The Park at Sunrise (3 page)

I closed my eyes and uttered a prayer, straight from the heart and nearly wordless, just, "Please."

When the car stopped what seemed like hours but could only have been seconds later, I opened my eyes to see that I had indeed managed a three-sixty and was on the
road, unharmed, car pointing in the right direction to get to Jason's house. My breath came hot and fast, fogging up the window. I shook with fear and relief. I had survived.

I took survival as an answer to my prayer. Steering off the highway and driving down the unpaved road that led to Jason's parents' slightly worn down, comfortably shabby, turn of the century house, I felt hopeful, lighter somehow, and more relaxed. Wasn't until I parked in the snowy drive and prepared to exit the vehicle that I wondered what kind of welcome these people would
offer me. Once they'd been closer to me than my own college professor parents. My parents had me at a time in their lives when they really shouldn't have had children. I was a shock to them—neither of them was prepared to parent, and I was raised more as a favored student than a child. Jason's parents had been the source of the warm, fuzzy feelings in my childhood, and I hadn't been in contact with them either in the last nine years. What would they think of me showing up on their doorstep now? Nine years after I should have been here?

Swallowing, I wiped suddenly damp palms on my jeans before pushing the door open. I winced as my damp feet landed in a foot-deep drift of snow. Maybe I should have taken the time to stop at the department store and get weather appropriate clothes, but if Jason wouldn't see me, I wouldn't need them yet. And if he did, then I'd have all the time in the world to get acclimated to the weather again. Not that the prospect of freezing my ass off four months out of every year appealed to me, but taking Jason out of the mountains apparently wasn’t an option. I wouldn't regret leaving the sunshine of California behind if I got to bask in the heat of his love again.

It occurred to me, as I slipped on a patch of ice buried under the newly fallen snow, that ten years had hardly changed this place. The house was still half-painted a peeling yellow—Jason's dad had started that job when we were in second grade—and the same wicker furniture sat covered in snow on the porch itself. There was a not-very-Christmassy wreath on the door, one that Jason had made in kindergarten, and the garage with its loft-style studio drew my eye. Was he there? Had he ever installed heat in the damn thing? Did he even paint here anymore?

How could I be so fucking stupid? What would I do if his mom shut the door in my face? I shook my head, wiped the incongruous trickle of sweat from my brow. They were expecting me, weren't they? After all, he'd told me to pick the painting up here. Stomach churning in uncertainty, I knocked on the door and waited, trying my best to keep my head up and make eye contact when the door opened. The urge to look away or down was strong, though.

The door swung open, and I found myself staring not into the blue eyes of Jason's mom, or even into the worn face of his dad, but directly into Jason's green eyes, eyes rimmed red from crying.

"You said you weren't going to be here." Was that the most brilliant thing I could come up with?

He scowled. "I lied."

He had lied. My heart leaped. Then sank. The Jason I loved in the past never lied. I opened my mouth to have my say, but before a sound could come out, he grabbed my hand and dragged me into the house, slamming the door behind us. Then my arms were full of Jason, and my mouth was devoured in a kiss so explicitly demanding I didn't have time to think.

When Jason finally drew back, panting, enough to let me breathe, his hands were tangled in my hair, and his grip told me he wasn't planning to let me go. "Your parents..." I forced the words out but couldn't drag my gaze from his damp, swollen mouth, any more than I could remove my hands from the enticing, tight muscles of his ass under the black denim. When had that even happened?

Jason shook his head, dragging my mouth back down to his. His whispered words breathed a caress into my mouth. "They don't live here anymore... Santa Fe..."

I wasn't listening. The knowledge that we were alone in the house was as powerful now as it had been when we were sixteen. "Where?" My voice was strained, but speaking at all was difficult. Putting words together was a challenge in this situation. Maybe, hopefully, I could say what needed to be said without words.

"Down the hall, master bedroom," he replied.

We made it there and fell together across the bed. I'd been in this house before, sure, but in this room, never. It was the one place off-limits to us as kids, and a twinge of curiosity should have had me checking it out now, but I didn't want to look anywhere but at Jason, his gorgeous green eyes, hungry, panting red mouth, the creamy winter white of skin as we shed our clothes in rapid, careless abandon.

Naked, I wasn't cold anymore. My hands traced lean muscles, marveling at the blend of memory and action, absorbing the heat, adoring the flesh that arched and responded to my touch. I didn't care how this used to happen, didn't give a damn that Paul wasn't here. I wanted Jason. I wanted to touch, to taste, and to worship his body.

"You're sure?" I had to make the offer. Give Jason the chance to say no. "We don't have to do this."

Jason stared at me, green eyes gleaming in the semidarkness. "You may not have to do this, but I sure as hell do." He reached forward with a determined hand, clasped my cock, and stroked it. I shuddered under his grip, but this wasn't what had haunted my memories for years.

I kissed him again, urging him down onto his back. He gazed up at me inquiringly, eyes widening in startled acceptance as I pushed his thighs apart and settled between them.

"I still like this," he whispered, running his hands up my chest to toy with my nipples.

"Mm. Me too." I groaned, sheathing my cock with a condom Jason handed me from the bedside table. I didn't ask why he had a box of them there. Jealousy could devour my soul before I would remonstrate with him for seeking solace with other men. It wasn't like I could claim celibacy over the last ten years. It hurt though, and I shoved that hurt aside. This was now, and now was Jason and me.

Bracing myself on one arm, I leaned down to kiss him, slipping my tongue into his mouth. I delicately lapped at his tongue, teasing the warm, silky places. My hand found his cock, hard and leaking against his belly, and I stroked it slowly as his hands wandered over my body.

His gasps and sighs of pleasure were music to my ears, broken only by the snick of the lid on a bottle of lube. I leaned back to watch him stretch himself, feeling wild and barely in control as he slid first one finger, then two into his ass. I couldn't turn my gaze away. I inched closer, waiting, painfully on edge. With a tremulous sigh, he pulled his fingers free and reached for me, guiding my eager cock into the hot, clinging channel.

We moved together as though by instinct, naturally, as if we'd never been apart, as if we'd done this every day of the last ten years instead of only dreaming it.

I’m not sure what I said. I was conscious of sound emerging from my mouth, but my being was absorbed in the push and pull of the hot heat around my cock, and the sight of Jason jerking his own cock in time to my thrusts.

Beautiful. He was so fucking beautiful. The sights, sensations of making love to Jason overwhelmed me.

"Yes," Jason hissed. Closing his eyes, he raked the nails of one hand down my back, and the streak of fiery pain was the last stimulus needed to send me over the edge.

"Look at me," I ordered, gazing intently at his face as his eyes drifted shut. They snapped open at the command, and I slid under, drowning in the green depths.

Harsh breath and the slap of skin on skin were the only sounds remaining as the end approached.

"So close," Jason whimpered. Suddenly he stiffened.

"Yes, yes," I encouraged him. "Come now. Come for me." Streams of hot, sticky semen shot up across his chest as his mouth opened in a sultry groan of pleasure.

His passage rippled around my cock, and I surrendered to the impending orgasm, burying myself deep and holding on tight as waves of pleasure shook us. Collapsing together in a sweaty, sticky heap, I rolled slightly to the side so as not to crush Jason's smaller frame with my own. My arms held him close as I drifted into sleep, comforted by his hands caressing my back.

***

I awoke alone, cold, in the king-size bed of that master bedroom, reaching for the warmth that had, I was certain, been right there only moments before. The sheets next to me were still faintly warm, and I rolled into his spot, inhaling the faint scents of paint and turpentine and the cologne he'd always worn
—as though it could hide the scent of art, the scent of him.

The slam of the door jolted my eyes open, and I bolted upright, heart racing, squinting into the
corners of the room. I couldn't hear anything from the depths of the house, and unease crept into my mind. Self-doubt had always been my worst enemy. If it weren't for self-doubt, wouldn't I have been here nine years ago? The idea had taken root in my mind then that Jason wouldn't want me without Paul, and I hadn't been able to shake it loose. When he never called or visited me, I knew I was right.

Convincing myself he'd be back in a few minutes, that he was getting firewood, or the newspaper, or something, lasted only until I heard the distant, muffled sound of an engine.

I felt that sound rather than heard it. Dragging myself out of bed, I headed for the master bath. A shower, a cup of coffee, and then I could decide what to do. For damn sure I wasn't getting back on that plane to California this afternoon.

In the bathroom I turned on the shower to heat and stepped up to the mirror. Jason's razor lay next to a can of shaving foam, and I considered using it as I ransacked the drawers for an extra toothbrush. As I straightened something caught my eye, and I turned full round to face the mirror.

The steam from the shower and the hot water for my shave had fogged the mirror, and the word written there was clear.
Bye.

If Jason thought I would just pick up the painting and head back to California after yesterday, he had another think coming. Even before he'd greeted me at the door with such wild abandon, I had intended to stay. The hours we'd spent in that king-size bed had certainly done nothing to convince me to leave.

Dry-mouthed, I swiped my hand through the condensation on the mirror, blurring the word, clearing a spot where I could see myself
—blue eyes, black hair with the prematurely gray streaks I owe to my dad's genetic input. Determined. That was how I appeared.

I rushed through shaving despite my faintly trembling fingers and showered, anxious to get out of the house and track down Jason's gallery. Surely that's where he'd headed when he left.

I rifled through Jason's drawers for a clean T-shirt—better too tight than none at all—and tugged on my travel-worn Levis. More pilfering through Jason's things produced a pair of warm wool socks and a small, vaguely familiar volume. I found my boots under the bed, still slightly damp from the previous day, and tugged them on with a grimace.

Holding the small, worn leather journal in one hand, I traced the cracks in the cover with the other. Jason and I had saved our pennies and purchased this leather journal for Paul as a gift for his thirteenth birthday. He'd laughed at us and asked what he was supposed to do with it. I'd looked away at the garage studio, embarrassed by our choice of gift. Jason, ever more aware than I, had shoved Paul to his back on the old blanket where we sat. Jason told Paul to write down all that gushy stuff he kept spouting about
how wonderful it was to be alive and stop embarrassing us by speaking it. Shocked, because even though I was embarrassed by the way Paul talked sometimes, I secretly loved it, I turned back to them to find Paul's blue eyes on me, with laughter and affection. "I say it 'cause I want you to hear it. If I write it, will you read it?"

We'd passed the journal along for years from locker to locker, hand to hand. Paul, the poet, filled it with the scribbling of his heart while his parents guided his path through life, steering him firmly to business and tradition. Jason and I read, smiled, or flushed, as the writings ran the gamut from childish joy to a young man's passion.

How had it come to be in Jason's possession? I placed it gently on the nightstand beside the bed. Paul had a place in our lives. No need to hide his writings away in a chest of drawers. But Paul could wait. I had to find Jason, explain to him... I wasn't going anywhere.

And then I had to call my boss and tell him the same thing. I'd never been less responsible, or
more happy. The prospect of finding a position in Colorado in the middle of the school year was pretty dim, and ditching my kids, their clubs and activities, a month ago, hell, a day ago, would have been impossible.

Today, yeah, it bothered me, but not nearly as much as that
bye
on the bathroom mirror had. It hurt that the man I loved, had loved for all these years, thought this of me, that I could just take what he offered so freely and run back to California never to be seen again. We could get past it, though. I could convince Jason that I was ready for forever to start now.

Down the hall I stopped. Two packages leaned against the front door. Yeah, Jason understood me so well. Captain Oblivious would have strolled right past them if he'd left them anywhere else. I guess he really wanted me to open them.