TAKE ME HOME (17 page)

He threw the phone at his bag. It missed, bounced off the carpeted floor, and smacked into the steel rod that connected the chair to the floor. With his current level of frustration, he’d be breaking his phone, his laptop, everything he’d brought with him before long.

It had taken every ounce of self-control not to walk back into their room after the interruption the night before and fuck Evan like mad, avalanche or no avalanche, but Evan needed something else then. Maybe he did too. Which was the craziest part of the whole trip. He never put talking before fucking. Not that he’d ever put it after either.

He dropped to the bench. Not a bench this time, though. A bed. After sleeping in that morning, neither of them had bothered to call Oscar so he could return their miniscule bedroom to its original state. The guy probably had more important things to worry about, a lot of unhappy passengers to appease since they were still stuck on the tracks in the same location as the night before. The mussed sheet and blanket reminded Kyle how little sleep he’d gotten. He’d lain still at first so Evan would relax and get some rest, but once he’d heard Evan’s slight snore, he’d tossed and turned all night, unable to rid his body of the tension. Or the erection.

He was beginning to think his writer’s block had a lot to do with his dick’s happiness, or lack thereof, to be more precise.

Guess he’d have no chance of writing more before getting off the train. Time to get his mind on something else.

He picked up the leather-bound journal, and his thoughts went right back to what he’d been trying to avoid.

Evan had spent much of the summer before they left for California with Kyle on the farm, an hour drive from Liberty Falls, working with the horses and stacking bales of hay, and spending their nights in a tent his grandpa had set up behind the house. If he could only go back Take Me Home

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and kick his eighteen-year-old ass into gear, he could’ve had Evan’s dick years ago. But even then, Evan longed for more than sex from the guys he was with, and the eighteen-year-old Kyle wanted none of that.

What about now? Could he have a relationship? Did he even know how?

He needed to stop this before he came to a conclusion he didn’t like. He needed to read the rest of his grandpa’s words, needed the answers to more questions than just what the network was after. He opened the journal and got lost in a life lived sixty years earlier.

A road trip to play craps in Las Vegas. Rock climbing near Colorado Springs. Hiking through the Rocky Mountains. Some of the trips they’d made with their new friends. Some his grandpa and Joe had taken alone, making love in the backseat of their car parked along dirt roads or spread out on a blanket after they’d watched the sun set.

They had felt comfortable on the back roads of America, between small towns and farmlands, away from civilization and in their own private world. As if nothing and no one could burst the bubble they had been living in since they’d left Korea.

Kyle read another passage. Joe had called home for the first time in months and had learned the news of his brother’s marriage and new baby.

Today Joe told me he wants to go home to visit his brother’s family, to see the child, to introduce me to everyone.

That’s when I knew. He wants a life with me. I can’t give him that. No matter how much I love him. No matter what I’d like to have.

I know now things are going to change between us. We can’t stay in this place forever. We have to grow together. Or apart.

But I can’t walk away. Not yet.

Kyle’s chest tightened as he read the words on the aged paper before him. A surge of emotions overcame him. They battled with his rational, logical thoughts, like a swell pushing against the side of a sailboat, forcing it to turn. The sails lose the wind for a brief moment before catching again, bringing the vessel back on course, creating questions where there had been none a moment before. Do you stay on course? Or ride the waves and see where they take you?

No answers. Only questions.

Kyle turned the page and read more from the journal.

We returned to the campsite outside Denver today. It has become a home for us.

A place where we can be with people again but also be together—sleep in the same tent, be gone for hours on long walks, just the two of us, and no one seems to know or care if we are more than friends.

As we drove down the dirt lane toward the campsite, everything became clear. I know now, this is the place where I will leave Joe. I have no idea how I will walk away, but the time draws near that I will go. I want these final moments to last as long as possible.

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Kyle turned the page to the next entry.

Everything changed tonight.

We heard on the radio the armistice had been signed the day before, ending the war where we’d both lost and found so much. Hearing the news finished things for me. It was time. Maybe Joe knew that. He’d been different all day.

As the sun set, he and I sat alone by the fire. Everyone else had spent the day in Denver. They must have had something planned because that morning the four of them had been excited like we hadn’t seen since Joe and I had returned from our last trip south. We didn’t ask questions. We had our own secrets to keep.

I was sitting between Joe’s legs, leaning back against him, watching the light dance in the fire, trying to work up the nerve to talk to him about our futures, when Vern’s car barreled into the campsite, kicking up dirt. It came to a sudden stop, and the doors flew open. Vern, Henry, and George jumped out. Charles was not with them. The three were cursing, shoving at each other, kicking up more dirt with their quick movements. We bounded to our feet and tried to stop whatever was about to explode between the three men.

We were too late. The curses turned to accusations, to fists slamming against cheekbones, to bruised knuckles, and blood spat onto the ground.

An hour later, after the storm of anger and violence had passed, Joe and I learned the secrets our new friends had been keeping. The four of them had robbed the Denver Bank and Trust, apparently not their first bank job, but the first time one of them had been caught. The first time they’d fired their weapons. The first time someone had died.

Kyle lowered the journal. That was it.

A bank robbery.

The door to their room opened, and Evan walked in carrying a tray of food. He set the tray on the table. Kyle dropped the journal to the bed beside him and stood. The towel fell from his waist and landed on the floor. His body was dry, but with the swift movement, his hair dripped water to his chest.

Evan sucked in his bottom lip and sank his teeth into it, like he’d done on top of Kyle the night before. Slowly, Evan knelt before him and picked up the towel. That put his head at the right location, at least according to Kyle’s dick. It was filling, growing hard and thick. He shifted on his legs, unable to stand still. Evan paused at Kyle’s cock. He licked his lips. Those lips were so damn close to his balls.

The swell of need and something more powerful slammed into Kyle, and he was off course again. He couldn’t stop himself. He ran his hand through Evan’s blond hair, cupping the back of his head, feeling the urge to force his mouth forward but holding still, his legs shaking with anticipation.

A slight shift and Evan’s lips would be on his dick. He wanted Evan to suck him. He wanted things he’d never wanted from another man—for Evan to bury his face in Kyle’s ass, lick him, fuck him with tongue and lips and spit until he was writhing and panting and dying for Take Me Home

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more, then he wanted Evan to just plain old fuck him. Although there’d be nothing plain or old about that. Too bad he had no idea how to get them from Evan kneeling on the floor before him to Evan’s cock buried in his ass. He sounded like a nervous virgin. Every guy he’d ever been with would’ve been laughing his ass off right then.

Evan leaned into his touch until palm met cheek.

Kyle forced Evan to look at him. “I…” He breathed deep and tried to will his cock, already standing at half-mast, to calm down. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s okay.” But maybe Evan didn’t mean the words the way they sounded. He wrapped the towel around Kyle’s waist, tucked in the end, and stood. He sat on the other side of the table and unloaded the tray. “You should look out the other side of the train. The drifting is getting worse.” His voice was uneven, shaky, but growing stronger with each word. “We might be stuck here for a while longer.”

Kyle squeezed his eyes closed until he caught his breath. When he could walk without making a fool of himself, he went to the corner of the small room and dressed, keeping his back to Evan as he resisted the urge to stroke himself and instead tucked his half-hard dick into his underwear.

Evan kept talking. “They need to send another train with equipment to clear the tracks and a new engineer since each can only be on duty so long, but nothing could get through before now. I guess there are more storms heading our way too.” By the time Evan finished speaking, he sounded normal, casual.

The least Kyle could do was try for the same. He sat across the table. “Thanks for the food.” There was a burger and fries for him and a salad for Evan. The fucker still wasn’t eating enough.

“No problem,” Evan said. “They’re already serving lunch. Guess we slept in pretty late.” He picked up a carrot stick and took a bite. He pointed the uneaten half at Kyle. “That’s going to be your last shower. They’re starting to conserve supplies. Water, food, fuel for the heat.”

“Really? Shit.” Kyle ran a hand through his drying hair.

“They’re hoping help can get here before the next storm moves in, and that we can get moving this afternoon.” Evan looked out the window and nibbled on the rest of the carrot.

Kyle couldn’t stop watching that mouth, the tongue licking his lips, the throat muscles working as he swallowed. Maybe Evan had been right about the sex messing with them. Just in different ways. Being this close and not getting what his body was begging for was torture.

“Hope we don’t miss Christmas,” Evan said.

“We won’t miss it. It might just be us, though.”

Evan nodded but hadn’t looked away from the line of snow-covered trees along the tracks.

Kyle gave up on thoughts of what Evan obviously didn’t want to do right then—or maybe ever. He didn’t want to fathom that last part. He picked up two fries and shoved them in his mouth.

“I talked to Oscar,” Evan said. “That good-looking guy from the hallway last night after dinner has an alibi. When we saw him, he’d just come from another passenger’s room. A married man on a business trip who he’d spent an hour alone with.” 90

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“Oh.” So, yes, he was gay. Which also probably meant he had been checking out Evan.

Without a thought on why he was changing the subject, Kyle said, “I found out why Hastings wants the journal.”

Evan set his fork down, a hunk of lettuce still stuck to it. “Why?”

“My grandpa knew a group of men who lived in the Colorado wilderness. They were all vets from the war who robbed banks. I’m guessing it has to do with the money from one of their jobs in Denver.”

“Holy shit.” Evan gave a long stare, then his eyes widened. “The Denver Bank and Trust in 1953?”

“Yeah.”

“There was a movie made about that. They never found the money.”

“I thought it sounded familiar. Did you see the movie?”

“No. Was your…” Evan shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Was my grandpa involved?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t think he was. One of the others had gotten caught, and that’s how Grandpa found out about the robbery. I haven’t read anything more yet.” He paused, trying to decide if he should direct the conversation back to the one they’d left hanging the night before. “I want to know what happened with Hastings.”

Evan took another bite of his salad before he spoke. “It was an ultimatum. The journal or my job.”

“They fired you?”

“I guess I technically quit.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I already did.”

Kyle pointed a finger at Evan. “You call him back.”

“No way. First of all, I don’t want the job that way or to work for someone like that. Most importantly, the only way to keep the job is to sell out your grandpa. No matter what else is in the journal, I’m not doing that.”

Evan’s words shouldn’t have surprised him, but the rush of pride slamming into him did.

Kyle reached across the table and grabbed Evan by the back of the neck. Good thing the table was small because there was no stopping him. He leaned in and pulled Evan forward until their lips met. A simple kiss that said so much more.

Or maybe not, because Evan asked, “What was that for?”

“You being you.” He stood and paced the room. “Fuck them if they don’t want you. You can find another writing job. A better job. Or you can do this on your own. You can produce your own show. You can take it to the web. You’ll get your break, Ev, and you’ll prove to everyone how talented you are. You’ll see.”

Evan was still seated, staring up at him, his mouth hanging open. His phone rang, and he scrambled to get it out of the front pocket on his jeans. “I couldn’t get a signal earlier. I better take this. You read and find out more about the bank robbery. I’ll, uh… I’ll be back.” He left the room in a rush, tripping over Kyle’s bag on the way, catching himself palm out on the glass door.

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Kyle held back the laugh. Evan was not acting like himself, and not in a good way like Kyle had been dreaming of, and that wasn’t funny at all.

He glanced at the journal on the bench. Sometimes relationships had to end. Didn’t they?

Maybe before they got started. Wouldn’t his grandpa have been better off if he’d never started things with Joe? Wasn’t that what he’d said in the letter to Kyle? I hope you learn something from my mistakes.

Sounded logical.

Despite that, Kyle grabbed a pen and the pad of sticky notes and added a note to the journal.

Sometimes you have to do anything you can to hold on to what matters, despite how far off course you sail.