When the Devil Wants In

by Cate Ashwood

  “Brought this for ya.” Landon shoved an unlabeled bottle into Matt’s arms, cracking the spell Matt had fallen under just looking at John. He looked down at the dark brown glass.

  “What is it?”

  “Mrs. Beaudoin’s whiskey,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “The old lady you arrested the other day?”

  “The same. Got it outta evidence lockup. No sense in wasting perfectly good whiskey, and Mrs. Beaudoin makes the best in five counties.”

  Matt hesitated, considering that this might be another joke, but Landon was straight-faced as they came. All right, then.

  “Uh, thanks,” Matt said, offering a smile.

  “Weren’t nothin’.” Landon waved it off and headed for the backyard. Matt was undecided if the response had been genuine, or if the guys were fucking with him again. He didn’t mean to be ignorant about all things Southern, but he was new here, and sometimes it felt like a different fucking planet. He looked to John for help, but Chloe must have dragged him outside.

  Matt shrugged and ducked into the kitchen to retrieve the food. He peered out through the window over the wide sink to see that a few of the other guys from the station hadn’t bothered with the front door, just let themselves in through the side gate and were now standing around, beer cans in hand, talking with the others.

  He grabbed the condiments, the coleslaw, and the bowl of potato salad before realizing his hands were full and he couldn’t open the sliding screen door.

  Chloe noticed and stepped over, opening the screen but stopping him. “Oh no, darlin’,” she said with a gentle push to his shoulder, making him back up as she closed the glass door and followed him into the kitchen. “You bring all that out now and the flies’ll be in it. Should wait till we get the meat about done,” she added, opening the refrigerator before taking the bowl of potato salad from him. “We’ll just leave everything in here for now.”

  She leaned over and set the bowl on a shelf before relieving him of the coleslaw as well. When she finished putting things away, she turned and smiled at him. Matt didn’t know her well enough to read her expression, but there was something in the way she looked at him that made him nervous. Like she was a cat and he was her mouse. “You got any kin around here, or is it just you?” she asked, hopping up on the counter as if she were set to stay all evening in the kitchen.

  “Uh, just me,” Matt said, feeling cornered in the middle of his own home. “My parents are in California.” Chloe nodded in response but didn’t offer anything else. The silence stretched out as he waited, but he finally asked, “What about you? Your family around here?” Andy had told him a little about Chloe, about her brother who had been Andy’s best friend, but that was about it.

  Chloe shrugged and glanced around the kitchen. “Everyone I’ve ever known lives right here,” she said, looking at Matt again. “Anyone that matters, anyway. Momma, Daddy, most of my cousins and aunts and uncles…. John.”

  It was Matt’s turn to nod. It took him a moment to decide how to respond. He couldn’t tell if the mention of John’s name was an invitation or a challenge. “How long have you two been together?”

  Chloe’s lips curved into a smile, friendly but dangerous at the same time. She reminded him of a wild animal, pretty to look at but not something you’d want play with. “Goin’ on a decade now,” she said before hopping off the counter. “He didn’t mention that in Jacksonville?”

  Before Matt could respond, Chloe tossed her hair off her shoulder and walked outside. He stood there, trying to process what had just happened. Chloe knew about him and John and their encounter. But it left more questions for Matt, rather than a single answer.

  He watched for a moment as Chloe went to John and wrapped her arms around his waist. She took the beer from his hand, drew a long swig, and then didn’t give it back to him. Matt couldn’t quite hear what they said, but whatever they were talking about, John’s expression turned tense. He smiled and joined in the conversations around them, but Matt didn’t miss the worried look in John’s eyes.

  Matt decided the best course of action would be to set the talk with Chloe as far from his mind as possible, and stepped out onto the porch to join his guests.

  Without much lawn furniture, Matt was grateful the back porch had a railing that also sported a built-in bench. Those who hadn’t brought their own seats seemed happy enough to sit on the rail or rest on the bench. There was more than enough space for everyone.

  The yard was one of the reasons Matt loved his new place. The inside wasn’t large or much to look at, but the property itself had lots of space, and the pine trees on the surrounding properties allowed for near seclusion.

  Andy had started the grill and the smoky scent already filled the backyard. Matt’s stomach growled in anticipation, despite how distracted he felt. If he said the food hadn’t been one of the deciding factors in his choice to move to the South, it’d be an outright lie.

  There were already snacks people must have brought with them set on the table, so Matt grabbed a handful of salt-and-vinegar chips and wedged himself in between Jay and Pete. It might have been awkwardly close, but Matt didn’t give a shit. It was the only spot that gave him a perfect vantage point to stare at John without seeming completely obvious.

  Everyone was gathered around, sharing war stories. All cops did it, but Matt wasn’t used to stories like these. Back in San Francisco, it had always been a pissing contest to see who had the most nail-biting calls—extra points for shots fired or major arrests. In Magnolia Ridge, the gossip read more like a history lesson. Everyone in this town not only knew everyone else, they knew their entire life story. It wasn’t just a meth lab bust, it was the meth lab bust of Jimmy’s cousin’s girlfriend whose daddy liked to drink almost more than he liked stepping out on his wife.

  There was backstory here, and it wasn’t something Matt had encountered too often in the past. His arrests were mostly anonymous, the bad guys faceless. This seemed better, more personal. He hoped he’d learn all the details in time. The people of Magnolia Ridge were fascinating, and Matt wanted to get to know all of them, but John was the person he wanted to know about most. There was something more to him than just the surface stuff, something deeper than the tanned skin and tight smile. Or he hoped there was, anyway. Matt wanted a chance to figure him out.

  “You assholes leave any ribs for me?” Carl called, rounding the corner into the backyard and tugging Matt’s attention back to the present.

  “Coals ain’t even hot enough yet, fool,” Andy said as he looked at the grill again. “I don’t think this thing’s ever been used.”

  That was an embarrassing truth, but Matt hadn’t bothered with cooking since he’d been there. It seemed like a lot of work for just himself. He’d bought it the day after Andy informed him of the plan. It was the biggest grill in the store.

  “Well,” Carl said as Glen and Jay dragged what looked like a huge oil barrel around the side of the house. “We’ll get this one goin’ and we’ll be eatin’ soon.” Apparently, these guys were serious about their barbeque. Matt had never seen anything quite as heavy-duty… or that looked like it should be confiscated by the fire department for being hazardous. Carl shot Matt a look and shook his head. “Shoot, boy, shoulda fired up them coals a half hour ago.”

  “You say that like you think I’ve done this before,” Matt said in a weak defense. At least everyone laughed. Maybe they thought he was joking. Or, more likely, they were laughing at him, but oh well.

  While the coals heated and the beers drained, more people arrived. The first wave had been mostly the guys from the station, but the second influx was their wives and children. Babies were passed around, toddlers screeched through the yard, and teenagers sat on the grass, looking lazy and comfortable in one another’s company. Andy made sure to introduce Matt to each new face, but Matt would never remember them all. By the time the steaks were resting, he could barely remember his own name.

  The guys on second shift arrived
just as the food was ready to serve, just as the sun dipped below the tree line, and Matt realized someone had probably sent them a text, letting them know it was time to take their dinner breaks.

  In the end, his spacious backyard started to feel crowded.

  “Ribs are done!” Andy called out from the barrel grill.

  “Y’all save me some of them!” Carl said as he made a beeline to the stack of paper plates on the table.

  “Make sure he just gets a couple of them puny end pieces,” Jay called back. “And none of my tater-tot casserole. He don’t deserve any.”

  Carl glared at Jay, playful, for the most part, but Matt had the impression no one should stand between Carl and his food. He loaded his plate as soon as the platter of ribs hit the table, piling them up over two hot dogs and a burger patty before grabbing a seat and tucking into his haul.

  “My momma makes the best honey barbeque sauce.” He wiped some of the excess from the side of his face with the back of his hand.

  “It is pretty good,” Matt agreed as he joined the others for the meal.

  “It’s a closely guarded family secret—has been for generations—and over her dead body will she ever let anyone have it.”

  “It’s the store brand bottled stuff,” John said, looking straight at Matt. “She just puts it in her own jars and tells people it’s from scratch.” The words were innocuous, a playful ribbing meant for Carl, but the way John looked at him speared right through Matt’s gut.

  Carl chucked a rib bone at him. “Fuck you, Turner. That’s a lie and you know it.”

  A pretty girl who Matt had met earlier—though he had no idea what her name was now—slapped Carl on the back of the head. “You watch your damn mouth, Carl, and don’t go throwin’ food around.” She looked at Matt and said, “I swear he’s got some sense in his head somewhere.”

  Carl ducked and looked abashed but didn’t say anything else.

  Chloe, who hadn’t moved from John’s side all afternoon, stood and walked to the table next to Matt. “Now’s about the time for you to fetch the potato salad and all,” she said, nudging Matt teasingly.

  “Oh, right.” Matt had forgotten about all the other food. There was so much already, he wasn’t even sure if he should bother. Until Chloe spoke again.

  “John, for Christ’s sake, put down that hooch and give Matt a hand.”

  The look John leveled at her bordered on murderous. He passed the half-empty jar of whiskey to Joe and staggered as he got to his feet.

  Chapter Seven

  FOUR BEERS and a whole bunch of old lady Beaudoin’s booze was a bad idea. John knew as soon as he tried to stand up. He could tie one on with the best of them, but he usually stuck to a three-drink maximum with anyone other than Chloe. Mostly because he didn’t trust himself when he was good and drunk. He got too chatty. Sometimes he got too emotional. Chloe told him once that he let all his masks drop away when he was shitfaced, which was probably why she was the only person who’d ever seen him like that.

  “You act like you own me, woman,” he said, trying to tease as he walked past. Only problem was, he could barely feel his face as he followed Matt across the porch.

  Chloe looked at him and grabbed him by the edge of his shirt. “That’s because I do,” she said before tugging him close and kissing him. John knew the kiss was just part of their usual dog-and-pony show, but he found it difficult to respond when Matt was near him, stepping inside, waiting for him. When she got him to stoop down, though, after she brushed her lips against his, she whispered, “You might wanna grab my ass or somethin’ now.”

  Right. When he was sober, he didn’t usually need her stage direction. John slid his hand down her body, pulled her tight against him, and kissed her again. This time he let his tongue slide out into her mouth, tangled his other hand in her hair.

  “Get a room,” Andy said, smacking John on the shoulder. “That girl’s practically my baby sister, boy.”

  Everyone near enough to see their little presentation laughed. Except—John noticed when he pulled back—Matt, who stood in the doorway to the kitchen, his expression unreadable.

  Chloe gave him a little shove before turning back to the others. John crossed the porch in four strides, following Matt inside. He closed the sliding glass door behind him, and finally, he and Matt were alone together. He couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. Part of him wanted to keep walking through the house, get in his truck, and hide. But the rest of him wanted to push Matt against the refrigerator, kiss him breathless, tell him all the ways he’d pictured fucking Matt over the last week.

  “Mind showing me where your restroom is?” John asked.

  Matt had looked like he was about to say something right before John spoke. John wasn’t sure if he was buying himself time or if he had a bad idea hatching in the back of his mind.

  “Sure,” Matt said with a nod toward the hall. “It’s the first door on the—”

  As soon as they rounded the corner, as soon as they were out of view of everyone else, John gave Matt a little shove, not too hard, but enough to get him moving faster. He pushed the bathroom door open and stumbled in, forcing Matt along with him. “In here?” he asked breathlessly as he kicked the door shut.

  Matt nodded and then went still as John crowded him, pressed him against the wall. “Nice place,” he whispered before taking Matt’s mouth in a hard, heated kiss. He fisted his fingers into Matt’s short hair, ground his hips against Matt’s until he could feel them both getting hard. Some small part of his brain still worked well enough to know this was a terrible idea. People had been in and out of the house all day. Now that everyone had tucked into the food, though, they were probably safe for a moment or two. Or at least that’s how John’s drunken mind rationalized his lunacy. He scraped his teeth over Matt’s bottom lip as he pulled back. “Been wantin’ to do that all damn night.” All damn week, really.

  “Glad I’m not the only one,” Matt said, looking ready for more, like he wanted to go out there and kick everyone to the curb.

  That’s when reason caught up with him again and John realized what a huge mistake he’d made. “We probably oughtta get back out there,” he whispered. He couldn’t resist kissing Matt again, though. This time more tenderly. He let himself taste Matt’s mouth, the beer, the tangy sweet flavor from the ribs he’d sampled. John inhaled deeply as he stroked his tongue against Matt’s, rolled his hips again. He pulled back, ready to laugh at himself. Christ, he really was drunk. He could feel the wide grin on his face as he said, “I really do need to piss, though, so unless you’re into watchin’….”

  Matt laughed, a breathy sound, almost confused, but also amused. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

  John finally stepped back. “Good thing,” he said. “That’s never been my scene.” He waited to take care of business until Matt had left the room, clicking the door shut as he went. Less than a minute later, John stood at the sink and washed his hands, splashed some cool water on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror, telling himself how wrong this all was, that he should get Chloe and go, pretend he and Matt had never met. But for whatever reason, the pull Matt had on him was too strong. He dried his hands and went back to the kitchen.

  Matt had gotten most everything out of the fridge and looked like he was stalling to make the trip outside with it all. He looked up when John came in. “So, Chloe and I got a chance to talk earlier.”

  “Yeah, I saw that,” John said, trying to read Matt’s expression. The guy masked well if nothing else. He didn’t look like someone who had just been mauled in his own bathroom. “What’d she say?” John grabbed the stack of biscuits his mother had sent and tossed them into the microwave for a few seconds.

  “That you guys have been together for nearly ten years,” Matt said evenly. “That she knew about us hooking up.”

  The microwave dinged, and John pulled out the biscuits. “Bet she didn’t fill in any gaps, did she?” he asked with a laugh, knowing Chloe.

 
“Not even one, no.” Matt’s laugh was soft, casual, as if they were two friends catching up, not… whatever the hell they actually were. “Are you… bi, then? Or…?”

  Fair question. John couldn’t help glancing around the kitchen, though, dropping his voice when he answered. “Nah,” he said as he grabbed the cornbread. “Me and Chloe have been together since she was sixteen—I’m only a year older than her—and, hell, I don’t know. We’re just best friends, ya know?” It was hard for him to talk about Chloe, try to explain why they were so close, why she put up with him. He snorted a laugh and added, “We tried once, though. Back in high school, after I told her. She said I couldn’t know for sure that I didn’t like girls if I didn’t try, so I did.” Yeah, he was still drunk. He always talked too much when he was drunk.

  “How’d that go?”

  Maybe the expression on John’s face answered the question for him because Matt laughed before John could say anything.

  “Badly,” John told him. “Afterward, she said that if I wasn’t gay, I oughtta be.” John shrugged, thinking back on those early days, how nice it had been to finally tell someone, let someone in. “She don’t like any of the guys out here, so, I don’t know. This works for both of us, ya know? She doesn’t have to worry about every jackass from here to Atlanta hitting on her, and I don’t have to…. Well, I just don’t have to think too hard about where my life is headed.”

  When he put it like that, the whole thing sounded depressing and wrong. The last nine years had just sort of happened to John, to Chloe too. They had a rhythm, had a comfort zone together, and neither of them—especially John—wanted to mess with it.

  Now, though, standing in Matt’s kitchen, looking at him in the golden glow of the setting sun, the sounds of laughter and talking coming in from the porch, it made John think maybe there was a different kind of rhythm to life, a different kind of comfort. He only wished he knew how to bridge the gap between what he had and what he wanted. Or, more to the point, what he thought he could never have.