Page 47 of Touch of Innocence
TWENTY-TWO
How long would it take for Gunner’s heart rate to go back down to normal? For the pulsing of his blood in his veins to slow, for the throbbing in his temples, the rising taste of copper and fear in the back of his throat to subside? How long would it take him to believe, heart, mind, and soul, that he was actually safe now?
Pulled from his thoughts by the brief squeeze of Sam’s hand in his own as they stepped out into the comparatively cooler air outside, Gunner turned to look at the younger man. It was still quite difficult for him to believe that Sam was here at all, that the younger man had gone through the work of tracking him down. Didn’t Sam think that Gunner was the dangerous criminal, the one who needed to be defended against?
“What’s up?” Sam murmured, and his gaze was deeply intimate. More than that, he didn’t pull his hand away from Gunner’s. He had spent most of their time together denying that they were together, Sam had, and now, he was openly holding Gunner’s hand.
It was a small thing, maybe, but to Gunner, it felt deeply significant. It gave him something like hope, and he smiled a little at the beautiful man at his side, and for the first time in years, maybe since he was a child, he knew what it was to be really, truly, deeply contented.
“I was just thinking, it’s weird not to think about running anymore,” Gunner admitted. “I can do anything now. Well, not anything. I still have the criminal record.” And how strange was it for him to just openly say those words? They sat oddly in his mouth, and he half expected Sam to turn on him again, but Sam just nodded a little.
“Yeah, they probably won’t hire you at a bank or a liquor store,” Sam’s voice was easy enough, with none of the tension that Gunner would have expected, and, more than that, none of the judgment. Just a mere statement of fact and Gunner had been prepared to bristle at Sam, but he couldn’t even argue with that.
“Luckily,” Sam continued briskly, tugging Gunner slightly down the block, seemingly knowing exactly where he was going, which was a good thing because Gunner was pretty clueless about that. He was relatively sure he had just quit his job, so he was pretty unsure about nearly everything right now. “You don’t need to find a job. You have one already.”
Gunner stopped them both, using his grip on Sam’s hand to make the other man face him. He searched that beautiful face, for once not letting himself get lost in that beauty. It was too easy to linger on brilliant green eyes, sharp cheekbones, the sweet fall of shaggy, golden brown hair, and those impossibly sinful lips of his. But instead, Gunner looked into his face, right into his soul, as best he possibly could.
Was this a game? Gunner’s trust had never been easily gained, at least not ever since he’d been put in jail. He’d opened himself up to Sam, and Sam had trampled on his heart, sent him away. Could Gunner even handle it if that happened again?
“What do you mean?” Gunner asked, and though Sam seemed confident enough, Gunner was looking at Sam closely enough that he could see the uncertainty in the very depths of Sam’s eyes.
“I mean, I think it’s time for you to come home,” Sam spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, pitched for Gunner’s ears and his ears alone. “Babe, I never should have sent you away. I’m sorry.”
For someone as proud as Sam was, Gunner knew that those two words, I’m sorry, didn’t come easily. He knew that Sam would usually avoid saying them completely, and the fact that he would humble himself to say them at all meant more to Gunner even than the fact that they were still holding hands.
“Sammy,” Gunner whispered, his voice embarrassingly thick, but maybe that was okay because there was a little bit of a suspicious gleam in Sam’s eyes, too. “I shouldn’t have lied to you. I’m sorry, too.”
The words hung in the air between them, warm and promising safety, stability, all of the things which Gunner was slowly coming to realize that he could now have. There had been a sword hanging over his head too long, and now, it had been knocked away. If Sam was offering, Gunner, for the first time, could wholeheartedly accept.
“I know why you did,” Sam admitted and then tugged gently on Gunner’s hand. “It stinks here. Come on, let’s at least get out of Austin.”
Gunner took a few steps, and then his eyes finally left Sam long enough that he saw it. His baby. A piece of him that he had been missing, though he hadn’t let himself think about it much at all. But now that piece of him had been reunited, and Gunner had to stop, utterly overwhelmed by it all.
“You brought me my bike.”
Even as he said the words, Gunner could hardly believe it. His tone came out flat, almost dull, and he knew it, but he couldn’t do anything about it. It was incredible enough that Sam had come to get him, that he must have searched half the bars in Austin to find him, but to also bring him the one thing that Gunner had had that was his own for years, that was intense.
“Yeah. Don’t be pissed,” Sam spoke, the words spilling out too rapid fire for Gunner, as amazed as he was, to get even a word in edgewise. “Mike gave me the keys. He finished up the bike for you and then I said I would bring it to you and …”
Gunner suddenly pulled Sam close, gathering him up into his arms and silencing him with a firm, joyful kiss. And right there on the street, Sam kissed him back, strong arms winding around Gunner and clutching him close even out in public as they were. Sure, it was late, but there were a few people around, and it meant everything that Sam would kiss him, that he wasn’t ashamed of what they had together.
“Thank you,” Gunner whispered, the fierceness of the tone of voice surprising even him a little bit. But Sam seemed to relax, still standing there on the dirty gray concrete, arms around Gunner and Gunner’s arms around him, and the rest of the world be damned.
When they finally pulled away, Gunner turned to walk around the bike, surveying her from the handlebars all the way to the tailpipe. There was nothing to find fault with. Not a single thing. She looked better than she had in years, all dents, all scratches, all signs of age and wear smoothed out.
“Hey,” Sam spoke, after mercifully giving Gunner an appropriate amount of time to enjoy this reunion, “Catch.”
Gunner got his hands up just in time, and Sam tossed something metallic, something which merrily clinked as it flew through the air. His keys. Gunner stared down at them and then shot Sam a cocky little wink as he straddled his bike once more.
“Room for one more,” Gunner invited and then, somewhat to his wonder, Sam, his uptight, straight-laced, proper Sam, actually slid onto the back of the bike and wrapped his arms around Gunner’s middle, his chin resting briefly on Gunner’s shoulder before they both put on their helmets.
There would still be more to talk about, of course. A hell of a lot more that needed to be cleared up between them. But for the moment, Gunner wanted nothing more than to feel the man he loved behind him on his bike, the road under his wheels, and the engine of his bike rumbling between his thighs as they drove off together into their future.
For the first time, Gunner could let himself believe that that future might just be a bright one, after all.
