More, Sloan Parker [guided reading books TXT] 📗

we heard it was Danny. He was convulsing. I've never been so scared.” She sat back hard, her chair sliding with the force. “Oh, you don't want to hear any of this.”

“It's okay. I feel bad... for my dad.”

She shook her head. “I'd never seen John like that. He kept screaming Danny's name and trying to help him until the paramedics got there. Then he grabbed Danny's pocket watch and jumped into the bathtub to give them room to work. I couldn't see around the paramedics so I watched John's face for any sign that Danny'd be okay. John just stood in the tub, clutching that watch against his chest, his eyes on Danny, his body rocking. I'd never seen him like that.” She looked my way. “He's kinda the always-got-it-together type.” She laughed but it wasn't a happy sound. “I think he took Danny's death harder than any of us.”

Why? Was there more to my father and Danny Conner's relationship than anyone was willing to share?

“Danny was alone when it happened?” I asked.

“Yeah. I guess he went to the bathroom and did a line. Took too much or something.” She waved her hand through the air like the why or how of it was inconsequential. To her, it probably had been.

“Uh, how long?”

“For Danny? I think they pronounced him on the way. By the time we got to the hospital, it was over. He never regained consciousness. Doctors said it was a fatal dose. Even if we had found him sooner, I don't think there was anything they could've done for him.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Thanks. Like I said, I think it made it hard for all of us to be together after that. But"— she smiled at me, her eyes crinkling up again—"it's been a long time. I'd love to see your father again.” She plucked off another piece of muffin and waved it in the air. “What else can I do to help with this party of yours?”

I asked her a few more questions, and she chatted about my father's campus political career and a camping trip they all took for spring break one year.

When the last of her stories wound down, I said, “Thanks again for taking the time to help me.”

“You're welcome. Sorry I couldn't find that album. It had a lot of good pictures— oh, and all the newspaper stories. Damn, I wish I could find it. I kept every article your dad and Phil were ever in. Did I tell you Phil was captain of the track team? That book's gotta be in my attic. I'd never have thrown it out.”

“That's okay.”

She popped the last piece of muffin in her mouth. “Nonsense. Let me take another look when I get some time. I know it's there somewhere. Give me your address and I'll send you copies of anything I find.” She pulled out a datebook and jotted down the address I gave her. She asked the next question in the quietest voice she'd used yet, still writing as she spoke. “Is your father happy?”

Is he? “I think so.”

“Good.”

When I stood to leave, she gave me a hug, clinging to me for a moment. “I'm glad I got to meet you.”

I glanced around the crowded shop and patted her shoulder.

She took a step back and smiled at me before she left in a flurry of movement, her purse, her hair, her arms whirling about as I watched her leave.

“Hey, something smells good,” I said as I stepped into the kitchen.

Matthew looked good too. He wore a ragged pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt and moved to a tune from his iPod as he finished making dinner. He hadn't shaved, and the bit of dark stubble looked sexy on him. I couldn't wait to feel the scrape of facial hair all over my body.

“Hi, Luke.” He smiled and removed his headphones. He came to me as though he had nothing else he'd rather do.

It'd been a few weeks since the night in the basement when he topped Richard. We worked. We played. We got to know one another. Matthew and Richard talked more than I did, but I offered what I could, mostly about my work.

On the weekends, Richard would cook, or we'd order in to give Matthew a break in the kitchen. He kept reminding Matthew he didn't need to cook all the time, but it seemed to please Matthew. And he had a knack for it. I wasn't complaining.

He also spent a few hours each day doing laundry and all sorts of domestic chores. Richard tried to put a stop to it early on. He told Matthew not to touch any laundry but his own.

It didn't last long. My dirty clothes were cleaned, folded, and put away two days later.

Richard began another protest one night at dinner, but I gave him a stern look to let it go once I saw the crushed look on Matthew's face.

I still spent Saturdays at work, but I left earlier and earlier each weekend in order to get home to the best sex ever. Yet it was more than that. I was having the time of my life with them. The constant stress and panic were gone, the obsession over my father absent along with them.

We spent Saturdays being lazy, eating pizza, and watching movies like The Terminator, Aliens, and The Matrix, which Matthew called “the classics.” I was certain he hadn't seen a movie released before the ‘80s, forget anything in black and white. The night would always end in the basement. Sometimes I'd be tied up. Sometimes I wasn't.

And every day after work, I rushed to the kitchen, to Matthew's waiting arms and kisses, to the scents of the finest food I'd ever had.

“You like the smell?” Matthew asked. He covered my mouth in an eager kiss.

“Yeah, I'm hungry. What is it?”

He grabbed my hand and shoved it down the front of his jeans. He wasn't wearing underwear, and his cock was leaking like crazy. “It's