Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71726 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71726 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Later they dragged themselves out of bed and showered, but couldn’t stop touching. Jack kept putting his lips to Simon’s skin and mouthing something that Simon was pretty sure was I love you. It flushed him so full of joy that he mistook the feeling in his stomach for elation until it growled loudly enough to remind him there was a world outside of Jack.
But even as they ate, Simon couldn’t stop reaching out to prove to himself with his own two hands that Jack was his for the touching.
When it was time for the animals’ evening walk, they clipped on leashes together and walked out the door. This felt nothing like Jack’s pained attempt to accompany them on his crutches. Jack’s gait was uneven, but they strolled slowly together, not speaking, as if they had taken this walk a hundred times before.
And they had. Just not together.
Jack held Bernard’s and Rat’s leashes and Simon held Puddles’ and Dandelion’s. The dogs seemed delighted by this turn of events, happily sniffing and bumping at both their legs to start, then repeatedly weaving their leashes together, leaving Jack and Simon to navigate a nearly constant game of cat’s cradle to untangle them.
Pirate pranced boldly in the lead, caring nothing for the chaos unfolding behind her.
“I wanted this,” Jack said after they’d walked a while. “Once we started...you know, every time you’d leave with them I wished I was going with you.”
It was so similar to what Simon had wished every time he’d been out here that it gave him chills.
“Me too.”
They paused in a clearing and let the dogs off-leash to run around for a little while.
“I was thinking,” Simon said. “You should write it anyway. The book about you and Charlie. If it matters to you, then you should do it and screw that g-guy.”
Jack pressed his back against the trunk of a nearby tree and kissed him senseless.
“Thanks,” Jack said. “I could. But I’m not sure I need to anymore.”
“What changed?”
Jack cracked his knuckles and stared thoughtfully at the sky.
“It was the first thing I ever thought of doing by myself. The writing, the story, the drawing. That was a big deal to me. But... I don’t know, it’s not the only story I can tell. It was Davis’ betrayal that hurt the most. The fact that he’d do that to me. But now that it’s done, maybe I don’t want to write about the past. Maybe I want to write something completely new.”
Jack leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips.
“Completely new sounds good to me,” Simon agreed.
Chapter Twenty
Jack
If you had asked Jack Matheson six months ago whether love could heal a hurting heart, he’d have scoffed. And sulked. And scoffed some more.
Now, three weeks after telling Simon Burke he loved him and learning he was loved in return, Jack found himself in the curious position of feeling like a new man.
Not because this new love had erased past scars. Those were still there. But because it provided him with a true north that pulled all other things into alignment.
Love was the morning mist in the Wyoming mountains—billions of water droplets containing whole worlds, suspended in air.
It had been three weeks since they’d said I love you, and now Jack was learning who boyfriend-Simon was. Learning his nature and behavior the way he’d done with each new animal that joined his pack; with each figure he taught himself to draw. If you could learn the truth of a creature then you could provide what it needed, represent it faithfully.
Simon was spending more and more time at Jack’s cabin during the days, bringing his computer and working at the kitchen table. After a few hours he’d move to sit on the floor in the living room with his back against the couch so he could touch all the animals. They’d arrange themselves around him like a sundial and Jack would find him with his computer resting precariously on one knee to accommodate Dandelion sprawled over his feet, Bernard’s head on his thigh, and Mayonnaise draped half on the couch and half on his shoulder.
Though the position was clearly awkward, Simon would look up and smile at him, playing with Bernard’s soft ears with one hand and holding his computer up with the other.
One afternoon he was pulled from his desk by the unfamiliar sound of Simon ranting at his computer, beautiful face twisted into a scowl.
“What’s wrong?”
He was met with a furious explanation that he didn’t properly understand about why Bill fucking Einhorn was a fucking asshole who was making Simon’s life miserable and ruining his design.
“I could kill him!” Simon concluded.
Since he couldn’t offer anything in the way of content-based assistance, Jack said, “Wanna hit things with an axe?”
“Yes,” Simon said without hesitation.
Which is how Jack came to know that when Simon got mad he got mad, and also that he looked incredibly hot with his face flushed from exertion, his muscles taut, and his hairline damp with sweat.