Rowe pushed away from the doorframe and crossed the room. Settling onto the floor next to him, Rowe wrapped his arm around Noah’s shoulders the same way he had for years before they became lovers and pulled him close. It was too hot in that small room to be snuggled against him, but Noah didn’t give a damn. He needed Rowe. There was no breathing without Rowe.
“I felt so damn guilty when I left. I knew she didn’t want me joining the Army. She’d already lost a husband and a daughter. She didn’t want to be alone again. But I felt guilty for lying to her. Guilty for being gay. If I’d stayed, I knew I’d eventually put a bullet in my head.”
“Noah—” Rowe said on a harsh exhale but Noah powered through. He’d never admitted to anyone he’d considered suicide. He’d felt so damn hopeless those last few years living in this tiny house, sure that he had no future, no hope of love or happiness. Just more lies.
“I thought if I died for my country, she’d have something to be proud of. She’d never have to find out the truth.”
Rowe fisted a handful of Noah’s hair and pulled him closer, seizing his lips in a brutal, demanding kiss that helped to ease the knot of pain that had formed in Noah’s chest. Rowe followed it up with two slower, sweeter kisses before a sigh slipped from his lips.
“She loved you. She might not have known all the wonderful things about you, but she loved you,” Rowe whispered. “And I know you—all of you—and I love you. I’m sitting here, breathing, happy, and ready to live because of you.”
The weight on his chest lifted a bit and he smiled. “I love you too.” He really would be lost without this man.
Shifting out from Rowe’s grip, he shoved to his feet. With a hand extended to Rowe, he grinned. “Let’s go sign some papers with the realtor, then we’ll get some real southern cookin’ before I take you back to the hotel and fuck you through the mattress.”
“God, babe,” Rowe growled, putting his hand in Noah’s and letting the other man help him to his feet. “You say the best things with that filthy mouth.”
With a quick, loud kiss, Noah started to pull Rowe back toward the stairs, but Rowe stopped him.
“Wait. Tell me a good memory. Something about your grandmother.”
Noah had to search his brain for only a second before a memory sprang to the forefront of his mind. “I was eight and I got the chicken pox right before the annual Fourth of July fireworks and festival. I felt so bad that I spent the entire festival stuck in bed. I was heartbroken.” He paused and smiled over at Rowe. “As soon as I got better, my grandmother surprised me with this big cookout. She got all the neighbors to pitch in. She made her special strawberry shortcake for me. She participated in this big water balloon fight we had. And when it got dark, everyone spread blankets on the grass and stretched out to watch as some of the neighbors shot off fireworks. She planned all that just for me.”
Rowe pulled Noah into his arms and sweetly kissed him. “She loved you. She might not have understood. We’ll never know. But she loved you.”
“Thank you,” Noah said, his voice rough with emotion. This man understood him in ways he didn’t think anyone ever would. Maybe she wouldn’t have understood, but Rowe did. Rowe’s friends understood. He had a family now where he could always be himself without fear. And that was enough.
“Now, let’s go get that food you promised me. I’m gonna need my energy,” Rowe said, pulling him toward the stairs, Noah’s loud laughter following behind them as it echoed off the walls.GotchaRowe crouched down, knees aching bad enough that he had to clench his teeth against the fresh torrent of curses that were about to break forth. He hid behind an outcropping of boulders and tree limbs, drawing in a deep breath as he popped the magazine from the handle of his gun. Only three shots left. Not great.
Spring had moved into the area early this year, but there still weren’t enough leaves on the trees and bushes to offer him any kind of decent cover, considering that it was midday. He needed to keep moving if he wanted to stay alive.
With his pistol clenched in his right hand, Rowe slowly shifted, making as little noise as possible, to look around the immediate area. He was in another damn valley with a small stream chattering away behind him, swollen in its banks and rushing over flat slate rocks. Golden sunlight shone down from a rare blue sky. The temperature was only in the fifties, but sweat trickled down the side of his face.