The Manx Cat Guardians Boxed Set

by J P Sayle

  Martin’s howling laughter added insult to injury. Stuart glared down at both of them, when he caught Greg trying to hide his sniggers behind his hand, while the other carefully placed the half empty cup down out of harm’s way.

  Stuart held up his hands in defeat, letting go of his now coffee soaked shirt, courtesy of Greg’s clumsiness. “Okay, I asked for that. Listen, Greg. I’m sorry, okay? I was only messing, I didn’t realise it was affecting you so badly. That, believe it or not, was not my intention. You know the official rule about fraternising. It’s the only reason I haven’t taken it any further.” Stuart scrutinized Greg as heat infused his face, seeing his disbelief.

  He crouched, careful of any sudden movements, his wet shirt temporarily forgotten. “I mean it, you are very attractive, and I would be very interested. But grouchy over there is very strict on office relationships, so can we be friends? I promise to behave.” Stuart offered Greg his hand. Pleased when he accepted, and a little disappointed there couldn’t be more when warm, soft skin rubbed gently against his roughened palm. He tightened his grip for a second before pulling back, pleased they seemed to have cleared the air.

  His smugness satisfaction lasted all of two seconds before his soggy shirt plastered itself to his chest, creating goosebumps. The heated room offered little warmth against his soaking wet shirt. Stuart headed for the door, pausing when Martin spoke.

  “Where do you think you’re going? We need to finish up here. Man up, Stuart, it’s only a little spilt coffee.”

  Stuart’s teeth ground together as he spun on his heel, plonking down in the only other vacant seat next to the blowing air con. His words ground out, when the cool air caused him to shudder. “Come on then. I have to get home and sort the house for your visitor, unless you’re going to do it?”

  Martin’s ‘fuck you’ smirk had Greg releasing a chuckle next to him. He pretended interest in his lap when Stuart turned his steely gaze on him. Stuart settled back, ignoring the wetness and smell of stale coffee as his shirt dried. Wishing the whole time they would hurry up and conclude the meeting so he could get home and end this day.

  Stuart sighed in pleasure, slamming the door behind him, and pulling his tie off. He fist pumped the air when his stomach growled in appreciation of the rich aroma coming from the kitchen. Brad must have paid him a little visit, leaving behind a gift. He hurried into the kitchen, eager to see what surprise was waiting in the oven. His thoughts of going straight for a shower were forgotten under his greed. Saliva pooled in his mouth when he opened the oven. The rich, cheesy tomato sauce bubbled on top of the homemade lasagna. He beamed at the thought of Brad’s homemade garlic bread, checking the fridge, he wasn’t disappointed.

  He checked to see if Brad had left him any instructions, grinning as he read.

  “Hey, babe, there is lasagna in the oven ready when you are, the bread only needs ten minutes, don’t forget to share, though, with Joe. I’ll be checking just to make sure.”

  His pleasure diminished, forgetting Joe was coming later. How that had slipped his mind, he’d never know. He supposed it would be nicer to eat with his new housemate when he arrived. Checking the time, he racked his brain trying to remember what time the boat docked. He considered if he had time for a shower first, the stench of stale coffee reminding him of the state of his shirt.

  His decision made he headed upstairs, shrugging off the sudden urge to look his best. Stuart threw his ruined shirt onto his bed before going to check the spare room next to his. He gave the sheets a quick sniff. Pleased when the flowery bouquet affirmed his mother had washed them, he straightened the disturbed covers.

  He liked the colour scheme, brown and cream bedding blended with soft taupe walls, accented by thick cream carpets. The queen-sized bed dominated the room. Oak posts mimicked totem poles, carved designs different on each post. He had found them in a shop in London, instantly falling in love with the unique designs; he bought one for each of the bedrooms in his flat. When he had agreed to purchase the house, Martin had agreed to let him move in some of his furniture out of the storage unit in Crosby.

  The room seemed to fit his things perfectly. He trailed his hand down the wooden dresser, checking for dust. When his hand came away clean, he went to check the en-suite. The white bathroom too plain for his tastes, the bath seemed to take up most of the space leaving no room for a shower. He considered that might be the first change he made, not that he would be using it, but he wanted his guests to have a choice of bath or shower, and currently this room only offered a bath. Getting the fresh towels out of the airing cupboard, he placed the deep red towels on the warming rack, putting fresh soap in the dish by the sink.

  Feeling he’d done everything he could for now, Stuart headed to his own room. His dark mahogany bed sat squarely in the middle of the large room, as impressive as its counterpart in the spare room. With one exception, his posts were taller, offering considerably more carvings etched into the wood.

  Stuart had spent weeks trying to figure out what each carving meant. It had become an obsession for a while. His bed, it would appear, was all about fertility, which in hindsight was completely wasted on him.

  Going to the large window, he looked out towards the deep green and purple hills coated in fading sunlight. Opening the window, a soft breeze teased his naked, hairless chest. Butterfly soft against his skin, he could just smell the hint of freshly cut grass. He lingered for a few seconds, feeling the roots he’d started to put down months ago on this small island, sink deeper, giving him a sense of peace he hadn’t felt since his father had died. He let the sadness settle, its weight lighter with each passing year, even when the ache still lingered.

  Stuart pulled the curtains open as far as they would go, to let the lowering sun fill the room. The flickering light cast shadows over the gleaming wood, which gave the room a dreamy feel. The warmth inside his chest affirming what he already knew, this was his place, his home.

  He crossed his fingers that his visitor would feel the homeliness as he did. His sudden thought peculiar under the circumstances, made him pause. Stuart chuckled at why he’d worry about what a stranger would think about his home. He brushed aside the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach the thought had given him. He headed to the shower before he ran out of time.

  Stuart launched his dripping body down the stairs, attempting to hold the towel in place as it tried to slip through his wet hands. He managed to secure it, just as the bell pealed again. “Fuck, fuck, Christ, I knew this would happen.” Sulking at being caught unprepared, he pushed his dripping hair out of his eyes as the other yanked the door open.

  The chilly evening breeze rippled across his wet skin making goosebumps dance. His nipples stiffened, bracing against the coolness of the air. Stuart’s mind was completely oblivious to his body’s reaction. The clashing reality of past and present colliding had everything else fade away.

  A pair of melted chocolate eyes pulled him back ten years, eradicating all sense of time. Rapidly blinking, he prayed those eyes wouldn’t disappear, that it wasn’t some cosmic joke, that he hadn’t fallen asleep and was dreaming again.

  Stuart stepped forward, his legs moving before his mind could fully comprehend. He felt his hands itch to touch, making sure it wasn’t a dream. Had he slipped into some dual reality where his dreams came to life? The gusting wind lifted his towel making his balls shrivel up into his body.

  “Shit.” Stuart automatically pushed his hand down, going to their aid when reality invaded.

  The motionless man stood there, almost as if he was devouring Stuart’s semi naked body. Hot melted chocolate eyes seemed to sear Stuart’s skin, taking away the chill. The heated gaze following Stuart’s every move, appeared to miss nothing. Stuart was astounded as he fought with the urge to pull his towel off and show the man exactly what he had to offer and feel those chocolate eyes caress him.

  Stuart struggled to suck in a breath, who the hell had stolen all the oxygen?

  Joe

&n
bsp; Joe felt his nerves jangle, grateful he’d not eaten something before the boat set sail. The rocking and rolling Ben-My-Chree made it difficult to control his queasiness. The last thing he wanted to do was throw up on some poor unsuspecting holidaymaker. He sat himself out of the way on the top deck, hoping if he focused on the horizon it would help.

  The bright blue sky was full of light wispy clouds that allowed the sun to warm his exposed face. The bracing salty breeze ruffled his hair, flicking it around his face. His skin tightened when the sun dried the salty spray coating his skin. Joe sucked the salty taste off his lips into his mouth, letting it replace the bitter taste of bile he’d lived with since his confrontation with Joel. Tilting his face, his eyes drifted shut feeling the sun’s balminess lull him.

  He focused on the warmth, pushing the lump of dread he always got when travelling on boats away. Never a great traveller, he’d normally take seasickness pills, but as this had been a last minute booking, he’d not had chance to get any and now he was paying the price.

  He let out a whimper when his stomach pitched and rolled with the boat. He tried not to let his internal pity party take hold. He had no one to blame but himself for making this last minute decision. He knew Martin wouldn’t refuse him, even with such short notice, so he’d called him from the sea terminal just before he’d boarded. The relief at Martin’s pleased agreement hardly registered under the weight of his stress.

  Joe hugged into the warmth of his jacket, pulling it protectively around him. He tried to take comfort from the heat, but the ice inside persisted. His broken spirit didn’t seem to want to play ball anymore.

  Aaden may have worked his magic, or in other words every pressure point in Joel’s body, making him sing like a canary. Joe on the other hand, struggled to get past the waking nightmares Joel’s screams of agony had given him. His initial thoughts of wanting Joel to suffer had died after thirty minutes of listening to him scream blue murder. Incoherent begging sobs had eventually given way to a confession. Aaden’s methods had been barbaric in the cold light of day. Joe was pretty positive Joel’s body would still, days later, be crying in agony.

  Joe felt the trembles take hold when he couldn’t stop the images. He’d spent days trying to avoid them only to be bombarded when he least expected it. It was as if the universe wanted him to share Joel’s suffering. Joe’s eyes blurred with the effort to fight past the rioting movie in his mind.

  How wrong had he been thinking Aaden’s way would resolve everything and give him back what he had lost along the way, himself. He could still hear the base commanding officer’s disdain, looking down his superior nose at Joe as if he was dog shit he might have trodden in. It was a mental blow he hadn’t prepared for, thinking he’d be exonerated and yes he had been, but at what cost.

  Joel’s confinement to quarters before his court-martial seemed tame after everything he’d suffered. Aaden’s statement had sealed Joel’s fate but to what end? The disgust towards him had been evident, Christ he was positive that the commanding officer had felt sorry for Joel.

  As a civilian employee, the army’s official business, it would appear, wasn’t up for discussion with him. Initially he’d been pissed to be excluded from the hearing, now all he felt was relief he wouldn’t have to face Joel again. They had his statement and that, it appeared, was enough.

  Joe felt gutted by the whole debacle. The rawness had him wanting to escape, leaving before the final outcome. Aaden’s promise to keep him updated allowed him to run.

  Days passed, and still the weight dragged at him. Where was his light at the end of the tunnel, why didn’t he at least feel safe? Driven to try and seek some solace, he’d found himself packing the van and driving for five hours to get to Heysham, praying there would be space to travel. After speaking to Martin he’d boarded the boat, praying the island had the answers his battered soul needed.

  His earlier feeling of being lucky to get on the boat maybe was an overestimation, groaning he gripped tightly to the guardrail. He felt the boat slam into another large wave, nearly dislodging him from his position at the railing. His belly roiled, matching the boat’s motion perfectly, making him breathe through his mouth, sucking in great greedy gulps of salty air, fighting the nausea. He glued his eyes to the blueness of the horizon, not daring to take his hands off the rail to check how much longer.

  Joe felt his panic build with each new wave that hit. Barely acknowledging the pain in his fingers, his mind wouldn’t let him loosen his grip, overlooking the metal shavings digging into his palms. Fuck, shit, bastard, whoever the hell invented travel should be fucking shot. Feeling a sob rise, Joe battled to keep calm; it can’t be much longer, surely?

  He couldn’t help the glare he threw at the toddler who squealed in delight in her father’s arms when each wave crashed into the boat, making it dip drastically towards the water.

  Sucking in another breath, Joe braced his legs, or attempted to, but trying to lock jelly in place was never going to happen. This couldn’t go on for much longer, his shaking, fatigued arms were in full agreement. He couldn’t go on for much longer.

  Minutes later Joe all but jumped for joy as the shoreline came into view, never had there been a more welcomed sight. His cramped fingers finally releasing the rail, Joe gave them a thorough check, before brushing off the metal shavings. His relieved sigh lasting seconds before the attacking pins and needles flooded his hands. Groaning in agony Joe vigorously rubbed his fingers together, growling at the stabbing sensations and shaking his hands to no avail.

  Joe became distracted by the men readying the boat for docking. So much so, he nearly missed the little castle that sat in the bay. How intriguing was that, who would put a tiny castle in the sea? He wondered what on earth its purpose was, because it was far too small to be of any useful purpose, surely. Taking out his phone, he did a quick search. Reading he became more intrigued, ‘the Tower of Refuge in Douglas Bay was built in 1832 by Sir William Hillary, the founder of the Royal National Lifeboat Institution. This small fort was designed to provide shipwrecked sailors a safe place to stay and sit out a storm.’ Joe gazed back, thinking there couldn’t have been many men on those ships.

  His gaze drifted past the tiny castle to the golden sand that seemed to stretch for miles. His eyes strained, blinking, thinking he was seeing things when palm trees swayed along the shoreline. It gave the long promenade a tropical feel, lush palm leaves shone, stroked by the dipping sun. Joe felt the first genuine smile stretch across his face, taking away some of the darkness that had prevailed inside him for months.

  It was such a pretty island. A contented feeling settled inside his chest as the boat bumped into the dock. Strange emotions flooded through him, washing some of the weariness from his body. A feeling of being welcomed coursed through him. Joe struggled to understand all the mixed emotions that advised he had found home. Uncertainty had him choosing to not examine things too closely, instead enjoying the bubbling excitement building in him. It was a welcome relief after the distress he’d endured for the past six months.

  The roar of multiple bike engines filled the air, making him lose track of his thoughts. Peering down at the dock, the number of motorbikes on the quayside gave him pause. His earlier research floated to the front of his mind. Well, crap he’d missed the Isle of Man festival of Motorsport, calculating it had finished a few days earlier. He tried to remember what day it was, he sucked his lip between his teeth in concentration. He frowned when he couldn’t even remember what the date was. It would appear time meant nothing when you have been battling evil. His negative thoughts were drowned out by the speaker behind his head blaring.

  His hands moved quickly to cover his ears as a booming voice announced. “All vehicle owners please attend to your vehicles ready for disembarkation.” Joe flinched, his head pounding from the noise. Did it have to be so loud?

  His eardrums ached, the ringing it left behind persisted for several minutes while he watched people scurry back to their vehicles. Follow
ing suit, Joe headed to his van. It was never a more welcome sight, knowing he’d finally get off the rock and roller ride. He didn’t think too hard about the fact he would need to get back on it at some point in the future. He hadn’t made any concrete plans, leaving his ticket open-ended.

  His thoughts shifted to where he was headed. Joe sucked his lip between his teeth feeling a little perturbed he wasn’t going to be staying with Martin, even if he would only be fifty feet away. He absently rubbed the back of his neck, thinking about living with a stranger. Okay, he wasn’t a complete stranger, Joe shrugged off his own snooping. He knew it was intrusive to do a background search on his new landlord. He shook it off, feeling justified after everything he’d been through.

  Stuart though didn’t appear to have any skeletons in his closet. A loving son, his only sin appeared to be working for an evil bastard. Hiding his sexual orientation so he could pay debts incurred through his father’s illness. Those actions didn’t scream monster, in fact it demonstrated a solid character, a man of honour. Well, Joe hoped so. The picture he had unearthed a little grainy taken years ago, offered little. Odd that even at the trial there had been no close-ups of Stuart Wilson’s face.

  Brad had given little away about Stuart when they’d talked on FaceTime, relaying only small snippets of their joint past. The one thing Joe found strange was Brad and Stuart’s relationship considering their past history. Joe was convinced he was missing a piece of the puzzle, for whatever reason, Brad was holding back.

  Joe hadn’t let on to Brad how much digging he’d done and how much he’d already known about Brad’s history. Joe had used FaceTime to get to know the quirky little man that had captured his best friend’s heart, coming to see why Martin was so enamoured. Brad may have suffered unimaginable pain in his childhood, but he’d not let it stop him being a warm loving man. Joe was looking forward to getting to spend time with him in person. Joe chewed his lip lost worrying if Brad would like him in person.