Laying a Ghost (12 page)
Nick dug around in a drawer looking for a sharp knife, hoping he wouldn’t stab himself. He wondered if this was John’s way of telling him that this wasn’t anything more than a short term thing. Somehow, he found that possibility extremely depressing, even though being alone here was what he’d been anticipating. “I guess I’ll drink. And try to write a book. Matthew was always on my case about that, but we never had time. We were always too busy going from one place to the next.”
“You won’t be wanting company, then?” John’s face was blank; Nick couldn’t quite work out how serious he was. “Next door neighbors dropping by and the like? Because there’s other things to do on long winter nights than sup whiskey, but if you’re set on writing you’ll need to be by yourself, I suppose.”
“Would it look suspicious, do you think?” Nick asked, cutting the sandwiches in half neatly and putting them on plates. “Two men spending a lot of time together, alone?” He could pretend that it was just a hypothetical question.
Something changed on John’s face, making Nick realize that he’d just said something wrong “Maybe.” John’s voice was dull. “If there wasn’t a damn good reason for it. And you’ve a neighbor who’d be only too willing to agree. The minister’s not one to keep his mouth closed if he thinks the Lord wants him to be speaking out.” John glanced down at the plate beside him. “In fact, I’d best be on my way before someone starts wondering why my car’s still here when it’s too late for me to be working. I know I said I’d stay, but I’m thinking you don’t need me now that we’ve taken care of ... everything.”
“Oh.” Damn, Nick thought. He should have kept his mouth shut. Borrowing trouble, that’s what his mother would have called it. “I was hoping ... but yeah. Okay.”
John picked up his sandwich and studied it before taking a bite. “Hoping what? Is there something more needs doing?” He hesitated, looking torn. “I’ll help you, don’t worry about it. I’m just so used to being careful -- What is it?”
“No. Never mind.” Nick was selfish, was the problem. He’d gotten used to years of having Matthew there all the time, taking care of stuff for him. Sure, Nick’s abilities had provided them both with a more than comfortable living, but Nick wouldn’t have been able to do any of it on his own. He’d probably have been locked up somewhere in a straightjacket actually. That thought made him smile at the irony, and he glanced up to catch John watching him. “It’s okay; you’re right. I’ll be fine.”
“You were wanting me to stay, weren’t you? In case you get another visitor from over there.” John jerked his head in the direction of the graveyard. “And you’re still tired and you don’t want to be alone when you wake in the dark.”
Nick took a bite of his sandwich and chewed slowly, giving himself time to think about how to answer. “Yes,” he said finally. He wanted to tell himself that it was as simple as not wanting to be alone, but it was more than that; he wanted
John
there. “I’d like it if you’d stay. But I understand why you wouldn’t want to. And I don’t think you’re wrong. I’ve never ... well, you know. In my line of work, if you can even call it that, no one cares what you do in your bedroom; you’re already a freak. A freak that can help people, sure, but that doesn’t mean they don’t move away from you if you get too close. But it’s always temporary. People I hadn’t seen before and would probably never see again, so I learned not to care too much what they thought of me. I can see how it would be different for you.”
John sighed, pushing his fingers back through his hair. “First, you’re not a freak. There’s plenty on the island who’d believe what you can do besides me, and even some who might be able to see the ghosts themselves. You’re in
Nick appreciated the reassurance, but it didn’t change the facts. “So what do we do? Make a list of excuses why we’re spending so much time together? Only see each other during the day and go our separate ways every night?” He was assuming too much and he knew it, but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t hoping.
“I don’t know.” John’s hand dropped away. “I’ve never had to think about it before and this -- you -- it’s happened so fast that I’m still catching my breath from it all.” He gazed across the kitchen, lost in thought. “Tonight’s not a problem. I’ll drive home and walk back across the fields to you. After that --” Nick’s expression must’ve given him away because John groaned. “You think this is crazy, don’t you? And it is. It’s just -- I grew up here being told every other Sunday, it felt like, that the likes of me were unnatural, heading for hell. It took me years to get to the point of not believing that, although I don’t recall it ever stopping me from getting off with someone when I could, which wasn’t often and never here. Never on the island.”
Despite what had flitted through his head, Nick knew one thing. “This isn’t crazy. This is
normal
-- it shouldn’t be, but it is. It’s how some people live. Maybe not everywhere, but lots of places. And I don’t ...” He put his hand out and touched John’s arm the way John had touched his. The sky was slowly darkening outside, the peat fire in the other room making the faintest golden glow in the doorway. “I don’t want to screw up your life. I really don’t want that. So however you want to do this is okay with me.”
“It isn’t normal,” John said, his voice low and forceful, his hand coming up to cover Nick’s, his fingers clinging almost desperately. “Unless lying and hiding and pretending is normal. Unless going months without being touched is normal, because you can’t work out a way to get off this place alone so that you can go to the city to pick someone up. And even then I’m still lying. There’s not a man I’ve fucked that knows my real name. Is that normal, then?”
Nick turned his hand, lacing his fingers through John’s and pulling him closer until their bodies were nearly touching. “Hey ...” He wished he was better at knowing what to say. It was so hard to imagine a life like that -- Matthew, who Nick had always loved, even when he’d hated him, had been part of his life for so long that he couldn’t picture being really alone. “God, John ... I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“How could you? It’s not been like that for you, has it?” John kissed Nick then, a hard, almost violent kiss that left Nick’s mouth stinging, a jolt of arousal going through him. “Tell me; what do you miss most about him? About Matthew?”
The question startled Nick. He blinked and let go of John’s hand, bringing his own up to touch John’s cheek, thumb rubbing across his cheekbone. “I guess ... maybe that he knew me so well. We were friends for a long time. He helped keep me together when I was falling apart.” It didn’t sound like much out loud.
“He
knew
you,” John repeated thoughtfully. “For years. Aye, I see.” He turned his head so that his lips found the center of Nick’s palm, pressing against it in a kiss as lingering and gentle as the last one had been swift and bruising before he turned back to meet Nick’s gaze. “I’ve had a day or two, not years, but somehow I’m thinking I know you, too.”
“Yeah.” Nick heard his voice shake because this was just so
fast,
not to mention intense. “Yeah, I think you do.”
John nodded, looking satisfied but not surprised, and if he felt anything like the way Nick did, it was no wonder. “Then I’ll be staying tonight and the hell with it.” He sounded pretty calm about it. “Although --” He hesitated. “If you’re going to stay here, it’s maybe not just me who should be worried about people finding out, you know. It’s not just me who needs protecting.”
“So we’ll think of something to say. For a while, at least. Play up the distant cousins angle, maybe, and tell people I’m, I don’t know, researching genealogy or something. It’ll be weeks before anyone is suspicious.” Nick hoped that was true, although he had no real way of knowing. Wanted it to be true, in the same way he wanted to take off John’s clothes and scatter them across the floor in the dying light, to get down on his knees and suck John’s cock with both of John’s hands on his head, to have John fuck his mouth.
John smiled slowly. “It won’t be weeks if they ever see you look at me like that. What were you just thinking?” His fingers stroked up the side of Nick’s neck and drifted across his mouth, leaving his skin tingling. “God, I can’t see you without wanting you,” John whispered. “Can’t kiss you even once without getting hard”
Nick’s breath caught in his throat, but he was very aware of the precariousness of their situation, with dark coming on and John’s car parked in front of his house. “I know. Me, too. But your car ... you were right about not leaving it here.”
John bit down on his lip -- which nearly undid Nick’s resolve -- and nodded reluctantly. “Aye.” He took a deliberate step backward, not taking his eyes off Nick’s face, and then turned away abruptly. “I’ll see you later then.”
The door closed behind him, leaving Nick alone. It wasn’t until Nick moved several minutes later that he realized John hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of his sandwich.
Chapter Six
Nick sighed and went to sit at the kitchen table to finish his own meal, then decided that the best thing to do while John was gone was to keep busy. One glance at the desk in the sitting room told him that he didn’t want to sort through any more papers today, but he wasn’t sure what he
did
want to do.
He went upstairs and into the room filled with bookshelves, sat on the floor in front of the one that looked most promising, and took out a book. And then another. The first few weren’t immediately interesting, but it wasn’t long before he found one that was. It actually seemed to be some kind of diary or journal, in what might have been a woman’s handwriting. He had a hard time reading it, sometimes needing to sound out words that stumped him because they were either difficult to read or just utterly unfamiliar.
Eventually, he came to realize that this was his grandmother’s journal -- it held a combination of recipes, house information, and dates that must have held meaning for her. She’d been a religious woman; that much was clear by the numerous mentions of “God” and “His Will.” But she’d also been indulgent in some ways, if the many recipes for soaps and lotions scented with lavender were any indication. She’d liked lavender.
Nick had completely lost track of time and was startled when he heard the sound of the door downstairs opening and closing. Heart pounding a bit more than it should have been, he got up and went to the top of the stairs and called down, “John?”
“You were expecting someone else?” John sounded more relaxed than when he’d left, and when he appeared at the bottom of the stairs he was smiling. “Aye, it’s me.” He lifted up his hand and showed Nick a bottle. “Whiskey. Definitely a traditional house-warming gift in these parts.”
“In my line of work, someone else is always a possibility,” Nick said ruefully, starting down the stairs. “You left your sandwich, before.”
“I did, yes, but if I’d stayed to eat it, I don’t think I’d have had the strength of will to leave. I made myself another when I got home.”
John had obviously showered and changed, too; his hair was still slightly damp and the ripped jeans had been replaced by a clean pair with no holes.
“Good.” Nick reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped in front of John, studying the lines of his face, reminding himself what he looked like. He felt suddenly awkward, as if they were strangers, which on one level they were. He went with the one thing that seemed to make sense. “Thanks. For the whiskey. Want to have a drink?”
John passed him the bottle with a small nod, the smile fading away, making Nick realize suddenly just how receptive John was to his moods, almost mirroring them back to him. He wondered if it was based in insecurity as much as anything, because from what little John had said, he couldn’t have any experience being in a relationship at all.
He got out two glasses and poured them both some of the whiskey, noting that it was an
“Do you remember what to say?” John asked him, when they’d settled down on the couch before what was left of the fire, his face lightening a little. He raised his glass, the firelight striking amber sparks from the whiskey inside it, and gave Nick an expectant look.
Nick didn’t. “I say it wrong anyway.” He felt self-conscious, wondering why he’d thought it was a good idea to have this man here for the whole night when they hardly knew each other.
John smiled. “You’re right; you do. But I’m thinking you’ll pick it up soon, and more besides. And if you don’t master the Gaelic, well, everyone on the island speaks English.”
It had never occurred to Nick that all of the islanders were bilingual and he began to have serious second thoughts about his ability to ever fit in. He’d seen this place as a refuge, but it was starting to feel more and more like a mistake.
John sighed and took a sip of his whiskey. “I’m thinking from your face -- and don’t
ever
play cards for money in the pub, because they’ll leave you with nothing in your pockets but fluff -- that you’re wishing I’d stayed home because this is one hell of an awkward situation to be in. And I’d make an excuse and leave, and trust me I thought up some fine and convincing ones when I was sitting at home, fair shaking at the thought of coming here again, but something tells me I’d be sorry for it when I was back there with nothing to do but think about you sitting here alone.”
Nick took a much bigger swallow of his whiskey than he probably should have, relieved at the burn, and tried to relax. “I just don’t know what to say.” The fire made a soft hissing sound different from the crackle of a wood fire; it sounded wrong to Nick, and he wondered if he’d ever get used to it. “I had this idea in my head,” he tried to explain. “Of how things would be here. And I basically didn’t get any of it right. I’m still kind of ... adjusting.”
