Page 39 of Captivated (Salvation #3)

Chapter Thirty-Three

Zeeb had been awake for a while. He’d made no move to get up, however. Dawn’s light had crept in through the window above, falling gently on the man sleeping beside him. Nate’s back was warm against Zeeb’s chest, Zeeb’s arm across his waist, the regular beat of Nate’s heart beneath his fingertips.

Five nights of sharing Nate’s bed, and Zeb was officially an addict.

Waking up to the sound of someone else’s breathing, the feel of warm skin against his, the smell of Nate’s hair in his nostrils…

And once he leaves, it’s back to the bunkhouse. To routine.

To Walt snoring. Paul murmuring. The hands’ habitual lighthearted bitching.

To lying awake, wondering what he could do to break the lonely cycle he now found himself locked into. Because now he’d held Nate? Stared into those green eyes? He recognized just how sad his life had become.

He hated it.

All this daydreaming wasn’t helping.

I need to get up. Now.

It was changeover day. Guests departing, cleaning, changing sheets, Deliverance guests arriving…

I don’t want to lose this feeling.

There was a knot in his belly and a dullness in his chest, not to mention a voice that kept yelling at him that he should have fuckin’ kissed Nate when he had the fuckin’ chance.

Zeeb chose to ignore that.

It wouldn’t have been right.

He lost himself in the glorious experience of curling around Nate’s body.

Sleeping with someone is a whole different ball game.

Then Nate rolled away from him, and Zeeb knew the game had ended.

This dream was over, and reality was knocking on the cabin door.

He flung the sheets back. “Rise ‘n’ shine, cowboy. You’ve got packin’ to do. I’ll put the coffee on.”

He yearned to stay there, to touch, to gaze, but if he did that, he’d want more.

And he couldn’t have it.

Nate rubbed his eyes. “I don’t even remember closing my eyes. I think I fell asleep the second my head hit the pillow.”

Zeeb had stayed awake a while longer. He’d wanted to burn the experience into his memory.

The feeling of holding Nate close, with nothing to separate them.

He went downstairs, conscious of putting distance between him and Nate.

Get used to it. He’s going. That’s probably the last you’ll see of him.

That voice was back, not yelling this time, but speaking with quiet determination.

It doesn’t have to be that way, you know.

Nate dropped the bags in the trunk. Around him, the ranch was already getting into its routine. The bunkhouse was alive with activity as Butch oversaw the clean-up operation. Paul was in the paddock, exercising a couple of the horses.

Zeeb was nowhere to be seen.

He’d been quiet throughout breakfast, more so than usual. Not that Nate felt much like talking either. But Zeeb’s vanishing act as soon as he’d finished eating had stung a little.

I’m not ready to let go, but it seems Zeeb is.

He wasn’t going to think about that. It was time for some goodbyes.

Nate wandered into the stable, taking some apples with him that he’d liberated from the bunkhouse kitchen. Sorrel gave a soft whinny as Nate approached his stall. He pushed his nose into Nate’s hand, and Nate rested his forehead against the horse’s mane.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He spent a minute or two in silent communion, letting the space’s calm seep into him, all the way to his bones. Butterscotch made no attempt to peer out of his stall, and Nate wondered how long it would be before the pony felt safe enough to approach a human.

“Thought I might find you here.”

Nate jumped a little at the sound of Zeeb’s voice. “I thought for a minute one of the horses had finally decided to skip the act and prove they can talk after all.”

Zeeb came over to him, his faded jeans tight around thighs thick with muscle, his tanned forearms at his sides, the open collar of his shirt revealing a glimpse of the thick hair Nate knew lay beneath the cotton. He held something in his hand.

He cackled. “Wouldn’t put it past ’em. Smart creatures, horses. They know it’s better to keep quiet. That way they don’t miss a thing.” He held his hand out. “Got something for you.” He placed a light object in Nate’s palm.

Nate stared at the bracelet woven from thin pieces of leather. “For me?”

Zeeb nodded. “I made it for you. Sort of a friendship bracelet, I guess.” He paused. “Something to remember us by.”

Nate smiled, his throat tight. “What makes you think I could ever forget this place?”

Zeeb’s gaze met his. “And what makes you think I’ll let you? I got your number, don’t I? So I’m gonna stay in touch.”

“You say that now.” Nate’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “But people vanish.”

Zeeb squared his broad shoulders. “I don’t vanish.” Something low and certain in his voice steadied Nate for a moment. “You’ll call. I’ll answer. I’ll write. You’ll write back. It’s simple… unless we make it hard.”

In the ensuing silence, Nate’s gaze drifted to Zeeb’s hands, the same ones that had touched him the previous night, slow and sure. Then he pushed the memory aside. It felt too raw for the brightness of day.

But he could still feel those hands.

It should be easy to say goodbye. They’d only known each other two weeks, for God’s sake. Then why do I ache?

“I don’t know how to do this,” Nate said at last.

Zeeb stared at him, his brown eyes suddenly guarded. “Do what?”

“Leave.”

Leave you. The words trembled on Nate’s tongue.

Zeeb didn’t smile. “I know. If it helps, this is one of the hardest goodbyes I’ve ever had.” He paused. “Let me fix this for you.” He circled Nate’s wrist with the bracelet, tying the ends together. Their fingers brushed, and Nate had a feeling that was deliberate.

“You helped me find myself.” Tears pricked the corners of Nate’s eyes. “You didn’t push. You just… stayed.” He swallowed. “Thank you.”

Zeeb’s smile was back. “You made it easy to stay.”

Nate leaned forward and wrapped Zeeb in a hug that was both too short and too long. Zeeb’s arms enfolded him, holding him close, solid and quiet.

Then they pulled back, and Nate couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye.

It felt too final.

“I’d better go. Thank the others, will you? Especially Robert and Sol.”

“I will.” Zeeb walked with him out of the stable and over to his car. Nate unlocked the door.

“Wait!”

He stilled. “Have I forgotten something?”

Zeeb’s face was flushed. “I meant to ask you a question, only it never seemed the right moment.”

Nate’s breathing quickened. “Then you’d better ask it now.”

Zeeb swallowed. “How come you don’t have someone special?” Nate blinked, but Zeeb surged ahead. “You’re an amazing man, Nate Caldwell. Any guy would be lucky to have you in his life.”

Nate smiled. “Thanks for the compliment. And to answer your question, I guess that’s because of the therapy.”

Zeeb frowned. “What do you mean?”

Nate shrugged. “It’s been a part of my life since I was in the youth home. And yes, it’s helped me find a voice for my pain, but it can only go so far.” His face tightened. “There are still a few things I struggle with.”

“Like what?”

He exhaled. “Intimacy. Self-worth.” He looked Zeeb in the eye.

“You want to know why I’ve never had a romantic relationship?

Because I convinced myself I was too broken to love—or be loved.

” Another shrug. “So I throw myself into my work. My paintings became a silent outlet for all the emotions I couldn’t express in words.

I guess you could say my art became my voice, but it was also a shield. A way to keep others at arm’s length.”

“And now? Is that how you still feel?”

Nate’s heartbeat raced. “No, it’s not. And that’s because of you, Zeeb. You don’t see me as broken, do you?”

Zeeb’s eyes were warm. “No, I surely don’t.”

Nate smiled. “And that’s why we will talk again. Soon. I promise.” He got behind the wheel and switched the engine on. As he backed out of the space, he glanced at the rear-view mirror to where Zeeb stood, watching.

You’re pretty amazing too, Zeeb.

He pulled onto the long curving driveway that led to the road.

Away from Salvation.

Zeeb watched the dust rise behind the car as it disappeared up the driveway.

And that’s that.

Except he wouldn’t let it be over.

Behind him, the ranch was alive with its usual Saturday routines, the day moving on as though nothing monumental had happened.

But it has.

Zeeb had just lost something he hadn’t even let himself want until it was already standing in front of him.

He trudged back to the stable, his boots heavy, his hands cold despite the sun’s warmth. Sorrel stuck his head out of his stall, and Zeeb ambled over to him. Sorrel nudged Zeeb’s shoulder, and he stroked his nose.

“Did Nate whisper any secrets in your ear?” he mused. “Did he ever mention me?”

Sorrel was a secret-keeper, like every horse Zeeb had ever known.

He hadn’t meant to open up at the end. He wasn’t the type. But Nate, with his cautious laughter and too-wide eyes, had looked at him as if he saw something Zeeb had forgotten was there.

Two weeks. Goddammit, he was only here for two weeks .

Apparently all the time needed to change a man.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, opened up a blank note, then tapped the keyboard.

Nate… Don’t let this place fade like a dream. Let it be real.

He paused, his heart lurching. He knew the words he wanted to type, but didn’t dare.

Let us be real.

He took a deep breath and resumed typing.

I’ll wait for your call. Until then, I’m still here. Still me. Still thinking about you. Zeeb.

He wouldn’t send it. Not yet. He stared at the words, conscious of all the emotions contained in those few lines. Then he pocketed his phone and walked out of the stable.

It was time to get back to work.

Life goes on, right?

Sure it did, but now he had something new to focus on—the hope of hearing from someone who’d reminded him stillness didn’t have to mean emptiness.

That maybe sometimes, healing happened in pairs.