Page 44 of Give Me What You Will

He huffed, “I’m stealin’ your phone later. I better be fuckin’ number one.” He reached for the steering wheel and drove out of the vacant lot to the Charles River, parking in a spot he had found a few months back on a ride that offered a gorgeous view of the river, the Longfellow Bridge, and the sprawling, sparkling city beyond.

He had packed a six-pack of beer in the ice chest in the trunk. Popping two of the cans, they leaned against the hood of the car, watching the sunset.

“This is nice,” Sammy hummed. “I needed this.”

He licked the beer off his lips. “Me too. How’s your mom?”

Frankie had wondered if he was gonna say anything about seeing her. Because the ground he stood on next to Sammy felt shaky at best. But he knew how hard it was for him to visit her.

He hesitated, “She doesn’t look good. She’s so…”

“Fuckin’ mean?” he finished.

Sammy sighed heavily, pushing his fingers into his eyes.

His chest tightened, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching for him, squeezing the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

“I think I gotta get social services to come back out. Have someone check in on her regularly.”

He nodded, “It’s probably for the best.”

“Frankie…” Sammy cleared his throat, finally looking at him.

His eyes were so much greener than he realized. A bright, swirling green that reminded him of the stained glass windows he’d seen in church as a kid that would shine when the light hit it. His thumb grazed the underside of Sammy’s jaw as he slowly slid his hand away, realizing that his usual demonstrations of affection should probably stop, at least until they talk about last night. His hand tingled in awareness of how warm Sammy’s skin had been.

He took another long drink of his beer, masking his unexpected nervousness.

“She told me you’ve been visiting her.”

He shrugged carelessly. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is,” he replied firmly, holding his gaze. “Thank you. You don’t have to.”

“It’s what family—”

He stopped himself.

They weren’t brothers. They weren’t friends, according to Sammy. Frankie wasn’t sure what they were. He knew that what had happened last night meant they couldn’t go back. And he couldn’t forget how incredible Sammy looked as he broke apart, surrendering completely. Something about seeing it, after all these years, with his armor stripped off was…

Exhilarating.

That man was looking at him right now, and his stomach fell as though he were standing at the edge of a cliff—at the edge of something bigger than him.

Frankie’s phone buzzed in his back pocket. He glanced at the text and cursed. “Shit, Ryan’s stoppin’ by droppin’ off tickets for his fight tonight. I told him I’d pick it up at the gym. He’s probably a nervous wreck and needs something to do before the fight.”

Sammy arched both eyebrows, “Ryan? Like, as in…”

He smiled proudly, “Yeah. Bastard grew like five feet overnight and has the reach of fuckin’ Abraham Lincoln. I’ve been workin’ with him for a while. His first fight is tonight.”

Ryan had been too young to run with them in college and a bit of a runt. But he always managed to find a way to the bar or get into trouble with them when he wasn’t supposed to.

Sammy shot him a surprised smile, “Coaching, huh?”

He busily shoved his empty beer can into the cooler. “It’s better than sittin’ on my ass, complainin’.”

“Good for you, Frankie.”

He glanced up at him, and he saw something there.