“You grow your own trees? That’s… wow. I don’t know anyone who does something like that.”
“Most of the things I eat are what I plant and harvest. I like to work the soil.” Not a lie, but not the whole truth. Still, how long would it be before Charlie heard my story?
“I’d love some lemonade, if you don’t mind.” He pointed to the swing on my front porch. It was one of my favorite pieces of furniture, great for wrapping myself up and snuggling in for a while to take in the beauty of the land. There was a small table next to it, and across from it sat a really nice chair. Both the swing and the chair had extra thick cushions that you just sank into. “Is it okay if I sit and talk with you while I drink?”
My pulse sped up a little. An internal war raged, part of me wanting him to leave and part of me wanting him to stay so I could get to know him better. While I hated people on my property, Charlie’s quirky smile, runner’s body, and the fact that he wrote actual books meant something to me. Sucking in a deep breath, I uttered words I never thought I’d hear myself say.
“Sure. Have a seat, and I’ll get you a glass.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“SO THEN the detective says, ‘I knew you were guilty the day you walked into my office. The stench dripped from you like so much rotting garbage.’ And the killer says, ‘Then why did you take the case?’ And Tremaine answers, ‘Because I needed to find evidence that you were guilty, so I could have you arrested for murdering your brother. Basically you paid to have me get you put on death row.’”
I was hooked on his words. I had never heard of his books, but now I wanted to know more. I glanced down at my watch and realized I had been sitting with him on my porch for nearly three hours. I’d never spent that much time with any other person after the incident. And I didn’t feel freaked out by his presence. After seeing him every day, he’d somehow become a fixture, and that desperate need to keep order in my life had somehow come to include him. I wasn’t ready to let him into my home, but I found I didn’t mind talking to him so much.
“Wow,” I said, knowing that it wasn’t nearly what I meant.
“You’ve seriously never read one of my books?” He seemed amused.
“No. I… I don’t get out much.”
He chuckled. “I’m teasing you. My niche is pretty small, but if you like mysteries….”
“I do love to read,” I admitted.
“If you give me your email, I’ll send you copies. I mean, if you think they’re worth reading.”
Yes, I wanted to read them. I’d never even heard of a book that had a gay character, but to have six books in a series where the detective had a lover—which Charlie said would lead to a proposal soon—and they lived together? That sounded amazing. Most of my books were young adult stories that Mrs. Tennyson had given me. After the incident, I took those with me. I hadn’t purchased any others because they would disturb everything I had. But now I wanted to read Charlie’s work.
“I don’t have email,” I replied. “I don’t even have a computer.”
He grinned, which did strange things to my stomach. “So you really are roughing it, huh?”
No condemnation, just a simple fact. “I am. I love it out here. In the summer I can stretch out in the grass and watch the stars overhead. They shine so bright, and you can see forever in them. Then the lightning bugs come out. I get two shows for the price of one. Flashing lights dancing against a solid backdrop of stars. It’s an amazing place to live.” And until that very moment, I hadn’t realized how lonely it was. Talking with Charlie had shown me that my desire to be alone might keep my head clear, but it also caused my heart to ache.
“I can understand that,” Charlie assured me. “When I left New York to come to Fall Harbor, everyone thought I must have gone around the bend.” He tapped his finger on the arm of the swing. “To leave where my publisher was to come to a Podunk town no one had ever even heard of? Can’t say I blame them.”
There were questions I wanted to ask, but I wasn’t sure how appropriate they were. Naturally, I blurted out the most important one anyway. “So why’d you come here, of all places?”
He got a pained expression, but it vanished so quickly, I thought maybe I’d been mistaken. “I had a lover. His name was Mitch. I honestly thought we’d be together forever. Us writers, we believe in happily ever after. Apparently Mitch didn’t share my dreams. I went out on a tour one week and was scheduled to be gone for six days. They’d scheduled several readings at a popular gay bookstore in San Francisco. Me and four other authors were supposed to take part throughout the week. My agent said this would be good exposure for the series since it was doing great in sales. Plus it would give me a chance to meet some well-respected authors, maybe pick up a few tips to help hone my craft.
“Well, the shop where they were holding the reading had some pipes burst and a lot of water damage. They were unable to find a venue on such short notice, so they cancelled the event with the promise to schedule another one at a later date. I caught the red-eye flight home, expecting to have the week with Mitch.”
Charlie paused and swiped his hand across his eyes. When he continued, his voice sounded hoarse and scratchy. “Thing of it was, I’d had an engagement ring hidden in my drawer for about two months. I figured this week would be the time to do it. So all the way home, I planned how I’d ask him to share my life. I’d sweep into the house we owned, grab him, and we’d fly to Maine to get married on the steps of a beautiful B and B I found that overlooked a field of wildflowers. I had my assistant make all the arrangements.”
He stopped talking then, and I had the urge to take his hand or hug him. Something. Because I could see the pain clearly etched on his face. Of course, I didn’t move.
“You don’t have to—”
He smiled again, but it wasn’t as warm as it had been previously. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind. Do you think I could have a little more lemonade? It’s really very good.” He gave me a sheepish grin. “I mean, if it’s not inconvenient.”
It would be his third glass, and the fact that he said how delicious it was made me feel good. Being able to share something I’d made, knowing it had been enjoyed, gave me tiny flutters in my chest.
“Sure, no problem at all.”
I picked up his glass, took it inside, and washed it. Then I pulled a clean glass from the cabinet, filled it to the brim, and walked back out onto the porch. Charlie sat back, his arm over his eyes.
“You okay?” I asked, putting the glass down on the small table next to him.
He sat up straighter and smiled. “Yeah, actually I am.” He picked up the lemonade, took a healthy swig, then put it back down. “Okay, so where was I? Oh yeah. Okay. I had everything planned out, down to the last detail. We’d have tickets waiting for us at the counter when we got to the airport, so all I needed to do was walk in, kiss Mitch, tell him to get packed, and we’d be on our way. I walked in at two thirty in the morning with this big smile on my face, put my bags down, then tiptoed to our bedroom to surprise him. The happiness I’d felt all the way home promptly fell away when I saw him, the man who told me he never bottomed, on his hands and knees, being fucked by one of our friends.”
I must have gasped because he pinned me with a stare.
“I know, right?” He huffed a breath. “I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Well, really, all I saw were my plans going down the drain.”
“What did you do?”
He gave me such a sad, tight smile, I felt I had no choice. I reached over and put my hand on top of his. We’d shaken hands before, but this time it had an intimacy to it I hadn’t expected. I won’t deny how difficult touching him was. I had to keep reminding myself it wasn’t wrong to comfort a friend, which led to me wondering when I’d started thinking of Charlie as a friend. But I didn’t break contact with him, which made me proud.
Charlie shrugged. “In the blink of an eye, everything became clear to me. The man I thought would be my home, my life, no longer had
a place in it. Since my luggage from my trip was sitting by the door, I went back, picked it up, and caught a cab to the airport, where I retrieved the ticket, and here I am.”
“Did you ever talk to him again?”
“He called me about a week later when I didn’t come back after the tour. He acted all worried, said he missed me terribly and thought something had happened. I asked if that came before or after Scott fucked him. He didn’t say anything for a few moments. Then he told me he had needed Scott because I was always busy and never had time for him. I was either writing or on tour, and it didn’t seem like he was important in my life. Scott was there for him when I wasn’t.”
“It wasn’t your fault!” I shouted, then covered my mouth.
Charlie gave me a grin. “Wow, you’re a tiger, aren’t you?” He looked down at our hands, then back at me. “I never thought it was my fault. Mitch had been invited to come along on the trips but always said he had other things to do. It wasn’t like he couldn’t take time off. I make good money, so he didn’t need to work. He kept the condo clean, did the shopping, and things like that. It took me a year of being here to realize that we hadn’t been lovers so much as client and cleaning boy. With the blessing of distance, I found that the feelings I thought I had, I’d overromanticized in my head. The other curse of writing, you know.”
I didn’t. I had no idea what to say to him to make it better. I couldn’t even be sure that was possible. “I’m sorry,” I said sincerely.
He sat back and grinned at me. I immediately regretted the loss of contact, which seemed weird to me. “Nothing to be sorry for, I promise. Originally I thought being here would just be a vacation. I figured I’d pull myself back together, then return to New York and carry on with my life there. But this place has a way of getting a grip on you. Most people don’t seem to have a problem with me being gay, though there was a couple who approached me in the restaurant to assure me they didn’t care as long as I didn’t flaunt it. Oh, did I mention they were holding hands at the time?”
A very inelegant snort burst from me that had Charlie quirking a brow, then laughing so loud the birds scattered from the trees. My gaze went to the horizon, where I could see the long shadows creeping up. I hadn’t realized it had gotten so late. Charlie must have noticed where I was looking, because he stood.
“I’m sorry to have kept you from your yard work. It’s been a while since I had such a nice conversation.”
I wanted to tell him to stay. I didn’t want him to stop talking. But he had a life in town that I couldn’t be a part of. “Thank you for coming by. I’m sorry you had to stop your run.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “I run every day. I can afford to take a break.” He looked down at his shuffling feet. “Do you think maybe I could come back tomorrow? I’d really like… more lemonade.”
His innocent expression had me chuckling. “Yeah, I’ll have to make some more, but I’ll save you some.”
“Sounds great. I’ll even bring some supplies to fix your door, if you want.”
Shock coursed through me. Usually I was so anal about everything, but I hadn’t even thought about the door since we started talking. My hands shook a little at the realization that my routine had been disrupted and it hadn’t bothered me as much as I thought it would.
In fact, I hadn’t even given it a thought while Charlie was here. He occupied my mind and engaged me in spirited conversation. I actually enjoyed talking to him.
I should have known it wouldn’t last.
THAT NIGHT as I lay in bed, I reached down and touched my cock. I gave it a few tentative strokes, wanting to see if maybe it would do what a dick should do. It didn’t. It sat there, flaccid, as it usually did. I tried picturing Charlie in my mind. His body, his voice, his smile. Still nothing. Frustrated, I rolled over, punched my pillow a few times, and tried to sleep. Instead I ran our conversation over and over in my head. He had somehow slipped past my defenses, made me enjoy spending time with him, luxuriating in his attention. His voice, deep and sultry, held me spellbound. I could understand why people came to see him read.
That set me off on another tangent. What would he be like in his element? Sitting in front of an audience, holding court. He’d already admitted he had issues with panic attacks, but obviously they hadn’t prevented him from doing his job. I let my imagination wander, picturing myself in a bookstore when Charlie strode in, smooth and confident. He’d smile at me and take a seat. He’d toss out a few quips to get the audience ready, but his attention never wavered from me. When he read, the words were meant for me alone. He captured me with nothing more than the sound of his voice, which kept me mesmerized as he told his story. It didn’t matter what he read, though. Only that he didn’t stop.
I let my fingers drift down my stomach and through my pubic thatch until I reached my cock, which stood up tall and proud. I wrapped my fingers around the straining shaft, the memory of how good it felt coming back to me.
Then everything went haywire. I heard a noise outside, remembered the door, and realized I wasn’t safe. Anyone could walk into my house. I knew how ludicrous it sounded, because other than the deliveries for the things I ordered online, and Charlie now running the road, no one had come onto my property in years. But in my excitement, Mr. Jackson’s image loomed large in my mind, half-remembered nightmares that woke me in a cold sweat reminding me I wasn’t truly safe. I could picture the lock, and the fear reared up, threatened to consume me. My erection wilted, gone like snow under the summer sun. I bolted out of bed, dressed, and went to the door.
My brother and Charlie had done a number on the damn thing. While I’d purchased the sturdiest bolt I could find, which stayed in one piece, the door had been another matter entirely. Splintered wood stood up from where the lock had been. I grabbed my tools from the closet and set to trying to repair the damage. Of course the whole thing turned out to be futile. There would be no fixing this mess. I’d ordered the new one, but it would still be days before it showed up. My heart seized at thoughts I couldn’t control. Mr. Jackson was no longer in prison. Clay had said he’d moved to Alabama, but what if he’d come back? He could be outside, hiding in the dark. What would I do if he were there? Panic began to well up inside me.
Staying alone in the house, unprotected, had me rushing around, touching all of my things. I had been self-sufficient for years, never needing anyone for anything. I prided myself on my independence. I’d been a modern-day version of Sam Gribley. Now? My gut churned at the thought someone could come into my house.
I hurried back into the bedroom and grabbed my phone from the nightstand. I hated that I needed to do this, but in this case, fear had become the perfect motivation. My hands shook so hard I couldn’t be sure I had even dialed the right number until a gruff voice, rough from sleep, answered with a snarled, “Hello?”
“Clay?” I asked, even though I knew it was him. “Clay, please. I need you.” I couldn’t keep the quiver from my voice.
And immediately he was awake. “Where are you? What’s wrong?”
“My door is broken,” I sobbed.
Clay growled his reply. “Yeah, I said I was sorry.”
“No,” I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut. “I’m alone and… I’m afraid.”
Terrified would be more appropriate. I could see shadows outside, and every one of them reached for me, wanted to grab me.
“Matt?” He sounded concerned, but also authoritative. “Listen to me. I’m on my way, okay? Just stay there and I’ll get to you in fifteen minutes.”
I knew better. At minimum it would be almost thirty. But I needed him. The terror of being alone, unsafe, overrode all other fears. “Please,” I begged.
He disconnected, and I went into the bedroom, closed the door, hid in the corner, and stared at the clock.
Twelve minutes later, I heard the faint wail of a siren, and I knew Clay was coming. I slumped in relief when I heard him calling my name. I got up and rushed outside to meet him. He opened hi
s arms, and I threw myself into them, burying my face in his chest. He held me to him, his fingers sliding through my hair. He was whispering, promising me I had nothing to be afraid of. I let him hold me, something I hadn’t let anyone do since the incident. I took comfort in his touch, his voice. He led me to the porch, sat me down, and held me until the tremors stopped.
A few moments later, I heard a truck, and I tried to stand, the fear making a resounding comeback. Clay held tight, reminding me everything was okay. When the headlights turned down the road, I clung to him. I had no rational explanation for my fears.
The vehicle came to a screeching halt, and the door burst open. When a man stepped out, Clay stood and called to the occupant, “We’re on the porch.”
A figure came around the side, and I had no idea who it could be until he stepped in front of the headlights. “Charlie,” I whimpered.
“I came as quick as I could. I brought what you asked for, Clay.”
They went to the back of the truck and lifted something from it. It took me a moment before I could understand what I saw. A door, and a pretty heavy one, if the huffs and puffs from the two men were any indication.
“Matt, we have to go inside. Is that going to be a problem?”
The urge to tell them to leave the door and I’d hang it myself almost overrode common sense. Clay and Charlie were big men, much larger than me. If they were having trouble hefting the door, how in the hell would I be able to do it myself? I nodded to my brother.
“No, you need to tell me. Is us going in there going to be an issue?”
“Yes,” I whispered, my fists clenched tightly at my sides. “But I need you to do it.”
“Okay.”
They went straight to it, removed the old door, then installed the new. I marveled at the way they worked together, Clay taking charge and making the process swift. The new door was much heavier than the one that had come with the house, and that added security calmed me. I could lock myself away again. I could….
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