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But here he was, almost two weeks later, and the ache in his heart hadn’t diminished. He’d spent the day mucking out the stable with Paul, the smell of horses and hay surrounding him, a comforting scent that felt like home.
If home was where the heart was, then Butch’s was a thousand miles away.
By the time supper was over, he was already dreading another night of little sleep. He went outside, itching for a smoke, but he’d finished his last pack three days ago and hadn’t bought any more.
I guess I chose the wrong time to finally quit.
The bunkhouse door creaked behind him, but Butch didn’t turn to see who’d come out. A moment later, Teague joined him at the paddock fence.
“Thought I might find you out here,” he said quietly.
Butch didn’t respond.
“There’s a bottle of bourbon in my cabin, and I think it’s got both our names on it. So why don’t you join me for a drink in front of the fire, and then we can talk?”
“Who says I wanna talk?”
To his surprise, Teague put his arm around Butch’s shoulders. “You don’t have to say a goddamn word. Iknowyou, remember? I’ve been meaning to say something these last few weeks, but I kept putting it off, thinking you’d come around.”
“And tonight you got tired of waiting, is that it?” Lord knew, Butch was getting tired of waiting to hear from Sol.
“Something like that. I’m a good listener. And I think you need to get a helluva lot off your chest.”
Butch debated telling him thanks but no thanks, when a wave of exhaustion washed over him, leaving him spent.
“You know what? You’re probably right.”
Teague patted him on the back. “Then let’s get out of this cold night air.”
They walked past the paddock, past the Leather barn, and arrived at Teague’s cabin. Once inside, Teague pointed to the couch in front of the fire, then went in search of the bourbon. He poured two stiff drinks, set the glasses on the coffee table, then knelt in front of the fireplace and got to work assembling a fire.
“You need anything?” he asked as he set light to the paper under the kindling.
Butch sighed. “Only Sol, and I don’t think you’ve gothimhidden around here someplace.”
Teague’s sigh matched his. “Dear Lord, youhavegot it bad.”
He joined Butch on the couch, leaning back against the cushions. The crackle of the logs was a pleasant intrusion, and Butch sipped his bourbon, relishing its warmth.
“I don’t have to ask if it’s serious, do I?”
Butch nursed his glass between his palms. “You wanna know how Sol first knew he was gay? He had the hots for someone in high school.” He stared into the flames licking over the wood. “That someone was me, apparently.”
Teague’s breathing caught. “Holy fuck.”
“Not that he was out back then. And me? I was a mess.” Between sips, Butch told Teague about high school, Scott, his death, Butch’s assumptions, leaving home, and learning the truth from Sol. He left nothing out because Teague had nailed it.
He knew Butch from balls to bones, so why hide the truth from him?
Teague’s face tightened. “Your bad dreams… they were all about Scott, weren’t they?”
He nodded. “What I didn’t know was Sol was dealing with his own pain.” He gave Teague the cut-down version Toby had given him, then told him about the trip to San Francisco. “And that’s how I left it, with a kinda ultimatum. Except I’m starting to realize he isn’t gonna open up to me. I mean, it’s been two weeks.”
Teague chuckled, and Butch bristled.
“What’s so funny?”
He drank a little, then studied Butch. “Remind me again. How long did it takeyouto tell someone about Scott?” He shook his head. “Pot… meet kettle.”
