Mac backed his truck up so he could attach a cable to Monroe’s wrecked Silverado. What a waste. That car would’ve had a lot more miles in it if it hadn’t run smack dab into that tree. The engine had to be toast after a hit like that.
When he got out, one look at the twisted front axel confirmed his previous diagnosis that the car was beyond saving. Both wheels stood at an odd angle, and little was left of the grill and the hood.
Monroe jerked his chin up as a greeting. “Mac.”
Mac merely nodded as he made his way to the car. He walked around it to see what could be salvaged. It was a common model here, so that would help. The back tires were still good, as well as the exhaust—probably. He’d hit the tree straight on without getting stuck in a ditch, so the underside of the car would probably be okay. The engine itself was a goner. The best he could hope for were some spare parts, but most of it would be compromised.
“F-four h-h-hundred,” he told Monroe.
“You sure about that? Seems to me it’s worth more than that.”
Mac sighed. He hated the stress of haggling over the price so much that he usually just gave in to save himself the frustration and embarrassment.
“What makes you think it’s worth more?” Quentin asked with cool confidence as if he knew exactly what he was talking about.
“Well, it’s…it’s, erm, a relatively new truck, and he should be able to salvage a lot of it…and who the hell are you, exactly?”
With that outburst, it became crystal clear how Monroe had run his truck off the road. The alcohol smell was still strong on his breath. Fucking asshole. He already had two priors for DUIs, so a third one would cost him dearly. And still nobody in town hated him or called him names.
Quentin looked sideways and met his eyes. At first, Mac didn’t understand the unspoken question, but then he remembered Monroe’s rude question about who Quentin was…and he got it. He didn’t care. Strike that. He cared a lot—about Quentin and what they could have together. What he didn’t give two shits about was this town or the people in it. This would just be one more strike against him for people who were always actively looking for more reasons to hate him. And so he nodded and smiled at Quentin.
Quentin smiled back at him, his eyes sparkling as if they shared something special and intimate—and maybe they did.
“I’m Mac’s boyfriend,” he said calmly. “And I’m also the guy who’s gonna speak up when he’s being treated like shit.”
My god, he was fearless. And the power of that simple word…boyfriend. How could he ever have imagined what that would do to him, being claimed like that. It filled him with power, with warmth, with a sense of freedom he hadn’t felt in forever. Mac beamed.
Monroe scoffed. “And what the hell did you wanna do about that?”
Quentin crossed his arms. “For starters, we could decide we’re not interested in your car. We could go right back home and leave you here to find an alternative solution. I’m pretty sure that would end up costing you a lot more money than Mac’s offer. So you can either accept his offer and get your car towed, and he’ll drop you off wherever you want to go after, or you can continue being an asshole, and we’ll leave you here to figure out something else. Which is it gonna be?”
Monroe’s mouth actually dropped open for a second, and it was the sweetest feeling ever. The man swallowed back whatever angry response had been his first impulse. “I’ll take his offer,” was the curt reply.
“Good,” Quentin said, and Mac wanted to kiss him, then hug him until that sensation inside him that felt like it was gonna explode had dissipated.
He didn’t say a word, however, merely sent Quentin a look stuffed with everything he couldn’t put into words. Maybe he didn’t have to. Quentin winked at him with a sweet smile that spoke volumes.
Mac hooked up Monroe’s truck and carefully pulled it off the tree and onto the road until he could hook it up to the tow. By the time he was done, he was soaked to the bone from trudging through the deep snow, though his boots had kept his feet warm and dry.
He was glad his truck had three seats in the front, and Quentin huddled close to him, which Mac didn’t mind at all. They dropped off Monroe first, but not after Mac had him sign a receipt for the money. On the ride home, Quentin stuck close to Mac, leaning against him.
Lucy greeted them with happy licks and sniffs.
“D-d-damn, I’m c-cold,” Mac said, shivering as he took his boots off.
“The power is back on,” Quentin said. “Thank fuck. Let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”
Mac smiled at his fussing. “It’s j-j-just my j-jeans.”
“I don’t care. Take them off so we can warm you up. Do you want to take a shower?”
“I’m f-fine. J-just need d-dry pants.”
“Well, take them off, then. I’ll grab you a towel and dry sweats.”
God, he was so cute, being all protective and taking care of Mac. He didn’t really need a towel, but he wasn’t gonna say no to Quentin coming to his aid. He pulled off his wet jeans and hung them over a chair to dry. Quentin came back with a towel, kneeled at Mac’s feet, and rubbed his legs. They weren’t even that wet, more like clammy and cold, but the gesture was so sweet it made Mac’s insides swirl.
Quentin carefully dried both his legs. “Is that better?”
“M-m-much.” Mac made no effort to hide his hardening cock. Why would he? The effect Quentin had on him wasn’t something he wanted to be ashamed of, ever.
“Can I grab a pair of sweats from your closet?” Quentin asked. “I didn’t want to go rummaging in there without your permission.”
“S-s-sure. I h-have no s-secrets f-f-rom you.”
Quentin slowly rose to his feet. “I think we both know that’s not true, but I appreciate the sentiment. Be right back.”
Mac sighed. Quentin was right. Mac’s secrets were standing between them—or rather, his shame was. What if Quentin never wanted anything to do with him after he’d confessed to the truth? Then again, he’d stuck with him so far, even after everything he’d witnessed. Maybe Mac should give the guy some credit for having more depth than walking out at the first sign of trouble.
He put on the warm sweat pants, mulling it over in his head. Quentin watched him silently as Mac heated water for tea and grabbed some cookies. He gave Lucy some dog treats and set the tea and cookies near the couch, where he curled up in the corner with his back against the armrest and his legs stretched out on the couch.
Quentin hadn’t said a word, but he was looking a tad pale. No wonder, with the physical exertion he’d been through today. Mac was feeling his muscles, and he was used to it. Quentin was very much not, and yet when they’d gotten home, he’d taken care of Mac first. He held out his arms to Quentin, who immediately took him up on the unspoken offer and climbed onto the couch. He settled between Mac’s legs, turned onto his side, and lay his head on Mac’s chest.
“Damn…” He sighed as Mac pulled a blanket over both of them. He snuggled even deeper into Mac’s side.
“S-s-so,” Mac said. “B-b-boyfriend?”
12