by Cate Ashwood
“You sure we’d hear someone?” Matt asked.
John snorted a laugh. “Wouldn’t be here if I weren’t sure.”
John’s grin allayed all of Matt’s misgivings. His expression was full of promise, and Matt reached for him, pushing him down onto the blanket and covering John’s body with his own.
He pinned him there, feeling the solid ridge of John’s erection straining against the fabric of his shorts. John pulled Matt closer, rolling his hips up as he drew Matt into a kiss. He tasted like summer, and Matt groaned at the pleasure of just being there with him. The taste of him soothed away all of Matt’s ragged edges, the pent-up frustration from weeks of wanting this washed away in the way John moved against him. Whatever happened in the days beyond this moment, it wouldn’t matter. Right now, this was all that mattered.
Matt deepened the kiss, twining his fingers with John’s as he pressed him into the rich earth beneath the blanket. The sun on his back was hot, but it had nothing on John. Maybe it was that John lived so much of his life hiding who he was. Maybe it was that out here he could be whoever he wanted, but Matt had never experienced him like this—open, unabashed, and needy in a way Matt didn’t know he could be.
John cursed as Matt broke the kiss and moved his mouth to the sensitive spots along the side of John’s neck, grinning against his skin as John tightened his fingers around Matt’s. John arched up against him, and Matt bore down, pulling a groan from deep in his chest. From their very first time, there’d never been a struggle for power, never a need to vocalize what he wanted. John seemed to anticipate exactly what he craved, a tacit understanding between them.
John slipped his hands free and eased them around to Matt’s back. He massaged and kneaded as he moved them lower and lower before dipping his fingertips inside the waistband of Matt’s shorts to slide along his ass. Matt gasped and John tightened his grip, grinding their hips together, their cocks rubbing roughly over each other through layers of fabric.
John’s touch was gentle at first, getting more aggressive with every move Matt made over him. When Matt pressed closer, unable to stop himself from grinding harder against John, John let out a deep moan. The sound sent a wave of need through Matt. He was hungry for more, and his body had taken over. Weeks of having to keep himself restrained, hours of being forced to pretend this wasn’t what he wanted, made him too eager. John moved beneath him, seemingly just as far gone as Matt. Their gasps and groans made Matt’s blood pump faster, made his dick throb.
Matt reached between them, clumsy with lust, and managed to open their shorts and shove them out of the way. When he wrapped his fist around their erections, squeezing them together, he almost came undone right there.
“Jesus. Harder,” John demanded, bucking up into Matt’s grip. Matt obliged, tightening his fingers around their lengths and stroking. The sensation of John’s cock against his own, slippery with precome, was heady. Matt kissed him as he quickened his strokes, responding to John’s need. Pushed to the limit, Matt could feel his orgasm building, the pressure mounting somewhere deep within him. He resisted, trying to draw it out. John had to come first. He wanted to watch him fall apart, hear his rasping breaths as he let go. The pleasure became almost painful, his skin oversensitized, his body straining hard enough he thought he might shatter. When he thought he couldn’t hold out any longer, John tensed beneath him, and with a broken gasp, he spilled over Matt’s hand.
That was all it took to push Matt over the edge.
Heat filled him, bright in its intensity. He came hard, painting John’s stomach and soaking through their clothes.
It was one of most intense moments of Matt’s life, and neither of them had even gotten undressed. He slowed his movements and gentled his kisses, giving John time to get his head together. God knew Matt needed a minute. He backed off John and pulled him back up to sitting. “I could definitely become a fishing enthusiast if all our trips out here ended up like this.”
John laughed. “Gimme your shirt.”
“Isn’t getting naked supposed to come before the orgasms?” Matt teased.
“If you’d rather sit around all hot and crusty all day, I guess that’s your business.”
“Fair point.” Matt pulled his shirt off over his head and followed John down to the edge of the water, where they rinsed their clothes before hanging them to dry over a tree branch.
They sat back on the blanket where they spent the rest of the day relaxing and talking about nothing until the sun threatened to dip below the horizon. In the end they’d only managed to catch three fish. Matt had watched with morbid fascination as John gutted and cleaned them with practiced hands. He listened to John talk about the old bowie knife he used, how it had been in his family for more than eighty years, that he’d worked all day in the hot sun picking plums for his aunt when he was nine years old, that she’d given him five pennies for the effort, and then charged him one for the knife because it’s bad luck to give a knife as a gift. Matt realized that, like most things in Magnolia Ridge, John’s knife had a history all its own. It was a piece of the past, part of his connection with his family. The oldest thing Matt owned was an old band T-shirt from high school and his father’s pocket watch. John’s easy way, his attachment to his family’s rich history, the way he’d prattle on about it was oddly comforting, endearing even.
By the time they climbed into John’s truck and headed out along the winding road back to town, Matt was so tired he was barely able to sit upright.
“I think the fresh air did me in,” he said, looking over at John, who was tapping his hands on the steering wheel in time to the music that played quietly in the background.
“You’re no good with wakin’ up early on your day off, are ya?”
“Not so much. If you were anybody else, I would’ve told you to fuck off and happily slept in. I’m glad you dragged me out here, though. I had a good time.”
“Me too,” John admitted, and those two simple words settled over Matt, filling him with a sense of contentment.
They were quiet the rest of the way back to Matt’s place. He wondered if John was feeling as reflective as he was. The afternoon had shifted something between them, or maybe Matt just imagined it had, but for him, he could no longer avoid the realization that he was falling hard for John.
Any sort of a relationship beyond simple friendship was bound to get complicated for Matt. For John, it was beyond complicated. Whatever was happening between them could lose John his friends, his family, maybe his job.
They’d avoided talking about anything too heavy, avoided putting a label on what it was they were doing or where it was going, and Matt was okay with it. He didn’t need labels. He didn’t need declarations or testimony when it came to John’s feelings or his own. But the reality of it was, those feelings were becoming deeper, more intense, and he wasn’t willing to give it up, no matter what it cost him. If he had to hide forever, if he had to pretend to be someone he wasn’t for as long as John was willing to be with him, he would.
They pulled up and parked in front of Matt’s little house a while later, the sound of the cicadas louder than it had been with the white noise of the truck’s engine. “You wanna come in for a bit or—”
“I should probably get goin’,” John said before Matt could finish the sentence.
“Oh, right. Sure.”
“I got some errands I need to run. Another time?”
Matt grinned. “Yeah. Another time sounds good. Anytime, really.”
John shot him a smile that made his stomach flip. It took a second, but Matt remembered to unbuckle his seat belt, and with one last glance, he climbed out of the truck and headed into the house.
MORNING BROKE earlier than Matt would have liked, and for a split second, he entertained the thought of calling in sick and texting John to see if he wanted to go back to the fishing spot for a repeat of the day before.
He wasn’t sure what it was, but he felt as though they were on the verge of something important, like something
big was going to happen between them, and he couldn’t help but think it was something good. The chemistry between them had shifted—at least Matt thought it had—and he couldn’t get John out of his head.
The entire way to work, he was distracted and dreamy, replaying the afternoon before in his head. He stopped at the Krispy Kreme on his way in and picked up a to-go box of coffee and doughnuts for the station. When he arrived, Andy was already there.
“I knew there had to be a reason the captain hired you. You’re a useless fucker most of the time, but at least you bring food,” he said, eyeing the box as Matt approached.
Matt walked past him and set the coffee and pastries down on the table at the front of the squad room before turning back to Andy. “Don’t get used to it. Was just feeling generous today, that’s all.”
“Oh yeah? Any particular reason you’re suddenly feelin’ so giving?” The question was laced with curiosity, and Matt tried and failed to hide a guilty grin. “Ah, so there is a reason. Spill it, Kinsley.”
“None of your business,” he countered, scrambling to think up a lie in case Andy didn’t drop it. The last thing Matt wanted was for someone to pick up on how far gone he was and figure out why. He knew he was probably being paranoid. He and John had been careful, but there was so much more on the line than just the risk of getting shit from the guys he worked with. But before Andy had a chance to ask any more questions, their captain appeared from his office. “Kinsley, Manning, get goin’. Dispatch just got a call from someone claimin’ they found a body down, just off ninety-four.”
Andy stared at him, a look of excitement in his eyes. “Probably a false alarm. There’s gators out there, and sometimes we get calls like this, but it always turns out to be a chewed-up animal.”
Still, Matt understood. When a body turned up, there was always that hit of adrenaline as he raced out to catch the bad guy and save the day. He knew from Andy’s expression, he felt the same.
They piled into the squad car and, hitting the lights and sirens, blasted out of town down the same road John had driven the day before. As they got closer and closer to the swamp, adrenaline dissipated and doubt crept in. The weather had turned and the skies were gray, and the closer they got to the scene, the deeper the feeling of dread became. What were the chances this wasn’t a mistake? What if the caller really had seen what he said he’d seen? This wasn’t San Francisco. If there was a body, the death wouldn’t be anonymous. Andy would know them. Matt might too.
He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was letting his mind get the better of him. Andy was right. Chances were good that this was a false alarm.
It was a case of déjà vu as Andy stopped the squad car not far from where John had parked the day before. Matt’s chest was tight as he climbed out of the cruiser and looked around. He could see the tire treads from John’s truck, and he let memories of their afternoon soothe him as they made their way through the trees toward the water.
“Andy! Thank God.” A man rushed over to them, obviously anxious. “I called 911 as soon as I saw it down by the swamp…. I didn’t know…. I didn’t touch nothin’. I know I’m not supposed to touch nothin’. Didn’t check, but Jesus there’s no way they’re alive, not lookin’ like that. Jesus H. Christ.”
The man was difficult to understand, his accent and distress making his words garbled to Matt’s ears. Andy grabbed his shoulders, holding him still, and Matt could see he was shaking. Whatever this was, it sure as hell wasn’t a dead animal.
“Paul, slow down. Tell us what happened.” Andy’s voice was low, calm, even though Matt knew he felt anything but. Matt had lost count of the deaths he’d witnessed, but the dread of what they were going to find when they looked beyond the trees made Matt’s blood run cold. “I just came out here to spend the mornin’ fishin’. Rita’s out of town visiting her momma, and I thought I’d try to catch some catfish for supper. I got my stuff all set, and that’s when I saw it.”
“Down by the edge of the water?”
Paul nodded, his face several shades paler than it had been when they’d arrived. There was already an ambulance en route, as was protocol with any suspected death, but Matt took a step back to radio for a second car to attend to Paul.
Andy got Paul sitting in the back of the cruiser, a blanket from the trunk wrapped around his shoulders.
“Should we wait on the medics?” Matt asked.
Andy shook his head. “They’ll be here in a sec. Paul’s fine. I told him to stay put.”
They grabbed their kit from the car and headed down the pathway toward the water. Matt’s mind raced ahead of him, drawing up the mental image of the spot as he’d seen it the day before. As they stepped into the clearing, he saw it.
There, lying facedown in the mud, was a body, skin pale and discolored, flesh torn and ragged. There was no need to check for signs of life. There wouldn’t be any. Whoever this was had been gone for a while.
Matt felt ill. He’d seen dead bodies before, and in worse shape than this one, but it wasn’t something he’d ever get used to.
“Shit,” Andy breathed, echoing Matt’s sentiments. He suddenly hated himself for the excitement he’d felt back at the station. This was nothing to get excited over. More than anything, he wanted to take it back.
Andy stepped forward, pulling a pair of gloves on as he did.
“Call for backup,” he instructed Matt as he knelt carefully in the mud and pulled aside the matted curtain of dark brown hair to reveal her face. “Jesus Christ. Matt, it’s Chloe.”
Chapter Fifteen
“ALL RIGHT, Birdy,” John said as he flipped the pancake. “Now this here is how it’s done.” Rather than use the spatula, he swirled the pan for a few seconds and then flicked his wrist, making the pancake look like it was jumping into the air.
“That’s how Momma does it!” Birdy said, her voice excited, full of delight.
John poured more batter into the pan. “Of course it is. Who do you think taught her how?”
Birdy rolled her eyes and giggled. “Mawmaw did.”
Kid was too damn smart. “Well, okay, you’re right,” he said, watching the skillet as Birdy put butter on the pancake he’d just taken up. “But she taught me too, and now I’m teachin’ you.”
“You rhymed, Uncle John,” she said with a broad grin.
“That’s my other secret talent.”
Birdy didn’t say anything to that. Maybe she didn’t find his poetry skills worth praise, but together they finished the pancakes.
Just as John was cracking the last egg to round off their late breakfast, Melonie came into the kitchen.
“Yeah, he’s right here.” She turned her attention to John and started to pass him his phone. “It’s Marty.” Before she let go, she asked him, “You get all your gear put away from fishin’ yet?”
“Not yet, no,” he said. He’d been meaning to, but he hadn’t gotten around to it.
“Need to use your truck later, so don’t forget.”
John nodded and then traded her for the spatula and stepped out of the kitchen. Chloe’s birthday was coming up, and he was sure that was why her father had called. “Hey, Marty, how’s it goin’?”
Silence stretched out on the other end so long that John wondered if the call had dropped. Just as he was about to pull it away from his ear, see if they were still connected, Marty let out a long, weighted breath. “Not too good, son,” he said quietly, with the kind of distant resolve that comes with very bad news.
All the warmth and goodness of the day seemed to drain out of John. Even the sun felt dimmer as he asked, “How do ya mean?”
“I… I don’t know how to say this, John. Not over the phone, but, well, they won’t let us leave until….”
John asked, “Leave where?”
“We’re down at the hospital,” Marty said slowly. He sounded frayed around the edges, as if one little tug would rip him half in two. “Police found a girl.” Marty swallowed hard and took a breath. “They thi
nk it might be….” His deep breathing turned to shudders.
John listened for as long as he could, feeling the backs of his eyes burn, his skin prickle with dread.
Melonie sent Birdy out to play in the yard and came to hover near John. When she set her hand on his arm, he nearly shook it off in irritation.
After a long moment, Marty seemed to find his strength again. “You best get on down here. They want Belinda and me to… confirm…. We just thought you should be here is all.” He didn’t let John ask any questions before he added, “Come in through the ER and take the elevator on down to the basement.”
Marty disconnected without another word. Maybe he couldn’t face all of John’s questions, or maybe he just didn’t have it in him to breathe anymore. John could identify.
“What’s happened?” Melonie asked carefully, as if she were watching a time bomb about to go off.
John had no idea what had happened. One minute he’d been making breakfast with his niece, and the next, his entire world shattered around him. “I don’t know,” he said slowly as he tucked his phone into his back pocket and went to grab his keys. “They think Chloe is….” Just as Marty couldn’t say her name a moment earlier, John couldn’t say that. But he knew what the basement was for, knew if Chloe was down there he had nothing to hope for.
“But they’re not sure?” Melonie’s eyes swam with tears, but as she spoke, her face lit up. She had enough hope for both of them. It was almost enough to make John feel better. Almost.
“Guess not,” he said, feeling overwhelmed, out of his own head. “I gotta get down there.” His voice sounded strange to his own ears, and he had no idea what Melonie said in response, but he nodded as if he agreed.
As John headed for his truck, he felt like he was someone else, some broken, ruined soul going through the motions of life and not knowing why.
THE DRIVE didn’t take but a few minutes. To John, though, it seemed to last an eternity. He took the main drag in silence, smoked a cigarette down in what felt like one long inhale, all the while his memories running wild on him. He and Chloe in high school together, dancing at the prom. The two of them just a few months earlier at a Halloween party, acting like idiots. Or the time she dragged him along to karaoke. All the things they’d ever done together swam in his head, chased him at every curve, every stoplight. They whispered his name as he walked through the sliding glass doors, screamed at him as he took the elevator. They told him things he didn’t want to hear as he found Marty and Belinda, looking dazed and uncomfortable, sitting on a hard bench.