Break Away: Anything Is Possible . . .

By Angharad Jones

Darren's college career is coming to an end and he's looking forward to a brilliant future . . . a spot at grad school at the esteemed IU Kelley School of Business, and freedom at last . . . but his long-time lover and financial supporter wants marriage. Darren feels obligated, but he doesn't love George. Then his dear childhood friend Evangeline tells him of her plans . . . she's feeling broody for a baby, and she'd like Darren to father the child. Darren loves Evangeline and wants to oblige, but there are other problems going on in his life, and well, life just seems to get in the way, doesn't it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Denise Gwen
• Release date: Jul 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005040130

Book preview

ONE

Okay, Darren said, grinning. It’s my turn now.

George rolled over onto his taut stomach. Oh, you say the sexiest things.

Uh huh. Darren reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the bottle of lubricant, poured a dollop onto his cock, and positioned himself behind George. You ready?

George rose up to his hands and knees and thrust his buttocks upward. Yes, now I am.

Darren gently pushed his cock up and inside George’s welcoming bottom. He plunged himself up to his balls, then rested a moment, before beginning the gentle in-and-out movement. George sighed with pleasure as Darren’s movements became stronger, more emphatic. Darren continued with the motion until he sensed his orgasm coming. He thrust himself inside one last time, then held it, as cum surged from his cock. As Darren reluctantly withdrew his cock from his partner’s ass, George groaned, and the two men fell onto the bed sheets and rolled into each other’s arms.

Are these the Porthault sheets? Darren asked.

Yeah. The housekeeper just laundered them. They arrived in yesterday’s post. Aren’t they wonderful?

They are, Darren said, rubbing a corner of the sheet against his cheek. Okay, now I understand what you were talking about, thread counts and all.

High thread counts really do make for a softer sheet. George chuckled and tapped Darren’s arm.

What?

Don’t forget to remind me. I told Maureen to make a bundle of my old bed-sheets for you to take home with you.

Oh, that’s so nice of you.

Hopefully, George said, every time you lay your head down upon your pillow at night, the sweet scent of the sheets will remind you of me.

Darren brushed his hand across George’s cheek. It must be nice to finally have everything you’ve ever wanted in life.

George looked suddenly uncomfortable, and Darren regretted his ill-considered words. He withdrew his hand, resting it lightly on George’s arm.

I still don’t have everything I want in life, George said in a husky voice. I won’t ever have everything I want in life, at least not until the day you agree to marry me.

Darren bit back the retort and forced a smile. I know, George, but I’m not ready.

I know.

An uncomfortable silence followed.

I’m sorry, George said at last.

It’s okay.

I’m fifty and you’re only twenty-three.

Actually, I’m twenty-four.

Yeah, whatever. You’re years younger than me, and you’re in a completely different place in your life.

Darren grunted. You say that, but you’ve got no idea how ready I am to become a grown-up. Just as soon as I finish grad school.

George snorted. Grad school. You’re talking another three to four years. And with every passing year, I see myself turning into an old man.

You’re not old, Darren said, affection in his voice. Not yet.

Fifty isn’t young, Darren.

Darren did not know what to say to this.

As Darren considered how best to respond, George’s brow furrowed. Darren sensed instantly what his lover was too uncomfortable to ask. He shifted fully onto his side so he faced George. I’ve been accepted to the joint MBA and law degree program at Northwestern.

Okay, George said, not looking happy at all. How long does that program take?

Because so many of the classes are combined, it’s only a four-year program.

Good. But you’re still far away, in Chicago.

"You can always visit. Especially on the weekends. I’m sure I won’t be studying all the time."

I just might have to do that, if you leave me behind in Bloomington.

George attempted a wry smile, but Darren sensed the hurt in his lover’s voice. All evening there’d been a growing tide of tension, and the sex, while wonderful, hadn’t really done anything to stop George’s rising swells of fear. Darren pushed back his sense of disquietude. He’d never say it directly to George’s face, never, ever, but he didn’t really see a future with George.

George wanted so much from him.

More than he felt prepared to give.

More than he’d ever felt prepared to give.

Where else did you apply? George asked, attempting—and failing—to put lightness in his voice.

IU accepted me.

IU? The Kelley School of Business?

No, the law school.

George’s blue eyes lit up with enthusiasm. Well, isn’t that’s a fine thing.

Yes, yes it is.

But you don’t want to attend IU?

It’s not that, Darren said.

It isn’t the way it used to be, you know, where a person was expected to attend a different graduate school than the school where he’d obtained his under-graduate degree.

I know, Darren said simply.

Are you considering IU so you can keep swimming?

No. My eligibility to swim at the collegiate level ends when I graduate.

I see. So, you’re considering staying here? In town?

Again, George’s voice sounded so hopeful, so charged with meaning. Darren’s heart broke at the unspoken way George revealed how dearly he’d love the idea of Darren staying in Indiana. What George didn’t know—and what Darren was loathe to share—was how deeply Darren wanted to bust out of this small college town. Bust out and start somewhere new, somewhere fresh.

Away from George.

A flare of guilt rippled through him. George had been so good to him over the years, and especially during undergraduate, and how did Darren repay the kindness? By abandoning him.

Well, George said, with surprising gentleness, I assume you’ve got at least till Christmas to make up your mind?

Yes, Darren said. I need to commit to a school by Christmas.

That’s four months away, George mused. Your last year of college.

I know, Darren said. It’s all gone so fast.

Don’t worry too much over your future, George said. Enjoy this last year of school. It’s the last time you’ll get the chance to be this young.

Huh, Darren joked lightly. You make it sound like I’ll graduate from college, and in the next minute, I’ll be an old man.

George did not smile back. Trust me. It’ll happen even quicker than that.

On his way home from George’s, his cell phone rang. Parked at a traffic light, he scanned his thumb across the screen and put the phone to his ear.

You got a minute?

Always for my favorite friend from Madison, Wisconsin, he purred.

Oh, you’re always such a smarty pants, Evangeline said.

Evangeline Brandenberg, his childhood friend and—literally—the girl next door, had known him his whole life growing up in Madison, Wisconsin. When Evangeline, five years older, decided to attend Indiana University, Darren decided he wanted to attend IU as well. A newly minted lawyer, Evangeline liked to check in with him from time to time, fill him in on her new life.

What’s on your mind, counselor? Darren teased.

Your birthday, silly.

What?

Isn’t today your birthday?

Wait, what day is it?

She laughed. For Pete’s sake, Darren. Don’t you know your own birthday?

Well, what do you know, Darren said. It is my birthday.

You’re twenty-two, right?

Nope. I’m an old man of twenty four.

Oh, crap, that’s right.

Yeah, Darren said, it must be hard to remember things, when you get to be an old lady of twenty nine.

Don’t you dare remind me! she said. I may have a nervous breakdown when I hit thirty.

You’ll still be sexy to me.

Oh, honey, you say the sweetest things to me. Anyway, the reason I called—

Evangeline, babe, I’m at a traffic light and it’s getting ready to turn green. Can I call you back?

Sure. She chuckled. You’re such a strict law and order guy, aren’t you?

Don’t like to be distracted when I’m driving.

Okay, then, Mr. Law and Order. I’ll text you. But don’t you dare text me back while you’re driving.

Wouldn’t dream of it.

I want to treat you to a birthday dinner.

Oh, you’re so sweet.

I’ll bet the light’s turning green.

It is.

Ciao, baby.

TWO

Darren saw him on his first pass-through while picking up debris and litter from the floor of Theater Number Seven, following the matinee screening of Nuke’em, Ghost Raiders! At first he didn’t recognize the slight young man as a fellow teammate, but as the lights flared up, illuminating the auditorium and transforming it from one of deep intimacy and seclusion into one of ordinary daylight and boredom, he noticed him. The young man sat in the middle row of seats, utterly alone, with no other companion to watch the film with him.

A frisson of loneliness crept down Darren’s spine. How awful to watch a movie alone. Nothing in the world was worse than watching a movie, especially a fun, summer gangbuster’s kind of movie, alone. Didn’t the poor bastard have any friends?

Darren reached down with a plastic glove to scoop up an empty popcorn box. He and the other guys on the cleanup crew had to work quickly. This theater would be filling up in another ten minutes, and the place had to look immaculate. Considering how few people had been sitting in the theater, it did amaze him to see how much trash the patrons generated. He gazed with disgust down the row of empty seats and noted the vast piles of litter. Empty popcorn boxes, discarded candy wrappers, half-empty drinks, straws, napkins, all scattered across the floor.

Why he didn’t recognize the slight boy as a member of the IU men’s swim team at first glance, he didn’t know, but when it did finally register, he looked again, more certain this time, then called out Charlie’s name.

Charlie did not reply. He did not even appear to notice Darren.

Which was, Darren reflected, fairly typical of Charlie. A month ago, Coach hosted a get-together mixer, where the upper classmen introduced themselves to their new teammates. For the most part, the new swimmers were freshmen, but Charlie was a transfer student from other schools. At the time, there’d been a bit of commentary concerning that. Why did Charlie Steinman decide to transfer to a different school?

The question didn’t get answered at the mixer, but the upper-classmen did give the new swimmers a tour of Royer Pool, the weight training room, and the locker bay, at which time locker assignments were handed out.

At the mixer, Charlie had already made an impression, and not a good one, upon everyone present.

Darren tried again.

Charlie.

The boy—a young man really, Darren didn’t know why he thought of Charlie as a boy—stirred, then finally appeared to awaken and notice him. He opened his mouth and said something, but Charlie was so soft-spoken, Darren didn’t hear a single word.

Darren’s foot slipped against something that scratched across the concrete floor.

What the fu—

He glanced down and saw someone had dropped an enormous plastic bag of M&Ms. What idiots. A bag of M&Ms went for five dollars and fifty cents at the concession stand. What moron shelled out that kind of money, only to waste the product completely? He bent down, picked it up, held the bag in the palm of his hand, and peered inside. Still plenty of M&Ms left, hate to see them go to waste…

Oh, the hell with it. He glanced around with a quick, discreet look, saw nobody watching him, dropped the bag into his right front jacket pocket, and sidled on down the aisle. A snack for the drive home.

He heard a faint cough. When he looked back up the aisle, he saw Charlie standing.

Charlie looked straight at him, his hands resting lightly on the headrest of the seat of the row in front of him. Again, Charlie opened his mouth to speak, and again, Darren did not hear a single thing the kid said.

Hey, hold on, bud. He grabbed a soggy drink cup out of a cup holder, dropped it into the bucket, loped to the end of the row, and sauntered up the aisle till he reached the row of seats where Charlie stood.

Hey, Charlie, he called out.

Hey, Darren… but the boy’s voice floated away on an invisible string of conversation with no sound.

Why didn’t the guy speak up? Talk more clearly?

You like the movie?

Charlie shrugged, clearly noncommittal.

Darren studied the sinewy junior. Silent to the point of mute, Charlie looked like a normal person and walked like a normal person, but it wasn’t until he opened his mouth that a person realized there was something wrong. Charlie possessed this off-putting, distant quality. He held himself with a perplexing rigidity. Charlie moved through life, totally oblivious to his surroundings, and to the presence of other people.

Considering the fact the guys on the swim team spent most of their workout underwater and unable to talk, Charlie probably wouldn’t have drawn much attention to himself, to his odd, backward nature, but during the introductory mixer, it’d become abundantly clear to everyone that the guy was…well, sadly strange. Strange and weird.

Darren saw what lay in store for Charlie and winced inwardly. As the guys snapped towels at one another in the locker room, and laughed and joshed around with one another after every meet, the junior’s peculiar nature would fully reveal itself. Would the other swimmers ostracize the guy? In the locker room, when the guys on the team were messing around with each other, would some of them take it upon themselves to harass Charlie?

God, he hoped not.

You going to practice tomorrow morning? Darren asked.

Oh, errr, uh, sure. Well, I mean, it’s not required, and even though it isn’t a mandatory swim, as those kinds of things go, but by the same token, well, and while it’s not like I have a say in anything, and I am a member of the swim team, so I think I’d better be there, on account of that fact, you know? And it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do, not at five o’clock in the morning, after all, the dead of morning, when the only people out on the streets at that hour are drunks and sorority girls.

Then, giggling softly to himself, he gestured to his right temple with his hand cocked in the position of an imaginary gun and pulled the trigger. I mean, seriously? Really? It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do with myself, and besides all that, I am on a swimming scholarship, so I guess I’d better show up, you know?

Darren blinked, wondering at the guttural tumble of words falling out of the swimmer’s mouth. It was hard to keep up with the guy. Yeah, I know.

No wonder things had gone so poorly at the mixer last week. With the exception of a few standout assholes, nobody had openly made fun of Charlie, but they hadn’t gone out of their way to be nice to him either. He’d mostly just been ignored.

And perhaps, that was the worst thing, in Darren’s book. To be ignored is to be considered as nothing.

Charlie cleared his throat and began speaking again. "I’m just passing through town, or rather, I guess I really ought to say, I just got back from the farm, and well, the cows are just something else, you know? Moooooo, mooooooooo."

Cows moo. Got it.

Anyway, and in any event, I’m gonna hit the grocery store, pick up a few essentials, cereal, milk, that kind of thing, but I must say, as I walked into the mall today I really did enjoy the enhanced entrance experience, and I do believe you’d agree with me, just how enhanced the experience was as you walked into the mall, you know? I hope you enjoyed it, and how do you like it?

And then he chuckled to himself. Apparently, he’d made a joke. A joke that sailed straight over Darren’s head.

Enhanced entrance experience? Darren asked, cocking his head.

"Oh, well, the developer was quoted in the newspaper this morning, how he’s finished remodeling this mall, apparently, and now customers can enjoy an enhanced entrance experience as they walk inside, and I just wanted to know, did you feel enhanced as you walked in through the door today, as you reported to work?"

Oh, Darren said, suddenly getting it, you mean the remodeled mall entrance?

Yes. George McCallister apparently spent two-point-one million dollars on all the entrances to the mall, so I sure hope he got his money’s worth! And then Charlie laughed to himself again.

Oh, okay. Now he really did get it. He shook his head with wonder. That was the amazing thing about this guy. Charlie was smart. He was really, really smart and really, really odd, all at the same time.

Yes, I picked up a copy of today’s paper, and George McCallister, who owns this mall, announced the mall has new, enhanced entrances, and I must say, I did enjoy the enhanced entrance experience as I walked into the mall today, but who’s to say what I’ll experience tomorrow?

I got you, man, Darren said. He lifted up his right hand, palm out, to give Charlie a high five. At first, Charlie did not notice, and as Darren continued to stand there with his hand outstretched, he began to feel a little foolish. Hey, Darren said again, high five, man!

What? Oh, what? Charlie asked, then his eyes cleared and he finally noticed. He stepped forward and put his hand up against Darren’s. He more or less placed his hand against Darren’s, and then dropped his hand back down to his side.

So much for a high five.

As if a switch went off in his head, Charlie suddenly turned his back on Darren and walked out of his row of seats as if he hadn’t just been talking to him.

Darren fought back a flash of irritation. For Pete’s sake, he got it, he really got it. He understood the guy was weird, but really? Really? He couldn’t bear to walk out of the row on this side of the theater? What the fuck was the matter with the guy?

See ya, Charlie, Darren called out.

Charlie turned around at the end of the row, waved, and, to Darren’s surprise, the guy actually smiled.

Wow.

A thread of sorrow laced through his heart as he watched Charlie zip his fanny pack closed and scoot up the aisle and out of the theater.

A fanny pack. The poor bastard.

THREE

The first official morning at practice, Darren got to the pool late. Not a good start to the season, he chided himself as he shucked off his jacket and dropped it onto a bleacher seat. He started at the sight of Charlie. The junior was already in the pool and swimming the warm-up schedule.

Darren had worn his swim trunks under his jeans, so he quickly disrobed, fitted his swim cap over his hair, adjusted his goggles, and dove into the water.

Another tough workout, thanks to Coach Rutherford. He worked his way through the schedule noting his time occasionally. The results pleased him. At the end of the informal practice, Coach told them to shower quickly and then return to the bleachers for a team meeting.

After his shower, Darren followed the other men back out to the pool to sit on the bleachers and wait for their notes.

Charlie, he noticed, sat a little ways away from the team. Nothing obvious, but a definite space—a barrier—existed between all the other men on the team and Charlie Steinman.

And, he noticed to his sorrow, nobody called out to him either, telling him to sit closer. Everybody had already made up their minds about Charlie. And Charlie, apparently, appeared ready to accept it.

Poor bastard.

Okay, Coach Rutherford said. We’ve gotta figure out our strategy for our meet against Michigan in two weeks.

The team murmured. Michigan. A win against Michigan would set them up just right for the remainder of the academic year.

Bill Harbaugh and Darren Sloan, you guys are swimming the fifteen hundred freestyle.

Okay, Coach, Bill and Darren said in unison. Darren loved the fifteen hundred. Not much of a short speed distance kind of guy, Darren had discovered long ago, in his early years of swim club, how much better he performed in the long-distance events. In the long swims, a swimmer really needs to know how to pace himself. Swim too fast right off the starter’s block, and a swimmer will be literally tanking by the end of the swim, having depleted all his energy. Swim too slow, and a swimmer will find himself getting bypassed by everybody too early in the event, lose his nerve, and then spend the remainder of the swim struggling to catch up.

Over the years, Darren had developed a stroke and a style favoring him the best, and he’d become virtually unsurpassable when it came to the fifteen hundred.

The assistant coach, Emmanuel Rogers, hurried up to Coach Rutherford and whispered in his ear.

Hold on a minute, guys, Coach said. I’ll be right back.

Coach and the assistant coach walked off to one side to confer. As Darren pulled his I-pod from his front jacket pocket, he noticed Bill Harbaugh trying to catch his eye. He nodded at Bill, who scooted over.

Whassup, Bro? Darren asked.

I’m nowhere near as fast as you in the fifteen hundred, Bill said. Don’t know why Coach is putting me on the roster.

You’re still only a sophomore, man, Darren said. Coach sees potential in you, so he’s gonna get you started early on, so you can develop your stroke. By the time you get to be a senior, you’ll be swimming at Olympic speeds.

Huh, Bill said wryly. Thanks for that, but I don’t think that’s ever gonna happen.

Darren tucked his I-pod back into his jacket pocket. Coach believes in you, man.

Bill grunted. Well, thanks for the vote of support.

My time here is ending, Darren said reflectively. "I’m a senior now, and Coach is grooming