by J. M. Snyder
Ash stared at him. Had he meant so little to Ross that he’d just forgotten how much he’d loved Dumas? “Yeah, I still am. That’s not the kind of thing that’s likely to change.”
Ross tilted his head a little, like he didn’t quite understand, but pressed on. “It’s just funny, I used to date this guy, he was super into The Three Musketeers.”
It finally sunk in, and when it did, Ash was ashamed he hadn’t figured it out before. It must have been the pain and nausea slowing his brain down. He scooted back against the nearest wall, so it could support his shoulder and his back. “You have no idea who I am, do you?” He laughed weakly, until he coughed. That jostled his shoulder, which sent spikes of pain down through his body.
“Should I?” Ross narrowed his eyes at him. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
The room spun around Ash, and he used his good arm to prop himself against the floor. He wanted to scream, to shout his resentment to anyone who would listen. It didn’t necessarily make sense for him to do so right now. He was sick, and he was hurt, and he needed Ross until he could get out of here. Wherever here might be.
Besides, screaming resentment he hadn’t known he felt until two minutes ago, didn’t feel like the most rational thing to do.
“Obviously it was a minor interaction,” he croaked out. Maybe it had been to Ross. Ross had just broken his heart, no big deal. “How did I get here?”
“I found you and your car as I was heading toward base. You shouldn’t have been on the road,” Ross told him, with a severe look. “The governor declared a state of emergency, and a travel ban, and not just because he was being a dick. No one was supposed to be on the roads. My job is to be looking for stuck motorists.” He relaxed and looked around. “And I found one. Your tailpipe had been stuck in the snow, and you and your dog were getting a good dose of carbon monoxide poisoning.”
“Jesus.” Ash coughed into his hand and struggled to keep his stomach from rebelling. He reached for Porthos again. “That’s…I remember swerving to avoid another dog. It wasn’t mine. And that’s when I skidded out. I must have hit my head on the frame or something. I was heading north.”
Ross chuckled. He looked so good, even in the dingy lighting and the unflattering uniform. Ashton had thought he was mostly over him, but having him here and close blew all of that out of the water. Of course, knowing Ross didn’t even remember him probably had something to do with his feelings, too.
“Well you weren’t heading north when I found you. Maybe that explains why you’re moving so stiffly, maybe you’ve got a touch of whiplash.”
Ash didn’t have whiplash. Or maybe he did, but whiplash had nothing to do with the way he moved. “Maybe.” He didn’t need Ross knowing what he’d been up to for the past few years. Hell, if Ross had bothered to turn on his TV he’d have found out. “Thanks for pulling us out.”
“No problem. It’s kind of my whole job, literally.” Ross smiled widely. “Do you think you can handle a little bit of water?”
“Has Porthos had any?”
“He absolutely has. Not that he was willing to move from your side to get at it.” Ross chuckled. “What had you on the road during an emergency, anyway? I promise, I’m not going to write you a ticket.”
Ash closed his eyes. Wasn’t this his own stupid luck? Rescued by the guy who’d broken his heart, who didn’t even remember doing it. If the way the snow had piled up against the window was any indication, Ash would be stuck here for some time, looking at the same smile that had bound his soul all those years ago. “I had an assignment, actually. And because I’m still new here, my phone doesn’t get the emergency alerts. Believe it or not, I’m supposed to be covering ski season at Nashoba Valley. But I got turned around, and then I swerved to avoid that dog, and it was all over. I don’t even know why they sent me up there. I don’t ski.”
“Really? Well, if you’re going to live in New England, you’d better learn.” Ross gave him a little half grin. “It’s a pretty popular pastime around here.”
Ash moistened his lips. He didn’t want to hint at too much. He didn’t know if he wanted Ross to recognize him, or not, at this point. Either one seemed unpalatable. “Yeah. I used to go to school around here. I even skied. But, ah, I had some injuries, and the docs said to stay off the slopes.” Or anything else that involves high impact, like bombs or explosions or things slamming into you at high speeds. “So, I’m benched, permanently. But I guess they wanted to see what the new guy could do.”
“Are you a photographer?” Ross’s interest sounded more polite than genuine.
“Yeah, photographer and journalist.” Ash had won multiple awards for his coverage of the wars in Syria and Yemen, and the crises in Guatemala and Honduras, but apparently Ross hadn’t checked up on him. Ash couldn’t exactly throw stones. He’d checked in via Facebook—quietly, without reaching out—but he hadn’t followed Ross’ career either. Of course, Ross hadn’t been on TV on a regular basis, so it wasn’t exactly the same. “It’s a living.”
“I guess. Cops and journalists don’t always get along so well.” Ross chuckled. “But hey, we’re in the same boat for now.” He stood up and stretched. “So, I spoke with dispatch. There’s a tree down across the main road from the south, and I don’t know what’s happening on the road from the north, but it ain’t good. We might as well dig in, because we’re going to be here for a good while.”
Ash rubbed at his face. “I’m grateful. I am. I’d have died if you’d left me where you found me, and more importantly, Porthos would have died. I just—I’m not sure where here is, exactly.”
Ross took off his hat. His dark hair was a lot shorter now, but he still had that playful look to him. Ash could just run his fingers through that hair, it would be so easy. He wouldn’t even have to tell Ross who he was—no. He wouldn’t do that. Ash deserved better than to be one among many, damn it.
“My dispatcher told me about an abandoned house not too far from our location. We aren’t the only state trooper and civilian unit out in the wild tonight. A few have taken shelter in businesses. We just had to be a little more creative. It’s fine. It’s obvious these folks aren’t coming back tonight.”
Ash shuddered. “I hope not. Hey, do you have my phone? I need to tell my editor where I am. Can’t have the new guy be a no-show for his first assignment, right?”
“Oh God, no.” Ross laughed. “You’d be fired.” He rummaged through a few things and passed Ash his phone. As he did, their hands brushed together for just a second. Did Ross feel that same electric spark that passed between them?
If he did, he didn’t say or do anything about it.
“Thanks,” Ash muttered. He shifted position, since the pain in his shoulder had become excruciating, and called his boss.
John picked up on the first ring. “Ash? Oh my God, are you okay?”
Ash chuckled weakly. “Thanks. Um, yeah. Thanks to the kindness of a passing state trooper, Porthos and I have survived our first encounter with New England weather. Unfortunately, I won’t be making it up to Nashoba tonight. I’m stuck until the storm passes and I’m pretty sure my car’s toast.”
“Dude, don’t even worry about it. As soon as they lift the state of emergency, I’ll send someone to wherever they take you—hospital, Target, whatever. We’ll get you home and safe. Are you in a safe place now?”
“Safe enough. It’s an abandoned house, it seems reasonably sturdy, so far. It’s better than gassing myself and my dog in our car, you know?” Ash made himself laugh. He wasn’t particularly keen on dying, but if he had, it would have been through his own stupidity. Risking Porthos, though—that would have been unforgivable.
“Don’t even think about it.” John’s voice had an undercurrent of steel. “Listen, maybe you can work it into a feature about the dangers of winter driving. That way we can make sure you’re on the clock. You know, for the insurance.”
“Hey, good angle. I’ll try to come up with something. I don’t know if it will be u
seable, but we’ll see.” Ash grimaced. He hadn’t thought about the insurance. He hadn’t had to before. “I’ll talk to you soon, John.”
“Definitely. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” John hung up.
“Sounds like that went well.” Ross looked away from the window. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, I swear. It’s just close quarters, you know?”
“No, no, I get it. It turns out they were worried. I think they must have called or something, and I didn’t answer.” He struggled to his feet and then he swayed. He used his good arm to hold himself up against the wall. “This place still has all its utilities?”
“They must be planning to sell it. I mean why else leave all this stuff on, right?” Ross looked around. “Where’d you go to school?”
“Hm?” Ash’s mind raced. Could he come up with a good lie? And should he? Would it be the end of the world if Ross figured out who he was? “I went to Northeastern.”
“Huh. Me too.” Ross opened his mouth like he was going to say something, and Ash’s heart sped up. Would this be when he remembered Ash? Remembered them? Then Ross shook his head, just a little bit. “It’s a big school. Everyone’s probably seen everyone at least twice, right?”
Ash sighed. “Right.” Porthos let out a disgruntled little sound beside him. “All right. Let’s settle in or whatever.”
Chapter 2
Ross woke up before his companion, who still hadn’t told him his name. He couldn’t be surprised he woke up first. The other guy had been through the wringer. There was the carbon monoxide, the accident, and whatever was going on with all that stiffness. The poor guy was still new in town, which meant he probably shouldn’t have been on the roads anyway. What was done was done. Hopefully Mr. Mysterio would plan better next time and wouldn’t lose his job over it.
Porthos looked up and let his ears go back. The dog clearly had a pretty strong bond with Mysterio, whoever he was. He wasn’t letting anyone else get close. “You’re okay, buddy,” he said, holding his hands out. “I’m not going to hurt your human, okay? I’m going to stay right here until he wakes up.”
Mysterio opened one eye. “You get he’s a dog, right?” he croaked, in a voice so much like Ash’s cranky morning voice Ross almost cried. “I mean he’s a good dog, but his English is only kind of so-so.”
Porthos stuck his nose under Mysterio’s arm, and Mysterio rolled over onto his back with a grimace. The guy was way too young to be moving around like he was arthritic, so what else could be wrong with him? “I suppose you speak canine, then?” Ross asked with a little chuckle. He’d met people who made stranger claims. “I met one guy who said he couldn’t train his Havanese until he established his dominance over it. The thing was positively feral.”
Mysterio chuckled, giving a grin that made Ross’ insides melt. “No, no, that’s not it at all. It’s—really? He couldn’t train a dog until he ‘established his dominance?’” The guy hoisted himself into a sitting position and raised his eyebrows in shock. “That’s a new one on me, man. I don’t think I’ve ever heard something so ridiculous. Did he read that in some self-help book or something?”
“I didn’t ask. I just wrote the ticket. The thing was trying to bite me through the rear window the whole time. Like a little piece of popcorn with teeth.” Ross chuckled at the memory.
“I’ll bet. No, I brought Porthos back from my last assignment in Syria.” A shadow fell over Mysterio’s face for a second. “It took a little bit of doing, but I managed it. He stayed with me the whole time. I saved him, and he wound up saving me. I guess it worked out, hey big guy?” He scratched behind his dog’s ears, adoringly.
“Were you a soldier?” Ross leaned forward a little.
“No. War correspondent with one of the big networks.” Mysterio looked up from his dog, and again, he looked enough like Ash in that moment to make Ross’ heart hurt. “We don’t get guns, I’m afraid. Just cameras.”
“Doesn’t that make you better off? Like, safer?” Ross licked his lips. The press was supposed to be safe, right?
“Not even a little bit.” Mysterio flattened his lips for a second. Then he struggled painfully to his feet. “So. What are the odds that the previous residents left any food around here?” He shuffled off toward the kitchen. Porthos followed. It was hard to say whether the shaggy dog followed out of loyalty or hopes of breakfast, but he followed.
Ross watched him go. What was it about this guy that got under his skin so badly? Was it the position of vulnerability in which Ross had found him? The resemblance to Ash, the guy who’d all but torn his heart out and taken it with him back in college? Christ, he couldn’t walk past a closet without remembering Ash. The guy had been everything Ross could have wanted in a guy, except his lack of acceptance.
What was Ash doing now? Part of Ross hoped he was thriving and doing something he loved, skiing out west or something like that. Maybe he’d made the Olympic team, wouldn’t that be nice? Another, pettier part of Ross hoped he was miserable. Ross would have done anything for him, if only Ash had been willing to come out.
Ross, apparently, hadn’t been worth coming out for. And sure, on the surface Ross could understand his arguments. Cultural issues, professional issues, we want different things, blah blah blah. When Ross heard those arguments from other people, from friends or from guys who were new to his life, his advice was always the same. Come out in your own time, when you’re ready. You’re the only person who can make that decision for you. No one else gets to decide what’s safe or what’s right for you. Ross, on the other hand, never dated anyone who wasn’t a hundred percent open about his sexuality again.
Apparently, he had to learn his lessons the hard way, but he could be taught.
Mysterio limped back into the main room and fed Porthos. Ross cleared his throat. “I can’t help but notice you came back empty handed.”
“Yeah. Those cabinets are clean as a whistle. Not so much as a hint of mice or anything.” Mysterio lowered himself to the ground. “Not that we’re to the point where eating mice is on the table, but still. I definitely think they’re planning to sell this place. I’ll chip in toward the cost of getting a maid or something. It’s the least I can do.”
“I think the state might be willing to cover it. We’re not exactly wrecking the joint, and it is an emergency situation.” Ross ran a hand through his dark hair. He’d love a shower. He loved what gel did for his hair, but he didn’t love the feel after sleeping on the ground all night. “I can’t believe it’s still snowing.”
“I know, right?” Mysterio let out a little laugh. “It already feels like we’ve been here for days, but I know it’s only been a few hours.”
Ross snorted. “You’ve probably been in situations that make this one look like child’s play, seriously. I mean you were in Syria. Bombs have got to be worse than snow.”
“True.” Mysterio closed his eyes and leaned his head against the garish, outdated wallpaper. “But at least you knew, then, that there would be an end. Either they’d run out of ordinance, in which case you could run, or they’d bomb you into pieces, in which case you wouldn’t care anymore. Either way, you wouldn’t be stuck sitting and waiting.”
Ross grimaced. “That’s awfully bleak.”
Mysterio gave him an unimpressed look. “So is snow, Ross.” He dragged a steno pad out of his duffel. “At least it’s good to write down.”
It took Ross a second. “Right, for the story. You spoke about it with your editor last night.” He paused. “How did you know my first name?” “It’s not on my uniform anywhere.”
Mysterio rubbed his temples. “You still have no clue who I am, do you?”
Ross set his jaw. “You look a bit like someone I used to know. And that’s…not easy, if I’m being honest. But that doesn’t mean I know you. Believe it or not, I know you don’t all look alike.”
Mysterio snorted. “Well, that’s something at least. Out of all the things I’ve called you over the years, racist was never one of them.” H
e held his dog a little closer and kept his eyes closed. Then, he opened them and scribbled in his notebook.
Ross watched him write. It couldn’t be Ash. There was no possible way this guy was Ash. “That guy—the one I’m thinking of—he was right handed. You’re writing with your left.”
“I’m still not using my right side so well. I don’t know if you’ve noticed.” Mysterio smirked, but didn’t look up from his work. His phone rang, and he answered it right away. “Hey, John. Yeah, I’m still holed up here. We’ve got water, no food. Yeah, I’ve got food for Porthos for a week, but we’re not dipping into that.” He frowned, heavy eyebrows knitting together as he looked at the ground. “For one thing, because it’s dog food, John, not people food. It’s a different standard of quality when you’re feeding someone whose system has evolved to eat garbage and, er, waste.”
Ross made a face. He hadn’t given much thought to just how gross dogs could be.
“For another thing, Porthos is my responsibility. I wouldn’t be alive today if he hadn’t tackled me out of the way of that blast, so no. I am not going to go stealing his food. I owe him a hell of a lot more than a handful of kibble. I am not going to allow this state trooper to go stealing his kibble. I will dig my way out to the road if I have to.” Mysterio paused to listen. “I’m aware of the consequences.” He paused again, and then he chuckled. “Sorry. I get defensive of Porthos. I had to fight pretty damn hard to get him here, you know? All right, I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”
“Your editor.” Ross licked his lips. Mysterio couldn’t actually be Ash. He was too tall, too built. Ash would never have given up skiing. Ash probably wouldn’t have come back to Boston, either. Then again, it sounded like this guy had been through a lot in the past few years.
“Yeah. Producer, I guess. It’s broadcast, so he wears a lot of hats.” Mysterio put his pen down. “Any word from your side about how much longer we’re going to be stuck here?”
Ross jumped. He hadn’t thought to check in with his bosses. He sent a quick text to his supervisor, who told him they wouldn’t be able to dig him out until tomorrow. “The storm is going to keep blowing this crap at us for most of the rest of the day,” he told his companion. “We’ve got that to deal with, and then we’ve got the joy and wonder of waiting for them to dig us out and deal with the downed tree.”