Break-Away Strength

by Charlie Richards

  Finally, Reggie turned and faced him. His expression turned serious. “Don’t guard your tongue,” he urged. “Blurt shit out. Whatever you say will be safe with me. I only want to help you.”

  D scoffed, suddenly feeling uneasy. “I don’t know if you want me to do that. What if I offend you?”

  Reggie offered a reassuring smile. “Like I said,” he reminded. “Whatever you say will be safe with me.”

  Even as D nodded, he knew he’d have to think before he spoke, no matter what Reggie said. He didn’t want to offend his host... and he couldn’t think of any straight men, widowed or otherwise, that wanted to hear about how a young twink was lusting after him.

  And how do I know what a twink is?

  The next couple of days went by surprisingly fast... mainly because D slept most of the time. The first day, Reggie was like a drill sergeant, waking him every hour or so and forcing plenty of water down his throat between meals. Fortunately, Reggie’s culinary skills—no matter how self-deprecating he was—proved to be fantastic.

  Reggie offered eggs any way D wanted them. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been certain what he liked, so Reggie had made a batch of two eggs three different ways—scrambled, over-easy, and sunny-side up. D had disliked the latter two, but had found scrambled palatable with a bit of ketchup. The second day, D had added a small amount of cheese as well as diced onion and peppers to the scrambled eggs, which made them taste amazing.

  Several hours each day, Reggie spent time outside fishing. For the most part, D sat on a comfortable chair in the screened-in porch and just watched him through the wire mesh. Occasionally, he would use a regular fishing rod and fish off the bank. He spent hours admiring the older man’s arm muscles as he cast his fishing line over and over again. Whenever the guy caught a fish, which was surprisingly often, and held it up, D made a point of hooting his approval.

  It was a good thing he liked fish, because they had it almost every lunch and dinner. Reggie did a fantastic job of making it taste different each time, too. He battered and fried fillets. He grilled with different flavorings. He even sautéed it. Along with that, he offered a variety of sides from mashed potatoes and butter to corn to peaches. Anything that came in a can or a box.

  Evenings consisted of games. There were oodles of board games and card games stacked on a wooden rack in the corner of the living area. Even if D could remember his past, he doubted he had played Chutes and Ladders any time recently. Along with that was Candy Land, Clue, and Sorry! D would have to say his favorite was Hungry, Hungry Hippos. That one always made him laugh.

  They’d tried playing Monopoly, but when midnight had rolled around and neither had been close to losing, they’d called it a draw.

  When they’d played Wizard together, Reggie had accused him of cheating. While D would never, ever admit it, when the other man had headed to take a piss, he’d totally checked out his cards. That would show him for drinking all those beers.

  Now, D had been there four days.

  He’d been living in the man’s sweatpants—the drawstring pulled super tight to keep them on. Occasionally he’d even worn a t-shirt when the evenings had grown cold. It’d been so large on his much more slender frame that he could tuck his knees to his chest, pull it around him, and be warm. Reggie hadn’t even batted an eyelash the first time he’d done it, although he had tried to hide a smile.

  Reggie had headed out thirty minutes before on a grocery run.

  Truth be told, D had been ready for more than fish and canned goods, so he’d requested peanut butter, jelly, and bread. When Reggie had mentioned hot dogs, his mouth had practically salivated, even though he knew exactly how many calories were in the standard frank. While some were better than others, none could actually be called healthy.

  Reggie must have noticed his excitement, though, because he’d laughed. He’d winked at him, then added Pringles, chips, and dip to the list. He’d also added chili and diced peppers, along with tortilla chips and queso.

  D knew from blurting it out that he was a physical trainer. Judging from the way his eyes widened and he instinctively opened and closed his mouth, D realized he must not have had those kinds of treats in a long while. When he spotted Reggie writing chicken wings on the list, he’d had to speak up.

  “Is all that necessary?” D leaned close and stared at the list of unhealthy foods. “That seems like an awful lot of food. Especially with you catching all those fish every day.”

  Instead of being mollified, Reggie had grinned broadly at him. “You need to remember what you like and dislike, and I love this shit. I don’t normally eat it at home, so we’re going to enjoy it together.”

  Together.

  That had resonated with D way too deeply.

  Together.

  How nice that would be.

  D stood in his socks and swim trunks in the screened off porch. He stared out at the trees. The sway and creak of the branches, the rustle of the leaves, and the warm afternoon breeze all called to his active nature. He’d been cooped up for so long...

  Glancing around the screened-in porch, he spotted his sneakers. Unable to resist, he slid his sock-clad feet into them. After tying them, D headed outside.

  He skipped down a couple of steps. Reaching the bottom, he smiled. He tipped his head back and inhaled deeply as he peered around. He admired the location, the trees, the river, and the beauty of the area.

  Perfect.

  D felt a need to move. Even while hearing Reggie’s warning against too much exercise rumbling through his mind, he sprinted across the yard into the forest. He came upon a downed log. Instead of slowing, he jumped, planted one foot on it, and vaulted over it.

  Feeling the wind on his cheeks, the blood pumping through his veins, he dashed between trees. He grinned as he grabbed onto a low hanging limb and used it to sling-shot himself around the trunk. He landed and continued running.

  Using the natural logs as his own personal jungle gym, D allowed his mind to drift. Moving, jumping, leaping, climbing, and spinning... he relaxed his body and let his movement flow naturally. He grabbed an angled tree branch with one hand and swung around the trunk, changing directions. Landing on a downed trunk, he jogged lightly along the curved surface. He came to the end and leaped over the two-plus-foot root barrier, thick with clinging dirt.

  D tipped his body forward and tucked, instinctively executing a forward spin that he must have done dozens of times before. He landed on the balls of his feet, easily catching his balance.

  Except it felt as if his head kept spinning. He toppled forward, disorientation filling him. Just managing to catch himself on his hands, he felt spikes of pain shoot up his forearms.

  Gasping for breath, D blinked quickly. He struggled to clear the dark spots marring his vision. His lungs heaved. Seconds later, he lay prone on the leaf-covered forest floor. His head swam dizzily, and D wasn’t entirely certain if he could get back up again.

  Chapter Five

  Reggie headed toward the check-out counter. Pushing his cart into the line, he watched the young woman behind the register ring up the lady in front of him. A few minutes later, the cashier started on his items. He tried not to cringe as he looked over his food selection.

  There was a bag of frozen hot wings as well as a bottle of blue cheese. Adding cheese-filled jalapeno brats with small hoagie rolls was the icing on the cake. Okay, so maybe the fixings for s’mores was the extra that put his shopping trip over the top. He’d never normally eat that much shit so close together, but watching D eat was almost becoming a fetish. It turned him on.

  Reggie loved hearing the young man’s hums of pleasure and watching his expression of appreciation. When the man licked his fingers clean... yeah, that was all kinds of torture. Watching the move made his dick ache.

  After being celibate for so long, after not even finding arousal for months at a time, Reggie couldn’t resist. He loved what watching the younger male eat did to his body. He imagined taking D’s fingers into his own mo
uth and sucking off whatever food clung to them. He’d touch and stroke, massage and explore.

  Too bad that would never happen.

  Instead, Reggie took what he could... the man’s sounds and the visual of him enjoying them. Normally, he’d only eat these kinds of fatty foods once a week—the rest of the week he’d have well-rounded meals plus plenty of exercise. Using the excuse of needing to share experiences with D to learn more about him in hopes of discovering his past, he took advantage.

  Besides, the young man could totally use a little fat on his bones. He seemed underweight, in Reggie’s opinion... even for a physical trainer. He wanted to either fatten the man up, or watch him do whatever exercises he must do to keep so slender.

  When the young woman told him the total, Reggie pulled his thoughts away from his new obsession. He slid his debit card through the reader, punched in his pin number, then tucked the piece of plastic back into his wallet. After shoving the leather billfold into his back pocket, he gave the woman a smile as he gathered up the grocery bags.

  Reggie headed out of the store, making his way to his old truck. He opened the passenger door and placed his bags on the bench seat, then closed it again, grimacing at the sound of the hinges. Making a mental note to get out the WD-40—he knew there was some somewhere at the cabin—he peered into the bed at the large blue inner tube he’d placed there that morning.

  After checking the company name printed on the side of the plastic, Reggie rounded the truck and climbed inside the cab. He started it up, then placing his arm across the back of the seat, he turned and peered behind him. Confirming that the coast was clear, he backed out of the space.

  He headed toward the tube rental company.

  It only took a few minutes for Reggie to find the place. He parked before the medium-sized, single story building. If he had to guess, it looked like a converted, small-time mechanic’s shop.

  Swinging out of his truck, Reggie headed inside. He swept his gaze over the large office-style area. The long, glass counter contained small items such as compasses, sun block of varying strengths, and suntan oil. The hooks on the short walls on either side of the doors sported plastic-encased, uninflated tubes, shirts, shorts, and swim gear for both men and women. The shelves to the left offered energy bars, candy, packages of dried fruits, trail mix, nuts, and other snacks, along with a variety of large squirt guns and super soakers. A couple of small coolers under the shelves contained drinks from various sodas, to regular and flavored waters, to energy drinks. Maps claiming to be waterproof rested on the counter beside the cash register.

  “Good afternoon, Sir,” a perky woman greeted. “Are you and your family interested in going tubing today?”

  Reggie turned his gaze to the female behind the counter. His first impression was that she was young, but he realized just as quickly that she was probably D’s age. That made him feel like a dirty old man damn quickly.

  Trying to ignore the way her large breasts seemed to spill from her too-small bikini top—only in a rafting company’s office—he approached the counter. He pasted on a relaxed smile. Quickly, he glanced at the name tag attached to her bikini top strap, then focused on her brown eyes.

  “Hi, Marley,” Reggie responded. “I was wondering if you kept a record of who rents your tubes? I found a loose one washed up on my beach and wanted to know if whoever rented it was okay.”

  Marley’s brows furrowed as she pursed her lips. “Oh, I’m not really sure. I just take reservations.” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth for a second as she hummed.

  Reggie allowed her a few seconds to process whatever thoughts were running through her mind.

  Finally, Marley told him, “I only keep a log with their names, phone numbers, and times of departure. Dean owns the company. He might keep a more detailed log.”

  When she stopped talking and just stared at him, Reggie forced back his urge to roll his eyes. “Is Dean available, Marley?”

  “Oh, no,” she replied, shaking her head, causing her blonde hair to spill over her breasts provocatively... well, if Reggie had been thirty years younger, maybe. “He’s out on a drop-off.”

  “And when will Dean be back?” Reggie pressed.

  “Umm.” Marley twirled a loose blonde strand around her pointer finger. “Maybe fifteen minutes?”

  Reggie nodded. After assessing the amount of frozen food in his truck, he stated, “I’m going to sit in my truck and wait for him.” Upon seeing her confused look, he offered her a tight smile. “I think this might be important.”

  To that end, Reggie headed back outside to his truck. He started it up, cranking on the air conditioning to save his frozen goods even as he pulled his jacket closed and zipped it up. He ended up waiting almost thirty minutes.

  Finally, Reggie watched as a van with the tubing company’s name painted across the side pulled up in front of the garage style door to his left. He watched a dark-haired guy hop out of the vehicle. Tossing his keys into the air, then catching them, he appeared to whistle as he headed toward the door.

  Reggie quickly exited the vehicle and called Dean’s name.

  Twenty minutes later, Reggie had handed over the tube in the bed of his truck and had acquired a name from the registration form the renter had filled out.

  Miguel Swanson.

  Reggie wondered if it could really be D. How reliable were Dean’s records?

  Only one way to find out.

  Starting his truck, Reggie headed toward the address Dean had written on a post-it note. He knew the street, so figured it shouldn’t be too big a deal to find the actual address. Once he got there, he’d have to play it by ear.

  Reggie had only needed to spend thirty minutes at the cabin the address had led to, and now drove as swiftly as possible back to his own place. He glanced at the wallet in the sealable plastic bag resting on his seat beside his thigh. Finding it on the table by the door, Reggie would bet Miguel had probably planned to take it with him, judging by the placement and careful packing.

  Reggie furrowed his brows and shook his head. Just where would Miguel’s D come from? His middle name was Lionel. No D in that, either.

  Does that mean he’s making the amnesia up?

  Wishing he knew how to tell, Reggie spotted his turn ahead. He started down his driveway and wound between the trees. Allowing his mind to drift a moment, he admired the forest.

  The beauty and seclusion had been one of the reasons he’d bought the cabin. He pulled to a stop beside his cabin and smiled as he thought of the river fifty yards away, hidden just down the slope. The fantastic fishing had been the other deciding factor.

  Turning off the truck’s engine, Reggie pushed open the door. The sound of... something... a grunt or groan perhaps, touched his ears. He froze, cocking his head. When it didn’t repeat, he shook his head, dismissing the noise.

  Reggie rounded the hood and opened the passenger door, then slid his hands through the handles of the bags. After hefting them in his arms, he headed into the cabin. He swept his gaze around the front room, finding it empty. Frowning, he quickly crossed to the table and set down the bags.

  “D?” Reggie called.

  When Reggie didn’t hear a response, he frowned as he strode swiftly through the cabin. It wasn’t a big space and it didn’t take him long to check everywhere. D wasn’t there.

  Miguel, he reminded himself. His name was Miguel.

  When Reggie turned around and headed toward the foyer, he noticed that the man’s sneakers were missing. Had he left? Walking out of the cabin, he swept his gaze over the woods again. Where would he go?

  Reggie remembered the odd sound he’d heard and headed toward the trees. He jogged swiftly, searching for some sign of anything amidst the foliage. All he saw was shades of green trees, the fall colors of the leaves, and the brown of the trunks and branches. Slowing his movements, he called Miguel’s name. Then, realizing what he’d done, he called for D.

  For just a few seconds, all Reggie heard was the ru
stle of critters and the chirp of birds. Then, a different sort of sound reached him. The noise reminded him of when his kids would whimper when they were sick.

  Taking off, Reggie rushed through the forest. He tried to keep reasonably quiet, straining his aging ears for a repeat of the sound, but he didn’t really succeed. Fortunately, he didn’t need to hear any more.

  About thirty feet into the tree line, Reggie spotted a flash of blue shorts and tan skin. He rounded a downed trunk, avoiding the hole where the dirt-covered roots had torn free. A few feet beyond, he found Miguel sprawled on his stomach in the leaves.

  Miguel’s face was turned toward his direction, resting on his hand. His face was flushed. His back rose and fell swiftly, attesting to his shortness of breath.

  When Reggie dropped to his knees beside him, he noted Miguel’s widely dilated eyes. He rested his hand on the young man’s back and rubbed lightly. Leaning close, he had to ignore how nice Miguel’s smooth skin felt underneath his palm.

  “Hey, D,” Reggie rumbled softly. “Can you hear me? Are you with me?”

  Miguel’s eyelids closed slowly, then opened again. After doing that twice, he seemed to focus on Reggie. His lips curved just a little in an almost vacant smile.

  “Hey,” Miguel whispered. “What happened?”

  Returning Miguel’s smile, Reggie softly urged, “You tell me. What are you doing out here?”

  Miguel’s brows furrowed. He swept his gaze around the area. Something dawned in his expression. “Oh,” he mumbled. “Guess I overdid it a bit.”

  “Overdid it?” Reggie pressed. He leaned closer to Miguel and wrapped his arms around him. “Overdid what, Miguel?”

  Easing his young friend onto his back, Reggie saw that Miguel’s eyes had closed. He pulled him close, threading his fingers through the man’s thick hair. Unable to help himself, he gave in to the urge to stroke his forefingers down Miguel’s chin.