Laying a Ghost (27 page)
“No,” John said softly, meaningfully. “You wouldn’t have.”
“You’re saying he can’t fight his own battles?” Michael demanded, picking up on the implication in John’s words a beat ahead of Sheila, who rolled her eyes and sighed.
“With a wrist he broke not three months back? I don’t think it’d be a fight you’d be proud of winning, Michael.”
Nick kept quiet, sure that anything he added wouldn’t help the situation.
“Aye, and you’d be sleeping on the couch for the next fortnight if you beat up on a man who didn’t do nothing to ye but turn up on Traighshee. You’ve at least three stone on him, Michael!” Sheila’s eyes flashed -- it was clear that she didn’t have any trouble throwing in her two cents.
“Stop attacking me, woman!” The look in Sheila’s eyes turned to something closer to fury. “I’m sorry,” Michael said quickly, holding up both hands in a conciliatory gesture. “To all of you. I wouldn’t have hit you.” He looked at Nick pleadingly. “I won’t deny that I wasn’t expecting this, but I’m not the sort of man who goes around doing things like that.”
“Forget it,” Nick said. “Please. I never thought that you would and I’m sure John didn’t either.”
“I shouldn’t have said that,” John admitted. He gave Michael a swift, rueful smile. “If we’re into the apologies this soon, it’s a good sign, isn’t it?” He glanced at Nick. “When we start disagreeing it can sometimes take hours before he admits I’m right.”
Sheila moved to sit by Michael, slipping her hand into his and squeezing it. “You’re not always right, John, and well you know it.” She smiled at Nick. “When we’re on our own some time, there’s a dozen tales I can tell you about this pair.” Her smile faded. “John -- you’ll be telling your mother, won’t you? After the party, I mean. You can’t keep this from her.”
John rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t -- I tried, Sheila. Told her I wasn’t still thinking of you --”
“You’d better not be.” There was an amused twist to Michael’s mouth, as if it was an old joke.
“No,” Nick agreed calmly. “You hadn’t.”
There was a pause, and then Michael grinned. “Christ, you sound like you mean that.”
“I told her and more besides.” John came over to sit on the arm of Nick’s chair, letting his hand fall across Nick’s shoulder. As gestures went, that was all it was; Nick could feel how tense John was and he didn’t relax even when Sheila smiled and Michael did no more than blink, looking a little uncertain but certainly not hostile. “She didn’t listen.”
“Well, you’ll just have to try again.” Sheila leaned forward looking determined.
“Someone’s going to find out sooner or later,” Michael agreed. “Do you really want anyone but you telling her something like that?”
“I will.” John gave his friends an apologetic look. “I was just -- she hasn’t even met Nick yet, for God’s sake. I was hoping to do it ... gradually?” Nick was fairly sure his own expression matched the ones on Sheila and Michael’s face; John wasn’t going to get any support for that plan by the looks of it.
“I’m not sure we really need to talk about this right now,” Nick said gently.
“No, no, of course we don’t.” Sheila looked down at the floor, and then back up at them, her head tilted to one side a bit. “What should we talk about, then?”
Michael cleared his throat and gave Nick a friendly smile. “So what is it that you do for a living, Nick?”
Sheila beamed at him approvingly and they both looked at Nick and waited for him to reply.
“We don’t need to talk about that either,” John said firmly.
“Actually, what I’d really like to talk about is your kids. How many do you have? Two?” Nick was well practiced in how to talk to parents about their children -- most families had them, after all -- and he knew from experience how successful it usually was a way of changing the subject.
Sheila immediately started to describe the children in detail, and Nick exchanged a glance with John, who squeezed his shoulder.
* * * * *
When he watched Sheila and Michael walk down the path, heading for their home and their family, John was used to feeling a small pang of envy for the way they fitted together and their evident happiness, blunted over time until it barely registered. Tonight he felt nothing but relief that they were leaving.
It hadn’t gone badly after that rocky start. Nick had charmed them both in the end, and if Michael’s eyes had still held a faint wariness when he shook hands with Nick before leaving, it’d been wiped away by amusement at the far more enthusiastic farewell he’d received from Sheila. She’d been the only one drinking the wine and the bottle was empty ... Nick hadn’t seemed to mind, but John was dreading going back into the front room.
“I am so sorry,” he began as he walked through the doorway. “God, that was -- I don’t know what you must be thinking, but I never meant for it to go that way.”
Nick had cleared away the glasses and the bowls that had held an assortment of chips and nuts and was sitting on the couch looking tired, and no wonder.
“It’s okay.” Nick waved a hand. “Come here?”
John went, sinking down onto the couch next to Nick, and then relaxing when Nick put a hand on his thigh.
“It wasn’t so bad. Hell, I can think of lots of ways in which it could have been worse.”
“Sheila could’ve shoved her hand down your trousers and her tongue down your throat? Michael could’ve asked twenty questions trying to find out what you do instead of ten?” John shook his head as Nick grinned. “You’re being very nice about this. Are you sure you don’t want to give me hell for not telling them before you got here? They were late, and I kept thinking you’d be arriving any minute, you see, and I didn’t want to be halfway through, so I put it off.” He slid his hand into Nick’s and let his head rest on Nick’s shoulder, just for a moment. “Go on; I’m ready. I can take it. Yell at me if you like.”
“Don’t be stupid. I’m not going to yell at you.” Nick’s hand slid up into John’s hair, encouraging him to leave his head where it was. “It’s not your fault that they didn’t react perfectly -- well, that Michael didn’t. And it’s not just your job to tell people.”
“I can’t see why you should have to walk up to total strangers and tell them you’ve got involved with someone like me. You know, if it wasn’t for this party, I’d go over and tell her now. Then tell Geordie in the pub, after swearing him to secrecy, and the whole island would know by closing time, and we wouldn’t have to lift a finger. I’m that sick of it all.”
Right then, John meant it. With Nick’s fingers stroking along his hair, soothing away the tension, he wanted an end to the lies, an end to the pretending. Just wanted Nick.
John tilted his head back and found Nick waiting for his kiss.
It was slow and brief, and then Nick murmured, “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll work everything out.” Warm fingers traced lightly along the side of John’s neck. “What about one of those skywriters? You think it would be too expensive to have a plane fly overhead?” There was a gentle humor in his voice.
“An ad in the local paper?” Then -- and it had to be the whiskey talking -- John snickered, struck by an idea. “The minister makes announcements during the service sometimes. ‘Items of community interest,’ he calls them. I’m damn sure we qualify for that.”
In the morning, when he was sober and Nick wasn’t there, warm and real and loving, he’d most likely go cold at the very idea, but right then it seemed pretty funny.
Nick laughed and pressed a crooked kiss to John’s temple. “Or we could just try to act naturally and see what happens?” When John tensed at the thought, unable to help himself, Nick amended, “After you’ve had a chance to tell your mother.”
“I can’t see me ever having the guts to kiss you in the middle of the bar,” John admitted. “Or hold your hand walking down the street, or do anything that you’re used to doing with Matthew.” Nick’s face changed, his smile fading, and John cursed himself. “It’s not that I wouldn’t want to. God, it’s not that at all! I’d just be so worried about who was looking, what they were whispering -- Oh, Christ, I’m sorry. If I tried, I couldn’t sound any more pathetic, could I?”
He pulled away from Nick, feeling that he didn’t deserve any sort of comfort after a confession like that.
“Stop.” Nick’s voice and hands were insistent as he turned to face John and urged John to shift and turn, too. When they were looking at each other, John still feeling small and ashamed, Nick said, “I never did any of those things with Matthew. We were friends -- close friends -- who had sex together. We didn’t go to any special trouble to hide it, but we didn’t go around announcing it from the rooftops, either, so get that idea out of your head. This is
fine
. You need some time to get used to the idea of all this, and that’s okay. I’m not in a hurry. I’m gonna be here for a long time.”
“I don’t know why I feel as if there’s a hurry.” John wished that it wasn’t too soon to be able to tell Nick that he loved him and have it sound like more than words. He slipped his arm around Nick, rubbing his hand slowly over his back. “I’ve never been the hurrying sort. But with you -- God, you make me feel like there aren’t enough hours in the day to do all I want to do with you.”
“There are. There’s time. It’s okay.” And then they were kissing again, Nick’s mouth hot against John’s, his hands stroking over John’s sides and lower back. Nick tasted of whiskey and salt, and he kissed like no one John had ever known.
“I should take you back home,” John said, with his lips against Nick’s dark hair a while later. “You’re falling asleep on me.”
They were lying on the couch, doing no more than holding each other and kissing, talking when they felt like it, but with the contented, comfortable silences stretching out as the minutes went by. John tightened his arms around Nick and said. “Aye, I should. I will.” Nick stirred against him, running his hand lightly over John’s chest, and John sighed. “I had a cat like you once. She’d get settled on my lap and I’d tell her I had to stand up, really I did. Then she’d reach out her paw and dig in her claws, daring me to shift an inch.”
“I don’t have claws,” Nick murmured sleepily, nuzzling John’s throat. “I like cats, though. Is there somewhere I could get one?”
John nodded. “Aye, plenty of places. Jack Thomson’s got a barn full of cats that’re having more kittens than he knows what to do with.”
Nick muttered something unintelligible in response, his body relaxing just a bit more against John’s.
Only the knowledge that if they fell asleep like this Nick would wake up hurting worse than the climb had already guaranteed he would gave John the willpower to sit up, dislodging Nick.
“You’ll thank me for this tomorrow,” John said firmly when Nick gave him a reproachful look. “You need to sleep in a bed and -- God.” John leaned in and kissed Nick full on his mouth, waking them both up because it was harder than he’d intended. The man had no business looking that good with his hair all tousled and his eyes sleepy. He drew back before he did more than kiss him. “I can’t stay with you tonight. I need to take the early ferry and get some supplies for Stella from
John thought about the form the disturbing might take and bit down on his lip, seeing from the glint in Nick’s eyes that he was thinking the exact same thing.
“Stop that.” Even John didn’t think that he sounded convincing.
“Okay, okay.” Nick rubbed at his face. “You’re right -- I’m probably too tired to do anything more than sleep, and if I want to be able to get out of bed at all tomorrow I’d better get off my feet pretty soon.” In direct contradiction to his words, he stood up. “Are you sure you don’t mind driving me back?”
John shook his head. “I don’t mind at all. What I’ll mind is turning the car around and coming back here.” He got to his feet and winced, feeling the effects of being in one position for too long. “Sheila’s right,” he muttered. “I don’t get enough exercise. You’re not going to be the only one waking up aching.”
“You’re in much better shape than me.”
They managed to get their jackets on and get out the door and into the car. Nick seemed tired enough that he wasn’t, for once, tense about riding in the passenger seat, leaning his head back against the headrest behind him and closing his eyes as he yawned and John started up the car.
The drive took just a few minutes longer than usual, with John, aware that strictly speaking he’d had perhaps one whiskey too many, taking his time. The moonless darkness pressed against the car, enclosing them tightly, but John knew the road too well to care.
A rabbit appeared on the section of illuminated road ahead, caught and entranced by the yellow beams of the headlights, and John braked carefully, less bothered about hitting it than startling Nick.
“These rabbits are a nuisance.” John watched it vanish with an impudent flash of its white tail. “Worse than the sheep at this time of night.”
Nick grunted sleepily and John smiled and drove on.
When they reached Rossneath Nick was asleep, just as he had been the first time John had driven him home. He’d left an outside light on, and the interior of the car was bright enough for John to be able to look at Nick for a long moment, without guilt now, and with the knowledge that he could wake Nick with a touch, or a kiss, warming him.
He stretched out his hand and then paused, remembering how he’d found Nick, huddled and shaking on the ground, clearly terrified. It’d been the way that sight had made him feel -- concerned, protective -- that had taken his instant attraction and deepened it into something more. It didn’t mean that he ever wanted to see Nick like that again, though.
He took Nick’s hand and held it firmly then said his name softly. “Nick? Nick, love. You’re home.”
Nick’s hand twitched and then tightened on his a second before Nick’s eyes opened, a sharp breath inward setting Nick trembling and tensing at the same time. Awareness of where he was came on a bit more slowly, his grip gradually easing as he relaxed, although John felt sure that the man’s heart was racing. “God,” Nick breathed, curling toward him, burying his face unexpectedly against John’s chest. “God.”