Kinktober fic commissions are open but I didnât make a new ko-fi post since everything is pretty much the same as last year. Hereâs that link if youâre interested! đ https://ko-fi.com/post/Kinktober-commissions-P5P823XGN
Adrianna Scovill published a post on Ko-fi.com
If you want to check out last yearâs collection, or whatâs been posted so far this year, the AO3 collections are here:
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 4/4
Fandom: Leap of Faith - Menken/Slater/Cercone, Law & Order: SVU
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Jonas Nightingale/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Characters: Jonas Nightingale, Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Additional Tags: Leap of Faith AU, Smut, Bondage, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending
Summary:
You can see the original exchange, which was the basis for the fic here
A fourth chapter that no one asked for - after a plot-heavy third chapter that finished out (a version of) the Leap of Faith story arc, this chapter returns to what the fic was in the beginning: basically porn without much plot.Â
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For those of you who were interested in my Jonas Nightingale/Sonny Carisi fic, check out @fuckerao3âs latest. While youâre there, you can check out their Barisi and Chillywilly fics, too. You wonât be disappointed â€ïž
This one has more angst and less smut, but I felt compelled to follow the story through. This is not the end for Jonas and Sonny, though.
You can read the whole fic on AO3
Explicit, 16,000 words
âIâve got some information on your sheriff.â
âI donât want to hear it,â Jonas answered, turning toward his sister.
âYou need toââ
âNo, Sam. I told you, heâs off-limits.â
âLook, I donât know whatâs going on with you two, but this is something you need to know. About his family.â
âFamily? Do you hear yourself? The man is sheriff, if we mention his family heâll throw us out of townâif weâre lucky. If not, you can say goodbye to your big brother for five toââ
âWould you listen to me? For once?â she asked.
âNo, SamâTheyâre not a part of the show.â
âWell she canât be, because even you canât fake a return from the grave.â
Jonas had begun to turn away, and he stopped, looking at his sister. âWhatâŠâ
âOh, youâre interested?â She wasnât intimidated by the look he gave her. âHe had a wife, Jonas. She died two years ago, car crash. Now he lives with hisââ
âStop,â he said, and the harshness in his voice surprised her into silence. Glaring at her, he repeated, âHeâs off-limits.â His stomach was squirming uneasily, and he didnât want to examine the feeling too closely.
âI told you we couldnât make money off these people!â she suddenly exclaimed, unable to contain her frustration. âI donât work miracles, Jonas, remember? You have to let me do my job.â
âYou do your job, then,â he said. âThereâs a whole town to pick apart.â Her lips parted. He knew heâd hurt her, and he hesitated as he started to turn away. âI always listen to you, Sam,â he said. âBut you have to trust me. Weâll make it work, we always do. Thereâs another way.â
âWhatever you say, Jonas,â she answered, and he sighed. âNo, really, Iâm sure itâll all just magically work out.â
A retort rose to his lips, but he bit it back. With a single, sad nod, he left her standing alone.
  âJonas.â
âSheriff,â Jonas answered, looking up as the other man approached. âWhat can I do for you?â
Sonny eyed him for a few moments in silence. Jonas was sitting at a picnic tableâsitting on the bench with his back against the edge of the table and his legs stretched before himâwith his silver flask glinting in the morning sun.
âA little early for drinking,â Sonny finally remarked. Jonas could see the caution in the sheriffâs expression, but no judgement.
And he looked for judgement.
âYouâre not in your uniform,â Jonas said, gesturing toward Sonnyâs jeans. The sheriff was wearing a blue t-shirt that matched his eyes, and Jonas took a long swallow from his flask. âDo you need something?â he asked after Sonny watched him drink.
âWhatâs wrong?â Sonny asked.
Jonas laughed, but the sound held little amusement. He gestured toward the blue sky, already bright and cloudless. âItâs a beautiful day,â he said. âAnd apparently itâs your day off?â
âI work, just later,â Sonny answered quietly. His forehead was creased.
âWell,â Jonas said, rising suddenly, and smoothly, to his feet. âYou should be off enjoying your morning.â He started away, taking another swig from his flask, but Sonnyâs voice stopped him.
âDid I do something toâŠupset you?â he asked. The last time heâd seen Jonas had been on the water tower the night before.
Jonas turned, and his expression was tight. âNo,â he said. He ran a hand through his hair. âIâmâŠWhy didnât you tell me about your wife?â
Sonny blinked in surprise. âMy wife?â he asked. âWhatâŠâ
âYouâre not wearing a ring,â Jonas said.
Sonny regarded him for a few moments before lifting a hand. He used a finger to hook the chain around his neck, and he pulled it up until two rings appeared above the collar of his t-shirt. He tucked the rings back inside his shirt without comment.
âYou werenât wearing that when you came to my room,â Jonas said.
âI took it off before I knocked on your door,â Sonny admitted. Heâd never expected to say so out loud.
Jonas stared at him. âWhy?â he finally asked.
Sonny sighed. âOh, I donât know,â he said. âBecause part of me knew exactly what I wanted to happen. From the moment I saw you stepping off that bus, I knew what I wanted, I just didnât want to admit it. When I introduced myself and you looked me up and down and I almost came in my pants right there on Main Street?â
Jonas was surprised into a laugh, but his expression grew serious in a heartbeat. âIâm sorry about your wife, Sonny,â he said.
Sonny nodded. Jonas could see the pain in the sheriffâs blue eyes, and he stepped forward, automatically. Sonny held up a hand and looked around, and Jonas stopped. He felt like heâd been slapped, and he tried not to let it show. He raised his flask to his lips and swallowed the burning liquor, but it wasnât enough.
âIâm sorry,â Sonny said, seeing the look that Jonas had tried to hide.
Jonas shook his head and forced a smile. âDonât worry about it. I know, you canât be seen with me.â
Sonny grabbed his arm before he could turn away. âItâs not you,â he said. âIâm the sheriff, Jonas, I canât be seenâŠfraternizing with you, not when youâre here to get money from people.â
Jonas pulled his arm away from Sonnyâs hand. âI get it. Donât worry about it.â
âItâs not about you,â Sonny emphasized. âThe real you. If we could justââ
âThis is the real me,â Jonas said, spreading his arms and grinning.
âI donât believe you,â Sonny answered. His voice was quiet.
Jonas lost his grin in an instant. âWell, thatâs the problem with conmen, Sonny,â he said. âYou never know whatâs true.â He turned and walked away, and Sonny didnât try to stop him.
  Jonas hesitated near the fence along the edge of the baseball diamond, watching as the group of boys approached the kid in the wheelchair. The kid had a portable keyboard set across the armrests of his chair, and he seemed to be poking at random keys. Certainly, there was no melody that Jonas could hear.
The reverend waited with a twinge of nervousness as the other boys approached. He expected, at the very least, a few cruel or mocking words. He didnât want to have to intervene, but he would if things got out of hand.
âHey, Jake,â one of the boys said, and the kid in the wheelchair looked up. When he saw the other boys, he smiled, and Jonas felt a touch of relief.
âHi,â Jake said.
âWanna go to Dairy Barn with us?â
âNo, thanks,â Jake answered, still smiling. âTell Mr. Vasser I said hi!â
âSure thing.â One of the boys patted Jake on the shoulder as they passed by. âSee ya âround, Jakeânâbake.â
Jonas snorted, amused by the nickname.
âHave a great day!â Jake said, turning his attention back to his keyboard.
Jonas found himself walking onto the field without really knowing why. Simple curiosity, perhapsâbut there was something about the kid that intrigued him. Maybe it was the boyâs cheerfulness, or his desire to sit alone in the field with his keyboard rather than accompany his peers for ice cream.
âYou know how to play that thing?â Jonas asked.
The boy looked up. âSome,â he answered. âJust a few things. Not like you, Iâm sure, Mr. Nightingale.â
Jonas was startled, and he hesitated.
Jake smiled. âEveryoneâs talking about you,â he said.
âCall me Jonas.â
âIâm Jake,â the boy answered. âI had a dream you were coming.â
Jonas felt a wiggle of unease at that. Donât ask me to heal you, kid, he thought. âBless you,â he murmured, automatically.
âCan I come to your show tonight?â
âThatâs up to your parents,â Jonas said. Donât ask, donât ask me to do it, kid, I would if I couldâŠ
âI mean, can I come if I donât have any money? Just to watch?â
âOf course you can.â Jonas said. âIâll save you a spot up front.â
Jake smiled. âWill you play me something?â he asked, pointing at the keyboard.
âWhat makes you think I can play?â
Still smiling, the boy held up the keyboard. âPlease?â he asked.
Jonas gestured with his hand, and Jake lowered the keyboard back onto the chair. âHere, Iâll teach you one from the show. Tonight when you hear it, youâll know just how to play it. Repeat after me.â He played a few notes and watched while the boy copied them. âVery good,â he said. âLetâs add. How goodâs your memory?â
Jake laughed. âPretty good,â he said. âTry me.â
Jonas laughed, too. âAlright, watch this.â
Jake chewed his lip as he focused on Jonasâs fingers moving across the keys. When it was his turn, he hesitated, seeming to replay the notes in his mind before beginning. He played a pretty close approximation, with only a few missed notes, and Jonas was impressed.
âYouâre a natural, kid,â he said. âDo you have a piano at home?â
âNo,â Jake answered. âJust this. I was thinking about playing and singing in the talent show but I canât really sing.â
âEveryone can sing,â Jonas said.
âNot everyone,â Jake answered. âSome people canât even talk. Or hear.â
Jonas straightened and looked down at him. He took a step backward and held up his hands, making sure Jake was watching. He began âMoon Riverâ in sign language, and saw the boyâs eyes widen in surprise.
They were both silent for almost two minutes while Jonas performed the song, and then Jonas paused, held up a finger to keep Jake from speaking, and signed part of another song. When he finished and dropped his arms to his sides, he repeated, âEveryone can sing. You just have to find someone who knows how to listen.â
âWhat songs were those?â Jake asked.
ââMoon Riverâ and âBohemian Rhapsody,ââ Jonas said, grinning when Jake laughed. âYou could see the difference. You could feel the difference, yes?â
Jake nodded. âYou can feel the music,â he said, sounding excited. âEven when there isnât any!â
âMusic isnât just something you hear with your ears, Jake. Dancing isnât just something you do with your legs. Seeing isnât only done with your eyes. You get my point?â When the boy nodded, Jonas said, âMusic is likeâŠmagic.â
âMagic,â Jake repeated, appearing startled.
âItâs all around,â Jonas said, with a gesture of his hand. âCan you hear the crickets? Can you feel the sun on your skin? Smell the honeysuckle? See the blue above us? The sky isnât really blue, is it, Jake? Itâs just an illusion. But we believe it. We write sonnets about it. We made the sky blue, and now itâs part of our music. Everything around us. Even Helen Keller could feel it, the moment she understood that what her teacher was giving her was a way to communicate with the world, the moment she understood that the touch in the palm of her hand meant water.â He shrugged, and added, âOr at least, I hope she felt it. The connection to the world. Music is life, Jake, and life is magic. It has no power unless you believe it does.â
âLike miracles?â
Jonas hesitated. âWhatâs a miracle?â he finally asked. âLife. Love. Pain. Happiness. Grief. They all have their own melodies, donât they? Even death.â
He saw something flicker across the boyâs expression, something the kid tried to hide. âIs death a part of music?â he asked, quietly. âIs death a miracle?â
âYou have to draw your own conclusions, kid,â Jonas answered. âHere.â He lowered himself onto the grass beside the wheelchair and reached for the keyboard. Jake handed it over without comment. Jonas paused for a moment, with the keyboard in his lap, gathering his thoughts. âThis is Rachmaninoff,â he said. And then he started to play.
After a couple of minutes, he looked up at Jake and saw the emotion glistening in the boyâs eyes. Jonas stopped playing. He waited, knowing that Jake had something to say.
âMy mother died,â the kid said.
Jonas could see the guilt on Jakeâs face, a guilt as plain as day. The kid felt responsible for his motherâs death. Jonas didnât know the details, and he didnât need to. âIâm sorry,â he said. âWhatever happened, it wasnât your fault.â
Jake looked at him, surprised. He opened his mouth, and closed it again.
âYou donât have to tell me,â Jonas said. âWill you do me a favor tonight? When youâre home, look up Yirumaâs âRiver Flows in You.â Close your eyes and listen to it. Let yourself feel the melody. Will you do that?â
âYes,â Jake said. ââRiver Flows in You.ââ
âYiruma,â Jonas said. He spelled it aloud. âAnd this is one of my favorite songs. âCanon in D,â by Pachelbel.â As he placed his fingers over the keys to begin, Jake spoke.
âMr. Nightingale?â
âJonas.â
âDo you believe in destiny, orâŠfate? That God has a plan for each of us?â
âWhat matters is whether or not you believe that,â Jonas answered. âRemember what I said about music?â
âIt has no power unless we believe it does,â Jake said.
Jonas smiled. âExactly, my boy. Now, do you want to hear one of my favorite songs or not?â
Jake laughed, sniffing, and said, âYes, sir.â
âPachelbel,â Jonas repeated, turning his attention to the keyboard. âClose your eyes and listen. Feel the magic of the world around you, Jake.â
  Sonny approached slowly. Jonas was sitting cross-legged on the dry grass, the keyboard across his knees. He was playing âFĂŒr Elise,â and perfectly. Sonny was struck by the beauty of itânot just the song, but all of it: Jonasâs effortless playing; his expression, a look of peace that Sonny hadnât seen before; the smile on Jakeâs face.
Jonas lifted his head, and for a momentâjust a momentâhe looked happy to see Sonny. And then he remembered, and wiped the expression from his face. Sonny watched it happen, and he was sorry that things couldnât be different.
âI want you to head on home, Jake,â he said, quietly.
âBut Dad, Iââ
âJake,â Sonny said. He didnât raise his voice. âPlease listen to me.â
The boy sighed and reached down for his keyboard. Jonas handed it over, but Sonny could tell from his expression that heâd been thrown for a loop. He hadnât known that Sonny was Jakeâs father. Two days ago, Sonny wouldâve doubted the surprise on Jonasâs face, wouldâve wondered if it were part of some con. Now, however, he thought he understood who Jonas was, and what he was.
Jake was sliding the keyboard into its case, and he looked down at Jonas. âThanks, Mr. Nightingale,â he said.
âI told you to call me Jonas,â the man said, once more composing his features.
âIâll remember how to play that song when I hear it tonight.â
âI know you will,â Jonas said, managing a smile.
âTonight?â Sonny asked.
âAt the revival,â Jake said as he slung the bag over the back of his chair. âHe showed me how to play one of theââ
âYou wonât be at the revival,â Sonny said. He hated the disappointment settling into his sonâs expression, but he had to protect the boy from being hurt again.
âDad, I wanna watch!â
âWeâll talk later. Iâll see you at home, Jake.â
Sonny watched his sonâs jaw clench, and knew he hadnât heard the last of Jakeâs arguments. The kid was stubborn, but he didnât argue in front of Jonas. Instead, he turned his chair and wheeled himself away without another word.
Sonny reached down a hand. He wasnât sure if Jonas would take it, but when he did, Sonny pulled him to his feet and they stood looking at each other. Sonny hadnât released his hand. âI donât want you hanging around my son,â he said, quietly.
âI didnât even know you had a kid,â Jonas answered. He hesitated, and Sonny could see the pieces clicking together in the other manâs mind. âThe accidentâhe was with his mother, wasnât he? Your wife?â
âHe doesnât need someone like you coming into his lifeââ
Jonas yanked his hand away. He smiled. âSomeone like me?â
Sonny grimaced. âSomeone promising miracles thatâll never happen. His grandmother took him to some faith healer. You know what he told my son?â
It was Jonasâs turn to wince. âI can imagine,â he muttered.
âMaybe the doctors donât know why Jake canât walk, but that doesnât mean itâs his fault.â
âOf course not,â Jonas said. âI would never say that to him.â
Sonny sighed and ran a hand through his hair. âI know that,â he said. âOr at least I want to believe it. But I have to protect Jake, no matter what. Heâs always talking about these dreams he has, and signs, and how heâll know when God wants him to be able to walk. Well, he might never walk. And he canât spend his life looking for signsâŠâ
âYou said yourself that sometimes false hope is better than no hope.â
âNot for my son.â
âNot for him? Or not for you?â Jonas asked.
âDonât try to read me, Jonas, weâre past that, arenât we?â
âI can read you like an open book,â Jonas shot back. âLook, I get it. You need to look out for your kid. If I had a kid, I wouldnât want him around someone like me, either. But you might want to talk to him. He thinks the accident was his fault.â
âHe said that?â Sonny asked, as a cold ball settled into his stomach.
âHe didnât have to say it,â Jonas said. âMaybe part of his problem is guilt, I donât know. Iâm not a doctor. But he seems like a good kid. Smart, funny, kind. I wouldnât intentionally hurt him.â He started to turn and hesitated. âOh, and get the kid a real piano. Heâs a natural and he deserves music in his life.â
Sonny grabbed Jonasâs wrist, and their eyes met. âI wish things were different,â Sonny said, quietly.
Jonas drew a deep, shaky breath, and stepped back. His eyes were bright in the sunlight. âDonât waste your time wishing,â he said. âYou deserve something real, both you and your son. Donât settle for less.â
âYou keep walking away from me,â Sonny said behind him, barely audible, as Jonas started across the field.
And you keep letting me, Jonas thought. âItâs what I do,â he said without looking back.
  âWhoâs the guy whoâs been snooping around?â
âWhat guy?â Sam asked without looking up.
âThe old guy who looksâŠsoft and professor-ish.â
She lifted her head. âHeâs not old,â she said, without thinking. Jonas smirked and saw her clench her jaw.
âJust soft and professor-ish?â he teased. âMaybe he should do something about the gray, then,â he said, pinching at his own hair near his temple.
âHe is a professor, heâs got a doctorate in new American religions. Heâs writing a book about revivals. And not everyone has a love affair with vanity,â she said, and Jonas laughed. âBesides, heâs only six years older than you.â
Jonas tipped his head. âBy my calculations, that makes him eight years older than you,â he told her. âIâm tempted to ask how you know, since it seems unlikely youâd come right out and askâŠâ He narrowed his eyes, regarding her, and saw the flush staining her cheeks. âYou Googled him, didnât you?â
She crossed her arms to keep from fidgeting. âItâs my job to dig up information on people,â she said, sounding defensive.
âOh, so you found something we can use? Great, weâll make a believer out of him.â
âNo,â she said, harsher than sheâd intended, and Jonas smiled again. It was gentle, this time, though. Seeing her discomfort made him sad. She shouldnât be embarrassed about liking someone, shouldnât be ashamed of having feelings. Sheâd worked hard to build the walls around her heart, but Jonas knew her. No matter how tough she pretended to be, he knew how soft her heart was. âDonât worry about it,â she told him. âHe wonât cause problems. If I have to, Iâll keep him distracted until we leave town. He wonât follow us, heâs got a hundred other revivals to visit.â
âIf you have to,â Jonas said, softly. He knew that she didnât want his pity, but she deserved to be happy. âSam,â he said, with a sigh. âYouâre allowed toââ
âDonât tell me what I can or canât do,â she cut in. âI get along fine, thanks.â
âRight,â Jonas said. âGod forbid you actually care about someone.â
âYouâre one to talk!â she exclaimed, but they both knew that caring about people had never been his problem. His father had always said he was too sensitive, and Jonas supposed that was probably true. Heâd often wished he could turn his feelings off. Alcohol could dull, but not entirely erase, them.
He used his empathy to manipulate people. He knew how to convince a widow to hand over her wedding ring, and he knew how to make her smile while doing so. He knew how to seduce a person and make them feel loved for a night. And he knew how to find a personâs weakness, how to cut them down to size with just a few words.
The sharpness of Samâs tongue could rival his, but Sam was a better person than he was. That had always been true. Heâd loved her the moment she was born; sheâd represented innocence, goodness, and heâd known, even then, that she deserved to be protected. He also knew that heâd done a poor job.
Jonas loved performing. He got his high not from the dollars landing in the baskets, but the smiles on peopleâs faces. Their money kept him fed, but their cheers were what nurtured him. Jonas was the most alive when he was on a stage, and he took no pleasure from fooling people. When he convinced a man to quit smoking, it didnât matter if it was really Godâs will or not. What mattered to Jonas was that heâd impacted someoneâs life, that heâd left a mark. Jonas wanted desperately to be loved, to be appreciated. To be respected.
This was not something that he would admit aloud. He could barely admit it to himself. Sam knew him, and she knew the feeling. It was something they shared, a remnant of their childhood. Theyâd spent their formative years searching in vain for the love of a parent. Theyâd craved affection and acceptance, and theyâd turned to each other. Sheâd been his best friend, and he wouldâve done anything for her.
Every punch from their father had left more than a physical mark. Every cruel word had added an invisible scar. Sheâd been the only one who ever saw the real wounds, the only one who understood. Heâd done his best to protect her, but he knew that sheâd spent her life trying to protect him, too. The guilt of that knowledge was not insignificant for Jonas.
He felt things deeply, and Sam had trained herself to keep her own feelings buried. Sheâd made herself into an emotional shield for him, the way heâd once been a physical shield for her. It had been the two of them against the world for as long as they could remember, and they didnât know any other way of life.
They often argued. In fact, there were few things on which theyâd ever seen eye to eye. But Jonas would never betray her. He knew that she loved him, even when she wanted to strangle him. He also knew that she deserved more than being stuck with her brother for the rest of her life.
Sam, she deserved the kind of all-in loveâbreakfast in bed, celebrating half-year anniversaries, flowers on Wednesdays, cuddling in the early morning light, affectionate nicknames, kisses both passionate and tender, holding hands on the sidewalk, shared showers, shoulders to cry on, private jokes, gazes filled with adorationâthat she secretly craved. The years on the road were slowly eating away at her.
They were eating away at him, too. Each performance gave him joy, but the rest of the life was wearing on him. No matter whose bed he was in, he always fell asleep feeling alone.
The highs were no longer outweighing the lows.
He couldnât stand to watch her destroying herself.
He wanted to set her free, and didnât know if he could. He didnât know who he was without her and the show, and it had been a long time since heâd been brave enough to look his reflection in the eyes. She would be better off without him. She could build a different life for herself, a better life. She would never admit that, though. She would never leave willingly. He would have to drive her away, and that would hurt her. He wasnât sure he could do it.
âLook, Iâm not some helpless little girl anymore,â she said. He could see her struggling against tears.
âYou were never helpless,â he answered quietly.
âSo you donât have to worry about me,â she said. âWhat you need to worry about is the show. We need to use the kid.â
âNo,â he answered, thinking of Jakeâs innocent, trusting face.
âNo? No? Iâm telling you, we donât have a choice, not if you want to get out of this godforsaken town.â When he was silent, she narrowed her eyes. âYou do want to get out of here, right?â
âOf course,â he answered, but he wasnât sure if he believed himself. He didnât know what he wanted. He knew heâd been thinking about things he had no business imagining; dangerous thoughts that terrified him. Sweetwater had awakened feelings that he didnât want to acknowledge. Not just the town, he thought, his mind immediately turning to the sheriff. âBut heâs the sheriffâs kid, andâŠJakeâs been through enough,â he said.
âOh, really? The world is cruel, Jonas, you know that. The sooner the kid learns thatââ
âHe knows about the cruelty of the world, Sam,â Jonas interrupted. âThe one thing he has left is hopeâfaith. I wonât take that from him.â
âEveryone in town says itâs psychosomatic,â she said. âThereâs no reason for him not to walk, no medical reason. Itâs in his head, Jonas. All you have to do is convince him that God wants him to walk, andââ
âNo,â he repeated, his tone harsh.
âHe believes in you. He will believe in you.â
âYeah,â Jonas said, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. âYeah, Sam.â He could hear the rawness in his voice, and it alarmed him. âAnd what if itâs not all in his head, huh? He doesnât need someone like me coming in andââ
âIs this because youâre sleeping with his father? Youâve done miracles on kids before.â
âThis is different and you know it.â
âEveryone in town loves the kid. You canât give them rain, Jonas, but you can give them something they want just as much. Theyâd each give their last penny to get that kid on his feet, you can see it in their faces when they look at him, when they talk about him. If youâre looking for a change, we can change. We can figure something out, but we have to getââ
âSam.â He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. He felt like he was losing his grip on himself, a grip that had always been tentative at best. âI love you, sis,â he said, quietly. âBut I canât discuss this right now.â
Before she could say anything, he turned on his heel and strode away. It seemed to be his day for walking away.
  âItâs Jackson, right?â
The professor turned. âJonas Nightingale, at last,â he said, extending a hand. Jonas looked him over while shaking his hand. âDid Sam tell you I wanted to ask a few questions?â
âNo,â Jonas answered. âActually, I came to talk about her.â
âYour sister?â Jackson said, and Jonas saw the wariness settle into the other manâs expression.
âYou seem to have spent most of the day with her,â Jonas said. âAre you trying to screw her?â
Jackson blinked. âExcuse me?â
âYou heard me.â
âFirst of all, vulgarity aside, Iââ He stopped, raising his hands when Jonas stepped closer.
Jonas poked him in the chest, and said, âSheâs had enough assholes in her life. If you hurt her, Iâll bring hellfire raining down on your head, professor.â
âI appreciate your attempt to look out for your sister, hereâCould you back up, please? Thanks,â Jackson said, smoothing the front of his shirt when Jonas took a step back. âI have no intention of hurting her, and I only met her this morning.â
âSo far as I can tell, everyone loves you,â Jackson said, and Jonas did his best to hide the rush of guilt he felt. âThey wouldnât be here if they didnât.â
âHey,â Jonas said, spreading his arms. âWhatâs not to love?â
âI met you forty-five seconds ago.â
âWell, I like you, doc,â Jonas said. âYouâre an honest guy, I can tell. Iâll bet youâve never told a lie in your life. Donât let Sam scare you off.â
âIâm notâthereâs nothing going on betweenââ
âCareful, now, donât make this your first lie,â Jonas said. He pulled his flask from his back pocket and unscrewed the lid. He held the flask toward Jackson, raising his eyebrows.
âNo,â Jackson said. âThank you.â
Jonas smiled as he took a drink. Replacing the lid, he shook his head. âSo polite, too. Ask me some questions, professor. I love to talk about myself.â
âAlright. Why do you do what you do?â
âDo what I do?â Jonas asked. âYou mean the Lordâs work?â
âIf thatâs what you believe, then yes,â Jackson answered.
Jonas narrowed his eyes. âI think we both know the answer,â he said, all traces of humor gone from his expression. âWe rip people off. NoâI rip people off. I use their secrets against them, I manipulate them, I give them false hope, and I take their money. And then I never see them again.â He shrugged, spreading his arms again, the flask glinting in one hand. âDo they go back to drinking? Cheating? Hitting their wives? Who knows. I get my money and I leave.â
âPeople ask for helpâŠnot hitting their wives?â Jackson asked, looking ill.
Jonas felt a stab of pain, as always, when he thought of all the bruised faces. âOh, doc, you wouldnât believe what sins people confess,â he said, softly. âThey want God to cure them. So I put my hand on their forehead and I promise them absolution if they change their ways. And what promise does the bruised and battered young woman beside them get? What assurance does she have that the beatings will stop? Nothing but the word of a conman. We can phone in an anonymous tipââ He stopped, licking his lips as he gathered his thoughts. He shook his head and looked at Jackson. âWhat kind of man needs someone like me to tell him not to hit his wife? Not to fuck around on her? Not to hit his kidsââ He pulled in a deep breath. âYouâre an educated man, right, professor? Me, I never graduated high school, so maybe I just donât get it.â
âThere are a lot of terrible people in the world,â Jackson said. âBut thereâre good people, too. I have to believe that the good outnumber the bad.â
âAnd what absolution does a man deserve after hitting his wife and kids?â
Jackson swallowed. âI donât know the answer to that,â he said.
âWhat kind of redemption is there for a man who offers false hopeââ He stopped again. He opened his flask and drank the last of his liquor. He shook the empty bottle. âI need a refill,â he said.
âWhen you look into the face of a child with a black eye, and you see yourself,â Jackson said, âwhat do you do? You can tell me that you offer absolution to the father and take your money and leave, but I donât believe you. I donât believe you because of your sister, and Ida Mae, and Ornella, and every person Iâve talked to about you. I think what you do is tell the man that God will give him the strength to be better, you tell him that he has the power to change and be forgiven, and you take his money. And then? You get that money into his wifeâs hand along with the phone number of someone who can help her. And then you whisper into that kidâs ear, and you tell him that God is on his side, not his fatherâs, and that he will survive the hell in which heâs currently trapped and he will thrive in the world, and there will come a day when his father can no longer touch him.â
Jonas opened his mouth but couldnât find any words to speak.
âIs that false hope? Maybe. I donât know,â Jackson said. âMaybe sometimes yes, sometimes no. Maybe they get away. Maybe they donât. Nobody can save everyone, but false hope is still hope, and sometimes thatâs all we have to get us through the day. Hope for tomorrow. You want to know what people say behind your back?â Jackson bobbed his head, raising his eyebrows, and said, âThey say a lot, Mr. Nightingale.â
He turned and walked away, and Jonas stared after him, stunned into speechlessness. At least I didnât have to walk away this time, he thought. He lifted his flask to his lips, remembered it was empty, and swore quietly.
  As Jonas stood, looking himself over in the mirror, he couldnât help but wonder if this would be the last show. It wasnât the first time heâd considered such a thing. In fact, any night could conceivably be the last. He could be arrested. The van could break down permanently. He could be struck by lightning. Or he could just find the strength to walk away.
This isnât the last, he thought. You have to do one more, Jonas. One more to get Sam and the Angels out of this town. One big show tomorrow night.
He dragged his eyes up to those of his reflection. And then what?
He didnât know. It might be too late to save himself, but he could still save his sister.
And maybe a few others, too.
He turned his back on the mirror, adjusting his jacket. It was hot, and he could already feel the sweat running down his back, but that didnât matter. His stomach was a churning pot of acid because he hadnât eaten and had filled himself first with alcohol, then coffee, and finally water. That didnât matter, either.
It was showtime.
For over two hours, he was in top form, and he barely looked at the kidâJakeâwhere he sat near the corner of the stage. And he didnât look at the sheriff, who was on the other side of the audience, standing alone, a single time during the performance.
He sang. He danced. He smiled. He flirted.
He was kind, compassionate. He was witty, funny.
He went in every direction Sam pointed him, without hesitation, and even Sam, whoâd seen his act more times than she could count, was impressed by the advice he was doling out. He was the best heâd been in years, and he could feel it. He could feel it in the exhilaration coursing through his veins, and in the cheers from the audience, and in the smiles of those he touched.
As the revival barreled toward its conclusion, however, he could feel a desperation growing within him. He wanted to stretch every moment, make it last forever. He didnât want to look over at the kid and see the hope, the faith shining in his wide eyes. He didnât want to look at Sonny and imagine all the things he couldnât have, the things he didnât deserve to want. He didnât want to look at Sam and see the concern in her eyes.
But Jonas couldnât control time, and he had to bring the show to a close.
He rushed backstage, but somehow the kid caught up to him.
âI should get myself some wheels,â Jonas muttered, glancing at him as he stripped off his jacket. âI see you convinced your dad to let you come.â
âI convinced him not to stop me,â Jake said with a shrug. âCan I talk to you?â
Jonas glanced around. âBad idea, kid,â he said. âYour father doesnât want me around you.â
âI was listening, Jonas,â the boy said.
Jonas, whoâd been pacing, trying to rid himself of his residual, nervous energy, stilled. âWhat do you mean?â
âI heard you. It was just like in my dream.â
Jonasâs stomach clenched. âJake,â he said, shaking his head.
âYouâre gonna make it rain.â
âWhat?â
âYour miracle tomorrow night,â Jake said. âYouâll make it rain, wonât you?â
The kid wasnât asking for Jonas to heal him, to make him walk. He was asking for rain for the whole town, the whole county.
Jonas walked over and dropped into a crouch beside the wheelchair. He swiped sweat from his forehead and met Jakeâs hopeful gaze. âI canât do that,â he said, quietly.
Jake wasnât deterred. âI believe in you,â he said. âYou were just like in my dream, Jonas. It was a sign. You came hereââ
âNo, Jake,â Jonas said, rougher than heâd intended. âLook, Iâm sorry,â he said, putting his hand on the boyâs arm. âI canât bring the rain and I canât make you walk. Iâm sorry.â
He started to rise, and Jakeâs voice stopped him: âI canât walk until I make up for what I did.â
Jonas sank back down. âWhat do you mean?â he asked, looking at Jakeâs face.
The boy swallowed and blinked the tears out of his eyes. âGod wonât heal me until I earn it,â he said.
âIf this is about what some asshole faith healer told youââ Jonas started, but Jake shook his head, sending the tears rolling down his cheeks.
âI know it,â Jake said. âItâs my fault my mom died, and my dad is soâŠsad all the time. Heâs all alone now, and itâs my fault. I was playing around and thatâs why she crashed.â
âJake, listen to me,â Jonas said, squeezing the boyâs shoulder. âIt is not your fault. You donât have anything to prove, nothing to make up for, do you understand? SometimesâŠbad things just happen, to good people. It isnât fair, but it isnât your fault.â
âI prayed for you to come,â Jake told him, swiping at his tears. âFor the town, for my dad. You can save us, Jonas, I know you can. You just have to try.â
For my dad, Jonas thought, feeling pained. âI canât save the town, Jake,â he said. âI canât save your father, and I canât save you. Iâm sorry.â He pushed to his feet and saw Sonny standing a few yards away. âIâm sorry,â he repeated. Here I go again, he thought as he walked away. Jake called his name, and Jonas ignored him.
  Sonny stood for a minute, looking at his son. Jake was sleeping peacefully, finally. Heâd been upset when they got home. Of course, Sonny had never wanted him to go to the revival in the first place, but heâd eventually relented in spite of his misgivings. Jake didnât ask for much, and seeing Jonas perform had been important to him. Sonny had hoped heâd see through the reverend and realize that he wasnât really a miracle-worker.
He shouldâve known better. Jonas was incredibly convincing, onstage and off.
I handcuffed him and had sex with him on his first night in town, Sonny thought. He got exactly what he wanted from me with just a few words and a smirk. How can I fault anyone else for falling for his cons?
It was more than a con, though, and Sonny knew it. He didnât want to admit it, because it would be easier to simply paint Jonas as a criminal and a liar and write him off. It would be easier to think of their encounters as nothing more than sex with someone Sonny would never see again after Monday. It would be easier to ignore the presence of any emotional connection.
But Sonny couldnât go back to the person heâd been a few days ago, and he wouldnât if he could. He had to be honest with himself.
Yes, Jake had been upset when theyâd gotten home. Heâd asked for help into bed early, and heâd been listening to music ever since. The same song, over and over on a loop, something on piano. Sonny wasnât big on classical music, but there was something comforting about the song. At first, Sonny had been pacing the house in agitation, frustrated that Jake didnât want to talk to him about what he was feeling, angry with Jonas for coming into town and disrupting their lives, angry with himself for allowing it to happen. Eventually, however, the music had begun to soothe him, and heâd found himself sitting at the kitchen table, reminiscing.
He wondered what his wife would say if she could see him, see his behavior over the past couple of days. As he sat at the table, letting the piano chords flow through them as they echoed through the house, he remembered the life theyâd shared, the family theyâd created. He remembered the laughter, the love; the arguments, the worry.
Sonny knew that it wasnât his relationshipârelationship? his mind echoed in disbeliefâwith Jonas that would worry her. It was the two years since her death, the years that heâd spent burying his feelings and devoting his life to Jake in an attempt to ignore his own pain. The hundreds of lonely nights spent staring at the ceiling as he tried to fall asleep.
He walked over to Jakeâs iPod and stopped the music, plunging the house into near-silence. Jake didnât stir; Sonny could hear his soft, even breathing, and he sighed. He remembered how it had felt to hold his son in his arms for the first time, how exhilarating and terrifying and monumental the moment had been. Heâd never known that such levels of love could exist.
Jonas might be a fraud in a lot of ways, but one thing was true: within minutes of meeting Jake, heâd known a song that could comfort the boy and ease him into sleep. Heâd given him something that Sonny couldnât deny.
The sheriff checked the phone beside the bed, making sure it was charged in case he needed to leave and Jake woke needing help. Then he quietly slipped from the room, pulling the door almost closed.
Jonas Nightingale had come into Sonnyâs life with a cocky smirk and a sexy swagger, and heâd thrown Sonnyâs life into turmoil. But no one was responsible for Sonnyâs actions but Sonny, and he couldnât bring himself to regret a moment heâd spent with Jonas. In spite of everything, Sonny wanted him, still. Just one last time before the man rolled out of town.
  âEvening, Sheriff.â
âYouâre drunk.â
âLittle bit,â Jonas said.
Sonny had himself planted in the opening, blocking the door with his foot as he peered out at Jonas. He hadnât turned on the porch light, and the glow from behind him was dim, cast from some distant room. The sheriff was in sweat pants and a t-shirt; it was late.
âI know I canât come in,â Jonas said. âYou have a kid, andâŠyouâre a good father. I can see that. I just wanted you to know.â
âIâm lucky to have him,â Sonny answered. After a pause, he said, âHe fell asleep listening to some song, some piano thing. He had it on a loop. I had to shut it off when he fell asleep. ItâŠmeans something to him. He doesnât want to talk to me about it.â
Jonas tipped his head back, looking up at the moon. After a moment, he closed his eyes, swaying a bit. âWhen I was a kid, I used to pray to the moon,â he said, his voice barely audible above the soft sigh of wind.
âWhat did you pray for?â
âEscape, I suppose. Or maybe that my father would love me the way you love your son.â He lowered his chin to look at Sonny. âIâm sorry. I know I shouldnât be here. It was too quiet in my room,â he heard himself admit.
âYou could find any number of people to keep you company, Jonas,â Sonny said, quietly.
Jonas held his eyes in the dim light. âI donât want anyone else,â he said. âI tried to get you out of my head. I tried to stay away. I just wanted to see you.â
âJonasâŠâ
âIâm tired,â Jonas said.
âIâm sure you are,â Sonny answered.
âNo, I mean Iâm tired,â Jonas muttered.
âI know what you mean,â Sonny said, and Jonas knew that was true. Sonny had a weariness about him; Jonas had recognized it from the start. Now, he understood why.
âI had no right to suggest you were doing anything wrong with Jake. Youâre a good father,â he repeated.
âYou were right,â Sonny countered in a low voice. âHe just met you and he told you things heâs never told me.â
Jonas made a face and waved his hand in the air. âComes with the job,â he muttered.
âHave you eaten today?â
Jonas blinked in surprise. He considered saying something suggestive, crude, and dismissed the idea. âI donât remember,â he admitted.
Sonny stepped back and pushed the door open. âCome inside.â
Jonas stared at him, unable to sort through the tangle of emotions swirling in his body.
âCome on, Iâll make some coffee. Iâll give you a ride back to your room after you sober up.â
âI donât want to sober up.â
âCanât have you wandering around,â Sonny said. âIâll have to arrest you for public intoxication or something.â
Jonas arched an eyebrow. âIn Sweetwater?â
Sonny shrugged a shoulder. âI wasnât always a small-town cop, remember.â
âYou could try handcuffing me again,â Jonas said, with a close approximation of his usual smirk.
âIâm inviting you into my house, Jonas,â Sonny answered. Then, to Jonasâs surprise, he smiled and added, âBesides, we already established you donât like doing the same thing twice.â He shifted to the side, waiting, and after a few moments of indecision, Jonas stepped past him into the house.
  âYou donât have to do this,â Jonas said.
Sonny didnât look back as he used a spatula to flip the omelet. âI like cooking,â he said. âAlways have. Maybe itâs an Italian thing, maybe it was just necessity. I used to cook for my sisters.â
âItâs late.â
âYeah,â Sonny agreed. Jonas was sitting at the kitchen table behind him. âIt is that.â
âYou came back here because of Jake, didnât you? Because of what happenedâŠâ
âWeâd always talked about moving back here,â Sonny answered, quietly, stirring the potatoes with the spatula. âMe and my wife. Bringing Jake back here, away from the noise of the city. He always loved coming here for holidays, summer vacations. We kept putting it off.â
âYou were a cop there?â
âSo was she. She was fearless. I worried about so many things, and it was the one I never saw coming. It was just a few miles from here. Theyâd just left to head homeâback to the city. I was working. I know what Jake told you, that heâd distracted her, and maybe thatâs true, maybe she didnât see the truck coming, but you know what? I hope thatâs true. I hope she never saw it coming.â
âIâm sorry,â Jonas said. He could hear the pain in Sonnyâs voice, could feel it coming off him in waves. He wanted to take it away and knew he couldnât.
Sonny turned to face him, leaning against the counter beside the stove. His blue eyes were shining. âJake was in surgery for hours. They gave him a good prognosis. I know what people think, Jonas, but itâs not just some choice heâs made.â
âAt least not consciously,â Jonas said, quietly.
âHe wants to walk.â
âHe doesnât want to be a burden.â
âHeâs not a burden. Heâs my son,â Sonny said. He spoke fiercely, but kept his voice low.
âI know that. He feels guilty for not being able to walk, for you having to take care of him. He feels like heâs letting everyone down, everyone who prays for him, encourages him, wants the best for him. If it were an easy thing for him to get up and walk, Sonny, heâd do it. Heâd do it in a heartbeat.â
Sonny swallowed and nodded, unable to speak.
Jonas leaned back in his chair and sighed, scrubbing his hands over his stubbly face. âI never shouldâve come here,â he murmured.
âI didnât have to let you in.â
âI donât just mean here,â Jonas said, indicating the kitchen with a flick of his wrist.
âNeither do I,â Sonny answered. âJonas, I know everyone in this town, but tonight I learned things about them that even I didnât know. I heard them admit things, in front of their friends and neighbors and cousinsââ
âThatâs the game, Sheriff,â Jonas said, raising his eyebrows at him. âWe collect secrets and weââ
âI know youâve been hurt,â Sonny said. âI can see through you, Jonas. Do you wanna know what I think is your biggest con? Youâve convinced yourself that youâre unworthy of love and happiness.â
âYou donât know the things Iâve done,â Jonas muttered.
âI have an idea,â Sonny answered. âAnd I donât care. If it were just meâŠâ
Jonas dropped his gaze to the table. âItâs just sex, Sheriff,â he said. âNo need to get emotional.â
Sonny turned toward the stove and shut off the burners. He transferred the omelet, and then fried potatoes, onto a plate. âSex is an emotional thing,â he said.
âIs it?â
âIâve always thought so,â Sonny said, sliding the plate onto the table. He went to the refrigerator and filled a glass with orange juice.
âMaybe Iâve been doing it wrong,â Jonas said.
âMaybe youâve been looking in the wrong places,â Sonny answered as he closed the refrigerator door.
âFor?â
Sonny looked at him with a humorless twist of his lips. âI think we both know the answer to that,â he said. He set the orange juice beside Jonasâs plate and sank into the chair across from him, leaning back.
âYouâre not going to eat anything?â
âItâs the middle of the night.â
Jonas looked at the food, and his stomach rumbled. It had become difficult to distinguish hunger from the hollow ache in his gut. He poked at the potatoes with his fork. âYou know how it feels to think youâre swimming along fine and then, I donât know, something makes you look around, and all of a sudden you realize that youâve just been treading water. And as soon as you realize that, you become aware of how tired you really are, how hard youâve been going for so long, and for nothing. Youâve been drowning, but so slowly that you barely noticed.â He raised his eyes to Sonnyâs. âYou know that feeling?â he asked.
Sonny nodded. âYeah, I know it,â he answered. âBut in my experience thereâs usually someone nearby willing to throw a lifeline. Eat, Jonas. You look like hell.â
âYou have salt and pepper somewhere?â
Sonny smiled. âDonât you dare insult my cooking,â he said. âItâs seasoned the way itâs supposed to be seasoned.â
Jonas forked potatoes into his mouth and chewed. After a moment, he nodded. âItâs good,â he said, and Sonny laughed. âSeriously.â
âI know itâs good,â Sonny said, with a sparkle of humor in his eyes. âBut your opinion doesnât count since youâre practically starved.â
Jonas ate in silence for a minute, and Sonny watched him. âDo you miss the city?â Jonas finally asked. âWhen youâre painting over graffiti on the water tower, do you miss the excitement ofâŠyou know.â
âReal police work?â Sonny asked with a smile.
âI donât mean it like that.â
âTaking rapists, murderers, drug dealers off the street, yeah, I loved that. Like I was making a difference, you know? Making the world a safer place for my family, for your family, for everyone. But it never ends. It gets exhausting. Itâd started to wear on me, on us, on everything. Thereâs always another fight. Sometimes I miss the excitement, theâŠrush. The exhilaration, you know? But thatâs not a healthy thing to chase, I suppose. At least not to build a life around. Because itâll never be enough. The adrenaline always fades and then the normal bits can start to feel like lows.â He sighed. âIâd rather have contentment. Maybe that seems like settling, I donât know. All I know is itâs a lot moreâŠpeaceful.â
âAre happiness and contentment mutually exclusive?â Jonas asked. Peaceful, he thought. It sounded nice, but he wasnât sure he knew how to be content. He didnât think heâd ever felt contentment, or if he would recognize it.
âNo,â Sonny answered. âItâs just about not chasingâŠartificial happiness anymore. Realizing whatâs real and important andâŠwhat we can control. We canât change the shitty things that happen, all we can do is hold onto what we have.â He shrugged. âLike you and your sister, I guess. I know Iâd do anything for mine, even when they drive me up the wall.â
Jonas ate the last of his omelet and set his fork on the plate. He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. âI should get out of here,â he said. âThanks for the food.â
Sonny also stood. He watched as Jonas picked up his glass and drank the last of his juice. âIâll give you a ride back to your room,â he said, rounding the table.
Jonas smiled. âYou donât have to do that, Sheriff,â he said. âIâm unfortunately sober.â He started to turn away and hesitated, looking back. âYou should keep Jake away from the last show,â he said. âPeople will come from all over the county. They always do. Come Monday morning, weâll be out of here.â
âLike you promised,â Sonny said.
âI told you, I keep my promises,â Jonas answered.
Sonny stepped forward and kissed him. He took hold of Jonasâs hips and turned him, steering him backward until he was against the counter. Jonas let Sonny kiss him, but he kept his hands at his sides. He was afraid that if he held onto the sheriff, he would never want to let go.
Sonny pulled his mouth from Jonasâs and rested his forehead against the other manâs, breathing deeply, eyes closed. âI wanted you the moment I saw you, and I hated you for it. I didnât even recognize myself when I walked into your room. I wanted to punish you for making me feel, and Iâm sorry.â
âYouâre sorry?â Jonas murmured.
Sonny pulled back to look at him. âNo one can punish us as much as we punish ourselves,â he said. He searched Jonasâs face for a few seconds. âYou woke something inside of me, and I thank you for it.â He dropped his hands and stepped away. âCome on, Iâll give you a ride. Iâm just gonna leave Jake a note in case he wakes up.â
  Sonny was on his back, knees bent, hips levered up. He had a hand on Jonasâs arm and the other fisted into the sheet. He was looking up at Jonas, and their eyes held as Jonas slowly entered him, watching the sheriffâs face for any signs of discomfort.
Jonas sank into him fully and stopped. Sonnyâs hand tightened on his arm and he shifted his hips, trying to pull Jonas impossibly deeper. Jonas didnât move as he studied Sonnyâs face, though. He said, in a soft voice, âPeople rarely surprise me, Sonny. But you, I never saw coming.â
Sonny slid his hand up Jonasâs arm, over his shoulder, cupping the back of his neck to pull his head down. Jonas leaned forward, and Sonny lifted his head to kiss him. As their mouths met, Jonas flexed his hips, swallowing Sonnyâs groan.
Jonas wanted to stretch the moment forever, but he knew what Sonny wanted. So, he started moving, slowly at first, keeping his mouth on Sonnyâs. He slid a hand over Sonnyâs stomach and took the sheriffâs erection in his hand, gripping it loosely. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the tip of Sonnyâs cock, and Sonny broke away from his mouth to tilt his head back into the pillow. He arched his back, breathing raggedly.
Jonas moved his own hips faster, filling and withdrawing; he watched Sonnyâs face, and knew that he was close. He stopped moving, buried in Sonnyâs ass, and released his cock. Sonny looked up at him, his lips parted, his pupils wide with desire. He shifted his head on the pillow, letting out a shaky breath.
âWhat do you want, Sonny?â Jonas asked softly.
âYou know what I want.â
âYeah,â Jonas answered, smiling. âBut I wanna hear you say it.â
âI want to come with you inside me,â Sonny said. The unspoken wordsâone last timeâhung in the air between them as their eyes held. Jonas moved his hips back, watching Sonnyâs eyelids droop. Jonas shifted his knees, bracing his hands on the bed on each side of Sonnyâs hips. One of Sonnyâs hands was holding Jonasâs shoulder.
Jonas flexed his hips forward and pulled back quickly, stopping again. After a few moments, he repeated the movement. Sonny bit back a moan, catching his lip with his teeth as his fingertips dug into the muscle of Jonasâs shoulder.
Jonas looked down and saw that the tip of Sonnyâs erection was glistening with precum. He returned his gaze to Sonnyâs. âNot yet,â he said, and Sonny shook his head on the pillow. Jonas thrust forward, and Sonnyâs eyes closed. âYouâll wait, wonât you, Sonny?â Jonas asked as he pulled back. Sonny nodded. âWhat?â
The sheriff opened his eyes. âYes,â he said.
âGood boy,â Jonas murmured, and he saw Sonnyâs throat bob. Jonas thrust his hips again, but this time he didnât pause when he withdrew. He kept movingâhard and fast, watching Sonnyâs face. âNot yet,â he murmured again. Sonnyâs hand fell from Jonasâs shoulder and he clutched at the bedspread.
Jonas didnât slow until he saw Sonnyâs expression tightening, until he knew the sheriff wouldnât be able to hold out much longer. His precum was smeared on his stomach, now, and Jonas stilled his hips, half-sheathed. He lifted a hand, once more rubbing his thumb over the now-slick head of Sonnyâs penis. He lifted his hand to his own mouth, making sure Sonny watched him suck the pre-ejaculate from the pad of his thumb.
Sonny made a sound close to a whimper.
Jonas was holding his own climax at bay by a sheer force of will. He wanted to savor the feelingâthe feeling of being buried inside of Sonnyâfor as long as possible. That sound, though, almost pushed him over the edge. Sonnyâs absolute need for release, and his determination to waitâhis willingness to torture himselfâwere more than Jonas could bear.
He took Sonnyâs cock in his hand. âSo hard,â he said, softly. âSo ready, arenât you?â He slid his fist up and down the length, slowly. Sonny shifted against Jonasâs hand, and it was Jonasâs turn to suppress a groan. âGod, if only you knew how good you feel,â he muttered. âI want to feel you tightening around meâŠâ He gave Sonnyâs erection another lazy stroke and flexed his own hips. Sonny gasped at the combination; he was overstimulated almost to his breaking point.
Jonas started a slow rhythm, sliding in and out of Sonny, his movements unhurried in spite of his own growing desperation for release. He stroked Sonnyâs cock in time with the beat of his hips, and Sonny was trembling.
âJonas,â Sonny managed, his voice raw.
âCome for me now, Sonny,â Jonas answered. Sonny moaned, his back arching, his fists clutching at the bedspread, his head pressed into the pillow. âSay my name again.â
âOh, GodâJonas,â he gasped, as a tremor wracked his body. A few seconds later, his semen spurted onto his stomach, and he made another involuntary sound as Jonas continued to stroke him, slowly.
As Sonnyâs muscles clenched around Jonas, he started to withdraw. The stimulation was incredible, and too much. He couldnât control himself any longer, and had to get out beforeâ
âDonât,â Sonny said, reaching between his own knees to clutch at Jonasâs hips. âCome inside me, Jonas.â
âSonny,â Jonas breathed, looking down at the other manâs face. A moment later, his hips bucked, and he spilled his seed deep inside of Sonny. He bent his head down and Sonny levered himself up for a kiss, but Jonas hesitated. Searching Sonnyâs eyes, he said, barely above a whisper, âYouâre the only one.â He couldnât explain what he meant, but he didnât have to. Jonas had never come inside of anyone without a condom, and then only rarely. It wasnât even primarily an issue of practicing safe sex, as Jonas tended more often than not toward self-destructive tendencies.
No, what it boiled down to was a combination of intimacy and metaphorical self-flagellation. Jonas had never allowed himself real and complete release; nor had he ever allowed any real connection to form. It was always an actâan act that was enjoyable for both parties but never quite satisfying for Jonas.
Until Sonny. Heâd gotten under Jonasâs skin from the start. Heâd found his way inside Jonasâs walls without even trying, and Jonas wasnât even sure how it had happened. All he knew for sure was that he would never be the same.
He couldnât say those things, not when he was buried inside of Sonny, not when he was feeling more emotionally vulnerable than ever before, not when his breaths were still ragged.
Not when this was the last time he and Sonny would be joined together.
But Sonny knew. He could read it all in Jonasâs eyes, and he grabbed Jonasâs dark hair, crushing their lips together in a kiss that was almost painful.
You woke something inside of me, Jonas thought, closing his eyes as Sonny kissed him, etching every sensationâevery point of contactâinto his memory.
  âJonas,â Sonny said. He was standing in the doorway of Jonasâs room, dressed once more in his sweats and t-shirt. âOr should I call you Jack Newton?â
Jonas offered a small smile, because they both knew they were far past that. âIâd prefer you didnât,â he said, quietly.
Sonny nodded. âA man has a right to leave his fatherâs name behind if thatâs what he chooses,â he said. âJonas Nightingale is a good name. Thereâs something you should know, Jonas. Your sisterâs been spreading word that thereâll be a miracle tonight. Sheâs been begging favors all over townââ
âWe donât beg,â Jonas said.
Sonny raised a hand. âAn expression,â he said. âShe owes the garage for the repairs to the bus. I know you havenât paid for these rooms. Sheâs borrowed equipment all over townââ
âWhatâs your point? If you arrest anyone, itâll be me. Everything is on me.â
Sonny shook his head. âThatâs just it, Jonas. She does everything to protect you. Iâm guessing you havenât looked at your finances lately? Your singersâyour Angelsâhavenât been paid in months. They all love and believe in you, Jonas. They follow you without question, they perform without knowing when theyâll see a paycheck. And your sister, itâs her name on everything. Her real name. I have no doubt sheâd go to prison for you.
âNext time you look in the mirror, you should try seeing what everyone else sees. What your sister sees. What my son sees, what the whole town sees.â He paused. âWhat I see. I understand why she wants to protect you, and why sheâs promoting. Sheâs desperate. But if you try to fake a miracle tonightââ
âKeep your son away,â Jonas said, quietly. âNo matter what happens, he shouldnât be there.â
âIâll arrest you if I have to.â
âI know.â
âI hope you donât give me reason to.â
Jonas searched Sonnyâs face, memorizing every line, every angle, every freckle. They would see each other again; at the very least, Jonas knew that Sonny would be at the final show.
Nevertheless, this was their goodbye, and they both knew it.
âWhatever you do will be the right thing,â Jonas said, quietly. âI have faith in you, Sheriff, and nothing will change that.â
âAnd what will you do?â Sonny asked after a few seconds of silence.
Jonas let out a breath. âI donât know,â he admitted. âDo me a favor, Sonny. When it comes time for the talent show, tell Jake to remember what I said. Donât let him hide any bits of himself away, alright?â When Sonny nodded, Jonas reached out a hand and patted his chest, briefly, over the sheriffâs heart. âItâs been a pleasure getting to know you, Sonny,â he said with a smile. âIâll see you around.â
He stepped back into the room and closed the door before he could change his mind.
  âIs it true that Ida Mae and the Angels havenât been paid in months?â
âJonas, Iââ
âIs it true, Sam?â
âI told you I was worried,â she said. âBut you didnât want to listen.â
Jonas nodded. She expected him to argue, to point out the fact that sheâd never told him just how bad their financial situation had gotten, but he didnât. âI know,â he said instead. âAnd Iâm sorry. Youâve been carrying a weight that wasnât yours. But that ends now.â
He could see the apprehension in her face. âWhat are you saying?â she asked.
âYouâve been running the show for years, Sam. And all Iâve done is make your job harder. Butââ
âNo, Jonas,â she said, grabbing his arm. âYouâre wrong. You are the show. Youâre the one people come to see, youâre the one whoâs kept everything together. Kept us together. You saved us, over and over again, and I started to take it for granted that youâthat you always do whatever it takes. You always come through for us, for the Angels, for the show. I took it for granted and Iâve let you give up tooâno, Iâve asked you for too much, and you never say no.â
He smiled. âI say no to you all the time, sis, you just donât listen.â
âNo,â she stressed, squeezing his arm. âYou drag your feet and complain and put up token resistance and then you do it, you do everything, you chip off pieces of yourself and fling them to the crowd and the rest of us? We just tag along, living off your sacrifice.â
âYouâre giving me too much credit.â
âNo, youâre not giving yourself enough,â she countered. âJonas, you think you sold your soul. But you didnât. I sold it, or at least brokered the deal. This isnât the person I want to be,â she said, spreading her arms. âI tried to force you to convince a kid that you could heal him and I tried to convince myself that it was justifiable because it was for the greater good. That the possible trauma to an already traumatized kid was anâŠacceptable risk. And you balked. And IâŠI wouldâve done it anyway. I wouldâve forced you into it because thatâs what I do, isnât it? I let you do all the feeling, all the caring, and I justâŠtake care of business. I met somebody I actually liked and I didnât even know what to do because itâs been so long.â She saw Jonasâs gaze shift toward Jackson, who was at the other end of the tent talking into his phone. âAnd something happened between you and the sheriff, something more than just sex, you canât tell me otherwise. We deserve to be happy, Jonas.â
Jonas caught Ida Maeâs eye and motioned her over. When the older woman had joined them, Jonas put a hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eye. âI want you to know that youâboth of you, and the Angelsâhave been my salvation, you two especially have kept me going through some dark times. Ida Mae, I will make it right, I give you my word.â
She patted his arm. âWe never doubted you, my boy,â she said with a smile.
âI will take care of it,â he told Sam.
His sister shook her head. âJonas, youâre not listeningââ
âNo, Sam, I am listening,â he said, quietly. âIâm hearing you, I promise. You two have stuck with me, and I love you for it. I just need you to trust me a little bit longer.â
âSon, you know Iâm with you to the end,â Ida Mae said. Jonas bent forward and kissed her cheek, giving her a hug. Then he looked at Sam.
âPromise me youâll be okay, Jonas,â his sister said.
He smiled. âI promise. Weâll be okay,â he answered.
âIâll do whatever you think is best,â Sam said after a few moments of silence.
 Jonas stood in front of the mirror, studying himself. Heâd spent most of the day going through the financial records, adding up their assets and tallying their debts. Heâd been surprised to find that Sam had never sold their parentsâ house. It was in his nameâthe name of Jack Newtonâbut heâd long ago given her complete control over his finances.
It didnât take long for him to realize that Sonny had been right. All of the assetsâthe house, the bus, the truck, the equipment, everything they ownedâwas in his name. Sam, from a legal standpoint, owned nothing, and yet it was her signature on everything.
Jonas felt reasonably calm. The books werenât nearly as discouraging as heâd feared, and he knew what he had to do. Heâd spent the entire day sober, drinking nothing but water, and heâd even eaten breakfast and lunch.
He was about to disappoint, and probably anger, a lot of people, and he wasnât happy about that. It was a necessary evil, though. They would be better off in the long run, he hoped. The tent was full. As predicted, people had come from all over the county, lured by the possibility of witnessing a miracle.
Jake was out there, too.
Jonas straightened his jacket and let out a breath. Time to make things right, he thought. He turned and picked up his guitar, looping the strap over his shoulder. Just give me the strength to give them what they need.
  When Jonas walked onto the stage with his guitar, a hush fell over the crowd. He could see a ripple of confusion pass through the audience, saw people exchanging glances. He caught Sonnyâs gaze for just a moment before looking away. He met Jakeâs eyes, up front near the stage. The boy offered Jonas a smile of encouragement, and in that moment, Jonas would have given up everythingâhis very lifeâto be able to help Jake. It wasnât necessarily about him walking, either; all Jonas wanted was for Jake to find peace, to forgive himself and be happy. He deserved to be happy, and so did his father.
The Angels were on their marks, but they were silent. Jonas walked to the middle of the stage.
âJonas?â Sam asked, softly, in his ear. He looked over at her and nodded. She was holding tightly to Jacksonâs hand, though Jonas didnât think she was aware of the fact.
Jonas faced the audience and started playing. He glanced at Jake and offered a small smile when he saw recognition dawning on the kidâs face. The last time heâd heard Jonas play the song, it had been on the keyboard. The boy had a good ear for music, and Jonas hoped it would serve him well in his life.
Jonas started pacing as he played Pachelbelâs âCanon in Dâ on the guitar. The audience was silent, still not sure what to think. It wasnât gospel music, and it wasnât what theyâd expected, but it was a song that had always soothed him. It was difficult to play on guitar, and heâd never performed it in front of anyone except for Jake the day before, but his fingers knew the chords by heart. Jonas walked the stage, scanning the audience, meeting their eyes, reading their desperation.
He transitioned from Pachelbel into âRise Up,â and the Angels, led by Ida Mae, started singing a subdued version of the song. He walked back to his spot on the center of the stage.
âMy name is Jonas Nightingale,â he said, his gaze skimming the faces. Some were familiar, the citizens of Sweetwater; others were new. âBut that wasnât always the case,â he continued, and another murmur passed through the audience. âWho here has read Romeo and Juliet?â he asked. He nodded as half the audience members raised their hands. âThe nightingale didnât bring good fortune, did it?â He smiled as a nervous titter of laughter rippled through the tent. He ran his fingers over the strings of his guitar, gathering his thoughts. âI chose the name because all I ever wanted to do was sing. My father was less than encouraging of that dream. But my sister, Sam,â he said, turning to look at her with a gesture of his chin, âshe always believed in me. She told me once, when I was nine and she was seven, that God was going to send a whale to rescue us. Sheâd learned about Jonah in Sunday schoolâthough sheâd mixed up bits of it with Pinocchio, I think,â he added, winking at Sam as the audience laughed again.
Jonas looked at the crowd. âI was sitting in my closet with a broken arm and a bloody nose, gifts from our father, and I told my little sister that there was no such thing as God, and that no one was coming to rescue us. I looked her in the face, and I told her to grow up and to stop believing in fantasies. I was cruel, because I was hurt.â He paused, and the silence in the tent was tangible. âAnd my sister put her arms around me, and she said something that I will never forget.â
âJonas,â Sam breathed in his earpiece.
âShe said, âthen you save me and Iâll save you.â I dropped out of school to go to work after our parents died, determined to make sure she graduated even though she was a pain in the ass about it,â he said, and he heard his sisterâs laugh. âSo I was working, scraping pennies together wherever I could, and our local preacher asked me to sing at the church picnic. I didnât get why heâd ask, I was a sullen little heathen who hadnât stepped inside the church in years, but I wanted to sing. I memorized some gospel, and I memorized some scripture, and I got up there in front of all those patrons in their Sunday best, me in a ratty old suit of my fatherâs that was too big, and I put on a show, by God. I was angry about it, at the start. And then something changed.
âPeople were smiling, and I started to suck up their energy like a sponge. Aside from Sam, I donât think Iâd ever made anyone happy in my life. Now, someone had put out a bucket for donations. The very idea of charity made my fists clench, but Sam told me it wasnât charity. It was payment for my performance. She called me a prophet for profit.â He paused, cocking an eyebrow at the crowd. âGet it?â he asked, and he was answered with nods and some laughter. âJonah, Jonas. Prophet,â he said, shrugging a shoulder. âNightingale. I think you can follow the logic of the boy I was.â
He paused again, running his fingers absentmindedly over the guitar strings.
He glanced over at Sam, and she knew what he wanted.
âD-three,â she said, quietly. âDry well.â
Jonas looked at the third seat in the section marked D. He walked toward the edge of the stage and hopped down, swinging his guitar to his back. âWhen Sam was a senior in high school, our well went dry,â he told the young woman. âWe didnât have a drought to worry about like you folks, but we couldnât afford even basic repairs on the house, let alone the thousands of dollars the well-driller quoted us. I was hauling water from the creek for bathwater, and we were boiling it to drink.
âAnd then one day Sam came running into the store where I was working to tell me that they were out at the house drilling. By the time I got there, it was too late to stop them, and I panicked, because I had no way to pay for the work. One of the workers tried to calm me down, and I punched him in the face. He was about twice my size and promptly knocked me on my assâmore out of surprise than anything else. He couldâve squashed me like a bug. Even so, I jumped up ready to fight.
âIt was the preacher who grabbed me and pulled me back. Heâd stopped by to tell me that the church had taken up a collection to pay for our well.â He saw the tears shimmering in the young womanâs eyes, and he put a hand on her shoulder. âI know you feel guilty about all the help that youâve been getting from your friends and neighborsâŠâ
âFlorence,â Sam said.
âFlorence, but ask yourself this: if your roles were reversed, would you hesitate to help?â She shook her head, and Jonas continued, âThe rain will come, I promise you. You will get back on your feet. I know it feels hopeless. I used to lie on my bed, staring at my ceiling, my stomach full of knots and acid, unsure how Iâd provide our next meal or pay the following monthâs electric bill. But someone told me that when you feel like youâre drowning, thereâs usually someone willing to throw you a lifeline if you look around. You just have to be willing to take it.â He straightened and caught Sonnyâs gaze for a moment.
âA-fourteen,â Sam said. âAlcoholic.â
Jonas walked over to the man, who looked up at him with apprehension. âWhen I was nineteen, I stole a twelve-pack of Pabst from the gas station. It was easy. The attendant was in his seventies and more likely to fall asleep behind the counter than not. I used to steal cigarettes because there was no way I could afford to buy them.
âAnyway, I got hammered, and I was wandering around town, and someone offered me a ride. The preacherâs wifeâthe same preacher whoâd let me perform at that picnic, whoâd organized a fund for our well. His wife drove me onto a two-track a mile from my house, and we had sex in her car. I was so drunk that I barely remembered it in the morning, but I remembered enough.
âShe was more than twice my age, but I knew that I was responsible. Iâd made the choices that led to that road. And I couldnât confess, because I wanted to protect her. I wanted to protect her husband. And I wanted to protect myself. So I just let it eat away at me, and I drank more and more until I got caught stealing a bottle of vodka from the station. I spent the night in jail, and it was the preacher who picked me up in the morning.
âHe knew already. I donât know if sheâd told him or if heâd just guessed, but he knew. And do you know what he did? He forgave me. He told me that we donât have to be defined by our poor choices, that thereâs always time for redemption if weâre willing to work for it.
âIâve found myself in ditches, in strangersâ beds, in jail, even passed out beneath a church pew. It always starts the same. I feel like Iâm drowning, or suffocating, like thereâs no way out of the hole Iâm in and the sides are caving in on me, and all I want is to shut off my traitorous mind for a few minutes, just to get some relief. The bottle helps for a bit, doesnât it? But itâs a false prophet, my brother, and you know as well as I do that it solves nothing.
âThat preacher forgiving me didnât solve anything, either. All that did was add to my guilt. Confessing our sins is the first step toward redemptionââ
âHarold.â
âHarold, but the final step is forgiveness. Not from others, but from ourselves. We have to accept that our transgressions are a part of us, but they are not all that we are. The world can seem hopeless, but I promise you that the alcohol makes it worse. Things arenât as bleak as they seem from the bottom of the bottle. Ask for help and you shall receive it.â
Jonas turned, adjusting his guitar. Sam said, âC-seven. Cheating on his wife. His nameâs Scott.â
Jonas took a breath as he approached the man. âI wonât lie, Scott,â he said. âIâve slept with married women, and men. I told myself it wasnât that big a deal because they were clearly unhappy in their marriages. I tried not to think about their spouses, and how they would feel. I tried not to think of each and every one of them as that preacher. But they deserved better, and your beautiful wife here deserves better. You can change, Scott, and maybe sheâll forgive you. But you,â he said, turning to the young woman.
âJanie.â
âYou deserve better, Janie,â he said. âDonât settle for someone who doesnât treat you with respect. Donât settle for someone like me.â
âAt least you werenât married!â someone called out, and Jonas lifted his head, holding up a hand.
âNo, I wasnât married,â he said, âbut I was still hurting people. Qualifications are dangerous, my friend, because we start to give ourselves permission to put our own desires ahead of everyone elseâs.â
Sam gave him another seat, and Jonas turned in that direction.
For the next hour, he traveled through the crowd, confessing his sins, admitting his moments of weakness and despair. There were more and more heckles from the crowd as many of the people grew restless and irritable. This wasnât what theyâd come to see.
Jonas turned and walked onto the stage. He faced the crowd and waited while they grumbled amongst themselves. Finally, they began to quiet, their curiosity getting the best of them.
âI canât offer you a miracle,â Jonas said, and there were a few angry shouts. Jonas paused. âIâm not even sure I believe in miracles,â he continued.
âYouâre a fraud!â someone hollered.
âYes,â Jonas agreed.
âNo!â Jake shouted, and Jonasâs stomach clenched. The boy wheeled his chair forward and faced the crowd. âYouâre not listening!â he told them. âHeâs talking about life! Donât you get it? Life is a miracle!â
Jonas looked up and saw, even from a distance, the emotion glistening in Sonnyâs eyes.
âWeâre all alive!â Jake said.
Jonas glanced upward at the sound of thunder outside. Thereâd been several short, dry thunderstorms since Jonas had been in Sweetwater, and no one seemed to pay any attention to this rumble. To Jonas, it soundedâit feltâdifferent, and he had a strange flutter in his stomach. Please, he thought, turning his attention back to Jake.
âJake,â he said, and the boy turned to look at him.
âYou came to save us, Jonas,â Jake said.
Jonas shook his head. âNo, son,â he answered. âTheyâre right, Iâm a fraud. But it ends tonight.â He looked up at the crowd. âThese Angels behind me have stuck with me when I didnât deserve it. My sister has given up her own dreams so that I could stand on a stage each weekend. Iâve lied, robbed, cheatedâEveryone here has sinned in some way, small or large, but youâre not alone. Iâve committed more sins than all of you. Tonight is about atonement. Itâll take me longer than one night to pay them back, but for the rest of you, youâll notice the baskets at the ends of these aisles? Thatâs all the money thatâs been collected from the citizens of Sweetwater. I trust youâll take what you gave.
âAs for those of you we owe money,â he said, nodding toward the garage owner seated in the front row, âyou will be paid. Over the next week, Iâll be liquidating my assets to pay my debts. If you donât want to wait, I have a title Iâll sign overââ
âJonas,â Sam said. He looked over at her and offered a small smile.
âI only ever wanted to make people happy,â he said. âI wanted to sing, I wanted to make people smile, and I wanted to make my sister proud.â He looked at the crowd. âYou have no reason to believe me, but I want you all to be happy. If I could, I wouldââ
âNo,â Jake repeated, and Jonas looked down as the boy rolled himself over the nearest basket. âYou came to save us, Jonas!â he repeated. âI believe in you, you just have to believe in yourself.â The boy shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled wad of dollar bills and change, dropping the whole mess into the collection.
There was a loud clap of thunder, and Jonas saw people looking up at the tent.
âYou said, music is life and life is magic and we just have to listen and believe. Well, I do,â Jake said.
âJake,â Jonas said, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He stepped toward the edge of the stage but stopped when Florence, the young woman with the dry well, got to her feet and walked to Jakeâs side.
âI believe that everyone deserves a lifeline,â she said, dropping money into the basket. She ruffled Jakeâs hair, and the boy smiled up at her, his relief evident. She looked up at Jonas. âAnd new beginnings,â she added.
One by one, people started rising and making their way to the baskets, dropping money into the collections. Jonas took a step backward, and then another, his heart pounding in his chest. He saw Sonny walking over to stand beside Jake.
Jonas could scarcely breathe. This hadnât been part of his plan. He could hear the Angels murmuring behind him, and he could hear Sam talkingâbut he couldnât make out her words over the roaring in his ears.
He saw people looking around at each other, and looking up, and he suddenly realized that it wasnât the rush of blood in his ears that he was hearing. He watched as the crowd surged toward the exit. Sonny cast him a look, but Jonas could only stare at him in disbelief. The sheriff took hold of Jakeâs chair and wheeled him into the crowd, calling to his deputies to make sure people stayed calm as they tried to get outside.
The Angels filed off the stage, also headed outside. Jonas looked over at Sam as she and Jackson walked onto the stage.
âRain, Jonas,â she said, unnecessarily. âCome on.â She reached for his hand, but he stepped back, pulling his guitar strap over his head.
âYou go,â he told her. âIâll be right behind you.â
âJonasââ
âIâll be right out, I promise,â he said. He set his guitar on the stage and watched as Jackson, his hand at the small of Samâs back, escorted her through the now-empty rows of chairs. Jonas tipped his head up, closing his eyes, and listened to the thrum of rain on the tent. He could hear voices outside, shouts and laughter. Thank you for giving him this, he thought. All of them, but especially Jake. Thank you, he thought. He lowered his head and went down the stairs, walking toward the crowd gathered outside the tent.
He stepped outside, and the crowd drew apart to let him pass. It was pouring, and Jonasâs clothes were instantly soaked.
Jonas looked over at Jake in the pale glow from the tent. The boy was sitting with his face tipped up, smiling into the rain. If anyone did this, kid, it was you, not me, Jonas thought. He looked around at the townspeople; they were laughing, celebrating, hugging, dancing. Jonas looked at Sam. She and Jackson were staring at each other, and Sam had an expression that Jonas hadnât seen on her face since she was a little girl. She looked happy.
Jonas looked at Ida Mae and her daughter, standing in their drenched robes with their arms around each other. He looked at the other Angels, and he thought, I was unworthy of your loyalty.
He looked at Sonny. The sheriff was talking to a deputy. His hair was stuck to his forehead, his clothes stuck to his body. He was beautiful, and he was everything that Jonas wanted. No one can punish us as much as we punish ourselves, he thought. His gaze swung back to Jake, and Jonas knew what he had to do. He knew it might cost him everything. If he was wrong, he would have nothing left.
Worse, he would be hurting Jake, which was the last thing he wanted to do.
Jonas didnât think he was wrong, though. He felt a sense of purpose flowing through his veins. He swallowed the lump of fear in his throat and walked over to the boyâs chair. Jake looked at him, still smiling, and Jonas lowered himself into a crouch.
âJake,â he said. âItâs time.â
The boyâs smile faltered. His hair was plastered to his forehead; rain dripped from his face. He shook his head. His chin trembled. âI canât,â he said.
âYouâve punished yourself long enough,â Jonas said. âLook at me, son. You were wrong, I wasnât sent here for the rain, Jake. I was sent here for you. To tell you itâs time.â
Jake stared at him, and Jonas could feel the fear emanating from the boy. But he could see the faith in the kidâs eyes, too, could see the belief and hope.
âJonas,â Sam said, and he looked up to see his sister standing beside him. She shook her head. âYou donât have to do this,â she told him.
âYes,â he answered. His gaze cut toward Sonny, and his eyes met the sheriffâs. âI do.â He saw Sonnyâs frown, saw his gaze shift to Jakeâs face, and then he saw understanding dawning. Sonny started forward, but he was too far away to make it through the crowd in time. Jonas looked at Jake and said the boyâs name.
Jake swallowed, and gave a little nod. âGet me up, Jonas,â he said, quietly. All around them, people had begun to quiet and were turning toward the boy. Under the drumbeat of the rain, a hush spread through the crowd.
Jonas reached an arm behind Jakeâs back, grabbing him under his arms. Sam was holding the chair; Jackson was beside her, a hand on her shoulder. Through the rain, Jonas heard Sonny call his name.
Jonas lifted Jake to his feet and held him up. The boyâs legs felt boneless beneath him, and Jonas supported all of his weight. Please, he thought. Take what you want from me, but give him this. Jonas saw Sonny stop at the edge of the crowd, and Jonas closed his eyes against the reluctant hope shining in the sheriffâs gaze.
With his eyes closed, Jonas said, âYou can do this, Jake. Have faith.â Please, he thought again. I donât know if youâre up there or if youâre listening but donât punish him. Take my legs, if you want.
âJonas,â Jake said, shifting in his grip. âLet me go.â
Jonas opened his eyes and realized that Jake was supporting his own weight. Jonas slowly released him, afraid to breathe. Jake looked at his father and stepped toward him. His knees started to buckle, and Sonny started forward, but Jonas and Jackson grabbed Jakeâs arms before he could fall.
The boy straightened his legs and lifted his chin. âLet me go,â he repeated, and Jonas and Jackson exchanged a look through the wet darkness. They pulled their hands back, and Jake stepped forward, slowly. He paused, and then took another step. The grass was slick from the rain, but his footing held. He took another step, and then Sonny, unable to wait any longer, met him halfway and grabbed him in a hug, lifting his feet off the ground as he kissed his sonâs neck.
Relief flooded Jonas, a relief so powerful it buckled his legs, and he sank to his knees on the ground, dropping his chin to his chest as he sent up a dozen silent words of gratitude. His eyes and throat and chest were burning. He felt a hand on his head and knew it was Samâs. He drew a deep, shaky breath and opened his eyes. His sister was standing beside him.
Sonny was standing in front of him. Jonasâs eyes slid up to his, and he swallowed. Sonny held out a hand, and Jonas took it automatically, letting the sheriff haul him to his feet.
Jonas wanted desperately to wrap his arms around the other man, to both give and receive comfort, but he couldnât. They were surrounded by a hundred people, all staring at Jonas, and he pulled his hand from Sonnyâs wet grasp.
âI need to go,â he said. He saw Sonnyâs expression tighten, and he turned away, unable to trust his own willpower.
âJonas,â Sonny said. He grabbed Jonasâs arm, pulling him back around. âNo more walking away,â he said. He slid his hand into Jonasâs dripping hair and bent forward, kissing him. There were murmurs all around them, and Jonas didnât care. He held the front of the sheriffâs shirt to steady himself, leaning into him, desperately needing the contact. He wrapped his arms around Sonnyâs waist. Sonny pulled his head back to look at him. âYou have things to take care of,â he said. âAll I want is your word that youâll come back when youâre done.â
Jonas searched his face in the rain, afraid to believe. âI promise,â he finally said, and Jake clapped him on the back, laughing.
  Sonny saw the name on his phone and smiled. He muted the television and answered the phone without a word, holding it to his ear in silence.
âI want to see you,â a low voice said into his ear, and Sonny felt a shiver pass through him. âAre you alone?â
âYes,â Sonny answered softly, still smiling. âJakeâs gone for the night. I miss you.â
âIâll be there soon,â Jonas said.
âPromise?â Sonny asked.
âI promise,â Jonas answered. His voice was like a caress, and Sonny felt his body responding. He hadnât seen Jonas in weeks, but Jonas would soon return to Sweetwaterâand Sonny. For good. âI need to see you,â Jonas said.
âYou want a picture?â Sonny asked.
âNotâŠyetâŠâ Jonas answered, and he knew exactly what his voice was doing to Sonnyâs body. âI want to see how much you miss meâŠâ
âMore and more by the second,â Sonny murmured, and Jonasâs soft chuckle made him close his eyes. âDo you want me toââ
âNo, no,â Jonas interrupted softly. âDonât touchâŠYou donât need to touch, do you, SonnyâŠ?â
âNo,â the sheriff said on a sigh.
âAre you thinking about how good itâs going to feel? To have my mouth around you again?â
Sonny groaned. âYes,â he said, shifting his hips a bit to relieve the pressure on his growing erection.
âI hope so. For weeks Iâve been imagining how good youâre gonna taste, all that cum youâve been storing up for me. You have been saving it for me, havenât you, Sonny?â
âYes.â
âYou havenât spilled any on your sheets when you wake up from dreams of my cock in yourââ
âUh-oh,â Jonas answered, and Sonny could hear the amusement in his voice. âGetting too close, are you?â
âIf you want me to save it for you, youâd better stop talking,â Sonny said. Jonasâs laugh tickled his ear, and Sonny added, âPlus these jeans are too tight.â He shifted again, but that made it worse, and he bit his lip in an attempt to keep back his moan.
Jonas heard the soft sound, and his voice was silky and low: âOhhh, my poor Sonny. Iâll show mercy if youâll do me one favor.â
âAnything,â Sonny answered.
âWill you step outside and look up at the moon?â
The sheriff pushed to his feet with a wince, glancing down at the noticeable bulge straining against his fly. He hoped no one showed up while he was outside, staring at the sky with an erection. He smiled at the image of how ridiculous he would look to anyone who happened by.
âHowâs that walk feel?â Jonas murmured.
âTight,â Sonny answered, and Jonas chuckled again. âAre you gonna be looking at the moon, Jonas?â
âIâll be looking,â the other man answered softly.
Sonny stepped out onto the porch, and his breath caught in his chest.
Jonas was standing in the yard, bathed in moonlight, phone to his ear and smile on his lips. With his heart thudding in his chest, Sonny walked to the top of the steps and stopped, half-afraid he was dreaming.
Jonas lowered his phone and slipped it into his pocket. After a moment, he pointed a finger at the sky. Sonny turned off his phone and pocketed it as he tipped his head back to look at the moon. In his peripheral vision, he saw Jonas moving toward him, and Sonny couldnât keep his eyes heavenward. He lowered his gaze and watched Jonas sauntering toward him.
Between the cocky smirk and the arrogant swagger, it was all Sonny could do to keep from coming in his jeans. Heâd never in his life known it was possible to want someone so badly, not until meeting Jonas. He stood, his heart pounding, his stomach squirming pleasantly, his erection throbbingâstood, waiting for Jonas to return to him as promised.
Jonas paused at the bottom of the steps, looking up at him in the moonlight. âI told you Iâd be here soon,â he murmured, his voice almost lost in the night.
âAre you back to stay?â Sonny asked.
âI am,â Jonas answered. He climbed the steps slowly, holding Sonnyâs gaze. âIf youâll have me,â he said.
Sonny swallowed around the lump in his throat. âI think you know the answer to that,â he answered.
Smiling, Jonas asked, âYou gonna invite me in, then?â
âAre you a vampire?â
Jonas smirked. âItâs not blood Iâll be sucking out of you,â he murmured, and Sonny barely suppressed a groan. âBut I canât promise I wonât bite.â He glanced downward. Sonnyâs erection was obvious, even in the pale light.
Sonny shivered. âIâll fix you dinner,â he said. âYou must be starving, and tired. You can take a hot shower, change into some clean clothes, eat.â
âThe only thing I want to eatââ
âJonas,â Sonny cut in, and the other man laughed. âThereâs time for that later.â
âThereâs time for the other stuff later,â Jonas murmured, gently palming the front of Sonnyâs jeans. He considered. âExcept for the shower. Will you shower with me, Sheriff?â he asked.
âDo I have to keep my hands to myself?â
Jonas grinned. âNope.â
With a laugh, Sonny said, âThen yes.â He took Jonasâs hand and started toward the house, pulling him along.
âWill you give me a massage?â Jonas asked.
âUntil you beg,â Sonny answered with a grin.
âNever,â Jonas said, and Sonny laughed. Jonas pulled him around, suddenly, and kissed him. When Sonny made a sound of desire, Jonas drew back, smirking. He pushed Sonny toward the house, swatting him on his backside. âIâll beg if you want me to,â he said, following Sonny into the house.