Page 23 of Rushed

Keenan

For the past three weeks I’ve spent as much time as possible with Lincoln. Sharing stories about his childhood, talking about his training—now that he’s preparing for a title match— I’m finding a way to laugh about life again.

I’m not writing in my journal as much as before, as things really haven’t changed with my nightmare, or in my daily routine. I still go for my run club meets, and eat way too much junk food. I still wake up in a cold sweat after the nightmare releases its ironclad grip on me.

It sucks. I want to know more. I want to let the past creep in even if it’ll hurt. I have a need now as I want to share everything I am with Lincoln. I want him to get to know me.

Yesterday, Jon had to take me out to the FBI offices for another interview. I’m getting sick of them. Every one of those bureaucratic asses still feel there’s something I’m hiding. They can fuck right off. I smile, I answer, and I do as I’m asked, but nothing changes in their assessment or in my memory of the events.

“State your name for the record.”

It’s the same questions week in and week out with the pudgy, sweat-soaked, balding agent.

“I don’t know. I tell you this every time you ask.”

It frustrates me, which pisses him off even more. He’ll keep me there for an hour, with the same questions, looking for me to slip up. Nothing changes. I don’t know anything new.

“What were you doing there that day? Did you have business? Were you there meeting someone?”

“No, sorry. I don’t know.”

Afterwards, I went out with Troy and the boys. I needed it so badly. Even the bickering and despondent Ty was a lively sight.

A few weeks back we’d planned a weekend away to Charlie’s and Jim’s rural home, and tonight we’re heading out after Jax gets off work. I’m excited to say the least, even though Troy can’t meet up until later. He’s trying to drag the press hounds off the hunt. They’ve been relentless.

Since the match was announced, there hasn’t been a spare moment in Lincoln’s life. I think TSN actually rented a flat across from the club. It took both Lincoln and Ty to talk me into living elsewhere. After a great deal of coercing, I finally relented and shifted my meager things into Lincoln’s flat. Max, his trainer, has his butt at the gym sometimes as much as fifteen hours a day. He’s now on a very strict diet, which has me eating healthier too. So the alcohol this weekend will be greeted with anticipation.

We finally reached the cabin in the Hamptons after three wrong turns, two pit stops for Gatorade (which created two more pit stops) and an impromptu rush to the Publix for a last minute wine run.

Jax has been an amazing traveling companion, but his navigation skills suck. The cabin is not a cabin at all. It’s a mansion. It’s Christmas Eve, and I’ve got a date with a bottle of white wine, a hot tub, and three very sexy gay men who’ve cooked for me.

“Come on, girl. The wine won’t wait for you!” Jax yells up the stairs. The house is huge, and fucking spectacular. It has three massive bedrooms off the living area, and an adorable little loft, which is where I’m staying. I love the space, and felt that the couples deserved some privacy from the single girl.

The room is set up with the bed overlooking the water through a vaulted wall of windows. The room isn’t massive by any means, but it has an en suite, complete with a clawfoot tub and a full glass shower that faceing the forest, so you can give the deer a show in the early morning hours. It’s decorated with a minimalist's eye. There are blackout curtains of mahogany crushed velvet, and a four poster chrome queen bed with a matching velvet bedspread. I wish Lincoln was here to enjoy the opulence with me. I’d have his hands tied to that bed so fast we’d miss Christmas, and possibly New Years. The thought of that man trussed up in shackles, wearing nothing more than a necktie makes me warm from deep within.

“Be there in a sec,” I yell down, grinning, clearing my dirty musings.

I descend the stairs in a haze after thinking about Lincoln naked and at my mercy. I’ll have to ask Charlie if I can use this love nest sometime after the fight. I would love to have my way with him for a weekend or two.

Wandering through the house in a haze, I make my way out the back to the hot tub, nearly knocking the full tray of wine glasses out of Jim’s hands.

“Sorry, Jim.” I take two of the glasses off the tray and hand them to Charlie and Jackson, who are already in the scalding warm water. The steam rises in massive wisps, coating the wood and air in moisture. There’s frost on the beams from the raised deck above, where the moisture has stuck. It makes everything seem ethereal and mystical. I expect fairies and trolls to come out from every corner of the forest to grant us access to the sacred pool.

“Charlie, this place is amazing. It must be difficult to leave it when the vacation’s over.” I climb in the tub, taking the proffered drink from Jim.

“It is, but it gives us something to look forward to.” The two men exchange glances, and the sight of their passion is tangible. “We only get a few chances a year to come out here. It’s romantic and quiet.” They truly love each other.

We sit in companionable silence for a bit, staring at the stars. The moon peeks over the water while we listen to the baying of coyotes and wolves off in the distance. What a change from the bustle of Manhattan. I don’t know if I’ve ever been outside the city, but I do know I could get used to the feel of peace and quiet.

“So, what’s going on with your man candy darling?” Charlie asks.

“The last few weeks have been busy I guess, what with him training to take on that gutter trash.”

“That piece of trash should have been locked up long ago, then he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to even attempt this vie for the belt. It’s not fair,” Jim chimes in.

“Fair has nothing to do with it. He should be in jail, getting as good as he gave. I’m not normally one for retaliation, but he should be strung up and taken by a team.” Jax is upset, and rightfully so. His partner was raped, humiliated, and will be forced to endure the pain of that night for the rest of his life.

“Here, here.” Charlie tips his glass up and clinks it with ours before downing the contents. “Anyone for champagne?”

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