Blowing Smoke: A Small-town Firefighter Gay Romance (The Wilds Book 2)

by Ashton Cade

  He snorts. “I don’t think he’ll wonder for too long.”

  I roll my eyes, but I’m laughing too. We’re all horny adult men. It’s not like sex is a taboo subject between us. It’s just weird to talk about with my little brother sometimes.

  Even though I won’t let him go up on the ladder or do any of the heavy lifting, having Jared around makes all the decorating go a lot faster. Pretty much everything other than tree stuff is up by the time Ryder makes it back.

  “You know, somehow I knew you’d be really into Christmas,” Jared says as we’re hanging ornaments on the freshly-lit tree. My brother came back with a Sitka spruce that’s probably only two years old since it’s under eight feet. The trunk is pretty skinny, but there are lots of full branches for ornaments and these trees are more susceptible to fire than a lot of the other varieties around here, so I approve of the choice.

  “You say that like it’s a weird, not totally-normal thing,” I fire back.

  Jared shrugs. “It kind of is to me. I don’t think I’ve ever had a Christmas tree of my own.”

  I nearly drop the ornament I’m holding.

  “You… what?”

  He shrugs again. “Christmas isn’t exactly a happy time when your family all hates each other,” he says. “And my birthday is only like a week before it, so it normally got forgotten and school was on break so I didn’t even get to bring in cupcakes to the class or anything.”

  Somehow in all my years of knowing him, I never put together that Jared’s birthday is a week before Christmas.

  “Well, welcome to the Saila family where we do it up right,” I joke, placing another ornament.

  “For what it’s worth, I also normally don’t have my own tree,” Ryder chimes in.

  “You’re not helping,” I call back.

  “It just seems like more of a kids and family sort of thing,” Jared says, shrugging.

  “Well, I guess I’m a big kid, and this is your family,” I tease, sticking my tongue out at him. He smiles and my heart flutters. I swear it’s like I’m around my very first crush when I’m with him. Not that I mind, because unlike Bobby McDaniel, this guy actually reciprocates my feelings.

  There’s only a couple of weeks until his birthday, and now I know I have to make it special for him. Separate from Christmas, but just as important. There’s not much time to work on it, and we can’t really go out—it’s the height of flu season and another bout of pneumonia could kill him—so I’ve got to figure out something I can pull off here.

  I think I have an idea thanks to my brother.

  I don’t think he sees it coming. For the days leading up to his birthday, I can tell he’s starting to get mopey. Even though he knows I wouldn’t let him down, he’s so used to disappointment from his family that he’s preparing himself out of habit. I see him eying the presents under the tree a few times, but he’s got no idea there’s another stash of gifts up in Ryder’s closet. I wanted to make sure he wouldn’t find them accidentally.

  After he goes to bed the night before, I gingerly sneak out of the bedroom and get to work in the kitchen. By morning, there’s a cake for him, a lasagna ready for the oven for dinner, and a small pile of wrapped presents on the table when he wakes up.

  I didn’t really sleep at all, but it’s worth it for the look on his face when he staggers out of the bedroom half-awake.

  “What—?”

  “Happy birthday!” I say, passing him a mug of coffee.

  “These are for me?” he asks, looking at the gifts, each one a different highly-rated board game from the internet. I bought a few that we can maybe play with the other guys sometime, but mostly focused on two-player games that’ll keep us both from going stir crazy the rest of winter.

  “Sure are,” I answer, grinning.

  He’s still in disbelief, mouth agape.

  “Hunter… This is a lot.”

  “Yeah, well… I love you a lot, and you’ve missed out on too much birthday fun. There’s a tradition in my family that you can request any breakfast you want on your birthday. Mom says it has to still be a breakfast food, but if you want cake for breakfast, I’m not stopping you.”

  He’s still looking a little bewildered.

  “How about French toast? You always like that. Or bacon and eggs? An omelet and homefries? Anything catching your fancy?”

  “Uh… French toast is fine,” he says, sinking down into one of the chairs, still staring blankly at the presents.

  “You can open them, you know.”

  “Really?” he asks, so sweetly innocent it almost hurts.

  “They’re not for decoration,” I tell him. “Go ahead.”

  He’s ginger with the wrapping at first, still so sure there’s a trap or a trick, but by the third one he’s ripping up the paper like he should.

  By the time he’s unwrapped everything and had his fill of French toast, I think it’s safe to say my plan’s been successful, and we haven’t even gotten to our night alone and the three-course meal I have planned.

  “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had,” he says, turning to face me with an unreadable expression. “Thank you.”

  “I’m glad you like it. I can’t do anything about all the shitty birthdays you’ve had in the past, but I can make the ones going forward better.”

  Maple syrup kisses never tasted so good.

  Chapter 17

  Jared

  Hunter’s tapping my chest lightly when I wake up.

  “Happy New Year,” he says, smiling. “I’m heading out to the chickens, coming?”

  I blink, slow to come to. My head feels weird. All of me does.

  “Yeah,” I grunt. “I’ll catch up.”

  He leans in and kisses me before heading out.

  When I finally sit up, I realize what the weirdness is. I’m tired and weak, even after a full night’s sleep. I feel like I ran a marathon, which means I’m probably not breathing well in my sleep, which means I’m probably getting sick again.

  The doctors warned me about this. I’ve been back to the hospital a couple of times for follow-up x-rays and check-ups and every time they tell me I need to be careful about getting sick, that my immune system is still weak and my lungs haven’t recovered. They tell me that while forcing me to go to that germ-ridden place every couple weeks.

  This isn’t like last time, though. Last time I did a full shift with walking pneumonia in a blizzard. That was stupid. This time I’m pretty sure I can head it off with medicine and rest. I’ll take it easy today after helping Hunter with the chores. We’ve been doing the morning rounds together for the last week or so, and he’ll know something’s up if I don’t come out. If he thinks something’s up, he’s not going to take no for an answer about going to the hospital, and if I think I’m sick now, I definitely will be after a trip to that petri dish.

  Things have been so good with him lately. He’s been satisfied enough with my progress to accept that I can do most things on my own now. I’m cleared to go back to work in a couple weeks—as long as nothing changes, obviously.

  I take a dose of cold medicine and opt for green tea with honey instead of my normal morning coffee, taking the travel thermos and my inhaler with me out to the chicken coop.

  Halfway there I realize it’s way further than I remember. When everything’s working properly, the walk through the snow isn’t much trouble, but right now it’s a major struggle to push through. I’m huffing and puffing just walking over and the cold air stings, my lungs tightening up.

  “There you are,” Hunter says brightly, twenty yards away. I need to sit down to catch my breath, but the only place to sit is the snow. If I make it to the coop, I can lean against the fence and do my breathing exercises.

  I’m too late, though. Hunter sees something’s up and frowns. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I wheeze, digging my inhaler out, taking a long puff. “Did it get colder?”

  He makes a face, looking up at the clear skies. “Maybe? Once it�
�s under minus ten I stop noticing a difference. You good?”

  I nod, even though I’m dizzy. “Think I’m gonna pass on chores though, if that’s okay.”

  He’s still frowning, and I know he’s suspicious, but there’s no need. Me going inside is taking care of it. I’m not pushing myself. It’s what he’d tell me to do.

  “Yeah, of course. I won’t be long,” he says, though I can tell he wants to interrogate me.

  Winnie follows me in, already ready to be warm, and I brush snow off of her before hanging up my coat, leaving my boots by the door, everything in its place just how Hunter likes it.

  “Let’s go lay down, huh?” I mutter, trudging toward the bedroom. Maybe I’ll take a little nap and sleep this whole thing off before it takes hold.

  I’m in that half-awake, half-asleep dream state when Hunter comes back in, some combination of illness and medicine keeping me from getting to full consciousness on demand.

  “Hey… Are you sure you’re all right?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing hair away from my forehead. “Should I call the doctor? You know what they said about a relapse and the permanent—”

  “I know,” I roar, too loud because I wasn’t sure my voice was going to work at all. Hunter jumps back, and I can barely open my eyes to look at him. I just want to sleep. “You’re not my mom. She doesn’t even care this much.”

  Hunter stands, quiet as a mouse as he retreats.

  Winnie gets up and jumps off the bed to follow him. At the door he hesitates.

  “I’m here if you need anything,” he says, his voice masking hurt.

  I feel like shit for it, but I feel too terrible in other ways to have any energy to spare. It’s terrible. I hate that I lashed out at him just for caring, but it’s too late for me to do anything about it now.

  I’ll make it up to him tomorrow. I’ll help him with all the chores, I’ll make him breakfast, and I’ll pamper him how he always pampers me. He deserves it.

  He deserves a lot better than the asshole he’s got.

  I don’t know why he’s still interested in me after everything I’ve put him through, but I know I need to make myself worthy of him. I need to do better.

  First, I need to get better. I can’t do anything right if I’m constantly sick, weak, and useless.

  I can’t fight it anymore. My body needs every last bit of energy to fight whatever infection is taking over, so I give in to sleep, hoping there’s still a chance for me to fix everything when I wake up.

  Chapter 18

  Hunter

  “Guess what I got!” Ryder announces, coming in through the front door like he doesn’t have his own damn way in. I don’t know why it bugs me when he barges in like that. He still has access to the house from his place, so what difference does it make?

  “What?” I ask, brushing all the annoyance away. There’s not really any room for it in my head right now. I’m deep-cleaning the kitchen, trying not to think about Jared laying in the bedroom and whether or not he’s still breathing.

  Behind me, there’s a heavy, almost wet thunk on the counter. I cringe, expecting something disgusting sliming up my counters when I turn around.

  Instead, it’s a neatly-wrapped package; butcher’s paper, the size of a football.

  “What’d you get?” I ask, genuinely interested this time.

  Ryder grins. “Reindeer. One of the guys on the mountain got a real nice bull two nights ago.”

  “Good luck,” I say, raising my brows.

  “It was tagged on the thirtieth,” he says, hearing my suspicion. Bull season closes December thirty-first. There’s almost always someone trying to pass off a fresh kill as a legal one that took a couple days to get down the mountain or whatever. If a game warden tagged it, though, it’s legal, and probably the last bull of the season. It really is good luck.

  “How’d you get some?” I ask. At least now I don’t have to wonder what’s for dinner.

  He shrugs. “I know someone that’s a friend of the hunter,” he says, playing coy. I don’t generally pry in my brother’s private affairs, but that doesn’t mean I’m not curious. It’s been pretty clear that he’s meeting someone in secret for a while, I just don’t know who.

  “Lucky for us, then,” I say, deciding not to press him. I’ll let him have his secret. But that doesn’t stop me from wondering.

  “Where’s Jared? These are beautiful steaks. I was thinking you could make Mom’s special garlic potatoes—”

  “He’s sleeping,” I say, cutting him off. In unison, we look at the clock on the stove. It’s almost six, the sun already set.

  “Already?” he asks, frowning.

  “He’s been sleeping all day,” I answer, my intestines twisting when I say it out loud.

  “Shit. Is he okay?”

  “How should I know?” I snap.

  Ryder just gives me a look. He doesn’t need to say anything. That look says everything, including ‘don’t bite my head off, I’m not the enemy.’

  “I’m sorry,” I sigh. “He came out to help me this morning and needed his inhaler and he’s been sleeping all day. I tried to ask if he’s okay, but he didn’t take that well.”

  Ryder makes a face, then comes around the counter to put his hand on my shoulder.

  “Are you okay?”

  I laugh, but it’s not a happy ha-ha laugh. It’s a nervous, near-hysterical laugh.

  “I don’t know? Every doctor we’ve talked to has emphasized how serious another infection could be, and how likely he is to catch one. I guess it was inevitable, but what am I supposed to do if he won’t see the doctor? I can’t make him.”

  “No, you can’t,” Ryder agrees. “I guess you just have to trust that he’s learned his lesson.”

  That gets another not-laugh out of me.

  “Yeah right.” I’d feel guilty about having so little faith in him if he’d given me any reason to think otherwise.

  “Well, maybe we’ll save these till tomorrow when he’s feeling better,” Ryder offers, far more optimistic than I am.

  “Sure. They’ll be good whenever. Thanks for sharing.”

  He shrugs. “I know I don’t say it enough, but I appreciate you letting me crash here.”

  “Yeah, of course. What’re brothers for?”

  He chuckles and shrugs again. “I’ve heard some real shitty stories from guys that don’t have such nice brothers like you. I know I’ve got one of the good ones. I’m sorry your boyfriend’s being difficult, but if you need anything, let me know, okay?”

  “Thanks Ryder.” When did my little brother get so grown up? Seems like just yesterday he was putting worms in my food and now he’s gifting me prized reindeer steaks. Oh how far we’ve come.

  When Jared’s been asleep for over twelve hours, I can’t help myself anymore. I head into the bedroom and gently jostle him awake. His soft snoring is a relief in its own right.

  “Hey,” I say softly, watching him blink in the darkness. “I heated up some soup for dinner. Do you want any?”

  “No thanks,” he murmurs.

  I feel his forehead, but he’s cool, not feverish. That’s good at least.

  “How about some tea? Juice? Water?” I know I’m probably pushing it now, but he’s been practically comatose for a whole day. He’s got to be thirsty, right?

  “Water,” he mumbles.

  It’s something.

  I rush back to the kitchen to get him some ice water and a bendy straw. I bang my knee on a corner in my hurry, and from the other room I hear Angel squawk, “Damn it!”

  “Thanks for the solidarity, bud,” I call back.

  Jared doesn’t say anything, but he sucks the whole glass of water down, dropping his head back to the pillow with a satisfied look.

  I lean down and kiss his forehead, wishing I could heal him with kisses like in old fairy tales.

  “Feel better,” I tell him, and he mumbles some sleepy nonsense.

  It’s a few more hours before I’ve cleaned my w
ay into utter exhaustion and I head to the bedroom to collapse next to him.

  As tired as I am, I don’t get good sleep. I wake up every half hour or so to check on him, make sure he’s still breathing, he’s not feverish or freezing. I can’t relax when there’s the possibility he could be suffering.

  By the time my alarm goes off, I’m so tired my head feels like an anvil. I try to turn it off quick, but not quick enough since Jared makes a noise and rolls over, eyes bleary.

  “Is it just me, or did I sleep like… a whole day?” he asks.

  “You definitely did,” I confirm. “How are you feeling?”

  “Bit better,” he says. Then he frowns, early morning light making the room lilac. “Did you catch it?”

  “Do I look that bad?” I groan. “I didn’t really sleep…”

  He sighs, moving to kiss my forehead. “Of course you didn’t, you worrywart.”

  “With good reason!” I argue, defensive.

  “Yeah, okay, you got me there. Time for chores?”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re kidding right? After yesterday?”

  “After what?” he protests. “I felt my lungs getting tight, I used my inhaler, and I rested.”

  I purse my lips. It’s hard to argue with that, but I want to.

  “You should go to the doctor,” I insist.

  He leans forward and kisses me. “I feel a lot better today, and they’re just going to tell me to do what I’ve already done. Come on.” He gets out of bed, and I have to admit, he looks like he’s feeling a lot better compared to yesterday. He’s not as pale, he looks rested.

  “You’re not helping, but you can come with me,” I offer, the best compromise I can come up with.

  “Oh come on, you’re not even going to let me open the sunroom door? Not even going to let me feed them?”

  “You should stop talking if you don’t want me to change my mind,” I warn, pulling on long underwear to go under my jeans.

  “Hey, I’m supposed to be the grumpy one here,” he teases. “I’m sorry I was a jerk yesterday.”