by Lisa Gray
“That sounds really nice.” Keir raised his eyebrows. “And what you said about my vision is true—it’s awful. But I usually carry a spare pair of glasses.” He frowned. “I guess I forgot.”
“Well, let me run over to your place and get them for you.”
“The doors are locked tight.”
“No spare key hidden in one of those fake rock key-holders?”
Keir lowered his gaze. “Um, I removed it yesterday.”
Riley’s shoulders sagged as he realized what had prompted the extra caution. “You removed it because of me. Because I scared you.”
Keir gave a slight nod.
Shit. Another mark against him. But then it dawned on him, that if Keir had found a spare key, Riley would have slept alone. So yeah, he could live with the guilt. But now he had to explain the real reason Keir had been assaulted. “I’m sorry, but it’s my fault those assholes searched you last night.”
Keir shook his head in denial. “You had nothing to do with it.”
“Yeah, I did.” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Damn, he was tired of fucking up around this man. “I haven’t been truthful with you. I used to be a photo journalist, chasing wars and natural disasters, rooting out corruption. An avalanche, a revolution, or an outbreak of disease? I was there. I’d blow in and snap a few photos, help whichever side I happened to be on, and then blow back out. The guy at the church must have Googled my name.”
Keir’s mouth dropped open. “So you’re the real hero.” His voice sounded so sad.
“Me? Hell, no. I’m starting to realize a true hero sticks around. I was a nine-day wonder who was gone before the clean-up began. Don’t get me wrong, I was damned good at what I did. At least the photography part of it. I won awards.”
“Oh.” The man’s brow furrowed, then understanding bloomed on his face. “So that’s why you took all those photos of me. You’re good enough to win awards?”
Riley shrugged, then realized Keir couldn’t see him. “Yeah. A few. And I pissed off a lot of people and scared a lot more with my exposés.”
Keir remained quiet for a full minute, a thoughtful look on his face. In a slow, measured voice, he mused, “So the good reverend and his minions thought I was you—the award-winning photographer and worldwide warrior for justice.”
“I think that’s a given.”
Keir’s face pinched together and flushed bright red. His shoulders curled forward and started shaking.
Shit. Was the man going to be ill? Was this some kind of flashback? On the verge of grabbing the phone and dialing for help, Riley froze as a gurgling sound rose from Keir. It built and grew and spilled over into…into…what the hell? The mother of all belly laughs?
Riley relaxed and watched the man struggling to catch his breath as the laughter took control of him. When the storm had died down to an occasional giggle, Riley ventured, “Are you okay?”
“Uh-huh. I’m fine. I just can’t get over knowing they were afraid of little ol’ me. I’ve never scared anyone in my life, but I had four huge hulking bullies worried.” His smile faded. “Makes me wish I could truly scare them out of hurting Ethan.”
“You and me both.” Riley took a savage bite out of the Pop-Tart and considered what he and Keir might do to help. The obvious answer hit him—Lucy. This was the kind of cause she’d latch onto in a heartbeat. “Hey, I might have an idea. I have an old friend who would just love to get her hands on the good reverend.”
“She wouldn’t hurt him, would she?”
“She’s in her eighties, so he’s probably safe. Besides, her methods are all legal and damned effective. She’s a miracle worker at throwing people together to fight for all kinds of causes. Are you in?”
“Definitely!” Keir’s almost feral smile looked odd on such a mild man.
“Okay. But before I call her, let’s get your spare glasses. As much as I’m enjoying taking care of you, we’ve got work to do.”
Keir’s enthusiasm faded. “You’ll have to break a window to get in.”
Dismissing any worries about how Keir might react to a criminal past, Riley cleared his throat. “Um, maybe not. One of the dubious talents I developed in my old life was breaking and entering.”
He knew he’d guessed right when the man’s face brightened at the news.
“Give me a minute to find my tools.”
He climbed upstairs and dug through a box in the spare bedroom closet. He emerged with a well-worn leather case that held a set of lock picks.
Back downstairs, he asked, “Do you want to come with me? Then we could work from your place.”
Keir chuckled. “It’s weird, but even without being able to see, I think I’m more comfortable here. I’ll just wait for you. Spare glasses are in the kitchen drawer next to the stove, and another pair is in my nightstand.” He flapped both arms, letting the overlong sleeves cover his hands. “And bring me some clothes. And shoes.”
“I’ll be back in a flash.” He blew a kiss to Keir, knowing full well the man couldn’t see it, and headed for the door with a grin on his face and, as best he could manage with a cane, a spring in his step.
Time for the sidekick to start kicking some butt.
Chapter 14
Sitting in Riley’s kitchen and savoring the indulgence of having someone take care of him, Keir marveled at how foolish he’d been about the so-called stalking. He’d really overreacted. The man was a photographer, so of course taking pictures must be second nature to him. The photographs and the Internet searches hadn’t been done out of malice—just interest. And Keir reveled in all that delicious male interest.
He smiled, remembering the gentle care and respectful treatment Riley had provided a helpless, vulnerable neighbor. He needed no further proof of the man’s character.
His fingers located the mug again, but found the coffee had gone cold. He stood, intending to locate the pot and pour another cup, even without his glasses. Probably not such a good idea. But last night he’d braved lightning and wind and flooding, and he’d done it almost blind. What was a coffee pot compared to that? He had to laugh. Maybe Riley was right—maybe there was a little bit of hero in him after all.
He sat down, musing on how oddly comfortable he’d become without his glasses. At the church, he’d been gibbering with panic, but in Riley’s care, he was okay. More than okay. A night spent cradled so tenderly in the man’s arms had changed everything.
Riley’s voice floated in from the front door. “I’m back. I think I got everything you need.” A minute later, he entered the kitchen. “I put your clothes in the bathroom. Here are your glasses.”
Keir extended a hand, expecting Riley to place the glasses on his palm, but nothing happened.
“Just a minute more. Please. I don’t want to give these back. They spoil the line of your birthmark.”
He chuckled. “That’s a bad thing?”
“Of course. It fascinates me. May I?”
Keir could make out the shadow of a hand hovering over his face. He nodded, wondering where this was going.
The first delicate touch ignited a burst of desire. His pulse leaped as the calloused fingertip traced a winding path from his forehead to his chin. Could this be real?
“I love this so much.” Riley’s breathy voice swelled with unmistakable delight.
Oh, God, it was real. But Keir still struggled to believe it. “You’re a strange man, you know. Don’t forget, I’ve seen your boyfriends. All so perfect, so beautiful.”
The sensual touch paused. “Boyfriends?” The man sounded puzzled.
“Those beautiful young men in framed photos. I saw them that first day.”
Riley laughed. “Models. Just a job my friend gave me ‘til I could figure out where I’m supposed to be. And those childish airheads aren’t beautiful.” He cupped Keir’s cheek for a moment and leaned in close. His breath was a warm caress as he whispered, “This is beauty. You glow with it.” Keir felt the lightest brush of lips on his forehead
and shivered.
It felt like a promise.
A moment later, Riley pressed the glasses into his hand. Keir hesitated a moment before putting them on, reluctant to end this wonderfully strange episode. But his first view of the warm approval in Riley’s eyes made up for the return to reality.
Riley pulled out his phone and started dialing. “Let me try to rouse Lucy.”
Keir glanced out the kitchen window. “You know it’s not even fully light yet.”
“She’ll forgive me.”
No doubt. Keir was beginning to realize most people would forgive Riley just about anything. The man had some special kind of magic about him.
Riley switched the phone to speaker and set it on the table. After a few rings, a voice thick with sleep grated, “Hello?”
“Lucy, it’s Riley. I need your help.”
“Wait a minute.” A rustling of bedding came across the phone, along with the click of a lamp switch. A few moments later, she continued. “Okay, I’m awake. What’s the problem?”
“My friend—oh, I forgot to introduce you. I’ve got you on speaker. Lucy, this is Keir. Keir, Lucy.”
“Ah, the intriguing young man from across the street. Hello, Keir.”
So Riley had discussed him with this woman. Her knowing tone had to mean she’d already heard their whole story. “Good morning, ma’am.”
She actually giggled. “Oh, he’s polite, too. It’s lovely to meet you, dear. Now you two have gotten me up at this absurd hour, tell me what’s going on.”
Riley quickly filled her in on the situation. “So I was hoping to make a splash in the park across from the church just in time for Sunday services to let out. It might do the parishioners some good to know what their reverend is up to. Can you help us?”
“Hmm. I believe I can mobilize a few folks to give impromptu speeches. And I can get you a microphone and an improvised stage. But at this late date, you’ll have to collect an audience yourself. I suggest you gather local people. You’re liable to catch some of his own parishioners who might want a say in how the reverend spends their donations. Hit him where it hurts, dear.”
Riley agreed, “Just like you always taught me to.”
“Oh, I just realized, maybe I can even get you a permit so nobody can kick you out of the park. Hang on.”
Keir heard her set down the phone, then murmur to someone. A male voice mumbled an answer, then a moment later, the unknown man groaned, “Damn it, Lucy, after last night, can’t you let a man sleep?”
“Arthur, hush! We’re on speaker.”
Keir covered his mouth to stifle his laughter and missed the next snippets of conversation. Just how old had Riley said his friend was?
Lucy returned to the phone. “Riley? How about having the district attorney say a few words at your rally? He’s a little grumpy, but he’ll do it after I get some coffee in him.”
Riley didn’t look at all surprised. “Great! We’ll meet you at the park, but first we have to go to the police station to pick up Keir’s things. And see if that prick filed a complaint about him.”
Keir’s breath caught in his throat. Had he been naive to believe the reverend about not filing any charges? Getting arrested would put an end to his job at the academy, and maybe even to his career as a teacher. He’d assumed the church wouldn’t want the publicity, but who knew?
“Don’t worry, dear, I’ll have Arthur make a phone call. There won’t be a problem.”
“Excellent! Thanks, Lucy.” He disconnected the call and faced Keir. “So, we need to generate some interest and get people to come. You want to go door-to-door, telling folks what we’re doing? After all, you’re the legs in this partnership.”
“How about I be the brains instead and mobilize the condo association’s call system. It’s a round-robin plan where I call five people who then call five people, and so forth. We can reach everyone in the association in no time at all.”
“Ah, brains and beauty. Gotta love it.”
Keir sincerely hoped so.
* * * *
Three hours later, they stood in the park across from the church. Other than a few broken branches and the damp grass, no sign of the storm remained. The air smelled fresh-washed, and the sun shone in a cloudless blue sky. All in all, a perfect day for a rally in the park.
Keir and Riley watched as two of Lucy’s volunteers finished attaching steps to a small modular stage, only about five feet square, but adequate for two people to stand on in comfort. A battery-powered PA system with a microphone lay at the top of the steps, waiting for the guest speakers to use. Everything was ready—all they needed was an audience.
People started trickling in a few at a time. Many strolled about just enjoying the beautiful day, but the stage seemed to pique their interest, so they lingered. Keir recognized quite a few Huntington Hills residents among them. The crowd swelled when Lucy and the guest speakers arrived, bringing with them a retinue of supporters. After a quick reunion with Riley and an even quicker introduction with a hug for Keir, Lucy grabbed the microphone and opened the rally.
“Thank you all for joining us. Quite a storm we had last night, wasn’t it? What I want to talk to you about today is another kind of storm—a silent one. Conversion therapy slips unnoticed under the radar and wreaks havoc with our most vulnerable and impressionable children. It’s time to drag it out of the shadows and the silence. Parents should know just what they’re putting their children through and what the fallout will be.”
A round of applause sounded, and Lucy grinned her appreciation. “First I’d like to introduce Doctor of Psychology, Jennifer Dean, who specializes in this kind of trauma to children. After that, our District Attorney Arthur Gillespie wants to give you the legal perspective on conversion therapy and the prospects for outlawing it. Last, we have Carmen Rivera, a social worker in the city whose caseload is filled with dozens of children, many of them suicidal, who suffer from damage purposely inflicted by these manipulative pray-away-the-gay con artists.” She shot a dark glance in the direction of the church before continuing. “After the speakers, we’d love to have any of you who have experience with this so-called treatment to take the stage and tell us your stories. So, here is Dr. Dean to start us off.”
A tall black woman climbed the steps to the stage, and Lucy handed her the microphone.
Keir listened for a while, but soon found his thoughts wandering as he kept watch on the church entrance. He hoped to catch sight of Ethan.
At eleven o’clock, when the worship service ended, the parishioners began filing out of the church. Some hurried to their cars. A few circled around the fringe of the crowd, jeering or shouting out snippets of Bible verses. But most moved close enough to listen, even if just out of curiosity; Ethan and his parents were among them.
When the speakers had finished and the few personal stories had been told, Lucy again took the microphone to ask if there was anyone else willing to come forward. Keir shuddered at the idea of publicly revealing what had happened to him. The only person he’d ever confided in was his psychologist, and that had been difficult enough.
Scanning the crowd to see if anyone else would take Lucy up on the offer, Keir caught sight of Ethan again, standing on the sidewalk at the edge of the crowd. His parents tugged at him, but he resisted, trying to pull away. He turned toward the stage area and made eye contact with Keir, a look of desperate pleading on his face.
Without conscious thought, Keir found himself climbing the stairs to the stage. Each step felt like mounting a hangman’s scaffold, but something drove him on until he stood beside Lucy, who thrust the microphone into his trembling hands. He gasped for breath, wondering how he could do this.
Riley moved into his line of sight on the ground below. “Kick some butt, partner. Do it for the kids.”
Keir smiled his agreement. Okay. Maybe, just maybe, he could. He looked up and met Ethan’s hopeful gaze. Yes. He could do this. “Parents who are contemplating conversion therapy, please don’t go yet
.”
He saw Ethan’s parents pause in their efforts to take away their son. Their expressions were grim, but they were listening, at least for the moment.
“I want to tell you my story.”
Chapter 15
Keir gripped the microphone with both hands. “A long time ago and half a world away, my parents gave me to the priests to cure me of being a homosexual. I was fifteen. They took me into the church to a small, musty storage room with no windows. It was hot, and it smelled awful. The only things in the room were an old wooden folding chair and a crucifix on the wall.
“Father Xavier sat down and motioned for me to stand in front of him. I was scared, but, at first, he seemed kind. He was smiling and, with his long white beard, he looked like a skinny version of Santa Claus, only in black robes instead of red. He sounded concerned for my welfare when he explained I had a demon in me. I’d be of no use to God until they removed it.
“I pretended to believe him. I felt bad about deceiving a holy man, but I just wanted to go home. Cooperating seemed to be the quickest way out.” Keir paused to wipe his sweaty hands on his jeans. “I was wrong about that.
“For the rest of the day, and what I think was most of the night, the priests took turns sitting in the chair and talking. They told me over and over how no one would ever love me, how it was obvious even my parents couldn’t stand the sight of me. I was going to get AIDS, I was going to die alone, a soulless abomination in the eyes of God. They insisted the Bible was proof of what they said, and recited the same verses time and time again.
“It went on so long, and I was so tired, all I could think about was curling up on the floor. But every time I sat down or fell down, one of the priests would beat on my shoulders, back, and legs with a cane until I stood up again. As the hours passed, I was covered in welts and bruises. I didn’t think I could take any more.