Chapter Seventeen

A soft ding from the elevator flourishes down the hall, signaling the end of our dinner. I'm not sure if it's the full meal settling in my stomach or the happy nerves, but a warmth spreads through me as we head towards my hotel room. Despite the seriousness of the situation with Lily and the Baxters, I can't help but feel like this is a Goldilocks test. Trevan was too cool. Durango, on the other hand, is only the second man I've been alone with since Brogan. And I hope it won't take a third to find the right fit.

"Did you get enough to eat?" Durango asks, turning his head towards me.

His smile is genuine, and his words usher in a recognizable sentiment. Brogan always asked me the same thing after every meal.

Nodding, I trace the contours of his hand in mine. "Yeah, I'm stuffed, thanks," I reply warmly. "Thanks for the nightcap—I always enjoy company when I'm away from home."

His voice drops to a sexy whisper. "Nah, don't mention it. I think you're terrific."

"I think you're pretty okay, too," I respond, cringing internally at how cheesy that sounded.

The elevator arrives with another ding, and we step inside. A subtle jolt as we ascend makes my grip on Durango's hand tighten, then I feel his thumb rubbing the back of my hand. Something else Brogan used to do when I was nervous. This sensation sends a tingle down my spine, ushering with it another reminder of my body's desires.

But this night, it feels different. For some reason, I'm not expecting this to end with sex. It feels more profound than that. This could very well be the start of a genuine connection, a chance to truly get to know someone before diving into physical intimacy. And in another strange way, the journey is just as important as the destination.

"You wouldn't happen to have any Rolaids up there, by chance?" Durango asks, rubbing his belly.

I nod. "Actually, I do," I respond assuredly. "It's been a staple in my diet ever since?—"

Stopping short, there's a lump forming in the back of my throat. It feels peculiar to mention Brogan's name while holding another man's hand, heading towards my hotel room. Sharing our lives and showing affection creates a level of closeness, even without sex.

Durango gently finishes my sentence. "Since your husband passed?"

"Yeah," I admit, my gaze fixed on the elevator floor. "My appetite hasn't been the best since then."

Silence descends between us, broken only by the soft chime of the elevator as it reaches my floor. We step back out, hand in hand, and shuffle down the hallway at a leisurely pace. Sliding the keycard into the handle, I push the door wide open.

"Feel free to kick off your shoes," I offer, slipping out of mine.

Durango follows my lead. "Okay."

An invisible thread of longing weaves between us, shimmering with the promise of what could be. We both feel the pull of destiny. But for now, we're two ships finding safe harbor in the same moonlit bay, seeking comfort and peace in the present moment.

The suite is dark as Durango and I lie on my bed, embraced in a tangle of limbs. We've shed our pants for comfort, but our shirts remain intact. I'm on the right side, gazing into his soft, honeyed stare, feeling the gentle caress of his fingers on my stubble. Adele's soulful voice fills the area from my phone on the nightstand while the lamplight swallows us from either side of the bed.

Durango's hand traces the contours of my face, offering a tender touch which is both comforting and electrifying. "So, what is the story of Maxwell Williams?" He mutters low.

"Aheh," I chuckle softly. "That's a loaded question—I wouldn't know where to begin."

He whispers back. "Start wherever you feel comfortable," he encourages me.

My fingers entwine with his. "Well, what I was gonna say downstairs," I pause, taking a deep breath. "The reason I didn't order wine with you—" my words falter once more.

"Yeah?"

"—It's because I've been a recovering alcoholic for the past ten years," I admit, shame etched on my face. "So if that doesn't scare you away?—"

Durango clicks his tongue in rapid succession. "Shhh, don't even think that defines you, Max," he says. "It was part of your past, and our mistakes of yesterday don't dictate our futures."

A huge weight lifts off my shoulders. This is usually a touchy subject, one that's pushed friends away in the past. Beyond Melanie or Dirk, I haven't found many friends worth their weight in gold. But Durango's acceptance feels like an offer of deliverance amidst the rainiest season of my life.

"So you're not gonna run off because I have a little more baggage than you might?" I ask, as insecurity creeps into my voice.

His tone is resolute and firm. "God, no," he replies gently. "You think I'm afraid of that?"

I let out a major sigh of relief. "Well, I guess that's the extent of my baggage—other than being a widower and a single parent who still has no clue how to raise a seven-year-old autistic gem without fearing he'll screw up and undo all the progress they've made," I add, breathlessly.

He chuckles lightly. "You think I don't have baggage, Maxwell?" He raises a hand to rub his forehead. "You might have in-laws trying to gain custody of Lily, and I understand your fears there," he pauses for a moment, gazing off into the distance. "But do you think for a second that my in-laws haven't hated me for years because I admitted I was gay—especially after bringing a child into the world with their daughter?"

A certain wave of understanding washes through me. We all have our crosses to bear and our own battles to fight. However, perchance, we can face them together.

I nod against my pillow. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. That must be tough."

"Damn hard, Max," Durango agrees with a gentle wink. "But I'm not saying my hand is any worse than yours," he adds. "Life just happens, honey. We can't always win with a full house—the river just keeps on flowing."

Snickering, I cough up a small burp from dinner. "Sorry, I don't play poker or any card games, really."

"Hah," he replies. "Sorry, I guess I'm showing my interests too much, eh?"

My eyebrow curls towards the ceiling. "Are you Canadian?" I ask, eager to learn more about this man who seems to embrace my shattered pieces with such ease.

Durango nods. "Actually, yes," he affirms. "While I'm from Colorado, my family moved from Canada when I was younger because of my dad's job," he adds, swirling a finger in my dense hair. "We lived there for almost twelve years before moving back to Grand Junction."

"Sexy," I tease. "I don't think I really know any Canadians besides you now."

He smiles. "Many of my formative years were spent in Nova Scotia. It's always been a part of me, I suppose," he pauses with another glint in his stare. "That's why some accents and colloquialisms have stuck—Canada is my home away from home and I still have many friends there."

I'm fascinated by his story. The way his life has unfolded across continents, weaving together threads of different cultures and experiences. It's like peeling back the layers of an onion. Each revelation revealing another facet of the complex and intriguing man lying next to me. There's a depth of gravity to him, one of hushed strength and resilience that draws me in.

"Do your parents approve of your sexuality now?" I ask, curious about his family dynamics.

Durango looks up at the ceiling with a wistful expression scribed on his visage. "They've been gone for a couple of years. But for the most part, they did, I suppose," his words linger. "My dad took a little longer to come around than my mom—he'd always had this idea of what it meant to be a genuine boy, and he expected me to fit that mold," he pauses for a breath. "I played along and took part in all the ‘manly' activities, but the truth is, I never really enjoyed any of it."

I nod sympathetically. "Yeah, I never enjoyed getting my hands dirty, either. Hunting, fishing, the whole gamut—never even tried it."

Wrapping my arm around Durango's waist, I pull him closer for a warm embrace. Our shirts remain, but the enigmatic sparks between us crackle and sizzle akin to a pan of popping corn. I can feel his heart beating in sync with mine, its powerful rhythm filling the emptiness inside me. With a deep breath, I exhale slowly as relief settles around my diaphragm. I haven't scared him away with my eclipsed past. We hold each other, lost in the wordless language of touch. My head tilts to the side, and our lips brush against the other. A surge of electricity courses through me, and I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I've crossed a line. But then Durango's tongue grazes the crest of my lower lip, and all doubt vanishes into the ether.

His hand travels down my spine, gently guiding my head as we deepen the kiss. The dim lighting, the soft melody of Sam Smith's voice, and the feel of Durango's body pressed against mine create a medley of sensations that leave me utterly breathless.

"Argh," he sighs, pulling away slightly.

Meanwhile, my heart leaps into my throat. "What?" I ask, fearing that rejection is about to rear its ugly head.

"You said you had some antacids, right?" He asks, rubbing his stomach.

Relieved, I roll away from him towards the edge of the bed. A chuckle tugs at my lips. "I do," I reply, heading into the bathroom to retrieve the antacids. "I totally forgot—how many do you want?"

"Just bring the bottle," he hollers back. "I usually just tip it up like a beverage and down the hatch they go."

I raise an eyebrow. "Kinky, aheh."

On my way back into the bedroom, I take notice of Durango's sultry expression. "Not that, sir," he says, wagging a finger in my direction. "You certainly aren't lacking any imagination with a dirty mind like that."

Another laugh falls freely. "You mean a blow job ?" I clarify, cognizant of the fact that Durango hasn't been too involved sexually since his divorce.

He nods playfully, reaching for the bottle of antacids. "Yes, smarty pants," he affirms. "So what happened here, if I may ask?" He adds, pointing to my shattered iPad and damaged hotel room wall.

Shame returns to my face as I hide it with an open palm. "Yeah, umm—let's just say that's when I found out Lily's grandparents were suing me for custody."

With a loud exhale, I continue explaining my shortcomings. "So, I read the letter my sister emailed over and chucked the whole iPad toward the wall out of absolute rage."

Durango finishes crunching the antacids while mouthing his reply. "Seems like a reasonable reaction—maybe an expensive one—" he offers, chewing the last remnants of stomach aids.

I cry out. "I can't lose her, Durango. What the fuck would I do?"

He scoops my smartphone off the nightstand, glaring at the device like it's a foreign object. "How do you turn the music off this thing?" He asks gently as tears trail down my face.

My hand gestures. "Give it here."

"You know," he continues. "I think some of this custody stuff might just boil down to a lack of understanding—almost like a miscommunication," he adds, stroking his left hand across my backside from shoulder to shoulder.

I turn my head. "What do you mean?"

"Well—" he presses on. "It sounds like to me they haven't been around you very much to know the extensive shit you've fought to stay sober."

My head wavers slightly. "Yeah—and—" I mutter, embracing both of Durango's grasped hands around my tense shoulders.

"And—" he emphasizes. "They don't know how you're doing with the trauma of losing?—"

Of course, I finish his sentence. "Brogan," my voice cracks. "You could be right," I add.

"They're probably more scared of something happening to Lily should you fall off the wagon," he continues.

I interject. "—But I'm not gonna go flying off the rails, Durango," I utter, twisting my head to the side. "I love Lily with every ounce of my soul."

Durango hushes me. "That's my point, babe."

"What is?"

He finishes rubbing my back. "They just need to understand you better. I almost think it would behoove you to have a sit down with them in some capacity, if you have a way to do it," he adds while I relish in the soothing touch. "Clear the air, shake hands, come to an understanding and offer Lily for a week or two during school breaks."

I shrug while rubbing my eyes dry. "I guess that makes sense."

"Yeah," he adds. "Make them an active part of her life, and that'll possibly be enough to find middle ground—a peace treaty between your world and theirs."

He's absolutely right. Perhaps all the Baxters want is to be given the opportunity to be a bigger part of Lily's life. And I just need to swallow my pride and be the bigger person in this equation.

"You're probably right, you know," I say. "That's a valid point."

Twisting around, I nudge Durango back to the top of the bed. Meanwhile, I topple over him playfully.

"That was one of the best back rubs I've had in months," I admit, studying the sincerity in his gaze.

He murmurs low. "There's more where that came from."