by April Wilson
“How deep is it here?” Sam asks.
“It’s at least twenty feet deep, maybe a little more.”
My throat tightens as the memories come flooding back. I guess it’s inevitable. The last time I was here, I was facing possible death. I knew I could survive the fall, and I knew I could swim that river, but with my hands tied in front of me, it was anyone’s guess.
I knew Cody likely wouldn’t make it. I remember looking over at him, seeing his blank stare as he faced straight ahead, not looking down at the water. I don’t know where he went in his head, but he wasn’t mentally present on that bridge. I think he’d already checked out. Fear can do that to you.
I swallow against the hard knot in my throat, feeling my pulse pick up, along with my breathing. I exhale heavily, trying to rein in the panic and not start hyperventilating. I keep reminding myself I’m not a scared teenager anymore.
“Jesus, Sam! What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
At the sound of Jake’s incredulous voice, I whip my gaze over to Sam, who’s in the process of stripping down. His boots and socks are lying on the pavement, along with his jacket and gun holster. He pulls his T-shirt over his head and tosses it to the ground.
“What the fuck are you doing, Sam?” I say, my voice sharp.
As his gaze darts to the metal railing, my stomach drops like a stone. I’m afraid I know exactly what he’s planning. “Don’t you dare.”
He lowers the zipper on his jeans and shoves them down and off, leaving him in nothing but his black boxer briefs. “Closure,” he says, heading for the railing. “You need closure.”
“Sam, no!” Panic overtakes me, bringing back hellacious memories. Oh, hell no! Not again.
I move to intercept him before he can reach the railing, but the sudden, ear-splitting shriek of a police siren distracts me. I glance behind me to see a patrol car heading right for us, its lights flashing. Shit!
When I turn back to Sam, he’s standing on the railing, balancing like an acrobat on a four-inch wide piece of steel as he stares down at the rushing water.
He opens his arms wide and yells, “Fuck this river!”
The same two deputies we saw this morning at the diner exit their vehicle. “Freeze! Don’t you dare jump!”
Sam laughs. “Sorry, I can’t hear you!”
He flips off the cops, then leaps into the air, his arms spread wide. Mid-air, he twists to form a perfect arc as he dives toward the water. I race to the railing and look over just in time to see him curl in on himself, wrapping his arms around his knees, and hitting the water like a cannonball. He disappears beneath the dark surface of the water, and for a second, I can’t breathe. Then I shake myself out of it. “Sam!”
I reach for my left boot, intending to strip and go in after him, but Jake lays a calming hand on my shoulder, stilling me. “It’s okay.” He nods toward the opposite side of the bridge, and I race over there. We all do. And there’s Sam, twenty yards downstream, doing the breast stroke as he swims toward us, fighting against the raging current in a river that has to be cold as ice this time of year. If he doesn’t drown, he’ll surely die of hypothermia.
I shake my head, caught between fury and laughter. Laughter wins out when Sam salutes me from thirty feet below. He’s so damn full of himself, grinning like a fool. “See? It’s just a river,” he yells.
“That little prick,” I murmur, and damn if I don’t love him so much right now I can hardly stand it.
Jake laughs. “Damn. You have to admit, the guy’s got balls.”
The two deputies join us at the railing, looking over the side at Sam.
“Jesus Christ,” one of them says—Deputy Williams. He looks at me and shakes his head. “He’s crazy. Some idiot dies here every year jumping off this damn bridge.”
Sam’s teeth are chattering as he treads water, and I can tell he’s freezing his ass off. The current is strong, and he’s moving farther downstream at an alarming rate of speed.
“All right, that’s enough!” I yell, waving at him to get out of the water. I’m struggling not to laugh, because I don’t want to encourage his impetuous behavior. But God, that was pretty awesome. “Get your ass back up here!”
Jake looks amused as hell—and more than a little impressed—as he watches Sam swim to the bank. Damn. I never thought I would stand on this bridge again and laugh. And that’s why he did it. To give me something else to remember about this bridge. I’ll never forget what happened here forty years ago, but at least now I have another memory to hold onto.
I watch Sam crawl up the bank, slipping and sliding on the wet grass, and then walk up the hill to the road that leads onto the bridge.
He’s limping when he reaches us, clearly favoring his left leg, and his lips are blue. “Damn, that water’s cold,” he says, grinning at me as he shivers uncontrollably. “Why the hell didn’t you warn me?”
For a second, I just drink him in. He’s so damn fearless, I could fall on my knees. Instead, cognizant of our rapt audience, I hand Sam his clothes. “Let’s get you back to the motel to warm you up, before you catch your death.”
When Sam’s dressed, Deputy Williams hands him a slip of paper.
“What’s this?” Sam says, turning it over to read the print on the other side.
Deputy Williams grins. “It’s a ticket, you fool.” He points at a warning sign clearly posted on the bridge. “There’s a hundred dollar fine for jumping off this bridge.”
Sam laughs as he pockets the ticket. “Hell, it was worth every penny. I’d do it again, but my balls are frozen solid.”
* * *
The minute I get him back to our motel room, I march Sam straight into the bathroom and start the shower. “Take off your clothes.”
“Yes, sir,” the cocky son-of-a-bitch says, looking way too pleased with himself.
I cross my arms, trying to look stern, but what I really want to do is grab him and kiss him senseless. “You’re pretty damn proud of yourself, aren’t you?”
He nods as he yanks off his boots and socks, followed by his T-shirt. As he reaches for the fastener on his jeans, I brush his hands aside and unsnap them for him. Then I lower his zipper and tug his jeans down his long legs. I want him so badly that the need is like a knife in my gut. But first, he needs to warm up after his impromptu ice bath.
He removes his briefs and steps into the shower, groaning with pleasure when the warm water hits his ice-cold skin. I close the shower curtain partway, leaving it open just enough that I can stand there and watch him. His nipple piercings glint in the light, and his body is still flushed from the cold.
He leans his head into the spray of hot water and moans, soaking in the heat. “God this feels good. I was serious earlier, when I said my balls were frozen solid. Damn, I couldn’t even feel them.” He reaches down—the smart ass—to cup his big sac, hefting its weight. “Oh, thank God, they’re still attached.”
I laugh. “I should beat your ass for what you did. It was reckless and stupid. You could have gotten hurt.”
He looks at me, suddenly serious. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
“Why? What possessed you to do that?”
Sam shrugs as he grabs the bar of soap I brought and lathers up. “I imagined what you must have felt as a kid, standing on that bridge, looking over the railing. Wondering if those were your last minutes on Earth. Wondering if you were going to die. Hell, as a kid I dived from higher heights than that. I used to drive my mom insane. I jumped to show you that it’s just a river, nothing more. It’s not scary, it’s not the bogeyman. What happened to you and Cody was a heinous crime, a damn tragedy. And honestly, it’s a miracle you survived. I kept picturing you, a gawky teen with your hands tied. It gutted me, babe. So I jumped, to show that river it’s not the boss of us.”
He rinses off, and I hold out a towel for him as he steps out of the shower. I wrap it around him and draw him against me. He’s warm and damp in my arms, so strong and sturdy. The heat of him
soaks into my T-shirt, and the air in the bathroom is as hot and humid as a sauna. Damn. He takes my breath away.
He also pisses me off to no end, taking a risk like that. I grip his chin and make him look at me, our faces just inches apart. “Don’t you ever take a God-damned chance like that again, do you hear me? You took ten years off my life today, and I don’t have any to waste. Not if I’m going to keep up with you.”
He grins, and I don’t think he’s taking me seriously. I am serious, though, dead serious. But right now, with him in my arms, feeling his firm, muscular body against mine, all I can think about is how much he means to me. I meet his gaze head on. “I love you, Sam.”
He swallows hard, his eyes glittering, so young and cocky and full of life. “I love you, too.”
“Come with me.” I take his hand and lead him to our bed. I’m so choked with emotion right now that I’m afraid to say anything more. I’m afraid I’ll lose it. I pull the towel away from him, leaving him standing butt naked at the foot of the bed, and I drop to my knees to worship him the best way I know how.
He gasps, gripping my shoulders hard as his fingers dig into my muscles. He throws his head back with a guttural cry when I suck his semi-hard dick into my mouth. I stroke him from base to tip, reveling in how quickly he swells in my grip. I lick the swollen, smooth head, and he mutters something completely incomprehensible, which makes me smile. A burst of pre-come hits my tongue, and I groan. His fingers continue to flex on my shoulders, alternately gripping me hard, then gently, until he finally gives up and holds onto me for dear life.
I swallow him deep, taking him all the way to the back of my throat, then smack him on his bare ass, encouraging him to move. He takes my cue and begins to thrust, slowly at first, then faster and faster until he’s fucking my mouth with a fervor and exuberance that tells me we’re both just happy to be alive.
I bring his hands to my head, encouraging him to use me as he wants. Groaning, he clutches my head and holds me in place to receive his thrusts. His cock slams into my mouth, faster and deeper with each thrust, until I’m forced to relax my throat muscles and breathe shallowly through my nose.
I slip a hand between his legs to cradle his sac and find his big balls drawn up high and tight. He’s close to shooting his load, and I want him to give it to me. When he tries to pull out, I grab his ass and hold him in my mouth. With a loud cry, he throws his head back, arching his beautiful, strong neck. His hands clutch my head in desperation as he spews his load down my throat. I swallow pulse after pulse, my tongue gently stroking the underside of his throbbing cock, coaxing him, praising him.
“Oh, Jesus,” he gasps when he finally pulls out of my mouth. “God, Cooper.”
I stand, still fully dressed, and watch him shivering naked before me. He’s still warm from his shower, and after that little workout, I don’t think he’s cold. I think he’s shaken to the core. When I see the glitter of tears forming in his eyes, I know I’m right.
“Get in bed,” I tell him, as I quickly strip off my clothes. It’s only just after noon, and we have things yet to do today, but right now I don’t give a damn. We need some quiet time together, to just hold each other.
I crawl under the blankets with him, drawing him into my arms, and he lays his head on my chest. I rub my hands along his back, down to his hips and ass. He’s boneless in my arms, still reeling from the pleasure of his climax. I can feel his heart hammering against my chest.
When he rises up and reaches for the lube on the nightstand, I stop him and pull him back down to me. “No. That was for you.”
“But you didn’t—”
“That’s okay. Right now, I just want to hold you.”
When I watched Sam jump off that bridge railing, I had flashbacks of Cody going over the edge that horrific night.
It broke my heart when Cody died.
If I lost Sam, it would destroy me.
“Just rest, baby,” I tell him, stroking his back.
My chest feels tight, like it’s being squeezed in a vise. Right now, I need a tangible reminder that Sam’s okay. When he was hit by a speeding car just a few months ago, it shook me to the core watching him lying in a hospital bed connected to a half-dozen beeping monitors.
Today, I was reminded once again that he’s not immortal, even though he sometimes thinks he is.
Chapter 11
Sam
An hour into cuddle time, my belly growls like a wild beast in rutting season. How long has it been since we ate breakfast?
Cooper laughs. “Sounds like somebody’s hungry.” He slaps my ass. “Let’s get dressed, and then we’ll go grab something to eat.”
I pull on clean briefs and my best ripped jeans. If we’re going to raise hell in this town, I want to look good doing it. I dig around in my duffle bag until I locate my favorite “Beyoncé” T-shirt. It’s either wear that, or wear my I’m His T-shirt, or my Gay Men Suck tee, but Cooper would have a heart attack if I wore either of those last two out in public. “I need to hang up my clothes—they’re getting wrinkled.”
Cooper points at the closet in our room, giving me a duh look. His clothes are already hung up, de-wrinkling as we speak. He’s much better at adulting than I am, but of course he’s had many more years of experience than I have, as I often like to remind him.
As he dresses, I empty the clothes out of my bag, shake out the wrinkles as best I can, and hang them up. I brought two pairs of distressed jeans with me and a half-dozen tees and a couple muscle shirts. Depending on how long we’re going to be here, I may need to hit a laundromat. And a gym.
After Cooper finishes in the bathroom, he heads to Jake’s room to coordinate our plans for the rest of the day. I put on deodorant and brush my teeth and hair.
I don’t know what the plans are for the afternoon, but as long as it involves food, I’m good. Maybe we can do something fun tonight. I wonder if there’s a decent nightclub in this small town. I seriously doubt I could talk Cooper into dancing, but I know he’d play pool or shoot darts with me. Jake too.
When I come out of the bathroom, the adjoining door between our two rooms is open. I walk through to Jake’s room.
“Whoa.” I give a long, low whistle at the sight of Jake’s high-tech surveillance center, which he has set up on a small round table. He’s got three laptops running video footage. On each screen is a live stream from one of the three cameras he’s got positioned: the two cameras outside—one in front of the building, and one in back—plus a camera in his room to protect the equipment while we’re out.
Jake pockets his wallet and grabs his keys. “So, what’s the plan, guys?”
“I’d like to check in briefly with Jenny Murphy,” Cooper says. “She might know what’s happening with the investigations into Stevens and Monroe. After that, we should grab some dinner.”
Jake opens the door to his room. “Sounds good.”
But first, a side trip. Cooper takes the keys and gets behind the driver’s seat. Jake sits up front, riding shotgun, and that leaves me in the back seat.
“Where are we going?” I ask, sitting forward and leaning over the back of Cooper’s seat. I brush my thumb across the back of his neck and smile when he shivers.
“Since I’m here, I’d like to drive by the house I grew up in.”
I lay my hand on his shoulder. “More closure?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
I remember Cooper telling me that his mom passed away eight years ago. His father, who has Alzheimer’s, lives in an assisted living facility at the edge of town. Their family home was sold years ago to help pay for his father’s medical expenses.
Cooper drives for about ten minutes, heading out of the town limits and into the open countryside. We drive for a while on a long, two-lane rural road where we pass large farms on both sides of the road, fenced-in pastures, a few herds of cattle and horses.
He finally slows the vehicle and pulls over to the shoulder, parking in the gravel beside a drainage ditch. We’re pa
rked in front of an older single-story house with white clapboard siding. The house is pretty far back from the road, at the end of a long, tree-lined gravel lane. Even from here, we can see a man outside washing his pick-up truck, and two young boys tossing a ball for their dog. Behind the house, it’s nothing but woods as far as the eye can see.
“This is where you grew up?” I say.
He nods, staring at the house. “It seemed a lot bigger when I was a kid.”
“Is he nearby? Your dad?”
Cooper nods. “It’s about fifteen minutes from here.”
“Do you want to go see him?”
“No.”
“Cooper—”
“I said no.”
I lay my arm over his shoulder, my hand resting over his heart. “This may be the last time you’ll get to see your dad. I think you should go. Just see him.”
“He probably won’t even know me.”
“That’s okay. What matters is that you know him. You should see him, while you still have a chance. You never got to see your mom again. You never got to say good-bye to her. Don’t miss that opportunity with your dad.”
Cooper sighs heavily as he starts the engine. Then he pulls out onto the rural lane and heads back toward town. I think he’s going to ignore my suggestion completely, but suddenly he pulls into the parking lot of a sprawling, one-story resident center. Sweetwater Manor, according to the sign out front.
“This is a bad idea,” he says, parking and shutting off the engine. He hands the keys to Jake. “Wait here. I won’t be long.”
“I’m coming with you,” I say, hopping out of the vehicle.
Cooper just shrugs, and I take that as an invitation to join him.
We stop in the front office, and Cooper explains who he is, and asks to see his father. The woman who runs the facility—Sherry Miller, the director—recognizes him, and they shake hands.
“He can get pretty agitated, Danny,” the woman says, leading us down a hallway past a secured check point. “The facility is secured so that our residents don’t go wandering around and get lost.”