CHAPTER 46

jackson

W est furiously smoking had me reconsidering taking him to see my mom. He insisted he was fine, but his visible anxiety said otherwise. I leaned against my truck as I watched him. There was no reason he had to struggle this much.

“We can go back to the ranch,” I told him.

“No.” He shook his head as he puffed out a cloud of smoke. “No, I’m fine.”

I wasn’t wholly convinced . But I also wasn’t winning in telling him what to do. Sure, I could try to toss his ass in my truck and drive away but then I’d just be stuck for an hour with a feral West pissed off at me. No one wanted that shit, so I just waited him out as he chain-smoked his way through his anxiety.

“I’m fine,” he repeated.

“I know,” I said. I had a lot more I wanted to say, but I kept silent. It was easier to let him work through it than insert myself. Arms crossed, I leaned against the side of my truck as he paced .

“I couldn’t sleep,” West whispered as he joined me. I simply nodded slowly. His quiet admissions were something I appreciated and would wait forever for. I recognized them as his attempt to build a broken bridge across the gap between us—the one where he was fighting something I would never be able to understand. His gaze was a million miles away as he added, “And I’ve got a headache. It won’t go away.”

“I’ve got something that might help with that.” I left him to rummage around my glove compartment until I found an old pill bottle that I always kept on hand. Naproxen had been my friend for a long fucking time—keeping me functioning through an injury that almost put my ass out of business.

“Why the fuck do you have painkillers in your truck?” he asked when I dropped two pills in his hand.

“Three years ago a bull fucking tossed me. Usually, it’s a tuck, roll, and get back on your feet kind of situation,” I explained, “but this fucker threw my ass right into the fencing. You ever been thrown into a metal fence?”

“No, but I was thrown through a bar door once,” he replied. “It was one of those kitschy old-fashioned saloon-style ones.”

Jesus fuck, West.

“That’d hurt too,” I said. “I fucked up my back. For a while, I was on naproxen to help with the pain. Occasionally, my back still fucking hurts, so my doctor has me keep it around.”

“Makes sense.” He tossed back the pills without hesitation or a need for water. I’d probably regret giving an addict prescription painkillers, but there was no reason he should suffer either. If it became an issue, I’d toss the pills later.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t become an issue.

Fuck. Was this a bad idea? Had I screwed this up for him?

“I can take painkillers, Jackson,” West told me as if reading my mind. He let his cigarette fall to the ground and stepped on it. “Drugs don’t fucking do it for me. Not for a lack of trying.”

I stared after him as he started for the front door. Not for a lack of trying? What the hell did that mean?

“Are you coming, cowboy?” he called over his shoulder .

“Fuck!” I chased after him, knowing full well that Glinda—the front desk nurse—would eat his tattooed ass alive if I let him go in alone. Steamroll him, marry him, and spit him right back out.

Sandy Oaks Retirement Facility took the sandy part of its name way too fucking seriously. Everything was beach-themed from the fake flowers to the tropical paintings on the walls to the obscene amount of Hawaiian vacation shirts everywhere. Was this retirement? Was I destined to become a pot-bellied old man wearing overly bright flowered shirts?

“Sorry about that,” I whispered to West as we strolled through one of the halls. My mom was very likely hanging out in the social center. She usually hustled the hell out of people until lunchtime. “I know we haven’t… defined shit with us, but Glinda would eat you alive if I didn’t say something.”

I’d stupidly told Glinda that West and I were dating while she eyed him like a piece of meat—not that I blamed her for that part. He’d pulled himself together for today. Dark jeans hugged his ass in a way I purposely avoided looking at and a blue Henley brought out the color in his eyes. His hair was shaggy as ever but his beard was trimmed. Hell, he looked better than I did. I hadn’t even bothered to shower. I just shoved a backwards hat over my hair and called it a morning.

“I don’t know.” His lips quirked at the corner. “Watching you damn near fight an old lady over me was kind of fun. Maybe I’ll see how many other women I can get you to fight.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“We’ll see how the day goes.”

“I hate you.”

“Good.” This fucking man. He drove me a little bit crazy. And yet, I craved every second of his annoying antics.

We rounded our way into the social center and sure enough, there was my mom at the center of some fucking card game. She was surrounded by a group of men. To most people, they’d assume Mom was caught in some kind of love circle shit with all of them. Especially with how they looked at her. But I knew better. She was back to hustling them for their money.

“You better not get your ass kicked out of here for hustling, Ma,” I said loudly as I started across the room. West hung back, which I understood why, considering the last time they’d seen each other. “I ain’t taking you back in.”

“Get your singles ready, ladies!” Mom matched my enthusiasm with her smile as if nothing had happened between us. “The League’s only gay bull rider is back in the house. And look at that! He lost his hat. The flannel and hat are a good look on you, honey.”

“Stop pimping me out, you crazy old lady,” I retorted.

“Oh, where’s the fun in that?” she demanded. Anything else she was going to say was lost when she caught sight of West behind me. Her gasp was damn near audible from across the room. “ West… ”

She dropped her cards and got to her feet, ignoring anything anyone said to her as she hurried toward us.

“West McNamara is that you?” she asked when she was close enough to be heard without shouting.

“Hey, Mom,” West whispered. Something about hearing him call her that again made my chest tighten.

“Oh, my sweet boy…” A small sob tore through Mom as she dragged him close, hugging him fiercely. I took a few steps back to give them privacy. It hit me as I watched that West really did believe what he said—that my parents and Mickey had tried their best. Harrison had just been a fucking force of nature that none of them could handle. I hated that.

And I hated how blind I’d been to all of it.

Mom spoke quietly with West as she stared up at him. She rubbed his arms, touched his face, ruffled his hair, and more. She didn’t notice how he stiffened at the contact nor did it faze her when he tried to move back. But I sure as fuck did. West would never tell her to back off. Lucky for him, I didn’t have a problem asserting myself where necessary.

“Come on now, Ma,” I interrupted. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and casually put myself between her and West to give him the space he needed. He took a step back, and I winked at him before giving my mom my attention. “Did you forget about your own damn son? What the hell am I? Chopped liver? ”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed but leaned into my side. “I see you all the time.”

“And you pimp me out all the time to your ladies,” I retorted. “I think I deserve a decent hello for the shit you put me through.”

“ That I put you through? ” Her voice rose dramatically. “Please. You love the limelight, baby boy. Don’t even pretend.”

“Some limelight,” I corrected.

“You can say that all you want, but I’ve been in Hester’s room. She has six framed pictures with you, and I know for a fact that she only paid for two.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Yes, I did, but Hester was adorable. I steered Mom toward the elevators. “Keep up, West.”

“It’s good to see you, baby boy,” Mom said quietly as she hugged my side. Squeezing tight, I kissed the top of her head. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

We made our way across the building. The entire way, Mom kept a constant stream of conversation going with West—rather, she talked at him while he made small sounds of agreement. I was still figuring out most of West’s tells to understand him, but I would’ve bet anything that he was overwhelmed, itching to smoke, and needing a minute alone.

What he needed was a mini-escape plan. I was damn good for one of those. How many nights had I strategically escaped all rodeo media just to hook up with some straight-swearing cowboy?

“Stairs are down that way, West,” I told him loudly when the elevator door opened. West stopped just outside of it and looked at me like I was a fucking moron.

“What?” Mom demanded, her brows coming together as she frowned. “Jackson—”

“Fifth floor,” I continued over her. I nodded down the hall while I ushered Mom into the elevator. “There’s not enough room in the elevator.”

“Right,” West began slowly, “fifth floor. Take the stairs, got it. See you upstairs.”

He took his leave without hesitation. Mission accomplished. At least, I hoped he got it. If not, he probably thought I was a fucking asshole.

“Jackson!” she exclaimed. “There’s more than enough room for him in the elevator. You didn’t have to be rude. ”

“Ma.” I hit the fifth floor button as the doors closed. While I crossed my arms, Mom squared off her shoulders. Yeah, I got my fire from her. “You have to stop touching West.”

“What does that mean?”

“He doesn’t like to be touched, so you have to keep your damn hands to yourself. I don’t want to fight you, but I will fight you if you don’t stop touching him.”

“You’ll fight me?” She laughed, and something about the way her face lit up was frustrating.

“What?” I asked. “What are you laughing at?”

“I forgot how cute you were when you got all protective of West,” Mom said.

“I’m a grown-ass man! You can’t call me cute!”

“Oh, baby boy.” Reaching up, she pinched my cheek. I scowled. The woman dared to pinch my goddamn cheeks. She hadn’t done so since I was a fucking kid.

“Ma!”

“You’re my son. I can call you cute all I want,” she retorted. The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. Stepping out, she waved down the hall and ordered, “I’ll keep my hands to myself. Wait out here for West since you so rudely made him walk up five flights of stairs.”

“It wasn’t rude.” It wasn’t rude. I was trying to make this experience less miserable for West. “It wasn’t rude…”

But she didn’t hear me. She was already down the hall and in her apartment. Damn woman.

I paced up and down the hall as I waited for West to make an appearance. It took way too damn long, all things considered. What the hell was he doing? Meandering? But I worked hard to curb my impatience. I didn’t understand what he was going through, which meant I couldn’t understand the length of time anything took him.

“Was there a reason you kicked me out of the fucking elevator?” West huffed out after finally making an appearance.

“Figured you wouldn’t be a big fan of enclosed spaces.” I shrugged. There was no way in hell I was telling him what I said to my mom. It’d piss him off. He made a small sound, nodding slowly as if he was judging my lie .

“You ever watch those action movies where they go up and out of an elevator and into the elevator shaft?” West asked. “You think it’d be hard to do?”

“You watch action movies?” I replied instead of answering his question.

“From time to time. Better than watching reality dating shows.”

“Don’t you make fun of my shows. My bunnies got me started on those.”

“Your bun—do you have buckle bunnies?” he demanded, his frown deep when he faced me.

“As the only out gay man on the circuit, I’m in with all the buckle bunnies,” I told him. “And I have a say in when all the straight men get laid.”

“That’s evil.”

“That’s fucking funny. You ever watch a pent-up cowboy try to get laid when every available woman tells him no? It’s the best fucking revenge.” It really was. I didn’t use that power often, but if one of the other riders was being a particular pain in my ass, I had no problem exercising it. Sometimes I got petty. And then I got payback. My girls never had a problem rallying. Softly, I asked, “You doing good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “Let’s just… go in there.”

I hated seeing him struggle. Stepping closer, I reached for him but let my hands hover on either side of his face without touching.

“May I?” No touching unless he said so. He nodded without a word. My hands framed his face as I tilted his head down slightly, just enough to kiss his forehead in a tiny gesture to comfort him. There was no awkwardness, and he didn’t pull away. Win, win. “Talk about horses. Lord knows she may have bought those damn things for you, but she does love them. And fuck, she loves talking about them.”

“Okay,” West replied.

What I didn’t tell him was that I intended to keep the conversation on track. I couldn’t make him feel less of any one way— I didn’t have that kind of power—but I could make things easier. Less triggering, less difficult.

That shit I could do all day for him and I would.