Making New Memories - Eight
Thank you, Gentle Reader, for opening this story, a series about a man who confronts his past to find a new future. Dave, Jim, and the rest of the cast of characters are fictional, and do not represent any person living or dead. The story is fantasy and exists in that realm,
Elements in this story include sex between men, some racier elements might include some kinky sex, but for the most part just good old-fashioned cocksucking and fucking. If you enjoy this story, and others like it, please consider making a donation to keep the Nifty archive free and accessible! http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
Chapter Eight
When my eyes opened, it took me a moment to remember where I was, that we were in Jim's bed. Jim was still sleeping beside me, on his belly, his arm across my chest, his face sharing my pillow. I spent a few minutes like this, on my back, staring up at the ceiling. I had a feeling of joy and bliss about what had happened last night, and a feeling of dread. This was my last full day here with Jim before I returned to the West Coast.
Yesterday. Wow, that all really happened. We spent the day together, and then we had the boyfriend talk. Jim asked me to be his, we said we loved each other, I became a we. And then the sex. Being inside Jim was intense, and seeing him open to me was really powerful. I had not been expecting it, but as we had whispered and kissed following our sex, it became obvious that Jim was telling me that he trusted me, that we were fully bonded.
Thinking about it again my cock, already hard from my morning wood, was getting even harder and redder. I reached down with my hand and fondled my balls and gave my cock a quick tug. I had been in my head, enjoying reliving last night that I hadn't noticed the change in Jim's breathing. I didn't realize he was awake until I felt him move and swat my hand away, wrapping his around my hard cock. "Hey, that's my job," he said, in groggy morning voice.
I turned my head toward his and saw his smiling grey eyes looking at me, and I leaned in to kiss him; a quick, almost chaste kiss to say good morning. But, morning breath be damned, we couldn't stop ourselves at a single kiss, and it quickly deepened. I groaned into his mouth as his hand traveled the length of my cock again. I felt him hardening against me as well, as he turned onto his side.
Quickly we began grinding against each other, our bodies quickly warming, and a sheen of sweat lubricating us as we slid against each other. I swung my right leg over Jim's legs, and flipped us both over, him on his back, me on top of his strong body. It took me little time to scoot up, straddling him, and, using one hand to steady his steel-hard, leaking dick, slide down onto his cock. One long steady movement, and I felt his balls against my taint. And I was fully fucked.
Jim's look of surprise at my suddenness turned me on even more, and I rose up and slid down again, knowing how good it must feel on his cock. I steadied myself by placing my hands on his chest, kneading his upper body, stroking his nipples. Our gazes were locked and, along with our grunts and moans, urged each other along. I fucked myself hard on his dick, and he thrust up to meet me each time.
"Fuck, Dave, Ungh!" Jim shouted.
This only spurred me on, and I gave both of his nipples a tweak as I slammed down hard on his cock. My own dick was bouncing with each rise and fall, spewing droplets of my precum all over Jim's furry belly. I knew I was going to cum soon, and as much as I wanted to slow down, I was way too hot to stop, so I pushed on. Jim's cock was getting harder and I could feel the head expanding, I knew he was about to blow, too. His breathing was ragged.
"So fucking good!" He grunted, as his hips thrust up to meet me. That last thrust sent me over, hitting my prostate just at the right angle. I felt my orgasm crashing over me, and I grabbed my dick and aimed it right at Jim's chest. It launched a volley of jizz on his chest, hit his beard, fired off ropes of cum on him just as he roared and shuddered and I felt my ass filling with his searing hot cum. I sat down fully on him, feeling his cock pulse in my ass, letting him fill me with his seed. I needed it, needed this, needed him.
"Christ, you are a pig for my cum," he said, chuckling as his breathing slowed down.
"Says the guy with my cum in his beard. Oink oink," I laughed back at him.
Jim lifted his hand to his cheek and beard and felt the cum. "Eeew, you slimed me!" he laughed deeply, and then, swiping the cum from his furry face, he wiped it on my chest. "Just like I said, pig."
We both laughed, and there was no denying, I loved making him cum just as much as he did me. I fell onto my side, astride him and stroked his chest, kissing him. It wasn't long, though, that the call of nature, once postponed by morning sex, came back, and we separated to walk to the toilet together. We pissed into the bowl, and dared fate by crossing our streams, a reference to Ghostbusters, a movie we had both seen as kids.
We took coffee and bowls of cereal out to the porch and sat down in rocking chairs, looking out at the lake. The morning had a chill to it, and fall was most definitely approaching. Jim was going to head up to Traverse City right away.
"I have one last piece of cabinetry to install at a house I finished on the Old Mission Peninsula, and then that project will be put to bed, and I am all yours," Jim explained.
"I thought you were already all mine," I said, with a sly grin.
"Mmmhmm. I guess that's the case, isn't it, boyfriend?" Jim reached out his left hand and grabbed my right hand, rubbing his thumb over the pad. "Anyway, after that the band is going to get together and practice a couple of new songs for the show, and I'll spend the night with a friend up there," Jim revealed. I would join him on Saturday and then we'd go listen to his show.
We tossed Jim's sheets in the wash, did the dishes, and then we were off, he in his truck and me in my car.
I spent the day puttering around the Torch Lake house. I knew this was the last time I would see this place as I had known it, and I wanted to see it again. Perhaps leaving the memories of this place right here would help me build some new ones. I had just experienced a couple of the best weeks of my life here with Jim, and certainly that was something to enjoy.
I made a simple dinner, using up what was left in the house, except for some bread and coffee, which I would have for breakfast. I spent the sunset down at the dock, drinking the last three beers in the fridge, watching darkness creep across the sky. As I went back into bed, I turned out of my old bedroom and the twin bed, and went into the larger bedroom. A further sign that I was leaving the past behind, I peeled back the covers on the queen sized bed, and got in. My house. My bed. My future.
The next morning passed slowly. I packed up, ready to leave the following morning for the long drive back to Detroit and the long flight back to San Francisco. Finally, I put on jeans and a nice button down shirt, and headed to Traverse City for Jim's show. We were going to meet at Sleder's and have a beer and a burger before the show. I saw his truck in the parking lot, and wheeled my rental car into the spot next to it.
Sleder's is an institution. They say that they're Michigan's oldest continuously-operating restaurant, and when you go in, you could believe it. The wood floors were well worn. Moose and deer heads were mounted on the walls, peanut shells covered the floors, and the long bar looked like it was right out of an old-time saloon. In fact, that is exactly what this place was.
I scanned the place and saw Jim's head in one of the booths along the wall. Sitting opposite him was guy with a close beard, dark hair, wearing a flannel shirt. He had a nice smile. I walked over to them, and slid into the booth next to Jim.
"Hey there," he said, smiling. "Glad you made it! This is my friend, Ian," he tipped his pint glass of beer toward the smiling guy.
"Hello, Ian," I said, giving a little raised hand wave, "I'm Dave, nice to meet you."
"Likewise," he returned, pleasantly.
I looked over my shoulder to flag down a server. "How was your day?" I asked Jim.
"It was pretty good. Finished up my cabinet install and then got in a little practice with the guys," he summarized.
Finally a server approached, and I asked what was on tap. After making my selection, I offered, "Gentlemen, how are you doing, need another?" Jim was just tipping his back, and Ian nodded his head. "And another round for them, please," I added.
"Thanks," Ian said. I nodded my head.
We chatted amicably for a moment or two, and then I felt Jim squeeze my arm, "I'm gonna hit the head before the next beer comes, and step outside for a quick one," he indicated the pack of Marlboros in his front pocket. I stood up to let Jim out, and then scooted back in.
The server came by to drop off our beers. "Will you all want some kitchen menus?" she asked.
I nodded my head, "Yeah, I am starving."
Then I turned my attention to Ian, and raised my glass. We clinked, and then I asked "So, Ian, are you in the band, too? I didn't see you at Jim's last gig up in Charlevoix."
"Nah, I am just a groupie. Me and Jim have been friends for a while, and he stayed at my place last night," Ian answered. "What about you? How are you and Jim connected?"
I wasn't sure what to say. I knew that Jim wasn't out to many people, and I did not know anything about Ian, so I answered vaguely, that Jim was doing some work on my place.
"I'm sure he is," Ian winked flirtatiously. "Jim has a way of working his tool hard," he chuckled.
"Ah, well, he's talented, that's for sure," I answered, still unsure if he were trying to get information out of me about Jim, or if he were just that familiar.
Ian laughed, "Talented. That's a word for it. He put two loads into me last night, and another this morning," Ian winked, salaciously. "That man can cum."
I spit my beer back into my glass thankfully catching it before I swallowed, else I would have choked and ended up coughing. My face turned red, I could feel it, and my heartrate quickened. My first instinct was to verify, before reacting more. "Ah, are you guys together?"
"Jim and I have been buds for years, sometimes in bed, sometimes out of bed. We've been seeing a lot of each other this summer, though, and it might be getting more serious," Ian said, lowering his voice. "I wouldn't mind that at all," he said, "Jim's a good one, and we're not getting younger, are we?"
I took a deep, steadying breath, and let out a chuckle that I hope seemed genuine. "That's true. And when you think you've found the one, you should hold onto him," I replied. I felt like I was on autopilot. I heard myself speaking, but I was detached from it. I realized that this wasn't some kind of joke, or prank. This was real.
"What about you? Hello? Dave?" Ian asked. I had faded out from the conversation, and he needed to get my attention back. "Jim said you're from San Francisco. Do you have someone back home?"
"Ah no, well, ah, it's complicated." I replied, at a loss for words.
"What's complicated?" Jim asked, stepping back up to the booth, having done his business.
I slid to the end, and stood up to let him back into the inside seat.
"Dave's love life," Ian informed. "Dave was just saying that his love life was complicated."
Jim shot me a panicked look that confirmed everything I felt I needed to know.
"Yeah, I thought I had found a good one, Ian, but maybe not," I tried to steady my voice. I pushed up from the table. "My turn to use the washroom." and I rushed toward the front of the tavern. I didn't go into the hallway leading to the toilets, but went out the front door, instead, to grab some lungfuls of fresh air. It had felt like all the Oxygen had been sucked out of the room. I walked around the corner, out of sight of the windows and the door, and leaned against the wood siding, the yellow flaking paint against my back. My knees felt weak. I've been hurt before, of course, by my age, everybody has; but I truly had not seen that one coming.
Finally, I felt like I wasn't going to pass out, and I continued walking to the back parking lot. Before I got into my car, I took out my phone and composed a quick text.
"I had to get out of there. I am going back to the cottage to pack up." That was simple. No drama. I just hit send and was opening the car door when I heard running behind me and a thick hand on my shoulder.
"You're just going to leave?" Jim said, his voice heated.
I spun around. "Jim. I had to get outta there. I just sent you a text saying so," I was annoyed and hurt, and I did not want to show more emotion than I was comfortable.
"Can we talk? What am I supposed to tell Ian that you suddenly left?"
"You're worried about what to tell Ian?" I asked, in disbelief.
Jim looked down at the ground and didn't say anything. He knew he'd just said the wrong thing.
"You can tell him that two nights ago you said you wanted us to be boyfriends, and that you couldn't imagine us being intimate with others even with the distance, and then your boyfriend just got surprised when Ian told him about the great sex `two loads last night and a third this morning' that you two had. That should just about catch Ian up to speed on why I am leaving right now." I surprised myself by how calmly and quietly I was speaking. My brain was moving very deliberately and slowly, even as the rest of the world felt like it was spinning out of control.
"I can't believe he told you that," Jim exclaimed, running his hand along the back of his neck. This was a gesture I noticed he did when he was frustrated or concentrating.
"That you are first concerned with what Ian thinks, and secondly that you're upset he told me something you hadn't told me, helps me understand where my feelings rank in your mind, Jim. I am going home now." I opened the door and got into the car. Jim watched me pull out of the lot as I dug my nails into the steering wheel and silently commanded myself not to let him see me upset.
I made it as far as the waterfront, and wheeled into a parking spot, overlooking the Grand Traverse Bay. I turned off the car, rolled down the windows, and let my head fall against the headrest. I didn't cry as much as I had expected to, maybe I was still in shock. After a moment, I just stared out at the water, trying to process what had happened so quickly. I sat for at least an hour or so.
It had all been quick - the romance, the sex, the big conversation. Maybe the quick end was just in line with the rest of the scene I had been living in for the last two weeks. I took a deep breath. Time to move on. As if on cue, a rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. I switched on the ignition and headed toward home, hopefully before the storm hit.
By the time I got back to the lake house, it was only 9 in the evening. I had convinced myself that I needed to keep moving and get out of northern Michigan, and so I would just grab my suitcase, lock up, and head to the Detroit airport, about four hours or more. I could check into the airport Westin late, and catch some sleep, or at least a shower, and hang out `til my flight back to San Francisco in the late afternoon. I just wanted to be away from here.
As I was walking out the door and locking up, I took one last moment to look around. Now everything was up in the air, I had no idea if I still wanted to renovate this place, or if I just wanted to sell it and be done; it felt like this house was cursed, one let down after another, one more betrayal. I seriously thought about dropping a match, burning the place down, but I didn't want to be incarcerated for arson. Better to let it go.
The storm had really whipped itself up. Wind and rain were rushing through the cool night. I should probably have made a cup of coffee and sat out the rain for a while, but I wasn't thinking strategically, I just wanted to get on the road. I placed my bag in the trunk, and my backpack with my laptop in the passenger seat, and quickly shaking off my wet jacket, I threw it on the seat as well and jumped in the car, starting it, and rolling toward the end of the driveway. I made the right onto East Torch Lake Drive when I saw a huge flash of lightning followed by an immediate crack of thunder. It felt like it was overhead. The rain was sheeting down, and even with my wipers going at full speed, I could barely see more than a few feet ahead.
I drove slowly, flipping on my hazards and my high beams and proceeded down the road. As I approached the first curve my headlights caught leaves and branches in the road. I surmised that the lightning must have struck a tree and half of it was now blocking the roadway. I pulled over, grabbed my jacket, and got out to move the branch out of the way.
Getting closer, I could see a truck off the shoulder, flipped on its side. I knew by the sinking feeling in my stomach even before I saw the color or the make that it was Jim's. Of course it would be. I ran up to the truck, and peered into the driver's side window. I could see Jim inside, a piece of the tree had broken through the passenger window and was inches away from his head. I pounded on the glass, "Jim are you awake? Jim! Jim! Are you awake? Can you move?" I grabbed my phone and turned on the flashlight, the only light I had. His face was covered in blood, and scanning his neck and chest and torso, I could see that his clothes had some blood, but I could not see any obvious wound.
I thumbed 911 into my phone, and eventually, got through.
"Antrim County 911. What is your emergency?" The dispatcher answered.
"There has been an accident on East Torch Lake Drive, just north of Thayer Lake. The driver is not responding, the truck flipped on its side," I reported.
"Is the driver breathing?"
I looked for a moment at Jim's chest, it rose and fell quickly, almost imperceptibly. "It appears so. I can't get in. His window is up and the door is locked. His breathing seems shallow."
The storm pounded around us, but I was oblivious to everything except Jim in front of me.
"I am sending rescue and sheriff's units," came the reply. "Do you know the driver?"
"Yes, his name is Jim Philips," I replied, my voice starting to crack.
I knew she recognized his name, everyone knew everyone up here. They had probably gone to school together, or been family friends, or fucked. "Oh, Jimmy! Damn. Ok, can you get to him?"
"Not without breaking the glass."
"Try breaking a rear window and see if you can unlock the door," she replied. "I'll stay with you on the phone."
I ran around to the side of the truck, knowing that Jim's tools would contain something that would break glass. The grassy shoulder and woods had scattered tools glinting off headlights. Finally, finding a hammer, I brought it back to the truck. Glancing in the window I could see Jim's chest still moving in shallow breaths, and his eyes remained closed. I cracked against the rear driver's-side window until the glass shattered, and I was able to reach my hand in and unlock the driver's door.
"I've got it unlocked," I shouted into the phone. "I'll see if I can get in now."
The door barely moved, and I used the hammer to pry it open more. An inch or less at a time. I finally opened it enough to get my hand in. I touched Jim's face, put my hand under his nose to see if I could feel breath. It was warm on my hand, small puffs. Jim was breathing at least.
"He's breathing," I said into the phone, my only link to sanity at the moment.
"Thank God," the voice replied. "Can you see if he is bleeding?"
"I can't get in much more than I am, but I am feeling down his torso, and there's blood from his head, but it doesn't look deep. I can't see or feel anything else, but then I can't get to most of his body."
I returned my attention to his face, and I caressed his beard and his cheek. "Jim, buddy, Jim, wake up. Open your eyes." I tapped on his face, gently. I reached my hand down his left arm, which was laying across his side and abdomen. Finally, I got to his hand. It was cooler than usual to the touch, but not icy. I took that as a good sign that he wasn't bleeding out. I squeezed his hand, and, then, ever so gently, I felt him squeeze back. I snapped my head up to look at his face, and his eyes slowly opened, fear, pain showing on his face and through his gray eyes.
"Jim," I whispered.
Fear and panic were replaced by sadness in his expression. "I'm sorry." The words came out slowly, breathy.
I squeezed his hand. "Shh. Plenty of time. Let's get you out of here," and I held his hand until the rescue team arrived.
I walked away from Jim's truck once they got on the scene, not wanting to be in the way. I helped a deputy move the fallen branches off the road while he pulled a chainsaw out of the back of his trunk and cut up some of the larger pieces. Fortunately there was no one else on the road. After we'd finished, he invited me to sit in his cruiser while he took my statement. I gave him answers while I kept one eye and most of my attention on the crew working on the truck, prying the door open. I saw them succeed, and breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that he was at least able to be transported.
"Did you know Mr. Phililps?" the deputy inquired?
"Yeah, he's been doing some work on my place, and we're, ah, friends," I did not really know how to answer this. I was a confusion of emotions at the moment, mostly, my adrenaline was still pumping.
"Do you know where he was coming from?"
"He was playing a show in TC earlier this evening," I replied. I did not want to reveal anything about Jim to the deputy that might get Jim in trouble, so I stayed vague.
"Do you know if he had been drinking?"
"I don't know. I left a couple of hours ago," then, shifting tactics, "Do you know where they're taking him?"
"Kalkaska's the closest 24-hour emergency room to here, so that's where they will go. They have a pretty good trauma center," the deputy revealed.
"Mind if I go see if I can find his phone and his wallet? I'll bring them to the hospital," I started to leave the cruiser. "Oh, sorry, do you need more of a statement from me?" I had explained that I had happened on the crash moments after it must have happened, and I had told about the lightning and thunder. The rain was starting to subside by now, and the storm was blowing inland.
"No, I think you've answered my questions. May I have your phone number so I can follow up if there's anything else?" I gave him my phone number. "Sure, you can bring his phone and wallet," I was reminded how everyone knew everyone here. There was no suspicion that I would do anything but what I'd said I would.
"Great," I replied, "and I'll swing by his place and pick up some clothes for when he's released. I hope he's not too banged up."
"I am glad you were so quick on the scene," the deputy confided. "Moments matter in trauma."
And with that, I left the cruiser and went to Jim's truck. I knew he kept his phone and wallet in the console, which, fortunately, had not come open in the wreck. I grabbed them, and took his keys out of the ignition, and his extra pack of Marlboros and lighter and put them all in my pocket. I climbed back in my car, and drove the mile or so down the lake to Jim's pull-off.
It felt weird to be in Jim's house without him there. I felt like an intruder, his space closing in on me. As the adrenaline wore off, I was suddenly exhausted, my knees felt weak, and I lurched over to his table and pulled out a chair, sitting down with a thud. There had been so much this evening, such a range of emotions. I was angry and hurt, but then, seeing Jim there in his truck, feeling his hand, seeing the expression on his face, my emotions were not as simple or clearcut. I let out a long breath.
I splashed a little water on my face and ran my hands through my hair. Going back out into my car, I pulled out one of my bags and found a cleaner pair of jeans and a shirt that wasn't wet. I changed my clothes and then I pulled some sweats and underwear, socks, sneakers, and a flannel shirt from Jim's drawers and closet, put them in a rucksack that Jim had, and I headed out. Removing the items from my pockets, I put them into the bag, too. I happened to notice his phone displayed a bunch of texts and a missed call from Ian. I dropped the phone and a charger into the bag, feeling annoyed.
It took almost an hour to get to the medical facility in Kalkaska, reminding me how rural Antrim County really is. The information desk told me that he was not yet in a room, and that the medical staff was attending him. I took my seat in the waiting room. Fortunately, it was a very quiet night, and no one else was here. I glanced up at the television that was showing CNN, and watched a few headlines, not really paying attention.
After about an hour, the nurse at the reception desk stood up and told me I could now see Mr. Philips. He was in room 5. I rounded the corner and went into the room. Jim had a sling on his right arm, some bandages on the right side of his face, and he was in a hospital gown. His bed had been propped up in a reclining position. He had plenty of pillows under his back and head.
He smiled broadly when I came in, but as he moved to greet me, he winced in pain, and fell back into his bed. I set the rucksack on the side of his bed, and stood next to him.
"Just take it easy, Jim. What'd they say about your injuries?"
He recounted "Something's going on with my shoulder, or rotator cuff, nothing broken, but a lot of pain, some scrapes on my head, bruising and cuts on my torso and my right leg is pretty banged up. Nothing broken in my leg, but they said it's going to hurt. Most of that happened when they pulled me out. Doc said they're keeping me overnight to make sure I don't have a concussion, and they'll spring me tomorrow."
"I picked up your stuff, and brought you some clothes," I stated, trying to keep the conversation light and casual.
Jim opened up the bag and rummaged through it. "Would you put these in the cubby over there?" he indicated the clothes and the little shelving unit across the room. Sifting through the rest of the items, he laughed when he came to his cigarettes. "Do you think they'll let me smoke in here?" He chuckled, and then added "It's like you know me so well."
"Do I, though?" I surprised myself by saying out loud what immediately came to mind, and I regretted it as soon as I said it. This wasn't the time.
Jim's face fell, and I could tell my comment struck a direct hit.
"I noticed a bunch of texts and a call from Ian - I did not read them. You should probably tell him what happened." I knew I was overstepping and being a dick, and that really, I should back off. He was in a hospital bed, I should exhibit some self control, but I was pissed, and it felt good to get in some hits.
Jim looked crushed. "I fucked up," he said, the air rushing out of him. It took effort for him to talk, probably he was on some painkillers, and his chest was hurt from the impact of the seatbelt and airbag.
"You did, Jim," I affirmed.
"I don't know what to do to make this better." Jim was uncharacteristically weak, and I was worried that we should not be having too serious a conversation in his current state.
"What do you think `better' looks like, Jim? I mean what is it that you want from this?"
"Forgiveness," he answered, immediately.
"Jim, I came here this summer to close down Torch Lake and purge it from my life; to forgive and to forget the painful parts of my own story associated with this place. When I leave Michigan in a few hours, I am leaving all the pain, betrayal, bitterness, trauma here. I am done carrying it. These last couple of weeks have been what I needed to do and know and learn to allow me to finally forgive.
You are fixing up my place so it can be sold, and I can leave Torch Lake right here where it belongs, and I am grateful for that. So, yeah, Jim, you're included in my forgiveness. When I fly home, I'll leave this baggage behind," my voice was steady, even if my nerves weren't. But saying it, I felt it was right. I was convinced that I was making the right choice.
"Dave, that's not what I want, though. I really hoped ..." Jim was interrupted by his phone buzzing noisily on the formica top of the bedside table.
When he turned back toward me and met my gaze, I saw a look I had not expected to see in his grey eyes: he was afraid, unsure. I felt a stirring inside me to not leave things ugly between us. I took a step closer to his bed, and took his hand in mine. Strong, rugged, rough, I also knew how tender and gentle and soothing it could feel.
"Give me a call when you are back home and rested and ready, and we can sort out the work. I am not immune to my feelings for you, Jim, and I don't know what should come next. I wasn't joking when I told you I loved you, and I do, right now, even though I am not sure what to do with all that. Feelings are not so easy to shut down. But I am also not going to let myself be wrapped up in being treated like shit by people who say they love me. When you figure out what it is that you really want, and you are in the position of being able to do something about it, with integrity, we can resume this conversation." I knew I was getting self-righteous, and I felt myself starting to lose control, the emotion building inside of me. I did not want to show any more of myself than I already had.
Jim took a deep breath, which made him shudder in pain. I knew my last line, challenging his integrity, likely a step too far, was rubbing on him. "I understand, and I will take care of my shit."
I squeezed his hand. "I am heading out. You've got some clothes to change into, your keys, wallet, everything you need. I am really glad that your accident did not injure you more than this, and I'm sorry about your truck! I am going to drive down to Detroit, and catch my flight ..." I looked at my watch, it was now past midnight, "in a few hours. Rest up, Jim." I released his hand, smoothing it on his bed, I reached to his face, and brushed his hair off his forehead, holding his pain-filled gray eyes in my gaze for a moment, then I turned and left the room, left the floor, left the hospital, left Michigan.
End Chapter Eight
Well, that was unexpected! Betrayal, loss, and trauma - how quickly good things can sour. Do these guys have a chance, or will their opportunity for happiness set like the sun as Dave sinks into the West? I promise, we'll find out together. Don't give up on them, yet.