Fight (13 page)

But it’d always been a lie of some sort, and though they had shared a great deal with one another in the beginning, over the last few months, they’d both gotten secretive. Laura had always known about the drugs and the guys, but she didn’t know many specifics. She certainly didn’t know about Fury. Nathan tended to get lodged in his own ass and the trouble it landed him in, sometimes forgetting there were two sides to every story. So that begged the question:

Was there something Nathan didn’t know about Laura, and if so, what?

Nathan resurfaced from his thoughts and realized he’d been driving for a while. It was easy to get lost in Knoxville, and that sounded like a plan to Nathan. He went with the flow of traffic, and for the first time, Nathan considered that the last year might have been harder on Laura than Nathan had ever dreamed. He chastised himself for realizing only now that Laura might very well hate herself for concocting the scheme as much or more than Nathan hated himself for getting into it. She’d likely found herself in the same place Nathan had—trapped in a glass box. Laura wasn’t the type to call a plan off. Nathan and stubborn were old friends, but Laura and stubborn were conjoined twins.

Round and round Nathan went, making new ruts in his brain, and it took a nasty jarring to the Corvette’s suspension for him to realize he was pulling into the warehouse’s parking lot. “Huh,” Nathan muttered. “So it does exist.”

During the day, the warehouse seemed smaller than Nathan remembered. Rust dotted the metal siding. The gravel in the lot was thin, worn down to bare, uneven earth in places. Ed’s stool was unoccupied, the door was closed, and Nathan didn’t see any cars.

Coming to a stop, Nathan turned off the radio and closed his eyes. The daydream started with Fury’s smile and with the shape of Fury’s mouth when Fury moaned. The color of Fury’s nipples, the texture of Fury’s hair, the sight of him on his knees, the sound of his low murmur and the sound he made when Nathan’s cock hit the back of his throat… Nathan would give anything to feel that kind of alive again, right here and now.

Nathan rubbed his palms on his thighs, and he was leaning to get his phone out of his pocket when a sharp double rap tapped his window. Nathan cussed, jumped, and glowered at Hellabeth’s amused expression through the glass.

“What?” Nathan barked. Hellabeth twirled a finger, and begrudgingly, Nathan rolled down the window. “What?” he repeated.

Hellabeth laughed and leaned to rest her arms on the side of the car. “He ain’t here.”

“Who?”

The metal piercing Hellabeth’s lips shifted with her smirk. “Your boyfriend.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Nathan said, exasperated. “I’m—”

“Fine,” Hellabeth conceded. “Your friend with fuck benefits. He ain’t here.”

Nathan’s eyes bored into the bartender’s. “I wasn’t looking for Fury.”

Hellabeth grinned. “So you two
are
friendly, huh?”

“Nice to see you again.” Nathan started to roll up the window, but Hellabeth put her hand over its rim.

“He’s at church.”

Hellabeth might as well have said Fury was in Nathan’s bathtub wearing a mermaid’s tail and seashells. “He’s where?” Nathan asked.

“Church. Glory Baptist off North Broadway.”

Nathan’s mouth opened, closed, and opened again. “Why?”

Hellabeth’s features went strangely chilly. “I think you’d have to ask him that yourself.”

“Sorry,” Nathan said quickly. “North Broadway, you said?”

“Yeah.” Hellabeth studied Nathan for a moment longer than Nathan was comfortable. “He’s there until three.”

“Thanks.” Nathan put the car in gear, nodded at Hellabeth, and drove off before he gave in to the urge to shake answers out of the woman. He was in no hurry to get close and personal with that sword she stowed somewhere beneath her clothes.

Nathan merged into traffic and tried to make Fury and church fit into the same paradigm. If Hellabeth had told Nathan that Fury had gone to see some sort of Native American shaman for a cleansing ritual, Nathan would have understood. It made a sort of sense, really; Fury sitting cross-legged surrounded by clouds of sage or whatever.

But a church? A Baptist church? At least if it’d been Catholic, Nathan could see Fury atoning for sins or something. But Fury, tattooed and hair-dyed and brooding, walking into a Baptist church and bowing head in prayer? Most Baptists Nathan knew would sooner stone a man like Fury to death before allowing him through the doors, and it occurred to him that Hellabeth might have been pulling his leg.

Nathan stayed skeptical and distracted until he turned onto Broadway, went through a light or sixty, and spotted a squat sign with an arrow pointing toward Glory Baptist. He slowed and eased the Corvette up a hill. The church was on the small side, made of red brick and white-painted wood with a traditional steeple jutting toward heaven. There was a fellowship hall behind the main building, and it looked newer than the church. Several cars were parked in front of the hall’s open double doors, and one of them was Fury’s Ford.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Nathan said, chuckling to himself. Not quite daring to park next to Fury, Nathan stopped a few rows away. He wondered how much time he’d have to wait and contemplate an MMA fighter mixed up with the likes of men and guns who was also in church on Saturdays, but Fury walked out of the fellowship hall, thus answering at least one of Nathan’s unspoken questions. Fury wore mirrored sunglasses, jeans, and a long-sleeved shirt under a T-shirt covered in skulls. He carried a brown paper bag in one hand, and he was moving slowly so he could help a woman who was maneuvering with a cane to her car. He got the passenger door for her, took her elbow with the same right hand that broke teeth and bruised kidneys, and eased her inside. Other people streamed out of the hall, several of whom said farewell to Fury. He nodded or waved, shut the Cadillac’s door, and spotted Nathan. Fury’s shoulders stiffened, straightened, and he started over, all while Nathan’s intestines tied themselves into hangman’s knots.

“Get out of the car, Nathan,” he ordered himself, and it took two more tries until Nathan’s body obeyed. He climbed out and rested against the roof and door.

“Hey,” Nathan said when Fury’s shin was a few inches from the Corvette’s headlight. Fury didn’t say anything, and his inscrutable expression was made even more impossible by the sunglasses. Nathan could see himself in them, pale and wide-eyed. “Um, Hellabeth said you’d be here.” Nathan thought he sensed Fury’s slow, uncomprehending blink happening behind the shades. “She was at the warehouse,” Nathan clarified.

“What were you doing at the warehouse?” Fury demanded, angrily, Nathan thought, and Nathan backed up when Fury advanced. Fury shut the car door and kept coming until he was a deep breath away from Nathan. “It’s not safe there,” Fury said.

“No shit? Would never have picked up on that.”

Fury ripped off the glasses, but Nathan saw more apprehension than anger in Fury’s eyes. “You were with me that night. I wouldn’t have let anythin’ happen to you.”

Nathan blushed. Actually, honest-to-hell blushed, and even though this was not the conversation he thought he’d be having with Fury, he couldn’t seem to change the subject. “You were pretty occupied knocking skulls, man. Not so sure you could have gotten away from the party.”

Fury’s eyes went wide, and Nathan got to see what Fury looked like on the verge of pissed off. “You were in the crowd on my left. You got knocked toward the sound system. You were against the west wall. You were at the bar with Hellabeth. I never had more than one on me at a time, they were drunk, and they’ve all gone down before. I knew how to handle them, and I always knew…” Fury growled. He lowered his voice. They were almost nose to nose, and though Nathan knew he should step away from the intimacy, his feet refused to listen to him.

“Don’t go there without me,” Fury said. “You’ve got my number. Use it.”

Nathan was dazed after a headlong collision with Fury’s wall of honesty. “If it’s such a bad place, why do you go there?”

Fury’s eyes ticked back and forth between Nathan’s for exactly twelve seconds. “I’ve thought about you.”

“Yeah?” As subject changes went, it was an effective one. Nathan couldn’t remember a damned thing he’d been saying or doing. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I… Right.” He took a tiny step backward, but Fury stayed put. Nathan gestured to Fury’s hand. “What’s in the bag?”

“Lasagna,” Fury replied.

“Is that it?” Nathan blurted, not sure what he expected, but Italian food wasn’t it.

Fury glanced at the bag and back at Nathan. “I think there’s bread and a salad too.”

“Is that why you’re here on a Saturday? For the food?”

“No.” Fury’s lip twitched.

Nathan glared at Fury. “You always this forthcoming?”

“No.”

Nathan reached for the Corvette’s door handle, but Fury moved to block him. “You’re cute when you’re figurin’ out what to say.” Fury shrugged. “Sorry.”

“I’m
cute
?”

Nathan’s spluttering was interrupted by a respectful, “Excuse me.”

Any chance at a full comeback was destroyed by a short, thin man with thick white hair and deep laugh lines. He smiled at Nathan and Fury. A breeze rustled his sports jacket, and he extended the hand not tangled up in car keys toward Fury. “Didn’t want to butt in but did want to say good-bye to this one here.”

“Had to get Harriet to her car,” Fury said, taking the man’s hand and stepping closer to bend for a hug.

“Oh, it’s all right.” The man patted Fury on the back, holding Fury in a genuine embrace that was as confusing as it was envy-inspiring. “Got tied up with Susan. Just wanted to make sure you got your food.”

“Thank Vicky for me,” Fury said, standing up and giving the man’s hand one more squeeze.

“You can thank her yourself on Wednesday.” The man beamed. “You’re still coming, right?”

Fury nodded, and the man laughed, clearly delighted. “Good, good.” He looked at Nathan, expectantly.

“Nate, this is Reverend Hutchinson,” Fury said.

“Nathan Hunt,” he said, shaking the minister’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise! Will you be joining us on Wednesday for supper?” The reverend turned to Fury, and Nathan had to admit, there was no trace of disapproval in the man’s features.

“Oh, I think I’m—” Nathan started.

“We’ll see,” Fury said.

Nathan must have lost his ability to school his expression when he stepped across the threshold into this Twilight Zone, because the reverend laughed some more and patted Nathan on the arm. “No rush, no rush.” He clasped Fury’s wrist. “You did good today, son. We thank you.”

Fury became fascinated with the ground, and the minister smiled and locked eyes with Nathan. “Nice meeting you. Hope to see you soon. Say, tomorrow?”

The preacher softened the sell with a wink. He headed for a sedan in a handicapped spot in front of the fellowship hall, and Nathan waited until he was out of earshot. “Okay,” Nathan said to Fury, arms crossed. “Who the hell are you?”

Fury’s ever-expressive eyebrows danced. He held out a hand with scabbed knuckles. “Hale Collett Fury.”

“Your parents named you Hale Fury?” Nathan said, forgetting to take Fury’s hand.

“It’s the least they did wrong,” Fury replied, and though it was said lightly enough, Nathan didn’t miss the pain spread across the syllables. Fury dropped the offer of the handshake.

“I hear that.” Nathan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “So, you prefer Hale or Fury?”

“Either.” Fury considered. “Though I like the way you say ‘Hale.’”

Somebody should really tell Fury that flirting wasn’t supposed to sound so innocent. If it was, actually, flirting. Maybe Fury could say those kinds of things without the veneer of sarcasm that Nathan had to have. “What’s up with the church and the minister?”

Fury set down the bag and rested a hip against Nathan’s car, watchful. “When I was seventeen, I got arrested.”

Nathan took the bait. “For what?”

“Armed robbery and assault.”

Fury studied Nathan as though scanning for a reaction. Nathan did his best to give Fury the right one. “What happened?” Nathan asked after a few seconds.

The question seemed to be the right track. Fury answered, “Tried to steal money from a liquor store. Beat the shit out of a guy who tried to stop me. Got out of doing time but had to get counseling and do community service.”

It seemed like a light sentence to Nathan, and Fury must have heard that before, because he nodded, though Nathan didn’t say anything. “Had a good public defender. I was on my own, no priors, and had a history that she used to keep me out of jail.”

“History?”

Fury’s poker face slid into place, and he gave Nathan a long look. “Was it easy for you, growin’ up queer?”

Nathan didn’t even think about lying. “No.”

“Your folks? They make it hard?”

“Yeah,” Nathan said softly.

Fury spat. “Mine too.”

Unease rolled through Nathan, and he didn’t push for more details. After a longer moment of silence, Fury kept talking. “Found a place that did free counseling. The reverend was one of the counselors.” Fury smiled at the horizon. “He’s done a lot for me. Got me into fights.”

“A
preacher
got you into fighting?”

Fury grinned. “He used to box in the army. Lightweight. Quick as thieves. He taught me a few new things and some stuff that used what I already knew, then got me hooked up with a trainer who could teach me more. Jay Frazier? He’s the man who owns our gym. Good guy.”

“Well, holy shit,” Nathan said.

“Eyah, pretty much.” Fury chuckled.

“So you help out around here too? Payback or something?” Nathan asked.

Fury glanced over Nathan’s shoulder, and Nathan was starting to think that when Fury wasn’t sure if he should answer a question or talk, he kept his peace until he figured it out. And it didn’t seem to matter how long that took or if somebody was waiting. Nathan kind of liked that. It could be annoying, yeah, sometimes, but it took the kind of patience, sense, and guts that Nathan wished he had.

“Today was counseling.” Fury picked up his food.