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Jonny’s car is still full of boxes, but he’s sore, sweating and fucking cold. Chicago in March is brutal, so fuck the rest of the boxes. They’re only for his kitchen. He doesn’t plan on cooking tonight and Sharpy’s even more useless than him with culinary endeavours, so it’s delivery and cracking open the six pack lurking at the back of his fridge.
The pizza arrives just as Sharpy’s started opening boxes labelled Lounge Room in Jonny’s scratchy scrawl while he talks about his new girlfriend, Abby, whom Jonny’s met twice. She seems nice enough, and is planning on moving with Sharpy to Kentucky next year. Good luck to her, Jonny thinks with a snort, and focuses on devouring his supreme pizza from the couch while Sharpy picks through trophies and photos. Most of them are stacked around him as Jonny’s wiping the grease off his fingers and draining his second bottle, contemplating a third. There’s a measured intake of breath and Jonny looks over to see Sharpy holding a photo, a dusty old wallet in the other hand. It’s well-worn and creased, the sign of having been folded and transferred from several wallets over a span of years. Jonny knows exactly what it is.
“I took this,” Sharpy says, looking up at Jonny. Jonny’s sitting on the couch, the bottle dangling from his fingers. He’d forgotten he even had that photo.
It was from summer back in 2004, when he was sixteen. He’d spent the summers on his grandparents’ farm in Kentucky for a long while, looking forward to those three long, hot months more than almost anything. His grandparents are both Canadian, like Jonny, but his grandpa’s family were from Louisville and horse training was in their blood. Jonny saw them sporadically growing up. His mom wasn’t close with her mother, for reasons nobody would talk about, but she never kept Jonny or his younger brother David from them.
That summer, God. He’d never wanted that particular summer to end and it was all because of one stupid, dimpled blond boy who’s smile lit up the whole damn room. Patrick Kane. He was Jonny’s first love, and the worst one.
The photo was one of many, but Jonny had destroyed most of them when he’d flown back up north to start school in the fall. The only reason he kept the one Sharpy was holding, and another that was tucked away in a separate box, was because he’d been so fucking happy at the time and he couldn’t deal with losing every single good memory. He and Patrick were standing in front of two of their horses, their arms around each other with huge grins on their faces. Jonny was that mid-summer golden brown, Patrick a similar colour, his hair almost white-blonde from the Kentucky sunshine and his eyes incredibly blue. Jonny’s arm was around Patrick’s waist, and Patrick’s around his neck -- Jonny remembers Patrick having to go up on his tiptoes in order to reach.
Patrick had whined, “You’re such a dick, stop growing!”, before Jonny tugged him in closer. They’d posed for the photo, Patrick in the middle of a laugh, before escaping to go make out in one of the barns on the edge of the property. It was still a secret, then -- their secret.
“You should come to the farm for a visit,” Sharpy says softly, startling Jonny from his reverie.
Jonny looks at him, his chest remembering that painful ache as he reaches out to take the photo. Sure enough, it’s exactly how he remembers it -- he had looked at it for hours every day, hoping it’d hurt a little less. It never did. He’d gotten better at ignoring it over the years, focusing on school, sports and fleeting relationships that never lasted. He felt like Kentucky had wormed its way under his bones and into his soul. He couldn’t handle going back and seeing Patrick, though. The risk was enough to stay away, making the usual excuses about summer internships throughout Grandmère’s plaintive phone calls.
“I haven’t been back to Louisville since I was sixteen,” Jonny says. Sharpy moves to sit next to him, bumping their knees together.
“I know. Your grandpa misses you.” Sharpy’s a family friend, their families going back generations together. He still works for Jonny’s grandparents, and even though he’s seven years older than Jonny, those summers were incomplete without Sharpy around. Sharpy and Patrick.
“C’mon, you don’t have a job to worry about, and there’ll be plenty of firms wanting you to sign when you get back. Let’s just go, for a bit? You’ve been away too long.”
It’s a bad idea. Jonny knows it’s a bad idea, but he doesn’t stop Sharpy from booking two seats on a direct flight the next day. He falls asleep that night, Sharpy snoring from the couch, staring at the picture of him and Patrick propped up against the lamp on his bedside table.
Grandmère sends a driver to collect them from the airport and Jonny watches Louisville slide by as they head for the outskirts, towards the farm. Sharpy’s on the phone to someone at the house, probably Grandmère, talking easily about the flight and how tired Jonny looks.
“He’s fine. We’re ten minutes away, so we’ll see you soon,” Sharpy says, hanging up and sliding his phone back in his pocket.
“She worries too much,” Jonny mutters, leaning his head against the window and shifting in his seat. It’s cold as hell, and he pulls his jacket tighter around him. The car is climate controlled, but the clouds are heavy with rain on the way. He’s missed the city; he didn’t realise how much until he landed. He feels home.
Grandmère’s at the front door of the main house when the car pulls up, Grandpa appearing behind her. The house is as huge and sprawling as Jonny remembers, two large stories and a guest house attached. They look a vision, as stately together as they were when Jonny was growing up. Grandpa’s over six foot and solid, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, his grey hair combed back and his beard neatly trimmed, with brown eyes dancing in a tanned, weathered face. Grandmère’s in riding pants, a green pullover and boots, her hair perfectly coiffed and the same shade of chestnut brown it’s been for as long as Jonny can remember.
“Jonathan!” she calls, walking forward. Sharpy laughs as he hauls their suitcases out the trunk. Jonny submits to being smothered, inhaling her smell and knowing she’s been cooking.
“Grandmère, you haven’t gone overboard, have you?” he sighs as she pulls back, reaching up a hand to push a lock of hair off his forehead.
“Of course not, darling,” she chides in French, but Grandpa winks and hugs him as well, arms locking around Jonny’s midsection.
“It’s good to see you again, kid.” Grandpa’s not French-Canadian, just plain Canadian, and he’s the one Grandmère married into the family for. Jonny’s so glad she did. He can smell the horses on the wind, bitter and sweeping, and wants to dump his gear and greet them.
“Is Peaches and Cream still here?” Jonny asks, once they get their bags inside, Sharpy bitching the entire time about how heavy Jonny’s are. Grandmère nods.
“She had her last foal a couple of summers back. She’s missed you,” she says. Jonny rolls his eyes but heads upstairs and changes into a pair of old jeans and a stained hoodie from Yale, heading back downstairs and slipping his feet into a pair of muddy boots by the doorway.
“It’s going to rain soon, darling, don’t stay out too long!”
Jonny throws a wave over his shoulder, takes the apple Grandpa presses into his hand with a wink and wanders over to the part of the property with all the stables. He greets everyone he meets, old and familiar faces amongst new ones that’ve turned up since he was last here.
He finds Peaches in her stable, and she whinnies at him when he sidles up to her, smiling.
“Hey girl,” he whispers and strokes her nose, patting her softly. She nudges at him, smelling the apple, and he laughs and holds it up for her to bite at. “Good girl. I’ve missed you,” he says as she eats, blinking slowly at him. She’s his favourite horse, the one that’s been around for as long as he has. There’s more grey on her than he remembers but she’s still as kind as she always was.
He stays with her, talking about what he’s been up to until he hears raindrops start to splatter against the roof. Swearing, he says goodbye and heads to the doorway, judging whether he can make it back to the house before the downpour. He chances it and bolts, hitting the back door just as it starts to absolutely bucket down.
Toeing out of his boots, he stumbles into the kitchen and pulls off his hoodie. He drapes it over the back of a chair and inhales in the smell of roast chicken. Grandmère’s cutting it into thick slices from the counter and there’s a spread on the table for lunch, along with a huge pot of tea. Sharpy’s tapping away at his laptop while Grandpa leafs through the paper.
“Look at him, a half-hour with the horses and already there’s colour back in those cheeks,” Grandpa says, looking up from the news with a wry smile. Jonny rolls his eyes and sits down next to him, flapping at his shirt to get some air circulating.
“I ran from the stables, Grandpa, that’s why I look like this.”
“It’s the horses, Jon.”
Jonny sighs but then Grandmère’s putting down a huge plate of sliced roast chicken and various meats on the table and Jonny realises he’s hungry. Sharpy closes his laptop and they dig in, making huge sandwiches and laughing as Jonny tells (appropriately PG-rated) stories from college, and the time he did as a junior associate.
“Why did you leave?” Grandmère asks, sipping at her tea.
He shrugs. “The firm went bust, they had to let most of the associates go. I heard there were some good opportunities in Chicago, so I moved there. Mom and Dad were happy for me.”
“Herb retired last year,” Grandpa says. Jonny raises his eyebrows.
“Herb Wilkins? The family’s lawyer? I didn’t think he was that old,” Jonny says.
“He’s got Parkinson’s,” Sharpy says from the end of the table.
“Yeah, so he retired early to spend time with his family. Another associate from his firm is taking over our accounts but…” Grandmère trails off and looks at Jonny.
“But what?” he says, confused. Grandmère looks exasperated, and then there’s a knock on the back door. It opens to reveal an older woman, her hair wet from the rain.
“Sorry to interrupt, Claire, Greg, but I’m heading off for the day. See you tomorrow?”
His grandparents wave goodbye and the door shuts, and Jonny turns back.
“Who’s that?”
“Caroline Yandle. She’s an interim head trainer.” Grandmère exhales, rubbing her hand through her hair, and Grandpa’s mouth thins. Jonny’s jaw drops. Interim trainer?
“But… the Kanes are our trainers. What happened?”
Sharpy raises an eyebrow. “Pat Sr. fell off one of the studs a week ago and hurt his back pretty bad. Donna and the girls went back to Buffalo with him, he’s going in for surgery. Patrick was going to meet them there, drive in or something.” He turns to Jonny’s grandparents at the other end. “You got your eye on a long-term replacement, Claire?”
It’s obvious to Jonny that Sharpy already knows, given his role in the family’s business, so this is all for Jonny’s benefit.
Grandmère shakes her head. “There’s a few potentials but we’re so close to the Triple Crown, I just… this happened at such a bad time. Pat was really upset about leaving. Erica’s working for the farm too but she’s not ready yet, it’s only her second year.”
Sharpy gets that look on his face, the one that speaks of trouble. Jonny’s trained himself from childhood to be wary of it, and for good fucking reason.
“You could always bring Patrick in. He’s been doing some great work in Saratoga,” Sharpy says, leaning back in his chair. He’s such a smug asshole. Grandmère’s lips purse but Grandpa nods eagerly, leaning forward over his half-empty plate.
Jonny feels seasick.
“I thought he was working with the Shaws. I didn’t even bother asking Pat about him, before he left,” Grandpa says, looking irritated with himself. Sharpy shrugs.
“He was, but it’s a freelance thing and they’re not going to make it past the Derby so I don’t think he’s going to stick around much longer. They’ve asked him to become a permanent trainer in their farm for a while now, but…” Sharpy leaves the unspoken to hang between them. He’s going to work with the Gilberts, because that’s what the Kanes do.
“Get in contact with him, Sharp. If he’s willing to come, we need the best. We want that Triple Crown,” Grandmère says. She stands up and clears her plate, heading out the door. Grandpa looks pleased as punch, settling back in his chair and smiling at both of them.
“I haven’t seen Patrick since just before he graduated from Georgetown,” Grandpa says. Jonny can’t hear another word. He doesn’t even clean his dish, just heads upstairs to his old room and shuts the door, leaning back against it and breathing deep and measured.
He hasn’t been keeping tabs on Patrick, because it was ridiculous and he was supposed to be over this shit. But of course Patrick went to Georgetown. Of course.
1999.
Jonny’s eleven, and it’s his first summer away from Winnipeg. Maman and Dad said something about camp, when he’s ready, but Grandmère and Grandpa have been asking for a long time for Jonny to come visit them.
Maman is supposed to come, but David falls sick and Dad can’t get time off work, so Maman calls Grandmère and tells her Jonny can’t come. Jonny’s sad, but at least that means he’ll get to stay home and he can go bike riding with his friends and sneak in to see the new Star Wars movie with Dan.
Grandmère tells Maman that Jonny should fly by himself, and they’ll pick him up from the airport. Maman doesn’t want to, but Grandmère says something and Maman makes the face, the one she makes when Dad has a Good Reply for her arguments, and puts the phone down and tells Jonny he’s going to Kentucky by himself.
The air hostesses are all really nice, and one lady holds his hand and walks him into the plane and sits him down at the back. They let him go into the cockpit and say hi to the pilots, and he has to wear a sticker that says UNACCOMPANIED MINOR. It makes him feel pretty grown up. The flight is long and boring and he falls asleep, until he’s woken up by one of the air hostesses before they land. The same lady walks him through the airport, through customs and immigration, and then down to the baggage claim.
There’s an older couple waiting, Jonny’s seen pictures of them so he knows who they are, and they start waving and smiling at him. Grandmère rushes over first and sweeps him into a huge hug, kissing his cheeks and messing up his hair.
“Oh, look how much you’ve grown, Jonathan!” she gushes at him, the French familiar. Grandpa shakes his hand and takes his duffle, leading them to the baggage claim and asking him how his hockey is going.
“It’s the one thing I miss about Canada. That and the maple syrup. Can’t get anything good like that down here,” Grandpa sighs.
Grandmère and Grandpa talk about the farm, and everything to expect. There’s horses -- Jonny loves horses, he goes riding every weekend with Maman; she tells him she misses the horses the most -- and another family lives with them.
“Why?” Jonny asks.
Grandpa explains that they’re the trainers for the farm, and the whole family moves from Buffalo to Louisville from late February until June every year because of the races.
“Patrick Sharp is also with us right now. He’s doing some work placement training, he’ll come work for the farm once he finishes college. Good, smart kid. He’s a teenager but I’m sure he’ll make time for you,” Grandpa continues, eyes flicking from Jonny in the rearview back to the road.
*
The first person Jonny meets, after Grandmère gives him a brand new pair of paddock boots, is Patrick Sharp. Like Grandpa said, he’s a teenager and Jonny feels like a dumb little kid around him.
“I’m Sharpy. Let’s go for a walk around the place, show you around,” he says, holding the door open with a smile. Grandmère nods and tells Sharpy to bring Jonny back in time for lunch.
“Yes ma’am,” Sharpy says with a salute, and lets the door swing shut behind them. Jonny follows Sharpy around the yard, letting Sharpy introduce him to the various people who work there. Jonny feels shy, his hands stuck permanently in his pockets, and he squints up at the adults from underneath his Avs cap.
Summer here feels sticky and heavy, not like in Winnipeg.
Sharpy takes him to the horses, and tells him there’s a mare that Jonny can probably ride. She’s finished racing now, and she’ll fall pregnant soon enough.
“Is she pregnant now?” Jonny asks dubiously. He doesn’t know if he wants to ride a pregnant horse. He’s seen pictures at school of women with babies inside them, and pregnant women in the street. His cousin is pregnant, too. Her stomach is swollen and she says her ankles are fat and she eats a lot of chocolate -- she says she can because she’s having a baby. Jonny doesn’t really get that logic, but whatever.
“No, not yet. We won’t have her as a dam for a while yet. There’s specific times horses can be pregnant and have babies, it has to do with the time of the year for the foals to be born so they can race in the right seasons.” Sharpy says. Jonny nods and trails behind him as a group of kids come bursting from around a corner, all screaming and laughing at each other.
There’s an older boy at the front, about Sharpy’s age. He’s holding a bright orange shirt, and there’s three girls and another boy chasing after him.
“Chris, stop fucking around!” Sharpy yells. The older boy stops suddenly and all the kids run into him and bounce off, falling over in the yard. The youngest girl starts crying, and Jonny frowns.
“Are you okay?” he says, crouching down next to her. The others are picking themselves up and dusting off, unconcerned with her tears. She’s got fair blonde hair and big blue eyes, and is probably five or six, though Jonny’s pretty crap with ages.
“My knee,” she cries, and points at it. There’s a tiny cut, and Jonny reaches into his pocket. Grandpa gave him a bunch of suckers before, saying he deserves them for flying alone and not making a fuss, and he figures everyone likes suckers, so… why not share? He’s got enough for everyone.
“You want one?” Jonny says. She stops crying immediately and nods, taking the pink one.
“What do you say?” the other boy, the younger one who had been at the end of the group, says. Jonny looks up. He’s got blond hair buzzed close to his head, and the same blue eyes as the little girl. Obviously her brother or cousin.
“Thanks,” the girl says, and sticks the sucker in her mouth. “I’m Jackie,” she continues as Jonny helps her up.
“You guys want one too?” Jonny asks, holding out the rest. The girls launch on him, thanking him and taking a blue and green one apiece, introducing themselves as Erica and Jess, and Jonny’s left holding a red one and a yellow one.
“Patty,” Jackie says, tugging on the boy’s shorts. Patty -- short for something, Jonny’s guessing -- sighs and takes the yellow one.
“I’m Patrick,” he says. Jonny smiles.
“Jonathan.”
“You’re Claire’s grandson, aren’t you? She told us someone was coming,” Chris says, coming to stand by Sharpy.
“Yeah, he got in an hour ago. Greg and Claire are back from picking him up now, they asked me to show him around, but I’m supposed to be helping Pat with the colt…” Sharpy says.
“I’ve got my driving lessons in a half-hour. Peeks’ old enough to keep them busy,” Chris says, giving Patrick a noogie and laughing. Sharpy looks at them and Jonny glares.
“I’m eleven, I think I’m old enough to walk around a yard by myself.”
Sharpy laughs and knocks the brim of his cap, and Jonny shoves at his hand while he sticks the sucker in his mouth. The raspberry flavour blooms on his tongue, and Patrick’s sucking away at his own, while his sisters debate the next game to play.
“Let’s find Dad and go riding,” Patrick decides for them, once Sharpy and Chris leave, shouting a reminder to be back in the house for lunch.
“We’re allowed to go alone?” Jonny says. Patrick nods and jerks a head towards the closest stables.
“Me and you will be, maybe Erica. Jess and Jacks will have to watch, or wait for Dad to go with them. Mom’s in the city shopping,” Patrick says. Jonny trails after him and listens to Patrick talk, and then they get to the stables and the smell of horse manure and hay hits Jonny in the face.
“Ugh, it stinks so bad,” he says, wrinkling his nose.
Patrick laughs. “It’s the heat,” he says as they head inside.
There’s a bald guy standing beside a stall, inspecting a horse inside and talking to a woman.
“Dad,” Patrick calls, and the bald guy looks over and waves.
“Oh, you must be Jonny, the grandson,” he says. Jonny nods and holds out a hand.
“I’m Pat Kane, their father. Everyone calls me Pat, just to tell us apart. I know it’s hard,” Pat says with a wink, and Jonny grins. As if he’d ever get them mistaken.
“I’m Patrick Kane the second,” Patrick says. Pat rolls his eyes.
“Pat Kane Jr, you mean,” he says, reaching out to ruffle Patrick’s hair -- not that there’s any of it. Patrick squawks and ducks away.
“Can we ride, Dad? Me and Jonny?”
Pat ums and ahs, until the woman says she’ll keep an eye on them, and they can use one of the practice fields. Pat relents and tells Patrick to find Jonny a helmet and protective gear, and Patrick grabs Jonny’s shirt and tugs him towards a large shed. Inside are rows and rows of horse gear; for both the horses and their riders. Jonny feels like he’s in heaven.
Patrick finds him some gear that mostly fits, and squints at his boots before deciding they’ll do and leads him back out to his father.
“Jonny can ride Peaches, you can take Gypsy,” Pat says. Patrick whoops and runs off down the stalls, yelling for Jonny to follow. Jonny takes off after him, and stops when Patrick does.
“This is Peaches. She’s a racer but they’re gonna use her as a dam now.”
“Sharpy told me that,” Jonny says, and reaches up tentatively with a hand.
“Hey, girl,” he says softly, and rubs her nose gently. She whinnies and snorts, licking his hand, and he laughs.
“She’s probably hungry. Here, give her some feed,” Patrick says, grabbing a nearby feed bag and pouring some in his hand. Jonny holds it up and laughs as Peaches’ tongue slobbers all over his hand, and she eats the grain from his palm.
“Cool, huh?”
“Gross, you mean,” Jonny says, wiping his hand off on his shorts. Patrick laughs and moves down a few stalls and opens it.
“You know how to get a horse ready?” he asks. Jonny nods. He’s been riding long enough with Maman to know, and he heads into the stall. He’s too short to get the saddle on properly, but Dayna, the woman talking to Pat before, appears and helps him after introducing herself.
They head to the practise yard and hop on, riding around until Patrick asks if they can go for a trail ride on the property.
“Keep in my eyesight,” Dayna says, and Patrick looks at Jonny.
“Race you to the far tree!” he says, pushing his helmet up with an elbow. Jonny’s stomach flops and something zings up his spine when Patrick smiles so hard dimples pop in his cheeks.
He doesn’t even wait for Jonny to accept the dare, spurring Gypsy into a gallop and taking off without him.
“Hey, that’s cheating!” Jonny yells after him, still feeling a little stunned by Patrick’s smile. He catches up quick enough, Peaches still in pretty great shape, and he ends up winning. Patrick’s laughing too hard as Jonny tells him off for being dishonest.
It’s the most fun he’s had in weeks, though.
Patrick’s the most fun he’s had in weeks.
Over the next few days, Jonny spends his time looking over the various legal documents at Grandmère’s behest. Apparently Jonny is somehow qualified to determine whether or not the family lawyer did a ‘good job’ in the past thirty years, so the day of Patrick’s arrival creeps up on him without much warning at all. He was in Buffalo with his family, but the surgery had been scheduled and there was nothing more to do. Pat was insistent his son go to Kentucky and help the Gilberts prepare, instead of wasting time by his bedside.
Sharpy leaves early in the morning to pick Patrick up while Grandpa heads to the stables and leaves Jonny with Grandmère fussing in the kitchen.
“How’s he been?” Jonny says. It feels raw in his mouth, the memories flashing between his words. She stills at the teapot, and looks over her shoulder.
“Who?” she says, playing dumb. Jonny frowns.
“Patrick.”
“Ah,” she says. She joins him at the table, slowly pouring two cups of tea. It’s raining again, and Jonny’s in a fleece sweater he dug out of the wardrobe along with a new pair of jeans. He’s not putting in too much effort for Patrick, that’s for sure.
“Well, as far as I know he’s been well? He spent three years boarding at Millbrook School in New York, graduated in the top percentile and was an alternate captain of the hockey team. He said he enjoyed it because there was no uniform and they had great food.” Grandmère gives him a tight smile.
Jonny leans forward, starved and wanting to hear more. “I heard he got into Georgetown,” he says. Grandmère nods, stirring honey into her tea and blowing on it.
“On a Bachelor of Science, and he was accepted into the Equine Scholars Program. He graduated summa cum laude. We went to the ceremony, it was very beautiful.”
“Oh,” Jonny says faintly. Summa cum laude. Jonny had only managed cum laude.
“Yes. Erica did the same degree, also at Georgetown. Jessica and Jacqueline are at other schools. Erica’s been working as a trainer with us since she graduated.”
The conversation turns to the latest batch of foals, Grandmère apparently done talking about the Kanes. Jonny barely absorbs anything, too busy wondering why Patrick went to Saratoga after he graduated instead of coming to Louisville, or even going to Lexington. When they were kids, Patrick was always full of talk that he’d start training under his dad’s tutelage until he became good enough to take over, or work with him; whatever came first. Jonny had loved to hear Patrick’s plans for his future, wondering if he’d fit into them somewhere.
He hadn’t really known what he wanted to do at that age -- he loved horses as well, loved Kentucky, but he also wanted to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. The military had been a very real possibility for a long time, before he fell into law. From then on, law was what he had. It was what he was good at.
He waits until his Grandmère finishes and decides he’s going for a ride.
“Peaches will be happy. You take it easy on her, now, she’s not used to hard work anymore,” Grandmère says with a smile, and Jonny nods. He knows she’s not as young as she once was. Hauling himself up, he pulls on boots and wanders outside. It’s overcast but not in a threatening way, and he sticks his hands in his pockets and heads to the stables.
Peaches is waiting for him, dapple grey and as gorgeous as ever.
“C’mon girl,” Jonny says. He leads her out into the yard. It takes a few fumbling minutes for him to get her saddled, his fingers having lost the easy rhythm he’d had as a teenager, but he tightens the straps under her belly and slides his foot into the stirrup, hauling himself up onto her back. She moves a little but is steady enough, and he pats her neck and clicks at her, squeezing her sides gently to get her walking. She heads to the fresh grass pastures and Jonny breathes the smell in, finally feeling settled in a way he hadn’t even realised he needed.
He loses himself in the riding, the movement of her back underneath him lulling him into peace and quiet, and he explores the area while he can. If Patrick really is coming back, he doesn’t think he’ll be staying longer. It’ll be too painful. He grits his teeth and pushes her onward, relearning the scenery and lay of the land. He hears a whistle in the distance.
“Must be time to head back,” Jonny sighs and turns Peaches around, trotting back to the stables. Sure enough, Patrick is standing there.
Well, he’s leaning against the barn where Peaches’ stall is, dressed in jeans and muddy boots, with a thick brown coat and a wool-lined hood pulled close around his neck. Jonny’s fingers clench at the reins because god, Patrick looks so good. His hair is as blond as it ever was, but it’s cropped close to his head, just like when they first met. Jonny notices the definition of his chest where his jacket falls open and the soft grey henley underneath is pulling taut. He can see the boy who grew into a man when Jonny wasn’t around to look.
“Hi,” Jonny says, breathless and hating himself for it. Patrick smiles up at him, but it’s a little hesitant and he holds his hand out.
“Hi,” he says back. It’s their first conversation in almost ten years and it feels anticlimactic, somehow. Jonny frowns at the gesture.
“I don’t need help getting down,” he says and swings himself over Peaches’ back… and promptly almost kills himself when his legs almost give out and his foot gets stuck in the stirrup. Patrick laughs and rushes over to help him, bending down to free Jonny’s foot, a hand wrapped around Jonny’s bicep.
“You okay, Jonny?” Patrick says and Jonny just -- fuck. Up close he can see the new additions to Patrick’s face; the stubble, the perfectly straight teeth without braces, the tiny wrinkles gathering at the corners of his eyes. Patrick’s still so young, too early for age wrinkles, so they’re laugh lines. Somehow that’s worse, the idea that Patrick’s been laughing without him.
Jonny’s heart swells and he just wants to lean in and kiss him, because Patrick grew up into a ridiculously smart and fucking hot individual, and why can’t he have this?
“Fine. Thanks for caring,” Jonny hears himself snap, shoving the reins in Patrick’s hand, now empty as Jonny yanks his arm from his grip.
He heads back to the house and doesn’t look behind him. Fucking Kanes and their fucking prodigal son returning like some vision from above. Fuck him.
2000.
Jonny’s twelve and Maman tells him he needs to go to camp for a month, that he can’t spend the summer on the farm.
“But why? Patrick’s there, and his family… and Sharpy and his brother Chris.” Jonny feels a sulk coming on, and he’s trying really hard not to get mad at Maman but she’s being so unfair. He doesn’t want to go to some stupid camp, he wants to see Grandmère and eat her apple pie, and go swimming in the lake on their property, and ride horses with Patrick all summer.
“I don’t want you being around Grandmère that much. You’re going to spend a month at camp and then you can be on the farm for the rest of the time,” Maman says, in her That’s Final voice. Jonny stomps upstairs and kicks his soccer ball against the wall until David comes in and calls him a turd, and they scuffle until David gets him in the gut.
“I don’t want to go to camp,” Jonny sighs, flopped out on the floor. David rolls his eyes.
“Like I want that.”
He writes Patrick a letter before he leaves for camp. They’d swapped addresses at the end of last summer, saying they’d write each other through the year, and they did; Jonny’s got a stack of Patrick’s letters tucked under his bed, and Patrick tells him he’s hidden Jonny’s in a loose floorboard. It gives something special to them, even more than is already there, that they’re secret and just for each other’s eyes.
It usually takes him a week to finish a letter, and another to get from Winnipeg to Louisville, where Grandmère passes them on to Pat. Jonny had wanted to get Patrick’s home address, but considering Patrick spent most of the year with Grandmère, it seemed dumb. Besides, Pat was with them all year -- his family just joined him for that period of the season. Whatever.
He tells Patrick he has to go to camp for a month, but that he’ll be there on July 1st. Last summer Patrick’s parents and Jonny’s grandparents packed everyone up and took them to a nearby park for the fireworks on Independence Day. Jonny liked the fireworks, and he likes how Patrick’s mouth had dropped open and he kept staring upwards, like there was nothing else in the world he’d rather look at.
Jonny feels like Patrick’s a firework, some days. Especially when he’s reading over his letters. He tucks the latest one into his duffle, knowing by the time he gets to the farm it’ll be well worn and over-creased from Jonny constantly opening it.
He finishes the letter, telling to Patrick not to write back, or if he does, to save the letter until Jonny sees him. He gives the letter to Maman and tells her to mail it as soon as she drops him off at the airport. She laughs and kisses his cheek, but she promises. Maman never breaks her promises.
*
Camp is exactly as shit as Jonny expects. At least it’s a horse riding camp, so he still gets to ride every day. David has to go as well, but he hasn’t been around horses as much as Jonny so he’s in completely different classes. Jonny makes friends with a few guys, but they’re kind of shitheads and Jonny isn’t super interested in staying friends. He fights with Oliver, because the guy is an asshole and keeps picking on this one kid, for absolutely no reason, and Jonny can’t stand that.
When Grandpa comes to fetch him, Jonny’s sitting out front of the camp on a log, wearing his Avs cap and feeling the sun sizzle his skin. He has a bruised eye and his parents had been called by the camp counsellors to discuss the fight, but ultimately it was left alone, given the stock both Oliver and Jonny came from. Patrick’s riding shotgun in the truck and Jonny doesn’t even get time to stand before Patrick leaps out of the car and barrels him over. They go flying backward over the log and Jonny feels all the breath get knocked out of him.
“Patrick!” Jonny groans, winded. Patrick sits up, straddling Jonny, and pushes his own cap up. It’s a farm one, with the Gilbert name and logo stamped on it.
“I couldn’t wait to say hi,” Patrick says. He’s still eleven, will be until November, and Jonny watches as Patrick’s face does something weird when he pulls Jonny up. “You’re wearing the shirt.”
Jonny looks down -- and yeah, he’s wearing the shirt Patrick sent him for his birthday in April. It’s a Family Guy one, with the logo in the middle. They had both snuck into the den every night to watch it last summer. Jonny’s pretty sure Grandpa knows they do it, but they haven’t been busted and Jonny likes the sound of Patrick’s laugh whenever Peter or Stewie do something dumb.
“Uh, yeah? I love Family Guy, and you got it for my birthday, so…” Jonny trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. He feels sweaty and sticky from sitting outside so long, but he couldn’t be stuck in the dorms for another minute with those dickheads, especially not Oliver.
Patrick beams at him, dimples flashing, and he takes Jonny’s suitcase while Jonny slings his duffle over his back. Patrick talks a mile a minute the entire drive to the farm, about the new foals and the racers they’ve started training, while Grandpa nods along. Jonny lets himself sink into the familiar lilt of Patrick’s voice, already making plans for their summer together.
“Chris put up a tire swing in the tree on the east side of the property, but he’s not coming this summer -- and Peaches hasn’t foaled yet so you can still ride her!” Patrick’s saying as they climb out the car. Grandmère’s waiting for him at the door, and he drops his duffle and hugs her while Patrick struggles with the suitcase.
“Your father’s looking for you, Patrick,” Grandmère says. Patrick pulls a face, but Jonny tells him he’ll catch up later and Patrick goes running off to find his father.
“That boy’s been counting down the days for you to arrive, Jon,” Grandmère says, ushering him inside and sitting him down at the kitchen table.
“I’m glad to see him too,” Jonny says carefully. He knows that this -- that what he’s been feeling, that warmth in his tummy, the butterflies, the way his skin goes hot whenever Patrick touches him -- it’s not normal for boys. It’s queer. It’s the kind of shit that would get him picked on at school, if anyone ever found out.
Grandmère levels a look at him but slides a big piece of pie and a glass of iced tea in front of him, and tells him to eat up.
*
Grandpa comes to find him in a quiet moments, as he’s unpacking from camp while Patrick tears around the farm with his sisters.
“Fighting now?” Grandpa says, motioning at his eye. Jonny flushes.
“Olivier Danby is an asshole. He was picking on this kid for the entire time, I just… it wasn’t fair.”
Grandpa sighs and pats the bed, and Jonny sits down next to him.
“There’s always going to be assholes in this world, Jon, and fighting isn’t the right way to deal with it. Of course you can fight, but there’s more than one way -- and it doesn’t involve your fists or violence. Fight with your will, fight with your gut, fight with your firepower and success. Don’t ever give up on something you feel strongly for.”
Jonny feels shamefaced, and nods.
“Sorry I let you down, Grandpa.”
Grandpa wraps an arm around him, reeling him in close. “Don’t think for one second you’ve ever let me down, kiddo. Me and Grandmere are so proud of you, every single day. You’re gonna get in scuffles sometimes, because you’re growing up into a man and you’re learning, but as long as you remember that there’s always another way, and you always try your best, that’s all I can ask for. That’s all anyone can ask for.”
*
That night, Patrick and Jonny are sitting at the bonfire and Patrick leans in to press a pristine white letter into Jonny’s hands. He’s got chocolate smeared in the corner of his mouth and his hair is growing out into a mess of curls, longer than Jonny’s ever seen it.
“What’s this?” Jonny asks, wiping the crumbs from his s’mores off onto his shorts and taking the letter. Patrick shrugs and accepts another s’more from Erica.
“I wrote you a letter, like you said. I kept it for you until you came back. I added some more this morning, but… yeah.”
Jonny can’t help but smile, because Patrick is so awesome. His cheeks hurt, and Patrick’s dimples are flashing in the low firelight. Grandpa’s strumming on his guitar, Grandmère’s talking to Pat and Donna, Patrick’s mom, about something to do with the latest racehorses, while the girls make a production line. Sharpy’s around too, but he’s back in the house answering some call about their next race. Jonny had been too distracted racing Patrick to the stalls for their next big adventure of the summer to pay attention to Sharpy’s movements.
“Thanks. I really like your letters,” he says, and it’s not untrue. Patrick draws rocket ships and horses and fireworks and robots in the margins, and his handwriting is messy but it’s easy to read. Jonny writes in cursive and his letters are plain, but he usually draws a hockey stick or a horseshoe in the corners. It’s about the content, anyway, not about the decorations.
Patrick nudges their knees together, and licks at the chocolate oozing down the side of his hand. Patrick’s tongue is soft and wet, pink and now covered in sweetness. Jonny aches to know what he tastes like, and feels his face heat up when he thinks about it.
“I like your letters too, man. We definitely need to keep writing until we’re old enough to get email,” Patrick says. Jonny can’t agree more.
Dinner that night is awkward in that Jonny refuses to speak and Grandmère doesn’t seem happy about Patrick’s return, either. Grandpa and Sharpy fill the empty space, asking Patrick about everything he’s been doing since graduating. Patrick’s full of stories about foals he’s raised to become race winners, about the hilarious behind-the-scenes stuff he’s seen, and a few more risque stories from his time in his frat at Georgetown that make the cut.
Grandpa went to Yale and was in a frat there, and Jonny had followed in his footsteps because he was a legacy, but Greek life hadn’t really appealed to him. He’d been a pretty shitty brother to his frat, only partying when TJ’s glares and pleading reached a semi-hysterical pitch. Doing a law degree and trying to balance that with frat responsibilities had been a dumb idea, but the concept of not rushing Grandpa’s frat was inconceivable.
“Jonny was in the same frat. Weren’t you, Jon?” Grandpa says as Jonny zones back in.
“Huh?”
Grandpa rolls his eyes and Sharpy kicks him under the table. “Kaner’s in Psi Epsilon, too.” Jonny’s gaze turns to Patrick, who’s a little flushed and busy draining his wine glass.
“Oh, I didn’t know they had that chapter in Georgetown,” is all Jonny can think to say.
“You were at Yale, right? Greg said something about it,” Patrick says, his blue eyes sliding from Jonny to his grandpa, who’s nodding his head proudly.
“My alma mater. Jonny graduated cum laude, was vice president of their Psi Epsilon chapter and had a job lined up before he even finished. Made the Gilbert name very proud,” Grandpa says, slapping his back. Jonny almost chokes on his water and Sharpy laughs.
“The Toews name, you mean,” Sharpy says. Jonny turns an interesting colour of red.
“Nope, Gilbert. The frat wouldn’t take him as a legacy unless he was known by the same last name as me. We had to send them copies of our marriage certificate, Andrée’s birth and marriage certificates -- the whole lot.”
“Wow. Jonathan Gilbert, huh?” Patrick says softly.
“It’s still Toews,” Jonny says hurriedly. His dad had thought the whole thing was hilarious, truth be told. His degree had Jonathan Toews on it, but all the paperwork and awards he’d gotten from the frat had Jonathan Gilbert. It had been a weird disconnect, one that had bugged him.
“Well, I’m sure Patrick’s exhausted from his travel. Sharpy, dear, why don’t you show him to his room?” Grandmère says, breaking the silence. Sharpy nods and jerks his head towards the entrance into the main house, and Patrick bids them all goodnight and follows him out.
Jonny sighs and exhales into his seat, watching her move around the kitchen.
“You okay, Jonny?” she says and he nods, rubbing his eyes for show.
“I think I’m gonna go to bed too, I’m feeling kinda tired.”
He heads upstairs and stops at the start of the corridor with most of the bedrooms. There’s a light under one of the spare rooms, and Jonny can hear the low hum of conversation. He bites his lip, wonders if he should knock on the door and hash things out with Patrick now… but he’s tired and feeling more scared about being alone with Patrick than a guy of his age should. He just moves on to his own room and slips inside, shutting the door without a sound.
2001.
Sharpy asks if there’s something going on with him and Patrick.
Jonny’s helping to pick out one of the older foals’ feet, and he drops its hoof right on his toes when Sharpy says, “So… what’s going on with you and Peeks?”
“W-what?” he says, his voice cracking. Sharpy narrows his eyes.
“I dunno, you guys just seem like you’re pretty close is all…” he trails off. Jonny glares.
“We’re best friends, whatever.”
“Okay, if you say so,” Sharpy mutters. Jonny focuses on the horses, and when he’s done, Sharpy’s still looking at him.
“What?” he snaps. Sharpy rolls his eyes and slings an arm around his shoulder.
“Don’t be a douchebag, I’m not busting your balls. I’m just saying, you guys balance each other nice. You keep Peeks’ feet on the ground, and he reminds you to let go once in a while.”
Jonny shrugs him off, but he feels less like he’s going to have a heart attack than he did before. It’s then that Patrick chooses to appear, clutching two bottles of pop.
“I figured you’d want a drink,” he says, handing one over to Jonny and smirking at Sharpy.
“Where’s mine?” Sharpy splutters.
“You don’t deserve one. Only beauts like me and Jonny deserve one,” Patrick says, mouth stretched pink and wet around the bottle. Jonny tears his eyes away, accidentally catches Sharpy’s gaze, then turns to look out over the yard instead. Much safer.
The next two weeks are more of the same; awkward non-conversations and stilted civility at the kitchen table, Sharpy and Grandpa playing buffer while Grandmère continues to be inscrutable. Jonny keeps trying to figure out if staying is hurting more than leaving would.
Patrick was the one to flee last time, he was the one who abandoned Jonny, so Jonny is well within his rights to be the one to leave this time.
Jonny rides Peaches for a half hour every day, and Grandpa keeps remarking on how much ‘healthier’ he’s looking. Jonny works out a lot and watches what he eats, so how much better he can look or be is beyond him. He just nods and thanks him, helping out around the farm where he can between the gym, riding and looking over the legal stuff for Grandmère, while searching half-heartedly for work and dodging Facebook messages from home.
Patrick’s in his periphery most of the time, either in the stalls with the horses they’re looking at making a push for the Triple Crown with, or fussing over the new foals. There’s two of them; a colt and a filly, and Jonny’s already put in time staring at them making their way around the yard on wobbly legs. They’re all spindly angles and bleating pitifully for their mothers. Patrick’s always been a sucker for baby animals. It was one of the things Jonny had loved about him.
One night at dinner, Patrick’s talking to Grandmère about their standout for the Crown; a thoroughbred filly named State of Grace. She’s gorgeous, on target for the weight restrictions and she’s been consistently putting up amazing times. Jonny learns that Pat Sr. had foaled her, organised the sire match to their dam and she’s their pride and joy, the one they’re all pulling for. Jonny’s excited, not only for the family and the prestige it’d bring to their farm if she did win the triple, but because Patrick is so excited. He’s been talking about her all through dinner, and through Grandmère serving tea and a vanilla cake she’d made earlier.
In a brief lull, Patrick’s mouth full of cake, Grandmère turns to Jonny. Jonny, who’s mouth is also full, barely has enough time to brace himself.
“How long are you planning on staying, Jonathan, dear?” she says. Jonny frowns, a little hurt. She’s never asked him before, and he doesn’t know why she’d start now.
“Uh, I hadn’t really decided…” he trails off, looking at his grandpa. Grandpa sips his tea and levels a glance at his wife, unimpressed.
“Now, Claire. If the boy wants to stay until after the Triple Crown, then he can. We haven’t seen him in years, and god knows when we’ll see him again once he heads back north. The air and horses will do him good. Plus, we’ve got Patrick to keep an eye on him, eh?” Grandpa says. Patrick chokes on his drink, going bright red.
“Y-yes sir,” he stammers. Sharpy’s grin is evil and Jonny has no idea how to respond to that. He looks to Grandmère instead, who seems to be struggling with her husband’s opinion just as much as Jonny is.
“I don’t know if I’ll be around that long… I need to get back to finding a new firm to work for,” Jonny says, sipping at his tea. The idea of going back to Chicago is unappealing, although less so than staying in Kentucky and being around Patrick all the damn time. He figures given some time and fewer awkward encounters between them, he and Patrick can get back to being friends, since lovers didn’t work when they were teens. Or he can use the close proximity to finally get over the relationship once and for all. Distance didn’t work, so maybe being in his face all day every day will work instead.
“Either way, no rush to commit to anything, Jon. We love having you here,” Grandpa says, patting his knee and smiling. Jonny smiles back and catches Patrick watching them, a fond look on his face. It disappears as soon as Jonny makes eye contact with him, though, and Patrick fumbles through a thanks for the dinner and heads to his room.
Apparently close proximity isn’t going to work, either.
2002.
Fourteen is an awkward age, and while Maman has given up on forcing him to camp and lets him come straight to Grandmère’s (embarrassing UNACCOMPANIED MINOR sign aside), he’s in a shitty mood and it hasn’t even been a month.
The farm is great, of course, and he loves being around Sharpy and the Kanes, but… Patrick won’t shut up about how great Sharpy is. Jonny’s jealous, and he knows it. Patrick and Sharpy spend most of the year together because they’re both at the farm year round. It makes Jonny ache, because he misses out on so much and only gets such a tiny sliver of Patrick’s time. So, most of the first few weeks of the summer is catching up on everything they’ve done throughout the year together, inside jokes and stupid smirks that Jonny will never know like they do.
“Fuck’s sake, Pat, Sharpy isn’t that great,” Jonny snaps after Patrick finishes telling some dumb story about something Sharpy did. Jonny’s cleaning out Peaches’ hooves and has to brush her after, and Patrick’s leaning against the stall in shorts and a Sabres t-shirt, his blond curls wild this summer.
He hadn’t even cut it; said something about showing Jonny the full force of the curls that ‘get the girls’ or something. Jonny had laughed out loud when Patrick wrote those stupid words, but now he doesn’t feel like laughing. He just feels like burying his fingers in them and smelling that fruity shampoo Patrick uses, the special one for people with curly hair. It makes them shine in the sunlight, and when he and Patrick fall asleep under the tire swing, Jonny can smell him on the breeze.
“What’s up your ass?” Patrick frowns, and Jonny glares at him over his shoulder.
“Nothing, you just keep going on and on about Sharpy. You got a crush on him or something?” Jonny sneers.
Patrick glares right back and stomps off, shouting behind him, “You’re such an asshole, Jonny!”
Jonny seethes while he’s cleaning Peaches, and by the time he’s done he still feels pissed and jealous, so he finds Pat and asks if any of the other horses need brushing, or walking in the round pens. Pat looks surprised but tells him there’s a colt and a filly who need both; Krakatoa and Wilhelmina, both three and huge. Jonny remembers when they were small and unsteady on their feet, and now they’re amazing.
Jonny’s walking Krakatoa when Patrick appears, hauling himself up to sit on the pen fence and watching Jonny silently. Jonny comes to a stop by him, and Krakatoa whinnies at Patrick, who smiles at him.
“Hey buddy,” he says softly and rubs his nose. “Sorry for before,” he adds belatedly. Jonny rubs his hands against his pants, nervous.
“It’s okay. I was being a dick.”
Patrick laughs and they walk back to Krakatoa’s stall together, then head in for dinner -- a loud, noisy affair with a busy table and Grandmère and Donna dancing around each other to serve everyone. Patrick and Jonny sit together, like always, but Sharpy’s on Patrick’s other side and they spend most of the meal talking to each other.
Jonny feels like a dumb kid in the face of Sharpy being in college and so much older, and the way that Patrick looks at him -- half-amazement, half-brotherly irritation.
It makes him steal a bottle of Grandpa’s bourbon and drag Patrick out to the fire pit, where he shows him.
“Are you crazy?” Patrick exclaims, and Jonny shrugs.
“I’ve gotten drunk before. Haven’t you?” he says. It’s true -- just before the summer, one of his buddies from his school hockey team had snuck a bottle of cheap vodka into the rooms and they got wasted, not that it took much. Jonny had escaped and made his way home before the coaches busted them, and Jonny spent the next two days throwing up with the worst headache of his life, but he figures if he drinks something different, and a lot less, he’ll avoid the hangover.
“No,” Patrick says, his cheeks pink. Patrick’s still thirteen, and this is probably a really dumb idea. Jonny wants to do something cool and adult though. Patrick takes the bottle after Jonny has a swig and chokes on it, coughing and spluttering into his shirt.
“God, this stuff is gross. How does Grandpa drink it all the time?” Jonny laments, once Patrick reacts more violently and makes him laugh so hard he almost falls off the log.
Sharpy finds them when they’re halfway through the bottle and completely fucked up, singing loudly up at the sky about cows jumping over the moon. Jonny feels like he’s floating in a warm bath and Patrick’s pressed against him, and all Jonny can smell is the grass and the fire, and Patrick’s shampoo. It’s like heaven.
“Oh my god, you two are in so much trouble,” Sharpy laughs, holding up the bottle. Jonny strains his neck and then Grandmère appears, looking furious.
Jonny’s stomach twists and yeah, he really is.
Predictably, Grandmère puts them to bed and they wake up the next morning with horrific headaches. Jonny spends most of the day with his head in a toilet bowl. Grandpa thinks that’s punishment enough, and refuses to let Grandmère ground him. Patrick’s parents are the same -- Pat laughs while Patrick whines softly from the end of the table, and Donna lectures them both on drinking alcohol. Jonny just wants the talking to stop. Drinking is so bad.
Grandmère doesn’t believe it was his idea, though, even when he insists and stomps his foot and argues until he’s blue in the face. She has it in her head that Patrick convinced him to steal the bourbon, that Patrick started the bonfire, and Jonny gets sick of arguing. He throws up his hands and walks away, finds Patrick in the swing tire with Erica, and flops down on the grass.
“Remind me to never drink again with you,” he says when Patrick settles down next to him, Erica laughing as she swings around.
“You’re the bad influence, asshole,” Patrick says back, but he rests his head on Jonny’s chest and Jonny can’t find it in him to be pissed off about anything anymore.
Jonny’s in his room, sulking with a bottle of his grandpa’s bourbon that Jonny had filched from his study. His grandpa had said at the start that Jonny could drink anything but the top shelf stuff, so Jonny had taken something from the bottom and went to hide away in his room.
He’s been in Kentucky for almost a month now, Patrick around for almost as long, and they’ve said all of ten words to each other. It’s painfully uncomfortable and Jonny absolutely hates it.
There’s a knock on his door and Jonny doesn’t even bother getting up, just grunts and flips to another channel. Pride and Prejudice is on, the shitty Keira Knightley version, and Jonny pulls a face.
“Well, if this isn’t the most depressing sight I’ve ever seen,” Sharpy’s voice comes from the doorway. Jonny looks over and sure enough, Sharpy’s there and smirking.
“Fuck off,” Jonny grumbles. Sharpy does no such thing, coming inside and sitting on the end of his bed.
“When I said ‘come to Kentucky and see your grandparents’, I didn’t mean come here to sit in your room and drink alone. Your grandpa has great stories, at least take advantage of being related to the man and drink with him,” Sharpy says, tugging the bottle from Jonny’s lax grip and taking a swig.
“I feel like I belong in that movie,” Jonny says unhappily, flapping a hand at the plasma mounted to the wall. Sharpy raises an eyebrow.
“Things with Patrick are… I thought maybe we’d fix things? After how we left things, I mean. But he’s not interested, and it just… it still fucking sucks, Sharpy. I don’t know how to make it stop sucking. He was my best friend for years, and then we had that summer together and it was so perfect, and then everything fell apart. It’s been messed up for so long. I feel like I’m an old timey maiden stuck in some period drama.”
Sharpy sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. In the dull lamp light, Jonny notes that he finally looks his fucking age.
“Look. I think Peeks is feeling exactly the same way, man. You aren’t exactly the easiest person to talk to. And it’s obvious talking needs to happen.”
“Maybe I just haven’t given it enough time,” Jonny mumbles. Sharpy leans closer, taking the lid for the bourbon off his bedside table to screw it back in the bottle.
“I think over six years is plenty long enough. The fact you still have that picture and refused to come back to Kentucky until now says even more.”
There are some times Jonny really hates Sharpy, and then there are some times when he’s just… he’s just right, and it irritates Jonny to the point of insanity, but right now he’s sad and kind of drunk. Keira Knightley is a horrible fucking actress, and drinking with Sharpy and his grandpa sounds like a better plan than drinking alone.
“Fuck. Okay. C’mon, let’s go find my grandpa and make him tell us war stories,” Jonny says, swinging his legs over the bed. Sharpy rolls his eyes but grabs the bourbon and follows Jonny out.
As they’re walking down the corridor, Sharpy’s arm slung over Jonny’s shoulder, Patrick appears at the stairs, yawning and stretching for the ceiling. His t-shirt is rucked up, revealing tanned planes of skin, and Jonny’s mouth dries right up.
He remembers trailing his tongue along that skin, how it tasted like salt and the strawberries they’d spent the afternoon sneaking from Grandmère’s fridge. He’d let Patrick feed him, following each one with a kiss. It was so dumb and sickly sweet, but Jonny had been ridiculously infatuated. Patrick could’ve asked for anything and Jonny would’ve gladly given it.
“Patrick,” he says, and Patrick notices them and stops. He looks unsure, and Jonny’s so tired of that on his face, especially when he’s the cause. He smiles and waves.
“We’re gonna go find my grandpa and make him tell us war stories. Wanna come?” he says. Sharpy’s nodding along, and Patrick looks like he’s debating it before he busts out another jaw-cracking yawn. It’s so big his eyes are tearing up when he finishes, rubbing at them.
“I’d love to but I’m so fucking tired, man. I’ve been up since five.”
Jonny lets the disappointment wash over him and nods, propelling Sharpy into movement around him. They’re almost at the stairs when Patrick calls, “Raincheck?” at him. Jonny turns to look at him, Patrick’s hand on the doorknob to his room. Jonny can’t read his face, or the tone in his voice -- not anymore -- but the word is enough.
“Sure,” he says easily, and is rewarded with Patrick’s smile, dimpled and bright. Jonny’s helpless but to smile back, before he lets Sharpy lead him downstairs.
“That’s a good start,” Sharpy whispers once they hit the landing. Jonny knocks their heads together; soft enough not to give them concussions, but hard enough to let Sharpy know he’s been heard.
2003.
This summer, David comes to Louisville with Jonny. He’s got a ticket for a two-week stay, with his own plans back in Winnipeg, but Grandmère’s been insistent about wanting to see him.
Jonny’s grown a foot since last summer, but he’s still so weedy, no matter how much he works out. He still spends every weekend riding with Maman, but between school and hockey practice, it’s getting harder to find time for anything else. Maman and Dad have started talking about colleges, but Jonny’s only fifteen -- what the hell does he know about college? He just knows he loves horses, and the long stretch of summer in Kentucky.
He always gains so much weight in the summer, which is good, between the spoonbread and the barbecues, chicken and chili con carne, Johnny cake and Derby pie. He’s asked Grandmère to put on a big spread for David’s first visit, and she doesn’t disappoint. Jonny’s located Jackie for lunch, but the rest of the kids can’t be found. He’s pissed off because Patrick’s always there to pick him up from the airport, or at least see him first when he gets to the farm.
“They’re in the city. Mom said Patty needed a haircut and some new pants,” Jackie explains. David raises an eyebrow.
“Patty?”
“That’s what they all call Patrick, ‘cos his dad is called Patrick, too,” Jonny explains.
David nods, but it’s obvious he’s not paying attention, so Jonny turns back to asking Jackie how her year’s gone, and if she’s done much riding.
When Grandmère calls Grandpa and Sharpy in, Jonny and David are laughing over the Johnny cakes when everyone appears at once. Grandpa and Sharpy launch in on David, and the girls are all over Jonny. Patrick comes stumbling in, weighed down under bags of shopping while Donna tells him off about something.
Jonny’s chest goes tight and he feels that stupid fucking smile on his face, knows he must be as obvious as a zit on prom night. Patrick’s looking at him like nothing else matters and he drops his shopping in the corner, hugging Jonny so tightly it feels like he’s going to burst.
“Missed you,” Patrick whispers and Jonny squeezes him back.
“Missed you more.”
Grandmère’s impatient when they finish hugging, telling Jonny to come sit by her and David. Patrick’s down the other end, but Jonny doesn’t even care. He keeps zoning out of the conversation to watch Patrick helping Jackie and Jess, while ducking the food Sharpy keeps covertly flinging at him. Jonny laughs at Grandpa’s anecdotes about the new foals and Dayna’s baby learning to walk just like them, but his gaze keeps drifting back to Patrick.
“I can see why you like this place,” David says later that night, when they’re yawning and dragging their feet. Jonny feels over full and exhausted, like he always does for the first week being back, and David’s spread eagled on the floor, flapping at his t-shirt. Grandmère isn’t stingy with the air conditioning during the day, but for an hour at night to sleep is all they get, and then it’s only fans and open windows to save you from the oppressive heat.
“Yeah?” Jonny says, after he finishes brushing his teeth and sits on the edge of the bed. David looks up at him, his eyes so similar to Jonny’s.
“I know you like Patrick,” he says. Jonny’s breath catches in his throat.
“You freak out over the mail twice a month, you talk about him all the time… Maman is talking about getting an international call plan for when you start asking to ring Louisville. You text him too, don’t you?”
It’s not a lie. Jonny wants to text him, but Patrick’s not allowed a phone until he turns sixteen, which means after next summer. They talk twice a month at Grandmère’s, but Grandmère’s cut them back to twenty-minute conversations. Jonny had tried to argue it out with her, but she was steadfast. So it’s mostly just hand-written letters; Jonny doesn’t have an email address yet, save for school, and he never uses it. He’d miss Patrick’s handwriting anyway.
“He doesn’t have a cell, but yeah… when he does, I will. I don’t think he likes me the same way,” Jonny whispers back. He feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff, scared beyond belief. David huffs and kicks out at him, foot connecting with Jonny’s leg.
“Stupid fucker. Of course he likes you back. He stared at you all through dinner. You’re like Romeo and Juliet, except you’re both dumbasses and super ugly.”
Jonny has to defend his honour and wrestle David into submission, giving him a wedgie once he concedes and laughing when he rips the waistband of David’s favourite boxers. He settles into bed and thanks him, though.
“For what?” David asks sleepily, yawning from his blow up on the floor.
“For not being a dick about this.”
“I would never,” David says.
*
When David leaves after two weeks, it feels right. David likes the farm, is happy to have seen Grandmère and Grandpa, rides a little and hangs with the Kanes and Sharpy a lot, but he doesn’t belong to the place like Jonny does. He doesn’t want to, either.
“This is your place, Jon. I don’t want it,” David says, when they’re waiting by the truck for Grandpa and Patrick. Jonny and Patrick never go anywhere without each other -- it’s been a running joke since they were twelve that if you wanted to find one, just find the other and they’d be together, sure as sunshine. Dayna and Pete, one of the other trainers, keep calling them ‘star crossed’, whatever the hell that means.
“And you really need to say something to Patrick, it’s getting stupid,” he whispers as he hugs Jonny goodbye and walks into the terminal. Jonny balls his hands into fists when he gets back into the car, his side pressed against Patrick’s.
“What was that about?” Patrick asks, his blue eyes clear and his mouth happy. Grandpa’s grumbling about the traffic, and Jonny settles back into the seat.
“Nothing, just dumb brother stuff,” Jonny lies. Patrick purses his mouth but shrugs and does the same, and they fall asleep together on the drive back to the farm. When he wakes up, Jonny realises Grandpa let them sleep in the truck, and the first thing he sees is Patrick’s face, slack with sleep and so close. If Jonny wanted… he could kiss him. The urge is so strong it feels like it’s suffocating him. Jonny bites his lip and steals something else instead -- trails his finger along Patrick’s jaw before knocking their knees together and pulling back. He laughs when Patrick startles awake, and they head to the house together, their hands swinging as they walk.
Their raincheck never comes, which disappoints Jonny more than he’d thought. He’s been in Kentucky for almost two months at this point. The Derby’s a couple of weeks away and he’s gotten swept up helping the farm get ready for that, and several other upcoming races they’re entering horses into. Grandmère has a large vision, and they need the manpower for it -- Sharpy ends up pulling yard duty with Jonny, helping to muck stables and exercise the horses, walking them around the pens and working with the more lively horses on their manners. He spends a long time talking with the training staff as well, wanting to know all he can and more about that side of the business.
In a move that surprises no one and everyone, Rosie Napravnik starts up a full-time position as a jockey with their farm, to ride State of Grace. She’s had great results across the Triple Crown, and while being a female jockey is an intimidating prospect at the best of time, she’s got balls of steel and takes no shit from anyone. She’s also worked with Patrick several times before, and they get along great. It drives Jonny insane.
“Exactly my kind of woman,” Patrick says one afternoon, standing beside her and Grace. Sharpy’s there as well and Jonny can’t help but feel those words jab inside him like a fucking poker, and he focuses on not punching Patrick’s lights out. He knows that part of the reason Grandmère got Patrick back is because of Rosie; as part of her deal, she wanted to work with Patrick again. She also works really works well with Grace, and their times together are amazing in the training they’ve done.
Jonny’s been roped into helping rewrite his grandparents’ wills. It isn’t his area of expertise at all, so he’s had his mother ship all his law textbooks (and some extra clothes -- he definitely didn’t pack enough). He’s been hitting up several of the other associates he’d worked with as well, just to figure out how to do it. As a result, he’s taken over the kitchen table and is squinting at his laptop one afternoon. It’s so much harder than he expected, figuring out how many addendums to this clause he should insert, just in case his Great Aunt Janelle decides she wants to own a horse or two.
Patrick and Sharpy come clattering in, mud splattered and laughing about something, startling when they notice Jonny.
“Woah, lawyer boy’s taking over the kitchen table. What’s all this?” Sharpy asks, leaning in to inspect one of his textbooks. Jonny elbows him.
“My grandparents want me to rewrite their wills. I’m pretty sure Grandpa’s behind it, which is why he was so keen for me to stay on longer,” Jonny says.
“That’s not why,” Patrick says from the fridge, a bottle in his hand. Jonny looks up.
“What?”
“I mean -- I’ve, uh. Your grandpa missed you a lot. He said this is the first time he’s seen you since your graduation,” Patrick fumbles, turning pink. Jonny shrugs.
“Got busy with school, spent the summers with my friends. Guess the farm was tainted for me for a long time,” Jonny says coolly. Patrick wants to use his grandpa as guilt, then fuck him. He doesn’t miss how Patrick’s grip tightens on the bottle. Jonny looks back at his laptop and Sharpy coughs, the air between them becoming strained.
“Well, um, Kaner and I just came in for a drinks break, so we’ll be going back outside now. Have fun with your boring law shit,” Sharpy says, hurrying Patrick out of the kitchen. The door slams, but Jonny can hear Patrick explode with something as soon as it does. Like it matters.
*
Late the next evening, Jonny’s sitting in front of Peaches’ stall, feeding her bits of hay. It’s late, but he can’t sleep, his mind whirring over the will stuff... and Patrick.
He’s caught between old infatuation and new infuriation, and he can barely draw the line between them. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to explain how hurt he was over everything, without completely losing control. Patrick always knew how to press his buttons, always knew how to push him to the edge and drag him right back -- and Jonny knew how to do exactly the same. He wonders if Patrick is feeling just as off-kilter, just as unsettled as Jonny is. Seeing Patrick in the old, familiar spaces and not being able to touch him, or even just hang out like they used to, easy and sweet in their camaraderie… he thinks that’s the most painful thing. He thinks he could get over the bullshit, if he could just have some part of Patrick back.
It seems fitting that Patrick finds Jonny, petting Peaches’ nose while she whinnies softly by him. Being back in Kentucky hasn’t solved anything. He has no closure, he has a sore chest and a handful of hangovers and has started waking up to forgotten memories of Patrick’s hands on his skin.
It’s funny, how he thought he’d gotten over something until it was dragged back out of him. He thinks he’s been crying out for closure for a while now. Sharpy finally heard him and dragged him back to where it all started.
“Jonathan?” Patrick’s voice comes from the stable doors. Jonny looks over and sees him standing there in a fleece pullover and holding two thermoses.
“Hi,” Jonny says, resting his head against the wood. Patrick walks in and stops by Jonny, and holds out a thermos.
“It’s hot chocolate, like my mom used to make. I remember how much you liked it,” Patrick says. Jonny nods and takes it. Patrick sits down next to him, enough space between them for propriety, but Jonny’s heart gives a kick anyway. He unscrews the top of the thermos and inhales the rich, heady scent and sips, the chocolate smooth on his tongue. There’s froth on top and marshmallows; Patrick’s gone all out.
Donna Kane’s famous hot chocolate soothed a lot of frayed nerves, even in the heat of a Kentucky summer. Six teenagers and pre-teens tearing around the farm all day for three months solid was sure to result in shit, but they always sorted it all out. Donna and Grandmère’s cooking helped.
“I--” Patrick starts, stopping when Jonny looks up from his drink. Patrick bites on his lip, an old nervous tick he still hasn’t kicked, and Jonny waits for his tongue to swipe along it. Sure as anything, it does, and Jonny has to force himself to look away. He remembers what that tongue feels like against his, remembers what Patrick tasted like.
“I’ve missed you,” Jonny says, not waiting for Patrick to finish. It’s too raw to say, but he knows that closure has to come at some point.
His grandparents will die and his mother has already said she’s not having anything to do with the farm, so it’ll become Jonny’s responsibility. They have to work together, and one day this will have to stop being the worst thing to ever happen to him. Patrick will have to be a friend again, or at least an acquaintance he can run this place with.
What he isn’t expecting is for Patrick to say, on a long shaky exhale, “I’ve missed you too. So much.”
Shit.
He can’t bring himself to ask, to demand clarification, so he sips the hot chocolate and sits with Patrick in silence, Peaches nudging the back of his head with her nose.
“Thanks for the drink,” he says when he’s drained it, standing up and stretching. He’s got a crick in his neck and his butt has fallen asleep, but he looks at Patrick and sees that smile, soft and worn, and it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to.
“You’re welcome. Any time,” Patrick says. They walk back to the house, putting the dirty thermoses in the dishwasher and heading upstairs together.
“Thanks,” Jonny says again, and Patrick shrugs.
“Was good to uh, spend time with you. Stuff’s been weird, I know, but uh… maybe one day we can get back to something like we used to have,” Patrick says.
It lies heavy in the air and Jonny’s fingers tighten around his doorknob. He forces himself to nod and ducks into his room.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
The weird in-between continues, and Jonny finds himself looking forward to their little moments with increasing patheticness.
It’s like admitting they missed each other opened some kind of floodgate between them, because Jonny starts making Patrick sandwiches when he’s too busy with the horses to stop. Grandmere gives him weird looks, but Jonny just finishes putting together whatever he can find that day and carries it out to him.
“Wow, delivery!” Abby, one of the other trainers, says from where she’s perched atop Grace. Jonny smirks and hands the wrapped sandwich to Patrick.
“I was making one for me and figured you might want one,” he says, palming the back of his neck. It feels hot, which means his cheeks are probably just as red. He could blame it on the heat, but the way Patrick’s looking at him, he knows whatever jig he has is probably up.
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. I wouldn’t get the chance to eat until dinner,” he says, opening the wax paper and taking a bite, moaning indecently. Jonny flushes deeper at that, watching as some of the coleslaw smears along Patrick’s bottom lip, the white stark against the plump pinkness.
“Um, so I’m gonna go-- lawyer stuff, ah.” Jonny flees, waving goodbye and leaving Patrick to the horses. He feels like a moron, but at least he got to do something nice for Patrick today.
Patrick seems just as keen for it anyway, if the way he brings Jonny hot chocolate every night is any indication. They always sit out in the stalls together, by Peaches, catching up slowly and skirting any topic that could lead somewhere neither of them want to go.
“Boarding school was intense, man, but so great. I mean, it got me into Georgetown and all, so I can’t complain. So many amazing opportunities,” Patrick says, slurping at his drink. Jonny nods, a thousand questions pressing at his tongue, but he knows now isn’t the time or place. He doesn’t want to fight, he just wants to enjoy the tentative friendship building between them.
“What about you, Jon? How did college go?”
Jonny shrugs, picking at a loose thread in his shorts. “It was alright. I graduated well enough, got my degree out of it, so there’s that.”
“I thought you would’ve done something with horses or farming, because of the house and the family business,” Patrick says softly, jerking his head a little to encompass everything, Jonny supposes. He shrugs again.
“Didn’t really think about it. Maman pitched a fit when I said I wanted to enlist, flat out refused to support me. So I decided law instead.”
“You were going to enlist?” Patrick chokes out. Jonny nods and looks up at him, takes in the dumbstruck expression and can’t help but smile.
“Not seriously considering, well… I was at the time. I was kind of lost, I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I’m glad Maman didn’t let me.” Jonny knows he could have done well in the Canadian Royal Forces, probably made a career out of it, but his mother’s tearful reaction and his father’s quiet acceptance was enough to put him off it. He figured if he was ging to help people, maybe law was another way to do it.
“I’m glad too,” Patrick says, looking down at his lap. Jonny blinks, glancing at Patrick and taking in his side profile, the clench of his jaw and how unhappy he seems to be. He doesn’t know how to make it better, whatever it is, so he just… leaves it. Leaves them be.
They’re eating breakfast and Grandmère has been fussing over Jonny all morning, which isn’t weird in itself but her hovering is getting strange. She’s made waffles, pancakes, sausage, grits, hash browns, three different kinds of eggs and an intimidating stack of toast.
“Grandmère,” Jonny huffs, exasperated when she checks for the fifth time that the food’s good. She never fusses, not like this, unless she’s nervous about something… or preparing to be devious. Apparently he should’ve been more guarded.
“We’re having a social engagement tonight,” she says, once Jonny’s shoved a stack of hash and sausage in his mouth. He frowns.
“The Ladies Club of Louisville is having a mixer here. We’re having it catered, cleaners are coming in an hour and everyone needs to be on their best behaviour,” she continues. Jonny’s frown deepens.
“Ladies Club of Louisville?” Why does that sound so familiar?
“Isn’t that a shoot off of the Belles?” Sharpy asks, a grin building. Oh no.
“Yes. They've been asking me to host something for a while now but I never had enough help. Now that Jonny's here, it’s the perfect time.” Grandmère smiles at him, and Jonny shoots a look at Grandpa, who’s staying firmly hidden behind his paper. Coward.
“Uh, Grandmère,” he starts. While he doesn’t consider himself to be completely down the Kinsey scale, his preferences generally tend to lean more towards men. He’s slept with a few women in his time, but it’s just not as… gratifying as fucking a dude.
Patrick is looking down at his plate, going to town on his pancakes. He’s wearing a toque, but Jonny wonders if the tips of his ears would be red underneath them.
“So, after lunch you and Sharp can help me clean the lounge, conservatory and kitchen. Patrick’s busy with Rosie and Grace,” she says, cutting Sharpy’s protestations off. Jonny groans. He’d wanted to go for a ride on Peaches after lunch; it’s due to rain later today.
2004.
Maman says it’s heartbreak, what he’s feeling. Jonny doesn’t really know how else to describe it, but for something that never came to be -- how can he be broken over it?
Patrick has a girlfriend. Well, had. Her name was Kelsey, she had brown hair and green eyes, and all of Patrick’s letters between December and May had involved her somehow. How pretty she was, how nice she tasted, how she let him get to second base but no further. He’s still a virgin at fifteen and shitty about it, while Jonny’s sixteen and still a virgin and the only person he wants to lose it to is off having girlfriends and kissing people.
For the first time in years, he doesn’t want to go to Louisville, and contemplates cancelling the flight he’s had booked for eight months. David tells him he’s a moron, and Maman looks alarmed when he says he might stay in Winnipeg this year, but Patrick’s next letter tells him that they broke up -- Kelsey cheated on him with the goalie from his school team, and Patrick had punched him and got a black eye and suspended for three days -- and how excited he is to see Jonny this summer.
Jonny got his permit after his birthday, so they can finally drive into Louisville themselves and do stuff together without having to drag Sharpy along with them, or have one of the adults chaperoning.
*
It’s raining the day he lands in Louisville, and Patrick’s there with Grandpa, like always. Jonny slides into the car but Patrick’s quiet, and so they drive back in silence. Grandpa looks awkward and asks Jonny how his school year went, but Jonny just wants to get into his room and figure out how he’s supposed to get over Patrick when he needs to see him every single fucking day.
It takes three weeks until Jonny breaks. They’ve put the horses back in their stalls and are lying out on the yard by the tire tree, the girls off at a friend’s house and Sharpy’s gone back to Canada for some family thing.
It’s a scorcher of a day, hovering around forty (“It’s gotta be at least a hundred and five!” Patrick moaned from the breakfast table that morning, before Grandpa proved him right with the weather report), and it’s overcast and looking like a storm in the afternoon. The tree is providing enough shade, and nobody’s about -- the horses have been left and everyone’s gone home.
Patrick’s taken his shirt off and rolled up his shorts, and he’s trying to hide his face with his cap but it’s failing miserably.
“God, we need to go to the lake,” Patrick says with a cough. They’ve got a water bottle between them, but Jonny feels like if he moves, the sweat will send him sliding down the hill.
“Yeah,” Jonny croaks. They crawl down the hill and make it to the lake on the property, and Patrick dives in with a huge splash, while Jonny wades in from the side. The water is lukewarm, but anything’s better than where they were before.
“Kelsey called me yesterday,” Patrick says, once Jonny’s pulled himself back out to sit on the edge of the bank. Patrick’s treading water in front of him, and Jonny frowns.
“Oh?” he says, really not caring to know. Patrick jerks a shoulder and flops down next to Jonny, on his back.
“Yeah. She said she’s going out with my best friend, Jake. She wanted to make sure it was okay. I guess I’ve gotta punch him when I go home, too.”
Jonny snorts, and Patrick grins up at him.
“You should stop punching people so much. I don’t think your mom likes you being suspended,” Jonny says slowly, wiping some of the water droplets off his face. Patrick cocks a leg and Jonny’s eyes follow the strain of wet shorts, that pull tight against his crotch. He can see Patrick’s dick, and his gut tingles and he looks away, adjusting his own shorts. He can’t get hard now, because he’s not ready--
“I miss kissing her the most, y’know? It’s like, fuck. Kissing is so good. I never got to sleep with her or whatever, but just… kissing is amazing.”
Jonny’s never kissed anyone. He hasn’t wanted to. Just Patrick.
“Maybe I should ask Sharpy if he wants to make out with me or something. He’d be good to test on, learn with…” Patrick giggles. Jonny’s blood boils, and just like that, he snaps.
“God, what’s it with you and kissing everyone?” he spits out. Patrick pulls his arm down from over his eyes and frowns. His chest is tanned from the summer and Jonny wants to lick every droplet of water off his body.
“Jonny, what the hell’s your problem? You’ve been so weird and mean since you got here.” Patrick sits up, and Jonny squeezes his hands into fists.
“Forget about it,” Jonny grits out. Patrick does no such thing.
“No, not until you tell me what the fuck’s going on. Jonny, why--”
Jonny can’t do this anymore. It’s been pressing at his chest, begging to be freed, ever since he was twelve. He’s sixteen and he can’t hide it anymore. He shuts his eyes and opens his mouth and lets go.
“Because you talk about kissing all these people, and it pisses me the fuck off because the only person you should be kissing is me!”
Patrick doesn’t say anything. Jonny opens his eyes and Patrick’s staring at him, dumbstruck. The silence stretches between them, the heat smothering him like a bad blanket and Jonny knows he needs to get away. He gathers himself up, his heart starting to break into tiny pieces inside his chest and whatever he felt at the start of the summer was nothing compared to this -- when Patrick’s hand shoots out and grabs his wrist, painfully tight.
“Jon, Jonny… I didn’t know. I thought, I mean. I hoped, but… I didn’t think you wanted to kiss me. Someone like me, I mean. Uh. Fuck.”
It’s Jonny’s turn for his face to go slack, and Patrick’s biting his lip and then he’s leaning in, his hand moving from Jonny’s wrist to cup his cheek.
“Let me,” Patrick whispers, his breath ghosting against Jonny’s mouth. Jonny nods, can’t do anything but say yes to Patrick, his eyes zeroed in on Patrick’s mouth. Their lips touch, and Patrick licks Jonny’s bottom lip, and Jonny opens up for him.
He’s so nervous and it feels like his heart is going to beat clear out his chest, and Patrick’s other hand has come to rest against Jonny’s hip, and Jonny’s eyes are closed because he can’t bear to look at Patrick’s face right now, his heart couldn’t take it.
“Jonny,” Patrick whimpers when Jonny pulls back, and Jonny opens his eyes to see Patrick’s, his pupils blown and his cheeks red.
“Pat, I’ve wanted you for so long,” Jonny says. Patrick’s flush travels down his neck and to his chest, and Jonny knows he’s probably just as red.
“Was that your first kiss?” Patrick asks. Jonny nods, lacing their fingers together. He doesn’t want to lie to Patrick.
“You’re gonna… you’ll be my first everything,” Jonny says. Patrick lets out a shuddery breath and moves in to kiss him again, pushing Jonny back against the grass.
It’s over forty degrees in the shade and they’re lying in mud and grass by a warm lake on his grandparents’ property in Kentucky, sweating buckets. He’s hard enough to knock a nail into a piece of plywood, Patrick’s thigh resting heavy between his legs and his tongue thrusting into Jonny’s mouth like there’s nothing else he’s made to do. It’s so perfect that Jonny wants to explode and just exist forever in this moment.
“Pat,” Jonny chokes out, and Patrick pulls back, his chest heaving. He’s hard as well, Jonny can feel him, and Jonny just wants to see Patrick naked, wants to keep kissing and maybe get his hands on Patrick, his mouth if he’s brave enough.
“We should go inside,” Patrick says, and licks a line along Jonny’s neck. Jonny shudders underneath him. Patrick stands up and they readjust, heading back to the house and sneaking inside. Jonny’s heart is racing, and he tangles their fingers together. Patrick giggles and Jonny shushes him as they shut the back door and head upstairs. Patrick pauses at the doorway to Jonny’s room.
“We’re really close to your grandparents’ room, they might hear something,” he whispers. Jonny frowns and tries to think where else they could go.
“Guest house?” he says. Patrick nods and shakes free of his hand, darting into his room and reappearing while Jonny shifts from foot to foot. Patrick takes his hand again and kisses his cheek, before leading Jonny to the guest house. Patrick’s family stay there, and Patrick’s got his own room, so they go upstairs and Patrick shuts the door.
“Locked?” Jonny asks, sitting down on the edge of Patrick’s bed. Patrick nods and licks his lips, coming to stand in front of Jonny.
“They let me put a lock on last year, ‘cos I was almost fifteen.”
Jonny nods and palms Patrick’s hips, before leaning in to kiss a path up Patrick’s sternum. He giggles underneath Jonny’s ministrations and cups Jonny’s cheeks, kissing him deep and lush.
“Pat,” Jonny whines and Patrick nods, pushing him back and going up on one elbow over him.
“Can I…” Patrick says, tugging at the waistband of Jonny’s shorts. He holds his breath and nods, and lets Patrick pull down his pants and briefs at the same time. His dick springs back up, smacking against his belly, and Patrick smiles and licks his lips, and Jonny groans.
“Fucking, stop doing that,” he pants out, as Patrick pulls down his own shorts. Jonny looks at him, really looks at him, and he wants so badly. Patrick’s cut, Jonny’s not, and his hair is soft and blonde, dusted around the base of his dick. Jonny’s hair is dark and wiry, and Patrick’s pale whereas Jonny’s darker, and they’re so different but Jonny’s still so fucking in love with Patrick.
“Stop what?” Patrick smirks, and climbs back on, tossing something on the bed beside Jonny. He turns to see -- fuck. Lube and condoms.
“Oh my god,” he says faintly, and Patrick stops.
“Too much?” Patrick says. Jonny shakes his head.
“No, it’s… I want to, with you. I want to,” Jonny says. It’s true, he does. He wants to have sex with Patrick for the first time, along with everything that means. Patrick leans down and kisses him, kisses him as hard as he can, and then his hand is circling around Jonny and Jonny almost dies.
“Patrick, I’m gonna -- soon,” Jonny gasps.
“It’s okay,” Patrick whispers against his mouth. He pours some lube in his hand and resumes jerking Jonny off. It takes less than ten seconds before Jonny groaning into his mouth and coming, coating Patrick’s fingers, and Patrick’s thrusting against the cut of Jonny’s hip, following him over and coming onto his stomach, working himself through it with the hand that got Jonny off.
“Fuck,” Patrick gasps, flopping down next to him. Jonny feels like he just ran a marathon, gasping for air next to each other, and Patrick rolls over, slinging a leg between Jonny’s. He kisses him. It’s lazy, deep, short, sweet and everything in between.
“I really like you,” he says once his mouth is free. Patrick’s grin is blinding and he leans in, following the confession up with the kind of kiss that makes Jonny think that Patrick’s trying to chase the words, chase them all and swallow them up just for him.
“I think I love you,” Patrick says, and Jonny’s chest aches. He could never have imagined, in all his wildest fantasies, that they’d ever get here -- saying this to each other.
“That was amazing,” Jonny says, moving onto his back. He reaches for the Kleenex beside the bed and cleans himself up, before grabbing more and starting on Patrick, curling on his side when he’s finished.
“It was the best first time ever,” Patrick says, lacing their fingers together. He’s yawning and Jonny’s so tired as well, feeling more exhausted from having sex than anything else he’s ever done.
“We gotta go back to the house, or something. If we stay here, someone’s gonna find us,” Jonny says. Patrick hums and Jonny staggers to his feet, pulling on his shorts. He hands Patrick’s to him, and he struggles into them. He reaches for Jonny and tugs him in for a kiss, eyes soft and sleepy.
“I love you too,” Jonny says against Patrick’s mouth, free of fear or shame.
Jonny knows this is the beginning of the rest of their lives together, without a doubt.
The party is exactly as bad as Jonny imagined it would be.
Grandmère is dressed to the nines, cream slacks and a soft green button down to set off her pearls and coiffed hair, and she’s schmoozing like her life depends on it. The fake tinkling laughter that she usually saves for investors is sounding off every ten seconds and driving Jonny insane.
Jonny and Sharpy are by the buffet table, inspecting the catered food. “I want those frankfurt things,” Sharpy says, and loads his plate with them.
Jonny’s already been accosted by several beautiful young women, all interested to hear about his life in New York, and he’d mumbled his way through explaining he worked sixty hour weeks, minimum, and the closest he got to the Empire State Building was biking past it on his way to deliver a contract to a client. They all were a lot less interested after that, and he doesn’t blame them. Being a lawyer is boring and completely time consuming. Not much time for a family if you’re working in a huge city at a huge firm.
Sharpy finds it hilarious, because he’s an asshole. The word must spread amongst the girls, because they stop talking to Jonny almost entirely, and Jonny strikes up a few half-hearted conversations when Grandmère’s glares threaten to burn a hole in the back of his shirt.
“They love Peeks, though,” Sharpy says with a nod, tilting his head to the other side of the room. Jonny’s jaw clenches as he spots Patrick, surrounded by five gorgeous ladies, all laughing at some joke he’s telling. Patrick’s always been great at networking, even when they were kids. The eldest (and only) brother with younger sisters gave him softer, rounder edges and people had flocked to him -- either on the track, on the ice or even in town whenever they rode their bikes in for ice cream and to see a movie.
“Of course,” Jonny says. Because why not?
He’s well into his third bourbon, wondering if he should bother with a fourth, when a young woman comes to stand right next to him, their shoulders touching.
She’s in a plain white dress and her brown hair is swept up into a barrette, bangs falling prettily to frame the edges of her face. Jonny’s vision is blurring a little, but he can tell she’s gorgeous. She’d probably be just Jonny’s speed if he could be bothered with anything just then.
When he turns to make conversation (and put distance between them, because she really is too close), his jaw drops.
“Erica?”
It’s Patrick’s eldest sister, except she’s far from the pre-pubescent hellion Jonny remembers. She’s a woman now, beautiful and terrifying in her own right, given that smile curling her soft, bowed lips. She holds out a fist and Jonny laughs, bumping it.
“Toews,” she says with a smirk, pulling him in for a hug.
“You look fucking miserable,” she says when they finish, grabbing a glass of champagne as a waiter passes them by. Grandmère’s nowhere to be seen and Patrick’s one-on-one with a gorgeous redhead, laughing like she’s fucking Tina Fey or something. Jonny can’t tell if it’s a real laugh or not.
“Grandmère tricked me into this. She’s trying to set me up, make me stay in Louisville,” Jonny says, waving his almost-empty glass at the room. Erica nods, crossing her arms.
“That seems like the M.O. of Claire Gilbert, for sure.”
Jonny wonders if Erica being here means that their dad is recovering.
“How’s Pat doing?”
“He’s had his surgery, and he’s awake and bitching about being stuck in bed with no good cable. He said I was driving him mad being around, so I was banished back here.” She laughs when she says it, and Jonny smiles.
“That’s good. I’m glad to hear it. Pat’s a good man, and a great trainer,” he says. Erica nods.
“That he is. Patty’s just as good. He’ll take over one day, be the new head trainer with the Gilberts,” she says, her eyes back on her brother. Jonny swallows the last of his bourbon, hoping it’ll mask the bitterness welling up at the back of his throat.
“Your brother’s gonna score tonight,” he says, voice low. Erica sighs and presses closer, tilting her head up to look at Jonny.
“You gotta know, she’s not who he wants. Not really,” she whispers. Jonny feels like she’s just knocked him out the park. No fucking way. Not after everything. Not after all this time.
He doesn’t get the chance to say anything before a commotion starts up, and five burly guys come in the room, dressed in chinos and pressed shirts. Jonny groans.
“Fuck,” he says before they launch on him, pushing between him and Erica. There’s backslapping and head rubbing, and he fucking hates these guys. They’re holdovers from those first few summers of forced camp, where they’d stuck their claws in and hadn’t let go. Grandmère must’ve invited them, or word of Jonny being back in Louisville has spread. Jonny’s not that notorious, so it’s obviously the former. Grandmère’s been weird almost the entire time Jonny’s been here, and this is just another notch in what Jonny’s noticing lately. He doesn’t know what’s making her act so crazy recently, but he hopes it stops soon.
“Toews!” Oliver yells in his ear, laughing as Jonny shoves him off and tries to fix his hair.
“Oliver, what’re you doing here?” Jonny says, as Oliver grabs for a glass of the whisky as a waitress walks past. He leans in and says something to her, and she glares at him and hurries away. Jonny’s jaw clenches.
“Claire told us you were in town. You never said you were coming back!” Oliver takes a beat to look pissed off about it; which, whatever, Jonny hasn’t seen this asshole since he was a kid. As if he’d go out of his way to find him again. Grandmère’s going to get an earful when this party is over.
“Yeah well, I didn’t know how long it was going to be for--” Jonny’s cut off when Erica appears back by his elbow. She’s tiny, but she looks so unimpressed by everything Oliver is offering. Jonny really hopes she’s going to save him.
“Jonny, everything okay?” she asks, her voice sweet but her eyes sharp.
He was always closest to Erica out of Patrick’s three sisters. She was the one who kept dragging Jonny off the horses to come play with them, chasing around the property after the Kanes.
“Well, look who it is. Erica Kane. Baby, you never called me back,” Oliver sighs, moving closer to sling an arm around her. She glares and shrugs him off, inserting space between them.
“Because you’re a jerk, maybe?”
Oliver smile drops off his face and his boys come closer, effectively boxing them in. Jonny looks over the fray but he can’t find Patrick anywhere, or Sharpy. The room is pretty much empty -- a girl’s at the buffet, filling her plate, but besides that, they’re on their own.
“Fuck off, Oliver. She’s not interested,” Jonny says. Oliver has a hair trigger temper, one of many reasons why Jonny never bothered to be more than civil. Jonny’s got his own anger issues, from a youth built around sport and a competitive desire to succeed, but Oliver was on a whole other level.
“You fuck off, Toews. Come back into town, you always acted like you own the fucking place. You don’t own shit.” Oliver’s face is twisted in a snarl, and he grabs Erica’s wrist.
It makes Jonny remember back to camp, the last time he saw Oliver and the fight they got into. How Jonny finished with a black eye, but Oliver’s split lip and bruised ego made it all worth it. Oliver was always the kind of personality Jonny clashed with -- brash, cocky, a hugely entitled asshole from old money and older blood.
Oliver had been picking on this one kid for the entire time Jonny had been there, for whatever reason. Rubbed him the wrong way, took his seat by accident; the why wasn’t important. Jonny wasn’t ever going to let that shit slide. Twice he’d told Oliver to back off, and twice Oliver had laughed in his face. The third time was the last time.
Jonny had found him kicking the crap out of the kid behind the kayaking cabins, and saw red. He wasn’t a great fighter by any means, especially not at that age, but Oliver wasn’t one to be able to handle anyone pushing back, and folded quickly under pressure.
“Don’t fucking touch him again!” Jonny had snapped, aware that a crowd had formed while they shoved at each other. Oliver’s shirt was ripped and he was bleeding heavily, and Jonny’s eye smarted, but the camp counselors came along and broke up what was left not long after.
Obviously Oliver was still pissed about it, years later, if the fury in his face and words were any indication.
“C’mon babe, let’s blow this joint. You know you want to,” he says. Erica bares her teeth and pulls, but Oliver’ grip is too strong.
“Let me go,” she snaps, her voice dangerous, but he just holds her tighter.
Before Jonny realises what’s happening, his fist is rearing back and he punches Oliver as hard as he can in the cheek, sending Oliver staggering and crashing into two of his buddies.
“You’ll regret that!” Oliver yells, launching himself at Jonny, sending them both staggering back into the wall. Erica screams and Jonny gets a good hit to the face. He shoves Oliver off and delivers one final hook before Grandmère, Grandpa, Sharpy and a bunch of others appear.
“What the hell’s going on?” Grandpa demands, striding in.
“N-nothing, sir,” Oliver stammers, but Grandpa isn’t having a bar of it.
“Get off my land, and take your friends with you,” he says. Oliver flicks a look at Jonny, eyes dark, but turns and heads off, clutching his jaw as he goes. Erica’s at Jonny’s side, helping him stand up; his ribs are sore from a glancing hit, and his lip is busted and bleeding freely, if the coppery saltiness against his tongue is anything to go by.
Jonny catches Patrick shoving his way into the room and rushing over. “Erica,” he says, but Erica waves a hand.
“I’m fine, Jonny's the one who got punched.”
Patrick pulls up short and looks at Jonny, his eyes dropping to Jonny’s lip and the way he’s bending over a little. “C’mon, let’s… get you fixed up,” Patrick says, holding out a hand.
Jonny takes it and lets Patrick help him into Grandpa’s study, while Grandmère and the others clean up the mess and see everyone out. Jonny sits down on a couch, Erica rushing into the ensuite off the study and emerging with a first-aid kit. She opens it and finds some antiseptic gel, dabbing at the cut under his lip.
“How are your ribs?” Patrick says. Jonny leans back as best he can, pressing his fingers gingerly against them. Nothing feels broken, so he nods.
“They’re fine, just sore. I’ll have to take it easy the next couple of days.”
If anything, that seems to make Patrick angry. “What the fuck, Jon? You’ve taken up UFC now? You should’ve just gotten Erica out of there or called for help!” Patrick says. Erica’s holding a tissue to Jonny’s face, and she turns to glare at her brother.
“Patty, he helped me out. Don’t be an asshole,” she says. Patrick crosses his arms tight and Jonny just wants -- he wants to do this now, he wants this shit between them gone.
“Erica, it’s alright. Can you give us a minute?” Jonny says. Erica huffs something that sounds like stupid assholes, but she stands up and walks out. She stops to shove her brother and mutters something at him before the door shuts behind her with a click.
Jonny looks at Patrick, who’s started pacing, hands tucked in his slacks. He looks gorgeous. No wonder that girl was all over him. Given half a chance, Jonny would have been too.
“Why are you here, Jonny?” Patrick says, after a pause that stretches too long. Jonny’s resumed poking at his ribs, wincing at the fizz of pain shooting up his side. What a dumb fucking question.
“It’s my grandparents’ farm. Why shouldn’t I be here?” he says, confused.
Apparently that’s the wrong answer, because Patrick throws up his hands and advances on Jonny, jabbing him in the shoulder with a finger.
“Because! I’ve been coming back here every fucking summer since I was fifteen and you never came back. Until now! Why the hell did you come back now?”
Jonny sets his jaw. This entire fucking situation is all because of Patrick, and he’ll be damned if he lets Patrick blame it all on him.
2004 (cont’d)
It’s the second to last night of the summer break when Grandmère finds out.
Jonny’s honestly surprised it takes that long.
They’re the opposite of smooth, or subtle. Jonny goes bright pink around Patrick whenever they’re in the same room. Patrick’s started doing this bashful shit, too. Like it’s supposed to distract Jonny from the fact that Patrick’s got the dirtiest mouth just made for blowing Jonny, or the faces he makes when Jonny gets inside of him.
Sharpy finds out first. He stumbles over them making out against Peaches’ stall, Patrick’s hands down the back of Jonny’s shorts, squeezing Jonny’s ass. He’s lucky Jonny likes Patrick touching his ass, otherwise Jonny would be pulling those fingers right outta there.
“Jesus!” Sharpy yelps, dropping his bucket of feed. They spring apart, Patrick ripping his hands away, which sends Jonny barreling back into Patrick so hard they knock their heads together.
“Ow, fuck,” Jonny groans, staggering away as Patrick swears and leans against the stall.
“What the hell are you two idiots doing?” Sharpy demands, once they’ve recovered enough. He looks disapproving, in a manner that makes Jonny’s stomach clench in all the wrong ways. Fuck, if Sharpy… if Sharpy’s homophobic, or he says he’s going to tell…
“We’re together,” Patrick says, his chin jutting out. He reaches for Jonny’s hand and laces their fingers together, tugging Jonny in. Sharpy rolls his eyes.
“I can see that, morons.”
Sharpy leans in and inspects them further.
“If you’re trying to keep it a secret, you’re doing a shitty job.”
Jonny shrugs. “We’re trying.”
“Well, try harder. Hickies in visible places are probably a good thing to stop,” Sharpy mutters, flicking Patrick’s collar. There’s a huge bruise hovering just below it, where Jonny had gotten carried away the night before, and Patrick flushes and bats at his hand.
“So, are you gonna be a dick about this?” he asks hotly. Sharpy holds onto his pissed expression for a second longer before he drops it in favour of a smirk.
“Of course not. I think it’s about fucking time. You might wanna keep it on the downlow from Claire and Greg until you’re eighteen, though. I don’t think Claire’s okay with the gay stuff.”
Jonny nods, because this is partly why he’s been so against telling anyone. Grandmère is Catholic as hell, but Grandpa isn’t. While he’s pretty sure he could convince Grandpa not to kick him off the farm, Grandmère is the one who rules the household. He doesn’t want to make life hard for Patrick and his family, either.
“We’ll be careful,” Jonny says, squeezing Patrick’s hand.
Ironically, they aren’t doing anything more than holding hands when Grandmère walks into the lounge room late that night. They’re on the couch together, watching television, and Patrick’s got a leg tucked under Jonny’s, his head on Jonny’s shoulder. Their hands are laced on Jonny’s knee, and Grandmère drops her mug. It shatters and they startle, springing apart for the second time that day.
“Grandmère,” Jonny stammers. Her hand is covering her mouth and her eyes are wide.
“I-I, uh,” she says, and Jonny’s on his feet and over to her.
“Grandmère, we didn’t… I was going to talk to you about--” he starts, but she waves a hand.
“No, Jonathan, darling, I just… I’m sorry, I need to find a dustpan for this mess. Don’t you move,” she says, her voice unsteady. She disappears and Jonny looks to Patrick, who’s still on the couch, his expression miserable.
“It’ll be okay,” Jonny says. Patrick doesn’t look convinced at all.
Grandmère comes back and sweeps up the mess, and then they go to the kitchen. Jonny and Patrick sit on one side, and Grandmère makes another cup of tea.
“So,” she says. Jonny grabs Patrick’s hand under the table, and Patrick squeezes so hard he almost winces. He can feel Patrick shaking next to him.
“We want to do this, Grandmère. We’re going to make it work,” Jonny says.
“Are you?” she asks, her gaze drifting from Jonny to Patrick. Patrick shrinks back.
“Yes, we are.”
“Well, then. I guess we’ll have to make sure you two don’t sneak into each other’s rooms when we’re not looking,” Grandmère says. Patrick deflates and Jonny even manages a weak smile. This is going better than he’s expecting. She’s not happy about it, her face is still drawn, but she’s not telling him he’s going to burn in hell, and she’s not going to kick Patrick out.
“Best keep this between us, for now,” she says as they’re heading upstairs. They both nod and say goodnight, waiting until she goes into her bedroom before Jonny drags Patrick into his. Jonny presses Patrick against the wall by the door and kisses him.
“I can’t believe she was okay with it,” Jonny breathes, licking Patrick’s bottom lip. Patrick’s quiet, and he smiles at Jonny but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He says goodnight and goes back downstairs, heading to the guest house.
*
Jonny wakes up early the next morning, showers and changes into clean clothes and heads downstairs for breakfast. Everyone’s already awake, and Pat and Donna are coming in from a morning of training with the horses. Jonny slides into his place next to Patrick and squeezes his hand -- it’s their special ‘hello’, if they haven’t already found each other for a kiss -- but Patrick shakes his hand off once he’s squeezed back. Jonny frowns. Usually they hold hands until they absolutely need to stop.
Breakfast passes quickly, and then Pat wants Patrick’s help with the horses, and Grandmère wants Jonny to help her sort through some donations from the Louisville Ladies Club for a disaster relief effort in Asia somewhere. The afternoon moves slowly; Jonny is kept busy with Grandmère and it’s pissing him off because he wants to spend the last day with Patrick, but he knows he can’t push it because things are still awkward with her.
He doesn’t see Patrick until dinner that night, and he wants to take Patrick out to the lake and have sex outside as a farewell, but then Pat’s saying that Patrick’s been accepted to some fancy boarding school in New York. Jonny’s jaw drops. Patrick never said anything about a boarding school -- that means their letter situation will get messed up.
“Pat, what… boarding school?” Jonny hisses when the conversation at the table starts up.
“Later,” Patrick mumbles, and shuffles over a little.
Later turns out to be when Jonny’s packing his gear, Patrick nowhere to be found. Jonny’s fucked off because he wanted to spend that time after dinner sneaking kisses with Patrick, or just being with him and trying to figure out what they were -- are they boyfriends? Is this just a summer thing? They said ‘I love you’ to each other, it can’t just be that.
Patrick appears and stands by his doorway while Jonny’s glaring at his suitcase.
“Hi,” Patrick says slowly.
“What?” Jonny snaps. Patrick sighs and walks in, shutting the door softly behind him.
“Look, I’m really sorry about today. I wanted to spend it with you, but I--”
“Whatever. Are you… what’s going on here?” Jonny says. He feels nervous and unsettled about them, and he fucking hates it. He’d thought they were on the same page about this… about them.
Patrick sits down on the bed and picks at the duvet cover.
“I just… your grandma…” Patrick starts, trailing off. Jonny crosses his arms.
“Grandmère what?”
Patrick glances up, and he looks scared for a split second, and Jonny’s arms drop away but then the look is gone before Jonny can respond.
“Nothing. I’m just worried about boarding school, I guess.”
“Oh, uh… how am I supposed to send you letters now? I usually just send them here,” Jonny says, flapping a hand to encompass the farm. Patrick fidgets, his knee jiggling.
“Keep sending them here, my dad can pass them on in care packages. We’re allowed personal mail and stuff, but no mobile phones or anything like that. I don’t think we even get email addresses, so looks like we’ll keep up with the lo-fi.”
Jonny leans in and kisses Patrick, because he wants to, and because he’s missed him all damn day. Patrick sighs into his mouth and pulls him on top, and they rub off on each other, coming together. It feels oddly final, and Jonny keeps Patrick close until he absolutely has to go, sneaking out with a final kiss and shutting the door quietly behind him.
*
Jonny sends a letter in mid-September, and waits. When it gets to October and there’s no reply, he frowns and writes another one. Christmas passes and there’s no package from Patrick, although Grandmère sends one with presents for him and David and his parents.
He calls the farm in January, asks Grandmère to pass on a message to Pat, to get him to tell Patrick to call him when he can. Or at least reply to his letters. Grandmère’s cool over the phone, but she always is, and says she’ll pass it on.
When it’s March, and Jonny still hasn’t heard anything, he cancels his ticket to Louisville and tells Maman to call Grandmère. He’s not coming to Kentucky this year. Patrick, for whatever reason, decided Jonny wasn’t worth it and is too fucking cowardly to tell Jonny to his face.
He gave up everything to that asshole. He’ll never make the same mistake ever again.
It’s ridiculous and unfair, and it’s on Patrick that they never… that that summer never became the rest of their lives, like it was supposed to, and he tells Patrick exactly that.
“Fuck you! You’re the one who fucked off to boarding school and just, ruined everything. I wrote you a billion fucking letters because you said you liked them, they were more personal or some bullshit. I never heard back, not once! You couldn’t even break it off nicely, you just never responded and were a huge fucking dick when you left!” It all comes pouring out, and Jonny would be ashamed at how ridiculously over-emotional he’s getting, but this is eight years in the making and fucking fuck Patrick Kane.
Patrick looks like he’s been slapped, his jaw slack. “Dude, what letters? I never got any fucking letters from you. I only got care packages from here from my family, and like… a couple of things from the family back in Buffalo.”
Jonny rubs his forehead. He can’t fucking remember how he sent them -- oh. Grandmère.
“I gave them to Grandmère before I left, and then I’d send them to her every week. She was supposed to add them to the care packages or send them onto your school, since I didn’t know where you were going. I even called and like, left messages with Grandmère to pass on. I never heard back from anyone, about anything, so I gave up.”
Patrick’s face contorts, and he stops pacing, dropping down on the seat next to Jonny. It’s the closest they’ve been the entire time Jonny’s been back in Kentucky, and Jonny can smell his cologne, spicy and sharp.
“Well, that explains it,” he says, sagging back.
Jonny frowns, and Patrick sighs heavily.
“Your grandma paid for my boarding school tuition, and Georgetown. Did you know that?”
Jonny shakes his head. He’d seen some weird lump sum payments while going through the farm’s finances, but he wasn’t in charge of their accounts, and Grandmère had never deemed them important enough to elaborate on.
“Do you know why?”
“Obviously not, Peeks.” The old nickname slips past his lips in annoyance, and Patrick’s lips quirk in response before he becomes serious.
“She said she’d pay, but only if I… fuck. Only if I stayed away... from you.”
“I don’t… what? What do you mean?” Jonny feels like he’s ten steps behind what Patrick’s trying to say, and it’s frustrating the hell out of him, because this is important, he knows it.
“God, Jon. She knew about us being together, ‘cos she busted us, but she… she didn’t want that. She didn’t want me near you, I wasn’t good enough for you. I’m still not good enough for you. She said to me she was going to offer the tuition to my parents, a school they couldn’t afford to send me in a billion years, and whatever university I wanted.”
Jonny’s finally starting to get it, and it feels like he’s been dunked underwater as Patrick’s words wash over him.
“I told her to shove it up her ass. I was fifteen and so fucking scared, but I loved you so much and I just… she said she’d fire my dad, Jonny. If I didn’t take it. I couldn’t let that happen.” Patrick’s voice is barely a whisper at the end.
He no longer feels numb. He feels like he’s burning up alive, the heat of a thousand suns licking at his insides as the rage builds. How dare Grandmère. How dare she.
Patrick reaches out, grabbing Jonny’s wrist and snapping him back into the present situation.
“I never stopped, Jonny. It’s been eight fucking years, but I never stopped. You gotta know that It took me a whole year to like, stop crying at the start of every term I came to Millbrook. I got into Georgetown without breaking a sweat, though. I’d ask about you but she never told me anything, so I started asking your grandpa. We got pretty close, especially when I’d meet him in Lexington sometimes. We’d have coffee, he’d catch me up on what I’d missed. He even showed me pictures when you graduated. He was so proud of you, he couldn’t understand why you stopped coming to the farm. I couldn’t, either.”
Jonny wants to go find Grandmère and scream in her face, because who the fuck could be that cruel, but Patrick leans in further and clutches at his shirt.
“Jonny, tell me I’m not alone in this. You still… you didn’t come back because it hurt too much, right? Because of us? It still hurts, not being able to kiss me? Touch me?” Patrick breathes and Jonny nods, helpless in the face of the truth.
He grabs Patrick’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and Patrick uses the one gripping his shirt to trace the cut on Jonny’s bottom lip. It feels so intimate, barely any space between them. Jonny’s dying to touch Patrick more.
“Yeah, Kaner. I’ve -- I’ve been so fucking stuck on you. Sharpy was helping me unpack and found a picture of us, you know the one. We’re in front of the horses, and you’ve got your arm around my neck… he told me to come to Kentucky and fix shit already. He’s been telling me for years but the picture just kind of sealed the deal.” Jonny feels ashamed to admit this, but Patrick just nods, eyes wide and blue and so fucking close.
“Jonny,” Patrick says, his breath hitching, and Jonny’s eyes drop to his mouth, watching Patrick lick out at his bottom lip.
“Fuck,” Jonny chokes and pulls him in the last few inches, kissing him. Patrick moans loudly into his mouth and pushes Jonny backwards to lie down. Jonny hisses at the contact on his ribs and Patrick tries to move away, but Jonny wraps an arm around him and refuses to let him go, eyelids fluttering as he settles down and tugs Patrick with him.
Patrick blankets him carefully, kissing him deep and all-encompassing, his hand pressed to Jonny’s face. The sounds are better than any porn.
“Just… we gotta keep this quiet until after the Triple Crown, okay? Because even if Grace only wins one or two races, it’ll give us enough cash to be okay. My parents have been saving for years and I’ve got connections in Saratoga, so we’ll be fine, but…” Patrick trails off, his cheeks pink.
“But -- no, we should tell them now. Grandmère was so wrong, we need to show her that what she did was fucked up,” Jonny protests. It twists inside him, ugly and mean, and Patrick shakes his head.
“No, Jon. I promise we’ll fix everything after the races, but if she finds out… what if she still wants to make good on firing my dad? Or me? It’s too close, we should wait.” Patrick’s lips are spit-slicked and puffy, and Jonny wants to keep kissing him more than he wants to argue over this. So he just sighs, his fingers tangling in the short hair at Patrick’s neck.
“Okay. I’ll try,” he says. Patrick rolls his eyes, but Jonny’s grinning and pulling him back in to pick up where they left off.
They don’t fuck, or do anything fun; Patrick’s tired from being up before dawn to train, and Jonny’s still sore from the fight, so he has to let Patrick go back to his room. It reminds him of their last summer together; makes him feel a little claustrophobic that things could go as horribly wrong as they did then.
Patrick leans in for one last kiss. “We’ve got this, bro,” he says against Jonny’s mouth, making Jonny groan and pull Patrick closer. After a minute, he has to push Patrick away before they get caught.
“You’re such a moron,” he sighs, watching Patrick wink and slip out into the darkness of the corridor.
It’s weird, essentially sneaking around with Patrick again.
Now that he knows Grandmère was the source of almost a decade of needless hurt, it gets so much harder to let her fuss around him. He’s such a bad actor, and Patrick’s constantly kicking him under the table and distracting everyone with loud talk about the races. Grandmère always frowns whenever Patrick’s anywhere near Jonny, and he notices now her subtle arrangement of the table to keep him as far away from Jonny as possible.
“I don’t think Grandpa knows,” Jonny says late one night, Patrick curled up beside him. They’d been making out, too nervous to do much more given Jonny’s grandparents are still awake. Even with a lock on the door, and them leaving for bed at different times, they’re both paranoid.
“Nah, me neither. He doesn’t seem that cold,” Patrick says, his breath warm against Jonny’s cheek. It’s raining again, fat, heavy droplets splattering against the windowpane, and the radiator is on but it’s still cold so they’re tucked under the duvet. The bed is big enough for the both of them comfortably, but Patrick’s plastered up by his side, and they’re tangled together. It feels good, and right. It feels like coming home, just like Kentucky had.
“He’s not.”
Jonny trails a hand up and down Patrick’s side, his palm moving over ribs to rest on his hip, then back up again, stopping just below his armpit. He bites his lip and tries to formulate what he wants to say next.
“I’m just… I’m sorry you had to do that alone, for all those years. You should’ve said something before you left. I wouldn’t have… I would’ve done something.”
Patrick snorts, rolling onto his back and tugging Jonny with him. “You were sixteen, what the hell were you going to do? Your mom doesn’t want anything to do with this place, and your grandpa would side with his wife over his grandson. We were kids. It just… it is what it is.”
“Grandpa would’ve told Grandmère to back the fuck off, is what would’ve happened. You could’ve stayed in your old school, gotten into Georgetown on your own.”
“I’m not mad I got into a good school, Jon. I’m mad how it went down, but I guess I just tried to look at the bigger picture. At least we got back to each other in the end,” Patrick whispers, leaning in to kiss him. Jonny holds on tight.
“We lost eight years, Pat,” he says, his throat thick. Patrick shrugs and rubs his lips along Jonny’s jaw.
“We’ve got the rest of our lives to make up for it.”
Of course, Grandmère is the one who breaks the last, tenuous hold he has on his anger.
Patrick’s been busy working with Grandpa all day getting the registrations for upcoming races in order, and Jonny’s been helping in the barns to clean and brush down the horses, mucking out their stables and going on long trail rides with Peaches and a few of the other new ones. He’s been working with Erica as well, learning how to train the foals once they get old enough. There’s a sweet filly named Jupiter’s Cup that they’ve been working with together, and it’s so cool -- Jonny loves everything about it. Sometimes Patrick will even come over and watch them, leaning against the gate, his gaze heavy on Jonny’s back.
Jonny’s floating in a general great fucking mood, wondering if he can convince Grandmère to head into Louisville for the afternoon -- if he has to pay for her manicure, he fucking well will -- so he and Patrick can finally have sex. Even if it’s just Patrick’s hands on his dick, he needs it. So he doesn’t even catch what Grandmère says the first time around while they’re at dinner.
“Pardon?” he says, spearing a piece of honeydew and popping it in his mouth. Grandpa’s in the study with Sharpy looking over budgetary forecasts; Jonny still doesn’t really know what Sharpy’s role is at the farm, besides ‘Everything’.
“I said that Taylor Blake was asking after you. She enjoyed talking to you at the social, before all that mess. I told her you’d love to have lunch with her this week, before the Derby,” Grandmère says, buttering her scone. Jonny’s fingers clench around his fork.
“Why did you do that?” he says, his teeth gritted.
Grandmère blinks at him. “Because the Blakes are a good family? Good stock, they made their money in horses too. You could do worse, Jonathan. It’d be nice to have ties in Kentucky on a permanent basis. I’m not saying marry the girl, I’m saying just go for lunch with her.”
Jonny sees red, and doesn’t even have time to think on the forgiveness Patrick is going to inevitably demand for pulling this now, when the back door opens and Patrick appears, stomping mud off his boots, just as Jonny slams his fist down.
“You had no right to do that!” he yells. Patrick startles; as does Grandmère.
“Jonathan, what are you talking about?” she splutters, looking at Patrick, who’s shaking his head.
“Jon,” he starts but Jonny’s up, his chair scraping back against the tile.
“I know what you did, when I was sixteen. With Patrick. Blackmailing him like that, harassing a teenage boy by holding his father’s job over his head. How could you, Grandmère? You never mailed my letters -- I’ve been suffering for eight years because of it! You destroyed a great thing for me, because of what, some outdated idea of what’s ‘good’ for me?”
Grandmère’s gone white, clutching her sweater, her eyes darting from Patrick to Jonny.
“Darling, I just did what I thought was best for you! You know I’d never fire Pat, I just wanted to make sure you had better influences around you. You were so young, and being with a boy… it would’ve caused you so many problems,” she says, reaching for him. Jonny slaps her hand away and steps back, Patrick coming up behind him.
“Jonny…” Patrick says, his fingers low on Jonny’s back.
“No. What you did was unforgivable, Grandmère. I’m not even straight! I don’t like girls that much and this is who I am, and you doing this is so… so wrong! Getting rid of the Kanes wouldn’t have changed who I am, or who I grew up to be, and I could’ve done a lot worse than having them for role models. You can cut me off if you want after this, I don’t even care. I don’t want a dime from you if it’s come at this expense. I’d rather starve!”
“Jonathan, please,” Grandmère begs. Jonny grabs Patrick’s hand and leaves, heading upstairs and pulling Patrick into his room, locking the door behind them. Patrick’s shoving him against it the second he turns back around, kissing him furiously.
“You’re fucking insane, do you know that? You’re gonna be a broke, super hot lawyer,” Patrick gasps against his mouth, making Jonny laugh.
“I make enough money to be okay, and my parents do alright. If Grandmère cuts me off, it’s only my inheritance that goes. She’s already paid for school. I’m just worried about you. I’m sorry I didn’t wait, like we agreed. She just made me so fucking mad with the Wilkes thing.” Jonny’s fingers dig into the cut of Patrick’s hips, sliding under his t-shirt, Patrick’s skin warm to the touch. Jonny wants his mouth on all of Patrick, wants to relearn what he’s forgotten until it’s second nature again.
“Whatever, it’s done. I’ll figure something out. It’s just… she’s not gonna let me train Grace, is she?” Patrick says after a beat. He sounds dejected, and Jonny absolutely cannot have that, especially when it’s kind of his fault. So, Jonny pushes him back onto the bed and wrestles with his jeans, tugging them down over thick thighs. Patrick’s stomach contracts as he moves, the muscles taunting Jonny. He blankets Patrick, kissing him slow and sweet.
“She will if I have any say in the matter,” he says, tugging on Patrick’s lip with his teeth, a smirk on his face. Patrick rolls his eyes.
“We’ll talk to Grandpa tomorrow,” Jonny continues. “If he knew and went along with it, well… Grandmère likes money and prestige, she wouldn’t swap you out now. After the Crown, maybe, but you said you’ve got connections.”
“And what about you?” Patrick says. Patrick uses the moment to flip them and straddle Jonny, spreading his fingers along the curves of Jonny’s ribs. Jonny bites down hard on his lip and tugs Patrick in close, kissing him over and over as Patrick starts to grind against him.
“I’ll be fine,” Jonny says. Patrick snorts and leans in, stroking his fingers through the thin strands of hair that’ve fallen against Jonny’s forehead.
“Your grandma did a pretty fucked up thing,” Patrick says, reaching for Jonny’s side table and opening it. He fumbles around inside the drawer and raises an eyebrow, pulling out a bottle of moisturiser.
“I didn’t bring lube! I didn’t think I was, y’know… gonna get any,” Jonny huffs.
“Dude, we’ve been hooking up for like, almost a week now. You’ve been into town. Why didn’t you stock up?”
“Oh, and your wallet is broken?”
“I haven’t been into town! I’ve been training and planning all day, every day! C’mon, let’s go to the guest house. Grab your shit, we need to just… be somewhere else, okay?” Patrick looks at Jonny until he sighs and nods, getting up.
“I’d love to do it here, as a huge fuck you to her,” Jonny mutters as Patrick stands up.
“Yeah well, we’re not sixteen and I’m not fucking you with her that close, not after all of that.” Patrick’s jaw is set and Jonny nods. He knows it’d be another irrational move, a childish one he’d regret later. He goes to the window and spots Grandmère walking off across the property. The house is empty, then.
“C’mon, let’s go. She’s gone off somewhere, downstairs is empty,” Jonny says, grabbing Patrick’s hand and leading him to the door.
They get into Patrick’s room in the guest house, the same one they’d been in as kids, and Jonny laughs as Patrick tugs off his shirt and moves in to kiss Jonny again, the moisturiser cold against his skin.
Jonny pulls the moisturiser out of Patrick’s hands and squeezes a dollop on his palm. “We’re buying lube tomorrow,” he says. Patrick snorts.
“This’ll do for now, so just shut up and kiss me already.”
Patrick’s face is red, and the look on his face says he’s going to argue the point, but Jonny reels him in anyway. He distracts Patrick long enough to press a finger between his cheeks, sucking down the gasp that punches out of Patrick when he pushes a finger inside. One becomes two and three soon enough, Patrick’s face flushed red and sweaty, his curls wild as he writhes on top of Jonny.
“Like this, yeah?” Patrick huffs, flopping out a hand to reach for the condoms. Things have changed, they’re not teenage virgins anymore but there’ll be time for being clean with each other, hopefully soon. He rolls on the condom and shifts, getting his knees underneath him so Jonny can guide himself in with a hand.
“Oh, fuck,” Patrick chokes out as Jonny sinks home, his head dropping onto his chest. Jonny grunts, his hands resting on Patrick’s hips, and he stays still until Patrick starts to move.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Patrick chants in a litany, and Jonny matches the rhythm with the snap of his hips, pushing Patrick’s knees higher and dragging him down faster against Jonny’s cock. It’s so good, so overwhelming, and Patrick’s got his hand around his dick and is jerking himself at the same speed.
They come together, embarrassingly fast, but Jonny’s busy praising god that he actually gets to do this again to care.
“I can’t decide if sex at fifteen or sex now is better,” Patrick says, once Jonny’s cleaned them up and they’re tucked into his bed, the lamp turned off. The moon is the only source of light and it’s bathing everything in a soft white glow. Jonny tucks his face into Patrick’s neck because he doesn’t think he can handle looking at his face right now. Not after that.
“Oh my god,” Jonny grumbles. “Sex now, when we’re both legal and actually know what the fuck we’re doing, thanks.”
Patrick wriggles underneath him. “It wasn’t all bad. Non-existent refractory periods were fun,” Patrick says.
“God, what am I going to do?” Jonny whispers. Patrick sighs, his hand trailing up and down Jonny’s back for comfort.
“It’s gonna be okay. We’ll figure something out. If she comes at us tomorrow, I mean… your grandpa, surely he won’t let anything happen. If he does, then we’ll just bail and go back up north. I can probably go back to the Shaws, be in Saratoga for a while… you’ll be in Chicago,” Patrick’s voice hitches. Jonny’s scared of tomorrow, and what it could bring, especially if it means they’d be split up again.
“We’ll figure something out. I just, we need to stick together, okay? United front. No matter what,” Jonny says. Patrick nods, digging his fingers into Jonny’s lower back.
“No matter what,” he echoes.
“Go to sleep,” Jonny says. He doesn’t need to be remembering their first time together, and the obscene amount of orgasms that resulted. His dick is interested in following that train of thought, of course, but he’s too tired. There’ll be time later.
“Night, Jonny,” Patrick says. Jonny drops a kiss along the tendons of Patrick’s neck.
“Night, Pat,” he says back and falls asleep.
Breakfast is a strained affair the next morning.
Grandpa keeps looking between Grandmère, who’s silent with red-rimmed eyes, and Jonny and Patrick right down the other end of the table. They’re hardly flaunting anything, but Jonny’s ignoring Grandmère’s existence and Patrick’s getting more and more flustered as the tension builds.
“For god’s sake, Patrick!” Jonny says, grabbing another napkin as Patrick knocks over his water glass for a third time.
“Sorry!” he says, bright red.
Grandpa ducks behind his paper and Grandmère leaves soon after, saying something about heading into town to stock up on groceries. She kisses Grandpa goodbye and visibly hesitates when she goes to walk out, but Jonny dedicates himself to perfectly covering every square inch of his toast with peanut butter, and she keeps walking.
“That was a freaking disaster,” Patrick hisses as they clean up, Grandpa whistling as he stacks the plates on the other side of the kitchen.
“Shut up,” Jonny hisses back.
“So, what happened with you and your Grandmère?” Grandpa says, interrupting their whispered argument. Jonny’s up to his forearms in suds and Patrick’s got a wet handprint on the back of his shirt. He really was hoping to do this when they were more respectable.
Instead, he finds himself telling Grandpa exactly what he’d discovered about Grandmère and Patrick, the school, threatening to fire Pat and the real reasons why Jonny hadn’t returned to the farm until now.
Grandpa sighs and sits down, rubbing his face. He looks old and tired, and Jonny wishes that things had gone differently, that he didn’t have to be telling his Grandpa a fucked up story that sounds like it was ripped straight from a soap opera.
“I love your Grandmère, but she does the stupidest things sometimes. You’ve got to understand she’s just worried about you, Jon. I’ll talk to her. Patrick won’t be fired; he’s the best trainer we’ve had in decades, his father too. We need that family. The Kanes and the Gilberts go back longer than any of us, and it’ll take more than some misguided act to change that. I really am sorry you had to suffer through that, Patrick. I wish I’d known. I wish you’d said something to me,” Grandpa says. Patrick shrugs, toeing the ground, and he sniffles.
“Don’t cry,” Jonny groans. Patrick laughs and elbows him, but his eyes are glazed when he looks up.
“I was just worried about my dad, sir. That was all.”
“You don’t have to worry anymore, son. I’m the Gilbert who inherited this farm. Claire and I are a team, have been for over fifty years now, but if she tries anything … it won’t happen.”
Patrick exhales, sagging against Jonny, and Jonny wraps an arm around him.
“Thanks, Grandpa,” he says. Grandpa nods and walks over, hugging the both of them.
“Don’t you worry at all. Claire’s a tough old bird but she married me for a reason. Nobody better at sweet talking her in all the world,” he says with a wink. With that, he shoves the paper under his arm and walks outside, whistling the same tune from before.
“Your family is insane,” Patrick says. Jonny snorts and goes back to his dishes.
“Pretty sure you’ve known that since you were a kid,” Jonny says. Patrick just leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek.
*
Dinner is a different kind of strained; Grandmère’s sitting rigidly in her seat and Grandpa’s reading the paper again, while Patrick and Jonny sit down the other end of the table and talk quietly about what to expect in Louisville.
“Patrick,” Grandmère says once they’ve finished eating, and Patrick looks up at her. “Your role as head trainer at the farm will depend on the outcome of the Triple Crown. If you win all three, you can stay. If not, Greg and I will be assessing your usefulness to the farm once Pat comes back from his recuperation.”
Jonny’s smile slides right off his face, but Patrick digs his fingers into Jonny’s thigh.
“Of course, Mrs. Gilbert. Thank you,” he says, his voice flat and polite. Grandpa’s nodding by her side, so Jonny stays quiet and sets about murdering the rest of his roast chicken.
“What the fuck is she doing? And why is Grandpa agreeing with her?” Jonny explodes when they get back to his room, Patrick flopping down on the bed.
“Because, you know how your grandma is. Your grandpa’s got my back, don’t worry about it,” Patrick says, waving a hand. Jonny straddles him, and relishes the feel of Patrick’s hands.
“If I’m worried, you should be worried,” Jonny says. Patrick presses his fingers down, and Jonny feels a slow burn crawl up his spine as Patrick shifts his hips underneath him, settling Jonny more firmly against his dick.
“No, I really shouldn’t. You get stuck in your stupid head and it’s my job to pull you out. So, I’m just gonna keep doing what I’m doing and ignore everything you say.”
It should be frustrating, Jonny thinks as he leans down to kiss Patrick, feeling the grin curling against his mouth. It should be frustrating, but all he feels is a soft, warm happiness that pools in his gut, happy to be back after so many years. He doesn’t even bother telling Pat to keep it down, because he just… if his grandmere is going to be a homophobic old bat about this, this one thing that’s made him so happy after so long, then she can go get fucked. He’s going to enjoy this moment with his-- his boyfriend.
Patrick wriggles out from underneath him and goes down on his knees, trailing his lips along Jonny’s cock and sucking him down, his eyes trained on Jonny’s the entire time. It’s the hottest thing ever, and Patrick’s apparent lack of a gag reflex is even hotter than the spit pooling around the corners of his mouth.
“Jonny, fuck, you’re so fucking hot,” Patrick pants when he pulls off, jacking Jonny with his hand and rubbing at the tears in his eyes. Jonny can barely move, too scared in case he shoots early. He ends up making awkward flapping motions at Patrick instead. Patrick just laughs, surging up to kiss him, before returning to his place between Jonny’s legs and sucking him down.
It’s only good manners to return the favour, but Patrick can’t even wait for that, and insists on Jonny turning onto his stomach and letting him rub off between his ass cheeks. Patrick’s always had a thing for his ass, and it turns Jonny on to know that hasn’t changed, at least, so he lies there, all come dumb and ridiculously happy, and revels in the feel of Patrick using him like that, until he comes with a groan and a choked off, “Jon,” that makes his toes curl.
“You’re ridiculous,” Jonny sighs once Patrick’s wiped the jizz off his lower back and climbed off so Jonny can turn over.
“You love it,” Patrick says, flopping down next to him with a yawn. Jonny doesn’t even bother arguing, just gathers Patrick in and plans for an hour-long nap so they can get to the more fun stuff next time.
Jonny doesn't get a chance to call home until the following evening, Patrick sprawled out on his bed and flicking through the day’s newspaper, his legs kicking freely. He’s in boxers and a t-shirt, and Jonny’s the same. David had texted earlier that morning, informing him that their mother had forgotten what his face looked like.
“I need to call my mom. You okay with that? It’ll be in French,” Jonny says as he fishes his laptop out from under the bed. Patrick shrugs and wriggles his fingers over his shoulder, not looking away from the paper.
He sets up Skype and waits for his mom to accept the call, her face bursting into life on his screen.
Laughing, she says hello and starts to scold him for his complete lack of contact, before moving on to comment on how long his hair is. He blushes, running a hand through it to push his fringe off his forehead. It is getting ridiculously long, curling down thick and low on his nape and the natural waviness of it makes it impossible after he’s washed it. Patrick loves tangling his fingers in it though, bossing Jonny around whenever Jonny wants or needs it. Jonny doesn’t think he’ll be cutting it until Patrick tells him to.
“Sorry, it’s been pretty crazy here…” Jonny trails off, wondering if he should tell her what happened. He switches to English, because he wants Patrick to hear.
“Hey, do you remember that kid… Patrick Kane? He was the son of the trainer at Grandmère’s farm,” Jonny says. His mom looks confused that he’s talking in English all of a sudden.
“Uh, yes… you talked about him all the time. For at least three months after each summer it’d be, Patrick this, and, Patrick that. You stopped, though. Why?” she says.
“I, uh. Grandmère…” he says, hesitant. Patrick looks over his shoulder, paper abandoned.
His mom’s face twists on the screen.
“What did she do?” she says, her voice flat. Jonny sighs and tugs on Patrick’s arm.
“Maman, this is Patrick. He uh, he can probably explain a lot better than I can. I get too mad,” Jonny says, pulling Patrick until he’s seated next to Jonny.
“Hi, Mrs. Toews,” Patrick says shyly, waving.
“Hello, Patrick,” she says warmly. Jonny grins. He knows his mom likes Patrick already, just based on the fact she didn’t correct him -- she still goes by Gilbert, like most French Canadians.
“I don’t… I mean, I know she’s your mom and all, so I don’t want to disrespect that,” Patrick says. She flaps a hand, rolling her eyes.
“My mother is capable of some pretty cruel things, darling, so I’m probably not going to be shocked by anything you say.”
Patrick looks uncomfortable, and Jonny slings an arm around him.
The story itself doesn’t take long to tell, both of them having spoken about it enough to be unhappily familiar with it. Jonny watches his mother’s face become more and more pinched until Patrick finishes, and she rubs her forehead and takes a few deep, calming breaths.
“I am so sorry you went through that,” she says. Patrick looks down at his lap, shrugging.
“I got a hell of an education out of it,” he mumbles and Jonny laughs, helpless.
“This doesn’t surprise me at all. She’s the reason I left. I was going to stay in Kentucky and help them run the farm, but I met Jonathan’s father. He was a Canadian as well, but he wasn’t French and she didn’t approve at all. She was very rude about it, and made our lives very uncomfortable. So we moved to Winnipeg, we stayed with my aunt for a year until we’d saved up enough money and then bought our own house. I never stopped her from seeing Jonathan and David, because they were her only grandchildren, but I haven’t been back to see her for decades.”
“Oh,” Patrick says. She leans forward, smiling a little.
“She… she means well, I think. It just doesn’t translate into normal behaviour. Everyone has their own way of doing things. I made my peace with her a long time ago.”
“We talked to her about it, then Grandpa. He didn’t even know,” Jonny says. His mom sighs.
“She probably didn’t tell him, and he never asked. His head is always with the horses, that one.”
“He talked to her, though. He was pretty mad,” Jonny adds.
“My father is a good man. My mother… is a good woman, when she wants to be. She just has a twisted idea of what threats are, and what should or shouldn’t happen. She did everything out of love for you, Jonathan, I’m sure of it.”
“Well, once the Crown’s over I’m going back to Chicago. I told her to shove her inheritance.”
“Jonathan!” his mother scolds. Jonny flushes, and Patrick smiles.
“It got a bit dramatic for a while there. We’re all focussed on the race right now, though. We’ve got a good one. You going to have a bet, Andree?” he says. She promises she will, and then Patrick’s moving away to let Jonny finish his conversation in peace.
“He seems sweet. Very handsome, too,” his mom says, reverting back to French.
Jonny flushes and scolds her. “Maman!” he exclaims.
“Oh, Jonathan.”
The call ends and Jonny slides his laptop to the floor, tugging on Patrick’s leg until he comes to wrap around Jonny, yawning as the clock ticks loudly beside them.
“I am really sorry, Pat. I’ll… I’ll make it up to you, however I can,” Jonny says. Patrick punches him in the leg.
“Dude, I’ve already said like, four times that I’m over it. Yeah, it sucks but at least we got together in the end. Let’s just focus on winning these damn races and making our families proud, eh?”
Jonny likes the sound of that.
The day finally comes. They’re packing up the horses and heading to Churchill Downs for the Derby, and Jonny still gets a little shock when he thinks, this is it, the first leg of the Triple Crown. Jonny's still not talking to Grandmère, and Grandpa hides behind his paper every meal they have together, so things aren’t fixed at all, but they’ve all got more important things to focus on.
Jonny had brought a suit with him to Kentucky on the off-chance Grandmère would make him use it; he hadn’t expected to be still here, jobless and content (for the most part), but he’s glad he is. Especially when he’s fastening his cuffs with links Grandpa gave him and Patrick appears at the doorway, looking dumbstruck.
“What?” Jonny says, feeling a little dumb himself as he takes in Patrick’s tight grey slacks and the curve of his ass, the stretch of his biceps under his shirt.
“Goddamn,” is all Patrick says, pushing into the room and kicking the door closed behind him. Jonny’s suit gets wrinkled from undressing and Patrick almost breaks his neck in his haste to get out of his pants, but Jonny can’t find it in himself to get angry.
Once they get to the track, it's clear that The Downs have been taken over by droves of people; women in bright dresses and huge picture hats, men in suits and ties. The air is thick with excitement and expectation. Patrick and Grandpa head off with Grace and Rosie, while Grandmère goes to find their seats in the corporate boxes. Jonny decides to wander with Sharpy to find themselves some beer.
Sharpy looks relaxed and happy and Jonny’s feeling the same. There’s a buzz in the media and the breeder circles behind the Gilbert family’s latest offering to the horseracing world; Jonny knows Grace and Rosie can get it done.
“So when were you going to tell me you and Peeks got back together?” Sharpy asks as the head to the racetrack, apropos of nothing. They step around groups of loud young men and their giggling partners, everyone with a champagne glass in hand. Jonny’s already sweating and can’t wait to take off his coat and tie. He pulls a face, but Sharpy is unmoved.
“I was waiting for the right time,” he sort-of lies. Sharpy levels a look at him.
“I’m serious. There was a lot of heavy stuff going on, and we were preparing for the Triple Crown. There wasn’t time.”
“There was time for you two to be fucking like bunnies, though,” Sharpy leers. Jonny flushes bright pink and busies himself drinking his beer. He should’ve expected this.
“Look, I’m just happy you finally sorted things out,” Sharpy continues.
Jonny leans against him a little, smiling. “I’m glad you dragged me down here. It, uh… it was good. It is good,” he amends. Sharpy nods.
“I’m glad to hear it. C’mon, let’s get refills. The race is gonna start in twenty minutes.”
When the starting gun goes off, Jonny’s leaning almost completely over the safety rails, going crazy with the rest of the crowd. It seems like a dream as he spots Rosie and Grace, hears the bellowing of the commentator and watches her pull ahead, running faster than anything.
She crosses the line with almost a full length between her and the next horse and Jonny throws his hands in the air, whooping and grabbing Sharpy in a headlock. Sharpy starts punching him, but he’s just as happy -- if not more.
When they rejoin the family, while Rosie heads towards the Winner’s Circle, Patrick spots Jonny and launches on him.
“We did it!” he yells in Jonny’s ear. Jonny just clutches him and they watch as Rosie gets sprayed with champagne, then handed her trophy and roses.
“Grace gets all the apples and peppermints in the world tonight,” Jonny decrees, congratulating Rosie as she joins them.
“Sounds like a fair trade,” Rosie agrees.
They spend the rest of the week in Louisville, before packing up and starting the long journey to Maryland for the Preakness Stakes.
Grandmère and Grandpa travel with the horse and gear, while Patrick, Sharpy and Jonny fly ahead to Baltimore. Rosie’s headed over with her family in a day, and Jonny’s looking forward to some time (relatively) alone with Patrick before his grandparents arrive.
The build up to the race is more of the same, the hype surrounding Grace and the Gilbert family starting to crescendo now that she looks like a possible winner. Jonny’s known all along she could do this, and he has nothing but the utmost faith in her, Patrick and Rosie.
It still feels like a surprise when Grace wins the Preakness as well. He thinks he’s going to have a heart attack in the final stretch, neck-and-neck between her and some stallion from Saratoga. He brushes off any doubt he has once Grace pulls ahead by a nose and then wins, the crowd going ballistic and Sharpy losing his goddamned mind next to him, grabbing Johnny’s neck and shaking him so hard his brains feel like they’re rattling.
“We’re actually going to fucking do this!” Sharpy shrieks in his ear. Jonny can’t help but agree, as they break away from the crowds to head toward the family and Patrick. Grandpa’s dancing around with Grandmère, and everyone’s got champagne flutes already.
Patrick’s crying a little, trying to hide it by wiping his eyes with his tie, but Jonny catches him and presses a kiss to the side of his head.
“My dad,” Patrick sniffles and holds up his phone. Jonny squints at it and sees a bunch of faces squashed into the small screen, and recognises Pat Sr. immediately.
“Pat!” he calls, taking the phone from Patrick’s hand.
“Jonny!” he hears, but it starts breaking up and he can’t hear over the noise on the tracks. He hands the phone back to Patrick and breaks away to find Sharpy and his grandparents.
For all his searching, pushing through the crush of sweaty, drunk bodies, he can’t locate anyone before Patrick finds him again, eyes red and face splotchy.
“What’s wrong?” Jonny says, an arm around him. Grandmère and Grandpa are within earshot, as is Sharpy, and they all turn to look at him.
“Oh, nothing… just, Dad telling me how proud he is. Y’know, of Grace… and me, how far we’ve got together, how well I’ve done training her.” His bottom lip wobbles again and Jonny draws him in closer, pressing a kiss to his temple.
“He’s absolutely right, Pat, you’ve done a fucking amazing job getting Grace to where she needs to be,” Jonny says. “You’ve definitely finished what your dad started.”
Grandpa nods and holds out his champagne flute. “Here, here. To both the Pat Kanes, for helping the Gilberts now and always,” he says.
Jonny watches as Grandmère awkwardly holds up her flute and drinks once Grandpa’s done with the toast. He waits to drink until she looks at him, feeling victorious about how Patrick’s sure as hell showing her exactly what’s what.
After spending a couple days at Pimlico, wanting to get Grace acclimatised and comfortable in time for the Belmont Stakes in New York, their flight to New York is quiet and mostly uneventful. Patrick’s nervous because she’s dropped a little more weight than they’d hoped, so they’ve been feeding her heavier meals to put on more pounds. Patrick’s wiggling in his seat; his dad isn’t well enough to come, but the rest of the family are driving in to the city to attend, Erica having flown up from the farm especially for it.
While Jonny feels nervous about the problem with Grace’s weight, he’s even more nervous about meeting them all together again.
“You dumbass, they know who you are,” Patrick says as they’re in the cab to the hotel, lacing their fingers together. Sharpy pulls a face and turns to his phone.
“Yeah, but… they knew me when I was a kid. It’s been a long time,” Jonny says. Patrick rolls his eyes.
“You’re still the same goofball you were then. I doubt my parents are going to be anything but happy,” Patrick says. Jonny feels extremely doubtful but falls silent, trailing after Patrick as he runs around the apartment his grandparents have rented for the next two nights. There’s three bedrooms, which gives Jonny pause.
“There’s only three bedrooms,” Jonny says as he stops by the third room, watching Sharpy flop onto it and put on a sexy pose. Patrick comes up behind him, laughing.
“There’s a sofabed, I think,” he says, once he’s taken a few pictures and runs away from Sharpy, who sprints after him, demanding he delete them.
The race is due to start at one the next day, and they got in kind of late, so they wander around the neighbourhood and find a Chinese place to eat at, arguing over honey chicken, wok fried lobster, and steamed rice, while Sharpy tries to foist his steamed vegetables onto everyone.
“The papers are hyping her up a lot,” Sharpy says, chewing on a piece of chicken. There’s rice stuck to his chin and Jonny smirks, but Patrick pokes a chopstick at the newspaper.
“Hype means nothing,” he mumbles around a mouthful of lobster. Jonny agrees.
They can say all they want about their farm, his grandparents and the horse -- it doesn’t mean shit if she can’t deliver. If they can’t deliver.
*
He wakes up early on race morning, Patrick stirring awake next to him as their alarms go off. Jonny’s grandparents were going straight to the track to get Grace set up, so they had organised a car service to pick them up. Jonny drags Patrick into the shower and they trade wet, slow kisses and hurried handjobs, before pulling on their suits and banging on Sharpy’s door to get him up and at ‘em.
Patrick almost refuses to eat, too nervous, but Jonny makes him, practically shoving a piece of toast down his throat before they head downstairs to meet the car.
Jonny walks around the track with Sharpy, taking in the sights and smells, watching the horses trot the grounds and the brightly coloured splashes of the racing silks.
“She could really do this,” Jonny says, taking a beat to lean against the rail. Sharpy echoes him.
“She really could,” he says. “Aren’t you glad you came back?”
“Of course. I don’t think I could stand having missed this,” Jonny says, truthful and happy. He doesn’t know what he’s gonna do after this; he’s got no real plans. He signed a three-month lease in Chicago, and he could break it if he wanted to stay here. Grandmère, if she was happy enough, would pay. He just wants to be somewhere near Patrick, somewhere they can make this work. And he can be around horses again. Law’s great, but horses are in his blood. He wants to relearn everything he lost.
The afternoon passes in a haze, Jonny drinking too much and Sharpy trying to switch him to water before the race. He’s too worked up, needs to calm down, and he crushes his stupid plastic cup of wine when the starter gun goes and the horses burst out the gate.
Jonny spots Rosie immediately, and she’s in the middle of the pack which is fine, it’s okay, they’re going to win this shit because he’s got the utmost faith in Patrick and in the horse, and in Rosie. They’re going to do it, because they have to.
It’s nerve wracking when Grace can’t seem to pull ahead for several lengths, stuck between two horses, and Jonny’s heart is in his throat, trying to will Grace ahead on thought alone. Rosie finds lanes to guide her through as they round the final corner and Grace starts to pull ahead, keeps going until she’s right to the front, and Jonny starts losing his goddamned mind, grabbing Sharpy and jumping up and down as Rosie pulls further and further ahead. He can hear the others screaming about Secretariat and legacy and not since the seventies and they’re going to fucking do this.
It’s feels like a dream when Grace crosses the finish line first, and Jonny throws his cup in the air. Sharpy bursts into tears next to him, and Jonny’s definitely getting misty as he hugs Sharpy so tightly and gets hugged back just as hard. They did it, they did it, they did it!
“We need -- Kaner, gotta find ‘em,” Sharpy croaks out, voice wrecked from all the screaming. Jonny nods and they stagger through the crowd, ticker tape raining down from above, the commentators going crazy over the speakers.
They make it to the circle, Rosie still atop Grace to get her trophy and carnations, and Patrick appears out of nowhere.
“Pat!” Jonny yells, and Patrick’s head whips around to find him.
“Jonny!” Patrick calls back. He’s crying as well, his face splotchy and his eyes red, and Jonny thinks he’s seen Patrick cry more in the past month than he ever wants to see for the rest of his life, happy or not. Patrick grabs Jonny and reels him in, kissing him hard and wet, tasting of champagne and salt, and Jonny can’t do much more than hold on.
Grandmère and Grandpa appear soon after, along with Patrick’s family, and Patrick can’t stop pressing kisses all over Jonny’s face as Jonny tries to greet Donna and the rest of Patrick’s sisters.
“Patrick, c’mon,” he says, embarrassed, and Erica manages to get an arm around Patrick’s neck and tugs him off Jonny like a leech.
“We’re glad you two found each other again. You were inseparable as boys, made such a great team together,” Donna says, hugging him tight. Jonny can’t bring himself to speak, just hugs her back before moving on to the girls.
Everyone’s hugging and crying, Grandmère clutching Grandpa’s arm as the wreath is given to Grace and Rosie gets the trophy and starts spraying everyone with champagne. The media are clamouring to talk to Patrick and Jonny’s grandparents, wanting to know about the horse’s journey and their farm, the next races she’ll run in and what they expect in future.
Jonny feels a hand on his arm and it’s Grandmère, her brown eyes watering. There’s chaos everywhere, but Jonny leans in and listens to what she has to say.
“I’m so sorry, Jonathan. It’s… I know it will take some time for things to… to be normal, perhaps, between us, and between Patrick and I, but… I want to still have you in my life, darling. I know I did a misguided thing, but I want to set things right,” she says, holding her handkerchief to her face. Jonny squints at her, and can’t see anything lurking on her face besides a mix of elation and guilt.
“Okay, Grandmère,” Jonny finally says. She sobs a little, but Jonny can’t bring himself to hug her, not yet. While it isn’t fully okay (Jonny will be pissed for years over this whole fucking situation), at least they’re on the road to making things better.
“You should talk to the media, Jonny. You’re going to take over this farm one day. You might as well start with the heavy lifting,” Grandpa says, appearing beside them and rubbing his back. Grandmère laughs, wiping her eyes, and Jonny feels dumbstruck.
“But I just… helped out, what do I know about how she got here?” Jonny says.
“Pat’ll help you. You’re a team now, eh?” Grandpa says, clapping a hand down on his shoulder and squeezing. Grandmère nods, leaning into Grandpa’s arms.
Patrick’s standing a little ways away, surrounded by his family. He looks up and smiles, and it’s so fucking bright it almost blinds Jonny.
“Yeah, Grandpa. We’re a team now,” Jonny says, walking over and nudging Patrick towards the edge of the cluster so they can head to the mix zone.
“You’re doing this with me?” Patrick says, a glass in hand that he drinks deeply from. Jonny grins and wraps his fingers around Patrick’s elbow to ground himself.
“I think they’re gonna retire now, hand the farm over to me. I’m freaking out.”
Patrick laughs and bends in to kiss him, a short smack that has Jonny chasing for more.
“We’ll figure it out, Jon. We’ve got a long time.”