#jonasonny

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.

“You weren’t wearing that when you came to my room,” Jonas said.

“I took it off before I knocked on your door,” Sonny admitted. He’d never expected to say so out loud.

Jonas stared at him. “Why?” he finally asked.

Sonny sighed. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Because 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 didn’t 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?”

Jonas was surprised into a laugh, but his expression grew serious in a heartbeat. “I’m sorry about your wife, Sonny,” he said.

Sonny nodded. Jonas could see the pain in the sheriff’s blue eyes, and he stepped forward, automatically. Sonny held up a hand and looked around, and Jonas stopped. He felt like he’d been slapped, and he tried not to let it show. He raised his flask to his lips and swallowed the burning liquor, but it wasn’t enough.

“I’m sorry,” Sonny said, seeing the look that Jonas had tried to hide.

Jonas shook his head and forced a smile. “Don’t worry about it. I know, you can’t be seen with me.”

Sonny grabbed his arm before he could turn away. “It’s not you,” he said. “I’m the sheriff, Jonas, I can’t be seen…fraternizing with you, not when you’re here to get money from people.”

Jonas pulled his arm away from Sonny’s hand. “I get it. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not about you,” Sonny emphasized. “The real you. If we could just—”

“This is the real me,” Jonas said, spreading his arms and grinning.

“I don’t believe you,” Sonny answered. His voice was quiet.

Jonas lost his grin in an instant. “Well, that’s the problem with conmen, Sonny,” he said. “You never know what’s true.” He turned and walked away, and Sonny didn’t 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 didn’t want to have to intervene, but he would if things got out of hand.

“Hey, Jake,” 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.

“Hi,” Jake said.

“Wanna go to Dairy Barn with us?”

“No, thanks,” Jake answered, still smiling. “Tell Mr. Vasser I said hi!”

“Sure thing.” One of the boys patted Jake on the shoulder as they passed by. “See ya ‘round, Jake’n’bake.”

Jonas snorted, amused by the nickname.

“Have a great day!” Jake said, turning his attention back to his keyboard.

Jonas found himself walking onto the field without really knowing why. Simple curiosity, perhaps—but there was something about the kid that intrigued him. Maybe it was the boy’s cheerfulness, or his desire to sit alone in the field with his keyboard rather than accompany his peers for ice cream.

“You know how to play that thing?” Jonas asked.

The boy looked up. “Some,” he answered. “Just a few things. Not like you, I’m sure, Mr. Nightingale.”

Jonas was startled, and he hesitated.

Jake smiled. “Everyone’s talking about you,” he said.

“Call me Jonas.”

“I’m Jake,” the boy answered. “I had a dream you were coming.”

Jonas felt a wiggle of unease at that. Don’t ask me to heal you, kid, he thought. “Bless you,” he murmured, automatically.

“Can I come to your show tonight?”

“That’s up to your parents,” Jonas said. Don’t ask, don’t ask me to do it, kid, I would if I could…

“I mean, can I come if I don’t have any money? Just to watch?”

“Of course you can.” Jonas said. “I’ll save you a spot up front.”

Jake smiled. “Will you play me something?” he asked, pointing at the keyboard.

“What makes you think I can play?”

Still smiling, the boy held up the keyboard. “Please?” he asked.

Jonas gestured with his hand, and Jake lowered the keyboard back onto the chair. “Here, I’ll teach you one from the show. Tonight when you hear it, you’ll know just how to play it. Repeat after me.” He played a few notes and watched while the boy copied them. “Very good,” he said. “Let’s add. How good’s your memory?”

Jake laughed. “Pretty good,” he said. “Try me.”

Jonas laughed, too. “Alright, watch this.”

Jake chewed his lip as he focused on Jonas’s 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.

“You’re a natural, kid,” he said. “Do you have a piano at home?”

“No,” Jake answered. “Just this. I was thinking about playing and singing in the talent show but I can’t really sing.”

“Everyone can sing,” Jonas said.

“Not everyone,” Jake answered. “Some people can’t even talk. Or hear.”

Jonas straightened and looked down at him. He took a step backward and held up his hands, making sure Jake was watching. He began “Moon River” in sign language, and saw the boy’s 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, “Everyone can sing. You just have to find someone who knows how to listen.”

“What songs were those?” Jake asked.

“‘Moon River’ and ‘Bohemian Rhapsody,’” Jonas said, grinning when Jake laughed. “You could see the difference. You could feel the difference, yes?”

Jake nodded. “You can feel the music,” he said, sounding excited. “Even when there isn’t any!”

“Music isn’t just something you hear with your ears, Jake. Dancing isn’t just something you do with your legs. Seeing isn’t only done with your eyes. You get my point?” When the boy nodded, Jonas said, “Music is like…magic.”

“Magic,” Jake repeated, appearing startled.

“It’s all around,” Jonas said, with a gesture of his hand. “Can you hear the crickets? Can you feel the sun on your skin? Smell the honeysuckle? See the blue above us? The sky isn’t really blue, is it, Jake? It’s just an illusion. But we believe it. We write sonnets about it. We made the sky blue, and now it’s 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.” He shrugged, and added, “Or 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.”

“Like miracles?”

Jonas hesitated. “What’s a miracle?” he finally asked. “Life. Love. Pain. Happiness. Grief. They all have their own melodies, don’t they? Even death.”

He saw something flicker across the boy’s expression, something the kid tried to hide. “Is death a part of music?” he asked, quietly. “Is death a miracle?”

“You have to draw your own conclusions, kid,” Jonas answered. “Here.” 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. “This is Rachmaninoff,” 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 boy’s eyes. Jonas stopped playing. He waited, knowing that Jake had something to say.

“My mother died,” the kid said.

Jonas could see the guilt on Jake’s face, a guilt as plain as day. The kid felt responsible for his mother’s death. Jonas didn’t know the details, and he didn’t need to. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault.”

Jake looked at him, surprised. He opened his mouth, and closed it again.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Jonas said. “Will you do me a favor tonight? When you’re home, look up Yiruma’s ‘River Flows in You.’ Close your eyes and listen to it. Let yourself feel the melody. Will you do that?”

“Yes,” Jake said. “‘River Flows in You.’”

“Yiruma,” Jonas said. He spelled it aloud. “And this is one of my favorite songs. ‘Canon in D,’ by Pachelbel.” As he placed his fingers over the keys to begin, Jake spoke.

“Mr. Nightingale?”

“Jonas.”

“Do you believe in destiny, or…fate? That God has a plan for each of us?”

“What matters is whether or not you believe that,” Jonas answered. “Remember what I said about music?”

“It has no power unless we believe it does,” Jake said.

Jonas smiled. “Exactly, my boy. Now, do you want to hear one of my favorite songs or not?”

Jake laughed, sniffing, and said, “Yes, sir.”

“Pachelbel,” Jonas repeated, turning his attention to the keyboard. “Close your eyes and listen. Feel the magic of the world around you, Jake.”

  Sonny approached slowly. Jonas was sitting cross-legged on the dry grass, the keyboard across his knees. He was playing “Für Elise,” and perfectly. Sonny was struck by the beauty of it—not just the song, but all of it: Jonas’s effortless playing; his expression, a look of peace that Sonny hadn’t seen before; the smile on Jake’s face.

Jonas lifted his head, and for a moment—just a moment—he 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 couldn’t be different.

“I want you to head on home, Jake,” he said, quietly.

“But Dad, I—”

“Jake,” Sonny said. He didn’t raise his voice. “Please listen to me.”

The boy sighed and reached down for his keyboard. Jonas handed it over, but Sonny could tell from his expression that he’d been thrown for a loop. He hadn’t known that Sonny was Jake’s father. Two days ago, Sonny would’ve doubted the surprise on Jonas’s face, would’ve 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. “Thanks, Mr. Nightingale,” he said.

“I told you to call me Jonas,” the man said, once more composing his features.

“I’ll remember how to play that song when I hear it tonight.”

“I know you will,” Jonas said, managing a smile.

“Tonight?” Sonny asked.

“At the revival,” Jake said as he slung the bag over the back of his chair. “He showed me how to play one of the—”

“You won’t be at the revival,” Sonny said. He hated the disappointment settling into his son’s expression, but he had to protect the boy from being hurt again.

“Dad, I wanna watch!”

“We’ll talk later. I’ll see you at home, Jake.”

Sonny watched his son’s jaw clench, and knew he hadn’t heard the last of Jake’s arguments. The kid was stubborn, but he didn’t argue in front of Jonas. Instead, he turned his chair and wheeled himself away without another word.

Sonny reached down a hand. He wasn’t sure if Jonas would take it, but when he did, Sonny pulled him to his feet and they stood looking at each other. Sonny hadn’t released his hand. “I don’t want you hanging around my son,” he said, quietly.

“I didn’t even know you had a kid,” Jonas answered. He hesitated, and Sonny could see the pieces clicking together in the other man’s mind. “The accident—he was with his mother, wasn’t he? Your wife?”

“He doesn’t need someone like you coming into his life—”

Jonas yanked his hand away. He smiled. “Someone like me?”

Sonny grimaced. “Someone promising miracles that’ll never happen. His grandmother took him to some faith healer. You know what he told my son?”

It was Jonas’s turn to wince. “I can imagine,” he muttered.

“Maybe the doctors don’t know why Jake can’t walk, but that doesn’t mean it’s his fault.”

“Of course not,” Jonas said. “I would never say that to him.”

Sonny sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I know that,” he said. “Or at least I want to believe it. But I have to protect Jake, no matter what. He’s always talking about these dreams he has, and signs, and how he’ll know when God wants him to be able to walk. Well, he might never walk. And he can’t spend his life looking for signs…”

“You said yourself that sometimes false hope is better than no hope.”

“Not for my son.”

“Not for him? Or not for you?” Jonas asked.

“Don’t try to read me, Jonas, we’re past that, aren’t we?”

“I can read you like an open book,” Jonas shot back. “Look, I get it. You need to look out for your kid. If I had a kid, I wouldn’t want him around someone like me, either. But you might want to talk to him. He thinks the accident was his fault.”

“He said that?” Sonny asked, as a cold ball settled into his stomach.

“He didn’t have to say it,” Jonas said. “Maybe part of his problem is guilt, I don’t know. I’m not a doctor. But he seems like a good kid. Smart, funny, kind. I wouldn’t intentionally hurt him.” He started to turn and hesitated. “Oh, and get the kid a real piano. He’s a natural and he deserves music in his life.”

Sonny grabbed Jonas’s wrist, and their eyes met. “I wish things were different,” Sonny said, quietly.

Jonas drew a deep, shaky breath, and stepped back. His eyes were bright in the sunlight. “Don’t waste your time wishing,” he said. “You deserve something real, both you and your son. Don’t settle for less.”

“You keep walking away from me,” Sonny said behind him, barely audible, as Jonas started across the field.

And you keep letting me, Jonas thought. “It’s what I do,” he said without looking back.

  “Who’s the guy who’s been snooping around?”

“What guy?” Sam asked without looking up.

“The old guy who looks…soft and professor-ish.”

She lifted her head. “He’s not old,” she said, without thinking. Jonas smirked and saw her clench her jaw.

“Just soft and professor-ish?” he teased. “Maybe he should do something about the gray, then,” he said, pinching at his own hair near his temple.

“He is a professor, he’s got a doctorate in new American religions. He’s writing a book about revivals. And not everyone has a love affair with vanity,” she said, and Jonas laughed. “Besides, he’s only six years older than you.”

Jonas tipped his head. “By my calculations, that makes him eight years older than you,” he told her. “I’m tempted to ask how you know, since it seems unlikely you’d come right out and ask…” He narrowed his eyes, regarding her, and saw the flush staining her cheeks. “You Googled him, didn’t you?”

She crossed her arms to keep from fidgeting. “It’s my job to dig up information on people,” she said, sounding defensive.

“Oh, so you found something we can use? Great, we’ll make a believer out of him.”

“No,” she said, harsher than she’d intended, and Jonas smiled again. It was gentle, this time, though. Seeing her discomfort made him sad. She shouldn’t be embarrassed about liking someone, shouldn’t be ashamed of having feelings. She’d 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. “Don’t worry about it,” she told him. “He won’t cause problems. If I have to, I’ll keep him distracted until we leave town. He won’t follow us, he’s got a hundred other revivals to visit.”

“If you have to,” Jonas said, softly. He knew that she didn’t want his pity, but she deserved to be happy. “Sam,” he said, with a sigh. “You’re allowed to—”

“Don’t tell me what I can or can’t do,” she cut in. “I get along fine, thanks.”

“Right,” Jonas said. “God forbid you actually care about someone.”

“You’re one to talk!” 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. He’d 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 person’s weakness, how to cut them down to size with just a few words.

The sharpness of Sam’s tongue could rival his, but Sam was a better person than he was. That had always been true. He’d loved her the moment she was born; she’d represented innocence, goodness, and he’d known, even then, that she deserved to be protected. He also knew that he’d done a poor job.

Jonas loved performing. He got his high not from the dollars landing in the baskets, but the smiles on people’s 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 didn’t matter if it was really God’s will or not. What mattered to Jonas was that he’d impacted someone’s life, that he’d 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. They’d spent their formative years searching in vain for the love of a parent. They’d craved affection and acceptance, and they’d turned to each other. She’d been his best friend, and he would’ve done anything for her.

Every punch from their father had left more than a physical mark. Every cruel word had added an invisible scar. She’d been the only one who ever saw the real wounds, the only one who understood. He’d done his best to protect her, but he knew that she’d 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. She’d made herself into an emotional shield for him, the way he’d 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 didn’t know any other way of life.

They often argued. In fact, there were few things on which they’d 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 love—breakfast 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 adoration—that 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 couldn’t stand to watch her destroying herself.

He wanted to set her free, and didn’t know if he could. He didn’t know who he was without her and the show, and it had been a long time since he’d 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 wasn’t sure he could do it.

“Look, I’m not some helpless little girl anymore,” she said. He could see her struggling against tears.

“You were never helpless,” he answered quietly.

“So you don’t have to worry about me,” she said. “What you need to worry about is the show. We need to use the kid.”

“No,” he answered, thinking of Jake’s innocent, trusting face.

“No? No? I’m telling you, we don’t have a choice, not if you want to get out of this godforsaken town.” When he was silent, she narrowed her eyes. “You do want to get out of here, right?”

“Of course,” he answered, but he wasn’t sure if he believed himself. He didn’t know what he wanted. He knew he’d been thinking about things he had no business imagining; dangerous thoughts that terrified him. Sweetwater had awakened feelings that he didn’t want to acknowledge. Not just the town, he thought, his mind immediately turning to the sheriff. “But he’s the sheriff’s kid, and…Jake’s been through enough,” he said.

“Oh, really? The world is cruel, Jonas, you know that. The sooner the kid learns that—”

“He knows about the cruelty of the world, Sam,” Jonas interrupted. “The one thing he has left is hope—faith. I won’t take that from him.”

“Everyone in town says it’s psychosomatic,” she said. “There’s no reason for him not to walk, no medical reason. It’s in his head, Jonas. All you have to do is convince him that God wants him to walk, and—”

“No,” he repeated, his tone harsh.

“He believes in you. He will believe in you.”

“Yeah,” Jonas said, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. “Yeah, Sam.” He could hear the rawness in his voice, and it alarmed him. “And what if it’s not all in his head, huh? He doesn’t need someone like me coming in and—”

“Is this because you’re sleeping with his father? You’ve done miracles on kids before.”

“This is different and you know it.”

“Everyone in town loves the kid. You can’t give them rain, Jonas, but you can give them something they want just as much. They’d 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 you’re looking for a change, we can change. We can figure something out, but we have to get—”

“Sam.” 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. “I love you, sis,” he said, quietly. “But I can’t discuss this right now.”

Before she could say anything, he turned on his heel and strode away. It seemed to be his day for walking away.

  “It’s Jackson, right?”

The professor turned. “Jonas Nightingale, at last,” he said, extending a hand. Jonas looked him over while shaking his hand. “Did Sam tell you I wanted to ask a few questions?”

“No,” Jonas answered. “Actually, I came to talk about her.”

“Your sister?” Jackson said, and Jonas saw the wariness settle into the other man’s expression.

“You seem to have spent most of the day with her,” Jonas said. “Are you trying to screw her?”

Jackson blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“First of all, vulgarity aside, I—” He stopped, raising his hands when Jonas stepped closer.

Jonas poked him in the chest, and said, “She’s had enough assholes in her life. If you hurt her, I’ll bring hellfire raining down on your head, professor.”

“I appreciate your attempt to look out for your sister, here—Could you back up, please? Thanks,” Jackson said, smoothing the front of his shirt when Jonas took a step back. “I have no intention of hurting her, and I only met her this morning.”

“It only takes a few minutes,” Jonas said.

“Not for me, it doesn’t,” Jackson answered.

Jonas laughed, pointing at him. “Touché. So. Jackson. What’s everyone been saying about me behind my back? Come on, don’t make me buy the book.”

“So far as I can tell, everyone loves you,” Jackson said, and Jonas did his best to hide the rush of guilt he felt. “They wouldn’t be here if they didn’t.”

“Hey,” Jonas said, spreading his arms. “What’s not to love?”

“I met you forty-five seconds ago.”

“Well, I like you, doc,” Jonas said. “You’re an honest guy, I can tell. I’ll bet you’ve never told a lie in your life. Don’t let Sam scare you off.”

“I’m not—there’s nothing going on between—”

“Careful, now, don’t make this your first lie,” Jonas said. He pulled his flask from his back pocket and unscrewed the lid. He held the flask toward Jackson, raising his eyebrows.

“No,” Jackson said. “Thank you.”

Jonas smiled as he took a drink. Replacing the lid, he shook his head. “So polite, too. Ask me some questions, professor. I love to talk about myself.”

“Alright. Why do you do what you do?”

“Do what I do?” Jonas asked. “You mean the Lord’s work?”

“If that’s what you believe, then yes,” Jackson answered.

Jonas narrowed his eyes. “I think we both know the answer,” he said, all traces of humor gone from his expression. “We rip people off. No—I 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.” He shrugged, spreading his arms again, the flask glinting in one hand. “Do they go back to drinking? Cheating? Hitting their wives? Who knows. I get my money and I leave.”

“People ask for help…not hitting their wives?” Jackson asked, looking ill.

Jonas felt a stab of pain, as always, when he thought of all the bruised faces. “Oh, doc, you wouldn’t believe what sins people confess,” he said, softly. “They 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 tip—” He stopped, licking his lips as he gathered his thoughts. He shook his head and looked at Jackson. “What 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 kids—” He pulled in a deep breath. “You’re an educated man, right, professor? Me, I never graduated high school, so maybe I just don’t get it.”

“There are a lot of terrible people in the world,” Jackson said. “But there’re good people, too. I have to believe that the good outnumber the bad.”

“And what absolution does a man deserve after hitting his wife and kids?”

Jackson swallowed. “I don’t know the answer to that,” he said.

“What kind of redemption is there for a man who offers false hope—” He stopped again. He opened his flask and drank the last of his liquor. He shook the empty bottle. “I need a refill,” he said.

“When you look into the face of a child with a black eye, and you see yourself,” Jackson said, “what do you do? You can tell me that you offer absolution to the father and take your money and leave, but I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you because of your sister, and Ida Mae, and Ornella, and every person I’ve 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 wife’s hand along with the phone number of someone who can help her. And then you whisper into that kid’s ear, and you tell him that God is on his side, not his father’s, and that he will survive the hell in which he’s currently trapped and he will thrive in the world, and there will come a day when his father can no longer touch him.”

Jonas opened his mouth but couldn’t find any words to speak.

“Is that false hope? Maybe. I don’t know,” Jackson said. “Maybe sometimes yes, sometimes no. Maybe they get away. Maybe they don’t. Nobody can save everyone, but false hope is still hope, and sometimes that’s all we have to get us through the day. Hope for tomorrow. You want to know what people say behind your back?” Jackson bobbed his head, raising his eyebrows, and said, “They say a lot, Mr. Nightingale.”

He turned and walked away, and Jonas stared after him, stunned into speechlessness. At least I didn’t 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 couldn’t help but wonder if this would be the last show. It wasn’t the first time he’d 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 isn’t 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 didn’t 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 didn’t matter. His stomach was a churning pot of acid because he hadn’t eaten and had filled himself first with alcohol, then coffee, and finally water. That didn’t matter, either.

It was showtime.

For over two hours, he was in top form, and he barely looked at the kid—Jake—where he sat near the corner of the stage. And he didn’t 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, who’d seen his act more times than she could count, was impressed by the advice he was doling out. He was the best he’d 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 didn’t want to look over at the kid and see the hope, the faith shining in his wide eyes. He didn’t want to look at Sonny and imagine all the things he couldn’t have, the things he didn’t deserve to want. He didn’t want to look at Sam and see the concern in her eyes.

But Jonas couldn’t control time, and he had to bring the show to a close.

He rushed backstage, but somehow the kid caught up to him.

“I should get myself some wheels,” Jonas muttered, glancing at him as he stripped off his jacket. “I see you convinced your dad to let you come.”

“I convinced him not to stop me,” Jake said with a shrug. “Can I talk to you?”

Jonas glanced around. “Bad idea, kid,” he said. “Your father doesn’t want me around you.”

“I was listening, Jonas,” the boy said.

Jonas, who’d been pacing, trying to rid himself of his residual, nervous energy, stilled. “What do you mean?”

“I heard you. It was just like in my dream.”

Jonas’s stomach clenched. “Jake,” he said, shaking his head.

“You’re gonna make it rain.”

“What?”

“Your miracle tomorrow night,” Jake said. “You’ll make it rain, won’t you?”

The kid wasn’t 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 Jake’s hopeful gaze. “I can’t do that,” he said, quietly.

Jake wasn’t deterred. “I believe in you,” he said. “You were just like in my dream, Jonas. It was a sign. You came here—”

“No, Jake,” Jonas said, rougher than he’d intended. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said, putting his hand on the boy’s arm. “I can’t bring the rain and I can’t make you walk. I’m sorry.”

He started to rise, and Jake’s voice stopped him: “I can’t walk until I make up for what I did.”

Jonas sank back down. “What do you mean?” he asked, looking at Jake’s face.

The boy swallowed and blinked the tears out of his eyes. “God won’t heal me until I earn it,” he said.

“If this is about what some asshole faith healer told you—” Jonas started, but Jake shook his head, sending the tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I know it,” Jake said. “It’s my fault my mom died, and my dad is so…sad all the time. He’s all alone now, and it’s my fault. I was playing around and that’s why she crashed.”

“Jake, listen to me,” Jonas said, squeezing the boy’s shoulder. “It is not your fault. You don’t have anything to prove, nothing to make up for, do you understand? Sometimes…bad things just happen, to good people. It isn’t fair, but it isn’t your fault.”

“I prayed for you to come,” Jake told him, swiping at his tears. “For the town, for my dad. You can save us, Jonas, I know you can. You just have to try.”

For my dad, Jonas thought, feeling pained. “I can’t save the town, Jake,” he said. “I can’t save your father, and I can’t save you. I’m sorry.” He pushed to his feet and saw Sonny standing a few yards away. “I’m sorry,” 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. He’d been upset when they got home. Of course, Sonny had never wanted him to go to the revival in the first place, but he’d eventually relented in spite of his misgivings. Jake didn’t ask for much, and seeing Jonas perform had been important to him. Sonny had hoped he’d see through the reverend and realize that he wasn’t really a miracle-worker.

He should’ve 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 didn’t 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 couldn’t go back to the person he’d been a few days ago, and he wouldn’t if he could. He had to be honest with himself.

Yes, Jake had been upset when they’d gotten home. He’d asked for help into bed early, and he’d been listening to music ever since. The same song, over and over on a loop, something on piano. Sonny wasn’t 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 didn’t 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 he’d 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 they’d shared, the family they’d created. He remembered the laughter, the love; the arguments, the worry.

Sonny knew that it wasn’t his relationship—relationship? his mind echoed in disbelief—with Jonas that would worry her. It was the two years since her death, the years that he’d 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 Jake’s iPod and stopped the music, plunging the house into near-silence. Jake didn’t 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. He’d 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, he’d known a song that could comfort the boy and ease him into sleep. He’d given him something that Sonny couldn’t 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 Sonny’s life with a cocky smirk and a sexy swagger, and he’d thrown Sonny’s life into turmoil. But no one was responsible for Sonny’s actions but Sonny, and he couldn’t bring himself to regret a moment he’d spent with Jonas. In spite of everything, Sonny wanted him, still. Just one last time before the man rolled out of town.

  “Evening, Sheriff.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Little bit,” Jonas said.

Sonny had himself planted in the opening, blocking the door with his foot as he peered out at Jonas. He hadn’t 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.

“I know I can’t come in,” Jonas said. “You have a kid, and…you’re a good father. I can see that. I just wanted you to know.”

“I’m lucky to have him,” Sonny answered. After a pause, he said, “He 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. It…means something to him. He doesn’t want to talk to me about it.”

Jonas tipped his head back, looking up at the moon. After a moment, he closed his eyes, swaying a bit. “When I was a kid, I used to pray to the moon,” he said, his voice barely audible above the soft sigh of wind.

“What did you pray for?”

“Escape, I suppose. Or maybe that my father would love me the way you love your son.” He lowered his chin to look at Sonny. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t be here. It was too quiet in my room,” he heard himself admit.

“You could find any number of people to keep you company, Jonas,” Sonny said, quietly.

Jonas held his eyes in the dim light. “I don’t want anyone else,” he said. “I tried to get you out of my head. I tried to stay away. I just wanted to see you.”

“Jonas…”

“I’m tired,” Jonas said.

“I’m sure you are,” Sonny answered.

“No, I mean I’m tired,” Jonas muttered.

“I know what you mean,” 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.

“I had no right to suggest you were doing anything wrong with Jake. You’re a good father,” he repeated.

“You were right,” Sonny countered in a low voice. “He just met you and he told you things he’s never told me.”

Jonas made a face and waved his hand in the air. “Comes with the job,” he muttered.

“Have you eaten today?”

Jonas blinked in surprise. He considered saying something suggestive, crude, and dismissed the idea. “I don’t remember,” he admitted.

Sonny stepped back and pushed the door open. “Come inside.”

Jonas stared at him, unable to sort through the tangle of emotions swirling in his body.

“Come on, I’ll make some coffee. I’ll give you a ride back to your room after you sober up.”

“I don’t want to sober up.”

“Can’t have you wandering around,” Sonny said. “I’ll have to arrest you for public intoxication or something.”

Jonas arched an eyebrow. “In Sweetwater?”

Sonny shrugged a shoulder. “I wasn’t always a small-town cop, remember.”

“You could try handcuffing me again,” Jonas said, with a close approximation of his usual smirk.

“I’m inviting you into my house, Jonas,” Sonny answered. Then, to Jonas’s surprise, he smiled and added, “Besides, we already established you don’t like doing the same thing twice.” He shifted to the side, waiting, and after a few moments of indecision, Jonas stepped past him into the house.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Jonas said.

Sonny didn’t look back as he used a spatula to flip the omelet. “I like cooking,” he said. “Always have. Maybe it’s an Italian thing, maybe it was just necessity. I used to cook for my sisters.”

“It’s late.”

“Yeah,” Sonny agreed. Jonas was sitting at the kitchen table behind him. “It is that.”

“You came back here because of Jake, didn’t you? Because of what happened…”

“We’d always talked about moving back here,” Sonny answered, quietly, stirring the potatoes with the spatula. “Me 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.”

“You were a cop there?”

“So 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. They’d just left to head home—back to the city. I was working. I know what Jake told you, that he’d distracted her, and maybe that’s true, maybe she didn’t see the truck coming, but you know what? I hope that’s true. I hope she never saw it coming.”

“I’m sorry,” Jonas said. He could hear the pain in Sonny’s voice, could feel it coming off him in waves. He wanted to take it away and knew he couldn’t.

Sonny turned to face him, leaning against the counter beside the stove. His blue eyes were shining. “Jake was in surgery for hours. They gave him a good prognosis. I know what people think, Jonas, but it’s not just some choice he’s made.”

“At least not consciously,” Jonas said, quietly.

“He wants to walk.”

“He doesn’t want to be a burden.”

“He’s not a burden. He’s my son,” Sonny said. He spoke fiercely, but kept his voice low.

“I know that. He feels guilty for not being able to walk, for you having to take care of him. He feels like he’s 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, he’d do it. He’d do it in a heartbeat.”

Sonny swallowed and nodded, unable to speak.

Jonas leaned back in his chair and sighed, scrubbing his hands over his stubbly face. “I never should’ve come here,” he murmured.

“I didn’t have to let you in.”

“I don’t just mean here,” Jonas said, indicating the kitchen with a flick of his wrist.

“Neither do I,” Sonny answered. “Jonas, I know everyone in this town, but tonight I learned things about them that even I didn’t know. I heard them admit things, in front of their friends and neighbors and cousins—”

“That’s the game, Sheriff,” Jonas said, raising his eyebrows at him. “We collect secrets and we—”

“I know you’ve been hurt,” Sonny said. “I can see through you, Jonas. Do you wanna know what I think is your biggest con? You’ve convinced yourself that you’re unworthy of love and happiness.”

“You don’t know the things I’ve done,” Jonas muttered.

“I have an idea,” Sonny answered. “And I don’t care. If it were just me…”

Jonas dropped his gaze to the table. “It’s just sex, Sheriff,” he said. “No need to get emotional.”

Sonny turned toward the stove and shut off the burners. He transferred the omelet, and then fried potatoes, onto a plate. “Sex is an emotional thing,” he said.

“Is it?”

“I’ve always thought so,” Sonny said, sliding the plate onto the table. He went to the refrigerator and filled a glass with orange juice.

“Maybe I’ve been doing it wrong,” Jonas said.

“Maybe you’ve been looking in the wrong places,” Sonny answered as he closed the refrigerator door.

“For?”

Sonny looked at him with a humorless twist of his lips. “I think we both know the answer to that,” he said. He set the orange juice beside Jonas’s plate and sank into the chair across from him, leaning back.

“You’re not going to eat anything?”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

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. “You know how it feels to think you’re swimming along fine and then, I don’t know, something makes you look around, and all of a sudden you realize that you’ve just been treading water. And as soon as you realize that, you become aware of how tired you really are, how hard you’ve been going for so long, and for nothing. You’ve been drowning, but so slowly that you barely noticed.” He raised his eyes to Sonny’s. “You know that feeling?” he asked.

Sonny nodded. “Yeah, I know it,” he answered. “But in my experience there’s usually someone nearby willing to throw a lifeline. Eat, Jonas. You look like hell.”

“You have salt and pepper somewhere?”

Sonny smiled. “Don’t you dare insult my cooking,” he said. “It’s seasoned the way it’s supposed to be seasoned.”

Jonas forked potatoes into his mouth and chewed. After a moment, he nodded. “It’s good,” he said, and Sonny laughed. “Seriously.”

“I know it’s good,” Sonny said, with a sparkle of humor in his eyes. “But your opinion doesn’t count since you’re practically starved.”

Jonas ate in silence for a minute, and Sonny watched him. “Do you miss the city?” Jonas finally asked. “When you’re painting over graffiti on the water tower, do you miss the excitement of…you know.”

“Real police work?” Sonny asked with a smile.

“I don’t mean it like that.”

“Taking 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. It’d started to wear on me, on us, on everything. There’s always another fight. Sometimes I miss the excitement, the…rush. The exhilaration, you know? But that’s not a healthy thing to chase, I suppose. At least not to build a life around. Because it’ll never be enough. The adrenaline always fades and then the normal bits can start to feel like lows.” He sighed. “I’d rather have contentment. Maybe that seems like settling, I don’t know. All I know is it’s a lot more…peaceful.”

“Are happiness and contentment mutually exclusive?” Jonas asked. Peaceful, he thought. It sounded nice, but he wasn’t sure he knew how to be content. He didn’t think he’d ever felt contentment, or if he would recognize it.

“No,” Sonny answered. “It’s just about not chasing…artificial happiness anymore. Realizing what’s real and important and…what we can control. We can’t change the shitty things that happen, all we can do is hold onto what we have.” He shrugged. “Like you and your sister, I guess. I know I’d do anything for mine, even when they drive me up the wall.”

Jonas ate the last of his omelet and set his fork on the plate. He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. “I should get out of here,” he said. “Thanks for the food.”

Sonny also stood. He watched as Jonas picked up his glass and drank the last of his juice. “I’ll give you a ride back to your room,” he said, rounding the table.

Jonas smiled. “You don’t have to do that, Sheriff,” he said. “I’m unfortunately sober.” He started to turn away and hesitated, looking back. “You should keep Jake away from the last show,” he said. “People will come from all over the county. They always do. Come Monday morning, we’ll be out of here.”

“Like you promised,” Sonny said.

“I told you, I keep my promises,” Jonas answered.

Sonny stepped forward and kissed him. He took hold of Jonas’s 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 Jonas’s and rested his forehead against the other man’s, breathing deeply, eyes closed. “I wanted you the moment I saw you, and I hated you for it. I didn’t even recognize myself when I walked into your room. I wanted to punish you for making me feel, and I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Jonas murmured.

Sonny pulled back to look at him. “No one can punish us as much as we punish ourselves,” he said. He searched Jonas’s face for a few seconds. “You woke something inside of me, and I thank you for it.” He dropped his hands and stepped away. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride. I’m just gonna leave Jake a note in case he wakes up.”

  Sonny was on his back, knees bent, hips levered up. He had a hand on Jonas’s 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 sheriff’s face for any signs of discomfort.

Jonas sank into him fully and stopped. Sonny’s hand tightened on his arm and he shifted his hips, trying to pull Jonas impossibly deeper. Jonas didn’t move as he studied Sonny’s face, though. He said, in a soft voice, “People rarely surprise me, Sonny. But you, I never saw coming.”

Sonny slid his hand up Jonas’s 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 Sonny’s 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 Sonny’s. He slid a hand over Sonny’s stomach and took the sheriff’s erection in his hand, gripping it loosely. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the tip of Sonny’s 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 Sonny’s face, and knew that he was close. He stopped moving, buried in Sonny’s 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.

“What do you want, Sonny?” Jonas asked softly.

“You know what I want.”

“Yeah,” Jonas answered, smiling. “But I wanna hear you say it.”

“I want to come with you inside me,” Sonny said. The unspoken words—one last time—hung in the air between them as their eyes held. Jonas moved his hips back, watching Sonny’s eyelids droop. Jonas shifted his knees, bracing his hands on the bed on each side of Sonny’s hips. One of Sonny’s hands was holding Jonas’s 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 Jonas’s shoulder.

Jonas looked down and saw that the tip of Sonny’s erection was glistening with precum. He returned his gaze to Sonny’s. “Not yet,” he said, and Sonny shook his head on the pillow. Jonas thrust forward, and Sonny’s eyes closed. “You’ll wait, won’t you, Sonny?” Jonas asked as he pulled back. Sonny nodded. “What?”

The sheriff opened his eyes. “Yes,” he said.

“Good boy,” Jonas murmured, and he saw Sonny’s throat bob. Jonas thrust his hips again, but this time he didn’t pause when he withdrew. He kept moving—hard and fast, watching Sonny’s face. “Not yet,” he murmured again. Sonny’s hand fell from Jonas’s shoulder and he clutched at the bedspread.

Jonas didn’t slow until he saw Sonny’s expression tightening, until he knew the sheriff wouldn’t 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 Sonny’s 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 feeling—the feeling of being buried inside of Sonny—for as long as possible. That sound, though, almost pushed him over the edge. Sonny’s absolute need for release, and his determination to wait—his willingness to torture himself—were more than Jonas could bear.

He took Sonny’s cock in his hand. “So hard,” he said, softly. “So ready, aren’t you?” He slid his fist up and down the length, slowly. Sonny shifted against Jonas’s hand, and it was Jonas’s turn to suppress a groan. “God, if only you knew how good you feel,” he muttered. “I want to feel you tightening around me…” He gave Sonny’s 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 Sonny’s cock in time with the beat of his hips, and Sonny was trembling.

“Jonas,” Sonny managed, his voice raw.

“Come for me now, Sonny,” Jonas answered. Sonny moaned, his back arching, his fists clutching at the bedspread, his head pressed into the pillow. “Say my name again.”

“Oh, God—Jonas,” 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 Sonny’s muscles clenched around Jonas, he started to withdraw. The stimulation was incredible, and too much. He couldn’t control himself any longer, and had to get out before—

“Don’t,” Sonny said, reaching between his own knees to clutch at Jonas’s hips. “Come inside me, Jonas.”

“Sonny,” Jonas breathed, looking down at the other man’s 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 Sonny’s eyes, he said, barely above a whisper, “You’re the only one.” He couldn’t explain what he meant, but he didn’t have to. Jonas had never come inside of anyone without a condom, and then only rarely. It wasn’t 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 act—an act that was enjoyable for both parties but never quite satisfying for Jonas.

Until Sonny. He’d gotten under Jonas’s skin from the start. He’d found his way inside Jonas’s walls without even trying, and Jonas wasn’t even sure how it had happened. All he knew for sure was that he would never be the same.

He couldn’t 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 Jonas’s eyes, and he grabbed Jonas’s 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 sensation—every point of contact—into his memory.

  “Jonas,” Sonny said. He was standing in the doorway of Jonas’s room, dressed once more in his sweats and t-shirt. “Or should I call you Jack Newton?”

Jonas offered a small smile, because they both knew they were far past that. “I’d prefer you didn’t,” he said, quietly.

Sonny nodded. “A man has a right to leave his father’s name behind if that’s what he chooses,” he said. “Jonas Nightingale is a good name. There’s something you should know, Jonas. Your sister’s been spreading word that there’ll be a miracle tonight. She’s been begging favors all over town—”

“We don’t beg,” Jonas said.

Sonny raised a hand. “An expression,” he said. “She owes the garage for the repairs to the bus. I know you haven’t paid for these rooms. She’s borrowed equipment all over town—”

“What’s your point? If you arrest anyone, it’ll be me. Everything is on me.”

Sonny shook his head. “That’s just it, Jonas. She does everything to protect you. I’m guessing you haven’t looked at your finances lately? Your singers—your Angels—haven’t been paid in months. They all love and believe in you, Jonas. They follow you without question, they perform without knowing when they’ll see a paycheck. And your sister, it’s her name on everything. Her real name. I have no doubt she’d go to prison for you.

“Next 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.” He paused. “What I see. I understand why she wants to protect you, and why she’s promoting. She’s desperate. But if you try to fake a miracle tonight—”

“Keep your son away,” Jonas said, quietly. “No matter what happens, he shouldn’t be there.”

“I’ll arrest you if I have to.”

“I know.”

“I hope you don’t give me reason to.”

Jonas searched Sonny’s 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.

“Whatever you do will be the right thing,” Jonas said, quietly. “I have faith in you, Sheriff, and nothing will change that.”

“And what will you do?” Sonny asked after a few seconds of silence.

Jonas let out a breath. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Do me a favor, Sonny. When it comes time for the talent show, tell Jake to remember what I said. Don’t let him hide any bits of himself away, alright?” When Sonny nodded, Jonas reached out a hand and patted his chest, briefly, over the sheriff’s heart. “It’s been a pleasure getting to know you, Sonny,” he said with a smile. “I’ll see you around.”

He stepped back into the room and closed the door before he could change his mind.

  “Is it true that Ida Mae and the Angels haven’t been paid in months?”

“Jonas, I—”

“Is it true, Sam?”

“I told you I was worried,” she said. “But you didn’t want to listen.”

Jonas nodded. She expected him to argue, to point out the fact that she’d never told him just how bad their financial situation had gotten, but he didn’t. “I know,” he said instead. “And I’m sorry. You’ve been carrying a weight that wasn’t yours. But that ends now.”

He could see the apprehension in her face. “What are you saying?” she asked.

“You’ve been running the show for years, Sam. And all I’ve done is make your job harder. But—”

“No, Jonas,” she said, grabbing his arm. “You’re wrong. You are the show. You’re the one people come to see, you’re the one who’s kept everything together. Kept us together. You saved us, over and over again, and I started to take it for granted that you—that you always do whatever it takes. You always come through for us, for the Angels, for the show. I took it for granted and I’ve let you give up too—no, I’ve asked you for too much, and you never say no.”

He smiled. “I say no to you all the time, sis, you just don’t listen.”

“No,” she stressed, squeezing his arm. “You 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.”

“You’re giving me too much credit.”

“No, you’re not giving yourself enough,” she countered. “Jonas, you think you sold your soul. But you didn’t. I sold it, or at least brokered the deal. This isn’t the person I want to be,” she said, spreading her arms. “I 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 an…acceptable risk. And you balked. And I…I would’ve done it anyway. I would’ve forced you into it because that’s what I do, isn’t it? I let you do all the feeling, all the caring, and I just…take care of business. I met somebody I actually liked and I didn’t even know what to do because it’s been so long.” She saw Jonas’s gaze shift toward Jackson, who was at the other end of the tent talking into his phone. “And something happened between you and the sheriff, something more than just sex, you can’t tell me otherwise. We deserve to be happy, Jonas.”

Jonas caught Ida Mae’s 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. “I want you to know that you—both of you, and the Angels—have 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.”

She patted his arm. “We never doubted you, my boy,” she said with a smile.

“I will take care of it,” he told Sam.

His sister shook her head. “Jonas, you’re not listening—”

“No, Sam, I am listening,” he said, quietly. “I’m 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.”

“Son, you know I’m with you to the end,” Ida Mae said. Jonas bent forward and kissed her cheek, giving her a hug. Then he looked at Sam.

“Promise me you’ll be okay, Jonas,” his sister said.

He smiled. “I promise. We’ll be okay,” he answered.

“I’ll do whatever you think is best,” Sam said after a few moments of silence.

 Jonas stood in front of the mirror, studying himself. He’d spent most of the day going through the financial records, adding up their assets and tallying their debts. He’d been surprised to find that Sam had never sold their parents’ house. It was in his name—the name of Jack Newton—but he’d long ago given her complete control over his finances.

It didn’t take long for him to realize that Sonny had been right. All of the assets—the house, the bus, the truck, the equipment, everything they owned—was in his name. Sam, from a legal standpoint, owned nothing, and yet it was her signature on everything.

Jonas felt reasonably calm. The books weren’t nearly as discouraging as he’d feared, and he knew what he had to do. He’d spent the entire day sober, drinking nothing but water, and he’d even eaten breakfast and lunch.

He was about to disappoint, and probably anger, a lot of people, and he wasn’t 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 Sonny’s gaze for just a moment before looking away. He met Jake’s eyes, up front near the stage. The boy offered Jonas a smile of encouragement, and in that moment, Jonas would have given up everything—his very life—to be able to help Jake. It wasn’t 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.

“Jonas?” Sam asked, softly, in his ear. He looked over at her and nodded. She was holding tightly to Jackson’s hand, though Jonas didn’t 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 kid’s face. The last time he’d 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 Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” on the guitar. The audience was silent, still not sure what to think. It wasn’t gospel music, and it wasn’t what they’d expected, but it was a song that had always soothed him. It was difficult to play on guitar, and he’d 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 “Rise Up,” 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.

“My name is Jonas Nightingale,” he said, his gaze skimming the faces. Some were familiar, the citizens of Sweetwater; others were new. “But that wasn’t always the case,” he continued, and another murmur passed through the audience. “Who here has read Romeo and Juliet?” he asked. He nodded as half the audience members raised their hands. “The nightingale didn’t bring good fortune, did it?” 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. “I 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,” he said, turning to look at her with a gesture of his chin, “she 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. She’d learned about Jonah in Sunday school—though she’d mixed up bits of it with Pinocchio, I think,” he added, winking at Sam as the audience laughed again.

Jonas looked at the crowd. “I 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.” He paused, and the silence in the tent was tangible. “And my sister put her arms around me, and she said something that I will never forget.”

“Jonas,” Sam breathed in his earpiece.

“She said, ‘then you save me and I’ll save you.’ 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,” he said, and he heard his sister’s laugh. “So I was working, scraping pennies together wherever I could, and our local preacher asked me to sing at the church picnic. I didn’t get why he’d ask, I was a sullen little heathen who hadn’t 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 father’s that was too big, and I put on a show, by God. I was angry about it, at the start. And then something changed.

“People were smiling, and I started to suck up their energy like a sponge. Aside from Sam, I don’t think I’d 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 wasn’t charity. It was payment for my performance. She called me a prophet for profit.” He paused, cocking an eyebrow at the crowd. “Get it?” he asked, and he was answered with nods and some laughter. “Jonah, Jonas. Prophet,” he said, shrugging a shoulder. “Nightingale. I think you can follow the logic of the boy I was.”

He paused again, running his fingers absentmindedly over the guitar strings.

He glanced over at Sam, and she knew what he wanted.

“D-three,” she said, quietly. “Dry well.”

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. “When Sam was a senior in high school, our well went dry,” he told the young woman. “We didn’t have a drought to worry about like you folks, but we couldn’t 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.

“And 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 ass—more out of surprise than anything else. He could’ve squashed me like a bug. Even so, I jumped up ready to fight.

“It was the preacher who grabbed me and pulled me back. He’d stopped by to tell me that the church had taken up a collection to pay for our well.” He saw the tears shimmering in the young woman’s eyes, and he put a hand on her shoulder. “I know you feel guilty about all the help that you’ve been getting from your friends and neighbors…”

“Florence,” Sam said.

“Florence, but ask yourself this: if your roles were reversed, would you hesitate to help?” She shook her head, and Jonas continued, “The 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 I’d provide our next meal or pay the following month’s electric bill. But someone told me that when you feel like you’re drowning, there’s usually someone willing to throw you a lifeline if you look around. You just have to be willing to take it.” He straightened and caught Sonny’s gaze for a moment.

“A-fourteen,” Sam said. “Alcoholic.”

Jonas walked over to the man, who looked up at him with apprehension. “When 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.

“Anyway, I got hammered, and I was wandering around town, and someone offered me a ride. The preacher’s wife—the same preacher who’d let me perform at that picnic, who’d 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.

“She was more than twice my age, but I knew that I was responsible. I’d made the choices that led to that road. And I couldn’t 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.

“He knew already. I don’t know if she’d told him or if he’d just guessed, but he knew. And do you know what he did? He forgave me. He told me that we don’t have to be defined by our poor choices, that there’s always time for redemption if we’re willing to work for it.

“I’ve found myself in ditches, in strangers’ beds, in jail, even passed out beneath a church pew. It always starts the same. I feel like I’m drowning, or suffocating, like there’s no way out of the hole I’m 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, doesn’t it? But it’s a false prophet, my brother, and you know as well as I do that it solves nothing.

“That preacher forgiving me didn’t solve anything, either. All that did was add to my guilt. Confessing our sins is the first step toward redemption—”

“Harold.”

“Harold, 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 aren’t as bleak as they seem from the bottom of the bottle. Ask for help and you shall receive it.”

Jonas turned, adjusting his guitar. Sam said, “C-seven. Cheating on his wife. His name’s Scott.”

Jonas took a breath as he approached the man. “I won’t lie, Scott,” he said. “I’ve slept with married women, and men. I told myself it wasn’t 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 she’ll forgive you. But you,” he said, turning to the young woman.

“Janie.”

“You deserve better, Janie,” he said. “Don’t settle for someone who doesn’t treat you with respect. Don’t settle for someone like me.”

“At least you weren’t married!” someone called out, and Jonas lifted his head, holding up a hand.

“No, I wasn’t married,” he said, “but 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 else’s.”

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 wasn’t what they’d 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.

“I can’t offer you a miracle,” Jonas said, and there were a few angry shouts. Jonas paused. “I’m not even sure I believe in miracles,” he continued.

“You’re a fraud!” someone hollered.

“Yes,” Jonas agreed.

“No!” Jake shouted, and Jonas’s stomach clenched. The boy wheeled his chair forward and faced the crowd. “You’re not listening!” he told them. “He’s talking about life! Don’t you get it? Life is a miracle!”

Jonas looked up and saw, even from a distance, the emotion glistening in Sonny’s eyes.

“We’re all alive!” Jake said.

Jonas glanced upward at the sound of thunder outside. There’d 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 sounded—it felt—different, and he had a strange flutter in his stomach. Please, he thought, turning his attention back to Jake.

“Jake,” he said, and the boy turned to look at him.

“You came to save us, Jonas,” Jake said.

Jonas shook his head. “No, son,” he answered. “They’re right, I’m a fraud. But it ends tonight.” He looked up at the crowd. “These Angels behind me have stuck with me when I didn’t deserve it. My sister has given up her own dreams so that I could stand on a stage each weekend. I’ve lied, robbed, cheated—Everyone here has sinned in some way, small or large, but you’re not alone. I’ve committed more sins than all of you. Tonight is about atonement. It’ll take me longer than one night to pay them back, but for the rest of you, you’ll notice the baskets at the ends of these aisles? That’s all the money that’s been collected from the citizens of Sweetwater. I trust you’ll take what you gave.

“As for those of you we owe money,” he said, nodding toward the garage owner seated in the front row, “you will be paid. Over the next week, I’ll be liquidating my assets to pay my debts. If you don’t want to wait, I have a title I’ll sign over—”

“Jonas,” Sam said. He looked over at her and offered a small smile.

“I only ever wanted to make people happy,” he said. “I wanted to sing, I wanted to make people smile, and I wanted to make my sister proud.” He looked at the crowd. “You have no reason to believe me, but I want you all to be happy. If I could, I would—”

“No,” Jake repeated, and Jonas looked down as the boy rolled himself over the nearest basket. “You came to save us, Jonas!” he repeated. “I believe in you, you just have to believe in yourself.” 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.

“You said, music is life and life is magic and we just have to listen and believe. Well, I do,” Jake said.

“Jake,” 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 Jake’s side.

“I believe that everyone deserves a lifeline,” she said, dropping money into the basket. She ruffled Jake’s hair, and the boy smiled up at her, his relief evident. She looked up at Jonas. “And new beginnings,” 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 hadn’t been part of his plan. He could hear the Angels murmuring behind him, and he could hear Sam talking—but he couldn’t 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 wasn’t 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 Jake’s 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.

“Rain, Jonas,” she said, unnecessarily. “Come on.” She reached for his hand, but he stepped back, pulling his guitar strap over his head.

“You go,” he told her. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“Jonas—”

“I’ll be right out, I promise,” he said. He set his guitar on the stage and watched as Jackson, his hand at the small of Sam’s 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 Jonas’s 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 hadn’t 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 didn’t 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 boy’s chair. Jake looked at him, still smiling, and Jonas lowered himself into a crouch.

“Jake,” he said. “It’s time.”

The boy’s smile faltered. His hair was plastered to his forehead; rain dripped from his face. He shook his head. His chin trembled. “I can’t,” he said.

“You’ve punished yourself long enough,” Jonas said. “Look at me, son. You were wrong, I wasn’t sent here for the rain, Jake. I was sent here for you. To tell you it’s time.”

Jake stared at him, and Jonas could feel the fear emanating from the boy. But he could see the faith in the kid’s eyes, too, could see the belief and hope.

“Jonas,” Sam said, and he looked up to see his sister standing beside him. She shook her head. “You don’t have to do this,” she told him.

“Yes,” he answered. His gaze cut toward Sonny, and his eyes met the sheriff’s. “I do.” He saw Sonny’s frown, saw his gaze shift to Jake’s 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 boy’s name.

Jake swallowed, and gave a little nod. “Get me up, Jonas,” 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 Jake’s 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 boy’s 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 sheriff’s gaze.

With his eyes closed, Jonas said, “You can do this, Jake. Have faith.” Please, he thought again. I don’t know if you’re up there or if you’re listening but don’t punish him. Take my legs, if you want.

“Jonas,” Jake said, shifting in his grip. “Let me go.”

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 Jake’s arms before he could fall.

The boy straightened his legs and lifted his chin. “Let me go,” 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 son’s 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 Sam’s. He drew a deep, shaky breath and opened his eyes. His sister was standing beside him.

Sonny was standing in front of him. Jonas’s 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 couldn’t. They were surrounded by a hundred people, all staring at Jonas, and he pulled his hand from Sonny’s wet grasp.

“I need to go,” he said. He saw Sonny’s expression tighten, and he turned away, unable to trust his own willpower.

“Jonas,” Sonny said. He grabbed Jonas’s arm, pulling him back around. “No more walking away,” he said. He slid his hand into Jonas’s dripping hair and bent forward, kissing him. There were murmurs all around them, and Jonas didn’t care. He held the front of the sheriff’s shirt to steady himself, leaning into him, desperately needing the contact. He wrapped his arms around Sonny’s waist. Sonny pulled his head back to look at him. “You have things to take care of,” he said. “All I want is your word that you’ll come back when you’re done.”

Jonas searched his face in the rain, afraid to believe. “I promise,” 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.

“I want to see you,” a low voice said into his ear, and Sonny felt a shiver pass through him. “Are you alone?”

“Yes,” Sonny answered softly, still smiling. “Jake’s gone for the night. I miss you.”

“I’ll be there soon,” Jonas said.

“Promise?” Sonny asked.

“I promise,” Jonas answered. His voice was like a caress, and Sonny felt his body responding. He hadn’t seen Jonas in weeks, but Jonas would soon return to Sweetwater—and Sonny. For good. “I need to see you,” Jonas said.

“You want a picture?” Sonny asked.

“Not…yet…” Jonas answered, and he knew exactly what his voice was doing to Sonny’s body. “I want to see how much you miss me…”

“More and more by the second,” Sonny murmured, and Jonas’s soft chuckle made him close his eyes. “Do you want me to—”

“No, no,” Jonas interrupted softly. “Don’t touch…You don’t need to touch, do you, Sonny…?”

“No,” the sheriff said on a sigh.

“Are you thinking about how good it’s going to feel? To have my mouth around you again?”

Sonny groaned. “Yes,” he said, shifting his hips a bit to relieve the pressure on his growing erection.

“I hope so. For weeks I’ve been imagining how good you’re gonna taste, all that cum you’ve been storing up for me. You have been saving it for me, haven’t you, Sonny?”

“Yes.”

“You haven’t spilled any on your sheets when you wake up from dreams of my cock in your—”

“Jesus, Jonas,” Sonny breathed, interrupting him.

“Uh-oh,” Jonas answered, and Sonny could hear the amusement in his voice. “Getting too close, are you?”

“If you want me to save it for you, you’d better stop talking,” Sonny said. Jonas’s laugh tickled his ear, and Sonny added, “Plus these jeans are too tight.” 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: “Ohhh, my poor Sonny. I’ll show mercy if you’ll do me one favor.”

“Anything,” Sonny answered.

“Will you step outside and look up at the moon?”

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.

“How’s that walk feel?” Jonas murmured.

“Tight,” Sonny answered, and Jonas chuckled again. “Are you gonna be looking at the moon, Jonas?”

“I’ll be looking,” 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 couldn’t 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. He’d 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 throbbing—stood, waiting for Jonas to return to him as promised.

Jonas paused at the bottom of the steps, looking up at him in the moonlight. “I told you I’d be here soon,” he murmured, his voice almost lost in the night.

“Are you back to stay?” Sonny asked.

“I am,” Jonas answered. He climbed the steps slowly, holding Sonny’s gaze. “If you’ll have me,” he said.

Sonny swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I think you know the answer to that,” he answered.

Smiling, Jonas asked, “You gonna invite me in, then?”

“Are you a vampire?”

Jonas smirked. “It’s not blood I’ll be sucking out of you,” he murmured, and Sonny barely suppressed a groan. “But I can’t promise I won’t bite.” He glanced downward. Sonny’s erection was obvious, even in the pale light.

Sonny shivered. “I’ll fix you dinner,” he said. “You must be starving, and tired. You can take a hot shower, change into some clean clothes, eat.”

“The only thing I want to eat—”

“Jonas,” Sonny cut in, and the other man laughed. “There’s time for that later.”

“There’s time for the other stuff later,” Jonas murmured, gently palming the front of Sonny’s jeans. He considered. “Except for the shower. Will you shower with me, Sheriff?” he asked.

“Do I have to keep my hands to myself?”

Jonas grinned. “Nope.”

With a laugh, Sonny said, “Then yes.” He took Jonas’s hand and started toward the house, pulling him along.

“Will you give me a massage?” Jonas asked.

“Until you beg,” Sonny answered with a grin.