Born to Be Wylde by Jan Irving

exposing the fear that had tormented him all day.
“He is protective of you,” Makoto noted.
“It’s my job to do the protecting; I’m the cop,” Ken griped.
“Well, maybe you should tell him that yourself,” Makoto nodded to the screen door, and Ken’s eyes widened. Wylde stood there, soaked by the downpour that had begun shortly after Ken had arrived home.
His hair was snaked across his muscular chest, and there was a smear of fresh mud across one lean brown cheek.
He was also naked.

Chapter Seven
“ W AIT here, Dad,” Ken said. He grabbed a dish towel and headed out the door.
    Makoto followed, grinning with his eyebrows raised as he stared at the tall nude stranger standing in the rain with his hands on his hips.
    “Wylde, what are you…?” Ken handed Wylde the dishcloth.
Wylde took it, blinking at it.
Ken growled in his throat but then hugged him. “You didn’t call me back, you big lug,” he said. “Oh God, I’m glad you’re okay.”
“I couldn’t call you back, Ken,” Wylde said. He frowned at the dishcloth. “What’s this for?”
“Cover yourself,” Ken whispered, conscious of his interested parent watching their byplay.
“You didn’t want me to cover myself last night.” Wylde looked down at himself. “Besides… too small. Now.”
“Oh, it is a little small, but….” It would hang like a cloth on a peg. “My father’s here,” Ken warned.
Wylde looked through the screen door at the familiar white-haired man who was watching, waiting. “Ken’s nice. You must be proud.”
W EARING Ken’s bathrobe, Wylde sat across from Makoto and Ken at Ken’s worn maple kitchen table, the wood scraped and spare, a clean surface like the rest of Ken’s house. The older man was staring at Wylde. Sometimes he smiled.
Ken was braiding his hair. He said it was wet and Wylde would get a cold if they just left it that way, but Ken’s face had softened as he worked. It was like the dusting, Wylde thought. Ken liked to make things a certain way.
Makoto took a sip of the Japanese beer Ken had served with the sushi they’d divided between them. “I’m glad my neighbor, Mrs. Simpson, could stay with my wife,” he said. “I wouldn’t have missed meeting you, young man.”
“I am happy to meet you too, Mr. Ito,” Wylde said. “I want to give your son wildflowers. All right?”
Makoto’s eyes widened, and he covered his mouth as if hiding another smile. “Yes, it is fine with me. Better than that disco Ken visits. I don’t think he met many nice men there.”
Wylde frowned and looked over his shoulder at Ken, but Ken avoided his eyes.
“Should I get those ikebana vessels for you so you can go home to Mom?” Ken asked, looking like he wanted to get his father to leave though Wylde wasn’t in any rush. He was learning more about Ken from Makoto.
“If you like.”
Wylde didn’t want to get sidetracked. “Where is this disco Ken visits?”
“Wylde….” Ken shifted in his kitchen chair. “You wouldn’t like it.”
Wylde looked over his shoulder again. “I want to do what your other boyfriends do.”
Ken shook his head. “You can’t.”
Wylde felt his gut knot the way it had when he’d been so dumb, made that mistake about giving another guy flowers. “Why not?”
“Because you’re nothing like them,” Ken said softly.
    I N K EN ’ S studio, Wylde watched as Ken and his father shifted around the pottery so Makoto could find the right vase for his wife.
    Makoto finally chose a couple, and Ken wrapped them in newspaper. He looked over at Wylde. “I’m sorry to take up so much of my son’s time.”
    “Why?” Wylde leaned against one of the tables. “Ken doesn’t mind.”
“This will mean a lot to his mother, waking up tomorrow to fresh irises in a vase made by her son.”
“So flowers are a good thing?” Wylde lowered his voice to confide in Makoto. He was as useful as Josh when it came to dating tips, it turned out.
Makoto smiled again. “Yes. You will continue taking care