In The Absence Of Light (40 page)

I won’t pretend I understood what he said. I don’t think any mortal could.

Then he brought me back to the surface and said, “I was afraid you’d never tell me.”

And I knew what he meant.

“Forever?” He breathed the question against my lips.

“Yes.”

“No matter what?”

“No matter what.”

Morgan undulated in fluid movements, meeting my thrusts rather than fighting against them.

“That’s it, baby, let go.” I peppered his neck in kisses. “My beautiful man, my perfect lover.”

His entire body shuddered, and Morgan tightened around my cock.

“Come for me, Morgan.” I stroked him. “Now, come for me now.”

There was a moment of surprise on his face, but it quickly turned into surrender. He bowed off the ground with a shrill cry as the orgasm ripped through his body. Wet heat coated my hand.

My own need roared to life and the rush of euphoria knocked the air from my lungs. I buried a yell into the crook of his neck and lost myself to the spiral of release.

Morgan collapsed, chest heaving, body glistening in sweat. He held me, and we lay there while the sun slid behind the trees and the air cooled.

We shivered but stayed where we were.

Chapter Seven

I stood in line at the grocery store with a tub of Chocolate Extreme with Marshmallows ice cream, a bottle of wine, and a small box in my pocket.

A Friday night ice cream binge had become a ritual for Morgan and me. After we met with Abigail the second time and Morgan signed the stupid contract Mr. Day had negotiated with his team, we grabbed a half-gallon of ice cream, some cheap wine, and lay in the grass, sharing a spoon and glass until we could barely walk.

When the days got colder, we moved inside and lay in front of the wood stove. That went on for about a month, then I stopped going home except to finish random projects on the house. After the plumbing was finished, the hardwood floors stained, and everything that needed to happen to make it livable was done, I quit going altogether.

Morgan convinced me to rent the place out, and I moved in with him.

There wasn’t a single morning I woke up with any desire for coastal waters or pristine sands. How could I when I had the most beautiful man in the world at my side each night and in my arms in the morning?

A month ago, I’d officially rearranged my finances and made Durstrand a permanent place in my life; leaving everything else I’d known, my shipping business, the FBI, even Rubio, behind.

This was my new life. Forever. With Morgan.

I stepped up to the cashier. Donna greeted me with the same smile she did everyone, but her eyes glittered with mischief.

The register beeped and the price of the wine flashed on the display. “So, is it true about you and Morgan?”

I pulled out my wallet. “What do you mean?”

“You know.” She held out her hand and wiggled her fingers.

I was not surprised to find half the line behind me leaning forward to hear my reply. How the hell did they know about the ring I’d bought? I’d specifically driven a good two hours to the next city so the gossip mill wouldn’t catch wind and spoil the surprise.

I’d waited until Morgan had gone to work that day to pick it up and I hadn’t shown the damn thing to anyone.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I handed her a twenty. The smile she wore withered, but the people behind me were already whispering. An old lady got out her cell phone, and I did my damnedest not to glare at her.

Must have failed ‘cause she quickly closed it and gave me an apologetic shrug.

Damn it, I’d really hoped to do this right.  Although by the time I got to the truck, I was wondering if maybe him finding out wasn’t such a bad thing. It would give him the chance to save me from making an ass of myself while down on one knee.

I knew he loved me, and God I loved him, and while the ring was just a ring, there was a very good chance he’d see it as letting go of the last of his independence and forever binding himself to one person, for one life. You’d think I’d be the one who’d be scared of that idea. And I was scared, but only because I was afraid I wouldn’t be good enough.

My entire life I’d never even toyed with the idea of getting married. In fact, I’d laughed at the few men I knew who had. Why? What for? So you could be miserable like all the hetero couples? Then to add insult to injury, only a handful of states recognized the union.

Although now the list was getting longer and cities who resisted were winding up in lawsuits.  Jessie always seemed to crank up the volume when the topic came over the news. I don’t know if he did it for my benefit or if he was really curious about the outcome.

Most of the patrons, at least the evening crowd, seemed indifferent. A few had choice words, but they were the kind of folks who probably voted against allowing the union between mixed race couples. Whatever they said was usually lost under the rest of the crowd cheering on the football game showing on the other screen.

Looking back, he might have been trying to give me a hint. If he was, it worked, because I found myself smiling every time the Supreme Court ruled in favor of equal rights and smiling same-sex couples held up their marriage certificates for the world to see.

Some of those people had been together fifty-plus years, a few used walkers and wheel chairs, and way too many looked like they were days from their own funeral, fighting death and old age, just to see the day they could have a piece of paper. Some stupid form to give you a tax write-off, said you shared your debt, and let someone else make choices for you in the event you couldn’t.

No, it had never been an afterthought for me until I realized that’s exactly what I wanted with Morgan.

If he said no, I’d understand why, but maybe he’d at least wear the ring. For me, a silly symbol that he loved me enough to be mine.

I’d just got to the truck when my cell phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number. I figured the gossip mill had moved quicker than even I’d given it credit for.

I answered. “Hello?”

A male voice laughed and said, “Abracadabra.”

“I’m sorry, buddy, but I think you have the wrong—” The line went dead. “—number.”

I loaded the groceries in the passenger seat. All the way back to Morgan’s, I kept touching the box in my pocket, and before long, the butterflies in my stomach were doing the macarena.

Porter’s Creek was barely wide enough for two cars, let alone a truck as big as the old Chevy. So I had to ride the shoulder to get around the small compact beater sitting on the side of the road.

The headlights illuminated the dented door, slid up the side to the busted taillights. As the night swallowed the vehicle in my rearview mirror, the smile I’d been wearing fell south.

I turned into the driveway and took up my regular spot under the tree in front of the house.

Warm light spilled from the windows and the front porch. Music trickled out from the open front door. It was a scene I’d come home to many nights. Sometimes to find Morgan at work on a sculpture, other times naked in bed.

Usually I was out of the truck and taking the steps two at a time, but tonight something held me back. A shiver ran down my spine. My hands shook.

Nerves. It was just nerves.

Then a breeze caught the screen door. It swung a few inches before the bottom corner caught the decking leaving it tilted off the hinges.

My heart froze in my chest. I didn’t even bother closing the truck door as I headed to the house. Gravel crunched under my heel. A paving stone in the walkway shifted when I stepped on it.

The first porch step squeaked. The second was silent. A smooth gash made a hole in the screen near the doorknob. A smear of dark red colored the white paint of the lower windowpane, where whoever had cut the screen, had also broken it out so he could reach through and unlock the door.

From there, I tracked the intermittent trail of blood through the house. Sometimes it was a shoe print, sometimes a bare foot, or the desperate slap of a hand looking for purchase.

With each step I took, the heavier my body became, until the very act of walking left me gasping for air.

I stopped at the pair of boots jutting out from behind the kitchen door.

Pots, pans, plates lay scattered around the kitchen. Broken bits of glass turned to dust under the soles of my shoes. Lying in the middle of the debris was a well-built young man slightly shorter than me, with dark hair, and dark eyes. His expression was a strange mix of anger and surprise.

Bloody pits punctuated his T-shirt. His belt was undone and his zipper down.

The world snapped back into place hard enough to send me stumbling. “Morgan?” My heart pounded so hard I almost missed the small high-pitched ticking sound coming from the back porch. I followed the noise to the shadows under the workbench.

Morgan sat with his knees pulled to his chest and hands pressed to the sides of his head. The gun was still in his right hand.

My knees gave out, and I crawled toward him. His lip was split, and there was a bruise on his cheek. He was naked except for the torn remains of his boxers, but there was so much blood smeared over him that I couldn’t tell where it came from until he rocked forward and I saw the gash on his arm.

“Morgan.” He didn’t look at me. “Morgan…” My fingertips brushed his arm or maybe his shoulder, and he screamed. Not the normal kind of cry fed by fear, but a raw animalistic howl. Some sort of primal warning of eminent death.

I scrambled back.

The sound trickled away as he continued to rock and thump the stock of the gun against his temple.

I took out my cell phone. My hands shook so hard I could barely dial Aunt Jenny’s number.

“Hello?”

“He’s hurt.” I choked back the sob.

“Grant?”

“Someone broke into the house. And he’s hurt.” I sucked in a watery breath. “Morgan won’t let me touch him, Jenny. He won’t…”

“Have you called the sheriff?”

I shook my head.

“Grant?” There was movement from the other end of the line. “Grant, have you called Sheriff Parks?”

“No.”

“Stay with Morgan. I’ll call. I should be there in ten minutes.”

I returned the phone to my pocket. “Shhh—it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s just me. Just me, Morgan.” I inched closer.

Back and forth, back and forth. Each tiny whimper echoed by the soft thump of the gun bumping the side of his head.

“Morgan… Morgan, sweetheart, look at me.”

He didn’t.

“Morgan, I need you to give me the gun.”

Considering the damage to the dead man’s chest, it was unlikely there were any bullets left in the clip, but it only took one to kill a man so I didn’t want to take the chance.

“Morgan, please, baby. Give me the gun, okay? Please…” I reached for it, and he jerked. “Morgan, I’m just going to take the gun.” I got a grip on the weapon.

He let go without a fight.

I pushed it off to the side. “Morgan?” He still didn’t acknowledge me.

I crawled under the table. My knee brushed Morgan’s thigh, and he slammed into the wall trying to crawl up it or through it, I couldn’t tell which.  But he fled so violently his fingertips split and his nails tore off.

“Morgan, stop, stop, you’re hurting yourself.”

He flailed, kicked, and snapped at the air.

“Baby, please, please…”

Finally, I did the only thing I could. I wrapped my arms around him and pinned him against my chest.

For a second, the way he looked at me was twice as horrifying as the terrible scream he made. I dragged him from under the table. He clawed, kicked, spit. My blood mixed with his, my tears soaked his hair.

Somehow I managed to keep my voice steady. “It’s okay.” He thrashed. “You’re safe.” He sank his teeth into my forearm. The jagged pain was nothing but background noise. “I love you, Morgan. I love you and everything is okay.”

I don’t know how long he struggled, but my muscles ached, my skin stung with scratches, bite marks on my arms. Then all at once, he fell limp. But it couldn’t have been too long because Jenny hadn’t gotten there yet.

I cradled Morgan and petted his hair. But he didn’t move, he didn’t make any sound, his gaze remained transfixed. Staring at nothing. Seeing nothing. Hearing nothing.

I carried him out to the front porch and that’s where Aunt Jenny found us.

********

Aunt Jenny and I sat in the yellow-walled waiting room with its ancient TV.  The picture was fuzzy and broken up by lines. I’m not sure if the volume was turned off or it didn’t work. The cup of coffee in my hand had long ago gone cold. Or maybe it was never warm.

At some point Sheriff Parks showed up with a couple of deputies and gave us the name of the man who had attacked Morgan.

Dillon Barnes. He’d stolen a car just hours ago and come to Durstrand. How the hell he’d gotten out was on everyone’s lips.

Deputy Harold closed his cell phone and joined our group. “The warden at Alamo won’t be available till the morning, and the guy I talked to doesn’t even have Dillon listed in his computer.”

“Are you telling me he just broke out of prison and no one noticed?” Jenny cast an accusing eye around the room. Everyone squirmed. Hell, I would have squirmed. “Bullshit.”

“He didn’t break out,” Sheriff Parks said. “If he’d broken out, there would be a BOLO out on him and they would have called Morgan to warn him.”

“Well, if they let him out on parole, they were supposed to call and let Morgan know.”

“He wasn’t due to go before the board until next month,” I said. “And if someone fucked up and got the dates wrong, they sure as hell should have called Morgan to warn him they’d let the bastard out.”

“He wasn’t let out,” Harold said. “If he’d been paroled, he would still be in system, but there’s nothing there. Like he’d never been in jail to begin with.”

“Now how the hell does someone just magically disappear?” Jenny said.

Abracadabra.

The cup of coffee slipped out of my hand and left splatters on the gray tile.

“Grant?”  Jenny gripped my arm.