Denny loved Bess.
He saw Bess and Fred each time he came by. If it was later in the evening, he’d bring them apples or carrots and help Bella, my stable hand from Fallbrook, and me brush them and feed them. If he arrived earlier, he’d ride Bess, and I was happy to report that he’d improved. He was confident in the saddle, rolling his hips with the horse’s cadence. As we moved, he talked.
Denny was naturally reserved, but he was never quiet with me.
There were things he didn’t discuss that were obvious signposts leading to dark places. I knew his father died when he was thirteen, and that it was definitely a profoundly life-changing event. But he’d persevered and conquered some frightening demons to become an elite professional hockey player.
Denny had real friends and a community that loved him. He was young and talented, with the world at his feet, but something was unsettled inside him. Something muted him, haunted him.
But I wasn’t his therapist; I was his lover and I respected his boundaries. We had an arrangement based on sex and a perceived friendship I hoped would boost profit margins at the mill.
Sometimes I wished I had the right to ask for more.
Let’s be real—I had the easier part of this arrangement. A young, hot jock wanted my bod.Amen. Sign me up all day long. Denny, on the other hand, was the one who had to advocate for the outsider running the mill. That had to suck.
But he did it.
Denny suggested meeting for coffee one morning on my way to the mill. He didn’t introduce me to anyone, but he didn’t need to. Being seen together was enough. We were buddies andpals, and if Denny Mellon didn’t hate the idea of spending thirty minutes in my company, maybe I wasn’t so bad.
He was a mini celebrity up and down Main Street. Just walking through the doors at Rise and Grind stopped the presses. Everyone greeted him warmly, shook his hand, clapped him on the shoulder, or kissed his cheek. He turned five shades of pink, but he took the attention in stride as I chatted amicably with Ivan, the dark-haired, rainbow-pin-wearing owner.
“It can’t be helped.” Ivan snickered in amusement. “We love our hockey boys!”
Ivan didn’t think twice about Denny’s monosyllabic grunted agreement. Neither did anyone at the bakery, where he was treated to a similar enthusiastic greeting. I was given a few cursory curious glances, but as I’d hoped, being with Denny offered an automatic hall pass amongst most of Elmwood.
A cute little old lady named Mrs. O’Neill, who Denny later told me was his grandmother’s nemesis, was a bit suspicious, though.
“Mr. Cunningham, we’re worried about you,” she’d said in a warbly voice. “I heard you’re putting in a Starbucks in Wood Hollow.”
I’d shaken my head. “No, that’s incorrect. I don’t have anything to do with Starbucks. We’re a family-owned business and?—”
“Maybe it was a McDonald’s,” Mrs. O’Neill had insisted. “They have nice french fries, but nothing like the ones we have at the diner. Now, in my day, we?—”
“For cryin’ out loud, Kath, don’t get your panties in a twist, we’re not getting a damn fast-food joint.” Annie had rounded the bakery counter. “Leave him alone, and no cutting in line.”
I was pretty sure I’d heard an indignant, “Well, I never!”
By June, I didn’t feel like a pariah in Elmwood anymore. People said hello, asked about the horses, and talked about hockey…nonstop.
“Prepare to be amazed,” Nolan had warned me. “The coaches and kids will start trickling in next week for hockey camp. The week after that is the beginning of summertime madness.”
“It’s true,” JC had chimed in. “Hockey players everywhere. They eat a lot…good for business,oui?”
Denny had simply nodded while I’d asked a dozen questions, genuinely interested in the town’s hockey fever. It was another world to me, and it felt kind of special to be on the inside…like I belonged here.
With him.
No, no. That was crazy talk. Elmwood might like me all right, but they wouldn’t understand Denny and me. And any attempt to explain would only make me look bad. As in…terrible human being status.
Denny was a young, hot star exploring his sexuality, but I was an opportunist using him to make our brand palatable to locals. I mean…hey, they say the truth will set you free. But in this case, it would only fuck things up for me.
If Denny told me tomorrow that this was over, and he didn’t want to be my friend and that he’d do his bi exploration on his own, it wouldn’t be a matter of simply moving on to Plan B for me. I was hooked on him. For myself…not the mill. In fact, I barely thought about the mill when I was with him and honestly, that would probably bite me in the ass at some point.
But that was a worry for another night. Tonight, he was quiet. Like the other night when he’d come over, agitated and wild-eyed. I’d made him something to eat and talked about fuck knew what till he seemed calm again. I hadn’t asked what was on his mind, but I had a feeling it was still eating away at him.
I figured I’d let Bess work her magic tonight.
We took the horses on the trail leading to the water’s edge. I guided us to a clearing and dismounted, loosely tying the reins to a low-hanging branch before sitting on a huge tree stump overlooking the creek. Water babbled gently over the rocks. Farther along, the current picked up where the creek widened, and on some days, it was downright noisy. But here…it was a pleasant, melodic sound in an idyllic forest setting.
