Break-Away Strength

by Charlie Richards

  “That he is,” Carl agreed. “The john?”

  Miguel nodded and headed inside. He led through the screened-in sunroom and into the cabin proper. Pointing across the front room, he stated, “Middle door. How do you like your coffee?”

  “A dash of milk, if you would,” Carl stated. “Be out in a minute.”

  While Miguel wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, he knew how to make it. He started up a pot, then reached into the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. After taking a swig, he screwed the cap back on and put it on the counter.

  Miguel pulled out two coffee mugs, then wondered if he should add a third for Jake. Deciding he’d cross that bridge if the young man joined them, he grabbed his water and settled at the table. He stared vacantly at the wood until he heard the sound of a door opening.

  The bathroom, he realized.

  Forcing a smile to his face, Miguel watched Carl cross into the room. He exchanged a nod with him, then the detective glanced around the kitchen.

  “Sorry,” Miguel started. “It’ll just be a minute.” He chuckled softly. “Reggie drank it all, it seems.”

  Carl settled in a chair across from him at the small round table. He eyed the bottle of water. “Not a coffee drinker, then?”

  Miguel shook his head. “Not so much. I like sweet tea and lemonade... but not with too much sugar. I’m not much on carbonated beverages, either.” He shrugged. “I’m not certain why I remembered I was a physical trainer. Reggie thinks it’s because I answered from muscle memory.” He scoffed and shook his head. “Either way, my tastes don’t seem to have changed much.”

  Rubbing a hand over the cheap laminate of the table top, Carl mused, “I suppose even having amnesia doesn’t change the measure of a man.”

  “I-Is that good?”

  “It is. Besides,” Carl added, smiling wryly. “While I don’t know Reggie well, a couple of my buddies do. He isn’t a fool. He sure wouldn’t let a killer in his bed after almost a decade of abstinence... even a hot, young thing like you.”

  “K-Killer?” Miguel felt the blood drain from his face. He clenched his water between both hands. “What are you talking about?”

  “Yeah, Carl,” Reggie rumbled coldly. “What are you talking about?”

  Miguel didn’t know when Reggie had entered, but when the man rounded the table and rested a hand on his shoulder reassuringly, he sure appreciated it.

  Carl grimaced. “Sorry, man. Just trying to get a rise out of your man, Reg.” He shrugged, glancing between them without a hint of regret. “I needed to know for certain he wasn’t faking his amnesia.”

  “I think I would have told you if I suspected that,” Reggie stated. His eyes narrowed. “Now. What’s this about someone killing someone?”

  Sighing, Carl waved toward the just finished coffee pot. “Maybe a shot of jack in the coffee would be in order for this conversation.” He smirked. “If ya got it.”

  “A cop asking for liquor?” Miguel hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but to him, it was a valid question.

  Carl snorted. “I’m not on duty and this isn’t my case.”

  Reggie heaved a sigh. “Just the coffee,” he muttered. “I think we all might need a clear head if you think this is that bad.”

  Shaking his head, Carl told them, “Things just aren’t adding up. With your lost memory, it could be bad for you, Miguel. I’m not gonna lie.”

  “I’ll get the coffee,” Reggie stated.

  Miguel just sat and watched, confusion freezing him. He knew he should offer to help, but really, what could he do? He’d already made the coffee and set out the mugs.

  Wait. Carl wanted milk.

  Rising to his feet, Miguel crossed to the refrigerator. He opened it, grabbed the half-gallon carton, and returned to the table. “Here’s the milk,” Miguel murmured. “There’s sugar, too, if you like.”

  Carl smiled at him as he shook his head. “No, thanks. The milk is fine.”

  As Miguel resumed his seat, he watched Reggie cross to the table. He set two mugs down, then settled in a third chair. Reaching under the table with one hand, he patted Miguel’s thigh. With his other hand, he pushed a mug toward Carl.

  “Okay,” Reggie said, pulling his own mug toward him. “What have you found that brought you here with such a dire air and speaking of murder?”

  After pouring a dash of milk into his mug, then cupping the mug between his palms, Carl once again glanced between them. “An anonymous person reported a disturbance at your apartment,” Carl explained. “He claimed to have heard shouting, screaming, the breaking of glass, and what sounded like the thud of fists on flesh. When police got there, they found a mess that they classified as domestic violence.”

  Carl settled his gaze on Miguel. “You lived with a female roommate. A woman named Delilah Lanyard. Do you remember her?”

  “Delilah,” Miguel whispered, racking his brain. It didn’t sound familiar, except... then he blurted out, “She hated being called Delilah. She always corrected anyone who called her that. Her name is Dee.”

  His eyes narrowing, Carl cocked his head. “You remember her?”

  “No,” Miguel mumbled. “I just...” He scowled. “I just remember these things... like muscle memory. I know when Reggie teased me about being skin and bones, I could tell him my body fat index is at nine percent. I remember how to flip off tree trunks, how to tie my shoes, and how to have sex. I even—”

  “How to flip off tree trunks?” Carl cut in. “Why would you flip off a tree?”

  “Miguel calls it free running,” Reggie explained. “He jumps over logs, swings through trees, and flips off, uh... high things.”

  Miguel snorted. “You should see me run up a wall.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he scowled. “Now, how do I remember that?”

  “And if you remember that, why don’t you remember anything else about your life?” Carl asked. “Like who Montague Keens is?”

  Gasping, Miguel felt the blood drain from his face as a chill swept over him. Memories—and most of them not good—swept through him. He shuddered at the remembered feel of fists to his side, a knee to the back of his thigh. Phantom pain from a caning that Monty had called foreplay caused his breath to catch.

  His head swimming with fear and nausea, Miguel shoved away from the table. He ignored the call of his name and rushed to the bathroom, barely making it there before losing the contents of his stomach.

  As Miguel’s body forced up everything until only dry heaves remained, he decided the bacon and eggs tasted so much better on the way down.

  Once the convulsing stopped, Miguel rested his forehead on his wrist. He tried to block out the memories, except, now he couldn’t. There were too many of them.

  Miguel squeaked and jolted. Turning his head, his eyes wide, he peered up... and realized it was Reggie. His lover’s warm chocolate eyes were filled with concern while he held a damp cloth in his hand.

  “Easy, Miguel,” Reggie purred soothingly. “You’re okay. You’re safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  “Reg?” Miguel couldn’t hide the hoarse squeak in his voice.

  “Yeah?” Reggie pressed the cloth to his temple, then swiped it down his jaw and neck as he urged, “Just relax.”

  Instead of listening, Miguel whispered, “Monty never liked my relationship with Dee. Did he hurt her?”

  “I don’t know, Mig,” Reggie replied. Offering a reassuring smile, he added, “At least we know where the D came from now. You must have been thinking of her.”

  Miguel nodded. That made sense.

  “Actually,” Carl stated softly from where he stood in the bathroom doorway. “Monty has an alibi for that evening. He’s pointing the finger at you. He says that you are unstable, violent, and—” He cleared his throat and grimaced. “A pain slut. His words.”

  “I didn’t,” Miguel squeaked. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t hurt my friend. And I don’t like pain. I hated that Monty tried to draw me into his love of BDSM.”


  “Monty is into BDSM?” Carl cut in. “That’s not mentioned anywhere in his record.”

  Miguel snapped his head up. “Monty has a record?”

  Carl snorted. “Oh, yeah. It’s buried deep, under lots of red tape, but I have friends. Once I saw what a detective in your county was trying to pin on you, I made sure I had all my ducks in a row.” He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why do you think I tried to test you about your amnesia?”

  Scoffing derisively, Miguel lowered his gaze to the warped wooden floor. “And yet, you made me remember anyway.” He sighed and wiped his mouth. “I can see why my mind had blocked it out. Monty is a monster.”

  “Come out and tell me about your experience,” Carl urged. “Tell me why you’re in this area. Are you running because you somehow accidently killed a woman you went to grade school with? Or are you here for some other reason?”

  “I didn’t kill Dee,” Miguel whispered. “I would never kill Dee... or anyone, for that matter.”

  Reggie rubbed his back softly as he offered, “Why don’t you take a minute to wash your hands and brush your teeth. Then join us in the front room.” He leaned down and pecked a kiss to Miguel’s neck. “We’ll curl up in that ancient recliner that we love so much. I’ll hold you, and you can tell Carl everything you think is important.”

  Miguel nodded. While he could see the sense in that, the idea of curling up on his big lover’s lap sounded even better. The fact that Reggie wasn’t turning his back on him... that was the best.

  “Okay,” Miguel whispered. “Just give me a minute.”

  After Miguel received another quick kiss to his temple from Reggie, he watched the two men slip from the room. Reggie offered him a small nod, then shut the door behind him.

  Sighing, Miguel rested his forehead back on his hand. After a moment, where he thought about nothing—okay, maybe Reggie’s thick, exquisite dick snuck into his mind—Miguel opened his eyes. He smiled. He had a new, fantastic, sweet lover standing beside him.

  I can do this.

  Rising to his feet, Miguel felt his smile slip away just as quickly. As he washed his hands and brushed his teeth, he thought about poor Dee. He had never wanted anything to happen to her. His now ex-lover hadn’t liked his relationship with his grade-school best friend. He hadn’t liked that Miguel had refused to move in with him. In fact, Miguel knew Monty had blamed his decision on Dee... saying she was interfering with their relationship.

  More than ready to pin as much shit on the bastard that he’d been running from as possible, Miguel headed out of the bathroom. He curled up on Reggie’s lap in the big recliner and shared what kind of man Monty was behind closed doors.

  Miguel wasn’t much of a drinker. A beer or two was it. He worked too hard at being a physical trainer to pollute his body with alcohol on a regular basis. That being said, he was happy he’d had a couple of shots of whiskey... even if he did think it tasted horrible.

  After reliving everything he’d endured... not just the physical abuse because Monty wanted to break down his strong body... but the mental abuse. Miguel didn’t know how he’d listened to that asshat for so long.

  Hell, he knew better! Dee had warned him. The fact that she was meddling had indeed been true. Miguel had refused to move in with Monty at first because of his own instincts. His later rejections had been at Dee’s encouragement. She had encouraged him to trust his gut.

  Too bad Miguel’s dick hadn’t been more reliable.

  Still, after all this time with Reggie, at least he knew he was getting the right one this time. And now, Reggie was easing him back into the bathroom, urging him to wash up, and grabbing his own toothbrush. Miguel couldn’t remember ever brushing his teeth with his lover before. It was... intimate. More intimate than anything he could ever remember before.

  Miguel liked it. Really, really liked it.

  Even though it was only six PM, Miguel heard Reggie wish Carl and Jake a good night. Carl had chosen to stay for the evening instead of making the drive home, accepting Reggie’s offer to use Miguel’s old room. Jake had been grateful, too, excited to fish some more.

  Then, Reggie took Miguel’s hand and led him into the bedroom, only to just be held for hours, not even the need to speak intruding... that was fantastic, too.

  Miguel suddenly couldn’t wait to see what would happen in his life next. It hit him all of a sudden. He wasn’t certain when he’d lost it, but Reggie gave him hope.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sipping his morning cup of coffee, Reggie stood next to the picnic table near the barbeque pit. Twenty yards down the hill from the house, toward the river, he watched Miguel fish. It’d become a morning ritual for them over the last few days.

  Even with them becoming lovers a couple of days before, Reggie appreciated that it hadn’t changed. These quiet moments gave him time to assess Miguel’s mood. As it happened, the only difference had been that Miguel had taken care of Reggie’s rather suddenly needy morning wood. Then, they had napped—Reggie longer than Miguel—and he’d woken up to the smell of fresh-brewed coffee. It’d been that way ever since Reggie had taught Miguel how to use his coffee maker. Once Miguel had learned how to string his fishing rod, that was where Reggie would find him—out on the river. Reggie would drink his coffee and stare.

  To be fair, before Reggie had been fucking the absolutely stunning young man, he knew he’d been staring... imagining... dreaming... all those things. Reggie still couldn’t believe that the young man fishing loved his touch so much. Except, he proved it every time they did, indeed, touch.

  Reggie knew Miguel had been reeling from the return of his memories. He’d been blindsided by the fact that his best friend of over twenty years was dead. Still, he’d clung to Reggie, taken strength from his comfort, and shared his past pain.

  Reggie had every intention of making certain that Monty never had the opportunity to hurt Miguel or anyone like him again.

  To his eternal debt, Reggie’s friends of friends of friends... they’d all stand beside and around them. They would find the real truth. Hell, a damn good detective had just been waking up when he’d stepped outside to watch his lover. Reggie knew everything would be okay.

  Now, Reggie realized how much he wanted this life... this slow, relaxed, fantastic life... to continue. What would it take for him to convince Miguel to stick around? Would he be happy in the woods? In a river basin? Was there a need, a market for the kind of physical fitness he taught?

  Reggie had to believe there was.

  Furthermore, he had to believe he could convince the hot, young stud fishing just down the lawn that they could make something together.

  So many hopes and prayers...

  Unable to help himself, Reggie hoped and prayed that Miguel would stick around... even after this. While he wanted to build a life with the man, he wasn’t certain how to share that with his young lover. Reggie also didn’t know how he would explain this change—a sudden and strange dichotomy—to his children.

  What will they say?

  Reggie pushed those thoughts aside. He would figure that out later. For now, he wanted his new lover to remember how comfortable he was with him. He wanted to talk about building a life together.

  Later, eventually, Reggie would deal with his children. While the concept of gay or straight had never come up, he wasn’t naïve about the fact that any time his kids talked of setting him up, it was with a woman. While he’d never bothered to admit it to himself until now, he hadn’t wanted to move on with a woman.

  Needing something more, Reggie had balked. He’d needed a change. He’d needed... Miguel.

  Now, Reggie knew he’d do just about any damn thing for that young man. He wanted to build a life together... however many years he had left. Hell, Reggie was willing to invest in little blue pills to keep his much younger man happy. He knew he was almost fifty-five. If he took Viagra, surely he could keep his sexy man content.

  Of course, Reggie knew it wasn’t just sex t
hat kept a partner content. He wasn’t a young fool idiot. Sex was great, sure, but if you didn’t have a friendship with your lover to back up that connection, your partner would be happy to look for someone else to fill his need. Sex was sex. Building a life with someone was something else.

  Was Miguel old enough, mature enough, to understand the difference?

  Reggie didn’t know. He wanted to find out, though. While he wasn’t certain why he was so fixated on the young man, he was too old to second-guess his instincts. However, it felt damn nice to be needed again.

  Maybe it was as simple as that. He’d been out of sorts for years because he didn’t have a purpose. Helping Miguel gave him that back.

  Which brought Reggie back to his original musings. Was Miguel ready... hell, was he even interested... in something serious with Reggie? He certainly attested to liking older men, but did that correlate to something permanent?

  Reggie mentally groaned. He was going in circles. Mentally chasing his tail. It was damn ridiculous.

  “Penny for your thoughts?”

  Reggie turned his head and spotted Carl standing ten feet from him. Having no idea how long the detective had been standing there, he shrugged, trying to figure out how to respond. He wasn’t certain he wanted to try to explain his convoluted thoughts.

  “Or are you just enjoying the view?” Carl teased, closing the distance between them and pointedly staring at a still-fishing Miguel. “I admit it’s a very lovely view.”

  Scoffing, Reggie rested his hip against the table. He nodded. “It still blows me away that he seems so interested in me.” He smirked at the detective. “I originally thought he was coming on to me because he was grateful, but that’s not the case.”

  Carl nodded. “We all have types,” he commented. “You seem to be his.” After taking a sip of his coffee, he returned his focus to Miguel and the river. “How are your kids going to take it?”

  Letting out a slow sigh, Reggie cocked his head. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. He turned and eyed Carl. “I would hope that my children would be happy that I found someone. Especially after being alone for so long.” He scoffed. “They have been pushing me to date again.”