In

 

 

MAKING dinner was not officially in Cooper’s job description, but hey. He liked to eat, and the kids were usually starving before Channing and Tino got home. The housekeeper shopped and prepared the main dish, so there was always something in the fridge waiting to be heated up, and if it was complex, there were directions too.

For Cooper, it was just as easy to shuttle everybody to lessons, see to homework, then let them go play in a rare hour of freedom while he started dinner.

It didn’t seem like a big deal to him, but Sammy’s uncles acted like he invented food, so he figured he must be rocking at the new job.

As for the kids? Well, Keenan challenged authority, and Letty was a charming handful. It was a good thing Cooper had healed from all his injuries by that first week, because chasing her up and down stairs and trying to keep her toys from creeping into the living room and maiming them all was a full-time job.

And Felicity wasn’t perfect. She tested boundaries in a subtle way—skipped washing her hands, played with her hair at the dinner table, deliberately forgot her shoes for dance lessons.

But Cooper had known her for five years, and he knew that, really, all she needed was a firm reminder of why what she was doing was bad for her and not really for the person she was testing, and she would remember that she liked boundaries and worked perfectly fine within them.

So it wasn’t a cakewalk, but it was a lot of fun. Maybe because he’d loved Felicity—she’d been his whole world for the last two years—but he found having time to spend with her that wasn’t life or death, wasn’t filled with worry about food or clothes or God, let them not cut cable—that made their time together so much better.

And because Felicity’s life revolved around her new family, he found that he was coming to care for them too. On Tuesday nights, when their after-school schedule was especially challenging, he often ended up carrying Letty in as she slept on his shoulder. Watching Keenan wake her up, so gently, respectful of how grumpy little kids got when their nap was rudely interrupted, made his chest ache with the sweetness of it.

Brothers and sisters—he knew that relationship. He was proud to be a part of theirs.

So he respected Sammy’s decision to not do anything to put his new situation at risk.

Sort of.

He went to sleep every night with the memory of Sammy’s mouth on his during their morning kisses, and sometimes, if they were quiet about it, furtive, shadow-covered kisses good night. He’d relive every touch of Sammy’s graceful hands on his skin and yearn for more. Sammy, his angel, was giving him every chance to explore, to taste, to grow bold enough to venture further. A bite at a time, a meeting of lips, a rubbing of tongues, the delicious slide of Sammy’s palms over his back, his ribs, his chest….

Cooper went to bed at night sensitized and needy and woke up every morning hard, drippingly hard, and aching with desire.

He wanted Sam Lowell, craved him, and the craving was beginning to outweigh every need—food, shelter, safety. Cooper couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think when Sammy’s hands drifted along his skin or when Sammy’s arms held him tight and rocked their bodies together. Sammy was careful never to grind up against him, but Cooper knew—Sammy grew erect to bursting when they touched.

But he was patient. So patient. Never wanting to push Cooper past his comfort zone, wanting to give Coop every chance he’d ever need to back out, or say no, or decide not to risk his new home situation for the promise of heaven on Sammy’s lips.

Cooper wanted to demand heaven. Oh God, he’d die without it.

And he knew that part of not settling for anything less was trusting Sammy—and trusting Tino and Channing—to keep a secret and hope it was enough that he loved Sammy too.

Cared for Sammy.

Liked him. Liked him a lot.

Wanted him. That was it. Coop wanted him.

And figured if he never said any of those words aloud, he wouldn’t have to admit he was the only person he was fooling.

“Where’s Sammy?” Tino asked over dinner, and Channing rolled his eyes.

“Study group again?” He looked to Cooper for confirmation. “Wasn’t that it?”

“That’s what he told me,” Cooper said blandly. “Something about performance.”

Tino frowned. “Performance?” he asked, like the word meant something to him. “What kind of performance?”

Cooper shrugged, suddenly grateful for Sammy’s protection. “School performance, I guess?” Sammy hadn’t said, and now Cooper didn’t have it to answer.

“He didn’t tell you?” Channing asked dubiously. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, I wasn’t very happy about it,” Cooper told them truthfully. “But that’s all I know, I swear.”

“Channing, stop,” Tino said abruptly. “Even if Sammy did tell him, it’s not Cooper’s job to play the middle.”

“I’m sorry?” Channing huffed, those broad shoulders suddenly looming over everybody at the table.

“Channing Robbins-Lowell,” Tino intoned, “if you can’t see why we shouldn’t test Cooper’s loyalties in this matter, then maybe you should let me run the company and you can come run the household, because you are obviously losing your touch.”

Channing’s chin dropped in obvious hurt. “You take that back!”

“Well, you get off his case! If Sammy was in trouble, Cooper would tell us. But if Sammy’s doing grown-up things—like he would be doing if he’d gone away to school like all his friends, if you remember—and Cooper knows about it, we should just stay out of their business.”

Cooper watched Channing, fascinated, as he had that argument with himself, and then, as he realized what Tino was doing, what freedom he was trying to offer to Cooper and Sammy, the argument in Channing Lowell’s head got too painful.

Cooper couldn’t imagine letting Felicity go the way Channing was attempting to do with Sammy.

A buzzing in Cooper’s pocket distracted him, and he excused himself from the table, wondering who would be trying to get into contact now. He walked through the kitchen, across the hall, to his room, and closed the door, leaning on it as he answered. “You are the luckiest boy in the entire world,” he said right off the bat. “Your uncles are so wise to you, and as for Tino, you owe him the best Christmas present ever, because he totally stood up for your right to have secrets. So whatever you’re doing, I hope it’s good.”

“Well,” Sammy said, voice reedy like it got when he hadn’t eaten. “Right now I’m sitting on the steps of the middle school, watching the tow truck take my car to Channing’s mechanic.”

Oh hell. “What happened to your car?”

“It has a surprising lack of tires,” Sammy said, sounding lost. “And I obviously haven’t eaten, and I need to be at my other job in an hour.” He frowned like something had occurred to him. “Maybe I should try Uber?”

Cooper’s heart pounded so hard he thought it would burst through his ribs. “You will stay right there and send me the address, and I’ll be there in half an hour with dinner. Oh my God, Sammy—what happened to your tires?”

“They flew away.”

“I have no answer to that. I’ll be there ASAP. Just don’t move, okay?”

“Deal. It’s freezing here, by the way, but Sammy isn’t moving. See you!”

Sammy hung up, and Cooper struck his forehead repeatedly against his clenched fist. Okay, Sammy—of all the times to test the concept of trust, this one here was the biggie. Cooper hoped it was worth it.

He grabbed his jacket and walked out into the kitchen, shoving his phone in his pocket.

“Cooper?” Channing walked in, carrying plates, and Cooper realized he was going to have to say something.

“Sammy’s having car trouble,” he admitted, because hey, if Sammy was having the car towed to Channing’s mechanic, Channing would know at least that. “I’m not sure what happened, something about tires. Anyway, he’s at the school without transpo and he’s loopy as a fish, so I’m going to go get him and take him to his next place.”

Channing’s eyes bugged out. Actually got bigger and farther out of his head. Cooper had never seen that happen to a human being before. And a vein started to throb in his temple too.

“Tino!” he barked, and Cooper took a deep breath and started slicing the leftover meatloaf so he could make a sandwich.

“I’ve sort of got to hurry here,” he said apologetically. “Sammy said it was cold.”

“Tino!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming….” Tino walked into the kitchen and took in Channing’s face and Cooper’s determined food prep. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“Where are you taking him?” Channing asked, apparently deciding to brief Tino later.

Cooper looked at his boss and smiled winningly. “I’ve got no idea. He still hasn’t told me. But he needs me, so I’m going.”

If anything, Channing’s eyes got bigger, and Tino sputtered into his hand.

“They’re going to pop out of his head!” Tino chortled. “Oh my God! What did Sammy do?”

And that pissed Cooper off. “Nothing,” he snapped, not caring that both of them looked surprised. “He had car trouble and called a friend for a ride. He’s hungry, so he asked if I’d bring something. I’m not great at having friends, but I get this is how it works. He’d do the same for me.” He put the meatloaf sandwich in a plastic bag and started rooting through the cupboards for a travel mug for the juice. “And Channing, uh, Mr. Lowell, you should know better. He’s a good man. Not a kid—he’s all grown up. And he wants nothing in the world more than to take care of his family and make you proud. So maybe let him be a grown-up on his own. Tino was right, you know. He’s earned the right to not tell you everything, because everything I’ve seen him do has been good and responsible and decent.” He found the mug and slammed the cabinet shut with unnecessary force. Oh God. He was going to get himself fired.

“Wow, Cooper,” Tino said, sounding impressed. “I think that’s the most we’ve ever heard you speak.”

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful,” Cooper muttered, setting the cup on the counter and then going for the juice.

“You didn’t see him,” Channing burst out, his voice cracking. “You didn’t see him when he was at his sickest. His hair fell out—did you know that? His lips chapped, the skin around his fingers cracked and bled. And he just kept telling us he was okay. He’d be okay—could he stay up another hour to play with the kids? And the kids… the minute Tino and I got together, he started planning for a brother and sister. It was all he wanted, but we had to wait until he was ten. Because that was two numbers together. And we never did figure out why that was important, but it was like he was waiting until he could be the best brother in the world. He… he loses his phone three times a year. And… and what would we do without him?”

“Sh….” Tino was a fair bit shorter than his husband, so he had to reach up to frame Channing’s face with his hands. “Baby… baby, Cooper’s right. He’s growing up, and he’s trying to be responsible. Think about it. He didn’t call us, did he? He called his friend. He called Coop because he trusts him. We trust him. Every day. With our kids. We’re going to have to let Sammy call this one, okay?”

“Martin—” Cooper had never seen a grown man, not one of Channing’s stature and power, look so helpless.

“Cooper will call us if it gets out of hand.” Tino looked at him meaningfully. “Won’t you, Cooper.”

“Uh, yeah.” Well, it was a fair request. “Sure.” Cooper threw the travel mug and the sandwich into a soft-sided lunch box along with a bag of chips and a green apple. He smiled at them both. “I promise.”

“Good.” Tino looked at Channing sternly. “And as for the mysterious study group, let’s make ourselves happy and pretend they’re going out dancing instead. How’s that?”

Channing swallowed hard and looked away. “I wish he’d go out dancing.”

“Well, then, maybe that’s what they’ll do,” Tino said, voice soft.

Cooper grabbed the lunch box and started toward the garage, zipping his jacket up as he went.

“They’ll be dancing while Cooper drives any car in the garage except the piece of shit Brandon drove over here!” Tino warned, voice rising for the first time in the discussion.

“He can’t drive my convertible!” Channing said, outraged.

“You want me to take the minivan?” Cooper asked, puzzled.

Tino shook his head. “You’re both insane. Take my sedan, Cooper. And no, I don’t care if it’s a Volvo. I don’t even care if it gets stolen. Activate the alarm, and if that car deserts you too, call us.”

Cooper nodded gamely. “Uh… thank you. And I’ve, uh, really got to go.” The thought of Sammy sitting on the steps of the middle school freezing his ass off did not bode well for Cooper’s ability to drive the speed limit in Tino’s super-nice Volvo.

Cooper really didn’t care.

 

 

SAMMY’S middle school was off Madison, which meant Cooper got to take the freeway instead of surface streets, and thank God, because surface streets might have driven him mad. When Cooper looked up the address, his phone told him it would take forty-five minutes to get there. Cooper made it in twenty-five, and he figured he needed to donate to a church or something, because he really should have gotten a ticket or thrown in jail.

But by the time he got to the school, Sammy was shivering, and his lips were damned near blue, and he could barely push himself up to walk down the stairs to the car.

Cooper had the heater cranked up, and the minute Sammy sat down, he put the juice in his hands. “I’m an idiot,” he muttered. “I should have had you Uber to the nearest coffee shop.”

“Thought about that,” Sammy said through chattering teeth. “But I tried to look one up. Ubers don’t come to this neighborhood. It’s weird.”

Cooper looked around the deteriorating school and the series of chain-link fences in front of the houses around the school. Looked like every institution of learning Cooper had ever attended, which told him that a guy like Sammy had no business out here, but Cooper wasn’t going to mention that, nosirree.

“Looks homey,” he said instead. “Done with the juice?”

Sammy handed him the travel mug dutifully and put on the seat belt while Cooper got out the meatloaf sandwich. Sammy bit into it blissfully, and some of his shivering eased, while Cooper grimly held on to his patience. Finally Sammy was done with the sandwich and working on the apple, and Coop felt like maybe they could have a conversation.

“Okay, before I take you to wherever secret place you have planned, you need to know that I had to tell Channing I was coming to pick you up. So he knows about the car trouble, and he knows you’re going out afterward, but Tino and I managed to convince him that he doesn’t get to micromanage your life, so you owe us both.”

Sammy smiled at him beatifically and swallowed a bite of apple. “Tino does get an extra present at Christmas. What do you want?”

Well, it was good to know his iron and blood sugar were up to normal levels again. “I want to know where we’re going.”

“Don’t you want a kiss first?” He threw the core in the meatloaf bag and put them both in the lunch box, glancing coyly at Cooper from under his lashes.

“No, because you scared me to death!”

Sammy kissed him anyway, and even though he still tasted like dinner, Cooper clung. He returned kiss for kiss, burying his hands into the lapels of Sammy’s wool coat and forcing him back against the headrest in determination. Sammy groaned and reached out to unbuckle his seat belt, and that’s when Cooper drew back.

“We are not making out in Tino’s car,” he said adamantly.

“Why didn’t you bring your car?”

Cooper scowled. “Because my car might not have made the trip, and if it had survived the trip, it might not have survived the neighborhood.” He saw a weatherworn transient at the parking lot entry, going through the trash. “And we still might not. Seriously, I’ll drive you, but where are we going?”

Sammy sighed and settled back into his seat. “Fine. Turn toward the freeway. We’re going toward Marysville Boulevard.”

“Del Paso?” Cooper asked in surprise. “Oh my God, it’s like you were trying to mark your car for death.”

Sammy sucked air in through his teeth. “You haven’t even seen the place yet,” he said.

That didn’t sound promising. “Eat the potato chips, Sammy,” Cooper told him. “I might get one more kiss in before we get kidnapped and sold for food. I’d like your next kiss to taste better than meatloaf.”

Sammy’s throaty laugh echoed through the car. “Geez, Cooper, you really do care.”

Cooper paused at the street and looked him dead in the eye to make sure he got this. “Sammy, I’ve never cared for anyone the way I care for you.”

Sammy’s smile was so bright it burned. “I love you back, Cooper. But you need to hurry. I’m late.”

Sammy loved him? Oh my God! Sammy loved him! Cooper carried the thrill of that announcement right up to the building they ended up at after they got off the freeway.

“You just said you loved me,” he breathed, looking at the squat brick structure sitting square in the middle of a packed parking lot. The vehicles surrounding the dive bar—because that’s the only thing it could be—were a motley assortment of barely legal transportation. Battered trucks vied for place with super-shiny customized motorcycles, and tiny thrasher cars were parked cheek by jowl next to big custom chop jobs with cut suspension and trick steering wheels.

Wherever this place was, it had a big enough reputation to attract everybody except people who drove minivans, SUVs, and Volvos.

“Where in the hell are we?” Cooper squeaked.

“This is Dodgy’s,” Sammy told him, reaching to his feet where his portfolio of sheet music sat. “I perform here.”

“Because the Hellmouth was booked?” Cooper asked, not even sure how to measure his level of freaking out.

“It’s actually not a bad place once you get onstage,” Sammy said seriously. “Once you start playing, it’s awesome. Everybody really loves good music, and I can experiment with forms and play some ultradirty jazz riffs that my teacher does not approve of at all.”

Oh! He sounded so happy!

“Sammy, this just doesn’t look like the kind of place, you know, you and I would hang out.”

“Oh—that reminds me. Don’t mention that you’re gay or we’re boyfriends, okay?”

So. Many. Brain. Explosions. “Boyfriends?” he echoed weakly, conveniently ignoring the part where he and Sammy got their asses beat into the concrete for entering the homophobe’s sacred hunting ground or something.

“Well, yeah,” Sammy said, earnestness riding his shoulders like his warm wool coat. “Of course we’re boyfriends. I don’t want to kiss anybody else. Do you?”

Cooper thought of his brave words to Channing and Tino. “Not ever,” he said wistfully. Then he swallowed and remembered his well-developed sense of self-preservation. “We’re going to die here,” he said with certainty. “Sammy, I worked construction for three years. I don’t know if I can be any less gay, and I am too gay for this place.”

Sammy gave him a careless once-over as he got out of the car. “Naw—you’re fine. I’ll introduce you to Dodgy. He’ll make sure nobody bothers you.”

Cooper was not reassured, but that didn’t stop him from following Sammy out of the car.

The side of the bar was apparently the smoking zone, and the cloud of blue smoke billowed into the chill of late March. Sammy waved to some of the folks pulling nicotine into their lungs as they walked past, heading for the backstage door.

Sammy knocked twice, and a guy just as tall as Sammy but with cannon shot for biceps and a locomotive grill for a chest opened the door.

“Sammy?” he muttered. “You’re almost late!”

“Sorry, Elmo—car trouble.” Sammy pushed through into a hallway crowded by stage equipment, wires, and what looked to be a giant stack of old speakers. Beyond the hall, the light was a mysterious, brain-crushing orange color, where a couple of steel guitars wailed like electrified cats.

Yes, it was a dive bar with live music. Cooper hadn’t been mistaken; they were both going to die.

“What kind of car trouble? Because Dodgy’s pissed.”

Sammy looked at Cooper with a pained grimace. “All my tires got stolen.”

Cooper covered his eyes with his hands.

“And something unflattering was scratched into my hood,” Sammy added for good measure.

“Unflattering?” Cooper asked, not wanting to know.

“I’d rather not repeat it here,” Sammy said, and Cooper knew just from his voice that it was the kind of thing that could get him killed in a place like this. “Anyway, Elmo, this is my friend Cooper, who drove all the way down from Granite Bay to bring me dinner and get me here. Is there any way we could seat him, you know, backstage, or someplace not….” Again, that grimace, and Elmo looked Cooper over from head to toe, skepticism showing from the box of his chin to the forehead wrinkles over his pug nose.

“You brought your boyfriend to Dodgy’s?” Elmo asked, just to make sure.

“Shhhh!” Sammy waved his arms in distress. “We want him to live!”

“Then why did you bring him here? He looks like he’d blow away in a stiff breeze!”

“He worked construction for three years,” Sammy said, nodding like this would suddenly make Cooper six foot four with a chest the size of a barn.

Elmo’s neck was really thick, but that didn’t stop him from swiveling it in patent disbelief. “As what? The paintbrush?”

In the background the cats stopped yowling, and Sammy glared at Elmo in a way that would have done Channing proud. “Just find him a good seat. I want him to see me perform!”

Elmo rolled his tiny eyes. “Of course you do. Well, go on up to the stage. Paintbrush, you come here with me. I’ll have Baby come sit with you. Nobody will fuck with you if Baby’s there.”

Sammy’s face split open with a big grin. “Baby? That’s great! Coop, you’re gonna love Baby—just stick close, okay?”

And then Sammy trotted behind a backdrop and up to the stage, leaving Cooper at the mercy of Elmo and Baby.

Elmo shouldered his way down the hallway, dodging stage equipment as he went. Finally he broke through to the main audience area, and Cooper got the impression of a mosh pit by the front of the stage and tables raised on a platform behind the pit. A woman loomed with her back to the wall, grimly surveying the people in the pit from a prodigious height. She stood a good four or five inches taller than Elmo, and her chest was just as wide. And just as hard.

“Baby!” Elmo hissed, and she glared at him.

“What in the hell? Sammy’s almost on. I told you I wanted my break to watch his set!”

“Well, yeah—but so did this guy. This is Sammy’s… friend. And he’s—”

“Chum,” Baby said, looking down at Cooper with alarmed eyes. She was stunning in a handsome way—square jaw, full lips, sultry eyes. Even with her blonde hair pulled back severely from her face, Coop could see the appeal. “Yeah, he’ll bloody the water. Okay. I’ll take him.” She smiled at Cooper, looking almost girlish. “Anything for Sammy.”

With that she grabbed Coop’s hand and hauled him up the side ramp to the crowded tables overlooking the pit. In the back, raised by one more platform, sat a lone table surrounded by a grimy velvet rope. The table was occupied by one guy, a thin black man about Cooper’s size, wearing a gigantic cowboy hat, a bolo tie, and a wide-lapeled suit with a frayed collar and a much-laundered white shirt.

“Baby? This guy giving you problems?” Sharp eyes pinned Cooper back against the wall, and Cooper wondered rather desperately where the bathroom was.

“Naw, Dodgy—he’s a friend of Sammy’s. I told him we’d set him here so nobody’d give him shit.”

“Goddammit, I told that kid he needed to watch who came to see him. This is not his kind of place!”

“He brings in customers” came the mild reply. “I think you need to hire an extra bouncer and try to keep him here. Or at least don’t let the patrons eat his friend.”

Dodgy bared his teeth at Cooper. “This one? I could snap him up, one gulp.”

Cooper smiled pleasantly back. “Tougher than I look,” he said gamely, and at that moment some movement onstage caught their attention.

The screaming cats had been disassembled and the stage cleared of everything except the grand piano—probably the most expensive piece of equipment in the entire bar. The colored lights had been switched out for a spotlight on the piano, and Sammy stood there in his shirtsleeves and sweater vest, setting up his sheet music while smiling coquettishly at the audience.

“You all enjoying the night?” he asked, his voice amplified by the microphone at his lapel.

The crowd roared, and Sammy tilted his head back, laughing.

“Good.” He flashed his grin again, easygoing, not trying to be tough, nothing to see here, folks, just 100 percent pure-grade Sammy. “’Cause I don’t know about you all, but I’m here for the music, right?”

This cheer was just as loud, but it died out quickly, respectfully, and the crowd waited in a breathless silence.

The first few notes sounded familiar, an old eighties torch song with a piano twist, and Cooper frowned. What was it? C’mon… what was it?

“‘Love Song,’” Baby said happily. “He started with this one last week. His version’s so good.”

Oh yes. Sacramento boy, Sacramento band—Tesla. Cooper had probably been born listening to that song. “He’s so good,” Cooper breathed, like the rest of the bar, completely enthralled by the figure onstage playing rock-and-roll piano.

Dodgy gave a theatrical sigh. “You two might as well sit down. Baby, make sure he doesn’t get snapped up and chomped. I’d like that kid to keep playing till June, like he promised, ’cause damn.”

“Yeah,” Baby agreed, eyes on Sammy.

“Just damn.”

Dodgy’s words—Cooper didn’t have any. His entire attention was taken by Sammy onstage. His voice was resonant and sweet, but Cooper had known that, had heard him singing for his family before. What he hadn’t seen was Sammy’s incredible charisma, the way he flirted with the audience at the same time he got lost in the music.

He hadn’t seen how Sammy—who had seemed to belong so very much to his family—could get up onstage under a spotlight and suddenly be owned by the world.

“Love Song” wrapped up, the audience singing the final “I knows” as Sammy did the jazz riff to the dying piano notes, and the crowd erupted with joy.

“Did you like that?” Sammy asked, laughing in spite of the sweat that dripped down his face from the heat of the light. “That one was slow… anybody out there wanna go fast?”

Of course they did, and Sammy, apparently not giving a damn if it was the twenty-first century or the twentieth, launched into a Liberace favorite, “Bumble Boogie.” For a heartbeat Cooper wondered if Sammy had miscalculated, because the crowd didn’t seem to react at all. Then he realized the people in the mosh pit were half crouching, bodies quivering, as they held their breath to see if Sammy could make it through the insanely fast-paced song without fucking it up.

It was Sammy. Of course he could.

The song ended, and Cooper took his first deep breath since it had begun. And Sammy launched into a piano version of a Linkin Park song, with the crowd in the palm of his hand.

He played for an hour, and Cooper couldn’t remember blinking or breathing for the entire set. He didn’t seem to care whether what he played was audience-appropriate or not—he played “Faint” with the same aplomb he used with “What a Wonderful World,” and Coldplay’s “Lovers in Japan” seemed as dear to him as Rihanna’s “Shut Up and Drive.”

Like Sammy had said, it was all about the music, and damn, did he love his music.

He finished up with “Wonderful World” and then turned to the crowd like he was letting them in on a secret.

“So, uh, you all have been really awesome,” he began, smiling at the collective groan of disappointment. “And I really want to play one more song. But it’s, uh….” He looked around, like it was just him and three hundred people exchanging confidences. “It’s one of my own creations,” he confessed softly. “So, you know. If you hate it, let me know and I’ll drop it like a potato and play something you like more for the finale. But if you love it? Well, let me know too, okay?”

They probably would have let him play “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” at that point, but he welcomed their applause and whistling anyway.

“This is a song for… well, someone special.” And then? Then he launched into the song he’d written that night, nearly a month ago, when Cooper had heard him compose.

It was pure instrumental, and while the piano gave it a classical air, the speed and the sound and rhythm marked it as rock and roll. Cooper listened in awe, hearing the polish and the work that had gone into transmuting those random notes, written desperately when Sammy was hardly conscious, into a performance piece that took Cooper’s breath away.

And the song… oh wow. It really was for Cooper. Cooper was the someone special. Sammy might as well have called it “Cooper’s World Things.”

Cooper didn’t realize his hands were shaking until he scrubbed them over his face at the end of the song. Sammy finished up, letting the final note linger throughout the packed bar, and then set his hands down, turning to the audience to see if they were good.

The audience was great, and Sammy stood up to take a bow.

Cooper saw him wobble, putting out his hand to steady himself by the piano, and his heart stalled.

“We’ve got to get to him,” he said quietly, standing up. “He needs water and maybe something else to eat. Look at him, he’s drenched.”

Well, performing wasn’t easy. Cooper knew he would have been passing out at the beginning of the set and not the end.

Baby stood with him, and he turned to Dodgy, whose sharp-eyed, acquisitive glare had turned soft and faraway with every song. “Thank you, uh, Mr. Dodgy, for letting me sit here and listen,” he said politely. “I’m going to take Sammy home now.”

Dodgy glanced at him in surprise. “You do that, young man,” he said, all censure gone from his voice. “You take good care of him. I’d really like to see him back here again.”

As they were walking toward the stage, they saw Sammy’s legs give out at the bottom of the stairs. Baby and Elmo practically carried him out while Cooper ran to get the—blessedly unmolested—car.

“Hey,” Sammy called as Coop pulled the car around. “I know you!” He grinned and looked at Baby. “Baby, did you meet my friend Cooper? I love this guy!”

“Yeah, and we heard the song to prove it!” she told him dryly. “Move, Elmo—I’ll pour him in. What’d you take, kid?”

“He’s dehydrated,” Cooper told her shortly, not wanting them to think badly of Sammy. “I brought him food, but he probably skipped lunch, and he was sweating up there. His system’s sort of delicate. He needs to eat well and hydrate or he gets really loopy quick.”

Baby grimaced as she belted Sammy in tight. “Aw, angel. Well, you let your guy take care of you so you can come play for us next week, okay, Sammy?” She ruffled his hair and put his portfolio down at his feet before backing up to slam the door shut. She and Elmo both waved, and Cooper pulled the Volvo around and out of the parking lot. In his pocket, his phone began to buzz.

He ignored traffic laws and pulled out his phone, because like he figured, it was Tino, and Cooper didn’t want to freak him out.

“You guys okay?” Tino asked, sounding concerned. “I went out on a limb for you two—if you’re screwed, Channing will never speak to me again.”

Cooper glanced at Sammy, who was leaning on the window, eyes closed, while he moved his fingers in front of him and hummed, probably reliving the performance. Aw, Sammy.

“No, Tino—we’re fine, but I need to stop for more food. You….” He paused, thought of the dive bar, the rough crowd, the clutter of backstage, and the way Sammy had collapsed at the end. Then he thought of how happy Sammy had been, how good he’d been at whipping the crowd into a frenzy, how amazing his performance. Oh man. This was Cooper’s decision to make?

But he had to do what was best for Sammy, right?

“You don’t need to worry,” he squeaked into the phone, praying it was all okay. “Sammy’s fine. I, uh, think we may need to get my car fixed and let him drive it to work, though. I don’t think his little Sportage really fits in at the middle school.”

“Uh, what makes you say that?” Tino asked. Cooper could hear him wincing over the phone.

“You’ll have to ask Channing’s mechanic in the morning,” Cooper told him honestly. “But, uh, other than that, uh….” Oh hell. “He’s fine, Tino. He’s not doing anything against the law or bad for his health. Just… he’s doing fine.”

“Not against the law or bad for his health?” Tino repeated.

“Nope.” The not-eating was bad for his health, but Cooper was pretty sure the performance was awesome for his self-esteem.

“How was he, kid?” Tino asked, dropping his voice to “conspiracy” levels.

“Amazing,” Cooper said, his heart puddling at his feet. “You have… you have no idea.”

“I heard him play when he was seven, Cooper. I have some idea.” Tino’s humor—oh, it was a godsend. “Did he play anything special?”

Cooper almost couldn’t say it—but oh, he wanted to share it too. “He played a song for me,” he whispered. “Just for me.”

Tino’s voice came thick and gruff. “Well, you’re special to him, Cooper. You’re becoming pretty special to us all.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Get him fed, and make sure you tell one of us when you get home, okay?”

Cooper nodded, even though Tino couldn’t see. “Absolutely.”

“And Cooper?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s okay if it’s Channing—I swear he won’t bite.”

Sure he wouldn’t. “Thank you, sir. Gotta go.” He was driving, but the conversation was also really uncomfortable, and he hung up.

“Who was that?” Sammy asked, sounding tired but a little more composed.

“Tino. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Goofy as hell,” Sammy admitted, tired. “But happy. Did you like?”

“You were amazing, Sammy,” Cooper told him fervently. “And my song….” He ducked his head shyly. “It was my song, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Sammy curled his long frame up onto his side so he could look at Cooper. “You’re so peaceful, Cooper. So centered. Before I got sick, I wanted to do everything. Play soccer. Play football. Be in the drama club. Play the piano. Family. And then I couldn’t do anything anymore. And I just kept thinking, ‘If I could do one thing, what would it be?’”

“Easy answer,” Cooper said, thinking about his brilliance in the spotlight—and about his dedication to family.

“Oh yeah. But see, when I met you, you had one goal. And I think you could expand, but you knew exactly what to worry about.”

“Felicity?” It was the only thing Cooper could think of.

“Yeah. Family. And I’ve been going to school with kids, and they’re all wondering what’s my major, and when is my real life going to start and who am I? And I wish I could tell them all. It comes down to one or two things, simple things, and if they can have those things, it doesn’t matter how much money they have, they have all they need.”

Cooper shivered. “That sounds really together, considering we’re both living with your uncles and neither of us has a real job.”

“You have a real job,” Sammy said, the self-deprecation in his voice hard to hear. “I’ve been in the workforce as long as you’ve known me.”

Cooper chuckled. “Six weeks.”

“Mm. How long have we been kissing?”

“Three weeks,” Cooper said softly. It had only occurred to him right now that he’d been deliriously happy during those three weeks.

“I want my family,” Sammy said dreamily. “And I want my music. And I probably want to teach, because I like it. Just… like it. It feels like the blend of family and music. And I want you.”

“In-N-Out,” Cooper muttered, getting off the freeway. Now that he wasn’t trying to break the sound barrier, he really loved this car.

“That’s what you want to do with your life?” Sammy asked, not sounding hurt, just confused.

“Heh-heh….” Cooper couldn’t help it. He was just so adorable. “No. I want Felicity in my life. And I… I know it’s not supposed to be a guy’s job—I mean, I never had a foster father who was any good at it. But I like taking care of kids. And it would be great if I could give something that I never got. So maybe I want to teach too. Like you.”

“Yeah?” Sammy asked. Cooper pulled to a stop at the light, In-N-Out a beacon of carbohydrate and protein hope on the other side of the intersection.

“Yeah,” Cooper said, feeling the rightness of that in his chest. And then, because Sammy’s eyes were luminous in the dark and Cooper could still hear the strains of his song, echoing in his head. “And I want you.”

“Yeah,” Sammy murmured, satisfaction in the puff of his breath and his smile. “That’s an excellent place to start.”

Sammy didn’t talk much after that—especially not after Cooper got him a hamburger and a milkshake for good measure. Cooper got a milkshake to keep him company, and together they traveled in companionable silence all the way up to Granite Bay.

But inside, Cooper’s body thrummed.

I want you.

Said so innocently, with so much goodwill. But Cooper had been tasting Sammy’s kisses for nearly a month now. He’d felt Sammy’s hands on his skin, his back, his chest, his shoulders, his throat. He’d felt the outline of Sammy’s erection as Sammy had tried urgently not to grind against Cooper and climax, frotting fully clothed in the hallway of his family home.

Sammy wanted him. And Cooper had been taking it slow. They were young, they were stupid—Cooper didn’t want to leave this job, and he certainly didn’t want to be getting his life together with a broken heart.

But Sammy had put his heart on the line without any qualms at all. Tino said he’d been heartbroken a time or two—he knew the dangers—but still, he’d had faith and he’d leaped. Sammy knew—he knew the world didn’t offer guarantees. He knew someone wasn’t always there to catch you when you made the leap.

But Sammy was brave that way, and his rewards for bravery?

Well, playing for a packed house of people who thought he’d changed their lives. That was one. And knowing what he wanted in the world—even if it wasn’t what his uncles probably wanted. That was another reward.

And having the patience to wait for a guy who’d fallen off a building and restarted his life.

That was only a reward if the guy Sammy was waiting for had enough courage to leap too.

Cooper wanted that much courage.

He pulled off the freeway at Hazel and headed toward Granite Bay, checking on Sammy every so often at the lights. Sammy’s eyes were closed, his expression peaceful, even as he nursed his milkshake fitfully.

“What?” Sammy asked after one such glance, his eyes still closed. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I want you to stay with me tonight, even if you sleep on top of the covers. I don’t want you to go back to your room. I want you to be mine tonight.”

Sammy’s smile expanded to a full-fledged grin, and he put his shake down to peer up at Cooper from under his blond lashes. “Is that in the traditional caveman pocket-romance sense, or—”

Cooper silenced him with a finger across his lips. “That’s however you want it to be, Sam. I just don’t want you to disappear up into the bowels of the house again. I… I sort of like my quarters. They feel like a really nice apartment. If it’s supposed to be an apartment, then I want you to stay as a guest.”

Sammy smiled against his finger, and Cooper returned his eyes to the road. “Okay, Cooper. I’d be honored to be your guest tonight. But I may run up to my room for my sweatpants and a pair of underwear, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah,” Cooper told him, peace and excitement warring for first in his stomach. “That you can do.”

They entered through the garage, and Cooper turned to go to his room. He was stopped by Sammy’s hand on his shoulder, pulling him into a kiss in the dark. He closed his eyes and let the kiss wash over him, the now-familiar taste of Sammy comforting him and energizing him at the same time. By the time Sammy pulled back and rested his forehead against Cooper’s, they were both breathing hard, and Cooper felt like his body was going to fly apart.

“Sammy…,” he mewled. This wasn’t want—it was need, and Cooper had it, and he’d beg if he had to.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Sammy breathed. “A quick one. I don’t want to sleep on top of the covers, Coop. I want to sleep under the covers, and I want to be clean. Can we do that?”

Cooper nodded, thinking about his small shower cubicle, and he wasn’t sure if it could contain his swelling heart.

“I want you,” he said rawly. “Just… you. Want. You.”

Sammy’s strained chuckle told him that maybe he could wait long enough to shower and make it good.

“Back in ten,” he whispered in Cooper’s ear. “I promise.”

Cooper twisted his mouth wryly. “Unless you fall asleep in the shower.”

Sammy’s eyes opened comically wide. “Stopping off at the fridge for some juice! Make it fifteen!” And then, with a quick, hard kiss on the mouth, he was gone, trotting through the darkened house with his portfolio banging against his hip.