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The heavy clouds lit, as a bolt of lightning forked to earth, followed immediately by a crack of thunder, which reverberated in the heavy air. "Yeow!" Jonah shouted, as he leapt across a puddle with arms held wide. "That was close! So much for not getting wet," he laughed in exhilaration, as he ran down the gravel road leading from the greenhouses toward town. 'I don't know why I'm running; I'm already soaked to the skin. If I wanted to get someplace before the rain set in, I should'a headed over to Mama and Daniel's, but I wanna be home with the guys.' He shouted, as he jumped another puddle, waving his arms, simply from the joy he felt as he ran through the wind, rain, and noise of the thunderstorm. Some folks in a passing car slowed, and shouted, asking if he wanted a ride. Never breaking stride, he shook his head, and motioned them on, with a wave of a hand. Riverton's main street stood abandoned, as he left the dense underbrush and gravel road behind. Sheets of wind-driven rain blew across the pavement, turning the street into a large puddle, which Jonah splashed through with an exultant laugh. The sound of thunder rolled over him, and, with it, a renewed torrent of rain. 'Owen's home!' The light shining from the large second story window of the apartment could mean nothing else. Jonah slid to a stop in front of the apartment building, suddenly shivering, as a gust of wind and rain lashed him. He fumbled in his pocket for the key card, then pushed the door open and rushed inside, hurriedly closing the heavy door behind him, as another blast of wind-driven rain slammed into the front of the building. 'Geez, I feel like a wet dog,' he thought, as he shook his sodden hair out of his eyes. 'Maybe, running home through the rain, wasn't such a good idea. My friggin' shoes squish with each step, and I'm dripping on the new carpet. Good thing Lucas' isn't here to see,' he thought, as he secured the door. "Hello!" his brother called from upstairs. "Who just blew in?" "Just me," Jonah called, as he toed-off his sneakers, leaving them beside the door, then climbed the steps, two at a time. "See y'in a minute!" he called, as he passed the open door to the apartment, waving to Owen who was lounging on the sofa, in front of a fire. "I'm gonna dry off." 'Oh, how I'd like to snuggle with him in front of the fire.' Jonah quickly peeled off his saturated clothes and tossed them into the bathroom sink, to be tended to later, then stepped into the shower and scrubbed away the cold and grime from the greenhouse. 'If it was only sweat, I'd not bother to shower,' he thought. 'Owen loves my sweaty pits.' * * * Riley's phone chirped. He guiltily glanced at an airport employee, who had already instructed boarding passengers to turn off all electronic equipment. "It's Nathan!" he said, in surprise, catching Bailey's eye. "Nathan! Hi!" he answered, speaking quickly. "I can't talk but a moment. We're about ready to get on the plane, and there's an airport employee 'bout ready to get her drawers in a wad." Riley suddenly quieted, his eyes widening as his brother spoke. "What? What sort of blow up?" Bailey looked up, at the words, and Riley's tone of voice. "You're not going to Germany?" There was a brief pause, while Riley listened to his brother. "What about Dad?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bailey who seemed to be explaining the importance of the call to the uniform-clad employee. Bailey flashed his best smile, and promised Riley would finish his call quickly. The security person retreated, with a nod of agreement, followed by a glance over her shoulder. "Of course I'll not go. If you and Dad aren't going to be there, I certainly don't want to be. Mother was actually screaming? For REAL?" Bailey stepped close, wearing a look of concern, which turned into alarm, as Riley shouted, "What?! The FBI?" The outburst caused Bailey to flinch, and drew covert looks from others waiting in line to board the plane. Riley wiped a hand over his brow. "Geez . . . this is too much to handle. I don't know what to think. You're not pulling my leg, are you? "Of course you're welcome to visit." Bailey nodded agreement. "Oh . . . geez . . . of course! I need to tell you where I live." Riley told his brother which city to which he should buy a ticket. He was reluctant to do even that, but realized he had to, if his brother was to visit. "Look, Nathan. No one, I mean no one, needs to know the information I just gave you. Don't tell anyone where you're heading . . . not even Father. I told him my reasons, when I left home. He's never asked where I live, so there's no reason for him to know now. If he's wanting you out of town, that's reason enough for me to ask you to keep it quiet. Just buy a ticket and keep your mouth shut. You can tell him I told you what to do. He'll understand. Hey, look, I've gotta turn off my phone. We're 'bout ready to board. We'll be home before you, so just give me a call when you arrive, and we'll pick you up. I love you, little brother." Riley turned his phone off, then held it up and pointed to it, mouthing the word 'thanks' to the employee watching him. The worker nodded, satisfied, as Riley turned to Bailey and blew out a breath. "Geez, Gen'rl, m'poor brother sounds as if he's been drug through a knot hole backward." * * * "Out'a my way, you!" Elizabeth shoved someone aside, as she, her daughter, oldest son, and his wife, plowed through the airport crowd, leaving startled and upset people in their wake. "Mother!" Lisa complained. "Where are you going? The gate is back there!" Elizabeth abruptly stopped and turned, her eyes filled with a seething anger neither of her children had ever seen. "Don't you talk to me," she hissed, raking her companions with a withering glance. "Don't any of you say a fuckin' word! You . . . none of you . . . have the slightest clue what has happened, or what that damned bastard's meddling will cause." She turned a withering look on a nearby group of people. "Why don't you bastards mind your own fuckin' business!" As the people moved away, muttering, she pierced her son, Kirby, with an intense look. "Do you know when this started, or why?" She thought a moment, then added, "Or who caused it?" Before he could answer, she continued. "I'd be willing to bet it was either Riley or Nathan. Neither of 'em are worth a fuckin' hill of beans." "Were you really planning to have them killed?" Lisa asked, in a small voice, wondering at her own safety. "What's it to you? I've hated those two since the moment I knew I was pregnant with 'em. My mother died, having an abortion. Her death has haunted me, ever since. If I'd not been so timid, I'd be childless, and, believe me, a lot happier. Extra baggage . . . that's all kids are . . . extra baggage . . . always demanding things! I hate 'em all." Elizabeth barked a laugh. "I shoulda had my tubes tied, but that would have left a scar. I couldn't take those damned birth control pills, 'cause they make a person all bloated and fat." Her eyes took on a steely glint. "Kids," she snarled. "But . . ." Lisa began. "Cut the crap and keep your mouth shut!" Elizabeth hissed, as she reached an imperious hand toward Kirby, demanding his cell phone. The moment he handed it to her, she began angrily punching numbers, mumbling under her breath. "I hate all my offspring." She punched the last number and held the phone to her ear, impatiently tapping a foot as she waited for an answer. "I'm either havin' to send big bucks every month to keep people quiet, or else put up with a hoard of mindless troublemakers. "Damn that man to the hottest level of hell," she muttered. "His life is forfeit," she vowed. "Divorce! Indeed! The fucker doesn't have the nuts to stand against me. Someone is prodding him. Gustav will handle things. Dependable, that's Gustav . . . as long as he gets the money. All I know is I want to get rid of the lot of 'em," she mumbled, turning away from her daughter-in-law's trembling-lipped expression, in disgust. 'It must be Riley, or Riley and Nathan. They're nothing but pests . . . vermin . . . just like their father.' "Oh, shut up!" she hissed at her daughter, who was clinging to her brother, whimpering. "GUSTAV!" she shouted into the phone, then paused, as her family's longtime attorney, and closest advisor, went on the offensive. "Shut the fuck up!" she screamed, causing silence to spread in a widening circle of the crowded airport waiting area. Gustav Winton merely laughed at her outburst. "We've stuck by you, Liz," he hissed, knowing how much the woman detested anyone using her abbreviated name. "We've stuck by you, saving your reputation, then handled things when your father's career went down the tubes. We handled everything when you and your dear husband were separated, and we've continued to handle the repercussions of your actions through all these years. And, look what you and your fuckin' husband have done to us! We'll never recover from all this . . . never! And it's all because of you!" He lowered his voice. "The cops and FBI are here . . . Liz. They've frozen everyone's assets, the company's, mine, yours, Kirby's, Lisa's, your husband's. Give 'em enough time to snoop around and they'll find everything! And, believe me, Little Lady, if I go down, I'm sure as shit gonna take you with me. You're not gonna get out of this one, Missy Fancy Pants. No one's gonna save you this time. If the FBI doesn't get you, I will." His asthmatic laugh sent chills up and down Elizabeth's spine. "We both know I don't make idle threats . . . don't we . . . Liz? "You might be able to run, but you'll always be looking over your shoulder, wondering who's going to get you first . . . the FBI . . . or me. You'll have no money, Liz. Imagine it! You'll be fuckin' destitute!" He barked a laugh. "I love it! If push comes to shove, I'll tell 'em where you've hidden every fuckin' penny, as well as every crime you've ever committed." Gustav laughed, an ugly sounding rasping gurgle. "Your life is about to get very interesting, Missy. You started your life as a slut, Liz, and that's all you've ever been . . . a slut whom everyone laughs at." With those words, he cut the connection, leaving Elizabeth Pruitt breathless with rage. 'The FBI here?' she seethed, cursing Franklin, and Nathan . . . and, by extension, Riley. She allowed Kirby to hustle her onto the plane, ignoring the dirty looks she received from the other passengers, as she brushed past. 'I should have taken the attorney's advice and gotten rid of those two, years ago. Two out of three. That'd be a start. The only one worth having around is Kirby. He knows where his priorities lie. Even so, he can't think for himself.' She snorted, grinding her teeth together. 'I thought I had 'em all trained to only do as I say. Now . . . this.' 'Franklin'll soon realize he can't do anything without me around. He needs me to tell him what to think. He's nothing without me. Surely he can be made to realize that. He's nothing.' * * * "Mother!" Riley's muttered word was more curse than anything else. From where he sat, lounging in a first class airline seat, he rolled his head to the side and looked at his partner with a grim expression, as Bailey struggled to put his thoughts into words. "Um," Bailey began. He hesitated, moistened his lips, then plunged on. "Why would your father send your brother away? Surely your mother wouldn't take out her anger on him . . . would she?" Bailey added, when he saw Riley's expression. Bailey shook his head. "This is just too strange. I mean, even for me. What is this woman? You'd think she ranks right down there with Jack the Ripper, or that chainsaw massacre guy." Bailey shuddered. "Surely . . .?" Riley grinned. "You're a sweetheart, through n'through. M'mother, on the other hand, can be abrasive enough to start a war, single-handedly . . . in a place where both sides started off liking one another. In nothing flat, she could make them want to tear at one another's throats, while she remains on the sidelines, excited by the mischief she'd caused. "You have to understand, Mother is a control freak. I mean really. In the same breath, she'll tell you precisely what you are to do, then turn around and bitch that you can't think for yourself. She's never been happy with me. I don't fit in, meaning I don't do exactly as she wishes. Nathan, my younger brother, is the same. In fact, he stands up to her more'n I ever had the nerve to do." Riley lowered his voice. "I'm afraid of her, Bailey. I mean afraid. It's more than just not getting along. I don't feel . . . safe. If Father has pushed her to the breaking point, there's no telling what she might do. I've never felt safe. Now, I feel like a target. For Father to send Nathan away, says to me, that my instincts to play it safe, are the right ones." Bailey's brows rose, but, before he could say anything more, Riley continued speaking. "She's one of those more-than-proper women, who is VERY taken with one's pedigree. That's why she's so pleased to be going to Germany. My sister is getting married to some German political big shot guy, whose family, she never ceases to mention, was related to a German king, or something . . . way back. Whether what she claims is true or not, doesn't matter. She creates her own reality, as she goes. According to m'brother, she's hoping the German guy owns a castle." Riley shook his head hopelessly. "My mother. What a winner. "My older brother and sister both suck up to the woman. My father tries to walk a fine line. He doesn't want to annoy Mother, who, like I said, can make everyone's life miserable, if she doesn't get her way. Now, Nathan tells me that the marriage is on the rocks, and, for pity's sake, the FBI is involved, for some reason. I can't figure out what they would have to do with things, though with Mother involved, I guess I shouldn't be surprised." Bailey stared into the distance, absently shaking his head, as a flight attendant offered him a beverage. "You're right. Where does the Federal Bureau of Investigation fit into all this? Their presence indicates there is something much more involved, than just a family blowup. They would normally only get concerned if something terrible was going on . . . embezzlement, transporting stolen property across state lines . . . things like that. You can't be imagining your mother . . .?" Bailey's voice trailed off, when Riley's crooked smile told him that was precisely what he thought. "All I really know is what Nathan told me. Mother and Dad had some sort of major fight; Dad's wanting a divorce; m'mother, and older brother and sister, ran from the house, dragging my clueless sister-in-law with them, when they heard about the FBI. The whole bunch of 'em are now, presumably, on their way to Germany." He rested his hand on top of Bailey's. "Oh . . . Gen'rl," he sighed. "I am friggin' scared. Things have suddenly gotten way complicated, and I'm wishin' you n'I were back in Riverton. Y'know? I feel so . . . vulnerable. That's why I've kept my whereabouts secret from everyone. If she cared where I've been going to school, it would have gotten more difficult, but she doesn't care . . . about anything but herself. M'father knows how I feel. When I left home, he n'I had a long talk and I told him what I wanted to do. So, just to keep him from saying something accidentally, even he doesn't know where I've gone to school, or where I live. Until a little while ago, the same has been true of Nathan. I feel, that by telling him where I live, I've entrusted him with my life. Maybe I'm being overdramatic, but . . . No one knows anything. Call me paranoid, but I don't trust her. If she had half-a-chance, she'd kill me just to show me she could." * * * Nathan hugged his father, struck by the fact that they were the same height. 'Funny,' he thought. 'Growing up, I've always had to look up at him.' He grinned, as he held the older man. 'Now, when I don't have to, I find that I look up to him, for different reasons.' "I love you, Dad," he murmured. "You are the person Riley and I have always modeled ourselves after . . . the most important person in our life." He gave his father a final squeeze, then backed off, surprised to see his father's misty eyes. "Thanks, Nathan . . . for . . . um, expressing your thoughts. Until a few moments ago, I wasn't feeling very good about much of anything. Now," his mouth twisted into a grin. "Now, I know precisely what and for whom I'm working." He quickly embraced his son, then backed away, clearing his throat, and becoming businesslike. In the background, Rolf, Franklin's Personal Secretary, finished what he was doing and left the room. "He's having a heart-to-heart, with Nathan," Rolf said, to Elsie, who was approaching the door with Mister Pruitt's afternoon coffee. "Let's wait for a bit before interrupting." Elsie nodded, and left, saying she'd return later. Nathan watched as Rolf left the room. The man left the door ajar, to allow him to hear when Franklin called. During the few moments it took his father to calm his emotions, Nathan thought of Riley's warning, that no one should know where Nathan was headed. 'I'd better not even let Dad know that I'm going to be with him. He doesn't need to know.' "Leaving you here, all by yourself, makes me feel like I'm runnin' away at a time when you need me. Are you sure there's nothing I can do here?" Franklin shook his head and cleared his throat. "No, with our accounts frozen, there's not going to be much happening. I'll feel better though, knowing that you're . . . where no one can easily find you. Since your mother believed you would be with her, I can't imagine she had plans . . . for you, here. But, the woman has layers of plans within plans, and, even though she's in Germany, those slime-bag attorney-friends of hers will still be here, and no tellin' what sort of instructions they've been given, since she and the other ones got to the airport. I'm feeling relatively safe. After all, she needs me as a continuing source of money. You and Riley . . ." Franklin shook his head, audibly swallowed, then plunged on. "I believe she thinks of you two as expendable." "Is all this fear about our safety something new?" Franklin bowed his head and nodded. "You and I both know what she thinks of you and your brother. During some of the new attorney's investigations, they came to believe that her feelings are much . . . stronger . . . than any of us realized. They advised caution. I'm paying those boys well to give me their considered opinions. It wouldn't be wise of me to ignore something they tell me, especially when it concerns you and Riley." "Go get 'em, Dad," Nathan murmured. "One thing, though?" Franklin turned to his son, his brows rising inquisitively. "Don't be so busy making sure Riley n'I are safe, that you forget to take care of yourself. If something should happen to you, both he and I will be...very pissed." The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "And, you know what I'm like when I'm pissed. Just imagine what it'll be like if I'm very pissed. 'Nuff said?" Franklin nodded a single decisive movement of agreement. "Then I shall do my utmost to prevent that from happening." "Good," Nathan murmured, fighting back a tightening of his throat. "I love you, Nathan," his father said. "Until I have an opportunity to tell your brother the same thing, please give him my love." * * * Jonah teased a nipple to firmness, as he stood in the shadows of the stair landing, and watched his brother through the open door of the apartment. The room was dark, except for the dancing light of the fire, which caressed Owen's shoulders and turned his blond hair golden. He was sprawled on the sofa, one leg stretched toward the fire, the other dangling over one of the sofa's arms, his bare foot moving in time to the sounds of soft jazz playing in the background, a counterpoint to the thrumming of rain against the window. 'He's always moving,' Jonah mused. 'He speaks as much with his hands as his voice, making wide gestures, accompanied by a flashing grin or a sparkle of his grey eyes.' Jonah's smile faded, as he thought back to how their father would criticize Owen for his laughter, his constant movement, his good spirits . . . everything. "Sit still!" Jonathan would order. "And, be quiet! You like hearing your voice a lot more than the rest of us do." Jonah recalled the hurt expression which would descend over Owen, after one of their father's unfeeling comments. Owen would do his best to sit still, with very little success. Their father would look up, and Owen would immediately cease all movement, looking miserable. The moment the older man looked away, though, Owen would begin moving. It wasn't much, a small rhythmic movement of his fingers, or a tapping of a foot, a flash of a grin, or the constant movement of his eyes. Owen couldn't help himself. He had to move. Whenever he and Jonah would be away from the house, he would run, waving his arms wide, as he threw his head back, and spun in a circle, laughing all the while. "I can't stop!" he'd shout. "Life's just so good; I wanna drink it all in. I wanna see it all, and do it all! "Can't you feel it?" he asked, once, as he stopped in the middle of the gravel road and extended his arms to his sides, tilting his face up to the sun, filtering through the leaves of the overhanging branches. "Life! It's all around, just wanting us to enjoy it!" Owen looked toward the window, as lightning flashed and thunder shook the building. When the rumbling faded, he stretched and yawned. Jonah stepped further back into the shadows, as his brother heaved himself off the soft cushions and knelt to place two more logs onto the fire, sending a shower of sparks spiraling upward, like so many fireflies. His pale blue bikini-style underwear hugged his narrow hips, cupped his genitals, and stretched across the mounds of his buttocks. 'A boy in the body of a man,' Jonah thought to himself, grinning when his brother flopped back onto the sofa. Owen stretched his legs out in front him, crossing them at the ankles, and extended his arms to both sides, along the sofa's back, all while his fingers absently kept time with the music playing in the background. 'You'd never know, just by lookin' at him, what Pops put him through. 'Parts of him grew up. Those are the parts most people see . . . the man who is able to inspire others to overcome obstacles, the man who unconsciously gathers friends about him, the man whose sheer sense of presence screams, "Look at me! I'm a good guy!" What people don't see is the part of Owen which has remained a child . . . the boy who is insecure, who is easily hurt, and who is desperately seeking people to tell him he is loved.' Jonah shook his head, wondering how the abuse he suffered alongside Owen, had changed him.
He watched for a few moments more, then leaned against the wall, out of sight. 'Am I doin' the right thing, by wanting to be intimate with Owen? I don't want to hurt Corey, or Sam, or Lucas, or especially Owen. If Owen and I have sex, maybe I will. 'Owen, by his behavior, has pretty much told me that he and I getting together would be great with him. A chance has just never happened. Now it has, and I'm all jittery, havin' second thoughts.' Jonah leaned his head back against the wall and deeply sighed, trying to calm both his racing heart, and his thoughts. 'Face it, Jonah,' he told himself, in a stern voice. 'What you really want is everything. You love Corey, as a lover, and you don't want to hurt him, but you also want Owen. You, somehow, want life to return to what it was like before he left for school, when it was just the two of you.' He shook his head. 'That's not right, either. There's no way I'd want to go back to those times, with Pops ranting and raving, and beating on Owen. I don't know if what I want is even possible. I want Corey, and Owen.' He licked his lips, then returned to watching his brother, in silence. After a few minutes he gently knocked on the door frame. Owen turned, his face blossoming into a smile, which seemed to light the room. "Hey! How's my favorite brother?" he teased, motioning Jonah into the room. "I was wondering if you'd fallen asleep over there." He held out an arm. "D'ya have time to join me, or are you just plannin' on teasing me by standing there naked n'all?" The Oriental rug was thick beneath Jonah's bare feet, as he crossed the room. He knelt on one knee at the edge of a sofa cushion, and leaned into his brother's embrace. "Have I told you lately how much I love you?" he murmured, close to Owen's ear, as he nuzzled the hair on the side of his brother's head. He inhaled the clean scent, and kissed from earlobe to collarbone, welcoming the feel of Owen's strong hands, as they rubbed across his back and bare buttocks. "Mmmm," Owen murmured, as he met his brother's tongue with an open mouth. "And . . . I . . . love . . . you," he said, playfully giving Jonah a kiss between each word. He tilted his head back and sighed, as Jonah kissed a line down his neck, over his chest, to the pit of an arm. Every kiss seemed to burn like scorching little footprints, each combining to set his body on fire. "Ummm, you smell good." Jonah met his brother's smiling eyes with a grin. 'Those freckles on his nose make him look younger than he is,' Jonah mused, as he returned to licking the damp hair of an armpit, humming with pleasure. 'We both like a guy's pits,' he grinned. The smell . . . the taste of his brother, caused his penis to throb. He inhaled deeply, as he nuzzled the hair, then licked a broad swath over the muscles of Owen's smooth chest, and began to tease one of the small nipples with the tip of his tongue. "And, you taste great!" Even before he knew what sex was, being near Owen had always caused Jonah to feel something . . . wonderful. Owen was the person who was unfailingly there for him, whenever he needed it. Even so, Jonah felt a difference between them. 'I'm stronger than my brother,' he remembered thinking, the realization coming at a young age, along with the knowledge that there are different kinds of strength. He helps me, and I help him. Together we can do what neither of us could do alone. Without him, I am less than half of what I am with him.' Jonah remembered lying awake throughout the night, when he'd first had that revelation. His brother lay at his side, each slow breath a caress on Jonah's bare shoulder. 'Is this what it means to be in love?' he wondered. Being young, he never imagined what his life would be like without his brother's presence. Then, one day, Owen left for school, and Jonah found himself lost. There was no one to share his life with . . . other than Sam, who was experiencing his own pain at Owen's absence. 'Sam n'I turned to one another for comfort. Love brought us together. The only thing was, it wasn't love for one another, it was love for Owen. When Owen returned, the need for Sam and me to be together was gone.' "You are so awesome," Owen murmured, when they separated from a lengthy kiss. He watched as Jonah pushed away from the sofa and stood, his heavy erection throbbing with each beat of his heart. "Seein' you starkers, like this, drives me nuts," Owen groaned, as he cupped the bulging pouch of his underwear. "I'm not even nekkid, and I feel like my dick's 'bout to burst." "So . . . y'like what you see?" Jonah asked, in a playful voice. He thrust his hips forward, grasping the base of his erection, causing the head to swell. Owen mutely nodded, entranced, his eyes flicking between his brother's face and the erection. "If you want it," Jonah murmured, "it's yours. I'm yours." Owen quickly stood, peeled off the briefs, and tossed them aside. "There!" he smiled impishly, as he flopped back onto the sofa. "Way better. This is the way a man ought'a live . . . nekkid!" He scooted forward, then leaned back, and propped his heels on the edge of the cushion. "Ohhhhhh," Jonah moaned, on an unsteady breath, as he watched Owen hold his erection away from his body in a silent invitation, his eyes never leaving his brother's. "Does this give you any ideas?" Owen grinned, as he rubbed a fingertip over the head of his cock. Jonah licked his lips, dropped to his knees, and quickly engulfed his brother's cock. He licked up and down the underside; then, as Owen pulled his knees back to his shoulders, inviting further exploration, he began to tongue his brother's exposed butthole. "Oh, yesss," Owen exhaled, lovingly running his fingers through his brother's hair. "That's it, lover," he murmured. "Is that what I am?" Jonah asked, in a low voice, as sat back on his heels and looked into his brother's grey eyes. He traced his fingertips over the mounds and valleys of his brother's chest and belly, noting the heartbeat and rapid rise and fall of his chest. Owen's grey eyes clouded. He looked away, as if organizing this thoughts, then took a hesitant breath, his eyes seeking his brother's. "Oh, Jonah," his voice caught. "I don't know how to say what I feel about you, without making it sound like I don't love Sammy n'Lucas. Understand?" he managed, in a small voice. "I love you. That's all I can say." He rested a hand on top of his brother's. "You're not askin' me to make a choice, are you?" His grey eyes searched his brother's. "I love you more than a brother, but Sammy and Lucas, they're my lovers. They are my partners." He paused. "There's a difference between you'n them." Jonah bowed his head, and touched his brother's mouth with the tips of his fingers. "Yes, I know," he murmured. "One thing you should know though." There was a long emotion-laden pause. "I'm yours, big brother. I always have been . . . I always will be." "And . . . I'm yours," Owen murmured, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "Always." 'Enough talking,' Jonah told himself. 'I've waited my whole life to be with him, like this, and what do I do? Talk!' Jonah cupped his brother's scrotum, feeling the testicles shift beneath the smooth skin, as Owen squirmed, both in pleasure, and expectation. Jonah smiled, as he ran his fingers up and down the length of the erection which lay against his brother's belly, its head resting in a small, sticky pool of pre-cum. He swiped a finger over the end, gathering up a large dollop of the clear liquid. "Fuck me," Owen whimpered, reaching between his legs to toy with his own hole. "I need to have you in me." "Shhhh," Jonah wiped the slimy fingertip over Owen's lips. "Taste your own stuff," he murmured, leaving a shiny-wet trail over his brother's slightly parted mouth. Owen licked his lips and moaned, squirming with pleasure, as Jonah teased the already-erect nipples, first with his fingers, then with his tongue. "C'monnnn." Owen's whimpers were becoming insistent. "Fuck me. Shoot in me," he said, as his cock squeezed out another thick drop of pre-cum. "I wanna feel your dick as it pumps your sperm into me." He raised his head, catching his brother's eyes. "NOW!" he said, in a forceful voice, no longer whimpering, but taking charge. "Do it now. I'm ready to shoot, just thinking about you in me. Now!" He twisted free, slid onto the rug, and drew his knees back to his shoulders. "Got any ideas?" he murmured, reaching for his own hole. "Or, do I have to draw you a picture?" "No, no pictures," Jonah grinned, a moment before he buried his face between his brother's spread cheeks. "I think I can figure out what to do." * * * The pickup splashed as it went through a puddle. "Geez, they sure could use a couple streetlights out here. Serves me right, for deciding to leave the highway and take a shortcut down this ol' pothole-infested road," Corey grumbled. "Drivin' through the pitch-black countryside's bad enough when it's not raining." No sooner had he wished for a bit of light, than two threads of lightning sizzled to earth, illuminating both the clouds and fields. "Okay! Okay!" he shouted, his eyes wide, as he gripped the steering wheel, and leaned forward nervously, trying to peer into the darkness. A second strobe-like light forked its way to the fields, silhouetting a stand of nearby trees, which whipped in the wind. The brilliant flash was followed, immediately, by a clap of thunder, which seemed to rock the pick up. "Whoa, boy. I don't like this one bit," he grumbled, the sound of his voice making him feel less alone. "I'll take the darkness over that, any day! Sheesh! That was friggin' close! 'Bout scared the beejeebers out'a me. "Go slower, ol' boy," he warned himself. "Y'don't wanna be wrecking Lucas' pick up. He's barely had a chance to drive it yet. There's no need to go fast. It doesn't matter what time you get home, Jonah and the guys'll be there . . . in their nice . . . warm . . . beds. Hell, if I were home alone, I'd wanna crawl in bed with someone." He angrily shook his head, doing his best to banish the thought of Jonah's warmth next to him. "I don't like this cross-country traveling one bit! It is my belief that if something is more'n a ten minute drive away, it is too damned far!" He flinched away from another brilliant flash, and plunged through a puddle, sending a sheet of muddy water onto the windshield. "Yo-Mama! Sort'a feels like ridin' a bucking horse, or bein' in ol' Bessie!" The heavy rain washed enough of the mud away for him to see the next puddle in time to ease the truck through the water. 'If these puddles get any deeper, I'm gonna be stuck; then I'm gonna be royally pissed.' A strong gust of wind caused the truck to shake, and the rain to hammer against the driver's window. "I should not be out in this," he muttered. "I mean, I've experienced heavy rain and wind, but sheesh, this just ain't normal! All I need is for a tree to blow over on top of me." He slowed even further. "Or worse yet . . . a tornado, suckin' me and Lucas' new truck up into the air and dropping us in the next county. Geez, I've heard of cows bein' sucked up, never to be seen again. Cows . . . pickup trucks . . . There isn't that much of a difference, at least as far as a tornado is concerned." He nervously scanned the landscape in front of him, wondering if a tornado might suddenly materialize, then glanced uneasily, from side to side, thinking of every rainy night horror movie he'd ever seen. "Oh, geez. This is no fun," he muttered, as he snuck a look to make sure the cab's doors were locked, and that nothing might be crouching in the bed of the pickup, ready to jump him, and suck the blood from his body, or something equally gruesome. "If somethin' jumps me, I'm taking off, and to hell with the puddles, or Lucas' pick up!" To make himself feel better he bellowed. "JONAH! Where are you when I need you?" * * * Sam stood next to his mother, watching the rain from the protection of the home's deep porch. Dog sat at his feet, whining at each clap of thunder. Cat had, long ago, retreated into the house, and was, no doubt, cowering beneath the bed in Sam's old room. "At least the wind seems to have stopped," he said, putting an arm around his mother's waist. "I think I'll take your advice though, and hang around a bit. Maybe the rain'll ease-up and I can jog home without getting too wet." He glanced toward his mother. "Y'doing okay, Mom? I mean, really?" Sara Bridgers grinned wearily. "Yeah. I'm a bit worn out, is all. Now that Henry's up and around more, and with you and Owen coming by to help out, I'm able to relax. Your father tries to make things easier on me, but he's still pretty weak." She heaved a sigh, and took comfort in her son's nearness and his arm around her waist. "It's been a rough year, Sam. You've been a good son, lookin' out after your father n'me, and takin' care of the place while we were away, for all those months. We couldn't ask for better. All this has been rough on you, too, hasn't it . . . combined with Jonah, Owen, and Lucas, n'all, I mean." She studied her dark-haired son, in the light coming through the living room screen door. "Are you doin' okay? I mean, truly? Are you happy?" she asked, as she melted against her son, welcoming his strength. Sam tilted his head back and barked a sharp laugh. "Happy does not begin to describe what I feel, Mom. I'm living with a couple guys who love me, and whom I love. I've got a great job, working for Lucas' company. I'm going to school. Owen's finally got that library to keep him happy. Lucas has got more irons in the fire than he knows what to do with, and, most important of all, you and Dad are back in Riverton, and Dad's doin' better." Sam sobered. "He n'I have had some rough spots in the past. I hope . . . things . . . with Owen n'Lucas, n'me, aren't botherin' either him or you." "If you're happy, sweetie, we're happy." Sara stood on tip toes and kissed her son's smooth cheek. "I didn't really need to ask if you were happy. You've always carried your feelings on your shoulders. I just needed to hear you say it. Seein' you around the house, smilin' and laughing, makes your father's and my heart glad. It hurt us so, watching you in pain. You never were a moody child. Then, as you got older and began hanging around Owen, things changed. "I know now, you were sharing the pain he felt, 'cause of his father n'all, but, at the time, Henry and I didn't know what to think. Your father and I feared those emotions of yours would overwhelm you. We knew you were holdin' back, not tellin' us about stuff because you were afraid we'd shun you, and we hated that we might have done or said something which would make you think that. But . . . there was nothin' the two of us could do. You had to realize you could trust us with the news about you'n Owen. Once you did that, things smoothed out. You got a load off your mind, and Henry and I were relieved, because you weren't mopin' around all the time. I was afraid you'd make yourself sick, or something." She grinned, and gently pinched his waist. "After all, you've hardly got any meat on your bones." "Mom!" Sam jumped, in surprise. "I've got plenty of . . . ," he briefly hesitated, glad neither Lucas or Owen were nearby, "I've got plenty of meat." * * * 'I wonder if everyone got back home okay,' Corey wondered, pleased the rain seemed to have slackened, and the wind was no longer rocking the truck. The thunder and lightning continued, though both seemed to be moving away. 'It was great seein' Lucas' and Bailey's folks.' He shook his head, recalling Lucas' mother. 'That Olivia . . . she's a real character. She was jumpin' up and down, hootin' and hollering with excitement, louder'n almost anyone, when ol' Bailey unveiled that library.' Corey laughed, aloud. 'If Bea had been just a little slower running up onto the library's porch, she would have found ol' Olivia giving Owen a hug first. It's almost as if he has two mothers.' The thought caused the smile to fade from Corey's face. 'Owen's got two . . . and me . . . what have I got?' Something Jonah said stuck in his mind. 'Have I been fair to them? Jonah hasn't come out and said it, but he doesn't seem to think so.' Corey's mind, as always, seemed to shut down, rejecting the thought of his parents with the greased ease of a bad habit. 'They hurt me!' he wanted to scream. 'Still . . .' He took a deep breath, consciously relaxing his grip on the steering wheel. 'Their lives have never been easy. Wrestling a livin' out of the West Virginia mountains has always been a dangerous job.' Corey's father had survived. There'd been some close calls . . . but, he'd survived. One of Corey's brothers, though, had not . . . killed, along with seven other men, in a coal mine tunnel collapse . . . one in which Corey's father, Ben, the crew's supervisor, escaped with nothing more than a few scratches. Ben Hatfield heard his son's panicked call for help, then nothing. It was more than a year, after the loss of his brother, before his father returned to the mines. "His last words, were 'Dad! Help!'" Ben would repeat, over and over, before a tear would leave a glistening streak down a cheek, and his hands would grip the arm of the chair, which he seemed never to leave. Corey remembered his mother crying, as she watched her husband leave the house, on the day he returned to the mines, resolutely joining the other men who were walking past. The men quietly shook Ben's hand, conveying their understanding, and their support. His older brother Jacob's death had meant little to Corey, who was a child at the time of the accident. Only wisps of childhood memory remained. 'Jacob's dyin' had to have changed Mama and Dad, but why did they pull away from me? It was like I wasn't important at all. 'After Jacob died, it was like the two of 'em started mourning, and never stopped. Even years later, they talked about Jacob as if he were still alive. They loved him!' Corey's thought came straight from the muddy pool of jealousy, rippling inside him. 'They had so much love for him, there was none left for me! I was living! I was right there in front of 'em, and they ignored me, preferring to keep the memories of a dead person alive. Did I remind them of Jacob . . . or . . . maybe I wasn't enough like him? 'It could have been worse,' Corey thought. 'They could have been like Owen's dad. Ah, there is a man I am glad I never met. How he could possibly have fathered children like Owen, Jonah, Abigail, and Opie, I'll never know. 'Then there's Riley . . .' Corey shook his head in disbelief. 'Some of the stories he tells, about his mother! Sheesh! The woman's one can short of a six-pack, that's for sure! And Bailey. His folks were okay; it was just Bailey who was screwed up.' Corey grinned crookedly. 'At least Sam and Lucas had good childhoods. If it weren't for them, I'd be thinking everyone I know grew up miserable.' He snorted a laugh. 'The amazing thing is that Owen, Riley, Jonah, and I, with our backgrounds, have turned out as normal as we are.' His mouth twisted into a grin. 'Well, Owen, Jonah, n'I are normal. There are times I wonder 'bout Riley. 'At least Bailey's got him dressing decent. I wonder if he's still drivin' that beat-up old car of his. Hell, it's almost as bad as Bessie!' Corey thought a moment. 'Well . . . not quite. But, he could certainly afford better. Sometimes, looking at Riley, his car, and where he lives, one would think he was poorer than me. I never could understand that. I mean, he never talks about money. It's obvious that he has it; he just never talks about it, or spends it. He's not what I expect a rich person to be. He's sure not like Bailey.' Corey's mind flitted from one thought to another. 'Maybe Jonah's right. Maybe I need to give Mama and Dad . . . and me . . . another chance. The key,' Corey told himself, 'is doin' my best to understand where they're coming from. I can't approach them as if I'm doing them a favor, giving them a chance to apologize for the way they treated me. The three of us, Mama, Dad, and I, need a chance to start over.' His stomach tightened at the idea of facing his parents, the people whom he'd spent the last four years of his life doing his best to not think about. 'That's not correct,' he thought. 'If it was, I would never have kept their photograph, with the childish scrawl on the back, telling them of my love. They mean something to me, whether I allow myself to admit it or not. The question is, what do I mean to them? What will I do if I show up and am snubbed, in favor of a dead, older brother? They're capable of ignoring me. They did it for years.' Corey paused, bringing the pickup to a halt, as a thought struck him. 'Am I only attributing behavior to my parents, as seen through the self-centered eyes of a child? Am I still being self-centered?' He shook his head in frustration. 'I just don't know what to do. Maybe Jonah's right, and I won't rest until I meet with them . . . and see if we might be able to start over. If they should die before I take the chance, I'll never know whether we might be able to capture some sort of . . . friendship. Oh, geez,' he paused, struck by a thought. 'I hope neither of 'em died while I was at college! 'Oh, to hold Mother in my arms and tell her I love her, or to hear her say that she loves me.' Corey swiped a hand across his suddenly teary eyes, and sniffed, moved by the thought of his mother, as he never had been. He took a few emotion-laden breaths, wiped his eyes, and resolutely headed down the road, with the image of his mother and father in his mind, telling him they loved him.
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