Noah
“Has Remi always been Deaf?” I ask Colton, the two of us out behind my house, sun beating down our backs as we work on the garden. I hand him another clump of bellflowers, which he takes before wiping his wrist across his forehead. The smudge of dirt he leaves behind has me smiling to myself.
“Yeah,” he answers, setting the hearty perennials into the hole he prepared at my instruction. It feels like a small victory, Colton being here with me during the day. We’re making progress, slowly but surely. “He got his cochlear implant when he was two. Am I doing this right?”
“Mhm. Now pat the dirt back into place.”
“Can’t believe I’m planting flowers,” Colton mumbles, following my directions and covering the roots of the plant. The simple act has my heart clenching in the best way, memories of my mom doing the same surfacing.
“You’re doing very well.”
“Oh, fuck off,” he says. “Don’t humor me.”
“So prickly,” I murmur, positive he can hear the fondness in my tone. His look of befuddlement confirms it.
He shakes his head, continuing with his task. “He grew up speaking and signing equally. Signing was mostly done around the house, since, you know, our town is pretty tiny. Deaf community of one.”
I nod, pulling another clump of bellflowers from its container.
“But it was pretty obvious, even early on, that Remi wasn’t the biggest fan of his implant. It’s why we all learned ASL. As our mom said, the least we could do was learn Remi’s language, the same as he was learning ours. That always stuck with me.”
I hum, my respect for Marigold Darling growing.
“The dates,” Colton says, sitting back on his haunches. “On your arm. What are they?”
Ah.
I hold out my forearm so he can better see the tattoos. “This is my mom’s birthday. And this is my dad’s.”
“To remember them?” he asks.
“Yes.” Although their birthdays aren’t the only tattoos I have to remember them by. I trace the thorned crown that fits my forearm like a band. “This was my very first ink.”
I got it while I was still grieving, just over half a year after my parents died. It felt fitting at the time. A king devoid of life. It was how I felt inside. Hollow. Stripped down to nothing but thorns and bone.
The flowers came after that. New life. Growth. Repair. The rope a lifeline to pull me back to the person I knew myself to be.
It took a while, but I got there.
“How’d they pass?” Colton asks, his question so very soft.
“Accident,” I tell him. “Car crash.”
He makes a small sound. “Seems so unfair.”
I can’t disagree.
“Did you ever go hunting with your dad?” he asks, wiping more dirt across his cheek. At this rate, I’ll have to drag him into my shower before he heads home.
Shame.
“Sometimes, yeah,” I tell him. “It wasn’t just about sport to him. He respected the animals, always. Nothing went to waste.”
“Noah,” Colton says lightly, gentle laughter bleeding into his tone. “I’m not judging. You do remember my family raises beef for slaughter, right? I know perfectly well you can respect the creatures that are part of our circle of life.”
I nod at that, not sure why I thought, even fleetingly, Colton would judge in the first place. I guess I’m used to the reaction from past relationships I’ve had. And I refuse to believe Colton and I aren’t in a relationship.
I just have to get him to admit to it.
“Here,” I say, handing over another clump of flowers, the garden’s yearly revitalization nearly finished. “Back to work, Darling. Chop chop.”
He snorts. “Remind me why I’m here again, letting you boss me around?”
“Because you couldn’t resist the allure of my company,” I tell him, tossing the empty transplant pots into the wheelbarrow nearby.
When I turn back Colton’s way, the look on his face has me holding in a laugh.
“Are you just now realizing you like me?” I ask.
“No,” he says quickly. “That can’t be it.”
“Certainly not.”
“Oh, God,” he mutters, dirty palms on his knees. The clump of bellflowers waits beside him.
“Take your time,” I say, moving to Colton’s other side to place the flowers into the hole.
“Oh, God.”
My lips twist. “All right?”
“No. This is horrible.”
“Is it?” I ask, patting the dirt into place.
“I can’t.”
Like me , I presume.
“I think you already do.”
“So fucking cocky,” Colton grumbles. “See? This is why I can’t. Because you say shit like that, and you look at me like that , and I just wanna…”
I give in to temptation and wipe the dirt off Colton’s cheek, my thumb lingering on his skin. “Shut me up?” I guess.
He deflates with his breath. “Well, yeah.”
“There are better ways of shutting me up, Colt.”
He sits with that as I bring the wheelbarrow back to the barn. I store it in the corner, having just enough time to turn around before Colton storms through the open doorway.
“You’re just so…” he starts.
“So what?” I ask calmly as Colton strides my way.
He pushes my chest, dirtying my shirt, and energy zips down my spine.
“So full of it,” he spits out. “So… sure all the goddamn time.”
“And that pisses you off?” I ask, preparing for Colton to come at me again.
He does. Shoving my chest once. Twice. “ Yes , it pisses me off. Why do you get to have it all figured out, huh?”
“I don’t,” I assure him. “I’m just not fighting it.”
“Not fighting me ,” he amends.
“Is that what you want?” I ask, grabbing his wrists when he makes to shove me again.
He twists out of my hold, blue eyes wild. “I just want…”
The vulnerability in his voice and the way his chest hitches has me closing the distance between us in an instant. I take Colton’s throat in my hand, and the man grabs on to my arm, his eyes feathering closed as his mouth pops open.
“This better?” I ask him roughly. “Need me to tell you to stop struggling?”
The sound he lets out is almost wounded. “I don’t know what I need, Noah.”
“Yes, you do.”
His eyes plead with me, his hand grabbing my shirt, the fabric bunching in his grip as his knuckles graze my skin. “I can’t.”
“You can. Tell me.”
He lets out a breath, the hand on my arm flexing. “I need you to kiss me.”
The words fall between us, heavy, like stones. They’re not what I’m expecting. They’re so, so much more.
I crash my mouth into Colton’s, and the two of us go stumbling, trying to maintain our balance. We don’t manage it. One or both of us trips, and then we’re on the ground, my elbow hitting hard enough I know it’ll bruise but not caring one bit. Colton scrambles over top of me, pinning my wrists to the dirt as he bites my lip.
I’m about to pull my hands free, regain the upper hand, when Colton grinds down on my lap. His breath puffs against me, the groan that follows causing me to still. He does it again, grinding, his mouth urgent against my own in a way I’ve never felt from him before. Not like this. Not with him taking what he wants from me.
I tug my hands free, and Colton makes a tortured sound, but it turns into pure, aching relief as I hastily shove his pants down his hips. The doors are wide open, but I don’t think either of us cares. The only one around is Walt, and I pray he stays inside the house for the next however many minutes.
Colton’s kisses are bruising as I work my own pants low enough to take our cocks into my hand. His breath stutters and restarts, his hips moving against me as the both of us grunt.
“Admit it,” I rasp out, one hand in his hair to keep him close. “Admit you like me.”
“You,” he pants.
It takes me a second to understand, but then I give the words freely. “I like you a whole fucking lot, Colt. Tell me you’re mine.”
“God fucking damn it,” he mutters, his head dropped forward, hair concealing his face. I tug it back out of the way, but his eyes won’t meet mine. “I want to hate you.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to hate you at all.”
My heart kicks. My cock, too. “I know, baby.”
“ Fuck ,” he hisses, leaning down to catch my lips again. He rolls against me, the pressure and dry rub of our cocks bordering on uncomfortable. It doesn’t matter. I’m so close to the edge, the hint of discomfort only spurs me on.
I stroke us together, Colton raining kisses veering on attack down on me. I accept them all, the air around us scented with fresh earth and citrus, the man on top of me everything I had no idea I wanted.
When he leans back enough to hastily push my shirt up to my chin but not take it off, I falter for all of a second. But then Colton is crying out, his hand planting on my shoulder as his cock kicks against mine, his release coating my stomach and chest.
I follow him like it’s my sole purpose in life.
My orgasm is brutal and sharp, and I adjust my grip, my hand squeezing my dick as if I could somehow call back the wreckage. It’s no use. I feel like I’m splintering apart, pieces of me coming undone without my permission.
But then there are warm hands bracketing my neck. A face pressed to the side of my own. A familiar scent.
“I didn’t want to like you,” Colton whispers.
I heave a breath. Another. “I know.”
“But I do.”
I close my eyes, my hands on Colton’s hips holding tight. “So what does that mean for us?”
“I don’t know,” he says around a sigh, sitting slowly upright. He looks around before popping up and grabbing a mostly clean rag from a table nearby, hiking up his pants as he goes. “I was kinda hoping you could tell me.”
“Well,” I say, accepting the rag he hands me and wiping my stomach and chest. Much to my surprise, Colton kneels back over me, tucking my cock into my pants. Having him touch me like that, so easily and without a hint of reservation, has my chest turning unbearably warm. “Here’s what I think.”
Colton sits on the tops of my thighs and motions me on.
I toss the rag to the side before easing up onto my elbows. “We’re dating.”
“We are?”
“Yes,” I answer. “Exclusively.”
He bites his lip before nodding.
“And whether or not that means going out in public, I don’t care. But I’m not going to lie about us if anyone asks. And I don’t wanna hide.” I pause before asking, “Is that all right? ’Cause I can give you more time, but it can’t be a forever thing.”
He nods again, slower. “No, that’s all right.”
My surprise must show on my face because Colton puffs out a breath.
“Christ, Noah. It’s not that I care what other people think. I just… It’s fucking throwing me, okay? You and me. It doesn’t make sense to me, so how is it gonna make sense to anyone else?” He scrubs his face before adding, “But it doesn’t need to, does it? Fuck . How did this even happen? How’d we end up here?”
“Well,” I say slowly, rubbing Colton’s thighs. “Pretty sure after spending half our lives hating and avoiding one another, kissing and fucking was simply bound to happen.”
He stills before snorting a laugh. “Is that right?”
“Mhm. Laws of nature, you know.”
“That’s fucked up. You’re welcome for not coming on your shirt, by the way. Some of us have some decency.”
Colton is already standing by the time he finishes talking, but I tug on the backs of his knees, and he comes toppling back down, his face landing inches above mine.
“ Jesus .”
“What are we doing tomorrow?” I ask him, slipping my hands up into his hair so he can’t get away.
He attempts a scowl. “I already spent my Saturday doing manual labor for you, and now you want my Sunday, too?”
“Yes.”
He scoffs, but he doesn’t fight it when I turn his head to the side, mouthing his neck.
“Horses?” he says. “We can…go trail riding?”
I still before nipping his skin, enjoying his responding squirm. “Two horses this time?”
“Yes, two fucking horses,” he says, sounding indignant. “You can have five horses if you want. We have plenty.”
I hum. “I accept.”
“You accept?”
“Your trail riding idea. It’s a date.”
“Oh my fucking God,” he groans, sounding so absolutely disgusted by the word that I laugh.
“What time should I be at the Darling Ranch?”
He huffs another breath. “Eleven? And don’t fucking call it the D-word in front of my family. We’re not sixteen.”
“I should hope not,” I say, smoothing my hand down over his ass. “Otherwise, your parents would be horrified by the things I wanna do to you, little Colt.”
He whips his head up in alarm. “You’re not gonna tell them.”
I snort, and his face relaxes.
“Not funny, King,” he says, grabbing my arms and standing, pulling me with him. “None of my family needs to hear any of those details. And call me ‘little Colt’ while we’re there, and you’ll find out how it feels to have your nuts retreat up into your body. I’m not even kidding. The jewels will not be safe from me.”
There’s a grin on my face as Colton tugs me out of the barn, rambling all the while about how if his family starts razzing him, I’m not allowed to pitch in. But if the jokes are aimed toward any of his brothers, it’s fair game. We finish cleaning up the area around the flower beds well before the sun has started retreating in the sky. And when Colton heads home for the night, he does so after allowing me to kiss him so thoroughly we’re both starved for air by the time we part.
I’m floating on a cloud all evening and into the morning. So much so that by the time I arrive at the Darling Ranch at precisely eleven and make my way toward the horse barn, there’s not even a pinch of worry as I catch sight of the hayloft door shut tight at the top of the structure. I trudge right through the open doorway, intent on finding Colton and leaving the past in the past.
Only Colton isn’t here.
He’s not in the hallway. Not inside Clementine’s stall, although the horse greets me when I offer a pet through the bars. I wait a long damn time for the man to show, and, when he doesn’t, I call his phone. There’s no answer. And none of the ranch hands passing through have seen him all day.
The more time drags on, the more certain I become that this isn’t some prank. It’s not a cruel joke. Colton isn’t coming.
So I do the only thing I can.
I turn around and trudge right back out of the barn.