Ghosted

Chapter Eighteen

“Do I shoot you or myself if the answer if the answer is no?” Archie asked.

“Don’t say no.” Beau pulled Archie into his arms, kissed him. A soft, coaxing kiss. “I moved my vehicle behind the house and phoned my mom.”

“Huh?”

Beau gave a funny laugh. “My kid’s with his grandparents. They’ll keep him overnight. Don’t worry. I’m not regressing.”

“Uh, right.” Archie opened his mouth, and Beau said, “Riley and I’ve been divorced for two years. We share custody.”

Two years.

It had been a long night and Archie was very tired. It took him a second or two to process. Two years would have been around the time of Beau’s second phone call. He didn’t want to think about the implications of that.

Archie said, “But you’re on duty, aren’t you?”

“I cleared myself. But if you’ve changed your mind—”

“Hell no, I haven’t changed my mind.” Belatedly, Archie kissed Beau back. “I just don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.”

“I guess you’re being ironic.”

Not really. But if Beau changed his mind again—not about the sex, but about what the sex seemed to imply—Archie wasn’t sure he could take it.

Beau was saying, “I climbed into my truck and thought, you jackass, it took you seven years to get back here. What the hell are you doing?”

“What the hell are you doing?” Archie inquired. It had been a long time since he’d flirted with anyone, and he probably sounded more pugnacious than playful.

Beau didn’t seem to notice. He took Archie’s hand, tugging him toward the tall, curving staircase. Archie laced his fingers through Beau’s, following. It was very strange. But then again, the whole evening had been strange. So, in a way, this seemed like the most normal thing so far. This, at least, they had done before.

As if Beau had read his mind, he threw over his shoulder, “I still dream about this place, about you and me in your room upstairs.”

There had been a lot more opportunities for privacy at McCabe House than the Langham family’s busy hub of constant coming and goings. Archie smiled, letting Beau draw him along. He felt weirdly relaxed, which was probably three-parts emotional and physical exhaustion, but he was happy to let Beau take the lead, happy to see where this was going.

He didn’t ever remember Beau holding his hand before. It was nice.

The glossy wooden stairs creaked every few steps—some things never changed—they reached the top landing, reached Archie’s bedroom. Beau felt unerringly for the light switch.

Soft radiance illuminated the large, elegant room. Back in the day, the white built-ins around the fireplace had been crowded with Archie’s books and belongings, but he’d taken everything with him when he’d left for Alaska. There were several art books, antique vases, and a large beautifully detailed replica of John’s yacht, the El fantasma blanco.

The frosted globe of the overhead lamp was etched with vines, and the shadow tendrils twisted across the pale blue walls. In that tentative light, Beau’s smile was rueful. “See? I haven’t forgotten anything.”

Archie set the Glock on the nightstand. The room looked pretty much as he’d left it Saturday night. His bloodstained clothes had been removed. He started to ask Beau about them, but decided against it. He didn’t want to think about anything but here and now and Beau standing a few feet away, his blue eyes shining. He wanted—needed—this moment for himself.

They undressed with swift efficiency, maybe a little self-consciously, given that the frantic lust of earlier had passed and they were now making deliberate choices. Each time their glances caught, they smiled instinctively, quickly.

Beau tossed his uniform and shorts to the blue and gold wingback chair next to the tall dresser. He laid his weapon on the nightstand. He’d always been comfortable in his own skin, and why not? It was smooth, satiny, summer-brown stuff. If Disney princes ever got naked, they’d pretty much look like Beau Langham: tall and athletic; lean in all the right places, muscular in all the right places. The perfect physique for modeling underwear or hanging out with Greek gods.

Archie was nearly as tall, but he had always been fine-boned and, after living in what amounted to a training camp for nearly two years, he was honed to bones and wiry muscle. His tan had faded during the weeks in the hospital, and his latest set of bruises stood out in stark contrast.

Beau’s brows drew together. “Jesus.” He reached for Archie, drawing him cautiously into his arms. He was much more careful, much more gentle, than they’d been downstairs. “What I should be doing is driving you to the ER.”

Archie grimaced. “You’re killing the mood, Langham.” He shut Beau up with a kiss.

Oh, yes.

How had he forgotten how very nice it was to kiss Beau? All of it. The warm pressure of Beau’s mouth, the shape of his mouth—like he was always about to smile—the way he smelled, the way he tasted, those little delicate tricks, like touching the tip of his tongue to Archie’s upper lip—there was no way to refuse entry to that persuasive request for access. Archie always opened up like a flower’s petals spreading for the sun.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t kissed anyone else in seven years. But usually kissing was simply a preliminary to sex. With Beau, kissing was an end in itself. Kissing Beau was lovely.

Lovely.

A soft laugh, a softer kiss.

Archie blinked, gazed blearily into the blue eyes smiling into his own. His eyes widened in realization. He lifted his head. He was lying in his bed at McCabe House. The bedside lamp was on. Beau was in bed beside him.

“Did I fall asleep ?”

The last thing he remembered was stretching out on this bed and reaching for Beau.

Beau was still smiling down at him. “Yeah. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not!” Archie rubbed his face impatiently. For the love of God. What in the hell was wrong with him?

Beau said calmly, “I don’t mind. I’m not sleeping well either these days.”

Archie noted that for future reference, but protested, “All I do is sleep.”

He tried to sit up, and God help him, even now, it was hard to make the effort, hard to shake off that heavy, almost engulfing, lassitude.

Beau tugged him back down without much effort. “Crane, relax.” He leaned over, kissed Archie again. “This is nice, right?”

“Well, right…” Archie kissed him back, automatically. “But I don’t want to waste tonight. ”

There was something about Beau’s smile. He looked older, a little rueful. “Is it a waste?”

“You know what I mean.”

Beau shook his head, though it seemed like resignation not denial. He reached back, turned out the lamp. Resettling, he slid his arm beneath Archie’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “You know what? We’re not twenty anymore. You’re tired. I’m tired. We’re allowed to sleep.”

“Honest to God. I think I have sleeping sickness.”

Beau made a sound of amusement. “Weren’t you still in the hospital this time last week?”

Archie sighed.

Beau said, “Anyway, I like being naked with you. Even if we’re just sleeping.”

Yes. Naked was nice. Definitely.

Truthfully, Archie was touch starved. When he did manage to hook up, it was always with men like himself, fellow emotionally unavailable LEOs looking for sexual release. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d just slept with someone, let alone slept in someone’s arms. Could not remember the last time he’d let himself be vulnerable or the last time another man had tried to, well, take care of him.

But if this was a one off, if this was going to be it—he would never get over sleeping through it.

Although, it probably said something that even lying here, with his groin nestled up against Beau’s moist, half-erect cock, his own cock was curled up like a sleeping kitten.

What. The. Fuck.

In every way.

But maybe Beau read his mind, because he said casually, “I’m coming by tomorrow night after the séance, right? You can brief me then.” He added playfully, “Or debrief me.”

There was a little silence. Beau said, without any hint of playfulness, “Or no?”

Was that a serious question?

“Well, yeah. I hope so. Of course.”

Beau mimicked softly, “ Of course .”

Archie craned his head, though there was not enough moonlight to make out Beau’s expression. “What’s that mean?”

“Nothing. You’re…pretty damned forgiving.”

How to respond to that?

The difference was, not only had he never hated Beau, he had not had a convincing reason to stay angry with him. He had believed Beau meant it when Beau told him they had nothing in common, that their lives were going in different directions, and Beau was through. Beau had made it sound like the real problem was he had outgrown Archie, that Archie didn’t fit in with Beau’s plans for the future.

It hadn’t been kind. But it had sounded like the truth. And it had hurt—it had been devastating, in fact—but Archie had believed it. However painful it was, you couldn’t blame someone for falling out of love. In Archie’s youthful experience, and with the exception of his own parents, that was usually what happened between people.

The darkness made it easier to be honest, to say things he hadn’t planned on admitting. “I don’t know if I’m so forgiving. It’s just… If it was over for you. It’s not like I could force you to feel something you didn’t.”

The most he had ever hoped for was that he and Beau might one day talk it out and reach some kind of understanding. Because he had missed Beau’s friendship as much as he’d missed all the rest of it. Beau had been his favorite person in all the world. That was the sad and simple truth.

As far as this? He had never let himself even imagine this.

Beau made a pained sound, shifted, rested his face against Archie’s. His eyelashes flickered against Archie’s cheek. Beau whispered, “I can’t tell you how much I wanted to take it back. Even when I still thought I had a reason not to.”

Archie’s kiss landed on the bridge of Beau’s nose. “Sure,” he said gently. “I know. So. I’m just…adjusting for windage.”

Beau huffed a shaky laugh.

They lay quietly for a time. Beau was absently scratching Archie’s back, which was another something Archie didn’t remember ever happening before, but it was nice. The slightly callused tips of Beau’s fingers started at his shoulder blades, moving in slow, steady strokes down the length of his back. Beau’s fingernails weren’t long, but they were there. Beau didn’t scratch hard enough to leave marks, nor so light as to be ticklish. Just a gentle, comforting scratch that made Archie’s skin prickle a little. Made him feel sort of tingly all over. Every so often, the pads of Beau’s fingers would push a little harder into a knot of muscle that Archie hadn’t realized was even there, knead it, prod it until the knot would unravel, the tension slipping away. It left Archie feeling sort of melty and weak.

He murmured softly, approvingly, and Beau’s fingers dipped a little lower, finding the small of Archie’s back and making small, soothing circles, sending warmth radiating through all those overloaded nerves and strained muscles.

Archie could easily have drifted off—he longed for nothing more than to do that very thing—but he couldn’t help noticing that Beau did not appear to be equally relaxed. Or rather, he seemed relaxed, but fully awake, alert. He could feel Beau thinking, which started Archie thinking.

He considered how uncharacteristically tired Beau had sounded when he’d answered the phone, and he remembered Beau had been in court that day. He thought about Beau saying he wasn’t sleeping, and that his parents would watch his son that night. And this back-scratch, though definitely pleasurable, reminded Archie a little of the way parents calmed restless children.

He tended to forget that Beau’s life had moved in a very different direction from his own. Not a direction Archie had ever had any interest in.

He blinked over it for a little while, then asked, “How did it go in court today?”

Beau hesitated, said neutrally, “We have to wait for the judge to issue his final ruling.”

“On what?”

“It wasn’t—this was a custody hearing. My wife—ex-wife—is remarrying and moving to Florida. She wants to take Alex with her.”

“ Oh . Can she do that?”

Beau didn’t answer immediately. “It’s complicated. We’ve been working through this for about a year. I could try to fight her, but ultimately, I’m probably not going to be able to keep her from relocating. It’s going to better for all of us if I don’t go to war with her—especially if I can’t win. My goal now is shared custody and a generous structured visitation schedule. Which Riley originally agreed to, but has since decided against. Not against visitation as a whole, just not nearly as generous as I’m asking for. Her preference is she gets full custody and I go there to visit as much as possible.”

“How old is Alex?”

“Five.”

Archie said nothing. He was thinking five was pretty young to be jumping on a plane and flying across country.

“I think she’s hoping it’s not going to be possible for me to keep flying back and forth and that I’ll eventually fade out of their lives.” Beau said a little bitterly, “While still paying child support, of course.”

“I’m sorry. That’s got to be hell.”

“Yeah. And she’s wrong. I’m not going to conveniently forget I’ve got a son.”

“No. Of course not.”

“I legally adopted him. I’ve been there every single day of his life. I cut the damned umbilical cord.”

Archie nodded, said slowly, “You adopted him?”

“Riley was pregnant when we started dating again. I told her I didn’t care. The kid would be my mine in every way, and that’s how it’s been. I couldn’t love him more if he was my own flesh and blood.”

Archie nodded, thinking hard.

“It’s not just me, either,” Beau said. “She’s taking him away from my parents—and her own parents. They’re all heartbroken.”

“Why’s she moving to Florida?”

Beau said flatly, “Sully has a job lined up in Florida.”

“ Sully ? Mike Sullivan?”

Beau nodded.

“Your old pal Sully is marrying your ex?”

“I don’t have a problem with that.” In fact, Beau seemed to brush the idea aside. “Sully’s a good guy. He’s crazy about Riley. He’s good with Alex. I don’t object to anything but them taking Alex to Florida. That’s the part I have a problem with. And I’m even willing to live with that if she’ll let me have summer vacation and holiday school breaks. Which she originally agreed to, but now she wants to split the summers and the school breaks.”

Archie’s head was spinning. He had no idea what to say, but Beau’s anguish was palpable and his heart ached for him. Why the hell did this kind of thing have to be so hard? Why couldn’t people just compromise?

“I’m so sorry, Beau.”

Beau sighed. “Yeah,” he said wearily. “Me too.” He resumed those slow, unhurried caresses, and, despite his best efforts, Archie could feel the tension seeping out of his body, his thoughts quieting, dimming.

“Hey,” Beau said gently, softly. “I’ve got to go.”

Archie lifted his lashes, blinked. It took him a second to unglue his lips.

The room was still dark, but it was a softer, diffused darkness. Beau, fully dressed in his uniform, sat on the edge of the bed.

“What time is it?”

“A little after four. It’s not going to be a good look if the police chief is seen skulking out of the prime suspect’s house at the crack of dawn.”

“God.” No. Definitely not. That prime suspect comment wasn’t entirely a joke.

“I’ll call you today.”

“Okay.”

Beau kissed him—and then kissed him again. “Thank you for last night.”

Now that was funny. Archie spluttered, “You’re setting the bar for tonight pretty low.”

Beau laughed. “Don’t be so sure.” The mattress squeaked as he rose. “Take it easy today, okay?”

“Sure,” Archie said.

Beau sighed. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. I’ll call you later.”

Archie sat up, grabbed his hand, drawing Beau down for another kiss. “Same goes for you. You be safe out there.”

“It’s Twinkleton.” Beau got to his feet again.

Archie said, “Exactly.”