Page 49 of Stroke Rate

The bumpy gravel road woke Chris as they pulled up to the small A-frame cabin nestled between a copse of ancient Ponderosa Pine trees and a scattering of Aspens, whose leaves were just turning to the bright yellow of autumn. "Are we there?" He asked with a yawn. The sun was falling behind the mountains, the sky fading from deep blue to the orange and pinks of dusk. The reflection of the colors on Chris' face made him appear as if he were a watercolor painting, and River remembered looking at Coop all those years ago and thinking the same. This was Coop’s favorite time of day up here. In a way, it almost felt as if Coop was opening his arms for a warm embrace, assuring River that he was on the right path. That bringing Chris here was okay.

"Yeah, baby, we're here," River said as he opened the car door and stepped out, stretching and taking a deep breath of the fresh pine-scented air. He was sure he could hear Coop. Hear him yelling out a big “Wooo-hoo.” Like he did every time they arrived at the cabin, his sweet voice echoing throughout the woods as he jumped into River’s arms. River couldn't stop himself; he had to do it. He had to welcome Chris to the cabin in the same way Coop would have, with a loud “woo” and a tight hug.

“Woo-hoo,” he screamed as Chris came up behind him, wrapping his arms around River’s middle.

“What are you doing?” He chuckled between River’s shoulder blades.

“Welcoming you to the cabin,” River said, before turning around and picking Chris up. As Chris locked his legs behind River’s back and wound his hands through River’s hair, River kissed him and murmured, “Welcome home,” against his lips.

Chapter thirty-nine

Chris

Chris never wanted to let go as River carried him up the stairs, even as he struggled to unlock the door to the cozy little cabin. It wasn’t much—one long open room, a small living area with a couch and a tiny old TV, a wood-burning stove, a kitchen, and a bathroom off to one side. The beauty came in all the exposed live wood edges and the tall, vaulted ceilings with a skylight on either side. The bedroom was a carpeted loft with a king-sized mattress on a low platform base.

Chris could see the whole of the house standing at the front door. It may have been small, but Chris could feel the house radiating warmth. The quaint cabin was a home. Perhaps someday it might become their home, and they could truly call it theirs. He did a full turn to look at the beautiful floor to ceiling windows behind him. Chris could only imagine what the house looked like at night—all lit up and glowing against the endless black night of the wilderness.

River wrinkled his nose and waved a hand in front of his face. "It's been a while since someone opened it." The house didn't smell bad, just unlived-in, like dust with the slight undertone of mothballs. “It originally was a hunting cabin, but there have been few updates throughout the years. Want to see the new bath?” Chris nodded as River took his hand, leading him to the back of the house. The space was small—a tiled wet room, with dark green subway tiles and black grout, gold hardware, and a soaking tub that was glassed in. A sink and toilet finished the minimal space. Strangely, the room suited River; it was what Chris would have imagined him designing. Cozy and warm, with a distinctly masculine undertone.

“It's a beautiful room, baby. You two did good.”

River hugged Chris, nuzzled his nose to that spot under his ear he seemed to love and whispered, “Want to wash off the road and take a bath?”

All Chris could do was nod.

Chris settled into the space between River’s legs, sighing as the warm water loosened every ounce of tension left in his body. He leaned back as River ran the washcloth over his chest, his stomach, and lower. His head lolled back against River’s shoulder as he washed his hair with firm strokes and soft fingers. River kissed his temple and whispered how much he loved him, and Chris let the words sink into him, let them become part of him.

The past few days had been a lot. Chris felt lost and so full of shame that he had let it consume him, pulling him under until he wasn't sure he was ever going to be able to swim to the surface. He was so fucking tired.

Tired of feeling like a failure.

Tired of being hurt.

Most of all, he was tired of not standing up for himself.

He was so sick of being the victim in his own life. River had shown him for months what a normal life could look like. What a life full of love and peace could be, and Chris wanted that. He wanted a life with River. One just like what they had created for each other in the cozy evenings of his living room.

A life filled with music and laughter, of dancing and friends, and maybe one day a life filled with the sounds of children. Fuck, he wanted that.

Being a competitive swimmer was no longer something Chris wanted as a long-term goal. This last race was something he wanted; he wanted to see where it took them. They had worked hard, and Chris needed to see if they could make it to the trials, possibly even the Olympics, but then he wanted to be done.

Their relationship had shifted something in Chris, because now all he yearned for was a tranquil existence, shared with an uncomplicated man. He didn't want to talk to his parents ever again. And with River by his side, he was sure he could have everything he wanted. They could do anything as long as they were together, Chris felt that in the marrow of his bones. Without a doubt, River was it. River was his, and he was going to make sure he could keep him. Forever.

“Take me to bed,” Chris said as he pushed back into the hard length of River pressed against his back.

“Yeah, let's do that,” River sighed as he kissed his temple and pulled him from the bath.

River tasted like happiness on Chris’ tongue—bubbly and bright, like the first sip of champagne on New Year's. “I've missed this,” River whispered against the divot that was pulled in on Chris’ cheek. “I've missed this smile.”

The compliment made a furious blush run up the column of Chris’ neck; how could River still want him? How could he still love him after what he had witnessed? River ran the tips of his fingers over the bruises on Chris’ ribs and the scabs on his wrists before tenderly cupping his red cheek.

“Does it still hurt?” River asked before placing a tender kiss over the still marred skin.

“No, not really,” Chris whimpered as River lowered his full weight onto Chris’ naked form, cocooning him in the warmth and power of his body.

It wasn't a blatant lie. The skin was still hot to the touch; the tissue underneath was tender, but it hadn't bruised. The wound didn't hurt, but River acknowledging it made Chris cringe, remembering how hard Laura had hit him. How the sound of each smack reverberated off the walls, and how the last few were slippery from his tears. “I love you,” River murmured as he kissed the cheek again. “Please don't cry.”

But Chris didn't know how to make the crying stop. He felt helpless, at a complete loss on how to bring an end to the endless well of tears that had poured out of him over the past three days. In between restless bouts of sleep and his time spent at the bottom of the pool, all his energy went to crying; he wasn't sure how he hadn't become a dried-up shell of a person. Dehydrated from all the liquid his body had expelled.