by E M Lindsey
Chapter Six
Mat threw himself into James’ passenger seat, kicking one foot up on the dash as James climbed behind the wheel. His head was hurting from the long day, but it wasn’t something he hadn’t prepared for. Flash Fridays were always hell—the people who were either too broke or too cheap to get inked with an appointment lined up at the door hours before the shop opened. Mat had a more abstract style than most common flash art—those were more James and Tony’s wheelhouse—but he’d managed a few designs and had someone in his chair from open to close.
His arms were aching and his fingers were a little numb. He’d started losing words somewhere around nine Friday night, and it was only after getting sleep that things were coming back to him. Luckily, he’d only booked a couple of appointments for Saturday so he could pop a couple of pills for his head and enjoy unwinding with the crew.
“Isn’t Luke moving out this week?” James asked, breaking the silence.
Mat blew out a puff of air. He’d been living with the younger kid for a while now, since he’d come to apprentice at Irons and Works, and though Mat loved having a roomie, it was nice to know he’d have his place back. “Yeah. He’s got enough business now to do his own shit.”
“He didn’t ask me for help,” James mused. “As the token truck guy at the shop, I figured he’d be up my ass about it.”
Mat couldn’t help his laugh. “The dude is scared shitless of you. Plus, the other day his girlfriend said you were hot, and I think he had a panic attack about it.”
“That boy knows I’m gay,” James said with a wry grin.
“Yeah, but that boy’s also dumber’n a box of rocks,” Mat said, mimicking when James’ accent got a little strong.
James rolled his eyes and punched him in the arm. “Shut the fuck up, dude.”
Mat couldn’t help but laugh. “Nah, you like when I talk too much.”
“You need to stop anywhere before we get to my place?” James asked, clearly changing the subject to avoid any potential for sappy conversations.
Mat shrugged. “Nah. Anyone grabbing food?”
“Sam said he’s got it. He ordered something and I forgot to ask what, but it’s not Derek so I’m not worried,” James said with a grin.
Mat rolled his eyes, but laughed anyway since it wasn’t exactly a lie. Derek had the worst taste in food out of all of them, and they were lucky he used that as an excuse to never be in charge of munchies. “So you invited Wyatt?”
James looked mildly startled. “Yeah. You’re cool with it, right? He said he has some braille cards, but Sage was kind of giving me shit for it before.”
Mat sat up a little straighter. “Seriously? He was giving you shit because the guy’s blind?”
“Did I say that?” James asked with a half-smirk. “Come on, you know him better than that. He was just wonderin’ if Wyatt needed a partner like you do.”
Mat sat back, relaxing a fraction into the seat. In truth, the guys could be a little overwhelming with their desire to help. He liked that they’d put up a clock that didn’t have numbers and was easier for Mat to read, and he liked that they’d all learned his color-coding for appointments so he could keep track. But as much as he told them that he could play a damn game of poker on his own, they insisted he use a partner to keep it fair.
When they got to James’, half the guys had already arrived, and Mat walked in to find Wyatt setting a cooler of beer off to the side of the table. He felt a strange, rushing sensation—similar to how he’d felt once he’d come out of his panic attack over his phone and had gotten a good look at the guy helping him out. Wyatt had a very unassuming beauty to him, something Mat was no stranger to noticing in people. He was shorter than Mat by several inches, a little on the thin side, his dark hair going grey at the temples. He was dressed casually, jeans and a t-shirt, which sometimes looked out of place on older men, but on Wyatt it fit him like a second skin. He was more muscular than Mat would have assumed, and he found he kind of liked it.
In fact, it had been a damn long time since Mat had been drawn to anyone like that, and it was a little scary. Mat was straight—or at least, he’d always claimed to be straight. He wasn’t entirely sure his obsessive crush on the captain of the baseball team back in high school really counted. And the one guy in college he’d made out with he’d always chalked it up to being both drunk and stoned at the frat party.
And if he’d used that for wank material years later, he just assumed it was a kink. And okay, maybe he’d considered the term bisexual in the past, but he’d been married for so long, he didn’t think it mattered. Hell, his ex could barely handle him looking at another woman in passing let alone exploring his sexuality, and after his accident, he hadn’t found himself ready to jump into a relationship.
He occasionally fucked Ruby, because he needed someone who didn’t want more from him than just sex, and they had both been on the same page since the night they’d gotten drunk and had sex in the supply room. It wasn’t often they hooked-up either, just every now and again when he needed an itch scratched—or vice versa. But he was starting to feel a pull toward wanting something more. Not with Ruby, but he was lonely, and he didn’t really know how to deal with the fact that the pull seemed to be easing him toward the man who was renting the guest house from James. He didn’t know how the fuck he was going to explain to the guys he was having some very un-heterosexual feelings. Not that they’d judge him, but he worried—what if they thought he was faking it. What if he was, and he didn’t know it?
The very last thing in the world he wanted to do was lead Wyatt on. He was fairly sure the guy would be interested. From the way their hands had lingered, from the way Wyatt had been soft and kind and a little hesitant to let him go, Mat was pretty sure he had an in with him. But Mat liked him, and he was pretty sure Wyatt had been through a lot recently.
“Earth to Mat?” James said.
Mat rolled his eyes and turned to face his friend. “What?”
“Are you workin’ on my legs tonight?”
Mat considered it a moment. Since losing his ability to read and write, Mat had become a little obsessive with geometric design. His therapist said it was likely an outlet for a function his brain had once been able to do well, and there was no harm in indulging it. Mat had tried a lot of things to get his anxiety to calm down, and carving into the foam covering of James’ prosthetics had worked better than anything. Before that, he used a lot of stick and poke art—something Tony found hilarious since the style of tattoo was massively frowned upon, but Mat did it on canvas, and Tony had hung a few up in his house after Mat finished them.
Tonight, though, he was tired. “I think I’m good, man. But thanks.”
James shrugged. “No worries. You want to double up with me tonight?”
Mat was about to answer when Sage’s voice boomed over the rest of them. “Who has Matty?”
“He can partner with me,” came the most surprising offer of all, from Wyatt, who looked a little too pleased with himself.
Mat felt a little burn in his chest, but he didn’t exactly have a good excuse to turn the guy down, so he walked over to explain the rules and the blinds. “We try not to make it complicated. Mostly we just want to have fun,” he murmured.
Wyatt smiled softly as he touched a few of the coins on the table. “And you earned some of this?”
Mat laughed. “Ah. Yeah, we all did. We have a betting pool with our tips on the day we run our sales.”
“Well, I should put some of my own money in,” Wyatt said quietly.
“Nah,” Mat said. “I got you. I did good this week.”
“Well, if we win,” Wyatt said slowly, “you can let me buy you dinner, yes?”
Before Mat could answer, James’ voice interrupted them. “Daddy has a new TV to buy!”
They won—as Mat predicted, and he wasn’t at all smug about it. He couldn’t erase the warm, comfortable feeling as Wyatt leaned into him, encouraging him to try and learn the feel of brai
lle on the corners of the cards. Part of Mat wanted to confess his secret—that he could easily tell the cards apart from the images—but he found himself wanting Wyatt to take his hand, to guide it to the little bumps on the corner. And oddly, they started to feel more familiar the more he touched them.
“So, about that dinner,” Wyatt said as he carefully divided up the winnings.
Mat flushed. “You really don’t need to do that.”
“And if I want to?” Wyatt challenged. “Better yet, I’ll go to the store and cook something. Have you ever had poutine?”
Mat blinked. “That’s that…uh. Fries with like gravy and shit, right?”
Wyatt’s smile was so wide, it showed his teeth. “Something like that,” he said in his soft accent. “It’s very French-Canadian.”
“So, what does poutine stand for?” Mat challenged. He was well aware his tone was flirtatious, and he knew he should stop, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull back.
Wyatt chuckled quietly. “Plat composé de frites et de fromage fondu en sauce.”
“Uhhhh?” Mat said.
Wyatt laughed again. “It stands for fries with gravy and shit.”
Mat threw his head back and laughed, elbowing Wyatt in the side. “Don’t be cute. But you know what, why the hell not. I have nothing going on Sundays usually, so if you’re free…”
“I can make time,” Wyatt assured him. “Maybe we can try a little more braille?”
At that, Mat froze. His occupational therapists, his parents, his friends, they’d all tried every trick in the book to help him read, and he was exhausted by all of it. Nothing worked, and he wanted to just move on with his life and stop trying to get back what he lost. He hated feeling stuck in the past, and every time someone wanted to encourage him to go down that path again—to find a way to re-learn what the accident had stolen—it made him feel like he’d never be allowed to move on.
“Sorry,” Wyatt said after Mat’s silence. “That was rude of me.”
“It’s not that,” Mat told him from behind a sigh. “Really, it isn’t. Just…you know, I’ve accepted this is my life. Even if I could learn braille, it’s not going to help me.”
Wyatt made a quiet humming noise, then shrugged. “Not my business, but if you change your mind, let me know. Braille is hard, but it can be fun.”
Mat wanted to ask more, to dig deep into Wyatt and learn what made him tick, learn where he came from and what really brought him here. He wanted to know why Wyatt sometimes got that look of heartbreak on his face. He wanted to know if he missed his hometown.
“Hey,” a voice interrupted, and Mat tried to school his face to look neutral before looking up at Derek.
“Hey, Der,” Mat said. “What’s up?”
“Nice win tonight. I swear to god, I get fuckin’ dibs next game,” he grumbled.
Mat laughed and shook his head. “Bribe me well enough and you can. Wyatt’s cooking me some French-Canadian thing as his way of saying thanks.”
Derek scowled as Wyatt flushed. “That’s not fair. You know I can’t cook.”
“Then you’ll just have to find yourself a husband who can,” Mat said pointedly. For as much as he hated when people gave him shit about moving on and finding someone to be happy with, Mat really did want Derek to open up a little. The guy had a lot going on, but it was clear he was lonely, and Mat wanted his friends to be happy.
Derek flipped him off. “Fuck you. You can keep your weird Canadian food and your hundred bucks.” He got up and stomped off as Mat laughed.
“Is he really upset?” Wyatt asked after a beat.
Mat’s eyebrows shot up. “Derek? Nah, we give him shit all the time. He can be kind of a priss, but it’s not his fault.” Mat stopped talking after that, not wanting to give too much away about Derek without the other man being okay with it.
Wyatt didn’t seem to mind much. He sat back, his eyes closed, face pointed at the table. He had a quarter in his hand, and he rubbed his thumb around the edge of it like an absent gesture. “I worry, since I don’t know you all very well. I never mean to offend.”
“You’re not going to find many guys here that are easily offended,” Mat said with a faint laugh. “I mean, you live with James and that man is probably the most sensitive out of the bunch.”
Wyatt’s smile got a little bigger. “Then I think maybe I’m safe.”
“What about you,” Mat asked, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning his elbow on the table, shifting a little closer to Wyatt. “Have we offended your delicate Canadian sensibilities?”
“I descend from Welsh and French,” Wyatt answered with a chuckle. “Offending me might be impossible.”
“Fair enough. So, I know now you like fries covered in gravy and shit, you actually do care about the people you hang out with, and you’re kind of a genius at poker,” Mat said. “Any other deep dark secrets I should know about?”
“Hmm,” Wyatt said, his mouth twitching into a soft smile, “well, I can read people very well. For example, I might be good at poker, but I think you are a cardsharp.”
Mat blinked for a second. “…I have no idea what you mean.”
“You were well aware of our cards before I was able to explain them, and I know you didn’t pick up braille that fast. Have you been deceiving your friends, Matthew?”
“First of all, it’s Mateo, not Matthew,” Mat said, just as a way of biding his time because so far, no one had picked up on him. And maybe it was because they thought he was too delicate to be called out, but he had a feeling that maybe it was just Wyatt paying closer attention than anyone else. That made him feel…certain things he really didn’t want to think about right then. “Secondly…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mm,” Wyatt said with a smirk. “I suppose some secrets are better left kept, eh?”
“I guess so,” Mat said, but he was smiling too, in spite of a growing fear that the more he got to know Wyatt, the more complicated things were going to get. He pushed the button on his phone to read out the time, then sighed. “I should head out, though. I have an early morning doctor’s appointment. Tomorrow night still good for dinner?”
“I’ll go shopping to get ingredients. Prepare to have your mind changed about fries with gravy and shit,” Wyatt said.
Mat laughed. “Say it in French again.”
“You like the sound of it?” Wyatt teased. His expression went a little sultry as he leaned in and pitched his voice low. “Sur une échelle de un à dix, tu es une poutine.”
Mat’s insides quaked a bit, but he also frowned because unless his mind was playing tricks on him—which was entirely possible—that wasn’t the phrase Wyatt had used before. “Okay, call me crazy, but that’s not what you said before.”
“Maybe it isn’t,” Wyatt said, and Mat was absolutely sure Wyatt was flirting now. Fuck.
“What did you just say?” Mat demanded, but he made sure he didn’t sound cruel about it, or panicked.
Wyatt chuckled again and pushed himself up to stand, reaching for his cane which was lying against the chair next to him. “Tell you what—learn one French phrase by tomorrow, and I’ll tell you.”
Mat flushed, but he cleared his throat. He wasn’t the kind of guy to back down from a challenge. “You’re on.”
Wyatt stuck out his hand, and he gripped tight when Mat took it. “I look forward to tomorrow.”
Mat flushed hard, not really willing to let go, though forcing himself to pull away anyway. “So am I, Wyatt. See you then.”
“Bonne soirée, Mateo, à bientôt,” Wyatt murmured, and Mat was a thousand percent sure, Wyatt had done that on purpose.
Mat scowled. “And that?” he demanded.
Wyatt smiled again. “Have a good night, Mat.” With that, he took his cane, turned on his heel, and left the room.
Chapter Seven
He missed Pomme and his independence in equal measure. Growing up, he’d never particularly loved relying on a sighted guide—but he w
as half sure that was due to the fact that the only ones really interested were either his brothers or his friends—all of whom were immature assholes who thought it was hilarious to play jokes on him. And at the time, even he could admit to finding some amusement to it, but there came a point in his life he realized just how altered his life would be due to his blindness. Pomme had changed that. Her, and the technological advances which handed him a smartphone and a handful of apps that allowed him to do things like the shopping on his own.
Wyatt’s condition existed from birth, and progressed beyond usable sight before he was really old enough to make solid memories. His nystagmus made it difficult enough to use what central vision he had left to learn letters and numbers. Braille had saved his ass more than he wanted to think about.
Now, though, in a foreign country where people were not only intimidated by his blindness but also his accent, he found himself in a tough spot. He didn’t want to ask James to help him shop—and he didn’t exactly know anyone else around that he was comfortable mentioning his needs to, so he tried to make do on his own.
Usually, it was fine. James did a lot of the food shopping, and Wyatt had figured out the supermarket nearby enough to know where to go. But he wanted this night to be something special. He was fairly sure Mat was flirting with him—even if he was known as the straight one in the group. In truth, Wyatt had just assumed since the guys had spoken a lot about Mat’s ex-wife. There was every possibility that Mat was bisexual and interested.
From the way he’d flirted, the way he’d lingered with his palm against Wyatt’s, he found it difficult to interpret it in any other way. Food was the way to a lot of hearts, and Wyatt was a decent cook, if he did say so himself. He’d yet to find himself particularly impressed with any of the restaurant fare in Fairfield, even if the town had some diversity in cuisine. But Wyatt had never really been the take-out type, and that didn’t change with geography.
