Irons and Works: The Complete Series

by E M Lindsey

  “I like your vibe, man,” James interrupted. Wyatt heard the quiet thud of two drinks hitting the bar top, then the soft sigh after James took a long gulp of his. “Why don’t we try it out? How long you stayin’?”

  “I don’t know,” Wyatt confessed. He bit the inside of his cheek and took a breath. “I need to figure out where to go next.”

  “Like an existential thing, or you just lookin’ to move on and keep sowin’ those oats?”

  Wyatt couldn’t help another laugh. “Maybe a little bit of both. But I don’t want to impose.”

  “Listen, I got me a guest house at my place. It’s got a bedroom, bathroom, and little sitting room. The full kitchen’s in the main house, but I never mind sharing that. If you don’t mind sharing with me when you cook.” He could hear James’ huge grin, and part of him wondered if it was only because the guy had been drinking, but something about him seemed genuine.

  “And you don’t mind that I…that my ex-spouse is a husband?” Wyatt pressed.

  James huffed a laugh. “Damn near everyone at our shop is gay—myself included. Trust me, that ain’t a problem.”

  Wyatt nodded, then reached out, sliding his hand over the bar to find his drink. He curled his hand around it, feeling the faint pulse of the chilled glass against his palm. “Well, I have money,” he said. “I think I’d like to take you up on your offer but I…there are certain rules I have to live with if I’m going to use your kitchen. In order to know my way around,” he clarified. If it wasn’t the fact that he was gay, it was being blind that usually put people off.

  “You just let me know,” James said. “I can promise you I don’t mind.”

  Wyatt’s eyebrows rose. “It isn’t as though I don’t believe you, but most people are more nervous. Are you certain you understand how important this is?”

  James laughed, but before Wyatt could become irritated, he leaned in and said, “Sugar, I got no legs. Well, I got some real fancy metal bits and pieces below my knees. One of my best buddies uses a wheelchair, and we got a guy who sometimes goes into a panic so bad he loses hours, if not days. When you tell me you need somethin’ to get by at home, I aim to make sure you have it.”

  “Oh,” Wyatt breathed out, because he hadn’t been expecting that.

  James chuckled again. “You’ll meet ‘em soon enough.”

  Wyatt swallowed, then nodded and took a sip of his beer for a little more courage. “I don’t…I’m not very social. I’ve had a bad year, and I just wanted to find somewhere I could breathe again, decide what I wanted with the rest of my life.”

  “Sounds like my place is just the ticket,” James insisted. “So long as you don’t mind our occasional poker games, and the few times one of the guys will come crash on my couch, then we’re good.”

  Wyatt knew he should probably say no. James was a total stranger in some small town he didn’t know. But something about him felt right—something about all of it felt right in a way things hadn’t in a damn long time.

  Before he was truly aware he was doing it, Wyatt set his drink down and stuck his hand out again. “It’s a deal then.”

  James shook his hand with another laugh, and tugged on him a bit. “Welcome to Fairfield then, Wyatt. Trust me when I say, once she’s got her hooks in you, it’s impossible to let go.”

  Chapter Five

  Wyatt was elbows deep in a sink of soapy water, washing dishes as he took a break from his writing. He heard the front door bang open and he startled, nearly breaking the plate in his hands. He’d been living with James for a few months now, and though he had been certain he’d be overwhelmed with James’ friends and workmates, they mostly left him alone. He occasionally socialized during poker night, but more often than not, he was left on his own. It was lonely, but in a way, it was necessary.

  He hadn’t come close to figuring out what he wanted to do with his life, but having space to himself to mourn meant the world. He missed Pomme like a limb, and he missed the life he thought he had, even if he knew it had never truly existed. He was avoiding his phone most of the time, only because his brothers had done everything they could to find him, and when they failed, they always turned to guilt.

  “What will happen if maman gets sick and you’re not there? Dad can’t take care of her on his own since his stroke. How are we supposed to be able to contact you if she needs you?”

  “Your niece had a choir concert the other night and when she realized you weren’t going to be there, we couldn’t get her to stop crying.”

  “It was dad’s birthday. He said his only real wish is to have all of his sons home.”

  Wyatt knew there were at least a dozen other emails with similar accusations and questions, but he was tired of living his life for others. His family cared about him, but in a selfish way—a way that made them lash out when he cut off their control. He supposed if he wanted to see their true colors, this was the way to do it.

  He felt settled here, though. Maybe not as much as James insisted he would, but he figured that was in part due to the fact that he’d kept himself isolated. He had a doctor, knew his way to the super market, had his favorite uber driver, but nothing more than that. He could have that anywhere.

  Still, when he heard James’ front door bang open and the sound like someone was crying, he leapt into action without really thinking. Using the wall to guide him, Wyatt made his way to the doorway and paused. “Everything okay?”

  There was a noise like something falling onto the floor, then a rough voice spoke. “Shit, s-sorry. I d-d-didn’t then anyone was he-he-hello.”

  The person sounded familiar, one of the guys from the shop, Wyatt was sure. His voice was distorted though, thick with tears, trembling, and not all his words were making sense. “Are you okay?”

  “I…” The man took a shaking breath, then laughed. “No. I’m n-ot. Uh. I’m kind of having a p-p a puh-p-anic anchor right now. I have all these fucking axe messages.”

  Wyatt froze with a tiny frown. Hello? Anchor? Axe messages? Something was definitely wrong with the guy. He took a step into the room, shuffling his feet to keep from tripping over anything the man might have brought in, and he took a seat at the edge of the sofa. “I’m trying to understand,” he told him. “Can you tell me who you are?”

  “F-f,” the guy tried, but his stammer was clearly stopping his ability to speak. “Sorry,” said after a moment, and he took a very slow breath. “It’s Mat. From the shop. Were my words coming out all wrong?”

  Wyatt shook his head. “No, not all of it. Maybe I can help, if you can try again?”

  Mat let out a shaking breath, and Wyatt found himself surprised because of all the people he’d met, Mat had seemed the most put together. “My phone. I use text to speech. You know how that works?”

  Wyatt gave him a tiny smile. “I’m familiar.”

  Mat chuckled. “Right, yeah. Course. So…so I dropped my five in my latte and it busted the sand. All that’s coming out is this weird, crackly nature, and I have all these texts—like seven of them. Which has to be an emergency, right? My soap is fine but I can’t…they’re from Tony, and what if something went wrong, what if someone’s heart? I tried to call but I couldn’t hear anything and I’m…”

  “I’m trying to follow,” Wyatt said. “I’m sorry.”

  Mat let out a frustrated breath. “My words…I’m sorry. It’s…I’m trying.”

  Wyatt nodded and softened his tone. “Let me make sure I understood. Your phone speaker is broken, and you were using text to voice.”

  “Yes,” Mat breathed out.

  “The screen works.”

  “Yes,” Mat answered again.

  “But you can’t read them?”

  There was a very tense pause, then Mat answered in a small voice, “No. I can’t…I had an accident, a head import. My brain can’t process letters or numbers.”

  Head injury, he assumed. That explained the wrong words. Then the real problem hit him. “I can’t read it either.”


  Mat’s laugh was more tense than before. “I know. Fuck. I knew James wasn’t house, but I was panicking so badly I was getting vertigo and I was so close. And I can’t drive so…”

  “What sort of phone is it?” Wyatt asked.

  “Oh. Um. iPhone,” Mat answered.

  Wyatt’s brow furrowed, then he stood up. “Viens. Come with me. I have an idea that might work. James has something in the guest house which allows you to plug your phone in to play music. It might play the messages.”

  “Sh—sh-shit,” Mat said, and Wyatt heard him climb to his feet. “You think?”

  “If not, you can use my phone to call your boss. I’m certain it’s nothing,” Wyatt assured him. He used the coffee table to orient himself, then carefully led the way through the kitchen and out the back door. He swiped his cane from where it rested against the porch railing, then followed the clear path to the guest house.

  Wyatt could hear Mat keeping pace with him, and he tried to keep his curiosity to a minimum, but it wasn’t easy. It was his own fault, he supposed, for keeping such a distance between himself and James’ friends and family, but he wasn’t really in a place where he felt comfortable making himself vulnerable again. The way the people he trusted had turned on him when Ioan had tried to implicate him—how ready they had all been to turn vicious—he couldn’t go through that one more time.

  Wyatt’s cane hit the edge of the porch, then he tucked it close to his body as he took the three steps up, holding the door for Mat. “You euh…you don’t need a ramp?”

  “Hmm?” Mat asked, then cleared his throat. “Oh. No I’m…just my brain that’s…you know. Long.”

  Wyatt frowned. He didn’t think “long” was the word Mat meant to use, but the man was in distress enough without Wyatt calling him out on his mistakes. Instead, he just waited for Mat to pass him, then stepped in and let his cane rest against the counter where he normally kept it.

  “Come. The speaker’s attached to the TV, and you’ll probably do better than I can since you can see it,” he said. He trailed his finger along the wall to keep himself oriented, but the guest house was pleasantly small and free of clutter. He came to a stop in front of the entertainment center, then gestured toward the stereo James had hooked up a few days after Wyatt moved in.

  “Um…” Mat said. “So just…plug it into that cord?”

  “Yes, then turn the big dial three clicks. It should sync with the speaker when the light is green, then you can play your texts.” Wyatt hesitated as he listened to Mat fumble around with the cord, and then the dial. “Would you like me to step out so you can…”

  “Stay,” Mat said, his voice more tense than Wyatt was expecting him to sound. “Sorry I…could you stay? I know that’s probably so fucking weird.”

  “It’s perfectly fine,” Wyatt assured him. He took a few shuffled steps back until his calves hit the coffee table, then he moved around it to sit down on the sofa. In all honesty, part of him was a little happy Mat trusted him. A little because he was curious what the big emergency was, and a lot because Mat seemed really out of sorts and Wyatt liked to feel helpful. It was why he loved teaching so damn much, and why it had hurt to lose it.

  “Okay,” Mat breathed out. “Okay uh…”

  After a beat, the quiet voice of Siri came through the speakers, but instead of the dulcet French tones Wyatt was used to, it was a nasal woman. “Text Message from Tony sent one-fifteen PM. Just letting you know that your three PM cancelled. Next message from Tony, sent one-seventeen PM. You can take Sage’s walk-in shift if you want. Next message from Tony, sent one-twenty PM. Actually, he said he wants to work on some sketches tonight so never mind. Next message from Tony, sent one-twenty-two PM. Unexpected night off if you want to take it, otherwise come in anyway, smiley face emoji, winking face emoji, upside down smiley face emoji.”

  Wyatt heard a loud thump, and saw movement which he assumed meant that Mat had sunk to the floor. There was a rush of breath, and then a high, tense laugh. “All of that to let me know my fucking appointment was cancelled.”

  Wyatt’s face fell with sympathy. “I’m sorry you had to worry so much.”

  “I’m sorry I imposed my crazy on you,” Mat countered almost immediately.

  Shaking his head, Wyatt pushed to his feet. “Do you drink tea? I’m half Welsh, so I know for a fact tea is the proper suggestion after something traumatic.”

  From his place on the floor, Mat laughed. “You know, I think I might take you up on that. I can get it, though.”

  Wyatt noticed that Mat’s speech had regained clarity, which he assumed had to do with the sudden lack of stress. “I’ll get it, but if you want to join me in the kitchen, you can tell me how you take it. Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes,” Mat said. He grunted as he stood, and Wyatt felt him walk close at his heels as he made his way back to the small kitchen. It was basically useless for cooking anything more complicated than tea and toast, but James never minded when Wyatt came over. For now, it was good enough. “Sorry I sounded like that. I have the whole stammer and aphasia thing under control most of the time, but when I get freaked out, it’s like there’s a short between my mouth and my brain.”

  After flicking on the kettle, Wyatt turned to face Mat. “You don’t have to apologize for reacting as yourself,” he told him. “It doesn’t bother me. I’m just sorry I’m not the best host.”

  “James did say you were kind of a recluse,” Mat told him, and Wyatt could hear a faint grin in his tone. “Actually, if it’s horrible having me here…”

  “I promise,” Wyatt said before Mat could try to leave, “it has nothing to do with any of you. I’ve just been trying to…” He considered his words for a long moment. “I’ve been trying to figure out where the hell I belong.”

  At that, Mat laughed. “Man, aren’t we all? I mean, you definitely came to the right place for it. We’re like the Island of Misfit Toys.”

  “Isn’t that a band?” Wyatt mused.

  Mat laughed again, and Wyatt found the sound of it soothing in a way he wasn’t prepared for. “I don’t know, it might be. I grew up on my parent’s shitty taste in old folk music, and nineties pop. But, I more meant the Rudolph movie. Where the little Claymation reindeer gets kicked out of Santa’s workshop and runs away to find his place with all the other misfits of Christmas?”

  Wyatt smiled at him faintly. “I don’t think I’ve seen it.”

  “Shit I…oh,” Mat hesitated. “Wait. Was that a joke?”

  Wyatt couldn’t help his grin from going a little wider. “Couldn’t help it, I’m sorry.”

  “No, dude,” Mat said, slapping his hand down on the counter which made Wyatt jump a little. “Like I said, you fit right in.”

  Wyatt put the tea together, then the pair of them took it in the living room, one on either end of the sofa. Although Mat was still a veritable stranger, Wyatt found he was comfortable having him around. “You came here after your injury, yes? To Fairfield?”

  “Mm,” Mat said. “Sorry, I keep forgetting you can’t see me nod. But yeah, uh…so I was in med school. Actually, I was doing my residency when I got into an accident. I was in a coma for a while, then when I woke up had to relearn basically everything. I think for a while, the doctors didn’t think I’d ever speak again. It took so damn long to be able to string two words together.”

  Wyatt’s eyebrows went up. “That must have been hell.”

  “I think it would have been easier if I had an alternate way to communicate. One of my nurses tried to teach me some sign language, but I couldn’t remember most of it the next day. Then it became clear that I couldn’t read. So, I was talking gibberish, not making any sense, not really able to understand much, and no way to explain to anyone what I wanted or needed. It came back in little bursts until one day my words just started making sense again. But the reading thing—letters and numbers, all that shit—it didn’t.”

  Wyatt bit his lip. “Is it offensive if I say that’s fascinating?”
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  Mat let out a startled chuckle. “Uh, no. Most of the guys here are too scared to mention it, so it’s kind of nice to talk about it, I guess.”

  Wyatt then processed the rest of Mat’s story and it hit him. “So, your residency…”

  “Hard to be a doctor when you can’t read letters or numbers, you know?” There was a mourning tone to Mat’s voice, and Wyatt ached for him. “I gave it up when it became obvious I wasn’t going to fully recover.”

  Wyatt’s brows dipped low in a frown, but before he could ask the question he really wanted to, he stopped himself. It wasn’t his place to question the choices Mat made, or to interrogate him on why he didn’t pursue it further. Hell, Wyatt knew exactly how exhausting it was to face an uphill battle, and there were plenty of times he’d walked away, even if he knew it was something he could have accomplished in the end.

  “So, uh…I just saw a light come on at James’, which means he’s probably home. I should catch a ride with him. But thank you for helping. That really pulled my ass out of the fire.”

  Wyatt rose with him and stuck out his hand, feeling a soft palm press against his own. His fingers touched slight callouses on the sides of Mat’s fingers, likely from the tattoo machine, and it occurred to him that Mat was probably covered in ink.

  “If you ever need anything,” Wyatt said, leaving the statement open-ended.

  Mat let out a small, huffing laugh. “Thanks, man. And same for you. Hell, if you ever feel like playing poker, you know we have a game every few weeks. Uh, they let me partner with people since I can’t read the numbers on the card, so they’d be cool if you wanted to do that too.”

  Wyatt grinned. “I have braille cards, actually. And…I might take you up on that. Thank you.” He realized then he’d been holding Mat’s hand for way too long, and he carefully pulled away. He definitely didn’t appreciate the rushing feeling like he wanted to reach for Mat again, or how hard it was to let him walk away.

  When the door shut, Wyatt leaned his head against the wood and squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t be an idiot,” he muttered to himself in French. “This is a terrible idea.”