Page 33 of Saving the Rain (Crimson Ridge #4)

Chaos:

So, sweet cheeks . . .

Do I need to haul ass up to your hillbilly mountain shack, or what?

You’ve got one hour to stop leaving me on read, or I’m gonna turn up and haunt your sorry self.

Consider this your final warning.

Put some pants on and get your dick outta your hand for five minutes. I don’t need to walk in only to find you jerking off until you go blind.

I shake my head at the sight of my Instagram inbox blowing up thanks to Chaos.

As I slurp my coffee and at least make a half-hearted effort to finish breakfast, I’m tempted to avoid the conversation altogether.

But then again, if things were the other way around, I’d be the same way.

So I decide to suck in a deep breath and reply, even if I’m not prepared to tell him the whole truth at the moment.

Jesus. You’re a total pain in the neck, you know?

Dots flurry as he types a reply straight away.

Ahh. He’s alive, folks.

Kayce Wilder hasn’t gone mad, stuck on top of Devil’s Peak with nothing better to do than beat his dick.

Starting to think you have an unhealthy obsession with my junk, Chaos.

Maybe. Maybe, not.

So what’s the deal? You had your scan yesterday, right?

Way to leave me hanging.

The deluge of nausea and worry is right there, threatening to spill over. I don’t want to accept the reality, and I don’t want to lie to my friend. So, I settle for a dumb half-truth, one that I can at least stomach right at this point in time.

As much as I don’t want to admit it, Raine’s words are still ringing in my ears from last night.

You’re giving up already. If I type it out in little black letters on the screen, then maybe I’ve taken the loss.

So I bite down on the anxiety and stick to the simple explanation that Chaos needs to hear.

Facts. That’s all I have to face in the here and now.

I’m out for the season.

You’re gonna have to find someone else to put up with your snoring and farting in your sleep while on the road.

Man... that’s shitty news. Sorry to hear it.

I’m gutted for you.

It is what it is. Nothing to be done.

Got a follow-up scan booked in.

How long ‘til you’re back on tour?

I laugh to myself out loud in this empty kitchen.

How about probably never? It’s impossible not to stare at my phone screen and see the sympathy in my doctor’s eyes instead of a message thread.

Easily recalling the downward tilt at the corners of their mouth that left me spinning.

I’m not an idiot; that look was more than just a commiserations for losing out on the rest of your season .

It was an unspoken moment that said have you thought about what your future might hold ?

Shouldn’t be long.

I’ll be back to kick your ass in no time.

That’s about the limit of what I’m prepared to divulge.

So, I leave my phone in the kitchen and make my way out to the barn.

There’s still one more scan I have to go through to fully confirm my prognosis for recovery.

But considering the standard process from here on out for the kind of meniscus tear I’ve suffered includes surgery—well, my chest is already so tight I’m struggling to fully inhale the damp air.

The skies hang heavy with the promise of rain, and as I make my way across the yard, all my thoughts are a mess of medical information and details I was given yesterday.

Christ, has it only been one day?

There’s no guarantee going under the knife will even do anything.

Between the wait time to be seen, the recovery after the fact, not to mention the goddamn cost.

.. what use is it gonna be? I’ve already got one eye-watering bill to cover from my brief stint in the hospital.

That alone is enough of a reason to toss the idea of surgery in the trash.

As I approach the barn, my hands stay tucked into the front pocket of my hoodie.

I’m still rocking sweats like it’s my only job.

Putting on jeans feels too uncomfortable, too restrictive on my movements.

At least soft, stretchy fabric accommodates my knee, and I’ve been relieved to note the swelling hasn’t been anywhere near as bad by the end of the day lately.

I’m in a weird state of limbo, where I need to build my range of motion back up, to regain strength and stability, while also being careful all the goddamn time.

Ultimately, I’m having to face a future where my knee will always potentially have a nagging dose of low level pain going on.

If there’s one place I want to be right now, it's out here with the horses. I can’t survive another day being stuck inside that house, and now that I’ve been given the green light to be back at work—even if not actually getting in the saddle—I can drive a vehicle, which means I’m able to do what I gotta do up here.

A truck and a tractor are better than nothing.

It just means I won’t be able to do any of the other trail guiding work or rounding up cattle on horseback.

I’m not sure what I’m gonna find when I set foot inside the barn and get amongst the stalls. Is he here? Raine has successfully avoided me since our moment last night.

Even just briefly revisiting thoughts of him and us and what in the hell happened... well, my heart does a kick. My stomach swoops, and I’m thrust right back in midst of that sensation, frozen in that hallway, trembling out of my skin with desire.

Yeah, if there was ever a doubt in my mind about enjoying being with men, I’ve certainly answered that question with an enthusiastic explosion of my cock. The kind of toe-curling, life-altering orgasm I’ve never experienced before.

Why the hell did it have to come as a result of pumping my length against my stepbrother’s? What the actual fuck was I thinking, begging and pleading with him like that?

And the worst part to all of it is that I don’t think I’ve managed to go more than five minutes without going back over everything since he walked away.

I’ve been stuck replaying loops of all the details.

Fixating on what it felt like to have that with him last night.

I’ve got to somehow rewire my brain to not keep fantasizing about his cock, to not keep running through memories of smooth, warm skin pressed tight against mine.

Slickness coating us in the temptation of wanting more. God, it was so good—too good.

What I need is to keep myself busy. To be occupied in a way that can hopefully take my mind off the overwhelm and onslaught of inappropriate thoughts and feelings where Raine is concerned.

His truck is parked outside, so he’s still here. The guy is somewhere on the ranch, but fuck if I know what he’s doing today. It’s not like we’ve talked much at all since he brought me up here after the accident, and well, he clearly hasn’t changed that tune since I fisted his dick and whimpered.

What a pretty thing you are when you blush for me.

Holy fuck. Those words hit me square in the chest, leaving me damn near staggering at the memory.

I’m a bareback bronc rider. I’ve never had any interest in being considered pretty .

That’s the type of thing you say to someone who is soft and feminine, right?

But apparently, my cock is untrustworthy as all hell because that one word tipped my world on its axis.

It’s been a struggle not to find myself bricked up for hours on end just thinking about how it felt to have his wicked words dancing in such close proximity to my mouth.

A quick glance around the barn confirms he’s not here, and Winnie’s stall is empty.

The sort of detail that should be a relief, and yet I realize while strolling further inside that maybe I was kinda sorta hoping to catch sight of his dark, scruffy hair.

At least having time to myself should give me time to disappear into work.

Grooming. Mucking stalls. Water. Bedding.

God knows there’s plenty that needs to be done, and while it feels a little awkward at first, after being so lethargic for a while, I’m quickly absorbed by mundane tasks that somehow feel. .. amazing.

Routine and muscle memory and lungfuls of chilled air. Running through the motions eases something that has been left hanging, teetering on edge and awkwardly untethered within my chest since I woke up in the hospital ward.

Working soothes my frayed nerves, and pretty soon, I’ve spent an hour or so making my way through the stalls.

Being around the horses reminds me just how much I’ve missed their odd little quirks and personality traits.

Stamps and snorts and whinnies give me a soundtrack while I dote on them.

Being cooped up in that house and unable to come out here each day like I’d usually do took more of a toll on me than I necessarily realized.

What raises a little glimmer of something warm and comforting inside my chest is that the longer I work, the more my knee holds up to everything without too much irritation.

Yeah, I can’t exactly do a fucking ballerina pirouette, and I’m not gonna be dropping to crank out a set of burpees in the middle of the barn, but I can lift saddles and bend down to sort out horse feed.

I don’t know how I would have coped if this had felt too challenging or painful.

For now, there’s a sliver of something that feels a little bit bright, and a lot like I can hang onto that feeling.

Maybe it’ll be ok after all.

I’m in the middle of grooming Peaches when I hear hooves clipping and boots scuffing from the other end of the barn. The sound makes me freeze mid-brush-stroke, because I don’t goddamn know how this is gonna go.

How is Raine likely to react after what went down?

Will this unexpected meeting, this bumping into each other without warning, be the moment he loses his shit at me?