Page 96 of Kitchen Gods: The Complete Series

Ryan looked over at Wyatt, who inclined his head in agreement.

The police officer walked in, and took up a spot at the end of Wyatt’s hospital bed. Ryan resumed his previous spot, and grasped Wyatt’s hand like he’d never let it go again.

“Mr. Blake,” the officer said, “could you please tell me what you remember about the accident?”

“Do we have to do this right now?” Wyatt asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“Yes,” the officer said, unrelenting.

So Wyatt quickly and efficiently rehashed what he remembered from the accident. They’d been driving fast, maybe, he relented, but not outrageously fast. The road had definitely been slick. They’d flipped a couple of times. He didn’t remember much else.

“And what about charges, Mr. Blake?” the officer asked expectantly.

“Charges?” he asked blankly. “Why would I want to file charges?”

“Mr. Flores’ reckless driving endangered your life,” he reminded Wyatt.

“Mr. Flores,” Wyatt pointed out, voice as clear and strong as he could make it, “despite some lapses in judgment, is mine.” Ryan’s fingers spasmed against his. Flor reached out a reassuring hand towards Ryan, but he brushed it away. “I’m not pressing charges against him.”

“Are you sure?” Ryan asked, but his voice was so hopeful. So full of love that Wyatt could almost block out the pain in his head.

“I’m definitely sure,” Wyatt retorted dryly, tugging his hand and bringing Ryan closer. Close enough to kiss. Maybe he shouldn’t have been, but he was.

The nurse outside must have heard the commotion, because she bustled in then, giving him some ice chips for his dry mouth, and talking about discharge papers after he saw the doctor again.

“I called Miles,” Ryan admitted. “I left a voicemail. I think he was filming or something.”

“Why did you call Miles?” Wyatt questioned.

“I wasn’t sure . . . wasn’t sure you wanted to be in the same car as me again. Not so soon, anyway,” Ryan said, voice halting.

“Do you think I didn’t mean it?” Wyatt asked.

“I know you do,” Ryan said, his voice growing stronger again.

“But I didn’t know that then, and I wasn’t ever going to presume your feelings for you again.

But,” he added, a wry grin blooming on his face, “I should probably call Miles and let him know his services are no longer required. And that you’re not dead. ”

“Does this mean we can finally go home?” Wyatt said, in relief.

“I think the doctor needs to discharge you still,” Ryan said.

Wyatt knew the look he shot his boyfriend was unfair. He did it anyway. He hated these hospital sheets—they were scratchy, and he had a feeling they’d frown at Ryan climbing into bed with him. And he definitely needed to feel Ryan against him very soon.

Ryan reached out and carefully pulled him against his side, hugging him close. “You want me to go get the doctor and get it over with,” he stated, amusement bright in his voice.

“I do,” Wyatt admitted. “Let’s go home.”

Ryan reached out and intertwined their hands together, and helped him sit upright in the bed. “Let’s go home,” he agreed easily, giving his hand a final squeeze before he turned away to go take care of the rest of the paperwork.

Ryan drove like Wyatt’s nana the whole way home.

Wyatt, a little tired and loopy from the pain pills, didn’t tease him about it.

He figured there was lots of time for that later.

And just that thought was miraculous. Instead of an enforced ending, and a time limit, there was endless time extending before them, the possibilities never-ending and boundless.

The gate opened and Ryan carefully drove the rental Prius into the driveway. Right next to a looming black mass that hadn’t been there when they’d left in the Maserati earlier in the evening.

“What’s this?” Wyatt asked as Ryan came around to help him out of the car.

He was a little unsteady on his feet, and the doctor hadn’t wanted his arm jostled the first few days.

Of course, that was the excuse Ryan had latched onto to practically never let go of him.

Wyatt was definitely not going to tease him about that, because he was enjoying it too much.

It all felt like a dream come true, a hope and a wish coalesced into reality.

A fake boyfriend evolving into a real one.

Ryan helped him out of the car and they walked a few feet to the left of the big mass, just enough so that with the lights of the house, Wyatt could make out the faded writing on the stainless steel side.

“Tacos,” Wyatt recited, realization dawning. “It’s an old food truck.”

“It’s yours,” Ryan said. “I love you being my personal chef. I hope you never stop. But I’m not selfish enough to want to keep you all to myself. You need to spread your wings. Experiment somewhere other than our kitchen.”

Wyatt was speechless, staring at the stainless steel shell.

“It needs a lot of work,” Ryan rambled on, “but I’m going to help you. It can be our project. Maybe even Tony will want to help. I got the impression he might, and you and your brother could use something to bring you together.”

“You bought this for me,” Wyatt said incredulously.

“I was trying to grovel. Might have gone over better if I hadn’t wrecked the Maserati first. Oh, well. Anyway, in the morning, you can look in it. It’s basically a wreck. I wanted to buy you a brand-new one, but Tabitha said that was overdoing it.”

“She would be right,” Wyatt said. “This is still too much.”

“Trust me, you haven’t seen the interior. It needs a lot of work. You might think it’s not enough in the light of day.”

“I don’t think so,” Wyatt said, and turned towards Ryan. “I thought you were afraid of me leaving. But you just gave me the ability to leave.”

“I was, I am. But someone told me once that letting love in means you need to accept what you’re afraid of.” Ryan’s voice was wry. “I told you before I’m not going to be good at this. But I’m going to try, every single day. Today, this is me trying.”

Wyatt raised his good hand to Ryan’s face, cradling his jaw. “I love you. I’m not going anywhere. Even if you try and fail. Even when I fail. We’re in this together.”

“Together,” Ryan echoed, and leaned in and kissed him.