Letting Hearts Heal (10 page)

“You awake?” Mason called through the partly open door.

“Define awake.” It seemed as if Mason’s mood had improved since his swift departure the previous night.

He heard a chuckle, and then Mason peered around the door. “You may have a chef on your hands downstairs. Walker Junior is bouncing because
someone
promised him a Thanksgiving dinner of nothing but peas.”

“What?” Dean sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I said we could have peas, not that we’d
only
have peas.”

“Seriously, what’s up with that kid and peas?”

Dean shrugged. “No idea. The first night he was here, I took him to the diner in town because I was too frazzled to think of something appropriate to cook for a kid. Lydia was filling in for one of her waitresses that night, and she treated him…. Well, at the time I thought she treated him too much like an adult, but she obviously knew what she was doing. Whereas I had no clue. She asked him what he wanted, and he said peas. It was the first thing I heard him say. He’d refused to say anything to me all that afternoon. Of course, then she brought him pea
soup
, and he freaked out completely.”

Dean shook his head, chuckling almost sadly at the memory. A kid was screwed when Dean Walker was his best option. “It took Lydia and me twenty minutes, three lollipops, and a bowl full of peas to calm him down.”

“Boy likes his peas. Just be happy it’s not something that makes his teeth rot.”

“Yeah.”

Mason went downstairs, and Dean finally got out of bed. The room felt chilly, and he hurried into the hot shower.

In a few hours, it became clear that a shower alone wouldn’t get him through cooking a turkey with all the trimmings. Mason disappeared the moment Dean pulled the turkey out of the fridge, and Wyatt watched for a while, then got bored and started playing with his Legos.

Dean had two cookbooks open on the counter, and half the time he was winging it anyway. He regretted skipping the cooking shows on TV.

He accidentally knocked over a bottle of water and reached for the kitchen towel behind him. It was only when he was drying his hands that he realized the towel had been sitting next to the gas stove and was on fire.

“Motherfucker.” He dropped the flaming towel, swore, yelled, and swore some more before remembering that cold water was the answer to his predicament. He turned on the water and stomped out the towel fire.

“What happened?” Mason appeared in the doorway slightly out of breath.

Wyatt was just behind him. “Daddy?”

Dean sighed. The cold water was heavenly, but the embarrassment was starting to set in. “Little fire mishap.”

“Fire?” Mason’s voice was significantly higher than usual.

“I didn’t realize that the kitchen towel had gotten too close to the stovetop, and I grabbed it.” Dean cringed. “Ow.”

“Do you need a Band-Aid?” Wyatt padded over and peered curiously at Dean’s hand under the water. “Does it hurt?”

“Only a little bit,” Dean lied. “I’ll just keep it under the cold water for a while and then it will be okay.”

Wyatt kept a close eye, and Dean looked at Mason, who had gone almost deathly pale and was staring at the charred towel on the floor.

“How could you be so irresponsible to put a towel on the stove with a child in the house?” Mason asked, his voice almost a whisper. “Do you realize how easily a real fire could have started?”

“It was an accident, Mase.” Dean sighed, bothered by Mason’s tone. He turned off the water and tested his hand and how bad the burn was. It still hurt like a motherfucker, but he kept the grimace out of Wyatt’s line of vision. How the hell was he going to finish dinner? He turned the water back on and stuck his hand under the spray again, smiling weakly at Wyatt.

The silence was deafening, and it made Dean angry. He’d made a mistake, not killed someone. The universe ought to give him a fucking break—he was
trying
, after all.

“Hey, Mase. Can you turn off the stove? I think the beans were done a while ago.”

“I can’t. I have to—” Mason fled the kitchen.

“Where’s he going?” Wyatt asked, looking wide-eyed at Dean.

“I don’t know.” He wanted to give Mason space, but it was starting to look like his cooking phobia was more serious than he thought. What the hell had the guy been through? Wincing, he pulled his hand from the water and quickly saved the beans before they turned to mush, if they hadn’t already. Then he put his hand back under the water.

“He’s probably going to the bathroom,” Wyatt decided.

“Probably,” Dean agreed although he wasn’t so sure. With a sigh, he turned off the water and tried to take stock of what he needed to do to save dinner and maybe his sanity.

Chapter 8

M
ASON
DID
breathing exercises on the porch that would have made a Lamaze coach either proud or disgusted. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath properly, and his head was full of flames, screaming, and terror. Not even the clean snow and the fresh air could evict the smell of smoke in his nostrils, and not even being in the one place he’d always loved could put him at ease. He felt trapped. Exposed. Out of control. Alone.

“Okay, what’s going on?”

Mason hadn’t heard the door, but suddenly Dean was next to him. He had an annoyed look on his face, an icepack in his hand, and an unidentifiable smudge on his cheek.

It was as if something squeezed Mason’s heart. He couldn’t think of a single lie or excuse, yet the truth seemed to be stuck in his throat, threatening to choke him. He wondered randomly if Dean knew CPR in case he choked to death right there on the porch.

“Well?” Dean prodded.

“I….” Mason searched for something—anything—to say and came up empty. “It’s a long story.”

“You know what? I’ve got all the time in the world.”

There was anger in Dean’s voice, and it didn’t help Mason find the right words—lies or truth. He’d started not to care. “Fire,” he finally managed. “It freaks me out.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.” Dean’s voice was softer. “Why? Were you in a fire?”

Mason nodded. Putting the truth into words was almost as scary as the fire itself. At least truths didn’t burn or smoke. “In New York, the restaurant I worked in. One night, the kitchen caught on fire and there was an explosion.” Mason could smell the smoke again, see the flames. “I got caught with no way out, and ’til this day I don’t know how I made it out of there alive. Two people didn’t. A guest and the chef who worked right next to me.”

“Oh God. I’m so sorry, Mase. I can’t even imagine….”

Mason ignored him. He went from having no words, to letting the truth pour out. “The fire was part of the reason I left… started slowly making my way back here, working odd jobs again. I got a job as a short order cook in a small-town diner in southern Indiana. Just for a few months. But then… then there was another fire. No one got hurt, but I couldn’t stay. Couldn’t cook ever again.”

Mason didn’t realize he was shaking until Dean wrapped his arms around him and held him tight. Solid muscle, heat, and a feeling of belonging—that was what Dean felt like. “I wish you’d told me about the cooking thing and… shit… the fires. That’s why you always bolt when I light the fireplace. I’m sorry, Mason.”

Mason buried his face in Dean’s shoulder. The comfort was so easy and so soothing. It was tempting just to drown in the moment and forget reality.

“I can’t believe you’re a cook.”

“A chef,” Mason muttered, used to defending the title that had once defined him.

“Fine, a chef, then. And I subjected you to my cooking. That’s kinda embarrassing.”

“Your cooking is fine.” Mason sighed and lifted his head from Dean’s shoulder. “And I guess I hoped I could keep away the memories and the frustration and… everything else… if I just didn’t talk about it. I’m sorry I kept it from you, though. Especially when you’re looking for a chef. It felt like I was betraying you just like I’ve been betraying myself by not cooking since that second fire. It just freaks me out. Gives me nightmares. There’s no love there anymore. No passion. Just fear.”

“Yet you still cooked for Wyatt when I was sick.”

Mason shrugged. “Didn’t want to starve your kid.”

“A bag of frozen peas would have made him happy.”

“You can’t feed that to a child.” Mason wasn’t sure if he’d become a child advocate all of a sudden or if he was trying to justify himself. His head was throbbing, and being pressed against Dean was suddenly less comforting and more arousing. He stepped back a little.

Dean looked at him curiously, but said nothing.

“It’s freezing. Let’s go inside,” Mason suggested just to say something.

“Sure, let’s go inside so I can serve the chef my dry turkey, beans a la baby food, overcrispy potatoes, and gravy that looks like vomit.”

An unexpected laugh bubbled up in Mason’s throat. “That sounds like the perfect Thanksgiving dinner.”

“If by ‘perfect’ you mean ‘worst in history,’ then yes.”

Amused by Dean’s dry tone and relieved that he could breathe again, Mason chuckled. “If you knew how many perfect meals I’ve cooked for various holidays and then seen them ruined by family drama right there in the restaurant, you’d agree with me. It’s so easy to lose sight of what’s important and what’s not.”

“And dry turkey is important?”

“No. Being with people who matter is.”

Dean’s smile was beautiful, and it warmed Mason like no fire ever could.

D
EAN
FINISHED
preparing dinner with his hand still throbbing lightly. Nothing had gone according to the plan he started out with, but at least the peas were okay. Since the big Thanksgiving dinner was for Wyatt’s sake, it was good that the peas hadn’t been burned, mashed, or dropped on the floor. Maybe for once Dean would let his son eat his fill of peas and not encourage him to eat anything else.

It was a shame that Mason wasn’t addicted to peas too. It had certainly been a surprise to learn that he was a chef, and Dean’s heart ached for the fear that lived inside Mason because of the fires. It explained a lot.

Dean sighed and surveyed the table he’d just set. It was no feast. It was not the memorable Thanksgiving dinner he’d wanted Wyatt to have, and it was not a meal fit for someone who’d cooked for a living. But it was the best he’d been able to come up with. Pretty sad. Maybe he should have picked up a couple of pizzas in town, instead. It was ridiculous for him to think he was capable of something more than a simple meal. At least Anna and Joe had politely declined his invitation.

“Yum.” Wyatt bounded into the kitchen and climbed into his chair. “I’m hungry.”

The playful side of his usually quiet kid made Dean smile. He didn’t know if it was time or Mason’s influence, but Wyatt was acting more and more like a little boy.

Mason sauntered into the kitchen. He looked different, Dean noted, as if his back was straighter and his smile more effortless. Hopefully Mason could overcome his secrets by sharing them. “Looks good.”

Dean snorted. “Liar. Your punishment is that you have to taste everything on the table.”

“I’ve heard of worse punishments.”

Knowing he’d been cooking for a real chef made Dean paranoid. He knew it was stupid, but couldn’t help it. He watched Mason and Wyatt during the meal and was surprised when no one vomited, gagged, or ran screaming from the table. Mason went for seconds, and Wyatt finished everything on his plate without prompting.

“You can stop staring now,” Mason said. “I’m not spitting the food into my napkin.”

“Probably only because I forgot napkins when I set the table.”

“Cunning. Very cunning.”

Dean chuckled. Mason was probably right. It didn’t matter about the food as long as the company was right—and Dean couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather be eating dry turkey and lumpy gravy with than Wyatt and Mason. The meal didn’t exactly say that he was thankful to have them in his life, nor could he find the right words, but it was true.

He never expected Wyatt, and becoming a dad had been the hardest thing he’d ever done—
was
the hardest thing. To be responsible for a little life was mind-blowing. It was hard to believe he could steer Wyatt into adulthood without fucking something up. Hell, he fucked something up every day, but so far they had been minor things. One day it might be something serious, and he could singlehandedly ruin the kid’s life. But the little guy had changed his world—made him slow down and focus on something besides work. Or try to, at least. Wyatt made him realize he was still capable of loving someone. That was something to be thankful for.

Dean had also never expected Mason to turn up again like he had, not after so many years. He had brought life with him, and he’d reawakened something inside Dean that had been dormant for years. He had made Dean dream about the future again and not just about the ranch. He still didn’t know how to make those dreams come true, but having them was a start. They were something else to be thankful for.

Dean didn’t tell Wyatt and Mason that he was thankful for them. He hoped he could find a way to show them.