Date: Mon, 21 Aug 2006 13:14:15 -0600
From: Avy MacGregor <avymac@hotmail.com>
Subject: Jake's Cowboy Part 11

DISCLAIMER: You are about to read a story that is strictly FAN FICTION and
in no way represents true accounts. I do not - nor do I wish to imply that -
I know Jake Gyllenhaal, his private life or his sexual preferences. This is
also true of all other celebrities represented in this story. This is a work
of fiction based in homo-eroticism, so if you are not of legal age, or if
this type of content might offend you, please move onto something else.

For everyone else - ENJOY!
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Well, here's the final Colorado chapter: a.k.a. The Big Goodbye. I know this
took awhile to get out, but I needed to get it right. Sometimes the creative
process is arduous. So sorry for the delay to all those inquiring about it.
And please keep in mind that this it not THE END. There's still much more to
come.

As always, everyone's welcome at my group:
http://groups.msn.com/TheGyllenhaalChronicles/_whatsnew . Stop by, check it
out, join up, participate in discussions or just look for sneak peeks and
excerpts from Jake stories; I've got lots of great authors on there.

My email: avymac@hotmail.com - drop me a line, say hello, voice your
concerns, share your suggestions, or just shoot the shit with me.

And now . . . PART 11 . . .
--------------------------------------------------------------------

	Travis surprised me by nudging me awake before dawn. Groggy and still
half-asleep, I squinted up at him, disbelieving the sight of him fully
dressed, his sheepskin-lined coat on. "Come on," he said softly, rubbing my
shoulder.
	I groaned and rolled over onto my back, pressing the pillow over my face,
not wanting to acknowledge that he was actually trying to get me out of bed.
	But he was persistent. "Jake," he said more boldly, taking the pillow away
and sliding the covers back.
	"What the fuck . . .?" I complained. The light was shining bright from the
bathroom, and my eyes couldn't adjust. I threw an arm across my forehead and
attempted to ignore everything.
	"Hey," Travis said, his voice softer, fingers sliding across my belly. "Get
up. I wanna take you somewhere."
	I didn't respond right away. When I finally did, my eyes were still closed.
"You're nuts if you think I'm getting out of this bed right now."
	He slithered down to lay beside me, cowboy boots and all. He'd showered and
shaved and smelled really good. I knew that I had absolute morning breath
and so leaned my face the other way, hoping he wouldn't notice or care. His
hand touched my cheek, and he said, "I know you're tired. I'm not real awake
myself. But this thing requires us to be there before sunrise."
	"What time is it?" My voice was dry, cracked.
	"Five-fifteen."
	Which meant we'd only had about three-and-a-half hours of sleep.
	"This had better be really good," I grumbled, escaping from the covers,
stumbling over to the bathroom, the bright light piercing my eyes.
Squinting, I stood at the toilet to piss, willing my morning erection to go
down. As I flushed and turned to the open doorway I saw Travis seated on the
edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, Resistol hat in his hands, waiting for
me.
	"Do I at least have time for a shower?" I said.
	He nodded.
	I made it quick, taking my toothbrush in with me, enjoying the scalding
water, hoping it would help wake me up. Travis came in and jumped up onto
the marbled counter, chatting with me while I finished. As I shut off the
water and stepped out from the enclosed shower stall, billows of steam
followed me, swiftly filling the room.
	Travis handed me a towel, and I thanked him and dried off. Quickly put
deodorant on, combed my hair, went into the main room to rummage through my
suitcase for some clothes.
	"Dress warm," Travis stated, now seated on the edge of the bed again.
	I threw on a pair of olive-green cargo pants and a plain white long-sleeve
shirt, shoving my cell phone, wallet and room key into my pockets, tucking
my sunglasses into my collar, grabbing my down-filled parka, lacing up my
hiking boots.
	"Okay," I said. "I guess I'm ready."
	Travis grinned and stood up. "You're sexy when you dress," he muttered.
"Wish I could watch that everyday."
	It was an unexpected comment, and I grinned back. "That would be good for
me, too."
	He stuck his hat on and pulled open the door, and I followed him out
towards the elevators. But before the elevator arrived, I grabbed him by the
hand and yanked him over to the stairwell instead. We descended almost all
the way to the bottom before I stopped and abruptly pushed him up against
the railing to drown him in a kiss.
	After I stepped back, he said through a smile, "That's quite something
coming from someone who was half-asleep only ten minutes ago."
	"I'm still half-asleep," I said. "But that should help wake me up."
	We pushed through the door and stepped out into the long hallway leading to
the lobby, passing by the spa and gift shop along the way. There were only a
few people up and about at such an early hour, and no one even noticed us as
we exited the hotel.
	It was pitch-black when we stepped outside, the air brisk, blustery. While
the valet ran to retrieve Travis's truck, we stomped our feet, attempting to
keep the chill away. I noticed the same photographer who had followed us
yesterday standing on the sidewalk just beyond the front drive, accompanied
by a taller, thinner man. At first they were conversing with one another,
heads bent together, but then suddenly their cameras were snapping, flashes
going off like strobe lights.
	"Don't they ever sleep?" Travis commented.
	"Nope."
	The blue pick-up arrived and we quickly slid inside, tipping the valet and
heading out of the circular drive, the flashes following us until we rounded
the corner.
	"That's fucking nuts," Travis commented.
	"The photographers?"
	"Yeah."
	I thought about it for a moment. "I guess I'm just used to it."
	Truth was, I couldn't imagine why my ski holiday in Aspen was such a big
deal to them. But paparazzi seemed to show up everywhere, even in grocery
store parking lots and the dog park I frequented, so it really didn't
surprise me to see them on the sidewalk of my hotel.
	These thoughts didn't linger long, though, as we drove through town, our
destination still a mystery. The streets of Aspen were mostly deserted, only
a handful of businesses opening up for the day. I watched each street light
pass and started feeling a bit of excitement about our secret adventure. It
seemed like it was just he and I and no else in the world, and that's
exactly how I wanted it.
	On the outskirts of the city, Travis pulled into a gas station, ran inside,
and returned with two large cups of coffee and a bag full of donuts. He also
handed me a pewter Colorado keychain with an etching of  a mountain range
and elk on it. "Souvenir for you," he commented, pulling back out onto the
road. He flipped on the stereo, choosing a CD, and suddenly John Denver's
"Take Me Home Country Roads" started to play.
	I moaned loudly. "You aren't serious, are you?"
	"What? You don't like Johnny D?"
	"Hell no."
	He glanced at me, grinning. "You're in Colorado. You gotta listen to John
Denver. It's a requirement."
	"Well, I'll be sure to think of some suitable L.A. music to torture you
with when you come out," I retorted.
	He laughed and continued on. We drove for about twenty miles, heading south
and west, traveling over a dark road. The horizon was just starting to turn
purple with the onset of dawn, and I could see the silhouettes of trees and
the outline of a high-elevation mountain range to the south of us.
	Travis pulled off the main road and continued for a short distance, seeming
to circle back around, tires crunching against snow until he came to a stop,
pulling in between some aspen trees. He cut the engine, left the music
playing, and said, "We're here."
	"Here where?" I asked.
	"The Bells." He got out and climbed into the backseat to slide the rear
window open. Then he rummaged behind the seat and pulled out a heavy wool
blanket. "Come on. Bring the coffee and donuts."
	I carefully cradled everything in my hands and followed him out. He pulled
down the tailgate and hopped up onto the bed, and I joined him, setting the
coffee and donuts down onto the aluminum chest toolbox. He removed his hat
and took a seat on the bed liner, leaning against the toolbox, the blanket
draped around his shoulders, his knees bent, legs spread. "Come here," he
coaxed, and I sat down, scooting back to lean against his chest. He wrapped
the blanket around us both and brought me in closer. We sat like this for
awhile as the horizon slowly started to brighten.
	The view before us began to take shape - a large frozen lake surrounded by
a scattering of fir trees, a line of mountains in the background, jagged,
treeless snowy twin peaks displaying the first rays of pink-orange sunlight,
a mirror-image reflecting across the icy water.
	"Maroon Bells," Travis commented.
	"Wow . . ." was all I could say, speechless by the sight.
	Travis reached out from the blanket to get our coffees and handed me one.
Then he set the bag of donuts in my lap and reached inside to pull out a
chocolate-iced cruller. He took a bite and offered it to me. I took a bite
as well but was somewhat sickened by the sweet taste at such an early hour.
I sipped my coffee, pleased to discover that Travis had put just the right
amount of cream in it.
	The sun continued to rise, reflecting off the snow in late-winter
brilliance, lighting up the entire valley, bouncing off the ice.
	"This is the most incredible thing ever," I muttered.
	"Worth losing sleep over?"
	"Absolutely."
	He offered me more of the donut, but I shook my head, so he popped the rest
of it in his mouth. He took a few sips from his coffee and then set it aside
to pull me in close again. Nuzzling against my ear, he whispered, "I really
wanted our last few hours together to be spent somewhere special."
	I swallowed hard, tears already forming in the corners of my eyes. Travis's
lips found my earlobe, sucking gently, sending shivers through me. I ran my
fingers over the knuckles and veins of his hard-working hands, calloused
from years of roping and riding and mucking out horse stalls. The hands of a
man who'd spent the majority of his life performing laborious tasks.
	"Travis?" I said.
	"Yeah."
	"Have you ever thought about returning to school?"
	He paused, as if trying to figure out why I was asking such a question. "I
missed my chance for that," he eventually replied, rather solemnly.
	"But couldn't you go back?" I said. "I mean, later, when the ranch gets
back on its feet and you can hire on permanent help?"
	Again, he paused. Then he said, "I forfeited my scholarship when I dropped
out. I could never afford to go to Mines without it."
	I sat up and turned to him. "You're really smart to have gotten in there in
the first place, Travis. There must be grants or something you can apply
for. Maybe you could go to a different college altogether."
	"Why are you bringing this up?" he asked, more inquisitive than anything.
	I wasn't quite sure myself. "I just . . . you deserve to pursue what you
want in life."
	"You think I don't want the ranch?"
	I looked at him. "You were studying chemical engineering."
	He grinned ever-so-slightly. "Well, at the time, it's what I wanted - to do
something completely different from what generations of my family had done;
try to make my own way in this world; lead my own life. I was lucky enough
in high school to get the really good grades, so when the scholarship came,
I grabbed it with both hands and ran. But when my dad died and the ranch
took a nose-dive, I realized that that was more important to me than a
college degree. So that's why I'm where I'm at. I'm not unhappy about it."
	Then he added, "You dropped out of college, too, right?"
	"Yeah."
	"Do you regret it?"
	"No. Not right now."
	"Then I guess we're in the same boat. Doing what we love."
	I nodded. A small part of me wished he could go to school in California.
Another small part of me wished I could learn to ranch. Either way, it was
pure fantasy.
	I turned around and nestled in between his legs again, leaning my head back
against his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. We
remained quiet and solemn, each lost in our own thoughts, looking at the icy
lake and the mountains beyond. A small two-engine airplane came into view,
flying low in the sky, undoubtedly heading for the Pitkin County Airport
just a few miles away. Although it wasn't my flight, it was an unwelcome
sight nonetheless - a sober reminder of things to come.
	We both watched it pass overhead until it disappeared, and then Travis
pressed his face into my neck, in the spot just below my ear, his goatee
slightly rasping. I felt a touch of moisture hit my skin and realized that
what I was feeling were his tears. He didn't say anything, didn't sob or
even move, just nestled there against me, breathing. My own tears brimmed,
spilling out, free-falling down my cheeks, immediately chilled in the early
morning air.
	We didn't speak for awhile. He kept his face hidden while I gazed at the
valley through watery eyes, not even bothering to wipe my cheeks. From
inside the cab John Denver was singing something about sunshine on his
shoulders looking so lovely, but even the cheesiness of that only added to
the overall sorrow of the moment; I knew I'd never hear John Denver again
without thinking about Travis and the Maroon Bells, just as I'd never hear
Miles Davis again without thinking of our time together in the bunkhouse.
	"Man . . ." Travis whispered after a moment, voice cracked.
	"What?" I managed to utter.
	"I've really fallen hard for you, Jake."
	I shifted, inhaling a shaky breath, wiping my cheeks with the ball of my
hand. "Yeah," I said. "Me, too."
	He ran his lips along the edge of my ear, breath soft, sending mild shivers
over my scalp. "I think I could stay like this forever," he spoke, his teeth
finding my earlobe, his arms hugging me tighter. "Fuckin' forever . . ."
	I reached a hand back and found his hair. Tangled my fingers in it,
pressing his face closer into my neck, leaning my head sideways to allow him
better access for kissing me there. I was craving . . . no, needing . . .
the physical contact with him. He sucked lightly for a moment, the sensation
traveling straight down to my groin, my cock already expanding through the
constriction of boxer briefs and cargo pants. Without any thought, I slid a
hand down to massage myself. Travis followed, covering my hand with his own,
squeezing the hardening bulge while his wet mouth hungrily devoured my neck.
	I moaned softly, body starting to writhe, feeling yet again an immense
yearning swelling within me. During my countless sexual encounters with
women, I had always felt pretty satisfied, but nothing - absolutely nothing
- could compare with the lust and subsequent satiation I felt when I was
with Travis. I simply couldn't get enough of him. Wanted to fuck and be
fucked by him without reprieve. It was a phenomenon I still wasn't quite
sure how to come to grips with yet.
	Together, our two hands continued to massage me, bringing me to full
erection while I turned my face to meet his lips with my mouth. Our tongues
slid together, moisture hot, breath quickening. I turned around more,
covering the hand cupped around my cock, forcing Travis to squeeze me even
tighter, enjoying the constriction.
	I scrambled to raise myself up on my knees, leaning forward to meet his
mouth in another kiss, our two hands never leaving my pants. It was
difficult to kiss anything other than his face because of the sheepskin
collar of his thick corduroy coat, so eventually I slid the zipper of his
coat down, pushing the collar back. My mouth descended on him, finding the
curve of his neck. He faintly groaned, his fingers gliding down to cup my
balls, his other hand resting on the back of my head.
	I started kissing him all over, my lips gliding across his skin, touching
his jaw, the facial hair of his chin, the tip of his nose, even his eyelids.
He pulled me up farther so that I was fully sitting on my haunches, and then
he proceeded to unzip my coat, sliding it back off my shoulders. I shuddered
from the cold, but he pulled me in tight, removing my sunglasses from their
place on my shirt, sinking his mouth onto my collarbone.
	"Maybe we should go inside the truck," I muttered through strangled breath,
elation pouring through me as his teeth pricked at my skin.
	"No," he responded. "Come here." With hands grabbing the backs of my
thighs, he pulled me up and forward so that my crotch was directly in his
face. "Undo yourself," he commanded.
	I quickly unclasped and unzipped my cargo pants, pulling the fly open,
pushing the waistband of my boxer briefs down, my cock springing forward,
the cold air hitting it like ice. Travis yanked my clothing down further so
that my hips and buttocks were exposed to the frigid air, goose bumps
traveling across my skin in waves. He didn't leave me exposed for long,
though. Gently brought me into his mouth, his tongue exploring every inch of
my shaft.
	"Mmmm . . ." I moaned, never tiring of the sensation of being orally
stimulated.
	He gripped my buttocks, using it as leverage to push me further into his
mouth until the tip of my shaft was all the way to the back of his throat.
Then he slowly began to slide me in and out, his tongue doing absolutely
amazing things, my mind almost immediately clouding over in ecstasy.
	There was something about being outside, despite the cold, that added to
the overall arousal of the moment. I closed my eyes, listening to the
shuffle of birds, inhaling the crisp air, feeling lost inside Travis's
mouth. He began to pick up the pace of his sucking, pushing me against his
face, my balls lightly smacking his chin, my pubic hair touching his nose.
My breath quickly turned heavy. With each gliding movement, I thrust my hips
forward, pushing myself deeper into his throat, his mouth taking me all the
way in, his tongue fighting for space. A series of muted whimpers escaped
from his lips, encouraging me to continue the deep-throating, my fingers
curled in his hair, his head pinned between my hands.
	Suddenly I was in control of the situation, guiding myself in and out of
his mouth, my hands covering his ears, gripping tightly to his head,
commanding him to swallow me. My face was contorted, my breath puffing out
like smoke in the cold morning air. Travis turned his eyes up to me, green
orbs full of love and lust and everything else imaginable, and I wanted
nothing more at that moment than to bury every inch of myself into his eager
mouth. I thrust forward, impaling him, and he groaned from somewhere deep
inside, one hand still gripping my buttocks, the other hand now gripping
tightly to my thigh, fingers jabbing through fabric.
	"Ummph," I started panting, the phrase repeating itself over and over
again, gaining cadence as my momentum propelled, my cock now jamming in and
out of Travis's wet mouth in rapid succession, my fingers still gripping his
head.
	He moved one of his hands down, and I glanced only briefly to see him
undoing the buttons of his jeans. I stopped my thrusting, slipping from his
mouth, and allowed him to free himself from the confines of his pants. Once
undoing the buttons and pulling back his boxers, he took his lengthy, erect
shaft in hand and began to rapidly stroke himself, his eyes never once
leaving mine. With his other hand, he grabbed my thigh, bringing me forward
again, no words spoken or needed to encourage me to continue.
	I slid my throbbing cock back into the immense warmth of his mouth,
surprised by the feel of his teeth just lightly scraping along my length as
I entered. I shivered from the sensation, muttering a simple, "Fuck," my
fingers curling in his hair again.
	He continued with teeth through several more glides before clamping his
lips around me once more, sucking me in tight. I groaned, holding his head
steady, once again shoving myself in deep until I could feel his throat. As
I picked up the tempo of my thrusts, Travis reached up and slid two of his
fingers into my mouth. It surprised me, but was arousing, and I hungrily
sucked on them for a moment until he moved his hand away, reaching around to
my ass, gently pushing the tip of a wet finger through the opening of my
hole.
	"Shit . . ." I gasped, momentarily losing my rhythm. He wiggled around
until he could slide the full length of his finger in, and then he started
to move it, gliding it in and out. I quickly resumed what I was doing, lost
in a new kind of ecstasy now, my mind growing numb with pleasure as I
eagerly fucked his face, his mouth and throat allowing me full access while
my hole was being wonderfully stimulated.
	And then Travis pushed another finger in, filling me up, scissoring the
digits as he twisted his hand around. "Holy fuck!" I growled. I swiftly
reached orgasm, my mouth open, my lungs panting, my cock releasing its load.
I continued to thrust, unknowingly pulling Travis's hair between my fingers.
	He received my cum with eagerness, eyes still pinned to mine, his own hand
feverishly stroking himself while his fingers remained pinned inside my
constricting chute. My semen spurted out in unprecedented amounts, each
thrust seeming to draw out more and more from my throbbing member. And then
Travis was moaning, reaching his own peak. I pulled out from his mouth,
still heavily panting, my mind euphoric. As he slid his fingers from my ass,
I scooted back, leaning down to slip the engorged head of his cock into my
mouth just as he began ejaculating.
	His hand continued to stroke his shaft, bringing up more and more semen to
fill my mouth with. "Yeah, baby," he groaned at me. "Swallow it." 	His
words, however few, were extremely impacting, and I greedily lapped up every
inch of him until his ejaculation finally ceased.
	I kept him in my mouth for a moment, feeling the last pulsing jerks, and
then I released him, wiping my mouth and taking a deep breath. I reached for
my pants, preparing to get up, but Travis swiftly pushed me back down, his
hands on my shoulders. "Don't get up," he commanded quietly.
	I heard the engine of a car and the crunching of tires on snow. We were
just a few yards from the main road that wound its way towards the lake - in
clear, perfect view of anyone driving past. The car was moving slow - way
too slow for my comfort. My eyes were fixed on Travis, my heart in my
throat. Slithering down further on the bed liner, I managed to hoist my
pants back up over my hips, hastily snapping them, trying to yank the zipper
up but getting my boxer briefs caught inside the teeth.
	In the meantime, Travis ever-so-casually waved to the car, smiling
slightly. I wasn't about to lift my head to view the car, but Travis
appeared completely nonchalant, his now-flaccid penis cooling in the breeze,
his lap perfectly hidden from outside observation.
	The car continued on, heading towards the lake. After a moment, Travis
said, "Coast is clear."
	But still I peeked out, wary. Seeing the car a good distance away, I
finally took a breath, as though I'd been holding it the entire time.
	"Fuck," I bellowed, sitting up on my knees to figure out the mess with my
pants.
	Travis chuckled, lifting his hips to pull his own boxers and jeans up.
"Don't look so worried," he snickered, re-buttoning his fly, straightening
out his coat.
	"That's easy for you to say," I complained, finally freeing the cotton
fabric from my zipper.
	"Aw, lighten up," he chuckled. "It was just a carload of tourists."
	"Doesn't matter." I was grumbling, still a little shaken.
	He sat forward and grabbed me by my coat flaps, pulling me down on top of
him. I landed hard against his chest, and he hugged me close, nuzzling his
face in my hair. "You're a funny guy, Gyllenhaal. A little paranoid, but
funny."
	"I have reason to be paranoid," I mumbled into his coat.
	"Yeah?" he said, still chuckling. It unnerved me.
	I pulled out from his embrace to look at him sternly. "You saw the
photographers at the hotel, Travis. They'd kill for a photo of you and me in
a compromising position."
	He raised an eyebrow, a devilish look crossing his face. "You think they
followed us here?"
	"They follow you everywhere," I stated gravely.
	Travis seemed to sense that I wasn't in the mood for joking. "Okay, okay,"
he said, pulling me back down to his chest. "I guess I see your point. But
they're not here. Just some tourists taking pictures of the mountains. So
relax."
	He stroked my hair for awhile. Eventually the anxiety flowed from me, my
eyes shutting, my mind finally settling. I wondered what was it about this
trip - this encounter - that made me so fucking high-strung about
everything. Typically I was a very laid-back, easy-going fellow, hardly ever
arguing with anyone, never caring too much about outside influences.
	"It's because you care about this guy," I muttered to myself, under my
breath. "And because you care about still having a career to go home to."
	"What?" Travis asked.
	I shook my head. "Nothing . . ."
	My cell phone rang. I let it ring. I'd been doing it so consistently these
last few days, there seemed little point in changing the routine.
	"So are you gonna do that to me every time I call?" Travis joked.
	I grinned, despite the fact that he couldn't see my face, and shrugged.
"You never know."
	He smacked me between the shoulder blades, but my heavy coat deflected the
blow.
	The cell phone rang again. I sighed, turned over onto my back between
Travis's legs, and retrieved the annoying gadget from inside my pants
pocket. It was Maggie. "What?" I said, none too kindly.
	"Where are you?" she demanded.
	"I'm with Travis."
	"Do you realize what time it is?"
	"Hold on . . ." I pushed the cuff of my coat back to glance at my watch.
"It's . . . SHIT." I sat up, gesturing to Travis to follow suit. "We'll be
right there." I snapped the phone shut and grabbed coffee cups and donuts,
jumping down from the tailgate. "We gotta go, Travis," I said. "I'll miss my
flight."

*	*	*	*	*

	By the time we returned to the hotel, time was quickly running out. Travis
arranged to leave the truck on the front drive, and we rushed through the
revolving door, oblivious to the photographers - now three strong - circling
the sidewalk.
	The lobby was much more crowded now; people checking-in as well as
checking-out, a few small dogs on leashes, Gucci luggage and skis piled on
top of bellhop carts, children playing chase. No one noticed our entrance or
our subsequent jog down the carpeted hallway. Foregoing the elevator, we
raced up the stairs instead, swiftly reaching the third floor. As I swung
the stairwell door open, breathless, I rushed into the hallway and
immediately crashed into a rolling room service cart.
	"Shit," I cursed, jumping aside, Travis plowing straight into me.
	"I'm sorry, sir!" the room service attendant exclaimed, rolling the cart to
the side. "Are you okay?"
	I struggled to catch my breath. Nodding, I said, "I'm fine."
	"Come on," Travis urged, pulling on my coat collar, propelling me down the
hallway.
	I could see that Maggie and Peter's door was open. A bellman was already
loading their pile of luggage and skis onto a bellhop cart.
	"I'm here!" I yelled into the open air, swiftly sliding the keycard into my
door, Travis and I both tumbling into the room together. I immediately
started throwing things into my suitcase and carry-on bag while Travis
disappeared into the bathroom.
	Just then Maggie appeared in the doorway, dressed in a lavender jogging
suit, white tennis shoes on her feet. "Our flight takes off in less than an
hour," she scolded, crossing her arms. "Where have you been?"
	"I told you," I said, continuing to pack, throwing clothes in without
folding or caring. "We took a morning drive. We'll make the flight in time,
Mags, don't worry."
	She didn't respond. Just sighed and left.
	Travis brought over my toiletry case and handed it to me. "Sorry," he
mumbled. "My fault, I guess."
	"Naw." I stuffed the toiletries in with my clothes. "She'll get over it.
She's just anal about time and sticking to schedules."
	I grabbed the pile of faxes and stuffed the papers into my carry-on bag,
along with my iPod and several other personal belongings still on the desk.
Then I paused, glancing at the complimentary hotel stationery. Taking pen in
hand, I jotted down my cell phone number and address. Folded the stationery
in half and presented it to Travis.
	"What's this?" he asked, opening it up.
	"My info. I expect to hear from you soon, as in yesterday."
	He grinned. "Sure thing." He moved over to the desk and proceeded to write
down his own information, folding the paper several times until it was just
a small square. Then he shoved it into the front pocket of my pants and
said, "Don't lose that. I'd hate for some stranger to give me a call."
	I smiled. "Sure thing."
	Just then there was a light tapping on the open door. We turned to see the
bellman peeking in. "'Scuse me, sirs," he said. "But if you're ready, I can
load up your things."
	"Uh . . ." I ran a hand through my hair, glancing around the room - the bed
was a mess, pillows and sheets and blankets totally askew; wet towels
covering the bathroom floor; empty liquor bottles and room service plates
from our late-night snack scattered near the fireplace. Chances were good
that I'd left some belongings behind, but amongst the chaos, I would never
know.
	I zipped my suitcase closed and set it on the floor. "Just this," I said,
"and the skis and snowboard."
	"Certainly." The bellman started gathering everything up to place on the
cart in the hallway. When he had finished, I heard Maggie and Peter exiting
their room, chatting quietly. I poked my head out of the door and said,
"We'll meet you guys down in the lobby." Then I swiftly shut the door and
turned to Travis. "Come here."
	Holding my arms open, he stepped forward and I wrapped myself around him,
pulling him close. "We won't get another chance," I said softly.
	His hands were strong against my back, holding me firmly against him.
	There was suddenly so much I wanted to say - so much I wanted to express -
that it felt as though I might explode if I didn't release the words.
"Travis . . ." I started.
	"Hmmm . . . ."
	I pulled back, cupping his face in my hands, staring into those deep
sea-green eyes with such incalculable emotion that a line of heat traveled
from my toes all the way up to my scalp. "I'm gonna miss you more than I've
ever missed anyone or anything else in my whole entire life," I whispered.
"I'll be thinking of you, and missing you, and wanting to be with you every
second that I'm there and you're here."
	Although his eyes were focused on mine, his thoughts seemed to be traveling
elsewhere, imperceptible to me.
	"You're the best thing that's every happened to me, Cooper," I continued.
"The fucking best. Maybe, I don't know . . . maybe it's even fucking . . .
love." This last word had to fight its way from my lips, but once spoken, I
felt instant relief, as though a heavy burden had been lifted from my
shoulders. I searched his face for a reaction, noting the instantaneous raw
emotion in his eyes accompanied by a slight brimming of tears.
	"Fuck . . ." he said after a moment, pushing my hands away, stepping back,
tripping over the displaced comforter. He landed on the edge of the bed,
sitting hunched over with his face in his hands, his broad shoulders moving
beneath deep, silent sobs.
	Momentarily taken aback by the scene, I soon came to my senses and sat down
next to him, sliding my arms around him to pull him close. "Travis," I
whispered. "I didn't mean . . ."
	But he shoved me away, hard enough to make me fall back against the
mattress. I propped up on my elbows and just stared at him as he began to
pace the room, fighting tears, his lower lip clenched between teeth.
	"What is it?" I asked. "What did I say to . . .?"
	"Fuck!" he responded, fists at his sides. "Fuck!"
	I fell silent, dumbfounded at what I was witnessing.
	He continued his incessant pacing for at least another minute before
finally stopping, lifting his face to the ceiling, placing a thumb and
forefinger over his eyes, his other hand on his hip, his breath hissing
through pinched lips. After a moment, he exhaled loudly and turned to look
at me.
	 "I can't hear that fucking word right now," he stated, voice quavering.
	I slowly stood from the bed and approached him. Wanted to touch him but
refrained from doing so. "Travis, I . . ."
	"You don't know how many fucking times he said that to me." His eyes were
still focused on the ceiling.
	"Who?" I asked. "Eric?" Speaking the name sounded odd.
	He dropped his gaze to look at me, eyes full of pain. "Yeah . . ."
	My phone rang. I ignored it.
	"I'm not him, Travis," I said. "Whatever he did . . . I'm not gonna do that
to you."
	But he didn't respond. Just glanced away in silence.
	My cell phone eventually ceased to ring only to be replaced by the
shrillness of the room phone ringing . . . once, twice, three times.
Annoyed, I marched over to the bedside table and picked it up. "Yeah."
	"Get your asses down here. Now," Peter bellowed, the usual playful banter
gone from his voice.
	"We're coming," I responded, dropping the receiver back into its cradle. I
turned to Travis. "We gotta go."
	He'd already grabbed his duffle bag and stood there, waiting, eyes averted.
I lifted my carry-on over my shoulder and headed for the door, stepping out
into the hallway as though stepping out into another world. Travis followed
behind me, silent and brooding, head down. We took the elevator, and
although no one else joined us, we said nothing to one another.
	Once in the lobby, I turned my key in at the front desk, signed my receipt,
and headed outside to where Maggie and Peter were waiting, Travis following
a short distance behind.
	"'Bout time," Peter snapped upon my appearance.
	I ignored him and walked over to the pick-up truck. All of our luggage and
ski equipment had already been placed in the back. I added my carry-on to it
and climbed into the front seat, slamming the door behind me.
	Travis was tipping the front doorman while Maggie and Peter made their way
to the truck. As they got in, Maggie said, "Shape up, little brother. This
isn't all about you."
	"Maybe you should have taken a cab then," I retorted, propping an elbow up
on the windowsill, sliding my fingers to my face, sadness enveloping me.

*	*	*	*	*

	The Pitkin County Airport was fairly small, catering to private jets and
only a handful of major airline flights. And although located just five
miles outside of Aspen, the ride seemed to last a lifetime, accompanied by
agonizing silence and stifling tension.
	Travis pulled up to the front curb of the terminal, parking only briefly to
help unload our luggage. A skycap assisted, placing everything on a flatbed
cart, tagging each piece. While Peter and Maggie conversed with him, I slid
my sunglasses on and turned to Travis. Felt like breaking down.
	Why were we leaving things this way?
	"Will you call me?" I asked, hoping I didn't sound as desperate as I felt,
my heart pounding in my chest.
	He nodded, hands buried deep in his coat pockets. "Yeah. Of course."
	I took a step closer to him. Noticed a camera focused on us, about ten
yards away. "I'm sorry if I freaked you out," I spoke softly.
	"No . . ." He paused, seeming to search for words. "I'm sorry for
overreacting. That was completely unfair of me. I . . ."
	"We need to get going," Maggie said, delicate fingers touching my arm.
	Emotions rose fast, desolation and despair overwhelming me, my gut
wrenching, my head spinning, my throat constricted. I tried to stay focused,
tried to sound normal as I said, "Yeah, okay."
	Maggie approached Travis and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. "Thanks
for everything," she said. "Your family's hospitality was really great."
Then she leaned up again to whisper something in his ear. He reacted by
simply nodding his head, his eyes set on me.
	"Hey, man," Peter said, holding out a hand. "Thanks for taking us to the
ranch. Maybe next time I'll be able to actually get on a horse." He motioned
to his knee, which had seemed to improve even more overnight, no crutches
necessary, although the limp was still prominent and he kept the brace on.
	"Yeah," Travis agreed, gripping the outstretched hand. "That would be
good."
	"You can't park here," a policeman barked, suddenly appearing, motioning to
the pick-up.
	It was all happening too fast. Travis jingled his keys in his hand, peering
at me, while Maggie and Peter walked through the sliding glass doors into
the terminal.
	"So . . ." I said, sliding my carry-on onto my shoulder.
	"So . . ." he echoed.
	"I guess I'll . . . talk to you later."
	Fuck. It was too powerful. I felt physical pain.
	"Get a move on," the policeman ordered, "or I'm gonna write you  a ticket."
	"Okay, okay," Travis said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm
going." Then, to me, he said, "Bye."
	"Bye . . ."
	God how I wanted to embrace him. Wanted to feel him and smell him one last
time. Taste his lips. Tell him how much I loved him. But it wasn't possible.
I had to be content with simply shaking his hand, our grip on one another
tight and agonizing. Then he turned and walked around to the driver's side
of the truck, pulling the door open, making to get in. But before doing so,
he shouted to me, "Get going! You're gonna miss your flight."
	He was right. I had very little time to get checked-in. But I waited
anyway. He slid inside and started the engine. Looked at me out of the side
window one last time before driving off.
	I stood rooted to the sidewalk, watching him leave, my heart ripping
straight out of my chest.
	Feeling just like Jack or Ennis, parting ways with the man I loved . . .


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As always, thanks for reading - feedback welcomed: avymac@hotmail.com
And `tar' . . . thanks for everything . . .
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Brokeback Mountain copyright 1997 by Dead Line, Ltd. / 2005 Focus Features
LLC
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