16. Chapter 16
Frankie watched the slow rise and fall of his belly as he slept. Sam had never looked so calm, so peaceful. His fingers burned with the desire to stroke the fallen curled lock off his forehead, but he resisted. He didn’t want to wake him. He wanted to watch him, just like this.
Frankie hadn’t slept all night. Once Sam had fallen asleep in his arms, his mind had begun to race.
It raced with… possibilities. He expected to feel fear or reservations about the things that rattled in his brain as he lay there, face inches from Sam, thinking of his future—of theirs.
The letter. That fuckin’ letter.
Jesus. It was as if Sam had written it, for him.
And in that instant, everything clicked.
Everything came to a rushing awareness that his best friend for the last fifteen years was in love with him.
He scrubbed a hand over his lips, feeling Sam’s kiss etched on his thoughts, his whimpers tugging at his heartstrings, and his surrender—his rapture—branded on every fiber of his soul.
He should be scared, running for the hills at the idea of tempting fate with something this good. He mulled that thought over for a long time, and every single thing brought him back to his kiss. His warmth. His Superman.
How could that be wrong?
How could loving someone—no matter their sex, gender, identity, race—be fuckin’ wrong?
This wasn’t wrong. This feeling in his chest, deep in his heart, wasn’t wrong.
Frankie’s mind whirled, and he began to plan. The plan for what he needed to do next came quickly, as though he had known it all along and had been waiting for the chance to take it.
Glancing at his phone, he read the early morning hour and gritted his teeth. He had a plane to catch in a few hours and was anxious to start heading home. He had things that needed his attention, things he needed to settle before anything else happened between him and Sam.
Frankie quietly slipped out of bed and took a shower, letting his mind drift to what he could have with his best friend.
And oh, what a tantalizing fucking thought that was.
He could stay here—with him. They could have this every fucking day, if they wanted to.
They could share meals together, Frankie could have someone to cook for, and Sam could talk to him about his day.
They could make love. They could cuddle and bicker over what to watch and who ate the last of the leftovers. They could be just like this.
He dressed and packed the rest of his overnight bag, glancing at the ridiculously handsome doctor, naked, asleep, and his.
Throat clenching, he leaned down and kissed his hair, not wanting to disturb him. He knew Sam probably still felt self-conscious about reading that letter, and he didn’t want him to have to explain anything. Not yet.
There would be time for that later, when he came to Boston for his birthday. And then Frankie would be ready for him.
He slid his bag over his shoulder and headed down the hallway, pausing by Papi’s box of letters and photos. He glanced nervously down the hall and, on a whim, grabbed the letter that Sam had read to him last night and stuffed it into his back pocket, along with a photo of Jack and Papi.
He turned, heading for the door, when he heard the shuffle of feet.
“Frank.”
He stilled and felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, alerting him that his driver was on the way to drop him off at the airport. He checked it quickly. He had five minutes. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
Sam stood before him, having only managed to put on a pair of black boxer briefs.
The thick corded muscles of his chest and defined pecs were exposed and bare, and so fuckin’ tempting.
The slanted muscles of his cut abs and the sharp V-line of his hips were mouth-watering.
God, this man truly was Superman. And he felt like Batman, all dark and secretive, sneaking out of the house like a damned criminal.
“You’re leaving,” Sam stated, his tone cold and his face emotionless.
“Yeah, early flight.”
“Right.”
He nervously danced on his back heel, not sure what to say.
“Well, thank you… for uh…” Sam said gruffly, his voice cracking before he cleared it. “Thanks for coming. For bringing Papi’s box.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks for not slamming the door in my face when I showed up,” he said lightly, attempting to alleviate the tension between them.
“It’s hard to say no to you,” Sam replied, a slight smile on his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
Silence stretched between them, and Frankie saw the ache, the sadness in his best friend’s gaze. He wondered if Sam thought that the letter had pushed him away. That he was running. He wasn’t. He had work to do and things to finish. And then he would take what was fuckin’ his.
He was about to stride forward, capture Sam’s face, and wipe that sadness from it when his phone pinged in his pocket. The driver was almost here.
“I’m sorry,” Sam murmured unexpectedly.
“For what?”
Sam swallowed, stepped back and pushed his fingers through his hair, looking so adorably strung out and nervous.
Frankie strode forward, dropping his bag at the door, and with both hands, grabbed Sam’s whiskered cheeks, slamming a hard kiss against his parted lips.
Sam whimpered, instantly throwing his arms around him and returning the kiss with such fervor, such force, that it made Frankie pause, wondering if Sam thought this was their last time.
He could understand his concerns. Sam had seen him do this dance with countless women before him. Except this had been different from the very start, and Frankie had no intention of leaving him.
“Baby,” he whispered, “Baby—c’mon. Stop it.” He urged, feeling the insecurity and fear leak from Sam as if they were his own emotions. “You’re comin’ home in two weeks. You’re stayin’ with me. And you’re packin’ light, because you ain’t leavin’ my bed all fuckin’ weekend, you understand?”
Sam trembled against him, eyes firmly shut, as if refusing to take in his words.
“We’re celebratin’ your birthday, okay?” His fingers raked through his curly graying brown hair, determined to make him understand that this wasn’t it. This weekend was just the beginning. “Say you’re comin’.”
Sam dropped his temple into his and stepped back, expression pure vulnerability.
His phone dinged. His car had arrived.
“Say you’re comin’,” Frankie pressed.
Sam paused for the longest minute of his fuckin’ life. “I’ll come.”
He clenched his jaw and launched forward, grabbing him by the back of the neck and kissing the hell out of his best friend. “Damn right you are. You’re mine. Don’t you fuckin’ forget it.”
Later, sitting in the terminal, a cup of coffee in hand, Frankie pulled out his phone and set his plan into motion. He texted Joel first, arranging a time to meet at the bar later in the week.
The next text he sent was to the two goons on his back about his father’s debt, sending the final amount of the loan via bank transfer.
He had scraped every penny from his savings, but decided last night while feeling the weight of Sam asleep in his arms that being free of his father’s debt would mean finally getting his life back, away from his father and the dangerous men who held it.
He needed a fresh start—a new chapter. And that chapter was with Sam, but he had to make sure his shit was in order before that could happen.
His final text message was to Caz, a nervous flutter tightening in his belly as he hit send. He sipped his coffee and sighed, mind churning and hoping to hell that everything would fall into place.
He suddenly heard his father’s mocking voice in his head: “Well, you know what they say about plans and God—never tell the old bastard, ‘cause it’ll only make him laugh.”