STAY WITH ME

Evelyn Shepherd

www.loose-id.com

Stay with Me
Copyright © November 2012 by Evelyn Shepherd

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eISBN 9781623000400
Editor: Ann M. Curtis
Cover Artist: Ginny Glass
Published in the United States of America Published by
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Dedication

To Aimee Kebrdle

Without your guidance, this story would never have happened.

This one’s for you.

Chapter One

Pierce Lawson

December 2004

There wasn’t any magic when I first met him, though he did damn near take

my breath away. He did that with everyone, though. All he had to do was walk by,
and heads turned. He had that kind of power, like he was a fucking sorcerer. But at
that particular moment, there weren’t any sparks or a sudden epiphany on how I’d
be spending the rest of my life with him.

Sometimes I wished I’d never met him, that I’d closed up that night before he

ever had a chance to waltz into my life and march over my heart.

Course, the fact of the matter was, I had met him, and from that night

onward, my life changed forever.

Gregoire Wood was a force, a fucking tornado and hurricane all in one. He

could destroy you so easily, just as he could lift you up and give you a whole new
meaning. Honestly I had been waiting for Gregoire my entire life, and no matter
how many times I thought about changing the past, I never would.

My grandma used to say that angels walked among us in disguise, and all we

had to do was look hard enough to see them. Well, Gregoire was an angel; he was
my angel.

He came into Haven Bar with a look on his face that said he wanted to be

anywhere but here.

I’d learn later on that it wasn’t my bar that made him so miserable, just the

town of Hawthorne in general.

Wind drifted in behind him as he closed the door and unwound a red scarf

from his neck. His slicked-back chestnut hair was wreathed in a blue halo from the
neon sign on the wall. He looked so young, like he had just stepped out of high
school.

His gaze swooped accusingly over his surroundings; his eyes were like needles

pinning us all down as if we were butterflies on exhibit.

When he seemed satisfied no one was going to jump out and stab him, he

walked over toward me and took a seat across from me at the bar on a cracked

stool.

“What can I get ya?” I asked as I cleaned a glass.

Carefully he set his scarf down on the counter and undid the buttons of his

black peacoat. “Scotch on the rocks, please,” he replied without meeting my eyes.
His voice was soft and harmonic, holding a rich tone to it. I could spend hours
listening to him talk.

“Ya got ID?” I asked as I set my soiled dishrag down.

He pulled out a leather wallet from a coat pocket and extracted his license. I

took it from his hand and noted how smooth his skin looked. His fingers were long
and thin, and his complexion was flushed from the cold.

I inspected his ID. Really, I just wanted to know his name.

Gregoire Wood, New York, and twenty-one years old as of October 16.

“Yer the pastor’s son,” I said and handed his license back.

Gregoire finally looked up at me; his eyes narrowed just the slightest. They

were hazel, but not that boring color that was just a muddled mess of shades. No,
they were a soft brown swirled with a creamy gold, flakes of mossy green mixed in. It
took me a moment to realize he was saying something. I snapped my eyes away
from his and asked, “What’cha say?”

Gregoire pressed his lips into a thin line, which really looked more like a pout

than anything.

“ I said”—he gave emphasis to his words—“I’d like a Scotch on the rocks.”

“Oh… Oh! Yeah, right. Sorry ’bout that.” I chuckled and grabbed a tumbler

before selecting one of my finer malts. I dropped two ice cubes in the tumbler with
a clink and then poured the amber liquid.

Gregoire gratefully took the glass and wet his lips. I had a feeling that even

though he had just turned twenty-one, he was a seasoned drinker.

There was a way he savored the Scotch that spoke of years tasting the

whiskey.

“So what brings ya to town?” It was a stupid question, and I realized it as soon

as the words left my lip.

He raised a brow at me but had the grace not to point out my blunder.

Gently he swirled the spirit in his glass and said softly, “Holiday.”

I picked up my discarded rag and started to wipe away some invisible dust.

Beneath the light, almost nonexistent bar chatter droned soft Christmas music from
the jukebox. I put up a Christmas tree this year in the corner and decorated it with
tinsel, plastic ornaments, and colorful strings of lights I’d found tucked in the back of
the storage room. A cheap, garish gold star sat on the top.

There hadn’t been a tree up since my granddad ran the bar. I told myself I

was trying to bring back tradition, but the truth was I just wanted a tree up so that
my Christmas didn’t seem so damn pathetic.

“Can I get another beer?” a woman called from the other side of the bar. She

leaned over the counter, and cleavage spilled from her top. I snatched up a beer
and walked over, making a note to cut her off. She was working on her sixth one.

“Thanks, doll,” she said and slipped me some cash.

I pocketed it in my apron and parked myself back in front of Gregoire. He

didn’t seem to have missed me. He drank conservatively from his tumbler, just barely
wetting his lips. I raked my mind for something to talk about, anything to hear his
voice again, but I couldn’t find a solid excuse to start a conversation. So I just stood
there and cleaned the same spot over and over again for well over an hour.

Gregoire finally finished his drink and set the empty tumbler down. I stopped

polishing the bar counter.

“Want another one?”

“Yes, please,” he said and brushed aside a stray strand of hair that had

escaped his coiffure.

“So, what brings ya to a bar the night before Christmas Eve? Shouldn’t ya be

home?”

“Is it any of your business?”

Gregoire said it with a tone of indifference, but I could sense the hostility

beneath the surface.

He was like a sleeping tiger, cute but still deadly.

“Jus’ makin’ conversation,” I said coaxingly and poured him another. “So

what do ya do?”

Gregoire looked up at me. He was silent for a while, appraising whether I

deserved an answer, I supposed. He took the fresh Scotch I handed him and
mumbled, “I work at an art gallery.”

The bar chatter and Christmas carols blaring from the jukebox almost

swallowed up his voice. I leaned against the bar to hear him better and appeared
like I knew something about art galleries and art.

When he didn’t elaborate, I pulled away and bit back a sigh. He was focused

on his drink, as if the inside of his tumbler held the answers to the world, and if he just
drank a little more, he might actually swallow them.

The bottom of a glass never held any answers, but I didn’t tell him that.

Something told me it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

He seemed so tragic. There was a story to him, but what it was, I didn’t know. I

wanted to ask him, to see if I could get him to talk, but I couldn’t seem to gather my
courage. For once in my life, I felt powerless.

Gregoire had that effect on people, I’d soon learn.

We just stayed there, me standing with my dishcloth and him nursing his

Scotch. Occasionally I’d serve someone else, but I never ventured far from his side
for long. I was a planet caught in his orbit, circling him like he was my sun. After two

drinks—three hours after he arrived—Gregoire pushed away from the bar. His fingers
twitched, like he wanted more to drink, and he stroked his empty tumbler as if it
were an old lover. He never asked, though. Instead he called in his tab and paid
with a shiny credit card.

I watched him vanish into the snow and wondered if I’d ever see him again.

God, I hoped so. I wanted to unravel his mystery and see the tender soul beneath
the stone. I never harbored any doubt that it would be beautiful.

* * * *

He stood in the snow on Christmas Eve, once again looking like he wasn’t sure if he
wanted to stay or go. Everyone had left hours ago, and I had decided to close the
place early, and yet he stood there with a grimace and hopeful eyes.

“Ya’ll catch a cold standin’ there,” I said and stuffed my hands deep into my

jean pockets. I had been scanning the lot to make sure it was empty before I
locked up when I spotted him. A frigid wind cut through me and nearly brought me
to my knees. The sky was heavy with overcast, the world an oppressive black.

Gregoire’s gaze snapped to mine, and he gave a stiff nod but didn’t make a

move toward me. I chuckled faintly, not denying myself the hope that wormed its
way into my heart. Here he was, after I’d been thinking about him all day. I wasn’t
sure what it was about the kid. He was five years my junior—I’d caught that when I
checked his ID—and a damn mess from the looks of it. But there was just something
about him.

Fuckin’ magic is what it is.

“Well, come on, get yer ass in ’ere,” I said. I opened the door wider for him.

I didn’t wait to see if he followed. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he

needed a drink. I shuffled over to the bar and started fixing him a Scotch.

I heard Gregoire walk in, stomp his feet at the door, and turned in time to see

him unwind his neck scarf in an almost perfect replica of the night before. He
moved over to a cracked bar stool, took a seat, and dropped his scarf on the
counter again.

“So what brings ya back ’ere, kid?” I asked as I passed him his drink.

He took a long sip, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“I just…needed a drink,” he whispered and glared at the glass. I studied him

as he passed the tumbler back and forth between his hands. His fingers trembled
slightly.

“I can understand that,” I said and wondered if I should grab something

myself. I took a beer from the large cooler embedded into the side of the bar and
popped the top. “But no one should drink alone, so cheers and Merry Christmas and
whatever else ya want to say.”

A smile twitched at the corners of his lips, but before it could flourish, it

disappeared. I tipped my bottle in his direction then took a long swig.

“Were you closing?” he asked and looked around. The jukebox had clicked

off, leaving us in silence.

“No,” I lied. “Jus’ not many people drink on Christmas Eve. At least not at a

bar.”

He eyed me closely but didn’t press me. He took another measured sip and

set the glass down.

“So what’s eatin’ at ya?” I asked.

Gregoire looked up, and I wondered if we’d have a repeat of last night. He

just shook his head and took another long sip. I wasn’t about to give up tonight,
though. I walked around the bar and slid onto the stool beside him. “Come on.
That’s why ya come to a bar, to unload yer problems on the bartender.”

Another half smile twitched at Gregoire’s lips. “What’s your name?” he asked

as he traced a slim finger along the rim of his glass.

“Pierce Lawson, at yer services,” I said and gave an awkward bow, which

didn’t quite work with me sitting.

The half smile grew slightly more but still didn’t reach his eyes. I swore that I’d

see him smile somehow.

“Do you go to my father’s church?” Gregoire asked as he raised his glass for

another sip. He paused, thought twice about it, and set the glass back down.

I shook my head. “Not really. Holidays sometimes, though I didn’t this year.”

“How’d you know he was my father, then?”

He gave me a skeptical look.

I flashed him a grin and waggled my brows.

“I’m jus’ that amazin’.” Gregoire slanted his eyes at me in a flat stare, and I

chuckled. “Or because everyone knows yer father, and it doesn’t take much to
figure it out. Besides, he mentioned ya before at church when I did go, so I kinda jus’
put yer names together.”

Gregoire glanced away, and for a second, I wondered if I’d said the wrong

thing.

“He did?” he asked, his voice low.

“Um, yeah…” I rubbed the back of my head, tousling my long blond strands,

and took a swig of beer. “Something about New York. I think it was more fire and
brimstone, but ya know…he mentioned ya.”

I knew then that I’d said something wrong and mentally kicked myself.

Gregoire gave his drink a hard glare and finished it off. I slipped from my seat and
moved around to pour him another, trying to make up for my mistake. “Never said
anything bad about ya. Jus’ about New York…err, I mean…

Hey, so ya excited about Christmas?”

He took the new drink I handed him and just blinked at me. I silently berated

myself. Smooth, Pierce, real smooth.

Gregoire may have come back for a second night, but he sure as hell

wouldn’t come back for a third.

He untangled my jumbled mess of words and said, “Not really. I just came

back because I ran out of excuses not to come.”

“There a reason ya don’t want to come back?” I inched closer to the bar,

glad to see him not closed off.

Gregoire fell into a lapse of silence, instantly setting fire to my previous hopes.

“Would you want to return to Hawthorne if you didn’t have to?” He asked it so

softly that even in the silence, I barely caught it.

Truth was, I had lived in Hawthorne for a good portion of my life. I didn’t know

much beyond the town, let alone beyond Ohio. Biggest city I had ever been to was
Columbus.

“Not really.” I shrugged. “Then again, I’ve never left Hawthorne ’cept to head

up to Columbus. Not much there to interest me. Maybe if I saw someplace like New
York.”

Gregoire shook his head and set his drink down, then slid from his seat. I was

suddenly overcome with the urge to reach out and grab him, to hold him in place
so he couldn’t slip away. I kept my arms cemented to my sides, though, resisting
every urge to pull this man against me.

He walked over to the jukebox and skimmed the selection of songs but didn’t

put in any money to play one.

“Ya hate it ’ere so much?” I asked.

“Yes.” His answer was that simple. “I wish this place would burn away.”

His words froze me. They weren’t cruel or even filled with malicious intent. They

sounded broken and lost, like he thought setting Hawthorne on fire could actually
light him a path out of the darkness.

“Why?” I asked without registering it.

He turned back to face me, the light from the bar Christmas tree reflecting

across one side of his face. He didn’t smile or grimace or even break down and cry
like I thought he might. He looked like a doll, dressed primly for Christmas, waiting for
someone to give him life.

“Have you always lived here? I’ve never seen you before,” he said, and the

abrupt change sent my head reeling.

“Um,” I mumbled uselessly, relearning how to work my tongue. “Yeah… Well,

since I was twelve. Guess ya probably wouldn’t know me, though. My grandparents
raised me after my folks died. They weren’t much of church folk. Guess that’s why
I’m not. Only go on those special occasions, ya know?”

He nodded, and I couldn’t tell if he was really listening or just trying to

appease me. He returned to the bar, his hips swaying beneath his coat, and my
throat went as dry as Death Valley.

He walked like a cat, so graceful and sleek, each step controlled and with

purpose. It made me want to undress him, rile him up, and see him lose control.

Gregoire picked up his tumbler, finished it, and pulled a few bills from his

wallet. He set them down on the bar.

“Thanks.”

I watched dumbly as he walked away for the second time in a row, leaving

the bar and vanishing into the swirling snow.

I peeled myself from the bar, moved to the door, and locked it. What energy

I’d had to clean up the bar was gone, and numbness was left in its place.

“What the hell was that?” I asked myself as I scrubbed a hand down my face.

Giving up on the idea of cleaning, I headed up the stairs behind the bar and

took them to the loft above. My grandfather used to own Haven, and we had lived
on the top level, which was really nothing more than a two-bedroom apartment. It
had never felt small, though. My grandparents had kept it full of life—warm smells,
laughter, excitement.

After they’d passed away, I had inherited everything. Now, when I returned

home after locking up, I was greeted not by a warm hello but the cold indifference
of silence.

I walked over to the living room window. It overlooked the parking lot. I

watched as Gregoire pulled away in a red sedan. Part of me wanted to call him
back, ask him to join me in my humble apartment, and another part told me to put
as many miles as possible between us.

With nothing left to do, I got ready for bed, making a brief stop by the electric

fireplace I had put in. On the mantel were two photographs in wooden frames, one
of my parents and one of my grandparents. I glanced back at the clock in the
connected kitchen and then touched each photo, as if I could reach through the
threshold of the dead and wrap my hand around theirs.

“Merry Christmas, guys,” I said and dropped my hand.

Did I ever want to leave Hawthorne? No, but I wished someone would stay

here with me.

* * * *

I spent Christmas morning doing what I did almost every morning. I sat in front of
the TV with a large bowl of sugary cereal and watched morning cartoons like I was
eight again. After two hours of killing brain cells on sugar and television, I got myself
cleaned up and went downstairs to straighten out the bar.

Usually I went over to my friend Michael’s house for Christmas dinner, but he’d

decided to go to his girlfriend’s house this year. So I had no plans other than sitting
in front of the TV and watching as many Christmas movies as possible.

After cleaning up the bar, I headed back up to the apartment and started

my marathon. I started to debate the merits of shooting myself around the fourth
cheery movie when I heard a loud, abrupt knock at the bar door.

“What the hell?” I mumbled to myself and set my glass of eggnog on the

coffee table. I paused It’s a Wonderful Life and headed down to the bar, my limbs
stiff from sitting on the couch.

The knocking persisted.

“I’m comin’!” I shouted as I crossed the bar.

Halfway there I realized I’d forgotten my keys, shouted “hold on” to the

person on the other side of the door, and retreated back to my apartment above
Haven. Five minutes later the knocking was still going.

I unlocked the front door, albeit a little apprehensively. I wasn’t sure what to

expect, but it definitely wasn’t Gregoire looking bleary-eyed and winded.

His hand was raised in midair, ready to knock again, and his cheeks were red.

I wasn’t sure if it was from the December air or the fact that he might have been
crying.

“Can I have a drink?” he asked as he dropped his hand.

“Sure?” It came out more of a question.

He wet his bottom lip and ran his hand through his slicked-back hair,

smoothing a few stray strands. There was something more undone about him today,
like he was barely able to keep himself together.

“Come on in,” I said and stepped aside. As soon as he was in, I closed the

door against the cold, locked it, and walked over to the bar.

He slid onto a stool and blew into his hands. I reached for the Scotch but

decided against it at the last minute, instead saying, “Hold on.”

Before he could say anything I vanished upstairs and grabbed my carton of

nonalcoholic eggnog from the fridge. I freshened up my glass and poured him one,
adding a dash of cinnamon for flavor. I brought the cups down and held his out to
him.

He hesitated at first but eventually conceded, taking the mug in both hands

and sipping.

“Is everything okay?” I asked as I sipped at my mug of eggnog.

Gregoire looked at me from over the rim of his mug, his eyes glassy like

marbles. He set the mug down, and a bitter smile twisted across his face. “Do you
believe in God?”

The question threw me for a loop.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said with a shrug. I never really questioned faith. It was just

something that was there for me.

He nodded and slid his fingers along the bar counter.

“Do ya?” I asked. It somehow felt like he was looking for someone to ask him

that.

“I don’t know,” he whispered and closed his eyes. “I used to, but then…”

The words tapered off, and he pressed his lips into a thin line, sealing his

thoughts in his mouth.

“I don’t know,” he finally repeated and shook his head, casting his hair

carelessly aside.

“Yer strange, ya know that?”

He glanced up at me and raised a brow. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yer strange. This is the third day in a row ya’ve come in ’ere, and each time

ya’ve been like some phantom. Can’t really decide if yer real or not, to be honest.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, small at first, but slowly, with

determination, it slid into a full-blown grin that reached his eyes.

Just as I had suspected, it was breathtaking.

“That’s the strangest thing anyone has ever said to me.” He laughed, his voice

melodic.

“Fittin’ for a strange person, I reckon.” I took a swig of eggnog and cracked

my own lopsided smile.

“Are you always this brash, Mr. Lawson?”

“Yeah, I guess ya could say I am.” I shrugged.

“Don’t ever lose that quality,” he murmured, his smile settling but not

vanishing.

The statement startled me. I licked my lips and then reassured him, “I won’t.”

Gregoire nodded and toyed with his glass of eggnog, glancing around the

bar as if seeing it for the first time. I followed his gaze. Haven was just one large
room, the bar to the right and pool tables set up at the back. I had one dartboard
near the front and a few tables scattered around. There were three booths on the
left wall. It wasn’t much, but it was mine.

“So why are ya ’ere?” I asked and looked back at him. His gaze rested on me,

and I swore I could see the doors slamming closed.

“What do you mean?” His tone was tight. He was withdrawing, sinking deeper

into his shell.

“I don’t mind,” I added quickly, “but it’s Christmas mornin’. Shouldn’t ya be

with yer family?”

“What about you? Why aren’t you with yours?”

“I don’t have any family left,” I said. I wasn’t upset, but you would have

thought I slapped him.

He jerked his head away and bit down on his bottom lip. The look was so

wounded, so raw, that I just wanted to cup his face in my hands and tell him it

would be all right.

“I’m heading back to New York, and I just…

I just needed a drink.” He eyed his eggnog, which was obviously not what he

wanted.

“Sometimes that’s when ya shouldn’t drink,” I said, and he grimaced. I leaned

closer and flashed him a reassuring smile, but it was useless. He was somewhere I
didn’t know, somewhere I was pretty sure the world didn’t know about. It wasn’t
somewhere I’d ever want to be. “There a reason ya need a drink?”

“Does it matter what the reason is?”

“Of course it does,” I whispered, “because it should never be for the wrong

reason. That’ll jus’

lead ya down a path of hurtin’.”

He squinted in my direction, scrutinizing me as he nibbled on his lower lip.

“That’s rather insightful for…”

“A bartender? Hick?”

“I wasn’t going to say—”

“S’okay. Doesn’t matter. Point is, it’s right.” I shrugged and leaned against the

bar.

“How do you know what reason is right?”

I took a slow sip of eggnog and scratched the back of my head. “Honestly,” I

said, “there ain’t one. Ain’t no reason ya should ever need a drink.”

“I think there’s an exception to everything,”

he mumbled into his eggnog before taking a sip and then downing the rest.

“So what’s yer reason?” I asked again.

He looked off toward the Christmas tree and set down his mug, his hand

remaining locked around the porcelain cup. For a second it looked like he might
cry, that whatever he fought against was about to win. I slipped toward the edge of
my seat, ready to reach out when the first tear fell. But it never came. He sucked in
a breath and let it out, his gaze hardening until his eyes looked like moss-covered
stone.

“Coming home.” It came out like a sigh, and his body sagged, tipping

sideways.

I leaped from my seat and caught him, the weight of his body dragging us

both down to the floor. For a second, it felt like I’d swallowed my heart. I never
understood that saying, because it seemed impossible on so many levels, but in that
moment with him collapsed in my arms, I knew what they meant. My throat was
lodged with something, and my heart felt like it had somehow risen to come back
down and get stuck.

“Shit,” I cursed under my breath and grunted as I shifted us into a better

position, sitting down and moving Gregoire so his head was in my lap.

Not sure what to do—it wasn’t like I had people pass out on me often, at least

not like this—and scared to move him too much, I sat there and ran my fingers
through his hair.

“Jesus, kid,” I whispered, “ya sure do know how to leave an impression, don’t

’cha?”

We sat like that for a good three minutes, and as I started to debate with

myself whether to call an ambulance, his eyes blinked open. He groaned softly, a
feathery light sound that sent chills down my spine, and shifted so he nuzzled my
lap. My spine stiffened as his hot breath tickled my stomach.

If he doesn’t move soon, he’s goin’ to get real uncomfortable, fast.

“What…happened?” Gregoire asked. His entire body went still when he

realized how close he was to my lap. He jolted back, and I reached for him again
as he swayed.

“Easy, it’s all right,” I said, trying to control the heat on my cheeks. “Ya passed

out.”

He pressed a hand gingerly to his head and gave another weak groan. I put

a hand on his arm, but he pulled away a second later and struggled to his feet.

“I got to go,” he stammered.

“Wait!” I scrambled to my feet, nearly tripping and falling back down. “Should

ya be drivin’?”

“I’m fine,” he snapped and reached for his scarf.

“Ya jus’ passed out,” I cried, and he rolled his eyes.

“It’s fine. There isn’t anything to worry about,” he said as he pulled his wallet

from his coat pocket. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothin’.” I licked my lips, not sure if I should let him go. “On the house.”

He bit down on his lower lip, a habit I noticed he did often. He nodded stiffly

and jammed his wallet back into his pocket. “Well, thank you, and…Merry
Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to ya too,” I whispered and watched him head for the door.

I didn’t want him to just waltz out into the snow, though. It seemed too final, and
even though I knew I probably would never see him again, I wanted there to be a
chance.

Letting him go meant there wouldn’t be. I couldn’t accept that.

“Gregoire!” I shouted as he opened the door.

He turned around and hesitated, snow blowing in from the parking lot. “Yes,

Mr.

Lawson?”

My tongue suddenly felt like dead weight. I tried to get it to work, but it lay in

my mouth, useless, refusing to listen.

“Mr. Lawson?”

“Come back,” I blurted out. His brows drew close together in confusion, and I

added, “Next year, when ya visit yer family, or any other time ya visit yer family…
Come back ’ere. There’ll always be a Scotch for ya.”

Gregoire smiled, and my heart sputtered, nearly tumbling out and dropping to

my feet. He nodded and said softly, “Till next time, Mr.

Lawson.”

He vanished, and I knew right then and there that my heart belonged to

Gregoire Wood.

Chapter Two

Gregoire Wood

December 2006

I hated Christmas Mass. I hated sitting in the front pew next to my mother, with

my brother and his family lined up next to me, and watching my father as he gave
the same speech he did every Christmas. All I wanted was to be at Haven Bar, with
Pierce next to me and a drink in my hand. The only reason I found the courage now
to return home every Christmas was the thought of returning to that hole-in-the-wall
sanctuary.

My father raised his hands high, and his voice bounced off the cathedral

ceiling of the church. He had a magnetic power about him; he could always make
you believe your soul was in danger unless you repented.

Time inched by, and I mentally counted the seconds until I could walk away.

Just sitting there, beneath the condemning stare of Christ, I felt like I was about to
be crushed. I wanted it all to go away. My mind was weighted, and the pain I ran
from day in and day out always found me here, where I couldn’t flee.

“Are you all right, Gregoire?” my mother whispered to me. She searched my

face, her hazel gaze darting back and forth worriedly. She had curled and teased
her hair until it sat firmly around her face like a football helmet.

“Fine, why?” I whispered back. I looked between her and my father, almost

afraid he’d point out that I was talking if I broke contact with him for too long.

“You seem pale.”

Her statement made me hold her gaze. She frowned, and I placed my hand

on her smaller one.

She felt fragile beneath my touch, her skin papery and her bones fine like a

chicken’s. If I pressed too hard, would she break? The thought terrified me.

“I’m all right,” I assured her and flashed a smile that didn’t quite reach my

eyes. We both knew it was a lie, but she smiled back anyway and nodded. If she
pressed for more, if she tried to pry and peel back the layers of my soul, she would
shatter. Her delicate skin would tear like wet paper, and her chicken bones would

snap. If she tried to find out what haunted me like a poltergeist, she’d realize that
her fabricated world of perfection was just that: lies.

“Okay,” she said softly and looked back at my father, her expression the

epitome of reverence and na vet . She believed blindly, dumbly—she didn’t see the

ï

é

world for what it was, what it could do, and I had vowed a long time ago to never
be the one to open her eyes.

I looked away, past my father to the crucifix suspended behind him. Beside

the crucifix were two decorative wreaths dusted with sprays of frosted cranberries. I
swallowed thickly and whispered under my breath, “Okay.”

When service ended, I got up from the pew and said to my mother, “I’ll be

back later tonight.”

I probably should have waited for everyone to say their good-byes and file

out of church, but I needed a drink, and I needed to see Pierce. I needed it so bad,
I could feel my hands start to tremble and my mouth go dry.

“What? Where are you going?” she asked even though she knew. I had been

going to Haven every night I was home, ever since I’d started coming back two
years ago. She didn’t approve, but there wasn’t much she could do to stop me.

“Haven,” I said dismissively as I slipped on my peacoat and wound the scarf

around my neck.

“Really, Greg?” my older brother Luke asked.

He trumped me by four years and already had the perfect family lined up. I

shot him a glare but didn’t feed into the conversation any more than necessary.

I offered a poor excuse as to why I was going.

“I want to give Pierce his gift.”

“Why didn’t you give it to him last night when you were there?” Luke pressed,

and my mother raised a thin brow in question.

I didn’t acknowledge him. I stuffed my hands into my pockets and fisted them

so my nails bit into my palms. “I’ll be back,” I repeated.

“Gregoire!” My mother shouted, but I pushed my way into the crowd before

she could snag me again and question me further. I didn’t want to explain to them
why I needed a drink, why I spent most of my nights in a drunken daze. They just
wouldn’t understand.

No one would. No one could. I barely did. I drew in a shaky breath and

started to shove through the throng of my father’s congregation. I wanted to see
Pierce. I wanted to feel the weight of a tumbler in my hand. I wanted these ghosts
to vanish.

“Where do you think you’re going?” My father caught me as I slipped out the

front door. He was saying good-bye to everyone who edged his way into the snow-
covered parking lot.

“Out,” I simply said and pulled a hand from my pocket to run it through my

gelled hair.

He scowled at me and said pointedly, “Stay right there.”

I opened my mouth to argue but snapped it shut when his eyes darkened,

their deep brown turning inky. With a reserved sigh, I stepped aside and waited for
him to finish bidding everyone good-bye. He smiled and shook hands, not once
hinting at the tension that built between us like a brewing storm.

Idly I watched the sky, waiting for my father to finish. The clouds had cleared,

and the stars seemed to intensify beneath the cold dampness.

They glowed with a frigid severity, a shade of silver that reminded me too

much of steel.

My mother eventually joined my father, and together they saw the last

parishioners off, my family the only ones left behind. As a kid I used to spend
countless hours curled up on one of the pews, waiting for the time we could go
home.

As the last person pulled away, I turned to my father. “I’m just heading out for

a bit. I’ll be back before midnight.”

He shook his head. “No. You do this every year. Christmas is a time for family.”

I clenched my jaw. “It isn’t really up for discussion. Besides, all you guys are

doing is going home and sitting in front of the TV. You won’t miss me for a few
hours.”

“No, and that’s final.” My father’s tone was clipped. The wrinkles around his

eyes deepened.

He looked tired and worn.

I inhaled through my nose and let out my breath. I slipped my hand back into

my coat pocket and wrapped my fingers around my keys.

My entire family seemed like they had been weathered by age. Even my

brother held a tired stance, like he was done fighting this battle, whatever it was. My
parents stared at me, glassy-eyed and agitated, lips pressed so thin they were more
like slashes across their faces.

I didn’t have the energy to fight. So I didn’t. I just walked off and slid into my

rental. I could hear my father shout something, but it was muffled by the start of the
engine. I chose not to look back as I drove off and headed for Haven.

The only problem with heading there was that I had to pass the high school. It

loomed in the distance, beyond the empty fields of corn and soy, like a great beast
ready to rise. I coasted along the road as I came near it, watching as it glided past
me, rising and falling in the night as if caught on a wave of silver and velvet.

My hands tightened on the steering wheel—they always did—and something

inside me grew. It was like a fist rose, spread open, and grabbed my heart. I pushed
down on the gas and flew down the road, leaving my high school in the swirling
snow.

* * * *

There were only two cars parked at Haven. I parked in an empty corner of the lot,
grabbed Pierce’s gift, and headed into the bar. Warmth and Christmas carols
greeted me as I walked in.

Pierce looked up from where he was behind the bar, a smile spreading across

his face. From out of nowhere, heat filled my stomach, and I couldn’t make sense of
it. He always did that to me. He made me feel warm when I always felt so cold.

“Hey,” he said, already fixing me the usual.

I crossed the room, nodding cordially to the two other people seated at the

bar, and took a seat of my own on a cracked stool. I had told Pierce time and time
again to replace the seats.

Our relationship had grown since the first time I’d stumbled into Haven,

desperate for a drink. I came every time I visited on Christmas, the only time I came
home, and we kept in touch throughout the year by e-mails, texts, and the
occasional phone call. I wouldn’t tell him that I clung to those moments we talked
like they were a lifeline.

“Here ya go,” he said as he passed me my drink. “How was service?”

I grimaced and took a sip. It burned my throat like fire and slammed into my

stomach with an atomic force.

“Not good?” Pierce pressed.

I watched his eyes soften. They were gray, a pale sort of color that was like a

cloudy night. I found myself becoming engrossed in them, waiting for the stars to rise
and the clouds to fade away.

His long blond hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, but a few strands

had begun to escape.

My fingers itched to reach out and tuck the rebellious locks behind his ear. I

busied them with unwinding my scarf and setting it down.

“It was your typical Christmas Mass,” I said, as if I were talking about any other

trite subject: weather, politics, they all blended together. “When I said I was coming
here afterward, they weren’t too happy.”

Pierce had learned long ago not to question why I came. He just sagely

nodded, like he understood—and maybe he did, though I never asked; I didn’t
know if I wanted to—and made sure my drink was full.

“They’ll get over it,” he offered with a crooked smile that showed off his one

dimple in his right cheek.

A smile started to twitch at my lips, and I bit my bottom lip. I sometimes

wondered if he knew what he did to my insides. It was confusing, because I had a
mix of anxiety and desire roaring through me. The thought of us together gave me

cold sweats and made my stomach gnaw with a primal hunger.

“Yeah,” I murmured and sipped patiently at my amber-filled tumbler. I studied

the other two patrons in Haven briefly. One was an older gentleman who looked like
he might be a nightly customer. He was hunched over his drink, and his eyes
drooped closed even though the glass was full. The woman beside him sipped at a
glass of wine, her makeup smudged.

Haven was just as it was called, a haven for the lonely, the broken, and the

lost. Pierce was an angel of mercy, even if he never admitted it.

“So how did the show go?” Pierce asked, his eyes bright and his infectious

smile in place. “I meant to ask ya yesterday, but I forgot.”

“It went well. I sold a few paintings, and I believe I made some good

connections.” My career as an artist was slowly making a climb up the ladder in the
art world. I had gone from working at an art gallery as a receptionist to finally
holding a show of my own.

“Ya sold some paintin’s? That’s great, Gregoire! Ya should be jumpin’ for joy!”

He laughed.

I couldn’t help the smile that spread.

“There ya go! There’s that beautiful smile!”

he jovially hollered.

My stomach flipped at his words, and my throat clenched closed.

“I wish I could ’ave been there. Hot damn, I bet it was nice.” He whistled low.

The woman at the end of the bar waved her hand to call in her tab, and Pierce
flashed me an apologetic smile before going off to tend to her.

I looked down at my drink, the lights from Pierce’s fake Christmas tree

reflecting off the amber liquid. I was trying to build the courage to give Pierce his
gift. We had never done an exchange before, and I hadn’t told him I was getting
him one, but I had become overwhelmed with the desire to do so.

The feelings that mixed inside me scared me.

They reminded me too much of what I wanted to forget, but I wanted so

much to see where things could go. Nervously I finished off my drink in one long
gulp, grimaced, and asked Pierce for another one when he returned to his spot in
front of me.

He eyed the glass but didn’t say anything as he poured. I took a few sips and

felt my nerves numb a little more.

The woman left, cold wind blowing in as she opened the door, and the man

at the bar dropped some dollars down ten minutes later. He nodded to Pierce,
mumbled something that I was pretty sure was “Merry Christmas,” and left us alone.

I sipped at my Scotch, closing my eyes because I was afraid to look at him.

“Are ya okay, Gregoire?” Pierce asked. I opened my eyes and glanced over

at him. He collected the man’s money, dropped it in the register, and walked

around to sit beside me. He peeled off his apron and rolled up the sleeves of his
white dress shirt.

I licked my lips and set my glass down, only a few sips left. “Yes, why?”

“Yer drinkin’ more than usual.” He gave my glass a worried look.

I waved him off, dismissed him, not willing to let him know the turmoil I was

experiencing, and handed him his Christmas gift. I had wrapped it in red-and-
green-striped paper and tied it off with a large gold bow.

His brows stretched comically high on his forehead as he accepted the gift.

“Gregoire…ya didn’t have to. I mean I didn’t…”

“It’s okay,” I assured him. I could feel the heat rushing up my face. “I just

wanted to. So…

um…Merry Christmas.”

I bit down on my bottom lip and watched as he ran his fingers adoringly over

the wrapped gift.

He stroked the bow, his eyes lowered and his long lashes dusting over his

cheeks. They were gold, just like his hair.

Finally he began to undo the bow and pull the wrapping paper away.

Beneath was a small painting I had done in between projects. His eyes widened as
he stared down at it, and I anxiously shifted in my seat. It was the first time I had
shown him my art, and I didn’t know what to expect.

“Gregoire…” he whispered, and I couldn’t gauge if it was awe on his face or

horror.

I looked at the painting and then back up at him. It was a boy, slim and pale,

lying in the snow naked with his hair disheveled and his eyes wide and glassy. A dark
trail of black dripped from the corner of his mouth and brushed his lips like smeared
lipstick. I had done it in a monochromatic, using a vibrant shade of yellow to lightly
dust the snow and kiss the boy’s frosty skin as if the sun were rising—or was it setting?

“If you don’t like it, I mean… You don’t have to accept it. It’s all right. I know

my art isn’t for everyone,” I rambled, which irked me to no end, but I couldn’t help
but do it. “It’s not the greatest gift. I know it’s quite weird, but I mean…”

“Gregoire.” Pierce’s voice broke through my aberrant babbling. “I love it. It’s

perfect.”

“R-really?” I gaped at him for a moment before pressing my lips together and

nodding.

“Yes, of course. I’m glad you like it.”

“Thank ya.” He smiled, his dimple showing, his eyes sparkling, and my heart

fluttered.

“You’re…” I swallowed thickly and tried again. “You’re welcome.”

He held the painting tightly between his fingers, and for a second, he looked

like he wanted to do something, anything, but then he changed his mind and set

the painting down. I finished my drink and rolled the tumbler along the tabletop. I
left typically around my second drink, but it was still so early, and I didn’t want to
leave him. I wanted to stay here, like this, forever.

“Could I have another one?” I asked and glanced over at him.

He licked his lips and nodded. Silently he walked around the bar and fixed me

a drink. The jukebox finished playing “Mary, Did You Know”

and began to play “Silent Night.”

Pierce passed me my fresh drink and went back to observing the painting. I

didn’t know how I felt about him so closely studying my work.

Revealing a piece I’d done, especially one I had put so much emotion into,

felt like exposing a piece of my soul. I never wanted to do that, but I always seemed
to give a part of it away with every painting I did. Sometimes I thought about just
taking all my paintings and setting them on fire so no one could see what was inside
me.

“I really do love it,” Pierce murmured, more to himself. I focused on the liquor

and took another long gulp. My body hummed and tingled like fireflies were racing
through it. A soft haze settled over my mind, giving it a rosy texture.

Endearingly, almost lovingly, he stroked the canvas and ran his finger down

the curve of the boy’s jaw. “He looks…”

Pierce’s eyes flicked up, questioning me without ever voicing the words. I

gave a harsh bark of laughter. It bubbled up and spilled out like vomit. I slugged
back the rest of my drink and slipped from my stool, helping him along with his
inquiry. “Like me? That’s because he is.”

I swayed slightly as I walked over to the jukebox. The machine lapsed into

silence for a split second before switching over to the next carol. My body went
rigid, and I stumbled, leaned forward, and collapsed against the giant machine.

“Shit, Gregoire!” Pierce shouted and vaulted over the bar as I pushed myself

up. My arms trembled as “O Holy Night” filled the bar. It was so beautiful that it
made my stomach churn and slosh with what felt like hurricane-strong waves.

Hands wrapped around my shoulders and pulled me back, and I suddenly felt

like my body was being dragged into a pit of darkness. I wrenched forward,
screamed, and spun around with my arm outstretched. Pierce stopped me before I
could strike him, and I felt my chest rise and fall with heavy pants.

“What the hell?”

Pierce’s eyes were wide, and I could feel the color—the horror—rising in me.

He blinked rapidly before enveloping me in his arms, just as I started to pull away.

“Shh, hey, Gregoire…it’s okay. What’s wrong? Shh…”

Part of me wanted to run. I wanted to get in my car and not stop driving until

I was gone, until Hawthorne faded into the blackness behind me.

But then I felt how amazing it was to have Pierce’s arms around me, holding

me, taking away my pain like it never existed.

I fell into him, grabbed on to him, and made a weak, keening noise in the

back of my throat. I wanted the music to stop. I wanted the images that plagued
my brain like cancer to stop.

“Gregoire, sweetheart,” Pierce whispered and rested a soothing, weighted

hand on my head.

He shifted me so that he had me secured in one arm and moved around me

until he could lean behind the jukebox. The music went dead a second later.

“What’s wrong, Gregoire? Talk to me,” he said into my hair. The haze I had

been savoring faded, blown away by my angst.

My hands felt clammy, and my mind rolled as if someone had thrown me over

a ledge. I moved in front of Pierce and ran my hands up his shirt, letting my fingers
skim over the skin of his throat. I could feel stubble on my fingertips as I brushed his
jaw and smoothed my palms on his cheeks.

“Gregoire?”

He swallowed hard, and I could see his Adam’s apple bobbing.

I was running on autopilot. I knew that he made me feel good when I felt

dead. I dragged him closer and closed the distance between us, taking his lips
against mine. He tasted like cinnamon. At first his body stiffened, and panic
clutched my heart. Had I done the wrong thing? He always seemed to look at me,
to sneak me heady glances, to smile and flirt, but then maybe…maybe I was wrong.

Had it all been in fun? A jest I had misinterpreted? Had I truly been so far off

the mark, unable to read his body language? His smiles had felt warmer when they
were directed at me.

I started to shrink away. His hands wrapped around my arms before I could

get far and pulled me against him. When our lips met again, he didn’t hesitate. A
groan escaped him, deep and guttural, and my insides melted.

This was not how I imagined the night to go, but I wasn’t about to argue with

where it was heading. Despite the trepidation that built in me, I somehow felt at
peace with Pierce.

His tongue slipped past the barriers of my mouth, and I sucked greedily on it.

We walked backward until I was pressed against the wall. Our bodies slotted
together perfectly, like we were made for each other, and the feel of his lips
meshed against mine did something to me I never thought was possible. I felt alive
—real. Maybe, if he kissed me, I could move through the world and not look back.

I made a whining sound when his lips moved away from mine. He panted

softly and whispered, “Gregoire, w-what… Are ya sure about this?”

I met Pierce’s eyes, which were so much like clouds getting ready to part, and

nodded. I could feel his hardness against my own. It was a prominent swell in his
snug jeans.

For a second he looked like he wanted to question what was going on. I was

terrified he would, because if we started to analyze this, I would lose my courage.

“I’m sure, Pierce,” I whispered and leaned in for another kiss.

He pulled back, but a gentle smile was in place, so I didn’t give in to my

nervous fears.

Pierce nodded and grabbed my left hand.

“All right, then, come on.”

He locked the bar up, shut off the lights, and guided me upstairs to an

apartment above Haven.

He kept it modestly furnished with worn, well-used furniture. It smelled faintly of

nutmeg and cinnamon.

I didn’t study the decor long. He led me straight to the bedroom, passing an

office and a bathroom on the way. My throat clenched as we stepped into his
room, and he flicked on the light above the queen-size bed. It didn’t take long for
us to shed our clothes. We were feverish, afraid to stop and shatter the moment. If I
paused and actually thought about what we were doing, I knew I’d run.

Things would change.

We would change.

We were two adolescent boys again, on an adventure and on the verge of

discovering adulthood. The seconds we were apart felt infinite, and the moments
we were together weren’t long enough. At some point my mind had cleared
enough for me to revel in the glide of his hands over my narrow waist. Whatever
haze I’d enjoyed from the Scotch was gone, and it was all me, all Pierce.

I fell back onto the bed and pushed myself up to the mound of pillows. Pierce

followed, his hard body leaning over mine as he lowered himself for another kiss. He
was all sharp contours, the exact opposite of my lithe form. His abs were defined,
and his arms rippled as he rested his weight on them. I rubbed my fingers up their
bulbous muscles and gripped tightly, my heart jumping in my throat.

“Yer so beautiful,” he whispered softly as he dusted his lips over mine.

Revulsion surged up, and I shook my head, whispering back, “D-don’t call me

that.”

He pulled back and peered down at me, his eyes suddenly filled with

hesitation. Not wanting to sabotage the moment, I pressed my hands to his cheeks
and guided him down. “I…I don’t like that.

Everyone says it,” I lied.

I didn’t know if he bought it, but he didn’t press. Instead he nuzzled my cheek

and murmured, “All right, then how about ravishin’? Gorgeous?

Handsome? Debonair? Breathtakin’? They all seem to work.”

A smile twitched at the corners of my mouth, and I shoved him in his shoulder.

He chuckled and with another kiss he stole my breath, refusing to give it back. My

body hummed to life, our hardnesses pressed eagerly between our bodies. I rutted
up into him as his tongue pillaged my mouth, and whined, “Pierce.”

He grabbed my hips to keep me from grinding up against him and firmly held

me in place. Fear knotted its way into my stomach as he pinned me down, and I
had to work through it, push it aside, and refuse to let it dredge itself up at that
moment.

Sex wasn’t foreign to me. I’d had it enough times that some might even call

me a whore. But every time I lay down beneath a heavy body, I felt like my world
was about to shatter. Sometimes I could fight darkness. I could push the feeling
away with enough booze and enough sensations, but other times I panicked and
ruined it all.

I didn’t want to do that with Pierce. I didn’t want to ruin this.

“Hey,” Pierce said softly between kisses as he worked down the bend of my

neck, “stay with me.”

I shuddered and let out a breathy sigh of acknowledgment. Soon his head

vanished down my body, and his lips latched around one of my nipples. Shocks shot
through me, restarting my stalled heart. I let out a cry and reached down to take
purchase of the long strands of his hair. They felt like liquid gold in my fingers.

He sucked hard and rolled the fleshy nub between his teeth. My hips

involuntarily bucked, grinding my dick against his abdomen. Pierce didn’t stay long
at my nipples. He worked his way lower, not stopping until his head was nestled in
my lap.

I barely got out his name before hot wetness surrounded my cock. He

swallowed me up, and my world seemed to tilt off its axis. My fingers tightened in his
hair, snagging some strands as he created a vacuum seal around my aching
member.

His tongue ravished me, and I knew I wouldn’t make it far if he continued to

hum in such a succulent way, like I was the finest dish he’d ever had and he
couldn’t help but moan.

“Oh God,” I groaned as he took me down to the root. My toes curled as I

stretched out beneath him. Whatever thoughts had been creeping into my mind
vanished at the feel of him wrapped around me. I tugged at his hair desperately—
eagerly—and cried, “Oh God, Pierce, I’m g-gonna…nngh, come if you don’t—”

He pulled back with a slurp and dragged his body up. His mouth smashed

onto mine, and I hungrily returned the kiss, my fingers still locked in a vise grip in his
hair. Just as I started to rock up into him to finish what he’d started, he slid away. I
made another whine, which grew louder as he completely left me and rustled
through his dresser drawer.

“Turn around on yer hands and knees,” Pierce instructed as he settled beside

me. I did as he said, shivering as his hand ghosted down my spine and rested at the

base of my back. I turned my head to watch as he coated his fingers in lubricant
and dropped a dollop down my crack. It was cold and made a lazy trail
downward.

“Jus’ breathe in and out,” Pierce whispered as he eased two digits into me.

Tingles wiggled through me, growing as he started to thrust his fingers in and out
and move them so that they pressed against my prostate. Once he brushed the
bundle of nerves, pleasure rocketed up my spine. I bucked into his touch, desperate
to continue the sensation.

He held on to my hip and helped guide me as I ground against his hand. His

breathing grew low, and I could hear him over my pants.

“Fuck, Gregoire.”

His fingers vanished, and I looked back again, watching with a hooded gaze

as he slipped on a condom and coated himself with lubricant.

Carefully he took me by my hips and guided me backward. I closed my eyes

and drew in a sharp breath as the head of his cock pressed against my entrance.
He was thick. I knew I’d stretch wide with him inside me, and the thought sent a thrill
up my spine that I’d never felt before.

Pierce changed my world, and he didn’t even know it.

He pushed forward and eased in at a gradual pace, giving me time to adjust

to his girth. I made a weak sound in the back of my throat and clenched the
comforter. An illicit mix of pain and pleasure coursed through me, hot and pulsing
like lava.

“Shit,” Pierce hissed, his grip on my hips tightening. He stopped once he was

fully sheathed inside me and sat there, his breathing low. I knew he was waiting for
me to give the okay. His hands trembled with the effort to keep from pounding.

His thumbs shakily stroked circles along my sides as he grunted, “Yer so fucking

tight.”

Deviously I clenched around him and earned a low approving groan. He

started to rock into me but still managed to control his innate urge to succumb to
his desires. I rolled my hips backward, channel adjusted as well as it would be, and
moaned, “Go, Pierce.”

That was all he needed.

My eyes widened as he pulled out and slammed in. My body lurched forward,

and a moan spilled from my lips. I buried my face in the pillow, grappling for some
kind of purchase as he started to drill into me. My hips swiveled back and met each
thrust. His bed trembled beneath us, rocking with our motions so that the wooden
headboard clapped against the wall. Our moans escalated, became a song of
rapturous praise.

Abruptly he pulled out, and I gave a cry of distraught, the bundle of nerves at

the base of my spine and in my stomach so tightly coiled, I knew I was close. He

flipped me over and murmured something, though I didn’t catch it. He grabbed my
thighs and parted them, hoisting me so that my legs bent over my body. In one
smooth motion, he slid into me and pressed me deep into the mattress.

I threw my arms around him, dug my nails into his back, and cried out his

name like he was my savior. Maybe he was.

“Gregoire,” Pierce groaned into my ear, “ya feel so amazin’. God…don’t go.

Don’t ever go.”

I kissed him, swallowed his pleas like they were candy, and held him as close

to my body as physically possible. From the friction of our bodies rubbing together, I
felt myself tumble over the ledge. I ripped from him and threw my head back,
piercing the night and screaming praise to anyone I could think of. Cum splashed
across our stomachs, and my muscles gave a spasm, clenching around Pierce to
drag him with me.

His body shook, and he made a guttural sound in the back of his throat as he

rutted into me. I clamped my limbs around him, holding him in deep so his hot ropes
of cum were caught by the condom. He came hard, slamming me down into the
mattress mercilessly and completely claiming me.

Our bodies were coated with more than sweat, but I didn’t have the energy

to care. Pierce pulled out, brushed my hair aside, and kissed my forehead. He
removed the condom and walked off to get something. When he returned, he
carefully wiped me down with a cotton towel.

He threw the towel aside, helped me move so he could peel back the

blankets, and crawled into bed with me. I knew I needed to go home, but I just
didn’t care. Pierce was so warm, and it felt so good. Here, within his arms, the world
wasn’t made of ash.

* * * *

I woke up the next morning wrapped in a warm cocoon of flesh and blankets. It
wasn’t something I was used to, especially after a night of drinking. I burrowed
closer into the embrace, sighing gently. It wasn’t until I felt a breath on my cheek
that it dawned on me who it was, what had happened.

I jerked back, and Pierce opened his eyes.

There wasn’t a clich moment where I stammered my regrets, apologized,

é

and ran off. No. Once my heart stopped pounding and my swimming head cleared
a bit, I settled back down into his open arms. The alarm on his face smoothed away,
and he nuzzled my hair, murmuring,

“Merry Christmas.” That got me going. I shot up and hissed, “Shit!”

“What?”

“I told my parents I would be home last night.

They’re going to kill me!” A grin cracked across his face, and I glared down at

him. “What’s so funny?”

It dawned on me how ridiculous I sounded. I was twenty-three and still afraid

of my parents.

His arms laced around my waist, and he pressed his face into my stomach, his

voice muffled against my skin. I stroked my fingers through his hair and whispered,
“What?”

This moment, this tender moment, I didn’t want to shatter. The fear I usually

balanced on my heart seemed to level off for once, and I could relish the feel of
another person beside me. Maybe it was because I knew it wouldn’t last. The
thought somehow made it better.

“I said”—he pulled back and looked up at me —“why don’t ya spend

Christmas ’ere?”

He looked so hopeful that I wanted to agree.

We only had a few hours left before I’d leave to head back to New York. I

never stayed past Christmas Day.

My parents were waiting, though, and I knew I couldn’t do that to my fragile

mother.

“How about”—I leaned over him and pressed my forehead against his—“you

spend Christmas with me? My parents would love to have you over.”

Something apprehensive passed over Pierce, and like that, the tender

moment I cherished broke.

I nodded and ran the back of my hand down the side of his face. “Are you

sure you won’t?”

“I don’t think it’d be a good idea, sweetheart.” He pushed himself up.

“No, I guess it wouldn’t.” I glanced away. It suddenly felt awkward and stifling,

like his blankets were tightening around me, and the walls of his bedroom were
closing in.

I pulled away and slipped from the bed. His hand shot out and grabbed my

forearm, but I shook it off.

“Gregoire,” Pierce stammered and scooted across the bed. “We should—”

“Text me later, okay?” I cut him off because I didn’t want to talk about last

night. I didn’t want to dissect what this was. I didn’t want to let the conversation
eventually roll over to my panic attack. I wanted to leave it how it was—a beautiful
moment.

“Okay.”

I turned to look at him, and I could tell he wasn’t sure how to handle the

situation. I schooled my features into a familiar mask of indifference and leaned
forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Nothing has changed, all right?”

He nodded, but we both knew that wasn’t true. Everything had changed. This

was the start of something. What, I didn’t know, but that knowledge helped tip the
scale of fear over in my heart and sent me running out of his apartment and the
bar.

Chapter Three

Pierce Lawson

Christmas 2008

To say that things went wonderfully after that fateful night two years ago

would be a lie.

Anything with Gregoire Wood never happens easily. There’s just something

about him that makes you work for everything, especially when it comes to matters
of the heart.

Nothing was explained, and nothing developed. We stayed in the same

dynamic we always had, only this time, sex was involved. We weren’t in a
relationship, but I wouldn’t necessarily say we were just friends. What we were was
an enigma.

Whatever stalked him, whatever tore away his shields that night, was still

shrouded in mystery. I was no closer to understanding it.

I was beginning to think I’d never be able to understand Gregoire Wood.

He hadn’t shown up like he usually did for his round of drinks after arriving

home this year. Part of me was tempted to call his parents’ house, but the thought
of how that conversation would go stopped my hand before it reached the phone.

By the time Christmas Eve came around and there was no sign of Gregoire,

my panic began to climb. I gave up trying to text him. He hadn’t responded to any
of my twenty texts. I pulled my phone out, glanced over the nearly dead bar, and
wandered out to the front. Christmas Eve was never a big night, and the few locals
knocking it back were harmless. I dialed Gregoire’s number and stuffed my free
hand into my pocket.

It was one of those rare Christmases when it didn’t snow. The earth was a

barren wasteland.

The harvested soybean fields looked alien with their gray dirt and scraggly,

dried-up weeds. A fingernail-shaped moon cast a small wreath of silver light over
the vacant fields. Everything was desolate, like it belonged in one of those dystopian
novels that Gregoire loved to read.

When no one answered, I hung up and tried again. Something in my gut just

kept telling me things weren’t right. In the five years I’d known Gregoire, he hadn’t
ignored my calls. Even after the first time we’d slept together and he’d run out like
the devil was at his back.

The call clicked over almost immediately to voice mail, and I thought of

leaving one, but I knew he wouldn’t listen. I tried one more time and then shoved
the phone back into my pocket a little too viciously. I was starting to look like a
stalker, but damn it, Gregoire never ignored me.

There wasn’t much of a choice in what I was going to do next. I walked into

the bar and shouted, “Sorry folks, closin’ up early tonight. Family emergency.”

A few folks groaned; some even piddled about with their drinks, but they

cleared out nonetheless. I waited until an older woman in her late fifties, wearing
every piece of jewelry she owned, waddled out before I closed Haven up.

One plane ticket later, I was on my way to New York City. I had never left

Hawthorne except to head to Columbus or other parts of southern Ohio. Leaving
the state had never been particularly appealing, but then again, I’d never had a
reason to.

Now I couldn’t get far enough away.

The red eye was packed with last-minute vacationers, one of whom was a

screaming baby hell-bent on bursting my eardrums. When the 727

landed, I had never been so grateful to be on solid ground. Clouds beneath

my feet just weren’t something I cared for, especially when there was a chance to
nosedive back to earth. I almost made a scene and kissed the ground in
excitement.

Luckily I had Gregoire’s address left over from a birthday card he’d sent me. I

kept the flimsy piece of violet paper clutched tightly in my hand as I hailed a cab.
I’d only brought with me a carry-on with a few clothes in it. I didn’t quite know what
I was getting into, or what I was going to do now that I was here, but I knew it had
to be something.

First step: find Gregoire.

“Where to?” the cabdriver asked as I slid into the backseat. I unfolded the

crumpled envelope and looked down at the address carefully printed on the top
left corner. His letters were meticulous. I read off the address and folded the
envelope back up, sliding it into the pocket of my leather coat.

We pulled away from the airport and slipped into the streets. A labyrinth

didn’t even begin to describe New York City. The place was like another world, and
my jaw dropped as soon as we left the airport. Columbus paled in comparison to
New York City, whose skyscrapers were like a redwood forest. They stood tall and
dominating, great metal and glass giants. On some of them I could see the entire
night sky reflected off their windows.

The people who lined the streets were like aliens. A man walked down the

street with his hands down the front of his pants. I was anxious to see it all in daylight,
when things weren’t locked away like an ominous secret.

Gregoire lived in Queens. I didn’t know what that really meant. The only things

I knew about the city were from what I’d seen in movies and read in books. All that
seemed like some great fabrication when juxtaposed with the real thing.

The apartment complex he lived in was a brick building that didn’t seem too

bad. I couldn’t see any hoboes lingering around the front, so I took that as a good
sign.

I handed the driver his fare and climbed out of the cab. He pulled away from

the curb and continued on down the street.

There was someone a few buildings away with a dog, but other than the

retreating cab, the street was desolate. I walked to the front door and tried to open
it. When the door didn’t budge, I looked over at the call box mounted on the wall.

There was a list of names next to some tiny silver buttons.

Gregoire’s name was adjacent to Apartment 30D. I hit the button and waited.

Nothing. I hit the button again, this time leaning on it a bit. Nothing.

I hit the button a third time and leaned on it, not letting up. After a minute of

annoying, static like buzzing, someone cut through and shouted, “What?”

Gregoire’s voice was strained, if not a little pissed. I swallowed thickly, glad he

was alive, and hit the Talk button. “Gregoire, it’s Pierce.”

For a handful of seconds, there was nothing but silence. I was almost sure he

had wandered off or possibly dropped dead.

“P-Pierce? H-how? What… Why? Ho-hold on. I’m buzzing you in.”

I heard him stutter over the call box, and then there was a buzz and a click. I

opened the front door and sprinted up the ancient-looking stairs.

There was a light on the second flight that buzzed like a swarm of bees and

flickered enough to give a person seizures.

Gregoire’s apartment was on the fourth floor.

I walked down the hall until I came to his door and knocked. I heard cursing

followed by something falling with a heavy thud. Metal jingled and scraped before
the door was wrenched open, and Gregoire looked at me with wide, bloodshot
eyes.

He had puffy cheeks, a red nose, and his eyes were damp. My heart jumped

in my throat at the sight of him, his hair mussed and expression so raw and
uncensored. The only other time I’d ever seen him so exposed was during sex.

“What are you doing here?” He gasped, his hand tightly clutching the door.

I licked my chapped lips, my tongue suddenly not wanting to cooperate.

“Pierce?”

“Ya wouldn’t answer my calls,” I stated simply. He blinked at me, and I

stammered, “I…I got worried. I thought somethin’ happened.”

And it looks like somethin’ did.

“What’s wrong?” I asked and let my bag drop from my shoulder. He glanced

down at it and then back up at me, his lip tucked between his teeth.

With a sigh he stepped aside and murmured, “Come in.”

I picked my bag back up and slipped into his apartment, a little giddy to see

it. From the hallway I could see the living room and what looked like a breakfast bar.
Everything was neat and orderly. It almost felt impersonal and sterile, as if it had
been unlived in for years. Gregoire quietly guided me down the hall, shooting me a
glance every now and then.

His furniture was basic and minimal: black leather couch and chair, sleek

black lacquered coffee table with an anatomy book on it, and a flat screen
mounted across from the couch.

It was Gregoire, but it wasn’t.

Small touches of him were beneath the varnish, like hidden symbols, but they

were few and far between.

Gregoire rubbed at his eyes, tried to discreetly wipe away tears, and returned

to the glass of Scotch resting by the anatomy book. A bottle stood beside the glass,
almost entirely gone.

“What happened?” I blurted out as I dropped my bag unceremoniously on

the couch.

“Nothing,” Gregoire said before taking a large gulp.

I walked over to him and snatched the glass away. A bit of liquor sloshed

onto the carpet. His brow twitched, but before he could say anything, I said, “Ya’ve
been ignorin’ me. Ya didn’t come home. Somethin’ happened. Ya’ve never done
this before.”

Gregoire sneered, and for a second, it was like we were back at the

beginning, with his walls slamming up around him.

“What do you know? We see each other once a year. You know nothing

about me.”

That stung, but I knew he was trying to deter me from finding the truth with his

hurtful words. I wouldn’t take the bait. I cared about him too much.

God help me, I loved him, and I wasn’t about to crumple under his piercing

glare. I’d just have to make myself bulletproof against his words.

“That may be so,” I said through gritted teeth.

“But in that short time—in all our conversations over the phone—I ’ave gotten

to know ya. And I also know when a person has bloodshot eyes, it’s either because
they’re high or crying. I think I know ya well enough to know ya aren’t smoking
dope, so why don’t ya jus’ tell me what’s wrong?”

He grabbed the glass back, his hand slightly shaking, and snapped, “Is this

what you came here for? To attack me?”

“No.” I snatched the bottle before he could grab it from the table. “I came

because ya had me worried sick. God, I thought ya were dead.”

He hesitated at that. His gaze flicked from the bottle to me, and it broke my

heart to see how torn he was between wanting to suck on the bottle or face
whatever he was facing. He worried his lower lip, one hand stretched out halfway.
The delicateness of the moment vanished when he blinked, anger returning.

“Well, as you can see, I’m fine, so you can just go home and finish off your

holiday.”

I held the bottle out of reach and said forcefully, “No. Not without ya. My

Christmas doesn’t start until I see ya.”

His face flushed, and his eyes widened again.

I took a step closer but kept some distance between us. “I’m not leavin’ till I

know what happened. This ain’t ya. May not have known ya for a lifetime, but from
what time we have spent together, I know ya wouldn’t not show up. I like to think
that I’m not the only one who waits for the year to be over jus’ so I can see ya.”

I thought he might crack. His eyes softened, his cheeks brightened, and his lips

twitched but never truly formed a smile. Then he snatched the bottle from my
unsuspecting hand and put some distance between us. He topped off his glass.

“Do yourself a favor and just go. Forget you knew me, okay? I’m not someone

you should know. You’re better than me. Besides, I’m not coming home for
Christmas anymore.”

“Not know? Better then you?” I stammered, tripping over the words. “Not

comin’ home?

Gregoire, what in Sam’s hell are ya talkin’ about?

I thank God every day I met ya! If anyone ain’t good enough, it’s me. I’m jus’

some fuckin’ hick from bum’s-fuck nowhere, and yer this amazin’

artist.”

He didn’t take a sip of his drink; he just kept the glass close to his lips. I closed

the distance once more and pried the glass and bottle from his hands, this time
going over to set them on the bar. I turned back around and whispered, “I don’t
want to think about spendin’ Christmas without ya. Can’t ya see I’m in—”

I clamped my lips tightly closed. I was getting close to spilling my heart out,

and something told me those three small words wouldn’t help the situation.
Something hollow was in his eyes, like his soul had been sucked out. Me
unburdening my heart onto his wouldn’t fix that. It would just cause the empty husk
of his body to collapse.

“Pierce…”

“Talk to me,” I pleaded once I’d rerouted my brain on a different path.

“Somethin’ has been eatin’ ya up for years. I knew it from the moment I saw ya.”

“I can’t…” His face pinched tight, like he’d swallowed a whole bowl of

lemons—pained, worn-out. “You’ll hate me… I couldn’t bear for you to hate me.”

The last part came out so soft I almost didn’t catch it. I shook my head

vehemently and reassured him, “Nothin’, and I mean nothin’, could ever make me
hate ya. Believe me.”

“This will.” He said it with such force, such assurance, that I almost wondered if

he spoke true.

But I knew that I couldn’t. It didn’t matter if he’d killed a man; I’d still love this

beautiful soul.

His voice cracked, and fresh tears prickled his eyes. They were like glistening

diamonds scattered across his lashes. My heart wrenched at his anguished
expression. He looked like he was standing at the edge of the world with a gun to
his back. He wanted to get away, but he saw no other choice but to jump. I
wondered momentarily what would have happened if I hadn’t shown up. Would he
have…? I didn’t want to think about that.

I did the only thing I knew to do when someone cried. It was the same thing

my grandmother had done to me when I couldn’t hold up the world no more. I
pulled him against me, wrapped him in my arms, and whispered, “Cry.

Cry like there’s no one ’ere. Jus’ let it all out and unburden yer heart.”

His legs went out as he locked his arms around me, his hands clamped on my

shoulders.

The weight of his body dragged us both down to the floor, but I didn’t let go. I

continued to hold him as a soul-wrenching sob pierced the apartment. He started
to cry; my neck and shoulder became damp with his tears. His entire body shook
from the force of his sobs.

I didn’t know what he was crying for. I had a feeling I’d never truly understand

the pain that lay within the recesses of his heart. But I knew it was something
monumental.

We sat there in the dark, the only light streaming in through the open window.

I could make out the stars from where we sat. It hadn’t snowed in New York City,
and there wasn’t a trace of holiday decorations or lights strung up anywhere in
Gregoire’s apartment. If I didn’t know better, it would almost seem like it wasn’t
Christmas.

He kept crying, unleashed whatever was held inside him. I continued to hold

him tight, letting my fingers venture up to stroke his dark locks.

Eventually, though I wasn’t sure how long it took, his sobs tapered off into tiny

groans and hiccups.

When the silence came, I shifted and stretched out my cramped legs. He

moved in my lap, adjusted with me so he was more comfortable. His arms went lax;
his fingers loosened their vise grip on my shoulders.

I turned my head and studied him up close, brushing stray tears from his eyes.

I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know what to say, so I just kept quiet. He
leaned forward, desperation lighting his dull eyes, and kissed me. He tasted like a
blend of salt and Scotch. I didn’t like it. It wasn’t how he was supposed to taste, so I
pulled back and whispered, “Wait.”

His back stiffened, and he started to shrink away. I clamped my hands on his

back and pressed him close, refusing to let him go. “Now hold on. I don’t mean I
don’t want’cha. I always want ya.”

God, was that true. I didn’t want anyone else.

I hadn’t been with anyone since I’d met Gregoire.

No one could compare. Sure, in the beginning, when Gregoire and I first met, I

still had the occasional fling. Those had been extremely rare, though, mostly
because there weren’t a lot of gay men who ambled into Hawthorne. But that all
stopped the first time we’d slept together. Now I filled the time until Gregoire came
back with my hand and images of him in my head. It was pathetic; I knew it was,
but it was all I had.

“But I can’t do this when yer so hurt,” I whispered. “It wouldn’t feel right. I want

ya to be happy when we make love, not so upset. Tell me what happened. Maybe I
can help.”

“No one can,” Gregoire lamented. His voice cracked again.

“Shh.” I stroked my fingers down his cheek, catching a tear. “Ya don’t know

that. Please, jus’

talk to me.”

He bit his lower lip again and studied me, trying to figure out if it was a good

idea to talk to me. Finally he nodded and whispered, “Okay…

but…but I warned you.”

Gregoire pulled away, stood up, and scrubbed at his eyes with his hands. He

gave another hiccup and returned to the breakfast bar, fixing himself a Scotch. I let
him. If he needed a little liquid courage to talk, who was I to stop him?

“Do you want a drink?” Gregoire asked, and I shook my head.

He swallowed and nodded toward the couch in the living area. The area was

sectioned off by a cream carpet. I got up and took a seat on the couch, shocked
that it was a lot more comfortable than it looked. My couch at home was an
overstuffed, ancient thing from my grandparents that had a rip down one side. I
loved that couch.

Gregoire took a seat beside me and sipped from his glass, his fingers clutching

it tightly. He looked thinner. His cheeks seemed sunken in, and his shoulders sharper.
He’d told me once that when he got working on a painting, especially a larger one,
he sometimes forgot to eat or do anything else, really. Was this from that? Or was it
something else?

“I sold a painting this weekend, at the gallery show I had. The one I told you

about.”

“That’s great,” I started but stopped and hedged, “or not?”

He shook his head, sucked in a sharp breath, and took another big gulp. “It

was a big painting. A self-portrait. I, um…I was really proud of it. And it was a really
good price.”

“So what’s wrong?”

His eyes glazed over, grew distant. He was entering a realm I didn’t know

about. There was a world beyond this alien one—one so far off in the galaxy that I
couldn’t see it.

“The person I sold it to…” Gregoire whispered and continued to stare off into

space; he took a sip like it was an automatic response, as if it were the same thing
as breathing.

I kept quiet. He needed to take his time, and if I rushed him, he might close off

again.

“I’ve always been into art. It’s the one thing I understood.”

Gregoire closed his eyes, like he was reliving whatever he was telling me.

“When I was seventeen, my senior year in high school, I took some advanced

painting classes. Ones that I could do independent work in.

I was excited, because I could do what I wanted. I entered a lot of

competitions that year, and I won pretty much all of them.”

I could believe it. He was phenomenal. I kept the painting he’d given me two

years ago hung in my bedroom, so I could see it every morning when I woke up
and every night when I went to bed.

“My art teacher was new, and he was really nice. He became my mentor.”

Gregoire licked his lips and took a drink, almost downing the glass.

There was one more swallow left. “It was shortly after winter break. There was

a huge art competition coming along, and I was finishing up a painting.”

My stomach dropped and coiled up all at once. The blood in me began to

drain as I watched his face, watched it contort like he was in that moment all over
again. I didn’t need him to say it to know where the conversation was going. I didn’t
want to hear it. God, I wanted him to shut up so I wouldn’t have to hear it, but I
couldn’t stop him, and I knew he needed to say it.

“I stayed after school. He was grading things from other classes and helping

me with my painting when I needed it. I remember that the art room smelled of oil
paints and thinner, and that it was cold. He had on Christmas music, even though
the holiday was over, because he said he didn’t want the season to end. He was
strange like that.

“I thought he was amazing. He was so…

traveled. He had studied in France, been to Italy.

Everyone in school thought he was handsome, exotic. I was proud that he

paid special attention to me. I was his favorite. I knew for sure that under his gentle
guidance, I could win the competition.”

He paused, his throat choking up. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep

breath. When he opened his eyes again, he got up and fixed another Scotch. He
didn’t return to the couch.

“He finished grading and came over to help me. I was doing a landscape. I

couldn’t get the lighting right.” He swallowed a large gulp, coughed. His voice
cracked. “His touch was…

warm. His touch was so warm, and it was so cold in the room. He pressed his

hand against the back of my neck. I thought it was reassurance, but it was just to
hold me still. He kissed my cheek, my neck…my body. I was cold, and he was so hot,
and he crammed into me. I thought to myself, it should never fit like that—so hard
and tight.

“Paint went everywhere. All over me. All over the floor. My painting was

ruined. I cried. I remember begging him to stop and thinking, why isn’t anyone
coming? Where were the janitors?

They never came.”

I closed my eyes and gripped the couch. The image was burned in the backs

of my eyelids, and I snapped them open. Bile rose up my throat, forming a large ball
right above my Adam’s apple.

“When he finished, he told me he loved me.”

Gregoire laughed humorlessly. “I can’t really remember much after that. I

think he cleaned me up, cleaned up the mess. I’m assuming he did, at least. I
remember him telling me over and over again that he loved me, that I was
amazing, talented. You know what I do clearly remember?

The song that was on: ‘O Holy Night.’”

I opened my mouth, tried to say something, but I didn’t know what to say.

“I used to love that song. I sang it in church for my father all the time. I was in

the choir. I’m not the greatest singer, but I loved performing at Christmas. I…I
couldn’t do it after that.”

He finally looked at me. For the first time since he’d started talking, he looked

at me, and I wished he hadn’t. My entire body felt like it had been submerged in
boiling water. His face was as barren as the soy fields in front of Haven.

“The abuse didn’t end. I thought that it had become my life, that it was all I

had become. I dropped out of art, but I couldn’t put enough distance between us.
He found me, always when I least expected it. At one point, I passed out in the
middle of class from the stress and wound up missing a week of school. I almost
didn’t graduate.”

My voice shook as I whispered, “He bought the painting?”

He gave another humorless bark of laughter.

“He’s still handsome, I’ll give him that.”

“Jesus.” My tongue felt so heavy in my mouth.

I wanted to say something to make it better, to make the pain disappear, but

there was nothing I could say to him. Nothing would erase this, not even an endless
supply of Scotch. “Why didn’t ya tell somebody? Yer parents? The principal?”

“I was a boy, Pierce. A boy!” His voice cracked. “Those things don’t happen

to boys. Girls maybe, but not boys. What was I supposed to say?

My parents… Their world, it would all shatter. I couldn’t hold that on my

shoulders, on top of everything else.”

He shuddered, like a cold wind had just blown through him. The carefully

constructed dam he’d built to keep his emotions back was crumbling like it was
made of papier-m ch .

â é

“I would have killed myself if I weren’t so damn scared of hell.” Gregoire

looked on the verge of hysterics. He sobbed, then laughed, then fell quiet.

His entire face fell, and he looked like he was going to cry again. I scrambled

off the couch and rushed over to him just as he dropped his glass. It fell to the
carpet with a muted thud. His hands slipped over his face, and he gave another
wretched sob.

I wrapped my arms around him, even though I didn’t know if that was the

right thing to do. He buried his face in my chest.

“I just want to forget,” he cried. “I thought I had. I thought I was past this. But

seeing him, having him buy something so much a part of me, it felt like he was
doing it all over again. I could feel him inside me. He smiled. He fucking smiled at
me.”

There were never any words for times like these, when you’re stripped of

everything. I could whisper that it would be okay, but I didn’t know for sure if it
would be. I didn’t even think he’d want that.

I just murmured soft reassurances and held him. I was torn for the first time in

my life between wanting to be with Gregoire and wanting to run off, away from this
horror, and find the bastard who’d caused his grief. I knew without a doubt that if I
ever met this man, I wouldn’t be able to control myself.

“Come on,” I whispered. “Let’s get ya in bed.”

He nodded, mute, and let me angle his body toward the single hall in the

apartment. I ushered him down it, never letting go, and found his bedroom. A
queen-size bed stood in the center of the room with a chic comforter. When I
pulled away to peel back the comforter, Gregoire clung to my arm. He appeared
like a small child waking up from a nightmare.

I laid him across the bed and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He was so small

and pale beneath the black blankets. In that instant, he was a child, and I was the
adult.

“Go to sleep, darlin’,” I told him. “I’ll be here when ya wake.”

His eyes closed, and I waited a few minutes before I left the room. I was too

wired to sleep, but I also didn’t know for sure if Gregoire would want me to share a
bed with him tonight.

I walked back to the living room and hunted down a towel to clean up the

spilled Scotch. Once the mess was wiped up and the bottle put away and the dirty
glass put in the sink, I plopped down on the couch and stared blankly at the
television. It felt like someone had sucker punched me in the gut.

Exhaustion seemed to hit me as I let my limbs unwind. Even with my mind

spinning around like it was caught on a Tilt-A-Whirl, I could feel my eyelids drooping.
I blinked them open and focused on the blank screen; they drooped again, and I
blinked them open. I repeated the actions several times before the world just went
black.

I dreamed about a little boy, no older than sixteen or seventeen, running

through the snow. He ran and ran, like he was running from something horrible.
Eventually he tripped over his own feet and sprawled out naked in the snow. I
couldn’t make out his face, just traces of brown hair and pale flesh. Blood dyed the
snow red.

* * * *

I jerked up at the feel of hands. Gregoire recoiled, his hands held up in defense.

“Pierce, it’s me.”

His hair was mussed, stuck out at random angles, and his eyes still seemed

unfocused with sleep. He was perched on the edge of the coffee table, looking for
a moment like a bird trying to find a window to escape through. I rubbed my eyes
with my fists and glanced around the room.

Sunlight streamed in through the window.

“Mornin’ already?” I asked and stretched my arms up, letting out a yawn. My

body was stiff from the position I had fallen asleep in.

“Are you okay?” Gregoire asked.

“Fine,” I mumbled, not bothering to mention my nightmare. It was definitely a

nightmare. “What about you?”

His cheeks colored, and he shifted his gaze toward the window. For a terrifying

second, I thought he might try to leap out and see if he really could fly away. His
face smoothed over as he gazed up into the horizon.

“All right. Fine, I guess,” Gregoire whispered. He turned back to face me and

offered an unenthusiastic smile. “I will be, at least.”

He was so fragile, a glass doll that could break at the faintest touch. But

somewhere hidden beneath the surface was a strength he was trying to tap into. His

smile was weak, but his eyes were bright. My heart swelled at the sight, and I knew I
wanted to be there to help him every step of the way.

I opened my arms for him, and he didn’t hesitate to crawl into my embrace. I

enveloped him, more so for myself than anything. His words echoed in my mind, and
I wanted to silence them. I couldn’t, though. They’d always be there, forever burned
into my brain as a reminder of what shaped Gregoire.

With hushed tones I whispered to him, “Merry Christmas, Gregoire.”

His eyes had slipped closed again. I smiled and raked my fingers through his

hair, stroking the wild strands back. This wasn’t how I had originally planned on
spending my Christmas, but I couldn’t think of anywhere I wanted to be in that
moment, more than right there. As terrifying as facing Gregoire’s past was, it was
worth it to see his expression as he slept in my arms.

I never wanted to let this man go.

Chapter Four

Gregoire Wood

Christmas 2010

Things should have gotten better between us.

Maybe they had, in some sort of strange way.

Things had definitely changed. The dynamic between us had shifted. I could

feel it. I knew—really, I did—that Pierce would never abuse his power, but the fact of
the matter was he knew something that no one else did. Something I had kept
guarded as if it were the Hope Diamond.

I was a bird with a broken wing to him. He had to be tender and gentle with

me. That was why I hadn’t wanted him to find out. I didn’t want him to see my flaws.
He might not have turned away in revulsion, but everything had taken on a new
light.

Even our fucking was different. There was still desire, but it was tempered with

trepidation. I was no longer Gregoire Wood to Pierce. I was a rape victim.

Even after a decade, I could still taste him in my mouth sometimes, the

combination of tobacco and Swiss cheese. It was slippery and thick, as if I had
swallowed a slug. I tried to mask the flavor with Scotch, but fighting against the truth

was useless.

You’d think from what my teacher had done, I’d never be able to sleep with

a man again. The unconscious man beside me was proof that the rape hadn’t
soured my appetite for sex. It did make sex awkward, though. Every time I was with
someone, I was overwhelmed with the need to please him. It was an itch I couldn’t
scratch unless a cock was buried in my ass. They couldn’t see me if their eyes were
closed in pleasure. They couldn’t see my pain, my past, or the filth that clung to me
like tar. They wouldn’t realize I was damaged goods, well past the expiration date.

Part of me didn’t want to face Pierce anymore. I didn’t want to see the truth

in his eyes.

Every look he gave me always held a note of sadness. It was like reliving the

past with every glance.

Anonymous sex was easier. It didn’t hold the same regret, the same truth. It

was filled with the same temporary happiness that could be found in a full bottle of
alcohol. Sex with a stranger was shallow and empty. There were no strings attached
to it, only seconds of numbing bliss.

But staying away from Pierce was about as easy as trying not to breathe. He

was the only person to ever make me feel safe. When we came together, it wasn’t
about deluding ourselves. It was sex. It was just wonderful, heart-wrenching sex. It
was forgetting, and it was living, and I hated to let it go, but I was starting to believe
I just might have to.

I couldn’t stand the pain of memories anymore, and being with Pierce meant

reliving them every time we talked.

My body felt stiff from lying in the same position for too long. A lethal mix of

Scotch and cigarette smoke swirled in my stomach, churning noxiously. Bile rested in
the middle of my throat, not quite ready to rise up. I shifted and stretched my legs
out with a groan. The world felt like a black blur. It filtered in and out, a hazy
memory that was on the verge of being permanently snuffed out.

“Shit,” a grizzly voice croaked. His body was sticky with sweat and smelled like

he’d taken a bath in cheap booze and sex.

I shoved myself up, and the world spun. My biceps trembled, and my arms

gave out. I crashed back onto my pillow with a groan and turned my head to the
side, peering at the man next to me. The only thing covering him was a sheet
twisted around his legs, barely hiding his dick.

My throat felt raw. I licked my cracked lips and raked my mind for a memory

—any memory.

There were empty bottles on the nightstand—Scotch and vodka, beer bottles

scattered around. I could see more bottles tipped over on the floor. A half-empty
one was balanced on the corner beside the Scotch. The ashtray was overflowing.

I didn’t own an ashtray.

“W-what,” I croaked, my voice cracking painfully. I winced and reached up

to rub my burning throat.

“Christ, go the fuck back to sleep or get out.”

The man grunted and rolled over, his back to me.

My heart pounded as I pulled my legs out from under me and scrambled

from the bed. The sheet fell away from my naked waist. Pain shot up my lower back.
My legs almost gave out. I grabbed the nightstand beside me to keep from
crashing to the floor. A beer bottle fell over, the liquid sloshing out and making a
dark spot on the carpet.

There was a used condom on the floor beside the bottle.

I picked up my clothes, which peppered the floor with his. There was a stain

on my dress shirt, and I wasn’t sure if it was paint or blood or God knew what else. I
threw my clothes on, not buttoning my shirt all the way, and found my shoes.

They were hidden beneath his underwear. I pulled my cell phone from my

coat pocket as I slipped it on. There were over thirty missed calls. Only two of them
were from my parents, the rest Pierce.

From getting my shoes tied to getting back to my apartment, everything was

a blur. Somehow I managed to keep myself from vomiting and held it together long
enough to hail a cab and make it home. As soon as I was through the front door,
though, I ran straight to the bathroom and puked up an entire night’s worth of liquor
and semen.

My hands clutched the porcelain bowl as I heaved up my disgrace. My eyes

stung with tears as the acid burned through my esophagus. Once everything was
out of my system, I pulled away and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
For a while I just leaned against the wall, my chest heaving up and down. My
forehead was slick with sweat.

Finally I climbed to my shaky feet, rinsed my mouth out, and dragged myself

into the kitchen to fix a pot of coffee. I zeroed in on the calendar on the fridge.
Circled in red was my flight time.

I had missed my flight. I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t face Pierce and the

memories. I wanted to run.

All I could ever do was run.

It was like I was seventeen and running all over again. I’d stumbled from the

art room, my legs trembling and blood matting my jeans. Paint coated my fingers
like I had shoved my hands into buckets of yellow and green. I didn’t know if it was
tears tracking my cheeks or snow. I’d just run out into the open, forgotten about my
car, and fallen into the snow.

Could I do that again? Just lie in the snow and wait till I froze?

“Shit!” I screamed and swung my arms in a wide arc, sending the coffeepot

and cup crashing to the floor. The glass coffeepot shattered, and coffee grounds

spilled across the floor. Water sloshed out on the ceramic tiles as the coffeemaker
fell. I sucked in a deep breath and let out another scream, ignoring the pain of my
abused throat.

Why did this have to haunt me? Why did this demon follow me? I was tired of

this cross.

I leaned on the counter and then spun around and started to hunt for a

bottle of Scotch. I slammed cabinet doors and sorted through my selection of
alcohol. The trash can was filled with empty bottles. I found one with a quarter left.

Hastily I uncapped it and began to suck down the contents. My gaze fell on

the calendar, which was slightly blurred through the glass of the bottle.

My fingers twitched. The glass was cold beneath my palms.

I pulled the bottle away. “Son of a bitch.”

I set the empty bottle down and walked to my room. It took me thirty minutes

to shower, change, and buy a new plane ticket. I grabbed my wallet and keys,
found my still-packed suitcase, and left. I could see the snow fall through my
apartment window as I shut the door.

* * * *

Snow fell, like diamonds falling from the sky.

I turned the wipers on and drove down the black road. The sky was filled with

clouds. It looked like a dome had been placed over the world, and if I drove long
enough, I could crash straight through it.

The radio was on. The music cut off, and the DJ said something about tracking

Santa Claus.

Where was he? Over Taiwan? Florida? Maybe it was Canada.

I closed my eyes and opened them. The Jeep veered to the right, and I

turned sharply to straighten it, narrowly missing a snowbank. The radio announcers
switched over to the weather. It was going to warm up tonight. There was possible
rain in the forecast tomorrow. It could get into the high forties.

All of it entered my mind, and I processed it, but I didn’t really understand it.

My mind just kept focusing on the trivial facts around me, refusing to embrace the
cumbersome load of my past.

I didn’t know where I was going. I hadn’t gone home. Facing my parents and

their naive indifference was too heavy a burden to shoulder. I kept driving around
the winding road until I pulled into the parking lot of Hawthorne High School. I killed
the engine and sat there in the driver’s seat, staring at the building. It was the
closest I’d come to the building since graduation.

My grip on the steering wheel was like a vice. My fingers cramped at the

force of my grip, but I didn’t let up. If I let go, I didn’t know what I’d do.

Would there always be this pain? It had happened ten years ago. Ten years of

clutching these thoughts to my chest, and not one passing day made them seem
farther away.

I let go of the steering wheel and stepped out of the Jeep. The snow

crunched beneath my feet as I walked around the rental and leaned against the
hood. Wind cut through the night with a whistle, and snow drifted sideways. I
jammed my hands deeper into my pockets and watched the building.

Some of the lights were still turned on, the illuminated windows like eyes.

I licked my chapped lips and closed my eyes.

The memories blistered over my mind—the taste of skin and tongue, the smell

of oils and sweat, the feel of paint beneath my fingers, and the sound of music as it
trumpeted over my screams. I reached down and dug my hands into the snow,
grabbing fistfuls and hurling them at the high school with a scream. The snowball I
made arched in the air and hit the ground.

His name was Alan Mason. The man who’d done this to me smiled like the

world was beautiful. His eyes were the color of cornflowers, and he always smelled
of expensive cologne and paint.

I liked him. I was his favorite. I was special.

I never would have suspected that I was that special. I never would have

wanted it if I’d known.

Tears were useless. I’d told myself that years ago. Crying didn’t change what

had happened, nor did it fix it. But I had been left to deal with it alone. He had
gotten away, and I had never told a soul. Sometimes I wondered if he’d preyed on
other boys. Was I just another notch in his paintbrush?

“Fuck,” I groaned and raked my fingers through my hair, grabbing fistfuls.

It was cold. I clambered back into the Jeep and started it again. I

maneuvered out of the parking lot and continued on to Haven, the one place I felt
like life—my issues—could all fade away.

Fighting the magnetic pull I had with Pierce was just too exhausting.

The parking lot was empty, and the Christmas lights Pierce refused to take

down, even after Christmas was over, glowed brightly.

I rushed from my car and into the bar. Even with an empty bar, I knew from

past experience that Pierce wouldn’t close up until I showed. He was behind the bar
polishing glasses, like he was trying to reenact something from Cheers.

“Hey,” Pierce said without looking up. When his gaze drifted over my way, he

froze. “What’s wrong?”

I blinked and only realized then that I had tears in my eyes. I scrubbed at my

cheeks and said, “Nothing.”

“Somethin’ is wrong. Yer eyes are red. Did somethin’ happen? That why ya

didn’t show up yesterday? Jesus, Gregoire, I was scared shitless.

Thought ya died again.”

As I crossed to the bar, Pierce started fixing me the usual. He had commented

once on my drinking. I couldn’t remember his exact words, but I knew the subject
had died shortly after it started.

I moved around the bar and slipped behind it.

He stared at me in confusion and set the bottle of Scotch down, one hand still

holding the towel.

“Gregoire?”

I just wanted to erase every memory I had. If I could pour bleach over my

brain and scrub it all away with steel wool, I would have. Instead I dropped to my
knees, my coat still on, and started to work Pierce’s belt. The metal of his buckle
jingled as I undid it. There was something oddly innocent about the sound.

“W-what the hell!”

Pierce stammered and dropped the towel. I got the belt and button undone

and was pulling at his zipper when he shoved me away. I fell back, just barely
catching myself on my hands.

“Jesus, Gregoire, what’s gotten into ya?”

I gaped at him, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. I grabbed on to my

anger and bitterness and defensively sneered, “Am I not good enough to suck you
anymore?”

Pierce’s entire face twisted. At first he looked horrified, and then he just looked

pissed.

He reached down and hauled me up from the dirty floor and walked me

backward until he could slam me into the wall. My head smacked against it, and I
let out a hiss. I reached up and grabbed Pierce’s arms, trying to pry them away.

“Let go!” I howled and fought against his grip.

“No!” He shook me. “Not until ya calm the fuck down!”

I let out an enraged scream that terrified even me. I sounded like a cornered

animal on its last leg. Pierce never let go. He held on, even as I thrashed, and
waited until my body went limp and I sagged against the wall.

Honestly I didn’t know why I acted like that.

My head was so mixed up that I was swinging back and forth on every

emotion that filtered into my mind.

“Listen to me, and ya listen good! There’s nothin’ I want more than to have ya

suck me.”

His voice was calm. I flushed and looked down.

“But ya ain’t thinkin’ clear right now, and I’m not gonna take advantage of

ya like that. The only time I want ya is when ya really want it.”

“You’re a bastard, you know that?” I mumbled morosely and leaned into him.

He let go of my shoulders and wrapped his arms around me, giving a low

chuckle. The sound vibrated in his chest and shook through me.

“So I’ve been told. Now what’s eatin’

at’cha?”

I sighed into his neck and said, “I don’t know…everything. I…went on another

bender.”

Shame wormed its way through my stomach, spreading like cancer. He

remained silent as I said, “It’s why I didn’t show. I missed my flight.”

Pierce steered me toward the bar. “Shit.”

I took my usual seat on a cracked stool and welcomed the tumbler.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Gregoire.” He edged back around the bar and leaned against the

countertop. “Ya ain’t been right since that…” His voice grew tight, and his eyes
flashed with malice. “That man bought yer paintin’.”

My hand tightened around the crystal. I didn’t want to discuss this.

“I think ya need to talk to someone, someone besides me…someone

professional,” Pierce blurted out. His gaze never left mine. The wrinkles pinched in the
corners of his eyes, deepening as he narrowed his eyes.

“What?” I stared at him, my mouth open.

“Ya obviously are still upset about it—and ya ’ave every right to be—but I

don’t think yer ever gonna get past it unless ya talk to someone.”

The idea of seeing a therapist wasn’t pleasing. What could they do that I

couldn’t do myself? All they did was sit there with their legal pads and pens and
listen while you rambled on, judging you.

“No.”

“Jus’ give it a try,” Pierce insisted. His hand inched across the bar, crawling

toward mine. “Jus’ once. What do ya got to lose? If ya don’t think it’ll work, ya don’t
have to go again. But it’s worth a try. Maybe they can help work past yer issues.”

“I said no, Pierce,” I said.

“Sweetheart, yer in so much pain.”

“No!” I yelled and slammed the tumbler down. Liquor splashed up the side

and dribbled onto the counter.

“Why? I hate seein’ ya like this! Ya’ve been gettin’ worse. It’s killin’ ya!”

I shoved away from the bar. There were plenty of other bars out there, plenty

of liquor stores and motels. I didn’t make it far.

Pierce’s arms wrapped around me, pinned my arms by my sides. He nuzzled

the side of my head and whispered into my ear, his voice hot and moist.

“Jus’ think about it, darlin’. That’s all I’m askin’. Promise ya’ll think about it, and

I won’t mention it anymore.”

I slumped back against him, the fight leaving me. I didn’t want another bar. I

didn’t want to leave Pierce. I didn’t want to be mad at him or the world. I nodded. I
didn’t know if I’d really think about it, but if it would let the subject die, I’d say I
would.

“Thank you,” he whispered with a sigh of relief. He pressed a kiss to my cheek,

and I turned my head, stealing his lips before he could pull away. His hold on me
tightened. He pressed me back against him until our bodies threatened to mold into
one. His tongue slid past my lips and mercilessly teased me.

Sometimes, late at night, after we fucked or finished talking for hours, I’d lie

awake and stare up at the ceiling. My mind would reel with so many questions that I
couldn’t always piece out all of them. There was always one that stood out above
the rest, though: what were we?

Lovers? Lovers saw each other more than once a year.

Fuck buddies? Fuck buddies didn’t fuck with such depth and emotion.

Friends? It seemed the closest tag I could place on us, but somehow it left a

sour taste in my mouth. I didn’t want us to be just that, but I didn’t know if I could
ever handle anything more.

“Come on,” Pierce said, his voice a low rumble. He slid his arms down and

tangled one hand in mine. Our fingers interlocked, and I never wanted to unwind
them.

He locked up the bar, flipped the light off, and tugged me up to his

apartment. The mess below and the register to count could wait for the morning.

“Now,” Pierce said as he hummed and directed me to the bed. I sat down on

the edge and looked up at him, my gaze dropping as he fell gracefully to his knees
in front of me. “Let’s start celebratin’ the holidays properly.”

I gulped and nodded mutely as he worked on my buckle. With my help, we

got my pants off, along with my shoes and socks. A prominent bulge had started to
form in my boxer briefs, and Pierce rubbed the tips of his fingers over it in a lazy
circle. My eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, and I gave a breathy sigh.

“Ya like that, sweetheart?” Pierce asked huskily. I gave another silent nod, not

trusting my vocal cords.

He chuckled amusedly and flattened his hand to roll my covered cock

against his palm, kneading me like I was dough. A moan escaped me, and I
grabbed tightly on to the edge of the bed.

“Ya want me to suck ya?” He pulled his hand back and let his fingers dance

along the hem of my boxer briefs.

I cracked my eyes open and stared down at him with a flush. I couldn’t get

my tongue to work, and that only seemed to amuse him more. He didn’t pull my
briefs down. Instead he continued to trace the hem.

“Ya gotta say it, darlin’. I wanna hear that sweet voice of yers.”

I whined with frustration, and I nodded in response, managing to squeak out,

“Yes, suck me.”

“That’s all I needa hear,” he said, his voice lancing through me like a hot iron.

I raised my hips to help him as he peeled my boxer briefs away and tossed

them on top of my crumpled jeans. My cock jumped up, flushed and ramrod hard.
His eyes glazed over hungrily, and my stomach roiled at the sight of him crouched
between my pale thighs.

It always got to me, to see him so anxious to take me in his mouth. He leaned

forward and nuzzled the side of my dick, his breath ghosting over the flesh before
he pressed a gentle kiss against my shaft. He lifted my thighs and adjusted his
position so he rested more comfortably between them. I had to focus my brain to
clear the sex-induced fog. Even with every fiber of me wanting Pierce to swallow
me bare, I grabbed on to rational thought and groaned, “Wait.”

Pierce stilled and tilted a confused stare up at me. I bit my bottom lip to hold

back a whimper of regret. The feel of smooth lips along my dick felt heavenly, but I
didn’t want to risk hurting him. He leaned back.

“What is it?”

“Condoms,” I said. Pierce creased his brows.

It was rare for us to use them. I took a test every year before I saw him to

make sure I was clean, but my drunken rendezvous changed this year.

Even if I had used condoms the night before, I didn’t want to chance it. I

swallowed my shame and elaborated, “Use a condom.”

Pierce didn’t ask, didn’t judge. He pressed another kiss to the side of my shaft,

squeezed my thighs, and rose to his feet. He retrieved a condom from the bathroom
and opened it. I closed my eyes as he rolled the condom onto my penis. The
condom felt confining, restricting.

“No frownin’,” Pierce murmured into my ear.

He ran a line of kisses down my jaw. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it. Jus’ bein’

safe. Still gonna make ya feel so good, baby.”

I opened my eyes. He dropped back down between my legs with a tender

smile on his lips.

His gaze came up to meet mine, and for a single moment, the world seemed

to disappear. Then he engulfed me, taking me entirely into the warm cavern of his
mouth.

I let out a bleated moan, high and throaty, and tangled one hand in his long

blond hair. His mouth was like heaven, and all I could do was melt around him as he
sucked me up to the root and worked his tongue along my cock. His cheeks
hollowed as he sucked, and his head bobbed up and down. His pleased moans
rumbled down my shaft every now and then.

My stomach tightened as he came down on me over and over again. I rolled

my eyes back and stared at the ceiling, crying out to God. One hand fisted along

the edge of the bed while the other continued to hold tight to Pierce’s hair.

His tongue rubbed against my tip and ran downward for a second before he

pulled away. I shivered and gave a weak keen of protest. Pierce chuckled and
nibbled down at the junction where my dick met my scrotum, then suckled on both
sacs like he was about ready to sink his teeth into a juicy apple.

“Fuck,” I cried. “Pierce, d-don’t stop.”

He adjusted his position and swallowed me up once more. One hand stayed

on my quivering thigh while the other reached between my legs and began to
massage my balls. I bucked up, and Pierce wrapped his arm around me the best he
could, his forearm pressed against my stomach to hold me down.

“Shit,” I hissed and looked down, watching his head rise and fall. It was the

hottest thing I’d ever seen.

After a few more strokes of his scalding tongue, I felt my entire body start to

burn. I gave a whimper and moaned out, “P-pierce, I’m…I’m gonna…” My words
slurred. “Fuck!”

I came, and Pierce never pulled back. He sucked hard, grabbing on to my

hips to hold me against him. His nose was buried deep within my brown curls, his
mouth a vacuum around my dick.

The condom filled with my cum, and he made a small groan of need.

When I finished, I collapsed onto the bed, my arms spread out around me.

Pierce slid back and licked his lips. Carefully he pulled the condom off my dick and
tied it shut. After he disposed of the used condom, he returned to the bed and
crawled over me. I could feel his hardness against my stomach, but he didn’t press
for more. He just kissed me lazily.

I reached between us and undid his pants the rest of the way, shoving them

down with his boxers until they bunched at his thighs. He made a noise in the back
of his throat and pulled back.

“Ya don’t ’ave to do that.”

“But I want to,” I said and grabbed him. I rubbed my thumb against his tip

and used the pearl of precum to slick up his pulsing shaft. It was thick in my hand,
the ridges of veins soft like velvet.

He rocked his hips as I started to jerk him off.

His lips smashed into mine, and we stayed like that until I brought him to the

cusp. Pierce’s body stiffened on top of me, and he let out a low groan as he
released into my hand and splashed across my stomach. It didn’t register until later
that I’d gotten some on my shirt.

Pierce slumped against me, and I let out a heavy pant, suddenly sated and

ready for bed.

“God, Gregoire,” Pierce mumbled into my shoulder.

We didn’t move for probably ten minutes. We caught our breath and waited

until our hearts stopped racing before Pierce got up and retrieved a towel to clean
up. Once our mess was wiped away, we stripped down to nothing and crawled into
bed. He pulled me against him so that my back was pressed into his chest, our
bodies slotted together.

“Good night,” he whispered into my ear.

“Good night,” I said back. I thought I heard something else, but the words

were slurred and faded as if they were a million miles away.

* * * *

There was something almost tragic in the way we stood there. It was like we both
were saying good-bye for the last time. The temperature had already started to
pick up, but Pierce’s breath still came out in pieces as he let out a sigh. His hands
gripped the window of the Jeep, his eyes searching my face. I smiled. “I should go. I
need to see my parents before I head back to New York.”

Pierce frowned slightly and leaned into the Jeep a little more. Strands of

golden hair tickled over his face as a breeze passed by. I closed the distance
between us and dusted my lips over his. I almost gave in to the desire to go back
into Haven with him. It would be so easy to just forget New York. But then I thought
about how close I’d be to the high school, and I got cold sweats.

“Ya could stay, ya know? We could celebrate Christmas morning together,”

he said as he pulled away, putting voice to my thoughts. “Or stay another day.”

He was hopeful. I could see it in his eyes. My stomach churned noxiously as I

shook my head.

His entire face crumpled.

“Right, ya ’ave work to do,” Pierce said before I could say anything. “Another

commission, right? Ya’ll call tonight, though?”

I nodded. “As soon as I get back.”

Selfishly I wanted another kiss. Something to reassure me that everything was

okay. Whether Pierce sensed that or harbored his own desperate need, I didn’t
know. He did lean in for one final, bittersweet good-bye kiss, though. He then
stepped back and let me pull away. The farther I drove, the smaller he grew. Soon
he was a speck behind me, and then he was gone.

I navigated the roads back to my parents’

house. The barbed wire around my stomach tightened as I drew closer. When

their house came into view, I swallowed a boulder-sized lump. My childhood home
was like something out of a children’s novel: white siding, blue shutters, and a picket
fence. The Christmas lights were tasteful and minimal.

Carefully I angled my Jeep behind my father’s car and slipped out. My soul

suddenly felt tired.

The exhaustion weighed me down, like barbells had been strapped to my

arms and legs. I wobbled up to the front door and unlocked it with the spare key
my mother insisted I keep.

“Gregoire? Is that you?” my mother called out. Her voice sounded hopeful,

anxious.

“It’s me,” I called back and closed the door behind me. I peeled off my coat

and nervously made my way to the kitchen. My parents were sitting at the table,
steaming mugs of coffee in their hands.

My father refused to meet my eyes. My mother stared at me like I was some

kind of alien.

The room smelled of cinnamon rolls, which just happened to be cooling on

the stove. Christmas music streamed through the house.

Luke would be bringing his family over in a few hours, after the kids opened

their gifts from Santa. I shifted my feet from left to right, not able to find a
comfortable balance.

“Why didn’t you show? We were worried.

Have you eaten? Have some food,” my mother said as she set her mug down.

That was her answer to everything. Food. Prayer. It all went away when we dropped
to our knees and raised our hands.

“I’m fine,” I assured her and tried to catch my father’s eyes. His jaw was set,

and his grip on his mug was white-knuckled.

I knew I couldn’t tell them. Not with my mother’s naive fragility or my father’s

tenacious indifference. They wouldn’t survive their world being shaken.

“Are you sure?” she asked as she got up and walked over to the cinnamon

rolls. She grabbed a plate from the counter and placed one on it. “Try one. They’re
homemade.”

“He doesn’t want one, Martha,” my father said, his tone clipped. Finally his

eyes met me, and for a second I wondered why I had been trying to catch his
gaze. His eyes were hard and cold. It felt like I was staring down the dark side of the
moon.

“You missed Mass,” he stated. It wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t cruel. He spoke with

punctuation.

“Sorry,” I said and looked between them.

They could never know. Never. “Work.”

He grunted, pushed himself up, and walked out the back door. A cold breeze

blew in as he shut the door behind him. And that was it. There was no explosion.

My mother clutched her plate like it was a lifeline and stared at me with

round eyes.

She swallowed thickly and set the cinnamon roll on the counter. “Are you sure

you won’t have one?” she tried again. Her voice cracked.

I studied her for a moment before I nodded and whispered, “Yeah, okay…I’ll

have one.”

She blinked, once, twice, and then her face smoothed out as she slipped

back into her world of black and white. This was what she knew, and this was what
she could handle. She picked up the plate again and set it on the table before
fixing me a cup of coffee. I took a seat and selected a sticky bun. Frosting was
smeared on the top of it, and it clung to my fingers.

I suddenly wanted to be back in Haven, not in this kitchen that smelled sickly

sweet. I wanted Pierce, and I didn’t know how I could handle something as
powerful as that emotion.

Chapter Five

Pierce Lawson

Christmas 2011

We barely talked the following year.

Gregoire retreated into himself as the seasons passed. He was battling a

monster only he could face, and even though I wanted to help him, I didn’t know
where to begin. He didn’t want my help either. It was something he ultimately had
to face on his own.

Beyond the occasional phone calls, I rarely heard from Gregoire till closer to

the end of the year. It was around the end of October, early November when we
fell back into our routine of constant contact. He never clued me in on whether
he’d won his battle.

The time we spent barely talking had been the longest ten months of my life.

It was like each day someone pulled a noose tighter around my neck.

Sometimes I thought of moving on, but then I’d look at another guy and think

about how he wasn’t Gregoire. No one could compare. So I spent those ten months
in misery. I was happier than a dog with a bone when Gregoire started to talk to me
again. My life had once more become complete.

It was around that time when I realized I couldn’t go on much more like we

were. These short visits where all my sexual frustration finally was released in a matter
of two nights just didn’t work for me. It wasn’t even about the sex. I wanted to wake
up every morning to Gregoire’s smiling face. I wanted to kiss him good night, hear
his laughter, and talk to him without the need of a telephone or computer. I wanted
to spend my life with him, and unless I did something, we were never going to move
past our snail pace.

Of course, knowing I had to do something and actually doing it were different

things. I had no clue how to go about talking to Gregoire about where we stood.
There was no name for what we had. He was the love of my life, but for all I knew, I
was just a warm body and emotional support system—not that Gregoire leaned on
me too much.

I didn’t think Gregoire saw me as just that, but there was still no name for

what we had. We were more than friends, but we hadn’t quite reached the status
as lovers, and fuck buddies just sounded too crude.

I was stuck in a love limbo. The weather hadn’t been particularly Christmasy. It

had remained a lukewarm sixty degrees for the majority of December, before
dropping to the forties and dampening the ground with a persistent rain. I hadn’t
seen a speck of snow all month. Not a single snowflake.

I wiped down the counter and glanced at the beer clock I had recently

installed. It had been an exciting purchase. Haven was fairly empty, which was
good because I planned on closing early. I was just waiting for Gregoire to arrive for
his traditional welcome-home Scotch.

“Ya anxious fer somethin’, Lawson?” Bill Wiesel asked from his perch on one of

the cracked bar stools. He was cradling a draft of beer, hunkered down with his
broad shoulders drawn tight and his baseball cap tipped low. He was a burly old
man, but about as dangerous as a kitten.

He cracked me a toothy smile, a few gaping holes visible, and added

cheekily, “Hot date?”

Ya could say that.

“Naw.” I waved him off and dropped the rag, moving down the bar so I was

in front of him.

“Can I get ya another beer?”

“No, I’m thinkin’ I should call it a night, ’less I plan on gettin’ my ass served to

me.” He gave a harsh bark of laughter that came out congested from too many
packs of cigarettes. The man was a chimney stack. When the law passed banning
cigarettes from being smoked in public places, you never heard a man bitch so
much. He ranted and raved for a good year about how he should be able to light
up wherever he wanted, seeing as how he risked his life for the country. I never
caught what war it was he did, and he never really said.

“All right, I’ll pull yer tab,” I said and turned to the register.

“So why ya starin’ at that clock so hard?”

Bill pestered.

“Jus’ waitin’ on a friend,” I said. There were only two beers on his tab. I printed

it off and returned his credit card and the slip of receipt paper. He signed off with a
generous tip that I thanked him for.

“Must be some friend. Ya’ve been starin’ that clock down like yer waitin’ on it

to start walkin’

or somethin’. Is it that one fella? The artist?”

I nodded and smiled. It wasn’t much of a secret about which way I swung. No

one seemed to mind, especially since I was one of only two bars in Hawthorne. The
only other one was on the opposite side of town, and it doubled as a family
restaurant during the day.

“Yeah, that’s ’im,” I said and rested back against the counter running along

the wall.

“Strange man,” Bill said as he slid from the stool. He pulled his coat on, which

he had thrown over the stool beside him.

“Why do ya say that?”

“What else do ya call a man who does nothin’

but run?” He looked up at me. I froze in place, feeling like he had pinned me

to the wall. He offered a smile, as if it could temper his words, and shrugged. “Well,
have a good night, Lawson.

Merry Christmas.”

“You too.” I watched him go. There were only two other people in the bar

beside me, but I felt alone.

My pocket vibrated, and I fished out my cell phone. Gregoire’s name flashed

across the screen, along with a picture of him sleeping. I had taken it two years ago,
when he had overslept. He had looked so beautiful with the morning sun streaming
over his pale skin.

I hit Talk as I walked around the bar and moved outside. “Hey,” I said, hoping

the anxiousness didn’t show in my voice.

“Hey.” He sounded exasperated, tired.

“Is everything okay?” I asked tentatively.

“Yes.” I could picture him chewing on his lower lip. “I was calling because I

won’t be able to make it tonight. Things are a little chaotic at my parents’. My
mother is being exceptionally needy.

I have a feeling if I don’t spend the evening with her, she might drown in her

own tears.”

My stomach twisted painfully, and I clutched the phone a little tighter. There

was nothing I could do, though, even if I did want to beg him to come over.

“Ya didn’t have to call. That’s okay,” I said and swallowed thickly.

“I did… I want to see you. It’s just…”

He sounded so distant, like he was all the way in New York and not a few

blocks away. I wanted him beside me. I wanted to be reassured that I could touch
him once again.

“That’s fine,” I said. “I’ll see ya tomorrow night.”

There was a pause, and for a second, I thought he might say he wasn’t

coming.

“Yeah,” he said. My fears quieted. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, after Mass.”

We said our good-byes, and I stayed outside, staring at the barren landscape.

I felt cheated. I only got two nights to spend with him, and now the amount had
been cut down to one.

As selfish as it was, I wanted Gregoire all year-round. I needed him the same

way I needed air.

If Gregoire was a man on the run, then I was going to have to find a way to

stop him.

* * * *

I wasn’t sure if it was an omen when the rain started. It fell in a light drizzle and
soaked the frozen earth, softening it. Gregoire arrived just as I was closing up early.
The rain matted his hair, darkening the strands until they looked black. He brushed a
few locks aside, droplets rolled down his cheek.

“Why are you closing up?”

“Because I wanted the night to be jus’ the two of us,” I said and stepped

aside so he could get in out of the rain.

I closed and locked the door and watched silently as he stripped out of his

coat and scarf and shook them out. I had so many words on the tip of my tongue,
but standing there watching him, I forgot them all. He ran a slim hand through his
hair, wiped water from his face, and turned to me with a careless smile that I knew
was reserved for these private moments.

Even after all these years, he never failed to take my breath away. I closed

the distance between us and wound my arm around his waist, hauling him up
against my chest as I crashed my lips against his. He made a surprised squeak and
dropped his soggy coat and scarf to the floor. His fingers curled into my hair, and I
felt a stray droplet roll down my neck.

He tasted sweet, and I couldn’t get enough. I suddenly felt starved, and I

wanted to devour him.

When I pulled back, he stared up at me with a glazed-over look.

“Wow…that’s…some welcome.”

I smiled and nipped at his lower lip, mumbling deeply, “What can I say? I really

missed ya.”

Gregoire’s fingers began to comb through my hair. He pushed my bangs

back as he looked up at me. His finger trailed down my cheek and ghosted across
my jaw, where I still had stubble.

“I’m sorry. I know I’ve been distant this year.”

“Ya don’t ’ave to apologize. I know ya’ve been workin’ through yer

problems.”

Gregoire let his hands slide away, and I almost reached for him as he stepped

back and turned to the bar. I couldn’t read the air around him, so I quietly followed
him and walked around to fix him a drink. He held up a hand and shook his head. I
paused, bottle of spirits in hand and ready to pour in the tumbler. I raised an
eyebrow in confusion at him.

“I’ve been seeing a therapist,” he blurted out, “and I’ve joined AA.”

My grip on the bottle nearly slipped as I set it down. “Ya are? Ya ’ave?”

He looked at me, his eyes narrowed. I squirmed under his scrutinizing gaze. It

was the same stare he’d had all those years back when he’d first walked into
Haven—the one that pinned you to the ground.

“Yeah. I thought about what you said and…

Well, I decided that it’s time to finally get my life back.”

“Gregoire, that’s…that’s great!” I grinned and scrambled to fix two glasses of

ice water. I passed him the glass and held mine up, saying, “Congratulations!”

He chuckled and humored me, clinking his against mine. After a small sip, he

set his glass down.

“How’s it goin’?”

“All right, I guess.” He shrugged and fiddled with his glass. “The main thing my

therapist is trying to work on with me is that it’s not my fault…

but I don’t know. I’m still having issues with it.

But it’s a start, right? And it’s been hard kicking the booze. There are nights

when I want it so bad it physically hurts.”

When his gaze met mine, I flashed him a reassuring smile. “Right. These things

take time.

How long ’ave ya been seein’ him?”

“I see my therapist three times a month. I started back in June,” he explained

and finished his water. I poured him another glass.

“Well, I’m proud of ya, darlin’.”

He smiled, albeit weakly, and nodded. He took another timid sip and

shrugged.

I knew the struggle with his rape was something he dealt with daily. There

were moments when his voice would grow distant or his eyes would lose focus, and I
just knew he was thinking of that day. I wanted to erase it from his memory, but I
never would be able to. It was what made Gregoire who he was.

Hopefully, with the therapy sessions, he would at least be able to see how

wonderful he was.

“How are things with yer parents?” I asked.

“All right, I guess.” He laughed, though it was hoarse and bitter. “I haven’t told

them about what happened. I don’t know if I ever will. They still don’t know I’m gay.
Maybe I’ll tell them everything, in time. As for now, I’m just trying to alleviate some of
the tension without upsetting them too much. Their worldview is cut in a certain glass
mold, and the slightest deviation would shatter it for them.”

I didn’t say anything. I just took a sip of my water as he finished his. He set

down the empty glass and slipped from the stool. The tragic look in his eyes was
gone, replaced by a devilish charm.

“What are ya doin’?” I asked.

“We haven’t seen each other in over a year.”

Gregoire undid the top button of his shirt, and I could feel my blood pressure

rising. “I think it’s time to get a little reacquainted.”

I followed him like a damn moth to a flame, more than willing to let myself

burn up if it meant I could bask in his light just a little longer. I made quick work of
closing down the bar and let him lead me upstairs. I could hear the rain falling
harder. It hit the sides of Haven at a slant.

By the time we made it to my bedroom, his shirt was completely unbuttoned.

He pushed it open and let it slip down his arms, gathering at his elbows. He turned to
me, a playfulness twinkling through his hazel eyes like honey catching the sun. I
closed the distance between us, ripped the shirt the rest of the way off, and
smashed our mouths together. He gave a low moan and clung to me, grappling for
some kind of purchase as I walked him backward.

My body hummed to life. It felt like I’d been dead, and only then, with our

bodies crashing together, did I come back to life. He awakened me.

I never even realized I’d been asleep until he’d waltzed into my life and

turned it upside down.

“Pierce,” he moaned and pulled his mouth away to draw in a gulp of air. I

buried my face in the side of his neck and sucked at the tender flesh of his throat.
He gave another guttural moan that sent shocks through my body and left me
weak in the knees.

We tumbled backward once we hit the bed, and I mounted Gregoire, my

hard-on pressed into his stomach. “God, I’ve missed ya.” I panted and nipped my
way up his jaw to his earlobe. I was so tired of these fleeting rendezvous, like we
were having some kind of affair. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed
to be us together forever.

He let out a breathy sound as I sucked in his earlobe, and he dug his nails into

my shoulders.

Even through the material of my T-shirt, I knew he was breaking skin.

“I’ve…I’ve”—he stammered, paused, and tried again—“missed you…too—

Oooh!”

I licked my way down his neck and sank my teeth in, suddenly desperate to

mark him and claim him. Gregoire rutted up, and I pushed down, grinding my bulge
into his flat stomach. Maybe if I drove him mad with pleasure, he would realize that
this was where he belonged.

Gregoire grabbed at my shirt and tugged it up.

I helped him remove it and dropped my hands to my belt, unfastening it and

pulling it from my jeans.

He smoothed his hands up my back, his fingers rubbing the notches of my

spine.

I was pretty sure he never realized how many hours of the day I spent thinking

about him. He was always there, in the shadows of my thoughts, in my obscured line
of vision, in the air I breathed, and the life I struggled to live. I had to fill the void of
an entire year with the memory of our lovemaking.

My hand paled in comparison to him.

“Sweetheart, darlin’,” I mumbled into his flesh as I slipped down and worked a

sloppy trail of kisses along his chest. His fingers carded through my hair and pulled at
the thick strands as I dipped my tongue along the hollow of his stomach.

“Fuck,” Gregoire gasped, and I smiled, flicking my gaze up. His eyes were

rolled back, and his cheeks were deliciously flushed. I undid the snap of his gray
pants and slid them down his waist, revealing more beautiful skin.

Once I had his lower half exposed, everything including his socks and shoes

stripped, I ran my hands up his milky thighs and rubbed at his hips. “I can’t ever get
enough lookin’ at ya.”

He smiled and cocked his head to the side.

He was so beautiful, so damn beautiful it hurt, and I wanted to sob at the

thought of ever losing him. I kissed his thighs, his hips, his navel, and all the way back
up to his lips. He mewled low in his throat and stretched out beneath me, eagerly
rocking up into the air. I ground down on him, my lower half still dressed in my jeans
and briefs.

He was uninhibited. His emotions were so open that I drank them in with

gluttonous eyes. He quivered and looked up at me, his eyes as luminous as a
harvest moon. My cock throbbed behind its denim prison, and I knew I wouldn’t last
much longer.

I stepped back and kicked my boots off, struggling to strip off my socks and

pants as he watched. His dick was at full staff and just begging to be swallowed. I
grabbed some lubricant before I lost my boxers and crawled onto the bed,
readjusting our position so that the blankets were pulled back and Gregoire was
nestled in a kingdom of pillows.

“Hurry, Pierce,” Gregoire moaned and drew his legs up, spreading them wide

so I had a front-row seat to him stroking his amazing cock. I shuddered and licked
my lips, my hands shaking as I eagerly poured a dollop of lubricant into my hand. I
coated my fingers and swatted his hand away.

“That’s mine,” I growled and hoisted his legs up. He threw them over my

shoulders and raised his hips, giving me full access to his rosy puckered ring.

He let out a shocked cry as I swallowed his cock and slid an anxious finger

past his entrance.

He clenched around my digit, sucking me in deep while at the same time

trying to purge me from his body. I stroked his hip with my other hand and began to

vigorously suck as I worked my finger in and out. He was so tight.

“Oh God, Pierce! Fuck! Fuck, fuck— Son of a bitch, yes!” He cursed and

praised, shouting out to the ceiling. I closed my eyes and took him deep into my
throat, burying my nose in the bed of curls at the junction of his legs. I rubbed my
tongue along the underside of his shaft and added a second finger, earning
another curse and praise.

He tasted so good. I would bet his saltiness was more addicting than any kind

of drug. He bucked up, nearly choking me, and dug his nails into my scalp as his
fingers clutched my hair.

I chuckled—drawing out another moan from Gregoire—and started to bob

up and down as I fucked him with my fingers. My own dick was leaking with precum
from the sounds he was making and the way his walls tightened around my fingers.

To his dismay, I pulled back and withdrew my hand. He made a mewling

noise in the back of his throat and stared at me with glazed-over eyes.

His lips were swollen from kissing and biting. I grabbed a condom and rolled it

down my dick with a good amount of lubricant.

I slid up the length of his body, and we fell once more into each another. We

slipped together as if we had been designed for this. He was my other half, and I
was his. A smile spread across his face, and I tangled our hands together, fingers
interlocking as I eased myself into him. Gregoire’s head tipped back, and his eyes
fluttered closed as I pushed into the hot confines of his ass.

I didn’t stop until I bottomed out. The breath he was holding was released in a

long, airy sigh. I nuzzled his cheek and held our position for a second, relearning the
feel of him sheathed around me.

“Gregoire,” I whispered and dusted my lips against his. His lips twitched

beneath mine, and I heard him whisper my name back. My heart surged up, and I
began to move, determined to hold out as long as possible.

He made a weak cry and tightened his hold on my hands. I pulled out to the

tip and rolled my hips forward, pushing back in deep. My eyes closed as scintillating
warmth rubbed up around my cock like a piece of velvet.

“Shit,” I hissed and opened my eyes.

Gregoire’s expression mirrored my emotions, burning and hungry.

My stomach felt like someone was building a fire inside it. Every thrust added

kindling to the flames. Soon my easy pace was hard to keep.

Gregoire kept sucking me in deeper, and when his hips began to roll back to

meet mine, I nearly lost my head. His walls gripped me, and I gave a low groan.

“Gregoire,” I started to hum his name, and he moaned back in response. I

stared down at him, with his hair mussed and his eyes bright, and whispered without
thinking, “I love ya.”

His eyes grew wide, and his mouth fell open.

Fear suddenly took hold of my heart, and I rolled my hips sharply to distract his

thoughts. Whatever he’d been thinking was cut off as he let out a high-pitched
moan, bucking up into my awaiting hand as I wrapped it around his length.

The agonizingly slow pace we had was lost, and I let go of him, grabbing on

to his hip with my other hand and drilling him into the mattress. He didn’t take long
to climax. Hot cum shot over my hand and splashed onto his stomach as I pounded
into him.

Sweat dripped down my brow as I rutted into his ass, my balls slapping against

his cheeks. The smell of sex filled the room and for a second canceled out my
thoughts. The fire in my belly erupted, and I came hard. The condom ballooned out
as it caught bullets of cum.

My hips didn’t stop until the last of my load was released. I eased to a lazy

thrust before finally collapsing on top of him.

From the window I could hear the rain hitting the glass.

Neither of us spoke as we struggled to regain our breath. We lay there, stiff as

boards despite just fucking. I knew then and there that I’d made a mistake. I could
feel him slipping away, even with us connected in the most intimate of ways.

I didn’t really know how long we stayed like that. It could have been hours or

only a few seconds, but I wished it had been longer, because as soon as Gregoire
started to shift under me, I knew this was it. This was good-bye.

He hadn’t said it back. The look in his eyes had been like that of a mouse

corned by a hungry cat. I pushed myself up on my arms, which trembled with
exertion, and pulled out of him.

He didn’t pull away, though, and he didn’t rush out. Instead he simply rolled

over, his back toward me. I opened my mouth to say something, but I didn’t know
what to say. So I slid beside him and wrapped my arms around him. I knew I needed
to clean up our mess, but I was terrified that if I left, so would he.

* * * *

To say the least, it was a restless night. At some point the rain stopped, but it came
back around morning in a light drizzle. I woke up to an empty bed and a coldness
that engulfed me. I jerked up and struggled to get the blankets off.

“Gregoire?” I called out.

His clothes were gone. I leaped from the bed and grabbed my jeans from the

floor. I pulled them on and zipped them up. I rushed downstairs.

Everything was as I had left it the night before. Our glasses of water—mine still

partially full—rested on top of the bar.

I wrenched the door open and watched Gregoire climb into his rental and

start it. My heart stopped working as I stumbled out into the rain.

My body was on autopilot. I ran in front of the car and flung my arms out. The

rain was cold as it fell against my skin and matted my hair.

Gregoire sat in the driver’s seat, his hands clutching the steering wheel. He

worried his lower lip for a second and closed his eyes. I held my breath as I watched
him. Finally he shut off the car and climbed out.

“What are you doing?” he asked, wiping damp strands of hair from his face.

I walked toward him. “Don’t go.”

He bit down on his lower lip again. His expression was pained, scared. “I have

to go.”

“No, ya don’t,” I shouted as the wind howled and the rain fell harder. “Stay

here. Stay with me.”

“You don’t want me,” he said. I couldn’t tell if it was rain streaming down his

face or tears.

“I’m so fucked up. Even with help, I have so many problems. You don’t want

me like this. You don’t want to love me!”

“Yes, I do!” I closed the distance between us and cupped my hand against

his cheek. “I want ya more than I want to live. Stay. I can’t bear another day
without ya.”

He dropped his gaze. This time I could see the tears welling up in his eyes,

crystallizing their golden hue. My own tears brimmed, and I had to suck in a sharp
breath to control a sob. “Stay.”

He shook his head, a heartbreaking sob escaping as I pulled him close. He

tasted like rain and tears. I kissed him tenderly, trying to convey how deep my
emotions ran. The wind whistled forlornly, and rain whipped around us.

“Please don’t go,” I whispered against his mouth. “I love ya.”

“You won’t. You’ll get tired of me, tired of the issues.”

I could see it in his eyes. He was giving in to his fear. His mind was already

made up. I tightened my grip on him, tried to hold him in place, but he pulled away.

“I’ve been waitin’ my entire life for ya. I can’t think of bein’ anywhere else but

’ere with ya.

If ya want to stay in New York, I’ll move there. I just want ya by my side,” I

grabbed on to his hand, tried to hold on just a little longer. “Ya deserve happiness.
Ya deserve love. I won’t get tired of ya. I won’t walk out. God, if ya need someone
to hold ya up, I’ll be that person.”

He let our hands slip apart and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Please…” I pleaded. My voice cracked pathetically.

“Good-bye.” His voice wobbled as he struggled to open the car door and slid

back inside.

I stepped away and tried to think of something to do. The only thing I could

come up with was to throw myself in front of the car.

He started the engine and drove off. I jogged behind it a little bit and shouted

after him, “Wait!”

He drove on down the road. Soon he was gone. We were done.

Chapter Six

Gregoire Wood

Christmas 2011

I wanted to turn around. I really did. I wanted to live my life with Pierce. I

could so easily picture it in my head; we’d live together, we’d commit to each
other, we’d grow old together.

We’d live our life as one, because there was no one else we wanted to live

with. But then I thought about all the nights I woke up screaming, all the times I
broke down because I thought I saw him again. I thought about my family and their
indifferent eyes, so clouded with judgment they couldn’t see how happy I was with
him.

Bringing Pierce into my world, beyond where he already was, was just cruel.

Even though I was trying to work through my problems, I still had a long way to go. I
had a decade of trauma to sort through, and that was not a light task.

The rain fell hard, and I couldn’t tell if the rain made the road blurry or if it was

because of my tears. I swiped at my eyes with the back of my hand and shouted,
“Pull yourself together, Gregoire! You can’t break down!”

I wanted to, though. I wanted to just give up.

The only time I felt strong was when I was with Pierce. The only time I felt like

things made sense was when Pierce was in the picture. I slept soundly when his arms
were around me. I could breathe when I heard his voice. Every moment I was with
him was a moment I felt alive.

I pressed my foot down on the gas pedal, and the car lurched forward, going

well past the forty-five mark. The country road was empty, just fields and ditches. The
sedan shot down the road, and I let out a pained sob. It felt like everything was
gone; my heart, my soul, they had all been taken away. I wanted them back, but
they were behind me with Pierce.

The sedan fishtailed, and I pressed on the brake, but the car wouldn’t take. I

started to hydroplane, and the world spun as I turned sharply on the wheel.

Around and around I went.

Around and around the world went.

I saw my life flash before my eyes. It wasn’t my past, though, that played out

like a movie. No, it was the future I couldn’t have. I saw my life without Pierce. The
years would go by, and soon the phone calls would stop; the visits would cease.
He’d move on. I’d stay put. And then in a blink I’d be gone, alone as I always was.
But it wasn’t Alan I could blame for that. Pierce had stretched out his hand to me. I
chose to turn away from it; I chose not to take it. I prayed to God that the car
would stop. The car slipped from the road and into a ditch, rocking to a halt.

My hands were clenched around the steering wheel, and my heart raced. I

swallowed thickly and swiped at my eyes again, trying to steady my breathing.

“Shit,” I said hoarsely. “Oh shit.”

I looked around, trying to gauge which direction I was facing, and angled my

car back onto the road. It took a few tries, mud kicking up behind. Once I hit
asphalt, I began to drive again.

* * * *

Haven came into view. It was a beacon that broke through the rain. I swung into
the empty parking lot and haphazardly parked, cutting the engine before I came to
a complete stop. For a second I just sat there, staring out at the rain and the empty
field of soy. Come summer it would be a lush, leafy ocean. When the wind would
rustle through it, it would look like green waves keeping to the beat of time.

I pulled the keys out and stuffed them into the pocket of my peacoat. Slowly,

on shaky legs, I stepped out of the car and walked over to the bar.

Each step felt like I was walking on water.

Everything was uneven and rolled beneath me. My world kept becoming

lopsided.

My life was never supposed to be like this. I had never planned for things to

go this astray. Even after Alan, I had meticulously planned my life out.

But then Pierce appeared. My world had started to spiral out of control as

soon as I’d laid eyes on him. I couldn’t stay away. I was tempted by the drink but
drawn in by him.

I walked into the bar, and warmth surrounded me like a familiar blanket. He

was at the bar with a bottle of vodka grasped in his hand.

Pierce’s head snapped up, and his eyes grew wide as he looked at me. I

didn’t move from the doorway. I wasn’t sure if I should. I kept my hand on the
doorknob and studied him.

“G-Gregoire?” His voice cracked, raw from crying. His eyes were bloodshot,

their cloudy color intensified by the deep red around them.

I let go of the door and walked across the room and around the bar. He let

go of the vodka bottle and reached out, his hand shaking as his fingers dusted over
my cheek. Without words, the distance closed, and my heart and soul were
returned.

His mouth sealed over mine, and I savored the taste of him. It was like

discovering a new world. I sighed and wrapped my arms tightly around his neck,
molding our bodies together. If it were possible, I would have melded our hearts into
one.

When he pulled back, he whispered, “W-what are ya… Why are ya ’ere? I

thought… Ya said…”

“My life isn’t worth living if you aren’t in it, Pierce,” I whispered back, my eyes

locked on his.

“It didn’t start until I met you.”

His hands slid up my arms and along my jaw, his fingers tangling in my hair. His

mouth slotted against mine once more and devoured me.

“Come on,” Pierce said and pulled away. He hastily closed up shop and

locked the door. He came back and wrapped his hand around mine.

We stumbled up to his apartment and into the bedroom, greedy to strip each

other of our soggy clothes. All he had on were his jeans. Water still trailed down his
chest in thin rivulets. I swiped my thumb over a peaked nipple, capturing a bead of
water.

I sucked on my thumb, staring up at him. He let out a groan and kissed me

again, his lips dotting all over my face.

“I thought I had lost ya forever.”

“No.” I shook my head and turned so our lips would meet. “I just… I needed

time to sort it out in my head. I didn’t want to burden you. But then I realized that I
just can’t do it without you. I know it’s selfish—”

“No, it’s not,” he assured me, peeling away my coat and scarf, undoing the

buttons of my shirt.

When every last article was gone, we slipped into bed and nestled into each

other. Our bodies connected like puzzle pieces.

I was still prepped from the night before. He put on a condom and added a

little lubricant from the discarded bottle, then slipped back into me. I hiked my legs
up over his shoulders to give him better access and let my hands fall backward
beside my head.

“Don’t leave me again,” he said, hands clutched around my thighs. “Promise

ya’ll stay with me.”

“I promise,” I whispered and reached up to guide him back down. He began

to thrust shallowly into me. It was torturous to feel him move inside me at such a

languid pace. My insides burned, and I wanted the friction of his cock pounding into
my hole to relight the fires.

“Pierce,” I moaned out. He matched me with his groan, his speed increasing

slightly. We were going to take our time, make the moment last.

“I love ya,” he whispered.

He leaned down; his lips hovered close to mine. I smiled up at him, held his

gaze, and lost myself in its boundless serenity. “I love you too.”

The smile that erupted across Pierce’s face was the greatest Christmas gift I

could ever receive. Our limbs tangled together, and we lost all control. Pierce
picked up his pace; he rutted up into me and sent me into a spiral of ecstasy.

Sweat beaded down my body and along Pierce’s brow. His face contorted

with concentration as he thrust into me, slamming into the bundle of nerves buried
deep in my body. Stars burst behind my eyes, and I screamed out a holy mantra as
he took me to the next level.

I twisted one hand in the sheets and dropped the other between us. I

grabbed on to my hard member and jerked in time as best I could.

“Hold on, baby,” Pierce said when I whined that I was close. My stomach

clenched in preparation. “Come with me. Jus’ a li’l longer.”

My back bowed as he slammed into me. The sounds of sex filled the room,

and the scent of our bodies perfumed the air. I squeezed my eyes shut, and he
panted, “Open yer eyes, sweetheart.”

I did as he requested and watched him, gasping as he shifted and changed

the angle. I could barely hold on and let out another keening noise.

“Come, baby. Come for me,” Pierce moaned.

His thrusts became erratic, pushing in deep as he released his load.

I screamed, ejaculating onto my hand. My orgasm slammed into me with the

force of a sledgehammer. He collapsed on top of me, panting into the crook of my
neck.

“Oh God,” I gasped, my heart pounding.

Pierce tipped his head and pressed a kiss against my chin before he slipped

out and rolled beside me. This time, when we finished, the air wasn’t weighted by an
awkward silence. Pierce removed the condom and discarded it. We rolled over to
face each other, our arms winding around so that we were locked together.

When my breathing slowed down and my heart stopped racing, I smiled up

at him and whispered, “Merry Christmas, Pierce.”

His nose nudged against mine, and his fingers ran down to stroke my face.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

There was no turning back. This was it for us.

Whatever happened in the future, whatever problems we had to face, we

would face them together. The only way a person can face the world is with a

helping hand. I was going to take Pierce’s, and I was going to hold on tight.

Epilogue

Pierce Lawson

New Year’s Eve 2011

For the first time since I took over Haven, I closed up shop on New Year’s Eve. I

wanted to do something special for Gregoire, since this would be the first year we
were spending it together. He had insisted that staying in Haven was fine by him, but
I refused to listen. After eight years of pining, I finally had him in my arms for good.
That deserved something big, so I had gotten us a room at the Hyatt in downtown
Columbus where they were throwing a giant New Year’s Eve party.

The week following Christmas had been like heaven. I went to bed every night

with his warm body pressed against mine and woke up every morning with him in
my arms. His parents hadn’t quite understood why he wasn’t staying with them for
the week if he was remaining in town, but Gregoire let the subject die.

“Darlin’, if ya don’t hurry, the ball’s gonna drop before yer ready,” I said with

an easy smile. I wasn’t really in any big rush. Watching him straighten his black tie in
the mirror was just as good a way to pass time as any.

Gregoire threw me that private smile of his that was reserved for me and

smoothed out the final wrinkles in his sleek three-piece gray suit. He looked like a
movie star.

“There, ready.”

“Gorgeous.” I smiled and crossed the hotel room to him. He dropped his

hands and tipped his head back as I looped my arms around his waist, letting my
fingers spread across his back. “But maybe we should see what ya look like without
them fancy clothes on.”

Gregoire closed his eyes and welcomed my kiss. Having him here with me was

a daily miracle I still had trouble believing. Only a week ago I’d been begging him
out in the rain to stay. I still had moments when I wondered if I was dreaming, if this
was a fantasy induced by too much vodka. But no fantasy could feel this real or
taste this good.

“Come on, sugar. Let’s go to the party.” I drew my hand back from around his

waist and grabbed his hand, twining our fingers together like we were schoolkids.

But damn, I couldn’t get enough of him.

“Ya sure my jeans are all right?” I asked, not sure if I was underdressed. I had

put on a pair of dark jeans and a nice black dress shirt, with a sports coat that used
to be my granddad’s. The only real suit I had was a black one that I reserved for
funerals. It didn’t seem appropriate to wear it on our big night out.

“I’m sure. You’re the epitome of handsome.”

Gregoire reached up with his free hand and squeezed my bicep. I snorted

but took the compliment.

A quarter after ten we headed down to the conference room, which had

been renovated for the party. The room looked like someone had let off an atomic
bomb made of glitter and streamers.

A disco ball was spiraling in the center of the room, where a dance floor had

been set down, and multicolored lights swung back and forth in various directions.
Giant TVs were mounted on the wall, where it looked like the countdown at Times
Square was playing on mute.

At the head of the room a DJ played a dance song that was popular at

Haven when the younger crowd came in. I didn’t know the name or musician, but it
sure did have a lot of the autotuning.

Gregoire guided me toward the bar, which had been set up on the right side

between two large flat screens. On the opposite end was a small buffet, and
wreathing the dance floor were a bunch of circular tables. Gregoire wedged his
way between a woman in a dangerously low-cut dress and a man with a scraggly
smile.

It felt strange to be on the other side of the bar.

“Perrier,” Gregoire ordered and turned to me.

“What do you want?”

“Jus’ a beer,” I said. I wasn’t planning on drinking too much. I wanted to savor

every memory of our first New Year’s Eve together.

Gregoire ordered my drink and turned around brandishing a longneck bottle

of my favorite brand and a glass of sparkling water. I was anxious to see Gregoire
out on the dance floor, even if I was sure I’d make an ass of myself. I was always
told I looked like a duck with two left feet.

“Tell you what,” Gregoire said as we took a seat at an empty table. “You can

finish your beer, but then you’re dancing with me.”

I hid my smile behind a swig of beer.

“Anything you want, darlin’.”

Gregoire reached out and squeezed my thigh.

He had opened up in our short time together. I could only imagine how much

more he would open to me. Like a rose blooming in the spring, I wanted to watch
as every petal spread out.

“This was a splendid idea, Pierce. I’m glad you suggested it,” he said. He had

such an eloquent way of talking. Every word was enunciated. He could be talking
about shit, and I’d probably find them to be the prettiest words ever uttered.

“Mmm, well, I wanted to do somethin’ to celebrate ya stayin’,” I said as I

leaned forward and bumped our foreheads together. I didn’t care if anyone saw us.
I’d bloody my knuckles if anyone made a comment and took away one of
Gregoire’s precious smiles.

Gregoire closed the distance between us, his tongue nearly driving all my self-

control out the proverbial window. I tightened my grip on the neck of my beer
bottle and sucked on his tongue.

As soon as Gregoire made a sound in the back of his throat I pulled away,

breaking our contact and stopping the tightening in my jeans.

“Keep doin’ that, and we won’t be watchin’

the ball drop,” I warned. I took a long drink of my beer to cool myself down.

Gregoire chuckled. He really did belong on the cover of GQ magazine.

Several people—men and women—stole glances in his direction, captivated, I was
sure, by his ethereal beauty.

My fingers itched to grab him and hold him close. I took another swig of beer

and looked out on the busy dance floor, jammed full of thrashing and swaying
bodies. There wasn’t much dancing in Hawthorne, except maybe during school
dances. A few times I’d get kids in the bar who wanted to turn it into some kind of
club, but those were far and few between.

Gregoire finished his water and set the empty glass down on the table, which

was covered in a silvery cloth and dusted with glitter. The centerpiece was a spray
of metallic strips in black and gold with a handful of red roses. Gregoire grabbed my
hand and pulled my attention away from the centerpiece, an impish smile twitching
at his lips.

“Come on,” he said.

I took a final swig of liquid courage and set my bottle down. He pulled me

toward the dance floor. His body swayed hypnotically, and I swallowed a lump in
my throat, which dropped straight down to my dick and turned into a steady flow
of blood. I just stood there for a moment and watched as he rocked his hips back
and forth.

God, did I want everyone to be gone and to strip him down until he was left

in nothing.

He drew me in, and I tried to mimic his motions, but I kept stepping on his feet.

Staying in Haven started to sound better by the second. I tried to pull away, but
Gregoire kept a strong grip on me and continued to smile, unfazed by my clumsy
attempts to dance.

“We have all night,” Gregoire said and looped his arms around my neck.

He bumped his hips into mine, curved up into me until our lower halves were

molded, and nestled one leg between mine. Slowly, in tempo with the song, he
began to rock. I followed suit, letting my hands drop to his narrow hips. If anyone
watched, I didn’t notice. All I could see were his eyes and the light that spun off
them.

“That’s it,” he said and picked up the pace a little more, rolling his hips so his

pelvis rocked against mine. My knees quaked as our crotches touched and fell
away. I gulped and continued to shadow him, my grip tightening by a fraction.

As the songs changed, Gregoire began to add more and more moves. We

broke once to get a drink, but I didn’t get to finish my beer before Gregoire had me
back on the dance floor. I forgot my two left feet at some point, and before I knew
it, the music shut off. They turned on the volume to the flat screens, and Dick Clark
began to countdown from ten.

Gregoire turned to face me, a huge grin on his face. He counted down with

everyone else, his eyes shining as bright as the disco ball. I grabbed his hands and
squeezed, pulling him a little closer. Three. Two. One.

“Happy New Year !” everyone shouted, and from some unknown source,

glitter cascaded down from the ceiling. I hauled Gregoire up into my arms and
sealed my mouth over his. His arms locked around my neck, and we ushered in a
new beginning with our lips meshed together.

* * * *

I woke the next morning with a wonderfully warm body beside mine. I tightened my
grip around Gregoire’s waist and let my fingers venture up his naked chest. His ass
was snug against me, my cock nestled against his crack. It was up and ready to say
hello.

Carefully I shifted behind him, the bed dipping slightly as I leaned onto one

arm. I dotted Gregoire’s shoulder with kisses and ran my fingers all the way up to his
pert nipples, rolling my thumb against his right one until the fleshy nub became hard.
He made a weak sound and burrowed back into me, readjusting his head so he
could nuzzle the pillow. His chestnut hair was mussed around his angelic face, the
sunlight that streamed in through the crack in the curtain drawing out golden
highlights. My hair spilled over my shoulders and into my face. I pushed it away and
leaned forward, pressing a feathery kiss to the curve of his neck.

Gregoire moaned again. My dick twitched, and I reached over to the

nightstand, finding the discarded pack of condoms and a tube of lube from last
night. I slid on a rubber and poured a good amount of lube in my hand. I slicked
myself up before hooking my hand around Gregoire’s thigh and lifting his leg high
into the air. I eased into him, my eyes fluttering closed as warmth surrounded me.

Heaven. He was fucking heaven. So hot, wet, and smooth. I leisurely pulled out

to the tip before sliding back in at a snail’s pace. Gregoire grunted and tipped his
head back so that it fell against my shoulder. I watched as his eyes blinked open. I
drew back out to the tip and rocked forward once more, keeping my hold on his
thigh.

“Oh,” he gasped and stretched an arm out across the bed, his fingers

spreading wide and gripping on to the sheet. I dropped my gaze and pushed
myself up a little more, watching as his lush cock began to grow. He became
semierect, and with each shallow thrust, he grew harder.

“Gorgeous,” I mumbled and picked up my pace by only a slight amount.

Lazily I pushed into him, enjoying the sounds of pleasure and frustration that
escaped him. He buried his face into the hotel pillow and moaned out as I buried
deeper and then dragged myself back to the tip.

My body hummed with life as I encased myself over and over again in the

glove of his tight ass. A pearl of cum beaded on the juicy head of his cock, and I
reached around to smear it down his thick shaft. He murmured something into his
arm and swiveled his hips in an attempt to get me to move faster.

“Please, Pierce,” he begged.

I shook my head and nuzzled his temple. “No, I want to take it slow.”

“Oh God, you’re going to drive me insane,”

he panted but didn’t argue further as I continued my shallow thrusts. This was

how I wanted to wake up every morning. I wanted to wake up buried in him,
holding him and loving him.

He was my world.

Spots appeared in front of my eyes as agonizing euphoria danced through

me. I whispered encouragingly against his ear, “Touch yerself.”

He grabbed himself and began to stroke in time with my rocking hips. His

channel squeezed around me as he flexed his muscles, and I groaned, dangerously
close to my peak.

“Sweet Jesus,” I murmured. My eyes fluttered closed, but I quickly opened

them, not wanting to miss one minute of Gregoire bringing himself to completion.

He continued to whimper, his fingers trembling as he tenderly masturbated. I

swallowed a low groan and pushed a little harder into him.

My hips twitched and begged to pick up speed. I refused to give in to the

carnal urge to drive into Gregoire and piston my hips until he screamed my name.
No, this was going to be a slow end.

My body tingled, and my balls tightened. I hid my face in the crook of

Gregoire’s neck, buried myself deep in his hole, and came with the force of a
crashing wave.

Still inside Gregoire, I let go of his arm and reached around to help bring him

to the edge. In a glorious display he threw his head back and cried out, lathering
my hand in hot rope after rope of cum. I kissed his cheek and anywhere else I could
reach before pulling out of him and removing the condom.

Once the soiled rubber was discarded and we cleaned up our mess, I pulled

him back against me and held him close.

He sighed into my chest. “Perfect way to start the year.”

I chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I thought so.”

We fell into a lapse of silence. His index finger idly drew patterns and shapes

on my chest just below my nipple. I sighed contently and murmured with a pang of
forlornness, “I wish ya didn’t ’ave to head back to New York tomorrow.”

He pushed himself up on his arm so he could look at me. Chestnut bangs fell

across his face, untamed by his usual arsenal of gel. I stroked a few strands out of his
eyes.

He smiled and said reassuringly, “It’s only for a few days, just so I can tie up a

few loose ends.”

I hugged him close, forced him to settle back down against my chest. Even if

it was only for a few days, I had grown accustomed to him sleeping beside me in
the past week, and I wasn’t willing to sacrifice any more time not having him with
me.

We had spent seven long years finding each other.

Now I wanted to spend the rest of our lives making it count.

“I know, but I like wakin’ up to ya.”

After a long discussion, we had both decided there was no way I could move

to New York.

Haven was my life, and if I left it, I’d have nothing.

Besides, New York City was just too big for me. I would never be able to

adjust. I suggested trying long-distance—albeit reluctantly—but Gregoire had
frowned and looked unhopeful. That was basically what we’d had before. In the
end, he’d decided that maybe it was time to return to Hawthorne.

I looked down at him and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Are ya sure about

this? I mean, New York City is yer home. I don’t want to take ya away from it.”

“New York was just a place I lived. You’re my home.” He pushed himself up

once more to look at me, his smile soft and filled with so many possibilities. “I was
only happy when I was around you. Haven is my home, and it took me seven years
to realize that. I’m not wasting any more time.”

I rested my hand against his cheek and gently cupped it. “I jus’ don’t want ya

to regret anything.”

He chuckled and kissed my palm. “I’d never regret you.”

My heart swelled with warmth. He slid onto my lap, straddling my waist. His

hands smoothed out on my chest, and I settled my hands comfortably on his hips.

“I’ll go to New York City, take care of my apartment, and make arrangements

for my paintings and belongings to be shipped. My therapist made a
recommendation for someone in Columbus, so I can continue my therapy.”

“And when ya get back, I’ll ’ave the office turned into an art studio for ya,” I

said.

His eyes crinkled as he grinned down at me, and he rocked his hips a little into

my stomach.

“This is it. It’s me and you. This is our year and our life, together forever.”

I pulled him down, whispering just before our mouths sealed, “Stay with me

always.”