DISCLAIMER: You are about to read a story that is strictly FAN FICTION and in no way represents true accounts. I do not - nor do I wish to imply that - I know Jake Gyllenhaal, his private life or his sexual preferences. This is also true of all other celebrities represented in this story. This is a work of fiction based in homo-eroticism, so if you are not of legal age, or if this type of content might offend you, please move onto something else.
For everyone else - ENJOY! -------------------------------------------------------------------- Hey everyone, it's finally time for another chapter! I know that you're really tired of me saying it, but I'm gonna say it again anyway - thanks for sticking with me and with this story. Although the end may be drawing near - and I'll be sad to let it go - it is not yet over. So keep tuning in!
To read this new chapter as well as other great Jake stories, visit The Gyllenhaal Chronicles. Join the group, leave a comment or two, post something or just drool over Jake pics for awhile. http://groups.msn.com/TheGyllenhaalChronicles/_whatsnew.
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"T" - you rock my world...And Chris and Syd and so many others...thanks for the support. Luv y'all.
And now, onto PART 18 . . . --------------------------------------------------------------------
The water was ice cold, waves rolling across our bare feet as we slowly meandered down the beach together. The dogs ran in circles several yards ahead of us, fighting for possession of the driftwood stick that Jake repeatedly tossed at them. It was early morning, soft rays of violet and pink opening up the sky. The air held a hint of chill, but the taste of salt on my tongue and the touch of moisture on my skin was invigorating. I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs, wanting to capture as much of the humidity as I could; the atmosphere in Colorado was eternally dry, so being at the ocean's edge was a refreshing change.
Surfers were already disembarking from their cars, pulling surfboards from roof racks, sliding into wetsuits.
"We need to be doing that," Jake commented, gesturing towards them.
I shook my head. "I'd kill myself."
He chuckled. "Your surfing could never be as bad as my snowboarding, Cooper."
We quickened our pace, eventually falling into a comfortable jog, pushing the hooded sweatshirts from our heads. Boo and Atticus returned to our side - Atticus running along beside me, Boo nipping at Jake's ankles. Farther down the coast we stopped and landed on the sand to catch our breath, sipping from bottled water, listening to the seagulls shriek overhead as they dipped to and fro in the breeze.
We watched the first surfers push out, bellies pressed against fiberglass, hands slicing through aquamarine water. Despite being dressed in wetsuits, the temperature of the Pacific must have been freezing at that early hour.
"They're hardcore," I commented.
Jake nodded and leaned back on his elbows. His mood had been a bit dull all morning - introspection tinged with lack of sleep. I sat cross-legged beside him, scooping up handfuls of sand and watching the grains sift through my fingers. I was feeling none too sharp myself.
When Jake's cell phone rang, it startled both of us.
He fished the device from his pocket and flipped it open. "Hey Mel," he said, sitting up. "Little early for a call, isn't it . . . ?"
As they talked, I laid back on the cool sand, sliding a hand up under my head, staring off into the heavens. The sun was casting golden rays across the stratus cloud-filled sky; serenity obstructed only by the occasional airplane passing by. The sound of the waves lapping up against the shoreline quietly lulled me into a sort of pseudo-sleep. After snoozing only a handful of hours last night, Jake had roused me before dawn and brought me to the beach, insistent that I sink my toes in California sand at least once before heading home.
Abruptly, Jake's tone of voice changed, pulling me from my sleepy haze.
"Jesus, Mel," he said in exasperation, shifting his position in the sand. "You're kidding me, right? I mean . . . Yeah. Yeah. I know that. Don't you think I fucking know that . . .?"
His eyes flicked over me, then looked away. Something was amiss. He brought his knees to his chest and hung his head, shoulders tense. I sat up and touched his arm.
"Yeah . . ." he muttered into the receiver. "Sure . . . Yeah, I'll see you soon. Bye, Mel." He shut the phone and sat there with it in the palm of his hand, his expression drawn.
My heart was already in my throat.
He said nothing at first. I dug my toes deep into the sand. Then, unable to suppress my anxiety any longer, I said, "What it is? What's up?"
"I should have fucking expected this," he snapped. "I know that. But even so . . . It's too fucking soon. I'm not ready for it . . ." His voice trailed off, choked with emotion.
"What?" I asked, growing impatient.
A muscle twitched in his jaw. There was so much agitation exuding from him that I thought he might explode. But he offered no response. Just focused his attention somewhere out there on the horizon.
"Jesus Christ, Jake," I said in irritation, gripping his elbow. "Tell me what the fuck is going on." I was already fearing the worst.
He shook his head - slowly, deliberately, extending my impatience until finally he said through seething breath, "I can't . . . I don't . . . I can't do this. I've got a goddamn reading for `High Stakes' coming up. This is so fuckin' fucked up . . ."
I released my grip on his elbow and carefully caressed his forearm instead. "Jake . . ." I muttered calmly, wanting to assure him that no matter what it was Melissa had told him, everything would be all right. The world would be fine.
But he jerked his arm away from me as if my touch had been fire.
And I knew then that the inevitable was happening . . . only way too fast.
I sighed and stood up, brushing the sand from my pants. Gazing out across the horizon, I watched the surfers rise and fall with the swells, the water glistening in prisms as waves rolled into shore. The breeze picked up, bringing with it a spray of moisture that covered my face; it would have mixed well with my tears had I allowed them to fall. But I fought them back, folding my arms across my chest, pinching my lower lip between my teeth, determined not to let the pain show.
I needed to be strong - no matter what the fuck happened next.
"We should head back to the house," Jake eventually mumbled. He stood up and brushed the sand from his pants. Then he lifted the hood of his sweatshirt back up to cover his head, as if in shame. A subconscious act.
I looked at his profile. Sensed his despair. Felt as though we were already balancing on a precipice of uncertainty. "All right," I conceded, scooping up my water bottle. "Let's go. But," I gripped his shoulder briefly, "We're going to talk this through. Okay? No shutting me out."
His eyes finally met mine, lingering there. He was in turmoil. "All right," he whispered.
We headed back to the car in silence, the dogs quietly following behind, the highly-coveted driftwood stick they had been playing with all morning left in the sand for the tide to swallow.
Smoke curled from my nostrils, wafting upwards to blend with the hazy atmosphere of the city. I stood in the middle of the sidewalk and tilted my head back, squinting up towards the grey-blue sky, realizing how small and insignificant I was - standing in a canyon compromised of glass and steel and the pulse of the American dream. It was downtown Los Angeles. A breathing, living entity.
I'd been standing there for quite some time, having first wasted an hour flipping through magazines in the lobby of Jake's agency, feeling anxious and irritated. Eventually, impatience had clouded over me, and I'd wandered outside, hoping for fresh air but then bumming a cigarette from the first kid who'd passed my way.
It was not knowing what was going on behind closed doors - knowing that Jake was facing everything alone - that had become so maddening.
Maddening and frustrating.
I hopped up onto a metal bench and sat perched on the back ledge, leaning forward to rest my arms on my knees, watching the cars pass by on the street before me. As I finished off the cigarette, I recalled the morning - how Jake and I had returned to the house in somber silence, how Jake's face had been continually twisted in conflict. He'd claimed that Mel had needed to see him right away, and although he'd assumed I wouldn't accompany him, I'd been firm in insisting that he not leave me behind to wonder what the hell was going on.
"It's just some trash story," he'd explained after we'd dropped off the dogs and headed downtown. He'd seemed to want to brush it off as no big deal, despite the fact that he'd obviously been deeply affected by the phone conversation with Mel.
"A trash story . . .?" I'd echoed, watching his profile. "About what? You . . .? Me . . .?" I'd known the answer but had wanted to hear it from his lips.
He'd sighed deeply. Turned into the underground parking garage, traveling down three levels before finally finding a vacant space.
"Jake," I'd said sternly, grabbing his arm to prevent him from exiting the car. "You promised not to shut me out . . ."
He'd sighed again and pulled the keys from the ignition and just sat there, staring out through the windshield at the cement wall. Finally, he'd responded, "Yes. Us."
I'd nodded. "Okay. So . . . what are we going to do?"
"You don't need to do anything," he'd mumbled. "I'll go see Mel and everything'll be ironed out. It's just some stupid, insignificant tabloid that nobody ever reads, and the loonies that DO read it are half-crazy anyway."
"Jake . . ."
He'd held up a hand. "It'll be fine."
With that, he'd pushed himself from the car and slammed the door.
And now I sat, my ass perched on a metal bench while I sucked the life out of some kid's cigarette.
Sometimes I had to wonder what I was doing. Although my feelings for Jake were profound, I didn't think I could handle carrying the burden of ruining his career; not only did I not want the guilt and the bullshit, I especially did not want Jake to come to hate me for it. That, in itself, would be devastating.
Contemplating the issue, I recalled yet again Katy's biting words of what now seemed long ago, when she'd cursed me for being with Jake and insisted that Hollywood would never accept us. Goddamn if she hadn't had some wisdom there, despite her atrocious, unforgivable behavior.
Was it possible to continue in my relationship with Jake if it required forever being discreet? I honestly couldn't be certain - and it was a fact that truly bothered me.
I jumped down from the bench and squinted up at the skyscraper which housed Jake's agency- wondering, yet again, what the hell was going on in there and why it was taking so long.
And then suddenly, as if on cue, Jake emerged, pushing through the wide revolving door, dropping his sunglasses down to cover his eyes.
I subconsciously let out a long, relieved sigh and dropped the cigarette butt to the ground, squashing it with the toe of my boot, letting it join the dozens of other cigarette butts which lined the sidewalk.
"Hey," he said as he approached, his hands pushed deep into his pockets.
"Hey," I returned.
"I couldn't find you inside."
I nodded. "Yeah, I know . . . I, uh . . . needed some fresh air. It was getting stuffy in there."
A brief flash of silence passed between us. Jake glanced away, down the street, as if searching for something or contemplating a thought, and then he turned and said, "Wanna go get something to eat? I'm starving."
"Sure . . ." I responded. "Everything all right?"
It was a multi-layered question, laden with unspoken anxiety.
"Everything's fine," he replied, albeit unconvincingly. He turned and started to walk away, muttering, "There's a good deli just around the corner . . ."
And it was - literally - just around the corner, on the first level of another high-rise. The fare consisted of New York-style sandwiches and soups, and I ordered a Reuben with extra sauerkraut and took a seat at a table that faced out towards the sidewalk. Jake joined me with his club sandwich and tomato soup, and we ate in silence.
Despite my frustration, I allowed him his quietude.
For the moment.
We finished off our meal with cappuccinos and tiramisu, and after a time Jake sat back in his chair, letting out a long, low sigh.
I studied him for a moment, seeing so clearly the discomfort he was trying to mask. After a moment, I finally asked, "Is there anything you'd like to share with me?"
He took a sip of his coffee. "The story won't go to print," he said. "So nothing to worry about."
I cocked an eyebrow. "No?"
"No. A bunch of legal mumbo-jumbo. Defamation of character, slander, etc. Threat of a lawsuit."
"Jesus, Jake . . ." I mumbled, expelling my breath, shaking my head. Somehow, the reality of his words managed to rub me the wrong way - making me think twice about what we were doing. "It wasn't slander," I breathed. "It was the truth."
His eyes narrowed at my comment. "What the hell are you talking about?"
I set my fork down and rested my elbows on the edge of the table. I didn't know what I was talking about, but the words came out anyway, surprising even me. "That story, or whatever it was, was based on truth, Jake, not lies. We haven't exactly been discreet. Photos and questions are bound to come up. How long do you think you and your fancy Hollywood agency can keep our dirty little secret a secret? There is such a thing as freedom of speech, you know. That magazine had a right to print that story."
He glared at me. Sat forward. Spoke to me quietly yet sternly. "If I'd let that go to print, it would have started a tidal wave of speculation and harassment, ending up with me being on the cover of People' magazine under the headline Gay cowboy really gay' or some such shit."
I locked eyes with him. Felt my body tense. "And . . . ?" I challenged.
He glowered at me, a muscle twitching in his jaw - a sure sign of his aggravation. "I can't believe that you're not backing me up on this, Travis," he hissed. "You KNOW the repercussions of me being outed."
"No," I stated. "I don't. Millions of people risk their careers and the comforts of life and family relationships every day in this world to be who they are, not who they're expected to be."
The words were spilling out, uncontrollable - no thoughts connecting, just pure instinct.
Jake became quiet, shaking his head, peering down into his cappuccino with a frown. "You wouldn't fucking get it . . ." he muttered.
A surge of anger swept over me. "Don't tell me I wouldn't fucking get it," I snapped. My voice carried across the restaurant. Both Jake and I glanced around at the other patrons present, but no one seemed to notice or care. Lowering my volume, I said, "Don't think for one minute that I don't know what it's like to be in your situation, Jake. Coming out was fucking harsh for me, too, and I struggled with it for years. I told you that my dad died before I got enough courage to tell him. He would have skinned my hide. Kicked me off of the ranch. Disowned me."
"No he wouldn't have," Jake whispered.
"How do you fucking know?" I demanded. "You never met the man."
"I know because the rest of your family accepted you. Your mom, Curtis - "
I cut him off. "Don't talk to me about Curtis. He didn't smile and hug me when he found out. He beat the shit out of me."
Jake stared at me in disbelief. "What . . .?"
I shifted in my chair, remembering the day. Remembering my brother's wrath. "He'd caught me. Back behind the bunkhouse kissing some ranch hand we'd hired for the season."
"Holy shit . . ."
"He was far from understanding, Jake," I continued. "Not by a fucking long shot. But he never told Dad . . . I'm sure he was just as afraid of the man's temper as I was."
Jake mulled this over. "But things are okay between you two now . . ."
"Sure," I agreed. "But it was a long, agonizing road to get there. And that's the whole point I'm trying to make. It's not easy for anyone. I understand that you're in the limelight, Jake, and that makes it tougher, but can you really live the rest of your life in the closet? Where's the fucking joy in that?"
I couldn't believe how quickly I'd stepped up onto my soapbox, admonishing him for his fear. We sat in uncomfortable silence for awhile, eyes turned away from one another, the din of the restaurant like white noise in the background. Then suddenly a hand clamped down onto Jake's shoulder, pulling him from his reverie. A voice bellowed, "Hey Gyllenhaal, how's it going?"
I glanced up. Cringed at the sight of Austin.
Jake's entire demeanor instantaneously changed, a wide smile lighting up his face as though he was a human chameleon, able to alter his personality at the drop of a hat. He turned in his chair and slapped hands with his friend. "I'm good, Nichols," he replied. "How `bout you?"
"Good," Austin said, just barely glancing over me as though my existence was hardly noticeable. "I swung by the office to pick something up from Mel. She mentioned that you'd been there. I figured I might find you here. Marissa's having a party in Laguna tonight. Wanted to see if you wanted to head over there later."
Jake was still flashing that glimmering smile - an expression of artificial joy noticeable only by me. Such magnificent acting. It was no wonder he'd been nominated for so many awards.
"Yeah, sure," Jake said. "We might be able to make it tonight." He glanced at me. "Whaddo you think?"
My stare was intense. Bold. He knew without me saying a word what my response was.
Jake returned his gaze to Austin. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe not tonight . . ."
Austin crossed his arms. "Natalie will be there," he stated, as though this information would somehow cause Jake to change his mind.
"Yeah?" Jake said. "Hmm . . . " He rubbed a hand over his stubble-covered jaw, pretending to contemplate this new development.
Austin glanced down at me. Decided to acknowledge my presence. "Thought you were heading back to Colorado."
"I am," I stated, no pleasantry in my voice. "Tomorrow."
"Hmmm . . ."
Fuck, I just really didn't like the guy. And it was glaringly obvious that he loathed me as well. We had a momentary staring contest, all surrounding activity and noise muted, until Jake abruptly stood up, clapped his hands together and said, "All right, well, maybe we'll catch up with you later, Nichols. Thanks for the invite."
With that, we exited the deli, Austin muttering a goodbye, Jake waving a hand, the exchange awkward and strained. I glanced back only once to find Austin standing on the sidewalk, watching our departure, a hand shading his eyes from the sun.
Perhaps Austin had his own crush on Jake. Perhaps that's why he hated me so much. Or perhaps he was just an asshole. But, at that point, it really didn't matter; there were more important issues at hand.
Once reaching the parking garage, I took Jake by the elbow and steered him into the shadowy recess of the stairs. Embracing him tightly in my arms, I whispered, "I love you, Jake . . . I really, really do . . . But I won't live in fear with you forever. I won't hide. Okay? Life's too short for that kind of bullshit. You need to think about how things are going to be."
He didn't respond at first. We just stood wrapped in each other's arms, breathing quietly. Then he took a step back and looked at me, his eyes hidden behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. "I know," he said quietly. "I don't want to hide forever, either. I just . . ." His voice trailed off. He looked down and away from me, shuffling a shoe across the cement floor.
I caressed his cheek with the back of my hand; he raised his face to look at me once more.
"I do love you, Jake," I whispered.
He nodded. Brought a hand up to cover the one on his cheek. "I love you, too," he spoke with a slightly choked voice.
I moved in to kiss him, and he slid his arms around my back, pulling me in closer. We stood this way for a few minutes until there was an echo of footsteps descending the stairs; although I was prepared to step back, Jake stunned me by shoving me away with such great force that I landed back against the wall with a thud.
The intruder barely glanced in our direction before disappearing down the next flight of stairs, our presence holding absolutely no relevance to him.
Bewildered, I stepped away from the wall, frowning, trying to regain my senses.
Jake stumbled to the stairs and sat down. Burying his face in his hands, he mumbled almost incoherently, "Fuck, I'm sorry, Travis . . ."
I took a seat beside him. It seemed that we always had a catharsis while on the stairs, both in Aspen and at his house, and now in the parking garage of downtown Los Angeles.
I leaned my forearms against my knees and pressed my hands firmly together, focusing on a crack in one of the lower stairs. "Jake," I said after a moment. "I can't handle you being so freaked out all the time. It can't work this way."
He glanced at me, the sunglasses still shading his eyes. "I know," he whispered. "I'm sorry."
And suddenly there was nothing more I could say. Nothing more I could do to convince him that we were doomed if we continued on this way. I could only hope that he figured things out soon, because there was no way I could survive another heartbreak. Not this time around.
Dawn came quickly, filling the bedroom with iridescent light. I awoke to the soft touch of a hand running over my skin, fingers traveling the length of my upper thigh and hip, moving down the slope of my arm while lips kissed my shoulder blade, pulling me from my slumber.
I stirred slightly but kept my eyes closed, feeling as though I was still dreaming, still sleeping . . . wishing that I could remain that way forever and not have to face reality again.
Jake nuzzled against me, his lips continuing to kiss my upper back, his breath warm against my tired body, his stubble intermittently rasping my skin. "Morning," he whispered drowsily.
I slowly rolled over to face him. Gave him a soft kiss. "Morning . . ." I muttered.
We lay side-by-side, simply looking at one another - blue eyes gazing into green - the quiet solitude of the morning offering a peaceful reprieve from the sadness of the day.
With a hand, I cupped his jaw, my fingers pulling his face closer until our lips touched again. It was a quiet kiss, a long kiss, seeming to suspend us in midair, like levitation.
Our bodies slithered together with ease, limbs entwining, sheets rustling. Neither one of us seemed eager to end the embrace as our tongues slowly explored one another's mouths, hands caressing skin, the slightest touch bringing with it a deeper and deeper longing.
We both felt the impending separation; my flight leaving in just a few hours, the clock ticking off the minutes. Tears moistened our eyes as we continued to simply hold and kiss one another, countless emotions flooding through us without any words needing to be spoken: love, yearning, frustration, sadness. An entire spectrum of feelings, encompassing all aspects of our circumstance.
"Stay with me," Jake whispered impulsively, lacing his fingers through my hair.
I smiled sadly. Laced my fingers through his hair as well. "If only I could, right?"
He nodded with a frown. "Yeah . . ."
I pressed my forehead to his. "Come on. We can't let this long-distance thing bring us down, Jake. Maybe . . . maybe it'll do us some good. Give us a chance to get our thoughts together."
I didn't sound anymore convincing than I felt, and Jake knew it. But it was the best I could offer.
"Just promise me one thing," Jake whispered, tugging playfully on my hair.
"What . . ."
"Promise me that you won't run off with the first ranch hand who drops his pants for you."
I chuckled. It felt good, like a momentary release of tension.
But despite the joke - despite the smiles that we briefly shared - I still felt waves of despair washing over us. Enveloping us. Drowning us.
The syrup dripped lazily down the large stack of blueberry pancakes, mixing in a pool of melted butter along the edges of the cracked plate. I watched it as if in a dream state, my eyes not fully focused, my mind in a daze - as it had been for the past few days.
Doug's boot nudged my shin under the table. As I looked up at him, he flashed a concerned grin. "You all right?" he asked.
"Uh . . ." I blinked a few times, trying to clear my head.
"I think you need more coffee." He lifted his hand and beckoned our waitress over. She filled my cup, smiled, and swaggered back to her post.
I tore open several packets of sugar and dumped the sweetener into the thick liquid.
Doug was busily devouring his breakfast. Through a mouthful of bacon, he said, "Let's saddle up the horses and head into the high country for the day. Maybe do some hiking."
I stirred the coffee, lost in the sound of the spoon clattering against the ceramic mug.
"Jesus," Doug mumbled after a moment, shaking his head. "You're fucking pathetic."
I sat back and took several sips of the caffeine, feeling the hot liquid burn my tongue. Some of the cobwebs finally began to dissipate; I blinked several times, as if only just awakening from a restless night's sleep.
"A ride sounds great," I finally spoke, surprising even myself with the clarity of my statement. "Maybe we could head up Kenosha Pass."
Doug nodded. "Yeah. Great idea."
I took another sip of the coffee. Thought of Jake. It was inevitable to do so.
Doug cut a fork into my pancakes and shoved a large bite into his mouth, syrup dripping from his lips. After wiping his face with a napkin, he said, "You gonna eat or what?"
I sighed, set the mug down and sat forward. Retrieved my fork and picked at my food. Took only a couple of small bites but then gave up. Doug pushed his empty plate away and pulled mine forward, picking up where I'd left off. I sat and watched him eat for a moment, and then I slid from the booth and headed to the restroom.
My reflection in the mirror above the sink was haunting. Lifeless.
I splashed cold water over my face and wiped it dry with a scratchy paper towel. Then I slowly returned to the table. After digging out several bills from my wallet and tossing them to the table, I said, "Let's go."
Doug followed me out into the bright sunlight. We simultaneously slid our hats on, pulling the brims down to shade our eyes. Crossing the parking lot to our vehicles, Doug playfully punched me in the arm and said, "Cheer up, buddy."
To which I responded, "I'm tryin', Doug. I'm tryin' . . ."
We mutually decided to take my truck to the ranch. As we slid inside the cab of the pickup, the tabloid magazine I'd been obsessing over for days lay in the middle of the seat, opened up to that dreadful page of Jake presenting Natalie Portman with a bouquet of tulips in New York City, bending down to give her a tight hug, their exchange more than a little friendly, the description beneath the picture suggesting possible romance between them.
Doug scooped the magazine up and threw it to the floor, crushing it with his boot, causing the pages to rip. "Why do you keep fucking torturing yourself, Travis?" he demanded.
I turned the key in the ignition. Sat with my hands wrapped around the steering wheel, listening to the idle of the engine, staring out across the rutted parking lot. "I don't know . . ." I muttered.
"I thought he already explained everything to you," Doug insisted. "She's just a friend."
"Yeah, he told me," I said. "But the point is - Doug - that he didn't mind THAT rumor going to print. All speculation is well and good when it avoids controversy." The frustration of the situation welled up in me again. I recalled our heated conversation over the phone - me steadily cursing, demanding to know who Natalie was and what he was doing bringing her flowers as if they'd been meeting for a date.
Jake had been indignant. "She's just a friend, Travis. How many fucking times do I have to repeat it?"
"You're such a fucking hypocrite," I'd spat. "'Don't let rumors spread, they could start a tidal wave of speculation.' Isn't that what you told me?"
"Travis . . ."
"No," I'd said. "It's total chicken shit, Jake. Total fucking chicken shit. I deserve better than that."
I'd hung up, tossing the cordless phone across the bunkhouse.
We hadn't spoken again since.
I placed the truck into drive and hastily screeched out onto the road, tires spinning against the graveled pavement. Doug and I headed back to the ranch, stopping briefly to examine a broken fence post, making a mental note of its location for future repair. As we parked under the large elm tree, I informed Doug that I'd meet him at the stables.
He nodded. Punched my arm. Said, "I'll come looking for you if you disappear on me."
"I'll be there in a few," I assured him.
Once in the house, I found my mother in the kitchen, stirring a large pot of chili. I kissed her on the cheek and leaned against the counter, popping a piece of cornbread into my mouth. "Doug and I are going for a ride up Kenosha Pass," I said. "We'll be back in time to bring the herd in from the north pasture."
She smiled. "Good. It would be a shame to waste such a beautiful morning."
She was eternally worried for me, just like everyone else. I could see it on her face even now - her eyes studying me, searching for any sign of improvement, any sign of recovery
"Here," she said, retrieving a large thermos from the cupboard. She filled it with chili, put cornbread into a plastic bag, and then pulled out bowls and spoons. "For later," she informed me, pushing it all into my arms.
"Thanks," I said.
We peered at one another, her maternal eyes sending messages of calm and encouragement. It was just as it had been last summer, when I'd returned from Boston after the wretchedness of Eric. Only this time it went much, much deeper than that. Was tearing me in two.
"I'll see you later," I said before exiting through the back door.
Immediately, I was greeted by Derry, tail wagging, tongue hanging.
"Hey, girl," I mumbled. My arms were too laden to pet her, so she simply followed me to the stables, trotting along beside me.
Doug had already saddled up Moonshine, the Appaloosa he kept boarded at the ranch. I shoved the food items into his saddle bag and mumbled, "Compliments of Mom."
He grinned. "Such a lady . . ."
I entered into Red Cloud's stable. She snorted at me and moved in close to receive the pet that I offered. I ran a hand down her long neck, kissed her coarse hair, inhaled her familiar, soothing equine scent. Felt more relaxed already.
"Morning, girl," I whispered. She nudged her wet nose into my hand, searching for treats. "Gonna go for a ride today."
She snorted again, her head bobbing up and down a couple of times, her left hind leg stomping the damp hay-strewn floor.
"You're the only constant in my life," I muttered, pulling her face in close to mine. "The only uncomplicated thing . . ."
"Travis."
I spun around. Found Curtis standing there, horse shoes in hand. "Phone call for you," he said. "In the office."
"All right," I muttered. "Thanks." I brushed past him and headed into the room, cursing its cluttered condition. The receiver of the phone was sitting atop a mess of papers and files, and I grabbed it, muttering a gruff, "Hello," fleetingly wondering if it might be Jake.
"Is this Travis Cooper?" a female voice politely inquired.
My heart sank a notch. "Yeah."
"Mr. Cooper, my name is Anna Montgomery. I'm a freelance reporter and am hoping you might have a few minutes to answer a couple of questions."
I removed my hat and ran a hand through my hair. "Questions?" I echoed. "About what?"
She lightly cleared her throat. "You were recently in California, correct?"
"Yeah . . ."
"Visiting a friend?"
I sank into the swivel chair, feeling it creak and protest beneath me. "What is this about?"
"How would you describe your relationship with Jake Gyllenhaal?" she asked.
"What?"
"Would you consider your relationship with Jake to be . . . quite close, Mr. Cooper?"
Jesus Christ.
"Yes," I said. "We're very good friends . . . How did you get this number?"
"Mr. Cooper, if I could, please . . . How would you surmise your relationship with Mr. Gyllenhaal? Just good friends . . . Or . . . ?"
"Or what?" I demanded. "Who the fuck are you?"
"I explained that," she said, her voice remaining irritatingly calm. "My name is Anna Montgomery - "
"Yeah, I know that," I snapped. "But why are you calling me? What is this about?"
"Just asking a few questions," she responded. "Looking for clarification on some things."
"Yeah, well," I sat forward, gripping the receiver to my ear. "Jake is a very good friend. I don't know what better clarification I can give you than that. Now don't ever call here again."
I slammed the receiver back into its cradle and sat glaring at it, my breath caught in my throat. I was dumbfounded. Completely thrown off-guard. Uncertain as to how to respond to the phone call. How the hell had she even gotten the office number?
"You okay?" Doug inquired, carefully stepping into the room, sensing my mood.
I sat back heavily in the chair. "Fucking reporter just called me."
"What?"
"Yeah. Asking me questions about Jake."
"Really . . ." Doug slumped down into the tattered chair opposite the desk. Slapped his leather gloves against the palm of his hand. "What'd you say?"
"Nothing," I responded. "Said we were good friends and to never call here again."
"Shit . . ." Doug shook his head, letting out a deep sigh.
"I just can't even fucking believe it," I snapped, slamming a fist down against the desk. "We're not even fucking together and this bitch is calling me asking for clarification on our relationship. Like fucking salt in the wound. Why doesn't she fucking go after that Natalie chick?"
"I don't know, Travis," Doug said, snapping his gloves against his knees before standing up. "But let's get the hell out of here. The ride will do you some good."
I bit my lower lip. Stared at the papers atop the desk, seething.
"Come on, buddy," Doug said more sternly. "No sense sitting around here brooding about it."
"Yeah," I acquiesced. "Fine." I stood up. Kicked the swivel chair away from me, causing it to slam back against the wall.
Doug prevented me from leaving the room. Throwing an arm across my shoulders, he pulled me in tight and said, "It'll be all right."
Tears pricked at my eyes. "I fucking miss him, Doug," I mumbled, the loneliness consuming me yet again.
"I know you do," Doug said. "I know you do . . ."
But he couldn't really know.
No one could really know.
It was unbearable heartache - pure and simple.
------------------------------------------------------------------- As always, thanks for reading! Hope it wasn't too entirely sad. I promise the next one won't be (...maybe...) Hehe... Drop me a line: avymac@hotmail.com -------------------------------------------------------------------