Laying a Ghost

by Jane Davitt

  “Don’t be stupid. I’m not going to yell at you.” Nick’s hand slid up into John’s hair, encouraging him to leave his head where it was. “It’s not your fault that they didn’t react perfectly ‑‑ well, that Michael didn’t. And it’s not just your job to tell people.”

  “I can’t see why you should have to walk up to total strangers and tell them you’ve got involved with someone like me. You know, if it wasn’t for this party, I’d go over and tell her now. Then tell Geordie in the pub, after swearing him to secrecy, and the whole island would know by closing time, and we wouldn’t have to lift a finger. I’m that sick of it all.”

  Right then, John meant it. With Nick’s fingers stroking along his hair, soothing away the tension, he wanted an end to the lies, an end to the pretending. Just wanted Nick.

  John tilted his head back and found Nick waiting for his kiss.

  It was slow and brief, and then Nick murmured, “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll work everything out.” Warm fingers traced lightly along the side of John’s neck. “What about one of those skywriters? You think it would be too expensive to have a plane fly overhead?” There was a gentle humor in his voice.

  “An ad in the local paper?” Then ‑‑ and it had to be the whiskey talking ‑‑ John snickered, struck by an idea. “The minister makes announcements during the service sometimes. ‘Items of community interest,’ he calls them. I’m damn sure we qualify for that.”

  In the morning, when he was sober and Nick wasn’t there, warm and real and loving, he’d most likely go cold at the very idea, but right then it seemed pretty funny.

  Nick laughed and pressed a crooked kiss to John’s temple. “Or we could just try to act naturally and see what happens?” When John tensed at the thought, unable to help himself, Nick amended, “After you’ve had a chance to tell your mother.”

  “I can’t see me ever having the guts to kiss you in the middle of the bar,” John admitted. “Or hold your hand walking down the street, or do anything that you’re used to doing with Matthew.” Nick’s face changed, his smile fading, and John cursed himself. “It’s not that I wouldn’t want to. God, it’s not that at all! I’d just be so worried about who was looking, what they were whispering ‑‑ Oh, Christ, I’m sorry. If I tried, I couldn’t sound any more pathetic, could I?”

  He pulled away from Nick, feeling that he didn’t deserve any sort of comfort after a confession like that.

  “Stop.” Nick’s voice and hands were insistent as he turned to face John and urged John to shift and turn, too. When they were looking at each other, John still feeling small and ashamed, Nick said, “I never did any of those things with Matthew. We were friends ‑‑ close friends ‑‑ who had sex together. We didn’t go to any special trouble to hide it, but we didn’t go around announcing it from the rooftops, either, so get that idea out of your head. This is fine. You need some time to get used to the idea of all this, and that’s okay. I’m not in a hurry. I’m gonna be here for a long time.”

  “I don’t know why I feel as if there’s a hurry.” John wished that it wasn’t too soon to be able to tell Nick that he loved him and have it sound like more than words. He slipped his arm around Nick, rubbing his hand slowly over his back. “I’ve never been the hurrying sort. But with you ‑‑ God, you make me feel like there aren’t enough hours in the day to do all I want to do with you.”

  “There are. There’s time. It’s okay.” And then they were kissing again, Nick’s mouth hot against John’s, his hands stroking over John’s sides and lower back. Nick tasted of whiskey and salt, and he kissed like no one John had ever known.

  “I should take you back home,” John said, with his lips against Nick’s dark hair a while later. “You’re falling asleep on me.”

  They were lying on the couch, doing no more than holding each other and kissing, talking when they felt like it, but with the contented, comfortable silences stretching out as the minutes went by. John tightened his arms around Nick and said. “Aye, I should. I will.” Nick stirred against him, running his hand lightly over John’s chest, and John sighed. “I had a cat like you once. She’d get settled on my lap and I’d tell her I had to stand up, really I did. Then she’d reach out her paw and dig in her claws, daring me to shift an inch.”

  “I don’t have claws,” Nick murmured sleepily, nuzzling John’s throat. “I like cats, though. Is there somewhere I could get one?”

  John nodded. “Aye, plenty of places. Jack Thomson’s got a barn full of cats that’re having more kittens than he knows what to do with.”

  Nick muttered something unintelligible in response, his body relaxing just a bit more against John’s.

  Only the knowledge that if they fell asleep like this Nick would wake up hurting worse than the climb had already guaranteed he would gave John the willpower to sit up, dislodging Nick.

  “You’ll thank me for this tomorrow,” John said firmly when Nick gave him a reproachful look. “You need to sleep in a bed and ‑‑ God.” John leaned in and kissed Nick full on his mouth, waking them both up because it was harder than he’d intended. The man had no business looking that good with his hair all tousled and his eyes sleepy. He drew back before he did more than kiss him. “I can’t stay with you tonight. I need to take the early ferry and get some supplies for Stella from Mull and you need some sleep, not me disturbing you at five in the morning.”

  John thought about the form the disturbing might take and bit down on his lip, seeing from the glint in Nick’s eyes that he was thinking the exact same thing.

  “Stop that.” Even John didn’t think that he sounded convincing.

  “Okay, okay.” Nick rubbed at his face. “You’re right ‑‑ I’m probably too tired to do anything more than sleep, and if I want to be able to get out of bed at all tomorrow I’d better get off my feet pretty soon.” In direct contradiction to his words, he stood up. “Are you sure you don’t mind driving me back?”

  John shook his head. “I don’t mind at all. What I’ll mind is turning the car around and coming back here.” He got to his feet and winced, feeling the effects of being in one position for too long. “Sheila’s right,” he muttered. “I don’t get enough exercise. You’re not going to be the only one waking up aching.”

  “You’re in much better shape than me.”

  They managed to get their jackets on and get out the door and into the car. Nick seemed tired enough that he wasn’t, for once, tense about riding in the passenger seat, leaning his head back against the headrest behind him and closing his eyes as he yawned and John started up the car.

  The drive took just a few minutes longer than usual, with John, aware that strictly speaking he’d had perhaps one whiskey too many, taking his time. The moonless darkness pressed against the car, enclosing them tightly, but John knew the road too well to care.

  A rabbit appeared on the section of illuminated road ahead, caught and entranced by the yellow beams of the headlights, and John braked carefully, less bothered about hitting it than startling Nick.

  “These rabbits are a nuisance.” John watched it vanish with an impudent flash of its white tail. “Worse than the sheep at this time of night.”

  Nick grunted sleepily and John smiled and drove on.

  When they reached Rossneath Nick was asleep, just as he had been the first time John had driven him home. He’d left an outside light on, and the interior of the car was bright enough for John to be able to look at Nick for a long moment, without guilt now, and with the knowledge that he could wake Nick with a touch, or a kiss, warming him.

  He stretched out his hand and then paused, remembering how he’d found Nick, huddled and shaking on the ground, clearly terrified. It’d been the way that sight had made him feel ‑‑ concerned, protective ‑‑ that had taken his instant attraction and deepened it into something more. It didn’t mean that he ever wanted to see Nick like that again, though.

  He took Nick’s hand and held it firmly then said his name softly. “Nick? Nick, love. You
’re home.”

  Nick’s hand twitched and then tightened on his a second before Nick’s eyes opened, a sharp breath inward setting Nick trembling and tensing at the same time. Awareness of where he was came on a bit more slowly, his grip gradually easing as he relaxed, although John felt sure that the man’s heart was racing. “God,” Nick breathed, curling toward him, burying his face unexpectedly against John’s chest. “God.”

  His arms went around Nick at once, the seatbelts they both wore getting in the way a little, but John wasn’t inclined to spare the time it would take to unfasten them. “Ssh, it’s all right, Nick. You fell asleep, that’s all. We’re home.”

  He’d planned to do no more than drop Nick off and drive away, but he changed his mind. He’d see Nick safe in bed before he left him alone, no matter how much harder it would make leaving him.

  “Don’t let me get into this car again unless I’ve had intravenous caffeine first.” Nick didn’t move. His voice was muffled, but John could still hear the shakiness in it, and he couldn’t help but marvel at the man’s ability to attempt lightheartedness even when frightened.

  The world was quiet outside the car. John used his hands to comfort Nick, rubbing the back of his neck and his arm.

  “I should’ve thought. Turned on the radio; opened the windows.” John felt as if he’d let Nick down in some way. “But not sung to you, because that’s enough to give you nightmares by itself.”

  Nick smiled against his chest, his breath warm through the thin shirt John was wearing. John reached between them and pressed the release button on their seat belts. “Come on. Let’s get you to where you can sleep, love.”

  The endearment slipped out again before John could stop it. The first time he didn’t think that Nick had noticed, being still mostly asleep, but this time the man couldn’t avoid hearing it. Glad that his flush was hidden in the shadows, John eased his seatbelt off and fumbled with the handle to the door.

  By the time he’d gone around to the other side of the car, Nick was shutting his own door, looking so weary when he smiled at John that it tugged at his heart. “You going to be okay getting home?” Nick asked, as they started for the door. “I could ...” An enormous yawn, “Make coffee. Or tea?”

  “Or a three-course meal?” John suggested dryly. “You’re dead on your feet. I’m going to see you to bed and then I’m off. If you hurry up brushing your teeth I’ll be on my way in five minutes, maybe less.”

  Nick yawned again as they went inside, and a third time on the way up the stairs. He seemed barely able to keep his eyes open as he brushed his teeth, and for a moment while he was bending over to untie his shoes, John feared that he’d actually fallen asleep.

  None of that seemed very important when Nick began to undress, pulling his shirt over his head to reveal his chest, nipples peaked and tight in the cool of the room, slender shoulders pale in the light from the hallway. John had to look away when Nick started to undo his trousers and slide them over his hips, but he glanced at him again when Nick didn’t get into bed immediately, unable to help himself.

  “You’re sure you can’t stay?”

  “You couldn’t have asked me that before you were naked?” John didn’t even try to hide how tempted he was. Nick raised his hand to scratch his thumbnail idly over his ribs, the casual movement coming close to undoing John’s resolve. “No. I can’t. And will you get into bed for God’s sake?”

  He couldn’t help noticing the pleading edge to his voice.

  Thankfully, Nick either figured out why John was sounding so desperate, or he really was that exhausted, because he got into bed without another word, the brief flash of his bare arse before it disappeared beneath the covers what John hoped would be the last temptation. “Shit, it’s cold,” Nick murmured, pulling the covers up over his head until he was completely hidden.

  Abandoning all plans of kissing him good night, John smiled at the Nick-shaped lump in the bed. “I’ll buy you some flannel pajamas for your birthday, shall I?” He thought about that as he turned towards the door. “When is your birthday? And how old are you anyway?” He shook his head before Nick could answer. “No, never mind. I’ll just add them to the list of questions we never got around to asking because we were too busy with the naked in bed part.”

  Nick mumbled something that trailed off into silence.

  John waited until he was certain Nick was safely asleep before walking through the silent ‑‑ hopefully empty of ghosts ‑‑ house and back to his car.

  Every step felt like a misstep, and he couldn’t shake the image of Nick standing there naked and asking him to stay. It echoed in his head as he drove, clamored insistently at him as he climbed into bed; stilled only when his hand moved down and dealt with the physical effects of the memory.

  Coming in a hurried, brutally fast climax, thinking of Nick every second, left his body ready for sleep, but he still felt that he was in the wrong place.

  He didn’t belong here anymore, if he ever had. He belonged in a cool, dusty house, haunted by ghosts, seen and unseen.

  He belonged with Nick.

  Sleep came before John had finished forming that thought, taking him into dreams he couldn’t remember when he woke, his alarm clock shrilling in his ear and a day full of hours to get through before he saw Nick again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Maybe we can have the party next week?” John stepped out of Katy’s way as she staggered past, her arms heaped with pale-green napkins to iron and fold.

  Stella gave a scornful sniff and tossed her head. “It’s all in hand,” she insisted. “The party’s not for another eight hours, lad! Relax, will you?”

  “I am relaxed.” John frowned at the centerpiece of yellow roses on one of the tables, and then bent to pick up a napkin that had slipped from Katy’s grasp. “Didn’t we decide on pink for the flowers and blue for the ‑‑”

  “Janet!” Stella called, snatching the napkin from him. “Will you no’ come and deal with your brother before I stuff an apple in his mouth and serve him as the starter?”

  There was barely a moment’s pause before Janet appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, a smudge of pale pastel icing on her nose. “Come in here and keep me company while I finish the cake.” Her tone of voice brooked no disagreement, and John obeyed. Janet waited until she’d picked up the icing bag again before she continued. “Don’t give Stella a hard time, do you hear me? You know what a challenge it was, convincing her to let me do even this much. If she changes her mind at the last minute and throws me out, it’ll be you I blame and not her.”

  “After all these years I’m well used to that.” John dragged his finger around the inside of the bowl Janet was using, scooping up some icing. He got a glare that made it taste all the sweeter and gave Janet a grin in return. “You’ve all done a grand job,” he told her sincerely. “I can see that and so will Mam. I’m just ‑‑ I’ve things on my mind, that’s all.”

  Janet looked at him shrewdly, and for a moment he thought she knew. The possibility twisted his stomach into a hard knot. She finished the decorative swirl she was putting on the edge of the cake and straightened up. “She’s every right to be happy, John.” John didn’t know whether to feel relieved that she didn’t know or worried because that meant he’d actually have to sort out how to tell her. “With any luck, she’s a lot of years left, and I for one don’t want her spending them alone.”

  “You’re meaning Carson? Och, Janet, that’s not bothering me! I agree with you, and there’s no one I can think of who’s better suited to take care of her, although she won’t have it that they’re anything more than friends.” He rolled his eyes. “Did you see the bouquet of flowers he’s got Stella keeping for him in the storeroom? Sixty red roses! I’d like to see her say that that’s just a friendly gesture!” He pulled out a chair and sat down at the table, trying to find the words he needed. “No, it’s not Carson, it’s, well, it’s me. Something to do with me.”

  He watched alarm flicker in h
er eyes and added hastily, “I’m fine. Not sick, not in trouble, nothing like that.”

  She regarded him, and then nodded and went back to work on the cake. “All right. What is it, then?”

  John opened his mouth to reply just as Stella came into the kitchen. She bustled over and stood beside Janet, looking down at the cake. “I’ve seen dozens nowhere near as nice as this, love. You’ve a right talent for it.”

  Janet grinned. “Mam always said I had a fine hand. I hope she’s pleased by it.” Even John had to admit that the cake was a work of art, although he had no idea what to call most of the designs it was decorated with.

  “Of course she’ll be pleased! And the fact that you’ve gone to so much trouble to mark her birthday. You’re a good daughter.” Stella sounded approving in ways she rarely did.

  “Am I not a good son, then?” John was caught between conflicting emotions at the interruption. “Haven’t I been at your beck and call, the pair of you, until my head’s fair spinning with all the lists and instructions?”

  Stella gave the back of his head a light cuff. “Away with you! Fishing for compliments like that.” She picked up a tray of glasses and smiled at him. “But since you ask, aye, Anne’s lucky to have a fine son, so she is, and I know she’s proud of all three of you.” She turned to Janet. “I know Andrea’s sorry to be missing the party; how’s the wee bairn doing, then? Little Anne?”

  Janet launched into details about her newborn niece’s progress, and, the moment lost, although he couldn’t say that he minded, John left them to it.

  * * * * *

  Nick was stiff and sore even after his shower, the climb from the day before having strained muscles he’d forgotten he had. He had a leisurely breakfast that consisted of coffee and toast, spent a little while straightening up, and then decided to take a walk. It was nice out, and he remembered reading somewhere that the best cure for sore muscles was more of what had made them sore in the first place.