Special Delivery: Special Delivery, Book 1 (25 page)

Once he was inside, Mitch took it from him. “I have a safe place for it, if you’ll let me put it there.”

Sam let him take it. They were quiet as they got on the road. They wound now deep into the Navajo Nation. After about half an hour, Mitch pointed off into the distance.

“That’s the start of it. Watch the ravine.”

Sam did, underwhelmed at first, but as he kept his eye on the crack in the earth and the miles continued to go by, it grew larger, and larger, and larger, until he was sitting forward in his seat, eyes wide.

“Keep watching,” Mitch said.

The road changed, and as soon as there was forest, a sign announced they were in the Grand Canyon National Park. Mitch slowed at a station to pay a vehicle fee, and then they climbed a hill. The forest deepened, and Sam sat back, amazed.

The trees were tall, and beautiful, and so close to the road. He couldn’t see the canyon anymore, but the trees were enough—they were the only thing to see, but as opposed to the desert, here Sam felt comforted and safe. He gasped in delight when Mitch slowed Old Blue and pointed to a huge elk walking away from them on the side of the road. Sam fumbled with his phone and tried to take a picture, but all he got was a closeup of the animal’s ass.

The traffic was thick now, some cars pulling off to lookout points. Mitch stayed on the road until they were a ways in, at which point he pulled Old Blue into a parking lot and killed the engine.

Sam stared.

Mitch’s hand brushed his. “Come on.”

The Grand Canyon was beautiful. It was huge, it was—it was beautiful. There wasn’t any other word. The rocks opened before him in layers of more colors than he could count or name, a whole world, and when Mitch indicated a small structure in the basin beside the river, Sam realized
how
far down those things were, and how big the canyon was, and he was amazed all over again.

Mitch motioned to him. “Come down to the rail and get a better look.”

Sam went, but he grew cautious as he made his way down the rocky stairs to the railing, and once there, he didn’t go up to it but hung back a little, holding his arms around himself as he took in the sight below.

Mitch came up beside him, and for a long time they stood there, drinking it in.

“I’m so sorry, Sunshine.”

Sam said nothing because he didn’t want to talk about it, not here, not now, maybe not ever.

Mitch put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I fucked things up pretty good, and I’m sorry.”

“I don’t
want
you feeling sorry for me.” Sam tried to pull away.

Mitch held him fast. “I’m sorry for
me
.” He caught Sam’s chin and lifted it, but Sam kept his eyes down.

“Take me to Phoenix. I’ll get a flight home from there.”

“
Sam.
”

“Or Flagstaff,” he amended hurriedly. “I’ll get a bus or something.”

Mitch grabbed Sam’s face with his whole hand and tipped it up hard. “I’m not leaving you anywhere.” Sam flinched, and Mitch softened, but he still held on to Sam. “Goddamn it, Sunshine. I fucked up. Don’t do this.”

You made me feel so awful,
Sam thought but couldn’t say. He felt ridiculous—here he was at the
Grand Canyon
, and he wasn’t even looking at it. He couldn’t though, not with Mitch making him crazy, and he pressed his hands onto Mitch’s chest to push him away. But when he did, his feet slipped on the rock, and he cried out. When his attempt to steady himself caused him to slip even more, he stopped pushing at Mitch and started pulling at him, trying to right himself.

Mitch’s arms went around him, drawing him close. Sam lifted his head, dizzy and lost, looked at Mitch’s face, saw it coming closer, and shut his eyes as he opened his mouth to meet Mitch’s kiss.

It was full of the anger and hurt between them, and Sam fought back until he felt the metal of the rail behind him, and then he stopped, yielding, too conscious of the edge to fight. The kiss gentled, and Sam’s hands flexed against Mitch’s shirt.

Mitch broke the kiss but kept his lips close to Sam’s, nuzzling him as he spoke. “Do you want me to take you to Phoenix? Do you want to go home? Or do you want to come with me to Vegas?” His hands clutched at Sam’s waist. “Whatever you want, Sam. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Sam kept his eyes closed and held on to Mitch, but he felt as if he were suspended over the canyon behind him. “Do you want me along?”

He felt a panicked thrill as Mitch’s hands grew tight against him. “Yes. And no. But not because I don’t want you.”

“Because of what you think I’m going to see about you,” Sam finished for him, and Mitch nodded.

“Why I’m such a bastard is because I
like
the way you look at me. I don’t want—” He broke off.

“I want to go with you.”

Mitch brushed a kiss against his mouth. “All right.”

He turned Sam around, and they stood there at the rail for some time, Mitch’s arms around Sam. Occasionally Sam caught other viewers gawking at them, some in distaste, but he ignored them and tried to hold on to this fragile peace between himself and Mitch. But all too soon Mitch squeezed his hip and said, “We should keep going.”

At the truck, Sam went straight to the cupboard, picked up the plastic container and returned to the rail. He stood there, this time alone, watching with strange feelings rolling around inside him as he let go of another handful of his mother’s ashes, watching them drift on the wind down into the canyon below.

Chapter Seventeen

Sam felt a little better as they headed through the rest of the park, which took quite some time to navigate, especially as they hit heavy traffic around the main viewing area and Old Blue caused even more congestion. But soon they left the park and the forest behind. The ragged desert was over, and after awhile they came to a town that didn’t seem quite so desolate as the ones they’d passed in the morning.

“Williams, Arizona,” Mitch said. “We’re going to backtrack now to Flagstaff and then head to Vegas. Should be well under our deadline for arrival.”

Flagstaff was nicer than Sam had suspected it would be, and after the desolation of the Navajo Nation, it was almost odd to see thick nests of houses and interstate. He tucked his feet onto the seat and watched it go by, calmer than before, but still quiet. When Mitch stopped at the warehouse, Sam didn’t offer to help. His thoughts drifted between the desert and the canyon, sometimes teasing him with the memory of Mitch’s embrace. Vegas loomed like the gates of hell in his mind, and when Mitch returned, Sam could tell it was the same for him too.

The awkwardness was back. Sam was so tired of it he didn’t try to relieve it.

Mitch cleared his throat. “You want to stop somewhere to eat?”

Sam shook his head. “We have all this food in here.”

“Well, yeah, but I thought—” Mitch cut himself off. “If you’d pass me my jerky, I’ll eat while we go.”

“I can make you a sandwich,” Sam said, more testily than he meant, and then he let his shoulders fall as Mitch nodded curtly in reply.

They ate and drove in silence.

It was night by the time they turned off the interstate onto Highway 93, and the landscape changed, no longer the comforting forests of Flagstaff or Williams. The desolation wasn’t as bad as what they’d seen in the Navajo Nation. The road was two-lane and narrow, and though the road wasn’t too high above the desert, it was bordered by metal rails whenever the road dropped off too steeply for a vehicle to make it unscathed, which was a great deal of the time. Sam settled in as best he could, wondering how long it would be until he saw the city lights, wondering, too, if he still wanted to see them.

A soft rain began to fall, and Sam watched the windshield wipers slide back and forth until his eyes fell shut and the long day lured him into sleep.

A sharp bang woke him. The truck lurched and shook, and Sam held white-knuckled to his seat as Mitch swore and pulled it over to the side.

“Hold on,” he said, and then he was out the door and into the rain, leaving Sam sitting there alone. When a
thunk
reverberated through the truck, he held still, but when it came again accompanied by a vicious, muffled curse from Mitch, he opened the door and climbed out.

The rain came down harder now, and in the distance lightning flashed, illuminating the canyon around them, making it seem alien and foreboding. Sam squinted into the rain and stumbled along the truck, avoiding the rail marking the abrupt edge of the road as he headed to Mitch, who stood at the side of the trailer, his body rigid.

“
Two
blowouts. I checked the goddamn tires, but there must have been something in the road. We’re fucked.” He slammed his hand into the trailer and kicked the tire in front of him, which when the lightning flashed, Sam saw was ragged and torn. Both that tire and the one behind it were totaled.

“Can’t we change them?”

“Not unless you can hoist up eighty tons.” Mitch kicked the tire again. “
Sonofabitch.
I’ll have to call service, but at this hour they won’t come until morning, not out here. And the load will be late.
Fuck.
” He pushed off the trailer and ran a hand through his wet hair. “I’m blocking the road too. I’ll have to set out hazard signs.”

Sam stepped forward. “Let me help.”

“Get in the cab.” Mitch turned away.

“Damn it, Mitch.” Sam reached for him. Mitch growled and shoved him, knocking Sam backward, making him stumble in the mud and rain.

Sam hit the rail and screamed as he went over.

It was a ditch, not a canyon, but as he fell he saw the mountain edge, the canyon and the night sky all at once. He hit hard, knocking the scream and his breath out of him. He tasted blood and dirt, and his whole body hurt. As a final kick in the pants, the rain drove sharply into his eyes and mouth and ran into his nose until he choked.

When Mitch grabbed him, though, he cried out with what little air he had left in his lungs, and kicked, and pushed, and the more Mitch fought to take hold of him, the more Sam fought back, scraping his arms and his head against the rocks, kicking up mud and pushing into Mitch’s chest.

“Fuck you.” Sam tried to kick him in the shin. “Fuck you, Fuck you,
Fuck you.
” He felt the sudden urge to cry, so he shouted more, kicking until Mitch pinned him with his body, holding his head down with a palm pressed against his forehead.

“You’re going to cut your fucking head open. God
damn
it, Sunshine.” The lightning flashed, lit Mitch up, and his body pressed into Sam.

Sam pushed into him, and to his surprise, Mitch shuddered.

“Fuck me,” Sam whispered.

When Mitch’s eyes darkened, Sam thrust his pelvis, taking hold of Mitch’s waist and grinding into him. “Fuck me.” He tugged on Mitch’s waistband. “Fuck me right here, Mitch.
Fuck. Me.
”

He half-expected—half-wanted—Mitch to refuse him, and he was ready to be angry. So when Mitch’s mouth came down over his own, Sam opened up and gave him his anger, letting the tender feelings he’d crushed that morning return as nothing more than dark lust. He tried to be empty, hateful, but he couldn’t quite manage it, and he worked as hard to keep from crying as he did to keep Mitch from seeing.

“Fuck me,” he cried, when Mitch’s mouth trailed to his neck. He lifted his hips and helped Mitch pull down his jeans and his underwear. He felt rock and mud against his ass. “Fuck me. Please.
Fuck me.
”

He held up his legs, drawing them back as Mitch pushed on them, bending down to spit on him. He groaned when Mitch worked it in with his fingers, opening him. Sam kept shouting, then fumbled for Mitch’s pants, gasping in relief when he freed him. Sam rolled over, pulling himself apart with his hands. But when Mitch pushed into him it was too tight, too dry, and he cried out again, this time in pain. Even so, when Mitch withdrew, he tried to keep him there.

“Get in the truck,” Mitch growled, and when Sam didn’t move, Mitch stood, scooped Sam up and hauled him over his shoulder.

Sam’s pants were down, so when Mitch slapped him on his ass, it was bare, and the blow was loud, cracking like the thunder booming out around them. It stilled Sam for a second, mostly out of shock, but he soon began fighting, all the way to the truck. When Mitch tossed Sam inside, he pressed him into the seat, and when Sam started to wriggle away, Mitch held him down with one hand before spanking the ever-loving shit out of Sam’s bare and wriggling ass with the other.

These slaps were harsh and angry, and instead of arousing Sam they made him swear, shout, then silently cry. But they kept coming, mixing with the rain that came in through the open door, the mud from the ground and the rocks embedded in his skin. At some point they all rolled together into something new, something hard and erotic. Sam shook, begging incoherently.

When the blows stopped and Mitch pulled his legs apart, he sobbed, but when Mitch hesitated, he only opened himself farther, and when Mitch licked him, he sighed and sank into the seat in surrender. He pushed back, humping, moaning, begging, until as suddenly as it had all begun, it ended.

Mitch slapped him a last time on his ass. “Go on inside.”

Sam went, shaking, his ass burning, his arms and head aching, his whole body bruised and muddy and slightly bloody, but he throbbed through it all, making him feel strange and a little sick. He peeled out of his clothes, washed his hands and sat on the floor, naked, and didn’t move.