Blind Spot (27 page)

“He has a name, you know.”

“Ohhh,” said Alex. “Then it’s serious.”

Yuri gave Sam a pointed look. “If you can have a sugar daddy, I can have a boy toy.”

“I thought you said he had a name,” Sam said, throwing a couch pillow at Yuri.

Nathan scowled. “Can you all please stop calling me that? Sam contributes plenty to this relationship.”

“I’ll bet he does.” Rachel waggled her eyebrows and made a blowjob gesture.

Laughter punctuated the rest of the exchange, and Sam settled back while the others fought over what movie to watch. He didn’t care, as long as they were all together.

“
Star Wars
it is,” Nathan finally said, flicking on the TV. Sam leaned against him, resting his bad arm on Nathan’s lap. Alex situated herself between Rachel’s legs, Yuri sprawled on the floor, and they all settled into an epic movie. Sam had to write, but the article wasn’t due for another couple days. He supposed he could take a little R & R. Doctor’s orders, after all.

“Sam, what are you wearing around your neck?” Rachel asked as the music began and the words started to scroll across the screen. Sam’s fingers automatically flew to his throat. He flushed and leaned closer to Nathan, who said nothing.

“Uh. I’m going goth?”

“Hmm.” Her eyes flicked from Sam to Nathan.

No one else paid it much attention, and Sam thought she might have forgotten about it. But Rachel never forgot anything. About halfway through the movie, when Nathan got up to use the bathroom, she leaned close and whispered into his ear.

“You can’t fool me, Sam Flynn. I’m your best friend, and I know sure as I know my own name you’re not going goth. I’ve had my suspicions.”

A swell of protectiveness rose up in his chest. “I know. But Rach, you don’t under—”

“I don’t need to know the details. But tell me… is it what you want?”

He fingered the warm leather and metal. It seemed so natural to wear. He’d forgotten he had it on when their guests arrived. And he wasn’t ashamed. “Yeah. It’s what I want.”

“And he treats you well?”

“He’s the best person I’ve ever met,” Sam said.

“Well.” She patted his knee. “That’s good enough for me. I’m not even gonna get jealous.”

“Shut up,” Yuri complained from the floor. “We’re trying to watch the damn movie.”

Sam kicked at him. “Like you haven’t seen it a thousand times.”

JUNE TURNED
into July, and the real heat and humidity kicked in, drenching everything in sticky moisture. The morning of the fourth, Nathan emerged from the bathroom freshly shaven, and Sam blinked, hardly recognizing him. He’d liked the beard, but without it, Nathan was truly breathtaking. From her position curled up next to Sam on the bed, Shadow looked up and blinked sleepy blue eyes.

“Wow.”

“You like?” Nathan rubbed at his jaw. His arm flexed with the movement and drew Sam’s attention to the black orchid tattoo. Nathan had been talking about getting more ink, and Sam thought they might do it together.

“I love. Does it feel better?”

“So much better. I can always grow it again in the winter.” Nathan removed his towel and shimmied it up and down his back. His thick cock swayed between his legs. Even when it was flaccid, it was a sight to behold. He turned around and gave Sam a show from behind, running the towel down his sides and over his shapely ass.

Sam’s pulse picked up, but they didn’t have time to mess around. They were due to report to the station at nine. The Fourth of July parade would start at ten. To kick it off, the acting mayor was going to award Sam’s father posthumous recognition for years of service rendered. Sam would receive the honor in his name.

“Are you nervous?” Nathan asked.

“A little.” His stomach swam at the thought of appearing in front of all those people. After the publication of his
Times
piece on Antonio Rivera a couple weeks before, he’d become something of a minor celebrity to those in the know. Even the
Gazette
, the paper that had strung him along on piecemeal assignments for years, had called to offer him a full staff position with benefits. Sam wasn’t sure he should take it.

Nathan started to dress, covering up his glorious skin with a white, V-neck tee, and then pulling on a button-down shirt. His movements were graceful and efficient, and Sam figured he might as well enjoy the show. “How about your shoulder?”

“A little sore.” Sam touched it gingerly. The external wound had scabbed over, but the muscles had yet to fully knit.

“I’ll get you some aspirin,” Nathan said in a tone that brooked no objection. Sam had stopped the harder drugs as quickly as he could withstand the pain. He wasn’t about to trade one addiction for another.

Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Okay. Thanks. I guess I should shower too.”

“I’ll make coffee.”

They caught each other’s lips in a quick kiss as Sam crossed the room. He traveled a few more feet and then turned.

“Nathan?”

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking… after the parade. Would you mind going with me to the cemetery?”

Nathan’s expression softened. “Of course.”

THE SKY
was a clear, brilliant blue, and the grass of the Willow Run Cemetery was green as an emerald. Sam carried the medal in his right pocket. He led Nathan through the main entrance and down the dirt path that led to his family plot. Maybe someday he would wind up buried there. It was a strange, unwelcome thought, and one he pushed quickly out of mind. He had many reasons to live, and one of the most important was walking by his side.

“I haven’t been here in years,” he admitted.

“I know.”

“It’s over here.” Sam gestured with his good arm.

The grave was well tended, in spite of his absence, and the pink marble stone was in pristine condition. Sam was relieved. He paid a monthly upkeep, but part of him worried his parents were being neglected even so… or maybe it was his own neglect he worried about. He’d talked it over with his therapist the day before, and she was the one who suggested the visit. She was a pretty smart lady. Being in the cemetery felt like the right thing to do.

Seamus Flynn,
March 30, 1957–December 23, 2007

Laura Flynn,
June 8, 1959–December 27, 2007

An unknown well-wisher had left a pot of fresh daisies on the ground. It warmed Sam from the inside, knowing someone else cared about his parents. Remembered them. He clasped Nathan’s hand, squeezed, and then released it.

“I’ll give you a moment alone,” Nathan said.

“Thanks.”

Nathan retreated to one of the nearby benches, and Sam turned back to the stone.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. I guess… it’s been a while. I’m sorry.”

The warm breeze ruffled his hair, almost like a caress. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.

Sam kneeled down, not caring if he was dirtying his nice pants. He drew the medal out of his pocket. It was bronze and shimmered in the sunlight. Sam set it down next to the daisies. “This is for you, Dad. I know… we know what happened.” His voice cracked, and he blinked back the tears. The ground underneath his knees was warm, and a bee buzzed over his head. He put his hands on the smooth stone. “I love you. I want you to know that. And Tim… I have good news. He’s getting better. I promise I’ll take care of him.”

The truth was, Tim might never fully recover. Sam knew the reality. But every day he seemed to be further emerging from his long sleep.

“And… well. There’s one more thing.” He glanced over his shoulder and beckoned. Nathan was pretending to look at his phone, but he immediately stood and joined Sam at the grave. He held out his hand, and Sam took it with his good arm.

“I wanted you to meet my parents,” he said hoarsely. He didn’t bother to wipe the tear tracks off his face. Nathan’s eyes shimmered too.

Sam looked back at the stone. “This is Nathan. My partner.”

“Hello,” said Nathan. “I love your son very much.”

They stood for a few more moments with their arms around each other’s waists. Sam breathed in the fresh scent of cut grass and closed his eyes. It was a peaceful place. He was glad he picked it.

“Are you ready to go?” Nathan pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Yeah. I think I’m ready to go.”

Five months later

“SHIT, SHIT,
shit. We’re going to be late.”

“Where’re my cufflinks? Sam, did you ‘borrow’ them again?”

Sam looked up from buckling his belt, sure guilt was written all over his face. “I needed to wear them for the meeting with the publisher. They’re not in the box?”

“No. You little brat. What am I supposed to do now?” Nathan stared forlornly at his gaping cuffs.

“Shit. I’m sorry. Maybe we can use paperclips?”

Nathan glared. “I’m not wearing paperclips to a wedding.”

“It’s Alex and Rachel. They won’t care.”

“That’s not the point—”

A ring from the other room stopped the conversation. Sam squeezed Nathan’s arm. “I’ve got this.”

Sam finished tucking his shirt and hurried into the spare room, where he found his brother sitting on the edge of the bed, his handsome face twisted with frustration. He was wearing a white button-down shirt and black trousers, just as he’d been when Sam left him. When he saw Sam, he opened his mouth, and a garbled sound came out.

“What’s up, bud?” Sam waited.

Tim sighed. Sam knew how frustrated he felt. The last four months hadn’t been easy, but Tim’s progress had defied all expectations and predictions. After a couple months of intensive physical therapy at Shady Brook, they decided to bring him home. His muscular fitness had improved, but he had difficulty with fine motor control. He gestured to his untied shoes, and Sam understood.

“You need a little help?”

Tim crossed his arms.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Timbo.”

Tim opened his mouth again. While he comprehended everything fully, spoken language was slower to return—and the doctors weren’t sure it ever would. To compensate all three of them were learning sign language. Tim and Nathan were better at it than Sam.

I don’t want to go.

“Why not?”

A few more signs. They were familiar.

Don’t want people to stare at me.

“They won’t.”

Tim grunted. “Will.”

Sam kneeled down and tied both shoes. “I know Rachel and Alex want you to be there. We don’t have to stay long at the party.” He looked up. Tim’s face cleared slightly.

Fine.

Sam nodded. “It’s a deal. I know it’s hard for you, buddy.” Sam ruffled Tim’s blond hair, and Tim batted him away.

Not a kid anymore. Jesus.

“Sorry.”

It was still an adjustment, learning to think of his brother as twenty-three instead of fifteen. Even more shocking—Tim said he’d been aware of his surroundings most of the time, and he’d heard all the things Sam had said to him. He liked being read to.

It had pretty much made Sam’s life.

He also knew their parents were dead, but telling him about the murder had been another thing altogether.

It hadn’t been a good week.

“How’s everything going in here?” Nathan asked from the door. Tim smiled at him. While Sam received the brunt of Tim’s frustration, his brother liked Nathan. He hadn’t even batted an eye when Sam had told him he was gay. He just shrugged and signed,
Duh. Tell me something I don’t know.

“Yeah,” said Sam. “I think we’re about ready to go.”

“Great. Tim, do you want the chair or are you going to walk?” Nathan asked. Nathan was matter of fact about things, where Sam made a mess of it most of the time, not wanting to cause offense.

Walk.

“Sounds good.”

Nathan went to get the walker, and Sam let Tim use his arm to steady himself as he stood. The doctors said, in another year, he’d have barely a limp. As of now he still got winded easily and had to take frequent breaks. But seeing the pride in Tim’s eyes was totally worth the slow progress.

“You look great, Tim.”

And he did. His brother was handsome—classically so, with fine features that bordered on delicate.

Tim flushed and worked his mouth. “Thanks,” he managed.

They made it downstairs and to the Mercedes with a few minutes to spare. Tim smiled when he saw the car. He loved it and he kept asking about learning to drive.

Other things needed sorting first. Like where they were going to live.

While having Tim at home was wonderful, it put a substantial damper on their sex life. It was exciting at first—stealing an hour or two at a hotel while Tim napped or watched TV—but the shine wore off quickly. They needed a bigger place, where they could have more privacy, and so could Tim.

Nathan had ideas. One of them was California. A month before, they received some bad news. Nathan’s mother had been diagnosed with stage 2 breast cancer. He wanted to be closer to her.

Sam put his hand on Nathan’s thigh and squeezed. It had been almost a week since they scened, and he needed it. Nathan gave him a dark glance as they turned onto the main road.
Later.

There were the practicalities to consider. California would be expensive, though Nathan said they could afford it. There were also more personal concerns. Sam had never lived outside Connecticut, save for college. And of course he’d miss his friends.

But maybe it was time to start fresh. Things were looking up for them all. Nathan had taken a leave of absence from his job and was enjoying the time off. And recent talks with a certain notable publisher gave Sam hope the book project he’d been considering might actually happen, which would mean a substantial advance. Meanwhile he’d been writing so much for various online news outlets that he’d had to cut out his hours at Manella’s completely. And Nathan needed to move. Family was important.

Sam’s heart swelled when he thought about how brave Tim was, how strong. He belonged with them, wherever they wound up.