Page 35 of Captivated

“How would I know?” Zeeb chuckled. “I just don’t talk about that kinda stuff. I’m not Zeeb Nolan, Bisexual. It don’t define who I am. It’s just a part of my life.” He sighed. “Everyone’s so keen to put people into little boxes an’ label ’em. Love ain’t about fitting into someone else’s mold.”

And one day he’d find the right person to share his life with.

He smiled. “It’s fun to keep ’em all guessin’, though. I like to mess with their heads, lettin’ ’em try to put a label on me.” Zeeb glanced at the window. “An’ that’s enough talk for tonight. Storm’s over so I’d best be gettin’ back to the bunkhouse to fetch your supper.” He stood. “One thing, though. How about tomorrow, we get you on a horse?” Zeeb stared at him. “Think you wanna give it a try?”

Nate bit his lip. “Can I say maybe, and see what tomorrow brings?”

He smiled. “Sure.” He paused. “And as for what I just said, I?—”

“I won’t tell a soul,” Nate assured him.

“Thank you.” Zeeb headed for the door. “I’ll be back shortly.” He stepped outside and walked around the cabin to where he’d left the truck.

Why the fuck did you share all that?

It was ancient history, sure, but Zeeb kept his life before Salvation a secret. It hadn’t been a spur-of-the-moment thing.

I want him to trust me.

And if sharing something deeply personal would make Nate feel comfortable enough to talk about his own story, then Zeeb would count that as a win.

What occupied his mind as he drove to the bunkhouse shocked him.

I wonder where Lucas is now?

Zeeb hoped he was happy, both in his work and in his life.

As happy as I am.

If he could find someone to share his days with and keep him warm at night, Zeeb would be happier still.

Then he grinned.

Imagine the faces of all those guys in the bunkhouse if that someone was a man.

Chapter Eleven

Wake up!

WAKE UP!

Nate knew it was a dream, one of several that repeated in a cycle, sneaking up on him with the stealth of a predator watching from the deep shadows of his mind.

Waiting to pounce, sink its claws into his flesh, and drag him away, plunging him into horror once more.

It had started the same way it always did. He was nine years old again, standing barefoot on the cracked linoleum floor of that place whose very name left a bitter taste in his mouth. The fluorescent lights buzzed above him, cold and merciless, casting a sterile white glare across the narrow room. The stale, institutional smell filled Nate’s nostrils. The room was suffocatingly quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of shoes down the hallway, the muffled voices of counselors speaking in hushed tones.

It was an eerie calm before the storm.

He’d been here for almost three months now, since the night his dad had dragged him kicking and screaming into this place, his desperate pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears.

It’s for your own good.His dad’s words still echoed in Nate’s mind, like a broken record playing over and over, unable to stop.

For your own good.

The door creaked open, and Nate’s breath caught. Dr. Keller entered, his presence filling the small, sterile room with an air of authority and control. He was tall, imposing, with cold, calculating eyes that never seemed to blink. When he spoke, his voice was smooth and icy, always polite, always firm, but laced with an unmistakable edge.

“Nathaniel. It’s time for our session.” Dr. Keller’s tone was that of a surgeon preparing for an operation. He pointed to one of the chairs pushed under the desk a few feet away. “Sit.”