Escape (25 page)

“Couldn't you sleep? Was I crowding you?”

Tarik smiled, and Luka's belly fluttered. “No, you weren't crowding me.”

“Are you okay?”

“I'm okay, but I could be better.”

“Are you thirsty? I'll get you some water. Do you want another blanket?”

Tarik's smile got bigger. “Just come here.”

Luka looked around the perimeter of the bed, but didn't see his shorts anywhere, so he tried to tug the sheet free and wrap it around his hips.

“You don't need that. It's just us. Come here.” Tarik stretched his hand toward Luka.

The pull of that outstretched hand and Tarik's smile was more powerful than Luka's shyness. Hoping that, in the dark, he wasn't as exposed as he felt, he walked across the room. Tarik lifted the blanket he'd been huddled under, and opened his arms like he was inviting Luka into an embrace. God, he was so beautiful, naked in the yellow glow from the stove. But there was no more room in the chair.

“Not in the mood to cuddle?”

Luka laughed, flustered. “Where am I supposed to sit?”

“On my lap.”

Tarik coaxed Luka forward, had him plant his knees on the cushion, on either side of Tarik's thighs, then pulled him in close, until he was sitting astride him, their bellies pressed against each other. Startling, and so good, the sensation of their cocks nuzzled together in the warmth between their bodies. Tarik wrapped the blanket around Luka's shoulders, then slid his arms around him, skin against skin. Luka rested his cheek on Tarik's shoulder. No heaven could feel better than this.

Tarik combed his fingers into Luka's hair, and sighed. “See? We fit together perfectly.”

Lulling, that slow, circling stroking of Tarik's fingertips in his hair. Luka had never felt so contented. So safe. Except the lingering worry he'd seen a shadow of anxiety in Tarik's eyes, even while he'd smiled and pulled Luka into his arms.

“Tarik?”

“Hmmm?”

The soft, rumbling vibration of Tarik's chest against his filled Luka with warmth. “Is something bothering you?” When Tarik didn't answer, Luka sat back so he could see his face. God, he could spend eternity like that, wrapped up with him, held in that steady gaze, even if there was a shadow in it. “What's wrong?”

“I'm just thinking through the crossing.”

“Are you worried?”

“A little anxious, yes.”

“This must be really hard for you. You have so much riding on it.”

Tarik grinned. “And you don't?”

“I mean, if you get caught and don't make it across, you lose your son.” Luka rushed to add, “I don't mean forever, just until...”

“Luka, you do understand, don't you? If we don't make it across, we're probably dead.”

“I know.”

“I want to raise my son. I hate that he's already lost his mother. But at least he has people who love him, and who'll raise him, if they have to. He won't have a mother or father, but he'll be alive. Safe.”

Luka didn't know what to say. What Tarik needed to hear. “Knowing Daris is safe... does it make you less afraid of crossing?”

“Yes, but it also makes me wonder...”

“What?”

“I don't know if it's worth the risk.”

“But what else can you do? If you stay in Eršba, sooner or later, you'll be caught, and either sent back to the front, or shot for desertion.”

“We could stay here.”

Luka wasn't sure he'd heard Tarik. Heard
we
. His chest and throat flooded with foolish hope. He could barely talk. “Stay here?”

“They're monitoring troop movement. Andjela could let us know when we need to clear out.”

That warmth, that safety, that utter bliss could go on. They could stay there. Stay together. The idea was so beautiful, it hurt Luka's chest, as if his heart were bruised.

“They keep saying the UN is going to send a peacekeeping force. If they do, maybe the fighting will end. Or, maybe it'll at least be safer to cross.” The more convinced Tarik sounded, the darker the shadow in his eyes got.

“That was all true, before. Why are you changing your mind now? After you've trekked hundreds of kilometers? After you've spent weeks almost starving, sleeping in the dirt most nights, freezing half to death?”

Tarik caressed Luka's cheek. “I guess the danger just feels more real, now that we're so close to the border.”

The happiness filling and lifting Luka was shrinking, and a cold weight was sinking through him, settling in his gut. “But all this time, you've been risking your life. Since the day you ditched the other guys on your recon mission. Even three hundred kilometers from the border, you thought the risk of being shot in the back was worth it. Now you're so close, and you're...”

Tarik tried to pull Luka into another close embrace, but Luka put his palm to Tarik's chest and searched Tarik's eyes. For the first time, Tarik dodged his gaze.

“And now, you won't look at me. Tarik?”

Lids lifted. Hazel eyes met Luka's own.

“I told you already, Tarik. I want to go.”

“I know.”

“But it's because of me, you getting cold feet now.”

“I don't know.”

“Please don't lie to me. You think I'm going to slow you down.”

Steady, open gaze. “No, Luka. That isn't it. I promise.”

“Whatever it is, if you think you have a better chance of making it on your own—”

“Stop it, Luka.”

“No. You have to let me say this. You're faster, you're stronger, you're—”

“Luka—”

“You don't have to take me. You don't. The most important thing, the only important thing is you getting over and getting to Daris.”

“That's not the only important thing. And anyway, you're wrong.”

“About what?”

“I'm not worried you're going to hurt my chances.”

“What are you worried about, then?”

“I couldn't take it, I couldn't live with it, if you got hurt. If you got killed.”

Luka had dreaded that answer, but it swelled his chest up with a warmth that made it ache pleasantly. “I could get hurt here. I could get killed, trying to go back to Bokana.”

“Maybe. But...”

“But what? It wouldn't be your fault?”

Tarik's gaze drifted away, maybe toward the glow of the stove behind Luka.

“I told you, I want to go. All you've done is give me a chance to get out of a war where people are dying every day.”

The dark dread in Tarik's eyes hadn't lightened.

Twice, Luka had felt sure he was about to die. Tied to the tree, hurt, tortured by thirst, the sadness of dying so alone, so unloved had far outweighed his fear. And in the cave, with the cold, sharp blade of Tarik's knife against his throat, there'd been that strange moment when gravity seemed to disappear and he'd felt relieved at the thought of everything being over. His loneliness. A lifetime of feeling like a leper everyone kept sending as far away as possible. “Tarik?”

Tarik sighed, and met Luka's eyes again.

“If something does happen to me, it's okay, now.”

A furrow appeared between Tarik's brows.

“Every life is supposed to be a mix. Some suffering. Some goodness. And now I've had both.”

Tarik's eyes filled with tears. “So, what? Now you care even less about dying than you did when I put my knife to your throat?”

“No. I want to live. But if I die, I won't feel like I never experienced...”

Tarik's eyes still full and shimmery, he grinned. “Sex?”

“Happiness.”

A sigh that was almost a laugh. “I've felt happy, too. With you.”

Another sweet rush of heat hit Luka's chest. “But for you, it's not the first time. You gave me something I've never had before. If something happens to me, that's what you should remember.”

Tarik wrapped his arms around Luka and pulled him tight against him. “More than most people I've known, you deserve happiness. You deserve to be loved. If something happens to me, that's what
you
should remember.”

*

A sound woke Luka. A distant, metallic scrape. Heart pounding, Luka squeezed Tarik's arm, draped warm and heavy over his waist.

“Tarik, someone's here.”

“Mmm?”

By the time Tarik had opened his eyes and sat up, Luka was tugging on his underwear and desperately searching in the dim room for his pants.

Upstairs, the door creaked open, then there was a soft click of the latch. “Boys? It's Andjela.” The old woman's uneven footsteps overhead.

“We're down here.” Tarik was still sitting in bed, stretching. “Give us a minute to get decent.”

Luka's heart leapt into his throat. What would she think, knowing they were both down there, together, not “decent”? He hurriedly struggled into his pants, then rooted under the jumble of bedding until he found his shirt and sweater, fumbling as he tried to work his hands into the sleeves turned inside out. While Tarik calmly stepped into his pants, Luka tidied the bed, tossing a rumpled shirt toward Tarik when he found it wound up in the sheet.

“It's safe to come down, Andjela.” Tarik finished buttoning his shirt as the old woman made her way slowly down the steps.

“I trust you boys passed a comfortable night?” The old woman looked them each calmly in the eyes, without any apparent interest in the state of the bed.

“Very comfortable, thank you. It's a real blessing, having a safe place to recuperate for a couple of days. Thank you again.” How on earth was Tarik so calm? He didn't seem at all nervous or ashamed that they'd practically been caught in bed together.

Luka wanted to thank her, too, but he was afraid if he said anything, she'd notice his embarrassment in his voice, on his face.

“We got a message this morning. The van will be here sometime tomorrow. So, tomorrow morning, be ready. With luck, you'll be on your way before noon.”

Tarik suddenly looked tense. His full mouth was a thin line, and he crossed his arms. “How many are we, in all?”

“Eleven, including the two of you. I'll have provisions prepared. Enough to last the group three or four days, just to be safe. My son will stash them just off the road, where they'll pick you up.”

“The others in the van, they're all Eršban?” Tarik's even, confident voice had withered.

“I believe so.” Andjela gave Luka a kind smile, but there was a shadow of concern in her small brown eyes. “I like to think that those who are running from the war aren't doing so only to save their skins. If they want to shoot Bokans, they should stick with General I
teljević
. But I suppose I'm too old and the times are too cruel for such naïveté, hmmm? Still, it seems to me all the war-propaganda, all the screaming and lies and hatred, comes invariably from people who are not fighting. And when rich people fight wars with one another, poor people are the ones to die.” She limped toward the stairs. “My son will come get you in the morning, and take you to the rendezvous spot. Best of luck to you both.”

“Thank you, ma'am.” A sudden surge of gratitude overwhelmed Luka's dread of being found out.

The old woman paused on the step, and clinging to the handrail, turned and gave Luka a kind smile. “You're very welcome, dear. You two, take good care of each other.”

Even though there was no way she could know what had happened between him and Tarik, Luka's cheeks went hot and he turned his back on the stairs, just in case she happened to look back. Even after he heard the front door click closed and the metallic scrape of the deadbolt sliding home, he was flushed and tense, feeling like he'd been caught doing something shameful by someone who'd assumed he was good. Like she was.

“You okay?” Tarik was smiling, but there was a shadow of worry in his eyes.

“You don't think she suspects...”

Tarik's brow furrowed and his gentle smile turned into an off-center grin. “If she does, she doesn't seem too bothered. Does she?”

Luka shrugged.

“And as long as she doesn't kick us out, or tell the others to skip our stop, it doesn't matter what she knows, or what she thinks about it.”

A hot little bolt cut through Luka's chest. Joy that Tarik cared so little what anyone else thought about what they were to each other. Or panic. Maybe Tarik didn't know how people could be, when they realized someone was different from them. How dangerous it could be when people hated someone for how they felt, or for having the wrong last name.

Tarik's eyes were fixed on Luka so intently, his gaze felt like a touch. “Luka?” Tarik came closer and spoke softly. “You're not ashamed of what we've done together, are you?”

“No.” He hated how unconvincing and weak he sounded. “Just...”

Tarik stroked Luka's arm. “Just what?”

“I don't like disappointing people. Or making them angry.”

“Well, as far as I'm concerned, when it comes to some things, if people are angry and disappointed, it's their own fucking problem. Not ours.” Tarik strode off, grabbed his rucksack, and upended it, shaking its contents out onto the floor.