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From: PrestonI miss you.
From: PrestonI’m sorry about before. I shouldn’t have pushed. You are your own man, Ambrose. I just want what’s best for you.
From: PrestonPlease talk to me.
Ambrose closed his eyes and willed his heart to stop racing. Preston drudged up memories, and some of them were tied to his mother. AngelicalovedPreston, loved how driven and dedicated he was. She swore time and again that Preston’s desires and dreams would rub off on Ambrose and together they’d be unstoppable. And even when he admitted to her that Preston had cheated, she said it was no reason to break up.
“It’s just sex, Ambrose. Honestly, if he was fooling around, then he must need something he’s not getting at home. Have you tried new things? Told him no when he wanted to do something different?”
“I should burn you and never look back,” he said as he touched the corner of the envelope.
Instead, he texted Barrett. He needed someone who would understand. Who would be kind.
Thinking about Barrett’s deep voice and big hands and unruly hair (hair he wanted to take care of and swore he would, maybe he should tonight, maybe he should go over there and be good to a man he really, really liked)…it sent a surge of longing through him. His hands itched to map Barrett’s body, following bone and sinew and skin like he could memorize every bump and scar and the smooth spaces perfect for his fingers and mouth.
From: AmbroseI hate to be a bother, but something distressing has happened. I know it’s not our Friday night dinner date, but could we talk if you’re free tonight?
The reply came back immediately, despite knowing Barrett was out in the truck with Jacques. They were checking all the cameras around the supply stations and fire lookouts again, inspecting wires and lenses for tampering. Just in case, Barrett had said. With tourist season quickly approaching, they didn’t want to miss any sign of sabotage, no matter how small.
From: BarrettAny chance I could get some tea when I come over? I might have already drank through that oolong mix you gave me.
Despite the ball of anxiety in his chest, Ambrose laughed. Barrett was so damn honest and sweet and it made him want the man even more.
From: AmbroseI’ll mix it up now.
From: BarrettHow’s 3 sound? Sorry to make you wait, our shifts go a little longer now with the weather warming up.
From: AmbroseI appreciate you more than I can say. Three’s fine. Bring Dandi, I have something for her. And don’t be too worried about any music you hear, I just might be channeling my rage into a new piece.
From: BarrettDon’t play too hard. I’m rather fond of your hands intact. And yeah, I’ll bring her.
Ambrose left the envelope on the kitchen counter and Preston’s text on “read“. Fuck them both.
Ambrose didn’t start pacing until he showed Barrett the letter. “It’s completely unfair and yet, that’s how she does everything.” He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, his face twisted into a bitter, sad mask. “It’s a long story.”
“Try me.” Barrett gave him a soft smile. He didn’t like seeing Ambrose in this way, caught in a riptide of anxiety and sadness. “I’m no stranger to family bullshit.”
That pulled Ambrose up short, stopping mid-pace to stare at him. Barrett leaned back on the couch, let his hand fall onto Dandi’s head as she sat at his feet. Ambrose needed him now, and not in the way they’d fallen together of late, with whispered promises to take it slow and drugged kisses that made his heart hurt. He needed an ear. A friend. A companion. An ally.
“I’m dumping on you.” Ambrose made it a statement, but Barrett heard the ask there, too. The seeking of permission.
“You’re not.”
And then Ambrose twisted his hands together, lacing those long, agile fingers into a weave. That made his stomach clench. But worse than that, it made Barrett angry. Whatever Ambrose’s past with his mother, watching this little sign of his upset made him see red. It made him want to defend Ambrose with every breath he had. The force of it sent the air from Barrett’s lungs and his heavy exhale caught Ambrose’s attention. His dark eyebrows shot up, grey eyes wide, and he strode toward Barrett with concern all over his beautiful face.
“I’m all right. I’m just…” Barrett looked down at the floor. “I’m mad on your behalf.”
Something dark left Ambrose’s eyes and with it, a bit of his own anger lifted, too. “I’m dumping on you,” Ambrose repeated, his voice now sadder, softer.
He couldn’t help but smile. “You’re not, and I’m telling you that to make sure you understand something, Ambrose.” Barrett leaned in, hoping Ambrose would do the same. That line between them tugged, drawing them closer with Ambrose looking at him with undisguised hope. “I’ll never lie to you. I might not dress up hard truths to keep the blows from hurting. But I’m not false. I hate people who are.”
And gods, when Ambrose kneeled so Barrett could touch his cheek, the shiver he got in response sent a jolt of gentle desire through him. This was no hot and heavy throb of wanting, leaving Barrett to imagine how Ambrose would look with his legs wrapped around his waist, sweaty and red-cheeked and begging. This was…deeper. Fonder. Somehow more possessive and honest than raw lust. He wanted to care for Ambrose. Wanted to know him. Wanted to let him peel back his layers a bit at a time and show Barrett who he was at the center.
Finally Ambrose said, “I know. And I wouldn’t lie to you, either. It’s just…this shit is buried so deep in me, it’s like it’s gone septic. I thought space, physical space, would help. And it has. But then she shows back up like a cancer.”
“Do you want to read it?”
“No.” Ambrose blinked hard and Barrett saw a glimmer of dampness at the corners of his eyes. “I want it to stop. I want to live my life free of her.”
