The day after Christmas, Owen woke to the muffled half sound of heavy snow falling. Several inches were already piled up on the outside of the windowsill, which meant there was far more on the ground. At least he didn't have much planned for the day, he thought as he turned over and put an arm around Sterling.
“Mmm. What?” Sterling muttered.
“Nothing,” Owen said quietly. “Go back to sleep. The blizzard will still be there later.”
“Blizzard?” Sterling yawned and blinked. “Seriously?”
“I don't know, maybe. A lot of snow, anyway.”
Sterling sat up, then winced and rolled onto his side instead. “We should bake cookies. And make a snowman.”
“Allow me to introduce you to one of the joys of home ownership in the town,” Owen said dryly. “Namely, snow shoveling.”
“Doesn't the city do that?” Sterling asked with another yawn as
Sterling didn't remember until he was driving down Owen's street that the dorms were still closed and he had nowhere to go. What was with him and running away? Were all the things his father had said about him true? Was he a coward, someone with no morals? Owen obviously didn't think much of him. He was better off on his own until he could figure out what to do.He checked into the first hotel he found along Route Ten and decided the best way to spend the day would be alternately watching bad TV and sleeping. He wasn't even slightly hungry, which was good because getting food other than the candy bars and potato chips that were available in the vending machines in the hallway would require leaving the hotel and Sterling was seriously considering never doing that again. Who needed a degree? He could just live in this hotel room until the clothes rotted off his body, cheering on Jerry Springer's guests and growing the world's longest beard.Maybe he'd get in the Guinness
Owen sighed and almost viciously scratched out three entire paragraphs from the article he'd been working on. Even if he hadn't been in a filthy mood, he'd have been just as hard on himself as an author—it often took him dozens of drafts to complete anything to his satisfaction.He tossed the pages aside and leaned back in his chair, his back aching from sitting for too long. Time to stop before he gave in to the overwhelming impulse to crumple the entire article up and throw it into the trash.He stood, and for want of anything better to do, picked up a cup half full of cold coffee and carried it to the kitchen. Taking his time, he washed it, dried it and put it away, concentrating hard on the task. It still only used up a minute or two of an evening that was dragging by.Sterling hadn't called. Owen had no intention of letting the silence between them continue for much longer, but he'd expected Sterling, impatient, annoying, exasperating boy that he was,
Sterling woke up to an incredibly stiff shoulder and an equally stiff cock. Probably the result of being in Owen's bed, he told himself as he sat up, wincing, and leaned against the headboard. That wasn't comfortable, either—Owen's headboard was awesome for being tied to, but not so much when it came to leaning. Still, once he was there he didn't want to move again, so he just stayed.He could hear sounds of movement downstairs and wondered what Owen was doing. Having coffee? Trying to figure out where to send Sterling for the rest of the semester break? Owen was too responsible to kick him out when he was hurt, not to mention probably feeling guilty about him getting hurt in the first place. Not that it was Owen's fault, because it wasn't, but Sterling couldn't remember if he'd told Owen that the night before—everything was a definite blur, and he actually wasn't sure how he'd gotten to Owen's house at all.His ass was sore too, he realized, but nowhere ne
“Yes, he's fine. He had a second MRI last week, and the doctor thinks that surgery will be necessary, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it; Sterling doesn't want to schedule it until the semester is over.” It was late spring, and Owen was on the phone with Michael, who he'd also called the day after Sterling's injury. He'd known Michael would calm him down after his rage-inducing conversation with Kirk—who had, to be fair, been extremely apologetic and offered to pay Sterling's medical bills. Which wasn't the issue; Owen would have been more than happy to pay them himself, but Sterling was still a student and covered under his father's insurance. Like he'd expected, Michael had done a perfect job of soothing him, and he'd been able to hang up after twenty minutes and go back to the drowsy Sterling without clenching his fists and grinding his teeth. Now, with Sterling upstairs getting ready for their first trip to the club since he'd been hurt, Owen was comf
“Are you sure this is the right place?” Sterling asked doubtfully as they stepped inside and the door closed behind them. He had to blink and let his eyes adjust, but even then it seemed like maybe they'd gotten the address wrong. He'd never actually been to a BDSM club, but whatever he'd been expecting, it certainly hadn't been this.It looked like a regular nightclub, and a reasonably crowded one at that. There was a bar along the back wall with the typical collection of college students and older people jostling for the bartender's attention. Two dance floors instead of the more traditional single one, but otherwise it seemed like just about every club Sterling had ever been to in his life. Not that there had been all that many, of course, since he was still half a year from his twenty-first birthday and he couldn't legally drink, but one of the benefits to living in an area that catered to two different universities was that the clubs were prepared to handle things like checking I
Owen shouldn't really have been driving when he was this keyed up, but right then he just wanted to go home. He pushed his emotions aside to be dealt with later and concentrated on the road, navigating the familiar route between the club and his house with his hands gripping the wheel tightly to stop them from shaking.Carol and that goddamned boy…an ending and a beginning side by side if he wanted it to be that way. Did he? He wasn't sure—and that indecision troubled him more than his failure with Carol.He'd left a light on, and it made the empty house look welcoming as he got out of his car in the driveway and walked up the narrow, twisting path to the front door. The path was edged with low bushes of lavender, aromatic in the damp September air, and roses, some still with a few tattered petals clinging to the thorny stems. Owen had inherited the large 1900s house from his parents, who'd moved into it after he'd left for college and partially restored i
Sterling took the bus to Owen Sawyer's house. Doing so felt wrong somehow, increasingly aware as he was of his own nervousness. For a while he'd been convinced that Sawyer didn't want anything to do with him, and as much as he'd wanted to change the man's mind, he hadn't thought he'd be able to. He still wasn't sure what the deciding factor had been in the sudden change of heart, which bothered him; he would have preferred to know why, mostly so that he could use the knowledge to his advantage in the future.The bus stopped two blocks from Sawyer's house, the address of which Google had helpfully provided. Sterling walked up one street and then down another, noting that the houses were older, but well kept up. No peeling paint or unmowed lawns. Did Sawyer cut his own grass or pay someone to do it?Sawyer's house was big and kind of old like the rest of them, with a wide porch and some tangled bushes lining the path that led up to the front door. Some of them were roses
Owen walked back into the living room after Sterling had left and stood quite still for a moment as he tried to add up just how many mistakes he'd made in the last two hours or so.Or maybe even longer than that, starting with going to the club on the one night that Sterling had chosen to walk on the wild side. Carol had wanted to see a friend, and he'd overruled her, being petty, exercising control over her in a way that karma had punished with a heavy hand.What in God's name had possessed him to take on a new sub so soon after freeing himself from Carol, as if he couldn't go a single day without knowing that he had someone to be responsible for? Pity, sympathy, fellow feeling? Or something less altruistic…“Next time, I should just adopt a cat,” he muttered. God, this was so stupid. Sterling could ruin Owen's career with a few misplaced words to a friend—and get himself kicked out in his final year too. He could see the lurid headline