AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Your back,” I reminded him. Even now it was hard not to laugh at the memory of the day Puddles had delivered her puppies. Lincoln and I had gone through so much effort to make sure Walter wouldn’t discover what we’d been up to by the stream that day, but Nacho’s interruption had kept us from cleaning up like we’d been planning. After all the commotion had died down and Puddles and her brood had been safely tucked away, Walter hadn’t been able to stop hugging and thanking me for saving his girl and his grandpuppies. Unfortunately, the old man—who was a much sharper cookie than he pretended to be—hadn’t missed the fact that Lincoln’s back and hair had been covered in dirt and leaves. In front of God and everyone, he’d asked Lincoln who he’d been rolling around in the mud with while I’d been saving the day.
“I am and always will be the hero. I have six godpuppies to prove it,” I added.
Lincoln rolled his eyes at me. “Well, I get to fuck the hero’s brains out every chance I get, so that trumps anything Walter tries to throw at us.”
“You,” I again corrected. Lincoln always had a habit of lumping us together when he went to war with Walter over something. I’d learned very quickly what role I was supposed to take in those battles.
I was Switzerland.
Neutrality had saved my ass on many occasions.
Although my ass often paid for it later when it was just me and Lincoln.
As much as I liked topping on occasion, like the first time Lincoln and I had gone all the way, I would never get enough of his cock buried inside of me, filling me. I’d never tire of the words he’d whisper into my ear whether he was fucking me hard and fast up against a tree or making slow, deep, passionate love to me in our bed. And the only jolts I ever felt when he closed his big hand around my dick or ordered me to jerk myself off while he watched were the kind that everyone in the world should be lucky enough to experience at least once in their lifetime. The kind of jolts that stole your breath in the best way possible.
“How was work?” Lincoln asked as he settled down next to me. Nacho took up his usual spot at my side with his head on my lap while Chips nudged Lincoln’s thigh. The puppy I’d breathed life into loved being held and he specifically loved being held by Lincoln. I liked to think that I was the reason he liked having someone’s hands on his little body, but the rest was all Lincoln. I didn’t blame Chips for putting his trust in Lincoln’s strong hands.
How many times had I done the same thing?
“Good. Busy,” I added. “I didn’t have time to finish my homework so I’ve gotta do it tonight.”
Lincoln grinned. “So are you telling me youdoordon’twant my help studying?”
I laughed. “No comment,” I said since there was no good answer to that. The last time he’d helped me study it had somehow turned into strip studying. For every answer I’d gotten right, Lincoln lost a piece of clothing, and for every wrong answer,myclothes went flying. Needless to say, whatever the outcome was, we’d never managed to get through a single set of study questions.
I’d been hesitant to take some online college courses. Not because I’d been worried about failing them or anything, but I’d feared they’d take away my time with Lincoln, especially since I was also working part time at the library. The sudden and unexpected departure of Arthur Tomlinson had left an opening for a librarian. When the town had decided to turn the single full-time job into two part-time ones, Lincoln had urged me to apply. I hadn’t thought I’d even get a chance, especially since I only had a high school education and had no work history to speak of. But it was just another piece that I’d been given the choice to grab or not.
I’d grabbed it with both hands.
My coworker/boss was a retired schoolteacher who’d been teaching middle schoolers long before I was even born. She was one of the sweetest people I’d ever met and had encouraged me in so many little ways. When I’d suggested adding some LGBTQ books and other inclusive works of fiction and nonfiction, she’d been completely on board and had handed me the reins. With my family’s help, I’d organized a fundraiser to help raise money for the books since the library had a limited budget. Riley had been the one to suggest to my boss that I offer tutoring services through the library. That had been a little scarier piece for me to pick up because working in a relatively quiet library during the least busy hours was one thing, but teachingactualchildrenactualstuff had been a whole other animal.
I loved every minute of it.
I loved watching that moment when the person I was working with had that “I’ve got it” expression. The whole thing had been a reminder of why I’d always dreamed of teaching.
A dream I’d given up on in my pre-Lincoln/Pelican Bay days.
I’d given a lot up before I’d found my way back home.
The reminder of why I’d asked Lincoln to meet me in our spot hit me hard as I thought about all the lies and secrets I’d been running from for so long. Therapy had proven it wasn’t as simple as wishing something away or forgetting it or pretending it didn’t happen. I’d had good and bad days with my therapy, with Lincoln, with everything, but I hadn’t tried or even wanted to run again. I was learning to tackle my issues one by one. There were times I still felt the urge to hurt myself rather than use my voice to express my pain. It’d been an eye-opener to learn I’d been using food as another coping mechanism. I hadn’t even been aware of it until my therapist had pointed out that one of the few things I’d had control over in my life after leaving The Tower was how much I did or didn’t eat. I’d always thought I was just a picky eater or I was naturally skinny, but the more I’d looked back, the more I’d realized she was right.
Coming to understand the reasons behind my actions was paramount in most of the things that came up in my therapy sessions or in problems I encountered within my relationship with Lincoln, but understanding and changing were two very different things. Habits that had protected me for so long but that I no longer needed to depend on couldn’t just be changed with a snap of my fingers. Even once the behaviors made sense and I understood their source, I found it hard to change. So much had been rooted in my subconscious that it was hard sometimes to unpack it all. But the one thing I’d learned that I held close whenever old fears or urges returned was to say something.
To Lincoln.
Or to any member of my new, very large family.
It was still okay that I wasn’t always okay.
One of the hardest things I’d had to deal with was when I’d found out that authorities in Oregon had shut down Father Abbott’s “church” after they’d received an anonymous tip about the place. TechnicallyIwas that anonymous tip, even though it had been sent via Cam, but only when I’d been in a place where I could mentally handle the fallout.
Fallout didn’t even adequately describe the outcome. Dozens and dozens of former “patients” had come forward to press charges against Father Abbott and the men and women who’d helped him inflict countless cruelties on them during their time at both The Ranch and The Tower. I’d decided against being a part of the investigation because between the national coverage and the relentless team of authorities building a case against the church that seemed to grow bigger every day, I’d accomplished what I’d set out to do.
I was living my truth.
And Father Abbott was rotting in a cell that I hoped wasn’t much bigger than the closet he’d put me in, both physically and mentally.
The best part had been when we’d learned that Father Abbott’s church was located in the same county in Oregon where Lincoln had gotten his second chance at life. The young lawyer who’d promised his dying wife that he’d keep going had done exactly that not long after giving Lincoln his own second chance. He was now the Attorney General for Oregon and was heading up the investigation into not only Father Abbott’s church but similar organizations throughout the state. The newly remarried man with his first child on the way had vowed that Oregon would lead the charge to ban all forms of gay conversion therapy. If I hadn’t already loved the man for what he’d done for Lincoln, I would have loved him for all the stories he would make surewouldbe heard.
