I open one baleful eye at a time. Moonlight streams in through the skylights, and stars wink at me, lulling and peaceful in the dark sky. The tiny, illuminated screen of my watch displays quarter to midnight, and all is still quiet.

I stifle a groggy yawn, trying not to rouse Rudy. It looks like operation stakeout was a dud after all. I was so looking forward to a foaling tonight, but I can't complain about the opportunity to spend another night up here with Rudy. He's snoring softly beside me, shifting occasionally in his sleep. My heart twists with love at the sight. Every time I look at him, I see my childhood, memories of the comfort and warmth he provided. It's the middle of the night; I'm tired and it's making me sappy.

At least in my dreams, he can be mine. I shut my eyes and snuggle deeper into my sleeping bag. But just before I can drift off into dreamland, a sound startles me. My eyes snap open and I sit up, instantly alert and blinking the sleep from my eyes. Then I hear it again: the rustle of straw. I freeze, a chill creeping up my spine. The lamb is still sleeping soundly a few feet away, unmoving. Another rustle resounds in the still darkness of the night, and this time it's undoubtedly real. Straining my ears, I hear a deep rumble from below me, a groan. Then more rustling. I leap to my feet, all traces of sleep erased, my heart pounding as I shake Rudy's shoulders frantically.

"Rudy," I hiss. "Rudy, wake up! It's happening."

Vigorous shaking finally rouses the snoozing man. Understanding passes wordlessly between us.

Rudy picks up the sleeping lamb and we tiptoe down the stairs, my heart in my mouth. When we reach the mare's stall, she's down on her knees, her coat lathered with glistening sweat. Seeing us, she groans as her sides heave in a fresh contraction.

"It's okay, Nelly," Rudy soothes the mare quietly. This is it.

Instinctually, I'm tempted to go into the stall and try to help her, but Rudy warned me against this. Right now, our presence could upset or frighten the mare, because she's in too much pain to think or judge clearly, and could be dangerous. Not to mention that if the mare feels insecure or threatened, she possesses the amazing ability to delay the birth. That's the last thing we want.

Nelly's sides ripple with another contraction and a deep grunt of effort escapes her. "C'mon, c'mon!" Rudy mutters fervently under his breath. The mare's head is down, and her tail swishes restlessly. Another groan emerges from the horse, patches of sweat glistening on her sides. I watch in awe as the beginning of an opaque sac protrudes from under her tail: the amniotic membrane covering the foal.

I crane my head for a better view. I can just make out the shape of two tiny hooves sliding forward, through the obscure, white sac. This is good; the foal is positioned correctly.

Captivated, I watch as the muzzle pushes its way through next. The mare groans, her glossy neck damp with perspiration. The foal is now halfway out.

Leaning as far over the half door as I can, I watch eagerly as the hind legs slide to the straw, the foal still covered by the amniotic membrane.

For a moment, the foal lays there, unmoving, on the straw bed.

I hold my breath.

The mare nickers softly, and then swings her head around to inspect her first offspring. To my immediate relief and delight, the foal's tiny ears flicker suddenly. Opening its eyes, the foal lays there for a moment, before struggling onto its chest. I give a small gasp of adoration as the delicate creature breaks through the protective membrane, emerging like a butterfly out of its cocoon. With a flick of its big, furry ears, the foal's legs thrash out, breaking through the sac. In the struggle, the umbilical cord breaks and the foal takes its first breath, under the light of a million, twinkling stars.

Rudy hands me the lamb and grabs the bucket serving as our foaling kit. Snapping the lid open, he removes the iodine, cotton wool and antibiotic powder, he enters the stall to dress the umbilical stump while the foal is still lying down. Nelly eyes him wearily as he works but makes no attempt at resisting. When he's finished, I examine the foal.

"A colt," I breathe. "A little boy." I watch intently as the mare, her agony over, reaches around to sniff curiously at the fruit of her labor. Gently and with an air of maternal affection, the mare nuzzles her foal. The colt looks like a miniature replica of his mother; a dark bay with a sharp white star on his forehead. The tiny creature reaches a small muzzle towards the mare, whiskers quivering. They're bonding, I realize as the foal and its mother nuzzle affectionately. The new mother begins to lick her foal liberally, sniffing intently at the fragile creature's coat.

After a few blissful minutes of pampering, the colt bounces lightly on his knees. Then, as if finishing the countdown, he rises shakily on long, spindly legs. "That's it," I murmur under my breath. "You can do it." But the foal's legs buckle and he stumbles awkwardly to the ground. For a moment the colt lays in the straw, dazed and unmoving. But then his mother nudges him gently, a deep, encouraging nicker escaping her throat.

With renewed strength, the foal rises shakily once more. He takes a tentative step, only to tumble to the ground again when his legs give out.

"Don't try to help." Rudy bars me from entering the stall. "He's gotta do it himself. Like it or not, it's an important part of findin' his balance 'n' coordination."

The persistent foal climbs up again on long, spidery legs, ears flicking madly to and fro. I hold my breath as the colt takes a few wobbly steps in the direction of the mare, his whole body quivering with determination. Sure enough, the colt makes a faltering but confident move towards her. The mare waits patiently as the foal nears her, and then thrusts his muzzle under her belly to nurse. I watch, in a trance, as she nuzzles her foal's damp flank. The colt suckles greedily for a few minutes, before looking around at us.

Rudy pats his knees encouragingly.

"C'mere, gorgeous," he calls to the colt.

But the colt doesn't stir. He gazes solemnly up into my eyes, his tiny ears flickering inquisitively as he breathes in my scent. I'm a bit flustered with all the attention.

"Go," I urge softly, giving the colt a gentle nudge in Rudy direction. He scampers a few steps away, but then turns and races back towards me with a plaintive whinny. He looks so adoringly up into my face with large, golden eyes and a somber expression on his beautiful, dark face that I just have to give in and stroke the colt's soft, downy fur. Already, rounded muscles shape his baby coat, and I note that the foal is walking steadily and confidently around the stall.

"He couldn't've picked a better human to imprint on," Rudy smiles warmly over at us. "He's got a great form, gonna have loads of strength 'n' stamina when he gets a little older."

Rudy is like a little child when he talks about horse racing. Chelsea turns her nose up at all of it. But with me, he can talk for hours. So enamoured am I with staring at his face that he doesn't even know when I stop listening. It's so important for his happiness that he has someone to be himself with.

The lamb starts bleating and Rudy rubs their noses together before stepping out of the barn, probably heading to the sheep pen.

The mare is exhausted; she's worked hard and her colt has been delivered safely after about a year of growth. The colt settles down to sleep at her feet. Watching them, I feel fatigue tug at my own muscles. I yearn to stay up longer with the foal, but I can hardly keep my eyes open another moment.

When he comes back, Rudy lopes a supporting arm around me. Wearily, I trudge up the steps to the loft and plunk myself down on my sleeping bag.

"G'night, Evan," Rudy drawls.

"Goodnight, Rudy," I whisper back, regarding him in the under the majestic coverlet of stars with the awe of a child.

Long after Rudy starts snoring softly, I'm still admiring him in the moonlight. What a beautiful man, and sleeping so close to me... I'm still feeling sappy, apparently. The urge to reach out and touch him threatens to be too much.

My heart in my throat, I reach out a shaking hand. My fingers hover over his abdomen for what feels like a whole minute before I work up the courage to let them fall on the soft, plaid fabric of his shirt.

Trepidation battles with longing within me as I gently caress his abs. I've never touched him like this before. I've never dared. And in the next moment, I'm reminded why.

"Ev- what... Son, you tryna fuck?!"

Rudy is fully awake now, staring at me like I have two heads.

My flight instinct kicks in. Big time.

I should make a break for it while the cover of night still offers plausible deniability.

But I hold my ground. Maybe I'm still so sleepy I'm out of touch with reality. Whatever it is, it's giving me courage.

Enough. The longer I let this go on, the worse it gets. At this point, I've started looking for validation, finding double entendres in his words, making up possible secret meanings and intentions behind everything he does, picking up signals that he may or may not have sent. Sometimes I find myself watching Rudy and analyzing his social interactions to answer questions like: does he wink at other people? Give them nicknames? This agonizing chase can't go on. It ends tonight, one way or another. If my feelings are unrequited, I need to hear that from him in order to start healing.

"I just..." I swallow thickly, hyperventilating. "I-I just wanted to touch you."

There it is. There, I said it. It's now eternally in the realm of the Spoken, never to be taken back no matter how much I'm going to regret it.

And this is the bravest thing I've ever done - because nothing terrifies me more than hearing from his mouth that I'm just crazy, and he never loved me.

My heart has never beat so fast.

There's so much I could say right now. But I can't find the words to say, so I just look at him. Staring deeply into his eyes, I will him to understand everything I can't explain.

"Ya wanna touch me? That gonna make ya happy?" Rudy is flabbergasted. My blood is roaring in my ears.

"What about you?" I whisper, clearing my throat to make my voice sound more confident. "What about doing what makes you happy?"

He looks around as though worried we're being eavesdropped.

"You dunno what the fuck yer talkin' about. Yer just a little boy; you've no idea what I want-"

"I know you feel smothered," I gripe with feeling. "I know you just want to play music and raise a champion on the racetrack, but you're stuck cleaning horse shit and listening to your wife bitch at you."

"Ya really think ya know me." He appears genuinely shocked.

"Try me," I hiss. "Your favourite band? Anything that was big in the eighties, especially country. Your favourite food? Burgers with everything but the kitchen sink. Your favourite place? The middle of nowhere with some camping gear and a guitar. You like playing music but you prefer to listen to it. You like taking care of animals but you hate the part where they sometimes die, tough as you wanna seem."

Rudy simply gawks at me. "How do ya know all that?"

"Moron," I whisper, affronted. "I've been right here, the whole time! Right under your nose, watching, listening, learning, for years. Rudy, I know you know how I feel." I'm panting from the exertion but, at the same time, so relieved and liberated. I needed to say all this. He needed to know, to realize. "Tell me you didn't know. Tell me you honestly had no idea."

I watch the emotions flit across Rudy's face in waves. It's like a car crash. First there's the initial shock of realizing you're about to crash your car. Then there's the wide-eyed intrigue, tinged with horror; you can't look away. Succumbing to inevitability, bracing for impact. Then an almost grimace, as though I'm an airbag delivering a sucker punch to the gut.

There's no going back now. Things will never be the same between us again.

I'm so, so scared. No embellishment. I'm just terrified.

He stares at me in the aftermath of the collision, jaw hanging loosely. The silence is deafening. The way I'm looking into his eyes, he knows he has a choice to make. I've decided to give myself over to him, fuck the consequences. He can continue to feign ignorance and resist this or he can surrender to the impulse I know he's fighting, and accept my offer. If he wants me, I'm his.

"Evan... We can't." I can feel the weight in his words on my own shoulders.

He could run, hit me, anything. But he just stares at me helplessly. And maybe I'm making it up, maybe I've made all of it up, but I think I detect turmoil in his weathered features. I ache to comfort him, and I've already crossed the line, and there's a good chance I'll never get to be alone with him again after tonight...

So I kiss him.    

It's just a press of lips, but there's a decade's worth of wanting attached to it. A slow boil of excitement starts beneath my diaphragm. I'm not used to being this close to him, feeling the heat radiating off his body. My fingers, light as a bird, flit around his cheekbone, his chin, fluttering around his lips and grazing his stubble. I'm trembling.

I've never felt so alive with yearning.

Brushing the bridge of his nose with mine, I open my eyes to find him looking like a caged animal in fear of his life, hackles raised. He's leaning back on his hands, shoulders slightly raised, hunched over with a harried look in his eyes. His lips are swollen and contorted. The muscles in his upper arm are taut and straining. Eyes wide-rimmed. Hair mussed. And I know there will be no declarations of love from him. It's a miracle that he's letting me kiss him. I'll take what I can get. I lean in for another kiss and he makes a sort of snorting sound, as if his drink were coming up through his nose, and turns away. I think he might do more, if he weren't so shocked. But I'm finally tapping into my inner reservoir of courage. And, driven by a rare sense of impulsiveness, I persist in trying to coax him out of his shell, trying to elicit some kind of response from him. I press my lips to his, firmly shutting out the millions of thoughts in my head screaming for me to wake the fuck up and stop this madness.

Then, in the next instant, pressure. Rudy firmly envelopes my mouth with his own. A sweep of blood rushes through my body with tremendous force. He practically swallows my tongue in the most passionate kiss I've ever been gripped by, heavy with the hunger of years. The kiss is...rough. Aggressive. Primal. Dirty. He growls, yes, growls, and the next thing I know, my back hits the hay. His palms are parentheses around my ribcage, and we're two men making out in a barn.

I kiss him back earnestly, rushed by a sense of while I can. While he's still letting me, before he comes to his senses and realizes what he's doing, realizes that I don't have the right to kiss him. Until then, I just want to feel his hard, warm body against mine. Heart pounding uncontrollably. Electric sparks. Thrills. Everything. His hands on my waist, slipping under my shirt hem, are rough. His body is hard and sinewy, the patches I glimpse while nosing into his neck dark with sun and deliciously coated in body hair. He's roped with slabs of muscle that feel tight as taut bowstrings under my fingers. There's a delicious thickness to him, hard and hot, his solid, weighty body bearing me into the straw bed. His flannel shirt is askew, and my praises are muffled on his unclothed shoulder.

Rudy peppers my throat with kisses; all I can do is let my head fall back in ecstasy. I didn't even know how sensitive I was there. Big nipples graze my own taut, hardening buds through an opening in my button-down that he's apparently made. My hands make the slow, delicious slide down his hot flesh until I'm groping him through his jeans. Tighter. Closer. I can feel my lips, damp with drool and our combined saliva, part on a breathy moan as I squeeze him flush against me.

Teeth scrape my bottom lip and pry my mouth open. He's rough and overpowering, rolling us over, clutching my face so hard my skull might shatter, but I have no desire to resist him.

Sweat falling, skin slides against skin. Every touch from him is so hot it burns. The air is all hushed whispers and gasps and the soft, smacking of lips as rock against each other. My nose is pressed against his so I breathe through my mouth.

"Rudy," I whisper in a testosterone-fuelled daze. "Rudy... Fuck, I want you."

It's hard to speak with my breaths escaping so erratically.

God, I'm aching. It's never hurt like this before. His tongue is so deliciously hot, licking and swirling against my flesh. 

Then Rudy presses his hardness against mine and that single thrust is all it takes to undo me. Little, white fireworks go off in my groin. My legs, wrapped tightly around his hips, squeeze him once more before falling slack. He's not far behind, rutting against me with his face buried in the crook of my neck. He rolls off of me.

The soft, panting quiet of the aftermath is interrupted only by my breathy laugh of disbelief. We just had a very literal roll in the hay.

It itches, and I know I'll be picking straw out of my clothing all day tomorrow. Tomorrow. The thought of cold, hard tomorrow seems surreal, so safely ensconced as I am in the cradle of warm tonight.

We take long panting breaths. I can't believe it feels like I've run a marathon and we didn't even have sex. It's mind-boggling.

"Ya never shoulda done that." Rudy regards me warily, expression twisted with something like pain. My smile slips as I realize what I'm asking him to do. The risk is much greater for him than for me. "Don't tell no one 'bout this," he mumbles and closes his eyes to sleep.

In the next moment, he's gone. I lie awake and peer at his sleeping face. He appears satisfied and peaceful. Will he speak to me again? Will he hate what we did? Only the cold light of morning will tell. Already, it seeps into my mind, the regret. No, it's too soon. I push the thoughts away, but they swarm in with a rush of shame.

Clutching him, spewing such silliness I'm embarrassed to recall, I was a fool - the biggest, dumbest fool. The last thing Rudy needed was to be eaten alive like that. But least I provided him with a little bit of affection. God knows he doesn't get it from his wife.

•••

I awake feeling like I'm wrapped in silk, with invisible tracks and kisses over my body. My skin has never felt so soft. My cheeks feel warm. And the world is hazy, wrapping me in a cottony euphoria.

Rudy isn't here, nor is his sleeping bag. If not for the mess in the hay, I'd be doubting whether last night even happened.

He's probably staring, dumbstruck, into his bedroom mirror right now, not wanting to think too deeply about what kind of man he must be to hunger for his best friend's son. Who also happens to be his son's best friend.

I don't see him anywhere. Not at breakfast, when Bret is abuzz with plans for us to hang out with his football buds. Not when I'm playing with Avery and Roger, and Chelsea arrives home with a vivacious cheer that makes it seem like she never left, and not later in Bret's room when I'm surrounded by a bunch of mid-ugly friends of his that I have no social battery left for, despairing over their blatant mediocrity and yearning for more mature company.

The guys want to hit up a bar or two, an outing which I respectfully decline. Bret doesn't make it easy, but I push him away firmly. The sound of his car starting up and pulling out of the driveway downstairs lets me know I'm more alone than ever. Oh, how quickly this morning's euphoria faded. I'd give anything to feel it again.

You really shouldn't have done that. What did Rudy mean by that? Was it regret? Was it...a threat? If it was, and he was saying I'm not ready for the beast I've unleashed... Heat pools in my stomach.

I've almost given up hope when there's a knock on Bret's door. I've been laying on his bed playing video games, and throw my console onto the comforter with a huff of annoyance when I have to get up and unlock the door.

"Bret's not here," I blurt before the door is fully open, revealing Rudy.

"I ain't here to see Bret."

He enters the room and I turn away momentarily to lock the door, thinking as my heartbeat swells and crescendoes, and so it begins. When I turn back around, I'm being pushed up against the door and kissed.