Really. That was his response. I was warned of death and danger should anyone find out, then give in to a moment of weakness and am showered with thankfulness for helping out for a date.
I couldn’t think of anything to say, which was fine, as Lane certainly had enough to say for the both of us.
They raged and fought for probably half an hour, Lane determined to know what was up and Corey equally determined it was none of his brother’s business. I couldn’t shake the memory of the emotional pain tangled with the physical, hints that there was more going on than he was willing to show. Still, there was nothing I could say or do.
Keep your nose clean, Gramp always said, and stay out of other people’s trouble.
I wasn’t great at that lately, but I had to be better. Lane was making me too comfortable, and I had to shake myself before I ended up in trouble. It was probably already too late, anyway, after what I had just done.
****
We turned in together at Lane’s place. The giddiness of my slip with Corey had long faded into a bone-weary exhaustion that had me nodding off at the table long before the two Hunters had stopped arguing.
Lane dragged me to his room and tipped me into bed before following. I snuggled up to him under the covers, my head pillowed on his shoulder and his fingers brushing through the tangles in my thick curls. The soothing feel merged with our joint content to ease me into a comfortable state. He was so much warmth inside, tangled with wonder and surprise and something softer, sweeter.
People are weird internal puzzles of contradicting urges. Even feeling someone’s emotions doesn’t give much insight into their thoughts. Morgan’s emotions had often terrified me, leaving me awake at night worrying about what he’d do. Lane’s, in contrast, eased me to sleep. I loved lying with my head tucked against his flesh, his emotions and even his worries gentle pressure in my mind.
I was almost asleep again when Lane spoke up.
“You’re inverted.” There wasn’t any surprise in his voice, which made me wonder, but then he tended to be pretty laid back. Why should I expect more surprise? “I don’t think you want people to know. Do you?”
“No,” I answered softly.
“I told that to Corey earlier while you were in the washroom.” A weight I hadn’t noticed eased in my chest. Corey was well-meaning, but he was hardly silent about anything. “Thank you for helping him. And for trusting us.” He twirled one of my curls around his finger. I lay there silently, not sure what I could say. He spoke again. “I know it wasn’t easy. I don’t think your life has given you reason to trust. It really does mean a lot to me.”
I had to answer that, and there was only one thing to say. “Thank you,” I told him, pressing a kiss to the mark that I’d left on his neck not so very long ago.
I thought we were going to sleep then, but once more he pressed on. Gabby, my lover was.
“I wanted to ask you this earlier, before everything went pear-shaped. My grandmother is having a birthday party next weekend. Would you mind coming? I’d like you to meet her.”
A community introduction. My pulse spiked, anxiety driving out the leaden weight in my mind. I fought to keep my breathing steady.
This was normal, I told myself. Fast, but normal. There was nothing threatening in the offer, and I was destined to have to meet some communities if I planned to make a home here. Considering how close I was getting to Lane, how could I not expect him to extend an offer like this?
That it was my lover’s community made the fear worse. At least this time I was sure it was an actual, normal community, not a cult or clan.
“Okay,” I managed. He kissed the top of my head, squeezing me.
I had to be normal.
****
Lane’s fingertips were tracing the lines along my back when I woke the next morning. Lane had been spending a lot of nights lately, but I couldn’t muster much worry about how close we were growing when I awoke feeling sore in all the right ways.
The muscles in my chest constricted when I realized what held his attention. The lines he traced were not random. He hadn’t asked about those scars, hadn’t even mentioned them yet, but they had been there between us since our first night together. As amazingly patient as Lane was, he was also almost as curious as his brother, and he liked talking things out. We both knew that, eventually, this would be something he’d want to talk about. Judging by the day’s start, it would probably come sooner rather than later. If he felt brave enough to touch them, they were probably weighing on his mind.
How could I blame him when they weighed on my own?
I could throw out that the scars weren’t his business, but was that fair? I still feared Morgan, and if my old lover found me then it would all very much be his problem, too.
“My ex,” I mumbled into my pillow, getting it out there before I could chicken out. “He likes hearing people scream.”
Lane’s fingers jerked, his breath catching. When he started stroking the marks again his touch was gentler, even while anger and protectiveness burned so hotly inside him that his fingers shook. At that realization I felt a flood of affection for him.
So sweet, my Lane.
“I’m sorry,” he told me.
“It’s hardly your fault,” I chastised him, squeezing a handful of the blanket balled up next to me. I was lying there next to him naked, not even a sheet hiding me from view, vulnerable in every sense of the word. I’d started, though, so it was better to go on.
“Was it a knife?” he asked. “The detail…”
There were patterns in the swirls and lines of scar tissue. Spirals and sketches dotted my skin, with Morgan’s own community crest tucked at my lower back. Morgan had loved that one, cutting deeper while tracing it with his fingertip, his favorite cronies, Fain and Jordan, holding me steady while I screamed and fought.
“He did it himself,” I managed. “A throwback, too. Inverted.”
No need to say which kind.
Two throwbacks together. God, his little band had loved that. Morgan had shown my skills off to only his most trusted, and I’d hated betraying Gramp’s lessons each time I’d been called on, Morgan’s voice in my ear and his fingers clenched in my hair. He’d torn people apart just to watch me try to heal them. Broke me each time, all the more, when most of them ended up dying in the end anyway.
I’d betrayed my grandparents’ memories and even myself.
Lane leaned over me, meeting my eyes. “You can tell how I feel, right?” he asked.
“Yes.” The word was hard to get out, my throat thick. Now I would know if he was angry at the invasion, sickened.
“Feel this then, please.” He touched my cheek, as gentle as ever, and his answer swept through me. I could feel his concern and care through in a way words couldn’t mimic. We kissed, and I pressed my body against his, stroking down his back to curl a hand around the cheek of his ass. Squeezed once. Our second kiss was nowhere near as chaste, his tongue pushing inside to play with mine as he rolled over top of me. His dick was perking up, pressing against my own growing length and rubbing as we felt each other out.
I took him on my back this time, my ankles tucked over his shoulders and my hands gripping the pillows as he thrust. It was slower this time, easier, and when he moved to kiss me I slipped my legs down his sides, thrust against him, moaning against his lips as we moved together. I had no doubt I’d still feel it later at work. I hoped it would keep me grounded.
****
I was replacing the last of the rotten boards on my steps when Lane dropped by the next afternoon. I had the day off, and wanted to see about getting the steps taken care of before the spring cool gave in to summer heat. Cool as the air was, sweat dripped down my shoulders, pinning my shirt to my back as I hammered in the last of the replacement boards. The rotten ones were lying off to the side, where they wouldn’t be in the way. I couldn’t have been too attractive—sweaty, panting, and covered in dirt—but Lane was Lane. His eyes roved over me appreciatively. It
was a heady feeling.
He held two coffees, one of which he passed to me when I tossed the hammer down.
“Thought you might want a coffee, but it looks more like you could use some water,” he teased.
I chuckled and took a sip. It was hot, and I was already good and hot, but it still tasted great.
“Thanks. I probably should, but I like this more.”
“You know you’re supposed to do that in the morning, right?”
I shot him a mock-annoyed look, and he smirked.
We sat on the steps and drank for a bit, the silence comfortable.
“How is your brother?”
“Too good, really. He’s been going out the last few days. I keep expecting a call to say he’s at the hospital or worse.”
“No more trouble?”
“None. How have you been?”
“It’s quiet.”
Trouble-wise, at least. Every creak and crack still woke me up, and my morning coffee had become morning coffees in order to make it through my shifts.
“Good.”
He fell quiet, which was completely unlike him.
“Is everything okay?” I dared to ask. I shouldn’t pry, but I hated the thought of something bothering him.
“No,” he answered. Sighed. “No. I just feel like something is wrong, and I wanted to make sure everything here was all right. The whole thing with Corey has me spooked.”
“Is there usually this much trouble?” It seemed like he was a magnet for trouble, but his fun personality made it hard to imagine him always in this type of mess.
Lane shook his head. “He’s always in trouble, but not like this. He gets in arguments, not fistfights.”
It wasn’t my place to comment on Corey’s situation, not really, but I surprised even myself by my wanting it to be.
“He won’t tell you what’s wrong?”
“He says it’s nothing.”
Not much he could do, then. Not unless Corey said more.
Chapter Twelve
The week passed, and the day of the party came, no matter how much I stressed over it. Lane’s grandmother had a screened-in deck for an entryway, its boarded floor broken up by wide gaps in the planking. There were a couple kids crouched in a corner poking their toys between the boards while the adults talked. I wondered at how safe it was, but no one there seemed worried.
"Lane!" One of the women crowed, turning to grab him up in a giant hug. He laughed and squeezed her, lifting her off her feet and chuckling when she swatted him.
"Hi, Angie," he smiled.
He shared a hug with the older man and women she had been talking to. Then we shook hands, and I was given my first of many rounds of introductions.
"You two should go out back. The barbeque should be just about ready."
Lane’s parents were sitting in the living-room when we passed through, and Lane tugged me over, his face lighting up. “Here, you have to meet them.”
“Shouldn’t we see your grandmother first?” I asked, nervous. The head of the family should come before the children, always. I remembered Gramp stressing that. Lane, however, just snickered at me and tugged.
“Don’t worry. It’s informal.”
They were sitting, talking, to an older man. When we came up all three stopped, glancing our way. They stood up to meet us.
“Ma, Da, Mayor Lakewell, this is my boyfriend, Brett Garder. Brett, this is Mayor Avery Lakewell, and these are my parents, Gregory and Joan Hunter.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I managed, edging closer to Lane and tightening my grip on his arm. Fortunately, no hands were offered. I knew it was likely a slight, but I was too relived to care.
The mayor. Now that I had a face for the name, I knew whom to avoid.
“It’s wonderful to meet you,” Joan answered, her smile sweet if a little small. “Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for having me.”
She nodded, and her husband stepped in. “Lane, why don’t you head out back and find your Nan?”
As we made our way outside, more people stopped and met us, each greeting Lane with either a hug or a clap on the back. I shook hands, repeated names, and kept up a steady if strained smile as I met each. Their emotions stayed with me longer than their faces, and I did my best to remember the ones to watch out for in the future. Some held friendly curiosity or disinterest, but there were others who felt mainly annoyed, and some still who were far more interested than I liked.
We found Lane’s grandmother perched in an old lawn chair out back near the barbeque. She was a decoration for the party, drinking her beer and watching her family and friends talk in groups and chase their little ones. Lane led me straight to her, and when he introduced me she shot me that same devilish grin he wore so well.
"It's good to meet you," she told me. "I don't think I've seen our little troublemaker since he met you."
I suppose he must have been little at some point. I laughed, shooting Lane a side-glance before answering her. “Sorry about that,” I told her. “I’ll try to make him come by more.”
Life stitched itself in the seams of her face and her prominent laugh-lines. I could see Corey and Lane both in her, and couldn’t help but like her for it.
“You’ll just have to drag him over here,” she joked, then laughed. “You are cute. Corey said as much.”
An older couple edged closer, and when they caught her attention Lane pulled me over to the side of the yard. “Thanks for coming,” he told me again. “It means a lot.”
My stomach was still too bound up to eat, so I just watched as Lane talked and laughed, introducing me to various relatives and tousling with children as they ran past. There were a lot more people than I had expected from this small place. Lane was totally in his element.
Some kids dragged him off, and he called a promise to be right back, laughing as the girl on his elbow talked a mile a minute. A middle-aged man pressed a hotdog into my hands not long after that. I stood around awkwardly, taking the odd bite and trying not to look as out of place as I felt.
There were enough people around that, had I been here with anyone else, I wouldn’t have had any trouble slipping out and not being missed. Lane was sure to look for me, though, and we’d driven his vehicle, so I stuck around.
“Enjoying yourself, Mr. Garder?”
I turned and found the mayor.
“Yes, thanks,” I answered, hands prickling with sudden sweat.
“Well, I hope you have a nice visit. Give Joe and Lillian my best.”
He wandered over to Lane’s grandmother, and I stood there, hotdog half-eaten, as I waited for my pulse to slow down. When I could think again I scanned the crowd. Still no Lane.
People smiled, made idle chitchat, and I waited. Eventually, I even finished my hotdog. That ended up being a mistake, since as soon as it was gone the same man—Lane’s great-uncle, it turned out, and the brother of his grandmother—wandered over and plopped a hamburger on my plate.
“Not sure what you wanted, son, but I figure everyone likes ketchup. Onions, relish, and mustard are over on the table yonder.”
He grinned, slapped my shoulder, and hobbled off to join the crowd drinking beer over by Nan Hunter.
So many people, all so interested in actually talking. Getting to know Lane, getting to know his family, it was all overwhelming. Morgan had never seemed to want to know much about me, never questioning my strange reticence. He had never asked about family members, or where I had lived before moving to the city. Here, everyone was full of questions. Questions that, strangely, were instantly followed by sympathy and condolences when I answered that I had no living relatives.
When Lane didn’t reappear after another ten minutes I gave in to my nerves and went looking for him. A few tentative questions had me heading inside the house, then on down into the basement. It was a narrow stairway. I held the railing tightly, taking care on the steep steps.
As I came up to the door at the foot of the basement stair
s, voices drifted from inside and I quickly found myself regretting my search.
"You're dating an abused mage." I recognized his father’s voice. The rage in the words was tempered with very real fear. "What about that sounds sane to you?"
Lane answered sharply, saying it was his choice and not to judge, and I hastily backed up, face flushing. His mother said something, voice too quiet to carry.
They were right, really. I couldn't be upset. If Geoff were still here and I found out he was dating a woman in my position, I would've been terrified for him.
"Don't pay any attention," Corey spoke up behind me. I jumped, flinching back, and he held up his hands. "Sorry! Just me."
He spoke quietly, making sure our voices didn't travel to the people in the far room.
I wished that I could just run again. I hated that my shame was visible to everyone around me. There was no escaping it. No matter how I tried to ignore it, the reality always dogged me.
I shook my head, walking past him towards the door. "It's true, isn't it?" I asked softly. "Your parents should be worried. So should you. Lane would be a lot better off without me."
"Man's crazy about you. It drove him nuts when you tried to break it off—he didn't give details, just that he'd pressed some things and you'd been spooked." He gave me a hard look. "You've been dating, what, a little over a month now? It hasn’t been long, but we've gotten to know you, and you're a pretty good guy. Ma and Da just haven't had the chance to see it yet."
"I should go," I insisted, knowing I was right. “They don’t want me here.”
"And upset Lane? You leave and he'll know something's up. No, come have a beer with me. Gram thinks you're charming. We'll bring her a new beer—that's what I was sent in here for, she likes them cold—and you can tell her about the work you're doing on the house."
We did, and she grabbed my arm as soon as we were close, asking me to sit with her.
Curiosity, tiredness, and affection—her emotions were a nice, content blend.
"Corey says you'd like to hear about my house?" I asked.
"Scott, the last owner, was an old friend of mine," she told us, chuckling. "We went to school in the same two-room building. He was quite the scamp, and had he been a mage—well!” She winked at me, and I laughed. “He quit about grade seven and went to work in the woods. That's what all the boys did back then. School was a lot quieter after that."
Upon the River Shore Page 11