by AJ Lange
He had stopped climbing the oak tree after that.
On a humid Indian summer afternoon, Matt had used the money he kept hidden in a knothole in the wall behind his dresser and bought a bus ticket to Melanie Bodine's hometown. He had spent hours in the library basement there, combing through the newspaper archives. When he left the library, he felt as though he knew everything there was to know about the young girl's short life, from the people who knew her best.
Afterward, he had walked across town and sat in a swing in the park across the street from her parents' home, staring at the fading pink vinyl siding until he got a glimpse of their sad, worried faces as they rushed from the house to their car. Matt had read that they were both in their mid-thirties; they looked at least ten years older.
Matt may have known everything there was to publicly learn about the missing teen, but he was also weighed down by the one piece of truth no newspaper or television journalist would ever learn: Melanie Bodine was dead.
The guilt was eating him alive.
He had sat in the swing, waiting for her parents to return, determined to walk across the street, look them in the eye and tell them everything he knew. He had sat for hours, until long past dusk, until the crumpled bus ticket in his pocket had beckoned, the last run of the night looming. Thinking of Gavin, somewhere a few towns over, probably in Heather Morgan's bedroom, but more importantly, somewhere not with Matt. For the rest of his life, Matt would wonder what might have changed if the Bodine's had returned home that night, how the courses of all of their lives might have been altered.
Nothing could make up for the fact that he and Gavin had had the chance to save Melanie, that they had hesitated, waited too long, and the young girl had faced her killer in the dark, dank forest alone. Nothing would change her final moments, filled with terror and grief. But only Matt had to live with the knowledge that he could have relieved her parents the suffering caused by not knowing.
The Bodine's would continue to search for Melanie for years. It would destroy their marriage, and many would say later that it had destroyed their lives. Mr. Bodine had died of a heart attack just three years ago; Matt had gone to his funeral, sitting in the back, head bowed, and stricken with grief for the little girl who would forever remain fourteen.
Mrs. Bodine had clasped his hand when he left the church service, thanked him for coming, another sad stranger in a sea of unfamiliar faces she would see that day. She had given a beautiful eulogy for her ex-husband, extolling his love for his daughter, and explaining that his heart had simply given out. The former spouses had become close friends later in life, but they had both lost so much that love would never find them again.
After the funeral procession had pulled away from the church, Matt had sat, parked on the street in his cold, empty car, and cried. He had driven to a payphone and called Gavin's cell phone. He had the number scrawled on a tiny scrap of yellow post it note, tucked into his wallet, not that he would ever need it; he knew the number by heart.
When Gavin had answered, Matt had closed his eyes tight, letting the gruff voice roll over him, then quietly hung up.
That same gravelly baritone was currently grumbling about the wet leaves and tangled undergrowth, fighting for traction, the pain in his ankle hampering his efforts to slog through the forest. Matt squeezed his fingers too tight and Gavin winced.
"Easy Matt, that's my trigger finger. I might need to shoot you later."
"Very funny," Matt said drily, reversing their positions so he could pull Gavin up the hill behind him, offering leverage against the increasingly slippery ground. "And you're not left-handed."
"I don't remember the fog being this thick so early," Gavin muttered. "Is it the lake?"
"Mmm, probably." Matt stopped, surveying the still woods; it would be far too simple to get disoriented and lose their way, especially with night closing in. He realized that he wouldn't have made it to his target before dark even without Gavin's interruption; it had been too many years since he had been here, and several of his markers were long gone. He forced himself to relax his shoulders. He could think of much worse ways to spend the night than in the company of Gavin. He had already spent far too many nights of his life without that simple pleasure, and he probably wouldn't have many more opportunities, not now. He was struck with a sudden desire to tell Gavin everything. He startled the other man when he spun around.
"Whoa," Gavin said. When Matt didn't speak he frowned. "Something on your mind?" Matt fidgeted and Gavin stepped closer. When he continued to stare, Gavin became nervous. "Hey," he murmured, "you're kinda freaking me out." He stroked his thumb across the back of Matt's hand.
"Sorry," Matt exhaled. "I just. This place."
"I know." Gavin squeezed his fingers. He was thankful to be tethered to Matt; he could almost feel the fight or flight response radiating off of the other man. "Let's get out of here and find a place to spend the night. Tomorrow, we'll figure out the rest."
Matt scraped a palm over his mouth and jaw, sighing tiredly. "I'm exhausted," he said quietly.
Gavin laid his free hand at his waist, hesitant, and felt the fine tremble under Matt's skin. "Then let's get out of here, okay? Whatever it is, it can wait til morning." He squeezed again. "You've had a terrible couple of days, baby. Let it go for a night, okay?"
Matt studied him in the fading light. Gavin was all but admitting that he would come back to the woods, would help him. The desire to let him was too strong, or maybe Matt was too weak, because he finally nodded.
Gavin let out the breath he had been holding. He was more worried than he let on; Matt looked like hell. He was anxious and clearly exhausted. Gavin spared a moment of loathing for his own rather shitty incapability to remember that Matt had just lost his wife. They started to walk again.
"Do you want to talk about Leanne?"
Matt looked over at Gavin in surprise. "Why?"
Gavin shook his head. "Because it might help? Because that's what you're supposed to do when you're grieving? I don't know, Matt. Take your pick."
They were silent for several yards. "Do you remember the night we met her in that bar?"
Gavin grimaced. Of course he remembered. He hadn't known it at the time, but it was the night Matt would meet the person who would one day replace Gavin in his life. "Yeah," he mumbled, voice clipped.
"God, I was pissed," Matt murmured. "I think that night was the first time I actually hated you."
"Me? You were the one who didn't like boobs," Gavin air quoted, Matt's wrist drawn inadvertently high with his own. "Sure didn't stop you from feeling up half a dozen pair that night."
"It was St. Patrick’s Day. Boobs were sort of mandatory," Matt joked, but it fell flat and he sighed. "Maybe I was hoping I had been wrong. You certainly seemed to have an affinity for them."
Gavin ground his teeth together. The sting of that night was fresh, even after many years. It had been the first time he had wanted to publicly declare his feelings for Matt, to yank him away from the excited gaggle of girls surrounding him and stake his claim. It had been building inside of Gavin, a constant craving, for weeks. He felt every glance Matt sent someone else's way, felt every touch that wasn't on his own skin, and it burned him up. That night was the first time he had had to lay in bed and listen to Matt have sex in the next room; usually it was the reverse.
And it had almost killed him.
It would be the catalyst that finally brought them together, a sleepy dark head rolling over in the early light of dawn, scowling up at Gavin when he yanked the covers from the bed. The girl had squealed, grabbing for the edge of the sheet to cover her nudity.
"Get out," Gavin had growled in her direction, low and dangerous, expression black.
"Fuck you, Gavin" Matt had protested, reaching to halt the girl's retreat, but she was already pulling her dress over her head and scurrying across the bedroom floor. Matt sat up, raking his hands through his hair. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Gavin grip
ped his biceps roughly, hauling him from the bed. Matt stumbled into him as Gavin pulled him to his feet. He glowered as they stood nose to nose, wincing at the smell of sex and strange perfume. "Get in the shower."
Matt swallowed, desire spiking hot against the surge of anger. His mouth tilted dangerously close to Gavin's, but Gavin leaned away. Matt tried to wrench his arms from Gavin's grasp, embarrassed, stomach rolling.
His head rattled when Gavin shook him hard, once. "I'm not touching you until you get the stench of last night off of you."
Matt's eyes widened, and previous drunken sex or no, his dick twitched with interest.
He came to Gavin's bed twenty minutes later, fresh and clean and apologetic, but mostly in love, so in love that his heart nearly pounded from his chest the moment Gavin gently laid a hand across his cheek and kissed him. That morning had been the first time they had lain together since they were teenagers, the previous night the last time they would sleep apart for many months.
"You weren't wrong," Gavin reminded him now. "But in the end you married her anyway." The words held a touch of bitterness, but Gavin couldn't help it.
"I don't want to talk about that," Matt said quietly and Gavin conceded, mostly because he really didn't want to talk about it either.
"Fine. Then tell me about your room full of research on missing women," he said gruffly. "Or your sudden proclivity with injectable anesthetics."
Matt jerked, startled. "How do you know about the storage building?"
"Dom," Gavin said curtly. "Want to elaborate on why you have information on about three dozen missing women tucked away like that? Cause I gotta tell you, Matt, looked like souvenirs to me."
Matt didn't respond, which worried Gavin more than if he had tried to deny it. He jiggled their attached wrists. "Matt."
Matt licked his lips and Gavin caught the movement from the corner of his eye. "I need to show you something, Gavin. It's why I came here, to be sure."
The only sounds were their footsteps through the leaves as Gavin digested his words. "Something in these woods."
"Yes," Matt said. "But in the morning. You're right, it'll keep one more night and it's too dark now anyway." They walked for a few more steps before he added quietly, "and I apologized for knocking you out."
"Uh huh," Gavin huffed. "We're definitely talking about that tomorrow too." He glanced sidelong at the dark head beside him. "And you ever dose me like that again? Then I don't care what you are to me. Your ass is getting hogtied, thrown in the backseat, and I'm delivering you straight to Burke's front fucking door."
Matt flinched. "I am sorry, Gavin. I know you don't believe me. Hell, macho cop, right?" He held up his wrist, jangling the cuffs together. "You probably can't believe me, but—I was trying to protect you."
"Yeah? Protect me from what? From you?" The words held a tinge of incredulousness but Matt just frowned sadly.
"You'll understand soon enough. I don't want to argue with you."
Gavin swallowed a frustrated retort, relieved when he saw the lake through the trees. The woods felt different than they had during that long ago summer; there was a darkness here and melancholy. He wondered if it had always been here or if they had brought it with them.
In the parking lot, he walked Matt to the passenger side of the Jeep. "Get in," he said, holding the door open and simultaneously unlocking the cuff from his own wrist. The words 'macho cop' were still ringing in his ears and he stubbornly left Matt's cuff in place. Asshole.
Matt raised an eyebrow. "Trusting me all of the sudden, Detective?" He slid into the passenger seat, comforted by the familiar smell of well-conditioned leather and Gavin.
"Is there a reason I shouldn't?" Gavin asked solemnly. Matt held his gaze until Gavin dropped into the opening and kissed him. He shivered when Matt's fingers found their way to his hip and squeezed, the empty cuff bouncing on his thigh. Macho cop that's hopelessly in love with you, he thought helplessly. "Matt—I want to help you. Can you at least let me try? Please?" He whispered against Matt’s cheek before giving in to the pang of longing in his gut, mouthing as far as he could reach across his jaw. His body eventually protested his awkward stance and he had to straighten. His back popped noisily. "Ow."
Matt grabbed for his shirt front, forcing him down again, and Gavin let him, sighing into his mouth.
"Okay, I can make it now," Matt said after a long, sweet kiss, pushing him away when he was done, destroying a few of Gavin's brain cells and leaving him panting and half hard. Gavin chuckled in spite of the circumstances. Matt had always been insatiable, and Gavin had always been reserved; it was the opposite of what an outsider might think of their relationship based on their personalities.
Gavin had always kind of loved that about them.
They had to drive another twenty miles before they found a decent motel. Gavin parked under the awning and jogged around the car to lean into the open passenger window. He unlocked the remaining cuff from Matt's wrist. "Here, let me get that." He tucked them into his back pocket when he was done.
"Wow, DeLuca, who knew you were such a gentleman."
"Shut up," Gavin said, ducking his head. Aside from his frustration, he might have left the cuff on longer than strictly necessary in part because he wasn't sure he trusted Matt not to disappear on him again, not yet. "You, uh, want to come in with me to the desk?"
Matt rolled his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere, Gavin. You have the car keys."
"I was with you the first time you hotwired a car, Matt" Gavin reminded him wryly.
"Because you taught me, DeLuca." There was a hint of humor behind the words and Gavin grinned.
"Exactly. So I'm familiar with your M.O."
"Right now my only M.O." Matt said testily, "is to take a fucking shower and go to bed." When Gavin still hesitated, Matt lifted his head and kissed him firmly on the mouth, lingering long enough he could feel Gavin's breathing pattern stutter. "Go get us a room, detective."
"Yeah, yeah," Gavin muttered, breathless. Damn it. He turned and walked into the lobby, a very loud and insistent voice in his head (sounding incredibly like Dom, actually) telling him he was an idiot. He made it as far as the desk before he caved and looked back; Matt was exactly where he left him, dark hair against the headrest, eyes closed.
Gavin paid for a double. He tried not to feel flustered when the clerk asked 'one bed or two?' He had seen her looking surreptitiously at Matt in the circular drive, clearly visible from the front desk. It had been many years since Gavin had given a rat's ass about what other people thought of his personal life, but then it had also been quite a few since he had reason to.
She smirked when she handed him two key cards. "Enjoy your stay!"
Gavin grunted and strode from the lobby, extremely thankful he had removed the handcuff from Matt's wrist, the same arm now dangling from the open window.
When he got in the driver's side, Matt stirred, blinking sleepily. "Hey," he said, voice scratchy and deep.
Gavin's heart turned over in his chest. His eyes flicked over to the lobby doors where he could still see the clerk leaning forward to peer through the glass. What the hell, he thought, just before angling across the front seat and cupping the back of Matt's head. Matt's lips parted in surprise an instant before Gavin's met them.
"What was that for," Matt yawned, rolling his neck.
Gavin slid back to his side of the car. "No reason. You just looked pretty."
Matt snorted. "Pretty?"
Gavin grinned. "Yeah. You always were the pretty one." He started the engine and maneuvered the Jeep into an empty spot in the parking lot.
Matt reached over to pinch Gavin's cheek. "I beg to differ."
"Stop," Gavin said, rubbing his face. "Well, that's not what the clerk thought. She was ready to jump your sleepy bones." He got out, locking the driver's side door and popping the trunk to retrieve his duffle bag.
Matt waited for him at the bumper. "So what, that was your caveman reflex?"
"Huh?" Gavin co
cked his head, legitimately confused.
Matt laughed softly. "You. Staking your claim." He looked pointedly at the Jeep's interior.
Gavin glanced around the parking lot, disconcerted. "Oh, um. No." He refused to meet Matt's eyes. "Of course not."
Matt stepped into his personal space, sliding the duffle's strap from Gavin's shoulder. "Because, I'm okay with it, if you were." He slung the bag over his own shoulder and reached a hand around to cup Gavin's ass, pulling their bodies flush. "In fact, I've got half a mind to go give Miss Lobby an eyeful right now." He moved against Gavin's body, and just like that, all of Gavin's exhaustion and worry were replaced by heat and an aching want.
He peeked at the awning in front of the lobby doors. "Don't think you have to go that far, actually. She's sweeping out front." He smirked down at Matt, who wore a matching grin. Even so, Gavin was wholly unprepared when Matt dug his fingers into the hair at his crown and pulled his face down, slanting Gavin's mouth so he could kiss the hell out of him.
Gavin's head swam. "Fuck, Matt," he breathed.
"That's the general idea," Matt deadpanned. Then promptly ruined it by yawning loudly.
Gavin chuckled. "Yeah, you're a real Casanova, sleepyhead. C'mon, let's get you inside."
Gavin urged Matt into the shower first. He checked his phone and frowned when he discovered it was dead.
"For the love of Christ," he grumbled. He didn't have a charger. He would have to grab one at a convenience store in the morning; Dom was probably pissed, waiting for his nightly update. His eyes darted to the bathroom door. Matt's jeans were on the end of the bed and he picked them up, reaching into the pockets, pulling out some change, a gas station receipt, and some lint. No phone. Either Matt had already tossed the last one he had used to call Gavin with, or it was in the rental car back at the camp.
Gavin was studying the hotel phone instruction placard when Matt emerged from the bathroom, skin flushed and warm, a wave of steam wafting through the door behind him.