by D. J. Manly
Chase’s eyes went to Jude’s hand which at the moment was hidden in his pocket. He breathed in some air. “He doesn’t mean any of it, Jude. It's just sex, just going through the motions to please Amanda. It’s you he loves.”
“Right, Jude, it’s only you,” Cassidy said, his voice quivering.
Why in hell didn’t Cassidy run? He was standing far enough away and he doubted that Jude could catch him. The guy was thin as a rod and shaking all over.
He knew that he would have to jump him. It was the only way. “Jude, this is your last warning. I’m taking Cassidy and…” Chase made a movement towards Jude, and Cassidy let out a shout. “No, God, Chase, please don’t. He’s got a gun!”
As Jude raised the gun in his hand and aimed it at Chase, Cassidy grabbed his arm and pulled it around. There was one single gunshot.
That’s all it took to end Cassidy’s life.
* * * *
Amanda was knocking on his door again, asking if he was alright. No, goddamn it, he wasn’t alright. He’d probably never be alright again. He couldn’t help but blame himself for Cassidy’s death.
If he had come home on time like normal that day, he could have saved him. I’ll protect you … Cassidy had told him that, just before they had made love that final time, alone, together, and in the end, he had protected him. Cassidy had given his life to save his. Tears rolled down Chase’s face. He’d never forget that night.
It had already been three weeks but it seemed like just a second ago. He was there in the park, and Jude had turned around and fired. Cassidy laid dead, his beautiful face a bloody pulp and Jude had sunk to his knees, shrieking incoherently. The police were there in seconds, a patrol car doing its rounds just a block away. Then hours and hours of questions.
Cassidy had no next of kin, at least none that would own up to it. Once the police established that Chase had nothing to do with Cassidy’s death, they asked him if he would formally identify the body. When the cop drove him back to Amanda’s, he went right up to his room. It was hours before he told her. He just couldn’t bring himself to utter the words. Amanda held him, but it didn’t comfort him. He stayed in his room for days before Amanda managed to get him to eat something.
The head of the counseling program called, but he didn’t bother calling back. There didn’t seem to be any point in it. His passion and energy seemed to have died with Cassidy.
He wondered if Cassidy had loved him. He never got the chance to figure out if there could have been something more between them. Cassidy might have been the love of his life. But that was over. Everything was over.
The knocking grew insistent. Chase sighed and rose from the side of the bed. He hadn’t washed or shaved in days. He guessed it was time to do that now. He opened the door to see Amanda standing there, pensive, concerned. “Chase,” she said.
Chase reached out and drew Amanda into his arms. “I want to stay, Amanda. I want to stay here with you.”
She hugged him. “Yes, yes, Chase, of course. You’ll be happy here, you’ll see.”
He nodded as she hugged him, tears standing in his eyes.
As the weeks wore on, Chase began to function a little better. He withdrew from school and stayed around home, sitting outside, talking quietly with Amanda about unimportant things. They didn’t mention Cassidy. And then one night, about three months after Cassidy died, Chase said, “Amanda, you must be ready for some fun.”
She smiled at him. “Oh Chase, I thought you’d never ask. Should I call the Agency?”
He nodded. “Sure.” He tried to look enthusiastic.
“Any preference, blond or brunette?”
Chase thought for a moment. “Ash blond hair and hazel eyes, if they have it.”
She nodded, reaching over and touching his arm. “When do you want him?”
“Tonight,” Chase said. “Have him come tonight.”
Epilogue
Amanda had paid for Cassidy’s funeral, and his burial. He had been laid to rest in Forest Lawn Hollywood Hills Memorial Park. His stone was that of an angel and the epitaph said, “Beloved by Amanda and Chase. To our dear young friend.” Chase went to the cemetery every Sunday, and as the months went on and summer came, he continued to go.
Amanda brought a multitude of men to the house to entertain Chase and herself. Chase went through the motions, satisfying every little fetish Amanda had. She seemed happy. Chase seemed resigned to living this way, not feeling anything of importance beyond physical release. He read, he swam, he took walks, he went to the cemetery, and he amused Amanda. Life was routine, or at least it was, until he arrived.
He arrived on a Sunday. Chase had just returned from the cemetery. He walked outside on the patio, looking for Amanda. He wanted to tell her that the new flowers she had ordered to be put on Cassidy’s grave were beautiful. When he got outside, he realized she wasn’t alone.
There was a man sitting opposite her at the patio table. The man stopped talking when Chase appeared, and looked up at him. For some unknown reason, Chase’s heart skipped a beat. It took him by surprise. The stranger was possibly one of the sexiest men he’d seen in a long time. He looked to be in his late twenties. Dark blond hair, streaked by the sun, fell across his forehead, drawing attention to his intense blue eyes. The planes of his face were angled, exotic even, and the mouth was sensuous, exceptional. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a red t-shirt. He looked like he needed a bit of a hair cut. His hair fell on his broad shoulders, somewhat unruly, and he had the faintest shadow of a beard on his jaw.
It was obvious that Amanda had been in deep conversation with this man, and that he had interrupted. The man gave Chase a cold stare. “Chase, this is Jordon, my half brother.” She emphasized the word half, as if it were important to her. “Jordon, Chase.”
“Ah, what happened to the last one?” Jordon murmured, his voice was deep and silky smooth. “Scott, wasn’t it?” Jordon stood up. He was as tall as Chase, broad shouldered, muscular. “Another boy toy, Amanda? I thought you’d outgrown all that.” He swept Chase with his eyes, then, dismissed him by turning back to his sister. “Well, I’ll just go up to my room. We can continue this discussion later. I’ll let you talk with your … eh … staff,” he said, brushing past Chase and disappearing inside.
“Chase, I’m sorry,” Amanda said immediately. “Please forgive Jordon. He is not known for his good manners.”
“You’re telling me,” Chase said. What a rude fuck! “I didn’t know you even had a brother.”
“Yes, my father remarried. He deserted my mother for some young princess. We’re fourteen years apart, not very close. I went to live with my mother after Dad made a fool of himself with that woman.”
“Is your mother dead?” Chase said, taking a seat. It was the first time Amanda had ever told him anything about herself.
“Died a few years ago,” Amanda said. “She was a cold, emotionless woman. I almost forgave daddy for cheating on her.” She sighed. “At least I would have forgiven him if he hadn’t forgotten he had a daughter after his precious boy was born. My father…” She stopped suddenly, giving Chase a brittle smile. “I go on and on.”
“It’s okay. We all need to do that from time to time,” Chase replied. “So, if you’re not close, what’s he doing here, your brother?”
“Well,” Amanda sighed, taking a sip of her rum drink, “our father just died and we have to…”
“Amanda, I’m sorry,” Chase gasped, reaching over and taking her hand. It was amazing how much Amanda had come to mean to him, especially after Cassidy.
She laughed, squeezing his hand, then, releasing it. “No worries. I’m not. My father was a pig.”
Chase sat back in his seat, at a loss.
“He had more money than was good for him, really. Exactly like me,” she laughed. “This house belonged to him. I tried several times to buy it but he said it belonged to his “kids,” meaning me and Jordon…as if I’d ever live here with Jordon!”
“I thought this h
ouse belonged to your husband,” Chase said.
Amanda shook her head. “No. My father had some sort of sentiment for this place. It was the original Nash family home.”
“Nash, is that your last name?” Chase grinned. “It’s the first time I’ve heard it. You go by your married name. Will you move out now?”
“The married name has more currency in these parts. I’m negotiating to buy the house from Jordon,” she said stiffly. “He’s being a pig about it. He’s so like his father.”
“Does he attach sentimental value to the place as well?” Chase asked.
“Jordon, attach sentimental value…?” She snorted. “Ha, he wouldn’t know sentiment if he got run over by it. He’s being stubborn and mean, that’s all.”
“Will you be going to the funeral?”
“No funeral. My father wasn’t much for public displays. He was cremated yesterday. Jordon and I will fly to New York tonight for a family thing. Oh, God, I shudder at the thought of it. Want to come with us?”
Chase froze. “Me? No. I have no business there, Amanda. I’d feel out of place.”
She shrugged. “It might have eased the boredom. I refuse to spend one more second in that horrible city than I have to. I hate New York. We’ll be back soon anyway. The thing is tomorrow and so I hope we will be able to catch a late flight back tomorrow night.”
“We?” Chase echoed warily.
“Yes,” Amanda smiled tightly. “It seems my brother has decided that he wants to spend some time here at the good old Nash house. He’ll be sticking around for awhile.”
The End
Coming soon: Amusing Amanda: Suffering Jordon)
About the Author:
D.J. Manly is first and foremost a writer, but is also a college professor, a small business operator and a sociologist who works as a consultant on research projects. D.J. is a proud Canadian who lives in French Canada, and speaks both English and French. Human rights are a great concern, and D.J. longs for a peaceful world free of sexism, racism, and homophobia.
D.J. writes for the pure love of writing, and always with the reader in mind. If D.J. doesn't enjoy reading it, it won't be written. Great characters, great sex and a great love are the elements you’ll find in D.J’s work.
There is nothing quite as exciting as beautiful men falling in love. Come taste D.J’s work, but be careful, you may become as addicted to reading it, as D.J. is to writing it. One reviewer said of Manly’s work that reading it can give you “…third degree burns in an air conditioned room…” I think that says it all.
Email D.J. anytime with any questions or comments.
