Page 51

Marcos

Nate tells me a little of what happened last night, but even without having been there myself, I can tell it’s an abridged version.

A nice and tidy tale meant to make me feel better and not focus on the hell of the situation.

I let him get away with it, if only because I don’t think I could hear the details right now without breaking down.

My emotions are sitting dangerously close to the surface—it would take next to nothing to tip me over the edge.

Nate doesn’t need that. He doesn’t need to worry about me when he’s the one in pain. He needs me to be strong.

“Are you still tired?” I ask softly, after he yawns a third time. He grins at me, the movement syrupy and slow, like it’s requiring more effort than usual.

“Yeah,” he admits. “And cold.”

“Does your uncle have a hot water bottle or something? A heating pad? I can go down and?—”

“No! No, don’t leave.” He wraps his fingers around my wrist, above the cuff of my long-sleeved shirt. “I’m fine. There are a hundred blankets on the bed right now.”

I coax him to lie down and tuck one of those blankets more firmly around him, wanting to try and keep as much heat in as we can.

“We need to take you to the hospital,” I repeat for the third time since we’ve been back, settling down on my side, facing him.

“We never go to the hospital,” he replies, laughing as though the suggestion is ridiculous. As though he didn’t almost fucking die .

“Nate.”

“The doctor told Jes I was fine,” he reminds me. “He said to just drink water, stay warm, and rest—which I’m doing—and that the cure for hypothermia is cuddling with Marcos.”

I huff a laugh, but roll over onto my back and hold out my arm. Nate’s eyes widen.

“Really? I was only joking.”

“Come here,” I request softly. He slides over immediately, curling his bigger body around mine and resting his head on my shoulder.

I have to turn my face away as he does, unable to watch the careful, pained way he’s moving.

After he settles, I once more tuck the blankets around him.

I want him so warm, he runs the risk of cooking.

Flopping his arm over my middle, he tucks his fingers between me and the mattress, sighing in contentment.

Even beneath the layers of clothing we’re both wearing, my skin prickles with irritation.

It’s been a really long fucking day. I’m exhausted and my emotions have been put through the shredder. I don’t want to snuggle.

But I wasn’t making a joke when I told him I’d have to be pried off of him with a crowbar. I can stomach a night of discomfort for this: Nate warm and alive in my arms, hair damp from the shower and nose tickling my neck. Warm and alive , I repeat to myself. Warm and alive.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” I agree, closing my eyes and smiling as he nudges himself a little closer. I rub my palm over his back, feeling tears gather in the back of my throat the way they’ve been doing off and on all day. I swallow them down.

“Can you talk to me in Spanish for a bit?” Nate mumbles, already sounding like he’s closer to sleep than wakefulness.

“Claro, amor. ?De qué te gustaría hablar?” He breathes softly against my neck. “?Te digo cuánto te adoro?”

“I’m going to learn Spanish,” Nate whispers.

“Deberías descansar ahora.” I rub my palm in a circular motion over his back. He sighs again, pressing his cheek harder against my shoulder. “Me quedaré despierto para asegurarme que te mantengas calientito.”

I keep talking to him, long after his breathing evens and he starts snoring gently.

He presses closer in his sleep, seeking out that pocket of warmth between my neck and shoulder.

I don’t push him away, even though it means his skin is touching mine.

He’s too warm, but tonight it’s not the irritant it usually is.

Tonight, it means he’s alive.

Nate seems to think smiling and saying he’s fine will make it true. I watch as he walks gingerly over to the refrigerator in the loft, moving as carefully as though the floor were made of paper and he’s trying not to fall through. When he reaches for the carton of juice, he winces .

“We should drive to the hospital today, and have them check you out,” I tell him, the same way I’ve made the suggestion every day this week.

“No, it’s okay. All they’ll do is x-ray my chest, tell me I have a broken rib or two, and send me home with instructions to rest and take ibuprofen.” He shrugs, and surprise, surprise, smiles at me. “Waste of money and time.”

I sigh. I can’t make him go, but damnit, I want a fucking medical professional to look him over and assure me he’s not going to die or be in pain the rest of his life.

He shuffles over to the couch and I want to scream at the way he lowers himself down cautiously.

Once he’s there, he leans back and sighs.

“Nate.”

“Yeah?” He grins at me, head tipped against the back of the couch. He pats the cushion next to him, a wordless invitation for me to join him. I do, because I haven’t quite made it past the desire to keep him where I can see him.

“How are you going to drive your truck all the way to South Carolina next week? You’re in way too much pain to be doing that.”

“It’ll be better by then, though,” he says, although even he doesn’t sound sure. Optimism seems to be Nate’s default setting, while mine tends toward fatalism. I don’t think he’s going to feel at all better by next week.

“I thought I might cancel my flight,” I tell him carefully. His fingers play with the hem of my long-sleeved shirt, but he doesn’t go looking for skin.

“Really? You mean you’ll ride back with me, then?”

Nate’s green eyes, so lovely and expressive, seem to brighten with joy. He is the easiest person to make happy .

“Yeah, I was thinking I could. Help you drive, and take care of you.”

It’s the take care of you part that is really why I want to do the road trip with him.

I have a feeling, if left to his own devices, he’ll just pull off the road and sleep in his truck when he needs a break, instead of getting a hotel for a night.

He’ll eat nothing but gas station snacks and fast food, and will probably forget to take scheduled pain meds.

“I’d love for you to ride with me!” he says happily, exactly the way I knew he would. I haven’t just been thinking of cancelling my return flight—I’d already done it days ago.

“Okay, great.” That settled, I relax further into the couch and bring up the notes app on my phone. I’d started a grocery list of things we need for the road trip. Nate’s fingers abandon my sleeve and settle on my leg, tapping and fiddling with the fabric.

Nate, with his boundless energy, does not do well with convalescence. Yesterday, he’d told me he was going to go help muck out the stables and I’d thought I was going to have to physically tie him down to prevent him. He lasts five minutes sitting next to me while I work on the grocery list.

“Want to go for a walk?” he asks hopefully. I smile.

“Sure.”

“We can take Tuna,” he adds, as he struggles to stand from the low couch, arm wrapped around his stomach as though that’ll keep it from hurting.

I do grab Tuna, clipping a lead rope on his halter while he uses his lips to nibble on my fingers.

He’s already pretty good at walking on a lead, although he does get distracted and try to eat everything we pass.

Already, in the two months I’ve been here, he’s grown exponentially.

It makes me a little sad, actually, knowing he won’t be this small and spunky forever .

“What are you guys going to do with him?” I ask Nate curiously, as we stroll aimlessly through the field behind the barn. I know they’re running a business here and they can’t keep every single horse, but I really want this one to be here when I come back.

“Do with him?” Nate asks, eyebrows raised beneath the brim of his hat. “I don’t know, I guess that’s up to you. What do you want to do with him?”

I stop walking and Tuna bumps into my back. Immediately, he tries to nibble on my shirt.

“What do you mean?”

“Marcos,” Nate says on a laugh, reaching out a hand to scratch Tuna’s neck and distract him. “He was your surprise! He’s yours.”

“You…you can’t give me a horse, Nate! How much money is he worth?” He just grins at me. I look at Tuna’s narrow face and fuzzy nose, the brown broken up by a long white blaze. “You really want me to have him?”

Nate’s face softens. “Of course. Originally, he was my secret weapon to entice you to come live here and fall in love with me. But turns out you didn’t need any enticing for that.”

“Oh my god,” I snort, shaking my head at him. “You were using baby Tuna as a bribe?”

“He was in on it the whole time. Look.” Nate points to where Tuna has discovered the hem of my pants, legs spread wide as he investigates. “He wants you to stay, too. It was all part of the plan.”

Charmed, I look down at the foal and then back up at Nate.

His hair, which has gotten steadily longer and more blond than brunet the longer we’ve been here, sticks out the sides of his ball cap adorably.

Behind him, the field of grass seems to intensify the color of his eyes, as though nature is an accessory meant to highlight his beauty.

He gave me a fucking horse.

“Could I ride him someday?” I ask, which has Nate looking, if possible, even happier than he was moments ago.

“Yeah! I’ll break him for you when he’s old enough.

It’ll be a bit, though. He won’t be able to take a rider until he’s four or five years old.

But this sort of thing”—he gestures to the lead rope—“helps a ton. Oh, and you can change the name if you want. ‘Tuna’ just caught on after I said it, but you can call him whatever you want.”

“I can’t change his name,” I argue indignantly. Nate laughs. “Thank you, though. That’s…he’s a pretty incredible gift.”

“Anything for my husband,” Nate says flippantly, lifting Tuna’s head and turning to keep walking.

“Marido,” I repeat under my breath, reaching for Nate’s hand and slipping my fingers between his. It’s not a label I’d ever thought would apply to me, but then again, I never thought living on a ranch in Montana was in my future either.

Nate smiles at me, eyes bright against his tan skin. “Can you believe it all started with a blowjob?”

“Not in front of the baby,” I admonish him, Tuna snorting happily behind us as we walk along in the sun.