Reece (Stud Ranch 4)

I leaned my hands back on the counter behind me and let my head dip backwards, the world around me growing a little fuzzy. “Yesssssss.”

“Okay, Captain. You say you’re fine, you’re fine. It’s just, I got a history of saying I’m fine when that’s the last thing I was. Jer and I, we just bottle shit up. We never talk about it or deal with it.”

He let out a heavy rush of breath, then looked at me. “You wanna take a walk or sit outside or something? I could use a cigarette.”

When I raised an eyebrow at him, he hurriedly added, “Not a blunt. I got rid of my stash after Jer busted my ass last time.”

I shook my head. “Too bad. That was—” I felt my cheeks grow warm. Easy to blame on the wine, but the memories of being held in his arms that night were too fresh to deny. “—fun,” I finished off in a choked voice.

He grinned at me before ducking his head. “Yeah, well. Jer doesn’t have much sense of fun these days.”

We walked to the door and he grabbed my coat, holding it out for me. I was a little sluggish on my feet, but not bad. Now I wish I hadn’t taken so many of the sleeping pills. Three wasn’t enough to be concerned about—Jeff’d had me on so many damn tranquilizers, sleeping pills, you name it, I’d been on it. But in the bright lights of the kitchen, even through my foggy brain I knew it was… not good behavior.

Reece and I stepped out onto the porch. It was chilly, but not like in San Francisco at night. It had been in the 80’s lately during the day even though it was only March, and was likely in the 60’s now. I hardly needed the coat, but I still clutched it around myself nonetheless. I felt fragile, and even though I hated feeling that way… well, it was what it was.

I stumbled as soon as we stepped foot on the porch and Reece steadied me. I looked up into his eyes. “Do you want to play pre—” I started, my voice a little slurred.

He shook his head. “Charlie, you’re drunk. Look, I’m not judging, but how about we just sit out here? Cause frankly, I don’t think you could make it much past the porch steps.”

I yanked away from him but swayed on my feet, not giving much of an argument to my case when he had to grab me to help hold me steady.

“Fine,” I said, because all right, my feet did feel clumsy. I collapsed in the chair by the little table on the porch and pulled my legs up to my chest, circling them with my arms as I looked out at the night sky.

He lit the citronella candle in the center of the table with a lighter, then pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “You mind?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“I’m trying to quit,” he said. “It’s an old habit, and a bad one. But sometimes, when I get stressed out…” He shrugged, his face boyish with a little bit of embarrassment that disappeared the second he took a draw on the cigarette.

I certainly wasn’t one to look down on vices after my demonstration with the wine bottle inside.

“Look, Orion,” I said, pointing up at the sky beyond the porch.

“Always my favorite,” Reece said. “It was the only one you could sometimes see in the city. I grew up in the Bay Area, so you could rarely see the stars. That was the only constellation that was bright enough to see.”

“No way.” I sat up straighter, surprised. “You grew up in the Bay?”

“Lived there my whole life except for the last seven years when we moved east, why?”

I bit my lip, then decided there was no real harm in sharing. “That’s where I’m from too.”

His eyebrows went up. “Oh, yeah?”

I went quiet, afraid he’d start asking questions now that I’d shared the small tidbit. But he didn’t. He just puffed on the cigarette, smoke curling into the air, looking out at the night sky.

Since he wasn’t asking questions, I decided to venture one. “Why can’t you sleep?” Maybe it wasn’t fair to ask since I certainly didn’t want him putting the same question to me in reverse, but I was curious. Forever curious about the enigma of a man sitting in front of me.

He shrugged, looking my way and finally stubbing out the cigarette on the bottom of his boot, half-smoked.

“Told you Jer and I have that bad habit of bottling shit up instead of talking about it, right? Well, at night… it all kind of leaks out of the bottle. I try to sleep but my mind just replays shit, over and over and—” He shrugged again. “It makes sleeping hard.”