by Amy Lane
Cooper went to bed at night sensitized and needy and woke up every morning hard, drippingly hard, and aching with desire.
He wanted Sam Lowell, craved him, and the craving was beginning to outweigh every need—food, shelter, safety. Cooper couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think when Sammy’s hands drifted along his skin or when Sammy’s arms held him tight and rocked their bodies together. Sammy was careful never to grind up against him, but Cooper knew—Sammy grew erect to bursting when they touched.
But he was patient. So patient. Never wanting to push Cooper past his comfort zone, wanting to give Coop every chance he’d ever need to back out, or say no, or decide not to risk his new home situation for the promise of heaven on Sammy’s lips.
Cooper wanted to demand heaven. Oh God, he’d die without it.
And he knew that part of not settling for anything less was trusting Sammy—and trusting Tino and Channing—to keep a secret and hope it was enough that he loved Sammy too.
Cared for Sammy.
Liked him. Liked him a lot.
Wanted him. That was it. Coop wanted him.
And figured if he never said any of those words aloud, he wouldn’t have to admit he was the only person he was fooling.
“Where’s Sammy?” Tino asked over dinner, and Channing rolled his eyes.
“Study group again?” He looked to Cooper for confirmation. “Wasn’t that it?”
“That’s what he told me,” Cooper said blandly. “Something about performance.”
Tino frowned. “Performance?” he asked, like the word meant something to him. “What kind of performance?”
Cooper shrugged, suddenly grateful for Sammy’s protection. “School performance, I guess?” Sammy hadn’t said, and now Cooper didn’t have it to answer.
“He didn’t tell you?” Channing asked dubiously. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, I wasn’t very happy about it,” Cooper told them truthfully. “But that’s all I know, I swear.”
“Channing, stop,” Tino said abruptly. “Even if Sammy did tell him, it’s not Cooper’s job to play the middle.”
“I’m sorry?” Channing huffed, those broad shoulders suddenly looming over everybody at the table.
“Channing Robbins-Lowell,” Tino intoned, “if you can’t see why we shouldn’t test Cooper’s loyalties in this matter, then maybe you should let me run the company and you can come run the household, because you are obviously losing your touch.”
Channing’s chin dropped in obvious hurt. “You take that back!”
“Well, you get off his case! If Sammy was in trouble, Cooper would tell us. But if Sammy’s doing grown-up things—like he would be doing if he’d gone away to school like all his friends, if you remember—and Cooper knows about it, we should just stay out of their business.”
Cooper watched Channing, fascinated, as he had that argument with himself, and then, as he realized what Tino was doing, what freedom he was trying to offer to Cooper and Sammy, the argument in Channing Lowell’s head got too painful.
Cooper couldn’t imagine letting Felicity go the way Channing was attempting to do with Sammy.
A buzzing in Cooper’s pocket distracted him, and he excused himself from the table, wondering who would be trying to get into contact now. He walked through the kitchen, across the hall, to his room, and closed the door, leaning on it as he answered. “You are the luckiest boy in the entire world,” he said right off the bat. “Your uncles are so wise to you, and as for Tino, you owe him the best Christmas present ever, because he totally stood up for your right to have secrets. So whatever you’re doing, I hope it’s good.”
“Well,” Sammy said, voice reedy like it got when he hadn’t eaten. “Right now I’m sitting on the steps of the middle school, watching the tow truck take my car to Channing’s mechanic.”
Oh hell. “What happened to your car?”
“It has a surprising lack of tires,” Sammy said, sounding lost. “And I obviously haven’t eaten, and I need to be at my other job in an hour.” He frowned like something had occurred to him. “Maybe I should try Uber?”
Cooper’s heart pounded so hard he thought it would burst through his ribs. “You will stay right there and send me the address, and I’ll be there in half an hour with dinner. Oh my God, Sammy—what happened to your tires?”
“They flew away.”
“I have no answer to that. I’ll be there ASAP. Just don’t move, okay?”
“Deal. It’s freezing here, by the way, but Sammy isn’t moving. See you!”
Sammy hung up, and Cooper struck his forehead repeatedly against his clenched fist. Okay, Sammy—of all the times to test the concept of trust, this one here was the biggie. Cooper hoped it was worth it.
He grabbed his jacket and walked out into the kitchen, shoving his phone in his pocket.
“Cooper?” Channing walked in, carrying plates, and Cooper realized he was going to have to say something.
“Sammy’s having car trouble,” he admitted, because hey, if Sammy was having the car towed to Channing’s mechanic, Channing would know at least that. “I’m not sure what happened, something about tires. Anyway, he’s at the school without transpo and he’s loopy as a fish, so I’m going to go get him and take him to his next place.”
Channing’s eyes bugged out. Actually got bigger and farther out of his head. Cooper had never seen that happen to a human being before. And a vein started to throb in his temple too.
“Tino!” he barked, and Cooper took a deep breath and started slicing the leftover meatloaf so he could make a sandwich.
“I’ve sort of got to hurry here,” he said apologetically. “Sammy said it was cold.”
“Tino!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming….” Tino walked into the kitchen and took in Channing’s face and Cooper’s determined food prep. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”
“Where are you taking him?” Channing asked, apparently deciding to brief Tino later.
Cooper looked at his boss and smiled winningly. “I’ve got no idea. He still hasn’t told me. But he needs me, so I’m going.”
If anything, Channing’s eyes got bigger, and Tino sputtered into his hand.
“They’re going to pop out of his head!” Tino chortled. “Oh my God! What did Sammy do?”
And that pissed Cooper off. “Nothing,” he snapped, not caring that both of them looked surprised. “He had car trouble and called a friend for a ride. He’s hungry, so he asked if I’d bring something. I’m not great at having friends, but I get this is how it works. He’d do the same for me.” He put the meatloaf sandwich in a plastic bag and started rooting through the cupboards for a travel mug for the juice. “And Channing, uh, Mr. Lowell, you should know better. He’s a good man. Not a kid—he’s all grown up. And he wants nothing in the world more than to take care of his family and make you proud. So maybe let him be a grown-up on his own. Tino was right, you know. He’s earned the right to not tell you everything, because everything I’ve seen him do has been good and responsible and decent.” He found the mug and slammed the cabinet shut with unnecessary force. Oh God. He was going to get himself fired.
“Wow, Cooper,” Tino said, sounding impressed. “I think that’s the most we’ve ever heard you speak.”
“I don’t mean to be disrespectful,” Cooper muttered, setting the cup on the counter and then going for the juice.
“You didn’t see him,” Channing burst out, his voice cracking. “You didn’t see him when he was at his sickest. His hair fell out—did you know that? His lips chapped, the skin around his fingers cracked and bled. And he just kept telling us he was okay. He’d be okay—could he stay up another hour to play with the kids? And the kids… the minute Tino and I got together, he started planning for a brother and sister. It was all he wanted, but we had to wait until he was ten. Because that was two numbers together. And we never did figure out why that was important, but it was like he was waiting until he could be the best brother
in the world. He… he loses his phone three times a year. And… and what would we do without him?”
“Sh….” Tino was a fair bit shorter than his husband, so he had to reach up to frame Channing’s face with his hands. “Baby… baby, Cooper’s right. He’s growing up, and he’s trying to be responsible. Think about it. He didn’t call us, did he? He called his friend. He called Coop because he trusts him. We trust him. Every day. With our kids. We’re going to have to let Sammy call this one, okay?”
“Martin—” Cooper had never seen a grown man, not one of Channing’s stature and power, look so helpless.
“Cooper will call us if it gets out of hand.” Tino looked at him meaningfully. “Won’t you, Cooper.”
“Uh, yeah.” Well, it was a fair request. “Sure.” Cooper threw the travel mug and the sandwich into a soft-sided lunch box along with a bag of chips and a green apple. He smiled at them both. “I promise.”
“Good.” Tino looked at Channing sternly. “And as for the mysterious study group, let’s make ourselves happy and pretend they’re going out dancing instead. How’s that?”
Channing swallowed hard and looked away. “I wish he’d go out dancing.”
“Well, then, maybe that’s what they’ll do,” Tino said, voice soft.
Cooper grabbed the lunch box and started toward the garage, zipping his jacket up as he went.
“They’ll be dancing while Cooper drives any car in the garage except the piece of shit Brandon drove over here!” Tino warned, voice rising for the first time in the discussion.
“He can’t drive my convertible!” Channing said, outraged.
“You want me to take the minivan?” Cooper asked, puzzled.
Tino shook his head. “You’re both insane. Take my sedan, Cooper. And no, I don’t care if it’s a Volvo. I don’t even care if it gets stolen. Activate the alarm, and if that car deserts you too, call us.”
Cooper nodded gamely. “Uh… thank you. And I’ve, uh, really got to go.” The thought of Sammy sitting on the steps of the middle school freezing his ass off did not bode well for Cooper’s ability to drive the speed limit in Tino’s super-nice Volvo.
Cooper really didn’t care.
SAMMY’S middle school was off Madison, which meant Cooper got to take the freeway instead of surface streets, and thank God, because surface streets might have driven him mad. When Cooper looked up the address, his phone told him it would take forty-five minutes to get there. Cooper made it in twenty-five, and he figured he needed to donate to a church or something, because he really should have gotten a ticket or thrown in jail.
But by the time he got to the school, Sammy was shivering, and his lips were damned near blue, and he could barely push himself up to walk down the stairs to the car.
Cooper had the heater cranked up, and the minute Sammy sat down, he put the juice in his hands. “I’m an idiot,” he muttered. “I should have had you Uber to the nearest coffee shop.”
“Thought about that,” Sammy said through chattering teeth. “But I tried to look one up. Ubers don’t come to this neighborhood. It’s weird.”
Cooper looked around the deteriorating school and the series of chain-link fences in front of the houses around the school. Looked like every institution of learning Cooper had ever attended, which told him that a guy like Sammy had no business out here, but Cooper wasn’t going to mention that, nosirree.
“Looks homey,” he said instead. “Done with the juice?”
Sammy handed him the travel mug dutifully and put on the seat belt while Cooper got out the meatloaf sandwich. Sammy bit into it blissfully, and some of his shivering eased, while Cooper grimly held on to his patience. Finally Sammy was done with the sandwich and working on the apple, and Coop felt like maybe they could have a conversation.
“Okay, before I take you to wherever secret place you have planned, you need to know that I had to tell Channing I was coming to pick you up. So he knows about the car trouble, and he knows you’re going out afterward, but Tino and I managed to convince him that he doesn’t get to micromanage your life, so you owe us both.”
Sammy smiled at him beatifically and swallowed a bite of apple. “Tino does get an extra present at Christmas. What do you want?”
Well, it was good to know his iron and blood sugar were up to normal levels again. “I want to know where we’re going.”
“Don’t you want a kiss first?” He threw the core in the meatloaf bag and put them both in the lunch box, glancing coyly at Cooper from under his lashes.
“No, because you scared me to death!”
Sammy kissed him anyway, and even though he still tasted like dinner, Cooper clung. He returned kiss for kiss, burying his hands into the lapels of Sammy’s wool coat and forcing him back against the headrest in determination. Sammy groaned and reached out to unbuckle his seat belt, and that’s when Cooper drew back.
“We are not making out in Tino’s car,” he said adamantly.
“Why didn’t you bring your car?”
Cooper scowled. “Because my car might not have made the trip, and if it had survived the trip, it might not have survived the neighborhood.” He saw a weatherworn transient at the parking lot entry, going through the trash. “And we still might not. Seriously, I’ll drive you, but where are we going?”
Sammy sighed and settled back into his seat. “Fine. Turn toward the freeway. We’re going toward Marysville Boulevard.”
“Del Paso?” Cooper asked in surprise. “Oh my God, it’s like you were trying to mark your car for death.”
Sammy sucked air in through his teeth. “You haven’t even seen the place yet,” he said.
That didn’t sound promising. “Eat the potato chips, Sammy,” Cooper told him. “I might get one more kiss in before we get kidnapped and sold for food. I’d like your next kiss to taste better than meatloaf.”
Sammy’s throaty laugh echoed through the car. “Geez, Cooper, you really do care.”
Cooper paused at the street and looked him dead in the eye to make sure he got this. “Sammy, I’ve never cared for anyone the way I care for you.”
Sammy’s smile was so bright it burned. “I love you back, Cooper. But you need to hurry. I’m late.”
Sammy loved him? Oh my God! Sammy loved him! Cooper carried the thrill of that announcement right up to the building they ended up at after they got off the freeway.
“You just said you loved me,” he breathed, looking at the squat brick structure sitting square in the middle of a packed parking lot. The vehicles surrounding the dive bar—because that’s the only thing it could be—were a motley assortment of barely legal transportation. Battered trucks vied for place with super-shiny customized motorcycles, and tiny thrasher cars were parked cheek by jowl next to big custom chop jobs with cut suspension and trick steering wheels.
Wherever this place was, it had a big enough reputation to attract everybody except people who drove minivans, SUVs, and Volvos.
“Where in the hell are we?” Cooper squeaked.
“This is Dodgy’s,” Sammy told him, reaching to his feet where his portfolio of sheet music sat. “I perform here.”
“Because the Hellmouth was booked?” Cooper asked, not even sure how to measure his level of freaking out.
“It’s actually not a bad place once you get onstage,” Sammy said seriously. “Once you start playing, it’s awesome. Everybody really loves good music, and I can experiment with forms and play some ultradirty jazz riffs that my teacher does not approve of at all.”
Oh! He sounded so happy!
“Sammy, this just doesn’t look like the kind of place, you know, you and I would hang out.”
“Oh—that reminds me. Don’t mention that you’re gay or we’re boyfriends, okay?”
So. Many. Brain. Explosions. “Boyfriends?” he echoed weakly, conveniently ignoring the part where he and Sammy got their asses beat into the concrete for entering the homophobe’s sacred hunting ground or something.
“Well, yeah,” S
ammy said, earnestness riding his shoulders like his warm wool coat. “Of course we’re boyfriends. I don’t want to kiss anybody else. Do you?”
Cooper thought of his brave words to Channing and Tino. “Not ever,” he said wistfully. Then he swallowed and remembered his well-developed sense of self-preservation. “We’re going to die here,” he said with certainty. “Sammy, I worked construction for three years. I don’t know if I can be any less gay, and I am too gay for this place.”
Sammy gave him a careless once-over as he got out of the car. “Naw—you’re fine. I’ll introduce you to Dodgy. He’ll make sure nobody bothers you.”
Cooper was not reassured, but that didn’t stop him from following Sammy out of the car.
The side of the bar was apparently the smoking zone, and the cloud of blue smoke billowed into the chill of late March. Sammy waved to some of the folks pulling nicotine into their lungs as they walked past, heading for the backstage door.
Sammy knocked twice, and a guy just as tall as Sammy but with cannon shot for biceps and a locomotive grill for a chest opened the door.
“Sammy?” he muttered. “You’re almost late!”
“Sorry, Elmo—car trouble.” Sammy pushed through into a hallway crowded by stage equipment, wires, and what looked to be a giant stack of old speakers. Beyond the hall, the light was a mysterious, brain-crushing orange color, where a couple of steel guitars wailed like electrified cats.
Yes, it was a dive bar with live music. Cooper hadn’t been mistaken; they were both going to die.
“What kind of car trouble? Because Dodgy’s pissed.”
Sammy looked at Cooper with a pained grimace. “All my tires got stolen.”
Cooper covered his eyes with his hands.
“And something unflattering was scratched into my hood,” Sammy added for good measure.