Horizons (Horizons Series Book 1) Read online

  After running, I came home to shower and change. My answering machine was blinking, and I hit play with a sense of dread, fearing the worst. Instead of Jody it was my mother, which was a huge relief. I hit redial, and she was on the phone after a few rings.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hi, baby. Where were you?”

  “Out running.”

  “Can you come home this weekend?”

  “Why?”

  “It’s Robby’s birthday.” My oldest brother was about to turn thirty. He was also married and soon to become a father.

  “I’ll drive up on Saturday.”

  “Why not Friday night?”

  “Things to do, Mom.”

  “What things?”

  “Uhh, is this the FBI?”

  “Sorry, sweetie.”

  “It’s okay.”

  I hung up, wrapped my cast in plastic, and showered in preparation for my meeting with Jody. I still couldn’t believe he was willing to do this for me. After the way I acted that night at the restaurant, I was surprised he even consented to see me that day in the ER. I wondered if he was used to the insults and rejection because he was gay. I stopped myself as soon as those thoughts entered my head. I was doing it again, making assumptions about something I knew nothing about.

  As a prison guard, my father was quite familiar with gay sex. He’d come home from work, ranting about everything that went on with the inmates, calling them freaks of nature. The little I knew about gay men was what I’d picked up from his tirades. The worst part about listening to him was the knowledge that I had an unhealthy interest in other men that I’d been smothering on a daily basis for a long time.

  I was perfect on the outside. Shit, I’d been told how good-looking I was since I was four years old, but none of the words meant anything, because I knew I was flawed. I just had to make sure no one figured it out.

  Chapter 4

  “CLARK!” Jody said, shaking my arm to get my attention. We’d only been reading for ten minutes, and I was already zoning out.

  “What?”

  “Pay attention,” he said with infinite patience.

  “You’re going to get sick of saying that.”

  “Come on,” Jody cajoled, grabbing a piece of white paper and drawing some stick figures and circles on it. We were reading James Hilton’s Lost Horizon; an easy book, Jody had remarked when I handed it to him. If it was so simple, then how come none of it made sense when I was reading it? He drew a plane and some mountains, almost treating me like a five-year-old.

  “Why are you doing this?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “Drawing pictures. I feel like I’m in kindergarten.”

  “You’re paying attention, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s why I’m drawing pictures,” Jody said. “Some people are more visual than others. They need to see, rather than just hear. You’re obviously one of those.”

  “Is that why I get football and all the plays? ’Cause they draw everything up in diagrams?”

  “Probably. I’m sure that couldn’t hurt. Plus, you love the sport.”

  “I guess. Okay, so go on and explain this.”

  “Okay, here’s the plane and the four passengers. Henry Conway, the British consul, Charles Mallinson, his vice-consul, Henry Barnard, whose real name is Chalmers Bryant. He’s an American finance guy that just embezzled one hundred million dollars and is on the run. And lastly,” Jody said, putting his finishing touch to the drawing, “this woman is named Roberta Brinklow. She’s a missionary. They’re about to leave Afghanistan for parts unknown. People are being evacuated, and these four are thrown together on the little plane.”

  “Then what?” I asked, licking my lips and staring at Jody’s mouth. He had perfect white teeth and a pouty lower lip I wanted to nibble and suck. I was so caught up in the fantasy I’d completely forgotten what he just said.

  “Clark.”

  “Huh?”

  “What are you thinking?”

  Oh man, you don’t want to know. “Nothing.”

  “Can you get your head back in the story?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Okay… focus now. The plane takes off, and no one seems to know where they’re going. It’s almost like they’ve been hijacked.”

  “Were they?”

  “No one knows for sure. The other passengers are hoping Conway knows, since he’s in charge, but he has no idea where they’re headed, and to make matters worse, they develop some kind of engine trouble, and the plane crashes high up in the mountains. The pilot is injured and just before he dies, he tells Conway about a lamasery called Shangri-La.”

  “What’s a lamasery?”

  “It’s a monastery where holy men reside.”

  “Why the fuck don’t they call it that?”

  “Because it’s the correct word,” Jody said, smiling at me, showing off his teeth and that dimple that made me crazy.

  “Go on,” I said, forcing myself to look at the paper and not Jody.

  “Just after the pilot dies, they notice a group of people appearing on the horizon, coming toward them carrying an old man on a chair.”

  “What do you mean on a chair?”

  Jody drew two lines on the paper and put a chair on top of the lines with another stick figure on it. “Like this.”

  “Oh.”

  “The passengers are confronted with strangers who look Chinese, so Conway concludes that they are definitely somewhere in or around Tibet. The guy on the chair tells them his name is Chang, and he’s going to take them to Shangri-La.”

  “To that place, the lama, whatever.”

  “The lamasery.”

  “’Kay.”

  “So the small group begins the trip to Shangri-La. Most of them go along willingly, but Mallinson is unhappy about everything that’s occurred so far and doesn’t want to go.”

  “What’s he all pissed off about?”

  “He’s negative and stuck in his ways… can’t deal with change.”

  “But he goes anyway.”

  “No choice. They would have left him there.”

  “And when they got there, what happened?”

  “They see a beautiful ancient stone building on top of a mountain, shrouded in mist, and Conway is taken by his surroundings.”

  “And the others?”

  “You are going to have to find that out for yourself. We are done for tonight. It’s late, and I have to be up at five in the morning.”

  “It’s only ten!”

  “Time for bed.”

  “Okay,” I said, giving in. “Thanks for doing this. You have no idea how relieved I am.”

  “I can guess,” Jody replied seriously. “It’s not right; what they did to you.”

  “Hey,” I said, stretching out my hand and placing it on top of his. “It’s all good.”

  Jody searched my face, waiting. When nothing was forthcoming, he said, “Is it?”

  “It is,” I said quietly.

  “All right.” He stood abruptly and walked over to the other side of the kitchen and pulled open the door. “I’ll see you again on Monday. Have a nice weekend.”

  I picked up my book bag and threw all my stuff into it. When I got ready to walk out the door, Jody stopped me by putting his hand on my arm. We stared into each other’s eyes for the longest time as the sexual tension curled around us like cigar smoke. Finally, Jody broke eye contact. “You’d better get going,” he said, turning his back and walking over to the kitchen sink. Good thing, because my body was reacting to his touch and I’d hate for him to notice. I made my way out the door and slammed it shut behind me.

  When I got to the car, I sat there for a minute trying to get my emotions in check. I started the engine and drove down the hill, passing the Claremont Hotel to my right and heading out to Telegraph Avenue. I was too wound up to go to bed, so I decided to head out to Folsom. At this time of the night, the traffic would be nonexistent, and I’d proba
bly be there by midnight. Who cares if I hadn’t packed a bag? The need to get out of town and away from Jody was paramount.

  JODY grabbed a beer out of the fridge, adjusting himself as his erection pressed tightly against his pants. This seemed to be a common occurrence whenever Clark was in his thoughts or close at hand. He’d almost done something stupid tonight. The need to kiss him clawed at his gut, but common sense prevailed, averting what would have probably been a major disaster. He was pretty sure that Clark would push him away or, more likely, punch him in the face. He didn’t expect him to walk out of the closet gracefully.

  Jody pushed the sliding door open and stepped out on the deck. It was warm, surprisingly humid for the bay area, the thick air enveloping him like a shroud. He threw himself on one of the Adirondack chairs and leaned his head back against the dark-green wood, giving in to his thoughts.

  God, he was beautiful! Clark was a perfect physical specimen, made even more appealing by the fact that he was unaware of his effect on people. Jody couldn’t see the ego anywhere. In fact, he was the opposite; humble and even pathetically grateful for the attention that Jody was paying him. Clark seemed almost childlike in his countenance, despite the fact that he was a rising star in his world.

  Jody hadn’t felt this kind of attraction in ages. The last time he’d lusted over a man like this was early in his college career, the year he’d met Rick. That attraction was almost as powerful as this, only it had not ended the way he hoped.

  Thoughts of Clark did things to his body that he’d buried along with his lover four years ago. The elevated blood pressure and racing heart reminded him that he was alive and part of the world again. He was waking up from a long nightmare, thanks to the football player, whose mere presence stimulated a need to touch and feel once more. Jody had been convinced he’d never fall for another guy, but his body was telling him a different story. Imagining Clark writhing under his touch gave him an instant boner.

  He groaned and surrendered to the need, tugging on his zipper and releasing his cock, which was thick with desire for an untouchable man. He rubbed his thumb around the head, spreading the beads of precum, and let the fantasy fly.

  He imagined Clark sucking on him, licking him with hot, pressing strokes, while his hand cupped his balls and kneaded them gently. Jody’s movements sped up, and he convulsed, watching the milky liquid spurt out of him in a steady stream, coating his stomach. He sighed unhappily, knowing he’d be alone again as soon as the pulsing stopped.

  He made his way back into the house, turning off the lights along the way and pausing to activate the burglar alarm and secure the front door. When he got to his bedroom, he threw himself on the bed, and buried his face against his pillow.

  THE door squeaked and I opened my eyes to see my mother standing at the foot of the bed.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “I thought you weren’t coming until today.”

  “Change of plans.”

  “Do you want some breakfast?”

  “What time is it?”

  “Almost eleven.”

  “Nice of you to let me sleep so long.”

  “Well, it is the weekend. I figured you could use the rest.”

  She hovered over my bed with a coffee cup in her hand, and passed it to me when I sat up and leaned against the headboard.

  “Here you go, honey. Nice and sweet, just the way you like it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How’s your arm?”

  I looked at the cast that wasn’t white any longer and shrugged. “Still broken.”

  “I brought you some plastic wrap for your shower.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” I loved her to death, but she always made me feel like I was ten. She couldn’t get it in her head that her “baby” was twenty-two years old and about to become a senior.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Out in the yard with Zach and Jason.”

  “And the rest of the gang?”

  “Robby’s not here yet, and Michael’s at the store getting the beer.”

  “Do you want me to do anything?”

  “Not until later. I’d like you to help with the tables and chairs.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “What is it, sweetie?”

  “Why are you making such a big deal over this birthday?”

  “It isn’t every day that you turn thirty.”

  “Is that such an important number?”

  “Well, not really, but in your brother’s case I think we’re doing this because he’s about to become a father, and then it will be all about his child. This will be the last time he’ll be the center of attention. At least for a long while,” she said, laughing gently.

  “If parenting makes you invisible, then I suppose no one has paid any attention to you in years, huh, Mom?”

  “Don’t be silly. I get plenty of attention,” she defended, looking at me with eyes that mirrored mine. In fact, everything about my mother was like me, including her need for my father’s approval.

  “Clark, we got a call from your coach.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “He told your father that there was some sort of problem.”

  “I’ve got it on lockdown, Mom.”

  “Dad’s going to say something.”

  “I need a shower; do you mind?”

  “I’m going,” she shot back, assuming I was naked from the pile of clothes on the floor.

  I turned the water on full blast, steeling myself for the confrontation with my dad. I knew it was going to be another round of cross-examination, but at least I had an answer for once. Having Jody in my court would keep my father happy, and get him off my back until I passed the English class.

  Thinking of Jody only gave me another excuse to get rid of my morning boner. I imagined him in the shower stall with me, on his knees with my cock in his mouth. That picture was enough to get me off, and I exploded, shooting ropes of cum on the tiles and glass door. I envisioned the good doctor sliding up my body and kissing me on the neck while he rubbed against me.

  MY FATHER approached me while I was setting up the tables and chairs. He was already on his fourth beer, so I knew this wasn’t going to be good.

  “What’s this I hear about an English class?”

  “I’ve got it under control, Dad.”

  “What are you doing about it?”

  “I told you. I’ll pass it.”

  “How?”

  “I’ve got someone helping me. A tutor.”

  “Who is he?”

  “The doctor who cast my arm.”

  “The one from the ER?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why’s he helping you? Is he a Cal fan?”

  “No, he’s just a nice guy.”

  “He better not give you any of those bullshit drugs.”

  “He’s not!”

  “Listen up, Clark,” my father lectured, blasting his beer breath into my face. “You’ve already screwed up this season with your broken arm, and you don’t need to compound your mistake with a failing grade. There are scouts out there that are plenty interested in signing you up for the NFL next year, if you don’t fuck this up!”

  “I’m aware, Dad.”

  “Then see that you don’t forget it! I don’t want any more phone calls about this, understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I watched him walk off, mingling with the other guests. Everyone I grew up with was at the party. Guests surrounded Robby and his very pregnant wife, Linda, while they opened his presents. I stood there wondering what it would have been like to be him; the oldest child with no special athletic skills, just a normal person. Dad never meddled in his life. None of my other brothers were subjected to this kind of scrutiny.

  It was getting harder and harder to put up with him. When I lived at home, I didn’t realize how bad it was, but I’d been away now for three years, and the distance gave me a whole new perspective. Maybe Jody was right. Maybe my life would have been co
mpletely different if they’d let me go on medication or get some kind of counseling for the ADD. Then I wouldn’t have all these issues, and I wouldn’t have him breathing down my neck constantly. But then again, maybe I would have never made it as a football player.

  “Dude, is he up your ass again?” my brother Jason muttered under his breath while he handed me a plastic cup brimming with Miller Lite.

  “Oh yeah. It’s great coming home and listening to the old man bitch.”

  “He was in one of his rages after your coach’s phone call.”

  “I wish he’d stay out of my fucking life.”

  “He would if you’d just do your work.”

  “Come on, Jason, don’t you start.”

  “You gotta pass this class or you’re fucked!”

  “I know!”

  “What’s the plan?”

  “I’ve got someone helping me; it’ll be okay.”

  “I hope so. You know how much pussy I’m going to get when they find out my baby bro is in the NFL?”

  I laughed and shoved him away from me. “You fucker. This is all about snatch, isn’t it? You couldn’t care less about me.”

  “Hey, I gotta get something out of this. Come on, little brother. Let’s go join the party.”

  We moved to the table closest to the makeshift bar where my other two brothers and their friends were doing their best to finish off a keg of beer. They were all pretty shit-faced.

  Michael, Jason’s twin, stood up holding a beer mug like a microphone and doing a piss-poor imitation of Jimmy Buffett. It was hilarious, especially since he couldn’t carry a tune to save his life. Zach was already shit-faced and feeling no pain. He was brother number two and the one who was most similar to our father. Not so much in appearance, but more in his mind-set. He was an armchair quarterback whose entire life revolved around sports. His biggest disappointment in life was that he didn’t have my talent.