Hard Ride (Clean Slate Ranch)

by A. M. Arthur

  “Where are they, anyway?” Slater asked before sticking another limp balloon between his lips.

  “They went to pick out Rachel’s cake.”

  “She’s buying her own cake?” Derrick said, because Slater was mid-puff.

  “She has my debit card, but the only thing she wanted to pick out herself for this party was her cake. I gave her a budget and said have fun. Besides—” she flashed them both a charming smile “—it means I got free rein to decorate.”

  They had the balloons and a wide “Happy Birthday!” banner hung when Rachel and Jayla returned with a bright pink cake box. Rachel hugged Derrick, then her dad, and then proudly announced, “I got a cookies-and-cream ice cream cake.”

  “Sounds amazing,” Slater said. “Is cookies and cream your favorite?”

  “Depends on my mood. Sometimes I want mint chocolate chip, or maybe chocolate peanut butter.”

  “I’m sensing a trend with the chocolate part.”

  “She always picks on me because I don’t like chocolate,” Jayla said. “Give me cherry vanilla any day.”

  “I’m with you,” Slater replied to Jayla. “Chocolate dessert is okay in moderation, but I’m a fan of fruity ice cream like classic strawberry.”

  The conversation shifted into an argument about the best ice cream flavors, and Derrick soaked it in. Slater fit in here so well now that he’d figured out how to navigate social situations and banal conversations. How to listen and answer. How to be part of his own family again.

  I helped give him that.

  Guests began arriving shortly after they’d filled all the bowls with chips and snack mixes. Mostly high school friends and neighbors, but also a few out-of-town relatives here to celebrate Rachel’s accomplishments. Cards piled up in a basket next to Slater’s wrapped gift, as well as a few other packages. Delivery pizza arrived at five thirty on the dot. Slater introduced Derrick to everyone who asked about him with a bright smile that never seemed to go away.

  Tonight, Slater was a proud dad and he shined like the fucking sun.

  * * *

  Slater couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a truly great evening in this house. Last month, the graduation party had been good but also had lingering tension. Tonight, Slater and Rachel chatted without that tension. Nothing was magically perfect between them but they had a relationship, and that was everything.

  Derrick stuck close to him or to Kim most of the evening, smiling and joking with whoever was nearby. More than once, Slater caught him talking about work and chatting up the Dream Boxes program. Sneaky bastard. Then again, Slater loved telling anyone who asked about his work at Clean Slate and the nearby ghost town. He had to sit a few times to rest his ankle, which was getting stronger every week he attended PT, but he didn’t want to push himself. One wrong move could delay his recovery.

  Not that he was eager for this beautiful dream with Derrick to end, but life went on and he couldn’t live on pause forever.

  No, no more thoughts about that. Slater watched his daughter work the room, talking to adults with as much poise as anyone twice her age and experience. When she sat down to open the handful of gifts, Slater’s belly swooped with nervous anticipation. He’d wanted to give her something practical, but also fun, so he’d gone online in search of ideas, and he had been working on this project off and on for weeks, desperate to get it exactly right.

  Rachel glanced his way with an eager smile before she opened the box. Below the tissue was an embroidery hoop he’d painted green. On the canvas, he’d stitched twelve different flowers around the border, spaced exactly like a clock face. Hidden inside each flower—and Dez had helped him a lot patterning those—was the vague shape of the number it represented. She’d also helped him attach clock parts to the center. Rachel found the battery he’d put in the box and inserted it.

  It started ticking.

  “Holy crap, you made this?” Rachel asked, eyes shining with tears.

  “Designed it with a friend’s help, yup,” Slater said, keenly aware all the eyes in the room were on him. Some of the older men didn’t look impressed, but Rachel’s girlfriends fell all over themselves trying to get a look at the clock. “Kim said you love visiting the McKinley Rose Garden, so I figured you must love flowers.”

  “I do. I love this, thank you.” She gently placed the clock back in the box, and Slater rose to accept her warm, tight hug. “Thank you, Dad.”

  “You are so welcome, baby girl.”

  She sniffled once, and it didn’t do much to help the tears stinging the corners of Slater’s eyes. Thankfully, Dad announced it was time for cake, which gave Slater a moment to recover. He excused himself to the bathroom so he could wipe his eyes and pull himself together. Every time he didn’t think he could love Rachel more, his heart just got bigger and bigger.

  He studied his reflection in the mirror and someone he almost didn’t recognize looked back at him. The only visible sign of his fall down the mountain was a small scar on his left cheek, low by the jawline. His eyes seemed brighter. Even his skin seemed to glow with the inner peace and joy he could barely contain.

  Derrick gave this to me. He drew me out of the shell I existed in and showed me how to be a real person again.

  Slater returned to the party. Derrick handed him a piece of cake. He was about to ask if he should eat it with a spoon or fork when Kim handed him a plastic spork. Perfect. The cake was overly sweet for him but worth it for how much joy it put on Rachel’s face as she ate and chatted with her friends. A decent mix of boys and girls, and she didn’t seem to overtly flirt with anyone.

  That was fine. She had goals and ambitions, and right now those goals didn’t seem to include dating.

  Dad approached and asked Derrick, “Mind if I steal Ken away for a few minutes?”

  “Steal away,” Derrick replied. “I see his ugly mug every day.”

  Slater flipped him off before following Dad through the kitchen to the back door. Outside into the hot July evening. The yard was small with only a few bushes to speak of, and Dad led him to the rickety old picnic table near the rear fence.

  “I’m proud of you,” Dad said. “Really, truly proud of you, son.”

  His eyes filled with unwanted tears for the second time that night. Slater couldn’t remember the last time his father said he was proud of him. “I know I fucked up. Big time. But I’m not that guy anymore. I’ve got too damned much to live for now.”

  “I know. I see how you’ve changed. Rachel sees it, too. And I think she also sees the ways Nina hasn’t even tried, which is why she wasn’t invited tonight. Rachel wants to surround herself with positive people. She told me that herself when we sat down to plan this party. First person on her invite list was you.”

  Slater pinched the bridge of his nose to keep those damned tears at bay. “Thank you for telling me this. And I know it’s been a long time since I’ve said it, but I love you, Dad.”

  “I love you, too, son.”

  They hugged, long and hard, and it was everything Slater had ever needed in a hug from his dad. The Kendall Stamos who’d fucked up his own life was gone, blown away like ash, and a brand-new man stood in his place. Slater had truly redeemed himself and fixed his relationships with the most important people in his life—his daughter and parents.

  And in that precious moment in time, nothing else mattered.

  * * *

  Derrick and Slater had no specific plans on Sunday, so when Rachel asked to take them to the McKinley Rose Garden, Slater couldn’t possibly say no. They went as a family, all five of them, and the garden was absolutely beautiful. Rachel showed off her favorites, and then they simply walked the neighborhood. Slater bought everyone lunch at a quirky little restaurant they all agreed on, which gave him a chance to rest his foot.

  By midafternoon, though, they were all hot and tired from the wandering, so they went back to
the house. Kim mixed up a pitcher of lemonade for everyone to share, and they gathered around the kitchen table to play Rummy. It wasn’t Slater’s best card game, and he lost every round but that was okay. He was here, spending time with his family and his boyfriend. They even busted out leftover chips and dip from last night’s party.

  After an hour of losing, Slater suggested Hearts. Derrick wasn’t familiar with that one, and it was a four-player game, so he sat close to Slater and tried to learn. Eventually, Slater let Derrick play a hand and he did pretty well on his own, with the occasional pointer from Slater. Around five, Kim heated up the rest of last night’s pizza for supper, along with whatever other party leftovers she could find in the fridge.

  At six thirty, it was time to leave. Slater hated going, but he didn’t want to overstay his welcome. It had been an amazing weekend, and he couldn’t wait to see them all again. “Maybe before school starts,” Rachel said by the car, “Jayla and I can drive down to your area for a day. Hang out.”

  “I’d love that,” Slater replied. “I am so proud of you, Rachel. I can never tell you how much. And I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Dad.”

  Those words broke the dam, and Slater wasn’t ashamed of the few tears he cried as he hugged his little girl. This beautiful young woman he’d helped create. She clung to him and kissed his cheek before stepping back, her own eyes bright and red-rimmed.

  “I’ll see you soon,” Slater said.

  “Count on it.” She stepped back from the curb to stand on the sidewalk with Dad and Kim.

  Slater hated it to his core, but he got into Derrick’s car and buckled up. “You did good,” Derrick said as he pulled away from the curb. “The change in her attitude toward you in one month is astonishing.”

  “She’s the best thing I ever did.” He looked behind them to watch his family slowly disappear in the distance. “And she wants me in her life.”

  “She’d be crazy not to.” Derrick squeezed his thigh; Slater covered that hand with his own and turned to face the front.

  They didn’t talk much on the drive south, mostly commenting on other idiot drivers or the scenery, and that was okay. The silences between them were comfortable and familiar now. As familiar as that old futon and the way Derrick snored. The scent of his body wash. The way Derrick always let Slater have the last few bits of popcorn when they watched a movie.

  They got home late, both exhausted from the long, fun weekend, so after quick business in the bathroom, they went to bed. Instead of keeping to separate sides, though, they snuggled up together near the middle, hands clasped, noses nearly touching on the two pillows they’d pushed together.

  “Best weekend ever?” Derrick whispered in the dark.

  “Yeah.” Slater leaned in and brushed a kiss over Derrick’s cheek. “Best. Weekend. Ever.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Life resumed as if a strange shroud of doom wasn’t hanging over Slater’s Friday appointment with his doctor. His head had been cleared weeks ago, but many things hinged upon the boot removal. Did he have to wear it longer? Could he now go without? Would he need some other assistance device? He tried to focus his nervous energy into pattern design, actual stitching and making love to Derrick as often as possible. Ever since the amazing weekend in Sacramento, they’d gotten off together almost every day, usually after dinner, and it was awesome.

  It was also a reminder of what Slater would be leaving behind.

  Dez distracted him as much as she could as his online business continued to grow by small degrees. Twice that week, George came downstairs at lunchtime to chill with them in the foyer, but he rarely stayed long. Even though the father/daughter duo in the other apartment were still pretty standoffish, this house felt like home to Slater.

  And so did Clean Slate Ranch. He had no idea what to do other than push forward, so he did. Living one day at a time. Enjoying every moment he had with Derrick, whether it was sucking his dick or challenging him to a racing game on his system. He chilled with Dez and texted with Rachel, and life was good. Simple. Fun. Full.

  Dez basically demanded she take him to his appointment on Friday, so he let her. Cheaper than paying for a car, and he could not wait to be able to drive again. Not only a car, but his own motorcycle, which was gathering dust in the Clean Slate garage.

  His doctor was thrilled with Slater’s progress and range of motion with his foot. The scar didn’t look too awful, and he could bear weight without much discomfort. He still had to ease back into things and it would be a while before he could mount a horse without help, but Slater was free of the boot. Free of crutches. He had a cane for extra assistance until his ankle was back to normal—or as normal as it would get, the doc warned—but he was free. His foot was in a sock and shoe again for the first time in three months.

  Slater kind of wanted to weep for joy, but he hugged Dez instead. They swung by a place for celebratory milkshakes before going home. Slater called Judson with the news, and Judson asked the mother of all questions: “When do you think you’ll be coming home, son?”

  “I’m not sure.” Truth. He still owed Derrick a fifth and final wedding date a week from tomorrow. After that their agreement was fulfilled. Slater could go home, and Derrick could return to his solitary, clubbing existence. “I’ll let you know as soon as I’m sure my ankle is strong enough for me to return to my regular duties.”

  “Good enough. You take care.”

  “Thanks, Judson.”

  That night, their sextet of friends—Slater, Derrick, Dez, Morgan, George and Orry—shared a celebratory dinner of Chinese takeout in the foyer. George stuck to the steamed white rice and veggies, while Slater pigged out on egg rolls, crab Rangoon and Mongolian beef. He ate until his stomach hurt, so happy to have his right foot finally free. Not perfectly healed, but at least free.

  Derrick was subdued, and Slater didn’t have to ask why. They made love that night with the same care and tenderness as other nights, but also with hints of sadness. Sadness for this thing they’d agreed was about to end.

  Slater didn’t start on it that weekend, but on Monday, he began a new pattern for a project his heart wouldn’t let him avoid. One particular piece of art that could say what his own words had not yet voiced. Dez thought he was nuts and should just fucking say it, but Slater didn’t have the words. So he stitched them.

  But that week...something was different. Slater couldn’t put his finger on the change in Derrick. It was that subtle, but he knew Derrick well enough to see that something was off. Derrick was sweet, attentive and definitely game whenever Slater initiated sex. But Slater felt a distance, too. As if Derrick saw the inevitable end and was trying to create a barrier between them so it wouldn’t hurt as much. That barrier hurt, too, but Slater persevered with his design and final gift. It probably wouldn’t make a difference, but he had to try, damn it.

  Wedding five was on Saturday, the final weekend in July. Since Mia was sick this time around, Sophie stayed home and Conrad hitched a ride with them to a town about two hours south. As much as Slater loved the tear-away slacks Dez had sewn for him, he was happy to dress in regular pants for the day. His cane was simply for additional support as his ankle continued to strengthen, but at this point he’d met most of Derrick and Conrad’s extended family at least once and didn’t have to explain his limp.

  The family had witnessed his recovery from the earliest days to the end.

  It was an indoor wedding, thank God, because the weekend was sweltering hot. Another unique venue, this time a 1920s-era mansion with a gorgeous ballroom and all kinds of authentic antiques. At least, Slater assumed they were authentic, since he didn’t know crap about antique clocks or chandeliers. It was also much more formal than the previous four weddings, which made for an interesting switch. Slater simply went where Derrick and Conrad led him, and he did his duties as Derrick’s doting boyfriend.

 
A title he wished he could keep after tonight but that wasn’t their deal.

  At the reception, they were seated at a table with Trevor, Trish and little Gus, and Slater realized this was the last time he’d see the young family. He was truly fond of them, like he was fond of Conrad and Sophie, and of Robert and Sharon. He’d been embraced by the people who mattered most to Derrick, and that meant the world to Slater.

  “So,” Trevor said after appetizer plates were served to their table, “how long have you guys been together now?”

  “Three or four months, depending on when we were technically together,” Derrick said. “We’ve lived together for about three.”

  “And you haven’t had a single fight?” Trish asked.

  “Nope.”

  “That’s kind of amazing. When I moved in with Trevor we couldn’t agree on anything for months.”

  “Your kitchen cabinets were set up weirdly,” Trevor retorted with a teasing grin. “But seriously, Derrick, if Slater there’s a keeper you need to put a ring on it fast.”

  Slater nearly choked on his soup. When Derrick didn’t say anything, Slater said, “Derrick’s made it clear he’s not the marrying type, and to be honest, neither am I. We like things the way they are.”

  Derrick flashed him a look that was unreadable—not something Slater was used to. As if the man wanted to argue with him, but hadn’t Derrick admitted as much to Slater on July Fourth? He’d used the exact words “not the marrying type.” So why did Derrick look as if he wanted to amend his statement. Or start a fight so their eventual breakup was more believable?

  Instead, Derrick said, “Pretty much, yeah,” and ate his soup.

  Trish changed the subject after that. The food was delicious and probably expensive per plate, but Slater barely tasted the potato leek soup, or the prime rib that came after. The Belgian chocolate mousse that was served for dessert. Each course, each speech, drew their agreement to a close. After today, Slater had no reason to stay unless Derrick asked him to. Asked not to break up but maybe try long distance? Do something besides accept the inevitable and quietly move on from each other.