Outburst Read Online Free PDF Page A

strong light bursting through the clouds. No one had seen him down there by the river, had they? No, he was positive. The dark energy of the storm had blotted everything out, provided the perfect shield. Still …
    He had medium-brown hair, skin that tanned easily, and a thick shadow of a beard, which he'd shaved once in the morning and trimmed up again with an electric razor before dinner. His broad shoulders made him look bigger than he really was, but he wasn't overweight, not by any means. With a tight waist and trim but strong legs, he was still in great shape, particularly for his mid-thirties, which was the primary reason he'd been able to make it back here so quickly. He'd all but run the entire way from the Mississippi.
    Letting the curtain fall, he turned to the king-size bed, started toward it, then froze, staring at the sheets and blankets that were kicked and pushed and shoved this way and that. Jesus Christ, just a mere hour or two ago the two of them had been in this bed, kissing and groping and sucking, two sex-starved men feasting on flesh and seed. Only now did he see how horrible it was, how stupid, the meeting, the act, the fuck. If only he'd been able to resist. If only he'd been able to bottle up the temptation and stuff it away. To abstain once and for all and forever. But, no, he hadn't been able to stop himself, nor the sin.
    Shaking his head, he thought it again, chanted silently:
GMF.
    And then it happened—the phone rang. Glancing at his watch, he knew exactly who it was, knew that she'd be calling to check on him. Yes, he'd made it back just in time.
    As he reached for the phone—hesitant yet knowing he had no choice but to answer the damn thing—he couldn't help but think: Dear God in heaven, why had he ever fallen in love with a beautiful young man by the name of Mark Forrest?

3
     
    Todd had no idea how long he lay there, ten, maybe fifteen minutes, but when he began to stir, the thing that surprised him the most was the light. It was so bright. Lying in a shallow puddle, Todd stared through the railings of the bridge at the gap in the billowing clouds, where he saw the setting sun, brilliant and gorgeous and red. He rolled on his side, looked around. What the hell had that been? A tornado?
    He pushed himself up, sat back, and leaned against the railing. Right next to him, lying in a shallow puddle, was the sign, the historical marker that had walloped him. Rubbing his head, he started to read the text, which went on about hard winter wheat that was shipped from all over the Upper Midwest to the mills located alongside St. Anthony Falls.
    Above the roar of the river, Todd heard it, the steps. Someone was running this way. He clenched his eyes shut, pressed the heel of his hand against his brow, tried desperately to make sense of this. Hearing someone close in on him, he opened his eyes, looked to his right, saw a huge sign towering in the distance that read Pillsbury's Best Flour.
    Something horrible had happened, he knew that much. But what? In the back of his mind he heard the warning: Be careful. Right. And recalling that, Todd reached up, felt his breast pocket. The phone. He fumbled around for it, pulled it out, and flipped it open. But what was the number? Who was he supposed to call?
    The running steps were zeroing in on him, and Todd pressed
    himself back against the railing. Phone in hand, he glanced to his left, saw the figure charging this way.
    Wait, he knew that person, that man. And Todd knew what this meant, didn't he? Hadn't he told him where he'd be? Sure, and Todd was glad to see him, this guy with the dark brown hair and mustache, who was stocky and muscular, none too tall.
    He knelt down to Todd and reached out, saying, “Are you all right?”
    Todd clutched his hand. “Rawlins.”
    “Are you hurt?”
    “I don't think so.” Todd touched his head. “Something hit me.” He lowered his hand into the cool puddle and touched the plaque. “This sign—it blew from the