Finding Zach (11 page)

Jane said, “It makes perfect sense, Zach. We’re none of us who we were seven years ago, and it’s foolish to try and be those people again. I know we’ve been trying to relate to you as if you had never gone away, but we can’t, can we?”

He shook his head slowly.

Jane put out her hand. “Well, Zach Tyler, I’m Jane Tyler. Pleased to meet you. We’ve got the same last name—think we might be related?”

Zach laughed, rocked back on his heels and laughed. Then he shook her hand and said mock-seriously, “Why, that might be the case, Mrs. Tyler. We’ll have to check into that.”

“You two,” Richard said dryly, “are lunatics. And I need my elevenses. Let’s go get some bagels and then I’ll help you with the Charger.”

Chapter 7

Z
ACH
’
S
phone buzzed against his hip. He set down his drink and dug in his jeans pocket, but when he looked at the number, it wasn’t familiar. Frowning, he opened the phone. “Hello?”

“Did you know that mallard ducks have a corkscrew-shaped penis?”

“I didn’t even know ducks had penises,” Zach said. “How’d you get my number, Taff?”

“My mother. I just called to remind you that you have a run at seven a.m., and it is now ten-thirty-six p.m., so put down the Scotch, and step away from the surfer dude.”

“More like ‘Put down the Coke and step away from the Big Mac,’” Zach said wryly.

“You’re at Mickey D’s? What the hell are you doing there at this hour?”

“Um—eating? I was hungry.”

“My mother is the best cook in the world and you’re eating at McDonald’s?”

“Well,” Zach said reasonably, “I went five years without a Big Mac or McDonald’s French fries.”

“Oh, my God,” David said in horror. “I didn’t realize it was
that
bad! Isn’t that like against the Geneva Convention or something?”

Zach dunked the last of his fries in barbeque sauce and stuffed them in his mouth. Around the fries, he mumbled, “Well, I’ve got a lot of Big Macs to make up for, that’s for sure. I’m done now anyway, and on my way home, Mother.”

“Better be. You’re going to have to put on a better performance tomorrow.”

“Jesus, Taff, my thighs are aching already,” Zach complained. “I’m gonna be stiff tomorrow.”

There was a moment of silence, then David said, “Uh, yeah. Sorry, I got distracted.”

“I’m not even going to ask,” Zach said.

“Yeah, you better not. Well, um, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Yep.”

“Uh, Zach?”

“Yeah?”

“Um—be careful driving, okay?”

Zach grinned. “Yes, Mother.”

“Well, it’s raining and I know how dangerous motorcycles are in the rain.”

“I’m driving the Jeep tonight. It was already raining when I left. You’re a fussy old woman, you know.”

“Well, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Aww. I feel so loved.”

“You should.” There was a click as David hung up. Zach stared at the phone blankly. Had David just said what he thought he’d said? Nah…. Must have said something else.
“You shit,”
probably.

It
was
raining pretty hard, so Zach ran to the Jeep and ducked in, shaking the water from his head. When he’d left the apartment an hour ago, he’d planned on a quick bite at McD’s before heading over to Fat Charlie’s or the Dirty Dick, but suddenly he was tired. Tired and bored with the idea of another evening of drinking, listening to loud obnoxious music, and anonymous pickups. Besides, David was right; he did have an appointment at seven a.m., and he wasn’t used to getting up early anymore. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel a moment before putting the key in the ignition and starting the Jeep.

For some reason, he went through the east gate of the compound instead of the closer south gate. The remote gate control worked the same as at the south gate, but the response time was slower, so he sat and drummed his fingers on the wheel a minute before Andy got the gate wide enough for him to get the Jeep through. The last couple of years had made him hyperaware of his emotional state from moment to moment, and right now he was feeling anxious. He didn’t know why; it was pouring rain, but it was coming straight down and visibility wasn’t bad enough to make him worry, and deciding not to hit the clubs tonight took away his usual evening anxiety about hookups. Must just be the idea of getting up that early, or maybe worry about getting to sleep at such an early hour….

The gatehouse loomed up on his right, lights still on upstairs, though the downstairs was dark. Zach let the Jeep roll to a stop across the road and sat there, staring at the steering wheel. His heart was thumping hard, but steadily; nervous, but not panicked. What the hell was he doing? “Shit,” he said, threw the car into park, and got out into the rain, standing looking over the roof of the car at David’s lighted bedroom window.

David was sitting at the drafting table by the window, a pencil in his hand and an intent look on his face. The rain was pounding hard enough that he apparently hadn’t heard the Jeep’s engine or the closing of the driver’s side door; his hand moved over the drawing before him without him raising his head. He was shirtless. Zach watched him, oblivious to the rain soaking him.

Finally, David got up and stretched, his back to the window, the thin cotton pajama pants he wore dropping low on his hips. Zach almost swallowed his tongue at the sight of the long, lean back, the upraised muscled arms, the light from the drafting table turning the skin gold and casting shadows on the curve of David’s ass beneath the cotton. Zach swore softly and pressed against the doorframe of the car, feeling the pulse in his erect cock. God, David was beautiful, even more beautiful than Zach remembered.

Months ago, when he’d first come home, he’d started hanging around the gay clubs in Wesley and in Colorado Springs, trying to get up the nerve to actually have consensual sex with someone. He’d been approached, but turned down everyone. No one interested him enough to take the risk.

Then one evening, he was watching the dance floor at one of the clubs when he’d thought he’d seen David. His mouth had gone dry for a moment watching the man dance, his slim ass grinding against the man behind him, until Zach realized it wasn’t David, just someone with the same general build as he remembered David having, and the same tawny, sun-streaked hair. Of course, the body had come from a gym, and the hair from an expensive salon, but when the guy—was his name Keith? Kevin? Something like that—had seen Zach watching him, he’d come over and invited Zach into one of the little private rooms. By then Zach had drunk enough Scotch to numb his panic and had gone with him, but he wasn’t so drunk as to not know what he was doing, what he wanted….

What he wanted now was to be in that warm, lit room with David, his hands stroking down that long, smooth back, cupping the round ass, his mouth on the silky skin of David’s neck. His hands tightened on the cold, wet doorframe.

David stretched again, then walked across the room to the door opposite. He rested one hand on the frame, reaching over with his right to lock the door. Zach frowned. Why would David lock the door in his own house? His puzzlement deepened as David stood there motionless.

No. Not motionless. His right hand was out of sight, blocked by his body, but his right elbow was moving, a tense, rhythmical motion.
Fuck
. David was jerking off. Zach’s legs almost gave out on him. He pressed harder against the car door, sweat breaking out on his face and neck despite the damp chill, and watched in stunned disbelief as David’s left hand curled tightly around the wooden frame of his bedroom door.

Then David turned around, leaning against the door for support, his head back and his right hand buried beneath the elastic waistband of his pajama bottoms. Zach whimpered, and in his mind, he was in the room with David, his mouth on that golden column of throat, licking, biting the tendon that stood out where David’s neck met his shoulder, his hand wrapped around David’s cock as he licked and bit and sucked the rose-brown nipples on that perfect chest. He watched the flutter of the loose cloth as David worked himself, every movement echoed by the pulse in his own cock as he rocked against the side of the Jeep, imagining David’s hand on him, his mouth on his skin, the silk of that sun-streaked hair against Zach’s throat.

David’s face tightened; his rhythm stuttered, and his head went back with a thump as he came, his hand moving in long, hard strokes. Zach fumbled for his own zipper, battling it down against the heavy wet cloth of his jeans, and pulled his cock out between the teeth, wrapping one hand around the shaft and pumping it. He came hard, spurting onto the Jeep’s tire and the gravel of the road; he turned and leaned back against the car, breathing roughly, and let the rain wash away the evidence before tucking himself back into his jeans.

Upstairs, David had vanished, but a light had come on in the bathroom adjoining David’s bedroom. Zach stood in the rain until David had come out of the bathroom in fresh pajama bottoms and turned out the bedroom light. He felt like a voyeur, and wondered how he’d face David in the morning.
Fuck,
he thought again, and, dripping wet, got back into the car, putting it into gear.

Chapter 8

“
S
OMETHING
wrong?” David asked as Zach caught up with him, panting. “You’re awful quiet today.”

Zach shook his head.

“Well, if you’re tired, blame the damn pants,” David said, referring to the tan fatigues Zach wore again today. “I don’t know why you just don’t wear shorts. If you don’t have any, I have some you can borrow.”

“I don’t wear shorts,” Zach panted.

David didn’t say anything, just ran in silence a while, then, “Psychological or physical?”

“Huh?”

“You don’t wear shorts because of a psychological reason or a physical reason? Cuz I can tell you now I don’t give a shit if you have scars or anything.”

Zach eyed David’s tanned, perfect legs. “Yeah. Whatever. I just don’t like shorts.”

“Then get some of those spandex bike leggings,” David instructed. “Or sweats. Or those dorky track suits. I know it’s not because your legs are fat or gross; I’ve seen you in tight jeans. So I figure you got some scars or something you’re embarrassed about. Which is fucking stupid, but hey, they’re your scars. But those pants increase wind resistance as well as friction and make it harder for you to run, so lose them, ’kay?”

“Up yours,” Zach panted.

David stopped in the middle of the path and waited for Zach to catch up. “Seriously, Zach, if you really want to get in some real running, you can’t do it in fatigues.”

“They do in the army,” Zach wheezed, bent over with his hands on his knees. “They have to run miles in full gear with full, eighty-pound packs, carrying ordnance.”

“This ain’t fucking basic training,” David said irritably. “And you’re having a hard enough time without making it more difficult. You need to build up your stamina, not give yourself a fucking heart attack. Okay. We walk for a while. We’re almost back to the house, so we’ll use this as a cool-down; then a few stretches when we get back there to work out knots so you’re not as stiff as you were when we started. I don’t want you pulling a muscle or getting leg cramps because you aren’t getting proper warm-ups and cool-downs.”

“Yes, Mother,” Zach said. Which was a mistake, because it reminded him of their conversation last night, which led into his
other
memory of last night.

“Whoa,” David said. “What just went on in your miniscule little mind?”

“What are you talking about?” Zach said defensively.

“The weirdest look just crossed your face and it shut down again. What’s going on in your head, Zach?”

“I just remembered something unpleasant. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Your call. Gonna talk about it with the shrink?”

“
Hell
, no,” Zach said.

“Cuz getting a weird look on your face after saying the word ‘mother’ is kind of creepy, you know.”