Page 10 of Coming to Grips
Kyle keeps Whiskey at a steady trot back toward the main part of the ranch.
“You up for a canter?” asks Kyle in his ear.
“Fuck, yeah,” says Chase.
Kyle clicks his tongue to Whiskey and bucks his hips and they’re off.
He’s plastered to Chase’s back now, leaning forward. He’s got to be, both to control Whiskey and to not fall off. It feels nice. Although he’s glad to be rid of Anna, he’s missed the closeness.
They reach the barn in about ten minutes, and if Chase wasn’t exhausted before, he is now. But he’s also exhilarated. If it wasn’t so ridiculous, he’d say it was the best ride of his life.
Chase drops to a bench and waits while Kyle cares for Whiskey and guides her back into her stall. He’s ready to head home, but he can’t. He’d face plant right into the dirt. He should probably be more embarrassed about that, but he pushed too hard and it’s Kyle. They’ve seen each other in worse shape, so. Yeah.
Kyle loops an arm around Chase’s back and helps him back to the cabin in silence.
Once they reach home, Chase says thanks, and while he really could use a shower after being out in the sultry July evening, there’s no way he wouldn’t fall on his ass or crack his head open.
“Night,” he says and limps to his room. Tomorrow he’s gonna pay for this. Ugh. But he’ll worry about it then. Tearing his clothes off, down to his boxers, he falls face-first into his messy bed and is asleep in minutes.
* * *
Chase sleeps late again and Kyle is gone when he gets up. Surprisingly, he doesn’t hurt like he thought he might after last night’s ramble. Kyle’s left a note that he’ll be back by midday to make lunch and take Chase to rehab. A midsummer front moved in overnight leaving the day dark; thunder grumbles softly across the sky.
Chase putters around and manages a bowl of cereal and a couple of pieces of toast for breakfast. Preparing his food takes longer than it should, and his toast is cold by the time he gets around to eating it.
Yesterday’s efforts have paid off, though, despite his lie-in. Sure, he still feels a bit wasted, but it’s not as bad as yesterday. His shoulders, chest, and back muscles ache, but in the way that indicates he’s done something more than lie around all day.
It’s after ten now, and he supposes he ought to get dressed and ready for the day. His room smells musty though. The sheets definitely need changing after sleeping in them all sticky and sweaty last night. He yanks the bedspread off, followed by the blanket, and then peels the sheets from the mattress. The pillows are a bit of a challenge, but he shoves his right arm down the length of the pillowcase and tugs at the pillow with his left hand.
After tossing the pile of dirty sheets outside his bedroom door, he tries to figure out what to wear. A louder rumble of thunder rolls overhead and he glances out his window. It’s not raining yet, but the storm is on its way. Rain means even worse humidity, which means it’s going to be fuckin’ freezing inside the rehab center while the AC works extra hard to keep the humidity at bay. Thank goodness he owns a pair of sweats because he can wear them over shorts and take them off if he gets hot. Not that he’s expecting to. He much prefers being warm to being cold.
He makes sure to get his tee shirt on front facing and right side out this time too. Grabbing a pair of socks, he stuffs them in a sneaker and carries them to the living room. Kyle will have to help him with those.
So far, this one-handed business hasn’t been as bad as Chase had expected. It’s when he forgets and tries to use his hand for things like pushing off the couch that he runs into trouble.
A knock sounds on the door, followed by the key turning in the lock.
Chase’s stomach drops—Kyle wouldn’t knock.
The door swings open and Anna steps in, holding a black trash bag in her arm. A white plastic grocery bag hangs from her wrist. “Hey, bubba,” she says and beams. “I brought your laundry and some lunch.”
“Why?”he demands. “What part of ‘we’re over’ don’t you understand?”
She frowns and looks perplexed. “Well… Just because we broke up doesn’t mean I can’t offer a helping hand.”
Chase stops, surprised and confused himself. It’s not a side to her he expected, but he’s not letting his guard down. “That’s very, uh, nice of you,” he says.
“We were together for a long time, Chase. I still care about you, you know.”
“Um, okay…” He’s not sure how he feels about her anymore. He was ill at ease with her for months; and her pettiness and self-centered nature had chipped away at his affection for her. “That’s a noble sentiment, but, really, I’m fine. I can take care of myself pretty good. You don’t have to worry about me anymore, okay? Don’t bring me lunch anymore. Don’t come by again. Please.”
How many times has he got to say it?
Her eyes narrow and her lips thin. “You don’t want me because you’re gay, right?”
Chase freezes.
Swallows.
