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Owen howled, and fell off the edge of the bed, his arms flailing. There was a dull thud as he hit the wooden floor, then silence, interrupted only by Sam's squawk of surprise. Normally, Owen slept between him and Lucas, to prevent something like this from happening, should he have one of his nightmares. The conclusion of tonight's lovemaking, though, found Sam sleeping in the middle, and all three men were too exhausted to change position. 'Now this!' Sam grumbled, 'just 'cause we were too lazy.' Lucas flipped on the bedside lamp, as Sam slid out of bed and knelt at Owen's side. The blond man was on his back, unmoving. Other times, when he'd fallen out of bed, he'd been awakened when he hit the floor. This time, whatever had happened to him appeared to be serious. Lucas took one look at the man sprawled on the rub, and Sam's stricken expression, then climbed over the bed and leapt for his cellphone, where it lay on the bedside table. He breathlessly punched in the number. "Daniel! It's Owen; he's unconscious! Come quick!" Without a thought about being naked, Lucas hurried down the stairway, and was waiting, holding the door wide open as Daniel, dressed in a pair of red briefs and tennis shoes, with untied laces flying, raced around the corner and dashed past Lucas, then up the stairs. A few moments later, Owen's very pregnant mother, holding the hem of her bathrobe up as she ran, raced around the corner. "I'm too old to be running around like this," she grumbled, patting Lucas on the shoulder, as she rushed up the stairs to join her husband. Owen was naked, sprawled on the floor. 'He's breathing!' Bea told herself, leaning into Lucas, who stood at her side. 'Daniel will take care of him,' she told herself. 'Nothing can happen to Owen. Oh, please,' she begged. 'Don't let anything happen to my boy!' Sam looked at Daniel, wearing a stricken expression. "He fell out of bed and must have hit his head," he explained, in a tight voice, as Daniel took Owen's vital signs and gently probed his head, while Bea and Lucas looked on. "He normally sleeps in the middle, to prevent this sort'a thing from happening." Bea turned to Lucas, wearing a puzzled expression. "He has nightmares," Lucas murmured, in explanation. "Bad ones, sometimes. Tonight, he screamed, and the next thing we knew, he was on the floor . . . like this. "Excuse me," Lucas murmured. "Sam needs me." Bea nodded once, and clasped both hands beneath her chin and watched, as Lucas knelt next to Sam and pulled him close, with an arm around his shoulder. Both men seemed afraid to touch Owen, as if, by merely touching him, they might do him greater injury. Unseen by anyone, attracted by the commotion, Corey glanced into the room through the open door. When he saw Daniel kneeling at Owen's side, he ran back to his and Jonah's apartment. Only moments later, Jonah ran into the room. He shook off Bea's attempt to stop him, and flung himself onto his knees at his brother's side. "What happened?" he sobbed, grabbing Owen's limp hand. "Is he dying?" he wailed, ignoring Daniel's attempt to comfort him. "Well . . . don't just stand around . . . do something to help him!" "Jonah," Daniel said, in as calm a voice as he was able to muster. "Don't shout, please. Owen hit his head on the floor when he fell out of bed. I've examined him, and believe he'll come 'round in a couple minutes. When he comes to, it won't help him to hear you shouting and carrying on like this. He may be confused, and your behavior will only confuse him more." Jonah squirmed away from Daniel's touch, grasping his brother's hand, as he bowed his head, sobs wracking his body. "Jonah . . . listen to me. Do you truly think I'd be kneeling here, doing nothing, if I thought there was the slightest chance Owen has suffered a serious injury?" "I . . . I guess not," Jonah whimpered, but refused to release his brother's hand. Corey touched Daniel's shoulder, then knelt at Jonah's side, and held him close. "Oh, Corey," Jonah sobbed, as he leaned his head on his lover's shoulder, his tears running down Corey's chest. "What am I gonna do if . . ." "Shhhh," Corey interrupted, unsure whether Bea or Daniel knew the depth of Jonah's feelings for his brother. 'There's no need for them to know,' he told himself. "Owen'll be okay, just like Daniel says. We're not goin' anywhere until he wakes up and wants a donut, or something. Then, we'll know he's back to his old self." In spite of his tears, Jonah smiled, Corey's words soothing him. Still, though, Jonah refused to release his brother's hand, as he leaned his head on Corey's shoulder, his tears running down Corey's chest. "C'mon, Owen," he murmured, over and over. "Don't leave me." * * * "Sammy!" Owen's shout was absorbed into the surrounding . . . nothingness. "I . . . I can't move!" he yelled. "JONAH!" "Wha . . .?" Owen madly looked around, searching for a way to escape, as he heard the voice. "Owen . . . son." "What the f...?" he began. "Pops?" Blood surged behind Owen's eyes, keeping time to his drumming heart beat, as the word was torn from his throat in nothing more than an incoherent scream. He struggled to prop himself up on his elbow and look around. Strangely, there was no floor, no source of light, nothing . . . other than a dull, slightly pulsing glow. The voice, like the light, came from everywhere and nowhere, at the same time. When Owen looked down at himself, fear welled up and threatened to overwhelm him. His legs, belly, cock, all of him, faded until there was nothing left but the barest hint of his body. Then, as he watched, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, he was whole again. He wanted to stand and run, or crawl away . . . anything to get away from the man who'd caused him so much misery. He wanted to flee, but couldn't move, and even if he could have, there was nowhere to run. He knew his father was nearby, but couldn't see him. "Stay away from me!" he screamed, twisting to look over his shoulder, searching for the source of the voice. "You're dead! Why can't you just stay dead and stop bothering me? Everywhere I go, everything I do, you're there! Why? Didn't you have enough fun beating me up when you were living? Now you have to come after me even when you're dead!" "Owen, listen to me," the voice said. The sound came from everywhere, filling his mind. "NO! Get away from me!" Owen rolled onto his stomach, then struggled to his knees. "Where are you?" he bellowed, hoping someone would hear his shouts and come to his rescue. "Sammy!" he shouted. "JONAH! Help me!" He gasped for breath, as he leaned forward and braced himself on stiff arms. "I'm in your mind, Owen. You can't escape. I am all you fear in life, and you must learn to overcome those terrors." "Noooo!" Owen cried, covering his ears and tightly closing his eyes as he crumpled to the . . . floor. He gasped for breath, as he detected . . . what? 'It's Pops,' Owen whimpered. 'He's just come in from the fields, bringing with him the smell of sweat and damp soil.' Owen hunched his shoulders, steeling himself for the first blow. The smell of the fields grew stronger. 'He's nearby!' Owen writhed, searching for his tormentor, struggling to escape his father's anger. The voice continued, low . . . insistent. "I'm not Pops. I am all you've made of him. You created me, Owen. I am the embodiment of all your fears." "Go away! You're not Pops!" He screamed, his voice sliding upward, as he twisted one way, then the other. "He'd never talk like you! I won't listen to you!" Owen curled into a fetal position and covered his ears, as he gasped for breath, and tried to make sense of the seething chaos. "Don't let him win! Owen . . . Cowboy . . . you're stronger than any ghost. Don't let him win!" "Someone was speaking . . . somewhere . . . somehow, someone who loves me. It's Lucas!" "Owen," Jonah was sobbing. "Don't leave me." "Wha . . .?" Owen rolled onto his knees. "Jonah?" he asked, sniffing and swiping a dry hand over his teary cheeks, searching for his brother. "Why are you crying? I'll never leave you. "Sammy?" he asked, his voice stronger now. "Are you here . . . with me?" "Always," the slightest breath of a breeze whispered. "Owen," Jonathan Carver's voice whispered. "Please . . . try to understand. All I'm trying to do is make you understand that you have nothing to fear from anyone other than yourself." "You didn't kill me while you were living, so, you're back to finish the job?" Owen taunted. "Well, I won't make it easy on you, old man! I'm stronger now. I'm not that little boy any longer! You already killed him! You took my childhood, and did your best to take my life! I lived in fear . . . of doing something which would make you angry. I lived in fear of how bad the next beating would be; how long would it take me to recover. "No one ever said anything when I came to school black and blue. No one helped. Except for Jonah, and later, Sam. I was alone! Mama . . . she tried, but she was afraid of what you'd do t'me if she tried too hard. Jonah . . . he was all I had. And . . . he was enough! Do you hear me, old man? Jonah kept me strong enough that I could face you another day! If you'd wanted to really destroy me, you would have taken Jonah from me. Without him, I would have been . . . nothing. Without him, I would not have survived. You would have won. But . . . you didn't! Jonah and I won, and you're dead! Do you hear me, old man? You're dead and I'm still living! You're rotting in your grave, unmourned! I've won!" "If you've won why are you so afraid of me?" Owen felt defeated. "I . . . I don't know," he whimpered, collapsing back to the floor. "I m afraid . . . that . . . somehow, you're inside me, that I'll become you. You did this to me! You!" Owen screamed. "I wanted to love you. I tried to love you, but all you gave me in return was pain. I don't know how to trust, because of you! I'm afraid to let anyone get too close, because I know . . . I know, they'll turn against me, just like you did. They think everything's okay, 'cause I can laugh and joke with them, but it's not! It's NOT!" Owen screamed in agony. "The only people I really feel safe being with are Jonah and Sammy. I want to feel the same way about Lucas, and I am . . . closer. But . . . you . . . you did this! I can never forgive you for what you did to me! The beatings were nothing . . . NOTHING . . . compared with what you're doing to me every day since the beatings stopped! I hate you! I HATE you! Do you hear me?" he bellowed, rolling to his knees, searching for the man on whom to vent his anger. "I've tried to forgive you. I've tried to forget, and move on. I can't! I will never forgive you for what you did to me! I can never forget! All that's left is hatred. If you weren't already dead, I'd do my best to kill you!" "And, by trying, you would have become the thing you hate most . . . me." It was as if Owen were flung backward with the realization, landing with a dull thud and expelled breath. 'The voice is right. I would have become him. I can't let hate rule me any more than I can, fear.' "I understand your feelings. Owen . . . I am not asking for something which you cannot give, and which I do not deserve. Owen, please. Everything you say about Jonathan, about me, is true, but that man, that flesh and blood person is dead and cannot reach you. No matter how much you fear him, he cannot touch you. He has no power over you unless you give him that power. "I am not the man who did those things to you. I am the man you've created. I am the man who lives in your mind . . . the one you're so afraid of, the one you fear becoming. I am not your father, but the image of your father, as you remember him." Owen covered his ears, but he could not shut out the voice. "I am only as real as you allow me to be. I have no power over you, but that which you give me. And . . . son, you are letting your fear and hatred of me ruin your life. You must take control, Owen. If you don't, the very thing you fear most, becoming just like me, will very likely come to be." "Nooooo!" Owen sobbed, as he rolled on the floor. There was nowhere to hide. There was nothing he could do but let this . . . person talk. "I cannot lie to you, Owen. All I can do is try to convince you that the man you fear is truly dead, and, as you wish, rotting in his grave. You have nothing to fear from him. Owen, please listen to me. I am trying to save you from yourself." "Why?" Owen wailed, choking back a sob. "Why'd you treat me like you did? I only wanted to love you, but all I ever felt was fear. Why? I . . . I need to know. Why?" There was a long silence. "I don't know. I wasn't always the man you knew . . . but something happened. I was afraid, all the time . . . of everything. Soon, that fear grew into hatred. I was jealous of your mother's intelligence. I was jealous, convinced everyone looked up to her, and saw me as nothing more than worthless baggage. "Then you were born and, right off, I could tell you were just like your mother. You grew into a good looking, smart, boy. Everyone liked you. You were everything I wasn't, and, as you grew up, I began to hate you for all you stood for. You turned your back on me, and the farm, the only thing I loved in the world, other than your mother. "Owen, as the years went on, I became consumed with jealousy, and fear, yes . . . and hate. It was eating at me, like some sort of . . . monster, or something. You were everything I wasn't. I was jealous of you, but I also feared you. You were everything I dreamt of being, but knew I could never be. I wanted to dominate you, to make you admit I was stronger than you. But . . . you never would. "I finally gave up, and all the worst in me took over. You'd won. I'd lost everything . . . your mother's love, everything. I convinced myself it was your fault, and I would make you pay. "It wasn't until I saw you, there in the courtroom, that I finally admitted to myself how badly I had hurt you. I tried, Owen. I tried to tell you I was sorry, but I didn't have the words . . . or the time. And . . . you have continued to hurt because of what I did. But . . . it is not me, Jonathan Carver, your father, who is hurting you now; it is you. You are allowing your memories of me to ruin your life. Owen . . . please . . . don't let that happen. One sacrificed life . . . mine . . . is enough. "I don't know what else to say. Saying I'm sorry seems so . . . meaningless, considering all I did to you, yet I am . . . sorry. Profoundly. "The only thing I can do is to tell you why I behaved as I did. A professional person would probably have other, more educated reasons for my behavior, but I'm not one of those people, so all I can tell you is how I feel. "You must believe me, Owen. Your fears of me are unfounded. I am not capable of hurting you, even if I wanted to. Only you can decide if what I'm saying is true. Only you have the power to overcome your fears. You can do it, Owen! You are surrounded by people who love you and look up to you. You deserve their love and admiration. You are afraid you will become like me. Trust me, you won't. You are by far a better man than I ever was, or ever could have hoped to be. You are a wonderful, kind, compassionate young man, who I am proud to call my son. Don't fear me, Owen. I am always with you . . . not as a vengeful ghost, but as a loving father who is very proud of his little boy. Believe me, Owen. Everything I've told you is the truth." "Are you okay, Pops? Wherever you are, are you okay?" Owen whimpered, as tears ran down his cheeks and over his chest. Owen felt a warmth, almost like an embrace. "Yes, son, I am okay. I am free of all those things which made me a bad person. I love you, Owen. I love you and am proud of the man you've become. I am pleased with the happiness you've found with Sam and Lucas, and the deep love you share with your brother. It is time for a new beginning, son. Do not waste your life fearing me. You will never become another Jonathan. You are, and will always be . . . Owen!" * * * "He moved!" Jonah cried. "His eyelids, they moved! And his fingers are gripping my hand!" He's gonna be okay!" Jonah sobbed against Corey's shoulder. Bea grabbed Daniel's arm, as Owen groaned, and pulled a hand away from Sam and Lucas, and rubbed his head. "Ow!" He looked at his hand, still grasped tightly in his brother's grip, not registering everyone else's presence. "It's a good thing you're not grabbing my dick like that! I'd think you were tryin' to rip it off! And why've you been cryin'? Are you okay? Corey? Is Jonah . . .?" he asked, focusing on Corey for the first time; then, one by one, everyone else in the room. "Sammy?" he murmured, his eyes shifting from Jonah, to Corey, Lucas, and, finally, Sam. "What happened?" His attention was caught by his mother's choked sob. "Mama?" he asked, glancing from his mother, to his naked body. "Why'd we invite Mama over, and you guys n'me chose not t'get dressed?" His eyes focused on his brother. "And why's Jonah got his underwear on backwards?" He blinked, still rubbing the back of his head. "Why am I lying on the floor?" He focused on Sam. "This isn't because of a nightmare, is it? What happened?" He tried to sit up and grimaced. "Geez! my head's killing me!" He focused on his brother's stricken appearance. "I'm okay, Jonah . . . really. You can ease up on the hand, okay?" "Oh, Owen," Jonah choked, as he leaned forward and hugged his brother, unable to say anything more. "I know, I know," Owen murmured, as he rubbed his brother's back, intensely aware of his mother and Daniel's presence. "I love you, too. I'm okay . . . really." "You fell out of bed and hit the nightstand as you fell," Lucas explained, doing his best to change the mood which was embarrassing Bea and Daniel. "You started having a nightmare, screamed, then fell over the side of the bed. You were unconscious, so we called Daniel and Bea, just to make sure it wasn't something serious." "C'mon, Jonah," Corey murmured, urging his partner to release his brother's hand, and dry his eyes. "Let's give the man some room so he can get up off the floor." "I'd appreciate a pair of underwear, too," Owen grumbled, as he accepted a hand from Sam to stand. "Maybe Daniel will loan me his. I always did like red," he said, grinning in Daniel's direction. "Don't do this sort of thing ever again," Bea scolded, doing her best to sound lighthearted. "I don't think my heart can take it, more'n this once, and your little brother and sister do not like me running, jostling them around," she continued, referring to her unborn children." "I'm thinking it's not gonna happen again," Owen said, sounding more happy than one would have expected. He squeezed Sam's hand, promising an explanation, as he accepted a pair of underwear from Lucas and stepped into them. "Sorry 'bout all the skin, Mama," he grinned, sheepishly. "I've seen it all before, Owen. You're not gonna surprise me." Owen's eyes twinkled, but before he could say anything, and prove he could indeed embarrass his mother, Daniel broke in, holding out a warning hand in Owen's direction. "That was definitely not the right thing to say, my dear. Now before we're shown things we don't need to see, or are given more information than we can handle, why don't we head back home? The guys'll give us a call if we're needed." "But . . ." Bea began, looking over her shoulder, as Daniel hustled his wife out of the apartment and down the stairs. Sam followed only a couple steps behind. "Thank you, Daniel," he said shaking the doctor's hand, and gripping Bea in a hug. "I'm sure Owen'll give you his thanks tomorrow. And . . . um . . . don't worry about Owen n'Jonah, n'Corey, n'all. Things are cool." When Bea gave him a skeptical expression, Sam grinned. "Things are a little complicated, but trust me, everything's fine . . . really. "You have to remember, Bea . . . Daniel . . . that Jonah was the only person Owen could turn to without fear of Mister Carver's displeasure focusing on them, like it did each time you tried t'help." He took Bea's hand. "Owen doesn't fault you. He knows you did everything you could to keep Mister Carver away from him. You had more on your mind, though, than just Owen, after all. You had the welfare of Jonah, Abigail, Opie, and yourself to tend to, also. Owen knows that, but what you have to remember, and accept, is that Owen and Jonah's relationship is deeper and more . . . profound than the relationship those two have with anyone else, including Lucas, Corey, or me." Sam smiled, sheepishly. "My apologies about the clothes. There just wasn't time, and after you got here, not much point." He shyly ducked his head. "I gotta say, though, that I never expected to give you a hug when I was starkers. Don't tell Mom, okay? I'd never hear the end of it!" * * * "Daniel," Bea murmured, glancing over her shoulder to the apartment building, and the now closed downstairs door. "Will Owen be okay, truly?" Daniel held his wife close, with an arm around her waist, and hoped neither of them would encounter any townsfolk, and he would have to explain why he was escorting his wife down Main Street, wearing a pair of dark red briefs, with the emphasis on brief, and tennis shoes. "I'll give him a couple tests tomorrow, to check his vision, and stuff, but I think he'll be fine." Daniel paused, and turned his wife to face him. "More importantly, though, is for you not to fret over Owen and Jonah's relationship. It obviously isn't something they've chosen to hide, and it is, just as obviously, something everyone else does not have a problem accepting. So, my Love, if they're okay with it, so should we." Daniel's voice changed, as he smiled. "I . . . um . . . also, would appreciate you not making comparisons between my . . . you know . . . and Sam's, or . . . anyone else's. Guys are sensitive about things like that . . . comparisons, I mean . . . y'know . . ." his voice trailed off into an embarrassed silence. "No worries, my macho husband," Bea chuckled. "You are quite enough for me to handle." She teasingly rubbed a hand over her husband's barely-clad behind. "In fact, I think you're the perfect specimen of manhood. Or . . . um . . . I mean, your . . . um . . . manhood's perfect." * * * Owen absently rubbed the back of his head, as he walked into the kitchen, followed closely by his brother, Lucas, and Corey, who trailed behind. Sam was still downstairs talking to Bea and Daniel. "Well?" Owen turned his boyish grin on his friends, as he turned away from the refrigerator, holding a container of orange juice. "What now? It's too early for breakfast. We don't seem to have any pastries in the house, and it doesn't look like any of you guys are in the mood for playing around." He reached up and gingerly rubbed the back of his head. "Besides, I'm sort'a sore. I feel like I've been in a fight, or something," he grumbled, as he poured himself a glass of juice. "So . . ." he leaned against the counter and studied the men surrounding the kitchen island. "What's left? Am I suddenly so nice looking, y'all just wanna stand around lookin' at me? Should I flex and do a posing routine, or something?" He drained the glass, and walked into the living room, once again trailed by his silent followers. "I wonder if Sammy's decided to go home with Mama and Daniel," he mused, as he flopped into an easy chair and stretched out his legs, absently digging his toes into the thick pile of the Oriental carpet. "Does anyone want to listen to some music?" he asked. "Television?" He sighed in resignation. "I guess I can't avoid it. What's on everyone's mind? If you're wondering what happened t'me, all I know, for sure, is that I fell out of bed and hit my head. Beyond that, I don't know. I was unconscious, y'know. So there. That's all I know. Oh, yeah," he added. "My head hurts, my throat feels like I've been yelling, and I ache all over, like I've been in a fight. "I can understand my hurting head, but, the other stuff? Was I yellin' or fighting you guys off, while I was knocked out?" he asked. "Ah, Sammy!" Owen smiled, holding out an arm in invitation, as his partner came back into the room. "Let's snuggle. Everyone else seems to wanna stand around and look worried." Sam smiled, and sat, snuggling close as Owen held him, with an arm around his shoulder. "So," Sam finally said, after kissing his lover's cheek. "Why do you think you're not going to have any more nightmares? That's what you said, isn't it? Why?" "Something happened," Jonah said. "When you came-to, you were just too happy. Nobody gets knocked unconscious, then suddenly wakes up and starts making jokes about being naked." "You have lots of experience with folks losing consciousness?" Owen dryly asked. "Well . . ." Jonah temporized. "You're just trying to get me to tell you what happened, and, like I said a bit ago, I don't know. "And, as for making jokes about being naked, what else could I do? Mama was there! I don't like being naked in front of any woman, but especially her. And don't tell me she's seen me naked bunches of times. I was a child. At least I wasn't hard, or anything. That really would have been embarrassing. "She saw Lucas and me naked," Sam grinned. "I even gave her a hug. She didn't blink an eye." "I saw her blink," Lucas murmured, speaking for the first time. "When you stood up and she saw that thing hanging between your legs, she blinked." "So, she blinked at Sam, but not at me?" Owen teased. "How's that supposed t'make a guy feel?" "She didn't blink at me, either," Lucas added. "Well . . . that's understandable," Owen replied, in a deadpan voice. "I was sort'a hoping Jonah would drop his drawers, just t'see her reaction to him!" His mouth twisted into a crooked grin. "Then again, maybe I'm glad he didn't. There would have been all sorts of comparisons, n'all. I wouldn't want him feelin' bad 'cause he's so scrawny n'stuff." Owen's grin faded. "I'm still trying to figure out what happened t'me, guys. Until I do, I'm not gonna talk about it, okay? It was nothing bad, or anything having t'do with you guys, so don't worry. I just have to figure things out." He held out a hand, asking for Lucas to join him and Sam on the sofa. "Do you guys believe someone can communicate from the grave?" "Pops? He talked to you?" "Do you think such a thing's possible?" Owen asked. The four men glanced from one to the other. "Guys, there's no right answer. You either believe such a thing is possible, or you don't." "I'm a skeptic," Lucas answered, finally, as he snuggled close. "It's never happened to me, so I don't know," Sam said. "Same here." Jonah answered. "What do you think?" Corey asked. "Could it be that your subconscious was talking to you, and you thought it was your father? Since you were unconscious and were unable to fight back, y'think that's what might have happened?" "Whether your subconscious was talking to you, or something else entirely happened . . . ," Lucas said, as he linked fingers with Owen. "Whatever happened, you're feeling good about it, right?" Owen shrugged. "Don't know. Truly. He told me that I'm the reason I'm miserable, not him. He told me that, whenever I feel him breathin' down my neck, or talking t'me, it's my doin', not his." Owen bowed his head. "He told me that if I let myself go on believing he was hounding me, livin' in fear of what he'd do next, that I'd drive myself crazy, and," Owen swallowed, "end up bein' the very thing I fear most . . . I'd end up being like him." Jonah knelt on the floor at his brother's feet, and silently grasped one of his brother's hands. "That's a message there for you, too, my lover," Corey murmured, as he perched on one of the arms of a sofa. "Owen, and you, too, to a lesser extent, are not letting go of your past. Your father hurt you . . . both . . . so badly that you sort'a don't know how to exist without that pain. It's all you ever knew, and you don't really know how to get beyond it." "We can't forget what he did," Jonah began. "Of course, you can't!" Corey interrupted, "But, you can realize that the person who hurt you is no longer alive, and is no longerable to physically hurt you. He's dead, guys! I mean really and truly dead and gone! You both know that, but you haven't realized it yet. You still think he'll show up and start up where he left off. What you needed to have done was watch as he was lowered into his grave; then . . . personally . . . filled in the hole, finally stomping around on top of the dirt, callin' him all the names in the friggin' book. Maybe that would have convinced you that he's not able to hurt you. "You both have become so comfortable being the victim of what he did to you. You haven't realized you can be something other than a victim. You can be Jonah, and . . . Owen." "That's what he said." "What?" Sam murmured. "That I was wasting my time fearing him, that I didn't have it in me to become another Jonathan. He told me I needed to stop fearin' him, and the past, and start bein' Owen. He told me it was time for a new beginning." * * * Three days . . . and nights, had passed since he'd fallen out of bed. During that time Owen had reviewed the evening's events hundreds of times, and, while he hadn't reached any resolution about his experience, he had realized something else . . . something which bothered him almost as much as fearing his father, and it was something over which he knew he had control. The evening was balmy, a change from the heat of mid summer, and Owen wanted to be outside, plus he wanted to make amends. 'Now's the time,' he told himself, as he pushed open the door to the apartment building and ran up the stairs, two at a time. "Hi!" Lucas called, looking up from his computer at the same instant Owen burst into the apartment, his personality filling the room, and his smile lighting his face like the sun. "I'm home!" he shouted. "Woo Hoo!" He pumped both fists into the air, and rocked his hips from side to side, in imitation of his young friend Nicky. "How's my lover doin'?" he asked, as he hurried across the room and tenderly pulled Lucas to his feet, studying him with quiet happiness. "I love you," Owen murmured, inhaling deeply in a moment of spontaneous sensuality, as he drew Lucas to him for a lingering kiss. It felt as if the heat of their bodies, and mingled breath, caused them to melt around one another, becoming one. "And . . . you smell as awesome as you taste," Owen breathlessly murmured, when they reluctantly parted. "Sitting there, at the library today, I realized how seldom I tell you of my love, and want to say how sorry I am. I shouldn't expect you to somehow . . . know how strongly I feel. "You're always giving, Lucas; yet, from what I see, you get very little in return, especially from me." He held Lucas at arm's length and looked into his eyes. "I'm sorry for that, but . . ." Owen bowed his head. "Most of all, I wanna tell you how sorry I am for pretty much ignoring you the other night, after all the excitement, when I fell out of bed n'all. You deserve better from me," he murmured. "As far as I can remember, I behaved as if you weren't even in the room. What with Jonah carryin' on and . . . everything else, I . . . I . . ." "Owen," Lucas began, "don't start thinking like that. What you're feeling isn't the way things really are." Owen glanced at the glowing computer screen and the papers scattered on the desktop. "Are you finished up enough so we can go for a walk? I'd like to spend some time together, just you n'me." "Sam?" Lucas began. "He'll understand. We'll be back before it's time t'go to bed. Like I said, I'd just like to spend some time with you. Can we do that?" he asked, as he nuzzled Lucas' neck. "Of course, but first I'm thinking I need to do this," Lucas murmured, as he kissed a line over Owen's neck, then his jaw, ending at his slightly parted lips. As their tongues touched, Owen's good mood seemed to . . . ignite into . . . a passionate incandescence. He pulled Lucas to him, his tongue aggressively doing battle, as he ran his open palms up and down Lucas' back and thrust his hips to press against his lover's groin. Owen's lovemaking was always tender, with an underlying strength. Today, though, Lucas was left breathless with the aggressive masculinity of the man who held him. "You are so fuckin' sexy!" Owen's voice was muffled, as he attacked Lucas' nipples and armpits, before returning to his mouth. "You said something about a walk?" Lucas laughed, as Owen groped him. "If we don't get out of here soon, we're gonna both be naked." "You're not going to get away from me that easily," Owen laughed, his lips and cheeks still wet from his sloppy kisses. He turned toward the door, then reached back and grabbed Lucas' hand. "Damn, you make me horny," he laughed. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he abruptly stopped, turning serious, as he tenderly held Lucas in a loose embrace. "I love you, more'n I can say. Somehow, just saying the words doesn't seem like it tells you enough. They're just words." Lucas tenderly smiled, as he caressed one of Owen's cheeks. "Yes, they're words . . . powerful ones, but . . . Cowboy . . . whether you say those words or not, you show me how much you love me in so many other ways. Now . . . we're going on a walk . . . remember," he laughed. He opened the door to the building and hauled Owen out onto the sidewalk, laughing and teasing one another like children, as they waved to the barber, who was sitting outside his shop, reading the newspaper. Art returned the wave, and shook his head, wondering if he'd ever had as much energy as the two young men. They walked side-by-side, in companionable silence, until they stepped off the end of the sidewalk and headed toward the river, as if by silent agreement. Ahead of them, fields of green swayed and rippled across the landscape. The warm air softened the horizon into a magical blue haze, while, nearby, deep green trees lined the riverbank. Lucas inhaled the heady scent of growing things, and smiled, taking Owen's hand and linking fingers. "Owen," he broke the sudden silence, "Are you still thinking that I don't feel your love? Like I said, you show me how much you love me in so many ways. I have never . . . once . . . had a doubt as to the depth of your feelings. I am happier today than I have ever been." He gestured to their surroundings. "I'm living in what has to be one of the most beautiful spots on earth, and I'm in love with two wonderful men, who, surprisingly, love me back. What more could I ask for?" he asked, as they stepped into the shade of one of the enormous trees. When Owen didn't answer, Lucas stopped walking and turned Owen to face him. "Owen . . . Cowboy," he said, in a tender voice. "This isn't just about you thinking you don't tell me you love me often enough, is it? You're beating yourself up because you think you're treating Sam or Jonah special, at my expense. If that's what's on your mind, you can stop thinking that." "But . . ." "Shhhh, there are no buts. If you are treating me differently, it is happening only in your mind." "I . . ." Owen hesitated. "Sometimes, I feel like I . . ." "Owen . . . lover, listen to me. I mean really listen. Okay?" Owen nodded. "To me, love is not about making comparisons. I do not . . . ever . . . compare the relationship you and I have, with the one you have with Jonah, or Sam, or anyone else. You love both of them, just as you love me, and each of them loves you, just as Corey does, or Nicky, or . . . whomever." Lucas grinned. "Damn, but you're loved by a lot of people! If I start trying to name 'em all, we're gonna be standing out here 'til the cows come home to roost, or whatever." "Cows don't roost," Owen snickered, as some of the tension, which had been hovering about him, faded away. "Well, how the hell am I supposed t'know that?" Lucas laughed, pleased he'd been able to divert Owen from a bout of self-recrimination. "I can't recall ever seeing a real-live cow, so how am I supposed to know what they do in their spare time? Hmm?" he asked, raising his brows. "Anyhow, what I'm saying is that even though you, Sam, and I are partners, the three of us have a relationship with one another, separate from the one we have as a group. The same is true with the bonds we have with Jonah and Corey. "All the relationships between us guys are equal. What I feel for Sam is as important to me as what I feel for you, or Jonah, or Corey. Each of those relationships is different, and special . . . in its own way, yet all of them are love. "When you, Sam, and I are together, though, all the things we feel for one another join-up into something which goes beyond awesome . . . or, beyond love." Lucas paused. "I'm not explaining myself very well, but do you understand what I'm trying to say?" Owen nodded once, gulped a swallow, his lips twitching upward as he tentatively smiled. "All I can say is how lucky I am. Do you and Sam have talks like these?" "Sure, not about the same sort'a things, necessarily. I also talk with Jonah and Corey." Lucas paused. "Hmm . . . Sounds like I do a lot of talking, doesn't it?" he laughed, quickly kissing Owen, then grabbed his hand and pulled him along. "So . . . since we understand one another better now, what do you say we dangle our feet in the river and see if we can attract an alligator, or two. And . . . while we're doing that, we can catch up on some kissing. You know, of course, that I haven't tasted your tongue in at least twenty minutes!" "What did I ever do to deserve being loved by a man like you?" Owen murmured. "Must have been the same thing I did to be loved by you. Let's not try to figure out that sort of thing. Let's just enjoy what we've got, okay?" "Nevertheless," Owen said, pausing, and drawing Lucas to him in a loose embrace and resting his head on his shoulder. "I love you more than I can ever say. You are soooo important to me. Something like . . . breathing." "I know," Lucas said, as he kissed the tip of Owen's nose, smiling at the faint dusting of freckles which made Owen appear younger than he was. "And I feel the same about you." * * * Owen lay on his back, the flat river's side stone still radiating warmth gathered earlier in the day. He bent both knees, resting his feet flat on the stone, while, at his side, Lucas held his hand and basked in the afterglow of sexual release. The only sounds, other than his and Owen's voices, were the birds, the occasional plop, as a frog flung itself from the bank of the river into the water, and the faint rustling sound of the leaves in the trees overhead. Lucas inhaled deeply, and sighed with pleasure. The air was fresh from the recent rains, and was heavy with fragrances of damp earth, flowers, and new-mown hay. 'So different from the city,' he mused. 'Growing up, I never would have imagined I would be spending my life in a place like this.' Owen raised a hand and lazily pointed to the enormous branch which stretched overhead. "That branch is one of the best memories of my childhood," he murmured, rolling his head to look at his partner. "Whenever we were able to sneak away, Jonah and I would come out here, climb the tree, and crawl out along the branch, anxious to prove how brave we were by hurling ourselves into the air." He chuckled in recollection. "Jonah was, without a doubt, braver than me. 'Course, he's a better swimmer, too. Hurling myself into the air, I could do pretty well, at least without screaming in panic. It's the splash-down, and what came after, that I wasn't very good at. But," he grinned, his eyes twinkling, "you can't have one without the other. So, I mostly cheered him on." "Why did you guys come here?" Lucas asked, "And not the meadow?" There was no hesitation. "The meadow was for Sam and me, no one else, until we met you. Now, it's yours, Sammy's, and mine. I asked Mama once if we owned that part of the riverbank. We do," he told Lucas, sounding immensely pleased. "She asked me why, and I just told her it was special to me and Sammy. She smiled, and never mentioned it again." "Yet, you allowed Riley and Bailey to join us for that picnic," Lucas said, rolling onto his side and propped himself up on an elbow, as he toyed with one of Owen's nipples, teasing it to firmness. Owen lay a hand on top of Lucas', silently telling him his ultra-sensitive nipples had been teased enough. "Sam and I talked about the guys joining us. It was a one-time thing. Not even Jonah or Corey have ever been there." He glanced at Lucas. "Like I said, it's just for us . . . you, Sammy, n'me." "You lost the vote, didn't you?" Lucas teased. "Sam convinced you they should join us." Owen smiled sheepishly. "It wasn't exactly a vote. Sam insisted, so we did it, but only that once. He's comfortable with that." Owen lowered his voice. "The boy's stronger than he looks," he said, dryly. "Otherwise, you two wrestled, and he won." "Yeah, something like that," Owen murmured. "Would you believe I let him win?" Lucas burst out laughing. "If it'll make you feel better, that's what I'll believe," he said, as he rolled on top of his lover. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked into Owen's eyes, then tenderly touched his lover's lips with his own. There was no need for words of love. All of those had been said during the walk to the river's side. Now, all that was left was the touch of one another's naked body, each other's taste, and, of course, the caresses. 'My turn,' Lucas thought, as they separated. He scrambled onto his knees, straddling Owen's waist, and offered Owen two fingers to suck on. "Y'wanna cum in me?" he murmured, his voice barely audible, as he rocked his hips, dragging his scrotum over the smooth skin of Owen's belly. Owen groaned and nodded, intensifying his attack on Lucas' fingers. "How bad d'you wanna fuck me?" Lucas teased, reaching back to stroke the erection. "Bad," Owen whimpered, then spit, as Lucas held out a hand. Lucas added some of his own saliva, then wiped his fingers across his anus, as he lowered himself onto Owen's erection. "Ohhhh, yeah," Owen sighed. He raised his head and watched as the head of his cock pushed its way inside. Then, as both he and Lucas sighed with pleasure, Lucas leaned back, propping himself up on his extended arms, spread his legs wider, and sank down the length of the cock. "Oh, fuuuuck that's good," he grunted, as he began slow, rhythmic thrusts. "Damn," he whimpered, as he gasped for breath, the stimulation of Owen's penis rubbing over his prostate, pushing him ever closer to the edge. Owen was bucking his hips, his upward thrusts becoming frantic. Lucas could feel the cock thicken, stretching his sphincter. Owen jerked once, thrust upward with all his strength, and howled, as his cock pulsed, emptying itself, while, at the same time, Lucas' orgasm swept over him and his penis erupted, blasting two thick trails of sperm over his chest and belly. "DAMN, that was sweet," Lucas shouted, as he struggled to his feet and stretched the cramping muscles of his arms and legs. "I'm gonna be walking like a drunk sailor for days!"
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