenty-six and realized I was living someone else's life. My ex-wife deserved better than a husband who was acting a part. I deserved better than hiding who I was.”
We sat with that for a moment. A warm breeze stirred the oak leaves, carrying the scent of cedar and that earthy smell Texas mornings had. Normal sounds—birds, insects, the distant murmur of the creek behind the cabin. The kind of peace I didn't know I was missing until I found it here.
“How'd your family take it?” Dusty asked, though something in his tone suggested he already suspected the answer.
And there it was, the question that still made me . “About like you'd expect from a Catholic family in New Mexico. Lots of prayer circles and suggestions that I needed to 'work through this phase.'“
