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Corey and Jonah lay at one another's side in the darkened room of the Hillsboro bed and breakfast. It was a nice place . . . nothing fancy, but comfortable and clean. The feather-filled down comforter reminded Corey of the one he'd had on his bed when he was a child. Unlike Riverton, which remained comfortable throughout the year, Hillsboro lay under a thick covering of snow, which lasted most of each winter, making a heavy blanket on the bed a necessity. 'Home,' Corey sighed, as Jonah snuggled closer, pulling the down comforter over his shoulders. 'Home is not Hillsboro. This is where I grew up, nothing more. It's not the city. That place was where I lived while going to school. I could never call that place home. Riverton . . . that is home. That's where the people I love are. That's where I was immediately accepted as part of everyone's family.' He rolled his head to the side, and smiled tenderly, as Jonah mumbled something in his sleep. Riverton is where I have found love, both from the man at my side, and from everyone else. 'What are my feelings about Mama and Dad . . . exactly?' he wondered, as he stared, unseeing, at the raindrops hitting the room's window, a soft murmur in the silence. 'I'm happy they didn't reject me . . . of course. I never told Jonah, but I was as much worried that they would reject him, as I was afraid they would me. I'd never quite figured out what I would do if that happened. If they hadn't accepted him as part of my life, he would have, forever, felt responsible. That fear was one of the reasons I took so long to agree to come to Hillsboro. Jonah is as important to me as breathing. We are a package. Take us both, or neither of us. You can't have one without the other. I'm glad both Mama and Dad realized that, rather quickly. 'It was wonderful to hold Mama and Dad, and tell them that I love them.' Corey smiled. 'Best of all, though, was being able to hold Houdini. He doesn't have many days left for this world, and being able to be with him again was better than everything else.' Corey felt bad, as he had this thought, but couldn't help himself. 'Houdini never hurt me. He was always at my side, always accepting, always snuggling close at night . . . always giving me his love. I trust him. He has never changed. 'It was great that Jonah thought to take pictures of Mama, Dad, and me, and me and Houdini.' He sighed. 'What do I feel about my parents? Oh . . . I believe their emotions are genuine. I believe it when they say they're sorry for the past. I believe everything they said and did today. It all rings true . . . Still . . . they're not like Houdini. I . . . I don't quite trust them. I want to. I really do, and maybe someday I will be able to, but, just like Jonah claims Owen doesn't quite trust anyone not to hurt him, I can't help but wonder when Mama and Dad will hurt me again.' Corey bit his lip, and tried to snuggle closer to Jonah, welcoming his lover's warmth. 'Am I expecting too much? It's not possible to go through life and never be hurt. So . . . why do I expect Mama and Dad to never hurt me? Will I become super-sensitive to their every action, just waiting for them to do something . . . anything . . . which will cause me to feel bad? Is that fair to them? Is it fair to me? Are Owen and I feeling the same thing? 'Jonah said it best, when he told me that I should never forget what happened to me. Instead, I should do my damnedest to forgive.' Corey rolled his head to the side and looked at his lover. 'Do I have it in me to forgive, and if I don't, what sort'a man does that make me?' * * * Nathan looked over his shoulder. "Don't tell me you've never seen a possum?" he asked, glancing at Owen. His question continued a conversation which had begun at dinner, and had followed the five men as they left Sally's Restaurant, laughing and joking with one another. Nathan had quickly fit in to the, 'band of brothers,' as Bailey called all the guys. He felt both at home, and, more importantly . . . he felt safe. "Nooo," Owen replied, drawing out the word. "I don't think I've ever seen a possum. I've seen a raccoon, though!" he quickly added. "Is a possum something like one of those?" "Jeepers, Owen, where have you been?" Nathan's voice rose in disbelief. "A possum is a flat animal that sleeps in the middle of the road," he explained, slowly. "You can hardly drive anywhere, back home, without seeing 'em. They're all over the place!" "Jeepers?" Bailey murmured, raising his brows, as he turned to Riley. "Wait . . .!" Owen paused. "A flat animal, which sleeps in the middle of the road?" "Whoa, boy!" Riley laughed, tapping Owen on the forehead, as he and Bailey passed, entering the apartment. "You're slow tonight." "I don't believe I've ever heard someone use the word, 'jeepers,' before," Bailey continued, as he flopped onto one of the sofas, at Riley's side. 'If my mother ever saw me sit down like that,' he told himself, 'she would have a fit.' He grinned. 'Good thing she's not here then, isn't it? She'd probably disapprove of most of what Riley and I do together.' His smile grew. 'I love it!' Riley turned to him with raised brows, wondering what the smile meant. Bailey just shook his head, reveling in his sense of freedom. 'It's funny, when something as simple as sitting down makes me want to smile,' he thought. Nathan pried off his shoes, and immediately sank to the floor, where he sat cross-legged on the Oriental rug, and grinned, pleased both with his joke, and Owen's response. Owen flopped onto another of the sofas, and toed off his shoes, kicking them aside, as Lucas dimmed the lights. "Wait! I get it!" Owen sat up, a smile lighting his eyes. "Well, lor-dee!" Nathan laughed, glancing toward his brother. "The boy's 'bout as sharp as a cue ball!" "Hey! I'm smart!" Owen retaliated, as he playfully pushed Nathan with his bare foot. Nathan hooted and rolled onto his side. "I know lots!" Owen said, raising his voice, before pushing at the laughing man a second time. "Sometimes, I even read more'n the book's cover." "Well . . . that settles it!" Riley clapped his hands and burst out laughing. "That's why he's got a whole library at his disposal . . . so he can sometimes read more than a book's cover." "Hey, boy!" Nathan interrupted, as he rolled onto his stomach and scooted closer to Owen. "Enough talkin' 'bout your reading habits. Are y'gonna gimmie a foot massage, or what? So far, all you've been doin' is teasing me, rubbing up and down my legs. Stop foolin' around and get serious," he added, as he wiggled his butt in Owen's direction. "Watch it, Owen," Riley warned. "Sounds t'me like he's fixin' to get frisky. Any minute now, he'll wanna get nekkid." "Ummm, yeah," Nathan murmured, as he began to slowly hump the floor, while Owen continued to rub a bare foot up and down the length of his legs and over the seat of his shorts. "Nekkid's good." Nathan pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, and moved even closer to Owen. "Now, what are you gonna do?" he asked, thrusting his butt back against Owen's foot. "Damn," Riley murmured, close to Bailey's ear. "He's turning into a hot little fucker. He never acted like this around Dad." "This is a man who claims not to be gay?" Bailey softly snorted. "I can't imagine what he'd be like if he was." "Way to go, Cowboy." Lucas leaned over the back of the sofa and toyed with Owen's nipples, murmuring next to his lover's ear, as Owen rubbed his bare foot back and forth between the kneeling man's legs. "Give him what he wants." As always, whenever he was close to Owen, Lucas was overwhelmed with the pure sensuality of the man. His scent, his voice, and playful laugh . . . the heat radiating from his body, the touch of Owen's hands, all combined to send a tingle of anticipation up and down his spine. Lucas' body remembered the touch of Owen at his side, while they slept. The feeling of each soft breath against his skin spoke of security and love, as much as Owen's voice, and his soft accent. 'Ohhh, if only Sam could be here to enjoy this. Having both of the men I love, close by . . . what more could a guy ask for?' "Umm, yeah," Nathan groaned, as Owen hooked a foot between his spread legs, rubbing over his balls. "Feels awesome. I've never been touched like that." "Doesn't take much to get the guy going, does it?" Owen asked, dryly, as he continued to rub his bare foot over the seat of Nathan's shorts and between his legs. "Y'like what I'm doing?" he asked, as he pushed against the fabric-covered cleft of Nathan's butt. "Ummm, yeah, s'good," Nathan groaned, shifting position, and resting his head on his folded arms. "Feels good." "C'mon, hot man," Lucas said to Nathan, as he skinned Owen out of his T-shirt, then stripped out of his own. "Get naked for us. You claim to be an exhibitionist." Nathan didn't need to be asked a second time. The grin of amusement, which lit his face for a brief instant, as he turned toward Owen and Lucas, was quickly replaced by one of mischief. "You guys are sooo slow," he chuckled, in his softly accented voice. "I thought I was gonna have to grab Owen's nuts before anyone would say something 'bout getting nekkid." He wiggled his brows. "How'd you have liked that?" he teased, as he tossed his shirt aside. A moment later, his shorts and underwear joined the shirt. "Now this is what I call a vacation," he grinned, as he lay on his back and began to slowly stroke his erection. 'This is so friggin' cool,' he told himself, as he watched Lucas round the end of the sofa and pull Owen to his feet, then tub Owen's shorts and underwear halfway down his legs. The two men looked at one another for a few moments, as if memorizing the other's features. Lucas tenderly ran a finger over Owen's lips and murmured something before . . . attacking . . . Owen's mouth. 'I've never even seen a kiss like that, much less experienced one!' Nathan told himself, in wonder. The two men mashed their mouths together, turning one way, then another, making low sounds of passion, before separating for a moment to catch their breaths, a thread-like strand of saliva still connecting them. "Oh . . . Cowboy," Lucas murmured, staring into his lover's smoky-grey eyes, everyone else in the room, forgotten. Owen held Lucas' head between both hands and . . . growled, as he returned to do battle with his lover's tongue. 'If only someone would care enough about me to kiss me like that,' Nathan thought, unable to keep from reflecting back to the few clumsy attempts at kissing he'd endured during his high school dates. He blinked, recalling where he was . . . what he was doing, and with whom. 'What am I thinking? These are guys kissing. It's exciting to watch 'em go at each other, but . . . am I really thinking I could get into kissing a guy? Is that what you're thinking, Nathan, ol' boy? Is it?' From behind him, he heard the sound of his brother's and Bailey's lovemaking, in the rhythmic slapping of skin against skin. In front of him, Owen was now kneeling in front of Lucas, who was sprawled on the sofa, his legs spread wide, while Owen alternately sucked on his cock, and kissed him. 'These guys have found someone to love, who loves them. I haven't even found someone with whom I can frippin' hold hands!' "You're only eighteen," Riley had said, to his brother's complaint. 'I bet he passed the hand-holding stage by the time he was in junior high school . . . or before. A'course, he's always known he was gay. How does a person know something like that? I certainly haven't found any girl I'm interested in, but does that mean I'm gay? I haven't found any guy I'd be interested in, either. So . . . where does that leave me?' He grinned, to himself. 'Laying naked, on the floor, being an exhibitionist. But, wait . . . what does it mean to be an exhibitionist, when no one pays attention to you?' 'Hot damn!' Nathan murmured, to himself, as he worked a bare foot between Owen's legs, from where he knelt between Lucas' spread legs, while he slowly worked his own erection. 'Now, it's my turn to play with him.' At the first touch of his foot against his scrotum, Owen groaned and began rocking his hips, using Nathan's bare foot to stimulate himself. 'My definition of what it takes to say I've had sex with a guy, is getting looser and looser. Here I am using my toes to play with a guy's balls and asshole! Is that sex? What about jacking off with Riley and Bailey . . .?' "Ahh, geez," he groaned, when he felt his orgasm approaching. The idea of rubbing his toes over Owen's hole, as well as watching and listening to what the other guys were doing, was too much. He arched his back, and groaned loudly, as the tingling, which had begun at the base of his balls, spread, causing him to jerk, and spray his belly with a thick load. At the same moment, he heard Lucas, Riley, and Bailey, all lost in the throes of their own orgasms. That left Owen. When Nathan recovered from the intense feelings he'd just experienced, he opened his eyes and found Owen, kneeling at his side. He scooped up some of Nathan's sperm and began masturbating himself. Nathan was mesmerized by the sight of someone using his sperm as lube to masturbate with. He scooped up some of his own juice and licked his hand. 'I'm in testosterone heaven,' he mused, as he inhaled the smell of four men who were now kneeling at his side, watching Owen masturbate. As Nathan watched, Owen's strokes became frantic. He gasped a deep breath, and blasted a hot trail of sperm across Nathan's chest and belly. A second white-hot jet splashed across the first, joining what remained of Nathan's own sperm. "Oh, geez," Owen half-laughed. "That was freakin' awesome!" He nudged Nathan with his knee. "A sperm shower is what you get for tellin' me about flat animals that sleep in the middle of the road. After the next joke like that, no telling what might happen to you." 'Liking to show off is gonna get me in hot water someday,' Nathan thought. 'Here I am, telling these guys I'm not gay, then look at what I do!' He grinned, as he smeared Owen's sperm over his chest and stomach, then raised it to his mouth and licked it clean. 'Fantasy stuff, f'sure.' His grin blossomed into a smile. 'Riley n'I are finally feeling free of Mother. Now . . . if only Dad . . .' Nathan's smile faltered. 'I wonder how he's doing.' * * * Elsie leaned close to the office door and listened to her employer's voice. She was about to turn away when Rolf, Mister Pruitt's Personal Secretary slipped into the room and quietly closed the door behind him. He jumped in surprise, as he turned and saw Elsie watching him. "Elsie!" he whispered. "Yes," she responded, also in a whisper. "That's me. Why are we whispering?" "What are you doing in here?" "I've finished cleaning this room. I was going to tidy up Mister Pruitt's office, but it sounds like he's having an important conversation." She straightened her back, and gave the slight man a disapproving look. "I thought you were off today. That's why I was cleaning in here." "Um, yeah, I was off. I mean, I am . . . off. Mister Pruitt doesn't know I'm here. I had some stuff I needed to do, so I came in for a few minutes." "Well," Elsie said, as she walked across the room. "I'll leave you to your work, but don't mess the place up too bad, y'hear? And, don't bother Mister Pruitt. He's been holed up in his office all morning, so whatever he's got going on is important." "I know when I should or shouldn't interrupt him!" Rolf snapped. "Now, why don't you leave and stop spying on him." "Huh? Spying? Rolf I work here. I was already working here when Mister Pruitt hired you, so don't go telling me how to do my job. I'm gettin' out'a here, so, if you're going to have one of your snits you can have it all alone. Since Mrs. Pruitt left, you've been acting crazy. I'm tired of listening to you." With that, Elsie turned and left the office, closing the door quietly behind her. She crossed the home's foyer, muttering to herself, when she turned to see Rolf watching her, through the partially open door. After only a few minutes, she watched as Rolf stepped out of the office, looked one way, then the other. He hurried across the foyer, closing the front doors behind him, and stepped onto the home's columned porch. * * * The interminable days were taking their toll on Franklin. The days, and not knowing how his sons were. Each night, he'd no sooner fallen asleep, than a nightmare overtook him, invariably starring either Riley or Nathan, running scared from a bunch of hired thugs. In the background, he could always hear Elizabeth laughing, cursing him and telling him his time was close. "If the woman's got plans for me," he muttered aloud, as he stood in front of the large windows of the home office, "I wish she'd get 'em underway." He turned and looked toward one of his guards. "I would imagine you feel the same way." The bodyguard shrugged, his eyes focused on something outside the window. "Sir, please be moving away from the window . . . now," he added, as his eyes widened, and his voice rose. "Yes, yes, I know . . . a good target," Franklin began, as the guard reached out and pushed him to the floor. "Wha . . .?" His squawk of alarm was drowned out as the window shattered, sending glass splinters everywhere. Strangely, Franklin found that he was not terrified. More than anything, he was angry. He also admired the quick way the bodyguard had pushed him away from the window, before scrambling to his knees and getting off two shots of his own. Outside, there was another shot . . . then silence. 'I wonder what the neighbors are thinking. Sounds like a friggin' war zone out there.' Franklin groaned, as he looked for a place, free of glass shards, to kneel. He glanced at the guard, who was still kneeling, speaking into a lapel microphone, and decided not to move until given permission. The guard finished his conversation, then seemed to realize he was kneeling on the remains of the shattered window. "Be pleased to stay on the floor, sir," he warned, at the same moment, Elsie burst through one of the office doors, trailed by a flustered and red-faced bodyguard. "What in hell's name is goin' on in here?" she demanded, the image of a vengeful Valkyrie, intent on protecting her territory. She saw the damage to the window, her employer on the floor, and whipped out a weapon. "You!" she shouted at the bodyguard, who was, once again, madly talking into a microphone, describing the wild-eyed, gun-wielding maid. "Aren't you supposed to be protecting Mister Pruitt, instead of talking on the phone?" Behind her, a second security man made a choking sound, and appeared unsure how to subdue the angry woman. A second door to the office slammed open, framing Rolf Kaiser, also wielding a weapon, though not nearly as efficiently as Elsie. "Drop it, Rolf!" Elsie shouted, in a voice which demanded instant attention. "Now!" she added for emphasis. "The last person on earth who should be holding a weapon is you! So, drop it!" "I thought . . ." he lamely began. "I heard gunshots," he added, as he gave Elsie a venomous look, and stooped to place his small weapon on the carpeted floor, then stood, filled with bluster. "Who're you shooting at, woman? No one's safe in this house as long as you're running around pointing that thing at people. It probably isn't even loaded," he said, in a derisive voice, glancing to Franklin's primary guard, who was helping Franklin to his feet. "Don't count on it, helium heels," Elsie grumbled. "This weapon is fully loaded. I've taken lots'a lessons on how to handle this thing, and I'm not afraid to use it. If I wanted to shoot someone, I wouldn't have missed, like our friends out in the bushes; you can be sure of that." "I'd bet the people outside are your friends," Rolf responded, in a bad-tempered voice. "I came running in here because I figured the shots were a signal to you to get your ass in here and do Mister Pruitt in. Only the bodyguard stopped you!" "You've been usin' too much perfume in the morning, Rolf," Elsie said, in a mock-sweet voice. "The smell's addled your brain. Besides, don't try and make it sound as if you were in the house. You weren't. I watched you leave. So . . . now you're back, with a lady's gun." "Ma'am, please . . ." the guard said. "It appears the danger has passed. Please return your weapon to its proper place." "Prob'ly carries it wedged between those boobs of hers," Rolf commented, to himself. "Ease-up . . . the both of you!" Franklin sharply ordered, glancing from Rolf to Elsie. He nodded his thanks at the guard, who helped him to his feet, as the man's radio squawked, demanding instant attention. "Elsie . . . thank you for your quick response, but, as the gentleman has asked, please stop pointing that thing at people, and put it away." Elsie's eyes flicked from her boss to the gun. "Oh," she grinned sheepishly. "Of course, sir." She eyed Rolf, uncertainly. "What about him?" She took the few steps to her employer's side. "I don't trust him, Mister Pruitt. Suddenly, he just doesn't feel right." "Spoken by the household Mata Hari," Rolf retaliated. "Remember, sir, the guilty dog barks the loudest, tellin' you how innocent he is," Elsie murmured, before she checked the weapon's safety, then slipped it into the pocket of her apron, returning to her maid persona. "Now . . ." she heaved a sigh, planting her fists on her hips, as she surveyed the room. "You all . . . get out. I've gotta get this place cleaned up and order a new window. "Don't you worry 'bout me, Mister bodyguard," she sweetly grinned, and patted the heavy lump in her apron pocket. "Anyone tries to pull a fast one, I've got my trusty gun. I'll get 'em for you." "Ma'am," one of the men ventured. "Do you have a permit to carry that thing?" "Of course I do!" she huffed, standing straight. "I bet the skinny guy over there doesn't, though," she added, as Rolf retrieved his own gun and did his best to make a dignified retreat. * * * Gene Lawson, Pruitt Builders' Office Manager, looked up at the diffident knock on his office door. "Ahh, Mister Sutton," he smiled, as he leaned back and invited the young man into the office. "You look troubled." "Um, yes, sir. I . . . am. I hate to bother you, what with Mister Pruitt's troubles n'all, but I'm gonna be needing t'take some time off. Y'see, my grandmother just died. She and my grandfather reared me. They were the only parents I've ever known. My grandfather passed on only last month, and since my grandmother's death, there are just so many things to do . . . y'know? I'm feelin' overwhelmed with it all. Everyone's wanting one sort of document, or another, and I don't know where they kept anything like that." "I'm sorry to hear of your loss, Mister Sutton," Gene said, as he leaned forward and rested his forearms on the edge of his desk. "Maybe the firm can make this a bit easier on you. First off, of course you can have time off . . . as much as you like. Both Mister Pruitt and I have been enormously pleased with your work. Besides, you had built up plenty of time when you were with CN Developers, before we bought 'em. So, of course, you have all that time coming to you, as well. "Beyond that, though, I'm sure Mister Pruitt would urge me to ask that our new attorneys guide you, and help you out, however they may be able. I'll give them a heads-up that you may be calling. Don't feel obligated, but do feel welcome to use them, at no charge to you." Both men stood, and Gene extended a hand. "My condolences, Micah. I'll relay this information on to Mister Pruitt. I'm sure, if he were here, he would offer his condolences as well." Micah Sutton bowed his head and swallowed. "Thank you, sir. I have no other relatives, so this whole thing has been kind'a rough." "Well, I and the attorneys are here to listen, and help out in any way we can." He patted the young man on the shoulder. "It's difficult, son, but you'll get through it. Keep your head up, and never, for a moment, believe that you have to face this alone. You've got family here at Pruitt. You remember that, y'hear?" * * * Owen stomped up the stairs and into the apartment. "Hey," Lucas called, from the kitchen, without looking up. "Sam, Corey, and Jonah are all going to be back soon," he added. "I'm trying to figure out something easy to make for dinner. Any ideas?" He looked up, for the first time. "Owen?" he asked, as he quickly rounded the counter. When he would have taken Owen into an embrace, he was prevented, with an extended hand. "I don't need comforting right now, Lucas. I'm pissed." He turned to his left, took a couple steps, and raised his voice. "Pissed!" He held out both arms, then swung back to Lucas. "Okay, so you're pissed," Lucas said, as he perched on the arm of a sofa. "Why? It can't be Maxine. She's cooling her heels over in Evanston, no doubt causing them the same sort of grief she's accustomed to lavishing on everyone here." "Oh, Lucas," Owen lowered his voice. "That woman could be a hundred miles away and still cause me trouble. She n'Pops are two-of-a-kind, never happy unless they're makin' someone's life miserable." "Ohhh?" "And you're so friggin' calm about it all! I'm not some sort of Mother Teresa saint-like person . . . touch me and you're healed!" "I would agree. Have people begun asking to be healed?" Lucas grinned. "Well . . . not exactly. But close to it! And, I am pissed!" Owen stomped across the room, then abruptly turned. "I've got enough troubles of my own without taking on everyone else's, especially people's expectations. Why me? This whole thing has gotten out'a hand!" "Okay, Cowboy. Why don't you stop waving your arms around and calm down? Trust me, I'm not going to ask to be cured, and the only expectation I have of you is to be given a kiss and a hug whenever you come home. Is that too much to ask?" Lucas grinned, holding his arms wide. "No," Owen responded, sheepishly. He wrapped Lucas in a tight embrace, then thoroughly kissed him. "There," he smiled. "Now, I feel better. You'n Sammy always make me feel good." He frowned, and began to pace. "Lucas, do you realize what folks are doing? Since hearing 'bout me confronting ol' Maxine, they're bringing their children by the library, not to get a book, but to touch me . . . to shake my hand . . . to have me hold their child . . . whatever. Touch me and you'll be healed! Hang around Owen. He'll protect you from awful people! Hell, I can't heal myself! How am I supposed to heal someone else? And, deep down, I'm prob'ly one of the awful people those mothers are wanting their child protected from? I'm not a freakin' saint just 'cause I went to little Nicky's aid. Apparently that's how ol' Peggy Saunders, Nicky's mother, is talkin' about me. Pretty soon, I'll be crossin' the river without needin' a bridge, or something!" Owen flopped onto a sofa and crossed his arms, glaring in Lucas' direction. "I don't like it," he added, in conclusion, then looked up, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "So . . . there." Lucas crossed the room and sat at Owen's side, taking his hand. "Owen, to those folks, you are, if not a saint, as close to one as they're likely to meet. You're emblematic of what is good in the world. You've become a symbol, not only because of how you helped Nicky, but how you live your life. It's like playing a role, or something." Owen snorted. "Roles! I hate 'em! I play one role when I'm at home with Mama and Daniel. I play another when I'm with Abigail and Opie, or with the folks at the library . . . or with you and Sammy. Are any of those roles the real me?" Owen shook his head. "I tell you, Lucas. I feel as if I play so many roles, I've forgotten who Owen really is. "Maybe I never knew. Maybe there isn't really an . . . Owen . . . in here," he said, tapping himself on the chest. Maybe Pops killed him, and I've let everyone else tell me what I really am. I'm like a walking definition of dysfunction. I know the way things should be, but I don't have a clue how to get there. With someone else, it's easy. We talk, I ask questions, and sort'a point them in the direction where they've already decided they need to go. Viola, I'm a friggin' saint." "It's voila, Cowboy. Viola is the name of someone's aunt, or something." Owen grinned, dismissing Lucas' comment with a distracted hand motion. "I've tried figurin' out my life and," he shrugged, holding his arms out to his sides, then dropping them. "Pfft. Nothing. "Everyone is defining who I am. 'Owen, be this, or that. You're soooo friggin' perfect! Here . . . let's give him a medal, or a . . . a . . . library! Everyone's controlling me, Lucas! They're tellin' me who I am . . . who I should be!" Lucas shook his head. "Only if you let them. If you know who you are, you will not allow it. You, first of all, need to learn to be you, and ignore what everyone else thinks you should be. Can you do that?" Owen shook his head, seeming to sink into himself. "I don't know. I don't know who I really am. Pops told me who he thought I was; so has Mama, and you. . . everyone. I wanna be a nice guy, and keep everyone happy, so . . . I go along. It's become something like, 'tell me what you want me to be. I'll be it!'" He shook his head. "I've done that sort'a thing for so long, I've lost track of who I am. I just don't know. I just don't know." "What defines your humanity, Owen, is the essential character you possess. It's not something someone laid on you and told you that you should be. It's not the symbol Bailey created of you as a life saver. It's not the library, or what Nicky or his parents, or anyone else thinks of you. It is in here," Lucas touched Owen's chest, "and here," he continued, touching Owen's forehead. "The code you live by doesn't have shades of right and wrong. It's either one or the other. When you start believing what others think of you . . . when you try to become the symbol that they would have you be, then you leave your humanity behind. You will no longer be the Owen people love. You will be a creation of someone else. That doesn't mean you'll be a bad person, only that you'll no longer be . . . Owen. Don't let . . . anyone . . . dictate what you should be. Not me, not Sam, your mother . . . anyone." "Yeah, well it's not so easy as you make it sound." Lucas smiled. "I never said it was easy, Cowboy. I tell you what," he said, as he stood, and pulled Owen to his feet. "If Peggy Saunders, tellin' folks about how you helped Nicky, is causing you trouble, let's go right to the source. She wouldn't want to be doing anything to hurt you. "C'mon," Lucas urged. "We wanna be back if the guys show up." * * * Nathan looked up, as the downstairs door slammed. He set the newspaper aside, as someone began shouting. "I'm hoooommmmmeeeee," the person bellowed. "I hope someone's horny, 'cause I sure am!" A moment later the man, who'd been shouting, burst into the apartment, with his arms wide, expecting a greeting, only to find that he was facing a wide-eyed stranger with a newspaper hanging limply from one hand. "Whoa!" Sam grinned, trying to cover his embarrassment. He raked his fingers through his hair and glanced around. "I don't think I'm in the wrong apartment . . . especially, since there's only two of 'em in the building, and I see Lucas still hasn't done the dishes. So . . . let's begin again, okay?" Nathan nodded, already liking the slender, dark-haired man with the beautiful smile. "Hi, my name is Sam Bridgers. I live in this apartment, with Owen and Lucas." He cocked his head. "They haven't moved, by any chance, and didn't tell me about it, have they?" "Um, no." "Good . . . and . . . you're not a new roommate are you? I don't think there's enough room in the bed for another person. Um," he lowered his voice. "Who are you?" Nathan smiled. "My name's Nathan Pruitt; I'm Riley's brother. You know Riley?" Sam nodded, and looked toward the bedroom. "Is he here?" "Yeah, he's here, but not here, as in the apartment. Um, well, we showed up a few days ago. One of the guys, I forget who, said you were in Evanston taking a test and delivering vegetables, or something." "Yep, that's me. Why has everyone run off and abandoned you? That wasn't cool." Sam crossed the room and shook Nathan's hand. "It's good to finally meet you, and . . . I'm really sorry t'hear about all the stuff you and Riley are going through. It must be hell for you guys," Sam said, gesturing for Nathan to retake his seat. Sam slipped off his shoes and sat cross legged, opposite Nathan. "Yeah, it's been rough a few times, especially when Dad sent me away. I felt as if I was abandoning him. I've gotten t'know Riley a lot better, though. We were always sort'a close, but, we've gotten closer. I think he'd say he feels the same way." "Say, I've gotta apologize for how I announced myself, as I was climbing the stairs," Sam began, sitting forward. "I didn't expect I'd be encountering someone I didn't know." Nathan laughed. "It's not a big deal. We weren't here fifteen or twenty minutes, before the guys were talking about their dicks and who sleeps with whom and all sorts'a stuff. Before I left home, I would'a been sort'a shocked, and I still am, some, but staying with Riley and Bailey for those weeks, sort'a made me a lot more able to handle stuff like that. Otherwise," he smiled. "Don't worry about it. "And, to get back to your earlier question. The guys didn't abandon me. We were all up pretty late, and Bailey and Riley are sleeping-in, or having sex, or whatever. I came over here to escape having to listen to Bailey's shouts, and met Owen and Lucas on their way out. They were on their way to talk to someone about sainthood, or something. They told me you might be showing up, and asked that I hold the fort. So," he extended his arms to his sides, "that's what I'm doing." "Sainthood?" Nathan shrugged. "Beats me. I gotta tell you, ever since we arrived, I've either felt like I'm in some sort of comedy routine, or a conversation which has so many levels to it, I don't understand half of what's being said. Is it like that all the time? So, when they tell me they're going out to discuss sainthood, who am I to question what they're saying?" The corners of Sam's lips twitched, as he nodded his understanding. "How do you stand it?" "Well . . . it's easier if you're a part of it. Be a participant, Nathan, not an observer. That's the only way to survive around here." Nathan blushed, and seemed to fidget. "What're the pink cheeks for? Let me guess. You've been participating more than you expected. I'm right, aren't I?" The blush deepened. "Yeah, and it's really strange, 'cause I don't think of myself as being gay. I didn't actually have sex with anyone the other night, but . . ." "But . . .?" Sam asked, grinning. "Well y'see . . . you'll prob'ly hear about it the moment anyone else shows up, so I might as well tell you. Since staying with Bailey and Riley, I've discovered how much I like to show off. Up till then, I knew I liked to hang out naked n'stuff, with my Dad n'Riley, whenever he was in town. Mother hated us doin' that, but she hated most things 'bout us guys." Nathan lapsed into silence. "I just never knew how much she hated us." He cleared his throat. "Well, that's about it. We were hanging out, and I got a little frisky when Owen started playing with my butt, with his foot. I could'a stopped him, but I didn't, 'cause I was super-horny. I hope you're not pissed 'cause'a me. None of the other guys were, but," he shrugged. "I hope you're not pissed, is all." "Not a bit. I just wish I'd been here. I like watching an exhibitionist, as much as the next guy. You don't suppose you'll be giving an encore performance do you? I'll make sure and not miss it," Sam teased. Nathan laughed. "I don't know. Hell, I didn't expect to do what I did the first time. "Tell me, Sam. How is it that you guys can be so casual about having sex with one another, or in front of one another? How do you keep from getting jealous n'stuff? I'd'a thought it would be impossible, but . . . I guess not." "I don't know if I can really answer your question. The whole way us guys interact with one another sexually, is pretty fragile. We trust each other, and we care a great deal about one another. None of us are out to further our own agenda, at someone else's expense. I hope we're always able to keep it that way, but, who knows? Anything or anyone could throw things off. But . . . trust. I think that as long as it's there, we'll be okay." "Would me being an exhibitionist, like the other night, be one of those things to ruin everything for you guys?" Sam laughed. "No. Lying about stuff . . . that sort'a thing is what I'm talking about; not getting nekkid and losing a load. That is fun. And, you're not the only one who enjoys showing off. All us guys do." * * * Franklin stared at the moonlit shadows of the nearby trees, on the wall of his bedroom, unable to sleep. The assassination attempt had left him angry, but, as the days passed, and nothing else happened, his anger turned to worry . . . not only about his own safety, but that of his sons. 'These guard-guys never sleep,' he thought, in irritation, as someone stepped on the squeaky floorboard he'd been intending to repair. There was a slight hesitation, then the low sound of voices, indicating a shift change. 'I've been awake since the last change,' he thought. 'So much for pretending the attempt on my life was part of business-as-usual. It definitely wasn't subtle, but that's what I'd expect of Elizabeth. A professional would have had handled things with more . . . finesse.' A new man took up position, momentarily blocking out the nightlight located in the hallway. The room was quiet enough for him to hear the guard sigh, as he sat in the very uncomfortable chair they'd requested. The only sound, after that first slight sound, was the squeak of the floorboard, as the first guard left for the night. Franklin frowned into the darkness. 'I wonder how well the background of each of the guards has been investigated.' The thought was quickly discarded. 'Don't go there, Franklin,' he told himself. 'There are enough unknowns in this entire mess, without you starting to imagine things. You'll just have to assume someone's been doing their job correctly, and that the guys are really on your side. 'I agree with the pros that the attempt on my life has the ring of a bungled, poorly thought out job; not something a professional would do. So . . . either it was Elizabeth, working on her own, which I doubt, or someone else . . . someone with whom the guards are familiar.' Again, he wondered about the guards' loyalty, and did his best to push the niggling worry aside. He turned onto his stomach. 'If the failed attempt was part of Elizabeth's plan, she's probably ranting and raving, hounding the people she hired to do her dirty work, demanding answers. If that woman was into gardening, she'd be the type to dig up a newly planted seed, every day, just to see if it had sprouted. Then, after two or three days, she'd have abandoned the whole idea. His mood sobered. 'I doubt she's likely to abandon her desire to do me in, though, and it is likely that she's hired professionals. So . . .,' he sighed, 'I'd better become accustomed to the guards' presence. They've certainly gone onto high alert, to where I have started jumping at shadows, and have begun to question everyone's loyalty! 'I don't know if anyone realized how shaken up I was, being pushed to the floor; and simultaneously, hearing the gunshot and the window shatter. I felt like a whimpering coward, curled up on the floor, like that. If I ever have to face something like that again, I hope I make a better showing. 'That little battle between Elsie and Rolf gave me a couple moments to compose myself.' He sighed. 'I don't know what's suddenly gotten into those two. Elsie's always been territorial when it comes to the house, the boys, and me. That's one of the things I've appreciated about her. Rolf, on the other hand, has always been retiring, never making a stir. Now, to find that they're both carrying guns, and Elsie's acting like some two-bit character from a Rambo movie, who's feeling her oats.' He shuddered, recalling his maid's unwavering two-handed grip on her gun. 'It's a bit unnerving.' After a moment, he amended his thought. 'I do believe Rolf thought it was unnerving, as well. 'Only when my Office Manager, Gene, showed up at the house, did I really start to come down from the adrenaline-high, and begin to shake. Hell,' Franklin recalled. 'I had to use both hands to hold my coffee cup, I was shaking so badly! Now, days later, I still am unable to sleep.' When he'd begun to speak candidly about the experience, and his feelings, Gene had held up a warning hand, no doubt recalling the faint click on the telephone line during a recent conversation, and his belief that someone had been eavesdropping. "Hell, Gene, where can I speak freely? This is my own house! It's gotten so I can't do anything without thinking about it first. I'm getting damn tired of all this! "I also am worried sick about the boys. I don't know where they are, or what they're doing. I don't like not being able to communicate with them. Hell, I'd bet they're as worried about me as I am about them. I miss my boys!" he groaned, sinking into an armchair and leaning his head back. "This is the first time I've not had at least one of them around to talk to. We'd hang out, usually in Riley's room, watching football games, or just visiting. I was always so pleased that they never seemed to outgrow enjoying being around me. They'd hang out with their friends, but, whenever they knew I was going to be free, they both made sure they'd be here so we could be together. Then, Riley headed off to college, and Nathan and I began spending more time together. Now, even he's gone! I miss those times . . . the conversations, the laughter. Now, who knows where they are."
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