by E M Lindsey
Mat took his hand and pressed a kiss to the top of Wyatt’s knuckles. “I like you short, skinny, and blind.”
Wyatt let out a surprised laugh before turning, seizing Mat by the back of his neck and pulling him in for a slow, heated kiss. “I like you tall, pierced, tattooed, and mouthy.”
Mat grinned against his boyfriend’s mouth. “So. Plans?”
Wyatt laughed. “Yes.” His hand drifted up the top of Mat’s thigh, brushing just under the hem of his boxers. “I have some…sight-seeing to do. If you don’t mind.”
Mat arched into his touch, his breath catching in his chest. “Nope. I definitely don’t mind.”
Wyatt took his time seeing every inch of Mat’s body. From the bottoms of his feet, to the inside of his ass, to the soft place in the crook of his neck which made Mat damn-near lose his mind. Wyatt took him apart slowly and lingered as he put him back together again. He was fairly sure Mat had cried at one point, his noises nothing more than wrecked sobs against the mattress as Wyatt pushed into him and rolled his hips in a firm, grinding circle.
It was everything Wyatt needed to take the edge off his stress from his brothers’ little visit. He knew they were coming—whether or not he actually knew when they were coming. His mother would keep sending them too, until Wyatt finally caved and dragged Mat over to meet everyone.
He just…he just wanted to drag it out as long as possible. There would be questions like the fucking Spanish Inquisition, with too much food in place of torture. They’d be nice, and that was the worst part about it, because they used politeness and feigned interest to get a person to drop their guard before they cut right to the quick.
Wyatt didn’t want to lose this man. He knew his family wouldn’t approve—not because of who Mat was, but because he wasn’t the partner his family wanted for him. With Ioan, it had been easier. They were invested in Ioan’s happiness, so they hadn’t tried to drive him off, but Mat was nothing to them. They all thought they knew fucking better than Wyatt regarding his own life, and he was just so damn tired of it. Over forty and still running from his parents’ helicoptering. How pathetic was that?
When Mat and Wyatt took their second shower of the day, Wyatt decided it was time to get it over with. It helped that Mat didn’t seem at all anxious about being thrown to the wolves, even if Wyatt couldn’t shake the fear that they would drive the man away, kicking and screaming. It was unfair not to trust him, though. Mat had made it clear he was here for Wyatt—he was in this for the long haul—and it didn’t matter if his family was a little bit crazy.
“Okay,” Wyatt said, his hands moving over his sweater, then up over his neatly combed hair for the fifth time.
Mat seized his wrists and gently kissed the palms of his hands. “You look amazing. You look healthy and strong—they won’t be able to find a single complaint. And bonus, you’re dating a tattoo artist and you haven’t turned into some inked-up hooligan.”
Wyatt chuckled, pulling Mat close and wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist. “Maybe I like the idea of an inked-up hooligan. It certainly wouldn’t be the worst thing I could turn into, you know.”
Mat leaned in to kiss him, his fingers trailing up Wyatt’s arm. “If you ever wanted to get ink, I’d love to design you something.”
“Yeah?” Wyatt asked. He’d never really given tattoos much thought until meeting James. He liked the idea, but it had never really held any meaning for him. But knowing that anything he put on his body would come from Mat, pulled from his brilliant mind and seared into Wyatt’s skin—it made him feel things he wasn’t quite ready to unpack just yet. “I don’t think I would mind that.”
“Yeah?” Mat asked, and Wyatt could hear the grin in his voice. “We can talk about it more after we get back. Right now, we have a family to impress with my charming conversational skills. Just wait till the stutter kicks in.”
Wyatt’s gut clenched in sympathy and sorrow for just how much Mat was down on himself. He was intelligent, confident, and strong, but there were moments where it was obvious what a toll the accident had taken on him. Not just the injury, and not just losing his former life, but how people had forced him to see himself.
They had far less sight than he did. Especially when it came to the person Mat was.
He pushed the thought aside and didn’t bother to defend his family because he had no idea how it would be for Mat when they got there. They would be kind, yes, but Mat was very clever. He picked up on the way people spoke to him and around him, and he’d spot it the moment they were insincere.
It was probably one of the things Wyatt was falling in love with the hardest.
“We’re not too far from my mother’s house,” Wyatt said. He felt along the wall until his fingers touched his long cane, and he tucked it up under his arm so he could shove his phone into his pocket and get the keys to lock up. Mat was close at his heels the moment they stepped out, the air cool, but he could feel the fading heat of the late afternoon sun as it dipped low in the sky.
His eyes were sensitive from all the testing, so he pushed his glasses high up on his nose, then took Mat’s hand, squeezing his fingers gently. “If, at any time, you want to leave…”
“I’ll tell you,” Mat told him. He swung their hands between them, a little playful and sweet, and it made Wyatt grin. “It’s no big deal. We’ll hang out, I’ll meet a bunch of people I don’t understand very well, then we’ll eat and go home. Right?”
“Remember, my dad is Welsh,” Wyatt told him. “They speak a very strong mix of both French and English. I promise, no one will leave you out.” Wyatt was fully aware it wasn’t a promise he could keep, but he planned to do his damnedest to make sure Mat felt safe and included.
Mat didn’t answer, instead just squeezing his hand, and Wyatt took that as a sign that it was time to move on and let things happen as they happened. He led the way down the street, turning the corners of the neighborhood he would never forget. The familiar dip in the pavement, the way his cane would catch on their neighbor’s brick wall that stuck out just a little too far. The crack in the concrete which meant he was ten steps away from the front gate.
The place never changed—it hadn’t since Wyatt was first banging around on his own, ensuring he could sneak out without getting caught—and it probably never would. It triggered nostalgia, but he wasn’t sure if that made him happy or sad.
He didn’t really have time to contemplate. Within those ten steps to the gate, Wyatt could hear music coming from the house, and voices from the back. He could smell barbeque in the air which meant extended family had shown up. There would be kids running around, and a lot of wine, and too many people who would try to separate Wyatt and Mat to get details they had no business knowing.
“Damn, there are a lot of cars here,” Mat remarked as Wyatt held the gate open for him.
Wyatt huffed and shook his head. “I suspected as much. Don’t let them intimidate you. You don’t owe them anything, okay?”
“Babe?” Mat questioned softly just as they came to a halt at the first of three steps.
Wyatt turned to him, and he felt Mat reach up to cup the side of his neck. “I’m sorry.”
“Come on, cowboy,” Mat said. He leaned in and brushed their mouths together in a quick kiss, pulling back just far enough to be understood when he spoke. “Don’t be sorry for worrying, don’t be sorry that your family kind of sucks in some ways, and don’t be sorry for bringing me here. I’m with you because I want to be. I don’t care what these people think of me.”
Wyatt blew out a puff of air, nodded, then pulled Mat in for a firmer kiss. “I don’t want to stay long regardless. There’s a reason I didn’t go rushing back the moment we landed.”
Mat laughed and pecked him on the tip of the nose. “Fair enough. You can even use me as an excuse. Now come on, I need at least one drink and I need to meet at least three aunts with embarrassing stories all about you.”
Oh. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Seventeen
In truth, the night went fine. His family was low-key nosy with a side of polite, but Mat weathered it all with a diplomacy that Wyatt envied. He mingled and chatted, he had good humor, even when it was obvious people were speaking about him in French knowing he barely spoke a word.
Eventually, Wyatt ended up in the kitchen with his parents—Mat somewhere with a couple of his nieces, which was an endearing bit of information Wyatt decided to file away for later. Not that it was a surprise, considering how much the guys at the shop were involved with each other’s kids. But having it right there in his face, with his own family, it made Wyatt feel things.
“So,” his mother said, speaking French which meant she didn’t want Mat to be able to eavesdrop.
Wyatt sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “Maman…”
“Are you still doing that?” his father asked, and Wyatt immediately dropped his hand, feeling like the scolded child he’d been when his parents had been trying so hard to make him behave ‘normal’ in public.
He gritted his teeth for a second, then breathed out. “Is there something you need?”
“We just…he’s very nice,” his mother said quietly. Wyatt heard the novel of unspoken buts inside those five words.
“Please don’t,” Wyatt said. “I like him. He’s kind, and he’s wonderful, and for the first time since I found out about Ioan, I feel like I don’t have to be alone.”
“He’s just so,” his mother said. She stopped, and Wyatt had a feeling she was sharing a look with his father.
“We worry,” his father put in. His slur was a little worse that day, and it was a sign his father was stressed. The fact that it was stress over Wyatt’s choice in partner was enough to set him on edge, though, and not feel very much sympathy for the old man. “We understand why you don’t take into consideration the way he looks, but he’s…unconventional.”
“I know he’s good looking,” Wyatt said mulishly. “I know, because people talk around us all the time and I can hear them. They think he’s a little dangerous from his tattoos, and they think that it makes him sexy. I personally don’t care what people think, and I refuse to care if it bothers you.”
“He’s young,” his father said when it was obvious his mother wasn’t going to cut in. Wyatt startled at the words, and he turned toward the older man. “People will talk, Wyatt. He’s so young, and with everything that happened with Ioan and that student…”
“He’s not a fucking eighteen-year-old student in high school,” Wyatt said, gripping the counter to keep from storming off. “He’s barely a decade younger than I am. He went to medical school!”
“He doesn’t look it,” his father cut in. “He looks like a young punk, and you know what people will say when they see the two of you together.”
“The very fact that you think I should care,” Wyatt started, and he stopped, taking a breath. “That sin wasn’t mine, it was Ioan’s, and I refuse to pay for it any longer.”
“Is that why you won’t come home?” asked another voice from the doorway. Aron, the second oldest, and someone Wyatt hadn’t expected to come by. He lived and worked in Toronto, so Wyatt had a feeling he’d come all this way just to torment him with the rest of his family. When Wyatt remained silent, he heard Aron sigh, then the scrape of a chair which meant he’d sat down. “Don’t play dumb.”
“Then don’t patronize me and treat me like a fucking child,” Wyatt snapped. “What is this really about? What does it matter that I have my boyfriend here? We’re not staying.”
“I wish,” his mother started, but his father cut in.
“Arthur moved back home,” his father said.
Wyatt’s brows furrowed. “What does that matter?”
“Because you know that he and Ioan…you know that Arthur believed you, of course,” his father said, faltering with his words. “But Ioan’s been coming around with him. They’re still friends and… We’ve heard his side of the story and we just wonder…” The old man trailed off with a sigh.
He didn’t need to say the rest—Wyatt was well aware that Arthur and Ioan had gotten on like a house on fire. More than half of the shit Ioan did during his reckless youth was done with Arthur at his side. And Arthur had been Ioan’s biggest cheerleader when Wyatt was hesitant about dating him.
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Arthur had started his friendship again. It shouldn’t have hurt. And maybe it wouldn’t have, if it weren’t for what his family was really saying. Ioan had taken up space there in his family after Wyatt had gone.
It was like being hit with a bucket of ice water. His breath stuttered in his chest, and it took him a moment to pick an emotion. Rage, exhaustion, sadness, betrayal—they were all warring for a chance to take over, and he wanted to give in to all of them.
Instead, he calmly set his drink down and found the edge of the counter with his hand. Through what little he could see in the kitchen, he knew his father was half-blocking the exit to the living room. He knew that Aron was sitting close enough to stop him if he tried to escape.
But Wyatt wasn’t having any of it. He had never felt more completely and utterly done. “Get out of my way,” he said, his tone low and dangerous.
“Please don’t do this, Wyatt,” his mother started to plead, but when he turned his face to her, the words died on her lips. She cleared her throat, then with a small sigh said, “Lewis.”
There was a beat of silence, and then his father moved out of the way. With a firm nod, he simply brushed past them, making his way to the sitting room where he could hear Mat’s quiet voice talking to one of the kids. It quieted, then Mat said, “You look upset. What’s wrong?”
“We need to leave,” was all Wyatt told him. When they got outside, when they got some distance, he’d be able to think. But not now. With his parents’ and his brother’s words echoing in his head, he couldn’t order his thoughts. His hands were shaking so hard he clenched them into fists so no one else would notice. He wanted his cane, he wanted Mat’s hand in his, and he wanted out.
“Babe,” Mat said, and in seconds he was by Wyatt’s side. “What’s wrong?”
“We’re leaving. I can’t…I need to go.”
“Got it,” Mat said. Bless him, Wyatt thought, because he didn’t force Wyatt to explain, didn’t hesitate, didn’t try to drag his feet. He took Wyatt at his word and soon enough they were at the front door, where Wyatt grabbed his cane and reached for the door knob.
“Running off again?” Darin’s voice cut through the din of the crowd, and Wyatt heard everyone hush.
He stiffened, his voice dying in the back of his throat, and he took in a shaking breath. “Don’t.”
“Why not? You want to take the coward’s way out just like last time…”
At that, Wyatt’s entire body seethed with rage. He kept Mat’s hand in his, but he turned to face his brother. “Coward’s way out? You all dragged me back here, kicking and screaming, into a town that thought I was a fucking pedophile who forced his husband to fuck his students. And the people who believed me—who all happen to be under this roof—wouldn’t let me wipe my own ass let alone try to move on from what that asshole had done. You have never, ever treated me like a capable adult, and when I went off to prove you wrong, you welcomed that perverted bastard back into my childhood home all because Arthur and he are friends. I’m not running because I’m afraid. I’m running because I’m disgusted.”
With that, he tugged Mat’s hand and stumbled out the door. He hated being clumsy when everyone was watching. Those were the moments he wanted to have sure steps, to storm away like any sighted person might do. With Mat at his side, he could do it better than most. His family made him feel weak—they made him feel like he couldn’t be angry or frustrated at his blindness because the moment he admitted it, they felt vindicated for every moment they infantilized him.
He didn’t need Mat, but he was grateful for him in so many more ways than just the one. His cane caught on a few jagged parts of
the pavement, but he kept up his furious pace with Mat trailing just slightly behind. When he turned the corner, when he was certain none of them had followed, his steps faltered, and he sagged against a low fence.
“Putain,” he breathed out.
Mat was in front of him suddenly, his hands cupping the sides of his neck. “Babe.” He went quiet a second, then said, “How do I say that in French?”
It was such an off-the-wall, out of context question, the laugh all but ripped itself from Wyatt’s chest. “Chéri,” he told him. “It’s not something I ever used with a lover.”
“A lover? Is that what I am?” Mat asked, his tone teasing and light.
Wyatt tugged him close, and in spite of being so angry still, and ready to rush back and punch his brother in the face, he smiled. “You’re so much more than that, Mateo.” He looped the strap of his cane around his wrist, then let go so he could put both hands on either side of Mat’s cheeks. “You’re better than I ever dreamed of finding.”
Mat tipped his head in and kissed him, a sweet, careful thing that belied the tension of the evening. Wyatt’s hands moved to the front of Mat’s shirt, gripping him tight and holding him close. “Do they really have your ex over? After all that?”
Wyatt let out a tense laugh. “It seems like it. My parents tried to use the excuse that he’s friends with my brother—which is true. But I thought…I expected them to have my side. I’m just glad I left before it happened while I was there.”
“Does that mean he’s here, though?” Mat asked. Wyatt felt him shift, like he was looking around the street for the lurking shadow of his bastard ex-husband.
“Not on this street. He wouldn’t have the stones to come here while my parents were having a get-together with me there,” Wyatt said, and he was confident in at least that much. “But in the city? Probably.”
“If we see him, can I punch him in the face?” Mat asked.
