Page 24 of Stroke Rate

K, can't wait.

Chris

Same…🙂(smiley face)

“Fuck,” Chris sighed, rubbing his face. Looking up, he saw Bran ‌almost vibrating with happiness? Pride? “What?” Chris grunted.

“Just proud of you,” Bran said, squeezing his knee.

“Dude, I'm so excited!” Jackson peeped next to them. “Do you think he will come here? When can we meet him?”

“Chill, Jackson,” Bran said, putting his hand over Jackson’s fidgeting hands.

“Okay, fine. I'm just so happy. Look at him, Bran. Look at his smile.” Jackson cheered. “He hasn't looked this happy all month. Look, he has teeth.”

“Shut up, you asshole,” Chris said, pushing ‌Jackson's shoulder. “Where is the car?”

“Just pulling up. Please, please, please let us know how it goes.” Jackson begged as Chris walked away.

“We’ll be waiting,” Bran yelled at Chris’ back as he exited The Barn and headed home to prepare for tomorrow.

Chapter twenty

River

"It’s the sound of the unlocking and the lift away. Your love will be. Safe with me," River sang along to Bon Iver’s “Re: Stacks,” playing through his car's speakers. His croaking whisper of a voice echoed strangely in his ears, but he was thankful he could still sing. Thankful that a small piece of his vocal struggles remained under his control. Tapping a beat on the steering wheel and rubbing his hip, River rasped out the song's lyrics. He caressed the tattoo of the kingfisher that ran the length of his hip and thigh, a constant reminder of the scar left from the accident. The phantom pain of burning cold metal digging into flesh as he tried to reach for his love’s hand plagued him when sitting for extended periods.

His thoughts wandered to Coop; he had one of those feelings like Coop was with him. That if he turned his head to look, he would see the bright green eyes and the sweet smile he loved so much. But he didn’t look, didn’t want to ruin the moment; instead, he whispered a quick, "Thank you, I miss you." River felt unsure about what to be thankful for, but he was certain it was the right thing to say. A small token of gratitude to Coop for guidance and for the chance to build a new life.

Some days the need to feel Coop with him was unbearable, heavy and all-consuming. The only thing that lightened the load was talking to him, sometimes out loud, more often than not in his head. It allowed River to feel like Coop was still with him, still supporting him and loving him, helping River through the grief and confusion that had plagued him. River still felt a pang of remorse every time he thought about wanting Chris. The guilt of moving on with his life without Coop filled him with shame, even though he knew in his heart Coop would want this for him. Like Brooke had told him, Coop would want him to be happy; Coop would want River to move on and live the life he couldn’t. He would want River to live a life full of the joy and lighthearted bliss they once shared.

Heaving out a sigh, River tried not to think about what lay ahead. Tried not to overwhelm himself with thoughts of what might have happened when he saw Chris again, what it would mean if Chris didn’t want to work with him anymore, if Chris didn’t want him anymore. The GPS cut into the music, telling River to turn right onto a long gravel driveway, the pinging of stones hitting the side of his car, and dust clouding the air around him as a beautiful house appeared in the distance. A long, farm-style ranch, built of river rock and golden timber, surrounded by long grass that was still green with the late spring rain and wildflowers—so many wildflowers. A blanket of green, yellow, purple, and white spread as far as he could see, with the Flatiron Mountains as their backdrop. The sun sat high in the sky, with big, billowing clouds casting shadows all over the pristine property, giving the entire scene a dreamlike quality. Coop would have loved it here.

As River pulled the car closer, he noticed the house had a purple front door with a cheerily decorated front stoop, with a figure sitting cross-legged watching him approach. Chris sat still as a statue, with his wavy hair fluttering about his face, and a hand pressed against his forehead to ward off the sun. As River parked, he watched Chris stand—letting his arms drop to his sides—his face flat and emotionless as River opened the door and stepped out. River wiped his damp hands on his pants, watching as Chris walked around the car, his mouth tingling with nerves as he cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn't fail. Leaning against the car, River gave a tiny wave before reaching up to pinch his lip so hard it hurt. He deserved the pain, knowing his actions had caused Chris to look the way he did.

The month apart had weighed on Chris, and it showed on his face. The sight made River’s chest cave in a bit; Chris looked sallow and tired—forcing a wan smile as he stepped towards River, but offering nothing more. He had dark purple bruises coloring the area under his eyes, and his brows drooped. His clothes looked disheveled, and that unruly hair of his appeared longer and more unkempt than the last time they had seen each other. River’s soul ached with the need to reach over and run his fingers through the disheveled hair hanging over Chris’ forehead, but stopped himself, not knowing what Chris wanted. He didn’t have to wait long as Chris took one step, then two, and wrapped his arms around River’s middle, hugging him like River was an oasis in the desert. Like the month apart had dried Chris into a husk of a person and River’s touch alone would rehydrate him. River didn’t want to think about the sadness seeping out of Chris—the sadness he had caused. River wanted to sink into the familiarity of having Chris in his arms, and bathe in the scent of pool and patchouli that wafted from Chris’ hair.

Holding each other for minutes, maybe hours, River wasn't sure because time meant nothing now that Chris was in his arms again. River finally pulled back enough to look Chris in his eyes and saw golden lashes sparkling like glitter in the bright Colorado sun and deep pools of blue resembling a glacier-fed lake. Searching eyes that reflected every emotion Chris had felt over the past month. Damp, tired eyes that mirrored the same sadness, hurt, and loneliness River had felt while they were apart—but buried just below the surface, River swore he could see something else. The set of Chris’ brow and the subtle curve of his mouth hinted at buried relief.

“You’re a real asshole,” Chris said through upturned lips as he punched River in his arm.

“Ouch, you. But you’re not wrong. I’m so sorry.” River huffed a laugh of relief. There he is, River’s soul exhaled. His voice, even weaker than it had sounded in the preceding weeks, surprised River, and Chris turned his head, a crease forming between his brows, observing him with worried lines etched between his brows. He touched River's throat and then ran a thumb over his lips.

“What’s wrong? With this.” He caressed River’s Adam’s apple, just so. He touched him with a gentleness that suggested he feared River might shatter.

“It ahh,” River tried to talk, but his throat was constricting, so he tried again. “It’s uh, why, well, one reason I wanted to see you. To talk about this.” His whisper-soft voice was frustrating, but somehow fit the tender moment they were sharing. Their eyes met, locked in a silent, intense gaze as River looked down at him. Chris had that quiet smile on his face again, and his gorgeous dimple appeared. River couldn't help himself, so happy to see the mark again; he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on it. He wanted to lick the indentation he loved so much, but controlled himself.

Chris shivered at the brush of his lips as he breathed out, “Fuck. You can’t just do that. I’ll die right here in the driveway if you keep doing sweet things like that.” Leaning into the brush of a kiss, he turned and placed his own on River’s stubbled jaw. He felt Chris nuzzle the roughness a bit before pulling back and taking his hand. “Come in the house, we can talk and I’ll show you around.”

River cleared his throat, placing his tongue behind his front teeth and shaping his mouth the way he needed before speaking. “Let me grab the sandwiches,” he stated quietly but clearly, all the words coming out correctly. With that, River gained a little confidence. He knew this would be fine. He could do this. He knew his voice would hold, and a little more apprehension left him. With lunch in one hand and Chris’ fingers interlaced with the other and Chris smiling his coy smile, he led them to the house. River followed behind, much like on their first night together. I'd follow him anywhere, River thought as they entered the house together.

Chapter twenty-one

Chris

As they walked into the kitchen, River beamed down at Chris, the afternoon light catching his smile. “This is a beautiful home, and it smells so good in here.”

Chris felt warmth spread across his face—the compliment making him feel all gooey inside. Why was he so weak for this man? He glanced around the kitchen and the mess he had made. He had spent his sleepless night cooking and baking. The counter held a basket of fresh bread, mixing bowls strewn everywhere, a plate of chocolate chip cookies, and a lasagna baking in the oven. Chris knew River was bringing lunch, but he had an innate need to provide something for River when he arrived. Some deep compulsion to prove his worth, even though something as small and meaningless as a home-cooked meal. He had hopes that River would stay longer than lunch, that Chris could feed him dinner and maybe send him home with leftovers. He just wanted to take care of River in any way he could. Cooking was his love language, as well as a method he used to deal with nerves and sleepless nights.