by A. E. Wasp
Wouldn’t just a tiny bit of the money Bryce was talking about go a long way towards solving Dakota’s problems?
By the time he slid behind the wheel of the 4Runner, Bryce’s eyes were closed, his head resting against the window. His face was pale again, the wrinkles around his eyes from pain, not laughter.
Money certainly didn’t seem to be solving all of Bryce’s problems.
Dakota reached over and pushed Bryce’s hair from his forehead. “You okay? You don’t look so good.”
Bryce’s shoulders lifted in what could have been a laugh or a sob. “Just a long strange couple of days, you know? Not sure I know who I am anymore.”
There wasn’t anything to say to that, so Dakota eased the SUV back onto the road and headed down the mountain.
Dakota certainly didn’t want to hear that crap heavy metal, so he left the radio off. Neither of them spoke, and five minutes later, Bryce was asleep.
Dakota stopped at the entrance to his driveway. Bryce was out like a light, his head pressed against the window, mouth hanging open. Dakota snapped a quick picture with his phone before gently shaking Bryce’s arm to wake him up. “Hey. This is where I live. Can you drive from here?”
Bryce blinked and looked around as if he might know where he was. “Are we far?”
“From Fort Collins? No. Give me your phone, and I’ll call up the directions. Where are you staying?”
Bryce told him, and Dakota punched in the info into Google Maps. “You’re eleven minutes away. Think you can make it?”
Bryce scrubbed his face with both hands, dragging his hair back into a ponytail before dropping it with an exaggerated exhale. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. What time is it?”
“About four-fifteen.”
Bryce laughed. “Feels like midnight. I’m beat.”
Dakota nodded. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. They both got out of the car. Bryce hesitated as he passed Dakota. Dakota shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket, and Bryce slid into the driver’s seat, lifting his bad leg with both hands to get in. He left the door open. “So,” he started.
“Oh,” Dakota interrupted. “Take this thing to a Toyota dealer tonight and get them to look at the tires.”
“Yeah. Yeah. For sure.” Bryce looked a little lost again, a little distant, and a lot tired.
Dakota rested his arm on the top of the door and looked in. He resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck. Seeing each other again wasn’t part of the plan. Even Bryce had assumed their hooking up was a one-time deal. So why was he so reluctant to let Bryce walk away?
The guy was a closet case, probably had a girlfriend waiting for him wherever he lived and was going to have a nice long freakout when he got back to the real world and realized he’d had a dick in his mouth and liked it.
What did it matter? Not like Bryce was asking for Dakota’s number anyway.
Dakota didn’t even know what Bryce was doing in Colorado or how long he’d been in town. The new car said he was staying, the hotel said otherwise. Maybe he was just here on vacation despite the bad timing.
On the other hand, Dakota had contributed to the guy’s sexual crisis. Who was Bryce going to process the whole thing with?
It didn’t seem like playing pro-hockey would give you a good pool of gay men to go to for advice, and Bryce had said he had no friends in Colorado. It wouldn’t be right to emotionally abandon him.
“How long are you going to be in town?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Bryce said. “A month at least. Maybe longer. I’ve got to get some stuff settled. My mom is moving out here and I’m helping her.”
With a sigh, Dakota stuck his hand out. “Give me your phone.” He waved his hand impatiently when Bryce hesitated. If he didn’t do this right now, he never would, and then he’d feel like an ass for a long time.
Bryce handed over his phone. Dakota entered his number into it and then handed it back. “There. Call me tomorrow and let me know what they say about the truck.”
Bryce gave him that incongruous little boy smile of his. He really was just too fucking good-looking to be real. “Yeah?”
“Unless you don’t want to. I get it if you want to pretend this never happened. I mean, the whole point of it was that you’d never have to see me again, right?” Dakota smiled to show he had no hard feelings about that. Who wouldn’t be disappointed at not having another shot with a hot professional athlete? The guy was built like a Greek God.
“No. I mean, do you think it’s awkward? I’ve never done anything like that before.”
Dakota laughed. “Yeah, I know. That’s why it happened.”
“I mean even with women. I’m not a random hookup kind of guy.” He looked embarrassed, as if were a character flaw.
Dakota leaned in the window. “Don’t tell anyone, or they might take away my gay card, but I don’t either. You are officially only the second stranger I’ve ever fooled around with.”
“So, does this mean you want to see me again?” He looked hopeful.
“Yeah. I do. But in the afternoon. I have some bullshit to take care of in the morning.” Dakota’s good mood evaporated as he remembered what waited for him in the morning. Well, this day hadn’t gone exactly to plan, but it certainly had cleared his head for a while.
“Okay.”
“Well,” Dakota said. “Welcome to Colorado.”
Bryce laughed loudly. “Day one is going to be hard to top.”
“See you tomorrow, city boy.” Dakota straightened up and gave a little wave, then turned to walk up the long driveway to his tiny house on the edge of the apple orchard.
When he finally gave in to the urge to turn around, Bryce’s truck was still sitting at the bottom of the driveway.
Dakota’s phone beeped with an incoming text.
It’s Bryce. Now you have my number, too.
He smiled as he added Bryce to his contacts, using the picture he had taken of Bryce sleeping as the icon.
Oh, I got your number, baby he texted back, and then smacked himself on the head with his phone. What the hell was he getting himself in to?
Chapter Thirteen
BRYCE
Bryce wondered what the hell he was getting himself into as he drove the loaner Camry into the parking lot of the lawyer’s office. He’d dropped the 4Runner off right after he’d left Dakota, terrified the whole way that the other tires were going to explode.
He leaned his head against the steering wheel. What the hell was he going to do with an apple orchard and a giant farmhouse of all things? What the hell was he going to do with all that space? Even with his mother moving in, that still left three extra bedrooms.
Perfect for the family he’d though he would have one day.
Deep breaths. Everything would be fine. His mother had practically died of joy when she had seen pictures of the house. She had gone on and on about how she’d always wanted a farmhouse with a huge porch and wasn’t it absolutely perfect?
She’d forwarded the pictures to all four of his siblings, and the next thing he knew, they were planning to spend Thanksgiving together at ‘his’ house, and he was googling ‘how to manage an apple orchard’ while trying to stave off a panic attack.
He could do this.
His mother hadn’t even known the man who had died. Thomas Wallace was Bryce’s father’s uncle. Considering Bryce hadn’t seen his father in almost twenty-five years, it would be an understatement to say the inheritance had been a surprise.
Of course, the fact that the inheritance had gone to Bryce meant his father was probably dead, too. Bryce pushed the thought away. It would be easy enough to find out what had happened and why no one contacted his family, but he just wasn’t ready to deal with it.
And then there was Dakota.
What the hell had that been yesterday? Besides incredibly hot. He’d jerked off to the memory last night and again this morning.
The thing was, it was supposed to have been two ships passing in the
night. Strangers whose paths had crossed for a brief, glorious moment. He wasn’t supposed to be feeling his heart leap every time he got a text.
Bryce was used to feeling competent and professional. He did what he did, and he was damn good at it. That picture of him with the Stanley Cup and that ugly-ass ring he wore proved it. But in the last forty-eight hours, he’d come to think that maybe hockey was the only thing he was good at.
Rough morning ahead, Dakota had texted earlier. His next text was a picture of two dogs sound asleep on top of what looked like a handmade quilt in the middle of a big brass bed. I’m considering joining the devil dogs.
Just do whatever you have to do, Bryce texted back. My morning’s giving me an anxiety attack, too. He hesitated before sending a final text. Want to get lunch after and commiserate?
Would that be a date? Had he just asked Dakota out? How could you tell if you were dating another guy or just hanging out?
Bryce had been just about to text Dakota and tell him never mind, when his phone beeped.
Sure. I’ll text you when I’m done.
Great! Bryce texted back, feeling immediately like a teenager again. He hoped he finished in time to change out of his suit before lunch.
Holding onto the thought of lunch with Dakota like a reward for getting through this morning, he got out of the car and walked into the lawyer’s office.
Everything would be fine.
The receptionist led him to a glass-walled conference room. Two men were already inside. The first man wore a suit, so he assumed that was Mr. Peterson, the lawyer he’d been dealing with. The guy in jeans and a flannel shirt must be the person he’d been arguing with via email.
Bryce’s shoulders tightened, and his stomach roiled. Maybe he should have put something in it besides coffee.
The guy had been trying to buy the land and the house from Bryce from day one. He kept upping his offer, as if Bryce’s issue was money. Bryce had money. What he didn’t have was a home. This house, this land, was going to be his home.
All he could see was the back of the guy’s head, but there was something familiar about him.
Whatever. Bryce had made a decision. He was keeping the house, and that’s all there was to it. Legally, the house was his; he was under no obligation to sell it. Steeling himself for an argument, he pushed the door open.
Both heads turned towards him, and he stumbled into an end table.
The man in the flannel shirt was Dakota.
“Holy shit,” Bryce said.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Dakota said at the same time.
The lawyer looked back and forth between them. “What?”
They ignored him.
Dakota stood up. Bryce could still see the marks of his mouth on Dakota’s fair skin. Despite the nausea in the base of his stomach, Bryce felt an ill-timed surge of arousal. His hand went to the mark on his neck, though he knew it was invisible under his dress shirt and suit jacket.
A thousand thoughts clamored in Bryce’s head. He latched on to one of them. “You said your name was Dakota.” The man he had been fighting with through email had been named John. John Ryan.
“My parents let me pick a name when they adopted me,” Dakota answered. “But legally, it’s still John. Pretty original, huh?” He crossed his arms over his chest, sighed, and then let them drop down to his sides.
They faced each other across the few feet of industrial gray carpeting. They’d fought before they’d even met, they’d almost fucked before they’d known each other an hour, and now they were here.
Dakota raked his eyes over Bryce from top to bottom. “Nice suit. You look good.”
“You, too.” Oh, brilliant. Perfect. Bryce sighed silently. Dakota was wearing almost the same exact outfit as yesterday – jeans and a t-shirt. His leather jacket hung on the back of his chair.
Dakota rubbed the bridge of his nose. He looked years older than he had yesterday. “I can’t believe it’s you. You’re Tommy’s grandnephew? The idiot who is taking my home?”
“Well, I’m Mr. Wallace’s nephew, but I’m not an idiot and I’m not taking your home.” Bryce turned to the lawyer. “Am I? What am I missing here?”
“Why the hell do you even want an apple orchard? Is that the choice? Twelve million dollars versus running an apple orchard on the verge of bankruptcy?”
Dakota’s face turned so pale, Bryce was afraid he was going to faint. “Oh no.”
Bryce knew exactly what he was thinking about. “No. Don’t. Don’t even worry about that. That’s not your fault.”
“Fuck me,” Dakota yelled. “Just. Fuck. And I thought things couldn’t get worse.”
“It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
“You make a lot of promises you have no idea if you can keep, do you know that?” Dakota glared at Bryce.
“I keep my promises.” Bryce glared back.
“Why are you even here? I know you don’t know anything about running an orchard or farming or anything. You don’t even have friends here. Why wouldn’t you just let me buy you out? Why do you want Tommy’s house so badly?” Dakota asked.
He sounded so hurt and confused and lost. Bryce walked over to him, resisting the wrap his arms around the man.
Part of Bryce wanted desperately to tell Dakota he could have the orchard. He could have the house, the land, and everything.
Bryce would admit the whole idea had been a pipe dream. He would go back to Seattle, sign the new contract, and find some nice girl to settle down with and pretend the last twenty-four hours had never happened. But he’d promised his mother this new home.
“Dakota, I’m so confused. You work at the orchard? How can you afford to buy it?”
“He can’t,” Peterson interrupted. Dakota looked like he wanted to object. “You know you can’t, Dakota.”
Dakota dropped down into the chair, head in his hands.
Bryce looked to the lawyer.
“Dakota lives on your property,” Peterson explained. “Legally he’s a tenant farmer. It was all there in the paperwork.” His bushy grey eyebrows shot up to the top of his forehead. “You had no idea you had a tenant?”
“No.” Bryce looked at the ceiling, brow furrowing as he tried to remember everything he’d been told about his surprise inheritance.
“I feel like somewhere it was mentioned that there was a small farm and a second house on the land, too. But it just mentioned that it was run by hired managers. Is that you?” he asked Dakota.
“I’m not the fucking manager. That’s my home and my farm.” Dakota crossed his arms over his chest. “And I know Tommy wanted me to have the house and the orchard when he died.” Dakota blinked quickly.
Bryce saw tears in his eyes. He crossed the distance between them. Hesitantly, he put a hand on Dakota’s arm. Dakota looked up at Bryce, but didn’t shake his hold off. “Dakota, I don’t get it. Tell me what I’m missing. Please. I’ll listen, you know I will.”
“It’s my home,” Dakota said voice strained. “The only place I’ve ever lived since I was five. My parents and I live — lived — in the little house and ran the farm. Tommy was like a grandfather to me. I loved him. My parents died when I was sixteen. Did I tell you that?”
Bryce shook his head, fingers tightening on Dakota’s arm. His heart ached for him. He couldn’t imagine the pain.
“After my parents died, Tommy took me in. They were going to put me back in foster care. I lived in the big house with him for two years. He wanted to adopt me, but I wouldn’t let him.” Dakota looked away, running his hand through his hair. “I loved him. I’m not some fucking tenant. We were family.”
Bryce couldn’t hold back anymore. He wrapped his arms around Dakota, who stiffened under the embrace. “I’m so sorry,” Bryce whispered in his ear. “But we’ll figure it out.” They would. There had to be a way to make it work.
Dakota snorted, his breath hot on Bryce’s neck. He let himself sag against Bryce’s chest for a second, then pushed h
im away. “Yeah? How? Why wouldn’t you – knowing what you know about…” His voice dropped and he looked down at the carpet. “About the money?”
“You know money’s not an issue for me.” Bryce hated to say it. He didn’t want Dakota to think he was bragging or making light of his pain.
“Must be nice,” Dakota muttered at the carpet.
“It doesn’t suck,” Bryce admitted. One side of Dakota’s mouth twitch up in a half-grin, and Bryce relaxed a tiny bit.
“Now I’m confused,” the lawyer interrupted. “Do you two already know each other?”
They exchanged glances. Dakota’s grin spread to his whole mouth. Bryce blushed.
“Freak meeting,” Dakota said to the Peterson. “He blew a tire going up 34, and I helped him fix it.”
Peterson motioned to the chairs around the table. “Please. Sit down. We have a lot more to talk about than I thought, and unfortunately I have to leave soon.”
They sat next to each other at the table. “So why did Mr. Wallace leave his house to me? Well, to my father.”
“Your father?” Dakota asked. “Then why are you here?”
Bryce sighed. “I assume it’s because my father is dead,” he said, keeping his voice flat.
Dakota raised his eyebrows. He reached down under the table where Peterson couldn’t see, and squeezed Bryce’s knee reassuringly.
Peterson picked up some of the papers sitting on the table in front of him. He frowned as he flipped through them. “This will is the only one we have,” he said. “The issue is the possible existence of a newer will.”
“He had another will, a different will,” Dakota said forcefully. “He told me in the hospital, before he died.”
Bryce was starting to believe him. When he’d first gotten emails from ‘John,’ he’d assumed the guy was a scam artist or opportunist looking to steal land from the clueless city boy.
But now after meeting Dakota, he couldn’t believe this was some sort of elaborate con. Maybe there really was another will? Maybe the house wasn’t actually Bryce’s after all. “Well, where is this other will?”
