by Willa Okati
“I…” Shawn swallowed. God, he should move back. Standing nearly body to body, it was too easy to want more, and he’d give too much away.
Raleigh sensed that. Must have. Shawn saw the shift in his focus, gaze drifting down to Shawn’s mouth. His pupils widened, drowning out the irises, and he caught his breath. One hand came up to touch Shawn’s cheek. Asking. Wanting. Both. Shawn’s lips parted, though whether in surprise or protest he couldn’t have said—and it didn’t matter then, because Raleigh had lifted his chin and touched their lips together.
A small kiss. A sweet kiss. But when Shawn breathed in, he caught the full flavor of Raleigh’s scent in his nose, on his tongue, sweet like honey from the hive, faintly salty with sweat, and still so warm despite the cold of the air. He laid both hands on Shawn’s shoulders as lightly as a whispered word.
Shawn let his mouth fall open and let Raleigh in. He found his hand at Raleigh’s nape, the other at Raleigh’s hip.
Raleigh made a sound that was almost pained, and almost painful to listen to. He wrapped one arm around Shawn’s waist and pulled him close, letting him feel—by accident or on purpose—that he’d gone hard as stone and eager as a buck, those broad hands sweeping down his back, and—
Shawn thrust out both hands with all the strength alarm could bring to bear, and shoved Raleigh back away from him. “Don’t.”
Raleigh had staggered a step or two away when Shawn pushed him. He caught his balance against the wall but looked nearly dazed. Shawn’s gaze flickered below the waist as Raleigh touched his mouth, pink from kissing. “Shawn,” he said. “That didn’t… You don’t…” He shook his head so hard it looked as if it must have hurt his neck, and reached for Shawn. “Please. Maybe if I explain—”
Shawn slapped his arm out of the air. His heart pounded in his chest, too hard, racing in his wrists and in his neck. “Get back.”
Raleigh’s jaw hardened. He took a step forward, closer. “Shawn, listen to me. There are things you don’t—”
Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe the guy was crazy as hell after all. Either way, Shawn had had enough. He dodged beneath Raleigh’s attempt to take him by the shoulders again—and he came so close Shawn felt the displacement of air—turned his back, and ran.
He didn’t stop running, either. Even though he’d only been inside just this once and shouldn’t have known how, Shawn ran down the three flights of stairs and out onto the tangled lawn, all the way to the caretaker’s cottage, without a single stumble.
But even there, he could still feel Raleigh’s kiss hot on his skin, and if he’d dared to reach below his waist, he would have found himself to be just as hard, just as hot for it, just as hungry.
And that made no sense. No sense at all.
Chapter Three
“Catch me if you can!”
Céin whooped with laughter as his lover elbowed past him, his long legs eating up the stretch of ground, low hummocks and tree roots and all. “Cheating!” he called as the man looked back over his shoulder with a grin as wide and wild as the sea stretching his cheeks. “Just you wait until I get my hands on you—”
“You’ll have to catch me first!” his lover shouted back, teasing. He raised his arms over his head as he ran.
And Céin? Céin ran faster, though his calves burned and his lungs protested the strain. It felt good to be out in the clean fresh air, under cover of the long limbs of the pines they ran between. They were missing half of their traps, but he didn’t care. They had enough to eat later. They could take the time for this now.
They hadn’t been to bed together yet, but that wouldn’t be long in the coming. Never was, unless they were very young when they first met. Céin cast his hungry gaze over his lover-to-be’s long legs, bare from the ragged edge of his makeshift kilt down. He didn’t even mind being stranded on these strange shores. Not so long as he had this.
His lover, now and then and always, wasn’t expecting the burst of speed that Céin put on, propelling himself forward in a mighty leap, a tackle that brought them both down to their knees. And perhaps he allowed the momentum to carry them forward, or he allowed Céin to roll them over and put him on his back. His choice. His lover’s choice.
They were both hard when their groins met, legs weaving together. His lover stretched out, still laughing, reaching up for Céin. “There you are,” he said, flushed with pleasure of all kinds. “And now that you have me, what are you going to do with me?”
“Everything,” Céin said, bending to kiss the man. “Everything I can think of.”
“You can try,” his lover said, drawing Céin down to him. “But first—”
* * * *
Shawn opened his eyes.
Clanks of cast iron against iron interspersed a stream of quiet cursing. “Damn it, damn it, damn it,” Gabrielle muttered.
Shawn blinked. He sneezed, the stink of burning eggs too sharply acrid in his nose. Made his stomach twist, but he couldn’t— Where was he? He blinked again, covering his eyes with one hand to rub at them.
The caretaker’s cottage. Right. On the kitchen couch. He didn’t remember falling asleep there. Hadn’t Gabrielle been tucked up where he lay now, before he left? He thought he remembered that. How it’d gotten turned around, he had no idea. But the pillow with its old embroidery was scrunched into a ball beneath his cheek, and the quilt with all its fold marks from being stored for ages draped haphazardly atop him.
“Gabrielle?” he called as he pushed the quilt away from him and swung his legs off the couch. The floor, or whatever littered it—dust or crumbs—crunched when his feet touched down. He made a face. “What are you doing?”
Soft obscenities were his only answer. Shawn sighed.
The couch, in its tucked-away alcove, didn’t have a direct line of sight to the workspaces. Shawn had to push himself up and take a half-dozen steps forward, ungainly with grogginess, before he could see for himself.
Gabrielle had lit a fire in the old stove. Soot and ash dusted the old tiles around its front, and her toes were black with the dust. She had to use both hands to shake a cast-iron pan by the handle while she grimaced with frustration and scolded the lot. “God, you stubborn asshole, what is wrong with you? Fine, then! See if I care.” The charred eggs finally came loose, dropping in chunks into the sink. She made a triumphant noise and beamed at Shawn. “Showed that who’s boss.”
The burst of laughter surprised Shawn. Not noisy but real, and drawn from deep, deep down. He touched a hand to his mouth. “What the hell, Gabrielle?”
Gabrielle flipped him off. “You know I hate that rhyming shit. Eggs are what the hell, Shawn.”
Shawn raised one eyebrow. His grin wouldn’t fade. He didn’t try to make it go. God, it’d been a long time. “Since when do we have eggs?” As far as he knew, the electricity in the caretaker’s cottage had been shut off since long before Miss Anna passed. They couldn’t have stored any cold food if they’d wanted.
“Um.” Gabrielle giggled to herself, just like a naughty child. “You know there are wild chickens on the property, right?”
Shawn winced.
“What? It’s not like anyone else gathers them. They were just going to go to waste. I was up early, and I figured why not at least try to find some? The worst that could happen would be getting pecked.” Gabrielle shrugged, easy, as she reached for an old latticework bowl. Three eggs rolled around its insides. “Come on; sit in here for a while. I’ll try again.”
Without any oil or butter to grease the pan with, no one could manage frying eggs over a range, but the last thing Shawn wanted was to discourage Gabrielle. She looked like his sister again. Looked her age, young and fresh and too thin to be healthy, but if she wanted to eat, he wouldn’t discourage that. He gestured, faux casual, at the rack where the pots were stored. They did have bottled water, a gas station twenty-four-pack stored on the sideboard. “Rather have mine boiled.”
Gabrielle didn’t notice the redirect. Her smile popped back up, brighter than before. “G
ood. That means I don’t have to scrub this right now.”
“Always thinking ahead,” he teased, delighted by the grimace she made at him. They hadn’t had many mornings in settled homes. More like campfires outside the RV, and the occasional continental breakfast at a motel, but every so often their mother had put down temporary stakes with men or women who had more heart than sense. She’d liked to sleep in, so Shawn and Gabrielle had the breakfast hour to themselves. Boxes of cornflakes and half gallons of milk. Bananas cut into slices. Toast with real butter.
Funny how the food wasn’t what he remembered best. It’d been the peace. The quiet of working together, taking care of themselves. Those were the golden times.
Gabrielle hummed to herself as she lugged a saucepan to the range and cracked open water bottles to fill it. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she said. She tucked a straggle of hair that’d slipped loose from her braid back behind her ear. “You were acting kind of weird when you came in last night.”
“Was I?” The lightness in Shawn’s chest tightened, shadows creeping back in. He’d almost forgotten.
“Mm-hmm,” Gabrielle said. “You don’t remember? You looked upset, but you didn’t say anything. I wondered, but I didn’t smell any alcohol on your breath.”
Shawn’s uneasy stomach twisted cold. “I wouldn’t do that. You know me better.” God, he hoped he’d never do that. Not to her.
“I know,” Gabrielle said, seemingly unconcerned. She looked pretty grounded this morning, not half as apt to drift off focus as usual. She picked her moments, didn’t she? “You mumbled something. Then you lay down right next to the couch and went straight to sleep. You must have crawled onto the couch while I was hunting eggs. It’s no big deal, you know.”
“Huh.” Shawn reached for one of the bottles of water and took his time breaking the seal with his thumbnail. Could have been worse. Could have been a hell of a lot worse. Everything since Raleigh’s kiss—his cheeks warmed at the memory—had faded into a blur. “Sorry about that.”
Gabrielle shrugged. “It looked almost like you were sleepwalking,” she said. “Do boiled eggs need salt in the water?”
“Not sure. Maybe?” Couldn’t hurt and might help. Shawn tested his balance when he stood and decided he could just about manage. “I’ll go get some more wood for the stove. It’s going to be cold today.”
Gabrielle smiled at him. She had soot on both her cheeks. “Okay. Oh, and while you’re out there, see what that guy wants?”
Shawn’s head came up with a jerk that made his neck protest. “What guy?”
“I dunno. Big, blond? He was out there when I came back with the eggs. Sitting on the old chopping block.”
“And you didn’t think you should tell me?” The tightness of panic seized Shawn around the rib cage and squeezed.
“Should I have?” Gabrielle faltered. “He seemed nice.”
“Damn it, Gabrielle!” Shawn was already stuffing his feet into his boots, glad they were still mostly laced. He stomped his feet once to settle them as he walked without waiting for her to reply. His heart beat fast-fast-fast in his throat, tight metallic taste on his tongue.
If Raleigh thought he could get to Shawn through his sister, he had another think coming. He—
He was right where Gabrielle had said he’d be, though he’d given up sitting on the chopping block and moved on to examining the ax that should have been sunk into it. Shawn stopped short, the back door of the cottage swinging shut behind him.
Raleigh Carter glanced up and smiled at him. He let the ax swing harmlessly down by his side and reached for a chunk of wood from the cord that hadn’t yet been split. A neat pile of kindling that hadn’t been there last night half filled the wood box. “You’re awake.”
* * * *
“Are you awake?” his lover asked, running a hand over the back of Stephan’s head. “Or are you still dreaming?”
“Dreaming, I think,” Stephan said. The flames that leaped and danced in the fireplace made him almost dizzy.
And, in their own strange way, cold.
Stephan shivered as he shut his eyes tight. He’d spent far too long reading and given himself a headache, but he hadn’t been able to stop before his body made that decision for him. He’d nodded off over the pages of the old books—and he would do it again, for as long as need be.
“What were you looking for?” his lover asked. “All those histories. You’ve nearly gone gray from the dust on the pages.”
“Us,” Stephan said. “I wanted to find us.”
His lover stilled, seeming both wary and curious. “And did you?”
Stephan raised one shoulder. Yes and no. Nothing satisfying.
The answer did not please his lover, who took Stephan’s hand and rubbed his cold fingers lightly. “What made you want to look?”
“I can’t remember how many times it’s happened,” Stephan said. “Nor how many lives we’ve chosen to go on in. And that’s important, isn’t it?”
“I suppose it depends on why you want to know.”
Stephan opened both eyes to gaze at the heart of the fire, heedless of its sting. “Because I want to know what happens if it ended,” he said. “What would become of us then?”
* * * *
Shawn dropped his back against the wall of the cottage as the adrenaline kicked him in his chest and made his knees wobble. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Raleigh lined up the wood in the center of the block. “I’m not that good with sitting around, doing nothing. I figured I’d make myself useful while I waited for you to finish up your sleep.”
“Kind of missing the point,” Shawn said.
Though he didn’t miss the wood. Raleigh delivered a swing with the kind of careless ease and skill that said he’d done this before, and split the chunk dead center. He caught the halves before they toppled away and lined them up again. Shawn couldn’t help but be taken by the way his shoulders bunched and moved beneath the heavy brown suede jacket he wore. Sheep’s wool lined its collar and cuffs. Shawn shivered. He hadn’t realized how cold the morning was, warmed through as he’d been by the blankets and the heat from the range.
Raleigh split the halves of wood into quarters and stacked them before he spoke again. “I figured if I left, you might make a run for it before I had a chance to say I was sorry.”
Shawn looked from the ax to Raleigh and back again. His voice sounded as rough as if it’d been run through a grater when he said, “You’re not that good at apologizing, are you?”
Raleigh laughed. “No. But at least I try.” He sank the ax head into the chopping block and dusted off his hands, his smile fading abruptly into a frown. “What—Oh. No, Shawn. God, no. I don’t want to hurt you. That wasn’t what I meant.” He stood up straight, taller than Shawn, and with so much concern radiating from him that it made Shawn’s hackles rise. “I want to help.”
“I can take care of myself. Look, what happened last night was…” He stopped himself and started again. “Whatever you think is going on here, you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. Not well enough.”
“No,” Raleigh said after considering him just a beat too long. “Maybe not yet. But I’d like to. Does that count?”
“I’m not sure,” Shawn said honestly.
“I see.” Raleigh nodded back at the house. “Was that your sister, with the eggs?”
Shawn bristled. “Gabrielle’s fine.”
“I didn’t say she wasn’t.”
“How’d you know she was my sister?”
“I didn’t. She just has the family look. I don’t mean her any harm either, Shawn. I promise you that.” He set the cradle of his joined hands upside-down on the ax handle, leaning on it as he cocked his head to study Shawn. “The chickens used to belong to the family that lived in our house. The house. As far as I know, they got loose somewhere around 1950, and they’ve been running wild ever since. Good for Gabrielle if she’s taking some back. I don’t mind.”
B
eing looked at the way Raleigh looked at him as he spoke made Shawn want to… He didn’t know. Fidget. Fight back.
“If I apologize, will you accept it?” Raleigh asked at last.
“If I do, will you stop looking at me like I did something wrong to you?” Shawn hadn’t meant to let that come out, but he couldn’t take it much longer. “Because you do. You stare at me like I shot your dog or ditched you on prom night, and I don’t know why, and it’s making my head hurt.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I—” Raleigh made a visible effort to change course. “I’m sorry. I’ll try not to.”
Yeah. Shawn knew what that meant. He’d try. He didn’t know if he’d succeed. The air and the fight rushed out of him in one long exhale. Good thing the stack of wood was still high enough to sit on. He could ease himself down and cross his arms and watch Raleigh take up the ax again in something almost like comfort. “I don’t get you, Raleigh Carter.”
Raleigh grinned again, only slightly forced, as he swung the ax. “I hear that a lot, Shawn Tillerman.”
Shawn snorted quietly. “Somehow I’m not surprised.”
Quiet ebbed in. Somewhere off in the distance, wild chickens scolded one another. Wings rustled. Old leaves caught from the gutters skirled past, light and dry on the scrawny grass that grew beside the woodpile.
“Are you going to tell me what it is I did?” Shawn asked.
“You?” Raleigh shook his head. He’d started to work up a sweat wielding the ax and wiped his forehead on his arm before reaching for another hunk of wood. “You didn’t do anything to me.”
Shawn kept his frown mostly on the inside. “Then what do you want?”
“I told you. To apologize.”
Shawn made an impatient noise. “You already did that. But you’re still here. Why? I can chop wood myself.”
“I know you can.” Raleigh blinked once, a slow sweep of dark lashes over his cheeks. “Or so I assume. The chips I saw before didn’t look weathered enough to date from Miss Anna’s day. I like chopping wood. Everyone who runs a stove can always use more wood. So I figured, why not?”