“Sure.”
“How old were you when you decided you wanted to be a ballet dancer?” March asked.
“Seven. I saw this guy on the TV who could do such amazing things with his body, leap so high, almost fly. He looked so graceful and I thought about how when I jumped, I landed like a rock. I wanted to float like a feather, like him. But my dad already gave me a hard time because I didn’t want to do the things he expected me to, like football and rugby. He’d have beaten me harder if he thought I wanted to dance. I couldn’t even sneak off to do it. There was no money for lessons or shoes. It was just a dream.”
“He hit you?”
Caleb nodded. “He drank. Lashed out when he didn’t get what he wanted, when he wanted it.”
“When I was a kid, I had a friend whose father hit him. Your mother didn’t stop him? You didn’t tell your teacher?”
“I didn’t tell anyone. Not even my best friend.”
March huffed. “My friend didn’t tell me either, but I knew. I saw the bruises.”
“Yeah well, maybe my friend guessed. He didn’t say anything. My father hit my mother as well, and she begged me to keep quiet. She said he’d go to prison. I was too young to realize she was more worried about losing him than she was about losing me.” Caleb gave a short laugh. “And I wanted us to be a happy family. That was all I wanted.”
Now March understood why Caleb clung to the idea of a home to return to. As bad as Caleb’s childhood had been, he still held on to the idea of a family who loved him.
“Did your parents and friends know you were gay when you were a kid?” March asked.
Caleb took a deep breath. “My parents—yeah, they knew I was different. I think that was part of why my dad hit me, but they never discussed it with me. Not that there was anything to discuss. I knew I was gay. Nothing they said would change that. Things were sort of okay at school until I was about ten. It was only when I went to secondary school that life grew really bad.
“I was picked on and called names, tripped up when we did games. They threw my clothes into the showers, trampled my homework into the grass, stuff like that. I was small and skinny and flinched at everything. In the mornings I used to leave it until the last minute to go into the playground and I stayed as late as I could at the end of the day.
“Then a new boy arrived and stood up for me. He was the best thing that had ever happened in my entire life. I loved him and he died.”
“Oh crap. I’m sorry.” March was amazed Caleb had been so sure he was gay from such an early age. But then hadn’t he been sure too and just chosen to hide the way he felt? How strange that he’d also had a friend he’d lost, a friend he’d loved.
“While I’m on the pity jag,” Caleb said, “my parents died when I was in my teens. My mum committed suicide. My dad died in a car crash.”
Christ. Something else we have in common. “Who brought you up?”
“Someone I didn’t like.”
“Who knew you were gay?”
“Yeah, he knew.”
March frowned at Caleb’s clipped tone. He’d hit a nerve. “And he was the one who homeschooled you?”
“He had weird ideas. He didn’t believe in exams. I left as soon as I could.”
“Are your parents still alive?”
“My mum is. My dad died in a car accident too. Mum married again. My stepfather’s French. He’s a good guy—kind and funny. He makes my mum happy. But what would make her really happy is if I were married and she had grandkids to dote on. I’m an only child.”
They walked onto the beach and March’s shoes sank into the sand. He’d been lucky with both his dads. He felt sad Caleb hadn’t had a loving home.
“Having kids is a slight problem, though not impossible,” Caleb said. “Not sure I’d want them. The air-stealing anxiety every time they left the house. I’d panic until they came home. Christ, I’d want to keep them on reins until they were twenty—no, thirty. Wrap them in cotton wool, not let anything bad happen to them. I’d be a terrible parent.”
March laughed. “Sounds like you’d be a good one.”
“Well, my alcoholic dad showed me how to be a bad one.”
March’s shoes were filling with sand and he struggled to walk.
“Have you always lived around here?” Caleb asked.
“I moved to France when I was fifteen. Came back at eighteen to attend university in London and eventually ended up teaching here.”
March stopped to tip out the sand. Caleb laughed when he saw how much poured out from March’s shoes.
“Let’s go down to the sea,” Caleb said. “The going will be easier.”
March kept hold of Caleb’s hand as they headed toward the water. A half-moon hung in a cloudless night, the sky smothered in stars. There wasn’t a breath of wind and the only sound was that of the sea, waves slapping and hissing on the pebbly sand.
“I love the stars,” Caleb said in a quiet voice. “I adore being outside.”
“Even when it’s cold?”
“Even when it’s cold.”
They stood side by side, hand in hand, staring out at the sea, and March felt a sense of peace slide over him.
“Did you always want to be a history teacher?”
“No. I wanted to be a computer-games inventor, a chocolate-bar taster or an astronaut. Preferably all three.”
Caleb chuckled. “The last thing I’d want to do. I’d press the wrong buttons. Fuck up the landing. Fuck up the spacewalk by forgetting to tie myself on or tie the wrong knot or something. And the going fast would be a huge issue. The International Space Station circles at over 17,000 miles an hour. I feel sick at the thought.”
“You wouldn’t feel as if you’re travelling fast, though. There’s nothing around you to give you a sense of your speed.”
“I’d know. That would be enough.”
March laughed.
“To be honest, it’s a miracle I learned to drive,” Caleb said. “I failed the test three times for going too slowly. I somehow don’t think that’s a problem you’d have had.”
“I do everything fast.”
Caleb smiled. “Looks like I’m going to have to show you slow is better.”
Chapter Fourteen
Tye didn’t believe Liam when he claimed he had no idea Baxter was still in the house, though Baxter’s death was as much Tye’s fault as Liam’s. Tye had veered off the plan. Maybe Baxter hadn’t been able to get out of a window Tye could have easily escaped through. He imagined Baxter trapped, choking on the smoke, flames licking at his skin. The horror of it filled his days and nights and he’d sobbed more than he ever had in his life.
Grief consumed Tye. He banged on the walls, cut his knuckles on the brick, smeared blood on the wall, wrote Baxter’s name. He screamed for help and beat his heels on the floor. He pleaded, promised, begged. He wept until there was nothing left inside him. He fought until he had no strength to do anything more than curl into a ball.
Tye wished his dad would save him. Wished the useless, pathetic parent would turn into the father he’d always wanted, into Baxter’s father. Then he thought about how Baxter’s parents had to be feeling, and Tye threw up though there was nothing in his stomach. He dragged himself back from the abyss and imagined his mother sobbing with happiness when she saw him, how she’d hug him and make him exactly what he liked to eat. When Tye was free, no one would shout at him, no one would tease him. Everyone would love him.
But his dad had never touched him without hurting him, and his mother had never cooked what he liked. And how could Baxter’s parents ever look at him without blaming him for surviving when their son hadn’t?
He wanted to die, but Liam wouldn’t let him. Liam held him while he struggled, and went on and on about Tye’s beautiful green eyes until Tye wanted to rip the damn things out. His hatred for Liam grew and gr
ew until he became obsessed with the idea of making Liam pay for what he’d done, and to do that, Tye had to live. And escape. He began eating again.
And the sex began in earnest.
* * *
Caleb was always wary of public displays of affection. You never knew who was watching and how they’d react. Not that it had been a problem so far in his life because no one before March had held his hand in public, but March clung on to his fingers so tightly no way would Caleb be the first to let go. Plus it was dark and there was no one around, so they should be okay. They walked along the beach at the edge of the sea, comfortable in each other’s company, and Caleb felt more content than he had for a long time.
It hadn’t been easy to build a life for himself after what Liam did. Apart from the huge difficulty of adjusting to an outside world he hadn’t seen for twelve years, conversations with others were difficult because Caleb hadn’t had favorite bands, favorite foods, best friends—except for one long gone—memories of a happy family, holidays, cinema trips, visits to theme parks, pubs, restaurants, shops. All that had been stolen from him, not just by Liam but some of it by Caleb’s parents before Liam took him. He found it difficult to understand how his parents could have been so cruel. He wondered how hard they’d looked for him, and felt cheated by their deaths. He couldn’t even ask why they hadn’t liked him.
Standing next to March on the beach soothed the anxiety brought on by his memories. There was something mesmerizing in the timeless ebb and flow of the sea, waves running out of steam then sliding back, gathering energy for another attack on the land, an endless war of attrition. Caleb had never given in. He’d had bad times and less bad times, and sometimes good ones. He’d had to take his happiness where he could find it. If he hadn’t, Caleb thought he might have gone mad.
His unwavering goal had been freedom and in a way his parents had done him an inadvertent favor because Caleb had already learned how to be resilient, how to harden himself to what was happening, and he understood that in time everything passes. Of course he’d been damaged by what Liam did, Caleb’s inability to stop having panic attacks proved that, but he hadn’t let it destroy him and it so easily could have. It still astounded him that he wasn’t more damaged, but the world had seemed such a wonderful place when he’d emerged that Caleb couldn’t let himself lose it.
Liam didn’t give him birthday presents or cards or even Christmas dinner, though he was cruel enough to tell Caleb when it was Christmas Day. Those events passed uncelebrated. Caleb was Liam’s present to himself. One he hadn’t given up until death. He was dead. Caleb knew he was.
Could I be wrong? It frightened him that the passage of time could make him doubt what he’d seen. There were other simpler explanations than Liam rising from the dead.
The guy looking for him at the guest house might have been a reporter wanting a story about the rescue.
Or Jasim? But after all this time? After what he’d said? Caleb had done nothing to draw Jasim’s attention.
Maybe the guy Caleb thought had followed him from the party was a figment of his imagination, fueled by his distress at seeing Mike with another man.
The man who stabbed Mike could have been any number of guys Mike had pissed off and it might have nothing to do with Caleb. Mike might have made up that comment about what was said in order to make Caleb feel worse.
Or it might have been Jasim.
Why the fuck do I keep coming back to Jasim?
On the day of Simon’s funeral, Caleb had gone to the crematorium and in with Simon’s flowers he’d found a rose with the message “I’m the only one allowed to hurt you”. They were not Jasim’s words, but Liam’s, and Caleb knew the message was for him and not Simon. But had it been from Jasim? Caleb felt like his head was going to explode. Sometimes he wound himself up like this, overthinking, worrying. He usually found something practical to distract him. Washing the dishes, tidying his things.
March said something and Caleb missed it. “Sorry?”
“I was asking you about your job. How did it go today?”
Caleb pulled his mind back in gear. “Okay. Putting flat packs together isn’t very interesting, but better than being unemployed. I can’t afford to be out of work for long. I don’t think the guys like me much, but at least I got a ‘well done’ at the end of the day from the boss. He was impressed with the number of units I put together. Well, either that or impressed I’d not put the drawers in upside down, which I have managed on a couple of occasions.”
Keith had given him a spare set of keys before he left and Caleb had taken a shower in a refurbished unit, then wiped away every drop of water so no one would know. He’d have to kip on the floor in his sleeping bag tonight in a stripped-out unit unless March invited him back to his home. But Caleb wasn’t sure whether he ought to say yes if he did.
“I want to ask you something,” March said and Caleb tensed.
He tugged Caleb back up the beach to sit on the dry sand and kept hold of his hand.
“What?” Caleb asked.
“Why did you give all that money to the lifeboat station?”
Shit. He hesitated but could see no point in denial. March wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t already sure it was Caleb who’d donated the money. “Because I was grateful. The RNLI do a good job. They rely on donations. I wanted to show my gratitude.”
“You drive a beat-up car. You said you can’t afford to be out of work. A thousand pounds would have been generous. Ten thousand is crazy.”
“I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for the RNLI and you. I don’t need the money.”
March gave a short laugh. “You don’t need ten thousand pounds? Tell me you didn’t make the donation so they’d take me off suspension.”
“I didn’t do it so they’d take you off suspension. Have they?”
March nodded.
“That’s great, except no more throwing yourself out of the boat to find idiots who don’t watch where they’re going.”
March chuckled. “That’s a lot of money.”
“I won’t miss it. Honestly. How did you know about it?”
“The cashier in the bank is the helmsman’s wife.”
Caleb groaned. “Is everyone around here related?”
“Not everyone.” March turned to stare at him. “You’re so cute.”
The breath froze in Caleb’s throat. March put his hands on either side of Caleb’s jaw, dragged his fingers down his face and over his mouth before he gave him a gentle kiss. As his lips roamed Caleb’s face, Caleb pulled at the sand, wishing it would hold him firmly and stop him doing what he wanted, which was to push March down and plaster himself against him.
“Silky skin, prickly stubble…” March kissed him again and sighed. “Fuck it, I’m kissing a guy.”
“You only just noticed?”
“Let me rephrase that. I’m kissing you.” He brought a thumb to Caleb’s mouth, rubbed his upper lip and whispered, “I want to eat you.”
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Caleb’s dick pressed against his zipper.
“I want to lick you and suck you and… Shit. I need to stop talking.” March slipped his hands to the back of Caleb’s neck and pulled him close. “I wanted to show you I actually knew how to kiss, but I suspect I’m going to fail the moment my lips link properly with yours because you make me forget everything.”
Caleb gave up with the sand, slipped his hands inside March’s coat and spread his fingers over his chest. A shirt and sweater were in the way but he could feel March’s heart leaping like a hare, his lungs expanding and contracting. When March touched his mouth to Caleb’s and licked, Caleb’s blood-starved brain short-circuited. March swallowed Caleb’s choked moan.
“Cute. Sweet. Kind. Sexy.” March kissed him after every word. “Everything about you is enticing. Your dark, wide eyes when you sat in the boat. Your cheeky smile. Yo
ur butt when you climbed. You know how glad I was it took you ages? Gave me longer to legitimately stare at you.”
Caleb glared. “You were supposed to be concentrating on not letting me fall.”
“I can multitask.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Caleb’s brain whirled and his cock jerked as it struggled for room. He needed to clamp down on his growing desperation before he did something stupid. As if they weren’t already doing something stupid. They were on a public beach and it might have been dark, but it wasn’t that dark.
But lust held Caleb tight, a wild reckless animal fighting his common sense, nipping and biting at it, and it was going to win. He wanted to be reckless, wanted to unzip March’s pants, wrap his fingers around his cock, suck on his balls and make him come undone right there on the beach.
That’s not helping, dumbass.
They kissed as if they’d only minutes before the world ended, kissed as if they’d known each other all their lives, kissed as if they’d never stop. This was different to anything that had gone before, Caleb knew it was, and that excited and scared him.
When they finally broke apart, they sat panting, staring at each other in the gloom.
“That’s settled one thing,” Caleb said. “You are most definitely gay.”
March smiled, kissed him again and the desire pooling in Caleb’s belly began to overflow.
Have I ever been wanted this much? Has anyone ever…
Don’t think about—
Caleb gasped as a shower of sand hit their faces. He pulled away from March to see five young guys and two women in front of them.
March rose to his feet and yanked Caleb up to stand beside him. They brushed the sand from their hair and cheeks. Caleb could feel grit under one of his lenses and his eyes watered.
“What the hell did you do that for?” March snapped.
“Fucking queers,” one of the guys sneered.
Caleb felt March tense and caught his arm. “Remember what I said? Come on, let’s go.”
“Polluting our fucking beach.” Another guy waved a bottle of beer at them, the contents sloshing out.
Give Yourself Away Page 14