Page 1 of Spread Your Wings
CHAPTER ONE
Sammy stepped off the plane in Sarajevo feeling like an adult for the first time in his life.
Twenty-two years old, and he’d never left the United States, had his own credit card, or owned a set of luggage.
He’d borrowed his mom’s suitcases for summer camp and used a single duffel bag through college.
He owed his mother everything, including his degree from Yale and his internship at CNN.
CNN had turned into a career after graduation.
He’d jumped at the chance for an international assignment.
He loved his mom, but he wasn’t a baby anymore.
He’d even averted a fundamental life crisis without throwing a tantrum.
Well. He’d yelled and hurled Gavin’s snuff-box of cocaine at the wall in a puff of white dust and broken a bong or two when Gavin had stolen his concert stash for drugs.
Thankfully, CNN had given him an advance for the Sarajevo trip.
His bank had helped him wire the funds to his friend Bex, another correspondent in London, so she could purchase the tickets the moment they went on sale.
Otherwise, he would have had to trust shoddy overseas phone connections in the middle of the night.
Good thing, too. Tickets had sold out within three hours.
These tickets were not just any tickets.
They were Queen tickets, for the final Queen concert of Sammy’s lifetime.
“London!”
“About that.” She had sighed. “I know Jeff meant well, giving you his sister’s address in London and offering to buy tickets.” Jeff had been his mom’s boyfriend, the first one who understood Sammy’s desire for independence.
“Mom, it’s my money! I’ll spend it how I want!
” He’d saved every penny since his first paper route when he was ten.
Then, he’d earned six dollars an hour busing tables at Roger’s Steak and Fries.
He’d spent some of that money to buy a push mower, but that had more than paid for itself on his days off from Roger’s.
“How were you going to get to London?” she’d asked as she’d walked out of the living room, toward her bedroom. He’d heard a familiar jingle, and his stomach churned. He’d tasted bile on the back of his tongue.
“You had the money, but you don’t have a passport!
” His mom had dropped the large mason jar of Sammy’s life savings on the couch beside him.
It had appeared untouched, despite his detailed instructions.
Jeff had agreed to purchase a ticket for the Magic tour concert at Wembley stadium and a round-trip plane ticket to Heathrow.
“That traitor,” Sammy had said, his forehead scrunched so tight it hurt.
“That traitor,” his mother had agreed. “Jeff won’t be coming over anymore. We both agreed he is a bad influence on you. A Queen concert, in London, by yourself. Sammy, you’re fifteen!”
“So? When Freddie Mercury was fifteen, he attended boarding school in India while his parents lived in Zanzibar. All I want to do is go to a concert.”
“Oh Sammy,” his mother had said, sitting down beside him. Her short nails had tickled his scalp as she’d ruffled his hair. “Why couldn’t you like local bands?”
Because they’re not bisexual, like Freddie , Sammy had thought. He hadn’t dared to say it aloud, not if he wanted his mother to allow a single Queen album in their house. He’d said nothing through the angry tears streaming down his face.
Freddie’s death in November 1991 had been a kick in Sammy’s gut.
He had stayed at Yale over Thanksgiving weekend.
He hadn’t called his mom on the holiday, afraid his bitterness would reach through the phone and strangle her.
It had seemed fitting, with the same way she’d smothered him his entire life.
He’d missed his only fucking chance to see Freddie Mercury alive in concert.
He loved his mother, he did, but he’d needed time to heal the renewed gash across his heart.
He’d graduated that December with honors. He’d already packed his bags for Sarajevo when Queen announced the tribute concert. Thankfully, his connections at CNN had come through for him, despite his careless boyfriend’s attempts to smoke and sniff his money.
Yes, Gavin was a careless asshole, but Sammy didn’t want to go to the concert alone.
He’d wired the money for two concert tickets.
He thanked Freddie and his lucky stars when Bex had called the next morning — evening for her — with the confirmation.
After thanking her profusely, he’d given her the address in Sarajevo, to send the tickets.
He planned to surprise Gavin with plane and concert tickets for his birthday in March.
That gave him plenty of time to ask his boss for time off before the April twentieth concert.
The tickets would help Sammy repay Gavin for his absence on Valentine’s Day.
Of all days to fly to Sarajevo, Sammy had picked the worst.
Now, on the ground in Sarajevo, the success of the ticket purchase still buzzed in his veins.
Sammy felt on top of the world. He was wearing his favorite jacket, a bomber, black like Freddie’s.
The jacket had an asymmetrical zipper and several zippered pockets, both outside and inside.
The jacket looked sexy as fuck with Sammy’s Irish freckles and auburn hair, long on top and styled so it fell to one side.
The haircut was unprofessional as hell for a news correspondent, but he would fit right in when he got to London.
Besides, his appearance didn’t matter in Sarajevo.
He was here to write, not to read the news in front of a camera.
He made his way through the dim exit ramp, stuck behind two haggard parents and four children. They were linked, holding hands. Inside the airport, he blinked to adjust to the sunlight through floor-to-ceiling windows.
Once he could focus, his gaze landed on a young man in a cheap tuxedo.
The suit didn’t detract from the man’s gorgeous face as he lazed against the wall across the walkway from the gate.
His close-shaved beard made him seem distinguished, and curly hair to his chin gave him model appeal.
He held a large white sign with three red letters: CNN.
Sammy rushed to the sign, his island in a sea of discord as other passengers milled past him.
“Hi. I’m Sammy Connelly.” He sounded breathless, and a little froggy after the dry air on the plane. Sammy noticed the nametag pinned to the man’s lapel, a Holiday Inn logo above the man’s name. It read more like a nickname to Sammy. “Mumu?”
“Hi,” he said, and nodded at the pronunciation. “Mumu. Wait here. We have two more.” Mumu held up two fingers.
Eight words, and already Sammy swooned from the accent.
The combination of Turkish and Slavic made the Bosnian accent one of the sexiest in the world, in Sammy’s opinion.
He’d sucked a Yugoslavian’s cock during his sophomore year at Yale.
He still used the memory of the sexy dirty-talk in the bathroom stall when he jacked off before bed.
Not the time , his brain reminded his body as he adjusted his jeans. Besides, still have a boyfriend .
Right. Gavin, the unambitious stoner who would rather smoke money than make it.
Gavin and Mumu were complete opposites, too.
Sammy tried to remember how much he missed Gavin and his blond hair, blue eyes, knowing smirk, expensive pageboy haircut, and trust fund.
Sammy waited for the homesickness to hit him.
It didn’t. He couldn’t stop checking out Mumu, with his high, delicate cheekbones, kind brown eyes, and black curls.
Sammy stepped off to the side to wait. Soon, a man carrying a camera case and a woman wearing an entire bottle of bronzer on her face made their way to Mumu’s sign.
He noted their names as they checked in.
Harold Kinsey, the cameraman. Nicole Trubre, another junior correspondent.
Mumu tucked the sign under his arm and shook hands with all of them, first Sammy, then Harold, and finally Nicole.
Mumu’s amiable smile widened to something akin to fright when he focused on Nicole’s face.
“Welcome to Sarajevo. You are reporters, staying at the Holiday Inn?”
“We are,” Nicole said.
“Baggage claim is this way.”
Sarajevo’s airport was like any other airport Sammy had seen in his life, even though it was half a world away.
Shabby, but clean. The airport food smelled more enticing than the usual deli fare back home.
He almost stopped at the gyro counter but kept walking when he realized he didn’t have the correct currency.
Nor did he know the language. While Mumu spoke decent English, Sammy didn’t expect everyone to understand him.
Mumu led them to baggage claim and then disappeared.
When they turned away from the revolving belt with their luggage, Mumu was leaning against the wall next to the gyro place.
In his hands, he held three rolls of paper-wrapped goodness.
“You looked hungry,” he said, handing one to each of them, but his gaze was on Sammy.
“Thank you,” Sammy said, greedily opening the paper and taking a bite. He bit into the fresh flat bread, which immediately stuck to the roof of his mouth. He closed his eyes and savored the spiced meat and fresh vegetables. “I love gyros.”
“This is kebab,” Mumu said.
Sammy unwrapped the kebab and separated the flat bread. “Where’s the skewer?”
Mumu’s smile faltered. “They take it out.”
Sammy tried to cover his cheeks with the paper as he took another bite. He could feel them burning. Thankfully, Mumu grabbed two of Nicole’s bags and spun toward the main entrance.
Sammy followed, carrying his backpack and towing a full-size bag on wheels.