Benediction: Diversion Book 9

by Eden Winters

  Bo didn’t move any quicker than Lucky when they took the kids to Charlotte’s car. Jimmy worked with her as a team to strap them into their car seats.

  “You enjoy yourselves.” Charlotte hugged Lucky. “I’m so proud of you, brother. Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll take good care of the kids. Now go. Enjoy your man.”

  Lucky held on to Charlotte, the anchor who’d kept him grounded until Bo came along. “Love you, girl.”

  Charlotte pulled back, eyes a bit watery. “You too, brother.”

  Bo and Lucky shook hands with Jimmy, and Charlotte repeated the hugging ritual with Bo.

  Something twisted in Lucky’s heart when the car drove out of sight.

  At last he and Bo stood hand in hand at the water’s edge. The car’s rumble faded to nothing. So peaceful here.

  “We’ve got a whole week all to ourselves,” Bo said, with an exaggerated leer. “Whatever shall we do?”

  What indeed? “Reckon fucking all legal-like will be less fun?”

  Bo gasped in mock horror. “Oh, my God! I hope not. I say we check now.”

  “But we don’t…”

  The smirk on Bo’s face caused a tightness in Lucky’s jeans. God, he loved playful Bo. “Have I ever not been prepared? I packed everything we needed and sent our bags up here with Charlotte and Rett.”

  Bo grabbed Lucky’s hand and raced toward the cabin. The door was unlocked. Still, they fumbled a few seconds before they finally managed to get the door open.

  Lucky grabbed Bo’s shirt and ripped. They shed clothes from the front door to the bedroom, some removed carefully, some left in ribbons. Who cared? Skin! Give Lucky skin! And mouths, and hands, and hard cocks. They only broke their kiss when necessary to avoid bodily harm.

  At last they made it to the bedroom. Two suitcases sat on the floor, with a toiletry bag on the dresser. Bo really did think of everything.

  Hopefully, Charlotte and Rett hadn’t looked inside.

  Bo grabbed the toiletry bag and brought out a bottle of lube—a big one.

  “You’re not planning on getting outta bed at all, are you?” Sounded damned good to Lucky.

  “Not if I can help it.”

  Lucky lay back on the bed and Bo crawled over him, sliding their erections together with delicious heat. Lips sealed together, they moaned into each other’s mouths. Bo broke away, sucking the skin from Lucky’s jaw to his ear.

  Damn, that felt good. Bo snaked a hand between their bodies and gave Lucky’s cock a few good strokes.

  So. Fucking. Good.

  Bo slithered downward, taking Lucky’s cock into his mouth. No teasing little licks, no tongue circling the head. Nope, Bo got straight down to business. Holy shit! Heat, warmth, friction, Lucky’s favorite things to have wrapped around his cock.

  Bo gripped the base, holding Lucky’s erection at the right angle to bob up and down. He wet his fingers and slid down to Lucky’s hole, teasing, circling, and not yet entering.

  Lucky growled. He wanted. Damn, how he wanted.

  He lay back, letting Bo take care of him. He wanted to tend to Bo too, but the way Bo made his toes curl left him unable to move. He’d owe the man one.

  Bo crawled back up and kissed Lucky, oddly gentle based on this wild attack. “I love you, Lucky Schollenberger,” he murmured.

  Lucky Schollenberger. Another name to learn. He didn’t mind one tiny bit.

  Gaze still riveted to Lucky’s, Bo patted the bed, the pat, pat, thunk of his ring hitting plastic saying he’d found the lube bottle.

  His ring. His wedding ring. Not almost-wedding ring. The real deal. They’d done what Lucky’d been desperate to do for months. They were married. Legally spouses. When they first started working together them getting married wouldn’t have been legal. Now?

  Now they were Bo and Lucky Schollenberger.

  He could live with that, would live with that. Happily. For the rest of his life.

  Bo probed Lucky’s hole with his fingers, stretching him, getting him ready.

  Then he sank in, pushing, creating wonderful pressure. So good. So right. Lucky lifted his hips, wrapping his legs around Bo’s thighs, adjusting to the best angle.

  Oh, damn. Oh, damn. He grabbed Bo’s shoulders, pulling him down for a kiss. They rocked together. “Oh, fuck!” Thinking became overrated. Lucky shut off his brain and simply felt.

  The tide ebbed and flowed, gasps and moans, hands skating over skin. They writhed together in a well-practiced dance that had lost none of its excitement to familiarity.

  “Damn, how I love you.” Bo’s breath warmed Lucky’s ear.

  Faster and faster they rocked. Bo plunged deep.

  Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, damn. Too much. Not enough. Then Bo cried out, shoving hard into Lucky, and held, shuddering, muscles bunched.

  Lucky reached between them, stroking, stroking. “Don’t pull out yet!” he hissed. No, not yet. Don’t go! He plunged over the edge, crying out and arching up as he came. Wave after wave of pure, electrifying bliss.

  As Lucky’s brain cells rebooted, he and Bo found a comfortable position tangled together, breath heaving, skin sheened with sweat.

  Lucky pressed his palm to Bo’s chest, feeling the racing of his heart.

  Bo copied him, hand to Lucky’s sternum. Did their hearts beat in time, or as a counterpoint?

  Didn’t matter. Lucky enjoyed the moment, sweaty and sated, perfectly content.

  Perfectly happy.

  He fell asleep, feeling safer than he ever had in his life.

  Lucky woke up to the scent of coffee and bacon and in bad need of a shower. He joined Bo in the cabin’s small kitchenette.

  “I’d love to sit outside like we used to, if it wasn’t so cold.” Bo greeted Lucky with a kiss. “Good morning, Mr. Schollenberger.”

  “Good morning to you too.”

  They ate a leisurely breakfast, then sat on the porch, Lucky sipping coffee, Bo sipping green tea, wrapped together in a comforter.

  The sun rose slowly over the trees.

  Lucky’s heart was full to bursting, yet, something was missing. No cries. No shouts of “Papa.” No childish giggles.

  One week. Yes, one full week with Bo was his idea of Heaven. Still, it wasn’t just him and Bo anymore.

  Wrapping an arm around Lucky, Bo said, “I know what you’re thinking. We can be home in a little over an hour.”

  “But we have a week. I don’t want to lose that. It’s our honeymoon.” No, he wanted to stay here with Bo. He sighed. “You’re right. I miss the kids. A week without them? They’re so young.”

  Bo ruffled Lucky’s hair and kissed his temple. “I miss them too. We’ll go get them. We’re not just me and you anymore. We’re a family. We’ll make this a family trip.”

  “But… This is supposed to be our honeymoon,” Lucky protested again. What if Bo wanted just the two of them?

  “It is. We’re allowed to spend it any way we want, you and me, or you, me, and the kids. Let’s go get them. I’ll call Charlotte and ask her to pack their things.”

  They bundled up and left on the Harley.

  They’d be back, to enjoy the very first Schollenberger family vacation.

  Who’d a thunk it? Lucky Lucklighter. No, Lucky Schollenberger, all settled down and domesticated.

  Well, depending on who asked, he’d deny the domesticated part with his dying breath. No use ruining the reputation he’d worked so hard for: one grumpy sonofabitch.

  To Bo, he’d be T-Rex. To the kids, he’d be Papa. He’d save all asshole tendencies for the job.

  Because to criminals, he’d be their worst nightmare.

  EPILOGUE

  – 27 Years Later –

  “I kinda like the way you and Papa got married. No frills, no fuss.” Jenny Lynn Schollenberger placed her parents’ wedding photos on the coffee table, as the display slowly rolled from one image to the next. They both looked so young. Now Papa’s hair was mostly white, and Daddy’s gradually lost more and more brown to silver.
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  Everyone said she looked just like her daddy. Always had, with her dark brown hair and eyes, and the smattering of freckles across her nose that no amount of makeup completely obscured.

  Then again, she’d fought a girl in school who’d dared suggest she remove the specks with laser treatments. Papa loved Daddy’s freckles, and loved hers too.

  She sat on the couch, next to the man she so resembled. A Great Pyrenees puppy lay on the rug, occasionally nudging her foot with its nose. Who could resist that face? She reached down and delivered ear scritches to Moosey.

  Soon, she’d graduate medical school and marry the love of her life. So many decisions! Cake, flowers, invitation list, caterers, venues!

  Why did everyone want her to have a big, elaborate wedding? Everyone except for her fathers and aunt. She’d rather spend the money remodeling the old farmhouse she and Craig bought in upstate New York. Uncle Victor took care of student loans, but he wouldn’t be able to attend the wedding, due to Uncle Nestor’s recent illness. One never went anywhere without the other, nor would she want them to.

  She could go simple, with a minister, family, and friends. Somewhere outdoors. Was the cabin her parents had loved so much still there?

  No bridesmaids, though. She’d have both her fathers walk her down the aisle, then stand beside her brother Andro to say her vows. Craig lined up a few cousins to stand with him.

  They wouldn’t exchange traditional vows, precisely. Between the two of them, she and Craig had one hell of a lot of education. They’d come up with something to say that expressed how they both felt.

  Maybe Aunt Charlotte could help. She and Uncle Jimmy had a small wedding too. So did Auntie Rett and Uncle Nick. Would Tyrone be able to take leave from the Air Force and come to the wedding? Todd and Ty would be there with their wives.

  Wait until she told Craig they’d have an honor guard of bikers from Arkansas!

  After immersing herself with family for the wedding, she’d have to tell them all goodbye. She could always visit, or they could visit her. No, no, no. She wasn’t going to cry!

  New York. She was going to miss the South, growing up in this house, being surrounded by so many people who loved her.

  Then again, she’d only be two hours away by Hyperloop. Not that she’d ever get Papa or Andro on the Loop. Technophobes, both of them. Except when it came to state-of-the-art work-related gadgets.

  Ah, the conversations she’d endured about long-range trackers and the latest surveillance equipment. Boring!

  In this house she’d laughed and cried, modeled prom dresses and pretended the milestones in her life didn’t cause Papa to tear up. Daddy and Papa had tended bruised knees and bruised hearts, Daddy telling her she’d be okay, and Papa assuring her that if she wanted to kill whichever boy broke her heart, he knew of places they’d never find the body.

  She cast a glance at the reclining chair a few feet away, filled with one of her heroes, fast asleep. “I can’t believe Papa’s retired now.”

  Daddy sat beside her on the couch, rubbing the head of a purring tabby cat. “Yeah, after decades of worrying he’d wind up on the SNB memorial page. The job beat him up a bit, but he pulled through.”

  Papa could never have been as gruff as Daddy said. Surely he exaggerated. Her papa was, and always would be, a huge marshmallow. A marshmallow who’d bury a body on her behalf, but a marshmallow nonetheless.

  Or rather, maybe a porcupine: lots of prickles, and dangerous to enemies, with a soft little underbelly for loved ones.

  Right now, the holy terror of drug lords everywhere lay back in the recliner, mouth open and snoring, Cat Lucky, Jr. curled up on his chest. Her papa snuffled and rolled, the chair repositioning to more comfortably distribute his weight. She knew he’d like the chair she and Andro got him for Christmas, even if he had complained at the time that they’d spent too much money. Papa loved the chair.

  Worth every penny.

  She took some pictures with her pendant phone to tease him about later. “Tell me again how you met, fell in love, and got married,” she begged. She’d never tire of hearing the story.

  “Well, your Papa didn’t like me much when we met.”

  The way Papa doted on Daddy? No, there could never have been a time they weren’t wildly in love with each other.

  “He thought I was an annoying uppity college boy, and I thought he tried just a little too hard to be unlikable. He called me Rookie Boy, or something like that.”

  “You called him T-Rex.”

  Daddy laughed. “And Cocky Bantam Rooster.”

  Jenny smiled. She’d never admit to the accuracy of the description. Of course, she secretly called her brother “CBR” too. “You always worked things out.”

  “Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, we had some rough times.”

  Uncle Cruz once mentioned an incident in Mexico; a case her parents didn’t like to talk about, when they’d nearly lost their lives. One of many times they’d nearly lost their lives while working for the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau. “You always managed.”

  Daddy gave her a fond smile, the same dimple-inducing smile he often got when talking about Papa.

  “And you wound up getting married.”

  “That we did. Your papa wanted a small wedding, but your Aunt Charlotte…” Daddy waved his hand over the vid frame hovering over the coffee table, bringing up a photo of him and Papa on a Harley Davidson. A swipe of his fingers brought up another photo, and another. “That’s you.”

  Jenny squinted at the image of a tiny child snoozing on a T-shirt clad shoulder. “I was in the wedding?”

  “You and your brother both.”

  She wrinkled her nose. To think, a few years before they married, her parents wouldn’t have been allowed to wed because they were two men! How ridiculous.

  Daddy ended with a final photo of him holding Andro and Papa holding her on the steps of a cabin. “In the end we had the perfect wedding. Then we came home and got you kids and made a family vacation out of our honeymoon. We couldn’t be without you and your brother for a week.”

  Jenny laughed, resting her head on her Daddy’s shoulder. “Tell me, was Papa always such a sap?”

  She hoped she and Craig could have a relationship as warm, loving, and supportive as her fathers’.

  Alejandro Schollenberger flattened himself against the grimy wall of an apartment building on the outskirts of Atlanta, aiming his weapon up the stairs. Just once, why couldn’t he get a case in a better part of town?

  “We could take the lift,” his partner said.

  “What? Step into an airshaft with nothing under our feet? No, thank you.”

  Elliot gestured toward the shaft that had, years ago, probably held an old-fashioned elevator. “It’s perfectly safe.”

  “Perfectly safe until it isn’t.” No, Andro preferred solid surfaces under his feet. He’d use the stairs.

  “Whatever.” Elliot took hold of the handrail and started climbing. He might have mumbled, “Technophobe,” as he passed.

  Better a technophobe than winding up in the hospital when the technology failed. Andro glanced up and watched Elliot’s muscular ass flex beneath the department-issued navy-blue pants, that looked terrible on anyone but Andro’s partner.

  Alejandro wore street clothes: boots, faded jeans, and T-shirt. So much more comfortable and less conspicuous in this part of town than a uniform. The man he’d never let his partner hear him call “Papa Schollenberger” had dressed the same nearly every day when he’d been out on the streets.

  The man referred to as “Mr. Schollenberger” at the office, and “Dad” while off duty, wore suits to work. He also spent most of his time in boardrooms and not stinking low-rent apartment buildings.

  Two steps above him, Andro’s partner turned and grinned, bringing out a deep dimple in one cheek. “C’mon, old man. Keep up.”

  “I’m only a year older than you.” That grin did things to Andro’s insides. Being senior agent, he should take point, keeping El
liot safely behind him. No. They were both agents and El wouldn’t appreciate being coddled.

  Though given half a chance…

  They reached the fourth floor, Andro on one side of apartment 4B and El on the other. “Ready?”

  El nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”

  Damn. Andro wanted to tell the guy how he felt, take his partner into his arms. Be more than coworkers.

  Focus, Andro. He held the latest offering from IT against the wall, a small ring that looked like a bangle bracelet. The device hummed. Two shapes appeared in the center, their heat signatures glowing red. “Two people. One’s armed, about three feet from the door.” He returned the device to his pocket. “On the count of three. One, two, three…”

  Elliot knocked. A blast blew splinters through the door. That was not a legal weapon.

  One they could fight, though. “I guess we do things the hard way, then.” One more day. One more bust. Andro shouted. “Freeze! Southeastern Narcotics Bureau.” He hit the switch on his inhibitor, locking the firing mechanism on the assailant’s weapon. Some technology he could work with.

  While Elliot stunned the suspects, Andro called for their backup to come take out the trash. The wall by his head held a few old-fashioned bullet holes. He ran his finger around the edges while Atlanta’s finest cuffed the suspects and revived them enough to get them down to the precinct.

  How the hell had Andro’s fathers worked together all those years, seeing each other step into danger? He read about the “Corruption” case. Knew how close they’d both come to losing their lives. The missing fingers on Papa’s left hand served as a constant reminder of the danger involved in drug enforcement.

  Yes, somehow, the two men he looked up to above all others managed.

  Maybe he’d go home this weekend and ask them. Subtly, of course. Just hypothetical-like. If any guys could tell him how to balance love and work, fear and hope, in one person, it’d be his parents.

  His heart gave a lurch. He couldn’t let anything happen to Elliot. It might take him a few more years to let the man know how he felt. Until then, he’d treasure every moment. Every smile. Every guys’ night out.