Authors: Elizabeth Lowe
“Sam,
she's . . . she's tiny.
She has long . .
. black hair.
She was bleeding.
They must have just . . .” Fingers sweeping
dark curls off his brow moved to squeeze the flesh of his forehead into folds
as if the act would restore
memory, and
slow speech.
“You
must mean Samantha Peterson,” Evelyn replied in a soft even tone.
Her nod toward a male aide nearby signaled
her need of assistance.
The towering,
thickset assistant quietly came behind Brad as she continued, “Are you a relative,
her husband?
We've been trying to
contact you.”
“Well, uh, you see . . .”
The
truth was on the end of Brad's tongue when a familiar face materialized.
Placing a strong supportive arm around Brad’s
shoulders Ralph answered for him.
“Yes,
he is.
I am Ralph
Hearsh
,
a close friend.
You can see he's quite
shaken.”
Brads
constricted throat suffocated the intended denial.
He leaned into Ralph.
For the first time since anxiety leashed him,
there was someone he could depend upon.
Ralph would have it no other way; his whispered reassurances served to
somewhat relax the worried lines on Brad's face.
“It's O.K., son.
I'm here for both of you.
We'll see this through together.”
Evelyn's
gentle gray eyes caressed Brad’s eyes.
After twenty-five years as a nurse, her heart still ached for the
members of victims' families.
“She's
been taken to the O.R.
I can assure you
your wife is receiving the finest care.
Though I'm not at liberty to discuss her condition, nurse Shay will
gladly show you to the consulting room where the doctor will meet with you
after the surgery.”
For a brief moment,
excitement darted across Brad's features.
“You mean I'm not too late?
She's
alive.
She's going to be all right?”
“Please, Mr. Peterson, you must
collect yourself for her sake.”
Evelyn's
glance relaying her fear found Ralphs before returning to Brads.
“All I can tell you is she was rushed into
the O.R. immediately upon arrival.
I am
so sorry it does not look encouraging. Her condition is listed as critical.”
Unable to look any longer at the contortions afflicting the men's pitiful faces
Evelyn lowered her gaze.
She despised
the unsettling part of her job that required preparing family for the worst.
Reluctant to listen to another word,
filled with overwhelming intentions of finding Sam, Brad spun around, his eyes
anxiously searching out a route.
“I've
got to go to her,” he babbled. To his relief, nurse Shay grabbing his arm began
leading the way. Having difficulty keeping up the pace, Ralph followed.
Once inside a dreary, windowless
room, Brad began pacing the worn tiled floor.
Filled with uncertainty, Ralph was relieved no one else was there to
share the vigil.
What would happen when
the hospital learned Brad was not Sam's husband, he fretted.
Especially if or when Ted arrived, although
Ralph sincerely doubted he would under the circumstances.
Surely, this was the one time Ted would
regret crossing Brad's path.
He could
only pray his presence might prevent the inevitable.
Considering the differences steeping for far
too long, once Brad learned the whole story surely there would be a fight
between estranged friends.
Ralph cringed
at the mere thought of what Brad’s capabilities might be.
Knowing the futility of insisting
that Brad sit, Ralph eased himself onto a chair, his eyes scanning the
depressing room where solace was a stranger.
The gravity of Sam’s condition combined with watching his young friend
pace like a tiger waiting for its prey was ripping Ralph’s heart open.
Tears became a stream running the course of
his cheeks while he quietly prayed for the two people he loved.
In between pacing, several times
Brad entered the hall in search of any one that might give him answers.
Watching his every move, Ralph wondered when
Brad would fold.
Hours later, his young
friend collapsed into a chair alongside him.
Eyes focused on a wall, smudged and yellow, they watched the black arms
of a clock creep around a dial with excruciating slowness.
Bent over, elbows
resting on his knees, fingers laced to prop his chin, Brad's mind began sifting
through the debris of the past.
CHAPTER 6
“SEPTEMBER 2010”
Lacking
the silk sheets tossed hither during the night permitted a cool breeze to waft
across a long, lean, muscular body lying naked on a king size bed.
Rolling over, hairy arms searched for the
voluptuous body that lay beneath, and on top of him, several times during the
night.
A feisty female more than capable
of matching his libido making him feel he had truly hit the jackpot.
Finally sated, sometime before sunrise, both
fell into a false since of security.
The
breeze nudging his senses once more fanned the coals of early morning
desire.
Turning on his side assuming his
mates’ position fitted them together like spoons.
Fingers eagerly finding a sizeable breast
began rolling its bud while others made a path down a slender rib cage coming
to a rest upon a flat stomach.
He tugged
her closer.
Soft buttocks pressing
against his penis increased the fervor within provoking undulating movements
against cool, silky skin. Possessing little control in the morning, relieving
his sexual frustrations early in the day made the busy work schedule ahead of
him tolerable.
Only
half-asleep, aware of her playmates arousal, like a feline she stretched
lazily.
Slender fingers finding his
fuzzy arm slithered down the length of thick muscle to the hot, experienced
hand fondling her.
Seductress that she
was guided that part of him to the patch between her legs.
Deft
fingers instantly sought what she so willingly offered.
Knowing it took little effort to arouse this
partner nurtured his male ego. Grasping shapely hips offering no escape, he
gained entrance.
Tongue slithering
across her lips made her moan and breath unevenly, responses that intensified
his lust and the perspiration beginning to cloak their skin.
Eager lips feathered her neck, the heat from
his frantic mouth toying with her ear, his teeth nibbling the lobe, “Beg me,
baby, beg me,” he whispered.
As
commanded, arching her slick body, moaning in ecstasy, she begged, “More, more
please, harder, harder.”
Her willingness
to please feeding his virility quickened his pace hurling them into a whirlpool
of sensations. Taking as much of him as she could bear, she murmured. “Give it
to me, now, now,” erotic words erupting spasms that rippled deep, a mutual
climax leaving them limp from exertion.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..………………………………..…………………………………………………………………….
The door -bell chimed six times.
“What in hell, they must be at it
again,” Brad fumed stepping from the shower in time to hear more than he wanted
to.
Having
put in a restless evening fretting over a monumental negotiation, over hearing
the commotion coming from Ted's adjoining bedroom did not help.
Throughout the night, there was giggling, and
traipsing around, moans and groans, and the endless thumping of the headboard
against the wall.
The whole scenario making
him question what unsettled him more, Ted engaged in carnal pleasure while he
fretted about their business or declining the prospect of participating in a
threesome.
Earlier in the evening Brads
unexpected arrival at the penthouse interrupted Ted and Bernie, both naked on
the couch.
Flinging his brief case on a
nearby table, Brad kicked the door closed.
Striving to ignore the pair, making his way to the bar, he poured a
generous portion of whiskey gulping it down before slamming the glass on the
bar.
Barely able to cope with the twelve
hours of hell at the office had percolated his anger.
Nothing went right, including many attempts
to locate Ted to procure pertinent information pertaining to consequential
clients.
To culminate the day, the last
thing he needed was coming home to find his friend screwing around.
A rush of anger made Brad fill and empty his
glass twice more.
It was not the whiskey
causing the fire in his throat, more like the furnace of resentment stoked by
Ted's endless lack of responsibility.
“God, what has gotten into you,
Brad?
You have watched me before, for
Christ's sake.
A piece of ass would do
you good.
Come on buddy, there's plenty
for both of us.”
“I'm not in the
mood,” Brad snapped.
Sensing Brad's tension, Ted hoped a
little humor might lighten the mood.
“You know, friend, you're not getting laid enough.
Must be you are losing your touch old
man.
Can't get it up anymore, huh?”
Laughing heartily, he returned to suckling
Bernice's nipple.
It was best to ignore Ted's prodding
and leave, Brad's better judgment warned.
He was not in the mood for another fight.
Gritting his teeth, he stormed toward his
bedroom tossing words over his shoulder.
“If Bernie ever had me, she'd never bed you again, buddy.
Maybe I'll show her what having a real man is
like later.”
“Ain't that the
truth,” Bernie thought inwardly.
Ted snickered,
“That's more like the Brad I used to know.”
Why was Ted's ability to bed every
woman he met suddenly bothering him, Brad stewed.
He was no different.
The hottest available bachelors in town, they
were accustomed to pursuing with vigilance New York debutants, who in turn,
pursued them in hopes of spending an amorous evening.
However, since Ted's return from Wyoming, the
obvious increase of bed partners triggered Brad's curiosity.
In four weeks, Ted had changed.
According to him, the most wonderful woman in
the world had swept him off his feet.
The woman he just might marry, he added smartly.
The primary word “Marry” convinced Brad Ted's
fall from a horse while on vacation left him brain dead. No woman except Venus
herself could persuade “Romeo” to settle down, and that would be upon drawing
his last breath.
Infatuation was all it
was, Brad believed.
If Ted were smitten,
he certainly would not be convincing a different woman each night to share his
bed.
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Again, the door -bell
rang.
Angrily plucking a towel, hastily drying off,
Brad slipped into a white, terry robe before moving to the door.
Haphazardly tying the belt, he placed his eye
against the viewer.
Relieved to see
Ralph, he unlocked and opened the door.