Don't Read in the Closet: Volume Four (134 page)

only three things in the world mattered: getting food, getting clean,

and getting sleep. In that order. He’d had plenty of water during the

day, but only about a half-dozen granola bars to eat.

He caught a ride back to the temporary fire camp in a command

vehicle. The driver had air-conditioning, a radio and was mostly

clean.

Nik eyed him suspiciously.

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“Don’t worry, I’ve done my time fighting fires,” the guy finally

said. He looked amused. And in his fifties.

“Sorry,” Nik muttered. The guy laughed.

At some point, through his mental fog, Nik realized the road was

deserted except for endless fire vehicles—mostly command and crew

transports—parked along the side opposite the fire. “The highway’s

closed,” Nik blurted in surprise.

Now the guy looked at him weird.
Way to go, idiot.
Nik gave him

a blinding grin.

It wasn’t the fact that the highway was closed, it was the sudden

realization that that’s probably where Jurgen had been going this

morning. Had that been this morning? Jeez, all that smoke he’d

inhaled was making his heart beat faster all at once. Or maybe it was

dehydration. Did your heart go faster when you were dehydrated?

They got to fire camp and Nik thanked the guy. He waved at Nik

and quickly headed off to the Incident Command shelter. Nik went

toward the area most likely to have food and water.

When Nik found his dad, it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere

yet. His dad fed him, but he couldn’t stop to talk. Nik was lucky to get

hot food, and was pretty sure he was getting special treatment. He so

didn’t care right then.

After he ate, Nik found his mom over under some kind of awning,

getting some young kid in a dirty, yellow nomex shirt to lie in the

shade and drink some water. The young ones always got dehydrated.

Inexperience and machismo were a dangerous combination.

Nik went to talk to her, figuring he’d take her car back and she

could ride home with Dad. Except she rode over for volunteer duty

with Maggie Sales.

“Maybe you can catch a ride back in with some of the other crews

getting off, now.” Probably, but that meant he had to go looking for

one. For a second, he almost asked his mommy to find a ride for him,

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but then he came to his senses. He was twenty-seven, and Mommy

had inexperienced, dehydrated kids to take care of.

“‘Kay, Mom, see you later. I’ll be fine.” He leaned over and kissed

her cheek. They looked at each other in mild surprise. It wasn’t that he

wasn’t affectionate with his parents, he just wasn’t often casually

affectionate. She smiled at him.

Nik smiled back and went off to find a ride.

He made it out to where the highway blockade was set up. That’s

where everyone would be who was heading home, right? It was just

coincidence that Jurgen might be the cop that was guarding the road.

Jurgen wasn’t the guy. There was a sheriff’s deputy, looked like

Dave Blaylock, and another trooper, but no big, blond, butch cop with

an attitude problem and ass dimples.

Sigh. No eye candy.

He was standing on the verge of the highway-cum-parking-lot,

watching cars pull out and head into town, trying to recognize

someone he could stomach a ride with. Nik heard a voice behind him,

calling his name.

“Hey, Nik Larson!” Good lord. That voice. Nik felt his shoulders

tighten up and he knew he was grimacing. He fought to get a more

normal expression on his face before he turned around.

“Miller,” he managed an almost friendly tone. Not that he should

even bother. Miller was one of his more persistent ‘admirers’ in high

school. The secret kind. As in, he kept most of his admiration for Nik

a secret from his gun-toting, hooch-swilling, gay-bashing, barn-

whatevering friends. He sure liked to show up at Nik’s place in the

middle of the night, drunk and “curious”, though.

His regular MO, once he’d managed to talk Nik into coming

outside—usually by threatening to wake up Nik’s parents through

caterwauling—was to fling an arm around Nik’s shoulders and start in.

“You know, I’s curious, Nik, ‘n’ mebbe you can tell me, when two

guys get t’gether, y’know how I mean, when they get t’gether….” Blah,

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blah, blah. Always stumbling drunk and rambling. A few times Miller

passed out and Nik just left him lying on the lawn and went back to

bed, professing ignorance when his mom would ask him in the

morning “what the hell that kid is doing passed out in our yard

again
?”

Fast-forward ten years, and here they were. Nik sighed. He looked

into Miller’s wide, hopeful, boy-next-door face and it hit him: Miller

had never hurt him. Never forced him, even though he weighed about

twice what Nik had in high school, much of it muscle. It wasn’t

exactly high praise: “He never tried to sexually assault me.” For a

second Nik imagined standing up and saying it at Miller’s funeral.

Which was how he managed to actually smile at Miller. Miller

looked startled, and then he smiled wider, looking just a little bit…

besotted?

As Miller came up the last few feet, Nik had another one of those

moments. The ones where the world shifted, just the tiniest. Enough

this time to almost make Nik fling out his hands for balance.

Everything became crystal-clear, voices of people walking to their

cars from the fire, drifting smoke and dust in his nostrils, slamming

doors, cars starting up, the sound of someone’s rumbling exhaust on

the highway behind him.

Miller walking toward him, smiling in an almost dopey way.

Miller
liked
him.
Liked
liked him. Miller had apparently liked him in

high school and
still
liked him.

Wow, it really did feel like something opening up in your chest

when your feelings suddenly and dramatically changed. Nik could feel

his jaw dropping open. Barely a parting of the lips, but bonafide

confused awe.

Miller stopped in front of Nik, and the rumbling motor shut off

behind him. Nik could hear it ticking. “Miller,” he said, still somewhat

awed. He felt like being
nice
to Miller.

“Hey, Nik! Long time no see!” Miller was beaming.

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“Yeah.” Nik paused and cleared his throat. “How are you?” Miller

was covered in soot. Obviously, he’d just gotten off the fire, too.

“Oh, you know, same old, same old. How are you?”

“Uh, good.”

There was one of those uncomfortable pauses. Miller flicked a

curious look over Nik’s shoulder, then re-focused on Nik. “So, uh,

maybe we could get a beer sometime. Catch up.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Was he really considering this? Miller smiled

even broader, beaming at him. Damn his teeth looked white in that

sooty face, and he even still had all of them.

“Looks like you got hit with retardant.”

Nik was suddenly distracted by the feel of someone moving

around behind him. Kind of close. ‘“Yeah, over by the highway,” he

told Miller absently. He started to turn to see who was there.

“You’re so pink, you almost look like me with a bad sunburn.”

Nik stopped moving. If this was a movie, there would be one of

those screeching-needle-on-a-record sounds, now.

Miller chuckled a little. “I got so much soot on me, I ‘bout look

like you, I guess.”

Nik turned back to Miller. “You know, Miller, I’m not sure I have

time to get together for a beer with you before I go back home.” Why

was he being nice about this? He should just tell Miller to fuck off.

“Oh.” Miller’s face fell. It caused Nik a twinge of sadness. Not

enough to change his mind. “Oh, well…” Miller trailed off, looking

over Nik’s shoulder again. Someone came from behind him to stand

next to his shoulder, facing Miller.

Jurgen. In—
be still my heart
—leather motorcycle chaps. The kind

with no crotch. Nik swallowed a groan. How could that not turn

straight men gay?

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Jurgen was looking all officious and a little bit mean. He didn’t

look at Nik, just at Miller. His face looked especially hard. A muscle

in his jaw was ticking. He stared Miller down a few seconds, then he

turned to Nik. “Need a ride home?”

“Uhhhh.” Jurgen’s eyes were brown. It was completely fucking

with Nik’s stereotypes. He could have sworn they were blue. It was

enough to distract him from the chaps.

Jurgen turned another hard look on Miller. “You need to say

goodbye to your friend, first?” He said it to Nik but stared at Miller.

Nik should have objected to Jurgen’s high-handedness, but he was

pretty keen to get rid of Miller himself. And the eyes (and chaps,

whimper
) still had him discombobulated.

Nik looked to Miller in a mild daze. He was just starting to bristle.

Shit
. “Oh, uh, yeah. Miller, you know Trooper Dammerung? Jurgen,

uh, this is a friend of mine from high school.” Nik cringed a little

inside at the use of ‘friend.’

Jurgen nodded sharply at Miller. Miller nodded warily back. He

turned back to Nik. “Yeah, listen, Nik, you probably wanna get home,

and, uh, shower,” Miller paused a second, there, his eyes glazing

slightly. He shook himself and went on. “But, you know, if you

change your mind about that beer. Um, Mom can tell you where to

find me. Or you know, I could just drop by. Kinda like old times—”

“No! That’s not necessary, Miller. Really, I’m pretty busy. Maybe

next time I’m home?” Nik smiled. He could tell it wasn’t one of his

more convincing ones. It seemed sickly and weak on his end of things.

Miller made some more noises, but finally he moved off. Nik

blew out a breath. He turned to Jurgen.
My hero
.

Okay, that was just ridiculous, because what did Jurgen do, really?

Stared down a guy that made a questionable comment to Nik. Was it

really that big a deal?

My hero.

Oh, shut up.

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Jurgen was looking at him. With those brown eyes. They were

almost hazel, really, they had so many other colors in them. The

muscle in his jaw had stopped jumping. “How are you getting home?”

Jurgen finally asked.

“Oh, uh, catching a ride, I guess.”

Jurgen’s lips eased up. The beginnings of a smile, or something

else? Gas, maybe?

“Why don’t you catch a ride with me?” Jurgen had little lines

around his eyes. The sexy ones guys got as they edged out of their

twenties, especially when they spent a lot of time outside. “Nik?”

“Huh?” Sheesh he was a doofus around this man. He looked to his

right and then his left. Ah. Jurgen’s motorcycle. Chopper. “Where’s

your fancy police motorcycle?”

Jurgen shrugged, almost too casually. “I’m on my own time, now.

I took it back to the office and picked up mine. Changed clothes.”

And came back for Nik? Oh, that was—

Hold it, what was he doing? Out of the frying pan and into the

fire. Was Jurgen really much better than Miller?

Yes.

Shut up. Really.

“You know, Trooper, I think it probably isn’t the best idea. I’ll just

find a ride with someone else.”

“I was Jurgen a minute ago.”

Nik smiled sweetly. “You’re Trooper Dammerung, now.”

Jurgen’s lips twitched up at the ends. He turned toward the bike

and took the few steps toward it. He had his back to Nik and was

getting it ready to go. Nik assumed. Jurgen was doing motorcycle-y

things to it. “C’mon. Get on and I’ll take you for a ride.” His chaps,

predictably, had no ass. Just his worn jeans, that fit him almost as well

as the chaps.

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