“Fuck, I’m sorry.” The tension in his chest broke, and the cry that came forth was the same one he had in Wyatt’s arms. “I’m so sorry, Justine.”
Her lips curled into a deep, heartbreaking pout and she grabbed him, hugging him fiercely to her chest. Olive ran to them, flinging herself against them and beginning to cry, feeling her family's emotions.
After several long moments, Justine pulled back, kissing Olive on the top of her head, and looked up at him. “I’m sorry for my big reaction.”
“Don’t be,” he reassured. “You had every right to be concerned. And I should’ve told you I was struggling. I should’ve known better.”
“You are the kindest, most sensitive man I know,” Justine said softly. “But you chose to be more compassionate to everyone else except yourself. I wish you would just take an ounce of what you give to others and give it back to yourself.”
He closed his eyes briefly, seeing his last image of Wyatt, grinning like a fool over the phone and John admitting to how much he liked him, and how that brief vulnerability had made him run. Wyatt deserved better, and so did he.
Justine was right.
It was time to make a change. Starting with himself and accepting his feelings, no matter how messy, out of control, or disordered they were or felt. He couldn’t be scared anymore. Fear was what drove their brother to the edge, and over it. Fear of never being enough. The shame, blame, and judgment that were universally felt by so many, and crushing to some.
And he was tired of letting that dark shame crush his light.
He was done hiding.
Done judging what he couldn’t control—his sensitive, vulnerable heart.
He saw the flash of a white cowboy hat, and with a slow grin, his heart fluttered.
“I’m working on it,” he replied, kissing his sister’s forehead and then Olive’s. “Let’s get some ice cream.”
Chapter 14
Wyatt
He was so damned nervous he thought he might vomit all over Jin’s art gallery floor.
“Oh my God, stop it.” Jin materialized out of thin air, holding two glasses of champagne and shoving one into Wyatt’s hand. “Drink. You’re making me nervous, and it’smyshow.”
Wyatt polished off the entire glass in two gulps, letting out a chest growling burp because of the bubbles.
A waitress dressed in a fairy costume and carrying an empty silver tray walked by. He placed his glass on it, voice hoarse as he said, “Two more.”
“Please, stat,” Jin insisted, before rounding on him. “What’s happening? You’re sweating. Is this a panic attack in real time?”
“Yes—no,” he gasped, sucking down air. “Maybe.”
He glanced around at the art pieces, which were image after image of men. All kinds of men: thick, dark, furry, muscular, tattooed, pierced, bald, old, gray. And butt ass naked.
Naked. Naked. Naked.
And he unknowingly invited John to this. On their first official date.
The art show was a collection of photos capturing ‘real men in the wild’, with themes of exposure and natural masculine beauty. Every wall in the gallery was decorated with massive, blown-up art pieces that towered over them. The men in the photos were all doing something, whether in their kitchen making coffee, at home, or in public places like the library, at work, or at the grocery store.
And all Wyatt saw were the number of fleshy, hard, semi-hard, or deflated dicks.
So many dicks!
Some of the art pieces were over-exposed shots grouped together to make one person, or polaroids decorating a chandelier. One of the models was actually here, standing on a rotating centerpiece, also very naked, and being critiqued openly by viewers passing by. He was well defined, flawlessly built and hung like a horse, with a piercing right through his…
Oh, sweet baby Jesus.
Jin urgently waved down another waiter, who was also dressed in fairy wings and little else. He was carrying what appeared to be water in crystal glasses on his tray, and openly cringed at the sight of Wyatt, who self-consciously raced a hand through his sweaty hair.
