Long Time Gone (Hell or High Water ) (21 page)

Between the pain and the incoming edges of the drugs softening his resolve on everything, he wanted to believe Prophet. Needed to know that whenever Prophet stepped in to help him gain much needed control over his temper, or helped him with his migraines, or helped him deal with his past, it was because he wanted to, not just because it was an easy way to push Tom away.

Prophet was watching him with a half grin on his face, and it took Tom a few seconds to register why. Because Tom had babbled the words out loud instead of just letting them run wild in his brain. “Shit.”

“I’m here doing this—all of this—because I want to. Not because I have to. Not because it puts distance between us. I told you I’m done running. I think maybe you’re the one who’s still trying to escape.”

“No. I don’t want that.”

“Then
let me
, T.”

Tom was happy to pretend he didn’t have a choice in the matter.

“Never fail to surprise me,” Prophet murmured to him what seemed like hours later.

“That’s good, right?” Tom asked tiredly, still collapsed over the man’s chest.

Prophet laughed and rubbed a hand down his back. “Decent.”

Tom laughed weakly. “Fucker.”

“You started it.”

“Wait a minute,” Tom realized. “How were my meds here?”

Prophet had the grace to look sheepish. “I went through your bag. Put them in my pocket before we went out with Kari.”

“In case I had a migraine down the street from my aunt’s house?”

“Pressure changes. You never know . . .” Prophet trailed off.

“Thank you.”

“Not done yet,” Prophet said. Tom let Prophet practically carry him to the bathroom.

He leaned against Prophet under the spray, murmured, “’M’too warm, Proph.”

Prophet made the water cooler, and Tom shivered as it hit his heated skin. His head throbbed from the small exertion, and he whimpered as Prophet tucked his head against his neck and rubbed his back. Realized that the damned orgasm earlier had helped the pain immensely, if only for the moments it raced through him.

“I’ve got you,” Prophet said roughly, and Tom wanted to ask “Who has you?” but it would take too much effort at the moment, and no doubt Prophet wouldn’t answer him anyway. Prophet was protecting him, which was what he did best, and Tommy realized the key to their partnership was just that—Prophet wanted to protect.

Tommy would let him, because it allowed him to protect Prophet right back.

Finally, they were both cool and far more comfortable. Prophet didn’t bother toweling them off—the warm air would dry them soon enough. Tom was agreeable, letting Prophet manhandle him, put a bag of ice on his head, give him more medicine.

When Prophet led him back into the bed, Tom made a stop first, grabbing Miles’s letter off the shelf and handing it to Prophet.

“It’s all here, Proph.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said, then started. When he’d read Miles’s letter, he’d had to break the seal of the envelope. “I can’t believe you didn’t read it.”

“It wasn’t my place.”

“But it is your place to look through my bags.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“We’re sleeping together.”

“We weren’t the first time you did it.” Prophet stared at him, and Tom’s throat tightened as he finally realized why Prophet hadn’t read it. “Shit. The video.”

“Yeah, the video,” Prophet echoed.

The letter in Tom’s hands was somewhat equivalent to the video of Prophet that Tom had watched over and over. Granted, he’d gotten it before he’d even met Prophet, but once he had . . . he still hadn’t revealed it, had hung onto that piece of Prophet’s past without telling him. He’d intruded before Prophet had been ready.

Prophet hadn’t wanted to do that to him, even though he could’ve easily justified reading it. “I’m sorry, Proph.”

“It’s in the past.”

“Past doesn’t stay fucking buried.”

“For me, that will.”

Prophet’s words were a fierce promise as he tugged Tom to sit next to him while he read the letter about what happened that night in the bayou, a night Tom couldn’t erase from his mind or his conscience, no matter how hard he tried.

Tom—

I know I’m the last person you’re expecting to hear from. I’m in AA and I’m sober for the first time since high school, and I’m supposed to make amends. No, I want to. It’s time.

I went into the bayou knowing that Donny had a knife. He told me what he thought we should do, and really, it was just to scare you both, especially Etienne. The sheriff didn’t know anything about that. I’m sure he figured we’d try to beat you guys up, but the knife . . .

I can’t even explain it, Tom. I was the son of a drunk. That’s not an excuse, but I was getting beaten every night, and then I’d drink until I passed out, wake up, go to school, and bully other people to make myself feel better. And it took me a long time and a lot of mistakes to get to this place. I’m never giving up my sobriety, no matter how hard it is to face the facts that I raped someone, that I took another man’s life . . . and that I’d planned to hurt you and Etienne that night.

Would I have used the knife on you? I want to say that the man surprised me—scared me. I want to say that I wasn’t waiting in the dark for Etienne to come along the path toward the swamp. But I was, because raping him had made people think I was gay, and because of that, I hated him. It was all my own fault and I couldn’t see that. Could only see the hatred I carried inside.

We’ve carried this shit around with us for too long. Looking back, I can’t believe what I did—to Etienne and to you. The only way I can truly show you I’m sorry is to come forward with what I did. I realize you might get in trouble for helping the sheriff cover the crime up, but I’m going to make sure everyone knows that it was forced on you to do so. Please understand that my coming forward is the best way for me to unburden you.

—
Miles

“And unburden himself,” Prophet muttered as he refolded the letter. “He made this more about him than Etienne or the man he killed. That’s bullshit.”

“You seem to know a lot about making amends,” Tom realized aloud.

“I’m an expert,” Prophet said seriously. “Does this sound like him?”

“No. He was an idiot most of the time. He was also drunk and high most of the time, so maybe this
is
the real him. I’ll never know now.” He glanced down at the note. “It looked like he was really going to come forward.”

“And so anyone with something to hide would want to shut that down. Where’s that sheriff who sent you into the woods now?”

“He’s dead. His son’s the new sheriff.”

“Jesus H. Christ, Tommy. Just . . . fuck, don’t ever go job hunting without me, okay?” Tom just ducked his head against Prophet’s chest, and Prophet sighed. “So the sheriff’s son has a lot to lose if this comes out. Think the old sheriff involved Lew?”

Tom shook his head. “They bonded over their dislike for me, but I know Lew doesn’t know what happened in the cemetery.”

“I’m not ruling any of them out at this point. Tell me what the old sheriff knew.”

“He found us when the sun came up because we didn’t meet him at the swamp. Etienne said we couldn’t leave the man’s body there alone. We guarded it against the gators. So he saw the body and the blood on me and Miles. And that asshole didn’t confess like he’d promised. Etienne stuck up for me and Donny stuck up for Miles and the sheriff told us to all keep our damned fool mouths shut, if we knew what was good for us. That it was Etienne’s and my word against Donny and Miles’s, and that no one could prove which one of us stabbed the guy. Which meant the word of a gay artist and the king of bad luck against two normal boys.”

“What about that little thing called evidence?”

“Donny got rid of the knife in the swamp. We didn’t wash the blood off because we thought it would make us look guilty when, as Donny pointed out, it was an accident.”

“Fuck. So the sheriff forced you to protect each other. And you did.”

Tom nodded, his voice tight as he said, “He got . . . gentler though. He didn’t so much as threaten, but he told us the man was a transient. Homeless. It was an accident. No sense ruining any of our lives any more than they already were for an accident.”

“Miles would’ve killed you and Etienne, T. Would that have still been considered an accident?”

He heard the anger in Prophet’s voice. “Around here, at the time, yeah.”

“Shit.” Prophet ran a hand though his hair. “We’re getting the fuck out of this place.”

“Too late now.” He thought back to how he’d felt all those years ago going home, showering. Sleeping in his bed and going to school. “I kept my mouth shut all these years. Watched the sheriff throw the body in the bayou.”

“You were fucking fourteen. Jesus. Don’t you dare blame yourself.”

“Miles started up with the drugs pretty much right after that. So the letter, that’s his first apology. I’m guessing he finally said he was sorry to Etienne too.”

“Etienne said he did,” Prophet told him.

“You’d think things would’ve been better after that, but everything got worse, especially for Miles and Donny. Since they left Etienne alone instead of their usual attempts to bully him and they didn’t call me bad luck anymore, the rumors started.
They
were gay.
They
were cursed.” Tom sighed. “That’s the kind of shit that sticks with you. That’s the kind of shit that ruins you.”

“It didn’t ruin you, T. I know that, because I know you.” Prophet ran a hand over the bracelet, a reminder, and then he laced his fingers with Tom’s. “So according to the letter, Miles was going to admit he killed the man in the bayou. The sheriff who covered it up is dead, so yeah, I mean, look, it’s a scandal but . . . is that really motivation enough to kill?”

Tom shook his head, then stared at Prophet. “What if the man Miles killed wasn’t a transient?”

“I’m guessing the gators won’t be talking,” Prophet said grimly. “We’ll get to the bottom of it. But fuck, I hate that you went through this shit.”

“I had to learn to be tough.”

“You’re tough enough, T.” Prophet slid an arm across his shoulders. “Always were.”

“Guess I’m lucky I’m not more fucked up.”

“Dude, you’re plenty fucked up.” He played with the leather bracelet on Tom’s arm. “You know why I gave you this, right?”

“Was it John’s?”

“No, mine.” Prophet smiled. “We all have our amulets.”

Tom studied him. “Bullshit.”

Prophet laughed. “John bought that explanation. So did you, for a while. It was mine, though, T. And no, I never needed an amulet. But I believed in both of you. The bracelet was just a reminder of that.”

Tom’s throat tightened. “It worked,” he managed. “You’re a fucking romantic bastard.”

Prophet looked oddly pleased with himself, even as he said, “You take that back!”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Tom promised.

Prophet grumbled, then said, “Etienne never got in touch with you about any of this shit with Miles and AA?”

“No.” He glanced at Prophet. “And no, I don’t think he’s a suspect.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Look, the last time I heard from Etienne was right before I went to Eritrea. He told me to stay away from this place. I thought he just meant . . . in general.”

“Why didn’t he get specific?”

“He knew it would bring me back here,” Tom admitted.

“And what about your voodoo shit?”

Tom shrugged. “Doesn’t work like that. Not around here. My voodoo shit always throws off warning bells when I hit the state border. Because if I’d known that E was going to be in trouble . . .”

Was that true? Etienne had been in trouble all the time, because of Tom, because of the fact that he’d always stood by Tom and forced his parents to do the same. Etienne took up for him, and in turn, Tom made things easier on himself and on Etienne by staying away. Especially because Etienne
told
him to stay away. “Fuck, I knew something was up, okay? I knew it and I pushed it down because I didn’t want to come back here.”

Prophet nodded, like he’d known Tom had been lying about his voodoo shit a few minutes earlier. “Did Della know any of this?”

“If she caught wind of any of it, past or present, she hasn’t said a word.”

“It’s all right, Tommy.”

Tommy threw up his hands. “It’s not, okay? You can’t escape the past, Proph. No matter how hard you run, how much time goes by. You can’t ever escape.”

Prophet winced, then grabbed him. At first, it was a one-armed hug, and then his free hand went up to Tom’s face, his palm spread, thumb caressing his earlobe, fingers sliding along his jawline.

This was past and present slamming together. And his future was the man who was holding him, which hit Tom as hard as it must be hitting Prophet. But their reunion on the grass and the kitchen wall and floor and in his bedroom . . . that told the tale.

The fact that Prophet was staying here to help him figure all of this out sealed the deal.

“I know, Tommy. I know you can’t escape. That’s why I didn’t want to get you involved in my past.”