Reaping Havoc

by AJ Rose

  I’ve swallowed a reaper’s come, and I’m pretty sure contact doesn’t get more intense than that. “So what do I do? About Tate, I mean?” Suddenly he wanted out of there. This had been a total waste of time.

  “There’s not a lot you can do, Nathan. Not without the ability to talk to the souls roaming on our side of the veil. I’d be happy to help you communicate with her.”

  Of course you would, at fifty bucks a visit, paid in advance, just like this appointment.

  Nate stood. “I have a lot to think about.” He managed to shake Cato’s hand before darting out the door.

  “Nathan!” the psychic called after him, waving a pamphlet. “Did you want information on a home cleansing?”

  “I’ll be in touch,” was all Nate managed before banging out the door and onto the cold street, the air crisp and clean enough he could breathe again.

  On the drive back to Caperville, Nate didn’t know whether to laugh or rage about the dead end the psychic turned out to be. He did find himself wishing he’d brought his laptop, however, if only to find a place to park and see what Tate’s immediate impression had been. He knew Figueroa was full of shit about the reaper stuff, but did that necessarily mean he was wrong about having made contact with Tate? Only she could tell him, and her finger pokes during the appointment could have meant Listen to him as much as Isn’t this guy a tool?

  Erring on the side of caution, Nate decided to dismiss everything the man had said. And this was a guy police departments and private investigators hired for legitimate cases! What a joke.

  Hurrying to his apartment, intent on booting up his laptop immediately, he almost didn’t see the hunched form sitting on the floor in front of his door until he nearly tripped over him. When the figure raised his head, Nate’s heart skidded sideways into his ribcage like a car crash victim’s momentum inside the suddenly halted vehicle.

  “Mitch. What are you doing here?”

  Mitch struggled to his feet, holding himself as if he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Can we talk?”

  Nate crossed his arms, a flare of anger making him bold and stone-faced. “What could you possibly have to say that I should listen to since you wouldn’t give me the time of day or a simple explanation?”

  Mitch grimaced. “I deserve that, but this is really important.”

  Nate studied Mitch, noting his slumped shoulders, jaw shadowed with stubble, and his plaintive, naked hope. With a resigned sigh, Nate gestured to the door so Mitch would move to the side and give him room to unlock the deadbolt. Mitch followed him into the apartment, hovering near the entrance as if waiting to be thrown out.

  “Want a drink?” Nate’s ingrained politeness had him asking before he could stop himself.

  “At two in the afternoon?” Mitch asked, surprised.

  “Fucked-up day,” Nate said by way of explanation as he grabbed two beers from the fridge. “Okay, out with it.” He twisted off the cap on Mitch’s and slid the bottle across the breakfast bar to where Mitch perched on one of the stools. Mitch caught the bottle but didn’t drink, picking at the label instead.

  “Are you scheduled to work this weekend?”

  Wary, Nate took a swig, then nodded.

  “Ask for a vacation day. Call in sick. Plead a family emergency. Whatever you have to do, just don’t go to work Saturday.”

  That was so far from what Nate had expected, it knocked the anger right out of him. “What? Why?”

  Mitch clamped his mouth shut, the hinges of his jaw bulging as he gritted his teeth. “I can’t tell you.”

  Just like that, the hostility returned and boiled over, a spray of lava burning up Nate’s esophagus. “Oh, come on!” he erupted. “Why should I listen to a word out of your mouth? Give me one good reason to trust you on anything!”

  “I can’t,” Mitch said miserably, pushing his beer to the side and planting his elbows on the counter, rubbing his face. The rasp against his day-old beard was loud in Nate’s expectant silence.

  “Won’t, you mean.”

  “Can’t. Look, I’m sorry, okay? There are a lot of things I want to say to you, things you deserve to hear, but my hands are tied. If I could give you all the reasons for asking this, and for why I walked away, I would in a heartbeat. I literally cannot.”

  Nate rolled his eyes and gulped half his beer. “Weekends are our biggest days. Most of the clients arrive on a Friday evening and pay for lessons Saturdays. Jim is out on paternity leave this week, and Kevin tweaked his knee the other day. He’s on medical leave for further tests. Not only will I not ditch work on the basis of a total non-explanation, even if you gave me a good reason, I couldn’t do it. We’re too short-handed.”

  Mitch stood and rounded the bar, coming into the kitchen and stopping inches away from Nate. He reached up as if to touch Nate’s face but stopped before making contact. As incensed as Nate was, he yearned for that touch and internally growled at himself for it.

  “If I could take it all back, I would,” Mitch said, voice husky.

  Nate searched his face, looking for some indication of emotion in the careful blankness. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I fucked up, and I know it.”

  Nate held his breath, waiting for a follow-up. Mitch bit his lip, looking like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. Getting the guy to talk about anything personal was like pulling teeth, and Nate didn’t have the patience for it. Not today. He turned away.

  Mitch wouldn’t let him retreat, grabbing his hand.

  “You fucked up. I’m glad you know it. But what does that have to do with me?” Nate asked, not looking at the man for fear he would let his walls drop and get stomped on like before.

  Mitch swallowed audibly, squeezing his hand. “I’m hoping you’ll hear me out.”

  Nate was already shaking his head. “I told you, I can’t call off work.”

  “That’s not the only reason I’m here.”

  After a long moment’s silence, Nate prodded, “Go on.”

  Instead of speaking, Mitch dragged Nate to him, chest to chest, looking up into his face. Nate had no choice but to meet his gaze or stare awkwardly over his shoulder.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What I’ve dreamed of doing for the last three weeks.” Mitch pulled Nate down by the nape of his neck and kissed him. It was tentative, questioning, and Nate knew he should pull away, but electricity arced to his toes, reverberating around his nerves. He let it go on, even responding, though he held back.

  Mitch broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Nate’s cheekbone, breathing raggedly in his ear.

  “I fucked up. And I’m sorry.”

  “Are you waiting for me to ask you to come back?”

  “Would you want me to?”

  It was the million-dollar question, and honestly, Nate couldn’t answer it. He linked his fingers together behind Mitch’s back. The contact was a bad idea because he needed to maintain distance if he was to think clearly, but the solid warmth of the man in his arms had gone a long way toward soothing his erratic thoughts. He had so many questions, not the least of which was about Mitch being a reaper. He wouldn’t answer anything until he knew more, but he was afraid to ask. As soon as the word reaper was out of his mouth, he knew Mitch would rabbit away, back into his hidey hole, and Nate wasn’t sure he could take that again.

  “What I want and what should happen probably don’t match up too well here,” he responded, fresh melancholy wrapping around him and squeezing in all the most painful places.

  “I understand,” Mitch acknowledged, gripping Nate’s biceps and breaking his hold to step back. But he rubbed his palms in soothing circles up and down Nate’s arms, not moving away when Nate’s hands settled on his hips. “You need information. Right now, I can’t give you a solid explanation about exactly what happened, but I can promise you, if you give me another chance, someday, I’ll tell you everything.”

  “Someday,” Nate echoed.

  “Yes. It�
�s honestly the best I can do.”

  Say it. Tell him you already know he’s a reaper. On the heels of that thought, another burst forth: Why does he have to confirm what you already know? It’s no different than you waiting to tell him you were an Olympian. When he’s ready, he’ll say so.

  But in his heart, Nate knew Mitch’s silence mattered more. This wasn’t some quirk of Mitch’s past that might show up in a google search or news article. It was who he was, and it hurt to know Mitch didn’t feel comfortable sharing a big part of himself. No matter how little time they’d known each other, they knew each other anyway. Nate had felt it from the first meeting at Brewskis. If, despite that connection, Mitch still couldn’t open up, where did that leave them?

  Mitch read the hesitation on his face. “You’re the only person I’ve ever needed to keep seeing, Nate. In fact, I push people away so I don’t have to do this to them. I should spare you the difficulty that comes with knowing me, but….” He lowered his gaze and his hands to grip Nate’s fingers tightly. “I can’t.” His face and voice were anguished. “I’ll respect your choice if you don’t want to see me again, but I’m not going to be the one to walk away this time.”

  “I have one question you absolutely have to answer, and if you don’t….” He didn’t finish, letting Mitch draw his own conclusions.

  Mitch was wary, pursing his lips and looking off into the living room, but eventually he nodded.

  “Whatever this thing is, this reason you walked away in the first place, it won’t make you leave again, will it?”

  Mitch closed his eyes, and to Nate’s surprise, a bead of moisture squeezed from one of them and followed the curve of his cheek, trailing to the corner of his mouth.

  “No, Nate,” he whispered, opening his eyes, which shone in the dim afternoon light from the living room windows. “The chances of you leaving before me are much greater than me leaving before you.” That sounded far more dire than the simplicity of the words.

  “So even if you can’t explain it, it’s done. Not a problem anymore?”

  Mitch’s chuckle gusted hot breath across Nate’s lips, and a shot of want zipped from his chest to his dick.

  “Oh, it’ll be a problem, I can guarantee it. But I’m through using it to force you away.”

  “That’s not very reassuring,” Nate said, smiling to show he was teasing.

  Mitch only nodded, not taking the bait.

  Framing his cheeks between his palms, Nate tilted Mitch’s face up and kissed him again, slow and tender, with only enough surety to make his intent unmistakable.

  “Okay,” he breathed, gathering Mitch into his arms and burying his nose in the neck of Mitch’s sweater, that familiar, poignant scent calming his insides at the same time it lit him up. He knew he should play harder to get, that he shouldn’t be giving in so easily, but the truth was he wanted Mitch. Had never stopped wanting Mitch. What was the point of torturing himself, torturing them both, when he didn’t have to? Maybe he’d get hurt again, but that was a risk in everything people did. And Nate believed in second chances, or he would never have moved to Colorado and pursued life on his own terms.

  Mitch clung to him, and they stood like that, wrapped firmly around each other for an interminable length of time. Finally, he pulled back.

  “Please don’t go to work Saturday,” Mitch whispered.

  Stroking his knuckles over Mitch’s cheekbone, Nate shook his head. “Sorry. No can do. I’ll be careful, though. I assume you think something’s going to happen this weekend and are worried I’ll be involved somehow.” Knowing what he knew, he was surprised he wasn’t more worried about Mitch warning him off. When a reaper said to avoid someplace, it would be damned wise to listen to him. But Nate hadn’t refused because he liked arguing with Mitch. He hated it, but he really couldn’t do what Mitch was asking. It would risk the one thing he had going for him, aside from Mitch himself—his job. After losing his sister and living through the pain of Mitch walking away, Nate couldn’t take another hit like that.

  Mitch bit his lip again, then blew out a breath. “Something like that.”

  “Is it specific to me?”

  “No,” Mitch acquiesced. “You weren’t mentioned.”

  Relief relaxed his posture and he leaned on the counter, pulling Mitch with him, unwilling to let him go. “Then it’s fine, right?”

  “I hope so,” was all Mitch would say, though if Nate had to describe it, he’d say Mitch had found a vein of determination about something.

  Without getting more specific, Nate couldn’t ask anything more. He changed the subject. “So, uh, I talked with my sister the other day. After I spoke to you the last time at the bookstore, I was looking at all kinds of ways to communicate with her. Turns out, all I needed was an open laptop and a good power supply.”

  “Really?” Mitch asked, interested.

  “Yeah. If you want to stick around, maybe we can both talk to her. You know, since you can see her. I’d like you to meet her. Formally, I mean.” Nate had never thought he’d utter the words meet my sister again, but nothing about this situation was normal. All he could do was go with the flow.

  Mitch’s eyes drifted to the living room, where presumably Tate was hanging around. “I’d really love to, but I have to go. I have some… work to do with my dad, and my brother is in town. I’ll be spending the next few days with them.”

  “Oh,” Nate said, hiding his disappointment as best he could. Now that he’d agreed to try again, he wanted to make up for as much lost time as possible. “No problem.”

  “Maybe, if you’re free on Thursday or Friday, you could come over for dinner to meet them. You know my dad, but only from that one bad night.”

  Nate beamed at the invitation. “That sounds great. Just let me know.”

  Chapter 17

  The Ghost Among Us

  “Relax, little bro,” Morgan teased as Mitch pestered their mother to give him something, anything, to do. “I’m sure we’ll love the pants off him and vice versa.”

  Mitch glared, then chomped on a carrot stick meant for the stir-fry for which Sylvia was madly chopping vegetables.

  She pointed the chef’s knife at him sternly, though from a safe distance. “Steal another one, and we’ll find out how fast your healing kicks in,” she warned, mirth in her eyes.

  “Then give me something to do!” he harped.

  “I’ve got it under control, Mitch,” Sylvia said, going back to her cutting board. “Unless you want to cut up this onion.”

  “Yeah, Mom. Make me cry like a teenage girl and then expect me to answer the door. Thanks for that.” He shoved away from the kitchen counter with a huff and left, presumably to straighten the already straightened living room.

  “Were you this neurotic when you took him to your apartment the first time?” Morgan asked, not wanting to miss the show.

  Mitch couldn’t stop a smile as he remembered their first visit to his apartment, him a little tipsy and both of them very handsy, even if Nate had teased him mercilessly.

  “No,” he said, not going into detail. “But he wasn’t meeting anyone then.”

  “What about Sadie?”

  “Sadie loves everyone, and he’d already met her. She nearly knocked him over at the park.”

  “So it’s us you’re nervous about?”

  Mitch finally stopped moving coasters around the end tables and leveled his brother with a glare. “Yes. I am. I never thought I’d be in this position, introducing someone to my family. My family of reapers, so yeah, I’m nervous about him meeting you guys. Sue me.”

  “Okay,” Morgan said, dropping the annoying older brother ribbing. “First, to Nate we’ll look like a normal family. He won’t even realize we’re not. Samantha didn’t. The only thing she ever said was she got lucky finding a guy who’d age well, if Dad was anything to go by.”

  Mitch laughed, blowing out some tension on a pent-up breath. “What’s second?”

  “Huh?”

  “You said f
irst, we’ll look normal. What else?”

  “Oh, uh, second, I promise not to embarrass you too much. Mom and Dad are the most easy-going people on the planet, so the chances of them not liking him or him not liking them are pretty small.”

  “You’re probably right. If he could overlook all the spook and doom this town spreads about us, we’re already doing well.”

  Morgan studied him for a long moment. “You really like him, huh?”

  “Yeah, or I wouldn’t be bothering. Someday, I’m going to lose him.”

  “You’re putting a lot of pressure on this relationship, Mitch,” Morgan observed. “You don’t usually date, except that one guy in Irvine. Now you’re talking about being together for his lifetime? I hate to throw ice water on your fire, dude, but the odds aren’t in your favor. How many girlfriends did Dad have before he met Mom?”

  Mitch rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” But he didn’t have a chance to say more, because the doorbell rang. He sprang up, and when Morgan laughed at his over eagerness, he flipped him off over his shoulder. Taking a moment to paste on a smile and shove his nerves aside, he opened the door.

  Nate stood there, looking fantastic despite being bundled in his ski parka.

  “No hat?” Mitch asked, stepping aside to let him in.

  “I didn’t want to mess up my hair,” Nate said somewhat sheepishly.

  “Well, you look great.” Mitch offered to take Nate’s coat and scarf, hanging them up in the foyer closet.

  “Smells fantastic,” Nate observed, taking a few steps into the living room and looking around before spotting Morgan. “Hi, I’m Nathan Koehn,” he said, striding forward with his hand out. “Most people call me Nate.”

  Morgan blinked and opened his mouth, then closed it, then tried again, standing and giving Mitch a strange look. “Morgan. Nice to meet you.”

  Mitch scowled at his brother over Nate’s shoulder. What’s wrong with you?

  “How long are you in town?” Nate asked, putting his hands in the pockets of his black slacks.

  “I don’t actually know,” Morgan said. Mitch could have kicked him.