After nine years, Rowan Yao returns to Wabang to take care of his aging mother. The girl Rhett Abbott thought he'd buried in his memories comes back a self-made man.
tags: rhett abbott x transmasc oc. angst. slow burn. estranged childhood friends. yearning, pining, all that kinda stuff. rhett abbott comes to terms with his bisexuality.
author's note: happy pride month! where are all the gay boys that love lewis pullman? make some noise, will you - it's a bit lonely on this side!
cross-posted on AO3
Rhett nurses his third Bud Light with a bitterness reserved for men who’d had their pride ground into the dust.
The Handsome Gambler is half-empty tonight. Not too many folks wanted to drink near the guy who could barely even last eight seconds on a bull. Most of the noise in the bar came from the cowboys who actually made it on the scoreboard, the ones with the big and shiny belt buckles and obnoxious laughs.
Maybe his dad was right. Maybe he was drawn a bullshit bull. Twister bucked like the goddamned devil was digging spurs into its ribs. Rhett’s certain he twisted his wrist on the fall — that’s another trip to urgent care tomorrow morning, if he could be assed to wake up early enough.
Or maybe Rhett needs to accept he’s washed up and past his prime. Perry told him he’d ‘hit it next time’, but Rhett’s been doing this for a whole decade. He’s not sure if he has any more next times left in him.
He used to dream of Cheyenne like it was the promised land, his one-way ticket out of Wabang. Now it feels farther than ever. Is cattle herding at the ranch all he’s meant for?
He rubs at his frown lines with the heel of his palm and forgets, too late, that it’s the bad wrist. A soft hiss slips through his teeth. Then a voice cuts through the noise of the bar, low and amused.
“I don’t remember you ever sulking this much, Rhett.”
Rhett’s jaw clenches. He turns, slow and deliberate. There’s a man next to him leaning against the bar, wearing a black denim jacket over a white tee, the sleeves pushed up his forearms. Dark hair and almond-shaped brown eyes that he doesn’t bother looking at for too long.
Jin Callahan, Rhett deduces hastily in his tipsy state. Holly Callahan and Paul Yao’s boy. They’re the only half-Asian family in Wabang, hard to miss around these parts. Holly, born and raised in the town, attends the same Bible study group as Cecilia. Their family used to come over for dinner, back when Rhett’s mom still did Sunday roasts after church.
Their two kids, Jin, and their youngest daughter, Rowan, were always around. But Rowan moved away with her dad long ago, after Holly and Paul divorced. Rhett remembers them in half-misted childhood memories. It’s a lot easier that way.
At Jin’s remark, he scoffs and rolls his eyes, lifts the bottle to his lips. “Shouldn’t you be sipping wine with your wife in… Italy, or whatever? Your honeymoon got cut short?”
Jin tilts his head and smiles a little. “...Wow. Do I really look that much like him now?”
Rhett furrows his eyebrows at the remark. His eyes sweep over the man again, slower this time. Then his stomach hollows out like the floor just gave way, and all the alcohol drains from his system in an instant.
“Rowan Yao?”
Standing in front of him like it’s nothing.
Rowan, who snorted when she laughed and sat with her legs spread apart like a man, who roughhoused with the other boys without a care. Rowan, who had trouble fitting in with the other girls, and always preferred denim overalls and jeans over the dresses she’s forced to wear on Sundays.
Before Rhett can take it back, he’s already said her name out loud.
…Her? No, that’s not who’s standing in front of Rhett now. That don’t sound right.
Rowan notices the stare, the stalled recognition. With his hands in his pockets, he shrugs, like he’s used to confusing the people around him. “Yeah. Been a while, I know.”
That’s one way to put it.
Rhett’s mouth goes dry; suddenly he feels like he’s thirteen again.
“I–I, uh…” he wants to punch himself. “I thought you were in Chicago.”
“I was. Jin asked me to take care of Mom while he’s out, so… Here I am. Got back here just a few days ago.”
Rowan’s voice is deeper. Her His shoulders are broader. Hair short. Jaw shadowed with stubble. But her his smile’s the same, lopsided and dimpled like Rhett remembers from summer afternoons at the ranch, barefoot and laughing, wrestling in the dry grass until Cecilia called them in for dinner.
He has that same spark in her eyes. Tawny, firelit. Like at any time he’s going to rag on Rhett for something he did or poke all the spots he’s ticklish, just like she used to.
Rhett clears his throat. “Oh, yeah. My mom’s mentioned Holly a few times. Said it’s been getting pretty bad lately? Repeats conversations within the minute, forgets people’s names.”
Rowan nods along. “She thinks I’m Jin most days, or even Dad. I just play along, I mean, I look like this now, after all.” he breathes out through his nose, a hollow and rueful noise as he gestures towards himself. “It’s rough. And that’s just the half of it.”
Rhett looks down at his bottle, thumb scraping the blue label. Holly, like most older women in Wabang, didn’t take shit from anyone. She never let anything slip by her – not at church, not in town. She always brought baked goods and the latest town gossip to the dinner table.
Rhett was always a bit scared of her. He can see exactly where her kids get their strong personalities. But to have a mind like hers unravel so quickly…
“I’m sorry to hear it,” he responds, “Can’t even begin to imagine what that’s like.”
“It’s fine,” Rowan shrugs, “Well, it’s not, but… you get it.”
At one of the corner booths, a group of bull riders let out a burst of laughter. Rhett grimaces at the noise.
Rowan jerks his chin towards the door. “You smoke?”
“Sometimes.”
“Good,” Rowan huffs and pushes off the bar, already moving. “Come back out with me. I can barely hear myself think in here.”
Rhett hesitates. His thumb smooths over the picked out label, then slides off the stool and follows suit.
The air outside is cooler than Rhett expected. Dry. Still. The kind of stillness that makes everything louder: the buzz of the fluorescent light above them on the roof trim, the crunch of gravel beneath their boots, his own pulse, steady and loud in his ears.
It’s a quiet that breaks him open and demands veracity. He’s not sure if he can take it.
Rowan tosses a glance over his shoulder as they step into the parking lot, as if to make sure Rhett hasn’t run off yet. He leans against the log siding of the building and fishes a Marlboro pack from his jacket pocket, thumbs one loose and holds it out for Rhett.
He takes it, lets it hang between his lips, unlit. Rowan lights his own first, cupping the flame from his zippo lighter against the cool breeze. The orange glow softens his face, catches in the edge of his jaw.
Rhett’s trying to turn his gaze away but then Rowan steps closer, just at an arm’s length. It’s close enough that Rhett has to hold his breath as Rowan brings the lighter to the end of his cigarette.
He must not be as casual as he thinks he is, because he can feel Rowan’s inquisitive gaze on him. “Relax. I’m not gonna bite,” he mumbles with a low, husky chuckle. Husky. Something Rhett never thought Rowan’s voice would sound like.
The lighter flicks back to life again. Rhett dips his head and draws in, smoke filling his lungs, hot and biting. Rowan’s eyes are trained on Rhett. He quickly pulls away from the flame before he can cough and make an even bigger fool of himself.
For a while, they smoke in silence, standing side-by-side in the parking lot. Their cigarettes burn slowly between lips, between fingers. Ash falls upon the gravel like snowflakes. Rowan flicks his zippo open and shut in a languid rhythm.
Click-click.
Click-click.
“So, how long are you back for?” Rhett asks.
Rowan shrugs. “However long Jin and Mari are in Europe for. Can’t be more than four weeks.”
Click-click.
“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d still be here,” he adds.
“Where else would I be?”
“I don’t know. Cheyenne, or Casper. Maybe even Texas.”
Rhett chews the inside of his cheek. Smoke spills from his mouth and he can only pray that all his thoughts go out with it. He shrugs and snorts without much humor. “Well, if you saw me out there tonight, you’d know why.”
“No, I saw,” Rowan laughs, “The bull was bucking before the pen even opened. I don’t think it was all on you.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that I ate shit in front of half the county.”
“You’ll get ‘em next time, cowboy,” Rowan nudges his shoulder gently against Rhett’s, echoing Perry’s words from earlier. “I’ll cheer for you on the next one.”
Click-click.
Now it’s Rhett’s turn to stare. He watches the curve of Rowan’s throat when he swallows, how he purses his lips with each puff of smoke. The air is still heavy with all the things Rhett has to relearn and unlearn about the brand new man standing next to him.
“You remember when we used to wrestle out back behind your dad’s barn?” Rowan says with a small laugh, “You got mud in my hair and my mom got so mad at you.”
Ah yes, one of the moments that made him terrified of Rowan’s mom for years. The corner of Rhett’s mouth twitches slightly and he hangs his head low as though to conceal it. His smile widens nonetheless. He shakes his head and says, “Oh, my God. You kept overreacting about it, too. Made it so much worse.”
“I was in the hot tub for almost an hour before dinner, and I could hear Cecilia telling you off outside the bathroom.” Rowan continues. The smoke leaves his lips while he laughs.
“And you tackled me first, by the way. Then when I returned the favor I got in trouble.”
“Oh, c’mon, you liked it. You had fun.” And there it is again, that mischievous glint in Rowan’s eyes. The same one he had when they were kids and about to do something stupid.
Rhett rolls his eyes and takes a long drag to keep himself from smiling too hard. It doesn’t help. Something warm creeps up at the back of his neck. He flicks away the ashes on the end of his cigarette.
The lull that follows doesn’t feel as oppressive anymore.
Click-click.
“Everything was just easier back then. I think about it a lot.”
I don’t, Rhett thinks. I try not to.
He doesn’t know how to respond to that, so the silence stretches until it becomes uncomfortable yet again.
Then Rowan shifts in front of him, blocking the breeze. The smoke curls and trails into the air as the cigarette dangles between his lips. He smirks and holds his arms up defensively. He resembles those tough guys in street fight movies. “What if we tussled, right now? For old times’ sake.”
Rhett blinks and stares at Rowan dubiously. That’s the furthest thing from what Rhett wants to do at the moment. “What?”
“What if we tussled right now?” Rowan repeats, “C’mon. You used to pin me every time. Thought you might want your ego back after tonight.” He gives Rhett a series of playful air punches to the chest, making dumb sound effects with each blow.
“I heard you the first time. No, I’m good.”
“Scared you’ll lose?” Rowan teases.
This time, Rhett’s tone is sharper. “I said no, man.”
Rowan doesn’t stop, doesn’t listen. Before Rhett can step aside, he finds himself grabbed by the shirt collar and shoved back against the wall. The log siding hits Rhett’s back with a thud. He braces instinctively, and a dull pain sears through his bad wrist. The cigarette falls from his hand and lands between their boots.
Rowan’s smoke rolls, hot and suffocating between them. Rhett doesn’t dare to breathe it in.
They’re close, too close. Rowan’s hand stays pressed against Rhett’s chest with a surprising amount of strength (yet another new thing Rhett is learning about him), but not firm enough to keep Rhett from breaking free if he wants to.
“You always act like you’re afraid of me.” Rowan grits out. The cigarette on his lips bobs with every word.
He gets a strained whisper in response. “I’m not.”
“Then what is it?”
He doesn’t have an answer. He stands there, unmoving. He swallows thickly and notices Rowan’s eyes trailing at his Adam’s apple.
Eventually, Rowan figures that getting Rhett to admit anything is a futile effort. He sighs and steps back like letting go of a live wire, hands in a placating gesture. He flicks the last of his cigarette away. It arcs through the dark like a meteor and lands with a hiss in the gravel.
Click-click.
He snaps his zippo shut with a metallic finality. Tongue in cheek and biting himself back from saying anything else.
“...I’ll see you around, Rhett.” he tosses one last look over his shoulder and heads for his car.
Rhett doesn’t move, still braced against the wall. He only allows himself to breathe after the headlights sweep the lot and Rowan’s car fades into the distance. A pathetic, shaky sigh.
The weight on his chest lingers after Rowan is gone. He tells himself it’s the drinks. It’s the shitty ride. The wrist. Just a shit night all around.
Rhett has a dream. As another familiar face re-enters his life, Perry reminds him of his history. Rowan makes a striking re-introduction into the Abbott brothers' lives.
tags: rhett abbott x transmasc oc. angst. slow burn. estranged childhood friends. yearning, pining, all that kinda stuff. misgendering. transphobic + homophobic language. canon-typical violence. rhett abbott comes to terms with his bisexuality.
author's notes: this chapter follows the events of episode one but with my own additions and canon divergence. it's lengthier than i expected, but i had fun writing it!
cross-posted on AO3 | chapter one
The first thing he feels is the warmth of a summer afternoon.
Sunlight dapples through shrubbery and the grass is dry but soft beneath his back, and laughter rolls off his tongue like it’s always been there. His sides ache from it. He blinks up at a sky so blue it almost hurts to look at, bright in a way that makes everything beautifully bleary.
Rowan’s there, shirt grass-stained and jeans streaked with mud on the knees, long hair clinging to her face from the sweat. Her face, the way Rhett remembers it. Like she never left. She’s crouched beside him, pushing at his shoulders and trying to roll him over.
He sees her laugh, sees her mouth move to say something. He doesn’t hear her voice, but he knows what it sounded like before everything—sweet and light, but unruly in her cadence. She never cared that it was ‘unbecoming of a lady’. He didn’t, either.
He grabs her around the waist, grinning like a fool, and yanks her down beside him. They tumble in the dirt, limbs tangled and their laughs overlapping. Blades of dry grass poke at their shins.
Her shirt rides up slightly. He holds her a bit too tightly without meaning to as she sits on his stomach. Fingers press against her skin. He freezes.
The laughter dies out, and Rhett’s pulse is at his throat. It feels wrong, almost perverse, to admit that he likes the feeling of her warm, soft skin under his hands. Her chest rises and falls, close enough to feel. She has that spark in her tawny eyes, like she can read his mind and understand in her core, the thoughts of a boy in adolescence.
His hands stay. Her hands, firm on his chest (a sensation most familiar to him now), keep him pinned down below her. She’s leaning in slowly, and he closes his eyes in anticipation of what’s to come. In this shred of his memory, maybe this is what he would’ve wanted. What he expected, but never got. He doesn’t remember wanting it. He feels like he shouldn’t.
Rowan’s lips are soft. Then Rhett’s lips touch stubble, rough and scratchy. He smells aftershave. Tobacco. The wormwood in whatever cologne he had on that night. And as their lips part to make way for tongue, he can feel him . Taste him . His tongue. His breath as he breathes in for another kiss. The sweat, the spit, hot in his mouth.
His eyes feel like they’re glued shut. He can’t resist the heat pooling in his loins, like a dam inside him is going to break. Rowan pulls him in like he can feel that resistance, his heavy hand threading through Rhett’s hair. He hears that low, husky moan and feels Rowan’s lips move to his neck, kissing further down…
Something smacks the bottom of Rhett’s boot, and the dream is gone in an instant. He jerks upright in his seat. He can feel his pulse all the way to his fingertips, and sweat is cooling fast on his skin.
Rhett is parked outside the house but he doesn’t even remember getting in the truck. At the very least, he managed to drive himself home without getting another DUI.
In his drunken stupor, Rhett removed his shirt and draped it over his bare chest as a makeshift blanket. His jeans feel tight and uncomfortable, and there’s a hot sensation boiling in his stomach.
“What the hell…”
Outside the car door, the perpetrator of the boot smack, is Royal. He nudges Rhett’s boot again, eyebrows furrowed and his face as stoic as ever. “If you think I’m gonna bail you out of your responsibilities, you got another thing comin’. Get dressed. Checkin’ the fences.”
If his father noticed anything or not, he doesn’t say. He just walks away without waiting for a response.
Rhett wipes a hand over his perspiring face and curses under his breath. He leans his head back, eyes closed, jaw clenched. What the hell was all that? He tries to recall exactly what it was his brain dreamt up, but he’s coming up on a blank. He’s reeling from the sensation and trying to will the tent in his pants down with deep breaths.
He doesn’t get to have a moment of relief from this. Soon he pulls his shirt back over his head, grabs his hat on the dashboard, and climbs out of the cab. He trudges behind his father on the way to the stables to fetch their horses, squinting from the morning sun under his hat.
Even in the haze of his hangover, he does remember having spoken to Rowan Yao last night. Rowan’s a man now, that much he can recall.
“Did you know Rowan Yao’s back in town?” he rasps out.
Royal glances over his shoulder at him. “No, your mother didn’t mention anything. How is she, Rowan.”
Rhett remains tight-lipped. He resists correcting his father, figuring it isn’t worth having that difficult conversation so early in the morning.
“I, uh… saw hi— her —at the bar last night, after the rodeo,” He feels guilty even if he knows Rowan isn’t here. “She said she’s taking care of her mom while her brother’s on honeymoon?”
“Right. Maybe we can invite her and Holly to dinner this weekend, I’m sure Cece’d love that.” They walk past the stable doors and Royal nods to himself.
Inside the stables, Perry is tightening the cinch on his chestnut quarter horse. “Well, the prodigal son is finally awake. Who’re we inviting to dinner?”
“Rowan Yao,” Royal answers, “Holly Callahan’s kid.”
Perry leans against a stall post, grinning. “Oh, yeah? Didn’t you have a crush on her back then or somethin’, Rhett?”
Rhett is carrying his saddle over to his dark bay when he shoots a glare at his older brother. “What? No.”
“No, you definitely did,” Perry snorts, “But she was always pretty tomboy-ish, wasn’t she? You’d think Mrs. Yao raised two boys.”
“I didn’t have a crush on her.”
“Whatever you say—but point is, you used to be real close to her.”
“Yeah. Used to .” Rhett strains with the effort as he saddles up on his horse and rolls his sore shoulders.
“Alright, you two,” Royal cuts in, voice flat. “Knock it off. We’re still missing two damn cows. We’ll head east, then start from there.”
It’s been a tense day since Rhett woke up, like something shifted in the air and he just can’t seem to say the right things. Maybe he got bucked so hard last night, he knocked his head on top of the strained wrist. That’s gotta be it (or at least, that’s what he’s telling himself).
After a tense conversation with the Tillersons about their west pasture, they return home by noon with two cows still missing and Sheriff Joy telling them that the FBI is giving up on finding Rebecca. Nine months in and no leads pointing anywhere.
Perry is already going through a lot with his wife’s disappearance, and instead of being there for his older brother, Rhett just finds ways to get into Perry’s skin. He just can’t help but think that Rebecca wouldn’t have gone up and left for no good reason—Perry must’ve said something to her. Rhett, of all people, would know how volatile his brother can get when he’s angry.
By nightfall, as an apology, he brings Perry out for some drinks at the bar. There’s more people, now that it’s the weekend. He and Perry have a booth all to themselves, about two beers and one tequila shot deep at this point. Rhett’s starting to stumble over his words.
“What if… what if I just wasted the last ten years chasing this? I mean, you had a wife and kid by my age.”
“It’s a slump. You’ll ride better at the next one. Take some risks and don’t regret ‘em—that’s all I’ll say.”
Perry’s words slide right off. They’re just half-hearted words of comfort like a fortune cookie from a cheap Chinese restaurant. They’re both at their worst. The only comfort they can find is at the bottom of a bottle.
That being said — “I do think we’re gonna regret this tequila, though.”
That, they can agree on. They smile and clink their glasses. The second shot goes down easier than the first.
Maria Olivares walks by, accompanied by three other girls Rhett recognizes as some of her friends from high school. He saw her at the rodeo last night, but his terrible performance didn’t motivate him to catch up with her at the arena.
He keeps his head low so as to not draw any attention, but he can’t stop looking at her, and Perry follows his gaze. She looks just as gorgeous and unattainable as she did back then. She’s got no man with her, maybe she’s finally single again.
“What’s Maria doin’ here?” Perry asks.
“I don’t know.”
Perry nods his head slowly. He looks like he’s thought of something funny.
“...What?”
Perry chuckles. “First it’s Rowan, now Maria. The girls of your past are comin’ to haunt you, Rhett.”
Rhett rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but he knows Perry’s right. It’s like God is showing him all his regrets in womanly form. And one of them isn’t even a woman anymore.
“Man, you’ve been in love with that girl since you were sixteen years old. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why you two never got together.”
“Yeah? Well, I can.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“She had a boyfriend. Went to college. I stayed here.”
“And Rowan?” Perry raises an eyebrow, “You stopped hanging out with her after seventh grade. Avoided her, actually.”
That God-awful ache in Rhett’s chest is flaring up again.
“We just… grew up. Grew out of each other. I got sick of playing tag and wrestling and watching movies and all that stuff. Then he— she went off to Chicago.”
None of it convinces Perry. Rhett doesn’t expect him to understand, anyway. Perry had Amy with Rebecca while Rhett was still figuring himself out at fifteen.
“How many excuses are you gonna make before you man up—”
“No, listen to me. Listen—”
“—and go dance with her?” Perry tilts his chin towards Maria, standing by the bar, sipping a beer and laughing with a friend. Rhett gives him a weak, resigned smile.
“Get up!” Perry urges, “C’mon, you bull-ridin’ son-of-a-bitch. Get that ass up, go get that girl!”
Rhett needs some liquid courage for that. He grabs his bottle, gulps down what’s left, and though his legs feel shaky, he stands from their booth. He smooths a hand through his hair and walks toward the bar.
But just as he nears, Rowan Yao appears out of nowhere (he seems to be really fucking good at that) and slides in beside her like they’d known each other for years. Maria smiles and laughs at something Rowan says, and he whisks her away like it was the easiest thing in the world.
It takes Rhett about five years to work up the courage to ask Maria out. For Rowan, a complete stranger? About five seconds.
He stands there, stunned. His eyes follow them as Rowan gives her a seat by the table. He’s definitely got her charmed by the way she’s all smiles and engaging with him in a conversation. Rhett starts to feel sick as he walks back to the booth, and Perry’s laughing at his expense. His brother probably doesn’t even realize who that was. He’s not going to bother explaining.
There’s a swampy, sour feeling in his gut that the beer can’t wash down. It festers as he watches them talk—Rowan’s hand gesturing, Maria laughing. They’re laughing so damn much , actually, what the hell could Rowan be saying that’s so funny?
There’s certainly worse men that Maria could be talking to—like the Tillersons, seated in their own booths and with their own women—but Rowan ? Does she even know who he used to be?
What gives Rowan the right to come back to Wabang with a brand new identity and charm the people Rhett can’t even bring himself to talk to?
Maybe it’s his Chicago-made city boy charm. Talking to people has always been so easy to Rowan, he’s the more outgoing one between him and Rhett. When they were kids, she spoke to Rhett first, always invited him to hang out after class. On weekends she’d knock on their front door sweating and panting like she rushed all the way there after lunch, asking, “Is Rhett home? Can he come play?”
She was always looking for him, at church, at school. Does Rowan even know he’s here at the bar too? Why didn’t Rowan come up and talk to him instead? Rhett strains his brain to remember last night. Fuck . He must’ve said something last night. He feels like he’s fucked up again.
Jesus. He’s getting way too worked up over this shit. Knowing his childhood friend and high school crush are talking to each other doesn’t sit well with him at all. He’s supposed to be having fun with Perry.
Rhett makes an effort to brighten his look so his brother doesn’t make fun of him even more.
(It’s jealousy. But as with most difficult emotions, Rhett’s not going to call it that.)
After nearly a decade of falling off of bulls, maybe he’s finally gone and lost his damn mind.
A few more beers and two rounds of darts with Perry later, it’s all water under the bridge (which means, hastily buried until it dredges back up again for later). They’ve moved to the bar counter, and Rhett finds himself in a passionate discussion about the Tillersons and the land dispute. He thinks it’s bullshit, but if it’s straight from the county assessor, it’s gotta mean something.
They’ve had this coming eventually. Their homegrown family-owned ranch could never compare to the Big Ag guys and their peace-disrupting quad bikes and luxury log cabin estate.
“Well, that’s—that’s what I’m saying,” Rhett mumbles, “We can’t compete with those commercial guys. All this old-school stuff Dad keeps—”
“Look, look. The family and the land are always gonna be more important to him than the money. The guy only knows one way.”
“Yeah,” Rhett scoffs, “And that way is gonna cost him his whole ranch. If we’d sold ten years ago…”
His brother laughs and shakes his head. Rhett takes that as a sign to leave it be, because Perry probably thinks he’s being ‘naive’ and ‘idealistic’. He can talk about it all he wants, but there’s no changing their stubborn old father’s mind.
“Hey.”
“Mhm.”
“Promise me something.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t give up on that rodeo stuff.”
He probably won’t. It’s all Rhett’s ever known, it might as well be all he’ll ever be.
“Alright. No, I’ll tell you what, I’ll keep riding bulls if you think about moving on.”
“Moving on?” Perry chuckles, “Moving on from what?”
Rhett nudges him. “Perry, c’mon. From Rebecca.”
Rhett watches the life drain from Perry’s eyes and God damn it, he’s done it again.
“Shit. Y’know, I’m sorry. I’m drunk,” he rushes out and grimaces, “That was just… that was a stupid thing for me to say.”
Perry shrugs, but there’s tears welling in his eyes already. “...I think I’m at the end of my rope.”
He dips his head low and sobs silently, shoulders quivering. The instant regret and guilt clears up the alcohol-induced haze in Rhett’s head.
“No, listen to me. You’re gonna be okay. Alright? Amy, too. Trust me.” Rhett tries to say something of comfort, but he knows it can’t quell the darkness already brewing within his brother. He just hopes they can forget this conversation ever happened in the morning.
Perry stands to leave and he stumbles. Rhett catches him, steadies him with a hand on the shoulder. “Woah, woah. Y’alright? You need to go outside?”
His brother breathes in sharp through the nose and Rhett pats him on the back. “Alright, go puke. Then come back inside and we’ll… finish our beers.”
His eyes follow Perry, making sure he doesn’t fall on his ass on the way out. Sometimes it feels like he’s the one that has to take care of his brother.
Rhett resorts to reading the label of his beer bottle because he’s sick of sitting with his own thoughts. He peels and picks at it like he tends to do when bored.
“Two beers, please.”
He turns to see Maria next to him, ordering from the bartender. They make eye contact as she tosses a few bills on the counter.
“You got screwed.”
Rhett blinks. “Sorry?”
“Whoever put you on that bull screwed you over, you’re better than that. Unless you got a lot worse over the last five years.”
“I was surprised to see you there,” he smiles, “What happened to school? I thought you were gonna be a vet, or something.”
“I burned out. That, and…” she shrugs, “I missed home.”
“You missed this place?” He can’t fathom ever missing and returning to a place that’s got barely anything in it. She found a way out, he thought she’d stick by that.
“Well, yeah. I mean… among other things.”
Rhett chuckles softly and his heart is fluttering with nostalgia. He feels like he’s seventeen again and joking around with her by the lockers in between classes.
“So, what about you? You finally got off that ranch?” she asks, grabbing the beers from the bartender.
“Uh, no. No, actually.”
She seems surprised to hear it. “You told me the first thing you were gonna do was escape.”
Rhett just hisses between his teeth and shakes his head. He could name a hundred different reasons to leave, and a hundred different reasons to stay. And staying has always weighed heavier in his scales.
“Well,” she clinks a bottle against his, “At least we can see each other around again.”
He nods toward Rowan at the other side of the bar, sitting alone at the table facing away from them. He pretends not to know him. “Is that for your guy?”
“Rowan?” she smiles, “He’s cute. But no, he’s not my guy.”
Rhett instantly feels some strange relief wash over him.
“Hey, do you want to, um… do you wanna…” he trails off. Through the front door window, he can see Perry and Trevor Tillerson outside having some kind of disagreement. When Trevor shoves Perry back, Rhett immediately goes on high alert.
“Oh, shit. One second.”
He pushes himself off and bursts through the door. “Hey, hey!”
“Fuck you, man!” Trevor yells in response to something Perry said.
Rhett plants himself between them and shoves Trevor back as he tries to reach for his brother. “You touch him again, I’ll put you in the fuckin’ ground!”
“Oh, is that right?” Trevor gets all up in his face, lip curled with the classic arrogance of a Tillerson. “Well, if you fight the same as you ride bulls, I’m pretty sure I’ll come out on top.”
Rhett scoffs and turns away, squeezing his fist. For a split second, he thinks about walking away. Just turning around and dragging Perry inside, letting this go. Being the bigger man.
But this here is Trevor Tillerson—he’s not letting this opportunity go to waste.
He lands a jab that hits Trevor right on the jaw, sharp enough to send him to the ground. There’s a dull pain that sears through Rhett’s bad wrist, but he shrugs it off. The bastard’s back up in a heartbeat and they’re grappling each other like dogs in a fighting pit, dust kicking up beneath their boots.
Trevor’s knee hits Rhett right at home, and the wind is knocked from his lungs.
The front door swings open, and Maria comes out with Rowan right behind her. Rowan slides in between them to break up the fight, placing a hand on Rhett’s chest and pushing him back towards Perry.
“Hey, what the fuck is going on?”
Trevor’s focus turns to Rowan with an immediate recognition, and he guffaws. “Holy shit. This fuckin’ dyke’s back in town?”
Something changes in Rowan’s face. His whole body tightens, jaw flexing, tawny eyes going dark. His expression turns into something wounded and cold.
Rhett knows that look, he’s seen it before on his father when Wayne Tillerson taunts him. On Perry, when the authorities first suspected him after Rebecca’s disappearance. Rhett never thought Rowan would be capable of that kind of rage—he can tell Rowan’s thinking about being the bigger man, too.
None of them can say they’re any better.
Rowan lunges after Trevor before anyone can stop him, slamming the asshole down. They hit the gravel hard, and the sound of Rhett yelling after Rowan is swallowed up by the crunch of the impact and the scuffle that follows.
“Rowan—shit!”
Trevor claws at his shirt and gets a good few punches to the side of Rowan’s head and face. There’s a sickening crack but Rowan gets up like nothing ever happened. Rowan kicks the back of Trevor’s knee and hooks him thrice even as his fists bruise from the contact on bone.
It takes both Rhett and Perry to drag Rowan off. His chest is heaving as they drag him a few feet away, arms pinned, blood trickling from a broken nose that he wears with a smirk. His eyes are still honed in on Trevor down on the ground, curled into himself like a wounded dog.
Rhett doesn’t have time to think. He cups Rowan’s face in his hands and brushes a thumb under his eyelid to check his pupils. He curses under his breath when he sees how blown out they are.
Maria hovers over them, pale. “Oh my God, is he gonna be okay?”
“Head back inside,” he points toward the door, then turns to Perry. “Watch him, alright? I’ll go get the truck.”
Maria heads inside with Rhett as told. Perry holds the bruised Rowan up and cranes his neck to get a better view of the man, now that it’s just them left behind.
“...You’re Rowan Yao?”
“Yeah,” Rowan tilts his head to meet Perry’s gaze and gives him a woozy, lopsided and split-lip grin. The blood from his nose is now dripping down his chin. “Nice to see you again, Perry.”
This is a bizarre way to learn that Rowan Yao is a man now. But he’s definitely gained Perry’s respect.
From a few feet away, Trevor is pushing himself up. He looks just as bad, if not worse than Rowan.
“Son of a bitch,” he groans, “Y’know, I felt for y’all, about my dad going after your land. But now, I don’t give a shit. We’ll take everything you got. Your whole world will fucking disappear, pal. Just like your goddamn wife.”
Rowan lunges again, but is held back by Perry. Trevor flinches ever so slightly. “Eat shit, Tillerson!”
Perry takes the jab about Rebecca with a grimace and swallows his own rage. His concern for the kid outweighs whatever he was crying about a few minutes ago.
“And you,” Trevor spits a wad of blood and phlegm inches from Rowan’s boot, “You can cut your hair and chop your tits off, but you ain’t a real man with no balls. Just a bitch in a button-up.”
“I’ll fuckin’ show you a real man.”
Rowan surges forward again, and this time it’s with vindication. Perry underestimates just how strong Rowan is and the boy slips out of his grasp easily, fist flying toward Trevor before he can stop it. At this point, Perry lets it happen, because a sick part of him wants to see Trevor get his shit kicked in.
He watches Rowan drive his knee to Trevor’s nuts and huffs in amusement as the bastard keels over grabbing his crotch. Rowan straddles Trevor to land a few more hits. By the fourth punch, Perry snaps back to reality.
“Okay, that’s enough.”
Rowan doesn’t intend to stop, even as Trevor holds his arms in front of his face to block the punches. They’re both exhausted of stamina, and Rowan’s punches get weaker. Rhett’s truck screeches to a stop in front, his headlights illuminating the dust settling around them. He slams his horn to get them both to quit it.
“That’s enough, Rowan!” Perry hauls the boy off the now-unconscious Trevor. Rowan spits his own wad of blood back, and Perry shoves him in the backseat of the truck and slams the door shut.
They had to make sure Trevor was still alive and breathing before Rhett drove away from the scene. Getting charged with murder, on top of the land issue, won’t serve them any good. Knowing Trevor and his fragile ego, maybe he won’t say a single word to the authorities after getting his ass kicked by a ‘girl’.
Rowan lets out a soft, broken laugh from the backseat. His nose is all crooked and swollen. “Bastard had it coming.”
Perry, seated at the passenger seat, leans in towards Rhett. “You didn’t tell me Rowan’s…” he whispers, nodding toward the bruised man behind them.
“I didn’t think it was important to mention,” Rhett shrugs. But really, he’s saving himself from having to explain something he doesn’t completely understand either.
“You didn’t think she becoming a he was important?”
“There’s more pressing matters here, Perry.”
He glances at Rowan through the rearview mirror, and for a moment he sees past all the bravado and the wince that follows the laugh. His eyes soften with concern. “You good back there, Ro?”
“ Ro ?” Rowan perks up and leans forward, grinning through the blood in his teeth. “You haven’t called me that in years.”
Rhett swallows hard and looks away. The nickname slipped out like an old habit. “I–I mean, it’s your name .”
From out the window, Rowan notices they just drove past the street he lives in. “Hey, wait, you just missed…”
“You’re concussed, kid,” Perry says, “We’re taking you to the hospital.”
His eyes widen and he immediately thinks of his mom at home, hopefully sound asleep thanks to her medication. “ What? That’s two hours away! Take me back—I’m fine!”
“Look at yourself, man! You’re bleeding all over.” It’s clear in Rhett’s tone that he’s not taking no for an answer on this.
Rowan touches his nose and suddenly his whole face is sore. He feels a wetness under his nostrils and he’s made aware of the strong, metallic taste on his tongue. He starts chuckling to himself again, his panic set aside and forgotten. He’s definitely out of it.
The sound makes Rhett’s heart throb in a way that makes him uneasy, then he remembers all at once — “What if we tussled, right now? For old times’ sake.”
Fuck. Now is not the time for this.
“You always act like you’re afraid of me.”
Rhett white-knuckles the steering wheel. He can tell Perry’s watching him carefully from the side.
“God, but that felt good ,” Rowan lets out a sigh and leans his head back on the headrest, then groans. “But what was that thing Trevor mentioned… ‘bout the land? They’re taking your land?”
“They’re takin’ the west pasture.” Perry responds.
Rowan leans in, eyebrows furrowed. “What? That’s fucking crazy. You guys owned that land for years! Why’re they choosing now to… oh, fuck .”
He starts to double over. Rhett looks back and forth at Rowan and the road with panic settling in his gut. “What? What?!”
“I’m gonna—f-fuck…” Rowan dry heaves. Perry looks just about ready to jump out of the truck.
“No! No—Perry, Perry! The fuckin’ glove box!”
Rhett reaches back and pushes Rowan away from the console, but that just means he’s going to throw up behind the driver’s seat. Perry frantically opens the glove compartment and searches through, feeling for anything in the dark that can hold vomit. He feels the crinkle of a gas station plastic bag shoved in there, and just as he turns to hand it to Rowan, it’s too late. He’s already thrown up half his guts all over the floor.
“Motherfucker…” Rhett hisses and rubs a hand on his face, his nose flaring from the stench of bile stinking up his truck.
“Sorry…” Rowan groans in between gags, and thankfully he lets the rest out in the plastic bag.
Rhett sighs. “Just… breathe slowly. And roll the windows down.”
Perry turns to look at his younger brother, and laughs so loud his gut aches. He hasn’t laughed like that in a long while. He claps a hand on Rhett’s shoulder, jostling him a bit. “God, look at us. Like no time’s even passed.”
This time, there’s nothing Rhett can do against the laugh escaping his lips.
Larry Yount on WRFM Stereo 105 New York | March 31 1974
WRFM Stereo 105 New York – Larry Yount – March 31 1974
Beautiful music air checks are hard to come by, so I am happy whenever I find one. This aircheck features New York’s Stereo 105 WRFM. The station started with the format in 1968, and it ran through the early 1980s, when beautiful music stations fell out of favor.
The aircheck features Larry Yount. -Ellis
From the Ellis B Feaster…
