Love Means_. Freedom - Andrew Grey

the look on his face when they'd been together?
    "What happened before he asked you to go?" Jasper's voice was soothingly soft, and Preston felt himself falling for it, just like Jasper knew he would. Damn it.

    "We made love." There, he'd said it out loud. "He touched my legs, Jasper, made me feel whole again." He sniffed loudly. "When we were together that last time, he made me forget for a while. I really thought he loved me." Preston swallowed around the lump in his throat.
    "There's one way to find out. Call him."
"No way!" He couldn't bear to be rejected again.
"You're a stubborn ass, you know that? Your arrogant ego won't let you make the first move," Jasper chided. "Damn it, Pres, he loves you." "He's got a strange way of showing it." His heart beat a little faster anyway, belying his own words.
"Let me ask you this; if he calls, will you at least talk to him?"
"If he calls." Preston had had enough of this conversation and said good-bye before hanging up the phone, getting back to work.
    Finishing up, Preston packed up for the night, gathering his things and gliding toward the elevator. He met a few people, who said good night and hurried on their way without stopping.

    In the parking lot, he unlocked his car and got inside, getting everything put away before driving home. Home--that was a joke. His tiny apartment didn't feel like home, never would. It was only a place to eat and sleep.

    Pulling into his parking space, he got out and grabbed the walker from the back seat, making his way to the elevator and then up to the apartment. It had come furnished and everything was impersonal, industrial, and definitely not comfortable.
    Preston spent the evening like he did most: sitting in front of the television and working on reports or putting together divisional revenue statistics. Yawning with relief, he turned off the television, put his dishes in the sink, and got ready for bed.
    Beneath the scratchy sheets, he tossed and turned, hating the way the industrially starched linens felt on his skin. Nothing felt right, sounded right, or smelled right. "I want to go home."

    Preston let his mind wander, and images of the barns and farmhouse filled his mind. Belle walking around the ring, even Stone's indignant expression when he'd called him Stable Boy.

    "Fuck." Preston sat up in bed. That wasn't his home. But try as he might, when he thought of home, he thought of the farm and Stone, not his parent's big, fancy house on Lakeshore Drive.

    "Stop it," he said to the empty room, pounding his pillow with his hand, trying to get himself to settle.
    Turning on the light, he reached to the nightstand for his phone and began dialing, but stopped his fingers before pressing the last number. What the hell was he doing? Stone had sent him away; he didn't want him. He was sure Jasper meant well, but he knew where he stood with Stone, and it was over and time for him to move on. Putting the phone back, he turned off the light and prepared for another sleepless night.
    Preston couldn't get comfortable, shifting from his side to his back to his stomach. Finally, he fell asleep only to hear Stone's voice telling him he was sorry.

    Jerking awake, he rubbed his eyes and looked around the dark room, listening. Nothing.
    Everything was quiet. He could have sworn Stone's voice had been real. "Now I'm hearing things." Relaxing back on the bed, he figured he must have dreamed it. Maybe Jasper was right, maybe he had to talk to Stone, ask him why? If nothing else, he'd have some sort of closure and could move on. With that decision, something deep inside unknotted. His mind finally let go of the worry, hurt, and angst that had plagued him for weeks. Scratchy sheets or not, the rigid tension in his muscles melted away and he slept--finally, restfully, slept.
    The buzzing in his ear wouldn't stop. Pulling the pillow around his head, he tried to shut it out. Slapping the alarm, Preston groaned as he forced himself to wake. After weeks of insomnia, he'd slept, and his body ached for more. Grinding his eyes open, the stark walls and drab furniture were enough to make him close them again.
    Sighing audibly, he got up and used his walker to get to the bathroom, his body protesting every move as though it didn't want to go into work, either.
    Dressed and cleaned up, Preston got ready to leave and noticed the red blinking light on the answering machine. Pressing the play button, he heard Stone's recorded voice come from the machine. "I'm