The Intersection of Purgatory and Paradise (10 page)

Doug shifted in Christopher’s arms, trying to get enough clearance to get out of the wet towel. “Will you let me get up? And maybe let me back into the shower? I’m still covered in salt.”

Christopher pouted above him. “I don’t want to. The beach was exhausting, and if we’re going to drive for the next two days, I want to take a nap.”

“You can take a nap. I need a shower.”

“I sleep better with you.”

“But you’re the only one who got to rinse off.”

Christopher nuzzled his hair. “Don’t rinse it off. The salt makes you smell like the beach. It’s not pine, but it fits you.”

D
ESPITE
THE
endless reassurances Christopher muttered before he drifted off to sleep, Doug was so worked up every muscle in his body was trying to spasm at once. His skin was crawling, and he struggled against the pressure in his chest and the stabbing pain in his stomach as he hovered on the edge of a full-blown panic attack. He lay still for as long as he could stand it, forcing himself not to start hyperventilating as Christopher fell into a deeper slumber.

When he was sure Christopher was asleep, he carefully extracted himself from Christopher’s arms and gathered up his clothes. His fingers trembled, and he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, the zinging anxiety ping-ponging through him making it impossible to stay focused. When he finished most of the buttons, he grabbed his shoes and his small duffel bag. He got his phone from the bathroom counter, made sure his wallet was in his pocket, and then slipped out of Ray and Elliot’s house.

The adrenaline-fueled panic attack propelled him forward, keeping him on his feet and moving. He couldn’t sit still, he had to get away. Somewhere in the tangle of his racing thoughts, he knew Christopher couldn’t want him now that he knew the truth. If he didn’t want to have sex with him anymore, he had no incentive at all to go back to Montana. He had to do this fast, like ripping off a bandage. Walking away from Christopher would hurt more if he dragged it out. And he had to get away. He had to escape.

He walked down the quiet streets of Elliot’s neighborhood, past hundreds of white Mediterranean-style homes, each built to the edge of their respective property lines. He knew there was canyon beyond them, but everywhere he looked all he saw was white stucco and manicured lawns, and he felt as trapped as he had in Christopher’s arms. All he could do was make a conscious effort to keep going as the panic carried him to a small shopping center. There he called a cab, paced until it arrived ten minutes later, and headed for the airport.

I
T
WAS
already dark when he woke up, reaching across the empty sheets and trying to find the solid warmth he’d become so used to. He scanned the room, listened for movement in the rest of the house, and realized he was alone. He was disappointed, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. Losing Doug was the price of returning to California, and he’d thought he was strong enough to handle it.

He staggered out of bed and dug through his bag, pulling on the running clothes that were closest to the top of his luggage. He could still smell the distinct scent of pine and musk he recognized as Doug all over his clothes. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the way Doug’s thick hair tangled in his fingers, the way Doug’s chest felt against his cheek when he hadn’t shaved for a few days, the way he tasted salty and sweet at the same time. He shuddered at the memory of how it felt when Doug pulled him close after sex, like their bodies had become knit together somehow.

For a few hours, he sat there in the guest room, trying to convince himself it was for the best. But he kept hoping Doug had just gone for a walk, only gone out to try and sort through things on his own. He waited, hoping Doug would be back. As the hours ticked by, he had to accept Doug wasn’t likely to come back through the door.

He thought about calling Doug, but he didn’t think it would help. He sat on the couch, checking the time on his cell phone every few seconds and letting the emptiness of Ray and Elliot’s house overwhelm him.

It was the kind of couch that swallowed you whole, covering you with soft foam and threadbare fabric until you almost suffocated. Somehow, Christopher fell asleep again. He slept until the wall-sized windows magnified the morning sun and began to roast him inside a cocoon of foam and blankets. He spared a moment to wonder where the hell the blankets had come from, but he didn’t really care.

Panting echoed around the living room, heavy male breaths, huffing in an achingly familiar rhythm.

He wanted to scream. Or at least say something nasty, but he settled for rolling his eyes beneath the blankets.

“You’re going to wake him up,” Ray whispered.

“You’re the one talking,” someone else said.

It took Christopher a minute to match the voice to Elliot.

The breathing got faster for a moment, and then Elliot groaned softly.

Christopher heard his partner chuckle. “That’s all that famous stamina of yours can deliver?”

Elliot groaned again. He almost sounded like he was in pain. “Go fuck yourself,” he gasped.

Another chuckle came a moment later, deep and sensual. The same tone his partner used to use when he picked up girls at the gym. Christopher had always teased him about it. “You can do better.”

Another groan, this time laced with effort, and then a series of awkward thumps shook the living room.

Ray laughed out loud. “There’s no way he’s still out after that. He’s a light sleeper.”

“And how do you know he’s a light sleeper?”

“We might not have ever had sex,” Ray said, “but we passed out drunk on the same couch a lot. And we’ve shared hotel rooms.”

Christopher listened to the shuffling of shoes on the hardwood floors, suddenly very confused.

“Hayes!” Ray called a few inches from where Christopher had buried his head in the blankets. “I usually finish the whole pot of coffee, so if you want some, you’d better get your ass up.”

He threw the blanket off and glared at Ray, who was in jogging pants, a tank top, and sneakers.

“I’d be a shitty friend if I let you mope on the couch all day. Come on.”

“Coffee?”

“Running. I’ve gotten faster over the last year, so I bet I can keep up with you for at least an hour this time.”

Christopher pulled the blanket back over his head and turned over. “Go without me.”

“Yeah, right. If I run without you, you’re still going to be lying here on the couch when I get home.”

“But he’s….”

“Yeah, I know. And the sooner you start moving, the sooner it’ll start to be okay again. Come on.”

The last day flashed through Christopher’s head, a wave of pain and memories he wished he could obliterate. He wanted to wake up next to Doug. Even if Doug wasn’t there when he woke up most mornings, his scent and the messy blankets where they’d slept together were enough to rekindle that connection every single time. If he couldn’t wake up with the memory of Doug, he didn’t want to wake up at all.

“I don’t want it to be okay again. What have I done,
Delgado?”

“I don’t know. Entered some random stage of grief, probably. And if you weren’t my partner, I’d be totally fine with letting you wallow in whatever stage you’re comfy in. But I know you. The sooner you run, the sooner you’ll get back to normal.”

“I don’t want to run.”

“The gym, then? We can go to the one downtown, spend a few rounds sparring?”

Behind the couch, Elliot groaned.

Christopher glanced up at his partner, surprised by the open, lit-from-within smile on his face. His eyes were trained on the sound. “You’re really going to do another set?” Ray asked, almost giggling.

Elliot laughed too. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s see you pull off one of these, much less a whole set.”

Christopher sat up and stared over the back of the ancient green couch. Elliot was dressed in nothing but a pair of black pants, the crisp linen kind that always came with martial arts uniforms. He was standing on his hands near the far wall, his feet straight in the air, his face purple from being inverted.

“What is he doing?”

“Handstand push-ups,” Elliot said, gasping for breath again.

He carefully lowered himself until his nose nearly touched the floor, then pushed himself back up straightening his arms.

Christopher stared, trying to reconcile the man in front of him with the skinny FBI agent who always looked like he was wearing his father’s suits. He pointed at Elliot, who had abs that made Christopher’s look flabby, and glanced sideways at Ray.

“I know,” his partner said, grinning. “I think I’ve got some weird psychic shit going on that draws masochistic fitness nuts to me, but I’m not complaining.”

“This is why you’ve gotten serious about getting in shape? To keep up with him?”

Ray’s grin tightened. “I don’t have to keep up,” he whispered. “I just have to hold on.”

Christopher shook his head and dropped back down on the couch. Ray looked happier and more carefree than Christopher had ever seen him, and Christopher wanted to feel happy for him, but he knew if he let himself feel anything, it was just going to open the floodgates of pain he was desperately trying to hold shut.

“What time is it?” he asked, trying to find his phone in the blankets.

“Almost seven.”

“Where’s my phone?”

“It was dead when we got back last night. It’s plugged in on the counter. Come on. We don’t have to run, but you at least need to get off the couch.”

“I don’t want to,” Christopher said.

“We can go in and talk to Captain Jenkins,” Ray suggested. “See what you’ll have to do to come back to work.”

“I don’t want to go back to work.” He didn’t know if it was true or if he was lying to himself.

“Let’s pretend you do, in case you change your mind next week, hmm?” Ray strolled into the kitchen, pulling down coffee cups and shuffling dishes around.

Elliot grunted and sprang to his feet, then steadied himself for a minute as the blood drained from his head. “Let him be, Ray. Besides, if you go back now, they’ll put you to work, honeymoon or not. Give him time.”

Christopher staggered to his feet. He felt hungover even though he hadn’t had anything to drink. “No, he’s right. He’s almost always right.”

“You don’t need to feed his ego,” Elliot said seriously.

“I’m not. Delgado knows me. I don’t do well sitting still.”

Elliot cocked his head. “Suit yourself. Nobody would blame you if you want to veg out on the couch with a couple of beers.”

Christopher shook his head. “That’s exactly what I want to do. But I need to run.”

C
HRISTOPHER
HAD
finally found something running didn’t fix.

The peaceful emptiness he always felt as his feet pounded into the dirt just added to the emptiness and misery inside him. No matter how fast he ran, no matter how much he tried to push himself until his conscious thoughts sank into oblivion, he couldn’t escape the feeling he’d been ripped in half.

The canyons and trails of Mission Gorge were less than a mile from Ray and Elliot’s house. They’d been some of Christopher’s favorite running trails before he left San Diego, but the familiar trails weren’t enough to push Doug from his thoughts. When he came down into a section of canyon that ran along the thin stream of the San Diego River, he stopped to watch a group of climbers on the red sandstone wall high over the trail. He only watched for a few seconds, but it was enough for Ray to catch up with him.

“You did get fast,” Christopher said.

Ray shook his head and took a quick swig from the tiny water bottle he carried. “I got faster. You got slower. I think we’re about the same pace now. Does your leg still hurt when you run?”

Christopher focused on the climbers, refusing to acknowledge how much pain each run caused him. Imagining watching Doug climb the bright red rock hurt too. He’d been learning how to live with pain his entire life. He’d get used to this particular kind, too.

“That bad, huh?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Christopher said, dropping his gaze. “If we cross the river up ahead, we can circle around toward the house, right?”

“Yeah. It’s a sweet little place. City on one side, Mission Gorge on the other. It’s just houses, nothing fun, but it’s nice.”

“It’s not like you need a half-dozen clubs within walking distance anymore. I still can’t believe Ray Delgado settled down.”

“Yeah. Weird, huh? I never….” That same bright smile slipped back onto Ray’s face. “I never thought I’d….”

“He seems like a good guy. I’m surprised as hell you decided to marry him, but I’m glad you’re happy.”

“I am,” Ray said. And he sounded sincere. “Come on. We can grab some lunch after we get cleaned up, then maybe go out to the firing range.”

C
HRISTOPHER
TOOK
a shower in the guest bathroom, ignoring the way his chest ached when he remembered he’d stood in the same shower with Doug the day before.

He rinsed off as quickly as he could, dug for clean clothes in his bag, and then wandered out to check his phone in case Doug had called.