by E M Lindsey
He needed those moments where he could be entirely, and uniquely, himself, and Cherry Creek wasn’t asking him to be the buttoned-up miserable shell of himself. At least, not that night.
“I hope I’m not late,” he said when they didn’t greet him.
Another silence met his words, but before he could panic and run off, Ronan handed off the drink, then pushed to his feet and adjusted his crutches on his arms. “It’s fine.”
Parker took one last drink of the lemonade through the straw before throwing it in the nearby bin, then swiped his hand on the top of his jeans. “Hardly recognized you there, kid.”
Jonas scowled. “I’m not a kid.”
“You’re what, twenty-seven?” Parker challenged.
He felt his cheeks go hot. “Twenty-eight.”
“And a half?” Parker mocked, and he blushed harder because he had almost said something like that. “I’m more than a decade older than you.”
“That still doesn’t make me a kid,” he defended.
“He does own his own multi-million-dollar business,” Ronan pointed out, and Jonas choked a little.
“I don’t…”
His words were cut off when Parker slid up to his side and touched his shoulder with his stump. He recognized the test immediately, that Parker was waiting for him to react, to recoil, or to over-compensate, but he wasn’t going to rise to the bait. He had never met someone who was missing an arm, but everything about Parker fit him like he was exactly the man the universe intended him to be, and it was more beautiful than Jonas could say.
“If you’re trying to make me cry like that little girl at the Easter egg hunt…” he started, and then held his breath.
There was a pause, then Ronan burst into laughter as Parker stepped away and crossed his arm over his chest. “Who told you?”
“Brad,” Jonas admitted, willing to sell out his new friend if it got him even an inch with those two.
Parker’s scowl deepened. “That boy is begging for a prostate exam.”
Ronan’s gaze was lighter as he stepped closer. “We weren’t waiting long. Parker wanted to come down early for the first batch of kettle corn. Did you drive down or walk?”
“I drove,” Jonas said. “I was pretty sure I’d get lost if I tried to get here on foot from the Lodge.”
“That would be a tragedy,” Parker said, and this time he approached, Jonas didn’t move when Parker rested his stump on his shoulder again. “I’m not being sarcastic, either. This might be a good way to convince you that this place is worth preserving.”
“You don’t have to sell me on this town,” Jonas assured him. “I like it here.”
Ronan scoffed. “Just not enough to leave all of that land undeveloped.”
Jonas felt his cheeks burn, and he wanted to tell him the truth right then, but he couldn’t make the words come. “It’s more complicated than what I want.” A tense silence fell, then Jonas cleared his throat. “Why don’t you show me around. What booth do you like best?”
Parker and Ronan exchanged a look, then Parker stepped back and jutted his chin in the direction of the edge of the market where a row of bigger tents sat. “Want to meet the resident blacksmith?”
Jonas grinned, feeling a little bit like a kid at a circus as he followed the pair down the aisles. His parents had taken him across the world on extravagant vacations, but none of them were like this. The places they’d gone were filled with attendants and workers, long white beaches, and resort rooms, but this was something special. It was small-town culture at its finest.
The wares at most shops were worth almost nothing, and yet they were also worth everything. They were the heart and soul of Cherry Creek, and the longer he walked, the more he ached, knowing that it could all change at the hands of his father. If his investment did well here, he’d get hungry for more.
Cherry Creek was vulnerable, and Jonas felt powerless.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Parker said as they moved at Ronan’s pace.
Jonas shoved one of his hands into his pocket just for something to do. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve never uh…I don’t think I’ve ever been to a Farmer’s Market.”
“Well, it’s not much of a Farmer’s anything,” Ronan told him. His crutches made a soft clinking noise, his legs dragging like he was carrying weights attached to his feet. Jonas couldn’t help but wonder about him, but he wasn’t going to ask.
“So it’s just art stuff?” Jonas’ gaze caught on a little cupcake tent, and then one that was selling hand-woven rugs.
Ronan shook his head. “That ranch up near the big lake—I think you’re aware of their property since it almost touches yours?” he said, and Jonas nodded. “They have goats. Collin’s retired, so he spends a lot of time making stuff with their milk. Soap, cheese, stuff like that. But this isn’t farmland.”
Jonas glanced around. “Is the goat stand here?”
“He’s on the other side next to Birdie,” Parker said. “He’s the blacksmith, and he likes to set up his booth over by Fitz so they can sit around and gossip in their little knitting circle.”
“Literally,” Ronan said when Jonas chuckled. “They both work for the fire department, but Birdie got into blacksmithing a few years ago, and Fitz sells scarves and hats and stuff. If you want to call them that,” Ronan added in a dark tone.
Jonas was more than intrigued, and he followed the men toward the last row of booths, and he saw what Parker was talking about. The shop didn’t have a name attached, just a banner with the silhouette of a goat, and next to that a booth with an anvil and a hammer on the sign. That table was laden with wooden cases holding jewelry, and along the back were knives, swords, and a few abstract sculptures.
As they approached, a man slipped through the back tent-flap and grinned. He was tall, very broad and muscular, with dark hair swept to the side. He was wearing a blue t-shirt and jeans, and he extended a hand with soot blackening his nails. “You two brought a friend?” he asked, his voice a delightful rumble.
Jonas couldn’t help but find him attractive. There was power in the ripple of his muscles, and he wasn’t normally Jonas’ type, but he didn’t exactly mind when the man’s lips curled into a salacious grin.
“This is Jonas,” Parker said, and there was an almost rough quality to his voice as he stepped alongside Jonas’ left. “Be fucking nice.”
The man held up his hands in surrender. “I’m always nice. If you recall, I’m the nice one around here. I’m Isaac.”
“Isaac?” Parker demanded, leaning his hand on the table.
Ronan murmured something soft in Parker’s ear, then nudged his husband who stood back and crossed his arm over his chest like a sullen teenager. “Birdie, this is Jonas. He’s the one who bought the land over by the lake. Jonas, this is the blacksmith we were telling you about. Everyone calls him Birdie.”
At Ronan’s introduction, Birdie’s eyes narrowed. “Investor guy, huh?”
Jonas hated it—hated that every person automatically looked at him like he was a monster. He had been able to forget, just for that moment, he was universally despised in this town, but Birdie’s instant reaction was a stark, vicious reminder. He bowed his head and took a breath. “It’s nice to meet you. I just wanted to check out your stall, but I won’t keep you.”
He started to back up, but Birdie lunged over the table and grabbed his wrist. “Sorry. Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to be an asshole.”
“Liar,” Parker muttered.
Jonas glanced over at him, then down to where Birdie’s large fingers were curled around his wrist. “It’s okay. I get it. I mean, I’m not here as a friend, right?”
Birdie cocked his head to the side. “You don’t seem like some blood-sucking investor.”
“Not blood, no,” Jonas tried, and Birdie cracked a smile.
“I’m more of a werewolf guy myself.” Birdie’s voice was low and melodic, and Jonas felt his body flush under his attention.
“Your stuff is cool. Have you be
en doing it long?”
Birdie drew his other hand away, fingers sliding over Jonas’ skin, and he grabbed one of the wooden display boxes which held rings and a couple of bracelets. “I had some anger issues when I first moved here, so my therapist suggested a hobby that got me physical. I took a class at the community college a few years back, and I realized I needed something to do with all the crap I was cobbling together.”
Jonas leaned over and ran his finger over a ring, an intricate twist of braids that had rough hammer marks along the sides. “It’s not crap.”
Birdie reached past him and plucked the ring from the display, holding it out. “Here. A welcome to Cherry Creek gift.”
Jonas wasn’t quite sure what to say, but he didn’t stop Birdie when he took Jonas by the wrist and pushed the ring into his finger. It didn’t quite fit, but almost, just a hair too loose. “Is this a common welcome?”
“No,” Parker said, his tone dark, and he pushed his body right up alongside Jonas’. “It isn’t. Birdie’s being a flirt, and we have places to be.” With that, he took Jonas by the elbow and pulled him away so fast, his feet stumbled over each other.
“Um,” he said when they were a few feet away, and he regained his bearings, “is he like, a bad person or…?”
Parker froze, then glanced behind him and seemed to realize what he’d done, and the fact that he left his husband behind, trailing slowly in their wake. “Fuck. Fuck I’m…” He gave Jonas a strange, helpless look. “Sorry. It’s been a weird day.”
Unable to stop himself, Jonas reached for him and let his fingers rest against Parker’s bare forearm. “It’s fine. Really. He was nice, but there’s other booths to see, right?”
“Right.” Parker cleared his throat as Ronan approached, and Jonas didn’t miss the way his gaze flickered to where Jonas was still touching his husband.
He snatched his hand away quickly and opened his mouth to apologize, but Ronan spoke first in a voice softer and kinder than Jonas was expecting. “We should go get food. Levi’s truck’s at the fire station, and he’ll have something good. Did you eat yet?”
Jonas realized Ronan was talking to him, and there was tension in his voice, but oddly, not anger. “Uh…no. Not since lunch.”
“Good. You won’t regret this.” Ronan took the lead this time, and Parker kept pace with him, Jonas lagging behind. He twisted the ring around his finger and fought the urge to look back at Birdie as he did his best to keep up with the two men.
It was strange, and his belly felt warm. He wanted to touch again and to be touched. He had no idea what the fuck that even meant, or why they were doing this, but he was in a little too deep to care.
Chapter Fifteen
Ronan couldn’t deny the strange, wound up tension between him and Parker, evident from the moment he woke up alone the morning of their Market date with Jonas. The bed was colder than usual, and he had a feeling his husband hadn’t slept much—if at all. He took his time getting out of bed, not for lack of trying, but his body was wrung out and wrecked from the intense fuck the night before.
Sometimes there was a heavy price to pay for sex like that, and sometimes it felt like nothing at all. That morning was the former, he noticed, as he pushed himself up to sit and realized he’d be lucky if it was a crutches day. His legs were heavy and unresponsive, his feet and calves all pins and needles as he braced himself and shifted over to reach his wheelchair. The transfer was hard, and he had to take a moment to catch his breath as he adjusted his legs, his frustration building when he unlocked the brake and started toward the bathroom.
It took him longer than usual to finish his morning routine, but he did start to feel better after a shower and fresh clothes, and it gave him some hope as he tied his shoes and gave himself a last look in the mirror. Ronan could smell coffee, so he wheeled into the kitchen and found Parker standing at the sink, leaning on the edge with his gaze out the little window above the dish rack. Ronan knew Parker had heard the soft noise his wheels made as they rolled over the hardwood, and his stomach twisted when he didn’t look over.
“Do we need to talk about it?” Ronan asked after a beat.
Parker let out a sigh, then set his coffee mug down and fetched Ronan’s mug from the cabinet. Parker fixed the coffee perfectly, as he’d been doing for years, and he passed it over without meeting Ronan’s eyes. “Did the sex trigger the flare?”
“Partly,” Ronan said before taking a drink. He had never bothered to lie to his husband about what triggered a flare and what didn’t. There was no point in trying to shield Parker from the fact that some things just made the next day a little more difficult. “It was also Jonas.”
“The fantasy or…?”
“The fact that he’s here. What happened last night was unexpected, but you and I both knew that his coming here was going to mean more stress than my body could handle.” He pushed himself to the table one-handed, managing the slight wobble easily, then he set his mug down and offered hand to Parker.
His husband took it, squeezed, and Ronan squeezed back weakly. “Hands too?”
“Eyes are also a little blurry, but if I take it easy today, it won’t be a big deal.”
Parker sank into the chair near him and let his fingers drum on the table. This was old hat for them. The first three years of his diagnosis had been a tidal wave of big flares followed by small ones brought on by the fear and stress of knowing every time he came back from it, a little more of Ronan’s motor function was lost. They spent every month consumed by new treatments and new therapies and studies and specialists. Now though, it was different. Things were routine, and Ronan had stopped chasing down a cure. His meds kept him stable, and they coped with the rest.
The fact that Parker was out of sorts now had nothing to do with the fact that it was a chair day, or that Ronan couldn’t manage more than a toddler’s strength squeeze with his hands. Parker was reeling from something entirely new.
“I can’t let you go to work like this,” Ronan said after a beat. He laid his hand on the table and winced inwardly when Parker didn’t take it.
“I’m not,” Parker started, but Ronan cut him off with a frustrated grunt.
“Please don’t do this today. I don’t have the strength to drag it out of you.” His fingers were trembling as he reached for his coffee, his adrenaline firing because he knew if Parker wanted to be stubborn, the fight would be epic. He was already trying to ignore his body’s desire to crawl back into bed and sleep the day away, so there was no way he would make it through a war with his husband.
Parker looked somewhat contrite as he stood up and went back to the coffee maker for a fresh cup. When he came back, his eyes were a little softer, and he turned in his chair so he could lay a foot over Ronan’s lap. When Ronan closed his fingers around his ankle, Parker visibly relaxed and closed his eyes.
“You want him. Physically,” he added.
“Yes.” Ronan knew any other answer would sound like the lie it was.
“I get it. He’s attractive. I felt it too.” Parker licked his lips, but he still didn’t open his eyes, like maybe the darkness was comforting him. Or maybe he could just pretend like what he couldn’t see didn’t exist in that moment. “I didn’t think I wanted to go that far.”
“You were the one who…”
“I know,” Parker snapped, then instantly softened and kneaded his toes into Ronan’s thigh. “I know. I think I scared myself.”
“We can cancel on him, you know,” Ronan pointed out, and that got Parker looking at him again. “There are plenty of people in town who will take him wherever he needs to go.”
Parker bit his lip, then shook his head. “I’m not saying we should bring him home and fuck him,” Parker said, but Ronan heard the way his husband’s voice was unsteady. A threesome wasn’t something they had ever even talked about, but the thought of it with Jonas made something light up under his skin, and that terrified him just as much as what Parker had admitted. “But I think we should get
to know him.”
“Why?” Ronan asked softly. He knew he was attracted to Jonas. It was not the first time he or Parker had found someone aesthetically pleasing. They’d gone on vacation, and Ronan had even enjoyed watching Parker dance with other men, getting them worked up and stringing them along only to leave them and fuck Ronan in their hotel bed. He liked when they did that, because it never meant anything. But now?
He just needed to understand why Jonas was different.
“I don’t know what it is,” Parker said, and he sounded miserable and sad. “It’s instinctual. I mean, it’s not like when I met you. No one will ever be like you. But…”
“It’s similar?” he offered, because he felt it too. In the moments between being suspicious and wary of Jonas, he felt it. He saw a dark, sad look in his eyes, and he wanted to reach out and soothe him until it was gone.
Parker dragged his hand down his face, then lifted his foot up so he could stand and move his chair closer. Their knees bumped, and he reached out, curling his hand around the back of Ronan’s neck. “I don’t know what it means, but I don’t want to cancel on him.”
“Okay,” Ronan said.
Pulling back, Parker looked him right in the eye. “Is it?”
It wasn’t the easiest answer in the world, but it was close. “Yes, Parker. It is.”
Ronan felt the same charge from his fantasy with Parker after they dragged Jonas away from Birdie’s booth. He could see the ring on Jonas’ finger, and he could see the glint in Parker’s eyes, and the way he held him in a tight, possessive grip.
Parker had only been like that with him and Fitz before now, and he wasn’t exactly sure how it made him feel. Up to that point, the night had been going fine. They arrived at the Market and had half an hour to themselves while Parker stuffed himself on kettle corn and lemonade, and Ronan got to sit and enjoy the quiet proximity of the man he loved.
He was afraid, only for a moment, that it would be disturbed when Jonas arrived, but it wasn’t. Jonas’ shy, unassuming presence settled between the married couple, and he fit comfortably, like they’d known him forever. He wasn’t sure where to go from there, only that he didn’t mind when Parker touched Jonas and kept him close.
