Owen

Owen

Chapter thirty

by Roy Reinikainen

The breeze caused the leaves overhead to rustle. A small grey squirrel studied him for a long moment, its tail quivering as if in indecision. Then, in a feat of daring, accompanied by a continuous angry commentary, ran past, and scampered up the trunk of the oak serving as Sam's backrest. As Sam closed his eyes, he smiled to himself, listening to the small animal which had scampered past recount its bravery to its mates overhead. 'Since Owen's been home, I've not gotten nearly enough sleep,' Sam sighed, feeling more weary than he could remember. But fatigue was not his only cause for weariness. He was also troubled by all the things remaining unsaid between him and Owen.

He'd told Owen that first night, the night he'd returned, that they had time enough to talk . . . later. 'Well,' he thought, 'later has come and gone and the two of us still haven't done any real talking. We laugh, and tease one another. We shower together, then spend much of the night in one another's arms. It's just like old times, but it isn't. We've both changed. That doesn't mean I don't feel the same about him as I always have. It's just . . .' he mentally shrugged, 'we've . . . changed.'

Sam massaged his tired eyes. 'I feel like we're heading toward making a big mistake, all because we're not sure of our own mind, and we're afraid of hurting one another. But,' he continued thinking to himself, and ignoring the other students lounging on the lawn outside the junior college's library, 'but, going along, as if there are no concerns, is the easiest thing to do. It's just not the smartest.'

He heaved a sigh, a tender smile playing with the corners of his mouth. The previous night, Jonah and Lucas were at Bea's, helping her with something. It had been wonderful when Owen wrapped him in a loose embrace and nuzzled his neck. "Wanna go to the meadow?" Owen had asked. "And look at the stars," he'd added, as if the stars were an extra enticement.

All it had taken was for Owen to nibble on his earlobe and kiss his neck and Sam was ready to go. He'd never shown Jonah his and Owen's special place. The place where he and Owen had discovered love and watched it blossom was not a place to be shared with anyone else. It was a place of whispered boyhood secrets, brimming with memories of laughter and tiny yellow flowers, heavy with the scent of honey and the buzz of bees. The meadow was a place of nights filled with fireflies, and Owen's weight on top of him, of Owen's tongue . . . and penis . . . inside him. Being with Owen . . . in their meadow . . . was something he'd drop everything to do. Sam snagged a blanket and threw it over his shoulder as he and Owen walked hand-in-hand down the lane toward the river in companionable silence. Communication didn't seem to be necessary, they knew one another's heart so well.

'That's the problem,' Sam remembered thinking as they wound their way through the low tree limbs toward the river's bank in a night lit by the crescent moon. 'We know each other so well, we anticipate the pain a change . . . any change . . . in our relationship will cause.' It was easy for Sam to recall the day Owen had left for school. He'd not really begun to recover . . . until he began to take control of his own life and not depend as much as he always had, on Owen.

"I've dreamt of this place, often," Owen said, in a low voice, pausing to wipe the remnants of a spider's web from his face before accepting Sam's outstretched hand, assisting him up the grassy incline from the river's edge to their meadow. 'I think I know exactly where every rock, which lends me its back to help me cross the shallows, is located, and every branch," he added, as he ducked beneath a branch and found himself in Sam's waiting arms, their mouths meeting in a deep kiss, which left them breathless.

He kicked off his tennis shoes and socks, curling his toes in the early spring grass, inhaling its fresh scent. 'At school, they're still braving the cold weather,' he told himself, as Sam stepped into his embrace.

Slender Sam, the man he'd always loved. He smiled a fond smile, recalling Sam's perpetual boyish smile and laugh. Sam, the man with the dancing eyes, sensitive nipples, and cock that could reach depths and stimulate him in ways he could not have imagined. Sam of the round butt and eager mouth and hole. The man in his arms was the boy he'd always loved, the one who had told him, on the day he left for school, that he'd always love him. He could still hear Sam's words, rough with emotion and tears.

"You know I love you, don't you?" Sam had said, looking at Owen with tear-red eyes. Owen remembered the slight breeze which rustled the leaves overhead and ruffled his friend's thick black hair. "You leavin's not gonna make me stop," Sam had concluded, once again resting his chin on his flexed knees, and retreating into his own thoughts, as they'd sat in a pool of sunshine surrounded by a beauty Owen had daily dreamt of since leaving.

Years of pleasant memories danced before Owen's eyes, flickering, then fading, only to reappear, like the fireflies of summer. All were of him and Sam. He inhaled deeply. "The place smells just way the way I remember it."

Sam could hear the smile in Owen's voice a playfulness Owen had shown, even during some of the darkest hours of his childhood. He loved the warmth and strength of Owen's hands against his skin as they snaked beneath his shirt. Owen cooed as he tossed the shirt aside and ran his hands over the smooth skin of Sam's chest, pausing at the sensitive nipples to tease them between thumb and forefingers.

Next, Owen dropped to his knees and worked Sam's jeans over his hips and down his long legs, providing a steadying hand as Sam stepped free, before he quickly swallowed Sam's erection, teasing the underside with his tongue as he kneaded Sam's buttocks, pulling him close.

"Ohhhh, Owen," Sam moaned, his body trembling with the sensations coursing through his body. The man kneeling in front of him knew precisely what to do . . . and when to do it . . . to prolong Sam's pleasure and make him gasp with delight. Tonight though, something was different. He frowned in puzzlement as Owen let Sam's cock slide free of his mouth.

"Oh, Sammy," Owen murmured, drawing him into a hug, the side of his face pressed against Sam's pubes and captured cock. "I love you so much." He tightened his embrace. "I don't ever want to let you go."

They'd stayed in that position for a few minutes, Owen hugging Sam close as Sam slowly toyed with Owen's short hair.

"Owen," Sam finally said, his voice sounding loud in the night. "Are you doin' okay?" The response was a ragged indrawn breath and rough-voiced response.

"I . . . I don't know."

A moment later Owen asked, "hold me?" He'd heaved a sigh. "My whole life has gotten so complicated I don't know what to do next. Maybe being with you will help me find the way."

"First," Sam said, kneeling in front of Owen, "we've got to get you out of these clothes. It's much nicer, cuddling, when we're both nekkid," he'd teased, hoping to lift Owen's spirits. Owen was so unfailingly happy, that to see . . . and hear . . . him in distress, spoke of the depth of his anxiety.

"I just want to hold you . . . if that's okay," Owen said, as if apologizing, once they'd lain down and Sam had tugged the remainder of the blanket on top of them. "I feel as if . . . you . . . everything I love . . . is just slippin' away . . . right through my fingers," Owen began, as if continuing an earlier conversation. He slowly ran his hands over Sam's back, pleased with the familiar presence of Sam at his side and Sam's breath on his neck.

"Tell me I'm not crazy, Sammy," he'd almost begged. "Tell me that the world's not fallin' apart around me like I'm thinkin." He huffed a breath, absently stroking Sam's back. "I should be feelin' good. I'm back home. Mama is recovering. Pops is . . . in jail over in Evanston." He tightened his embrace and tenderly kissed Sam's lips. "I'm with you."

"But?" Sam murmured. "Those are all good things. What's making you feel bad?" He felt Owen try to shrug.

"I'm back in Riverton with no more idea of what to do with my life than I had when I left. "I'm back with you . . . yet . . . something's different. I've grown. You've grown. We're both different people from the two guys who said goodbye last fall. Sammy," he paused, "have we grown so different that we can no longer be what we once were to each other? Were we boys, believin' in boy's dreams, thinkin' that the world would always remain the same?" There was another huff. "If so, I'm having a rough time givin' up the past."

There was a long pause. "I want so bad to be back in Riverton, yet at the same time, I don't." His voice lowered. "I want so much for you and I to have that same uncomplicated love we always had, yet I know that I'm askin' for the impossible. That uncomplicated love is gone. The love I feel for you is still there, maybe even stronger today than it ever was, but it's a . . . a . . . different . . . love. D'you know what I mean? Am I making any sense?"

Sam cursed his suddenly watery eyes, and the tear which he felt drip onto Owen. He couldn't help the sob he tried to choke back, as Owen voiced the same concerns he'd been having. The pain in Owen's voice tore at his heart. Owen had never behaved this way, not even during the worst of his father's beatings. Owen was in deep pain and Sam knew of nothing to say which would help.

"Ohhhhh, Sammy," Owen murmured, brushing a fingertip over Sam's cheek. "Now I've gone and made you cry." He ran his fingers through the hair on the back of Sam's head. "I'm sorry for makin' you cry." He kissed Sam's cheek. "My wonderful Sammy."

They'd held one another in silence until they'd finally fallen asleep, Sam's chest close to Owen's back.

'What are we both wanting? Is it possible that wanting the same thing Lucas has said he wants . . . to be near one another, whether or not they are lovers?' Sam asked himself, awakening from a nightmare with a start. In his dream, he'd been frantically searching for someone who was no longer there. He felt despondent. He knew Owen was nearby, but they were no longer together. Owen was with someone else. Sam was . . . alone.' He tightened his embrace taking comfort from Owen's warmth, and slowly he'd returned to sleep.

Eventually, with the touch of sunlight on their faces and birdsong overhead, Owen stirred. "G'mornin'," he'd mumbled wearing a crooked smile as Sam yawned and knuckled his eyes. "Gotta get up n'pee. Unless, of course," he teased, kissing Sam's cheek. "Y'want me to pee on you. I know how much you love it," he whispered in Sam's ear, then bit his earlobe.

"Wha . . .? Now? We just woke up!" He yawned and shook his head in an attempt to drive off the last of the night's sleep.

"You gotta admit it," Owen smiled, scrambling to his knees at Sam's side. "Ever since we tried it, you love it."

"As much as you do," Sam laughed. "At least, don't splash on the blanket." He'd tugged the blanket from beneath him and tossed it aside, then laid back on the grass, with Owen kneeling at his side, an expectant smile playing with his lips.

"So, when I'm done, you're gonna spray on me?" Owen asked, scooting closer and aiming his penis at Sam's groin, relaxing and releasing a strong stream, which splashed over Sam's pubes. At the first touch of the steaming hot liquid, Sam was instantly erect. They'd first done this in the shower with Lucas, during his Christmas visit, and he'd fantasized about it ever since. He loved the feeling of the warm liquid splashing over his chest as much as Owen seemed to.

"Now, me," Owen said, scrambling onto his back, his cock thickening as he moved into position. "M'face too, Sammy," he asked, as he began to masturbate himself with his left hand and play with Sam's scrotum with the other. Owen closed his eyes as the stream of Sam's piss splashed onto his hair, then moved over his face, and down his chest, to finish, splashing against his hand as he madly beat off.

"C'mon, Sammy," Owen urged, licking his lips. "Cover me with your sperm, too." His finger found Sam's anus and was pleased when Sam sat back and relaxed, silently inviting penetration.

It had only taken a few strokes, and both of them were shooting their load, Owen over his own belly, with Sam adding his to Owen's.

"Oh, geez, that was great," Sam had panted, flicking off the last drop of sperm and feeling some of Owen's piss drip from his balls.

"Now what?" Owen asked, his voice back to being playful.

"Now," Sam grinned. "I'm gonna lay on top of you so we can squirm around and mix our . . . bodily fluids . . . while I fight with your tongue, and we swap some spit." He grinned as he wiggled his eyebrows and Owen held out his arms in smiling invitation.

Later, they bathed in the shallows at the river's edge and dried one another using, the blanket, before dressing and reluctantly heading back to town. Nothing had been settled. Nothing had changed. They both remained frustrated, trapped in a relationship which no longer existed.

'It would be easier if I no longer loved Owen,' Sam told himself, listening to the squirrel continue to chitter overhead, 'but that isn't the case.' It was just as Owen had said of him. He loved Owen, possibly more today, than ever. Owen was right, they had grown. But, if that meant they'd grown apart, how was it possible that each felt more in love with the other than ever? 'Am I only telling myself I'm lovin' him more?' Sam asked himself, as an acorn dropped from overhead, landing at his side. 'Or, am I only in love with the idea of loving him?'

'After all, I am happy. How could I be anything but? The man I've always loved is home. I've dreamt about laying at his side, tasting his tongue, laughing with him, teasing him, holding his hand, and of course, having sex. All my wishes have been granted,' he thought, his lips twitching into a crooked grin. 'Yet, because Owen's home, I've discovered a whole new set of problems.

'When Jonah came to me that night . . . months ago . . . wanting to be held, I . . . I told myself that nothing could possibly come of it. After all, I loved Owen.'

Sam heaved another sigh, as Owen's laughter seemed to drift through his thoughts, a sound as impossible to hold as smoke. 'But, something did come of getting to know Jonah. At first, maybe it was nothing more than companionship. We were both lonely; both of us missing the same man.

'As we spent more time together, though, I began to feel a tenderness toward him that had nothing to do with mere companionship, or sympathy for what he endured at the hands of his father. And finally, I had to admit to myself that I wasn't only feeling tenderness, I was in love.'

Sam stared into the distance, the muted conversations of the other students around him, fading into the background. 'What do all my jumbled feelings mean? Loving Owen goes without saying. I tell myself . . . and I believe it . . . that I love Jonah too. Which brother do I . . .' Sam sighed, unable to ask himself which he loved most.

"Ooooowennnn!" The child's excited voice interrupted Owen's laughing description of last year's Independence Day celebration. Both Owen and Lucas turned as a young boy came bounding toward them down the sidewalk adjoining the park, leaving his parents in the distance. Owen's face lit. He knelt down and held his arms wide as the little black-haired boy ran toward him.

"Nicky!" Owen exclaimed, his eyes sparkling as he picked up the boy, who was tightly hugging him. "How's my favorite little man?" Owen asked, leaning back slightly to look at Nicky's face. "You're looking great!"

The little boy nodded his agreement. "And you've been gone forever," Nicky added. "Are you back to stay?" he continued, then hugged Owen close, his arms around Owen's neck. "I miss you! You teach me lots a' good stuff."

"And I miss you too, Nicky. Here," Owen said, settling the child in a more comfortable position on his hip. "I want you to meet my good friend, Lucas." Owen's smile was radiant as he turned from Nicky to Lucas. "He came with me all the way from school. I'm glad you're having a chance to meet each other." Nicky smiled brightly and held his hand high, for Lucas to slap.

"If I'm your favorite little man," Nicky asked, turning back to Owen. "Is Lucas your favorite big man?"

"You bet he is," Owen responded, nuzzling Nicky's neck, causing the child to giggle. "I'm really happy being surrounded by my favorite men."

'His favorite man?' Lucas wondered.

"Yay," Nicky shouted, pumping one arm. "I had a birthday, with a party n'all," the little boy announced in an abrupt change of subject, turning back to Owen. "I'm five!" He held out a hand displaying five fingers, in emphasis. "Pretty soon, I'll be big enough to be your favorite big man, instead of Lucas!" He glanced at Lucas with a disarming smile.

"You and I will have to wrestle to see who gets him," Lucas teased, reaching out to tickle the youngster who squirmed and giggled at the attention.

"Okay. I'll win!" Nicky crowed, turning to Lucas. "I'll win, 'cause I've got a big muscle. Wanna see?" Without waiting, he flexed his arm, his smile growing. "There," he said, pleased with himself, nodding toward his bicep. "Feel that!" he invited. "Pretty soon I'm gonna have lots of muscles, just like Owen," he continued, as Lucas touched the young boy's arm and told him, with great authority, that he did indeed have a fine muscle.

Hey, Mama," Nicky called, as his parents approached. "Look! Owen's home, along with a friend all the way from school. His name is Lucas. I was just showing him my muscle."

Lucas exchanged greetings and handshakes with the young couple, speaking to Nicky's mother as Owen, Nicky, and Will, Nicky's father, visited. All the while, Nicky refused to be separated from Owen.

"He thinks of Owen as an older brother," Nicky's mother, Peggy, commented, giving her son a smile of deep maternal affection.

"How did they come to know one another?" Lucas asked, grinning at the young boy's giggling in the background.

Peggy's smile reflected remembered pain and anxiety. "When Nicky was two years old, he underwent some serious surgery," she explained. "For a few terrible days, we weren't sure whether he would survive. But, he's always been a strong little boy, and eventually, we were allowed to bring him home. Of course, he, being as young as he was, had no idea why he hurt so much, or why he couldn't get up and move about, or go outside and play. So, he cried and carried on all day and night, cranky about everything . . . from his food, to his medicines. Will and I were up with him constantly, until Owen heard about Nicky's problems and came by to ask if he could sit with him at night so Will and I could get some sleep.

"M'mother was planning on coming to help, but she couldn't arrive for at least a week. I don't think either Will or I could have lasted that long. We were exhausted, both emotionally, fearing for Nicky's well being, and physically, tending to his needs. Actually, he was recovering nicely, but . . ."

She shook her head, recalling the scene, the first night Owen had shown up. "That first night was like a miracle. Will and I went to bed, leaving Owen in the living room, holding Nicky, who was whimpering, about being separated from us. After all, Owen was someone he didn't know well. A few hours later, I woke up, startled by the quiet." She grinned. "The house hadn't been quiet for days. So, I got up and hurried to the living room to see if everything was okay." Her smile widened.

"And, there was Owen, sitting in my grandmother's rocking chair, holding little Nicky, who was soundly sleeping, sucking his thumb and resting his head on Owen's shoulder, while Owen slowly rocked and hummed a tune."

Peggy looked at Lucas through a watery blur, recalling the scene. "Owen looked at me and smiled, letting me know everything was under control, then proceeded to show up for the following five nights, until my mother arrived. It was a bit of a scene when Nicky realized Owen wouldn't be able to come by every night to hold him, but at least he was no longer crying constantly, and with Owen giving us a break, Will and I were able to be better parents to our son.

"They've been good friends ever since. Many afternoons, after school, Owen would come by and they would lay on the living room floor, while Owen would read to him, and talk to him about all sorts of things, showing him pictures in books he'd brought from the school library, and answering Nicky's questions. Or, they would walk hand-in-hand into town for an ice cream cone at Millie's." Peggy smiled. "I actually think Owen likes ice cream more than little Nicky. Like I said, they're just like brothers."

Peggy sniffed. "I'm sorry, Lucas. I didn't mean to tell you our family history. It's just that Owen is someone special." She reached out and touched Lucas' forearm, asking for understanding.

"There's no need to apologize. I've known he was special since the day I met him. I've seen him work his magic on a friend of mine. I've even experienced some of it myself," Lucas added. "We're lucky to know him, aren't we?"

"That we are."

"Hello, Olivia, this is Owen."

Lucas' mother motioned for her husband's attention, silently mouthing the word, "Owen," in explanation. "Sweetheart!" she smiled. "From the tone of your voice, I am assuming you and Lucas found things at home not to be as bad as you thought when you left."

She smiled as Owen described his and Lucas' mad cross-country dash, and the description of his homecoming. Her smile faded as he described the condition of his mother and the man who was injured coming to her aid. "Well," she sighed, when the story wound to its conclusion, "I'm glad you're there to assist your mother, brother, and sisters. I'm sure they're pleased to see you, too. And, how is Sam? You must remember to tell him "hi," from Neil and me."

Olivia wondered if she had said something wrong, when Owen seemed to hesitate. "Owen?" she urged, frowning slightly as her husband looked up at the change in her voice. "Please remember that I am always available, should you need to talk. You've quickly become like a second son to Neil and me, you know." She chuckled. "Neil's sitting close-by, nodding his head in agreement.

"Owen," she continued, "are you alone? Perhaps we can talk . . . now?"

"I love Lucas, Olivia," she heard him say. The declaration came as no surprise to her, though the feelings must be causing Owen a great deal of trouble.

"Is that a bad thing?"

Owen laughed. "No, but I also love Sam." He paused. "I've loved Sam since we were kids. We grew up together. We shared everything. I thought . . ." There was a pause. "I think . . ." Another pause, this one longer. "No, I thought that Sam would be the only person I would ever love, or ever could love." Owen chuckled.

"I guess I thought that I would go to school for a few years, then . . . somehow . . . Sam and I would be together for the rest of our lives. I . . . I'm not so sure . . . now. Things have changed. By feelin' as I do . . . about Lucas, I feel as if I'm betraying Sam, his trust in me, his love, and our future."

"Have you discussed your feelings with Sam?" Olivia asked. "Do either he or Lucas know how you feel?"

Owen seemed not to have heard. He continued. "Then there's m'father. I hate him for the things he's done to Mama . . . and to Jonah, that's m'brother, and me, of course. But, at the same time, he's my father. I feel as if I owe him something . . . allegiance, at least. Even when he doesn't show anything for me, I keep wonderin' if he and I could just sit down and talk, maybe things could be different between us. If I could hold his hand and tell him how much I love him, and how much he means to me, then maybe . . . he could bring himself to . . . at least . . . like . . . me." Owen took a shuddering breath, the pain of his childhood threatening to overtake him.

"At the same time, I wonder, in some deep dark corner of my mind, if I'll start behavin' like him. He wasn't always this way, y'know. He was always stern, but he used to laugh. It was a long time ago, but I remember him doing it." Owen's voice faded. "At least, I think he did." This time the pause stretched to the breaking point before Owen continued speaking.

"Olivia, I'm afraid of becoming involved with someone . . . anyone . . . for fear that I'll grow to be all angry and stuff, like Pops. I hate conflict. I hate shoutin' and anger. I hate the look of fear on Mama's face, or my sisters. It makes my stomach all tight. I don't want to be the cause of another person feelin' the way I do when there's lots of shoutin' going on."

Olivia couldn't help herself. She had to step into the conversation. "What makes you think you have it in you to be like your father, sweetheart?"

Owen's soft snort held no amusement. "Because there are times I want to haul-off and hit him. Sorta to knock some sense into him, y'know? But, then I'd be just like him, beatin' me to knock some sense into me. That's why I wonder . . . sometimes . . . if I might become like him, thinking that yelling and beating are the only ways to get what you want."

"Your father beat you?" Olivia coaxed, meeting the alarmed look of her husband.

Owen sighed. "Yeah."

"Lucas never mentioned that . . . nor did you."

"Yeah, well," Owen sighed. "The fact that my father beat me isn't something I go around advertising, especially at Thanksgiving and Christmas celebrations."

"Owen . . ."

"Yes ma'am."

"I would venture to guess that . . . because you can even voice your fear that you might become like your father, means categorically, that you will not. I would doubt that your father has ever stopped to consider his actions. You are a kind and caring individual, sweetheart. Look what you did for Lucas, and Bailey."

She hesitated. "What did you do to Bailey, by the way?" She laughed. "Louise, his mother, tells me that she wouldn't recognize her own son. 'He's so normal!' Louise tells me. She and George, Bailey's father, attribute this miracle to you, though of course everyone knows both Bailey and his friend Corey had a lot to do with it.

"You started it, sweetheart. It doesn't sound as if your father would ever have been able to do such a thing. From how you've described him, I don't believe he would have cared about Bailey's welfare. Instead of abandoning or ignoring Bailey, you did something. Bailey was a lonely figure that everyone pitied, but no one cared enough, nor had any idea how to help him. You did it, Owen. In one singular meeting, you changed Bailey's life, and by doing so, you changed Louise's and George's, too. And, Corey's as well. In one meeting, you did something no amount of counselors, cajoling, threats, or any other means attempted by anyone who knew Bailey, had managed to accomplish.

"You did something similar with Lucas," she added, "though not quite so dramatic.

"I felt it, when I met you, as did Allison, and Neil. You change people, Owen. You enable us to be something better. You do this by example. I don't think you would be able to do any of these things if you had it in you to be like your father.

"That's the main thing that's bothering you, isn't it? Your father, I mean. More than loving two men."

"Yeah, I guess. It weighs heavily on me. But, thanks Olivia, you've helped. You and my mother would get along well. You can both cut to the heart of the matter . . . ruthlessly sometimes. I think you'd like one another."

Olivia grinned, and patted her husband's hand, silently telling him he could relax. "Any woman who could rear such a son as you, Owen, I'm sure I would care for. Whether you know it or not, her love for you is displayed in everything you do . . . so, I would have to thank her not only for the wonderful son she reared, but the changes that have occurred in Lucas as well. Perhaps, someday, I shall have the chance."

"Thank you, Olivia. For your kind words . . . for listenin' to me."

"Anytime, sweetheart. Remember, you have Neil's and my love, just as Lucas and Allison do.

You love desserts, don't you?" Bailey leaned his forearms on the dining table and smiled as Corey seemed to inhale his dessert. "How do you manage to not gain weight?"

Corey grinned. "You give me a workout every day, y'know. I'm probably in better shape now than I have ever been." He grinned. "I know it's much easier for me to throw my legs back over my shoulders than it once was." Bailey rolled his eyes. "Y'know, my grandmama once said . . ."

Bailey held up a restraining hand. "You're not going to tell me that your grandmother, the one who dances naked in the moonlight, or something like that, had anything to say on the subject of staying in that position to be fucked."

Corey studied the man across the table for a moment before making a dismissive hand gesture and returning to his dessert. He shook his head. "You're not ready for what I was gonna say. I have to break you in a little at a time, y'know."

"Hey!"

"Later, Bail," Corey smiled. "Right now, I want to ask if you've heard from Owen or Lucas in the past week or so. I usually see Owen in the library, but he's not been around."

"No, I've not seen either Lucas or Owen, but then I haven't been looking for them. I've been busy with those projects for class. I know what you mean about Owen's co-workers, though. Very few of the workers over there know much of anything. Makes me wonder how Owen can stand working surrounded by a bunch of dummies. Those guys probably wouldn't have sense enough to plow around a stump." Corey's eyes widened and he shook his head.

"Plow?" Corey asked. "Stump?" Bailey nodded, his lips twitching.

"Did I get it right? The saying, I mean."

Corey rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair with an expelled gust of exasperated breath. "When did you suddenly acquire a sense of humor, Bail? Here I just get accustomed to the dour you and you go and change on me."

"Dour?" Bailey frowned. "I was never dour, was I? Besides, I still let you be the bottom most of the time." His eyes focused on Corey. "What sort of changes are you talking about?" Corey jumped out of his chair and laid a hand on Bailey's brow, as if determining if Bailey was running a fever.

"It works much better if you stick something up my butt, you know," Bailey murmured, in a dry humor. "And, I'm not talking about a thermometer. I'd probably not even feel that."

"That loose, huh?" Corey jumped out of the way as Bailey playfully slapped in his direction.

"You know exactly how loose I am, Mr. Hatfield. In fact, would you like to retire to the bedroom so you can take my temperature a couple times?" His eyes sparkled as he spoke. "Maybe you could give me a few injections of your special sauce, while you're at it."

"Later, Bail. I'm worried that something's wrong with Lucas and Owen. You have Lucas' cell phone number, don't you? Give him a call and let's set my worries at ease; then we can retire to the bedroom and fuck like bunnies." Corey reached for Bailey's phone and set it before him. "Go ahead," he motioned.

"Y'sure something is not right?"

"Yeah, something's going on. It may be nothing important, but if it is important, I want to find out if there's anything you and I can do to help out." Corey returned to his accustomed chair at the dining table, his expression suddenly very serious. "I get the heebie jeebies just thinking about it." He made a slight face and a hurry up motion with his hand in response to Bailey's amused expression.

"I can't help how I speak. I'm a Southern Boy, and Southern Boys speak like . . ." he paused, "Southerners. We're full of all sorts of sh . . . ahem . . . sayings. I hope nothing's going on with Owen's family. If something has happened, he's going to need as much support as he can get."

"You really are worried, aren't you?"

Corey nodded, his expression grim. "I do tend to worry about things easily, but, yes, something's going on. Owen's been a great friend to both of us. I want to be there for him if he needs me." Corey held up a hand. "I know, I know. He has Lucas, but . . ." Corey made another hurry up motion. "Call and put my mind to rest. My brain has been busier than a one-armed paper-hanger, imagining all the terrible things which could have happened."

Bailey paused. "A one-armed . . ." He shook his head. At any other time, he would have asked for an explanation, but Corey was right. something was going on.

"I'll apologize, if my feelings turn out to be groundless," Corey murmured, scooting his chair closer to Bailey's.

Bailey nodded once, as he opened his phone and dialed Lucas' number. He waited patiently, giving Corey what he hoped was a comforting smile.

"Hello, Lucas? This is Bailey. Corey and I are worried about you and Owen. We've not seen you on campus and we're wondering if everything is okay with you both." Corey reached out and took Bailey's hand, hoping Owen was okay. He wished Lucas good health as well, but ever since he'd spoken to Owen of his childhood, he felt a special kinship with Owen. They were so much alike. Besides, he knew Owen was in pain.

'It may be a low-level pain,' he thought, 'but he is in pain.'

"When?" Bailey asked, his voice changing to one of alarm. "Is everything okay now?" Corey's eyes widened. He squirmed on his seat until Bailey told Lucas to hold on a moment so he could relay the news.

"Ohshitohshitohshit," Corey murmured, flinging himself out of his chair and pacing while Bailey returned to his conversation. "Poor Owen."

When Bailey's and Lucas' conversation ended, Corey hurried back to the table. "We've got to go to them, Bail. Even if there's nothing special we can do, those guys are too important to both of us to let them deal with everything alone. We've got to!"

Bailey nodded, his lips thinned to a grim line. "Can we hold off until the end of next week? That'll be Spring Recess and we can leave. I've only begun to catch up on everything in each of my classes, and I'd hate to suddenly disappear." He took Corey's hand. "Same with you, Cor. We've got mid term tests coming up."

Corey slumped further in his chair. "Yeah, and I should be working on that project with Riley." Corey bit his lip. "I'll give him a call. I'm sure he'll be okay with me going. We're just about finished with it, anyhow."

"Riley?" Bailey asked, not placing the name.

Corey made an impatient gesture with a hand. "You remember . . . the dark-haired guy with the eyes that look right through you. How could you forget about those eyes?"

"Oh yes, the joker . . . the one with the too tight pants and no color sense. He does have a nice voice, though.

"Yep, that's him!" Corey smiled. "He's a looker, so he can get away with weird combinations. No one pays attention to what he's wearing. They're too busy squirming when he pierces them with a stare. He needs you to give him a few lessons on how to dress."

"I don't even know the man! How am I supposed to approach him about his lack of taste? I can imagine what he'd think if I walked up to him, casually laid an arm across his shoulders and said, "hey Riley . . . about the clothes." Bailey laughed at the thought.

"He'd strip out of them for you. He looks pretty good all nekkid." Corey grinned. "He's always talking about how much he hates clothes."

Bailey snorted. "Considering what he wears, I understand." He held up a hand in a placating gesture. "I know, I know. I need to be nice."

"But we were talking about Owen and Lucas, Corey said, changing the subject and patting Bailey's hand once. "We have to be there for them." His eyes grew large. "What are they doing about school?"

Bailey shrugged. "Lucas told me they're both going to have to lose this semester, at least. He really didn't know anything beyond that."

"Oh, geez. That's going to kill Owen. He loves the school . . . and the library." Corey stared into space for a few heartbeats, then slumped back in his chair. "We can go though, can't we? I mean, after our mid term exams, n' all? We've got to be there."

Owen slid forward on the rocking chair, resting his tennis shoes on the porch railing, and slowly rubbed a thumb back and forth over the glossy surface of one of his most prized possessions, the photograph of him and Sam. "We've been through a lot, haven't we?" he asked, aloud, the darkness seeming to swallow his question. "Leavin' for college, snow storms, a fire, a mad dash back home." He shook his head, looking down at the two smiling faces in the light which the living room table lamp cast through the window. "Always together . . . best buddies."

"It's your turn to dry the dishes!" Lucas' voice came from inside, and Sam's and Jonah's laughing denials, causing Owen to smile. "I dried last night," Sam declared.

"Did not. I did," Jonah responded, unable to control his laughter.

"Boys, boys," Lucas broke into the good natured argument, using a tone of voice very close to the one Owen's mother used on her children. "Tonight, Jonah dries. Tomorrow, Sam, it's your turn."

"Ahhhh," Jonah teased, playing at being disappointed.

Owen turned toward the screen door as Sam stepped onto the porch. "Hi'ya," Sam said, pulling a chair close to Owen's, recognizing the photograph in Owen's hands. "What'cha doin'?"

"Thinking," Owen responded, with a sad smile.

"Oh?"

"About bein' best budddies."

"You'n me?"

Owen nodded, continuing to run his thumb over the photograph. "We're still best buddies, aren't we, Sam? Forever and ever?"

"And ever," Sam responded. "No matter what . . . best buddies."

Owen reached out and linked fingers with Sam. "Good. I don't know what I would do without my best buddy." He turned toward Sam with a sad grin then slowly raised Sam's hand to his lips and kissed it.

Jonah and Abigail walked side-by-side along the edge of the dirt road, each heading home. "I'm thinkin' that you're pretty quiet, Jonah," Abigail said. "Are you troubled by Lucas?" Jonah looked up, surprised by his sister's words. She laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder as they stopped walking and was rewarded with the answer of him blushing and scuffing his boot in the dust.

"That answered my question," she murmured, gesturing for them to start walking. "What are you gonna do?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. I just don't want to make a mistake. Y'know? Like Mama did with Pops." He snorted. "I'm so mixed up, I can't even figure out what game I'm playin'. I like Lucas, just as I like Sam. I'm wonderin' though if either one of 'em is right for me. Sam feels like he is, but, I don't really know. Like I say, I don't want to make the wrong decision, then have to try and undo things. Mama and Pops were never able to do that."

"Jonah," Abigail said, stopping and turning to her taller brother. "When Mama and Pops met, it wasn't a mistake. The same's true of you'n Lucas, or Sam. It only became a mistake for Mama when she wouldn't follow her conscience and do what it told her was the right thing to do. If your conscience is telling you that Lucas isn't the person for you, then you best listen to what it's saying. Same's true of Sam. There are lots of other people around. You've met two nice guys. Both have treated you well. You've responded to that kindness by developin' feelings for both of 'em." She reached out and touched his forehead with a finger. "Listen to your feelings. Really study 'em, and follow what they tell you to do. If you don't, then you're gonna be making not only your life, but Lucas' or Sam's, and possibly other people's miserable by your inaction. Also," she added, "if whatever you decide turns out to be the wrong decision, don't be afraid to step away. That's where Mama went wrong. You'll only make a true mistake if you do what she did . . . nothing." She smiled in an attempt to remove any sting from her words.

"Geez, Abigail," Jonah laughed, uneasily running his fingers through his hair. "I thought you might be able to give me an easy answer."

Abigail snorted. "Jonah, you should know by now that there are no such things as easy answers."

Owen glanced at Lucas across the breakfast table. He'd not been at all his usual ebullient morning-self, and, more telling, he'd not even finished one piece of toast. As usual, Sam and Jonah had already left for school, leaving him and Lucas alone. Lucas met his glance, his smile fading at the seriousness of Owen's expression. He'd found it was always best to let Owen decide when and where to voice his concerns. Rather than force him, Lucas waited, pretending to enjoy his breakfast. The rustling of the tree leaves and birdsong outside the open windows of the dining room was forgotten, as was Dog, who was lazing nearby, always hopeful some scrap might be tossed his way.

Owen tentatively reached across the table and opened his hand, his long blunt-tipped fingers spread, palm up. "Please," he murmured. "I'm needin' to be held."

Lucas met Owen at the table's side as they both stood. "What's wrong, Cowboy?" Lucas asked, pulling Owen close.

"I love you," he murmured, close to Lucas' ear. "Since comin' back to Riverton, I'm realizin' how much I love you, and I'm feeling all torn apart by my feelings for Sam, and how I'm fearing you might fall in love with m'brother." He took a shuddering breath. "D'you love him? Jonah, I mean?"

"Shhhh," Lucas urged. "The only man I love is my Cowboy." He tenderly kissed Owen's ear. "Jonah is a wonderful person. He's lots of fun to be around, but no, I don't love him, and he doesn't love me either. I think he's realized that.

"He and Abigail had quite a talk, I guess, about just that subject." Owen backed up slightly, looking Lucas in the eyes.

"Truly?"

Lucas grinned. "Truly." He pulled Owen close. "She's a smart girl, just like her brothers. What Jonah needed, really, was someone to talk to. He said he would have felt weird talking to your mother, and, when Abigail cornered him and told him to she was there to listen as he got things off his chest,' he did.

"Now, tell me what's brought all this on?"

"Things . . . with Sam . . . just . . ." there was a long pause. "They've changed. He and I have changed. I feel as strongly for him as I always have; I wish there was a way that the three of us . . . but," he shrugged, "whenever I'm holding him, I find myself wishin' he was with us so I could hold him too." Owen looked up, meeting Lucas' eyes. "I'm feelin' like I've been betraying you, whenever I'm with Sam, and that, no matter what I did, no matter how bad whatever I did was, you'd never complain."

Owen pulled Lucas close, the warmth of their breath mingling as each man hesitated, knowing he was about to step over a line neither would be able to cross back.

"Please." Owen's breath touched Lucas, and all resistance crumbled. He wanted to ask if Owen had already spoken with Sam, but didn't. He and Owen were the only two men in the world, theirs the only needs.

Owen tightened his embrace. He saw his passion reflected in Lucas's eyes, felt it in his increased breathing, as well as the slow exhale when he licked the tip of his tongue across Lucas' lower lip, seeking admittance to his mouth.

"Oh, lover," Lucas moaned, parting from that kiss, while tenderly rubbing his open palms over Owen's back. "Oh, my beautiful lover." He ran his fingertips over Owen's cheek and lips. "You are the only man I've ever loved, Cowboy," Lucas murmured. "That night, at the airport, when we met, I knew it then . . . that my life would never be the same."

Owen seemed stunned. "You . . . you called me your lover. Am I that? Truly? You want me to be?" His eyes brightened and he pushed Lucas onto the sofa and climbed on top of him. "I was afraid of so many things," he murmured, as he nuzzled Lucas' hair. "I was afraid of you fallin' in love with m'brother, of me feeling as strong for Sam as I always have, of not bein' able to decide what to do for fear of hurting someone, or," he looked away, "or of being hurt. I was afraid that if I couldn't ever make up my mind, one of you would decide that I couldn't make it up, and would drift away . . . out of m'life. Since I thought that, I've not been able to sleep or eat, wonderin' if I was just creating visions of things which might never happen, or if you or Sam might already be getting tired of me and my stumblin' around, unable to figure things out."

Lucas put two fingers over Owen's mouth, asking him to stop speaking. "I had no idea you were going through this turmoil," he said, "but, as I've always said, I will not be the reason you leave Sam. As much as I love you, Owen, and want you, you and Sam will have to decide together that splitting up is the right move for you two to make. I care for Sam, just as I do Jonah, and I don't want to be the cause of anyone being hurt.

"Owen, you have to remember that you've got plenty on your mind, already, what with your father's hearing coming up, taking care of your mother's needs, and," Lucas' voice turned teasing, "visiting with the constant stream of well wishers." He felt the brief exhale of Owen's snort.

"All those people love you, Owen. Just as I do." He kissed a line over Owen's neck, cheek and jaw, ending at Owen's parted lips. "My handsome Cowboy."

~ to be continued ~

Thank you for taking the time to read my work. I always welcome your email and enjoy hearing your thoughts. If you would like me to send you a pic of the character(s), please ask.

Roy Reinikainen roynm@mac.com