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But I was nothing like Hoyt when it comes to character. I’m still nothing like Hoyt.
He deserves whatever shame he’s feeling right now.
When dinner’s over, most of the others hang around to chat with Gary and Paul. I say my quick goodbyes, mention some lame ass reason for needing to get my rest, then see my way out. I cross the field in the dark, the sun having set during dinner. On any other night, I just might take my time going home, so as to enjoy all the stars above my head. But I have no room in my heart to appreciate a damned thing tonight.
The moment I’m back in my cabin, I peel off my shirt, pitch it at a chair by the window, then drop onto my bed and stare up at the ceiling, mulling over everything. Tonight should’ve been fun. It should’ve been lighthearted and relaxing. I might’ve even had a few drinks, laughed with Tanner’s dad, and shared some jokes to the table about Peepers needing more than just a good shearing.
But all of my thoughts were Hoyt fucking Nowak.
As was the topic of conversation the whole damned dinner.
My phone buzzes on my nightstand. I give it a peek. Tanner. I honestly don’t know if I have the energy right now to chat with him, especially since I’ve got precisely nothing nice to say about his so-called “star athlete”.
But my phone keeps buzzing anyway, persistent.
He’s more than texting. He’s calling now.
Fuck me.
I swipe my phone off the nightstand. “Hey, Tanner!” I greet him in my cheery, strained, nothing’s-wrong demeanor.
He senses it right away. “Harry, my man. Are you alright?”
I cringe. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”
“My dad said you left the dinner kinda early. Just texted him asking how it was going. Is it about Hoyt? Is he working out fine? He mentioned something about some tension at the table …?”
I shut my eyes and shake my head. “Look, man …”
“I told you he’s a team player. He’ll get the job done. I know he’s a little headstrong, but who isn’t? All you’ve gotta do is show him somethin’ once, and he’ll—”
“I gotta be honest,” I cut him off. “I don’t know if he’s gonna work out. He’s rubbing everyone the wrong way. Everyone. He’s on my last nerve. His reputation is eating him alive. Word gets ‘round even out here. I swear I’m tryin’ to give him a chance, but—”
“Bull crap you are!” he spits back in a burst of noise to my ear. “You’re doin’ what the rest of them are doin’! You’re judging him, holding his past against him, not forgiving him.”
I suppress a growl. “He’s not the angel you think he is.”
“I didn’t say he was an angel. He’ll need some tough love. Just put him to the test, get some dirt and grass on his ass, he’ll come around. You gotta have faith in him, buddy. No one else does. And I thought, of all people—”
“Seriously, Tanner …”
“—that you’d be the one with an open enough heart to stand up for him. Y’know how Spruce can be: full of love, but that love sometimes comes with all kinds of teeth.”
I roll my eyes and drop back on the bed, phone tucked against my neck as I stare up at the ceiling. “So what are you saying I am? His goddamned mouth guard?”
“Be his example. Be his role model. Be his big bro.”
“I ain’t his daddy, Tanner. Next you’ll ask me to put the guy in a diaper and have him suckle my titties.” I hear him guffawing like a hyena on the other end. I can’t help but crack a smile. “Shut up, man, seriously. He isn’t gonna last another day. He barely made it through his first.”
“Holy fucking hell … ‘suckle my titties’ …” He’s still laughing maniacally at that. “Dude, I gotta tell Billy what you just said. Hey, Billy, babe! Can you hear me? … Billy?” He sighs. “Hmm, actually, I think Billy’s gettin’ ready for bed. And with Marcus and Josh at a friend’s house tonight, we, uh … kinda gotta take advantage of the situation, if you get what I’m sayin’.”
He means sex. Yes, I get it. “Well, don’t let me keep you. I’m just over here hating my life.”
“Hey, with a couple of kids of our own now, I can sympathize with you havin’ one of your own to look after. A big kid. To suckle your big titties.” Tanner snorts again. “Hah, just kiddin’. Oh, now I can’t stop picturin’ Hoyt in a diaper with you cradling him and—”
“Just go and fuck your husband already.” I hang up on him, cutting off his laughter, then fling my phone aside.
Silence fills my ears.
Long, lonely, empty silence.
Truth is, it isn’t a diaper I’m imagining on Hoyt. It’s those tight jeans of his, through which I grabbed his ass as we grappled in the pig pen, fighting for dominance. Those jeans, the feel of my fingers rubbing against that denim, rough yet soft, supple, and easy to dig my fingers into.
