by J. M. Snyder
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AN EVENING WITH THE RUSH HOUR HERO
by
J. M. SNYDER
Amber Quill Press, LLC
http://www.amberquill.com
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An Evening With The Rush Hour Hero
An Amber Quill Press Book
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Amber Quill Press, LLC
http://www.amberquill.com
http://www.amberheat.com
http://www.amber-allure.com
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.
Copyright © 2009 by J. M. Snyder
ISBN 978-1-60272-481-5
Cover Art © 2009 Trace Edward Zaber
Layout and Formatting
Provided by: Elemental Alchemy
Published in the United States of America
Also by J. M. Snyder
All Shook Up
Beautiful Disaster
Beautiful Liar
Beneath A Yankee Sky
The Bonds Of Love
Crushed
Matching Tats
A More Perfect Union
On Company Time
Outage
Persistence Of Memory
The Positions Of Love Series: Books I - XII
The Powers Of Love
The Regent's Knight
Seventh Inning Stretch
Under A Confederate Moon
Wanted
With This Ring
AN EVENING WITH THE RUSH HOUR HERO
* * *
City bus driver Vic Braunson was on the interstate, heading back to the terminus at the end of his shift, when the woman's car cut him off. He saw her in his sideview mirror, saw her calculating look as she judged the distance between the eighteen-wheeler in front of her and the lumbering bus Vic drove, and two seconds before she turned on her signal to change lanes, he detected her thoughts...
I can make it.
In the empty bus, Vic heard the words as if she sat right behind him, speaking out loud. Over the past few years, he hadn't quite managed to block out all the random thoughts that crowded into his brain. He couldn't shut off the telepathy completely, but at least he was no longer surprised by it. Particularly when a stranger was thinking about him.
He took his foot off the gas and the bus fell back enough to let her in, but she misjudged the distance and clipped the tail end of the truck in front of her. Spinning out of control, her four-door sedan jack-knifed across Vic's lane to crash into the concrete median that separated south and north bound traffic. Vic stood on the brake, gripping the steering wheel in both large, white-knuckled hands as he struggled to keep the city bus from plowing into the side of the car. He could hear the crunch of metal as the car's hood crumpled, could feel the impact in his teeth and, without thinking, he opened his mind to utilize the super strength that surged through his body. The bus groaned beneath the combined weight of the brakes and his own strange power--one of the headlights shattered, a spray of glass that seemed impossibly loud amid the squeal of tires.
Too late, he noticed three young children peering from the back window of the car, eyes wide with fear. He didn't think the bus would stop in time.
He rose off his seat, brake pedal to the floor, mind bending beneath the pressure to hold back fifteen tons of metal and glass that threatened to crush the car ahead into the median as if it were nothing more than an annoying insect. Cords of muscle stood out on Vic's thick arms; veins throbbed at his temples and throat. Please, he thought, and the woman's voice picked up the litany in his mind, her thoughts mingling with his own in a fearful prayer. Please, oh God, oh please--
Miraculously, the bus ground to a halt mere inches from the driver's side door.
Vic sank into his seat, trembling from exertion and spent adrenaline. In the large rearview mirror above him, he caught a glimpse of his own bald head, numerous gold hoops in his ears, dark brooding eyes like shadows pooled in his face. A fine line of blood trickled down from his nose over the devilish goatee that encircled his thin lips. With the back of one tattooed hand, he wiped it away.
Unbuckling his seatbelt, he opened the outfold door panel and leapt from the top step to the street below. A car horn blared at him but he ignored it. "Ma'am?" he called out as he skirted the front of the bus. The car was too close to allow him access to the driver's door, so he clambered over the trunk and peered into the passenger side window. Knocking on the glass, he raised his voice over the noise of traffic. "Hey, you all right in there?"
The woman didn't reply. She leaned over the steering wheel, arms folded beneath her long reddish-blonde hair, but Vic couldn't tell if she'd been hurt. The remnants of an airbag covered her lap like a gray blanket. In the back seat of the car, three young children cried--the oldest had to be no more than six, seven tops. Around them, the interstate was suddenly clogged with cars and trucks whose drivers slowed as they passed, ogling the scene, but none stopped to help.
Shit.
Far in the distance, the wail of a siren pierced the late afternoon.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Vic jumped onto the ruined front hood of the car and stepped quickly among the hot folds of metal to get to the other side. There was a slight gap between the bus and the car near the front, but the car had angled as it stopped and the rear bumper almost touched the bus's broken headlight. There was just enough room for Vic to stand between the two vehicles, but he couldn't open the driver's door--there was no way to get to the woman inside.
Vic considered his options, his mind ticking through them quickly. There weren't many. Push the bus back a bit, just enough to get the door open--he could do it, he felt the strength still flooding his system, but didn't know what traffic might be lining up behind the bus and didn't want to take the chance of involving other vehicles. He could move the car--the truck that had clipped the front bumper when the woman switched lanes had finally rolled to a stop a few hundred yards ahead, and between it and the city bus, they had blocked off the entire left lane. Or he could just wait--an ambulance was on the way; he heard the sirens. Didn't they say not to move someone at the scene of an accident? Or was that the scene of a crime...
Suddenly, he caught a pungent whiff of gasoline that decided him. Setting one shoulder against the car frame between the front and back doors, Vic gave an experimental shove. Energy swirled through him, spiraling out from the center of his being to flash through his veins, dousing them with strength. The car rocked grudgingly beneath him, then skidded a couple feet. He put his shoulder to it again, gave another hard push, and felt the car shudder under him as it moved farther away.
The truck driver ran up to the other side of the car. "Hey man," he started, but when Vic gave the car a third hard shove his way, he danced back. "Whoa. How'd you do that?"
Ignoring him, Vic banged on the driver's side window. "Lady! Can you hear me?"
No reply. Turning his attention to the children, Vic spoke to the little boy closest to the door. "Open this." The boy stared at him with large eyes as if he didn't understand. Vic pointed at the door, mimed pulling up the handle, then realized the car probably had child-resistant locks that made it impossible to open the back doors from the inside. Fuck.
As if he had spoken aloud, the
little boy's eyes grew wider, his mouth opening in a perfect O of shock. "Sorry," Vic muttered.
Someone touched his arm and Vic whirled to find the truck driver beside him. "I smell gas," the guy announced.
"Thank you," Vic said, elbowing him aside. "You're such a help. Stand back, will you? Unless you can tear the doors off this thing--"
"Man, not me." The truck driver shook his head, his mousy gray ponytail bouncing from shoulder to shoulder for emphasis. "You need that jaws of life shit."
Vic said again, "Then stand back."
The hardest part would be getting a good grip--Vic tugged on the door handle and the damn thing broke off in his hand. He settled for punching into the back door, the frame cracking beneath his hands. With fists full of twisted metal and plastic, he snapped the lock and ripped the door from its hinges.
The driver's door was easier--with the other one out of the way, he leveraged himself against the frame and yanked on the handle, wrenching the door free. As he tossed it behind him, he heard the choppy whirr of a news helicopter overhead and wondered what had happened to the sedate--and safe--existence he used to lead before Matt diLorenzo had come into his life.
* * * *
"You're late," his lover said as Vic stepped through the door to their apartment.
Shrugging off his thin work coat, Vic let Matt pull him into a tight embrace. "There was a lot of traffic..."
Matt kissed the words from his lips. "Next time fly home," he joked. His lithe body fit nicely against Vic's sturdy frame, and his hands eased into the back pockets of Vic's work pants to grab at his ass. Vic nuzzled against his lover's neck, letting those hands and the lips that kissed his face wipe away the rest of his day. "You hungry? I made spaghetti."
"I've got what I want right here," Vic replied, hugging Matt to him.
"I meant food," his lover said with a laugh as he extracted himself from Vic's arms.
His dark green eyes flashed with mirth--he knew all too well what he did to Vic. He enflamed Vic's senses, stirred his blood, set his world alive with fiery love and a heady lust that hadn't dimmed in the time they'd known each other. Every morning Vic fell all over again for this olive-skinned swim instructor with the long legs and big feet. He would spend every waking moment with Matt if he could, tracing the hard plains of his body, smoothing down the curly black hair that tufted on his arms and legs, worshipping the heavy sac that hung below Matt's ruddy, thick shaft. Vic wasn't used to letting others in but somehow Matt had slipped beneath his defenses and worked his way into every single aspect of Vic's life. Nothing stood between them; nothing kept them apart.
Not even the damn powers Vic had to contend with every time they made love.
Matt slipped off into the kitchen, calling out over his shoulder, "Make yourself comfortable, babe. Two plates of Mama diLorenzo's famous spaghetti coming right up. How was your day?"
"Long."
Vic retrieved his coat from where it had fallen and draped it over the end of the couch as he stepped into the living room. Kicking off his shoes, he unbuckled his belt, unzipped his work pants, and tugged them down unceremoniously to pile on the floor. As he stepped out of them, he heard a loud wolf whistle from the hallway.
"Sexy," Matt called out. In each hand he carried a plate overflowing with spaghetti noodles and rich tomato sauce that smelled divine. "Maybe the food can wait."
With a laugh, Vic plopped onto the couch and patted the cushion beside him. "Dinner was your idea."
Matt stepped over his legs as Vic reached for one of the plates. Then he sank down beside Vic, who kept his plate held high because he knew his lover wasn't quite situated yet. Sure enough, Matt turned toward him, raising his legs to drape them across Vic's lap, his long toes curling into the cushion on Vic's other side. "Smells wonderful," Vic told him, setting his plate on Matt's knees.
"Wait 'til you see what I have planned for dessert," Matt teased. With one foot, he nudged the remote control. "Turn on the tube, will you? So you had a long day? Poor baby."
Vic hit the POWER button on the remote and the TV clicked on. "Kyle called in," he said as he dug into the steaming plate of spaghetti in front of him. "I had to run his route in addition to mine. Then heading back to the terminal, I hit a snag on the interstate."
"What happened?"
The gentlest of touches inside his mind told Vic Matt was probing for details. He didn't want to go there--didn't know what had really happened himself and wasn't ready just yet to relive those few harried moments when he almost couldn't stop the bus from crushing that woman's car. Every time he thought of the three little kids trapped in the back seat, his body wanted to shake until it fell apart. Only by pushing the accident into the farthest reaches of his mind could he deal with it at the moment. Time would dull the edge of the memory, but tonight it cut too deeply to let him analyze it much. If he hadn't managed to stop in time? If he hadn't gotten the doors off, hadn't freed those people before the gas tank exploded? If he'd been a few seconds too late...
He shook his head, mentally pushing Matt away. A slight frown crossed his lover's face. "Vic..."
"It's over," Vic told him. "Can we just leave it at that right now? Please?"
Matt's lower lip poked out in an exaggerated pout but he didn't push it. Instead he twirled spaghetti onto his fork and watched Vic closely, waiting to be let in. But Vic couldn't relive the last hour or so, not yet, and he flipped through the channels on the television to distract himself from his lover's steady gaze. Settling on the news, he dove into his plate of noodles and wanted to melt as the heavy marinara sauce excited his taste buds. "God, Matty, this is amazing."
"Mama always said love starts in the belly." Matt's frown didn't quite leave his eyes. "Will you tell me later?"
"Matt--"
His lover hurried to ask, "Was it that bad?"
Vic sighed. The hand that held his fork began to tremble so he set it down quickly before Matt could notice. "Give me a little while to digest it first, will you?"
They finished the meal in silence. Every so often, Vic felt Matt probe his mind, testing to see if he'd relent, but when that happened Vic threw a stern glance at his lover. He'd have to let him in sooner or later, Vic realized, but couldn't they eat dinner in peace like normal men and talk later? The more Matt tried to pry, the tighter Vic closed up.
When his plate was empty and his stomach full, Vic touched his lover's leg. "Let me up," he said, giving Matt's knee a gentle squeeze. Matt moved his legs aside, allowing Vic to stand. Vic reached for Matt's plate. "You done?"
"Are you?" Matt countered. The dull glare in his eyes told Vic he wasn't talking about dinner.
"Let me get cleaned up." Vic headed for the kitchen with their plates. He wanted a beer, a shower, and Matt, preferably in that order. "We have all night to talk."
Matt didn't answer. He poked his mind into Vic's again, testing his boundaries, seeing if he couldn't sneak a peek at what Vic hid from him. ::It was nothing,:: Vic silently told his lover as he deposited the dishes in the sink. It really wasn't, in retrospect--things could have been a lot worse, people could've died, and no amount of super strength or telepathy or any of the other powers he exhibited from time to time would have brought them back to life.
::If it's nothing, then tell me about it.::
Matt's voice filled Vic's head, exasperated and pouting. With a smile, Vic filled the sink with soapy water and shook his head, as if his lover could see the gesture. Maybe he'd hold out more often--he liked Matty like this, the demanding diva, wanting to know every minute of Vic's life and yet thwarted so easily. How much fun would it be when Vic finally let him in? Opened to him, letting him take what he wanted, letting him have his way?
A playful image came to mind, the two of them in the bed they shared, Vic on his back with his arms and legs spread wide, Matt laying claim to every inch of his body and mind.
With a slight mental nudge, he pushed that thought to Matt.
What came back was a barrage of flick
ering images--himself on the interstate earlier, an aerial view of the scene below. The car crushed in front of the bus that had barely stopped in time. His arms straining as he forcibly pushed the car a dozen yards or so, enough to allow him access to the people inside. His fists punching through the doors as if the metal were nothing more than warm butter. The doors ripping away, the people saved.
"Rush Hour Hero." He heard the words from the TV in the other room and from Matty in his mind at the same time. "A super man among us."
Shit.
* * * *
Vic's hope for a shower disappeared when he turned from the sink to find Matt blocking the doorway that lead to the hall. "I wanted to tell you myself," Vic said.
The expression on Matt's face was hard to read. "Are you hurt?"
"No, just--"
Matt exploded. "Then what the fuck did you think you were doing? They have you on video, Vic. People took pictures."
"There were children in that car!" Sudden anger flashed through Vic, fueled by Matt's own emotions. "The gas tank was leaking and I didn't even have time to think. I had to help them."
His lover's full lips twisted into a sarcastic grin. "Oh yeah, sure. Causing a scene while you did. Might as well just wear a goddamn cape if you want to advertise the fact that you've got a handful of souped up powers. From me, I should add. They come from me."
With a sigh, Vic consciously lowered his voice. This wasn't something he wanted to argue about. He wouldn't. "I know, Matty. I feel you in me every single time they flare to life. I think about you constantly. I love you--you know that."
But Matt wasn't finished, and he didn't bother to lower his voice or change his accusing tone. "What happens when the press wants to know how you did it? 'I get these powers whenever my boyfriend fucks me'--how do you think that sounds?"