Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 3

wandered, just floated from thought to thought, running free, no fences, no walls. He was almost unaware of his body, though there was a sense of soreness and of exhaustion. But it seemed so very incidental. He sensed now that all the anger and rage that had built up over the years, had fueled so many of his choices, was finally receding. He'd never understood before, but now, there was this certain clarity that spurred his thoughts and memories.
    One thing he was more than aware of was Will's strong arms wrapped around him, anchoring him in a way that kept him from falling too deep or flying too high. He was centered and he could allow his thoughts to wander unencumbered and still feel safe. When he thought about it, he'd never really felt safe. Everything he'd done, everything he'd been had been spurred by a certain desperation that had colored everything.
    He reached out and clasped Will's hand that lay upon his chest. He threaded his fingers through Will's. Will—this man here and now, was someone Sinn had never known before. He still couldn't seem to resolve that Will–this dominant young man was the same thirteen-year-old boy, Billy Keyser, he'd once rather shrugged off as the pain-in-the-ass younger brother of his best buddy. He was to be tolerated, but no more than that.
    He brought Will's hand up to his mouth and kissed it. He didn't have words right now–he didn't want to speak and Will seemed to understand that. Sinn measured the feel of Will's hand that seemed to engulf his own. Hard and big. Some place along the way, between sex and collapse, Will had removed his gloves, and now it was skin-to-skin. Sinn felt the calluses rub against his own hand. A fragment of a conversation came back to him, one that he'd almost surely forgotten, it having left little imprint upon his mind until now.
    It was a hot August day back in Reverie. He and Bobby were doing some fence mending for Duke Barnes who had a few ornery cows who kept slipping through the fence. Billy had tagged along that day, sort of trailing silently after the two older boys. One of Sinn's gloves had ripped and a barb had gone deep into Sinn's finger.
    "Shit!" he'd screamed, tearing off the glove and sucking at the wound. He knew he should have gotten a new pair of gloves, but he spent the last of his money on new guitar strings, which had seemed the more important thing to have at the time.
    "Here," a soft voice said from behind him. He turned to see Billy holding out a pair of gloves.
    "Why aren't you helping Bobby?" Sinn had said.
    Billy shrugged. "He wasn't doing much."
    "Hell, neither am I." He looked at the gloves. "What am I supposed to do with those?"
    "Yours are ripped. I thought you could use these. Bobby said he didn't want my help. He says I'm too young." Billy had looked down, ramming his booted toes into the dry earth
    "Well, you are. What are you, seven?" Sinn had put his gloves back on determined to be more careful, and remember to purchase a new pair of gloves when he got the chance.
    "Almost eight. Big enough," Billy said.
    "Your ma would whip his butt." Not likely, and it didn't make the impression he'd hoped on Billy. Tenacious little bugger.
    "Well, she told him he had to bring me with him today," Billy said mutinously.
    "'Cause you whined to her."
    Billy had gone red. He shoved his gloves at Sinn again. "If you wear these you won't hurt your finger anymore. They're new."
    Sinn had taken them and held them up to his hand. He grinned. "A little small for me. You've got some growing to do before you'll have a man's hands on you, kid."
    Billy had looked crestfallen. He looked down at his own smaller hands, then back at Sinn. There was an oddly adult look in his eyes as he gazed at Sinn. He grabbed the gloves and stuffed them into the back pocket of his jeans. "I will someday. You wait and see. I'll have a man's hands all right." He spun around and stalked away.
    Sinn hadn't thought more about the incident and had returned to mending fences with a throbbing hand.
    He gripped the big hand now almost engulfing his own. "You did grow up to have a man's hands, didn't you?" He remarked.
    The grip on his hand tightened. "Yeah, I guess I did," came the soft response.
    "Who'd have thought."
    "I'm surprised you remembered that conversation."
    "I didn't. Not until now," Sinn admitted.
    Will pulled him closer. "You were fifteen and you and Bobby hated me chasing after you. But I couldn't help it."
    "You got better at hiding in the shadows