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  “This is some real Norman Rockwell shit, isn’t it?”

  Jack laughed. “Yeah, you think? Just wait.”

  Spencer could imagine the smoky grin on Jack’s lips. He heard it in that little taunt.

  “I tell her to come over around ten. Plenty of time to get the parents out of the house. She shows up with her cousin, a sophomore sorority girl home from college.”

  “Cock block,” Spencer said with a knowing chuckle.

  “That’s what I thought. Great! Now I’ve got to find some way around her cousin. So, like a polite host, I gave them the tour which ended up in the semifinished basement of our old house. Elle, my neighbor’s cousin, closed the door before I could tell her the lock was broken.”

  “Why would she close the door?”

  “Turns out Cindy had brought her for a reason. Elle pulled out three long joints from her purse.”

  “Not a cock blocker after all?”

  “Not in the least. “

  Spencer imagined a younger Jack Rothman, gangly at seventeen with his lean lines and tall stature. He imagined him tan and golden haired from hours at the beach, fiddling with his sailboat. “So what happened?”

  “We got high. It was my first exposure to marijuana. I was a shy teenager. Didn’t do much socializing. By the time we tried the door to leave, all of us were so fucked-up, the fact that it wouldn’t open just seemed really funny.” He paused. “That is, until the paranoia set in on Cindy. She started freaking out that her parents were going to find out.”

  “Not fun.”

  “I put my arms around her, just to calm her down. She grabbed my collar and started kissing me. I’d never gotten high before, and I’d never kissed a girl before. It was turning out to be a hell of a night.”

  “And her cousin?”

  “Elle seemed mad about it and told us to cut it out.”

  “Back to cock blocking.”

  “Not for long. We all sat on the couch, Cindy on one side of me and Elle on the other. It was the most natural thing to do, hold them both against me as we nodded off to sleep. I awoke to Elle kissing my neck and Cindy licking my earlobe. I guess they’d worked it out between them. Anyway, they had no complaints from me.”

  “You’re telling me your first kiss was a threesome?”

  “Well, technically it was my second kiss. But there were plenty of other firsts that night.”

  “Wow, that’s like every teenage boy’s fantasy.”

  “Those were the days. Everything was new, you know? Super exciting.” Jack shifted against him. Spencer shifted back; part reflex, part compulsion. “I barely knew what I was doing. Girls had all that new equipment, you know what I mean? Fuck it, I just let my instincts guide me.” Jack’s cock nudged against Spencer’s ass through both of their pants. “Sometimes you gotta do that.”

  Spencer cleared his throat.

  “Sorry, dude. That memory kind of gets me going.”

  “It’s OK. I won’t hold it against you.” Spencer bit the inside of his lip and rolled his eyes at how that sounded. “I mean, I get it. Not a problem.” Only Jack wasn’t the only one threatening to burst through his zipper. The way Jack felt prodding against his ass cheek, rock hard and solid, was a surprising thrill. He also knew Jack had been hard before he even started to tell that story.

  Spencer tried to refocus. “So how long were you down there?”

  “Our parents didn’t even know we were missing until the next morning. I yelled out for my father when we woke up and he opened the door for us.”

  “What did he say when he found you there with two girls?”

  “I’ve never seen him more proud, slapping me on the back and guffawing like an ass.”

  Spencer thought about his first kiss and how his father had also flashed him a knowing look when the two young teens had emerged from the back of the public bathrooms at Forrest Park one dusky Fourth of July evening. Only the look had been of sheer malice. Spencer had been with a fast-talking proverbial bad boy named Lucas Wells.

  He shivered suddenly, remembering that look of pure hatred. It had stung him in the chest and made him wish he could be anyone else. They had left the park swiftly, Spencer and his mom in tow behind a fuming Tom Hartley. Back at the house, his parents had a big fight, their shouting heard well over the fireworks breaking joyously in the sky. His father left in a fit, saying he needed to go for a walk. Tom Hartley went for a lot of walks in the wooded Forrest Park, located only a block away from their front door. Dad would go for walks while Mom cried into her gin and tonic and Spencer counted the days until he could leave that god-awful place and never look back.

  Now he was miserably cold, racked with pain, and scared shitless of drowning, but the warm strength of Jack’s body behind him meant more than just warmth; he would have killed to keep Jack right there.

  * * *

  Officer Peters returned to Rory’s side. “Ma’am, we have a dive team prepping as we speak. There’s an open manhole over there, near the corner. They’ll check it out.” He looked pointedly at her, his furry eyebrows raised earnestly. “You have anyone to wait here with you?”

  Rory started to speak, but just a sob came out. Oh God, what if he was down there? His mother should be contacted. Only Rory had no idea how to begin to do that. She caught her breath between lurches of her diaphragm. “His mother’s name is Grace. He doesn’t talk about her much, but I think she might still live in Queens.” Another harsh realization and she suddenly felt enormously guilty for not trying harder to get to know her boyfriend’s mother. “I’m sorry, I don’t have her phone number though.”

  Officer Peters took out his memo book. “Grace…?”

  “Grace Hartley,” she said, regaining some composure. “If you can find her number, I’m sure she’d want to know what’s going on.”

  “We’ll get to work on it. Sit tight, I’ll keep you updated.”

  Rory nodded in a daze at the officer’s matter-of-fact tone. He probably dealt with matters of life and death all the time. Rory had no idea what she would do if she found out her beautiful man was lying lifeless in a tunnel under her feet. She stumbled to the corner garbage can. Her stomach was suddenly very queasy.

  * * *

  Spencer’s whole leg was numb. As long as he remained completely still he could be thankful for that, at least. “Where were we?”

  “Best vintage Bond flick,” Jack said. They’d already run through best garage band, best Super Bowl, best swimsuit cover model, and best way to eat a hot dog.

  “That’s got to be The Man with the Golden Gun,” Spencer answered.

  “Roger Moore? Really?”

  “What? That was like forty years ago. Not vintage enough for you?”

  Jack laughed. “Guess there’s no accounting for taste.”

  Spencer would have jabbed him in the ribs, the way guys do when they’re yanking each other’s chain. He would have caught him right in the solar plexus with a playful tap of his fist if they’d been hanging out over beers on his back deck. He could see them chilling out, shooting the shit with a full belly, gazing out over the valley. He could see it clear as day in the dark and murk of the tunnel.

  “Wait, do you hear something?” Jack said, calling Spencer back from the daydream.

  Spencer held his breath and listened. There was splashing some way down the tunnel. Spencer clicked on the light and twisted his body to shine it toward the sound. The nerves that had been on shutdown sprang back to life with sadistic enthusiasm, making him grind his teeth. He saw nothing.

  “Maybe it was some rats.”

  Jack struggled onto his side to see for himself. With bated breath, Spencer bit back pain, praying for any sign of rescue. There was a soft glow in the dark water. Nothing could have been a more welcome sight, except maybe Rory’s face when he finally got home. How long had they been down there? Two hours? Four? Fuck, he couldn’t wait to see her, swallow her up in his arms, and make love to her all night long. He grimaced at the thunderous throbbin
g in his ankle and yelled out at the top of his lungs toward the light.

  * * *

  Rory clutched her purse strap in both hands, holding on to it as if it were tethered to Spencer’s fate. If Spencer was trapped down there, how could he have possibly survived? She prayed he was OK, but the water main break happened hours ago; it was such a long shot. Her heart stopped in the moment the first diver climbed back out of the hole. Her fingernails dug into her palms and left tiny little cuts in the soft pink flesh. Please, please, please…

  “We need two more air regulators and two cylinders! Now!”

  And then he descended back down the hole. Rory tore past Officer Peters, who’d been standing as sentinel since the divers went down. She needed to be closer, needed to see with her own eyes the moment they brought him out.

  Officer Peters didn’t try to stop her. She thanked him with a swift glance over her shoulder, mouthing the words. He was busy with the gathering crowd and winked at her in response. It took longer than forever for the divers to resurface. One had his arms around somebody’s chest; the other had the man’s legs in his hands. The rescued man roared out in agony several times before they got him onto the waiting stretcher. Rory peered over him, willing her eyes to see Spencer.

  “Hey,” the man said, smiling up at her with a crooked sort of grin. “You must be Rory.”

  * * *

  Spencer waited for the rescue team to return. It was easy to insist that Jack be the first brought to the surface. He wasn’t looking forward to getting back in the water.

  “We’re going to brace your ankle before we make the move,” one of the rescuers informed him upon returning. He set his waterproof torch down and took off his diving mask. Then he gave Spencer a guarded smile. “I won’t lie to you; this is going to hurt. And we won’t be able to give you anything for the pain until we have you out of the water.”

  “Thanks for breaking it to me easy,” Spencer replied, managing the right amount of saltiness in his tone to mask the terror swelling deep down.

  The rescuer gave him a nod. “You’re going to be all right. They’ll get you all patched up at the ER and you’ll be good as new. But first we have to get you out of here.” He showed him the brace, which consisted of two plastic and foam wedges and several straps. “Are you ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.” He bit down on his cheek, a trick he’d learned from years of pushing past his limits on the mountain. The mountain he could handle. Hell, even pain could be managed. But for Spencer, being engulfed in water was a fear rooted in the wilderness of self-doubt. He understood it, he could even rationalize it, but neither made it any less frightening.

  Fuck that shit. He could do this.

  The rescuer placed a regulator in Spencer’s hands and showed him how to use it. Then it was time for the brace. He nodded rapidly, hoping they’d hurry up. A simple touch to his leg made him scream through the regulator clenched in his teeth, but they worked fast and had him in the water before his head had stopped spinning.

  He slammed his eyes shut tight counting back from fifty. Why fifty? He didn’t know, but it helped him think of something other than being underwater again, no matter the strong swimmers pulling him through it.

  As soon as he broke the surface, he saw her. She was bent over the hole with her fingers pressed together in front of her mouth like a little girl saying her bedtime prayers. Rory was so beautiful in that moment, she took his breath away, and for a second there was nothing else.

  His hand floated toward her. “Babe…”

  “Oh, God,” Rory croaked. She caught his fingers in hers for a fleeting few seconds before the paramedics took over.

  “I’m riding in the ambulance,” he heard her say to one of them, matter-of-factly. He recognized that tone. There was no arguing with it. She pressed a kiss to his lips just before they loaded him in. “I love you. I was so scared.”

  “You?” Spencer managed a ragged chuckle. “You know how much I dig swimming.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner…” Rory’s voice cracked and the sound of the whimper she swallowed made Spencer want to hold her tight to him and not let go until she was smiling again.

  “Shhhh…” he soothed. “I’ll get this ankle patched up and we’ll go home and get in bed and stay there for as long as it takes to forget this whole nightmare.” Suddenly there was a question on his lips. “Where’s Jack?”

  Rory straightened and turned to the chaos behind her. There were lots of voices; commands flying from no-nonsense first responders and the pushy press rankling them for access to a grimacing Jack Rothman.

  Spencer turned to one of the paramedics as he prepped the stretcher for loading. “Wait,” he said to the balding man in navy blue crouching next to him. “Can you go talk to your buddies over there and get my friend out of here already?” He gestured in Jack’s direction. “The vultures are circling.”

  The paramedic paused for a moment, sizing up Spencer with a who-the-hell-do-you-think-you-are scowl on his face, New York style. Rory flashed a thoughtful gaze at Spencer and then at Jack. She tapped the paramedic on the shoulder and crouched next to him, placing herself at eye level.

  “Listen, all we’re asking is that you help out with…”

  “Jack,” Spencer reminded her.

  “Yes, Jack. Help him get off to the hospital. My boyfriend seems to want that. They went through hell down there.”

  The bald head nodded and he stood up. “Sure, we can get him shuttled off first, ma’am. Not a problem.”

  Rory smiled at Spencer, her eyes soft with concern. “Great,” she said to the paramedic. “And then you’ll come right back and get my boyfriend to the ER?”

  “Yes. Be just a few more minutes.”

  Spencer clutched her small hand with his big oafish ones. He always hated his hands, so big and clumsy-looking. His precision in both his work and his recreational hobby tempered that unfortunate characteristic in his estimation. But still, he’d never admit to anyone how he sometimes wished he could be seen as suave and fluid instead of rough and rugged. Only Rory saw through his rugged exterior to his heart. When he’d mentioned his desire to see Jack taken care of before himself, she’d known it was something important to him. She didn’t need him to explain. They fit together so well, ebbing and flowing with each other’s moods and quirks. He clutched her small hand and he kissed it through a gentle smile while she nodded in understanding.

  Officer Peters arrived at their side. “I was able to get through to your mother, Mr. Hartley.”

  Spencer’s face fell at those words. “Who told you to call my mother?”

  Officer Peters looked confused at Spencer’s reaction and flashed his eyes at Rory.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. I thought you could be…” She bit her lip.

  Spencer squeezed her hand and forced a reassuring smile to his face before addressing the officer again. “So, let me guess; she told you she wished she could do something to help.”

  Officer Peters tilted his head. “I told her I’d keep her posted.”

  “Thanks, Officer. It’ll keep me from having to do it.”

  Chapter Six

  It wasn’t the questions that bothered him so much. Jack half expected a gang of reporters to be waiting on the scene trying to find out if the subway project—and more specifically, his engineering firm—had anything to do with the water main break. It was the fact that he had to be there to face them alone that had him grinding his teeth to powder.

  “What part of ‘no comment’ don’t you fuckers understand?” he grumbled. Fortunately the paramedics had begun to place him in the back of the ambulance. His shoulder screamed out, although the pain was slightly more distant under the influence of the codeine he’d been given.

  The doors closed and there was peace. And quiet. Too much quiet, in fact. As he lay there on the stretcher, lolling slightly with the turns of the vehicle, the paramedics sat up front with little chatter between them. He thought to ask them to call his fa
ther, but mostly it would be to warn him of the coming onslaught. Jack didn’t want his father’s compassion. He’d learned long ago that compassion was not a fruit of the Rothman family tree. It was a deficit that Jack had tried not to inherit, but so far, he felt like a miserable failure in that regard. It wasn’t a mystery why no one was waiting for him with tear-streaked cheeks at the top of that manhole.

  Jack had many acquaintances and just a few less casual playmates on call to satisfy any appetite that struck his fancy, but he hadn’t the audacity to think any of them could be called friends, let alone something more. A self-affirmed man-whore, he was; a hypocrite, he was not, at least not in his personal life. He was blunt and merciless about what his intentions were and were not. He had no intention of falling in love, or getting hurt.

  But Jack could admire the love of others from afar. He could appreciate the beauty and joy others found within the embrace of someone they cared for. It wasn’t that his heart was too small to imagine what that could feel like. On the contrary, Jack was deathly afraid his heart was too big to ever be filled. It must be, because he’d never known a day without emptiness. He had resolved long ago that for him a heart full of love was just asking too much.

  His thoughts tugged toward Rory and her pretty face peering over him. Her expression had been desperate, aching to see her lover safe and in her arms. Spencer was a special guy, a straight shooter with a pure heart. He deserved her love for all the reasons that Jack didn’t deserve love from anyone.

  Even in the harsh glare of the emergency room lights, they were a striking couple. He watched as they approached, Rory warring with her hair as she hurriedly attempted to put it in a ponytail. She smiled suddenly, laughed a little, and squeezed Spencer’s shoulder as he rolled along beside her in a wheelchair. The orderly pushing him didn’t seem to get the joke. Perhaps it had been understood just between them; such intimacy was made stark having been so plainly revealed. The ER was a hellhole, yet those two seemed completely oblivious to anyone else. Spencer couldn’t have been more in love with her. The smile on his face couldn’t have been more alluring. He was just the type of guy Jack couldn’t resist. But seeing him with Rory, he knew that he’d have to ignore his impulses and keep things clean. Clean and simple.