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“Yes.” Hugo’s eyes glistened. “Of course, yes. My God, I’ve been dreaming of this moment since I was a teenager. Yes.”
Brand blinked hard as his own tears rose, and he slid the ring onto Hugo’s waiting finger. “You are my family.”
“And you’re mine.” Hugo yanked him up and into a hard kiss that sealed their promise of a life together. Their commitment to love and cherish each other far into the future, and to always be each other’s family.
For as long as they both shall live.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jackson must have gotten back to his home just in time. Dog bolted out into the yard on a soft yelp and even though he adored and trusted his pup, he still sniffed around for any sign she hadn’t held it. Then he sat quietly in the middle of the floor with Dog beside him, absently stroking her head while, now that he had some time alone to think, he let his thoughts tumble all over themselves.
Deep down, he was still furious with Wyatt for his lies, and that was going to take more time to process. But when Brand had called to tell him what was happening, that Wyatt had been taken hostage by a criminal, crashed his car, and was on his way to the ER, all those bad feelings had been squashed down by fear. Real fear that he could lose Wyatt without them having a chance to talk and process things.
For Jackson to say he loved him. Because he did. For all Jackson’s anger, hedidlove Wyatt andhadn’tlost him tonight. They still had a chance to work things out.
Sleeping beside Wyatt, holding him close, had both warmed Jackson inside and woken those old hurts again, and he was grateful for a chance to distance himself. Even if only for an hour with the excuse of getting Dog. He’d probably swing by the town diner, too, and grab them all some takeout to eat whenever they were hungry. The toast lunch had been fun but not exactly filling.
And now Wyatt was Brand’s son from a high school girlfriend. That had kicked him right in the nuts, and yet it didn’t completely surprise him. The more Jackson thought back, the more he could see bits of Brand in Wyatt. His height (not so much his build, because Wyatt was slender, while Brand was on the bulkier side), the way Wyatt smiled, and sometimes the way he walked when he was confident in what he was doing. Revisiting those memories, it was so much easier to see the pair was related.
Jackson was also too exhausted to go through the mental gymnastics of trying to reconcile the fact that he’d slept with both men, so he ignored that little factoid for now. Mostly, he focused on how he’d felt these past twelve or so hours. Panic and fear. Relief and gratitude. Love. Anger and confusion. Love.
But love continued to hit the hardest, and Jackson knew that he would be able to forgive Wyatt for his betrayal. It wouldn’t be overnight and it wouldn’t be easy, but his heart told him that coming to terms with things, talking long and hard with Wyatt about why this hurt so much, would be worth it.
They were worth it.
He took a slow walk around the entire perimeter of the motel to center himself before collecting Dog and heading back to Weston. Shelby greeted him when he walked into the diner, and he went to the counter to order two BLTs and a turkey club, unsure what Ramie might like but he didn’t want to not offer her a sandwich if she was hungry. Dog sniffed eagerly at the bag of food on the drive over to Ramie’s, but she obediently listened when he told her no.
He adored his dog and was forever grateful she’d wandered into his campsite that day and stuck around. All his good luck seemed to happen around that time, with both the room at the motel and his job at Woods Ranch. Things had just fallen into place, and he’d never taken that luck for granted. He wouldn’t take his luck at meeting and falling for Wyatt for granted, either.
They could work through this.
When he got back, the front door was locked, so he assumed Ramie and Wyatt were both asleep. He rang the bell and waited. A rumpled Wyatt let him in, then brightened when he saw both Dog and the bag of food.
Wyatt knelt to ruffle her ears and cheeks, and then gave her a hug. “Great to see you again, girl.” She licked his hand.
“Brought food.” Obvious statement was obvious, but whatever. Jackson carried it into the kitchen to unbag and organize. Wyatt immediately grabbed one of the BLTs. And why not? Everyone Jackson knew loved bacon. “What do you think Ramie will want?”
“What are my choices?” Ramie asked as she walked into the kitchen, dressed in familiar jeans and a tight, low-cut blouse.
“BLT or turkey club.”
“Ooh, BLT please, and thank you.”
Jackson handed her the container, then took the club to the table and sat beside Wyatt. They didn’t talk as they ate, everyone occasionally sneaking Dog bits of meat from their respective sandwiches. Jackson gave her a few of the kettle-cooked potato chips that came with the meal. The way Wyatt tried to navigate his thick sandwich without wrinkling his broken nose too much was kind of adorable and also a little sad. He hadn’t thought through the sandwich thing and probably should have gotten Wyatt soup.
Wyatt didn’t complain once, and when Ramie offered him a beer, he looked to Jackson for approval. “Go ahead,” Jackson said. “You had a rough night.”
“Awesome, thank you,” he replied to both him and Ramie, then took the beer.
Jackson turned down a beer in favor of a cola.
After Ramie left for work, Jackson cleaned up the kitchen and gave a few more scraps to Dog, since he’d stupidly forgot to bring some of her food. He and Wyatt settled on the couch together, and Jackson pulled a surprise out of his pocket. Held it up.
Wyatt stared at it dumbly. “What is that?”
“It’s called a lot of different things, but I call it a mouth harp. I remembered how fascinated you were about whistling on a blade of grass, so I thought I’d show you this. It’s an old-fashioned thing not a lot of folks still play, but my adopted father did and it was somethin’ he actually taught us besides farm work and bedtime prayers.” Jackson held no affection for the man who’d passed on a few years ago, but he did have fond memories of playing the harp in the barn with Kirby.
“Father encouraged us to play and enjoy music if we had a talent,” Jackson continued. “One of my younger brothers, Donnie, had a real affinity for the classical guitar and was good. I hope he kept at it.”
