Found at the Library (15 page)

“O-kay. Safe travels.” Tommy hung up and then sat there, staring at the phone. Mac had told him he’d written a book inspired by him. That took some balls to use his actual name but then to kill him off? That wasn’t normal, was it?

Tommy felt sick to his stomach as the sense of betrayal and confusion flowed over him. Why would Mac kill him off? They didn’t even fight. Yeah, they’d had a few misunderstandings when they first met, but nothing that warranted death. You had to seriously hate someone to want them dead.

Was this some sort of game to Mac? Get into a new relationship, find new fodder for his writing along with some easy sex, and then dump the chump.

No, that couldn’t be right, because no matter what else happened, Tommy knew Mac was a good guy. He’d proven that over and over again.

But Tommy had jumped headlong into this relationship without any real thought after those first initial doubts. The last month had been crazy with his emotions all over the place. The one positive in his life had been Mac, but was he reading too much into that good feeling? Spending time with Mac had simply felt good, felt right. So Tommy had trusted that, had trusted Mac.

Tommy’s thoughts spun. Was he jumping to conclusions here? Mac was an artist. He used words instead of visual representation for his art. But like any artist that meant his art didn’t mean the same thing to everyone...not even to Mac...that it did to all his readers. But by the same token, something felt off with this situation.

Tommy shook his head. The last month had been crazy, and he’d latched onto Mac like he was the last available man on Earth. Maybe he needed to step back, slow this down, and get a better perspective on what they were doing here. Before he got really hurt.

Although as the lead weight got heavier and heavier in his chest, it occurred to him that it might already be too late for that.

***

Mac showed up at Typecast five minutes before opening. When his gaze met Tommy’s across the room, his eyes lit up, and Tommy’s heart leapt a little. Could Tommy trust that? He didn’t know anymore. Tommy followed Mac’s progress as he headed toward the stairs to the loft to drop his stuff.

“Franny, I need to talk to Mac for a few minutes. It shouldn’t take too long, but if I’m not back out, go ahead and open when it’s time.”

“No problem, hon. You take your time greeting your man,” she told him with a wink.

He bound up the stairs with his gut churning. He still didn’t know what he planned to do here.

Mac turned and smiled in welcome as Tommy walked into the bedroom.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” Tommy asked.

“Talk? I can think of better things we can do in here.” Mac draped across the end of the bed, looking too damn sexy.

“Uh, yeah.” Yep, that was it. Proof positive that Tommy needed a lobotomy. He loved it when Mac got playful like this and damn, he looked good on Tommy’s bed.

He needed to focus. “No, let’s go into the kitchen.”

“Okay.” Mac tilted his head, concern shining from his eyes. “Are you okay?” Mac asked as they walked.

“Sure.” How did he even approach this? “I’ve been kind of curious about something.”

Mac followed him as he entered the kitchen. Tommy got out a glass and filled it with water simply for something to do with his hands. He glanced at Mac. “That book you wrote after we met. You said it was a romance, right?”

Mac nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s right. A male/male romance.”

“I’m curious. What were the characters names?”

Mac rubbed across the back of his neck, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “I actually need to change those. I didn’t get very original. At that point, I focused more on telling the story than being creative.”

“So, what were they?”

“Uh, Rex and Thomas.”

Fuck. His stomach sank, and he felt a little nauseated. He’d wanted to be wrong about this. He pulled Mac’s phone out of his jeans pocket and pushed it across the counter to Mac. “I think you forgot that when you left earlier. Emily called, so I answered it, because I know you’ve been waiting to hear from her.”

“Oh good. Thanks. Is she okay? On her way home?”

“Yeah, she should be back in a couple of hours. I didn’t get any other information out of her, though.” Tommy took a deep breath. “She was too upset, because she had finished your new book.”

Mac frowned for a moment. Tommy could see the moment Mac got it, because his eyes widened, and he began shaking his head.

Tommy kept talking. “Yeah, she didn’t seem to take too kindly to you killing Thomas in the story.” Even saying that made Tommy short of breath. Why? He didn’t understand why. He waited for Mac to offer some sort of explanation, but the silence permeated the room.

Mac looked shell-shocked, like he didn’t know what to do. “I don’t know what to say. He does die, but that has nothing to do with you.”

Tommy couldn’t breathe. The pain in his chest was excruciating. “How can you say that, Mac? You’ve already told me our meeting inspired the book. Hell, you even gave him my name. I don’t understand it, but I do know that this awful feeling I have in my gut isn’t right. I shouldn’t be with someone that can make me feel this physically ill.”

Mac’s shoulders drooped.

Tommy paced away, not able to look at the pain on Mac’s face. He didn’t know what the right move was here, but Mac had killed that character. That had to mean something, didn’t it? Tommy steeled himself to do what he needed to, although he didn’t want to do this. “We’ve gone into this relationship really quickly, Mac. I think we should back off for a bit. You have your deadline, and the next two weeks are going to be crazy with Christmas and New Years.”

“What exactly are you saying?” Mac’s voice was quiet and somber. “You don’t want to see me anymore?”

“Not right now, Mac. I think we need to take a step back. I should be concentrating on what I can do to help Ryder get healthy, not in trying to skirt around the landmines of a new relationship. I’m sorry. I just can’t.” They’d jumped into this relationship so quickly when everything in Tommy’s life was in chaos. Maybe a little bit of time apart would give them both perspective.

“Tommy, please don’t...” Mac reached for Tommy’s arm, but Tommy shook him off.

Anything more and he’d break down right now. He couldn’t do that. First, he needed to think. And that needed to be done without Mac’s overwhelming presence influencing him.

“The store’s opening. I need to go help Franny.”

***

Five days later

Mac reached for his coffee cup as he pictured the interior of the bar for the next scene.
Greyson would need to come in from the back while Kelser entered from the front.
His fingers met air. He kept rifling through the cluttered space beside his laptop. Where the fuck was his cup? He didn’t have time to look away from his screen. Hmm, maybe he should add a coffee bar into the Magira system. That was a thought.

This book,
The Final Destiny
, ended the series for his barely legal adventurers, Kelser and Greyson, aboard their starship
Mystique
. But maybe he could create a spin-off series about a remote station, earning a reputation for its chicory brew.

Dammit. He needed his chicory brew. Finally breaking down and looking away from his laptop screen, he glanced over to where his coffee cup normally sat. Empty. In fact...what the fuck? His desk had been loaded down with trash and dirty coffee cups and now sat completely clean. Mac rubbed his eyes and looked up. Emily sat in the chair in front of him, frowning with concern.

“You’ve been ignoring my calls and texts.”

“Emily?” His voice cracked from disuse. “When did you get here?”

“Save the document, Mac.”

He shrugged. “Okay.” That was probably a good idea. When he got into the zone, he forgot to save sometimes. So far, he’d never lost a huge chunk of manuscript, but it was only a matter of time, especially when he got to writing like this. He saved it and then sent himself a backup copy just in case before refocusing on Emily. “Done. Now, what’s up?”

She stood, strode over to his desk, and shut his laptop.

“Hey, I’m not through with that.”

“For the next thirty-six hours, you won’t touch it. Come on, Mac.” She tugged at his arm, and he stood and followed her, since that was obviously what she wanted.

“What happened to my slave driver? I had to dump everything I’d written before. It was all too emotional and crap, but I’ve recovered.
The Final Destiny
will make its deadline, Em. I only have forty thousand words to go, but I have to keep working on it. Now.” He pulled out of Emily’s grasp and turned to go back to the library. He couldn’t afford to stop. If he did, he wouldn’t make his deadline, and he’d have time to think. He couldn’t do that.

“Mac, stop.” Something in her tone cut through the haze of his writing obsession, and he looked back at her. “How many words do you have written on book number six?”

“Um...” He did a quick calculation in his head based upon what he remembered. He’d been in the zone when she’d interrupted him. “Somewhere around fifty-five thousand, I think.”

“And those are all new words this week? Because you trashed what you’d already written?”

He nodded. Instead of being excited about what he’d accomplished, she looked more and more concerned. “No wonder you look like death warmed over. When was the last time you ate something? And lacing your coffee with creamer when it starts to eat at your stomach lining doesn’t count.” She stood in the hallway, staring him down with her hands on her hips, waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know. I had some crackers.” Maybe. He couldn’t remember. Since he’d left Tommy’s place Monday morning, he’d immersed himself into the world of his book. He needed that fog to keep him numb.

“When was that?” Emily pressed.

“I don’t remember. What does it matter? I’ll eat when the book is done.” He tossed up his hands at her in frustration. “Just let me get back to it. Okay?”

“No, not okay. Look, I’m sorry you’re upset and hurting, but I’m not going to allow you to continue on this self-destructive path. It’s Christmas Eve. I’m guessing the last time you ate or showered was Monday. It’s Friday now.”

Wait. What? It couldn’t be Christmas Eve yet. That meant it had been five days since Tommy kicked him out.
No, no thinking about that yet
. He started back toward the library.

Emily jumped in front of him. “You are going to your bedroom. You are going to shower. You are going to shave. You are going to put on clean clothes and brush your hair. I am going to find you something to eat, and then you are going to Christmas Eve Mass with me. Non-negotiable.”

He could see the stubborn tilt of her head, and he didn’t have the energy to argue with her. Besides, he did need a shower. Even he could smell the stench. “Fine, give me fifteen minutes. I’d hate to offend your delicate sensibilities.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Too late.”

When Mac caught a glimpse of himself in his bathroom mirror, he understood a bit better why Emily had been so concerned. His hair stuck out in several different directions as a result of him running his hands through it repeatedly. He hadn’t been to sleep in a real bed in days. Instead he caught catnaps sitting at his desk, and that showed with the dark bags under his eyes and his hollowed cheeks.

Admittedly, exhaustion pulled at him. But whenever he dozed off, visions of Tommy filled his head, taunting him with all he’d lost. All he’d ruined. It was simply easier not to give into the allure of a peaceful, restful sleep, when it would end up being nothing but torturous. 

He turned on the shower to hot and stripped off his dirty clothes while he waited for the water to warm up, eyeing the space warily. Normally, he loved taking showers because that was prime plotting time, prime thinking time. Today, he needed to
not
think. To that end, he hopped in and out of the shower in record time.

Toweling off just as quickly, he decided he could humor Emily. There was no reason to take out his pathetic issues on her. He didn’t want to do anything that would ruin her holiday. So he dressed in some nice wool pants and a cashmere sweater, even putting on some nicer hiking boots.

But he had no intention of going to Mass with her. He hadn’t set foot in a church since he’d been lectured at confessional about his evil, sinful desires because he lusted after men. Not even in the spirit of Christmas and friendship would he change or hide the issues he had with the organized church. That kind of judgmental, harsh God was not the same one he chose to believe in. He had his beliefs. They didn’t line up with the majority of organized religion, and he was okay with that. He wouldn’t be made to feel inferior because of it.

He found Emily in the kitchen, assembling some elaborate sandwiches. She’d dimmed most the lights in the house and had turned on the Christmas lights he hadn’t lit all week. Frank Sinatra and Doris Day sang old jazzy Christmas carols over his sound system.

“Look at you, behaving like one of Santa’s elves,” he joked with her tiredly.

“Yeah, don’t get used to it. Domesticity is not one of my virtues.” She pushed a sandwich toward him.

He took a bite of the sandwich and moaned at the explosion of flavor from the smoked turkey and Gouda cheese. He hadn’t realized he was even hungry, but this tasted amazing. “Thanks, Em. I’m sorry you had to come over here to put me back together, but I’m good now, so you can consider your good deed done. I understand that Christmas Eve Mass is a tradition for some, but I’d much rather stay here and get another couple thousand words written.”

“I know you would, but I’m not giving you the choice. I’ve confiscated your laptop. You may have it back the day after Christmas. Until that time, you have to function like a real human being and live and interact with other people.”

He shook his head in stunned disbelief. She wouldn’t actually do that, would she? He dropped his sandwich on his plate and took off to the library. A huge empty spot occupied the center of his desk where his laptop normally sat. He scrambled around to the other side of his desk, opening drawers, hoping to find it. Nothing. His gaze searched the room. He didn’t see it anywhere.