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 to be reading it, or if this type of content might offend you, please move onto something else.
For everyone else - enjoy! _________________________________________________________________________
So there are 21 chapters written prior to this, dating back to 2006 - 2008. You are welcome to go back and read them first, if you like, or start with this one, which could be considered a prologue or an epilogue - however you choose to interpret it.
Despite my disappearance from this project, Jake and Travis have remained embedded in my mind. I think perhaps they always will be. I like to think that they share a unique bond that, ultimately, can never be broken, not even by the distractions of everyday life. Love is possible.
Cheers to you.
Avy _________________________________________________________________________
An eerie quiet looms over the Buena Vista valley. The expanse of once-green fields is hidden beneath deep layers of both old and fresh snow, the steep mountains beyond draped in glistening white. Despite a few scattered clouds, the sun manages to prevail, reflecting off of the snow and patches of ice like blinding fire.
As Jake steps from his car, he scrambles to slide his Oakleys over his eyes, remembering a moment too late how fierce the sunlight glares at 8,000 feet. Through dancing spots, he surveys the area, noting the familiar stables, the row of bunkhouses, the metal cattle chutes off to the right. He takes a few deep, cleansing breaths, filling his lungs with the crisp mountain air, wondering yet again why he ever chose to stay in his smog-infested city of Los Angeles.
Because you're a goddamn idiot, Gyllenhaal, he answers to himself. And it's probably too late for any of this.
A gust of wind whips up, whistling around the side of the large ranch house and bending the bare branches of the cottonwood trees surrounding it. Jake hugs his peacoat tighter around his chest to ward off the overwhelming chill, but it seems futile; there's hardly enough body fat left on his thin frame to ward off the slightest chill of even a slight summer breeze.
Thoughts return, sweeping in with the wind: sitting in an old Adirondack chair on the shore of Martha's Vineyard, watching the endless waves of foamy saltwater roll in. It seemed unbearably cold even then, despite the sun and the warm temperature of an Indian summer, and yet he was down at the shore every day like clockwork, sitting for hours with a jacket over his shoulders and a blanket tucked around his legs, a flask of Tullamore Dew in his hand, watching the water, the seagulls, the fishing trawlers pass by. It was a brief respite. A desperate attempt to pull his thoughts and his life back together.
But somehow everything seems too little too late now.
The ranch appears lonesome and deserted, like remnants of a ghost town; not even the caw of a bird or the snort of a horse interrupts the stillness of the afternoon. Jake can't recall ever seeing it like this, and he's left uncomfortable and uneasy about it. As he ascends the icy steps of the front porch and lifts a fist to knock on the door, he pauses, knowing full well that Mrs. Cooper will be angry with him if he knocks, rather than just steps inside. He's been absent a long time - but she would still consider him family. He hopes.
The door is unlocked, as always. He steps inside, shuts out the cold behind him, and yells, "Hey! Anybody home?" but receives no response. Oddly, there's no sound at all, not even Derry running to greet him - just the solemn echo of his own voice bouncing back at him. He stomps some of the excess snow from his boots and steps farther into the house, feeling an immediate sense of wellbeing despite the lack of inhabitants, like a lonesome drifter returning home after a lifelong journey to nowhere. The gingham throw pillows, the cherry wood fireplace mantle, the crystal chandelier, even the worn treads of the oak staircase...every facet of the old home fills him with peace...something which he hasn't felt in a very, very long time.
His boots clunk wet and noisy across the hardwood floor as he rounds the corner into the kitchen. Aside from a few dishes in the sink, the room appears untouched, unused, unlived in. Something's not right, he feels it in a tangible way. The guilt of not keeping in better touch with the family weighs heavy on him. How many times has he picked up the phone? Picked up a pen? Booked a flight and decided last-minute not to go through with it?
"Too many fucking times..." he mumbles aloud. Exiting through the back door, he's greeted once more by the ruthlessly bright sunlight. He drops his sunglasses to his face and trudges through the thick snow, pulling his coat tightly about him.
The old screen door of the bunkhouse porch is stubborn and creaks hard as Jake pushes it open. A dog begins to bark from inside the house, clawing at the wooden front door. Jake kicks off his boots, pulls open the door and is instantly greeted by a zealous Spartacus, who jumps and yelps and practically pushes him off of his feet. The English Shepherd remembers Jake as though they are old friends, and as Jake kneels down to pet the dog's thick coat, Spartacus proceeds to lick his face.
Encouraged by this reunion, Jake removes his coat, sets it aside and glances around the room, noticing a muted fire in the wood-burning stove - clear evidence that the ranch is not entirely deserted after all. Everything appears just as he remembers it - the large pinewood bed, the dusty rodeo trophies, the crates of vinyl records. He runs his fingers down the sleeve of a denim jacket draped on a hook and then steps over to leaf through a horse and tack magazine tossed on the table. A ceramic mug of cold coffee sits beside the periodical, its cream slightly curdled on the surface. Jake picks it up and absently sniffs at the murky liquid, tempted to take a sip before realizing the absurdity of his actions and quickly setting the mug back down.
Running a hand over his face, he sits on the edge of the bed and sinks into the plush thickness of the down comforter. Instantly, he's barraged with memories; the mind-blowing sex and the intense love he'd felt for a man he never thought possible to feel. There'd been enlightenment, then, and the hope for something extraordinary that now feels tragically elusive.
Spartacus nudges him, commanding attention, and as Jake leans forward to pet him, he notices an empty Trojan wrapper tossed beneath the nightstand. Heartbeat intensified, he reaches down to retrieve it and holds it up between two shaking fingers, examining it for a moment, wondering who has worn it, wondering who Travis has brought home. Despite knowing that it doesn't matter, that he has no right to care, Jake can't control the immense jealousy coursing through his veins.
"Shit," he curses as he tosses the condom wrapper aside. He paces the room, faced with the stark reality of his own guilt. There is no absolution in his soul, only pain. It has been such hell trying to live the lie, trying to convince everyone of the authenticity of his heterosexuality, pulling sweet little Reese into his great web of deceit despite his inner voice of reason screaming for him to stop. God knows she deserved better than that. Her kids deserved better. Hell, everyone in the whole world deserves better than what he's been giving.
No... when it comes to feeling jealousy over Travis' personal life, he has no foot to stand on.
Wind slices through the valley like an icy hurricane, cutting Travis down to the very core. No thermal underwear, fleece clothing, or down-filled parka stands a chance in warding off the immense chill as he steers the snowmobile over the thick tundra of snow. The afternoon has turned blustery, freezing, and he fears if he doesn't return to the ranch soon every appendage on his body will snap off like the shards of an icicle.
"Goddamn cold!" Doug yells out, doing his best to keep a tight hold on Travis' waist as they sail across the frozen pasture.
The winter has become unbearable - the coldest in at least a dozen years. Already they've lost cattle, nothing but frozen carcasses in the snow despite the regiment of supplemental feed and rotation of windbreaks they've steadfastly provided. The work has become endless and rigorous, with two men struggling to perform the duties of at least six. Travis is more tired than he can ever remember being. Sleep consistently evades him.
The bleakness of a harsh winter, coupled with the dwindling finances of the ranch and the loss of Jake have taken their toll on him.
Fresh tire tracks marking the length of the long driveway catch Travis' eye, and he almost spins the snowmobile out of control as he screeches to a halt beside the parked Lexus.
"Jesus! Don't fucking kill us!" Doug shouts, sliding off of the seat and jumping aside in blatant irritation.
Travis eyes the car suspiciously. Its tires are still dripping with fresh snow as though it hasn't been parked for long. Lately, it seems every mysterious car appearing on the property brings with it some sort of altercation - the bank calling in a loan, an investor demanding payment, some disgruntled vendor or customer demanding answers. Never anything positive.
Wonder what it is now... he groans to himself.
Sliding off of the snowmobile, he stands for a moment, steeling his thoughts and preparing his mind for whatever onslaught of conversation lay ahead. He jumps up the steps to the front door and goes inside the house, expecting to find a suit-clad asshole waiting on the couch with a pile of papers in his hands. But the house is empty and quiet, just as it has been for days.
"Cooper!" Doug calls out from the driveway.
Travis turns and exits, slamming the door shut behind him. Doug is standing at the open Lexus with an iPod in his hand, its earbuds dangling precariously close to the snowy ground.
"What the hell are you doing?" Travis demands as he leaps from the porch to scoop the item away. He pushes his friend aside and drops the iPod back onto the front seat and then notices food wrappers and energy drink cans and a few articles of clothing strewn across the backseat. A jolt of emotion shoots through him as realization sinks in. "Holy fuck," he whispers. He straightens up and slams the car door closed. "I can't even fucking believe it..."
"You knew he'd come back eventually," Doug states.
Travis exhales through clenched teeth and braces his hands against the roof of the car, gazing off towards the distant bunkhouse, watching the smoke waft upwards from the crooked old chimney until his eyes turn wet and blurry from the wind.
Travis is sluggish and intoxicated as he stumbles down the path, feeling nothing short of surreal in his existence. Absently, he counts each and every boot print that Jake has previously trekked in the snow. One, two, three... His own boots seem to fit perfectly inside each indentation.
In his delirium, he wonders what words will spill from his mouth when he steps into the bunkhouse and faces Jake for the first time in almost nine months. The customary "Fuck you" or "Get the hell off my property" might do the trick. But perhaps something much deeper will be wrenched from the chambers of his soul... like, "What the hell took you so long?"
Surprisingly, it's silence that engulfs him as he pushes through the door and sees Jake sitting on the couch with arms resting on his legs and fingers lightly clasped together as though he's been planted there, waiting, for awhile. The sight of the man is startling; Jake is gaunt, with hair down to his shoulders and a scruffy beard deepening the hollowness of his pallid cheeks. When he peers up at Travis, his dark-rimmed eyes are just as hollow, despite the half-smile he tries to muster.
"Hey, Cooper," he says, getting to his feet.
Travis shuts the door and peels the wool cap from his head. "What's up?" he replies. An emotional numbness seeps into him.
Jake rubs clammy palms against the pockets of his jeans, feeling the heat of the room, and stammers, "I, uh...was in the neighborhood, you know, and thought..." His words drift away, and he shrugs, turning his gaze to the floor. How can he possibly articulate it all?
Travis studies him for a moment before shrugging out of his coat. He, too, is feeling the heat of the room - so much so that he's tempted to open the front door for fresh air. But he scratches Spartacus behind the ears instead and passes into the kitchenette to grab a bottle of Jack Daniels, his wet boots leaving a trail of snow across the floor. He pours generous portions of the staunch liquor and offers one to Jake, who gulps it down as though it's water. "Thanks," he mutters.
Travis nods, downs his own drink, and then pours them each another, filling the shot glasses to the brim. By the third one, they're both finally at ease enough to sit - Jake back on the couch and Travis farther away, in one of the kitchen chairs. Silence ensues, crushing them both, until finally Travis asks, "How's Reese?" knowing that the words will sting like acid burning through the air.
Jake does wince at the stark question and sets his empty glass aside. "I'm not really sure," he replies, solemnly. "I, uh, haven't talked to her in awhile."
"No?"
Jake shakes his head and sits back, resting one thin leg over the other. "No. We're... uh... not seeing each other anymore..."
Travis digests this information, studying his shot glass. He isn't sure what to feel or how to respond to this news. For so long, he's had to endure seeing and hearing about their sweet little romance, plastered across every tabloid and television trash show. It's managed to completely break him. If forgiveness is stirring anywhere in his soul right now, it's utterly inaccessible at the moment.
"So you were in the neighborhood," he mumbles, slouching down a notch in his chair. "And you just decided to pop by..."
"Yeah, something like that." Jake looks at him, staring at the chiseled, rugged, achingly handsome face which has haunted him and infected his thoughts and existence every hour he's been away. In the peripheral outline of his life he'd thrived, prospering in his career, fooling an entire universe, while internally he'd completely deteriorated.
"I just needed to see you, Travis," he whispers, half choked with emotion.
Travis offers no consolation, no comfort to Jake's display of sadness. He simply sighs and shifts his gaze elsewhere.
With a keen, unique animal sense, Spartacus wanders over and lays his chin on Travis' leg, gazing up at him with dark, alert eyes. There is a fierce loyalty there, a bond that Jake becomes painfully aware of. "He's so big now," he comments. "I almost didn't recognize him."
Travis scratches the dog's ears and says, "He's been a big help around here."
"Where's Derry, anyway?" Jake inquires. "I didn't see her when I pulled in. I didn't see anyone. Where's everybody at?"
Travis responds, emotionless, eyes averted. "Derry disappeared awhile back. Pretty sure a coyote or mountain lion got her. Mom and Katy are in Salida. Amanda gave birth prematurely and Curtis is a mess."
Jake hesitates, staring hard at the floor. "Wow," he finally breathes. "I didn't even know Amanda was pregnant..."
"Yeah, well, I would have told you," Travis states in a banal tone. "But you were so engrossed in your own shit."
The words are harsh, biting. Jake unwraps his legs and sits forward. "Even so, I really wish you'd called me."
"Yeah?" Travis glares at him. "What for?" What the hell is Jake really doing here? The sorrow he anticipated feeling has swiftly turned into bitterness.
"Listen," Jake says quietly, "I don't blame you for being pissed off at me. Shit, I've been fucking pissed at myself for months." He rubs his palms together. "And I'll go if you want me out of here. But I'm really hoping there's a chance we can talk. There's a lot I want to say. A lot I want to try to explain. I'm really sorry for ditching you... us... like I did. I regret it every minute of every fucking day."
Travis nudges Spartacus' face from his lap and stands up. "I don't know what you could possibly explain to me at this point, Jake. You made a choice. It was yours to make, and you made it." He grabs his coat from its hook and slides it on. "I've got shit to do. Doug and I've been working our asses off, and we've already lost a ton of cattle."
Jake gets to his feet and takes a step forward, fighting the urge to touch him, wanting so desperately to pull him close, to lose himself in the feel and the smell and the embrace of the man he still loved. "I wish you could know how hard it's been for me," he says, almost pleading, longing to be understood, if even a fraction.
Travis zips up his coat and pulls the wool cap down around his ears. He studies the hollowed man before him, wishing for one second that he could feel sympathy, forgiveness, desire - anything other than the poisonous thoughts that consume him. "I gotta go," he states, pulling the door open, welcoming the blast of cold air on his face. Spartacus pushes past him to run outside.
"At least let me help you," Jake insists, reaching for his own coat. "Put me to work."
Travis stuffs his hands into his gloves, uncertain if he can let go of his pride on this one. To agree to Jake's offer means capitulation, caving in, giving up a stronghold. But it also means a better accomplishment of work in a shorter amount of time, lightening Doug's load a bit, who is exhausted beyond measure and moving on pure adrenaline at this point, just as he himself is. For the ranch's sake, for sanity's sake, it seems best to accept the offer, even if it also means the acceptance of Jake's apology on some level.
Do it for the ranch, Cooper, an inner voice urges.
Travis sighs and steps into the snow. His breath instantly freezes in the midday air, weakening his resolve. "Fine," he eventually says, not looking back, not wanting to meet Jake's gaze but feeling the man's presence near him anyway. "Meet me in the barn. We've got a lot to do before the sun goes down."
Jake catches his arm, keeps him from walking away. Just this one touch... this one simple touch... sends an electrical current zipping down both of their spines.
"I won't disappoint you, Cooper," Jake says quietly, sincerely. "Not this time. Not ever again."
Travis bites the inside of his cheek, concentrating on the pain. After a moment, he nods. Says nothing, simply plucks Jake's fingers from his coat sleeve and walks through the snow towards the barn.
Off in the distance, a black-billed magpie squawks through the wind.
avymac@hotmail.com _________________________________________________________________________