Letting Hearts Heal (16 page)

“You’re so romantic with the pet names.”

Dean pounced on Mason. “I’ll show you romantic.”

The kiss was intense. They explored with hands and tongues. Everything was intense with Mason. But as hard and frantic as Dean was, they had an unspoken agreement that rushing wasn’t on the table. What they had was more than stumbling into bed—or the nearest flat surface. And that something was building, maybe even rebuilding, between them.

Mason suddenly pulled away to sneeze. Dean laughed breathlessly. “You’re all class.”

“It’s your damn attic. Ugh. Let’s find what we came up here for and take the kissing somewhere not so dusty.”

“Right.” Dean adjusted himself, smirking as he watched Mason’s eyes follow his movements. “You look over there by the rocker. There are some boxes behind the paintings. I’ll look over here.”

Mason had a dazed expression on his face. “Huh?”

Chuckling, Dean pointed. “Boxes. Behind paintings. Go.”

To avoid temptation, Dean went to the farthest corner of the attic to search. There was so much crap to look through, and he didn’t even know what half of it was. It was both a blessing and a curse that the attic was so large, because it seemed that his parents and perhaps his grandparents had hoarded quite a bit. Sometime—maybe when weeks started coming with extra days—he’d have to sort through it all. He was a firm believer that the past shouldn’t just be thrown away, but some of the stuff was junk. He slammed the lid on a suitcase full of socks, some with holes, and shook his head. He came from a family of hoarders.

“Dean. Look at this.”

Dean turned to look in Mason’s direction, but couldn’t see him. “You find it?”

“Nope, but this is even better.”

Dean found Mason on the floor—in the dust, which Mason seemed not to have noticed—surrounded by toys. Dean’s old toys.

“These are so awesome.” Mason chuckled as he held up cars from a train set. A grandfather he couldn’t remember had given it to him when he was a baby. Dean had never been allowed to play with it because it was so expensive, and as a kid he hated the train and all its fancy cars.

“You should give this to Wyatt for Christmas. He’d love it.”

It was on the tip of Dean’s tongue to say no, because he didn’t want his kid to look at something he couldn’t play with. But then he smiled, picturing Wyatt playing with the train on the living room floor. “That’s a great idea. I think my dad said once that it came with a track and everything. Let’s see if we can find that too.”

“I’ll keep looking.” Mason put the train back in its box and shuffled to the next one, too excited to worry about dust anymore.

Dean went back to his end of the attic, trying to think if there might be something else hiding in the boxes that could help him stick it to his dead father. It was childish, Dean knew that, but the thought of someone finally playing with the train filled him with glee.

Over the next couple of hours, they uncovered a lot more junk than treasures, but when they finally had enough of the dust, there was a big pile of stuff to carry downstairs. Mason found the tracks for the train, along with some other old toys of Dean’s and a small box of tin soldiers that Dean had never seen before. He figured they’d belonged to his dad when he was a kid. Dean found the long-lost Christmas decorations and there were a lot more than he remembered. He also uncovered a dainty tea set with rosebuds that he intended to give to Anna. He knew she loved her tea, and Joe had always said that pretty things made her happy. They carried their loot downstairs, along with some old photo albums, an old painting of the ranch, and a Stetson of unknown origin that Mason had fallen in love with.

They needed a beer to get rid of the dust, so they sat in the kitchen and looked at the pile of treasures.

“That was fun—dust and all.” Mason smiled.

“I’m glad you found the train.” Dean took a sip. “It actually sat on a shelf in my room until I was in high school. Dad said it was too expensive to play with and that I’d just break it.”

“That’s just mean.”

“Yeah. I love the thought of Wyatt playing with it and possibly breaking it.”

“I can understand that.” Mason took a deep breath. “But I hate if I’ve ruined the way you used to remember your dad.”

“You haven’t done anything. Really, Mase, don’t think like that. I’ve always known he wasn’t a saint, but until you told me what he did to you, I kinda gave him the benefit of the doubt, you know? Now I know better, and although it hurts, I’m glad I know the truth. If I think badly of him—and I do—then it’s 100 percent his own making.”

Sighing, Mason picked at the label on his beer bottle. “We really weren’t lucky in the family department, were we?”

“Nope.” Dean expected he had come to terms with his father as much he ever would. “Sucks as a kid, but at least now we’re in a place where we can build our own.”

Mason looked up, and their gazes locked for a long moment.

M
ASON
LAY
awake for a long time. Part of him wished he wasn’t in his own bed, while another part knew it was for the best. They had such a convoluted story, and the only thing Mason wanted more than Dean, was not to mess things up between them.

Then his thoughts drifted to the train set he’d found in the attic. As a kid Mason had never had many toys, and a train set was the ultimate dream—along with a bike. In the first grade, he was the only kid who didn’t have his own bike. The taunting had started, and once it became clear that he was dyslexic, he never had a fighting chance.

So it had been fun to dig through Dean’s old toys—teddy bears, Legos, Ninja Turtles figures, cars, and books. Mason had been half tempted to start playing with the stuff. Remembering how Wyatt looked at the toy store, he was sure he was going to love it.

Mason turned over in bed and hoped sleep would claim him soon. His thoughts inevitably strayed back to Dean.
You kiss the people you love
. Mason smiled in the dark. It was amazing how they’d managed to reconnect after so long apart, after living different lives and going through what they had. Mason had dreamed of it over the years, but he never dared hope that the dreams might come true one day.

The next morning—after too little sleep—Mason felt pure domestic bliss when he kissed Dean good-bye and drove to work. Karen had called and asked him to stop at the store. Afterward he planned to investigate a large collection of post cards and prints from the valley that were rumored to be for sale. Mason was looking forward to some detective work.

The detective work never happened, though. When Mason came out of the store, he nearly collided with his oldest brother, Graham.

“What the hell are you doing back here?”

“Hello, Graham. Good to see you too.” Mason shook his head. He didn’t know what he expected if he ever saw any of his family again. “And it’s none of your business what I’m doing, anywhere.”

“So you can come back now, but not when Mom and Dad died?” Graham’s sneer made him extremely unattractive, and Mason had to tell himself that punching him was not a good idea. Even though he couldn’t come up with a good reason.

“No one bothered to tell me when Mom died, and since I’m certain that was Dad’s decision, then I didn’t see much reason to come to
his
funeral either. I’m sure you managed just fine without me.”

“No one’s got any need for you.”

“Right.” Mason nodded. “Considering you
are
no one, then that’s a good thing. Good-bye, Graham. I really hope I never see you again.”

Mason felt nothing when he walked away, which bothered him a little since he’d spent two thirds of his life believing he was Graham’s brother—Tommy, Lisa, and Meredith’s too. And now they were no one to him, just as he was no one to them.

Suddenly unable to be away from Dean and Wyatt any longer, Mason drove directly back to the ranch.

Chapter 13

“I
THINK
you should kiss it better.”

Mason giggled. “I am.”

“You can do better than that.”

Growling playfully, Mason made an impressive hickey on Dean’s arm where he bumped it against the doorframe. They’d been stumbling around, trying to find the couch without separating their fused lips. “There. Now it’s all better.”

Dean laughed. “A hickey? Really?”

Mason was quite proud of his handiwork. He shifted against Dean on the couch and moved into the vee between Dean’s spread legs. Mason lowered his head and nipped at Dean’s throat, the scent of musky man assaulting his senses.

“Remember when we used to go camping and spend the night at that special spot by the lake?”

Dean moaned as Mason’s hand wandered. “Vividly. And almost as vivid is the memory of me having to explain to my dad why we’d only brought one sleeping bag. Not sure he believed that I’d forgotten mine.”

“Funny how that old sleeping bag was just the right size for two growing boys.”

“Yeah, funny….” The words became a moan when Mason found the zipper on Dean’s jeans and freed his erection.

Some clumsy maneuvering and a frustrated yank on Dean’s clothes gave Mason just enough room to get in the position he wanted. “It was probably eunuchs who invented couches,” he muttered.

Dean’s laugh never left his body—not as the sound it was intended to anyway. Mason grabbed Dean’s erection and worked his hand slowly up and down the shaft while teasing the head with his tongue. Dean’s taste was embedded in Mason’s soul, and he was determined to make Dean make all the wonderful noises he’d always been so good at. They were perfect for camping trips but not so perfect for sneaking around. Now they were done sneaking, and as long as they didn’t wake Wyatt, they could do whatever they wanted. It was exhilarating.

Taking as much of Dean into his mouth as he could, Mason bobbed his head up and down while mentally cursing the narrow couch to hell and back. Dean arched and let loose a string of nonsense words and sounds. Humming a laugh at Dean’s sorry excuse for dirty talk made the hard length in Mason’s mouth even harder.

“Mase….” Dean cupped the back of Mason’s head.

Mason moved down to Dean’s balls, sucking and licking while Dean made the most amazing sounds.

“Fucking hell.” Dean swore, curled his fingers into Mason’s hair, and tugged gently.

Mason was pretty sure the tugging didn’t mean that Dean wanted him to stop. It was like being with a new lover and a familiar one. Mason knew some things with absolute certainty, and he recognized others that he wanted to explore.

Mason watched Dean come. It was spectacular. He threw his head back and the veins in his throat showed clearly through the skin. Every muscle in his body was taut and hard as rock. Semen filled Mason’s mouth, and he swallowed eagerly, savoring the intense and pure taste of Dean. It occurred to him that there was no one to keep them apart anymore, which meant Mason was free to devour Dean whenever he wanted to, and an intense and liberating orgasm hit him.

The world came back into focus, and Mason winced as he tried to move his heavy limbs. Dean shifted, bringing Mason up for a cuddle. He raised his eyebrows when his hands came into contact with Mason’s jean-clad crotch.

“Cuddling after you’ve come in your pants is not my favorite thing. No offense.”

Dean chuckled. “You’re such a romantic.”

Mason stuck out his tongue, humming in approval when Dean seized the opportunity to dive in for a thorough kiss.

“You know what would be romantic?” Mason asked once he’d caught his breath again.

“Clean underwear?”

Mason jabbed a finger into Dean’s side, making him squirm. He bit his earlobe. “Now who’s not being romantic? I was going to suggest a shower. A very, very romantic shower.”

Dean hummed. “And what does a very, very romantic shower entail, exactly?”

“Water. Hot water. And soap.”

“Sounds like a regular shower to me.”

“It also entails you and me.”

“Sold.” Dean jumped up, pulling Mason with him.

Laughing and trying to ignore the chafing in his pants, Mason let Dean pull him up the stairs and into the bathroom. Time for dirty boys to get dirtier. And then clean. Maybe.

“S
HOULD
I
put thyme or oregano on the potatoes before they go into the oven?” Dean asked. He’d never been confident about cooking, and lately he was even less so.

“Well, do you like thyme or oregano better?”

Dean sighed and glared at the spice rack. He had no idea. He’d have preferred chili. He loved his food spicy, but Wyatt wasn’t a fan.

“Thyme, Dean. Put thyme on the potatoes before you blow a gasket. It’s not rocket science, and potatoes are grateful vegetables. They’ll taste good no matter which spices you put on them.”

“Says the chef,” Dean muttered and gave the potatoes a healthy dose of dried thyme.

“Can you put peas in pancakes?” Wyatt asked, reminding Dean that he was in the room too.

“In theory, yes,” Mason replied slowly. “But even though peas are great, I don’t think they’ll be very good in pancakes, kiddo.”