Sworn Enemy: An MM Enemies-To-Lovers Book (Wild Heart Ranch 1)
Sworn Enemy: Chapter 17

I flip over, an absolute mess. Justin laughs as I wipe my hands and his ass with the cum-stained sheet before tossing it to the floor.

Flopping onto his belly, he declares, “I might need to sleep for three days.”

I roll toward him, my arms automatically going around him as my lips find his forehead. “I’m not pushing you out the door. If you need a nap, take a nap.”

Please stay.

He yawns, reaching his hands above his head. “I might take you up on that.”

Smelling my hands, I laugh. “I’m going to wash up a little. I’ll be right back.

“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs, hugging my pillow.

I return a few minutes later, and he’s passed out, snoring softly. I take a moment to really look at him. He’s beautiful in the mid-morning sunlight streaming through my bedroom window. I rub my chest, wondering what this feeling is and how this all happened.

I decide he’s got the right idea and get in bed next to him, carefully moving the pillow out of the way so he can wrap his arms around me.

We wake up about half an hour later, and I still feel awfully needy.

“Sorry,” I whisper, holding him tighter. “I’m not usually this snuggly.”

“I think this is probably a little emotional for both of us.”

I nod, moving a lock of hair off his forehead. Justin leans into the touch, clearly as in need of physical affection as I am.

“So, aside from running this place, what do you do?”

I start off with my boilerplate answer. “I work with search and rescue organizations, finding people who are lost. I sometimes work with state agencies.”

His eyes widen. “That’s amazing. What made you want to help people like that?”

I grimace a little, then decide on the truth. I show him my forearms, and he looks from arm to arm, his eyes fixed on the jagged white lines.

The way he’s intensely examining me reminds me of something a forensic specialist once observed. She could tell I was left-handed because the scars on the right forearm are neater, more even. The left forearm is far more jagged, the scar running faint to dark to faint again.

I told her I was already starting to lose consciousness by the time I got to my left arm. She nodded and pointed out that if I’d been conscious enough to follow the vein as well as I had on the right arm, I would’ve been successful in my attempt.

When she gave me those details, I was still slightly disappointed I hadn’t done the job properly. But now I’m able to say every day—even on the bad days—that I’m so fucking glad I failed in my objective.

And then there are these magical, perfect moments like this morning, with this man. The gratitude I feel is overwhelming because I know exactly how lucky I am to experience it.

I don’t know how it is for people who’ve never struggled with the desire to not be alive anymore, but I pay special attention to these moments. They mean something more than I ever had the capacity to imagine when I was in the throes of wanting it all to stop.

To have it all come full circle with Justin Jennings…wow. Him in my bed, his unruly hair in a sun-lit crown, his face so sweet and open…

Jesus Christ, he’s a goddamned miracle.

“Oh,” he says, fidgeting with the comforter, completely unaware of my epiphany. Tipping his head down, he shoots me a furtive look through the fringe of his lashes. “So, uh, where did you go…after? We never saw you again. In fact, there were a lot of kids who were convinced you actually died.”

Grateful for the opportunity to reestablish some equilibrium, I answer plainly, “The first month after, I went to an in-patient hospital specializing in teens, then to a twenty-eight-day step-down rehab facility. When I got home, I took the GED and passed it pretty handily. I’d already been accepted to a few colleges before my attempt, so I chose Columbia.”

“Must’ve scared the hell out of your parents to send you to New York.”

I nod. “They were not fans. But I’d turned eighteen, and I knew I needed a place with a strong queer community. Of course, it’s New York, and that could’ve easily gone way wrong.”

“It didn’t though?”

I smile, shaking my head. “No. I was actually super-committed to working on my recovery, so my parents helped me to find queer recovery groups, and I found my people. It’s actually how I encountered search and rescue.”

“Really? In New York City?”

I laugh. “Yeah. Um, one of the lesbians in charge of the group was a New York City mounted policewoman. Her family owns a hobby horse ranch about an hour outside the city. I didn’t want to come back here between semesters, so she and her wife let me stay with them at the ranch. Honestly, I think it’s where most of my healing really happened.”

Still looking down, Justin chews his thumbnail. “That’s good. That’s good.”

I grab his hand, kissing his knuckles. “And you? What happened to you after all of that went down?”

His jaw trembles. He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?”

“Nothing. I didn’t go to college. I definitely didn’t get any counseling, and I couldn’t make a job work. Nothing really stuck. Well, except the pills,” he says, his smile a little broken. “Jason was the successful one. He was the one my father was going to have run the bank after everything. But my father never did know us. At the height of everything, when he was bragging to his friends about the son who would maintain his legacy, he had no clue that Jason was falling apart. I could see it, but I didn’t know why.”

“When did y’all admit to each other that you’re both gay?” I ask, curious.

He snorts and quickly wipes away a stray tear. “We didn’t. Not really. Dickie from high school—you remember him, right?”

“Yeah, I remember Dickie. He goes by Richard now. He was at the barn-raising.”

“Yeah, I avoided him.”

“So you and Richard…?”

Grimacing, Justin answers, “Jason walked in on him fucking me. He pulled out and ran off with his dick flopping in the wind.”

Oh shit.

“Oh my God. What happened after that?”

“I started sobbing. I thought I was going to lose my brother. Like, I never had my parents on my side, and I was terrified this meant he was going to give up on me too.”

“Jesus, Justin,” I say, pulling him into my arms. He scrambles over me, adjusting his awkwardly long legs until he’s sitting in my lap, his face against my neck. “What happened?”

“He held me and started crying, and it just came out. I’ll never forget what he said. ‘We’re a mess, Justin. And we’re gonna stay a mess if we keep lying to ourselves. We’ll never truly be happy, and I think we’ve been miserable enough.’”

Justin inhales messily, and I hand him a few tissues. He blows his nose and tosses everything into the basket by the bed.

“You know, after he said that, my first thought was that I deserve every bit of misery. But I was also so tired of hating myself. And maybe if we liked ourselves a little better, we could somehow fix the things we’d broken.”

I hold him tight and kiss the top of his head.

“I knew I couldn’t fix what I’d done to you, and I figured that would be the scar I carry with me my whole life, and I deserve that, but maybe I can be okay for other people, you know?”

I go quiet for several moments until he meets my gaze.

“You’re sitting naked in my lap, Justin.”

“Yeah…?”

“We’re sharing literally the most vulnerable parts of ourselves with each other.”

He starts to lower his head, but I cup his chin, forcing him to look back into my eyes.

“Is this not healing for you?” I ask, bedazzled by the soft humility of the man in my lap. So opposite of what he fronted every day in school and well into his twenties.

Cupping his ass, I pull him in a little closer, living for his sharp inhale as our resting cocks bump together. He again contorts himself so he can smash his face into the join of my neck and shoulder, and I allow it.

I lightly trail my fingers up and down his back, from his ass to his shoulders. After a few passes, his muscles begin to—slightly—relax. He sniffles and hot tears drip down my back.

I rock him until he quiets down, then gently lay him down on the bed. He keeps his eyes screwed shut, silent tears streaming down his face. I pull the comforter over us and settle in, my shoulder under his armpit, my body koala’d to his side. He squeezes me tight, and we lie there for a moment.

I kiss the sensitive bit between his pec and shoulder. “Can you tell me what these tears are about?”

He looks up at the ceiling as his chest rises and falls. “I thought I was the only one who felt that way. That there was something healing about sleeping with each other. Not just the sex, but the actual sleeping.”

“Because you can’t fall asleep in the presence of someone who means to do you harm. You can’t sleep in the arms of the enemy.”

He nods, swallowing thickly. I can tell he’s working up to saying something, so I let him work through the words.

“So, uh…here’s the thing. My sobriety hinges on me being honest. In all things. Unequivocally. It’s why I had to come out of the closet.”

He’s still not looking at me, so I nod against his chest.

“If I’m honest, I feel like I’m being torn in two right now.”

I stitch my brows together, confused. “And why is that?”

He swallows again, shedding a few more tears. “I—fuck.” He pauses to allow the tears to flow. “Last night was a fucking miracle, Charlie, and what you’re saying right now is making me feel like maybe I’m actually, you know, good. And not secretly still a pile of shit.”

I run my fingers through the dark hair on his chest. “That’s why you feel torn in two?”

He glances down at me, then refocuses on the ceiling. “I…sorta? Um…okay, honesty, Justin. Just be honest,” he whispers.

He takes a big breath and then continues, “I know this was just, like, the world’s best one-night stand ever, and I know there’s no way you want to be seen with me anyway, but I—” He chews his lower lip. “I was so in love with you, and that…has never wavered. I totally deserve how badly this is going to break my heart when I walk out of here today, but holding you like this is a fucking dream come true, and I can’t process those two truths at the same time.”

Oh wow. This man.

I wait until he gets a hold of himself again, then straddle his prone body to get his attention. “Hey. Look at me.”

He wages an internal battle but eventually brings his eyes to mine. I smile and kiss him.

“First, what makes you think this was a one-night stand?”

He frowns. “This just sorta…happened.”

“Mm-hmm. And I’ve only sorta been flirting with you all week. And I just happened to send Erik and Nacho out for dinner, knowing those two would take their sweet time getting back.”

His eyes widen in surprise.

“So, I don’t know what this is. But it is not a one-night stand, and I’m not afraid of your intense feelings for me. Also, I don’t know why you think I wouldn’t want to be seen with you.”

He nails me with a pained look. “Because I’m Justin Fucking Jennings. I’m the reason for the scars on your arms.”

I shake my head. “You didn’t push the knife into my hand and demand that I cut myself. Were you culpable? Yes. But have you not seen how hard you’ve worked over this last year? Have you not seen the efforts you put into this community?”

“Yeah, but that’s because I had so much to make up for. Like I’ll never be able to make up for it, so why would I ever feel proud about any of it?”

I lean forward and thump him on his forehead.

“Ouch! Why are you so violent?”

“Why are you so stubborn? You were a teenager who didn’t have proper parental support or love. And yet, somehow, you and your brother rebuilt yourselves. How do you not see how amazing that is?”

“But your mom…”

I kiss his chin. “My mom went through what no parent should ever have to go through. It scarred her, and maybe we need to do some very specific things to make her okay with you, but she is not the bar. She can’t be because she may never truly be able to forgive you. Though I know the woman, and if she sees how happy you make me, I think she’ll eventually accept it.”

“I make you happy?”

“Yeah. It’s fucking annoying.”

He starts to tear up again.

“Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know. I’m so fucking confused right now. I just thought we were hate-fucking. But you spent the morning snuggling me and napping with me, and we haven’t left the bed, and now you’re saying things like this isn’t casual? I feel like you’re fucking with me.” His eyes go wide and his mouth drops open. “Oh my God. You’re fucking with me, aren’t you? This is you getting me back. For all of that…oh my—mmph.”

I cut off his spiral with a kiss, the kind that can’t be mistaken for anything else than what it is—a sign of affection.

“I’m not getting back at you, Justin. I have like three black belts in three different martial arts. If I were getting back at you, I’d just beat the shit out of you.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You’re not actually violent.”

“And how do you know that?” I ask, grinning.

“Anybody who sees you knows that. It’s your energy. Like…you’re capable of violence, sure, but you’d really rather not.”

“You don’t think people can read energy off you?”

He shrugs. “I guess I just always thought piece-of-shit was my energy.”

I let out a frustrated sound. “No. The energy you give off is like a butterfly fighting its way out of a chrysalis. You were this wormy sort of creature, sure, but then you became a pile of goo.”

Justin snorts, shaking me with his laughter. “Yep, that’s me, caterpillar goo.”

I smack his arm and shut him up with a kiss. “And now you’re finally emerging as who you really are.”

Am I seriously going to wax poetic every time I open my mouth around this man?

“You’re more vulnerable, beautiful, and stronger than you know. I’ve just scratched the surface. I don’t know what the future holds, but I need to know more.”

Yep. Fucking poetic over Justin Fucking Jennings.

Proof that the multi-verse is real. And that I got lucky enough to be stuck with him in this version.

“Oh, okay,” he says, still not quite sure of my words.

“But for now,” I say, turning to my side, “I just want you to laze in bed with me. That okay?”

He wraps his arms around me, holding me tight. “I can do that.”

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