Chapter Six

Brian was speechless. After he swallowed and steadied his breathing, he whispered, “I know. I’m scared, too. This is really intense. Like nothing I’ve ever experienced.”

“Yeah, that’s just it. I’ve never wanted a man as bad as I want you.”

“I’m afraid I’ll screw this up, and if I do, it’ll never come again.” Brian opened a piece of his heart to Rush. It might have been foolish, it might have been too soon, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Look, I’ll be there tomorrow, but I’m not promising anything, Brian.” Rush’s voice turned sharp and impatient. “This is hard for me.”

“I understand. Can we just try? I know we’re both frightened about this, but can we at least give it a chance?”

“I’ll see you then.” Rush hung up, leaving Brian’s question unanswered.

Brian rolled off the bed, undressed and hit the shower. He had to get a full day’s work in tomorrow and with the questions that were swimming around in his head that might just prove harder than he’d thought.

 

* * * *

 

Rush woke with a world-class hard-on. Groaning, he knew it wasn’t a piss erection—the ache was too primal, coming straight from his balls, not his bladder.

Fuck. Brian had him so hot and horny he couldn’t stand it. And despite all his declarations of staying away, he’d agreed to go to Houston and meet Brian. Again, he ran through all the reasons he shouldn’t go. There was a long list of those and only one reason to make his date.

The chance that Brian was the man he could share his life with. If he didn’t go and find out, he’d call himself a pathetic coward for the rest of his life. And the Weston men had never been cowards. Not his grandfather, his father, not young Robbie. And until he’d met Brian in that alley, he hadn’t thought he was, either.

In truth, he was a coward. He’d been one for fifteen years, hiding what he was from the town, sneaking off to Houston for casual sex and keeping every man he’d ever met at an emotional distance.

He reached for the lube, spread some on his hand and tossed it down. Lying back, he closed his eyes and Brian’s face surged unbidden into his imagination.

Brian, stretched out beneath him, moaned softly as Rush pumped into him. Eyes closed, his tongue passed over his full lips, driving Rush crazy with the desire to kiss them. Instead, he worked the long length of his dick, stroked the oil over the engorged tip, slid his hand back down the sides of his shaft and squeezed his balls.

He was so close to coming that it took nothing more than imagining Brian’s mouth sucking in his balls, first one, then the other, the incredible tingling and sweet pain as he pulled them away from Rush’s body, to send Rush over the edge.

Crying out, he emptied onto his belly, long white streams of jism splattering warm against his skin like heavy raindrops on a window. After a shudder, he fell back and tried to catch his breath.

“I swear, I’m going to have a fuckin’ heart attack tonight.” Rush groaned.

If he knew one thing, it was that phone sex was not enough. He wanted Brian in the sweet, delicious, mouthwatering flesh. Wanted him more than he’d ever wanted anyone else. Most of the men he’d fucked had been easy to walk away from. All of them casual, most anonymous, just used to satisfy the need for physical gratification.

Because Rush could never bring a man home to the ranch. Not while his father had lived, and not while his mother had lived. Now, both of them were dead, buried next to Robbie on the hill behind the house.

Rush slung his legs over the side of the bed and put his head in his hands.

There was no one standing in the way of his happiness.

Except himself.

Fear, like some huge wall of ice, had hardened his heart all these years. Fear of exposure, fear of his parents’ disappointment and rejection, and fear of opening himself up to a man and of being hurt.

On one side stood Rush.

On the other stood Brian.

The wall separating them was immense, cold, hard as steel.

Fuck. Two big men like Brian and Rush should be able to take down that wall, shouldn’t they?

 

* * * *

 

Another day spent in the basement of the CPS building, spinning through miles of microfiche, with Brian going cross-eyed as he watched files blur past.

He was down to three possible candidates. The rest of the names had been marked off the list, but these three had stayed. Now, he opened the first one.

A kid named Samuel James Waters. Brian pulled up his record and began going through the images of the boy’s folder. The first materials were the most recent, eventually going back until the child had first come into the system. A photograph stopped him. A dark-haired little boy stared into the camera with eyes so old, so sad, and so deep that it sucked Brian’s breath from his chest. He’d found Sammi.

He had attended high school on the north side of Houston until the day he hadn’t shown up. Reported missing by his foster parents Jason and Donna Rankle, not Don and Jan Ranks. Sammi’s memory was awful, but Brian supposed that to Sammi, they had been just more of the same. He had been with them for only six months.

Prior to that, he’d been assigned to a group home for almost two years. That would put him at about thirteen years old. Brian scanned a notation about a fight. He stopped at another entry, read it and groaned. A report about Sammi being raped had been filed by the social worker for the home. No charges had been brought against the alleged perp, one of the older boys, and he couldn’t find any record of a follow-up investigation.

Shit. Brian couldn’t imagine being raped at thirteen. No one to back him up, or to come to his defense. Nothing done about it. What a fucking nightmare.

Another form. Another set of parents. Sammi had lived with them for almost a year before they’d sent him back. Brian read their statement. Vague, they talked of Sammi’s oddness and their worry that he was dangerous.

Brian shook his head at the wrongness of that statement.

Sammi was many things.

Tender. Vulnerable. Sexy. Loving. Self-sacrificing.

But dangerous was the last thing he’d ever call Sammi.

Sammi had returned to a group home, this time only for a few months. A new set of parents. These had lasted over a year. He had been returned, yet again. Similar comments from the foster mom and dad.

Brian scrolled past more of the same. The pattern was clear as day. Sammi would be fostered out, the parents would return him after six months to about a year, and back he’d go to the group home. Lather. Rinse. Repeat as necessary.

Brian found a report of alleged sexual abuse filed by the social worker against the foster father when Sammi had been ten years old. Sammi had been removed from the foster home and sent back. Again. Nothing had been done about the bastard who’d abused him.

He’d thought being raped at thirteen must have been horrible. Sexually abused at ten by the person who was supposed to protect you?

That Sammi had survived, had grown into the incredible, giving person he was floored Brian. Mitchell had fallen in love with Sammi without knowing any of this crap. Did he know this stuff now? Had Sammi told him of his past, and if not, should Brian?

Knowing Mitchell, it wouldn’t make a difference to him anyway.

Brian scrolled farther back into Sammi’s records. More of the same. It was heartbreakingly sad.

He returned to the photograph—Sammi stood apart from the man and woman holding hands. A stranger in what should have been his home, among the people who were supposed to care for him. Instead, he’d been tossed back and forth as if he were a human hot potato, with no one wanting him.

Sammi’s life had been a tragedy. But he’d survived, and now he flourished under Mitchell’s love, his acceptance and his belief that Sammi could be so much more than what he’d been.

Leaning back, Brian closed his eyes and rubbed them. What would he have done with an odd childlike Sammi? And he had to have been strange. His power to know what people were thinking and feeling must have creeped the shit out of everyone.

Had Sammi even known what he could do? How had he dealt with it as a young child? Obviously, he’d managed it, but only just. If not for meeting Mitchell, Sammi would have been sold by Donovan to some bastard in Italy and sent overseas to serve whatever perverted needs his buyer might have possessed.

Brian got back to work. Only two hours before closing and the thought of coming back next week made him groan.

The blur spun, then stopped. Brian focused his eyes.

Sammi’s initial papers.

With his pen poised over his pad to write down the needed info, Brian leaned in as he read the transcript of the mother’s statement given when she’d abandoned her son to the state. He skipped over a long section of the social worker’s questions and began to read when he reached the part about why Sammi’s mother had given up her child.

 

Mother: “I can’t stand it anymore. Can’t deal with it. You’ve got to take him. It’s too late for me. Too late. Save Sammy.”

Social worker: “What do you mean, too late?”

Mother: “No more time left. Sammy needs to be safe. From the voices. From me.”

Social worker: “Do you want to hurt him?”

Mother: “No, no, no. The voices. I have to stop the voices.”

 

Brian sighed. Sammi’s mother must have had the same power as he, only she hadn’t known what it was or how to handle it. It was clear to him that she’d teetered on the edge of desperation and sanity. In her own way, she’d tried to save Sammi from some horrible imagined fate, unaware of the true fate she’d left him to.

Well, what would Brian think if he could hear everyone around him? All their thoughts and feelings? He’d think he was fucking crazy.

Just like Sammi’s mother.

The papers had been signed, notarized and it was done. Sammi had been made a ward of the state. And his mother? No note in the file about what had happened to her.

Brian wrote down her name. Lydia Mae Waters. Finally, a name. She had been nineteen years old, and Sammi had been only two years old, not three. Was that her married name? Chances were, at seventeen, she hadn’t been married when she’d gotten pregnant. He’d have to check the records, but with a last name to work with, it should be easy.

He scrolled to the end of the file and froze.

Bingo. Sammi’s birth certificate.

Samuel James Waters. Mother—Lydia Mae Waters. Father—none given. Born—March 13, 1984 at Hermann Hospital, Houston, Texas. Time—six-sixteen a.m. Weight—six pounds three ounces. Length—nineteen inches.

How lucky was that? Now Sammi had everything he needed to order his birth certificate online and to apply for his social security card, and with those two small pieces of paper, an entire future would open up for him.

Brian loved this part of his job. He’d actually done it, found out who Sammi was, and with this information, Sammi could have a future and a life as a ‘real’ person, not some shadow entity operating below the radar of the ‘real’ world.

As Brian gathered his papers, he stood and switched off the machine. Two long days, but it had been worth it.

Brian thanked the woman at the desk as he left. If he hurried, he’d make it back to Houston before Rush showed up at his house. Maybe he should call, let him know he was running late, so the big cowboy wouldn’t worry.

Humming, he rode the elevator to the main floor, exited the building and headed to his car.

Tonight, he was finally going to get his hands on the cowboy of his wet dreams.