by Andrea Speed, A. B. Gayle, Jessie Blackwood, J. J Levesque, Katisha Moreish
“Car accident, a couple of weeks ago. Who is this?”
“Her step-son,” he replied, before hanging up. “Damn it.”
“What’s wrong?” Aiden reached over, concerned, and took his hand. “Why don’t we go inside and talk, okay? It’s a lot more comfortable inside.”
Flynn just felt cold, like someone had replaced his blood with liquid nitrogen. “I’m afraid to be seen with you. Although Vale already knows who you are, so I guess I can’t endanger you much more. I’m really, really sorry, okay? I just want you to know I never meant for any of this to happen.”
“Well, inside no one will be able to see us. Out here, they can.” Aiden offered him a small smile. “I know you didn’t. Weird as it may sound, I trust you.” Maybe he was too trusting, but it was the truth. There was something about him - even with all the bizarre stories - that made him feel... something.
Flynn nodded, and felt terrible. He wanted Aiden to trust him, but there was no way he should. He was a plague come into his life, but he didn’t seem to realize that yet. “As for Vale ... if you ever see him, you won’t forget him. He has silver hair and dead eyes. I mean dead. Like a doll’s eyes, just flat glass. He ... it shows on his face. You’ll know what I mean when ... if you see him.”
“I’ll be on the lookout for anyone with doll’s eyes, then,” Aiden said, half teasing and half serious. He got out of the car and hoped Flynn would follow him into the house.
Aiden didn’t get it, did he? He wasn’t getting the enormity of the danger he - they - were in. How did he convey it to him without admitting all his past misdeeds? There had to be some way. But he was so sweet, so innocent, his Little Red Riding Hood. Did he really want to shatter his oh so tempting world view? Life as puppies and roses. He got out of the car, reluctantly following, and asked, “Have you heard about the severed hand, found at the park?”
“One of my students was gossiping about that this morning. I figured they were just telling each other creepy stories. You know, get the girls to go with them and valiantly protect them from whatever ‘evil’ lurks so the girls will be more than happy to ‘get closer.’” Aiden let them in. Dante was out of his crate today for the first time, but blocked in the kitchen, and he was very happy to see no mess.
There was no foreplay possible for this, so he just said it. “It was my dad’s hand.”
Aiden froze and turned to look at him. “You’re serious?”
“Would I joke about that?” He paused, considering. “Okay, maybe I would, but I’m not. It’s his. That’s how I know he’s dead. And that’s how I know things have gotten too fucking dangerous. Do you understand now?”
“I understand.” Aiden let Dante out into the fenced in back yard and then turned back to Flynn. “I’m sorry you’re going through this. With your parents being dead and... this weird guy after you.”
“Don’t be. Just keep an eye out. Don’t get hurt ‘cause of me.”
Aiden wanted to say he wouldn’t, but somehow saying that felt too much like tempting fate. So instead he settled for, “I’ll do my best.” He gave him a bigger smile, leaning back against the counter.
Aiden looked hot, and seemed to be sending out signals that he wouldn’t mind if Flynn pounced on him, but Flynn wasn’t sure he could right now. His father was dead, Vale was some insane psychopath ... and no one would tell him why. What had his father set in motion? Why was it going to kill him? He didn’t understand this, and it was making his head hurt. “You got any Excedrin? I’m getting a headache.” Not just an excuse - he actually was. Also, he was tired. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept. He wondered if he would ever sleep again.
“That I have,” he said, and pushed off from the counter. “Upstairs in my bathroom. Come on.” Aiden turned and left the kitchen, heading upstairs to his room.
Flynn followed, curious what the rest of Aiden’s place looked like. He’d really only seen the living room and kitchen. Did the ski lodge theme continue? Was there a room with a big moose head on the wall and a cuckoo clock?
At the top of the stairs, Aiden turned right, directly into his room. The walls were a calm, light shade of blue, with dark hardwood floors. The bed stood against the center of one wall with a black comforter and pillows. A large window took up one wall with bookcases flanking it. Across from the bed on the opposite wall was the dresser and the door to the bathroom. He stepped in and rummaged through the cabinet, looking for the bottle.
“I don’t suppose you have a gun, do you? A taser? Medieval mace?”
Aiden laughed softly, shaking his head as he stepped out with the bottle and handed it over. “Sorry, I left those when I moved. Didn’t think I would need them here. However, I do have a book on medieval weaponry. Does that help?
“Is it heavy? You could use it as a bludgeon.”
“It is pretty heavy,” he shrugged. “It’s an oversize book. Meant for coffee tables. I just thought it was cool.”
“I bet.” He watched Aiden, and felt bad. About all of this, about getting him messed up in his drama.
“You look miserable, Flynn.” He might not have known him for long, but he could read people fairly well. It came with being a teacher, he supposed. At least he could read most moods. And Flynn definitely looked upset.
“I’m just ... I feel like I’ve fucked everything up. I don’t know how or why, but I have. Maybe just by showing up.” He was tearing up, which was a stupid, pansy ass thing to do, so he shut his eyes tight and tried to swallow them back.
“You were following leads on what happened to your mother. I would probably do the same thing.” Aiden grabbed his shoulders and stepped closer. “You need a shower, and then sleep. You look like you haven’t slept in a while.”
“I guess I haven’t,” he admitted. “I feel pathetic.”
Aiden didn’t like hearing that from Flynn. The Flynn he met was cocky and sure of himself, and made Aiden blush and giggle and do foolish, rash things like have sex on his couch. “A hot shower will fix that.”
Flynn dry washed his face, sure he got the tears back down where they belonged, and looked at Aiden. It wasn’t so much that Aiden was hard to read, but he was always so innocent looking. “Really? You gonna join me?”
And there it was. Aiden felt the blush rise. An image of the two of them on the couch rushed to the front of his mind, followed by the thought of naked, wet Flynn in his shower. He licked his lips to wet them - more of a nervous tendency than anything else - and cleared his throat. “Umm... well...” he trailed off. Oh, he wanted to. But should he?
“C’mon, somebody’s gotta do my back.” What was he thinking? Morose and lost in thought, was Flynn really going to have sex with him again? He was making this worse.
Aiden glanced in the direction of the bathroom. Oh hell. In for a penny and all that. He turned back to Flynn and smiled. “Only if you return the favor.”
Flynn smiled, putting his arms around Aiden’s neck. So sweet, so trusting - how could he do this to him? “Do I get to choose how?”
“Yeah, sure,” Aiden agreed. He looked up at him, headed tilted a bit to the side wondering what exactly he meant by that. But whatever. He’d find out.
It looked like Aiden wasn’t going to get this started, so Flynn decided to. Was he ever going to get Aiden to do something nasty? He was going to have to work on him a bit more. He stepped back and peeled off his shirt. “Might want to get the water started, huh?”
Aiden nodded, eyes wandering over every inch of flesh revealed and backed up into the bathroom. He bumped into the wall on the way, clumsy, and blushed. He managed to turn and open the shower door to get the water started, and couldn’t get the buttons on his shirt undone fast enough.
“Need some help with that?” Flynn asked, stepping out of his jeans, He’d already kicked off his shoes, and almost left a dent in the wall. (Aiden hadn’t noticed. He got so delightfully flustered when sex entered the picture.)
“I’m good.” Buttons finally released, he shed the
shirt and pulled the t-shirt he wore under it over his head and tossed it to the floor as well. He turned to face Flynn and jerked his head to the side. “Towels are in that cabinet. Could you grab two?”
“Who needs towels?” he replied, although he did reach inside and grab a couple. (Mentally, he bet they had little flowers on them. Yep - little flowers on a lace border. How did he know? Maybe there was just something about Aiden that made him think Martha Stewart or Laura Ashley.) “I bet friction could dry us off in no time.” Flynn gave him a sly grin, knowing he could probably get him to blush again.
Aiden had to focus on his belt, feeling his neck heat as the blush spread. Damnit. He slipped off his shoes and let his pants fall to the floor. With a little more confidence than before he turned and stepped into the shower, tossing a glance over his shoulder as he did. “Put the towels away, then.”
Flynn smiled approvingly, and tossed the towels onto the sink before stepping out of his underwear and kicking them to the corner. Yes, he was probably making things worse, but why not have some fun while he still could?
The water was warm, and Aiden let it slide over his body, letting it relax him as he waited for Flynn. He closed his eyes and thought about everything Flynn had told him. He hoped everything turned out okay.
Flynn stepped into the shower and closed the opaque door behind him. He was going to say something to him, maybe he was going to apologize again, but he decided to stop himself by kissing Aiden instead, drinking the water droplets off his lips. Maybe things would be all right if he just kept his big damn mouth shut for a change.
Haven Falls #96 Face Off
Miles Sutherland and Carter Gillespie
_____________________________
Miles filed away Gertrude Johnson’s case notes. Christ, now his fingers were shaking. At least he could rule out alcohol, he hadn’t touched a drop since he’d got Rufus. Maybe that was the problem, withdrawal symptoms.
He pushed the drawer shut, wincing at the loud bang that did nothing for his splitting headache and crossed over to the window. The view over the town and the bay usually calmed him, but today it made his stomach clench into tight knots. What the fuck was he doing in this little backwater town?
His decision to come here had seemed so logical at the time; immerse himself in normality. Make easy decisions like which of the different statins to use for Gertrude’s high cholesterol. Here he could escape from working in hot, dusty conditions as he struggled to keep starving, parasite-riddled kids alive. Instead he got to work in a clean air-conditioned office and fixed skateboard injuries while he marvelled at their clear skin and perfect, white teeth.
He sighed as he caught sight of Gil entering the front door and moved back out of view. What the fuck was he going to say to him?
His ‘army shit’ comment probably needed some explanation. His background as a pacifist wouldn’t go down well in a community of gung-ho patriotic, red-blooded Americans. He’d realized that the moment he arrived. They were right to be proud of their veterans and the ones still serving overseas. He respected them too. Their bravery and willingness to fight for what they believed in was undeniable.
Problem was, he didn’t share their belief that what they were doing would solve anything. The Russians had spent ten years trying to control Afghanistan and given up. When would the world learn that you’ll never win a war in a foreign country when a large section of the populace just sees you as invaders? They have time on their side. They can wait generation after generation, forcing you to spend billions...even encourage that. Who cares if some of their own countrymen are killed in the process. They just become martyrs to the cause. Collateral in their never-ending struggle for power...control. Control of the mind and body. In the end that’s all it comes down to and nobody gives a stuff about who is hurt in the process.
His paramedic just didn’t understand why he’d told him to abide by the patient’s wishes. How much could he reveal about why he’d given him a direct order? An order that hadn’t been obeyed. He tightened his belt. This was a confrontation that had to be faced sometime. Might as well get it over and done with.
Gil got to work early but not early enough to go running with Miles. He figured Miles probably wouldn’t want to join him in a social situation, not after their phone call the previous afternoon. He’d been a damn fool and he knew it, but he couldn’t get his head around the fact that this was America — they operated differently, ran different protocols. There was so much he couldn’t get his head around — the driving, the small town attitude, the quiet — maybe he wouldn’t last the year, maybe he would jack it in and go home...
Then what? He leaned against his locker and ran a hand through his hair. He had acted stupidly yesterday. But Miles had been so...cold. Abrupt. It had felt like the doctor was being the unprofessional one. Gil had never left a patient like that; it had felt like he was abandoning the guy to his fate. It had felt wrong, just wrong, no matter that it was the patient’s own decision. At least he had left him in medical care. God knew what Miles would have to say to that.
“Gillespie! My office, now!”
Gil turned but Miles was already walking away. Seemed like he was about to find out. Slamming his locker door closed, Gil followed the doctor down the corridor.
The black leather squished as Miles plonked his weight on the stool. Crap, now his knees had started shaking too. Why was he so edgy? Maybe because he wasn’t used to chain of command shit. Previously everyone worked as a team.
Gil couldn’t help but feel like a teenager called to the Headmaster’s Office...Principal’s office here, he thought, yet another difference. He unconsciously straightened his collar and stood tall before appearing in the doorway.
“Come in, and shut the door behind you. I haven’t got all day.”
Gil obeyed, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him quietly. Anticipation made him wary. It also made him recall the old adage, walk softly but carry a big stick. He quickly suppressed an inappropriate smile.
Miles picked up a pencil off the desk and waved it at the chair. “Take a seat.”
“I’ll stay standing if it’s all the same to you.” Always take the high ground in a battle, automatic advantage in looking down at your enemy.
Drat, now the guy towered above him, but Miles wasn’t going to play those bullshit power games. Did he think he could intimidate him? He leaned back so he could eyeball the younger man. Shit, why did he have to look so attractive in his uniform? He sighed. “We have a problem here, Gillespie...”
Oh-oh, the use of his surname didn’t bode well. Gil prepared for battle. The on-coming storm.
“Yesterday, I gave you a direct order, and you ignored me. No, in fact you downright disobeyed me. Then to cap it off you almost threatened that you’d resign if I didn’t like it. Is that how things are done in England? It certainly isn’t the way things are done here.” Miles waited for some sort of reaction, but all he got was a stubborn glare. Something about Gil’s refusal to break eye contact set Miles’ heart racing. This was a test of wills as much as anything. “Perhaps because we’ve had some social interaction outside work you think that gives you the right to argue with me. Well, I got news for you, buster. You have to learn that what happens in the playground stays in the playground. When it comes to work, you’re the paramedic, and I’m the doctor, right?”
Gil swallowed and stayed quiet, eyes front. Miles was perfectly right but that fact didn’t make this any easier.
Miles noted the rigidity in the younger man’s jaw. Was he challenging him? Playing the holier-than-thou card? “No comment, hey? Care to inform me what happened after you hung up on me? Did your patient thank you for pulling your angel-of-mercy stunt? Did he find your dedication to duty touching? I gather he survived, or the shit would be hitting the fan.” Still no response, although the glare had become more intense if that was possible. Miles twirled the pencil around in his fingers a couple of times. “Have you written your report?”
“It’ll be on your desk this afternoon. I left him in the care of his own doctor, and do you care whether he found my ‘dedication to duty’ touching or not?”
Oh, that had hit a nerve, the blush still showed up under the young man’s tan. “I don’t give a shit what he thought about you as a person. I do give a shit about whether you obey orders. Veterans need special care by people with training, not wet-behind-the-ears kids who see themselves as fucking heroes, going in to save the world.”
“So I’m sure you’re going to tell me why he isn’t under that ‘special care’. He was so damn terrified of us, I’m surprised he even let us near him, and I resent being called a “wet-behind-the-ears kid”! Of all the things you could call me, you don’t have the right to call me that! I have no desire to get the call to come cut him down when he’s hanged himself because he’s been forgotten by the very people who sent him there, not again!” Gil’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He’d been there, done that. “I’m not a ‘fucking hero’, doctor, I’m not brave enough to try saving the world.”
The sagging shoulders should have been a cause for celebration, but instead Miles felt as if he’d been the one beaten into the ground. Fuck it, his comment had been uncalled for. But partly it was Miles going back to his old tricks, trying to dominate. Darren had managed to cure him of the habit and shown him that relationships worked just as well between equals. He waved the pencil again. “Sit down before you fall down.”
Gil heard but didn’t acknowledge the change in tone. He glanced at the chair, then moved to sit down, dropping into it heavily.
Miles took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice at a reasonable level. “Let’s recap a bit here. You rang me and said, if I remember rightly, that Jason Biggs was responding well to heat packs and a warm saline IV. Am I correct?”
“Yes, you are.” Gil’s voice was a monotone.
Ah, a response. Something inside Miles loosened — the tense ball of muscle that seemed to have wrapped itself around his gut when he knew this face-off had to take place. Maybe reason was better than a bloody tirade. Sometimes his red-headed temper did get the better of him. “Then I suggested you bring him in, and you said that wasn’t an option because of his past experiences with medicos and his war experiences. Right?”