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His quiet encouragement helped Wyatt sit on the couch and keep talking, glad when Jackson sat beside him. “I was just a kid when it happened, because he’s older than me. When he was fourteen, Peter and a friend of his did something that led to the harm of another person, but at first no one knew it was them. But his friend’s conscience got the better of him, so he told what they’d done.”
“His friend told the truth.”
“Yeah. But my stepfather was furious, not just at Peter for what he’d done, but at his friend for narcing on them and getting them both arrested. Both boys got probation and community service but the damage was done. My stepfather sat me and my stepsister, Lily, down and basically said if we ever told on a friend like that, he’d use a horse whip on us until we couldn’t sit for a month.”
Wyatt had seen his stepfather wield that leather whip, often at county fair demonstrations, sometimes on real horses. The cracking sound still made him jump from absolute fright. He glanced over at Jackson, whose face was flushed, his eyes narrowed. Anger wafted off him like a bad smell that initially frightened Wyatt.
And then it hit him: Jackson wasn’t furious at him. He was furious on his behalf for something that happened half a lifetime ago.
“Did your stepfather ever beat you?” Jackson asked with a snarl in his voice.
“Spanked me twice when I was younger. Once for breaking Mom’s favorite vase, and the other time for stealing some jumbo syringes from his clinic to use as mini water guns. But that’s what put the fear of God in me about telling secrets, especially if it’s a secret that’ll get someone else hurt.”
Jackson took his hand and squeezed, eyes glittering with emotion. “I can understand that. But sometimes secrets can eat away at you. Sometimes it’s okay to tell.”
“Maybe.” Wyatt still wasn’t convinced but he did accept Jackson’s point of view.
“You said that was part of the reason you don’t want help?”
Since he was spilling all kinds of truths tonight, he might as well go all in with this one. “I’m afraid of being disappointed in who my bio dad is, of him slamming the door in my face.” Unlikely, if it was Brand, but Wyatt had a feeling that finding out why Brand abandoned him before he was even born was going to hurt just as much as being dismissed like an unwanted salesman. “I’m scared of confronting him.”
“So you know who he is?”
Time to choose his words carefully. “I know who I suspect he is, but my grandparents spent my whole life telling me that my bio father and his family were awful people, and my mom never defended him. They were like the Manson family or those cannibals from the Leatherface movies, so for a long time I didn’t want to know who he was.”
“But then your mother died.”
“Yeah.” Wyatt pressed his shoulder against Jackson’s, grateful for how well Jackson seemed to understand him. “They could have tried harder to help her but they didn’t becausesecrets, you know?”
“I understand secrets. My adoptive parents were awful people at home, but to the rest of the town? We were a Sunday service–attending, God-fearing, loving family who worked hard and supported each other. None of us were allowed to talk about what happened behind closed doors. When you’re taught not to trust and to keep secrets, especially as a kid, it sticks with you.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t mean for his voice to be so hoarse. So many emotions were rattling around inside and he couldn’t stop a few from getting out.
Jackson kissed his temple. “Where’s your room?”
“My room?”
“It’s not what you think, I promise. Show me?”
“Sure.” Wyatt was not in a sexy mood but he trusted Jackson not to force anything tonight. He led him down the short hall to his room, which was still decorated exactly the way Ramie had left it, with the slight additions of Wyatt’s phone charger and a framed photo of his mom.
Jackson, naturally, zeroed in on that picture. “You look like her, and not just the red hair. You have her eyes, too.”
“A lot of people say that. About my eyes, I mean. The hair color is kind of obvious.”
“Just a little.”
Wyatt didn’t protest when Jackson led him over to the bed, or when he gently arranged them on their sides, Jackson curled up behind him. Strong, warm arms wrapped around his chest, and they wiggled a bit until they comfortably shared a pillow. Wyatt closed his eyes, leaned into Jackson, and inhaled Jackson’s familiar scent. He hadn’t showered so he smelled of sweat and horse and a hard day’s work, and Wyatt couldn’t think of anything sexier.
Not that his dick cared right then. All he wanted to do was exist for a while.
Which he did, until the sound of Ramie shouting his name startled him awake so hard and fast he nearly rolled off the bed.
Chapter Fifteen
Wyatt hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and he really didn’t expect to be woken up by Ramie yelling for him from elsewhere in the house. He was half sitting on the edge of the bed, his room only lit by a light in the hall and streetlight from outside, and he couldn’t quite figure out what was happening.
“Wyatt! Where are you?”
