15. Teddy

I was embarrassed. I mean, he was Ned Anderson and I'd been a hot mess earlier standing in the bathroom and wiping the steam off the mirror, only to realise I looked like I'd smashed my face in with a six-foot Norwegian spruce.

I almost had today, trying to get a system going of getting trees cut, handled correctly, popped in protective netting and loaded on the trailer without damaging what was high-value income. The students were finally getting the hang of it all, working to my precise instructions, following the GPS on the iPad, using the correct manual handling techniques and packing the trees to standard as we logged them.

We were still dealing with the specially ordered ones, and in a few weeks, the trees for the Japanese Embassy were being handpicked by their ambassador, who was coming up in his helicopter to choose a tree, which again would be hard pushed to survive until Christmas. He came up every year, hoping for a picture-perfect postcard shot in white snow and festive cheer and instead had to make do with wellies and rain pelting down on his fancy coat. Nice guy, though. Would accept my offer of coffee and come sit at my kitchen table and make small talk in perfectly polite Swedish.

It was why I put up with this song and dance, the same way my dad had. He'd had newspaper clippings saved somewhere of former ambassadors. Not anymore. All that had gone into that skip he and my auntie had filled up and taken away before I'd had a chance to protest.

But I was still here, and so was he, switching off the kitchen light, having cleared up after dinner. He'd even wiped down all the surfaces. Not my dad.

Ned.

Ned-fucking-Anderson.

"I should go. Get Violet's car back before morning." He wasn't looking at me, he was staring into a cupboard in the hallway. "The heating seems to be back on, same system as up the hill. Just whack it on the side if it goes off again. Loose connection, probably. I'm not that clever. I can ask Violet."

He could, but he didn't need to. Roland was coming next week to have a look, and… Fuck. He'd been right. I was fucking lost, and my last tether to earth was walking out the door.

"You not staying?" I asked weakly. Fuck knows why. No, I did know why. I didn't want to do this on my own, get so brutally yanked out of my comfort zone again. I slept upstairs in my single childhood bed because it was the only thing that kept me sane here. The only place in the house that was familiar and safe. That looked like it always had.

"Do you want me to?"

"Not a hook-up," I reminded him, then regretted my words because maybe that was what I needed. For him to throw me on that bed and hold me down and give me what my body craved. Relief. Relief from all this confusion and the thoughts playing on loop in my head.

"My dad," I started, and then I turned away. I was supposed to have dealt with all this. It had been almost a year. Last winter.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I didn't have to say more before he was right there, crowding back into my space. Bloody Americans and their too many hugs. Holding me and making me dance with him as he rocked me to the tune of our breaths, the rhythm of the rain against the windowpanes, the howling song of the wind.

"Fuck it."

Small words coming from him, but fuck it indeed. I needed his lips and his hands and his mouth, my face being held firmly as he stuck his tongue down my throat. I needed just to not think so much and let myself…

He was wearing too many clothes and the curtains were open but the sound of voices and moving cars had long faded. We were alone here, and apart from Fifi's shout of annoyance as he threw me onto the bed, it was quiet.

I bounced. I actually bounced against the mass of soft furnishings I'd been thrown into, the smile on my face testament to the comfort as he climbed on top of me, gripped the hem of my thermals and tugged. Down. Cooler air hit my skin as I helpfully kicked myself out of my clothes, yanked my hoodie over my head while he did some kind of clumsy striptease out of his jeans and jumper, T-shirt, boxers, which he turned to the side to remove, seemingly self-conscious about showing his semi-erect junk.

I had no idea why. Ned Anderson, even now, was one of those perfect, godlike specimens of man. Well, so maybe his abs didn't form a perfect six-pack, and perhaps his shoulders were a little too bony, but to me, he was perfection, a heady mix of attraction and swoon making me breathless at the sight of his skin glistening amber in the light from the fire.

He crawled back on top of me, into my outstretched arms, his hands coming to a rest around my face as he held himself up on his elbows.

He looked at me, and it was terrifying.

"I want this so much. Always have," he whispered. "I used to dream about you, all the time, and now I have you. If you'll let me?"

I nodded because I had too. Young me had been sexed up to the nines, and this me still wanted everything he could give me. I just wasn't sure I could handle it. Last time had ended with me almost losing my mind. If he left again?

I didn't want to think anymore, so I rose up and launched for his mouth, kissed him the way I needed to as we rolled so we were side to side, both of us too handsy to stop ourselves grabbing at each other's skin. Hands and fingers and mouths and tongues. I licked down his shoulder as he bit down on my nipple. Then he kissed it, lapped his tongue over my skin, his hard cock rocking against my groin, just like my dick was enjoying the hard friction from the weight on top of me.

This was what I needed. To be able to switch off and let him take control. Lose all that heaviness for a while so I could actually breathe.

"Hang on," he whispered and lifted himself up, reaching for the windowsill behind the headboard. I heard the rustling of a paper bag, the familiar sound of lube squelching into his hand. "I got plenty of supplies today," he said almost proudly as I covered my face with my arm.

He was funny, embarrassingly so. The things that should be done quietly, discreetly, were right there in my face. His hand covering his dick in lube, then covering mine.

"Not going to fuck you today, because we need to work tomorrow, but…"

The smooth glide of his body as he lined our cocks up in his hands, calm precise movements as he jerked us both off. The lube was a welcome touch, the warmth I had craved because yes. Ned was good. He was so damn good at this.

"This okay?" he asked.

I nodded, my mouth hanging slack. He upped his game, short, sharp jerks now mingling with his moans as he leaned over and attempted to kiss me while holding himself up and giving us both the one-handed treatment.

Well, who was I not to help out? My fingers tangled with his as he mauled my mouth and I let out sounds of pleasure, or attempted to, but they were muffled by the kissing. I was nowhere near as good as he was, giving me everything I wanted, right here. His breath. His mouth. His hand and my body arching underneath him as I let myself go.

Not that I had a choice. Not with him whispering words into my neck that I couldn't make sense of, nonsense syllables that meshed effortlessly with the crackling from the fire.

My breathing was still ragged, my mouth bone dry as he finally stilled above me and roared into the headboard, his forehead against the wood, my lips on his skin. Hands grasping at thin air, I tried to hold on to him. My orgasm had been painfully fast but lingered like a wound he'd just stabbed into my heart .

The nonsense syllables resolved into words. My words. Whispering for him to just rest. To lie here against my chest. I pushed his head down, yanked some kind of blanket on top of us to keep him with me.

Please don't leave me here.

"Was that okay?" He sounded wrecked, a little hoarse.

"Of course."

I was polite, but also yes. It was perfect. Everything I needed. A break from reality, and him against my skin.

"Ted…"

I loved his voice. The stupid twang to his Swedish. The way he said my name made me smile, and I didn't even have to reply, because he kept talking—another thing I was starting to appreciate. Filling the void with words when I couldn't think.

"Ted, this summer…"

"Yeah?"

"That whole trip here, the school reunion, being back here. It messed me up. I was kind of okay before that. You know? Just getting on with things. Then I was back home, and I couldn't even function. Like everything was wrong there and this place was home, and I kept thinking it was just a case of the grass looking greener on the other side, but it wasn't. It really wasn't, Ted."

"I still don't get it," I admitted. "It's a bit crazy, giving up your entire life to come here and become some kind of Swedish cowboy." I had to get that in. Tease him a little.

"I promise, I'm not getting a hat. What's that farmer down in the bogland? Yngve? Wears a cowboy hat like a twat."

I had to laugh because yeah. Even Ned could see the twattiness of that. Swedish farmers wore caps, woollen thermals in winter. A cowboy hat had no place out here in the sticks. Honestly, Yngve had watched one too many bad movies, but he was heavily into country music and his car was older than all of us. I didn't dare tell Ned that Yngve even wore those ridiculous high-heeled boots, or that I used to be wildly jealous of said boots. I'd save that snippet of fun for another time .

"We all go a bit crazy out here amongst the trees," I said, which was the truth. This life didn't keep you sane. It pushed you to your limits, and then some.

"Yes, but it's the life I want. I tried city living. I tried working a normal job. It didn't bring me that stupid American Dream because…"

He stopped, moved into a different position. Dragged another blanket over us and tucked it under my chin. Kissed me.

Funny how it made me blush.

"The worst part of that trip was reconnecting with you because that was what messed me up the most. You messed me up real good in summer. I couldn't sleep, fucked up at work, kept thinking about you, wanting to cry and scream and shout and just get myself back on a plane so I could see you again. I thought if I could just see you, I would realise how insane all of this was, but then I was on the other side of the world, and you were here, and all I wanted to do was…fuck you. See? That's how messed up all this was."

"Not that messed up," I admitted. "Because that's what we do."

"Yeah, we do."

He didn't have to spell it out. I got it. The smile on his face said he got it too.

"You still keep messing me up," he continued, tracing his fingertip over my chin. My bottom lip. A tap on my nose. "Because every time we do this, I realise I've made the right choice. For once in my fucking life, I'm getting this right. I hope. Am I getting this right?"

"You are," I said. "And…"

There were things I had to tell him—things I didn't want to tell him, but he needed to know.

"I need you to help me reclaim this place," I said quietly and looked away.

"I know," he said. Like he could read my thoughts.

"Dad wanted me to, but it's not easy when there are ghosts of the past in every bloody corner. Makes me want to just burn the house down and—"

"Don't burn the house down, Teddy, because we need somewhere to live. Kind of essential. "

"You know what I mean." He did. I knew that, but this was why he was good for me. Lightening the load. The mood. My life.

"Your dad is everywhere here, but he's not actually here. I don't believe in all that. I think he wanted you to be happy. To build a life where you wake up in the morning with a smile on your face."

"Yeah."

"Are you feeling okay about this?"

Trust him to ask.

"Yeah. It's just…this room. It was never the same after… It was Christmas. Bloody Christmas, and there was so much fear and hurt and terror here those last weeks leading up to what should have been the best time of year. He was in constant pain, and I was terrified of losing him. It sometimes feels like all of that is ingrained in the walls. Like the Grim Reaper is still hanging from the ceiling laughing at me and I can't get him to fucking leave. Dad died in here, and I didn't even fucking know it was coming. At least Dad knew. Even at the end, he had some kind of fucking control."

"None of us have any control. We just have to make the best of the situation we're dealt." He stroked my hair, planted another kiss on my skin. Tried to make me look at him.

"I was sitting here with him, going through next year's sapling orders. Reading stuff out and asking questions. Then he told me to go look something up. Planting guidelines, some new technique for putting saplings in holes, and I did, making some stupid joke about holes. That was it. That's when he bloody chose to go."

"Well…"

I could see him trying not to laugh, and I got it, I really did. There were a million bad jokes I could have thrown out there, but that was me. And Ned…

"I think," he said gently, "that was perhaps the kindest way for him to go. Where it wouldn't be traumatic for either of you. You're probably right about him wanting to choose that."

"Yeah. "

I still couldn't talk about it. Not properly. The whole thing was still too raw in my chest.

"When you can, you can talk about it, and when you can't, that's all right too, Ted. Which brings me back to us. I want to be here, with you, and I think the ghosts you see all around you here—there are some good ones too. Memories. You and me. We were here too. Maybe we just need to find good bits among the scary ones because I only know the good bits—what we are here, and what you and I could become living here amongst all the trees. You just have to kind of learn to deal with that."

"The trees."

"All the fucking trees."

"Gnats. Crickets. Tics. Violet says the wild boar are becoming a nuisance as well."

"The deer. Moose. Bark beetles."

"Bloody critters," I muttered.

There was a loud bleating, a sheep kicking off somewhere in the distance.

"And Flora's sheep."

He smiled, and I smiled too, because in that moment there truly was nothing here that I couldn't deal with. His warm body against mine. The dark hair on his chest. His lips on my lips, and his laughter as he started ripping at the bedding so we could both get under the covers.

"Here." He offered up a small towel seemingly out of nowhere. A new towel, labels and all.

"What?" I asked with a grin.

"Spunk towel. Told you I stocked up on essentials. Food. Lube. Spunk towels. Handy to have next to the bed. Easy clean-up. Throw it in the wash."

"You are truly disgusting." I laughed but accepted the towel and wiped down my front, which was just a mess of crusted white on my skin. Honestly, Ned.

"Not disgusting at all." He grinned, burrowing under the blankets. So many blankets and pillows…and a cat clambering around down by my legs.

"It's a nice bed," I said. He huffed into my neck .

"We need nightstands. Nowhere to charge my phone this side. Why haven't you got wall plugs in this room? And I like having a glass of water next to me."

"Okay." I had no strength to argue, and the laughter coming out of me was ridiculous.

"And I want lamps so we can read in bed. And a TV."

"So spoilt. When am I going to have time to get all these things? I have a heavy schedule this month. Get your own shit, man."

"Oh, trust me, I intend to. I'll have to invest in some serious extension cords here, and nightstands, and where the fuck do you buy decent flat-screen TVs around here?"

"Shut up, Ned. Go to sleep."

He laughed too.

"Need to get up at six or Violet will clamp a tag in my ear. I still have all her deliveries in the truck."

"Six it is," I agreed. The light was still on in the kitchen, but I honestly didn't care. Nor did I care that the curtains were open or that…

"Night," he said into my neck, followed by a kiss.

I just smiled.