Point Pleasant (61 page)

Ben continued to gaze at Nicholas with hopeful determination. When he realized the sheriff would not relent, he narrowed his eyes. “Boy Scout.”

“You wanna ride in the back again?”

“I’d love to see you try.”

Ben moved closer, Nicholas met him in the middle, and they kissed. It was soft at first as their lips glided together in an unhurried exploration. Nicholas cupped the back of Ben’s head in the palm of his hand and bit Ben’s lower lip.

The console with the police scanner between them was an awkward obstacle, but they remained locked together throughout the commercials before either felt the need to pull away.

Nicholas pressed his forehead to Ben’s and let out a soft chuckle. Ben withdrew to see what had amused the sheriff and laughed as well. The cruiser’s windows had gone foggy from their ragged exhalations.

“I’m sure this is unacceptable use of a police vehicle.”

“Shut up, Ben,” Nicholas said with a fresh grin. He attempted to capture Ben’s lips, but Ben avoided his advance.

“If you’re not going to be nice…”

A disgruntled noise rumbled from Nicholas’ throat, and he tried again.

“Seriously, won’t you get in trouble if someone comes across us like this?” Ben asked, sliding closer to the passenger door.

“Do I look like I care?”

Ben considered Nicholas’ disheveled appearance and smirked. “No, that’s why one of us should remain sensible. Shocking that it would be me, I know.”

“Fair enough,” Nicholas said, sighing. “It’s getting late, I suppose.”

“You on duty tomorrow?” Ben asked, checking the clock. It was nearing midnight, and he knew from firsthand experience that the sheriff turned into the worst fucking pumpkin at the ball when he was sleep deprived.

“I am indeed. Come home with me?”

“You’re relentless,” Ben said, huffing out a laugh.

“I’m really tired, actually,” Nicholas admitted with a candor that was almost intimate. “Fucking exhausted, to be honest. I just want to go home, get in bed, and know you’re next to me.”

Little fireworks of delight exploded inside Ben’s chest, and he nodded assent. “Let’s go, then, Sheriff.”

Nicholas’ grin returned, and he straightened behind the steering wheel. There was a mechanical whirring noise as he pressed a button and rolled down the windows. Cool night air wafted into the cruiser, and the glass cleared.

“Fucking teenagers,” he said, snickering.

“Pretty much.”

Nicholas put the car into reverse and drove back to the main road. The river faded from sight in his side mirror, and Ben noticed his own reflection. Dark though it was, he could see himself smiling.

Back on Dunmore, Ben got out of the cruiser and rounded the front. Nicholas had his hand outstretched. Ben took it and grinned as Nicholas laced their fingers together and brought their joined hands up to his lips. He kissed Ben’s knuckles and led them inside.

In the bedroom, Ben tugged Nicholas close and kissed him without reservation. Nicholas’ palms glided underneath Ben’s shirt and pulled at the hem. Ben obliged and allowed Nicholas to drag the garment up and over his head. He reciprocated before they each worked to unfasten one another’s jeans.

Still clad in boxers and socks, they crawled into the neatly made bed, slid under covers that smelled of fresh cotton, and fumbled until their bodies were flush in the darkness. Heat radiated from Nicholas’ bare skin as he pressed a tender kiss to Ben’s forehead.

Ben draped his right arm over Nicholas’ side and tilted his chin in invitation. Their mouths met once more and moved together in a languid dance.

There was no expectation for sex in that moment. Aside from the first night he had spent with Nicholas, Ben had never just
slept
with someone else. There was always a motive, a means to an end. This felt
new
.

Contentment illuminated Nicholas’ face like the moonlight on the windowpanes. He withdrew several inches and rested on his side. Ben was spellbound and undeterred by the way the other man stared back with a steady intensity that should have made him squirm in discomfort.

“Hey,” Nicholas whispered. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“What?”

“Your pen name,” Nicholas started. A beat passed. “Preston’s after your mom. What about James?”

Ben said nothing, and Nicholas’ features softened.

“Names are important,” Nicholas whispered, echoing Marietta’s observation from the night before.

They did not speak again.

Sleep took Nicholas first. Ben watched the sheriff’s chest rise and fall in the dim light. After a while, Ben’s eyes fluttered, and Nicholas became a hazy image.

A clatter of what sounded like pots and pans rose from downstairs, and Ben roused from sleep. He slid his arm across the mattress and grumbled to feel the other side was vacant but still warm. Stretching as he stood, he grabbed his t-shirt from the floor and pulled it on as he headed to the stairs.

Nicholas was in the kitchen and whistling to himself while he hovered near the stove. Ben leaned against the doorway, unnoticed, and grinned. He listened and recognized the tune as The Allman Brothers’ ‘Blue Bird.’

“You’re so sappy, Nolan,” he said. “It’s kinda sweet.”

Nicholas startled and faced Ben. “Damn it, Wisehart.”

“Sorry,” Ben said, holding up his hands as if Nicholas had drawn his Glock. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“I was going to surprise you.” A faint shade of red crept across Nicholas’ cheeks, and he ran a hand through his hair.

“Consider me surprised,” Ben replied, closing the gap between them to peer over Nicholas’ shoulder at the stovetop.
Holy hell, he’s actually making you pancakes, Benji
.

Nicholas took hold of the pan handle, shimmied a pancake back and forth, and flipped it so that it landed in the center of a plate on the counter next to the stove.

“And impressed,” Ben said, giving an appreciative whistle.

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen my prowess with pancakes.”

Ben brushed his lips to Nicholas left shoulder blade and relished the warmth of his bare skin. “You say the sexiest things.”

Nicholas snorted and twisted to kiss Ben in a soft, tender glide of lips and tongues.

“Sleep well?” he asked, returning his focus to the stovetop.

“Really well, actually.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I didn’t think I’d be sleeping well for a while after the other night. Ritual-induced coma not withstanding.”

“Must be me,” Nicholas said.

“Cocky already,” Ben chided, shaking his head with mock reproof.

“Have some coffee,” Nicholas said and gestured to the machine.

Ben obliged and poured Nicholas a cup as well. “You leaving soon?”

“Afraid so,” Nicholas said, ushering Ben to the kitchen table where he pulled out one of the chairs. “But then I’m all yours.”

“Sounds like you have a plan,” Ben said, taking a seat. He smiled to himself when Nicholas’ fingertips brushed against the nape of his neck with a kind of casual intimacy that made his skin prickle with awareness.

“I might,” Nicholas replied, and he pushed a bottle of maple syrup across the table to Ben and dropped into the other seat. “I thought I’d take you out to dinner. Unless your dance card’s all full?”

“It is, actually,” Ben said. “I think you know him.”

“You don’t say?” Nicholas asked, playing along. “Well, if you change your mind, my offer still stands.”

“Are you actually asking me on a date, Sheriff?”

“I am indeed,” Nicholas said with a grin that made technicolor seem black-and-white. “I thought it’d be nice to start over on better footing.”

“I’d like that,” Ben said. “A lot.”

“What about the other guy?”

“Fuck him,” Ben said, and Nicholas laughed.

“What are you doing today?” he asked. “Considering it’ll be your first official day back in town without the threat of monsters.”

“The monsters never really go away, you know,” Ben said, cupping his mug in both palms to warm his hands.

“Save that kind of talk for your next book, Mr. James,” Nicholas said, his tone as gentle as the brush of his bare foot against Ben’s under the table.

“That was the last one, actually.”

“It’s on my Kindle, I swear,” Nicholas said with an apologetic grimace. “I haven’t had time for reading lately.”

“You should take a vacation after this last week. Daniel and Astrid too. I’d say you all deserve it.”

“Oh, sure,” Nicholas scoffed. “We can watch the whole county fall apart from a beach somewhere.”

“You don’t have to be the one to always hold everything together, you know.”

“You sound like my mom,” Nicholas said, rolling his eyes.

“Wow, way to kill the moment, Nolan,” Ben chided, taking a bite of his breakfast. “Anyway, I need to rent a car. Maybe see Tucker and check on the Camaro. And call Kate to find out what needs to be done for Friday.”

“I’ll drop you off at the Hertz if you want,” Nicholas offered. “And Tucker seemed confident he can rebuild the Camaro. He said he’d start ordering the parts.”

“He doesn’t have to do that,” Ben said. “I can work on it.”

“I think he really wants to, Ben.” Nicholas paused before he took a sip of coffee. “He changed a lot after Shirley—well. You know. It’s nice to see him showing an interest in something outside of his farm again.”

Ben frowned, and his thoughts wandered to the ritual. Perhaps it was no mistake that Raziel had called on ‘the healing hand of God,’ whoever that might be, when he settled his blade over Tucker.

“Your pancake prowess is admirable,” Ben said after a beat of silence.

“I’m glad you think so,” Nicholas said. “I intend to make them for you often.”

“I’d like that,” Ben replied, feeling as light as the pancakes in question.

The sheriff’s cruiser rolled to a stop in front of the Wisehart house just before eight o’clock. Ben had opted to have a car dropped off later to spare Nicholas the drive out to the Hertz.

“Thanks for the ride, Sheriff,” Ben said, sweeping his eyes over the man at his side. Nicholas had donned a pair of aviators when they first left Dunmore. With his freshly pressed uniform, he appeared as the very portrait of authority while he adjusted the dial on his scanner.

“Call you later?” Nicholas asked, and he gave Ben a smile as warm as the rays of sunlight that reflected off the lenses of his sunglasses.

“Cool,” Ben said and stepped out of the car. He watched as Nicholas drove to the end of the block and disappeared around the corner.

Ben’s dirty coat was still on the floor in the entry hall. He grabbed it, headed to the utility room in the back of the house, and fished the Zippo and his phone out of one of the coat’s pockets.

The phone was off, and its screen remained black when Ben tried the power button. He wondered if the battery was dead or if the phone had been fried like his watch.

Ben shoved the phone and the lighter into a back pocket of his jeans and opened the washer. He dropped the coat into the drum along with a generous dollop of detergent and set the machine to wash.

Mr. Coffee was still half full from the night before. Ben poured the stale liquid down the sink and washed the carafe before he put a fresh pot on to brew and darted upstairs to grab his bags. The majority of the clothing he had packed was in dire need of a wash, so he dropped the suitcase off by the utility room for later and took his messenger bag into the kitchen. He pulled out his laptop and set it—and his phone—to charge before he poured a cup of coffee.

He stared at the machine as he returned the carafe into its cradle. Much like his previous owner, Mr. Coffee was old and should probably have retired years ago. Andrew Wisehart never made frivolous purchases, though. If it still worked, he used it.

Ben wished he had sent his father an espresso machine like the one that sat on his own kitchen counter back in Boston, but he caught himself and clamped down on the thought. Andrew would never have wanted something so impractical. He had preferred his old, worn Mr. Coffee and the dark, bitter drink it produced. Ben did too.

Light
flashed behind his eyelids, and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

He moved to the table and sat down in front of his laptop to sip his coffee.
Bitter as hell and twice as hot
. Ben hoped that Raziel’s idea of vanquishing did not merely include sending his brother back to Hell but rather that it entailed wiping Azazel from existence.

A dark mood overtook him, and Ben turned to his laptop for a distraction. As it booted up and the half-eaten apple appeared on his screen, Ben had another sip of coffee.

The Wi-Fi privileges were still in place. Ben had not checked his email since he left Boston, and he pursed his lips and whistled when he caught sight of the little red number on the Mail icon.

Of the 172 new messages, most were junk. There were several emails from friends asking if he was alive, some reminders from a faculty member in the literature department at Boston University regarding a speaking engagement Ben had scheduled for late-November—much to his chagrin—and a few updates from his agent.

Elliot’s first email brimmed with his usual pandering bullshit about sales figures. His most recent addition to the conversation was as smug as it was concise.

“
Hey Dr. Frankenstein,
The Exquisite Corpse
is ALIVE. You made it to number one on The Times’ Best Seller list. Where are you and is it too early to drink?
”

Ben covered his eyes with one hand and had to put his mug of coffee down on the table while he laughed at the complete absurdity of the sentence. He peered through his fingers at the screen and re-read the email. When he finally found his composure, he clicked the arrow for replies.

“
Like the time of day ever stopped you before. Bought your yacht, yet? BW,
” he typed and sent.

Ben scrolled through the other emails and straightened when he noticed one from Kate. It had been sent the previous evening.

“
Benji, your phone isn’t working for whatever reason. Get that fixed. I arrive Wednesday, 8pm, Flight 4517. See you at the airport. K
”