Diventando: The Vessel

By Jake C. Wallace

Note: This book is a re-release previously published by Amber Allure in 2014. The content has not changed.

2015 Rainbow Awards Honorable Mention

Twenty-five-year-old Owen McIntyre is no stranger to the Grim Reaper. Diagnosed with leukemia at the age of fifteen, he's spent the last ten years slowly dying. With two weeks left before his next checkup, his body is already telling him he's no longer in remission. Tired of of fighting he makes the difficult decision to forgo treatment, to and live and die on his own terms. When he meets hunky, college professor Turk, conquering the man tops Owen's bucket list. But when he starts to develop feelings for Turk, Owen has to remind himself a relationship isn't a luxury a dying man has.
But what if suddenly everything Owen knew to be true was a web of lies and deceit—even his diagnosis of cancer? Taken hostage, tied to a bed and forced to endure painful experiments, Owen's illness is a far cry from the horrors he's facing. No longer able to trust anyone, including Turk, Owen is alone and cut off from the world. To survive, he has to trust those who betrayed him, trust Turk who isn't who he seems to be. With time running out, Owen will not only fight to live, he'll fight to want to live. Can he survive being the vessel?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jake C. Wallace
• Release date: Apr 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311559456

Jake C. Wallace

Jake C Wallace has been writing all of his life, however it wasn't until a couple of years ago that he ventured out to publishing. At night and on the weekends, he writes about all things men. He believes there is nothing hotter than two men loving one another, whether for a night or forever. An avid reader of M/M romance, he loves a good twist of a plot, HEA, HFN, or tragic ending.

Book preview

DIVENTANDO:

THE VESSEL

Jake C. WALLACE

Copyright © 2014, 2016 by Jake C. Wallace (formerly JC Wallace)

All rights reserved.

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Cover art © 2014 Trace Edward Zaber

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This story is for my children who are my life and make every day worth living. Love you all.

And for my speed demon. I knew you were important in my life, but I didn’t realize just how important you were. Glad I smartened up. You are amazing.

As always, thank you, Raine O’Tierney, for your cheerleading and editing! I can’t do it without you.

CHAPTER 1

Owen McIntyre sighed heavily, trailing behind his cousin, Wayne, as he perused the vast rows of testosterone-ridden muscle cars. How Owen had come to be at the Classic Car Show in the largest parking lot of Middlebury College was beyond him. Wayne, a mechanic and a lover of anything remotely resembling a car, had nixed Owen’s plans to rework the problematic gaming code he’d been contracted to fix, and, unceremoniously, demanded Owen get his pasty white, glow-in-the-dark ass out into the sunshine. There had even been threats of cutting off the power to his room. This came from his cousin, who was miles of fair, white skin and had freckles from his father’s side. He was a sunburn waiting to happen. Owen was now at the last place on earth he wanted to be on a Saturday. He was too tired and achy for this. He needed to get the game code done. Life was too short to spend time on activities that didn’t matter.

Owen weaved through the crowd of hundreds of people in the bright, autumn sunshine. So many classic cars, lined up ceremoniously to show off their restorations, hoods open so car enthusiasts could drool over their powerful, gleaming engines. Proud owners spouted off facts and told stories of woe and heartache, which all ended with the triumph of a restored classic. Owen shook his head. He just didn’t get it. They were cars, ways to get from point A to point B. Now show him a high-end gaming system with three different types of graphics cards and the ability to run six different applications and a virtual reality game at the same time without lagging and then he’d be impressed.

Wayne stopped in front of a shiny, red car with gleaming chrome bumpers and four round headlights. Attached to the black grill was a chrome horse. A large sign next to the car said, 1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1 428 Cobra Jet. Whatever that was. Below was a list of awards. Mustang Club of America Best in Show. Muscle Week Best Classic. Classic Car Troubleshooting Award. And a dozen or so more. Lined up next the sign were trophies of all sizes, most topped off with shiny, die-cast versions of cars, which probably matched the awards on the sign. Owen was mildly impressed given that he didn’t know their importance.

Cars weren’t anywhere on the list of what Owen cared about or understood. He didn’t even have a driver’s license. At sixteen, more pressing matters had stolen his attention. Confessing to others, that at twenty-five, he still lacked a license tended to garner looks ranging from comical to horrified. When he was eighteen, Wayne had tried to teach him to drive. But after only once with Owen behind the wheel, Wayne had adamantly refused to ever be his passenger again. Owen was sure Wayne had overreacted, if only a little.

He turned his attention to the crowd, which interested him more than the cars, and wondered how long he’d have to endure this particular level of hell. His throat was scratchy and a cold sweat had broken out over his skin. He tried to focus on not being miserable, but between how he felt physically and being at a car show, that was getting harder by the second.

Behind Owen, Wayne spoke with a man about his car.

Turk, she’s looking better than ever. Owen heard the slap of hands. Probably doing the straight man’s hug. Apparently, they knew each other.

Yeah, she is. Got Best in Show last week, again. The hard work is paying off.

Nice. Hey, I want you to meet my cousin, Owen.

Owen turned to meet the man so they could move on and swore his jaw dropped. Tall was an understatement. He probably had a good five inches on Owen’s five foot seven, and he was wide. His crystal blue eyes—almost clear in the sunlight—reached out and held Owen. The slight crook of his nose attested to being broken at one point. A bright flash of white teeth and his smile brought out two deep dimples in his cheeks. His hair was a wavy mass of shiny brownish-black in the sunlight. Owen swallowed hard. Why did he always drool over the bears?

Turk held out a hand. Nice to meet you, Owen.

Owen extended his hand in return. Damn, how did his cousin know someone so freakin’ hot! You too, Turk. Owen quickly averted his gaze, as heat crept up his neck.

So what do you think of the car? Pretty sweet, right? It has a 428/335 HP Cobra Jet Ram Air engine, three-speed automatic transmission, which is the—

Turk, Wayne interrupted with a mocking scowl. Unless it has a computer in it, you’re wasting your breath with this one. Wayne was forever frowning on Owen’s lack of appreciation for anything on wheels.

Owen saw a look of disappointment on Turk’s face. Why did it bother Owen that he’d disappointed the man when they’d just met? You’re into newer metal. Nothing wrong with that.

Wayne shook his head and laughed. No, man. A real computer. Owen doesn’t even have a driver’s license.

The heat crept into Owen’s face, turning from lust to embarrassment. Damn Wayne and his mouth.

Turk’s eyebrows rose. Really. Is there a reason you don’t drive?

No. I just never learned.

Turk’s tongue came out and Owen’s eyes followed as it journeyed around those red lips. Turk gave him a lopsided grin. I could teach you.

It was Owen’s turn to raise his eyebrows and his breath caught at the thought of learning to drive Turk. Lean the muscle car fanatic over the hood of his prized car and drive in deep and hard.

Fuck.

Um, I don’t really need a license. No car.

Turk grinned. Well, come and sit in my girl. See what you think.

His girl?

Owen sputtered as Turk grasped his elbow and led him to the driver’s door. The firm grip went far to solidify Owen’s erection. Before he could protest, Owen was in the driver’s seat. Turk came around and settled into the passenger side, that wide grin still splitting his face. Even with the windows partially down, the scent of the leather seats mingled with something musky, something that smelled too good. Turk explained aspects of the interior and his restoration, but Owen’s focus was on the brush of their shoulders and Turk’s closeness as he reached across Owen to point out different things of interest. Closing his eyes, Owen prayed for the strength to stop himself from reaching out, grabbing Turk and having his wicked ways with the bear.

That tickle in Owen’s throat crept up again and the resulting spasms of coughs racking his chest cut all fantasies short. Damn, his cough sounded wet. A hand settled on his arm.

You need some water? Turk asked. The concern in his voice and the gentle touch unsettled Owen, who managed to shake his head. His eyes watered as he struggled to stop the onslaught before—shit. Too late. Through the windshield, Owen saw Wayne’s head snap around, and his wide, brown eyes filled with concern. He came around the car and wrenched Owen’s door open. Come on. We’ve got to go.

Owen stepped out of the car and shook his head. I’m fine, Wayne, he whispered, already knowing what Wayne thought.

Wayne ignored him and looked over at Turk, who’d exited the car as well. Sorry, man, we need to go.

Turk grimaced and seemed to contemplate something, and then, with a partial smile, he came around the car and approached Owen. It was really nice to meet you. Again, Turk extended his hand and Owen slid their palms together. Turk’s thumb brushed over the back of Owen’s hand and the man’s coy smile flipped his stomach. Will I be seeing you around?

Owen nodded, distracted by Turk’s caressing thumb. If his thumb felt this good, what would the rest of Turk, plastered to Owen’s body, feel like? Probably like heaven.

Hope to see you again real soon. Turk released his hand and Owen nodded again, any words he should say stuck in his chest as he mourned the loss of Turk’s touch.

Let’s go. Wayne waved to Turk and then moved off into the crowd. Owen caught up and Wayne gave him a sideways glance. What the hell was that all about?

That’s exactly what Owen wanted to know. Glancing over his shoulder, a heated gaze from Turk hit Owen hard. He’d definitely be seeing the large bear again very soon. Damn, if he wasn’t starting to like muscle cars.

Owen fought the growing crowd streaming into the car show as he followed Wayne to his truck. Just when things were getting interesting, Wayne had to go all protective, older cousin on his ass. Owen wasn’t five, and he could take care of himself just fine. Thinking about Wayne’s bossy behavior fueled his rage. In the time it took to reach Wayne’s truck, the knot in Owen’s gut was the size of a two-ton rock, his blood pressure had reached critical levels, and red coated his vision. He was so ready for a fight.

Climbing into the passenger seat, Owen slammed the steel door as hard as he could. Outside, Wayne stood with his back to Owen, mumbling something into his phone. Owen tapped his knuckle on the dash, as his leg bounced and jaw twitched. He was tired of other people running his life, treating him as if he were made of fucking glass. Almost two years had passed. Two years and they still made him feel weak and helpless. Even the move to Vermont to live with his aunt and Wayne, hadn’t convinced his family that Owen could make his own decisions and run his own life.

Finally, Wayne climbed into the cab and pulled his keys out of his pocket. The truck sputtered and then cranked over. Wayne backed up the truck without even a glance in Owen’s direction. Owen fumed as Wayne ignored him. How could he miss the scowl, the frenetic movements, the friggin’ steam rolling out of Owen’s ears, the—

Spit it out, Wayne finally said as he maneuvered the truck through the crowded parking lot.

Owen could only manage to ask, What the fuck, Wayne?

Wayne blinked. What the fuck what, Owen?

Ugh! Owen bellowed. Why did you drag me out of there? I was just starting to actually have a little fun. Which could have led to so much more fun.

Wayne snorted. Yeah, I could tell.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Wayne shook his head. I heard you coughing.

Owen clenched his jaw. I sneezed last week. Care to alert the media?

Wayne’s head snapped around. You sneezed? He was dead serious.

Owen buried his face in his hands. Every ounce of frustration and annoyance and weariness bubbled to the surface. Moving was supposed to be a change, a chance for normalcy. His parents, relatives, friends, parents of friends, teachers—who hadn’t worried about him for the past fifteen years of his life? That worry was like a layer of suffocating guilt coating his skin. And if he had to face one more look of pity he was going to…Well, he wasn’t sure what he would do, but he could guarantee it wouldn’t be pretty.

Owen sighed and dropped his hands. I get it. People worry about me, but if I ran home every single time I sneezed, I’d be home all the time. And if you recall, you’re the one who dragged me out of my room today.

But you have to be careful. Aunt Cynthia said if you—

Pleeeease, don’t listen to my mom. If she could manage it, I’d be living in isolation. Like the reptiles behind the glass at the zoo. Look, but don’t touch. I’ve been in remission for almost two years, Wayne.

I know but… Wayne chewed nervously on his lip, no doubt contemplating his words as he waited for the stoplight to turn green.

But it’s come back before, Owen said, finishing the big but that hung on the tip of Wayne’s, and everyone else’s, tongue. It had come back, three times since his first remission at the age of sixteen. A blood disorder. A rare form of leukemia with one of those long names that required a medical degree just to pronounce. From the beginning, Owen had refused to learn to pronounce its name. Why would he want to be on a first name basis with something trying to kill him? Just never made sense to him.

Listen. I sneeze and cough, but it doesn’t mean anything is wrong, so stop worrying about it. I just really need to move on. Have a life. I’ve spent the last twenty-five years living with my parents because they were terrified to let me live. Owen let out a morose chuckle. Which is ironic because they’ve spent the last ten years trying to keep me alive. I finally moved out. Even if I have to stay with you and Aunt Kay, it’s a start.

Wayne mulled over those words, probably weighing Owen’s need for freedom against the ingrained need to protect poor, sick Owen. The war waging on Wayne’s face might have been amusing, if not for the fact that the outcome could change Owen’s future. One word from Wayne to Aunt Kay would set off a chain reaction that would end with Owen living back in his childhood bedroom.

Wayne rolled his head and pursed his lips, and Owen knew whose side Wayne was on. So, what do you want? Wayne asked hesitantly.

You know what I want. Owen waggled his eyebrows.

Wayne rolled his eyes. Yeah, I know what you want. And from what I saw today, he wants you, too.

Owen had to suck in a lungful of air. He was going to climb that mountain, plant his flag, and hopefully claim Turk as Owen Land for the next two weeks. He shivered at the image of plowing into that hot, tight, muscle car-loving ass. That would definitely stop him from overthinking everything.

He didn’t want to think about his six-month checkup in two weeks, or the barrage of invasive, soul-bearing tests, or the days of nail biting, floor pacing, nightmare-inducing waiting for the results. No. Owen needed to forget, live in the moment, and just let the world know he was still alive.

What Owen wouldn’t tell Wayne—he really should be worried.

CHAPTER 2

Owen hadn’t been home for more than an hour and Aunt Kay was already interrogating him about his health. She felt his forehead, asked him if he was achy, if he was tired, if he had diarrhea (yeah, that one made his cheeks flame red), or if he had a cough. If his aunt checking his health wasn’t a daily occurrence, Owen might have accused Wayne of tattling about his coughing fit. While he loved his aunt dearly, when she worried about him, he felt as if he was still living at home.

I know you don’t like this, but I promised my baby sister that I’d look after you when you came to stay here. She worries about you. We all do. The lines around her pale green eyes were more pronounced as she grimaced.

Owen wanted to cross his arms over his chest and tell her to stop worrying, but he forced a smile and reached across the table, patting his aunt’s arm instead. He’d lived with her for over six months and—other than the daily check-in about how he felt—she’d always treated him as an adult. Some days his mother treated him as if he was still the little boy she’d always tried to protect.

I know, Aunt Kay. It’s just hard to have constant reminders about what could happen. Not could, would.

She nodded and sipped at her tea, which smelled of the mint and honey she loved. Owen had accepted a plate of leftover lasagna from her because when he refused food, people worried, just as they worried when he coughed or sneezed, looked tired or pale, complained about a headache, or lost even an ounce of weight. Whenever his illness reared its evil, unwelcome head, he generally became more susceptible to colds and fevers, tired more easily, and had really strange dreams. He couldn’t figure out what the dreams had to do with being sick but figured they were an outlet for his worries and concerns.

She’s always been so overprotective of you. Maybe if she’d been able to have other children things might have been different, but that wasn’t to be. Instead of dwelling on what she couldn’t have, she focused on you. She would sacrifice anything to save you, she said.

Owen couldn’t argue with that. Even before he’d become sick, his mother had a tendency to be suffocating, often to the point of obsession. She had to know where he was, even in the house, and drilled the parents of his friends about safety whenever he went to play at their houses. She made sure he ate right, making foods from scratch with organic ingredients and loading him up with supplements and herbal concoctions. And still he’d gotten ill. Often he’d wondered if, years before it happened, she’d had some motherly intuition that he was going to fall ill or, if all the healthy stuff she’d pumped into him had somehow caused his illness.

Could have been the illness was just genetic, something passed down in the combination of genes from his mother and father. He was the product of a short relationship between his mother and a man named Michael Strand, whom his mother had only known a few weeks. After that, Owen’s sperm donor had disappeared and his mother had never heard from him again. Owen had nearly driven himself crazy with thoughts about where his illness had come from, often lamenting why me and not some other kid, but eventually he’d decided bad shit happened, usually without a reason. His mother was wonderful and without her strength and love, he never would have made it to twenty-five.

I know everything she does is because she loves me and you’ve always been there to support her. I’m not sure if I’ve ever told you, but thank you for that, Owen said and his aunt smiled wide, reminding him so much of his mother.

A stab of pain hit Owen hard in the heart as his thoughts turned to how his mother would cope with the results of his two-year checkup. Even worse, how would she react when she learned of the decision he’d already made concerning further treatments? He had to trust that his stepfather, Roy, and his aunt would be there, as they always were, to hold her up and allow her to fall apart when she needed.

Ugh, enough of this maudlin shit!

I met someone. Owen grinned.

Aunt Kay’s eyes lit up and she leaned forward. Do tell. They’d had some downright raunchy conversations about Owen’s hookups with hot men.

He’s a friend of Wayne’s. His name’s Turk.

Her eyes widened and she smirked. That’s one healthy, ripe man there. If I were twenty years younger… Although, I hear he’s exclusive to men. You, Owen, need to get as much of that as you can.

He burst out laughing. His aunt never failed to amuse him.

Already in the works.

She sobered and her smile faded. You deserve someone nice to fall in love with, and Turk’s a nice guy. I’ve only met him a few times but what I saw and heard, I liked. Maybe it’s time you got serious about someone? I know that being sick so much, you haven’t wanted to get too deeply involved with anyone, but maybe your October checkup will bring good news. Dr. Celo has worked tirelessly on a cure for you. I believe you’ll beat this.

Something about her expression—guilt or regret, maybe—confused Owen. Maybe she didn’t believe her own words. Didn’t matter. Owen already knew he wasn’t cured and he definitely didn’t have time to fall in love. Things needed to move quickly with Turk. Owen had a deadline. Two weeks to have fun. Two weeks to live life until reality cut it short. He didn’t need the upcoming barrage of medical tests to know what his future held. His body had already started to clue him into the results. And if anyone in his family knew what he’d already decided even before knowing his fate, they’d definitely freak on him.

I’ll take that under advisement, he assured her, and she seemed to believe him.