Wilder, Winona - Loving Tyler [Coming Out 3] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) (7 page)

His boss dismissed him, conversation over. As soon as Marcus escaped the office, he sagged against the wall and took a deep breath. Not only had he dreaded the exchange that could possibly affect his career, but he couldn’t stand the thought of his boss looking down on
Tyler
. He was such a fucking sellout. All he’d thought about since coming home was
Tyler
.
Tyler
this,
Tyler
that, and of course one of his coworkers was named
Tyler
, so the name haunted him everywhere he went.

Even though he’d left that night of lovemaking, he knew something monumental had occurred during that time. Marcus felt as if a rift had opened in Tyler. He saw more than the cowboy had offered initially, but he still wasn’t foolish enough to believe a man could change in less than twenty-four hours.

Marcus shut down his computer and tidied his desk for the day. It was Friday night, so he’d hit the gym on his way home from work.
Tyler
would probably be on the road now, traveling to Port Kent for his next gig. He’d promised to stop by and watch him since it was closer to the city than Yorkville, but in his heart he knew he wouldn’t show up. He couldn’t keep showing up in
Tyler
’s life at different events for a quick encounter. The constant good-byes would destroy him.

He parked his sedan on the side of the road, grabbed his gym bag, and locked up. It took all his energy to bring himself into the gym for his regular workout session. It would be so easy to just go home and feel sorry for himself, but he knew that self-destructive cycle wouldn’t do him any good. Life had to go on.

As he wiped down the weight bench, he glanced around the gym. It was the usual crowd, but he saw everything from new eyes. As if he’d earned some supernatural power, he could practically pick out the gay men. Had Lenard always looked at him like that? It didn’t excite him, only made him turn in on himself. The only man he wanted looking at him with lust and desire was the cowboy who took his manhood.

Even the fittest men that had caught his eye in the past, making him question his sexuality, couldn’t compare with the hard, golden-muscled hunk with the fuck-me, green eyes.

By the time he returned to his sterile, modern condo, he wanted to crash from physical and mental exhaustion. He may have complained about
Tyler
’s habits, the way he lived, or his cleanliness, but he realized now how trivial such things were. The room around him was neat as a pin, as he’d always kept his condo. Everything clean, in its assigned place, and sometimes coded by color or size. He really needed to get a life. Right now he’d trade the counterfeit perfection for the real, no illusions country lifestyle
Tyler
briefly exposed him to. Most of the people at the Yorkville rodeo knew
Tyler
was gay and accepted him, loved him even. He was a star and made no excuses for who he was or what he did with his life. What he ever wanted with a straitlaced suit, he’d never know.

As he studied the stucco on the ceiling, wondering what step he should take next to give his life more meaning, more substance, his buzzer went off. He cursed and trudged to the door, not in the mood to see anyone. “Who is it?” he asked after holding down the intercom button.

“Franco. Let me in.”

His favorite cousin. Would he even want to know Marcus if he knew the truth? Nothing seemed to carry the same urgency, not when his heart was aching, not when he could still feel
Tyler
’s kiss on his lips. He hadn’t even called his family at home to let his parents know he was back from Yorkville. He just didn’t have the energy to face anyone just yet.

“Where’ve you been? Dropped off the map?” Franco burst in, carrying a twelve case of Budweiser. He dropped the box on the counter and threw himself over Marcus’s custom leather sofa.

“I’ve been working.” He pushed his cousin’s feet off the couch cushions. “You can call, you know.”

“I did.”

He sat on the matching chair across from the sofa. Marcus supposed the visit would be good to get his mind off things. “I just got home for the gym. How’re mom and dad?”

“I saw them the other day. They invited us over for dinner. Everything was good.”

“They say anything about me?”

Franco laughed. “What do you think? The usual ‘When’s Marcus gonna get himself married and have children’ deal. I just go for the food. Personally, I could care less what you do with your life, cuz.” Franco rolled off the sofa and began to rummage through his cupboards and refrigerator behind the counter of his kitchenette.

“I think they’re going to be sorely disappointed. I have no plans for a wife or children.”

“Why would you? You have the perfect setup here. Great job, amazing place, you come and go as you please. I’d give anything to trade shoes with you.”

Marcus may see his family as a thorn in his side half the time, but he cared about them. His cousin had so much potential, but seemed to be a write-off half the time, not focused enough in anything he did. “What about that girl up in Brantsworth? I thought things were heating up?”

“No. Too far.” He shrugged, popping some of the washed grapes Marcus kept in the fridge into his mouth. “Didn’t really like her anyway.”

“Look, I’d really like to hang out, but I’m in a devil of a mood. I had a miserable day at work, and I just need to unwind.”

“I’m just here to watch the game on your big screen. It’s no big deal, just Tony and Mike are coming by. Don’t worry, they’re bringing pizza. We’ll be quiet as mice.”

“Sure.” Marcus growled in irritation. His family did the same thing to him nearly every week, and he usually took it. If he was more of a man like
Tyler
, he’d tell his relatives to take a flying leap and give him some breathing room.

He grabbed his wallet off the counter and pocketed his car keys. “Look, just don’t make a mess. I have a few things to do, but I’ll be back later.”

“Thanks, cuz.” Franco was already back on the sofa, focused on the television, box of crackers in hand. Marco hated crumbs between his seat cushions. He shook his head, imagining that
Tyler
would do the very same thing.

After the elevator ride downstairs, he hit the street. He just wanted to clear his head, get some fresh air, and not have to deal with a condo full of rowdy family members he hadn’t even invited over. Some days he felt if he disappeared nobody would notice. They’d only miss his reflection, the one that had a big screen, cool condo, and money to borrow. He only made it a few blocks when he halted to a dead stop. What the fuck was he doing? Running from what he wanted most?
Tyler
may not be able to change his wild ways, but Marcus had to at least try. The thought of settling down with anyone besides the rugged cowboy was indigestible. If anything, he needed closure. He’d left in a hurry, with emotions strong and unresolved. If
Tyler
told him their relationship was no more than a quick hoorah, he’d pick up the pieces and be able to move on.

* * * *

Why hadn’t he shown up?
Tyler
had given himself to Marcus, body and soul. The city boy had no idea just how difficult it was for him to make love to a man, to lower his guards, to care. But he did all for one man. When he’d left, he took a piece of
Tyler
’s heart, and the only hope he had was that Marcus would show up at Port Kent—which he didn’t. Was that the end of it?

“James! You’re up!” His head was not focused on the competition. He climbed over the stall to the waiting horse, which was more agitated than the devil. The crowd roared, a constant drone in his head. He carefully wound the leather strapping around his right hand in preparation, taking deep breaths to try and concentrate.

The gate burst open and bells sounded, and he was off. He kept his hand up, maintaining his balance on the notorious stallion. His peripheral vision continually played tricks on him, making him believe Marcus watched, but when he looked it was just another spectator. As soon as the bell sounded, he released and dropped, most of his weight landing on his side and shoulder. He knew what he had to do. He had to get to the nearest bar, and fast. Alcohol had been a friend for many years, but more recently he’d chosen to use sex as an escape. He couldn’t even think of another man now, so the bottle was his destination.

He held his side as he walked, his ribs bruised and swollen. At least he’d made a good time in the ring. That was all that mattered, all he was good for. He imagined Marcus was back in his fancy condo with his educated, clean-cut friends. They probably had a good laugh or two remembering the washed-out cowboy with no residence but shithole motels.

Tyler
stumbled to the bar. “Set me up with three shots.” He nodded to the bottle of whiskey on the ledge behind the bartender.

“You okay? You look hurt.”

“Nothing time won’t heal. Too bad my heart ain’t as lucky.”

Lucky placed the three shot glasses in a row and filled them up. He had a knowing smile on his face. “Love troubles, my friend?”

“You have no idea.”

“Didn’t you just have a spat with Jet Cartwright?” He cleaned his hands on his apron before cracking the top off a Bud for the guy down the bar.

“That was nothin’. This is everything.” It was true. There had been no emotional connection between him and Jet. It was just fucking, and they both knew it. Marcus was so much more. He’d taken the man’s virginity, showed him things he never experienced, and opened himself up to new possibilities.

Tyler
was known as the joker, the playboy, the cowboy with death written on his forehead. But he wasn’t an empty shell. He just had a harder outer layer than most. A survival mechanism he learned to perfect over the years—until Marcus came along.

“I don’t need to tell you there’re more fish in the sea, do I? You’re Tayler James. I know for a fact you’ll never have to worry about keeping your bed warm. You attract men and women like flies to shit.”

“Thanks. But this time I’m not worried about keeping my bed warm.” He downed two of the shots then took a breath. “I thought this time might be something real. You know?”

“You? Settling down? No, I could never see it. Some men are meant for the whole white picket fence, while others are meant to make married men jealous because they have it all—money, freedom, sex, popularity. That’s you,
Tyler
. Enjoy it while you’re young.”

He choked back the last shot, not willing to hear anything else. The stereotype he’d developed for himself over the years wouldn’t let go without a fight. Nobody would be able to understand how, in the span of an eye blink, he’d trade his fast life for the simplicity of loving one soft-skinned city boy.

“Do me a favor and pass me a bottle.”

“You know I can’t do that.” The look of concern on Lucky’s face pissed him off. He didn’t want pity. He wanted everything to go back to the way it was when he didn’t give a shit.

“Just give me the damn bottle. Remember? I’m Tyler-fucking-James, so don’t question me.” He took the bottle handed to him. Lucky looked conflicted, but he didn’t care. He needed to lose himself, even if just for one night.

Tyler
occupied his small table in the dark corner of the bar, his Stetson tilted to hide his eyes, for hours. Then the relative hush shifted to chaos as the rodeo workers got off for the evening, rushing into the bar, hooting and hollering.
Tyler
’s mood was black, and he didn’t want company. With his bottle three quarters empty, he dared anyone to piss him off. Maybe a good fight would do him a world of good. The pain could take his focus off his aching heart.

Two old friends pulled up chairs after getting their drinks. Another stood near his chair, leaning against the wall. “You killed it out there today. Can’t wait to see you on the bulls tomorrow.”
Keep it together,
Tyler
. They’re just being friendly.
The problem was, he knew at least one of the men had his eye on him for the last three days. The old
Tyler
would have already tapped that. He was cute, a boy-next-door type he wouldn’t say “no” to. But the new
Tyler
couldn’t stand the thought of anyone that wasn’t one-hundred percent identical to Marcus.

Just thinking about him made him drift, a soft smile on his lips as the alcohol did its job, pulling him into impossible fantasies. He’d get drunk every night if Marcus starred in his dreams as a result.

He hadn’t even felt the numerous hands on his body or voices in his ear when the distant words of an angel broke through his drunken stupor. “I should have known not to come back here!”