Cooper

Long after Sam falls asleep in my arms, I lie awake with a bad feeling I just can’t shake. Morning can’t get here fast enough. I want Sam on that plane and heading back to Chicago.

The wind soughs through the branches of the trees behind the motel, but instead of creating a soothing backdrop, the sound heightens my nerves. Rationally, I know we’re safe. I can see the video feeds from my bed, so I know the cameras are working fine. If we have any more late-night visitors, we’ll be alerted in ample time to respond.

I tighten my arm around Sam’s waist and press my lips to the back of his bare shoulder, breathing in the natural scent of his skin, mixed with a bit of honest sweat and a faint hint of his deodorant, which is familiar and comforting. When I dwell on how much he means to me—like I’m doing now—I get choked up. I’m an old-school relic, and I don’t deserve him. I’m stubborn, stuck in my ways, and a poor excuse for a boyfriend. I don’t know why he puts up with me. He could have anyone, someone his own age, like Craig, who’s probably better able to meet his needs.

I shudder when I realize how close I might have come to losing him to that personal trainer. Of course, I wouldn’t have lost him without a fight. I was more than ready to head down to Dayton if need be, to fight for the love of my life—because that’s exactly what he is.

He’s dead to the world, and I’m pretty sure Jake is asleep too. I close my eyes and let sleep overtake me.

* * *

Sometimes you know when you’re just dreaming, but the dream unfolds anyway and you just can’t seem to stop it. And then the dream becomes a nightmare. But still, you’re trapped.

I’m standing on the Sweetwater River Bridge beside Cody, only I’m me now—an adult—and Cody’s just a boy. The fog is so thick I can’t see the three bullies looming behind us, although I can certainly hear their biting taunts.

My hands are tied in front of me with rope, but I’m not afraid for myself. I can survive this fall, and I can get myself to shore, even with my hands tied. But Cody? I look over at him, to see him staring blindly off in the distance, seemingly unaware of what’s happening. I think he just shut down.

Rough hands push us both closer to the railing, and when I glance one last time at Cody, my heart in my throat, a raw scream tears out of me. It’s not Cody standing beside me, staring numbly out across the rushing river. It’s Sam. My Sam. My beautiful, vibrant, brave, hot-headed Sam. And he looks catatonic.

Oh, fucking hell, no! “Sam!” I scream at him, hoping to shake him out of his stupor. “Sam!” He can survive this. He can handle himself in the water, get himself to shore. He can do this.

“Sam!”

But he just stands there, listless and lost, and my heart climbs up into my throat, choking me, cutting off my air.

“Sam, wake up!” I try to yell, but nothing comes out.

Billy Monroe, an old man now, grabs Sam and shoves him over the railing. I peer over the side and stare in horror as Sam falls head first into the water, lifeless. He sinks beneath the murky surface, disappearing from sight.

“Sam! No!”

* * *

“Cooper, God damn it, wake up!”

I open my eyes, gasping and blinking against the bright light coming from the bedside lamp. Sam’s sitting beside me, shaking me.

I grab his wrists, trying to orient myself. “What? What is it?”

Jake’s sitting upright at the side of his bed, watching me with sympathetic eyes.

My heart pounds as I reach out to touch Sam’s face, just reassuring myself that he’s here and he’s alive. That he’s not lying dead at the bottom of that damn river.

“Nightmare?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah.” This isn’t the first time I’ve awakened Sam in the middle of the night with a nightmare. “Only this one was different.”

He laughs quietly. “So I gathered. You kept yelling my name.”

I look up at him, the panic threatening to overwhelm me all over again. “It was you this time, instead of Cody. And you just stood there and let him throw you over. You just…gave up.”

Sam brushes his hand over my hair. “Well, that’s ridiculous,” he says, grinning in an attempt to cajole me out of my stupor. “You know I never give up.” He smiles and leans forward to kiss me. “It’s okay, babe.”

* * *

Somehow, I manage to fall back to sleep, but not until long after Sam turns off the lamp and lies back down beside me. I pull him into my arms, and he lays his head in the crook of my shoulder, his arm draped over my chest. As I lie there, I have to force myself not to think about the image I have of him from my dream, standing there on the bridge. The sense of helplessness and panic I’d felt overwhelm me, even now that I’m fully conscious that it was just a dream. It takes a long time, but I finally manage to calm down to the point that I can sleep.

The next thing I know, the alarm on Sam’s phone is going off. It’s our five o’clock wake-up call.

“God, I feel like road kill,” he mutters, reaching to hit the snooze function on his alarm. “I could sleep ‘til noon.”

“We’ll be back in Chicago long before noon,” Jake says, as he heads for the bathroom.

“Hurry, man,” Sam says, groaning as he stretches. “I really gotta piss.”

The three of us get ready quickly and quietly, happy to put this place behind us. Sam and I pack up our clothes, as Jake goes outside to remove the surveillance cameras from the front and rear of the building. When Jake returns, he packs up the three laptops and his other electronic gear.

As I head into the bathroom to gather up our toiletries, I hear Sam in the other room, saying, “I’ll carry our bags out to the Escalade.”

After I’ve packed up the last of our stuff, I strap my gun holster on and slip in my weapon. Jake does the same, and we glance around the room.

“That’s all of it,” Jake says, reaching for his laptop cases. He freezes and looks at me. “Where’s Sam?” There’s no mistaking the sudden urgency in his tone.

My stomach drops, and I feel chilled to the bone. I try to gauge how many minutes he’s been gone, but it can’t be more than a handful. “He carried our bags out to the vehicle,” I say, but already I’m moving to the door with my hand instinctively going to the handle of my gun. Jake’s right behind me.

It’s dark outside, as sunrise is still an hour away, but the lamplight in the parking lot casts a warm circle of light on the Escalade parked outside our room.

We slam to a halt at the sight of Billy Monroe holding Sam in a choke hold, holding a 9 mm handgun to his temple. Sam’s hands are gripping Billy’s arm, and based on how red his face is, we can tell Monroe’s cutting off his air. My heart slams into my ribcage, my adrenalin going on overload. It’s fight-or-flight time in my Neanderthal brain, and I’m sure as hell fighting.

Like a well-orchestrated team, Jake and I draw our guns simultaneously, pointing them at Billy, who blanches. I don’t think he expected us to do that.

 “Drop your weapons,” Billy growls, glaring directly at me as he jabs his gun into the side of Sam’s head. “Or I swear to God I’ll blow his perverted head right off.”

I make eye contact with Sam, who’s alert and watching me for a cue. As a bodyguard at McIntyre Security, he’s trained for this type of hostage scenario a thousand times, and the inevitable response is second nature to him. It’s just this time, he’s on the other side of the equation. There’s no negotiating with a gunman who’s holding a weapon to a hostage’s head. I give a barely perceptible nod, and Sam drops to the ground, gravity ripping him out of Billy’s grasp. Once we have a few inches of clearance, Jake and I fire our guns, simultaneously plugging Billy between the eyes.

As Billy falls, Sam rolls away from him, coming to his feet and kicking Billy’s gun away.

“Jesus Christ!” Sam yells, sucking in some badly-needed air as he gazes down at the hole in Billy’s forehead. “Damn, you guys are good.”

Jake crouches down to verify Billy’s condition, but a quick glance down at Billy’s lifeless eyes confirms to me that he’s dead.

I holster my gun and go to Sam, my hands shaking uncontrollably as I grasp his face. I stare into his eyes for a long moment, then pull him into my arms and hug him maybe a little too hard. His strong arms come around me, and it takes me a minute to realize he’s rubbing my back. “It’s okay,” he murmurs into the side of my head. “I’m okay.”

A shudder rips through me as the what-ifs assail my brain. What if I hadn’t drawn fast enough? What if Billy had just shot Sam from the outset? What if Jake and I had missed? So many variables, and none of them under our control.

Jake looks at us from where he’s crouching beside Billy’s body. “You wanna call this one in, or shall I?”

* * *

We don’t make our eight o’clock flight after all. Our good friends Deputies Williams and Turner show up, and we have to stick around an hour longer for all three of us to give sworn statements. As it turns out, there was a witness to the shooting—an early morning arrival who was unpacking his vehicle when the trouble started—and he recorded the entire thing on his phone. We get a chance to see the footage, which is rather dark, but not so dark that it’s unclear what happened.

Watching Sam drop like that, right on cue, is surreal.

“I think Deputy Williams will be glad to see the last of us,” I say, as the patrol cars drive away.

Now that we’ve been given the go-ahead to leave town, we head for the airport and our ride home.

* * *

The sight of a McIntyre Security, Inc. company jet prepped and ready for take-off is a beautiful thing. Jake parks the slightly damaged Escalade, and we grab our gear and climb up the steps to the plane.

The flight attendant waits for us just inside the cabin and collects our bags to stow them in the back. “Glad you guys could make it,” he says. “I heard you had some excitement at the motel this morning.”

“A bit,” Jake says, moving down the center aisle to the rear of the plane. He sounds as wiped out as I feel.

The flight attendant gives us all a visual once-over as if looking for injuries. Then he picks up our bags and deposits them in the bedroom. He heads for the small galley kitchen near the front of the plane. “I’ll bring you some coffee and breakfast once we’re in the air.”

I grab Sam’s hand and lead him to the leather sofa I’d sat on during the flight down. “I’m not letting you out of my sight until further notice.” I’m still shaken from what happened this morning—from how close I came to losing him for good. I don’t think he minds, though, as he smiles when I pull him down to sit beside me and reach for his hand.

Jake pops in his ear buds to give us the illusion of privacy.

Disregarding our audience, I raise Sam’s hand to my lips and kiss the back of it, grateful he’s in one piece and glad to be going home. I feel different somehow, as if this trip back home really did exercise some of the demons from my past. Seeing things from an adult perspective changed a lot for me. I realized what a small, insulated environment I came from. And seeing that guy at the Tavern, hitting on Sam? It pissed me off, sure, but it also made an impression on me. Here was an openly gay man, out in public, hitting on another man. Forty years ago, I never would have dreamed that possible in Sweetwater. I guess times do change. I guess it’s past time for me to change too.

I glance at the young man seated beside me, who’s currently keying in a text message on his phone. He’s probably telling Beth we’re on our way home.

“Sir, would you care for some breakfast?”

I glance up at our flight attendant, who’s pushing a cart containing three covered dishes. He lifts the lid on one of the plates to show me a hot breakfast.

“Thanks.” I accept the plate and a fork from him and hand it to Sam. With all the excitement this morning, we didn’t have time to grab any food. I’m sure he’s starving.

The flight attendant hands me a plate for myself. “I’ll bring you gentlemen some coffee in just a moment,” he says, just before he makes his way to the back of the plane with Jake’s food.

I watch Sam dig into his food with gusto, happy that he seems rather unaffected by the morning’s drama. “I want you to move in with me.”

He abruptly stops chewing, then swallows hard and turns to stare at me. “What?”

“You heard me. I want you to move in with me.”

His eyes widen. “Into the penthouse?”

I nod, trying not to choke up at the hopeful expression on his face.

He starts to speak, then stops abruptly and simply nods, his eyes eloquently expressing both surprise and pleasure.

I pat his thigh, wishing I could do a hell of a lot more, but that’s going to have to wait until we get home. “I told you I’d make it right,” I say.