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Tor asked again. "You're really going to walk away?"

Jake opened the door and stepped out, then looked back at Tor, sitting on Jake's bed.

"Yes, Mark. I believe I am."

He closed the door behind him and left the house.

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Chapter Thirty-six

When Jake got back from the barn, his arms loaded with the blankets, juice and other things, Elias was on the porch, waiting.

"What the fuck is going on?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Jake said. Still no tone to his voice. He wondered again when it would come back. He was about to push past Elias, his stomach turning, but the shorter man stood in front of him, his eyes flashing and his lips pushed tightly together.

"Tor's moving into the fourth bedroom," he stated.

"Good. Let me in."

"Not until you–"

"I threw him out, all right? Now fucking move so I can get in there and puke!"

Elias stepped to the side, shaking his head. "Damn fools."

Jake didn't bother to argue.

Tor had managed to clear out his things in the half hour or so Jake was gone, and he got the rest while Jake was in the bathroom. When Jake came out Tor stood in the door until Jake told him to leave.

"Jake–" Tor looked lost, unable to find anything he dared to say, or maybe unwilling to say what he wanted to.

Jake gently closed the door on him. "Please. Just go. I don't want to talk about it."

He spent the rest of the day in bed, or in the bathroom, not doing anything. He lay on the bed and stared at the wall, noting the blank places where Susie's pictures had been. Tor left the ones that had 'To Uncle Jake' on them.

When it got dark and Jake thought he could keep food down he went into the kitchen and got an apple and some crackers. Tor wasn't around.

"You gonna tell me what the deal is?" Elias asked from the living room door. Kirk was standing just behind him, peering over Elias's shoulder.

Jake sighed. "Not the details, no. All you need to know is that Tor and I aren't together anymore."

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"There going to be screaming matches if he stays in the house?" Kirk had retreated already, but Elias was standing firm, his eyes serious. "This is our home too, and I want to know if things are going to settle, or if I need to talk to the Boss. 'Cause I ain't staying here if things are going to get worse."

Jake shook his head. "I don't plan on screaming. Don't even plan on talking much."

That startled Elias, or maybe the flat voice did. He came into the kitchen and swung a chair around, sitting down to face Jake. "No chance you can fix it? I mean–"

"No. I don't think so." Jake ate another cracker and waited for his stomach to accept it.

"Excuse me," he said, and went back to his room.

~*~*~

Three days later the Boss called him into the main house just after suppertime, and had him sit in the easy chair.

"Anything you want to talk about, Jake?" he asked, leaning back in his own chair and sipping his coffee.

Jake shook his head. "No. Not really."

The Boss nodded. "You look like shit. Sleeping?"

"Yes, sir." He wasn't really. Or not well. For the previous few days he'd gotten up, set the work teams out, and done his job. He could concentrate on that, could function well doing what he had to do. He was willing to admit that he'd shifted things around so Travis got the shit jobs, mucking stalls and doing stuff that everyone hated. He'd also sent Tor out on horseback as often as he could, and if he couldn't keep the two of them working apart he himself went out to look at the fence line.

Other than that, he went to the bunkhouse at the end of the day, showered and had supper in the kitchen with the others. He and Tor didn't speak. When the washing was done Tor went out or to his room; Jake really didn't pay attention much, he just went to his room and sat on the bed until his supper inevitably came back up, then he went to bed.

He stared at the walls and didn't think. He didn't feel. He didn't sleep. At one point, the night before, he'd realized he was crying, and that scared him–he didn't remember starting.

Now Doug was looking thoughtfully at him.

"What do you need to know?" Jake finally asked.

"Is it over?" he asked immediately, with no hesitation.

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"Yes."

Doug sighed. "Will you tell me why? Do you want him gone?"

Jake blinked. He hadn't thought about it in terms of asking the Boss to fire Tor–hadn't even really thought about getting Travis fired, though he supposed he should have. Now he did think about it. "I don't know. I mean–no. It won't be a problem with him here, I can still do my job, he can do his."

"But do you want him gone?" the Boss pressed. "Do you want me to send him away?"

Jake closed his eyes and for the first time since he'd seen Travis and Tor together he felt something. His chest was tight and he wasn't sure if he could breathe. "I don't know."

They sat in silence for a minute or two and Jake waited for the empty feeling to come back. Did he want Tor gone? Most of him did. Part of him wanted Tor dead and buried.

But the idea of firing him, kicking him out of his house, his job, sending him off to…where would he go? Becky's most likely. His mother was living there now, getting sicker. Her health insurance had cut out and there wasn't much money, Tor had been paying for everything, the drugs, the doctors.

"No." The constriction in his chest lessened. "Don't fire him. We'll manage."

~*~*~

It was dark, the only way Jake knew that evening had passed into night, the room now impossible to see in. He'd just been looking at the ceiling again anyway, and it hadn't changed any in the week he'd spent more or less confined to his room. He'd started making it a challenge to see how long he could keep his supper down. He'd made it to almost an hour tonight.

He had a mirror, he knew he looked like hell. Dark circles under his eyes, lines looking etched into his face. He'd lost weight, his jeans weren't fitting right anymore and his shirts were all loose. He was losing strength too, and that should have been worrying him.

But it didn't. He wasn't worried about anything other than how to stop crying. Now that he'd started he didn't seem able to stop. The feelings he'd expected, the anger and pain and rage had all passed him by; the only thing that touched him was the emptiness, the darkness that filled the other side of the bed.

The betrayal.

He had no idea what time it was. He got up from the bed and went into his bathroom to get a wet cloth, cold, for his eyes. He'd discovered that crying in the shower, no matter how much quieter it was, was hell on his eyes, made them red and bloodshot and sore. So now he tried to be quiet on the bed and when he thought he was done he'd fall into an exhausted sleep with a wet cloth over his eyes.

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He stripped naked and climbed into bed, the wet cloth over his eyes, cooling his face.

He'd look like hell in the morning, worse hell; it was bad this time, starting right after he'd vomited, and not stopping. His breath didn't even hitch anymore, and he didn't sob.

Just a never-ending stream of tears.

He lay in the dark and waited for morning, listening to the silent house.

After a time he realized it wasn't silent, that something was wrong. He got up and pulled on his jeans, swearing when he realized he'd either have to hold them up or find a belt.

He gathered the extra fabric in his hand and walked into the hall, listening.

Tor. The sounds were coming from Tor's room. He stood outside the door, one down and on the other side of the linen closet–Tor's original room, as a matter of fact–and listened.

A moan. A deep breath.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Then a sob.

Jake walked back to his room and went to bed, trying not to think.

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Chapter Thirty-seven

It was almost two weeks before he said anything more to Tor than "Go survey the north fields", and when it happened it wasn't what he'd meant to say at all.

They were all at supper, Kirk's turn to cook so it was good, and he was sitting across from Tor, as usual. Some things didn't change.

Jake looked up from his plate and met Tor's eye by accident. He opened his mouth intending to ask for the salt but what came out was, "Why are you still here?" He sounded confused, even to his own ears, but as soon as he said it he wanted to know. If it was just the job that was fine, but they were both falling apart–Tor looked even worse than he did some mornings, though Jake hadn't heard him crying again.

Elias and Kirk froze, then Elias picked up his plate, ready to leave. Before he could even push back his chair Tor said, "Because you're here." His voice was quiet, but he sounded sure of his answer.

"Oh. Pass the salt, please."

That night he couldn't hold his supper for even ten minutes.

~*~*~

Sundays were the worst. They'd had three of them since the dance, and each one had been worse than the week before. The first Sunday he'd spent in his room, still mostly numb.

The second he'd fled to the stable and done all the mucking out. The third he'd made an attempt at normalcy, sitting on the porch with his magazines, but the threat of another crying jag had sent him to his room.

Tor spent all three, as far as Jake could tell, moving from his room to the couch and back to his room as soon as he saw Jake. It was getting difficult. More difficult. Jake was edgy and feeling a little penned in, but there was nothing that captured his interest, nothing to keep him busy. He found himself waiting for something to happen, waiting for Tor to do something, say something, to give him a look he could react to, for him to make it easier.

He wanted Tor to do something that would either fix them or make him hate the man.

The nothingness was going to drive him mad. But he didn't know what, if anything would do either of those things.

He'd stopped throwing up, which was good, and he wasn't crying every night either. But that was really the only improvement. He didn't want to talk to anyone, didn't want to laugh or joke, or watch TV.

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He and Tor had spoken to each other, but nothing of substance. He would tell Tor what his work for the day or the week was, and Tor would nod and go about his business.

They'd worked themselves up to speaking a few words at supper, across the table, mostly about the ranch. Nothing more, really, and Jake couldn't bring himself to ask about Tor's mother, or anything else, for fear that once he'd opened the gate he'd find himself asking about Travis, about that night.

Finally, just after lunch, Jake gave up and went to saddle River. He needed to get out, get away from the house, away from people–which, of course, was just what he'd been doing for almost a month, but this was different. He wanted freedom to ride and freedom to maybe feel something.

Freedom to hope for an afternoon.

He rode without direction, giving River his head. At least, he thought he did, but when he realized they'd wound up in the meadow he'd come to think of his and Tor's he wasn't terribly surprised. He dismounted and ground tied River, giving him an apple from the saddlebag. Then he sat with his back against a tree and looked around.

He picked out four spots that he knew were places he and Tor had either fucked or had important conversations. The spot where he'd told Tor he'd been in prison. The spot where they'd fucked the first time after they’d gotten pierced. The spot where they'd made up after a fight about something he'd now forgotten.

He closed his eyes and let the sun warm him. He almost fell asleep, or let his mind drift far away; the sound of approaching hooves was damn close when he noticed it. He opened his eyes when River whinnied, and watched Tor ride up on Lug.

Jake didn't say anything, didn't move, just watched as Tor settled Lug and gave both of the horses a carrot, then got something else from the saddle bag.

Finally. Finally something was going to happen and he'd either start to live again or at least figure out how far dead he was.

Tor walked over and passed him a bottle of apple juice without a word, then sat next to him, looking out over the field. Jake waited, but Tor didn't seem ready to say anything, so he shrugged and opened the bottle, drinking a little less than half of it.

When Tor still didn't say anything Jake turned his head to look at him and said, "Well?"

Tor took a breath, then looked back. "I'm sorry, Jake," he said quietly.

"I know." And he did know, knew it from the way Tor looked as bad as he did, knew it from the way Tor's eyes were always sad and self loathing. He'd never doubted that Tor was sorry–sorry he'd been caught, and even sorry he'd done it in the first place. "Just not sure it matters," Jake added softly.

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Tor looked at him, eyes searching, questioning his meaning, not the words.

"It's just…" Jake paused, trying to decide how to word what he was thinking. "We were falling apart, anyway. If everything had been all right you would never have done it, you would've laughed, or walked away, or hit him. You wouldn't have…done that, if we were okay."

Tor nodded slowly. There wasn't any point in denying it, Jake knew.

"Want to fix it," Tor said, his voice rough. "I want to fix us. I can't–I can't keep going like this. Looking at you, watching you. Know I did it to you, Jake, but I want to make it better."

Jake felt something loosen, something he didn't know was tied up in a knot inside him.

Maybe. Maybe there was a way to get past it. But the roots were somewhere else, not in Travis. "I just don't know what I did," Jake said. "I keep going over it, the whole day, and I don't know what I did that made you so mad you didn't walk away."

If he hadn't been looking right at Tor he would have missed it. The look in his eye, the flash of pain and regret. The guilt. But he was looking and he didn't ever have to worry about what Tor would have done, if he would have kept lying, kept hiding. He saw Tor's gaze slide away from him, the tightening of the jaw, the flash of panic.