SWNOVELS Sworn Enemy: Chapter 29
“Somebody’s still awfully grumpy after their morning blowjob,” Justin says, tickling his fingers up my belly as he shares my taste with me in a deep, probing kiss.
We’re standing in the kitchen in our hastily pulled-up boxers with sleep-muddled hair lit by the morning sun. Well…I’m not standing so much as leaning against the counter, hoping my knees don’t buckle from the buzzy aftershocks.
It’s been a few months since everything went down, and we just put the finishing touches on the bunkhouse last week. Erik’s staying in the trailer, so I offered rooms to the two brothers we hired, not sure if they’d actually be interested. But like everyone with a college degree, they’re drowning in debt, so they jumped at the chance and moved in a few days ago.
Justin and I continue to grow closer, and it’s getting harder and harder to remember what life was like before him. Anders’ therapy friend, Hedy, is amazing and has helped him to see that he deserves this hard-fought happiness.
While I’d hope therapy would be enough, Justin also spent a week in rehab, coordinating with Hedy whenever he ran into something he couldn’t share with his doctors.
Even though we discussed it at length, I was deeply ambivalent about his trip to rehab. It felt like the equivalent of dropping off a stained rug at the dry cleaners, like I was abandoning him to an institution.
I was in a churn about it all the way until I picked him up a week later. The brightness in his eyes as he stood there waiting for me told me I’d worried for nothing and that he had a good grasp on what he needed to stay sane and sober.
Still, I don’t imagine that anything’s a magic bullet for getting over killing someone, but I think letting Justin in on some of the operations in which we’ve successfully freed people has helped him with perspective. It’s been wonderful to see him with the people we rescue. He carries his soul in his eyes, and they innately know they can trust him.
Returning to the present, I grumble under my breath, a mind-bending combination of relaxed and…deeply skeptical. “Somebody needs to tell Sam and Desi that not everything has to be a community project and that nobody is going to come to the opening of an equine therapy center.”
Justin’s self-satisfied grin is frustrating as hell…mostly because it’s turning me on again, and I just came so hard that I genuinely saw spots. He grabs the black-framed glasses from my face, huffing on them before cleaning them with the edge of his boxers.
I’m discovering exactly how much he likes it when I wear the glasses, a fact I plan to exploit tonight. He sets them back on my face and growls under his breath.
“God, you’re fucking sexy. I don’t know how you can see through those dirty lenses.”
I adjust them to sit properly on my nose, and he swallows hard. “I don’t think you really care if I can see through these or not.”
“True.”
“Bet I could get you to do a whole lot of things if I promised to wear them all day long.”
He snorts. “Doubt it. You wear those all day long, and I ain’t gettin’ nothin’ done.”
I adjust them again, tilting my hips so he can see my still-plump cock shift beneath my boxers. “Would wearing these get me out of this silly grand opening?”
A laugh rumbles from deep within his chest as he lets his head fall back, putting his strong, lanky body on display. My eyes track his dark body hair from his pecs and six-pack, down past his belly button, trailing below his waistband.
I imagine shoving my nose into that thick patch of hair surrounding his cock and balls, and I can almost smell his clean, musky scent. The kitchen goes quiet, and I glance up, finding amusement in his warm eyes.
“Sounds like somebody’s worried about his popularity,” he says, pulling me close enough to suck on my earlobe.
I shiver, with no hope of a comeback.
Justin drops his vocal register into the basement, whispering, “But you should know that everyone thinks you’re pretty, and people will show up because they really, really like you. As a person, even.”
I pull back and narrow my eyes at him. “You know, I think I preferred it when you bullied me.”
“Oh, Charlie,” he says, palming my cock. “We know that’s not true. Besides, reformed Justin comes with orgasms.”
I retaliate by tickling his ribs, grumbling about his fucking mind-erasing mouth being the only reason I’d said yes to any of this in the first place. I forgot, however, that Justin is hella ticklish, and when he starts seizing up with laughter, his elbows go everywhere, and he ends up knocking my untouched mug of coffee to the floor.
Miraculously, the mug survives, but now there’s coffee all over the place and a small lake of the stuff pools on the floor
“Ah, shit.”
He laughs his ass off as he grabs a hand towel hanging from the oven. I stand behind him as he bends over to mop up the mess.
“Hm. I could get used to this,” I say, nudging between his cheeks, wondering if I can get my cock to rally one more time.
Justin gives me a little ass shimmy as he smirks back up at me.
I grab his hips, grinding my hardening cock into his crease. “If you think I won’t go to town on you just because I’ve already come this morning, you’ve got another think coming.”
“Oh geez. I swear, I’m going to start knocking.”
Dammit.
I glare over my shoulder at Erik, reluctant to let Justin go. “Pretty sure this is your fault.”
I swivel my hips toward the counter as he brings the roll of paper towels over to Justin.
“Oh, what, that you’re getting laid on the regular?” Erik snarks. “Yeah, it is my fault. You’re welcome, you ungrateful bastard.”
“Whatever. You’re getting laid on the regular too.”
Erik winks. “Early and often. There’s a lot of queers in this county.”
“Viking himbo,” I mutter good-naturedly.
“Whatever. I’m here to help you with your grand opening. Stop giving me a hard time.”
“Oh! Is somebody giving someone a hard time?” Desi’s soft voice filters through the space.
Sam, his permanent sidekick, chimes in. “We came for the grand opening, but if there’s a hard time being given, we’re all about it.”
I approach them, crossing my arms over my chest. “You two. I cannot believe I let you talk me into this.”
They look between Justin and me, leisurely taking in our physiques, and…dammit. We’re still in our boxers. I hold up a finger and jog over to the bedroom, hopping into my sleep pants as I toss Justin his pair.
As if choreographed, Sam and Desi stick out their lower lips in a practiced pout. After that, they look at each other and shrug. Desi pulls out a five-dollar bill and hands it to Sam. “You were right about the complaining. But I am going to earn that back because he will be all kinds of grateful to us at the end of this day.”
Sam, pocketing the bill, raises his brow at me. “Doubt it.”
Justin hugs me from behind, and I’m immediately distracted by his heated skin against mine. “I don’t even want to know what they mean by that,” he whispers, kissing the shell of my ear.
I shiver and lean back into him. “Same.”
What follows is two hours of party prep. About ten minutes into it, I realize that giving in to their demands is simply the easiest and wisest course of action. Thankfully, Justin is willing to take care of all the festooning, which means he’s practically crawling in the barn’s rafters to follow their every whim.
Levy and Bram, the therapy brothers, as I’ve taken to calling them, show up early and are quickly conscripted to help in the kitchen.
They’re from the Waco area and are an interesting contrast. Levy, the equine therapist, is bearded, covered in tattoos, and wears large gauges in his ears. Bram, the trauma therapist, is both tattooed and clean-shaven, a sharp dresser, and tends to be a bit more buttoned up.
It’s fascinating watching them work together, both in therapy sessions and in the kitchen. Levy’s scrubbing and peeling the potatoes while Bram cuts them into perfect cubes.
“Uh, who are the two hot guys?” Nacho asks, strolling in through the kitchen door.
He’s offered to set up the temporary fencing we’re using for the—I shit you not—petting zoo featuring Mrs. Castlerock’s Pygmy goats.
Deep breaths, Wills. Deep breaths.
Levy gives a quick grin, says his name, then refocuses on his peeling.
Nacho pops his brows at me, and I roll my eyes. In the meantime, Bram turns around with the knife in his hand.
Nacho’s eyes go wide. “Oh, uh, Dr. Barlowe. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Ignacio. What a surprise.”
Just bein’ honest here—can’t tell if it’s a good surprise or a bad surprise.
“Yeah. I, uh, hardly recognize you without the bad prison lighting.”
From what I recall of our interview, Bram cut his teeth in prison therapy groups before moving to Baylor for his doctorate. I hadn’t considered that there’d be any crossover.
“It’s nice to see that you have gainful employment,” he says, pointing at Nacho’s work button-down before brusquely returning to his cutting board duties.
Nacho steps back toward the door. “I’ll, uh…see if I can help Justin set things up by the barn.”
I send him a wave, and Erik and I exchange raised eyebrows. We’ll definitely be getting into that later.
We get the food to tables in front of the barn and, all complaints aside, I admit the result is quite pretty. Sam even got the horses in on the action, crowning them with flowers and painting their hooves. We’ve got enough food to feed the entire town, and it’s noon on the dot.
I look around the empty yard and my stomach clenches. There’s not a soul in—oh.
Justin winks at me as he holds up the remote control for the fence, hitting the button. I haven’t been paying attention, and it seems there’s a line of cars outside of the property.
Soon enough, townsfolk stream over to the very barn they helped raise. The specialness of that fact is not lost on me, and if I surreptitiously wipe a few tears away, well, that’s nobody’s business.
“Saw it,” Justin says, hugging me from behind.
I’ve noticed he does that when I go all silent and anxious about something. I don’t hate it.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Mm-hmm.”
We talked in the days coming up to the grand opening and decided to use this event as our official debut to the town. It’s possible I agreed to that when I thought nobody would show up.
However, with this sweet man behind me, I couldn’t be prouder to be his boyfriend. Especially when I think about what we both went through to find each other.
“What is Desi doing with that huge pair of scissors?” I ask, feeling like I’ve lost the thread again.
“Well, you’ll notice that Sam is pulling into place the large ribbon. Because this is a ribbon-cutting ceremony.”
“I thought they were calling it that metaphorically.”
Justin shakes his head, then kisses my cheek. “Oh, they meant it.” He tilts his head in the direction of two figures walking toward us. Jason and Patrick. “And who better to cut the ribbon than our newly out sheriff?”
My hand immediately goes to my chest as I watch those two walk over to us. Another unlikely couple, inextricably drawn to one another. Seeing their hands clasped together makes even my skeptical heart happy.
The brothers hug while I give the good sheriff a handshake, and we both have soft smiles for our men.
“It’s a blessing to see them happy like this,” Patrick says in his comforting rumble.
I hum in agreement. “They would take issue with being called a blessing, but I definitely think we’re the lucky ones as it concerns the Jennings brothers.”
“Yep.” Turning to me, he raises a brow. “Are you ready to get through this ceremony?”
I sigh, scratching the back of my head. “To be fair, I didn’t know there was going to be an enormous pair of scissors and an actual ribbon. I think it’s ridiculous.”
He grins. “Nah. It’s helpful for the people in the county to see something new. To see something positive. And sure, we’ve got a lot of old-school ranchers in the area…but you’ll notice a lot of them are here too.”
“Huh.” I look around, and sure enough, there are a lot of stiff, cattleman-creased Stetsons walking around the property. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“I think, in general, it’s more acceptable for people to get help these days, and some of these good people have problems nobody else knows about. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if being able to work with horses is the thing that gives them permission to accept help.”
“Here’s hoping,” I say, smiling up at the man I hope will be my brother-in-law one day.
The rest of the afternoon goes exactly as Desi and Sam planned it. The weather cooperates, the barbecue Oliver brought over from the Broken Oak is delicious, Bram’s cheesy potato recipe is freaking amazing, and now everyone is gathered for the ribbon cutting and demonstration.
Patrick does a great job with the ribbon cutting, and it’s not nearly as cheesy as I thought it would be. Justin and I then pull the cover off the sign above the barn.
Wild Heart Equine Therapy and Rescue.
We share a glance, and I’m not surprised that both of us have a case of the shiny eyes. Justin rubs his chest, just like he did the day he explained how much the song of the same name meant to him, just like he did when I told him the name I’d chosen for the center.
With that, he steps aside, and Sparrow, who helped me train the horses, joins me to introduce ourselves to the crowd.
“When Charlie approached me with his idea about creating a training program for horses that could be involved in rescue and therapy, I’ll admit…I thought he was a little crazy. Or at least ambitious.”
Luke McCall, the Rodeo King, shouts from the audience, “Whatever, honey. You love crazy and ambitious.”
Everybody laughs, and Sparrow gives his husband a small bow. “He’s not wrong.”
Walking up to Pinky, he continues, “Y’all might remember from the news about little Scottie Gonzalez, that kid from Sonora who ran off from his grandma’s restaurant. Pinky here was one of the horses used in that rescue.”
The crowd claps, and it sets off a warm feeling in my chest.
“In fact, three of the horses Charlie and I collaborated on were used in that rescue. The other two horses have already been donated, one to Travis County and one to Harris County. Those two horses have already gone on to help in other rescue missions. What’s more, they are being used in juvenile therapy in their time off, and they’re thriving in their new jobs.”
The crowd claps even louder—with a few whistles thrown in for good measure—and I’ll admit, my cheeks go a little red.
“So tell us. How are horses used in therapy?” one of the ranchers asks. He’s middle-aged and looks a little skeptical.
I raise my hand. “I’ll take this one.”
Facing the rancher, someone I grew up around, I decide on full transparency. “Many of you know I had a rough go of it when I was younger. A lot of you know that I made an attempt on my life.”
Many in the crowd shuffle uncomfortably, looking down at the dirt. Some look curiously between Justin and me, but my friends hold my gaze with proud smiles. Mom and Dad, who drove up for the ceremony, beam at me, holding on tight to each other.
“Thankfully, it was unsuccessful. Like any of you would’ve, my parents did everything they could to help me find an effective path to recovery. One of the more novel-sounding suggestions was equine therapy. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t so sure about that.”
“He fought it tooth and nail,” my mom shouts out from the side, netting a laugh from the attendees.
My dad joins in, “Oh, honey, don’t sugarcoat it. He threw a hissy fit.”
I glare at my two loving parents, making everyone laugh even harder.
“Fine. I’ll admit I thought it was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard of. But the way my therapist explained it to me is this: horses are prey animals. Often people come to therapy because they have in some way been preyed upon. Which means they often already have an inherent understanding of what the horse brings to the equation.”
Turning to the rancher, I ask, “How did you teach your kids to approach your horses?”
He shrugs, knowing his answer is common knowledge among the people gathered. “Well, sir, I told ‘em that you gotta be gentle and approach ‘em slowly so they know you’re safe.”
“Exactly. You have to calm yourself in order to interact with a horse. In fact, you know this truth even more than I do: you cannot approach a horse with the wrong energy.”
He dips his chin. “True.”
“Of course the worst thing you can tell an upset person is to calm down. And it can be really hard to calm yourself, even if you know it’s just good old anxiety running the show. But,”—I pause for effect—“nearly everybody instinctively knows how to calm themselves when interacting with a horse.”
I get nods from everybody in the crowd, even those who seem unsure.
“So a lot of equine-assisted therapy is just allowing a person to stay in that calm space for an extended amount of time. Essentially teaching your body what it is to calm yourself.”
Dickie—Richard—raises his hand, and I gesture for him to go ahead. “But why do you grab the hooves? I never understood that.”
“Excellent question. First, that’s not the only thing we do with the horses. You’ll notice we set some handouts on the tables, and they list the host of therapist-guided interactions with our horses.”
Turning to Richard, I continue, “To get back to your question—if you have to be calm to interact with a horse, how calm do you have to be to touch a horse? To manipulate a body part on a horse? Have any of y’all ever seen Charity shoe a horse?”
Trip Goodnight speaks up, “She gets in a zone.”
Everybody nods. Charity is a beloved member of the horse community, and they’ve all seen her work. Dr. Lynn, the county vet, puts her arm around her wife, kissing her temple, proud.
“So the fancy people with all the degrees,” I say, pointing to Levy and Bram, “like to call that getting into a meditative space. Turns out, your mind can heal a lot in that intentional meditative space. Would you like to see what that looks like?”
The crowd claps, and I turn to the rancher with the original question. “Would you like to be my volunteer?”
He shrugs as though it’s a meaningless request but steps forward all the same. He briefly looks back at his daughter, giving her a soft smile.
I’d normally give the reins over to Levy at this point, but I think it’s important for the people here to see me do this. I send him a quick glance, and he nods agreeably. “It’s all you, boss.”
Oh, man. The B-word. Yet another thing I’ll have to get used to.
“Okay, Charlie-boy. Do your best,” my ranching friend says, tucking his thumbs into his waistband.
Huh. I’d forgotten that many of my friends’ parents called me Charlie-boy growing up, and it’s a fond memory. After quietly checking to ensure he can do the physical part, I get started.
“So we’re gonna first have you drop your hands to your side and relax as fully as possible.”
He gamely complies, and when he seems pretty relaxed, we approach Pinky together. Instinctively he holds out his hand, and she nuzzles into his touch.
“She already trusts you, so that’s a good sign.”
He laughs. “I’d be a terrible rancher if I didn’t know how to approach a horse.”
The crowd laughs with him, and he sends me a proud smile.
“Now, if you’ll kneel next to her and just hang out there for a second.”
Again, I’m surprised by how quickly he gets into it, gingerly kneeling next to Pinky.
“You feeling okay?” I ask.
“Sure.”
“Alright, now reach down and grab her hoof, pulling it back, almost as if you’re giving her a bit of a stretch.”
He concentrates and very carefully follows my instructions. After a few seconds, his head tilts to the side, and he looks up at me. “Well, shit. I think I see what you’re talking about. It’s almost like the horse shares some of its calm with you.”
He looks at his daughter again, and I invite her to join us. Within a few minutes, she’s doing the same thing and grins up at us with a proud smile.
I look over at Justin, and he’s beaming with pride.
Okay. Maybe this wasn’t a stupid idea after all.