12. Hank

12

HANK

I sat on the chaise next to Denny's, staring out at the expanse of lawn and the field of wildflowers abutting the forest and the rambling creek nearby. Puffy clouds dotted the blue sky and other than the warble of a sparrow, it was peaceful and quiet.

Melting into the cushions, I drank in the view, which was almost as compelling as the guy stretched out nearby in holey jeans, a snug white tee, and my cowboy hat pushed low over his eyes to block the sun.

"You look good in that hat, sweetheart."

Denny laughed, a sweet, unfettered sound that had me grinning like a loon. "I'm gonna get one of these… sweetheart . That's such a goofy thing to say. Sweetheart. Why do you call me that?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. You're sweet…ish. Should I call you something else?"

He smiled. "You do you. It's better than Hotshot."

"Why do you hate that so much?"

"It's a pressure nickname. Too much to live up to on days you don't kick ass the way the fans and media expect you to." Denny tipped the brim of the hat. "I love hockey, and I can handle the pressure on the ice. Bring it, I'm ready. But the media stuff is a whole other ball game. They were all over me when our season ended, asking what happened. What could I say?"

"The truth," I suggested. "You played hard. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Maybe not, but the real truth is, we were too beat up to compete. It felt like we'd given up by that last game, and I fucking hate giving up. It's easy to say next season will be different, but you never know what's coming. Denver has at least three players retiring, a couple who'll probably be traded. That means new teammates and new chemistry, and…it's tough starting from scratch."

"You sound like an old fart," I chided.

He laughed. "Fuck off."

"Seriously. You're twenty-two. You're supposed to have at least five more years of unabashed enthusiasm before cynicism sets in."

"I'm not cynical. I'm realistic, and I want to win. Failure isn't an option. I'll do whatever it takes to improve my game, minimize mistakes, skate faster, be better. And if I have to switch teams, hire a new agent…I'll do that too."

I widened my eyes comically. "I had no idea you were so cutthroat."

"Only about hockey."

"Yikes. Do you tell the camp kids to get their asses in gear and quit fucking off like a drill sergeant?"

"No, summer hockey is chill. I don't coach big groups. They usually give me one or two teens at a time who need to work on shooting," he said. "Or I assist Jake…or Smitty."

"Your old coach?"

Denny nodded. "Yeah, he's awesome. He can be a hardass in the regular season, but he's a goofy teddy bear at camp. Like Vinnie. They entertain the kids while I remind them to keep their eyes on the puck."

"I bet the kids will freak the fuck out having you as a coach this year."

"Nah, I'm not the fun one. Too serious."

"I don't think you're too serious," I argued, plucking my hat off his head. I put it on my own head and offered my sunglasses in trade. "I think you like having fun as much as anyone, but you're a control freak. Type A to the max."

Denny pushed the sunglasses on and nodded. "True. Are you like me, or are you a slob?"

"Oh, I'm a hot mess. You wouldn't know it looking at me. I fake having my shit together."

"You? No way."

"Way. I have good ideas, but I'm not great with follow-through. I have a reputation in my family for not finishing what I start. They're not wrong. I feel like I'm always going backward. The fact that I'm working for my dad when I swore I'd never do it again tells you something about me."

"That you wanted to help him out so you could live in his fancy house in Elmwood with not one, but two toilets in your bathroom?"

I tipped the brim of my hat. "You caught me."

"What's up with this house? It's so extra."

"I have no idea. Some designer from Dallas probably drew up plans for the remodel and Dad signed off without a second thought. He can be kind of showy with the high-end BS—the nicest cars, best table at the finest steak house, and beautiful homes filled with rooms no one goes in. But it's all for show. My dad grew up dirt poor. He worked on oil rigs in the Gulf and met someone who needed loggers and was willing to pay more. Ten years later, he took over that mill, and five years after that, he was selling products to home-building emporiums and lumber supply chains across the country. Not too shabby for a high school dropout."

"Impressive."

"Yeah, it is," I agreed. "Of course, your grandmother would say that anyone with two toilets in one bathroom was full of shit, so do me a favor and don't tell her."

He barked a laugh. "You already know her well."

"I'm a quick study. She's the town's bullshit police. I saw her at the market the other day raising hell over the price of tomatoes."

"Grams takes some getting used to," Denny conceded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "I wasn't happy about coming here and living with her. I didn't know her well at all, and she seemed so cranky and old. My plan was to wait till summer, then make my escape. But she grew on me. For everything she complained about, she did a good deed…almost as if she were covering up being nice. She made breakfast every day, signed me up for hockey, refurbished my dad's old bicycle. She never asked for anything in return. I don't think she knows how to."

"She might be a handful, but people respect her," I said. "And you too."

"That's 'cause I play hockey."

"So I'm gonna have to learn how to play hockey, huh?"

"It wouldn't hurt," he joked.

"All right. You'll have to teach me how to skate first."

He raised a brow. "You really don't know how?"

"Nope. I tried once, and it was ugly. I fell twenty times in less than ten minutes. Everything hurt," I groused. "Especially my butt."

"I'll give you lessons this summer. If you want, you can strap a pillow around your ass to cushion your fall."

"You're too kind." I rolled my eyes, hiking my legs off the edge of the chaise. "I'll do the same for you. Are you ready to learn how to ride?"

"Uh…a horse?"

"A horse," I confirmed, checking the time. "You're not in a hurry, are you?"

"No, I'm meeting up with my friends later, but I?—"

"Excellent. Be right back."

I slipped inside the house and returned a few minutes later with a baseball cap for Denny, two water bottles, and a pillow. I set the cap on his head and motioned for him to follow.

"Where are you going?" He scrambled to his feet. "This is a sex thing, remember? I'm not actually riding a horse, Hank. Hank!"

I cupped my ear and shrugged, a big ol' smile on my face as I continued to the barn.

He found me cooing to Bess while I wrestled a saddle onto her back.

"Say hi to Bess. She missed you, Den."

"Hey, Bess." He grabbed one of the water bottles I'd set on the ledge of a stall, and uncapped it as he checked out the barn. It was half the size of the one in Colorado but equally as nice. Three stalls lined one side of the structure with an office and tack room opposite. He set the bottle on the ledge and addressed the horse. "Hank is being tricky. How do we handle this?"

"She says you just listen to the master and hop on up."

"The master." Denny laughed, then pointed at the black horse munching on hay in his stall. "How's Fred doing?"

"He's doing great, and he's gonna hang tight while we take a walk with Bess. C'mon over."

Denny shook his head. "No, that's okay. Maybe tomorrow. I'm not ready for?—"

"Sure you are," I intercepted. "This is our reason to spend time together, remember?"

"No, it's sex."

"That's the bonus. I've been here for a while on my own and you were right, Den. No one will buy us being friends without a reason. So get your ass in the saddle, and let's do this. I'll get you a helmet and…I brought a pillow. Helmet is nonnegotiable, but the pillow is your call."

He gritted his teeth. "Very fucking funny."

I chuckled. "C'mon. We'll take her outside, and I'll show you how to mount."

I walked Bess into the sunlit paddock next to the barn and talked Denny through a series of simple instructions. Foot in stirrup, hike your leg over, gaze forward, straight posture, rely on your balance, be in sync with the horse's movements, and gentle with the reins.

"Why don't I just watch you do it?" Denny suggested.

I inclined my chin in agreement and glided onto the saddle, nice and easy. "It might feel awkward at first, but like anything, you get better at it with practice. As for Bess…she's a gentle soul. She'll need a minute or two to get used to you, too. But you'll get to know each other quickly."

Denny wrinkled his nose. "I don't know about this."

I dismounted like a pro, and held a hand out. "Your turn. Do you trust me?"

"Yeah, but, I have a hypothetical question…what if she bolts? Is there an SOS code or something?"

"Help!"

"I'm glad to see you're taking my safety seriously," he huffed sarcastically.

"I did offer you a pillow," I singsonged.

"Don't you need a horse too? Why is Fred alone? Who watches them?"

"Fred is fine. They're horses, not kids. I hired someone from Fallbrook to help out at the barn. She'll be around tomorrow morning, but we're alone now, so…let's go." I clapped, motioning for him to step up. "I'll hold the lead and walk with you. Ready?"

"As ever."

The next fifteen minutes were comedy gold. No kidding. Someone should have been filming this reel of unintentionally hysterical bloopers. There was something endearing about a professional athlete good-naturedly trying an activity outside of his comfort zone…and sucking at it.

Denny put his left foot into the stirrup, misjudged the amount of oomph he needed to haul himself onto the saddle, and ended up falling on his ass like a cartoon character.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my smile from spreading. "Want that pillow?"

"Very fucking funny."

I smacked his butt and squeezed it. "Dust off and try it again."

He did, and he fell…two more times.

Ten minutes later, he was finally in the saddle.

I cautioned him to use a light grip on the saddle horn and above all, to relax.

Denny scoffed. "This is not relaxing. This is the opposite of relaxing."

"That's because you think you're in control here, and you're not."

"Bess is? Well, that's fucking terrifying."

"No, smartass. I'm in control. I've got the lead," I reminded him. "Your only job is sit up tall, face forward, and enjoy the scenery. After a while, you'll get used to the sway and the rhythm of her movement. She's a sweet girl. She's sensitive, too. She can feel your tension, but it doesn't bother her. She's patient. Stay with her. That's it."

I kept up a small dialogue, assuring him that he was in good hands…over and over while we rambled around the paddock. I couldn't tell if it was him or Bess or the late May sunshine, but I sensed the moment he found his center.

This was what I loved about equine therapy. Helping someone else find peace in movement and a soothing gait. I had immense respect and awe for this majestic animal. Bess was powerful, graceful, and intimidating with it. Moreover, she was incredibly patient.

I wished I were more like her: quietly confident, no heavy thoughts, no worries about the future. She stayed in the moment and reminded me to do the same.

I walked us into the pasture, pointing out a few new discoveries, like the goldfinches, robins, the elms near the creek, the sugar maples at the bottom of the trail leading to Lake Norman. It was…pleasant.

By the time we returned, the sun crested the ridge, sending long shadows across the fields. Perfect for a late picnic. I tied Bess to a post in the yard and went back to the house to make sandwiches. We took a cooler to the table next to the barn and let Fred out to join Bess in the pasture.

Blue skies, chilled wine, turkey sandwiches, and easy conversation with a handsome hunk made for a lovely afternoon. I jabbered about the healing power of horses, the time I fell off one and broke my wrist, my mild obsession with Star Wars , and the certainty that there really was nothing more delicious than warm apple pie with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream. Denny disagreed.

We debated the merits of chocolate versus fruit pie fillings as I cared for the horses, brushing them, feeding them. He could have left then. We'd checked off every item on our to-do list, and he'd been there for hours. He had friends to see and errands to run, but I was selfishly happy he'd stayed.

"Thanks for today," he murmured eventually.

I smiled, brushing his nose against mine. "Anytime."

"What's Bess doing tomorrow?"

"I think she's free."

"Cool. Tell her I'll see her soon."

I watched him walk to his truck. I felt the ghost of his touch on my lips and the stir of longing for something I couldn't identify as he pulled away, his taillights disappearing down the long driveway.

A veil of mist settled at the fringe of the forest, blanketing the night in silence. It was never this quiet in Denver…or at the ranch. It was the kind of quiet that forced introspection.

Why was I here? What was I doing?

On the surface, I was doing a job, making some money, biding my time in a tiny town while having amazing sex with a famous, closeted athlete. All good stuff, but the questions were still there.

I didn't have any answers, but that was okay. We had all summer. Real life could wait.