by AJ Rose
“I love seeing you spread out for me to play with.”
“Then come here. Playground’s open.”
Nate lowered onto Mitch and aligned their bodies, kissing him hungrily and pinning his arms above his head. Mitch relaxed beneath him and brought his legs up, cradling Nate between his thighs.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he whispered, biting at the curve of Nate’s chin. “I want to lick you all over.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“Get on your back, head on the pillows,” Mitch murmured, giving a single lick up Nate’s neck, over his prominent Adam’s apple.
“So bossy. I thought I was supposed to be conquering you.”
“Oh you will, Mr. Ski God. You will.”
After Nate maneuvered into position, Mitch got to his knees at the foot of the bed, giving a cursory look around the room. Soul Girl appeared to be sitting this one out, though he knew she couldn’t be far. Frankly, he was a little glad. He wanted just him and Nate in attendance. He was going to be very selfish and find every little niggly spot on Nate’s body that made him moan. Starting with Nate’s feet, he began to rub, moving up to his calves only after the groans reached a satisfactory volume. Nate’s face and chest were flushed and he watched avidly as Mitch licked circles around his kneecaps and up his muscular thighs.
“Skiing does wonders for the body, doesn’t it?” he murmured, burying his nose in the light hair on Nate’s inner thigh. He skipped attending to his lover’s dick while tracing his tongue around his torso, paying particular attention to his sides, near his ribs, which elicited a lot of squirming. When he finally got to Nate’s lips, they were both panting. Nate tried to grab Mitch’s hips and pull their groins together, but Mitch wagged a finger in his face.
“Nope. I said I was going to lick you all over. I meant it.”
He descended and took Nate’s cock into his mouth, teasing him with short licks and sucks, not taking the whole length in no matter how much Nate’s hands on his head urged him to. He had to stop when an ache crept into his jaw and he was doing more jacking with his hand than sucking with his mouth.
“Lube and condom?” he asked.
Nate pointed to his nightstand and Mitch kissed him roughly before leaning over to rummage in the top drawer. He was drawing out the bottle of lube when he spotted something on top of the nightstand.
A picture of Nate with Soul Girl.
They wore ski gear, their goggles pushed to the tops of their heads, arms slung over each other’s shoulders and wide smiles splitting their faces. Sure, her hair was covered, but Mitch had seen this girl hanging around with Nate the last couple weeks. He’d fucked Nate in front of her, sort of; she always averted her eyes when the clothes came off or stayed out of the room entirely. All those knowing winks, thumbs up, and smirks, though….
“Who is this?” he asked, dropping the lube to grab the frame and sit on the edge of the bed.
Nate hiked himself up on his elbow. “Oh, that’s Tate. My twin sister.”
You mentioned your sister. Tate’s her name? What does she do?
Nothing.
Oh? Is she traveling? Still in school?
She died six months ago.
Mitch didn’t hear his breath ripping through his lungs, but Nate sat up, startled.
“What’s wrong, Mitch? Are you okay?”
He stood and grabbed his underwear off the floor, scrambling into them as quickly as possible. Darting into the hallway, he scooped up his jeans and hopped into them, yanking his t-shirt on last. He was glad he hadn’t removed his socks.
“Come on, Sadie,” he said sharply when he reentered the living room. “Let’s go.”
The dog wagged her tail and came over with her bone in her mouth. He clipped her leash on. Jamming his feet into his shoes, he cast about for his keys.
Fuck, we rode over here with him. Them.
“Mitch, what is going on?” Nate asked, his track pants back on but his chest bare. “What did I do?”
Soul Girl stood off to the side, gesturing wildly in the negative, her eyes wide and pleading. Mitch couldn’t think with her here.
He’s not a reaper at all. She’s a ghost, six months old. She’s never going anywhere. And on the heels of that, He’s mortal.
Mitch’s earlier lie to himself that he wasn’t falling for Nate cracked and broke open, covering his heart in black mist that hurt like any poison or physical wound would.
“You didn’t do anything,” he gritted out when Nate asked again. “It’s me. I can’t… do this. I’m sorry.”
“Mitch, wait—”
“Sadie.” He cut Nate off. Calling Sadie was unnecessary, though. She was right at his heel, her wagging stopped, tail drooped and ears back like she thought she might’ve done something wrong. He patted her head in reassurance, then grabbed his coat.
“Mitch, let me get dressed. I’ll drive you.”
“I’ll get a cab,” Mitch refused before Nate could do more than shrug into his sweatshirt.
“At ten at night?”
“I’ll call one.” The tourist season was about to start, so he knew the cab companies would still be running, hoping to catch barhoppers and ferry them back to their hotels. If he couldn’t get a taxi, he’d call his father. As much as the idea pained him, it was better than staying here.
“Mitch, please,” Nate begged, anguished. “Will you at least tell me why seeing my sister’s picture upset you so much?”
He stopped with the front door open and allowed himself one look back. Goddamn, he’s sexy and sweet and so perfect for me. And it’s all wrong.
“I’m sorry. But I think you already know.”
With Sadie on his heels, he left.
Chapter 11
Inexplicabilities
Nate’s excuse for how torn up he was at Mitch’s sudden departure from his life was that he’d already been riding the edge of deep grief. If he was honest, it wasn’t only grief for Tate either. It was the loss of his parents, despite his active role in shutting them out. It was the acrid taste of loneliness in his mouth. He was worn out. If his heartbeats were words, they’d be a mantra of so tired.
In the week after Mitch inexplicably walked out on him, Nate went to work, hid behind the armor of a smile for his students, buried his confusion in the snow—which included six inches of fresh stuff from the first storm of the season—and let skiing become the refuge it had always been when his life hadn’t been his own to steer. But at home, he rattled around the apartment, at odds with the space he hadn’t yet made into a reflection of himself. He was still trying to figure out who he was, so how could he display that on the walls or with knickknacks?
It was a blessing Mitch had only spent a few hours at his place on their last night, because at least he wasn’t around every corner. He hadn’t been there long enough to lay down his scent or color the white walls with his laughter. Given they’d only spent two weeks together, there were a surprising number of memories, and they floated around his head as insistent apparitions.
He’d thought the memories were the only ghosts in residence. After Mitch walked out, he wasn’t so sure.
I think you already know.
Mitch’s parting line rang in his ears. It was crazy, but he was right. Nate intuitively knew why Tate’s picture had unsettled Mitch. Strange things he’d written off since moving into the place suddenly took on new meaning: the feeling of never being alone, how sometimes he was convinced he could see Tate in the occasional reflection, or how his electronics were more haywire than they’d ever been, draining five minutes after he unplugged despite being fully charged. The iTunes on his laptop would randomly begin playing, often songs that brought up memories of his sister. All of it could be explained in other ways—being overtired and the dregs of dreams making him think he saw her in his bathroom mirror, or his computer being infected with some kind of virus. Maybe his phone needed a new battery. But in a different context, Nate had to consider maybe he wasn’t crazy to think h
e really wasn’t alone.
He just didn’t know how Mitch knew those things.
The screen flickered with what was probably his twentieth viewing of Practical Magic, the TV light all that shone in the dark room. He had the sound on mute, however, and as the sisters argued about Sally always cleaning up Gilly’s messes, Nate didn’t bother to fight the sting in his eyes.
“Tate, I’d give anything to clean up one of your messes right now.” His voice was hoarse, his insides as hollow and smooth as a cave under the assault of years of water, making tunnels throughout his core to places he didn’t know if he wanted to follow. The holes boring inside him were scary, yawning chasms of darkness he was too afraid to explore. “Just once, maybe you could clean up one of my messes.”
Tate had always been the impulsive one. In fact, the subterfuge of the senior year ski trips had been her idea. At Thanksgiving break, Nate had been in so many pieces about his future, pissed he’d let his parents corral him into their definition of success and career. His sister had told him to just go, find a mountain and make it his bitch.
“You need to get out of here, bro, or you’ll shatter. I’ll tell Mom and Dad you had to stay back to complete a project before finals, that you’re doing extra credit. Hell, I’ll tell them you’ve decided to volunteer at a local church to feed the homeless for the holiday, if that’s what will get them to leave you alone.”
She’d known how close he was to breaking. She’d understood. She was the only one who had.
So they’d agreed, and he’d been gone as soon as his last class was done, Jeep pointed toward Bretton Woods without a single look back. The spring break trip Tate had planned for the same reason had him giving their parents her extra-credit excuse on her behalf. Their parents had been so proud of their over-achieving children, they’d eaten it up with a spoon, both at Thanksgiving and in March. Until the hospital called and said Tate had been in an accident in the back country, skiing ungroomed trails. She’d crashed, the head injury too great for her to survive.
Samuel and Kristen Koehn had turned off the machines keeping Tate’s body alive after they signed all the appropriate papers but hadn’t been able to stay in the room while their daughter, younger than her brother by only two minutes, slipped away, her vitality nothing more than a memory. Nate had crawled into the bed beside her until it happened. They’d come into the world together, and there was no way in hell he’d miss her leaving without him.
“Tate,” he whispered now, miserable and leaking freely, not even caring when his nose began to drip. “How do I fix this? I don’t even know why it fell apart.” Had he come on too strong? Had he said something that pushed Mitch too far?
Going over and over that last night in his head hadn’t helped him figure anything out. As far as he could to tell, Mitch had been as into him as before, enthusiastic, flirty, and funny. He’d initiated the sex Tate’s picture had interrupted. So Nate couldn’t understand how he’d somehow scared Mitch off. It was frustrating.
His scalp prickled as though someone were running fingers through his hair, though obviously no one was there. It had been one of Tate’s favorite gestures, so as absurd as it was to believe it was her, he took comfort from the feeling. Maybe he needed the delusion of an afterlife to get him through this pain.
He’d put too much stock in how good a fresh start would be for him. Yeah, he was taking charge of his life, getting away from the blame for Tate’s death his parents—mostly his father—hadn’t bothered to hide when he’d come home from school with a bunch of incompletes for grades. Nate’s advisor at Dartmouth had assured him, given the extenuating circumstances, he could return when he felt up to it and complete his degree, retaking those classes without any black marks on his transcripts. They’d simply disappear.
Just like Tate.
Or not.
The tingling on his scalp continued, and he leaned into it.
“I’m so tired,” he admitted to the empty living room… or anyone who might be listening. “I’m so sick of not making my own choices, and when I finally start to, it feels like I’m running, not facing stuff head-on. Mitch walking out was the same. I rolled over and let him go.”
He imagined what her response would be and spoke it aloud, pitching his voice a little higher as if they were having a conversation.
“You’re living, finally, for yourself and no one else. Not even me. That’s not running.”
The prickle on his skin got more pronounced. Did that mean she agreed with him? He hoped so.
“What’s the point of living if you’re not here to share it with me? We did everything together.”
The tingling sharpened, as if she’d pulled his hair.
“I know,” he quickly conceded. “I’m wallowing. I’m well aware you’d have approved of me moving to Colorado, getting my dream job, making my own place in the world instead of waiting for it to be handed to me by Daddy’s bank accounts.” The tingling returned to soothing. “I just don’t get it, Tate. Why does it still hurt so fucking bad?”
The TV screen did a slow roll, the picture scrolling up and down, getting his attention. He hadn’t seen that in anything other than horror movies, and he watched, mesmerized, as the movie paused. The image on the screen cut him deeply. The sisters, fighting to excise a corrupted ghost from Gilly’s body, had cut their palms and clasped hands with the words, “Your blood, my blood, our blood,” in a promise to always be together, sealed in the mix of their life essences.
The message was clear: he and Tate had shared what they thought was an unbreakable bond. They’d been twins, together in everything—school, skiing, their senses of humor, their united front against the world….
Until death had robbed them of that security.
So when Nate met Mitch, had felt something beyond the hollowed out tunnels in his chest and recaptured little pieces of himself with every conversation they had, he’d thought he was on the right track. That sense of oneness he’d been drowning in since his sister’s death had receded. Someone laughed at his jokes and didn’t look at him with pity for being the one who lived. Mitch had listened to him talk and believed him when he said the town could go fuck itself because Mitch was worth knowing. So very worth it.
At least with Tate, he’d understood. She’d clipped the shovel—the front end of her ski—on a fallen tree camouflaged in several new inches of snow and sailed headfirst into another tree at better than forty miles an hour. He’d resented the ski resort for a long time for not clearing back country better, but that was the whole point of skiing the back side of a mountain—the risk. It felt good to blame someone other than himself for her being on the mountain when not another soul knew she was there. He blamed his parents for stifling them to the point where they’d both needed to lie just to get a break from the family bullshit. His parents blamed him for enabling Tate’s reckless behavior. Hell, for all he knew, his mother blamed his father for his stringent rules, and his father blamed his mother for not more effectively helping him railroad the twins into his mold for them.
Most of all, Nate blamed himself. If he’d been able to handle the pressure better, Tate wouldn’t have come up with the secret ski trips in the first place.
But at least all of that made sense. They’d all lost someone they loved and were flailing around trying to plug the hole Tate had left in their lives.
Mitch walking out made no fucking sense.
“I just want to know why,” he almost whined, hating the sound of his voice in the quiet.
The movie stopped entirely, and the tray on the DVD player opened and sat there.
“Subtle,” he mumbled, rising to his feet to retrieve the movie. He’d been meaning to take it back to Mitch as soon as he realized he still had it. A giant part of him wanted the chance to speak to Mitch again, but he was afraid once he delivered the movie, his one and only excuse to stop by would be gone as soon as the door shut in his face.
Not to mention, watching it repeatedly had been a tenuous connectio
n to everything that had been right between them before it all went to shit, even if it did make him feel like an overdramatic princess.
Still, he wouldn’t get any answers if he didn’t ask the question.
Putting the DVD in its case, he grabbed his coat, phone, and keys, and drove over to Mitch’s apartment, his guts roiling with nerves and hope. Mitch’s building wasn’t one where all the doors were inside and visitors had to be buzzed in to reach the apartment entrances. The stairwells were on the outside, connecting to the balconies everyone shared. Nate shivered as he knocked on Mitch’s door and waited for a response, listening intently for some sign of life inside.
There was nothing. Not even Sadie sniffing at the crack under the door. After standing there long after he knew Mitch wasn’t home, Nate returned to his Jeep, tossing the DVD into the passenger seat and blowing out a breath that clouded in front of his face. Knowing there was only one other place he could possibly find Mitch made Nate realize he didn’t know the guy all that well, and that just made him angry. It was too late and too cold for the park, so the bookstore was the only other option.
Glancing at the dashboard clock, he saw it was close to the store’s closing time. Maybe he could talk Mitch into going to Brewskis. Wasting no time, he parked in front of Seraph Books just as Mitch appeared at the door to turn off the open sign and thumb the lock. Nate grabbed the movie and hustled up before Mitch could disappear into the aisles, restacking books or whatever they did for closing procedures. The rattle of glass as he knocked was loud to his ears on the mostly deserted street, and he gave an apologetic smile when Mitch jumped, startled.
“Sorry,” he called, hoping his voice would carry through the glass. “You left this at my place.” He was pleased to see his hand didn’t shake as he held up the DVD.
Mitch hesitated. For a moment, Nate thought Mitch wouldn’t open the door, but he did with much reluctance in every move.