Date: Mon, 26 Feb 2007 00:25:21 -0700
From: Avy MacGregor <avymac@hotmail.com>
Subject: Jake's Cowboy Part 18

DISCLAIMER: You are about to read a story that is strictly FAN FICTION and
in no way represents true accounts. I do not - nor do I wish to imply that -
I know Jake Gyllenhaal, his private life or his sexual preferences. This is
also true of all other celebrities represented in this story. This is a work
of fiction based in homo-eroticism, so if you are not of legal age, or if
this type of content might offend you, please move onto something else.

For everyone else - ENJOY!
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Hey everyone, it's finally time for another chapter! I know that you're
really tired of me saying it, but I'm gonna say it again anyway - thanks for
sticking with me and with this story. Although the end may be drawing near -
and I'll be sad to let it go - it is not yet over. So keep tuning in!

To read this new chapter as well as other great Jake stories, visit The
Gyllenhaal Chronicles. Join the group, leave a comment or two, post
something or just drool over Jake pics for awhile.
http://groups.msn.com/TheGyllenhaalChronicles/_whatsnew.

As always, you can email me at avymac@hotmail.com, or chat with me under the
same MSN name. Comments are always welcomed and appreciated.

"T" - you rock my world...And Chris and Syd and so many others...thanks for the
support. Luv y'all.

And now, onto PART 18 . . .
--------------------------------------------------------------------

	The water was ice cold, waves rolling across our bare feet as we slowly
meandered down the beach together. The dogs ran in circles several yards
ahead of us, fighting for possession of the driftwood stick that Jake
repeatedly tossed at them. It was early morning, soft rays of violet and
pink opening up the sky. The air held a hint of chill, but the taste of salt
on my tongue and the touch of moisture on my skin was invigorating. I
inhaled deeply, filling my lungs, wanting to capture as much of the humidity
as I could; the atmosphere in Colorado was eternally dry, so being at the
ocean's edge was a refreshing change.
	Surfers were already disembarking from their cars, pulling surfboards from
roof racks, sliding into wetsuits.
	"We need to be doing that," Jake commented, gesturing towards them.
	I shook my head. "I'd kill myself."
	He chuckled. "Your surfing could never be as bad as my snowboarding,
Cooper."
	We quickened our pace, eventually falling into a comfortable jog, pushing
the hooded sweatshirts from our heads. Boo and Atticus returned to our side
- Atticus running along beside me, Boo nipping at Jake's ankles. Farther
down the coast we stopped and landed on the sand to catch our breath,
sipping from bottled water, listening to the seagulls shriek overhead as
they dipped to and fro in the breeze.
	We watched the first surfers push out, bellies pressed against fiberglass,
hands slicing through aquamarine water. Despite being dressed in wetsuits,
the temperature of the Pacific must have been freezing at that early hour.
	"They're hardcore," I commented.
	Jake nodded and leaned back on his elbows. His mood had been a bit dull all
morning - introspection tinged with lack of sleep. I sat cross-legged beside
him, scooping up handfuls of sand and watching the grains sift through my
fingers. I was feeling none too sharp myself.
	When Jake's cell phone rang, it startled both of us.
	He fished the device from his pocket and flipped it open. "Hey Mel," he
said, sitting up. "Little early for a call, isn't it . . . ?"
	As they talked, I laid back on the cool sand, sliding a hand up under my
head, staring off into the heavens. The sun was casting golden rays across
the stratus cloud-filled sky; serenity obstructed only by the occasional
airplane passing by. The sound of the waves lapping up against the shoreline
quietly lulled me into a sort of pseudo-sleep. After snoozing only a handful
of hours last night, Jake had roused me before dawn and brought me to the
beach, insistent that I sink my toes in California sand at least once before
heading home.
	Abruptly, Jake's tone of voice changed, pulling me from my sleepy haze.
	"Jesus, Mel," he said in exasperation, shifting his position in the sand.
"You're kidding me, right? I mean . . . Yeah. Yeah. I know that. Don't you
think I fucking know that . . .?"
	His eyes flicked over me, then looked away. Something was amiss. He brought
his knees to his chest and hung his head, shoulders tense. I sat up and
touched his arm.
	"Yeah . . ." he muttered into the receiver. "Sure . . . Yeah, I'll see you
soon. Bye, Mel." He shut the phone and sat there with it in the palm of his
hand, his expression drawn.
	My heart was already in my throat.
	He said nothing at first. I dug my toes deep into the sand. Then, unable to
suppress my anxiety any longer, I said, "What it is? What's up?"
	"I should have fucking expected this," he snapped. "I know that. But even
so . . . It's too fucking soon. I'm not ready for it . . ." His voice
trailed off, choked with emotion.
	"What?" I asked, growing impatient.
	A muscle twitched in his jaw. There was so much agitation exuding from him
that I thought he might explode. But he offered no response. Just focused
his attention somewhere out there on the horizon.
	"Jesus Christ, Jake," I said in irritation, gripping his elbow. "Tell me
what the fuck is going on." I was already fearing the worst.
	He shook his head - slowly, deliberately, extending my impatience until
finally he said through seething breath, "I can't . . . I don't . . . I
can't do this. I've got a goddamn reading for `High Stakes' coming up. This
is so fuckin' fucked up . . ."
	I released my grip on his elbow and carefully caressed his forearm instead.
"Jake . . ." I muttered calmly, wanting to assure him that no matter what it
was Melissa had told him, everything would be all right. The world would be
fine.
	But he jerked his arm away from me as if my touch had been fire.
	And I knew then that the inevitable was happening . . . only way too fast.
	I sighed and stood up, brushing the sand from my pants. Gazing out across
the horizon, I watched the surfers rise and fall with the swells, the water
glistening in prisms as waves rolled into shore. The breeze picked up,
bringing with it a spray of moisture that covered my face; it would have
mixed well with my tears had I allowed them to fall. But I fought them back,
folding my arms across my chest, pinching my lower lip between my teeth,
determined not to let the pain show.
	I needed to be strong - no matter what the fuck happened next.
	"We should head back to the house," Jake eventually mumbled. He stood up
and brushed the sand from his pants. Then he lifted the hood of his
sweatshirt back up to cover his head, as if in shame. A subconscious act.
	I looked at his profile. Sensed his despair. Felt as though we were already
balancing on a precipice of uncertainty. "All right," I conceded, scooping
up my water bottle. "Let's go. But," I gripped his shoulder briefly, "We're
going to talk this through. Okay? No shutting me out."
	His eyes finally met mine, lingering there. He was in turmoil. "All right,"
he whispered.
	We headed back to the car in silence, the dogs quietly following behind,
the highly-coveted driftwood stick they had been playing with all morning
left in the sand for the tide to swallow.


*	*	*	*	*


	Smoke curled from my nostrils, wafting upwards to blend with the hazy
atmosphere of the city. I stood in the middle of the sidewalk and tilted my
head back, squinting up towards the grey-blue sky, realizing how small and
insignificant I was - standing in a canyon compromised of glass and steel
and the pulse of the American dream. It was downtown Los Angeles. A
breathing, living entity.
	I'd been standing there for quite some time, having first wasted an hour
flipping through magazines in the lobby of Jake's agency, feeling anxious
and irritated. Eventually, impatience had clouded over me, and I'd wandered
outside, hoping for fresh air but then bumming a cigarette from the first
kid who'd passed my way.
	It was not knowing what was going on behind closed doors - knowing that
Jake was facing everything alone - that had become so maddening.
	Maddening and frustrating.
	I hopped up onto a metal bench and sat perched on the back ledge, leaning
forward to rest my arms on my knees, watching the cars pass by on the street
before me. As I finished off the cigarette, I recalled the morning - how
Jake and I had returned to the house in somber silence, how Jake's face had
been continually twisted in conflict. He'd claimed that Mel had needed to
see him right away, and although he'd assumed I wouldn't accompany him, I'd
been firm in insisting that he not leave me behind to wonder what the hell
was going on.
	"It's just some trash story," he'd explained after we'd dropped off the
dogs and headed downtown. He'd seemed to want to brush it off as no big
deal, despite the fact that he'd obviously been deeply affected by the phone
conversation with Mel.
	"A trash story . . .?" I'd echoed, watching his profile. "About what? You .
. .? Me . . .?" I'd known the answer but had wanted to hear it from his
lips.
	He'd sighed deeply. Turned into the underground parking garage, traveling
down three levels before finally finding a vacant space.
	"Jake," I'd said sternly, grabbing his arm to prevent him from exiting the
car. "You promised not to shut me out . . ."
	He'd sighed again and pulled the keys from the ignition and just sat there,
staring out through the windshield at the cement wall. Finally, he'd
responded, "Yes. Us."
	I'd nodded. "Okay. So . . . what are we going to do?"
	"You don't need to do anything," he'd mumbled. "I'll go see Mel and
everything'll be ironed out. It's just some stupid, insignificant tabloid
that nobody ever reads, and the loonies that DO read it are half-crazy
anyway."
	"Jake . . ."
	He'd held up a hand. "It'll be fine."
	With that, he'd pushed himself from the car and slammed the door.
	 And now I sat, my ass perched on a metal bench while I sucked the life out
of some kid's cigarette.
	Sometimes I had to wonder what I was doing. Although my feelings for Jake
were profound, I didn't think I could handle carrying the burden of ruining
his career; not only did I not want the guilt and the bullshit, I especially
did not want Jake to come to hate me for it. That, in itself, would be
devastating.
	Contemplating the issue, I recalled yet again Katy's biting words of what
now seemed long ago, when she'd cursed me for being with Jake and insisted
that Hollywood would never accept us. Goddamn if she hadn't had some wisdom
there, despite her atrocious, unforgivable behavior.
	Was it possible to continue in my relationship with Jake if it required
forever being discreet? I honestly couldn't be certain - and it was a fact
that truly bothered me.
	I jumped down from the bench and squinted up at the skyscraper which housed
Jake's agency- wondering, yet again, what the hell was going on in there and
why it was taking so long.
	And then suddenly, as if on cue, Jake emerged, pushing through the wide
revolving door, dropping his sunglasses down to cover his eyes.
	I subconsciously let out a long, relieved sigh and dropped the cigarette
butt to the ground, squashing it with the toe of my boot, letting it join
the dozens of other cigarette butts which lined the sidewalk.
	"Hey," he said as he approached, his hands pushed deep into his pockets.
	"Hey," I returned.
	"I couldn't find you inside."
	I nodded. "Yeah, I know . . . I, uh . . . needed some fresh air. It was
getting stuffy in there."
	A brief flash of silence passed between us. Jake glanced away, down the
street, as if searching for something or contemplating a thought, and then
he turned and said, "Wanna go get something to eat? I'm starving."
	"Sure . . ." I responded. "Everything all right?"
	It was a multi-layered question, laden with unspoken anxiety.
	"Everything's fine," he replied, albeit unconvincingly. He turned and
started to walk away, muttering, "There's a good deli just around the corner
. . ."
	And it was - literally - just around the corner, on the first level of
another high-rise. The fare consisted of New York-style sandwiches and
soups, and I ordered a Reuben with extra sauerkraut and took a seat at a
table that faced out towards the sidewalk. Jake joined me with his club
sandwich and tomato soup, and we ate in silence.
	Despite my frustration, I allowed him his quietude.
	For the moment.
	We finished off our meal with cappuccinos and tiramisu, and after a time
Jake sat back in his chair, letting out a long, low sigh.
	I studied him for a moment, seeing so clearly the discomfort he was trying
to mask. After a moment, I finally asked, "Is there anything you'd like to
share with me?"
	He took a sip of his coffee. "The story won't go to print," he said. "So
nothing to worry about."
	I cocked an eyebrow. "No?"
	"No. A bunch of legal mumbo-jumbo. Defamation of character, slander, etc.
Threat of a lawsuit."
	"Jesus, Jake . . ." I mumbled, expelling my breath, shaking my head.
Somehow, the reality of his words managed to rub me the wrong way - making
me think twice about what we were doing. "It wasn't slander," I breathed.
"It was the truth."
	 His eyes narrowed at my comment. "What the hell are you talking about?"
	I set my fork down and rested my elbows on the edge of the table. I didn't
know what I was talking about, but the words came out anyway, surprising
even me. "That story, or whatever it was, was based on truth, Jake, not
lies. We haven't exactly been discreet. Photos and questions are bound to
come up. How long do you think you and your fancy Hollywood agency can keep
our dirty little secret a secret? There is such a thing as freedom of
speech, you know. That magazine had a right to print that story."
	He glared at me. Sat forward. Spoke to me quietly yet sternly. "If I'd let
that go to print, it would have started a tidal wave of  speculation and
harassment, ending up with me being on the cover of `People' magazine under
the headline `Gay cowboy really gay' or some such shit."
	I locked eyes with him. Felt my body tense. "And . . . ?" I challenged.
	He glowered at me, a muscle twitching in his jaw - a sure sign of his
aggravation. "I can't believe that you're not backing me up on this,
Travis," he hissed. "You KNOW the repercussions of me being outed."
	"No," I stated. "I don't. Millions of people risk their careers and the
comforts of life and family relationships every day in this world to be who
they are, not who they're expected to be."
	The words were spilling out, uncontrollable - no thoughts connecting, just
pure instinct.
	Jake became quiet, shaking his head, peering down into his cappuccino with
a frown. "You wouldn't fucking get it . . ." he muttered.
	A surge of anger swept over me. "Don't tell me I wouldn't fucking get it,"
I snapped. My voice carried across the restaurant. Both Jake and I glanced
around at the other patrons present, but no one seemed to notice or care.
Lowering my volume, I said, "Don't think for one minute that I don't know
what it's like to be in your situation, Jake. Coming out was fucking harsh
for me, too, and I struggled with it for years. I told you that my dad died
before I got enough courage to tell him. He would have skinned my hide.
Kicked me off of the ranch. Disowned me."
	"No he wouldn't have," Jake whispered.
	"How do you fucking know?" I demanded. "You never met the man."
	"I know because the rest of your family accepted you. Your mom, Curtis - "
	I cut him off. "Don't talk to me about Curtis. He didn't smile and hug me
when he found out. He beat the shit out of me."
	Jake stared at me in disbelief. "What . . .?"
	I shifted in my chair, remembering the day. Remembering my brother's wrath.
"He'd caught me. Back behind the bunkhouse kissing some ranch hand we'd
hired for the season."
	"Holy shit . . ."
	"He was far from understanding, Jake," I continued. "Not by a fucking long
shot. But he never told Dad . . . I'm sure he was just as afraid of the
man's temper as I was."
	Jake mulled this over. "But things are okay between you two now . . ."
	"Sure," I agreed. "But it was a long, agonizing road to get there. And
that's the whole point I'm trying to make. It's not easy for anyone. I
understand that you're in the limelight, Jake, and that makes it tougher,
but can you really live the rest of your life in the closet? Where's the
fucking joy in that?"
	I couldn't believe how quickly I'd stepped up onto my soapbox, admonishing
him for his fear. We sat in uncomfortable silence for awhile, eyes turned
away from one another, the din of the restaurant like white noise in the
background. Then suddenly a hand clamped down onto Jake's shoulder, pulling
him from his reverie. A voice bellowed, "Hey Gyllenhaal, how's it going?"
	I glanced up. Cringed at the sight of Austin.
	Jake's entire demeanor instantaneously changed, a wide smile lighting up
his face as though he was a human chameleon, able to alter his personality
at the drop of a hat. He turned in his chair and slapped hands with his
friend. "I'm good, Nichols," he replied. "How `bout you?"
	"Good," Austin said, just barely glancing over me as though my existence
was hardly noticeable. "I swung by the office to pick something up from Mel.
She mentioned that you'd been there. I figured I might find you here.
Marissa's having a party in Laguna tonight. Wanted to see if you wanted to
head over there later."
	Jake was still flashing that glimmering smile - an expression of artificial
joy noticeable only by me. Such magnificent acting. It was no wonder he'd
been nominated for so many awards.
	"Yeah, sure," Jake said. "We might be able to make it tonight." He glanced
at me. "Whaddo you think?"
	My stare was intense. Bold. He knew without me saying a word what my
response was.
	Jake returned his gaze to Austin. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe not
tonight . . ."
	Austin crossed his arms. "Natalie will be there," he stated, as though this
information would somehow cause Jake to change his mind.
	"Yeah?" Jake said. "Hmm . . . " He rubbed a hand over his stubble-covered
jaw, pretending to contemplate this new development.
	Austin glanced down at me. Decided to acknowledge my presence. "Thought you
were heading back to Colorado."
	"I am," I stated, no pleasantry in my voice. "Tomorrow."
	"Hmmm . . ."
	Fuck, I just really didn't like the guy. And it was glaringly obvious that
he loathed me as well. We had a momentary staring contest, all surrounding
activity and noise muted, until Jake abruptly stood up, clapped his hands
together and said, "All right, well, maybe we'll catch up with you later,
Nichols. Thanks for the invite."
	With that, we exited the deli, Austin muttering a goodbye, Jake waving a
hand, the exchange awkward and strained. I glanced back only once to find
Austin standing on the sidewalk, watching our departure, a hand shading his
eyes from the sun.
	Perhaps Austin had his own crush on Jake. Perhaps that's why he hated me so
much. Or perhaps he was just an asshole. But, at that point, it really
didn't matter; there were more important issues at hand.
	Once reaching the parking garage, I took Jake by the elbow and steered him
into the shadowy recess of the stairs. Embracing him tightly in my arms, I
whispered, "I love you, Jake . . . I really, really do . . . But I won't
live in fear with you forever. I won't hide. Okay? Life's too short for that
kind of bullshit. You need to think about how things are going to be."
	He didn't respond at first. We just stood wrapped in each other's arms,
breathing quietly. Then he took a step back and looked at me, his eyes
hidden behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. "I know," he said quietly.
"I don't want to hide forever, either. I just . . ." His voice trailed off.
He looked down and away from me, shuffling a shoe across the cement floor.
	I caressed his cheek with the back of my hand; he raised his face to look
at me once more.
	"I do love you, Jake," I whispered.
	He nodded.  Brought a hand up to cover the one on his cheek. "I love you,
too," he spoke with a slightly choked voice.
	I moved in to kiss him, and he slid his arms around my back, pulling me in
closer. We stood this way for a few minutes until there was an echo of
footsteps descending the stairs; although I was prepared to step back, Jake
stunned me by shoving me away with such great force that I landed back
against the wall with a thud.
	The intruder barely glanced in our direction before disappearing down the
next flight of stairs, our presence holding absolutely no relevance to him.
	Bewildered, I stepped away from the wall, frowning, trying to regain my
senses.
	Jake stumbled to the stairs and sat down. Burying his face in his hands, he
mumbled almost incoherently, "Fuck, I'm sorry, Travis . . ."
	I took a seat beside him. It seemed that we always had a catharsis while on
the stairs, both in Aspen and at his house, and now in the parking garage of
downtown Los Angeles.
	I leaned my forearms against my knees and pressed my hands firmly together,
focusing on a crack in one of the lower stairs. "Jake," I said after a
moment. "I can't handle you being so freaked out all the time. It can't work
this way."
	He glanced at me, the sunglasses still shading his eyes. "I know," he
whispered. "I'm sorry."
	And suddenly there was nothing more I could say. Nothing more I could do to
convince him that we were doomed if we continued on this way. I could only
hope that he figured things out soon, because there was no way I could
survive another heartbreak. Not this time around.

*	*	*	*	*

	Dawn came quickly, filling the bedroom with iridescent light. I awoke to
the soft touch of a hand running over my skin, fingers traveling the length
of my upper thigh and hip, moving down the slope of my arm while lips kissed
my shoulder blade, pulling me from my slumber.
	I stirred slightly but kept my eyes closed, feeling as though I was still
dreaming, still sleeping . . . wishing that I could remain that way forever
and not have to face reality again.
	Jake nuzzled against me, his lips continuing to kiss my upper back, his
breath warm against my tired body, his stubble intermittently rasping my
skin. "Morning," he whispered drowsily.
	I slowly rolled over to face him. Gave him a soft kiss. "Morning . . ." I
muttered.
	We lay side-by-side, simply looking at one another - blue eyes gazing into
green - the quiet solitude of the morning offering a peaceful reprieve from
the sadness of the day.
	With a hand, I cupped his jaw, my fingers pulling his face closer until our
lips touched again. It was a quiet kiss, a long kiss, seeming to suspend us
in midair, like levitation.
	Our bodies slithered together with ease, limbs entwining, sheets rustling.
Neither one of us seemed eager to end the embrace as our tongues slowly
explored one another's mouths, hands caressing skin, the slightest touch
bringing with it a deeper and deeper longing.
	We both felt the impending separation; my flight leaving in just a few
hours, the clock ticking off the minutes. Tears moistened our eyes as we
continued to simply hold and kiss one another, countless emotions flooding
through us without any words needing to be spoken: love, yearning,
frustration, sadness. An entire spectrum of feelings, encompassing all
aspects of our circumstance.
	"Stay with me," Jake whispered impulsively, lacing his fingers through my
hair.
	I smiled sadly. Laced my fingers through his hair as well. "If only I
could, right?"
	He nodded with a frown. "Yeah . . ."
	I pressed my forehead to his. "Come on. We can't let this long-distance
thing bring us down, Jake. Maybe . . . maybe it'll do us some good. Give us
a chance to get our thoughts together."
	I didn't sound anymore convincing than I felt, and Jake knew it. But it was
the best I could offer.
	"Just promise me one thing," Jake whispered, tugging playfully on my hair.
	"What . . ."
	"Promise me that you won't run off with the first ranch hand who drops his
pants for you."
	I chuckled. It felt good, like a momentary release of tension.
	But despite the joke - despite the smiles that we briefly shared - I still
felt waves of despair washing over us. Enveloping us. Drowning us.

*	*	*	*	*

	The syrup dripped lazily down the large stack of blueberry pancakes, mixing
in a pool of melted butter along the edges of the cracked plate. I watched
it as if in a dream state, my eyes not fully focused, my mind in a daze - as
it had been for the past few days.
	Doug's boot nudged my shin under the table. As I looked up at him, he
flashed a concerned grin. "You all right?" he asked.
	"Uh . . ." I blinked a few times, trying to clear my head.
	"I think you need more coffee." He lifted his hand and beckoned our
waitress over. She filled my cup, smiled, and swaggered back to her post.
	I tore open several packets of sugar and dumped the sweetener into the
thick liquid.
	Doug was busily devouring his breakfast. Through a mouthful of bacon, he
said, "Let's saddle up the horses and head into the high country for the
day. Maybe do some hiking."
	I stirred the coffee, lost in the sound of the spoon clattering against the
ceramic mug.
	"Jesus," Doug mumbled after a moment, shaking his head. "You're fucking
pathetic."
	I sat back and took several sips of the caffeine, feeling the hot liquid
burn my tongue. Some of the cobwebs finally began to dissipate; I blinked
several times, as if only just awakening from a restless night's sleep.
	"A ride sounds great," I finally spoke, surprising even myself with the
clarity of my statement. "Maybe we could head up Kenosha Pass."
	Doug nodded. "Yeah. Great idea."
	I took another sip of the coffee. Thought of Jake. It was inevitable to do
so.
	Doug cut a fork into my pancakes and shoved a large bite into his mouth,
syrup dripping from his lips. After wiping his face with a napkin, he said,
"You gonna eat or what?"
	I sighed, set the mug down and sat forward. Retrieved my fork and picked at
my food. Took only a couple of small bites but then gave up. Doug pushed his
empty plate away and pulled mine forward, picking up where I'd left off. I
sat and watched him eat for a moment, and then I slid from the booth and
headed to the restroom.
	My reflection in the mirror above the sink was haunting. Lifeless.
	I splashed cold water over my face and wiped it dry with a scratchy paper
towel. Then I slowly returned to the table. After digging out several bills
from my wallet and tossing them to the table, I said, "Let's go."
	Doug followed me out into the bright sunlight. We simultaneously slid our
hats on, pulling the brims down to shade our eyes. Crossing the parking lot
to our vehicles, Doug playfully punched me in the arm and said, "Cheer up,
buddy."
	To which I responded, "I'm tryin', Doug. I'm tryin' . . ."
	We mutually decided to take my truck to the ranch. As we slid inside the
cab of the pickup, the tabloid magazine I'd been obsessing over for days lay
in the middle of the seat, opened up to that dreadful page of Jake
presenting Natalie Portman with a bouquet of tulips in New York City,
bending down to give her a tight hug, their exchange more than a little
friendly, the description beneath the picture suggesting possible romance
between them.
	Doug scooped the magazine up and threw it to the floor, crushing it with
his boot, causing the pages to rip. "Why do you keep fucking torturing
yourself, Travis?" he demanded.
	I turned the key in the ignition. Sat with my hands wrapped around the
steering wheel, listening to the idle of the engine, staring out across the
rutted parking lot. "I don't know . . ." I muttered.
	"I thought he already explained everything to you," Doug insisted. "She's
just a friend."
	"Yeah, he told me," I said. "But the point is - Doug - that he didn't mind
THAT rumor going to print. All speculation is well and good when it avoids
controversy." The frustration of the situation welled up in me again. I
recalled our heated conversation over the phone - me steadily cursing,
demanding to know who Natalie was and what he was doing bringing her flowers
as if they'd been meeting for a date.
	Jake had been indignant. "She's just a friend, Travis. How many fucking
times do I have to repeat it?"
	"You're such a fucking hypocrite," I'd spat. "'Don't let rumors spread,
they could start a tidal wave of speculation.' Isn't that what you told me?"
	"Travis . . ."
	"No," I'd said. "It's total chicken shit, Jake. Total fucking chicken shit.
I deserve better than that."
	I'd hung up, tossing the cordless phone across the bunkhouse.
	We hadn't spoken again since.
	I placed the truck into drive and hastily screeched out onto the road,
tires spinning against the graveled pavement. Doug and I headed back to the
ranch, stopping briefly to examine a broken fence post, making a mental note
of its location for future repair. As we parked under the large elm tree, I
informed Doug that I'd meet him at the stables.
	He nodded. Punched my arm. Said, "I'll come looking for you if you
disappear on me."
	"I'll be there in a few," I assured him.
	Once in the house, I found my mother in the kitchen, stirring a large pot
of chili. I kissed her on the cheek and leaned against the counter, popping
a piece of cornbread into my mouth. "Doug and I are going for a ride up
Kenosha Pass," I said. "We'll be back in time to bring the herd in from the
north pasture."
	She smiled. "Good. It would be a shame to waste such a beautiful morning."
	She was eternally worried for me, just like everyone else. I could see it
on her face even now - her eyes studying me, searching for any sign of
improvement, any sign of recovery
	"Here," she said, retrieving a large thermos from the cupboard. She filled
it with chili, put cornbread into a plastic bag, and then pulled out bowls
and spoons. "For later," she informed me, pushing it all into my arms.
	"Thanks," I said.
	We peered at one another, her maternal eyes sending messages of calm and
encouragement. It was just as it had been last summer, when I'd returned
from Boston after the wretchedness of Eric. Only this time it went much,
much deeper than that. Was tearing me in two.
	"I'll see you later," I said before exiting through the back door.
	Immediately, I was greeted by Derry, tail wagging, tongue hanging.
	"Hey, girl," I mumbled. My arms were too laden to pet her, so she simply
followed me to the stables, trotting along beside me.
	Doug had already saddled up Moonshine, the Appaloosa he kept boarded at the
ranch. I shoved the food items into his saddle bag and mumbled, "Compliments
of Mom."
	He grinned. "Such a lady . . ."
	I entered into Red Cloud's stable. She snorted at me and moved in close to
receive the pet that I offered. I ran a hand down her long neck, kissed her
coarse hair, inhaled her familiar, soothing equine scent. Felt more relaxed
already.
	"Morning, girl," I whispered. She nudged her wet nose into my hand,
searching for treats. "Gonna go for a ride today."
	She snorted again, her head bobbing up and down a couple of times, her left
hind leg stomping the damp hay-strewn floor.
	"You're the only constant in my life," I muttered, pulling her face in
close to mine. "The only uncomplicated thing . . ."
	"Travis."
	I spun around. Found Curtis standing there, horse shoes in hand. "Phone
call for you," he said. "In the office."
	"All right," I muttered. "Thanks." I brushed past him and headed into the
room, cursing its cluttered condition. The receiver of the phone was sitting
atop a mess of papers and files, and I grabbed it, muttering a gruff,
"Hello," fleetingly wondering if it might be Jake.
	"Is this Travis Cooper?" a female voice politely inquired.
	My heart sank a notch. "Yeah."
	"Mr. Cooper, my name is Anna Montgomery. I'm a freelance reporter and am
hoping you might have a few minutes to answer a couple of questions."
	I removed my hat and ran a hand through my hair. "Questions?" I echoed.
"About what?"
	She lightly cleared her throat. "You were recently in California, correct?"
	"Yeah . . ."
	"Visiting a friend?"
	I sank into the swivel chair, feeling it creak and protest beneath me.
"What is this about?"
	"How would you describe your relationship with Jake Gyllenhaal?" she asked.
	"What?"
	"Would you consider your relationship with Jake to be . . . quite close,
Mr. Cooper?"
	Jesus Christ.
	"Yes," I said. "We're very good friends . . . How did you get this number?"
	"Mr. Cooper, if I could, please . . . How would you surmise your
relationship with Mr. Gyllenhaal? Just good friends . . . Or . . . ?"
	"Or what?" I demanded. "Who the fuck are you?"
	"I explained that," she said, her voice remaining irritatingly calm. "My
name is Anna Montgomery - "
	"Yeah, I know that," I snapped. "But why are you calling me? What is this
about?"
	"Just asking a few questions," she responded. "Looking for clarification on
some things."
	"Yeah, well," I sat forward, gripping the receiver to my ear. "Jake is a
very good friend. I don't know what better clarification I can give you than
that. Now don't ever call here again."
	I slammed the receiver back into its cradle and sat glaring at it, my
breath caught in my throat. I was dumbfounded. Completely thrown off-guard.
Uncertain as to how to respond to the phone call. How the hell had she even
gotten the office number?
	"You okay?" Doug inquired, carefully stepping into the room, sensing my
mood.
	I sat back heavily in the chair. "Fucking reporter just called me."
	"What?"
	"Yeah. Asking me questions about Jake."
	"Really . . ." Doug slumped down into the tattered chair opposite the desk.
Slapped his leather gloves against the palm of his hand. "What'd you say?"
	"Nothing," I responded. "Said we were good friends and to never call here
again."
	"Shit . . ." Doug shook his head, letting out a deep sigh.
	"I just can't even fucking believe it," I snapped, slamming a fist down
against the desk. "We're not even fucking together and this bitch is calling
me asking for clarification on our relationship. Like fucking salt in the
wound. Why doesn't she fucking go after that Natalie chick?"
	"I don't know, Travis," Doug said, snapping his gloves against his knees
before standing up. "But let's get the hell out of here. The ride will do
you some good."
	I bit my lower lip. Stared at the papers atop the desk, seething.
	"Come on, buddy," Doug said more sternly. "No sense sitting around here
brooding about it."
	"Yeah," I acquiesced. "Fine." I stood up. Kicked the swivel chair away from
me, causing it to slam back against the wall.
	Doug prevented me from leaving the room. Throwing an arm across my
shoulders, he pulled me in tight and said, "It'll be all right."
	Tears pricked at my eyes. "I fucking miss him, Doug," I mumbled, the
loneliness consuming me yet again.
	"I know you do," Doug said. "I know you do . . ."
	But he couldn't really know.
	No one could really know.
	It was unbearable heartache - pure and simple.


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As always, thanks for reading! Hope it wasn't too entirely sad. I promise
the next one won't be (...maybe...) Hehe... Drop me a line: avymac@hotmail.com
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