Taking the road less travelled may lead you home.
Eco-house builder Jascha doesn’t think twice about taking in stray animals.
Stray people? This would be a first. But there’s something about the stranded
young man—who’s carrying nothing in his car but a hidden gun—that warns
Jascha not to leave him alone.
Stuck in a soul-sucking bank job, Peter has given up on finding meaning in
his life. Long ago he cut himself off from his creative side, unable to get over the
feeling that everything about himself is wrong. He thinks there’s only one thing
left to do—until the pushy, charismatic Jascha happens along what was
supposed to be a deserted road, and Peter lets himself be bullied into following
him home.
In the days that follow, Peter gets more of a crash course in the hippie
lifestyle—natural food, meditation, yoga—than he can handle. But every time he
begins to relax around his new friend, their spark of attraction twists him back
into a ball of nerves.
Jascha tells himself it’s a mistake to get involved with a man whose gaydar is
seriously broken. In spite of everything, love happens. The only question is if
love is enough to save both their lonely souls.
Warning: Contains an eco-friendly, dreadlocked hippy, strange tofu
scrambles and a bathroom you’ll never want to leave. Readers may experience
the desire to move to the desert, build a “green” home and change the world. Or
at the very least, an urge to help Jashca and Peter dry off after one very hot bath
scene.
eBooks are
not transferable.
They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s
imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons,
living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
A Road Not Taken
Copyright © 2012 by Jennifer Thorne
ISBN: 978-1-61921-283-1
Edited by Christa Desir
Cover by Lou Harper
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever
without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First
A Road Not Taken
Jennifer Thorne
Dedication
For Feffer. Your time will come.
Chapter One
The truck’s navigation lights conked out again. Jascha delivered a
resounding thump to the dashboard, unsettling some dust and rebounding his
sunglasses onto the floor. No dice. No lights either. He sighed and resigned
himself to driving by Zen acceleration until he could get a look at the electrical
system again. It sucked, but really, what could be expected from a free vehicle?
Other than the finicky truck, life was good. He had ice cream in the cooler on a
block of ice, beer on top of that and some other choice groceries he’d been living
without for the last couple months. Jascha settled back into the dilapidated,
plastic bench seat and enjoyed the colors of the fading desert sunset.
He passed a car parked by the side of the road. That in itself was odd, being
as he didn’t recognize the car, and nobody lived out this way that he didn’t
know. The driver didn’t even acknowledge him as he went by, just stared
straight ahead, hands locked in a death grip on the steering wheel. Jascha
processed that for a couple seconds, then pulled over.
The stranger’s glasses glowed red in the lights of Jascha’s tail lights as he
reversed. He parked and got out to see if there was something he could do.
Maybe it wasn’t the safest plan, but he couldn’t live in a world where strangers
turned away. If he could help, he would.
Jascha tugged up his collar against the cold night air and bent to knock on
the window. The reflection of his face was pale, and his red, dreadlocked hair
standing up around his head looked like the leaves of a palm tree. Or an alien.
A Road Not Taken
7
Maybe that’s why the guy barely glanced at Jascha when he rolled down the
window.
Jascha tried not to let his bemusement show on his face. “Hey,” he said. “Did
your car break down?”
The guy still didn’t turn his head, but his profile showed a fine, sensitive
mouth pulled down at the corners, and dark, curly, nicely cut hair. “Yeah,” he
said finally. “Something like that.” His voice was soft and rough like he’d been
crying.
Jascha cleared his throat, giving himself time to frame a reply. “Are you
okay?” It was the only thing he could think to ask, and he felt kind of dumb
saying it, but it got his first response.
The guy took a deep, shuddering breath, laughed, and then wiped his eyes,
pushing his glasses out of the way and grinding the heels of his hands into the
eye sockets. “No, not really.”
“Oh. Uh, can I give you a lift?”
“No, thanks. I’ll be fine.”
Jascha frowned. “It’s night time. In the desert. You aren’t even wearing a
proper coat. I can’t leave you out here.”
The guy looked at him and bit his lip. His eyes wavered with indecision. “I
don’t feel good about leaving my car.”
“Oh, hey. That’s no problem. I’ve got some chains in the back. I’ll tow you
back to my place.” Something wasn’t right here, but Jascha couldn’t tell what.
There was no way he was leaving this guy alone in the desert at night.
The stranger frowned and raised his voice a bit. “Look, I don’t even know
you. I’m not going anywhere with you.” He had a northeastern accent. Cultured.
Educated. Jascha remembered it well.
Jennifer Thorne
8
Jascha snorted. “That’s not how we do things around here. We take care of
our neighbors. Heck. We even take care of strangers dumb enough to go into the
wilderness and get lost.”
That wasn’t necessarily true, but it should have been. There were a lot of
things the world should have been and weren’t.
“Go another mile down this road and you’re into a huge tract of
government-protected nothing. Maybe the occasional coyote.”
The guy sighed and ran a hand through his hair, gripped a handful and
tipped his head back against the headrest. Then he deflated, shoulders sinking
and head falling forward. “Okay,” he said in a voice that was barely audible.
“Good,” Jascha said and headed to the back of his truck to get the chains. He
kept his expression carefully neutral as he felt around under the bumper for
something solid to hook to. He did and then let out a good bit of length. No point
having the stranger ram the back of Jascha’s truck if he needed to put on the
brakes. It looked like he was either strung out on something or in the middle of a
nervous breakdown. Either way, Jascha wanted to give him a second or two
more to react.
“Hey,” the guy said, poking his head out the window. “Isn’t this illegal?”
Jascha laughed. “Not unless we get caught.” He stood up and dusted his
hands off on his thighs. “But I’m feeling pretty lucky tonight. How about you?”
“Not really.” The stranger ducked back inside his car.
“No, I didn’t think so,” Jascha murmured to himself as he climbed into the
cab.
Peter loosened his grip on the steering wheel and felt his joints creak. There
was a reason it was illegal to tow cars like this. The dreadlocked guy’s truck
turned into a long driveway, dragging Peter’s Toyota behind. His headlights
A Road Not Taken
9
briefly illuminated a rough-hewn wooden sign. It read: New Earth Community
Research Center— Birthplace of the Eco-house.
Peter only got a moment to wonder, then he was off again on the video
game-like, seesawing trip through the night. He couldn’t see well, but it seemed
that there were glassed-in earth mounds on either side of the road. Some had the
strangest rooflines. Peter peeled his gaze off the oddness in time to see the red
lights go on in front of him. He slammed on the brakes.
They had pulled up in front of another glass-fronted mound, but it was dark
inside. The dreadlock guy got out of his truck and came up to Peter’s window.
Peter rolled it down. Cold, spring air washed over him. The guy placed a hand
on the door and leaned down to look at Peter through the open window. He had
strong, calloused fingers and his red dreadlocks fell out of an untidy knot at the
back of his head. His eyes were an intense blue and his skin was one big freckle.
“You can bring your stuff in,” the guy said, patted the door and turned
toward the structure. Peter supposed it was an eco-house, whatever that meant.
He also didn’t have any ‘stuff’. Only the… Peter’s fingers tingled with the fear
and adrenaline that coursed through his system again. The thing he couldn’t
think about. The reason why he had come all the way out to somewhere he
thought was totally deserted.
Dreadlock Guy turned at the door to his place. “You coming?”
“Yeah.” Peter rolled up his window, made sure all his doors were locked and
then patted the pocket with his key in it to make sure it was still there. He would
stay the night and then try again in the morning. He was so tired. Tired of being
a freak. Tired of his life. He got out of the car and walked the few feet necessary
to put a solid, wooden door between himself and the gun.
Chapter Two
Dreadlock Guy turned on the lights and Peter felt like he’d dropped into a
Star Wars movie set kitchen. The original one, with the Tatooine farmhouse that
looked like it had been extruded. Peter found the turquoises, dark yellows and
reds to be too bright for his eyes. An enormous bank of windows was set in front
of a dying straggle of houseplants and some remarkably healthy cacti that grew
in the dirt floor at their base.
Dreadlock Guy noticed Peter staring and shrugged. “I don’t do plants. Plus,
I’m not here often enough to generate enough water. My neighbor, Keren, tries to
keep up with this stuff, but it’s really not her job.”
Peter stopped his eyebrows from raising only by pulling them down into a
frown. What did he mean by generate?
The guy cleared his throat. “Yeah, so. I’ll go get the groceries. Have a seat.”
He left and Peter was alone in a puddle of light in the dark, silent house.
Peter hadn’t eaten or slept in over twenty-four hours and that wasn’t helping his
feeling of unreality. Or his anxiety.
Peter moved over to beside the kitchen table but couldn’t make himself sit. It
looked like it had been sculpted out of driftwood and somehow the lines of the
chairs didn’t inspire confidence in their durability. He stood there until the
dreadlocked guy returned with a red cooler and two cloth grocery bags in each
hand. He set them on the floor in front of the sink and turned to Peter with a
friendly smile.
“My name’s Jascha, by the way.”
A Road Not Taken
11
He stuck out a hand and Peter grasped it after a moment’s hesitation. It was
firm and calloused, but there was no subtle power play or one-upmanship. Just a
friendly squeeze and then he let go.
“Peter.”
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
Peter shrugged and curled his lips in an approximation of a polite smile. It
felt wrong so he stopped and shrugged again. Jascha examined him with eyes
that looked too old for such a young face and then bent to hand him a tub of ice
cream from the cooler. Peter kept his eyes very firmly away from anything
incriminating. Like the man’s incredibly firm, jeans-clad butt.
Oh God, no. Let it stop.
Peter grabbed the container and turned to examine a decorative detail on the
wall, willing his panic back into the dark place deep inside where he kept
everything that bothered him. Why had he followed this man home? Why had
this guy even offered?
“It goes in the chest freezer over there against the wall.” Jascha pointed to the
darker back end of his sci-fi inspired kitchen space.
Peter placed the ice cream into the bottom of the mostly-empty freezer. Peter
felt like he was being watched. He turned around self-consciously. Jascha
suddenly spun in place with a mild curse and strode off into the unlit back
corner. Peter let the freezer lid drop with a gentle thump. There was a mutter
from the dark and then the sound of a match being lit. Jascha’s body shielded
whatever he was doing, but the growing, flickering light revealed a fireplace.
Jascha came toward Peter and held out a hand. “Let me take your coat. It
ought to warm up soon. I’m really a very bad host.” He smiled. “Sorry.”
Jennifer Thorne
12
Peter shrugged out of his windbreaker and handed it over. He felt he had to
say something in reply. “Please, don’t. You weren’t expecting anyone. I feel like
I’m intruding.”
Queasy tension coiled in his stomach.
Jascha grinned and huffed a breathy laugh between his teeth. “Well, how
about I make you work a little and then we can call it even?”
“Uh…” Horrible scenarios flashed through Peter’s mind, some more
embarrassing than others.
“Good. I’ll cook and you can wash up. I’m assuming you haven’t had
supper?”
Peter was still unable to answer.
“You really don’t talk much. I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”
Jascha shook his head and fished two beers out of the fridge, where he had
just placed them a minute ago. He popped the caps off and pointed at the table.
“Sit. Drink. And try not to talk too much or I’ll ruin supper.”
Jascha smiled as he said the last part.
A dark brown bottle thunked down beside him. Peter sat. He looked at the
bottle and wondered if organic beer tasted any better than the regular kind.
Moisture left a beaded ring on the oiled wood when he picked it up.
He took a sip. Nope.
Jascha bustled around the kitchen, chopping vegetables, mixing batter and
completely ignoring him. Every once in a while one of the dreadlocks would fall
out of place and Jascha tucked it back into the messy bun with long-fingered,
competent hands. There wasn’t anywhere safe for Peter’s gaze to go so he picked
the label off the bottle and left a little pile of paper peelings on the table.
A Road Not Taken
13
With nothing else to do, he ended up drinking the whole thing. By the time
he got to the bottom, the bitter flavor almost started to taste good. It certainly fit
his mood.
A plate slid into his range of vision. Peter looked up. Jascha was already
turning away, bringing more food and beer to the table. Something that looked
like a multigrain crepe was folded around green and brown ingredients on
Peter’s plate. There were white blobs dotting it.
Jascha poured something red over top and did the same for his own. It
smelled odd, but not disgusting. Peter took a small bite and moved it around his
mouth a few times. He couldn’t decide if he liked the flavor or not, but the
presence of food in his mouth made his stomach wake up and grumble. Hunger
overrode caution and he ate.
“Do you like it?” Jascha shoveled his strange brown crepe down like he
hadn’t eaten in days.
“It’s…different.”
Jascha’s eyebrows wrinkled, and he seemed genuinely hurt. Peter tried to
assuage his guilt.
“But not in a bad way. I’ve never encountered the taste combination of
mushrooms, berries and cheese before. Is this spinach?”
“Chard, actually. Keren grows it in her house. That’s also where I got the
goat cheese. Her methods seem to have improved since I was last home.”
Not at her house, in. Peter glanced at the indoor cactus garden. It would
probably work well as a greenhouse.
“And the mushrooms are from Andrew.” Jascha’s mouth turned down in
ironic amusement. “Don’t worry. They’re just shiitake. The other kinds he mostly
keeps to himself.”
Jennifer Thorne
14
Peter’s eyebrow twitched. Greenhouse, huh? There was more than
mushrooms that could be grown here, probably.
He had a flashback to his childhood and the program with the little blue
people who lived in toadstool houses. Back when he was five, he’d wanted a
toadstool house with the same longing girls had for ponies. For some reason, this
crazy place made him think of it. All it needed now was an old guy with a big,
white beard.
“There. That’s the first real smile I’ve seen out of you yet. My job here is
done.”
Jascha sat back and drank the last few drops from his second beer, tipping
the bottle so that Peter saw a good portion of his neck. Jascha’s Adam’s apple
bobbed and Peter looked back down at his plate, chasing the last few berries
around and willing himself to disappear.
Jascha set the brown bottle down with a noise loud enough to make Peter
jump.
“Right. So here’s the deal. I hate doing dishes so that’s your job for tonight.
You’ll find everything you need under the sink. I’m going to make sure all the
house systems are running correctly and make you up a bed.”
Peter was left sitting at the table as Jascha disappeared into the bowels of the
house. There was some muttering and clanking.
Left to his own devices, Peter wandered over to the sink and stared at it for a
little while. It was a perfectly normal stainless steel double sink. The counter was
a golden-colored butcher block.
Peter bent down and opened the cupboard door. He found a drain tray,
some dish cloths and a bottle of dish soap that loudly proclaimed itself to be
biodegradable in twenty-eight days. He set the drain tray in the right hand sink
A Road Not Taken
15
and turned to get the dishes. Jascha was standing at the edge of the light,
watching him.
Peter nearly leapt out of his skin.
“What the hell?” he gasped. Some of his grislier, horrible imaginings flashed
through his mind, but he banished them with a flick of annoyance. Stupid
imagination running away with him again. Why wouldn’t it just stop? Why
couldn’t everything just stop?
Jascha snorted. “Sorry. I just wanted to tell you that the hot water is back up
and running. It ought to be fine now if you want to fill the sink.”
“Thanks.” Peter turned away so the other man wouldn’t see his blush. He
ran the water, added a generous amount of soap and cleaned up the kitchen. He
was wiping down the table with a damp cloth when Jascha returned.
“Come on and see what I’ve set up for you. I’ve only got one bedroom so I
hope you don’t mind the futon in the living room.”
“No, of course not.” Peter clenched his lips and looked down, avoiding
Jascha’s beautiful, blue eyes. He couldn’t help feeling that they saw more of him
than he wanted to show.
The futon had been pulled in front of the fireplace. It was covered in a warm,
shabby quilt that had seen many washings. The fire crackled and sent soothing
heat into the room.
Peter had to hold back the tears. He didn’t want to relax. He didn’t want to
like it here. That wasn’t why he had come. It was eight hours of lonely road back
to his apartment. He didn’t intend to return. His holidays had been saved up. He
hadn’t taken them in so long, he had three weeks. He’d told his manager at the
bank that he was taking an extra two weeks off for ‘personal reasons’.
“Is this okay?” For the first time that evening, Jascha seemed worried.
“Of course. It’s…almost too much. I don’t know how to thank you.”
Jennifer Thorne
16
“Hell. Wait until you see the bathroom. You’ll be doing all my neighbor’s
dishes, too, out of guilt.” Jascha laughed and led the way. He seemed to like
laughing. It bubbled out of him like water from an artesian well.
He wasn’t kidding about the bathroom. Mirror tiles and stones swirled
across the walls and floor in random, graceful shapes. Drooping, faded greenery
shielded the view of the outside world through the large windows. A small toilet
and sink sat off to the side, but were second to the largest and most beautiful
feature of the room. A large, irregularly-shaped tub rose from the floor like a
natural feature against the wall. A constructed waterfall was filling the tub with
steaming water.
“Wow.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Jascha said and looked around with pride. “I spent weeks
and weeks on this room.”
“You made this?” Peter hadn’t seen anything like it before in his life. He
hadn’t seen anything like this house. It was amazing. Strange, but amazing. Kind
of like its owner.
“Yep.” Jascha opened a rounded door in the wall and took out a large blue
towel. He unwrapped a clear green bar of soap, sniffed it and handed it to Peter.
There were flecks of something trapped in the bar, and the smell of lavender and
something green teased his nose. “Here, take the towel, too.”
“What?”
“You’re completely baked. Take a bath and I’ll find you something to wear
to bed. I need to do a load of laundry anyways so we can wash your clothes for
the morning.” Jascha turned a glass knob on the wall and the water stopped. He
saw Peter’s hesitation. “No, really. I have to check in with my neighbor about
something for tomorrow. I’ll take my bath after you. Go ahead.”
A Road Not Taken
17
Peter felt something give way inside him. The tears were about to break
through. If he didn’t say yes, he’d have to argue about it. It was easier, and faster,
to give in.
“OK.”
Jascha took a deep breath and patted him on the shoulder. “Good. I’ll give
you some privacy.” He closed the heavy, woven curtain hanging beside the door
as he left. “I’ll leave clothes out in the hall.”
“Thanks,” Peter managed in an even voice, even though tears were starting
to leak out around the edges. This was not where he had expected to end up
tonight. He wasn’t sure if he was grateful or disappointed. He was so screwed
up, it was impossible to tell how he felt right now.
Jascha ducked into his bedroom and found a spare set of PJs. He left them on
the floor outside of the bathroom curtain. He listened for noises and was about to
go in when he heard Peter surface and take a deep breath. The breathing calmed
down and there were a few splashing noises as Peter moved around the tub.
Everything became quiet for another minute until Jascha heard the sound of
irregular, deep breaths and the occasional splash. The guy obviously didn’t
know how good the acoustics were in the bathroom or he would have been
quieter while jerking off.
Jascha grinned. He felt better. It was less likely that Peter was going to hurt
himself if he was letting go of his emotions that way. Good. Now to check the
car.
Jascha padded across the floor in his bare feet, fished in Peter’s jacket pocket
for the keys, stepped into his boots without doing up the laces and eased the
door open. He shut it behind himself silently and took the flashlight from his
Jennifer Thorne
18
pocket. He turned it on and checked over his shoulder. The lights in the
bathroom were bright enough that he would see if anyone came to the window.
Jascha took Peter’s keys and opened the car door. A gray Corolla. Who
picked that out? His mom? Maybe it was a hand-me-down. Jascha searched the
inside of the car, but found nothing.
On a hunch, he popped the trunk. That was empty too. No bags. Nothing.
Bare except for a spare jug of windshield washer fluid and a collapsible shovel.
He paused and then checked under the floor matting where the spare tire was
kept.
His fingers stubbed against something that rattled. A small black box held
what looked like an updated cowboy gun. A revolver. Jascha knew more than he
wanted to about those sorts of things, thanks to his father and the legacy of a
mis-spent youth. He unloaded all the bullets and put them into his pocket, but
left the gun in the box where it was. He replaced the mat, shut the trunk and
popped the hood.
From his other pocket Jascha pulled out a socket wrench and took out all the
spark plugs from the engine. This car was going nowhere until he was sure Peter
was going to be safe.
Jascha stashed the bullets and car parts into a hidey-hole in his front hall,
behind the mirror on the wall. He usually left his keys and wallet there. Not for
the next little while anyways.
Peter emerged from the bathroom as Jascha started making mint tea. Peter
looked absolutely adorable with his messy-dried hair and slightly too large
borrowed flannel pajamas. Jascha put a small amount of valerian into Peter’s
portion. Jascha kept it on hand to help with jet lag after international jobs.
A Road Not Taken
19
It was a bit dishonest to spring it on the guy, but he looked like he hadn’t
slept in far too long. If Jascha was going to be on suicide watch, he wanted to be
able to fall asleep himself tonight.
When Jascha had lived in the city, his apartment had been full of stray
animals and the occasional lost baby bird. This seemed to be the logical
extension. His first stray boy. He smiled and poured hot water over the tea ball
in Peter’s mug.
“I hope you don’t mind herbal tea,” Jascha said and sweetened the mixture
with honey. His own was mint, chamomile and linden flowers, minus the sleep
aid. He lifted the mug up to his nose and inhaled with a grateful sigh. It was
good to be home. It had been a long three months building that house in
Colorado. Being back in his own space felt great, even if it had been interrupted.
Peter stood awkwardly in the hall, watching him. Jascha set the mug down
on the end table of the couch-bed futon and collapsed with a groan into the
ancient, brown corduroy armchair. It had been a long day. He took another sip of
tea and watched Peter over the rim. The guy looked like life had been enough to
break him lately.
Jascha’s patience was rewarded when Peter padded over to the couch-bed
and sat down. He tucked his bare feet under his folded legs and picked up the
mug.
“What time is it?”
“I don’t keep clocks in the house,” Jascha said and was amused all over again
by Peter’s shocked indignation. “When I go out to build other people’s houses,
I’m on their time. At home, I’m on mine.”
Peter pursed his lips and shook his head. His eyes went everywhere but to
Jascha and when they did, his glances were furtive, like he was afraid that his
notice would be unwanted. He was like all of the half-tame animals picked up off
Jennifer Thorne
20
the street. Most went, but some stayed. All you could do was wait. It was usually
worth it.
After a few minutes, Peter began to rub his eyes and he let his head fall to
rest on the back of the couch.
“I’ll let you turn in,” Jascha said and collected both of the mugs to take back
to the kitchen. He poured the last dregs of tea down the drain and left them on
the counter for the morning dishes. The contents of the tea balls went into the
compost tub on the counter. Peter was already under the blankets by the time he
turned around.
“Sleep well,” Jascha said quietly. “If you wake up before me in the morning,
feel free to raid the fridge if you want.”
His reply was a small snore. Jascha smiled and took himself to bed. His own
bath would have to wait for the morning. He didn’t want to flood out the cacti,
although the banana tree in the bathroom window was going to love having the
extra water that guests generated.
He lay in the cool, pine and sage-scented darkness of his bedroom, enjoying
the silence. The large skylight over his bed gave him a good view of a slice of the
northern sky. Jascha stretched, luxuriating in the feel of bare skin against smooth
cotton sheets. His hand strayed downward and as he brought himself to a long,
slow release, he couldn’t keep away the image of Peter’s sensitive mouth, slim
hips and his eyes the color of dark green tea. So be it, Jascha thought as he drifted
off to sleep. The universe put him in my path for a reason.
Whatever it is, so be it.
Chapter Three
As usual, Jascha opened his eyes just after dawn, but instead of rolling over
and falling back asleep like he really wanted, he swung his feet out of bed and
threw on some PJ bottoms, slippers and a robe. It was on the cool side of
comfortable in the house and he was feeling a little odd about the stranger in his
space.
The lump on his couch didn’t move as he stirred the coals and put on a
couple more logs. Using this much wood was fairly extravagant, but he wanted
his guest to feel comfortable.
He examined Peter’s face in the dim light of the fire. He looked a little bit
older than Jascha had thought at first, maybe in his mid-twenties, not so much
younger than him. Even in sleep there was the furrow of a frown running
between his brows. Jascha went to the kitchen to pull some breakfast together.
He made a tofu-egg scramble with some fresh herbs Keren had thoughtfully
left for him in the fridge before he came home. Her green thumb was incredible.
Jascha killed plants. He was looking forward to saying hi later, catching up on
the latest community news.
Jascha sat down to watch the sun rise across the desert and let his coffee
brew.
A groan from the couch heralded the arrival of Jascha’s guest.
“What time is it?” Peter mumbled, incoherent and sleepy as he slouched over
to the table, shoving his glasses up in front of his still-mostly-closed eyes.
“Dawn.”
Jennifer Thorne
22
“That’s what? Six a.m.?” Peter rubbed his face, fingers sliding behind the
chunky frames of his glasses and making them dance up and down. He slumped
into the other kitchen chair and put his face down on his crossed arms, glasses
pressed flat and nose digging into the table.
“Seven, or thereabouts.”
“That’s still disgusting.”
“Coffee?”
Peter’s head rose an inch, then returned to its resting place. “Yes, please.”
His curly hair had dried flat on one side and the other stood up like a rooster
tail. Jascha had to keep himself from smoothing it down.
Jascha rose to get him a mug. “I have sugar and goat’s milk. You might want
to pass on the milk until you’re more awake and ready to try a new taste
sensation.”
“Ugh. No goat. One sugar.”
Jascha placed the sweetened coffee and a plate of tofu-eggs in front of Peter.
Peter took a sip of coffee and then a bite of eggs. A strange look passed
across his face. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Not to be rude or anything, but…why do you eat all this weird food? I
mean, what’s in the eggs?”
“Tofu.”
“Seriously?”
Where did Peter live? Under a rock? “I shit you not, man. It’s tofu. And
there’s some basil and oregano. Oh, and pepper.”
Peter took another bite, rolled it around his mouth, considering, and
swallowed. He grimaced.
“Are you a vegetarian or something?”
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23
“I call myself a flexitarian. I prefer not to eat meat, but sometimes I like a
good steak. Is there something wrong with it?”
“Huh. No.”
Peter went back to eating his breakfast in silence.
Jascha’s dad had always said that the best way to deal with a bad mood was
to work it off. He’d been a bastard, but sometimes he had the right idea. Time to
work Peter until he was too tired to worry about more than how much his
muscles hurt. And Jascha had been stung more than he liked by Peter’s reaction
to his cooking. Not cool.
Jascha clapped his hands together and put on a falsely cheerful grin that had
once been described as ‘shark-like’. Peter looked up, startled.
“Right. Since you’re here, I might as well put you to work.”
“Um. Like what?”
“We’ll see what you feel comfortable at.” Jascha was feeling a bit sadistic this
morning and the terminal cuteness of his guest was starting to wear off. It was
too early in the morning to deal with his pouty behavior. “You’ll need some
work clothes, which you can borrow from me. Your shoes should be fine, but I’ll
scare up some gloves for you.”
Peter’s face paled.
“Come on,” Jascha said and stood up. “We’ll put the coffee into some travel
mugs and go check out the construction site.”
“I need to check on my car.”
“Because it isn’t working?”
“Yeah.” Peter frowned and fidgeted with his fork.
“Well, garages don’t open for another couple hours at least and I don’t have
a phone. We’ll need to use the one in the Visitor’s Center and it doesn’t open
until ten.”
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Peter stared at him. “You don’t have a phone.” It looked like he couldn’t
decide on whether he felt pity or horror.
Jascha shook his head and sighed. “Actually, I’m part cave man. I find all
these modern things so confusing. What about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don't you have a cell phone? What's your excuse?”
Peter froze and looked guilty. Staying in touch hadn't been a big priority,
apparently.
Jascha snorted. “Come on. Let’s find you some clean clothes.”
Peter shivered in the early morning wind. His hands were encased in too-
large, leather work gloves and a bulky coat hung from his shoulders. Jascha had
also lent him jeans, socks, a shirt and disturbingly…underwear. The bulky shirts
were no big deal, but the jeans had to be cinched tight with a spare belt.
And the underwear. Also cinched up under the belt, it shifted and brushed.
Peter was having a hard time not thinking about what usually filled those
Jockeys. Seriously. This was a whole new form of torture. It was like getting
fondled by a guy who had absolutely no interest in him whatsoever. Or, getting
an exam by a cute doctor and desperately hoping not to get an erection. Painful
in an entirely different way.
Now they were out in the windswept desert about to build a house out of
garbage. And the guy definitely had no interest in him. Not that Peter would
know what to do if he did.
How was this his life?
Peter removed his gloves and took his keys out of his pocket. He slid them
into the lock on his car door and turned, feeling the hard ridge of plastic twist in
his fingers. The lock popped up. He stood and looked into the car.
A Road Not Taken
25
Jascha came up behind him and tipped his head to one side, watching.
“Afraid it’s going to blow up?”
“No.” Peter set his lips in a hard line and opened the door. He sat in the seat,
but Jascha kept the door open. Peter inserted the key and turned a second time.
Nothing happened.
“What the…?”
Peter tried again. Still nothing.
Jascha slapped the hood of his car. “Well, looks like you were right last night.
She’s dead as a doornail. I’ve got a friend in town who can probably look into it.
Sound good?”
Peter nodded, but continued to sit there. Again not sure how he felt. What
had happened to his car? Maybe the universe was punishing him for lying. And
now he was trapped here. The pit of his stomach dropped. He was so useless that
he even screwed up killing himself.
“Let’s go then.”
The future yawned out in front of him like a black hole, sucking all light and
life into itself, with no mercy or regret. He put the keys back in his pocket, made
sure they were safe, and followed.
Chapter Four
Peter hefted the sledgehammer again and brought it down into the tire full of
dirt. His back was already killing him. There was one particular muscle between
his shoulder blades that felt like it had ripped off entirely. He let the hammer fall
to the ground and stood up to look around. Jascha saw him and came over,
grinning like he actually enjoyed this.
“Hey, man. You look beat. Need a rest?”
All around them guys and a couple girls kept working away like frigging
army ants in a documentary from Africa. The ones that strip animals down to
their bones in minutes.
Peter bit back a caustic reply. “Yeah.”
Jascha raised an eyebrow and looked at him more closely. “Hey. Come on.
These guys have been on-site for three weeks already. Some of them were even
slower at the start than you.” He slapped Peter on the back, which made him
flinch. The muscle throbbed.
“You’re going to need a good, hot bath tonight.”
If Peter didn’t fall over dead first, of course. Maybe this was the solution to
his problem? Just let Jascha keep at him.
“Don’t look so down, Mr. Brown!” Jascha maneuvered Peter over to a chair
and forced him to sit. He slapped a beer into Peter’s limp, unresisting hand. He
had one already for himself. Peter wasn’t so sure about combining alcohol with
construction, but nobody else on the work site seemed to mind.
“I don’t—”
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“Ahhhh. Like the good book says, you, my friend, need a muscle relaxant.”
“The Bible?”
Jascha laughed. “No. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. We need to update
your reading tastes to sometime in the last century.”
“Hey! I studied English Lit at my university. I’ve probably read more books
than you have in your entire life. And most of them were better.”
Jascha didn’t get angry, or even seem to acknowledge Peter’s jibe. “But did
they make you laugh?”
Peter didn’t have an answer.
“No? Then I rest my case.” Jascha wandered off again, chatting with people
as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Peter wanted to throw the beer at Jascha’s
head, but his shoulders hurt too much. He hated beer. He hated self-righteous
hippie assholes even more. He wanted his car to work so he could get the hell
out of this place.
And then what?
Peter took a swig of beer. The bitter flavor made him shudder and he pulled
a face. His shoulder just wouldn't stop hurting no matter how he sat. He took
another mouthful and swallowed, trying not to taste it.
Jascha came back. He had a lurid pink PVC water bottle in one hand and his
other was closed around something. He opened his fist. Two small pills sat in the
crease between his grubby fingers.
“Ibuprofen,” Jascha said and offered the water. “You can thank Derek later.”
“Why?” Peter said and gingerly removed his gloves. He wasn’t feeling
particularly thankful.
“‘Cause my remedies don’t work quite so quickly.”
Peter downgraded Jascha from asshole to kindly sadist and downed both
pills with one chug from the water bottle.
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Jascha shook his head, looking down at Peter with a strange, unreadable
expression. He crouched down so their eyes were level.
“You don’t have to prove anything. And this isn’t the Gulag. I’m not trying to
work you to death.”
“The what?”
Jascha grinned. “I might have a book for you to read. It’s right up your alley.
Depressing literature written by some foreign guy. Maybe it will give you some
perspective.”
Jascha paused.
“Oh, wow. If you had superpowers I’d be dead right now. Those are some
laser beams you’re pointing at me.”
Peter sighed and closed his eyes. He was so tired. The painkillers wouldn't
kick in for another twenty minutes and the alcohol burned a hole in his stomach.
“Can you just find me a phone so I can call a garage? Please?”
“Of course.”
Work boots crunched away over grit and gravel, and Peter admired the
darkness behind his own eyelids for a little while. No one bugged him and he
was sitting in a semi-comfortable camping chair in the lee of the newly
constructed tire wall.
“C’mon.” Jascha’s voice floated into his pain-filled reverie. “Let’s head over
to Keren’s for lunch. She and I have some catching up to do.”
Peter’s stomach rumbled, but he wasn’t sure what sort of weirdness he was
going to have to fill it with.
“And how do you know Jascha?” Keren asked. She smiled and leaned
against the bookcase, looking up at him through shaggy, graying bangs. She was
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wearing a rough-woven tank top and wrap skirt in muted earth tones. Her arms
were crossed. Peter remembered reading somewhere that meant she was
guarding against him. He flinched and shrugged his shoulders, but not too
much. His back hurt and he didn’t even want to be here. Why was she singling
him out like this?
“I don’t, actually. He…” Peter felt his cheeks redden. He’d almost said
‘picked me up last night’, but that wasn’t what he wanted to say. “He found me
when my car died.”
Keren’s eyes narrowed. “Really? Wasn’t that nice of him? So, how long will
you be staying?”
He ducked his head and avoided her gaze. “Um. I’m not sure. Not long. I
need to take my car to a garage. Probably today. Sometime.”
Jascha came to his rescue by putting an arm around Keren’s shoulders and
enfolding her in a hug. “Leave off, nosey,” he said and planted a kiss on the top
of her head.
Keren smiled and leaned into him although her arms were still crossed.
Peter, unaccountably, wanted to be the one in Jascha's embrace. He wasn’t good
at jealousy. He wasn’t good at anything, really.
“I’ve kidnapped him and put him to work.”
Keren scrunched her mouth over to one side and looked up at Peter wryly.
“I’m just a momma bear. Don’t mind me.”
Jascha let her go and pulled her by her hand into the kitchen. “Lunch is
ready. Let’s feed Peter before he falls over.”
Jascha fed them blackened tilapia and salad, then Keren showed Peter the
tank where the fish grew. Inside her house. There were plants everywhere, some
he recognized and others he didn’t. Tomatoes were ripening in her kitchen space
and she proudly showed him her cucumber vine. It was right outside the
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bathroom so it would get lots of extra water. It freaked him out that Jascha was
that comfortable in her kitchen, and had obviously used it before.
Keren stared at him a lot through the rest of lunch. He couldn’t tell what she
was thinking, but she was polite enough after she stopped asking him questions.
Keren and Jascha knew each other well, and both liked to talk. Peter got
bored of listening to them go on about people he’d never heard of and ended up
browsing her bookshelves again. He was unsurprised to find obscure gardening
books, murder mysteries and astrology textbooks. She was like some sort of
1960's stereotype. He pulled down a book and started flipping through.
“So,” Jascha said from somewhere behind Peter’s left shoulder, “what’s your
sun sign?”
Peter snapped the book closed spasmodically and spun around. “God. Don’t
do that.” His heart raced.
Jascha grinned. “Can’t promise. It’s funny.”
Keren stood behind him, watching. “Give the kid a break, Jash-o. He looks
like he’s about to fall asleep standing up.”
Peter bristled at ‘kid’. Keren saw his reaction and smiled.
Jascha shrugged. “Let us have your key and we can call a tow truck from
Talus to get his car.”
Keren pulled a large key ring out of her pocket and dropped it into Jascha’s
waiting hand. “There,” she said with an edge to her voice. Her eyes flickered
toward Peter, and not in a complimentary way.
Jascha raised an eyebrow and frowned at her. “Um, thanks.”
He turned and walked to the door.
Peter held out the book to her and she took it reluctantly. Their gazes held
for a moment, then Peter fled after Jascha’s retreating back. He stuffed his feet
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31
into the borrowed work boots and was out the door before his coat was even
buttoned.
He and Jascha shared a glance as they left.
“Awkward,” Peter said.
Jascha sighed. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into her today. That was
strange.”
Peter knew Keren disapproved of him, but that wasn’t a subject he felt like
broaching, especially since he was going to be leaving soon anyway.
The Visitor’s Center was built just like the houses and worked as a
showroom for clients who wanted to come all the way out to the ass end of
nowhere to test out what they were buying. The plants were lush and tropical,
and there was the sound of tinkling water from somewhere. Sunlight drenched
everything. It was so quiet Peter’s ears buzzed.
The phone in Keren’s office was ancient with a tangled cord to the handset.
They managed to find a phone book under a pile of old gardening magazines.
Jascha chose the name of a garage and made the call. He seemed to know the
person on the other end of the line, but his voice was muted.
Then they went back to his house and waited. It was weird and
uncomfortable until Jascha went and found the two books he had recommended.
One was an exposé of the Russian work camp system under Stalin from the 70s.
The other was a bizarre science-fiction story about an English guy wearing a
bathrobe and escaping Earth just before it was blown up.
Jascha swore up and down that it was hilarious. He planted Peter on the
couch in the living room, then disappeared into the ‘systems room’ where all the
electrical stuff for the house stayed. Peter didn’t belong here and Jascha had
gotten so bored of his company that he’d finally left. Guilt and self-revulsion
threatened to overwhelm him. In desperation, Peter picked up the books. He
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turned them over a few times and then put down the comedy, thinking that it
would be beneath him to read. But the Russian novel was like most—dark and
depressing. It didn’t help his mood.
Peter snuck a look over the couch. Jascha was still in the back room, making
the odd muttering noise and clattering of tools. Peter stuck the smaller fiction
paperback novel into the larger book, which covered it quite nicely, and started
to read.
“I didn’t realize that Solzhenitsyn was that funny. I mean, I’ve heard of
schadenfreude, but really…”
Peter looked up with a guilty, sinking feeling. Jascha had snuck up on him
again. “Oh. Um.”
“Busted,” Jascha said and dropped the mock severity. He grinned. “I’ll bet
that was the look you gave your mom when she caught you reading porn.”
“She never…”
Jascha glanced out the window behind him. “Ha!” he said and ran to the
front hall, put on his coat and went out the door.
Peter had to readjust his head again, trying to follow Jascha’s crazy-manic
behavior. It was wearing him out.
A tow truck pulled up in front of the large windows. Jascha seemed to know
the driver. They started talking, both glancing over at the house. Peter hurried to
the front hall, threw on his windbreaker and stuffed his feet into his sneakers,
not bothering to run his finger around the back to pop out the heels in his haste.
They dug into his Achilles tendon as he hopped out the door.
Jascha raised a hand at the driver, said something muted but friendly-
sounding and opened the driver’s side door. A really big guy got out. He glanced
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33
over at Peter, and then back to Jascha. He turned back to Peter and grinned,
offering his grimy, square hand. Peter shook it and tried not to flinch. It took the
other guy about a second too long to let go.
“Nice to meet ‘cha, kid,” he said, and his eyes lingered just a little too long as
well.
Kid? Seriously? It had been a long day and he was already feeling small. The
last thing he needed was to get Tigger-bounced by a freaky, dirty weirdo. He had
enough of those in his life already with Jascha. This guy made Jascha seem
normal. And that was weird.
“Uh, yeah.” Peter backed up a step to get out of the mechanic’s personal
space. “Same to you.”
Peter let Jascha do the talking. There was some muttering and hood-raising,
and questions that Peter couldn’t really answer. No, the car hadn’t done
anything strange before yesterday. Yes, he had done all the proper oil changes
and services.
They started talking about technical stuff and Peter tuned out. He turned
away and spent some more time looking at the hills and desert. There was snow
on the peaks of the mountains to the south. The silence was growing on him.
An engine roared to life and Peter came back to the present. The tow truck
maneuvered into place, and his car was ratcheted and strapped on to the chains
hanging from the arm on the back. With a final, long, knowing glance, freaky
mechanic guy drove away. Standing beside Jascha, Peter watched his car
disappear into the fading evening light. With his dad’s gun still in the trunk. He
supposed that it wouldn’t seem so strange out here if somebody found it.
Everybody probably had one.
He just had one question.
“Was he coming on to me?”
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It was less of a question, really, than a grossed out statement of fact.
“Yeah,” Jascha said, and his face went strangely distant. “But he’s married,
so don’t get your hopes up.”
“What? No!” Peter held up his hands and waved them in front of himself
like a frantic traffic cop. “That wasn’t… Ew!” He didn’t want to get into that. At
least Jascha didn’t seem offended.
Jascha snorted. “Never mind. It’s okay. Just pulling your leg.” He punched
Peter’s shoulder. “Come on. Greg says it will take a couple days before the parts
can be delivered.” Jascha turned and walked away, leaving Peter standing in the
dust in front of the house.
He really didn’t feel like being alone right now. “Where are you going?”
“Derek’s having a campfire at his place tonight. We’re invited.” He paused
and turned back. “Wanna come? You don’t have to, I guess. There’s always the
Gulag Archipelago. It’s literature with a capital ‘L’, you know.”
Jascha smiled and Peter was gone. That was it. He was done. He couldn’t
fight it anymore and didn’t want to. How come Jascha had to be so nice? Why
couldn’t he be a jerk or something? Everything would be so much easier. And
Peter wouldn’t have to fall for someone who would never love him back.
Peter shrugged and shuffled forward, popping the backs of his sneakers up
with his heels.
“Nah. It’s too depressing. And the other one is way too weird.”
“We definitely have to work on your sense of humor,” Jascha said and
bumped Peter with his shoulder.
That felt really, really good. He ducked his head to hide the goofy smile that
threatened to make him look like a doofus. He was a complete moron, but it
couldn’t be helped. He wanted to be around Jascha.
Chapter Five
Jascha pulled Peter along behind him like a reluctant puppy on an invisible
leash. The closer they got to the campfire, the farther back he hung.
Jascha shifted the case of beer to his hip, stopped and waited for him.
“What’s wrong?”
“I…don’t like crowds.”
“There are about fifteen people. I know them all by name. Some are my
closest friends on this planet.” He put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter looked
up at him and tried to smile. Jascha had the urge to smash in the face of everyone
who had ever hurt him or made him feel unwanted. “Really. They’re good folks.
I wouldn’t hang out with them if they weren’t. If I like you, then they’ll think
you’re great too.”
The smile became more genuine.
“Come on.”
Jascha put his free arm around Peter’s shoulders and gave him a protective
squeeze. Peter melted a little bit into it, but held back, so Jascha gave him a
supportive shove toward the fire pit. There were people there Peter sort of knew.
Good place to start. Peter looked back at him in mild alarm, but Jascha waved
him on. Peter went.
“Yo, Jascha!” Derek hailed him and came around the circle of people
lounging in battered camping chairs to greet him. They embraced each other in a
manly way, with a good slap on the back.
“He sticking around?” Derek asked, eyeing Peter speculatively.
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“Not sure.”
“Him or you?”
Jascha smiled. “Both, I think. But it might be worth it.”
Derek embraced him again. “Right on. Well, we’ll try not to scare him off.
And I’ll make sure the girls know he’s not their type. Quietly.” Derek winked,
gave him another brotherly hug, relieved him of the beer, and slouched over to
the crowd around the fire.
Jascha raised his eyes to the hills, drinking in the scenery. It was going to be a
beautiful, clear night. Jascha looked around in satisfaction and saw Peter
cautiously talking with a couple of the student crew he’d been working with that
morning. Jascha joined him with a couple of chairs and offered one to Peter.
Peter smiled gratefully and bit the corner of his lip, like he was shy and trying to
hide it, but it popped out anyway.
God, he was cute.
Around them people were talking loudly. Someone had pulled out an old,
battered guitar. The noise level was increasing with the singing and Jascha could
see Peter getting uncomfortable again.
“Come with me.”
They left their chairs beside the fire and Jascha snagged a blanket. Jascha led
the way around the back of Derek’s house, out into the edge of the open desert.
Back here there was no extraneous light. Nothing between them and the stars but
a thin strip of atmosphere. He loved it out here.
Peter opened his arms and spun in a circle, staring up at the sky, staggering a
bit as he went.
“How do you live out here? There’s nothing to do.”
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Jascha blinked. That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting. “There’s lots to
do, just not so much of it around the house.”
“But what do you do?”
“I build houses. I teach. I talk to people. Sometimes I get to do all of that in
different places in the world. It’s not a bad life.”
Peter was silent.
“Keren is our office administrator. She books the courses, fields questions
from the media and schedules everything for everybody. Sam dreams up new
building designs and I make them.”
“With Derek’s help.”
“Yeah. And a couple other people. Kola’s our bio-systems expert. She could
grow stuff on the moon. As long as it needed a tank.”
“You guys don’t need much else, do you?”
Those words had a strange feeling behind them. Jascha tried to look at Peter,
but he couldn’t see his face. They had drifted apart a bit and Peter was looking
out into the darkness.
“You kinda drink a lot, you know?” Peter said out of nowhere.
“Do I?” Jascha thought about that for a minute. “Compared to who?”
Peter chuckled and turned to point a slightly unsteady finger at him. “Ah,
gotcha. Compared to whom.”
Jascha reached over and punched him in the shoulder. Peter staggered again,
but didn’t seem to mind. “Lit snob. But I mean it. Why do you say that?”
Peter came toward Jascha, but stopped a couple feet away. He had an earnest
expression, eyebrows furrowed upwards a little, like he was really worried about
it. “How many have you had tonight?”
“Beers?” Jascha shrugged. “Dunno. Seven? Eight?”
“More like ten.”
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“Is that a lot?”
“Yeah.”
“Does that bother you?”
Peter looked away into the darkness again and sighed. “Maybe.”
“You’ve had five, yourself.”
Peter snorted. “I’m really, really, really drunk though. You don’t even look
it.”
“Well, tonight I’m being bad. I don’t want to think about stuff and I don’t
want to be in charge. Don’t you ever feel like that?”
Peter shook his head. “I’m never in charge. Not of my own life. Nothing.”
“Yeah, actually, you are. Nobody else is going to do it for you. At least, no
one worthwhile.”
Peter started to close in on himself, shoulders hunching and head tipping
forward. That wasn’t good.
“We came out here for a reason. And it wasn’t to talk about heavy stuff.”
Jascha flapped open the blanket and laid it out on the ground. “Now, lie down,
look up at the stars and stop talking.”
Peter snorted and got himself down on his back on unsteady arms. Jascha
tried to be more graceful, but ended up in a heap beside him. He’d lost count.
Maybe he had drunk one too many.
There was no wind and no clouds, only the mountains on the horizon took a
bite out of the starfield. Jascha shifted to avoid a sharper-than-average rock
under his back. He muttered a bit and poked it away under the blanket.
“Jascha?”
“Yeah?”
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Peter’s hand slipped into his own. Jascha held his breath for a moment,
wondering what to say and then let it out. So be it. There was nothing to say. He
squeezed a bit and Peter squeezed back.
Jascha lay there for a while, holding Peter’s hand and watching the stars
overhead. Peter had fallen asleep like that. He wanted to wrap himself around
Peter like a giant blanket cocoon, and stay there until the empty feeling inside
went away. Peter started to shiver, but he didn’t wake up.
Peter was physically and emotionally exhausted...and drunk.
Time to start being responsible again.
Somehow he got Peter semi-conscious and guided his stumbling steps home.
Jascha tucked him in on the couch and planted a gentle kiss on Peter’s forehead,
allowing himself to brush stray strands of dark, curly hair out of the way. What
was Peter going to remember in the morning? He didn’t move or seem to even be
aware or awake.
Jascha left his clothing in a pile on the floor beside his bed and managed to
get the blanket over himself before he lost consciousness as well.
Jascha woke to the sound of swearing. Loud swearing. From the living room.
“Bloody, motherfucking bastard!” Peter yelled, and Jascha catapulted out of
bed. He was all the way to the door of his room by the time he realized he had a
hangover.
“Oh, fuck,” he muttered to himself and cradled his head in his hands as he
staggered into the sculpted doorjamb. The wood was beautifully cool against his
cheek. “What?” he called out to Peter. What the hell was going on?
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“I can’t move,” Peter groaned. “My fucking shoulders feel like someone
drove a spike through my back while I slept.”
“Oh.” Jascha moved his head to a different position on the doorjamb to soak
the coolness into his throbbing head.
“Is that all you can say?”
“Yeah, pretty much. Let me run you a bath. You should have had it last
night, but we seem to have forgotten.”
“Oh, shit,” Peter groaned. “I also have a hangover. I have never, ever had
one before and I swear, I never will again. What happened last night? How much
did I drink?”
Smiling hurt so Jascha didn’t. He pulled himself upright and staggered out
into the hall. He wasn’t wearing anything but his underwear, but right now he
really didn’t care. The morning light in the bathroom drilled holes into his brain,
and he wished yet again that it was possible to make curtains for the windows.
Maybe it was. He’d have to ask Keren how she’d done it for her place. She had
different windows, but…ugh. Need coffee. Shut up, brain. Jascha twisted the water
taps into an approximation of a good temperature and went to rescue Peter.
Jascha’s slightly unwilling guest was lying on his back on the couch,
shoulders held at funny angles and eyes squeezed shut. His face was pale with
gray tinges. God, he was cute. Even now. And he’d obviously woken up in the
night and changed into his PJs. Jascha hadn’t even heard it.
“Oh, man. We kinda broke you.”
Peter’s lips compressed further.
Jascha sighed and sat down on the edge of the sofa. “Can you move at all?”
“I don’t know.”
“Let’s get you into a hot bath, and get your shoulders relaxed. Then I know
exactly what you need.”
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“What?”
“You’ll see.”
“Um.” Peter’s eyes opened and he stared up at Jascha with barely contained
fear. “I don’t… Last night.”
For fuck’s sake. Jascha rolled his eyes and then clapped both hands to his
head and groaned. Bad move. He sighed and wished desperately for coffee and a
rubber mallet. The instrument of destruction was for Peter.
“Relax.” Jascha stood and offered a hand. “I meant that you need a hot bath,
some good breakfast and about an hour in the yoga studio. What were you
thinking?”
“Oh.” A blush stained Peter’s cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… What
exactly happened?”
“Last night? Nothing. Don’t worry. You didn’t do anything embarrassing.
Just stop apologizing and get up. The water’s going to run over eventually.”
Peter could barely stand upright.
Jascha laughed. “With your shoulder like that you look like Quasimodo. Or
maybe a cute, neurotic Igor.”
Peter twisted to look up at him with more humor than he would have
expected. “So what does that make you? Esmeralda or Dr. Frankenstein?”
“Um. Neither, thanks. I’m not much into tragic endings.”
Peter’s face froze for a second, and Jascha gave himself a swift mental kick.
“Right,” he said and turned for the bathroom, acting like nothing happened.
“Bath. Although, the Dr. Frankenstein in the horror movie parodies might be
fun.” He sniggered. “Or Frank N. Furter.”
Peter made a noise like an animal in pain. “Don’t make me laugh. Augh.”
Peter grimaced. “The thought of you in a corset and fishnets.” He winced. “Oh,
stop. This is painful.”
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They limped through the door to the bathroom and then paused. Jascha
dropped his eyes and backed for the door. Apparently he’d been wrong about
how he’d be able to handle how he felt about his new guest. This was not good.
“Yeah. So… Let me know when you’re ready to come out.”
“Okay.” Peter’s voice was strained. “Jascha?”
“Yes?” He looked up a little too quickly into the light. His left eyeball
stabbed him in the back of the head. Jascha closed his eyes against the sunshine
and the even more devastating sight of Peter’s lithe body outlined through the
thin fabric of his nightshirt and pants. Maybe he should send him away today.
Call Greg and get him to put the spark plugs back in. He couldn’t lie to Peter
anymore. Even by omission. But what would happen if Jascha just let him go?
“I just wanted to say…”
Jascha opened his eyes again, trying to ignore everything from the neck
down. Peter bit his lip, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Thanks.”
“No prob.”
“I mean it.”
“You’re not such a bad house guest.” Jascha squeezed the smile down with
the corners of his mouth, but it threatened to break free. “As long as I don’t feed
you weird shit or try to work you to death. Then you get positively grumpy.”
“Sorry.”
“S’okay.”
Jascha glanced around the bathroom. Anywhere but Peter. How much did he
remember from last night and what did it mean to him if he did?
“Right. Bath. Breakfast. Coffee.” He spun on his heel and used the aching
embarrassment of the situation to propel himself into the hallway.
When had he become so high school? It was damn annoying.
Chapter Six
“No,” Peter said and hid his face in the book. He didn’t want to try yoga.
Ever.
Jascha snatched the borrowed novel out of his hands. “Come on, you have to
try this.”
Jascha flipped his dreads back over his shoulders and tried to stare down
Peter, who avoided his eyes and curled into as small a ball as he could on the
futon. His shoulder still hurt like hell.
“Look. Just come. You don’t have to do anything. You can stand there like a
stump if you want.”
“I can do that right here.” He glared up. “By the way, where is my car? I
thought the guy was supposed to be calling?”
“He had to order parts. It’s not like Toyotas are a big seller around here.
Plus, the answering machine is in Keren’s office.” Jascha’s lips thinned out and
his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Why are you so afraid of yoga? I’m willing to
bet you’ll like it. A lot.”
Jascha was nearly pleading with him.
“Bet? You’d lose that bet.”
Jascha grinned. “Oh, I don’t know. How about this? I’ll bet you one beer at
The Roadhouse tonight that you do. If I’m right, you buy. Wrong, I buy.”
“I hate beer.” Peter dropped that trump card and waited to see how Jascha
would deal with it. Plus, he’d only gotten drunk twice before in his life and
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severely unfortunate things happened every time. Too bad he couldn’t quite
remember if anything had happened last night. He almost regretted that.
“Oooookay. Then a drink of your choice. I’ll even buy you one with an
umbrella in it if you want.” Jascha’s eye sparkled.
How did Peter get talked into these stupid things? It always bit him in the
butt later.
“Fine. But I’m bringing a pillow and taking a nap.”
“You’d probably be surprised to hear that’s yoga, too.”
“What?”
“I kid you not. I’ll get you a nice, warm blanket.” Jascha wandered into the
back of the oddly cozy house, chuckling. “Man, this is going to be easier than I
thought. Maybe I shoulda bet you two beers.”
Crap.
The yoga class was in a room off the Visitor’s Center, where they sometimes
held courses. It was bright and warm and the expected plants lined the walls and
windows. Peter fidgeted in his too-large, fuzzy track pants and Lycra running
shirt. He had been assured that tight was better, as it wouldn’t slide up over his
head in upside down positions. Like that would ever happen. There was no way
that Peter was going to do that.
Jascha claimed a spot on the floor and unrolled his natty sticky mat. There
were another couple of hippie-esque people in the room: a young woman lying
on her back, wearing a brightly embroidered wrap-pant and tank top
combination, in desperate need of a bra, and a late middle-aged guy in running
gear who nodded at them when they came in. No one spoke. Jascha lay down as
well and closed his eyes. He was wearing the same thing as Peter: well-loved
track pants and a skin-tight shirt. It looked good on him. Not wanting to look out
A Road Not Taken
45
of place, Peter unrolled his mat beside Jascha, but about three feet to the left. He
sat cross-legged and looked around. The older guy scratched his graying, close-
cropped hair and settled into a comfortably-practiced lotus position. Peter tried
to look at everything out of the corner of his eyes.
“Now what?” he said to Jascha, keeping his voice low.
Jascha took a deep breath, stomach rising and falling before he answered.
“We relax.” His voice was low and hypnotically mellow.
“I don’t know how.”
“No kidding. Close your eyes, put your hands on your thighs and breathe.”
“For how long?”
“Until it’s time to stop.”
“Ugh,” Peter muttered, but he tried. He really did, but his eyes kept popping
open. It was too quiet. He wanted to yell to break the tension. And every time he
let himself go, images of the gun came back. Being alone with his thoughts was
not a good thing right now. Peter opened his eyes and looked around, desperate
for a distraction. Something other than how the material of Jascha’s clothing was
pulled against his curves and hollows by the double-effect of Lycra and gravity.
This was torture.
The older guy dislodged himself from his pretzel position and stretched his
arms over his head. He glanced over at Peter and smiled.
“We seem to have an even number of people here today,” the guy said in a
quiet voice.
Jascha and the woman sat up from their recumbent positions and stretched,
looking like they were coming back from somewhere far away. The guy came
over to Peter and held out a hand. Peter eased himself to his feet, keeping his
shoulders as still as possible, and shook hands.
“I’m Sam, by the way.”
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“Peter.”
Sam nodded. “A friend of Jascha’s?”
“Um.”
Jascha jumped in before Peter had to think of an answer. “Sort of. A very
new friend. We only met a couple days ago, but he’s staying with me while his
car gets fixed.”
A look flashed across his face that Peter couldn’t interpret. It wasn’t there
very long, but he was beginning to be able to read Jascha better. What was that
all about? Guilt?
Sam watched them both during this exchange. His nostrils flared a little and
one of his eyebrows lifted. “I see. Well, like I said, we have an even number
today, so I thought we could try something different.”
The hippie woman joined them. Her lank, blonde hair was piled on her head
and fell in artfully messy tendrils around her neck and shoulders. She waited,
still without saying anything. Peter wondered if he’d met her last night. He
honestly couldn’t remember. He smiled at her just in case. She nodded back. That
wasn’t helpful.
Sam threw Jascha a quick glance. “What do you think about partner yoga?”
Jascha shrugged. “Nothing too extreme. Peter hasn’t ever done this before.”
Peter still didn’t want to do this. Whatever ‘this’ was. Partner?
He ended up with his back to Jascha, glancing nervously over his shoulder.
Sam and the woman were also back-to-back.
“Right,” Sam said and backed up so he was touching the hippie chick. He
bent his arms so his elbows stuck out straight in front and his hands faced back
at the woman. “Do you know this one, Jascha?”
“I think so,” came Jascha’s voice from behind. “Peter, raise your arms over
your head. I’m going to grab your wrists. Is that okay?”
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47
“Yeah.” No.
Peter raised his arms and Jascha’s hands steadied his shoulders from behind,
fingers pointed down.
“Now, lie back.”
Peter hesitated.
“Trust me. I won’t drop you.”
A breath and he let himself lean back. Now their backs were touching. His
arms were still straight up. A small throbbing started in Peter’s left temple, a
nasty reminder of how he’d felt when he woke up. Jascha grasped his wrists and
pulled. Peter found himself suspended, somehow, across Jascha’s back. His
shoulders screamed at him.
“Relax and breathe,” Jascha said and his voice vibrated Peter’s spine a little.
Trying not to panic, he let his muscles go slack.
Everything stretched from his arms down to his hips and right across the
front of his thighs. It felt really good. Too good. Jascha’s warm grip around his
wrists and the feel of his breathing underneath Peter’s back was overwhelming.
He needed to think about something else. Baseball. Car crashes. His car. The gun.
Peter froze, then started to struggle. He couldn’t do this. “Let me go,” he said
and Jascha leaned him back upright. “Let me the fuck go!” Jascha released his
wrists.
He was suffocating.
“Peter?”
Peter strode across the floor and out into the lobby. He grabbed his sneakers
and banged out through the door. He put them on before he hit the gravel,
hopping from one foot to the other.
Walking in a straight line for a few minutes brought him to the construction
site. He scrambled to the top of the wall and sat down, looking out into the
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empty desert. Only then did the feeling of being crushed start to go away. And
how Jascha’s body had made him feel. He could still feel the warm pressure on
his wrists and back.
The noise of fast breathing and gravel crunching behind meant someone was
coming. Jascha dropped into a squat beside him on the top of the tire wall.
“What’s wrong?”
Peter didn’t know what to say. He turned his face into the wind and closed
his eyes. He wiped a tear away on his shoulder so Jascha wouldn’t see it. What
was wrong? He was a freak. That’s what.
“Nothing makes sense.”
Jascha dropped his feet down so he was sitting and slid over until their
shoulders touched. “Yeah, I used to feel that way too. But instead of turning the
fear and anger inwards, I pushed it out onto other people. Neither way is very
good for the soul.”
Peter couldn’t imagine Jascha being angry or afraid. He seemed to know
where he was and what he wanted to do. “What do you mean?”
Jascha sighed. “I was in my final year of university, taking electrical
engineering. I fell in with the wrong crowd.” He paused and his shoulder
stopped touching Peter’s. Peter ached to lean back into it for the warmth and
comfort. “Actually, I joined an environmental terrorist organization.”
“Come again?” Peter whipped his head around and stared at Jascha, who
now was the one looking away. That movement hit both his back and his
headache, and he flinched.
“Well, that’s what the FBI explained to me.”
“How come you’re not in jail?”
“Because I was the one who went to them.”
“Holy crap.”
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49
“I know, right?” Jascha flashed him a pained smile and a sideways glance.
“But no matter how much I’d given up on people, I just couldn’t kill them. My
anger and despair at the state of the world was turning me into a monster. It’s a
slightly different situation, I know.” He wrapped an arm around Peter’s
shoulders. “I found other options than wrecking my life. I want to try and help
you find your own. Whatever they might be.”
He couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to tell someone. “I’m gay.”
Jascha squeezed his shoulders again. “Yeah, I figured.”
Even saying it out loud made him feel queasy. What had he said last night?
And to whom?
“Doesn’t that weird you out? Why are you still touching me?”
Jascha snorted a strangled laugh and Peter glared at him indignantly. “Sorry.
But it would be sorta hypocritical if I did. Your gaydar is seriously broken, man.”
“Wait. What? Then how come you never…with me…”
“That would be taking advantage of someone who needed my help and
that’s just creepy.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Peter readjusted in his head everything that
had happened since Jascha had pulled over two nights ago. He felt like the
world’s biggest idiot. But even the achingly huge embarrassment didn’t keep
him from wanting to melt into Jascha’s side. Maybe crawl into him and stay there
for a while. He resisted laying his head on Jascha’s shoulder. Had he held his
hand last night? Why hadn’t Jascha said something?
“I have a question for you,” Jascha finally said. “If I can ask.”
“I guess.”
“What did you want to be in high school? What was your most secret dream
for yourself?”
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Peter shrugged out from under Jascha’s arm and leaned forward so that his
elbows were resting on his knees. He looked down at the construction site, full of
old tires, plastic bottles and bags of dry concrete.
“I don’t know. I never really thought about it.” Yes, he had, but it was
stupid. Nobody ever made a living at poetry. And quite frankly, he sucked at it.
“What was your favorite class, then?”
“English. And that’s what I started taking at college but…”
The silence stretched. Jascha was the first person to ever ask. And he wasn’t
pushy about it either. He let Peter have room.
Peter was in danger of losing himself. But really, what did he have to lose?
Nothing that he wasn’t ready to throw away the other night. He closed his eyes
and concentrated on breathing. He needed to tell someone.
“My dad said it was full of shit and I should get a real job instead of wasting
money. His money.” Peter wiped another tear away on his shoulder. “So I did. I
quit university and found a job as a teller at a bank.”
That, and Peter had tried to find someone in all the wrong places and ended
up with Chlamydia instead. Thank God it hadn’t been something worse. And he
had chickened out on life because of it. But he wasn’t going to say that. Jascha
didn’t need to know that he was the biggest screw-up ever. Peter had some
pride.
Jascha looked at him keenly. “That sounds like half the story.”
Damn him. “Maybe, but it’s all I’m going to say.”
“Okay. Well, I’m not exactly your oldest friend or anything. That’s cool.”
Jascha tucked his boot-clad feet underneath himself and stood with surprising
grace on the top of the wall. He held a hand out to Peter. “Come on.”
The word echoed from last night. Peter accepted his help in standing and
looked around curiously. “Where now?”
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51
“Crazy. Wanna come?” Jascha leapt away down the earth embankment,
laughing like a loon. What did that man eat for lunch? Seriously. There must
have been some of those extra-special mushrooms in his omelet. Peter shook his
head and wondered again how he had ended up here in the ass end of nowhere,
hanging out with the weirdest guy he had ever met. And almost beginning to
love it.
Peter didn’t really have a choice; it was either go along with the crazy hippie
man or stand all by himself on a wall in the desert…or jump. But that wouldn’t
do anything except break a leg and make him look stupid. Even more stupid. So
he followed—through Jascha’s house, getting dressed into something that looked
more like normal clothing, although Peter was in despair at Jascha’s usual choice
of plaid flannel work shirts.
They ended up at Jascha’s beloved, rust-pitted, red truck. Peter was about
ready to start grinding glass with his teeth.
“Climb in,” Jascha said and indicated the passenger’s side.
“Where are we going?” Peter asked and then held out his hands in a
forestalling gesture when Jascha grinned and opened his mouth to reply. “Yes.
Crazy. I know. But unless we’re going to Crazy Town, I’d like a physical
location, please.”
Jascha swung his door open and slid up onto the cracked bench seat. Peter
did the same. He kept the pressure on by staring at the other man’s face. It was
easy enough to do. His eyes kept going back there whenever he lost focus. Now
that he knew Jascha was gay, it was even harder. Not that Peter would ever have
a chance with him. Peter sighed in frustration.
Jascha leaned on the window with his elbow and looked across the cab at
him. A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, all right. You’re taking all
the fun out of this. We’re going into Talus for some stuff.”
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“Is my car ready yet?” An empty pit opened in his stomach at the thought.
Also, why did Jascha look fleetingly guilty again? Peter started having suspicious
thoughts. Electrical engineering.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Peter frowned, Jascha started the truck and nobody said anything all the way
into town.
They pulled into a parking spot in the tiny downtown and Jascha turned off
the truck. The silence deepened.
Peter took a deep breath. “Why did you lie to me about my car?”
Jascha crossed his arms over the top of the steering wheel and looked
slantwise at Peter. “I wanted to make sure you were safe.” He paused. “When I
lived in the city, I was always finding stray cats and bringing them back. If you
lock them in your house for two weeks, they start thinking of it as home.”
“Is that what you think of me? Some kind of abandoned pet?” Peter
narrowed his eyes and kept a short rein on the temper that began to surface. He
was a kid. He was a pet. He was cute. No, he wasn’t. He was a stupid fuck-up.
And he was tired of hanging out with holier than thou—
“Well, I found you by the side of the road and you were definitely used to
eating garbage.”
That did it. “So I’m a hostage here?” Peter’s breath shortened, and he
clamped his lips together.
Jascha’s shoulders slumped and he looked down at his arms. “No,” he said
into the muffling fabric. “Of course not. But when I found your gun, I freaked
out.”
Lightning slammed through all of Peter’s nerves. How could Jascha have
found it? Shame washed over him in a nauseous wave.
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“And with you not having any clothing or food and sitting by the side of the
road crying…I came to the right conclusions, yeah?”
Peter was out the door and twenty feet down the sidewalk before he even
thought about where he was going. He stopped.
“Peter!” Jascha slammed his truck door and caught him by the arm. Jascha
stepped in front of him and enfolded him in a hug. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…” He
trailed off.
Peter forced his shoulders to relax and reluctantly wrapped his arms around
the other man. Jascha was too warm. He smelled too good, too soft, too inviting.
Shit.
Peter disengaged. “No. It’s…” He was going to say okay. It wasn’t and it
never would be. He was so tired of feeling like a freak.
Jascha scrubbed his face with his hands and stepped back a pace. “Look. I’m
here for you, okay?”
“Why?” Peter frowned. “Don’t say that it’s what neighbors do. I’m not your
neighbor. I’m not your friend.”
Jascha shook his head. “Where do friendships start? When one person
decides to get to know another better. When they both find that being in the
other’s company is nicer than being alone.” Jascha put his hands on Peter’s
shoulders and leaned in. “Would you rather be hanging out with me than sitting
by yourself somewhere?”
Peter clenched his lips and looked down. “I don’t know.”
Jascha released his shoulders and stepped back again. “I see.”
“It’s not like that,” Peter said and made himself look up into Jascha’s eyes.
Hurt that he had caused hovered there, making him flinch. “It’s not you. It’s
me.”
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Jascha laughed. One harsh, throaty bark. “Yeah. Okay.” He raised a hand
and started to turn away.
This time it was Peter who reached out. He caught Jascha’s sleeve and Jascha
turned back. Peter took a better grip on his arm.
Someone coughed and Peter spun to look. A pedestrian was coming their
way down the sidewalk. Peter let go and stuck his hands into the pockets of his
jeans, stuffing them down until his fingers were curled into fists. He hunched his
shoulders until they were up around his ears.
The pedestrian passed them, not looking.
Jascha shook his head. “I get it,” he said. “That’s one of the reasons we came
into town today.” He pointed across the road at a small, boutique-y store. Shiny
things hung in the window. “There’s something waiting for you in there. Go
there first, then to the coffee shop next door. Sit your butt down for a couple of
hours and then meet me at The Roadhouse. Don’t come until at least dinner time.
“Or the hotel is in that direction.” Jascha pointed the other way. “Your
choice. Your car should be done by early tomorrow.”
Jascha turned and walked away. Peter waited, but he didn’t look back. He
had to pull himself away from watching Jascha’s tight, muscular ass as he went.
Chapter Seven
That boy was happiest when not talking at all and the less he spoke the more
he needed to say. Jascha sat back in the bench seat and made his shoulders drop
a bit, trying to release some of the tension. Would all of this even be worth it?
Maybe. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that it was somehow meant to be. He
hadn’t had that feeling in a long, long time. He trusted it. Mostly. Peter was in a
really bad place and Jascha didn’t know if he could get him out of it.
What Peter needed was help. But would he get it?
Another iced tea planted itself beside his empty glass and Jascha looked up.
“This isn’t your usual drink,” Shelley said and grinned at him, dark eyes
crinkling at the corners. Her multiple piercings and chunky rings glinted in the
low, directional lighting from the bar and dance floor. Which was pretty much
empty at this early hour.
“And how would you know? I haven’t been in lately. Maybe I’ve taken up
iced tea?” He was going to try. At least most of the time. If it made Peter happier.
If he showed up.
“Only if it’s from Long Island. You don’t want to lose your title of Frat Boy
Destroyer.”
She slid herself into the seat across from him, set her tray on the table and
extended a hand. He shook it, appreciating her firm, friendly grip. Shelley
scratched her short, spiky hair.
“Long time no see, stranger,” she said. “Where ya been?”
Jascha bobbed his head noncommittally. “Around. Working.”
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“That’s cool. I just came on shift. How long have you been sitting here?”
“I’m not sure.”
Shelley raised an eyebrow and looked at him hard. “Is it something I can
help with?”
Jascha smiled. His grandma would have called her ‘a good egg’. “Probably
not. But thanks.”
She relaxed. “Just let me know if that changes, though. Okay?”
He nodded. “Yep.”
Peter walked into the bar and paused. Jascha stiffened, every fiber of his
being pointed like a hunting dog in his direction. He had come. Maybe there was
hope. Shelley turned to see what he was looking at.
She turned back and gave Jascha another hard look. “Ah,” she said and slid
out of the bench seat. “Good luck.” She winked at him and retreated to the bar,
taking his empty glasses.
Peter saw him and walked forward, nervously glancing around. He seemed
calmer, even though he clutched the leather-bound journal to his chest. It had
been the right gift. Good.
Peter stopped in front of his table and ducked his head with a smile.
“Is it dinner time yet?” he asked and looked at Jascha through his lashes with
a puzzled, hopeful expression.
“Hungry?”
“Kinda, yeah.”
Jascha waved at the seat across from himself and Peter scooched in until he
was braced at the back, facing the room kitty-corner, journal held across his chest
like an armored breastplate. He fished in his pocket and set the handmade,
wooden-barreled pen on the table.
“Um. Thanks.”
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“No problem. Sometimes it’s easier not having to talk. I get it. Maybe this’ll
help you get it out.”
Peter blushed.
Shelley brought them menus and then food. She tried to chat Peter up, with
little success. She eventually gave up and went away. Peter chose one of the
inexpensive meals, even though Jascha said it was his treat. Jascha shrugged and
got himself one of the locally famous Roadhouse pizzas. If he was going to be
bad, it might as well be all the way. It was greasy and cheesy and totally
awesome. But he stuck to iced tea. It seemed to make Peter happier.
He watched Peter over the rim of his cup as he picked at his plate of fish and
chips. He was obviously thinking about stuff, but whatever it was barely caused
a ripple in his expression.
The bar filled up and got louder. This was a smallish town, but it was the
only place for miles. At least for some things. Peter twigged to something and
started looking around more carefully. Jascha waited for the penny to drop.
“Is this a gay bar?” Peter said over the noise, but leaning over so it wouldn’t
be too obvious what he was shouting.
“Yep. Every Thursday night.” Jascha looked at his bare wrist and mimed
tapping a watch and listening to it. “Golly! I think tonight is actually Thursday.”
Jascha got out of his seat and held out a hand to Peter, who retreated further
into the corner, shaking his head.
“I don’t dance.”
Screw that. “Okay, well, you know what? I do. Stay or come. I’m going to
dance for a while so if you don’t want to be bored, maybe you’d like to join me?”
“No, thank you.”
Peter was looking unhappy again. Oh, for…hah, Pete’s sake.
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Jascha stripped off his shirt and deposited it on his seat and let his jeans slide
down his hipbones a bit. Then he let down his hair. Peter chewed on his lip and
watched, face getting paler by the second. Yeah, let him look at what he was
missing.
“Your loss, man. Whatever.”
He really wanted a beer. So he ordered one, but kept it at that. He didn’t
know if Peter could drive standard. And he sure as hell wasn’t letting him drive
the truck. And maybe he had a point. Jascha did tend to buy a lot of beer. He
hadn’t really noticed.
The dance floor was filling up about as much as it did in a small town like
this. It had been a while. He knew most of the faces, but mostly, he just danced
for himself. The odd caress across his sweaty back or bump-n-grind with a
friendly stranger reminded him of how long it had actually been.
Greg slid in beside him and put himself inside Jascha’s space, glaring like it
was a challenge. Or a come-on. It was both.
Jascha shook his head and backed off. He didn’t want to shout over the
music.
Greg followed, putting his hands possessively around Jascha’s shoulders.
His hands were huge and strong, fingers digging into his back muscles almost to
the point of pain.
Greg leaned in and put his mouth to Jascha’s ear. “What’s the matter? Got a
better offer lately?”
If he wasn’t going home with Greg, he had better leave now. Like, right now.
Jascha turned his head and responded in kind. “Maybe. But at least I know
he won’t cheat on me and then lie about it after. At least he doesn’t have a wife.”
He glared up at the big mechanic, who didn’t even have the good grace to look
sorry. But this was an old argument for the both of them. It was why he had
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stopped coming here. He mouthed the words "Go to hell", disengaged from the
crowd and wandered back to the table.
Peter had his head down, writing furiously in the journal. Yeah. That had
been a really good idea.
“Enjoying yourself?” he said and slid in beside Peter on the seat.
Peter jumped and slammed the journal shut. His eyes were very wide. He
looked guilty. Jascha raised an eyebrow and eyed the book speculatively.
“Are you ready to go?”
“Sure.” Peter slid the pen back into his pocket and poised, waiting for Jascha.
Jascha slid back out and reached across the table for some napkins, drying
off a bit before he put his T-shirt back on. Peter stood and watched him the way a
child watches a snake—half-fascinated, half-afraid.
Embarrassed, Jascha yanked his shirt over his head and led the way back to
the truck. What had he gotten himself into? How was this ever going to work?
He was so horny it was going to take a major act of will not to jump Peter on the
way back. God, life was unfair sometimes.
Peter grasped the door handle on the passenger side and waited for Jascha to
unlock the door. He shivered in the cool night air. They hadn’t brought jackets.
Jascha had been strangely quiet since he came back from the dance floor.
Peter hadn’t been able to watch him so he’d sat with his back turned. The urge to
try dancing himself had been so horribly strong. Horrible being the operative
word when in the same sentence as him dancing.
The lock popped. He grabbed the handle just inside the truck door on the
roof and hauled himself into the seat, exhausted, but happy. Even his shoulder
didn’t hurt much right now. But there was something wrong with Jascha.
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Jascha inserted his key into the ignition, still not speaking. Not smiling. He
seemed focused, careful, and the slight scowl made him really, really attractive,
somehow.
“Why are you doing this for me?” Peter blurted out. He couldn’t stand the
silence.
“What?”
“This,” Peter said and gestured with the journal. “Taking me in. Talking to
me.”
“People can’t be nice? Do I have to want something?” His scowl deepened.
“I wish you would. Then at least I’d understand it better.”
Jascha shook his head and started up the truck.
Peter dropped the journal back into his lap, feeling stunned and slow. They
pulled out into the deserted street.
“I just wanted to say that today was…” Peter paused, trying to find the right
word.
“Awkward?”
“I guess. But nice, too.” Peter gathered up his courage and put his left hand
on Jascha’s thigh. “Thank you.”
Jascha’s eyes widened and his eyebrows lifted. Peter snatched his hand back
and buried it under his own leg. His face heated up to what felt like a million
degrees. “Sorry,” he mumbled and stared at his knees. Why had he even tried?
What was the matter with him? The only person who seemed interested was a
gross mechanic who thought he was a kid.
“S’okay,” Jascha said.
They hit the city limits and the slow motion strobe-flashes of streetlights
disappeared behind them. Jascha pulled onto the side of the road and turned off
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the truck. The silence and darkness closed in around them. After the lights and
noise of the bar, it felt like sensory deprivation.
Jascha unbuckled his seat belt and turned toward Peter, his face unreadable
in the dark. “Talk to me,” he said. “What’s going on? Because I can’t tell. I tried
to dance with you at the bar, but you pushed me away and now you put your
hand on my leg. You’re acting like Dr. Doolittle’s frigging Pushmi-pullyu.”
Peter slid back until he was touching the door. He didn’t look up. “I dunno.”
“That’s not an acceptable answer. Yes, you do know. Now, talk.” The
exasperation level in Jascha’s voice rose a notch. He was serious and wouldn’t
back down. After all the nice stuff he had done, Jascha probably deserved some
sort of answer, if only Peter could find one that made sense.
“I’m sorry I’m such a fuck-up.”
“How, exactly, have you fucked up?”
“I just have, okay?” Peter’s voice rose. “There doesn’t need to be a reason.”
“You are not a fuck-up, Peter. You’re a smart, sensitive guy. What you might
have done, well, I don’t know your history so maybe you have done stupid
things. But from what I’ve seen of you in the last couple days, you’re not the sort
of person to go and do something monumentally stupid. Like, say, learning how
to make fertilizer bombs and planning to use them on people. Now that, I can tell
you from experience, is a truly, hugely stupid thing to do. That, my friend, is
beyond dumb.”
Jascha paused for breath and Peter could hear him slowing it down, and
finally let out all his tension in one big exhale.
“But that’s not who I am. I don’t think you know how to make the
distinction between things you’ve done and things you are. So what, exactly, did
you do that was so bad that you consider yourself to be worthless?”
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The anger and concern in Jascha’s voice abraded Peter’s nerves down to the
core. His sharp words cut open little pustules of grief and fear and pain that had
been festering for a long, long time. Peter couldn’t put any of it into words, but
something needed to be said. To be expressed. He let his breath hiss out between
his teeth and his fists clenched. He grabbed the pen where it lay in his lap and
stabbed at his leg.
Jascha was faster. He grabbed Peter’s hand, forced it down with one of his
own and then took away the pen. He was so strong. Hot tears streamed down
Peter’s cheeks and fell onto his lap and hands. His hissing breaths turned deeper
and slid down into his throat, becoming guttural, nasal animal noises. Peter felt a
sharp pressure on his hip as Jascha punched the seat belt release with one of the
fingers of his free hand and wrapped his arms around Peter.
“It’s okay, man. Let it out. I’ve got you. Let it go.”
Peter’s jaw clenched. He didn’t try to break out of Jascha’s arms because they
felt like the only thing in the universe that had the power to hold him together, to
keep him from flying into a million pieces and being blown away like dust on the
breeze. The anger and guilt built up inside of him to a crescendo and he let it all
out, shaking his head, kicking, yelling, and crying, letting himself go like he
never had before. Never had felt safe enough to. He didn’t question it, didn’t
have the mental space to even try.
Eventually, he started to run out of energy and he noticed that Jascha had his
head tucked against his chest, his arms wrapped around Peter in a death grip.
Peter tried to slow his gasping breath down. He fell limp against the seat back.
Jascha raised his head and in the dim light of the moon and stars, Peter saw that
his cheeks were wet. Jascha’s eyes were red, like he’d been crying, too.
“Aw, shit, man. Never let it get to that point again. Okay? Promise me,”
Jascha said and let Peter go.
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Peter couldn’t answer. All he could do was shake his head.
“That shit ain’t right. You can not let that happen to you.” Jascha put his
hands on either side of Peter’s face. “Promise me.”
Peter nodded and tried to look down again. Now all he felt was shame.
Jascha held him and leaned in. Peter looked up, shocked, to find that Jascha’s
lips were descending on his, a fierce, feral, protective look in his eyes. Their
gazes met and Peter felt the impact in his nerves again, but this time it was
because someone he really liked was actually going to kiss him.
Peter froze and then melted. Liquid fire ran down his arms and legs. His
head spun. Jascha pressed his head against the back window of the truck with
the force of his kiss.
Peter wrapped his arms around Jascha and ran his fingers through the
dreadlocks he had wanted to touch for days. The dreads fell over his hands and
wrapped around them, surrounding their kiss in the earthy, human smell that
was particularly their own.
Jascha exhaled a grunt through his nose and placed his hands on Peter’s
shoulders. He shifted around so he was straddling Peter’s lap and pressing him
into the seat. Their crotches ground together and Peter got a very good idea of
how much Jascha wanted this too. Peter pushed back against the kiss, raising his
head. He reached for Jascha’s shirt. Peter slid the fabric as far down Jascha’s
shoulders as he could. He ached and burned with need. He wanted Jascha so
bad.
“Off,” he mumbled.
Jascha grunted and didn’t move for a long moment, then he released Peter
and shrugged out of his shirt. He flung it to the driver’s side of the cab. Jascha’s
hair hung in thick ropes around his shoulders and torso now that it was out of its
customary knot. Peter placed both hands on Jascha’s taut, work-hardened pecs
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and let his palms slide down, drinking in the smooth, chocolaty feel of his skin.
He’d wanted to do this so much at the club, but he’d channeled it into words
instead. Jascha shivered at his touch and closed his eyes. Jascha reached over top
of Peter’s arms and began to undo his shirt.
“No,” Peter said and squirmed away, trying to stop him.
“Why?” Jascha slowed down, but didn’t take his fingers off the buttons.
“I just…” He was the short, skinny kid. Nothing to look at. He didn’t fit in
lockers anymore, but his soul was still trapped in one. Somewhere back in
childhood.
Jascha’s hands dropped to the fly of Peter’s jeans. “Can I do this, then?”
Peter’s mouth went dry and he involuntarily lifted his hips at the touch.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Jascha said and popped the button.
Peter grabbed the armrest on the door and dug his fingers into the plastic of
the seat. “Yes,” Peter groaned. “Oh, please. Yes.” He couldn’t look so he dropped
his head back onto the seat.
Jascha folded forward so his mouth was hovering just over Peter’s. “We’re
not going to do more than this right now because we need to be smart,” he
whispered. “I hope that’s fine with you.”
Peter refocused his eyes and took in the flushed spots on Jascha’s cheeks and
chest. They were so bright he could see them in the dark. Jascha wasn’t rejecting
Peter. Like he said, it was just smart.
Peter bit his lip. Flashbacks of all the stupid things he had done threatened to
overwhelm him. Jascha’s tongue brushed lightly over Peter’s lips, burning him
with the sensation and focusing him back onto the present.
“Is there anything I need to know about?”
“No, I’m fine.” Peter paused, unable to ask in return. It was so awkward.
Jascha smiled. “Good. Me, too.”
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Jascha slid his fingers in behind the zipper on Peter’s jeans and lifted the
metal teeth away while his other hand worked the zipper. The pressure of
Jascha’s fingers sliding down the outside of his underwear made Peter’s balls
tighten painfully. He gasped and let go of the various parts of truck he was
holding on to and grabbed on to Jascha instead.
Using the leverage of the back of his thighs against the seat, Peter ground
himself along every inch of the other man’s body that he could reach. Jascha let
out a sharp exhalation and his mouth descended on Peter’s again.
Jascha’s hands disappeared from his body and Peter moaned. He reached for
the front of Jascha’s pants to find hands already at work there, popping buttons.
Peter dug his hands into the front of Jascha’s jeans and pulled them down as far
as they would go, which wasn’t much with his legs spread over Peter’s. He gave
up and tried to capture Jascha’s mouth with his.
Jascha straightened his legs, slid down so their stomachs were touching and
wiggled his jeans and underwear down some more. He did something to brace
himself up in the foot well and got one hand free. Now their stomachs touched
and cocks rubbed together in between their bodies. The friction of that alone was
enough to send Peter’s hips jerking. Jascha spat a copious amount of saliva into
his cupped fist. He dropped his head so it was resting in the hollow between
Peter’s shoulder and neck, and slid his hand around both their cocks at once.
Too long. And never since. Peter’s thoughts deserted him. He wrapped one
hand around the back of Jascha’s head, burying his fingers into the dreadlocks.
The other he placed on Jascha’s hip so he could feel every buck and slide. He dug
his fingers in and tried to meld their bodies together.
Jascha set a hard, fast rhythm. Peter didn’t. He couldn’t. He came. Jascha
pumped his hand twice more, smearing come between them, and lightly bit
Peter’s neck where the muscle joined the shoulder. Peter hovered somewhere
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between pleasure and pain, but transcended both. Jascha’s hips jerked twice and
he let go of his own release, spilling come all over the front of Peter’s shirt.
They rested there for a long moment, chests lifting against each other. Every
nerve ending tingled and he felt wrung out like a damp rag. After his emotional
release, the physical one almost did him in. He’d just found himself more naked
than he had in years and all without losing a single piece of clothing.
“Sorry about the bite,” Jascha said and kissed Peter’s neck. He licked the
place and then blew on it. The cool felt good.
Peter shrugged. “I guess I’ll be wearing turtlenecks for the next week.”
Jascha grinned. “It’s not that bad, thankfully. I don’t think you could pull off
wearing a scarf.”
Jascha shimmied his underwear and jeans back up enough to climb off of
Peter’s lap. He picked up his shirt and offered it to him, but Peter tried to wave it
away.
“It’s the least I can do for messing up yours.”
Peter bit his lip and tried to think of reasons why he shouldn’t. He failed. So
he began unbuttoning his borrowed work shirt. Doing that brought his hands
into contact with the trails of sticky, white come all over his front. It was thick
and salty-smelling and Peter had to stop himself putting a finger into his mouth
to taste it. Jascha sat back with a slight smile and watched him.
When Peter paused at the last button, he snorted. “Come on. I’ve just seen
your dick. There’s not much more personal than that.” He frowned, worried. “Is
there something you don’t want to show me?”
Peter held up his hands and waved them. “No! No, there isn’t. I’m just…”
Jascha’s eyebrows twitched. “Shy.”
“Yeah.” Peter sighed. “I guess it’s what comes of being teased for most of
your life.”
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Jascha squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “I won’t be laughing at you. You know
that. In fact, you’ve seen me mostly naked. I’m certainly no Mr. Universe.”
The thought of Jascha’s face super-imposed over that of a vein-popping
muscle head brought a brief moment of amusement. And he obviously didn’t
mind the fact that Peter only weighed a hundred sixty pounds when soaking
wet.
Jascha sat back against the truck door, hands resting loose and relaxed in his
lap. He smiled. He was always smiling.
“I won’t try and tell you how attractive you are because you obviously won’t
believe it. Just give me a chance and let me show you.”
Peter dropped his gaze, undid the last button and tried to shrug out of the
shirt without getting smeared. He rolled it into a ball, dry side out and set the
bundle down on the truck seat. He took the other man’s shirt and slid it over his
head. The scent of Jascha had permeated the cloth. He smelled good.
Jascha looked even better half-limned by starlight.
Those words hung in his head, aching to be written down. Peter hoped he
could remember them until later, when he had some time alone.
“What are you thinking?” Jascha asked.
“Your truck smells like sex,” Peter said and smiled.
Jascha laughed and turned to do up his seat belt across his bare chest. He
started the truck and turned up the heater.
“Let’s get home and clean up.” Jascha glanced out the window and then back
at Peter. “I may even try to get you into the bath with me. I made it that large on
purpose.”
That sounded really good and absolutely terrifying at the same time. Peter
reached for his own belt and had a flash of memory when the buckle touched his
hip where Jascha had pushed it. He might even feel brave enough to try.
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Embarrassment was a small price to pay for finally seeing Jascha completely
naked. His beauty half-limned by starlight. Yeah. Maybe he could do it.
Chapter Eight
The trip back was torture. Peter had to remind himself to breathe every time
Jascha glanced his way. And every time he did, the scent of Jascha’s sweat and
come filled his brain and made him dizzy. For some reason Jascha wanted him.
He didn’t know why. Finally, something was going right. He’d met someone
kind, generous, sexy…and most importantly, someone who thought he was
worth hanging out with. For whatever reason.
Peter decided not to think about it too much. He would try, at least.
He reached out his hand and put it on Jascha’s leg again. He held his breath
until Jascha’s hand enfolded his, strong fingers interlaced with his own. Peter
closed his fingers as well. Jascha’s teeth gleamed in the darkness.
They stayed that way all the way back, Jascha moved Peter’s hand and
shifted gears, the heel of Jascha’s hand grinding his into the hard plastic and then
replaced on his leg. It was a bit uncomfortable, but kind of sexy too. Jascha just
wouldn’t let go.
Peter realized that for the first time in a long, long while, he felt safe.
Peter’s car was parked out front. Mysteriously. Magically. Peter frowned.
“I thought you said-”
Jascha shrugged. “Your favorite mechanic seems to have fixed it early.”
Peter’s eyebrows rose a bit. “That was…nice of him.”
“He’s not evil.”
“I thought you didn’t like him.”
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“He hurt me quite a lot a few years ago.” Jascha grimaced and turned off the
truck. Darkness fell again. “I prefer someone I can trust to stick around and not
piss off at the first sign of trouble.”
Peter fiddled with the journal, not sure what to do now.
Jascha undid his own seatbelt and turned to look at him. Peter was glad his
blush was hidden.
“You still okay with this?”
A thrill of tension and lust ran along his nerves and settled in his stomach.
“Yes.” More than okay. Maybe.
Jascha slid over to him. “Breathe,” he said. “You’re going to turn blue.”
He cupped Peter’s cheek with his hand and leaned in. Jascha placed his lips
on Peter’s with a gentle touch of skin. Peter could feel the tiny creases in Jascha’s
lips and a slight prickle of stubble around the edges. He felt it more now that he
wasn’t in the middle of his own emotional pyrotechnics. It felt good.
They held there for a few soft exhalations. Peter was breathing, but it wasn’t
helping. He was still dizzy. Willing himself to move, Peter found the seat belt
release and poked it. The slow retraction of the belt across his body set every
nerve ending on fire.
Jascha wasn’t moving. It was driving him crazy. He opened his mouth and
captured Jascha’s bottom lip between his teeth.
“Unhggrrrr,” Jascha growled and opened the truck door. “Inside. Now.”
Peter slid out of the truck and Jascha grabbed his ass, crowding out behind
him. Peter jumped a bit and then wiggled his butt, pushing Jascha backwards.
That earned him a slap, on the same cheek that got grabbed. It also earned him a
laugh, which made his heart feel like it was going to explode with happiness.
Jascha unlocked the door and pulled him inside. They half-wrestled, half-
kissed their way to the bathroom and Jascha managed to pop the button on
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Peter's jeans and skim them down so they tangled his ankles. Peter resisted a bit
when his shirt came off, but Jascha pinned his arms up in the sleeves, pushed
him up against a wall and nibbled on his ribs and nipples. It was intensely
ticklish, with a bit of teeth behind it, and all he could do was squirm against the
wall, laughing breathlessly.
“Let me go.”
“Or else what?” Jascha murmured through the fabric and stroked his side
with a warm, teasing hand.
“I’m just going to cream my pants and that will be it for tonight.”
His shirt slid the rest of the way up his arms and popped over his head.
Jascha still had his hands.
“If I let you go, you have to promise to do something to me.”
“Um.” Peter’s heart fluttered and his nuts twitched at the thought. “Like
what?”
“What have you been wanting to do?” Jascha ground his jeans-clad crotch up
against Peter, who was in his underwear. And now nothing else but a T-shirt
masquerading as handcuffs.
“Pick one,” Jascha said when he hesitated.
Peter had to moisten his mouth before speaking, he’d been breathing that
hard.
“Can I finish undressing you and just look for a few minutes?”
The T-shirt disappeared entirely. It dropped beside them and Peter lowered
his arms. Jascha’s stayed up against the wall over his head.
“I’m all yours.”
Peter didn’t know what to say to that so he used his hands instead. He
reached down and began unbuckling the jeans. Jascha stayed put and it made
Peter a bit self-conscious, so he tucked his nose and forehead into the crease
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between Jascha’s arm, shoulder and neck. He stopped to inhale the scent and
then continued. Peter slid Jascha’s pants down until gravity took over and they
slid to his ankles. Jascha stepped out of them and kicked the jeans across the hall.
Now they were both in nothing but their underwear.
Peter needed to touch. Slowly, he slid his hands down Jascha’s stomach and
brushed his fingertips lightly across the front of Jascha’s briefs, tracing the
surface, taking note of contour and tension. And there was tension.
On an impulse, he followed his hands down, sliding to his knees. Jascha’s
breathing overhead roughened. Peter wanted to take his time and also to hurry.
He wanted everything all at once.
He slid his hands down to Jascha’s ankles, admiring the bones and angles
there and then worked his way up the backs of his lightly-fuzzed calves,
stopping at the smooth curve just under Jascha’s butt. He traced the curves with
his palms, running his thumbs up the sides underneath the cloth and letting his
fingers glide over the contours.
Peter stopped there, took a deep breath and then brought his nose and
mouth into contact with Jascha’s cock. Through the fabric. He traced it with his
nose and lips, feeling the twitch there echo in himself. Jascha smelled good. A bit
salty with sweat, and musky. Peter opened his mouth and gently laid his teeth
across the width.
“Speaking of creaming pants,” Jascha said overhead.
Peter looked up. Jascha was smiling. Keeping eye contact, Peter pulled his
hands apart, moving the fabric of Jascha’s underwear away from his body as he
pulled the last scrap of cloth down. He then closed his eyes and trailed his
tongue up the length of Jascha’s shaft, stopping at the tip and describing a slow,
leisurely circle. He tasted good too. The soft skin shifted slightly over the
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hardness underneath. Peter opened his mouth and did his best to draw all of
Jascha’s cock inside.
Jascha’s hands finally left the wall and he threaded his fingers through
Peter’s hair. Peter opened his throat and slid up and down, not quite making the
full length.
“Unless you want a mouthful, we’d better stop right there,” Jascha said
quietly. “And there’s a lot more stuff we need to do. Bath, remember?”
Peter reluctantly slid off Jascha’s cock, but he put some suction into it and
gave the tip a final swirl with his tongue. Jascha’s trust and his gorgeous body
was making Peter brave. This was nothing like…
“Bath,” Peter agreed and stood up.
Jascha turned on a small light. It was much dimmer than the overhead bulb
and the glass shade turned everything in the bathroom a warm red. Jascha
started the water running and retrieved something from a glass-fronted cabinet
over the sink.
A condom and a small plastic tube.
Peter started to clench a bit, remembering. Jascha set them down on the side
of the tub and then came over to him.
“You’re starting to worry again.”
“A little bit. Yeah.”
“About what?”
Peter looked down at his feet. “It wasn’t so much fun last time.” The first
time. The only.
“On the bottom?”
“Yeah.”
Jascha curled a finger under his chin and lifted it until Peter couldn’t escape
his eyes.
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“I like it the other way, too.”
Peter blinked. “Would you mind?”
Jascha chuckled and leaned in for another kiss that left Peter’s knees weak
and his hard-on stiffer than ever.
“Absolutely not.”
Jascha took his hand and led him over to the tub. “May I?”
That startled a nervous laugh out of Peter.
Jascha took that for a yes and pulled his underwear down until it, too, fell to
the floor. Peter bit his lip and tried not to look worried. Jascha tore open the
packet, applied a dab of lube in the tip inside the condom and then unrolled it
down Peter’s cock with a long, expert stroke.
Peter kissed Jascha again, before he lost his nerve. Not that he could stop
now, if he was being honest with himself. If they stopped now, his head might
explode. And not the pleasurable one.
Jascha disengaged for a moment to turn off the tap. The sound of water
falling stopped and it became very quiet. Jascha sat on the wide edge of the tub
and lifted his legs in one by one, drawing Peter after, until they stood in the
thigh-high water. Jascha guided Peter to lie on a ledge that left his back and
thighs three-quarters submerged, and the rest of him fully under the warm,
scented water. It was a long, smooth, sculpted slope on the backside of the tub
that he had noted earlier, but hadn't understood why it was there. He knew
better now.
“Did you put something in the water?”
“A bit of sandalwood and cinnamon oil. Do you mind?”
“No, it’s just… The scent that you put in your hair.”
Jascha leaned forward so his hands were on either side of Peter’s head, he
lowered his lips and kissed Peter’s forehead, bridge of nose and then lips.
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“Yep. It’s also an aphrodisiac.”
Peter laughed. “Like I need that.”
“Maybe not, but now, whenever you smell it, you’ll remember tonight.”
“Like I could forget.”
Jascha climbed up so that his knees were resting on either side of Peter’s
hips. He grasped Peter’s cock and held it up as he sat down, slowly.
Peter felt the tip push past a ring of muscle and then Jascha eased himself
down until he had all of Peter’s length inside. All of Peter’s concentration
focused around that point, and the shift and interplay of Jascha’s internal
muscles. Jascha paused for a moment and then started to move.
Each stroke was a strobe-light of pleasure, hard down and soft return. Jascha
set a rhythm that had Peter’s chest heaving in time. Peter rose up on his elbows
and found Jascha’s mouth with his. This completed the circuit of sensation,
sending Peter’s brain into overload.
He lay back down, bringing Jascha with him, but this freed up his hands.
Peter reached between them and set up a counter-stroke on Jascha’s cock,
matching his rhythm. The water surged, lapping at their sides and Jascha’s hair
fell around them, creating a thick, earthy curtain.
Jascha started to speed up and his breathing became more ragged. The ring
of muscle tightened, creating more friction. Peter lost track of the rhythm and
tried to keep his hand in place. He felt so overwhelmed, it took all of his control
not to thrash, or scream. Jascha wrapped his hand around Peter’s and squeezed
his own cock, setting a harder, faster rhythm. He sat up, leaning back on Peter’s
thighs, head thrown back.
Peter had a brief moment to enjoy this sight before Jascha came all over their
joined hands. That, and the extra squeeze around his cock sent Peter over the
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edge as well. He closed his eyes and lifted his hips to thrust six thigh-
shuddering, mind-altering times into Jascha’s tight ass.
A small part of his brain, the one that made fun of him, noted that he was
probably making a lot of noise. Peter really didn’t care. Everything was perfect.
Jascha was draped over Peter’s prone body, knees still curled underneath
himself. Their chests rose and fell against each other in slightly different time.
Peter wrapped his arms around Jascha’s back and held him close. It felt so right.
Peter grabbed the condom as he pulled out, eliciting a shudder from Jascha,
who seemed too tired to move. He tied the end off in a knot and dropped it over
the side of the tub.
“The water is cooling off,” he said in Jascha’s ear.
Jascha sighed, chest pressing into his. “Yeah. We should get dry.” He sat up
and said, “Shall we move this to the bed?”
Jascha’s head tilted to one side and he looked off into the distance. “Did you
hear that?”
Now that he said it, Peter did hear something. “The door?”
“What the…?”
Jascha splashed out of the tub and hastily dried off with a towel from a
cupboard beside the sink. He threw a dry one at Peter, who managed to catch it
and keep it out of the water.
“Wait up.” He didn’t want to be alone right now.
Peter scrubbed down and followed Jascha out into the hall, collecting
discarded clothing as they went. Peter grabbed Jascha’s shirt before the other
man could get it and smiled in a teasing way. Jascha shrugged and raised an
eyebrow in amusement. It was a comical effect with his hair wrapped up in a
1950’s-esque beehive of a towel.
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They padded to the door in their bare feet.
Jascha opened the door and the wash of cold air made Peter’s nipples
contract. It was a harsh shock after the steaming-warm bath.
It was Keren. She seemed smaller to Peter, in the darkness. She gave Jascha’s
bare torso and wet dreadlocks a hard look.
“There’s been another disaster,” she said without preamble, voice low and
intense.
Jascha gripped the doorknob so hard Peter could see his knuckles standing
out.
“Where?”
“Sri Lanka. It was an earthquake and tsunami. A double-punch. There were
terrible casualties and half a million people are without food, water or shelter.
We’ve put out a call for funding to go in there and do some building and
training. The usual crew have volunteered to go. Are you on board?”
“Of course.”
Peter’s stomach dropped. “Can I help?”
Jascha held up a hand and glanced back. “One sec.” He looked back at
Keren. “I’ll be right over.”
Keren didn’t even look at Peter once. And Jascha was so focused on the
tragedy that Peter didn’t know how to ask about what was going to happen next.
He thought longingly about the promised time in bed and then drowned in a
wave of shame. How could he think about something like that?
Jascha threw on a jacket without bothering with a shirt.
“Can I come?”
Jascha fidgeted with the buttons. “Probably not.” He pulled Peter into a hug,
which Peter resisted, pulling back. Jascha let go, searching for his shoes. “Sorry.”
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Peter looked down at the floor and shrugged. “Why are you…? Is this
something you do a lot?”
Jascha sighed. “Not a lot, but it’s something we do.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t know how long I’ll be at Keren’s.” Jascha cupped Peter’s chin and
forced him to look up. “You can crash on the couch or in my bed. Your choice.”
Peter’s cheeks flamed. “Uh.”
Jascha chuckled. “No matter. Either way is fine, but I hope you know which I
would prefer.”
He left Peter standing alone in the dark, deadly-quiet kitchen. He didn’t feel
comfortable doing anything in the house that still didn’t feel like home so he
ended up sitting at the kitchen table. He didn’t even know how to use the stove
to heat up water. It was propane and he didn’t want to blow up the house.
It was a long, long wait. Peter had no company but his own heavy thoughts.
Which was never good.
Jascha returned, looking tired and grim, mouth set in a thin line, lips
bloodless. Peter sat up from where he had been slumped over the table. His eyes
were blurry with sleep and his mouth tasted stale.
“Hey. Why are you still up?”
Peter shrugged and put his head down on his arms on the table again.
“Dunno. Waiting.”
Jascha sat across from him, slouching against the backrest of the chair. He
had dark circles under his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re leaving.”
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“But it won’t be for weeks yet. We can still be together until then. And I
won’t be gone forever.”
“How long? Three months?”
“More like six.”
Peter flung his hands into the air in exasperation—depression and anxiety
flashing into a deeply bitter anger. “I have no friends here, no job. There’s
nothing to do.”
“I’m sorry, Peter. I don’t know what to do about that.” His voice was soft,
troubled. It wasn’t enough.
“Take me with you.”
Jascha gripped his head in frustration and yanked on a handful of
dreadlocks. “I. Can’t. It’s a limited-access disaster zone and Keren says we don’t
have the funds to bring along non-essential people.”
“It’s nice to know where I stand with you. Thanks.” Peter stood and moved
toward the front door.
“Peter. Wait. I did ask. I tried.” Jascha grabbed his arm, but Peter shrugged
out of his grip with enough force to swing his hand wide.
“Apparently, not hard enough.” He turned away, sick to his stomach.
“I need to go. Those people need my help.”
“You’re right. I guess I don’t.”
“Peter.”
“This is my life, huh? I can make the decisions? Well, I’m making one.”
Peter strode to the front hallway, flung on his jacket and shoes, walked out
the door, got in his car…and started to drive.
He knew it wouldn’t work. Jascha was waiting for the first opportunity to
leave. Even someone as strange as he thought Peter was a freak. And useless.
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Halfway home he remembered the journal. He had written a lot of personal
thoughts down. But he couldn’t go back. Wouldn’t. Why should he? He wasn’t
needed. It’s not like he would ever be embarrassed by Jascha’s rejection of his
inner self. He’d already done that, hadn’t he?
It was another long drive in the dark, through the night.
Chapter Nine
Peter pulled into his apartment's underground parking lot and found his
space by instinct more than thought. He turned off the engine and sat for a
moment in the echoing, buzzing silence.
What if he did end up killing himself? There were enough pills in his
medicine cabinet to take care of that. Or a hot bath and a sharp kitchen knife.
Apparently if you got the water hot enough you didn’t…
He opened the trunk, steeled himself and checked under the mat. The box
was there. He opened it. The gun lay inside, gleaming dully under the anemic
glow of the overhead lighting in the parking garage. He shut the lid, picked it up
and went up to his apartment.
Peter wanted to pinch his nose to shut out the human-stink of his apartment
hallway—cooking, smoking, garbage. After the clean air of the desert, it
assaulted his nose.
The anger that drove him gave out when he exited the elevator to his floor.
The key to his door was small and cold as he inserted it into the lock.
The apartment was dark, heavy curtains shutting out the cloudy sky. He
shut the door behind him. The only light was the flashing of the answering
machine.
There was one message. Peter punched the playback button with a stiff,
aching finger. It was his manager asking when he was coming back to work.
Peter looked around his cramped, dank apartment. The walls were functional
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and colorless. Just like his life. No wonder he had decided not to continue with it.
Was this what he was coming back to?
He set the gun in the box on his kitchen table and sat across from it in the
dark. He didn’t bother turning on any lights. Human-stink had invaded this
space as well without the rolled up towel at the base of the door to keep it out.
The whole city stank. A constant stream of noise battered his windows. He
hadn’t ever noticed it before. He remembered the smell of the high desert air and
the silence with an ache in his stomach that went beyond remorse.
He took the lid off the box, but still couldn’t bring himself to touch the gun.
Peter’s shoulders still hurt a bit, and the memories the feeling brought back
were more painful still.
He bent forward until his head was touching the table, hands still folded in
his lap. Peter banged his forehead a couple times, but it was loud in his empty
apartment. So he stopped.
What the fuck was he doing?
He hadn’t felt so alive in years. Maybe never. Even if he was half-hating it,
half-loving it. Loving him. Jascha.
How could he do that? How could he leave for six months? How could Peter
live without him that long?
But hadn’t he just made sure that Jascha was out of his life forever? He’d left
without even trying to work things out. A large portion of Peter’s soul felt like it
had ripped away.
“Oh, shit,” Peter whispered into the table, grief and anger at himself curling
him into a ball on the chair. He gripped his legs with clawed fingers, tearing at
the fabric of his jeans. Jascha’s jeans. They still smelled like him, even more so
now that they were becoming wet with tears. His hair and the skin of his arms
still held the faint scent of cinnamon and sandalwood.
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“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into his knees. “I’m so, so sorry.”
He should have waited.
The gun. The kitchen knives. The contents of his medicine cabinet. Each one
felt like a tiger poised to spring at him. He was a magnet and couldn’t escape.
They would find him.
Peter leapt out of his chair and emptied his knife block into the garbage. He
then rummaged around his cutlery drawer and threw out anything that even
looked sharp. He carried the garbage can into the bathroom and threw
everything in. Even his toothpaste, just in case.
That just left one thing.
He approached the table slowly, waiting for some impulse to ambush him.
His fingers tingled and felt as large as sausages. The gun, box and all went into
the garbage can. Peter quickly tied the bag and dashed out into the hall. He
paused at the garbage chute and then stuffed the bag in. It tinkled, clanked and
rattled down the hole.
Tears still streamed down his face.
There were probably neighbors watching his distorted image from behind
the safety of their glass fish-eye lenses.
He stopped at his door. His apartment felt like a trap. His bedroom still had
things he could hang himself with. Every room held traps.
He was sick and tired of being screwed up. There was a better way to end it.
The keys to his car were still in his pocket. His shoes were still on his feet.
Peter locked the door and walked away. He didn’t need anything from in
there where he was going. It would all still be waiting for him when he came
back.
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Peter checked himself into the psych ward at Mercey General and called his
mom. Ten days later he walked out with a small container of meds, an
appointment with a counselor and a small stack of course catalogues from
colleges that offered an online certificate in sustainable landscape design.
Chapter Ten
Peter drove his rented truck carefully down the bumpy lane way of the eco-
research center. He checked over his shoulder; the plants were still doing fine.
Nothing had tipped. No tools had broken free.
Jascha’s house was dark and empty. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone
else. So he unloaded his stuff and got to work. It was the only apology he could
offer. If Jascha would accept it.
A quiet noise behind him made Peter look up. Keren stood on the edge of the
gravel road, hands clasped in front of her. She shifted stance and gripped her
elbows.
Peter ignored her and kept working, flinging dirt with extra energy.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Her voice was barely audible. “Please, can we talk?”
“He was pretty busted up when you left. Worse than any time before.”
Keren wrapped her hands around the textured curves of the mug. “But how was
I supposed to know? Other guys have blown in here and used him, and then left
again. He’s been hurt more than a couple times.”
Silence hung between them in her sunlight-drenched kitchen. Peter could
almost hear the plants growing.
Keren ducked her head and stared into her tea. “I was a complete shit and it
wasn’t any of my business. I’m sorry.”
Peter felt the ice around his heart melt a little. “Is he going to be okay?”
“I think so. As soon as I give him your contact info.”
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“I can’t go to the work site, can I?”
“I don’t know how we’d arrange the visas. It’s short notice and by the time
everything gets worked out, he’ll probably be coming back. Do you want to stay
at his house until then?”
Peter frowned. “I can’t assume he’ll want me to stay. I left, remember? I’m
not sure it matters why.”
“Crap.” Keren looked out the window. “What about one of the guest
houses?”
“That would be kind of expensive. I don’t have a job right now.”
She laughed. “Oh, please. We couldn’t charge you. It’s the least we can do. If
you want to pay your way, go ahead and work on some of the guest house front
yards. I’ll give you some money to go into town and get some plants. Heck. You
can start with mine if you like. You’re doing such a nice job with Jascha’s place
that I’m feeling a little jealous.” She paused and looked him deeply in the eye.
“You’re looking good. Is everything going better with you?”
Peter let his lips pull into a small smile. “Yeah.”
Keren smiled in return. “That’s good. Hold on and I’ll get you one of the
guest keys.”
“There’s other stuff I can do in the meantime while I’m waiting, I guess. Can
I borrow your computer too? I want to do some research.”
“Of course. It would be my pleasure.”
“Thanks. I need something to keep me busy until Jascha gets back.”
Jascha didn’t even get all the way to his house before he was flagged down
by Keren. Her eyes were bright, excited about something. He was too tired for
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this. All he wanted was to fall down on his bed and not get up for about eight
hours. What could possibly be so important?
She pulled him in the door and made him sit down in front of her computer.
“You have to see this.”
“I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours, Keren. The sky had better be falling.”
“No,” she said with a mysterious smile. “It’s getting built back up again.”
Jascha rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. He sat back in the comfy chair in
front of her keyboard and monitor and tried not to let his eyes close.
Keren took control of the mouse and clicked on some movie button. The title
credits scrolled and Jascha tried to stand up. An environmental protest at the
Capitol. He so didn’t need this right now. Keren pushed him back into the chair.
He was too tired to resist.
“Come on. This can wait. I need to sleep.”
“No, it can’t wait. My conscience won’t let me sleep until you see it.”
“Screw your conscience. I’m tired and—”
It was Peter. Peter’s voice coming from Keren’s computer speakers. He was
explaining how he was excited to be part of his first environmental protest and
how he was worried about getting arrested. But he was planning on it. If he
could help stop the destruction of wild lands, he would do this and more.
“What. The. Fuck?” Jascha sat forward. Yes, it was Peter. He looked good.
Happier.
Peter telling the whole Internet that he had been inspired by someone.
Someone who had showed him what was right. Someone he loved. Peter blushed
in the video and looked down at his hands. He looked up and then right into the
camera. Jascha. He said the name for everyone to hear. It felt like Peter was
looking right into his eyes.
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A couple people sitting beside Peter cheered and poked him. Peter blushed
even further. The camera went to someone else.
Jascha grabbed the mouse and dragged the movie back to the point where
Peter started talking. And again. By the third time, Keren stopped his hand by
placing hers on top.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I feel partly responsible for driving him away.”
“Have you heard from him?”
“Yes. But keep watching.”
Jascha’s heart chilled. “Why?”
“Watch.”
“Just tell me where to move it forward to.”
“About three minutes in.”
Jascha dragged the pointer to the right place and tapped his foot impatiently
while he waited for the movie to load.
There was Peter being dragged off by police. It was all very quiet and calm.
No one was being hit or gassed. At least. He couldn’t have watched that.
Jascha jumped out of the chair and grabbed Keren’s shoulders. “Where is
he?”
“I don’t know,” Keren said and her eyes teared up. “I really don’t. But this
movie came out two days ago. He might still be there.”
In jail. In D.C. Alone.
“This is all my fault.”
Jascha took a step toward the door, but Keren grabbed his arm. “Where are
you going?”
“To get him. What do you think?”
“He might be out on bail already. Maybe his parents came and got him.”
“You don’t know that and somehow I highly doubt it.”
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“Wait! Jascha!”
He didn’t listen. There was nothing more she could say.
Jascha ran back to his truck. It looked like he was going to use his suitcase
again. It was going to be a long drive. He would probably appreciate a
toothbrush at some point.
He pulled over and slept in the car for about five hours and then kept going.
He even stopped at some sort of greasy fast food place. Thank God they offered
salads, even though the rest of the menu was shit. Two hours later, he was
hungry again. Figured.
The scenery got flat and boring, then hilly again. Jascha pulled off the I-40 in
a nowhere town in hillbilly country and got a motel room. It had a cheap
continental breakfast, which meant white bread bagels, blister packs of peanut
butter and acidic orange juice, but it got him all the way to D.C.
Jascha navigated the traffic and looked for a gas station. He had to buy a
map and figure out where to go. Peter had been in jail for about four days, if he
was still there. If he wasn’t hurt or being treated like… Jascha’s heart beat faster.
The police were not always fair. Fucking fuzz.
“Where’s Peter?”
“I’m sorry,” the officer behind the counter said and failed to look like she
cared. “There were over a thousand people processed through here in the last
few days. What’s his last name?”
“I…” Jascha frowned. Somehow that had never come up. “Oh, shit. Come
on. He’s about this tall.” Jascha gestured in a vague way at shoulder height.
“And he has dark, curly hair and glasses. His name is Peter.”
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The police woman rolled her eyes and her lips thinned to a barely-polite line.
She turned away and started typing something at her keyboard, ignoring him.
“Look!” Jascha said and pushed himself up against the mid-chest-height
counter. “He shouldn’t be in here. He’s a quiet, sensitive guy.”
“If you don’t step back and calm down, I’ll have to ask someone to escort
you out.”
She was so fucking smug.
A light tap on his shoulder made Jascha turn around slowly. It was a couple
of young women wearing enviro-logo T-shirts. “I think you’re looking for Peter
Kennedy?” asked the younger and perkier of the two. “He was arrested with us a
couple of days ago.” She held out a hand and Jascha shook it. “I’m Tonya and
this is Rachel.”
Jascha shook both their hands and tried not to bombard them with angry
questions too.
“You must be Jascha,” said the other with her long hair bound back in a
kerchief. She dimpled at him.
“Yes,” he said and felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest. “Is he out
yet?”
“Not that we know of. He couldn’t pay the ticket.”
“Crap. How much?”
“Five hundred.”
“He didn’t even have that much?”
The perky one sighed and looked worried. “No, I guess not.”
Dimple-girl shrugged. “He wouldn’t call his parents either. I guess he gets to
stay here until next week.”
“No way,” Jascha said and turned back to the counter. That was so not going
to happen.
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Jascha waited. The two girls had opted to stay as well. They had apparently
formed some sort of attachment to Peter during their training days before the
protest. Jascha felt so old compared to them. Maybe he just felt old.
“You’re just like he described you,” said dimple-girl. He supposed he should
have been calling her ‘Rachel’.
“Oh?” Jascha kept his face neutral. He was too tired to talk to puppies right
now.
The girls looked at each other and raised their eyebrows. Perky got a bit
huffy.
Jascha sighed. “Sorry. I’ve been in Sri Lanka for the last eight months and
just got home about a day and a half ago. I’m kinda tired right now.”
That got their attention. “Oh, wow! Was it a fun trip?”
“No, not really.” Jascha frowned. “You heard about the earthquake and
tsunami, right?”
“Oh, yeah…” The girls nodded.
“I was there helping to rebuild a village.”
“That must have been so fulfilling. Helping people like that.”
They didn’t get it. At all.
“Once we cleared out the debris and dead bodies, it wasn’t so bad.”
Tropical sun did bad things to human flesh, especially once dead. This had
been his worst international assignment ever. It was probably going to be his
last.
The girls were silent. Maybe they took the hint. Jascha closed his eyes, leaned
back against the wall and ignored them. God, he was so tired. Peter could get
here any time now.
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One of the girls made an excited, muffled noise and Jascha opened his eyes.
Peter was being escorted by a policeman past the front desk. He was double-
checked, handed his belongings in a small plastic bag and then released.
He looked pale, but unhurt.
Jascha stood and Peter saw him. Peter flushed and looked down. Jascha
crossed the distance between them in three long strides and then paused.
Unsure. What did Peter want? Had he changed his mind?
Peter took the last step, wrapped his arms around Jascha’s waist and buried
his face in Jascha’s shoulder.
“You’re back. How did you find me?”
Jascha wrapped Peter in his arms, cupping him with his whole body. “Yeah.
Sorry it took me so long.”
“You look tired.”
Jascha laughed. Man, that felt good. Not enough laughing of late. “So do
you.” He stood back and looked into Peter’s eyes. “Can I get you something to
eat? Maybe we can talk.”
“Please.”
“When you’re feeling less tired, can I make prison jokes?”
Peter lifted an eyebrow, but he wasn’t angry. “We’ll discuss that.”
Jascha was thoroughly enjoying his steak. He was probably low on B12 or
iron or something. He’d have to look into that when he got home. But damn, it
tasted good. Peter inhaled his chicken cacciatore like he hadn’t eaten in a month.
He’d probably not had anything good for days. There was going to be some
serious cooking going on. If Peter wanted to come home with him.
That was a sticking point. He was probably assuming too much.
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The steak stopped tasting so good.
“So that talking thing,” Jascha said and then reached for his beer. Peter
looked up, but didn’t say anything. Of course.
“Did you mean what you said on that video?”
Peter ducked his head and then very deliberately looked back up at Jascha.
The spark in his eyes sent a trail of fire down Jascha’s spine. “I did.”
“So where do we go from here?”
“Anywhere you’re going.”
Jascha blinked and then sat back. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve
just done my last international assignment.”
Peter’s mouth crooked to the side. “I would actually have something to offer
next time, you know? But I thought you might have seen that by now.”
“In what sense? I know you’re extremely capable and can do whatever you
put your mind to…” Jascha frowned. “But that wasn’t what you meant, was it?”
“Have you been home yet?”
“Um, no. Not really. Keren interrupted me on the way in from a non-stop
flight from Sri Lanka, and then I walked right out the door again and came here.”
Peter’s shoulders relaxed. “Oh. Okay.” He smiled. It was devastatingly cute.
“Is there something you’re trying to tell me that I’m not getting?”
“I guess you’ll have to see when we get home.”
We. Home. Thank God. Jascha wasn’t sure he could have handled walking
away.
“Fair enough. I like surprises.”
Peter’s phone rang. He stuck his hand into his pocket, surprised. “Sorry, I
might need to take this.” He took a breath. “Hey, Rachel. What’s—” His question
was interrupted by loud squealing from the earpiece of the phone. Peter held the
device a little bit away from his ear and he grinned like a mad man. “You’re
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kidding, right? That’s so incredible. We won!” He whooped and started to dance
in his seat. “Thanks for calling me. I’ll get back to you later. This is so amazing!
Thank you.”
The whole restaurant was looking at them and Jascha couldn’t have been
prouder. He was even more surprised when Peter took his hand, kissed it and
then wouldn’t let go. In public.
“You did it,” Jascha said, letting all of his surprise and joy ring through in his
voice.
“All because of you. I might not be able to go out and save the world, but
there’s some pretty nifty bits here at home that are worth saving too.”
“I’m so incredibly proud of you.”
Peter blushed and hid his face.
Adorable. Peter was so going to get jumped as soon as they got back to the
motel.
Chapter Eleven
Jascha pulled into the motel parking space and turned off the truck. They sat
there for a moment in the silence. Peter bit his lip and then put his hand on
Jascha’s thigh. It felt warm and comforting. He covered Peter’s hand with his
own.
“Shall we take this inside?”
Peter smiled, started to duck his head, but then didn’t. That lip-bite and
expression of worry and barely-contained lust was deadly. Jascha gathered up
Peter’s plain, white plastic bag of personal goods and noted the rattle of a
medicine bottle inside. He kept his face neutral and opened the truck door. Peter
followed suit and met him at the door to the room. Jascha unlocked it and led
him inside.
It smelled like a cheap motel. Bleach, dusty carpets and stale air.
But it was quiet and private.
He locked the door and put the bag on the table beside the other bag he had
picked up earlier.
Peter was standing in the middle of the room, a faint look of disappointment
on his face, which he covered when he saw Jascha looking at him.
“We’ll be home soon enough.”
Peter nodded. “I know. Motels are kinda depressing, though.”
Jascha turned out the light. “There. Is that better?”
“No,” Peter said with a laugh. “Now we’ll fall over stuff and hurt ourselves.”
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Jascha turned the light back on. “I don’t know about you, but I’m about
ready for bed. I made an extra stop at the pharmacy before I picked you up. Just
in case.”
Peter shivered and turned toward him. His eyes widened. Jascha savored the
moment, reached into his own shopping bag and pulled out two toothbrushes.
“Do you like soft or medium bristles?”
“Seriously?” Peter took the two steps necessary to punch Jascha lightly in the
shoulder. He had relaxed again, which was good.
“I’ll take the green one,” Peter said and headed for the bathroom.
Jascha’s suitcase was full of slightly dirty clothing. It still smelled like Sri
Lanka. It smelled like his memories. It was hard to get things really clean in a
third world country, never mind a disaster area.
He stripped off his shirt and on an impulse everything else as well. The
blinds were closed. Whatever. He also turned up the heat on the baseboard
heater, twisting the knob against the resistance of being painted too many times
by less-than-careful people.
Peter was watching him, toothbrush in mouth, hand still. Jascha grinned and
joined him at the sink.
“Clothing is overrated.”
“Clearly.” Peter’s eyebrow rose. “Not that I mind, y’know.”
Jascha had never cleaned his teeth so fast.
They dove under the covers. After an awkward moment of shivering as the
shiny cotton sheets leached away all saved up body heat, Jascha pulled Peter into
his arms. Peter still had on a T-shirt and dark cotton Jockey briefs. Jascha put a
leg over Peter’s thigh and used the leverage to mash their bodies as close
together as their awkward elbows and arms allowed.
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“Do you need to keep this on?” Jascha said and picked at Peter’s sleeve. He
reached farther down and tweaked Peter’s butt through his briefs. “Or these?”
“I guess not.”
Peter was still shivering and Jascha guessed it wasn’t all from cold.
“I don’t even know how to tell you how glad I am that you’re safe,” he said,
making gentle, insistent eye contact with Peter. “I was worried.”
Peter’s mouth pulled to one side in a wry grin. “Me too, at some points. It
was kinda wild.”
Jascha pulled him closer and slid an arm under Peter’s head, wrapping his
arms around him.
“I was worried about you, too,” said Peter in a quiet voice, head tucked
under Jascha’s chin.
Peter felt so warm and solid. Jascha kissed the top of his head, burying his
nose in the soft curls. He sighed.
Cold fingers slid down Jascha’s stomach and wrapped themselves around
his nuts. Very gently. He flinched a bit, but his cock sprang to life with a twitch.
“I know how you can show me,” Peter said in a mischievous voice and used
his inside position to bite Jascha’s pec.
“Oh, really,” Jascha replied with a chuckle. “I probably can.”
He then utterly failed to wrestle Peter to a standstill in the bed. Peter kept
getting away somehow.
“Damn. When did you get so strong?”
Peter only grinned and used a dirty trick and some leverage to get a good
tickle in on Jascha’s ribs. Peter grunted when Jascha rolled on top and got his
arms over his head. Jascha flicked his head to throw his dreads out of the way.
They were both breathing heavily. Peter had pink cheeks and a happy grin on his
face. It looked so good on him.
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Jascha leaned in for a hungry kiss. “Clothes off. Now.”
“You’ll have to let go of me first,” Peter said and lifted his hips, with the
double effect of sliding his hard cock along the underside of Jascha’s balls and
throwing off his balance. Jascha let himself tumble to the side.
“Can I watch you this time?”
Peter’s cheeks got even more flushed and he lowered his eyelids demurely.
He lifted his butt off the bed to slide his briefs off and then half-raised himself for
the T-shirt. Jascha resisted the urge to help him. Peter’s slim body had hardened
up a bit. He had been working out. Peter grabbed the covers and pulled them up,
hiding.
They were going to have to work on that. There was time. Thankfully.
Jascha slid over and hooked his leg over Peter’s again. He nudged Peter’s
arm under his head and put his head on Peter’s chest. With his free hand he
stroked Peter’s stomach in broad, smooth circles, exploring. He followed the
contours of the bottom of Peter’s ribcage, slid over the softness and slight fuzz of
his belly, circling his belly button with his thumb, and then down to his right hip,
taking time to feel the bones underneath. Peter’s breathing deepened, but he
didn’t move. Jascha checked with a quick upward glance. Peter’s eyes were
closed and he had a blissful, concentrated look on his face.
Jascha slid his hand down to cup Peter’s balls, around, down, under and
across to the soft patch of fuzz on the other side. He traced the contour of Peter’s
cock with his wrist and the edges of his fingers as he smoothed his hand back
around. Peter’s belly fluttered and his hips tipped up, seeking more contact.
Jascha did one more circle around the edges and then ran the palm of his
hand down Peter’s cock, gentle but firm, down his balls, and finally let his long
middle finger slide down the sensitive flesh between his legs. Peter gasped, chest
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expanding, body both tensing and opening. Jascha raised himself on his elbow to
capture the sound in his own mouth, melding his lips to those of his lover.
Peter opened his eyes and looked up at Jascha with absolute trust and love.
He wrapped his arms around Jascha and pulled him closer, hands tracing up and
down his back in leisurely circles and long strokes, following his shoulder
blades, spine and the curve of his hip.
“May I?” Jascha asked and slid his fingers farther down between Peter’s legs,
not quite going as far as the hole.
Peter’s eyes clouded for a moment and Jascha backed off.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
The mild worry on Peter’s face slid into a lop-sided grin. “Just go slow,
okay?”
Jascha chuckled. “Like a snail. Did you know that they have sex for hours
and hours and hours?” He punctuated himself with kisses travelling down
Peter’s neck, chest and belly.
Peter laughed and tugged on a handful of dreads. “That has to be the most
un-sexy thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Right. No talking.”
Jascha shifted over enough to open the drawer of the bedside table. He’d
stashed some things there, just in case. Tucking the small tube of lube between
his thighs to warm it up, he bent down over Peter’s belly to continue his
appreciation. When he reached Peter’s cock he took a play out of Peter’s book
and ran his mouth and nose up and down it a few times, enjoying the feel of
warm skin under his lips. And the smell. Ungh.
Jascha licked the head of Peter’s cock and then drew the full length into his
mouth, all without using his hands. They were busy opening the lube. He
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applied a bit to his right middle finger and let that hand rest across his folded
knees. With his other hand, Jascha grasped Peter’s cock and let go with his
mouth.
He watched Peter’s face carefully, making sure he wasn’t pushing too far or
fast, but Peter’s eyes were still closed and his head was tipped back, body
making small undulations with Jascha’s every stroke.
Jascha slid the blankets down farther with the back of his wrist and touched
his lubed-up finger to Peter’s hole. Peter inhaled and tensed a bit, but relaxed
again when Jascha traced a small circle around the tender flesh. He dipped his
fingertip in and retreated to trace again. This time, he lowered his mouth onto
Peter’s cock and started swirling his tongue in time with his finger, matching
every strong pull and lick with a further exploration.
Peter’s breath shivered and he groaned in ways that made Jascha want to
quit with all the foreplay and just nail him to the mattress. Jascha smiled as he
finished off another teasing tongue-lashing. He paused.
“Last chance to say no.”
Peter opened his eyes long enough to glare at Jascha. “This is like being
tortured with pleasure. I don’t think I can handle any more.”
“So it’s good, then?”
Peter didn’t bother answering. His head dropped back onto the pillow and
he let out a gusty groan.
He was ready.
Jascha used both hands at once, his left sliding up and down Peter’s shaft in
a slow, gentle slide and with the other he pushed two fingers all the way in,
pulling them back with a soft come-hither motion.
“Oh, shit.”
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Peter’s legs fell all the way open and he ground himself down onto Jascha’s
fingers. He gripped the sheets.
“Oh, do that again. Please.”
Jascha let go of Peter’s cock and found the condom packet on the bed beside
him. He ripped it open with his teeth and slid it down. He slid his right fingers
inside Peter again, copying the same motion. Peter’s spine arched. Jascha applied
more lube to his own cock and positioned himself between Peter’s legs. He
pulled the blankets up over his back and laid himself down across Peter’s chest,
tucking the blankets up around them.
Peter looked up at him, his gaze returning from the inner place that the
pleasure had taken him.
“Thank you.”
Jascha smiled and bent down to kiss Peter’s lips. He guided himself inside,
pushing with gentle pressure until he was fully in. Peter took a breath and
relaxed. Jascha started to move. He had to close his own eyes as the intense
feeling pulled at his control and caught in his chest. Peter wrapped his legs
around Jascha and pulled him down into his embrace.
They moved together, hips lifting and hot breath mingling in between
panting kisses. Jascha felt the tension in himself mounting and he didn’t want to
hold it back. With his still-slick left hand he wrapped his fingers around Peter’s
cock and began stroking down with insistent pressure.
“Oh. My. God.” Peter’s hands gripped his back hard enough to bruise. He
came moments later, grinding himself up against Jascha.
Jascha let himself go. His back arched and he threw his head back, grasping
Peter’s hips for better leverage. He came in four huge, shuddering spasms.
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He couldn’t hold himself up anymore so Jascha folded forward across Peter’s
chest and lay there, eyes closed. Peter wrapped his arms around again, and
Jascha drank in the smell of him. He felt drained and content.
Peter made a smacking noise like someone trying to rehydrate their mouth.
He swallowed.
“That was awesome. Can we do that again tomorrow?”
“I think so. If I survived this one. Check back in the morning and see.”
“I can’t believe this is legal.”
“Most places. In some, we’d get shot.”
“No, I meant sex in general.” Peter snorted and thumped his back lightly. “I
think I just had a religious experience.”
Jascha chuckled and kissed Peter’s neck. “My pleasure.”
Chapter Twelve
Peter was sore in a couple places, bruised in a couple others and so high on
sex he felt giddy and stupid. Two days of driving, cheap hotels and sex like
bunnies all night long. And a couple of times in the middle of the day. Jascha, of
course, complained about the food, but he had an oversized grin perma-smacked
on his face and kept belting out lyrics to weird songs Peter had never heard of
while they were driving down the road.
It was good. And Jascha’s surprise when he finally registered what had been
done to the front yard was the sweetest thing of all. It was the best thing Peter
had ever done. Bar none. Even more than helping to save the national park.
Jascha pulled him into a lip-tingling kiss. “I have something to show you
too.”
Jascha led him to his bedroom and fished under the bed. The leather journal
emerged, covered in little clumps of dust.
“I’m sorry I left it behind.”
“I thought about burning it. I was that angry.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I read it first. And when I was done, the only thing I could do was
keep it until I could give it back to you. Somehow. That Robert Frost poem you
copied down on the first page just about did me in, right there. But then I turned
the page and found the poetry that you were writing.” Jascha shrugged. “It was
beautiful. And I felt a bit unworthy of your high regard.”
“Thanks. But I felt you were worthy. I still do.”
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“Can I ask you something?” His voice was serious. Dark.
Peter sat on the edge of the bed. He fiddled with the ribbon bookmark
attached to the spine. “I guess.”
“Why didn’t you call your parents from jail?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just so used to not telling them things.” Peter
rolled the question around in his mind. “Maybe I’m tired of them being
disappointed in me.” Peter bit his lip to keep the feeling of tears away from the
back of his eyes. “My dad, especially. If I could have just called my mom then I
might have.”
Jascha smiled and said, “But then we wouldn’t have found each other
again.”
“Not so easily, no. I did give my contact info to Keren, you know.”
Jascha sighed and sat beside him. He leaned in until their shoulders touched.
Jascha was like the North Pole and Peter was a compass. He felt like he could
close his eyes and be able to point to where Jascha was anywhere in the room.
Maybe even on the continent.
“There’s one other thing. If you feel up to it.”
“What?”
“I installed a phone. Just for you. While I was gone. Is there someone you
should call and let them know you’re safe?”
Why did the sound of his parent’s phone ringing always make his stomach
clench? And why did the sound of his dad’s voice make him want to puke?
“Hey, Dad. It’s me.”
“Peter? Are you okay? What the hell is going on?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, Dad. A friend bailed me out of jail and I’m fine.”
“Jail?” His dad’s voice raised half an octave. “How can that be fine?”
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“Can you just hold on a second? I need to tell you something. It’s
important.”
“What’s more important than getting arrested?”
“I’m gay.” He’d said it. To his dad. There was silence on the other end of the
line, but at least he hadn’t started yelling or hung up. The world hadn’t ended.
Yet.
“Dad?”
“Yeah.”
“I just wanted you to know.”
His father sighed heavily. “Yeah, I already knew. Does getting arrested have
anything to do with…that?”
“No, it doesn’t. And you knew? Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“I was hoping that it would just go away.”
“Or I would.”
“No! Of course not. Why would you think that?”
“I…”
“Petey. I don’t want you to go anywhere, okay? Don’t ever think that.”
“All right.” Peter’s voice broke and tears leaked down his cheeks.
“I don’t feel comfortable with…you know, that. But I love you.” His father
sighed again. “Maybe we should keep this from your mom for a little while, if
you don’t mind. I need to think about it some more.”
“She knows, Dad.”
“What?”
“She told me to keep it from you. A couple years ago.”
There was silence again. The sound of breathing. “She said that, huh?”
“Yes.”
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“She was probably right.” Another break in the conversation. “When you
disappeared last year I thought… Well, I thought you’d gone off to kill yourself.
Then you came back and were in the hospital. Your mom was worried. She
blamed me.”
“I don’t blame you, Dad. But Mom was right to be worried.”
His father let out a heavy breath through his nose. “I’m glad you didn’t.
What changed your mind?”
“I met a guy.”
“Oh.” A pause. “And this is where you are now?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are you, exactly?”
“Down in New Mexico.”
“You went all the way down there? Why?”
“I took your gun and was going into the desert—”
“Oh, my God, Peter!”
“Obviously it didn’t happen. Jascha came along and made me go home with
him. He…kept me from doing anything stupid until I stopped wanting to.”
“Why didn't you tell me any of this?”
“I didn't think you wanted to know.”
There was a long silence.
“I never, ever wanted you to come to harm. Please believe me.”
“I think I believe you now. But I was really depressed.”
In the next pause he came up with a line of poetry that he didn't think his
dad needed to hear—I couldn't see the light at the end of the tunnel, so I tried to
find it. Something more beautiful found me instead.
Something to write down later.
His dad took a deep breath. He was trying.
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“And that’s why you quit your job at the bank and took that gardening
course?”
“Sort of. I guess so.”
“Are you going to become an interior decorator? Or something?”
“No, Dad. And I’m not going to become a hairdresser either. Although, I
guess you could call me an exterior decorator.”
His dad laughed. It was small, but genuine. “I think I’d prefer ‘landscaper’, if
you don’t mind.”
“That’s fine. I can work with that. I also do construction and other manly
things like that. You should see me rocking the power tools now.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“I kid you not, Dad. Jascha showed me how. It was kinda funny.”
“I tried for years to get you interested.”
“Ironic, isn’t it?”
“Something like that.”
There was silence again, but more comfortable now. It was a break in the
conversation, rather than a treacherous hole full of painful things left unsaid.
Peter felt like the weight lifted off his shoulders had taken all of his energy with
it. He stifled a yawn.
“Actually, Dad. I have to go. Can I call you next week?”
“Sure. I’d like that. If you drop me an email saying when, I can make sure
your mom is home too so she can say hi.”
“Great. I’ll do that.”
“Son?”
Peter’s heart skipped a beat. “Yeah, Dad?”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
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“No, really. I still feel weird about this, but I’m going to work at it.”
“That means more to me than you’ll ever know.”
A silence. Was his dad actually sniffling? It was hard to tell over the phone.
“I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too.” His voice did sound a little choked. His father hung up the
phone.
Peter sat there until the dial tone came on. Jascha took the receiver out of his
hand and placed it in the cradle. He tucked Peter into the curve of his arms and
rocked him back until his head was resting on Jascha’s shoulder. The familiar
smell of sweat, fresh air and the herbal oil he used on his dreadlocks folded
around Peter as well. He snaked his arms around Jascha’s middle and pressed
himself as close to his thin, strong body as possible.
“You are pretty fucking brave, you know that?” Jascha murmured into his
hair.
“Yeah, right.”
Jascha squeezed him gently and then lifted his hand to wipe away a stray
tear on Peter’s cheek with the rough pad of his thumb. “No, really.”
Peter sighed and closed his eyes, rubbing the side of his face against the soft
flannel plaid covering Jascha’s shoulder. “I won’t argue with you. I’m too tired.”
“That’s because I always win.” Jascha ruffled his hair and planted a kiss on
the top of his head. “You know that your dad talks even less than you do? I
didn’t think it was possible.”
Peter snorted. “Shut up and kiss me.”
About the Author
When not chained to the keyboard to exorcise the characters in her head,
Jennifer Thorne can be found playing in the dirt with green things, concocting
strange potions out of green things, and riding her recumbent bicycle (it's a cool
machine, but small recompense for not being able to mountain bike anymore).
post, but it's where she puts her deeper thoughts), or on Facebook (which is a
likelier bet)-
Finding love can be a bumpy ride…
Hard Tail
© 2012 JL Merrow
His job: downsized out of existence. His marriage: on the rocks. It doesn’t
take a lot of arm twisting for Tim Knight to agree to get out of London and take
over his injured brother’s mountain bike shop for a while. A few weeks in
Southampton is a welcome break from the wreck his life has become, even
though he feels like a fish out of water in this brave new world of outdoor sports
and unfamiliar technical jargon.
The young man who falls—literally—through the door of the shop brings
everything into sharp, unexpected focus. Tim barely accepts he’s even in the
closet until his attraction to Matt Berridge pulls him close enough to touch the
doorknob.
There’s only one problem with the loveable klutz: his bullying boyfriend.
Tim is convinced Steve is the cause of the bruises that Matt blows off as part of
his risky sport. But rising to the defense of the man he’s beginning to love, means
coming to terms with who he is—in public—in a battle not even his black belt
prepared him to fight. Until now.
Warning: Contains an out-and-proud klutz, a closeted, karate-loving accountant—
and a cat who thinks it’s all about him. Watch for a cameo appearance from the Pricks
and Pragmatism lovers. May inspire yearnings for fresh air, exercise, and a fit, tanned
bike mechanic of your very own.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Hard Tail:
The bell above the shop door tinkled, and Matt Berridge fell into my life.
Literally.
I’d been staring at that glass door, willing someone to come in and stave off
the killing boredom before I stuck a bicycle spoke through my neck out of sheer
bloody ennui. So when a broad-shouldered, shaggy-headed lad in mirror
sunglasses loped into view, I was all eyes. He wore lived-in jeans and a purple
Weird Fish T-shirt, with a battered biker jacket over the top. He looked like he’d
just got back from a festival somewhere. At least, he looked like I imagined a guy
who’d just been to a festival might look. I’d never been to a festival. Too busy
with exams and work and getting married to a girl I didn’t love.
When he pushed open the door, I barely had time to mentally punch the
air—and then he was gone, well-shaped arse over tit.
I’d swear it was nothing but his own feet he tripped over. With a soft cry of
“Argh—shit!” he sprawled into the shop on his hands and knees. I didn’t realise
who he was at first—I just hurried out from behind the counter to help the poor
sod up. But when he looked up from under that dark mop of hair, it was
obvious. At least, if you had the inside information I did. The sunglasses, which I
now noticed were scratched, hung from one ear, and there was a massive, purple
bruise around his right eye, which was swollen and half-closed. I winced
involuntarily when I saw it, then hoped like hell he hadn’t noticed.
“Hi,” I said as he staggered to his feet, holding on to my arm. “I’m Tim.”
“Oh, right—you’re Jay’s brother? Good to meet you.” He smiled lopsidedly,
adding dimples to the freckles already sprinkled on his lightly tanned face. I
could easily imagine him as a beach bum somewhere like California, although
given the South Coast accent with a hint of a West Country burr, I was guessing
Cornwall was probably nearer the mark. “Sorry about that. I’m a total klutz, ask
anyone. I’m Matt.”
“I guessed.” I gestured to the black eye—and then cursed myself for being so
tactless. Obviously he was self-conscious about the bruising, or he wouldn’t be
wearing shades. “I mean, Jay said you’d, er, had an accident. Sorry.”
“Oh, yeah. That.” He suddenly flashed a blinding grin. He had perfect teeth,
except for one on the top left that was endearingly broken. “You don’t look like
him. Jay, I mean.”
If I had a pound for everyone who’s ever reminded me that there is one
good-looking guy in the family, and I’m not him… I’d still be pissed off about it.
“Well, that’s the wonders of genetics for you,” I said, trying not to overdo the
fatalism and come off like a self-loathing loser. “Some kids get the looks. Some
get the brains. Me, I got the knobbly knees and the tendency towards early
greying.”
He peered at me, his good eye narrowed nearly as much as his swollen one,
and laughed. “You’re not greying!”
“No, but I will be. I take after my dad, and he went grey before he was
thirty.”
“Yeah? How old are you now?” Matt asked. It was a bit of a weird effect, the
cheeky grin on the battered face, but I couldn’t help smiling along with him.
“Twenty-eight,” I admitted.
“Looks like you’ve got two years to live it up, then,” Matt said, folding up
his sunglasses and shoving them in his jacket pocket, adding another scratch
with the zip along the way. “Wait—you’re married, aren’t you? That’s what Jay
said.”
“He did?” Jay talked about me? I wondered what else he’d said. “Um. We’re
actually not together anymore. Kate and me, I mean.”
“Shit.” Matt hung his head. “Sorry. Put my foot in it again. I’m always doing
that.”
“Don’t worry,” I said quickly. “It’s fine—I mean, obviously, it’s… Um. We’d
grown apart,” I finished lamely, trying to reassure him it wasn’t as bad as it
sounded.
“Oh. Right!” Just like a light switch, the smile was on again. “Right, well, I’d
better get to work. Anything new come in?”
I looked at my watch. “Not in the fifteen minutes we’ve been open, no.”
“Right! I’ll get out the back, then.” And just like that, he was gone.
I’d never have thought a broken leg would turn out to be the most important
event in my life. For a start, it wasn’t even my leg.
But it still managed to be responsible for moving me from London to Totton.
It’s all right; you’re allowed not to have heard of Totton. It’s just a small town
near Southampton, out past the Western Docks and across the Redbridge
Causeway, over the very tip of Southampton Water. If you keep driving on
through, which most people do, in another ten minutes you’ll reach the New
Forest, home to a million pubs and ponies. It’s about as far from London as you
can get, philosophically speaking, although it only takes an hour or so on the M3.
Particularly if you’re bombing down the motorway like a bat out of hell because
you’ve just heard your big brother’s in hospital.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t just Jay’s accident that set things off. After all, I hadn’t
even heard the news when my marriage broke up.
It happened on a dreary, grey Monday evening, just after Kate had got in
from work. I’d been home all day, having recently fallen victim to the merger of
my firm, Falstaff & Bird, with a much larger accountancy business. Merger being,
of course, merely a polite euphemism for the Falstaff & Bird partners selling the
rest of us down the river. Half my department had been made redundant when
the two firms combined, and the rest—the lucky ones—forced to relocate to the
Williams Way offices in Canary Wharf. Everyone I’d spoken to since the axe had
fallen had sounded shell-shocked by the speed of it all and wiped out by the
commute.
Kate, being a lawyer, was more or less immune to the slings and arrows of
outrageous fortune. Come to think of it, slings and arrows were pretty much her
bread and butter. She was home late that day, and looked tired as she dumped
her briefcase in the hall. I wondered guiltily if I should have tried to cook
something—but then again, if she’d already been having a bad day, it’d be a bit
mean to make it even worse. “Want to get a takeaway?” I asked.
Kate didn’t meet my eyes. “Just a minute, Tim. I just need to pop upstairs.”
“Okay,” I said, a bit puzzled—after all, we had a perfectly good downstairs
loo if that was what she needed. I wandered back into our tastefully designed
living room and closed up the laptop I’d been busy tweaking my CV on, then
unfolded the Financial Times from the job pages. It wasn’t like there’d been
anything in there, anyway. Then I sat down on the cream leather sofa and
wondered if it’d be worth turning the television on while I waited. The phone
rang, and I leapt up to answer it—only to find it had stopped before I got there,
presumably fielded by Kate. I sat down again and stared at the bookshelves on
the wall by the conservatory. Not much there apart from Kate’s collection of
modern literary fiction, the books all strictly ordered by binding and most of
them unread. She’d deemed my pile of old-fashioned crime paperbacks far too
scruffy for the living room.
“Tim?” I jumped a little as Kate spoke, peering around the door as if it might
not be safe to come in immediately.
“Expecting someone else?” I quipped weakly, because all this
uncharacteristic timidity was starting to worry me.
“No! No, don’t be silly—who else would I be expecting?” Kate was still as
neat as ever in her pale blue business suit, chosen to match her eyes. She came
into the room in little, bird-like steps and perched on the sofa next to me,
smoothing down her skirt.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“No—well, yes, actually. Tim, I’m so sorry.” She was about to cry, I realised
with a shock; I could tell by the little sniffs and the way her eyelids were
fluttering like a hummingbird on acid.
“Kate, what is it?” I was seriously alarmed now. Had her dad had another
heart attack? Had she lost her job too?
“I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “But I’m moving out. I’m going to live with—”
She hiccupped, and I wondered if I should pat her back. Maybe it would be
politer just to pretend I hadn’t noticed.
Then I wondered why good manners seemed to be my main concern at a
time like this.
