Giving Up the Ghost (6 page)

“If he’s not making you happy…” Andy didn’t finish that sentence for a few very long seconds, leaving space in which John had no choice but to think about the reality of it. “I know you think we don’t know each other well, but I could see from the moment I saw you this afternoon that you weren’t happy. It’s not right, John. You deserve better.” He sighed. “I’d give you better, if it were me.”

“I love him,” John said, the words coming easily in the shadows, spoken into the soft, damp fall of Andy’s hair. “If he still loves me, I don’t know, but I canna change the way I feel about him.”

He meant it. All of it. Didn’t mean he wasn’t reacting to Andy in his arms, willing and wanting, all his attention so flatteringly focused on John. This was what John was used to; a quick, generally friendly fuck with a near-stranger who would move on without looking back and expect John to do the same. That was the way it had been all of John’s adult life. Less than two years with Nick; not long enough to break some habits.

John knew he could have Andy if he wanted. A press forward with his hips to send an unmistakable message, even bundled up as they were; the tilt of his head that would bring Andy’s mouth under his, cold lips, chapped by wind and sea, softening as he licked and bit at them…oh, it’d be easy. And after that, well, John knew just what sound Andy would make when John’s hand reached down, roughly shoving past whatever Andy had on under his jeans to get to what he wanted. He could almost hear the choked-off gasp and moan, feel the smooth skin of Andy’s cock stretch and fill as he hardened.

All there waiting if he just turned his head…

“I just want to be close to you,” Andy whispered, breath hot against John’s ear. “Just for tonight. I’ll not ask for anything more than that, not if you can’t give it, but please, would you --”

With a feeling of savage gladness, John turned his head and kissed Andy fiercely, grateful that there was a way to shut the man up. Andy’s fingers clutched at the back of John’s vest, and his mouth opened eagerly against John’s with a harsh moan.

So long since he’d kissed anyone but Nick, and his mouth felt clumsy, lacking the knowledge gained by so many shared kisses, but Andy didn’t seem to notice or care. His tongue slid inside John’s mouth, tasting him, discovering him, and John let him do it and did it back.

There was a moment when he thought that was all he was going to do; kiss Andy and stop, prove to himself that he loved Nick and he wasn’t going to betray him. But it’d been too late from the moment he sat down at the table in the pub, smiling across into knowing, expectant brown eyes.

His breath ragged and loud, nothing of the gentleness he’d found with Nick wanted or needed, he fumbled with the button to Andy’s jeans, flicking it open and tugging at the zip with an impatience that must have passed for eagerness because he could see Andy smile as he rolled away a little to make it easy for John.

Neither of them was shivering as John slid his hand inside Andy’s jeans and gripped his hard erection. “John,” Andy muttered, kissing him again, then again. “God, I’ve thought about this for so long. What your hand would feel like on me.”

Andy dragged his own hand over John’s hip and forward, kneading at John’s cock through the denim of his jeans. John wasn’t more than half-hard, but he ignored the part of him that wanted to recoil from the touch of someone who wasn’t Nick and kissed Andy almost defiantly, silencing the insistent voice that urged him to stop with the feel of Andy’s teeth against his tongue, with the rough slide of Andy’s cock through his fist.

Then Andy’s hand began to undo John’s jeans, and at the first brush of knuckles against his belly, John was scrambling back abruptly enough to dump himself off their makeshift bed and onto the damp dirt floor. Which was just about where he deserved to be. He turned his head, spat out a mouthful of sour spit, glad he wasn’t heaving his guts out with the way he felt, and fastened his jeans with hands that were surprisingly steady. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

It was a huge relief to say it and know that it was true. He couldn’t. Not with Andy, not with anyone who wasn’t Nick. Whether Nick would forgive him for this, he didn’t know. Maybe Nick didn’t care enough to really mind what he did, or with whom, although part of John knew that wasn’t likely, no matter how far apart they’d drifted. Either way, it didn’t make a difference. He just couldn’t.

Andy sighed and rested his hand on his own belly where a strip of it was bare above his unfastened jeans. “Christ. You really do love him.”

John nodded, not able to trust his voice right then. He stood up and walked over to the chair, sitting down heavily with his back to Andy. If it hadn’t been pouring with rain, he’d have put even more distance between them, but common sense told him that there wasn’t much point in a grand gesture like that. It wasn’t as if it was Andy’s fault, anyway; no need to make him feel guilty about driving John out into the storm.

“Get to sleep,” he said, hearing the rasp of tiredness in his voice. God, he needed to do that himself, but he couldn’t lie down beside Andy again.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Andy said. The crinkle of the tarp and the change in Andy’s voice told John he’d rolled onto his side. “I’ll promise not to touch you if that’s what it takes, but come over here and lie down. You won’t be able to sleep there, and you need it just as much as I do.”

“I’m not thinking about that,” John said. “I’m just…” He sighed. Nick always teased him about taking himself too seriously at times, and he supposed this was one of them. The chair creaked as he shifted position on it, jolting him out of his desolation. “Oh, the hell with it.”

He stood, took off his coat, and went back to the bed, pulling the tarp back and dropping his coat unceremoniously over Andy, who grunted in surprise and then curled into its warmth. Settling himself with his back to Andy, he drew the tarp up over them both and muttered, “Good night,” out of habit.

“Good night,” Andy said quietly. He drew another breath as if about to add something, but then exhaled again and remained silent.

For a long time, they both lay there without moving or speaking, the sound of the rain lulling John into a doze despite the fact that he was guilty and cold and missing Nick and his own bed something fierce.

Gradually, though, he was disturbed from his light sleep by the awareness of rhythm, of Andy’s breath coming in shorter, sharper gasps. He realized at once that the other man, obviously thinking him asleep, was taking care of finishing what John had started, as quietly as possible.

Except he wasn’t that quiet, and for all John’s sympathy -- he knew what it was like to be left wanting like that -- he really didn’t care to spend the next few minutes listening to Andy jerk off. He was just about to give a sleepy murmur and roll over, hopefully enough to stop Andy without the other man knowing John had heard him, when Andy shuddered and came, his body tensing and his breath hissing out in a soft grunt. A moment later, Andy relaxed, and a minute after that he was asleep.

John settled down again, feeling the heather flatten beneath him, and did his best to follow suit.

Chapter Three

By morning it was clear that the storm had blown over. The rain-washed sky, still dark, showed a moon and a distant sparkle of stars.

“We’ll try it.” John turned to Andy who looked like hell, pale and sunken-eyed, huddled into his jacket. “Come on, lad. An hour and you’ll be in a hot bath with your belly full of food.”

“I doubt the hotel will take kindly to me knocking on the door this early.”

John hesitated. Inviting him back to the house would be the friendly thing to do, but he wasn’t going to do it. “There’ll be someone up and about.” He thought about going to Michael’s and rejected that idea. Sheila would kill him, so she would. “I could take you to my sister’s --”

Andy shook his head. “No -- don’t go to any trouble, just drop me at the hotel. I’ll chance being shouted at if it means a proper sleep, and under the circumstances they might be willing to overlook my lack of manners.”

It seemed unkind to point out that Andy was contradicting himself, so John just concentrated on getting them into the boat and across the sea. The wind was bitterly cold, but the sun was rising bright at the edge of the horizon by the time they reached shore, and the first rays of it were just starting to warm the air when John stopped the car in front of the hotel. The inside of the car had reached something close to a comfortable temperature by then.

Getting out, Andy shrugged out of John’s jacket and set it on the passenger seat. “I’m sorry about -- well, I didn’t mean to stir up trouble for you. I hope things work out.”

“Wasn’t your fault.” That didn’t sound all that reassuring but it was the best John could do. His thoughts were with the upcoming confrontation with Nick and he had little attention to spare for Andy. He reached across the seat and held out his hand to shake Andy’s. “I’m hoping all goes well for you, too.” He put the car in gear and stared ahead, at the road leading to home. “Goodbye, Andy.”

Andy nodded, raised his hand in farewell, and when John thought to glance in the mirror to look back, he’d already gone from sight.

Nick was waiting for him in the kitchen when he got back home, nursing a mug of coffee at the table, and looking as tired as John felt.

“Nick. You’re up early,” John said awkwardly, his gaze going to the computer, which was, for once, switched off.

“I couldn’t sleep.” There was tension in the line of Nick’s shoulders. “I couldn’t stop thinking about…” He looked up, gaze troubled as it met John’s. “Are you okay?”

A breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding left John in a slow, wearied exhalation. “No. Farthest thing from it.”

“Sit down,” Nick said, abandoning the chair he’d been sitting in and gesturing at it. “I’ll make some tea. You must be starving -- do you want some breakfast? I can make something.” It was clear from the way he was behaving that he could tell something was wrong, and when John started to move reluctantly toward the chair, trying to sort out what to say, he suddenly found himself with Nick’s arms around him, clutching onto him tightly.

“Don’t,” he said, working his hand free and resting it on Nick’s shoulder so that he could push him back, though it was the last thing he wanted. “Nick, please -- you won’t want to when I tell you, so let me tell you, will you?”

“No. I don’t want to know.” Nick moved a few feet away from him, turning to look out the window. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Nick’s voice was flat, as if he were trying not to care but failing.

“If that’s what you want me to do, I will,” John told him, slowly. “And I’m thinking you will, and I wouldn’t blame you.” He swallowed. “Andy -- the man I went fishing with -- he’s been here before, on the island. A couple of years ago, before I met you. We were never -- you know how it was with me, but I knew fine he was interested. A body can tell, you know?”

Nick didn’t look at him. “Do you love him?”

“What? No!” John shook his head. “Christ, until I saw him in the bar yesterday, I hadn’t given him a single thought. I barely know the man.” He felt anger stir, a welcome distraction for his own guilt. “How can you ask me that? Do you think I’ve been lying to you the past few years, then?”

Nick ignored that. He was standing very still, and somehow it made him seem smaller. “Did you fuck him?”

“No.” John couldn’t bear the questions Nick was asking him, short, cold stabs of words. The space separating them seemed impossible to bridge, even though if he’d stretched out his hand he could still -- just -- touch Nick. “Look, I’ll tell you, okay? I
want
to tell you. I never had any intention of lying to you about any of this. I never have. You’ve always had the truth from me, and you always will.” He saw Nick nod; just a small, barely perceptible movement that he chose to think meant Nick accepted that. “We were lying down, close as we could get; he was fair perished with the cold, shaking with it. And he asked, and I…I kissed him, aye, I did, and more. Had my hand on him when he touched me and I just -- I couldn’t. And I’d never have done more than that, and I wouldn’t have done any of it if I hadn’t been so damn sad and sorry for the way it is between us now.”

There was silence for a long time. At no point did Nick so much as glance at John. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I’ve never…I’ve never done this before.” Nick cleared his throat. “Had it done. Whatever.”

No, he wouldn’t have. Although what Matthew, Nick’s only other partner had done, never believing in Nick’s ability to see ghosts even as he marketed that ability for all he could, well, that wasn’t much better in John’s opinion.

“It had fuck all to do with him,” John said bluntly. “It was about us. About me being angry and hurt and taking that way of -- oh, God, I don’t know. Hurting you back? We’re talking about a minute or two, no more.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” Nick said. He sounded terrible, as if he’d been pushed to the end of his rope or even past it. “Ever. There are just…there are things that I can’t tell you. Not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t know how. Don’t even know how to start. But now…” He bowed his head; the back of his neck looked pale under his dark hair. “Are you leaving me?”

“Well, you might not have been trying to hurt me, but you managed it. Nick, there’s not a damned thing you can’t tell me. And I’ll leave when you kick me out and not a minute sooner because there’s nowhere I want to be but with you.” John went over to him then, taking a few hasty steps, putting his hands on Nick’s shoulders and turning him. “These things you can’t talk about, they’re to do with what you are? What you do?”

Nick shuddered at his touch but didn’t pull away; at least that was something, although it was considerably less than John would have liked just then. “I don’t know what they are,” he said, his face turned to the side. “I think -- maybe I’m just going crazy. Not like that’s a surprise.”

“I’d have noticed,” John said with certainty. “You’re not, and never think it. Tell me, will you?”

“I’ve been dreaming.” Nick said it quickly, then looked surprised, as if he hadn’t expected to give up his secret so easily. The surprise changed, just as quickly, to suspicion, and that hurt more than John would have anticipated. Nick did pull away then, rubbing his wrist with his other hand -- sometimes it ached in the cold weather, John knew, although Nick rarely complained. “At first I thought it was real. That it was going to happen, but then…and I keep looking, every day, and it isn’t anywhere. Not in the news, and it would have to be, wouldn’t it?”