Letting Hearts Heal (19 page)

D
EAN
FELT
raw and exposed. Like he was slowly drowning in water he couldn’t even see. Not knowing what else to do, he nodded abruptly. “At least come back to the ranch?”

Terrifying seconds passed while Mason considered it. Then he nodded, and Dean felt as if he’d been given back his life. Mason said nothing, just climbed into the truck and leaned as close against the passenger side door as possible.

Dean’s heart was ripped open and bleeding. “Please, Mase,” he whispered.

Mason stayed silent, arms wrapped around his middle as if he feared he might break into a million pieces. Dean knew the feeling.

They were halfway back to the ranch, Dean fighting to keep his attention on the road, when Mason finally spoke. “In New York, my biological mother wanted to keep me a secret from her family. I wasn’t good enough for her new family to know about. Pierre kept me a secret, and even when I needed him the most, the night of the fire, he turned me away because he didn’t want people to know. I won’t be anyone’s dirty secret ever again. Not even for you, and it hurts that you expect me to be.”

Rage and confusion battled inside Dean. Rage because someone had been ashamed to be with a man as amazing as Mason, and confusion because he hadn’t done that. So why was Mason angry and hurt? “What? I don’t want you to be a secret.”

“Your gut reaction when Mrs. Morgan approached was to let go of my hand like you’d burned yourself. Such a small thing, but it told me everything I needed to know. You’re either ashamed of me or you’re not out. Either way, you expect me to be your secret, and I’m not doing that ever again.”

Mason turned his head and looked out into the dark. Dean alternated between watching the road and watching Mason. Had he really done that? For the life of him, Dean couldn’t remember, but a block of ice was forming in his stomach. He had no idea how to fix something he hadn’t even been aware he’d fucked up. He didn’t know what to say to Mason.

Dean played the scene with Mrs. Morgan over and over in his head. He really had let go of Mason’s hand—it was there in full Technicolor in his head. If their roles had been reversed, he’d have felt it like a stab in the heart too.

“I’m not in the closet, Mase. And I’m definitely not ashamed of you.”

Mason didn’t say anything, and the minute Dean parked the car, Mason shot out and hurried into the house. Everything in Dean told him to go after Mason, but reluctantly he started the car again and drove down the narrow road to Joe’s house. He and Anna had been watching Wyatt.

“Hi, Daddy. I helped Anna make cookies, and she says I can take some with me home. Wanna taste?”

Managing a smile, Dean picked up Wyatt and gave him a hug. “Why don’t we save them for after dinner, huh?”

“Okay. I already had four, anyway.” Wiggling to get down, Wyatt ran off.

Dean managed a tired smile. “Thanks for taking such good care of him, Anna.”

She nodded, smiled briefly, and then disappeared into another room just as Joe appeared. “Hello, son.”

“Hi, Joe. Thanks for watching Wyatt.”

“Anytime, you know that. Did you find Mason?”

Dean had gone directly to Joe and Anna’s house when he came back from town and only told them the basics—that Mason wasn’t okay and that he had to go and find him. “Yeah, he’s back at the ranch.”

“He okay? And more so, are
you
okay?” The look on Joe’s face was serious and caring, and Dean wished—not for the first time—that the universe had blessed him with Joe as his father.

“I fucked it up, Joe,” he admitted. “And what’s worse, I wasn’t even aware of it at the time. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“You’re not stupid. Neither is Mason. I have complete faith that you’ll figure it out. Just let the tempers cool down first.”

Dean wasn’t sure that tempers were the issue, but thanked Joe, nonetheless. He’d been around a lot longer, so he probably knew what he was talking about.

A few minutes later, he and Wyatt drove back to the ranch. Wyatt was talking a mile a minute about Anna and Joe and cookies and…. Dean sighed. He couldn’t even keep up with his son’s chatter. It seemed like Wyatt had broken through Anna’s defenses, though—something Dean had never managed.

Dinner was a quiet affair. Dean rustled up the easiest thing he could find—lasagna from the freezer and a side of peas to keep Wyatt happy. Mason didn’t come down, and Dean ended up lying to Wyatt, telling him that Mason had a headache and was sleeping.

“Then we should be really quiet,” Wyatt said seriously, his voice only just above a whisper. “Mommy used to have headaches, and then I wasn’t allowed to say anything.”

Dean cursed Diana, hoping to hell she’d suffered from migraines and not just been a bitch to their son. “She had a lot of headaches?”

Wyatt shrugged. “Sometimes in the mornings, but then she got better.”

Hangovers.
For the first time Dean found himself wishing he’d known about Wyatt from the start. He might not be the best father, but he certainly didn’t drink, not with a father who liked his whiskey a little too much. But then, would he have fought for custody of Wyatt? He didn’t have an answer, and he loathed himself for it.

Dean forced himself to watch a movie with Wyatt. He was glad that he didn’t seem to pick up on his bad mood and broken heart. It seemed that being a parent was a balancing act, where you were constantly on the verge of falling into the abyss because you were a clumsy idiot.

Wyatt started to sag halfway through the movie, and Dean sent him upstairs to get ready for bed. “I’ll be up in a few minutes to help you brush your teeth and tuck you in.”

“Okay.” With the last burst of energy for the day, Wyatt zoomed up the stairs, making race car sounds as he went.

Dean turned off the TV and tidied up the living room before making his way upstairs too. Wyatt was only just trying to shimmy into his pajamas, but it didn’t take long to get him ready for bed.

“Where’s Sweet Pea?” Dean looked around the room, hoping the stuffed horse hadn’t disappeared. It had barely left Wyatt’s sight since he came home from the shopping trip with Mason, clutching it in his arms. Dean didn’t have it in him to deal with a toy meltdown, right then.

“Mason has him,” Wyatt replied, like it was the most logical thing in the world. The
duh
might be missing, but it was implied. “Sweet Pea will make his head feel better.”

It wasn’t until right then that Dean realized what he’d done—not to Mason, but to Wyatt. Unthinkingly he’d brought someone into his son’s life who might not stay, setting the boy up for another loss way too soon after he’d lost his mother. Mason had bonded with Wyatt instantly—much more easily and quickly than Dean had. If Mason left, Dean wouldn’t be the only one with a shattered heart. Wyatt would be crushed too.

“Good night, Daddy.”

“Good night, little buddy. Sweet dreams.”

Apparently too tired for a story, Wyatt turned onto his side and closed his eyes. It only took a few minutes before his breathing told Dean that he was asleep. Dean knew he wasn’t likely to be as lucky. With a sigh, he left Wyatt’s room.

Pulling his hair, Dean paced the dark house. Back when they’d been teenagers, Dean had been a lot more afraid to come out than Mason had. Mason probably thought Dean was ashamed even then. Dean hadn’t been, but perhaps he hadn’t communicated that very well. Dean groaned. With all the difficulties he’d had accepting his sexuality and what came with it, he’d never been ashamed of Mason. At the time, Mason had been the only thing that made any sense at all.

So why had he let go of Mason’s hand like he
had
been ashamed? Even speculating himself into a headache offered no answers.

Dean was deep in thought when he was startled out of his misery by Mason clearing his throat behind him. Dean hadn’t even heard him come down the stairs. In the dark, all he could see was his outline, and Dean was afraid to speak and mess things up further. Maybe relationships weren’t his thing, considering that he’d never mastered one. Not even the one that mattered.

A light clicked on in the corner, and Dean blinked a couple of times to get used to it. Mason sat in a chair and hugged Sweet Pea. Or maybe he was hugging himself, and Sweet Pea was just a crushed casualty.

“Are you really not in the closet?” Mason’s voice was scratchy, and Dean hated himself for it—he knew Mason had been crying.

“I’m not.” Dean cleared his throat, his voice also rusty, though that was probably from growling at himself more than once during the night. “I haven’t led any rainbow parades down Main Street, but I’m not in the closet.”

“So no one knows, but only because they haven’t asked you directly? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Joe knows,” Dean said quickly. Too quickly, he soon realized, as he’d about reached the end of his list. He sighed. “You know I don’t have many close friends. Part of it is because I was hiding who I was, and by the time I’d fully accepted it myself, I’d already pushed everyone away. I focused on work instead. Once in a while, I’d force myself to go out, but the nearest gay bar is over eighty miles away. No one there knew me. Well, besides Tyler, but I try to steer clear of that leech.”

“So the answer is yes.” Mason’s voice was flat.

“Due to the circumstances, not because I’m ashamed. Not anymore.” Dean leaned forward on the couch. “I don’t know why I let go of your hand today, Mase. I haven’t been thinking of anything since, but I still don’t know. The only thing I do know is that I am
not
ashamed of you. Quite the opposite, in fact. The thought of walking through town holding your hand fills me with pride and joy.”

Mason laughed but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Actions speak louder than words, Dean.”

“I know.” Dean felt his heart break for the umpteenth time that day.

M
ASON
HAD
the feeling his skull was threatening to crack open. Thinking, crying, not sleeping, and thinking some more did that to a person, apparently. He didn’t know what to say to Dean. There was nothing Mason wanted more than to believe him, but then he’d remember the feeling of Dean’s hand slipping out of his. That wasn’t the sign of pride.

“I kissed you on Main Street before I ever let go of your hand. Doesn’t that tell you anything?”

Mason had been over that in his head again and again too. “You were jealous when you kissed me. And you said that Tyler knew about you.”

“I didn’t give a damn who was watching. Wyatt was there, as well, remember?”

You kiss the people you love
. Mason remembered. “I don’t know what to tell you, Dean. Even though you say you don’t expect me to be your dirty little secret, that’s still how you acted today. Or yesterday. I don’t even know what time it is.”

“I’m not your biological mom or your French boyfriend from New York, Mase. I love you, dammit!”

“And I love you. That’s not really what this is about, though.” Mason felt empty and cold, and even though he didn’t like the fireplace, he wished it were lit.

“What do you want me to do?” Dean sounded near tears, and Mason’s heart stuttered in his chest. But he had no answers.

“I don’t know. I don’t really know anything right now,” he admitted. “Maybe… maybe I—or we—need to think about that. What to do, I mean. I don’t know, Dean.”

“Right. Thinking about it. Where does that leave us, though?”

Mason shrugged. He had a feeling that if he went into Dean’s arms right then and let the scent, the taste, and the feeling of the man he loved eclipse everything else, they’d be fine. In a way. A stronger feeling told Mason that he had healing to do before he could see what was up and down in his life.

“Are you… are you going to leave?”

For the first time in a while, Mason looked at Dean. It wasn’t love that was lacking. Mason saw the love he felt shining back at him from Dean’s eyes. They both knew what it was like to struggle until struggling became a way of life. If soul mates existed, Dean was Mason’s. And Dean looked as broken as Mason felt. Mason hoped that meant there was a way for them, and he had a hunch that maybe they should start by working on their individual issues. Mason didn’t feel like he could expect to trust anyone else when he didn’t trust himself.

“If you want me to.”

“God, no!”

“Then I’ll stay. I think… If you still want to hire a chef, then I’m your guy.” Mason cringed a little at his choice of words, but he didn’t correct them.

“What?” Dean closed his eyes briefly. “You lost me. How did we go from us to me hiring a chef?”

“It’s time I got my life fully back on track. I’m a chef. It’s what I do, and I’m damn good at it. I can’t—no, make that I
won’t
build a relationship that I want to last forever with you until I have
me
back. If I freak out because you let go of my hand in public, then I want to know that I’m freaking out because of you and not because of some asshole in my past. I need me back before I can have you, Dean. Does that make sense?”

Dean ran a hand through his hair and looked at Mason for a long time. “I think it does. God, I don’t know either. I just know that I love you and that I’ll do anything…
anything
… to put a smile on your face again and fix us.”

“I think we need to fix you and me before we fix us.”

Dean nodded slowly. “So me coming out of what may or may not be a closet and you overcoming your cooking fears will fix us?”

“I don’t know. But I think I’m done being a shadow of who I used to be.”

“What if I hadn’t let go of your hand?”

“Then we’d have had more time before this happened.”

“But why can’t I help you face your fears? Be there and support you?” Dean’s hair was sticking up in all directions after he’d run his hand through it repeatedly.

“You are. Don’t you see? If it wasn’t for you, I’d have no reason to do it. I’d have no
way
of doing it. You’re my best friend. You’re the man I love. You’re pretty much everything. I won’t have a fighting chance of ever regaining the ease I used to have in a kitchen if I don’t have your support.”