When the Devil Wants In

by Cate Ashwood

  Yeah, gin would do all right. John was able to listen to Matt turn things over without feeling like punching a hole in the wall. “Mind if I smoke in here?” Normally he wouldn’t even consider it, but as things were, the porch was probably off-limits.

  Matt snapped his attention back to John. “Yeah, sure,” he said as he got up and pulled a dish from the cupboard. “This’ll work for an ashtray. I don’t even know what it’s for—too small for anything.”

  John looked at it and exhaled a small laugh. “It’s a condiment dish.” When Matt stared at him, disbelief written all over his face, John said, “Momma’s got a stack of ’em. I’ve set a lot of Sunday dinner tables.” Yeah, John was drifting away from numb and into drunk a little faster than he liked. He pushed his glass away and lit a cigarette instead.

  Matt went to open a window, his voice hushed as he came back to John. “We should think about getting some sleep soon.”

  “Reckon so.” The nice thing about a quick, deep stupor was the way it let him hold everything on the surface. Every damn thing wrong in his world was right there where he could see it. Chloe, jail, losing his momma probably for good, missing out on watching Birdy grow up, because lethal injection was definitely on the table for him. It all swam in front of him, so close he could touch it, but he just didn’t care anymore. Drinking wasn’t making him forget. It was helping him not give a shit. Maybe Thompson had been onto something all along.

  With that thought, John stood and went to the sink, poured out the remains from his glass. The room damn near spun around him, but he stayed steady on his feet. “That didn’t help as much as I’d hoped it would.” He flicked an ash into the sink and then turned around to find Matt close by.

  “I can’t think of anything that would help right now,” Matt said, reaching for John, pulling him close again. “But if I could, I’d do it.”

  John nodded. He remembered how helpless he’d felt when Billy had died, and Chloe couldn’t do anything but cry and fall into restless sleep. She’d told him there was nothing anyone could do, but he’d racked his brain trying to come up with something. In the end, all she’d needed was a lot of time and someone to sit with her while she waited for the pain to ease. “Just bein’ here is enough,” he said honestly.

  “That’s convenient since it’s all I’ve got,” Matt said, a quiet tease, almost reverent but not quite.

  John leaned back and took a long drag from his cigarette, finishing it off. “Lucky us, then.” He ran the butt under the tap to make sure it was out before tossing it into the trash can. “Best lock up,” he said, nodding toward the open window. “Don’t want anyone breakin’ in.”

  Matt offered a half smile and brushed his lips against John’s. “I’ll take care of things out here,” he said, running his hand down the back of John’s neck. “If you’d rather sleep alone tonight, I understand. I can take the couch, okay?”

  John shook his head. The idea of tossing and turning all night, alone in Matt’s bed, made John’s stomach turn. “No,” he said, twisting his fingers into Matt’s shirt. “I want ya next to me.”

  He didn’t wait for Matt to respond. Instead he pulled away and headed for the bedroom.

  IT DIDN’T take Matt but a few minutes to check the locks and hit the lights. Before John knew it, Matt had cranked up the AC and was climbing into bed next to him. John lay on his back, like a virgin on the wedding night, staring at the ceiling. Thankfully, Matt didn’t ask for permission. He edged his way close to John and wrapped an arm around John’s waist.

  John relaxed into the touch, shifted so his leg pressed against Matt’s, both of them stripped down to their shorts. Matt kissed John’s shoulder, a subtle brush of his lips against John’s skin. John let his eyes slide shut. He could still feel the weight of his grief, the agony of it. He still worried about what the next day would bring, what new horror waited for him when the sun came up, but for those few moments he felt, in some strange, inexplicable way, at peace.

  He wondered if Matt had fallen asleep. If he felt half as worn-out as John did, he more than needed the rest, but John couldn’t stop himself from whispering Matt’s name into the darkness.

  Inhaling against John’s skin, Matt whispered, “I’m here.”

  Something about that answer made John smile. He turned onto his side, pushed one leg between Matt’s, brushed their feet together under the sheets. “I just….” He didn’t know what exactly he wanted to say, but he could feel a drunken confession already halfway out. “I know this probably won’t last long enough, won’t last forever simply because… nothin’ good ever does, but, I just wanted you to know—” He stopped himself, brushed a kiss against Matt’s lips when Matt started to pull back. “This right here is the only thing keepin’ me goin’ anymore.”

  Matt was silent for too long, but he tightened his arm around John. “This’ll last as long as we both let it,” Matt said, his tone so sure, so defiant, that John was able to let himself believe it. They’d find a way to clear him. John could go and help Bell and Marty put Chloe to rest. They’d deal with his family and the town and the fallout and all of the other bullshit that didn’t matter but still did at the same time. They’d work it out.

  Yeah, he was drunk and he was desperate, but John had just enough sanity left in him to let himself believe in Matt if nothing else.

  He pushed closer, closer than he thought possible, and Matt wrapped himself around John. When Matt kissed him again, John opened for it, let Matt slide his tongue into his mouth, let Matt fist his fingers into John’s hair.

  A few hours ago, letting Matt touch him like this would’ve been unthinkable. Nothing felt good or true, but now, somehow, having Matt’s hands on him, feeling Matt harden against him, was the only thing John wanted, the only thing that felt right in the world.

  “I love you so goddamn much.” The words fell from John’s mouth on a breath, unconscious, a drunken slur even, but having said it finally, John knew that was right too. He’d already admitted it to himself. Hell, he’d even told his momma. Matt was the last to know.

  Matt paused, his breath coming harder, and John knew under other circumstances it would’ve been comical, but instead Matt’s shock tore John up in a whole new way. He’d loved this man for too long and never said a word, let Matt deal with him pulling back when all he wanted was to rush forward, let Matt sit quietly on the sides of his life, sneaking around with him after the sun went down, hiding him in the shadows. It was so wrong, and Matt’s quiet disbelief now was almost enough to ruin John. “I love you,” he said again, breathless. “I shoulda told you a long time ago, but….” He kissed Matt again, soft and slow. “Ever since that first night,” he said, trailing his fingers into Matt’s hair. “You’ve been buried in me ever since that night.”

  Matt stared at him, his eyes shining with the light of the moon as it filtered through the curtains. “The night you left me in a dirty motel room?”

  “I was hoping that wouldn’t come up just now.” John let himself laugh softly. For all the intensity of the moment, Matt had said the only thing that could’ve softened the edges for John.

  Matt kissed him so hard, in such a rush, John lost his breath in it.

  They moved together for a long moment, John rocking his hips against Matt, reveling in the feel of Matt’s strong, solid body against his own.

  Matt shifted, pushed John onto his back and stretched himself over John, pinning him down. “Tell me that again when you’re sober,” he whispered.

  “I will. I promise.” For one terrifying second, John thought Matt might pull back, give him some space, but that wasn’t what John wanted at all. He needed this. Needed Matt to help him feel real again, feel like there was something worth living for. He tightened his arm around Matt, trailed his fingers into Matt’s hair, and pulled him into another fierce kiss.

  The sound of Matt’s small moan as they ground against each other nearly undid John. He slid one hand down Matt’s back, charting out the smooth skin, the solid m
uscles beneath. When Matt broke the kiss, John panted for breath against his jaw.

  Matt pulled back just enough to see John’s face, still grinding against him. “I love you too,” he whispered into the space between them. “Just so ya know.”

  John couldn’t say anything to that—though thank you and you’d goddamn well better both sprang to mind. Instead he nodded and slid his hand farther down Matt’s back, slipped his fingers under the edge of Matt’s briefs and pulled him closer, ready to come just as they were, like teenagers, animals rutting against one another.

  With a small gasp, Matt shifted again, pulled back, and fell to John’s side. He trailed warm kisses down John’s chest, nipped against his skin with sharp teeth as he slid his hand lower, pushing John’s boxers down as he went.

  Feeling impatient, not wanting anything but to have Matt inside him, John lifted his hips, helped Matt finish undressing him. “Condom?” he whispered. He wasn’t even sure if he was asking if they needed one or if he just wanted to know if Matt had one handy.

  Matt pulled away, shoving his shorts down his thighs and kicking them off. John could see the need in him too, the desire that had been there all along, only put on hold for a while so John could mourn, worry himself sick. Matt reached into his nightstand and was back next to John within a few seconds, no time wasted. He kissed the side of John’s face, ran his lips over John’s jaw and back up to his ear before asking, “You sure? I know you’re hurting right now.” He paused, kissed John’s neck over his pulse.

  John wasn’t sure what kind of hurting Matt meant, but he answered anyway. “I’m not gonna stop hurtin’ for a long time and… tonight could be all we got.” He probably could’ve left that unsaid between them since they both knew the bitter reality, but John needed to say it, needed to know Matt understood it clearly.

  Thankfully Matt didn’t argue or try to offer him some more of that addictive hope. He simply went about getting John ready with slick fingers and tender kisses.

  They took their time, as if the world had dropped into slow motion, as if they had days—years—to be together. As if the entire town wasn’t ready to string John up for a crime he didn’t commit.

  When the steady, slow burn between them got to be too much, John shifted and pulled Matt over him again. “Need you,” he whispered, trailing kisses down Matt’s neck, scraping his teeth over Matt’s collarbone.

  “You’ve got me,” Matt said, his voice catching on a groan as John reached between them and stroked Matt’s erection.

  Matt pushed through John’s grip, his cock hard, slick with precome. He lifted himself up, a hand planted on either side of John’s head, and caught John’s eye. “Lemme make you feel good,” he whispered, eyes intent.

  John didn’t know how to explain it, didn’t know how to tell Matt that touching him like this, watching Matt shudder and tense and move over him did make John feel good. Instead he lifted his head and tried to meet Matt in a kiss, but Matt smiled at him and pulled back a fraction of an inch, just far enough to be out of reach for John.

  “You’re still a dick,” John said, the words quiet and almost breathless, teasing.

  “So’re you.” Matt pushed John’s legs farther apart, settled between his thighs, and started a slow thrust against John. “If we don’t get down to things, I’m probably not going to last long.”

  Drawing his knees back farther, his feet settled on the backs of Matt’s thighs, John whispered, “I don’t care how we do it tonight. Just wanna touch you.”

  Matt dropped his head to John’s shoulder, his lips curving into a smile against John’s skin. “You can touch me while I fuck you.”

  The man had a point. John ran his fingers through Matt’s hair and then pulled his head down just enough to kiss him. He let that slow burn rage, moved under Matt as if Matt were already inside him.

  Without another word, Matt drew back and searched for the condom he’d found earlier. John didn’t pay much attention, simply drew invisible patterns over Matt’s shoulders, his chest, up his throat. Before long, though, Matt had stilled over John, slicked the head of his cock against John’s entrance, and then started to push in.

  John inhaled deep, let it out in a rush as he pushed down against the pressure, the stretch. He didn’t want Matt to stop, didn’t want him to wait, so he dug his heels in and whispered, “More.”

  Matt didn’t ask for clarification, didn’t wait to see how much John could take. Instead he drew back and then snapped his hips in a hard thrust. John bit back his words, swallowed the shout that tried to escape. When Matt drove into him again, John nearly held his breath, clinging to Matt as they fell into a hard, bruising rhythm.

  For those few moments, John let himself shut off the noise, the pain, the reality. He let Matt carry him to a new place, a better place, where only they existed. He followed along with Matt until they were both hitting their peak, both shuddering and gasping for breath.

  When Matt came, deep and hard inside of John, John was barely one heartbeat behind him, crying out a ragged sound that spilled into the night.

  Matt collapsed over him, held him close. John didn’t want to let him go, didn’t want to think about anything other than the two of them, the feel of Matt’s breathing, his hot, slick skin, his body sheltering John from the rest of the world.

  He knew they couldn’t stay as they were, though, not all night, not the rest of their lives like John wanted, so when Matt pulled back, John let him. John let him pull out slowly, let him clean up. He let Matt wrap around him a few minutes later. He even let his eyes fall shut for a few minutes, willing himself to sleep, to simply be still.

  It almost worked. He drifted off—for how long, he could only guess—but it didn’t last long. He woke with a start, the image of Chloe, that picture, the struggle, the blood on his knife all crashing down on him.

  Matt had finally fallen asleep and didn’t stir much when John got up. He was restless and tense and probably a little hungover.

  The silence of the kitchen called to him, so he padded barefoot through the house, slid the back door open, and lit a cigarette. The sun would be up soon, and John knew he’d have to pull himself back from the light, but for the moment, the night hadn’t quite touched the day and John let himself think about Chloe in that simple, dark space.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “DID YOU sleep at all?” Matt asked softly as he walked into the kitchen, still rubbing the grit from his eyes. It was early, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, but he’d woken to an empty bed. It had taken a moment to register, memories from the night emerging slowly, but he hadn’t been all that surprised to wake up alone. John had always seemed a little restless, and with all he’d been through, with the weight of sadness he carried…. Matt half expected John to take off in the middle of the night.

  But John was still there, and as unsettled as he was, Matt was grateful he’d stayed.

  “A little. Enough,” John said with a shrug. He sat at the table, a cigarette that was now mostly ash between his fingers.

  “Are you hungry? Can I make you something to eat?” Matt lowered himself into the chair next to John and took the cigarette from him, tapping the ash into the dish. John blinked twice, as though he’d been asleep sitting up and Matt’s question had woken him.

  When John spoke, the exhaustion was evident. “No, thanks. Don’t have much of an appetite.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, there’s food in the fridge, and of course there’s always coffee. Help yourself to whatever you can find.”

  “Thanks.”

  John wasn’t going to cook himself breakfast. Matt knew that, but he wished he would. The circles under his eyes were more pronounced than they had been the day before, and what little sleep John got hadn’t seemed to make much of a difference. Grief soaked through him, weighing him down.

  The night before, for a sliver of an instant, there’d been a moment that John’s heart had lightened, as though if Matt loved him hard enough he could fill
all the dark and empty spaces, drive away the sadness, and make John whole again.

  The thought was fleeting, and Matt knew it would be a long while before John wasn’t consumed with feelings of loss, but that was okay. It was healthy to grieve, to get lost in memories and let the sadness take over for a while.

  Matt would be there to pick up the pieces.

  LUCK WAS on Matt’s side when he arrived at the station. It was quiet and unoccupied, the night crew still out on patrol. Cathy wasn’t in yet, and Andy and the rest of the day shift wouldn’t show up for another half hour or so. Matt heaved a sigh, relieved. When he’d promised John to get copies of the case file, he hadn’t considered the execution of his plan.

  A vacant police station was a rarity most days, but with Chloe’s murder and John on the run, every available unit was out looking.

  He tossed his messenger bag on his desk and grabbed the file from the rack in the corner, then dashed over to the copier near Cathy’s desk. As quickly as he could, he fed the pages into the tray, wincing as it turned on, the station suddenly filled with the sound of the copier shuffling and rattling as it warmed up. It looked like it had been there since sometime around the Reagan administration and was frustratingly slow on a good day. It would have been faster and easier to just snap photos with his phone, but his personal cell was at home and the phone he had on him was issued by the department. Matt wasn’t taking any chances. It would be easier to cover his tracks with hard copies that could be destroyed than with digital copies that left a trail that led right back to him and John.

  If worse came to worse, a few minutes and a Bic lighter would take care of them.

  The copier chugged along, sounds rivaling a jet coming from somewhere inside it. As each sheet passed from one tray to the other, his apprehension mounted.