Spooks & Specters: A San DeLain Short Story Collection

Chapter One

KIT SERIOUSLY debated going back to his apartment, even as he took the exit that would lead him to his boyfriend’s home, his music blaring.

Navigating through the chaotic traffic of San DeLain was always a challenge, especially during rush hour on a Friday. Cars honked and swerved, their drivers no doubt eager to start their weekend festivities.

The sun beat down on him through the windshield, making him regret not bringing his sunglasses. He anxiously tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

TGIF bitches, Kit thought bitterly as he tried to keep his focus on the road ahead. Except he was not in a TGIF mood. So, of course, some rich dick in a sports car that probably cost more than Kit made in an entire year flipped him off as he cut in front of Kit. As if Kit was the one in the wrong.

Well now, wasn’t that just perfect?

Actually, it kinda was. Kit laughed as he turned up “Short Dick Man”

by Gillette that just happened to be playing on the radio. “Right back at you, you dick,”

Kit yelled at the top of his lungs, returning the gesture.

The asshole in the cherry red sports car ignored him, which was probably just as well. Road rage was a real thing, and Kit wasn’t in the mood to get shot at today. He wasn’t in the mood for much of anything.

What was that old saying? Oh yeah. There was trouble in paradise. Which fit because there was definitely trouble in paradise. With a heavy sigh, he reached for the volume knob and turned down the radio.

He’d hoped that blasting some upbeat music would lift his spirits, but instead it just grated on his nerves. Everything seemed to be getting under his skin lately, not just the obnoxious assholes in flashy sports cars.

A quick glance at the dash showed it was only five thirty. All he wanted to do was go home, have a glass of wine, take a hot bath, and go to bed. Instead, he was on his way to Don’s. It’d been a long week, and he really wasn’t in the mood for drama. Here lately, that seemed to be all his personal life consisted of.

He and his boyfriend, Don, had been dating for several months now. Maybe dating was too kind of a word. That insinuated there was something more between them than just fucking, and Kit was pretty sure there wasn’t. Anything between them, that was.

The sex has started off smoking hot, but that was about all they had going for them. And now even that was becoming problematic. The first time they’d met had been in Kit’s store, The Book Spot. His bookstore catered to the LGBTQIA+ community and was very obvious about it.

Don had stopped in while Kit had been on the floor saying goodbye to the crowd who’d shown up for the Drag Queen Story Hour. It was a children’s event first started by author and activist Michelle Tea in San Francisco with the goal of promoting reading and diversity.

Kit had taken the idea and implemented it at his bookstore. There had been some trouble, of course, but nothing too bad, thank goodness. Needless to say, story time had been a hit. He’d never been sure if Don had just happened to show up as the event was winding down or if he’d been there for a reason. Nevertheless, they’d met, and there’d been a spark.

Unfortunately, that spark started to flicker the more they got to know each other. Kit had been dressed pretty conservatively—for him—the day they’d met. In other words, he’d been wearing his favorite red pantsuit.

The first bump in the road appeared when Don had showed up as a surprise to take Kit out for lunch one day, and Kit had been in a skirt and heels. The second problem was Don finding out Kit liked silky, lacy underwear—very feminine silky, lacy underwear.

Why was it every guy he met seemed to have a problem with that?

Don had acted shocked when he’d found out how much Kit loved to read—and why had that been such a shock? And why was the fact Kit loved epic fantasies with magic and dragons even more shocking? Mother of all, Kit owned a bookstore, of course he loved books.

Who the hell didn’t like dragons?

But since he liked Don, he’d sacrificed his own comfort to make his boyfriend happy. He’d dressed down and didn’t talk about the latest book out. For a while, things had gone pretty well, or so he’d thought.

Then everything changed. The last month or so, Don had been very short-tempered. He’d even disappeared for several days and refused to tell Kit where he’d been or what he’d been doing.

The next time Kit laid eyes on Don, he’d actually been worried. His usually vibrant and energetic boyfriend appeared as if he had been through the ringer—his skin was ashen, beads of sweat dripped down his forehead, and there were deep bruise-like circles under his eyes.

His normally styled brown locks were greasy and unkempt, adding to the overall disheveled appearance. And there was an undeniable shakiness in his movements that hinted at something more going on beneath the surface.

Despite all evidence pointing to something major going on, Don adamantly denied there was a problem. And while his health might have gotten better, his temper certainly hadn’t.

And oh joy, lookie there. Brake lights. Lots and lots of brake lights. Just what Kit did not need.

ALMOST TWO hours later, Kit finally managed to pull into Don’s driveway. What was the deal with San DeLain drivers? Every last one of them needed a refresher course on how to drive during rush hour on the interstate because fuckkkkkkk.

Sighing, he got out and walked to the front door. Don rented a cute little craftsman that Kit adored. Its low-pitched roof with protruding gables and exposed beams was always so welcoming, as was the wide-open front porch and the signature thick tapered columns.

Then again, anything beat the little box called an apartment Kit lived in.

Using his key, he let himself in and was immediately inundated with the smell of cooked food. His stomach rumbled, and suddenly Kit was starving. It’d been a long time since lunch, and something certainly smelled delicious.

Kit pasted on a smile as he walked through the living area. “Hey! I’m here. Where are you at?”

“Kitchen.”

Following the sound of Don’s voice, Kit walked into the kitchen. Don was sitting at the table, eating.

Kit didn’t see another plate, though. “Sorry I’m late. There was an accident on the interstate.”

Don never looked up from his plate as he shoved food into his mouth. “It’s been two hours.”

“It was a big wreck.”

“Uh-huh. And you couldn’t call and let me know?”

“I… I didn’t think about it.”

Now he felt like an ass because he really hadn’t thought about it. “Did you call? Shit, I didn’t hear my phone ring and—”

Don finally looked up. “Why should I call you when you couldn’t bother to call me?”

“And here we go,”

Kit muttered, setting his purse down. He didn’t miss the glare Don shot it. According to Don, men didn’t carry purses. “Look, I’m sorry, I really didn’t think about it, and time got away from me.”

Kit wandered over and leaned down to kiss Don on the cheek, but Don turned his head away. So that’s how it was going to be?

“I was worried. You should have called.”

Kit didn’t say anything, but apparently Don hadn’t been too worried. He hadn’t called, after all. But then, neither had Kit, so what did that say about him?

“Sorry. So, what are we having for dinner?”

Kit glanced around, but not only did he not see a plate set out for him, the kitchen had been cleaned up.

“Well, I’m having spaghetti.”

Kit ignored the snarky response and walked over to one of the cabinets to get a plate. “I see you’ve cleaned up the kitchen. Are leftovers in the refrigerator?”

“No. Since you couldn’t bother to let me know you were going to be late, I threw everything away.”

Whatever bad mood Kit had been battling came roaring back. Fuck this shit. “Are you fucking kidding me? You threw away perfectly good food to… what? Make a point? What are you? Ten?”

Kit turned to storm out of the kitchen, but before he could take more than a few angry steps, a plate went hurtling past his head with surprising speed, shattering as it hit the wall. The remnants of the meal splattered against the wall.

Food dripped down it, and Kit blinked, unable to believe what he was seeing. Had Don lost his mind? Then he could have sworn he heard a low, menacing growl. But Don didn’t have a dog, so he didn’t know what the hell he’d just heard.

What. The. Hell?

In shock, he could only watch in disbelief as the food slid down the wall and landed with a sickening splat on the floor. But his thoughts were quickly interrupted as his elbow was seized and he was yanked around forcefully. The sudden movement sent sharp pains up his arm, where Don’s grip was like a vise.

“Shit! Let go!”

Kit yelled, trying to jerk his arm away. Holy shit, when did Don get so strong? He couldn’t yank his arm out of Don’s grip. “What the hell, Don?”

“You do not talk to me that way.”

For a second, just a split second, Kit would have sworn Don’s eyes flickered yellow, but of course that was impossible. Right?

“You hurt me just then,”

Kit said quietly, not fighting anymore. He’d never been afraid of Don before, but he’d never grabbed him like he just did, either. Suddenly Kit felt like he needed to de-escalate the whole situation and quickly.

Don’s eyes widened, and for a split second, Kit thought everything was going to be okay. Then Don shoved past him and stormed out of the kitchen.

A few seconds later he heard a door slam, reverberating through the house. And from the sounds of it, Don had slammed it so hard it broke. And that damn temper of his. How had Kit missed that? One minute Don was perfectly fine, then the next he was raging mad.

Something weird was going on with Don, and Kit had no idea what, but enough was enough. Last weekend he’d noticed Don had picked up a glass to drink from and had broken it by simply holding it. Which made absolutely no sense. That same weekend he also twisted a doorknob completely off a door. And suddenly, the sex had gotten a lot rougher.

Kit liked to be manhandled as much as the next guy, but this wasn’t that. Don had left scratches all over him, which shouldn’t have been possible since he’d always kept his fingernails short.

He couldn’t figure out how Don had managed to do that, but he was past the point of caring. He wasn’t letting any man put his hands on him in anger. Hell no.

Picking up his purse, he quietly slipped out of Don’s house and went home.