by E M Lindsey
Living in Cherry Creek was nice, but it didn’t spare him thoughtless comments and assumptions from people who hadn’t grown up around people like him. They were terrified of change, terrified of adjustment—the thought of losing a sense they believed absolutely essential to their lives threatened to crush them with fear.
And it was hard to soothe their worries without pretending like there were never bad days or frustrated moments. The moment he admitted to a weakness or had a moment of bitterness, their opinion on being disabled, or being Deaf, or being sick was vindicated. What life was worth living if the world didn’t hold up to their ideal? So, he was forced to keep those things to himself—forced to lie and say every second of every day was bliss.
But in reality, that fantasy wasn’t too far from the truth. His life was content, and most of the time, it was bliss. Wilder swished his feet through the water, the very tops of his toes making ripples along the surface, and he thought back to his life six months before—to a tired, defeated man sitting on the edge of a bus bench trying to find a plane ticket that would take him far from the town that had done nothing but remind him of how alone he was.
And how different would his life be right then if he hadn’t given in to that urge to leave his shop and offer just a small hand of comfort? He didn’t like thinking about it—how much power he held in that moment, because that was on him. Lorenzo would not have stayed, and his life would have gone on, and he wouldn’t have this one, massive piece that fit so perfectly in his present—and would continue to fit in his future.
Wilder pushed himself up and missed Lorenzo’s physical presence so much, his sternum hurt. He reached for the bar of soap that sat on the edge of the tub—one of the first things Lorenzo had ever given him, now just a small sliver of that moment he had reclaimed after his public humiliation on Collin’s farm.
He smiled thinking about it, the nervous way Lorenzo had presented the little gift. It was soap—it was just soap. It was a bit of nothing, and it barely had a smell, and yet it was one of the things Wilder treasured most.
He turned it in his hands, then dipped it in the water to lather up. As he began to scrub it over his fingers, though, he felt something different in the center. It was hard, and a little sharp at the edge, and for a second he thought maybe it was one of those mini goats Collin liked to throw in.
Feeling his heart speed up, he cracked the bar in half, and something spilled out onto his hand. Yes, it was a goat, but nestled next to it was a small jar with a corked top and something sitting inside. His fingers trembled as he tried to pry the cork away, but it stuck with his slippery, wet hands, and he was half-panicked as he climbed out and fumbled for his towel.
He dried off and managed to get the stopper out with his teeth, and the smallest little note toppled into his palm, tied with the barest bit of thread. Six months old—it was six months old, and he could see ink soaking through the back.
Wilder shuffled closer to the candles, squinting in the dim light as he broke the thread and unraveled the parchment.
Wilder,
Collin suggested this, and I’m not sure what to say. I don’t have much room, and I barely know you. This might be weird, I know. I’m sorry. I just think it’s important that I tell you that whatever happens in the future, wherever we are in life when you get this note, you are the best thing that ever happened to me. Even when I felt like nothing, you looked at me like I was something, and that made a difference. I hope after you read this I can kiss you, but if I can’t, know that in this moment, right now, I want to.
Always yours, in some way or another,
Lorenzo
Wilder bowed his head and felt his throat get hot. He felt trapped in this fucking bathroom, in this fucking house, with Lorenzo miles away in the storm and washed out roads and no way to get to him. He wanted to throw his arms around him and maybe drop to his knees and make him understand that every word in that note was something he felt every moment of every day after meeting him.
But he was powerless—again. He was stuck, and he’d just have to let these feelings simmer until Lorenzo walked through the door.
Wilder carefully rolled the note up, then dressed in some sweats and a long sleeve shirt before walking into the room, and he came to a stuttered halt when he saw a man just inside the door. He was wearing expensive jeans and a leather jacket, and his hair was a matted mess, but he was smiling.
Wilder launched himself at Lorenzo, crashing them into the door, their lips meeting in a frenzied kiss like Wilder thought maybe he’d never get this chance again, which was absurd. But it was what it was. His head was spinning, but in Lorenzo’s arms, he was steady.
Pulling away, Lorenzo cupped his cheek, then kissed him softer, slower, pouring every ounce of relief into that gesture before taking a breath and stepping back. ‘I saw the shop. I’m so sorry.’
‘I don’t care,’ Wilder replied.
Lorenzo blinked. ‘I know insurance will…’
‘I don’t care,’ Wilder repeated. ‘You’re home, so I don’t care.’ He stepped in close, cramping his signing space, but it didn’t matter. ‘I found your note.’
Lorenzo’s brows dipped in a heavy frown. ‘What? What note?’
Digging into his pocket, Wilder drew it out and unrolled it, letting Lorenzo take it and hold it up against the light from the window. After a beat, his frown melted, and he looked embarrassed. “Oh my god,” he said aloud.
Wilder laughed and curled one hand around his wrist. ‘Beautiful.’
Lorenzo set it aside on their little table by the door, then cupped Wilder’s face with both hands. He didn’t answer him, instead drawing him in for a kiss as he walked him backward until his legs hit the sofa. They collapsed, a tangle of limbs, shared breath, lips parted and tongues soft and hot as he was pressed into the cushions and possessed and consumed and loved with every physical piece Lorenzo had to offer.
When he pulled back, he straddled Wilder’s thighs and looked down at him. ‘I meant every word.’
Wilder grinned. ‘I know.’
‘I still do.’
Wilder curled one hand around Lorenzo’s shirt, not caring that he was sopping wet, or leeching cold into his bath-warmed body, or that they would probably ruin the slipcover. He only cared that he was kissing him again, breathy and perfect.
“I know,” he said, his voice rumbling along their pressed lips, and Lorenzo closed his eyes and smiled.
The End
Coming Soon
Love Him Desperate
September, 2020
Raphael has found family and friendship, but love eludes him in Cherry Creek. Then Dmitri Williams stumbles into his life, and though he’s the last person Raphael should want, he can’t seem to help himself.
Afterword
For more by E.M. Lindsey, find them on Patreon for sneak peeks, cover reveals, early chapters, ARCs and more. Subscribe to BookBub for new release alerts, and join E.M. Lindsey’s Facebook reader group, Lindsey’s Liaison for teaser Tuesdays, WIP Wednesdays, and all of the up to date information on upcoming releases.
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Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my sensitivity readers, my editor Rebecca for her amazing work, my alpha team who made this book possible and kept me from yeeting my laptop into the Atlantic, my beta team for their unending support, and my ARC readers for their excitement to continue on the journey of Cherry Creek.
Also by E.M. Lindsey
Baum’s Boxing:
Book One: Below the Belt
Book Two: Fortune and Fate
Book Three: Fringe Contender
Breaking the Rules:
Book One: Renegades
Book Two: Temptation
Book Three: Forsaken
Irons and Works:
Book One: Free Hand
Book Two: Blank Canvas
Book Three: American Traditional<
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Book Four: Bio-Mechanical
Book Five: Stick-and-Poke
Book Six: Scarification
Book Seven: To Touch the Light- An Irons and Works Holiday novel
Magnum Opus Series:
Verismo
Coming Soon: Staccato
On The Market Series:
Book One: Love Him Free
Book Two: Love Him Breathless
Book Three: Love Him Wild
Stand-Alone Novels:
Like Water Catching Fire
Forget-Me-Not
With Kate Hawthorne and EM Denning:
Cloudy With A Chance of Love
About the Author
E.M. Lindsey currently lives in the United States.
To support people like the characters in these books, please consider donating to the following charities:
US:
National Association for the Deaf
ChildHelp
PTSD USA
PreventChildAbuse
National Multiple Sclerosis Society
UK:
British Deaf Association
NAPAC
PTSD UK
