by Elle Keaton
“Mexican tonight? Looks like the Three Amiga’s delivers.”
Adam stripped off his coat and boots and flung himself onto the bed next to Micah.
“I’ve never had anyone jealous over me. I’m savoring it.”
“I’m not jealous,” he lied. He’d never been jealous of anyone. He’d never been with anyone worth being jealous of.
Micah let out a long-suffering sigh, but he smiled, too, so Adam figured he hadn’t messed up too badly.
“Brandon and I have known each other our whole lives. He lived down the street until college. As soon as he left his parents divorced, sold the house, and got rid of his dog.”
Adam must have had a truly horrified look on his face.
“Right?” Micah said. “He fell apart. He’d always been so fun, full of laughter and true joy. He had a breakdown. My parents took him in. He couldn’t go back to school. He came home, here, in December, and stayed until the next fall.
“Even though I was homeschooled—before you ask, not religious reasons; I was so shy as a kid I threw up every day before school. They got me through kindergarten because it was half day, but first grade, no way I was going back. I guess I can be pretty stubborn.” He smiled at the memory.
“My mom didn’t mind; she was a part-time history professor, could set her own schedule pretty much. I was lucky. But I still played with the gang of kids that lived in our neighborhood.”
“And Brandon was one of them.”
“And Brandon was one of them,” Micah answered. “Anyway,” he continued, “After my parents, Brandon was the first person who knew I was gay. He was so confused. He couldn’t understand why I didn’t like boys and girls, like he did. When my parents and Shona were killed, he was there for me. Maybe a little bit because of what my parents had done for him, but mostly because he is my best friend. And in case you didn’t know, Stephanie got to him first—that bitch.” But he was smiling. “They’ve been together for a long time. I don’t think she’s going anywhere.”
“They gave away his dog?” That was a line even his own fucked-up parents hadn’t come close to.
“For real. Gave away his dog. To be honest, I think it was his mother who did it. That woman is a complete bitch.”
“Okay, so I was a little jealous.” And I have no right. Adam kept that thought to himself.
Thirty-Two
Micah convinced Adam they needed to get out of the motel the next day. He’d been quizzing Adam the evening before. Trying to fit him somewhere in his lexicon of Skagit, since they had both lived there at the same time during their childhood and teen years. He was horrified by the things Adam hadn’t done or seen. Micah had made a mental list of the worst offenses. He wouldn’t tell Adam where they were going, though, “It will be worth it.” He promised.
“There are tour buses that do this now, but I like it better this way,” Micah said as he drove his ratty 4x4 eastward.
Adam stared out the car window, watching the barren trees flash by. They were heading toward Mt. Baker again. He’d missed the mountains, too, along with the rain. Even with the influx of people since he had moved away, the sheer ruggedness of the North Cascade mountain range was something to behold. The mountains were unforgiving and magnificent.
“This highway wasn’t even finished until 1972. Can you believe that? No one knows how many men worked on it. Because, of course, by the time it was finished any records from the earliest days were gone.”
It was easy to imagine rugged mountain men sweating blood and body parts putting this road through. Currently they were on a flat stretch with wide meadows on both sides and a few lonely stumps here and there. A dead tree with its tangled limbs reaching out in all directions. A sign indicated the road was soon going to be a series of switchbacks. Micah slowed down as the road narrowed and they entered the Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest.
“It’s almost lighter here now than during the summer, because the leaves aren’t blocking the sunshine,” Micah said.
It was kind of sunny. The cloud cover was relatively meager, letting a few rays through here and there. Adam supposed the temperature was slightly above freezing. His L.A. was getting a serious beating. They turned off onto a forest road Micah drove expertly, dodging potholes the size of ponds, downed trees and branches strewn everywhere.
“I camp up here a lot.”
“By yourself?” Adam couldn’t imagine Micah camping with a bunch of drunken idiots.
“Yeah, I park at one of the trailheads and hike in. It’s amazing how a bit of a hike cuts down on the number of people you run across. There are more people than when I was a kid, but I can still come up here in August and find a spot to myself a couple of miles off the highway.”
Adam had gone hiking as a kid and teen. He had sullenly followed Gerald around what were probably gorgeous hiking trails. Trillium, great. Wild orchid, great. Can we go home now? He’d forgotten they’d done that together.
Micah pulled to a stop in a small cutout to the left of the road. There weren’t any other cars there now, but Adam could see tire prints and impressions where vehicles had parked recently.
A muddy footpath that had seen a lot of use led them down toward the riverbank. The cedars dripped relentless damp, and the path was pocketed with puddles neither of them could avoid. Adam’s boots were soaked, his jeans stuck uncomfortably to his thighs. He didn’t care. He was happy. And shit-scared. But happy. Lost in thought, he was unprepared for what awaited them around the last bend in the trail.
There must have been over a hundred bald eagles camped out in the evergreens along both sides of the river. Raw and stunning, the river was running so fast it was hard to hear each other over its raucous pandemonium. The eagles were loud, too; it stank like bird shit and dead fish. It was overwhelming. Somewhere along the way Adam had forgotten or lost touch with the part of himself that needed this. Years of tromping around crime scenes, trying to see what wasn’t there or what shouldn’t be there, had muted the pure joy of the scent of cedars and sounds of birds—even eagles, which are damn stupid and ugly, he thought as he watched a couple of young eagles fight over a salmon carcass only to have it stolen by a smarter, mature eagle.
“It’s actually not quite viewing season yet.” Micah’s voice startled him out of his thoughts. “Last year there were over three hundred by the end of the season. And it’s better really early in the morning, but . . . hey!” Micah pointed across the river, about eighty feet away from where they were. “Is that a bear? Holy cow!”
“Jesus Christ,” Adam muttered.
“It’s only a black bear; they’re pretty skittish.”
“I cannot believe you camp up here on your own.”
“You didn’t, as a kid?”
Micah hadn’t asked too many direct questions about Adam’s childhood. The fact that he hadn’t been back in almost two decades spoke volumes, Adam supposed. His dad had tried for a while. Until whatever it was Gerald struggled with weighed him down so heavily that he couldn’t function. They’d hiked a bit before Gerald had stopped going out. Before the steady string of girlfriends who each thought she would be the one ended. Gerald had been a handsome man, and a rich man. All the single girls had tried, and his dad let them. Led them on, letting them cook and clean and take care of his son until they got tired of it, and then he let them leave. Kind of like Adam had left when he was eighteen.
The girlfriends had stopped trying when Adam was ten or so. Didn’t matter, because that was when Gerald began “collecting,” and his cronies stepped in and basically mooched off him as long as they could. Maybe that’s why the women stopped coming around. And, yeah, Ed had been one of those guys. So had Don, but now they were trying to help clean up the mess Gerald had left behind.
Maybe Gerald had done the best he could.
“Gerald and I went hiking a few times, when I was a kid. The only stuff I ever saw were deer and chipmunks. He was big into wildflowers.”
“Oooh, killer chipmunks. Gotta w
atch those, native only to the Skagit Valley.” Micah smiled at him. Even though he was standing precariously on rocks with the Skagit River crashing below them and a few other weekday eagle visitors, Adam couldn’t help but lean into Micah and kiss him.
He meant it to be a quick “thank you for showing me this,” but somehow he found himself pulling Micah toward him and kissing him hard. Full of an emotion he was still scared to name, Adam broke the kiss and buried his face in Micah’s warm neck so he wouldn’t be able to see the look in his eyes. Micah seemed to understand, or at least didn’t question. They stood there, together, next to a river full of life—a bear on the other side, for Christ’s sake, holding on.
Thirty-Three
Work on Gerald’s house was going slowly. The weather continued to interfere with yard cleanup. At least the county wouldn’t be breathing down his neck calling it a fire hazard. The inside of the house was complicated. With the trash mostly gone, Adam could see where persistent neglect had taken its toll. There was a lot of water damage. The downstairs bathroom had clearly flooded or had a broken pipe more than once. Underneath the sink and shower the flooring was nearly rotted through. The kitchen was squalid; all the appliances would need to be replaced, along with more flooring. The refrigerator was the same one Adam remembered from high school. The stove didn’t seem to work at all. Adam was having a hard time imagining what his father had eaten in his final years.
The last time they had spoken had been months before Gerald died. They hadn’t had much to say to each other. Adam couldn’t discuss his cases, and Gerald hadn’t wanted to hear it anyway. Adam had been distracted, working on a brutal kidnapping. His dad had been rambling on about “jackbooted thugs” and the police state evolving in Skagit. From what Adam had gathered, the county had responded to a complaint by one of his new neighbors. The new house, taller than the others, had a partial view of Gerald’s backyard, and they did not like what they saw.
Adam understood. But he’d also known his dad. Gerald dug in over this threat to his freedom. Plus, he had been in the county for decades, unlike the neighbors, and his paintings still brought money and tourists to Skagit. Adam had not envied the county official who had to deal with Gerald.
There was some mail stacked in a Tupperware container that Adam should probably go through. He figured it was important since Gerald had made the effort to protect it from harm. Adam stacked the tub and some photo albums and took them out to his car. He’d been out at the house all day and was tired. Physically and emotionally. He didn’t know what he would do without Ed and Don and the crew. They were standing around in the front; Don’s friend Tim was smoking a cigarette and looking guilty about it.
“Hey, guys. Let’s get out of here.”
By mutual agreement they all headed into town for dinner and beers. The Beaver was everyone’s favorite place, and over the last week or so they had become regulars. Well, Adam had become a regular; the older guys already had their semi-permanently reserved table. Tonight, they had included Buck and his employee Miguel in the mix. Adam wasn’t sure Buck could hold his own with this crew.
“Micah joining us tonight?” Ed asked. As soon as they had gotten a whiff of the budding whatever-it-was between Adam and Micah they began to tease him without mercy. For whatever reason, these red-nosed blue-collar guys who’d spent their entire lives in a piddly little town thought he and Micah were the romance of the year. He shuddered, thinking of the embarrassing questions they had asked him the first couple of times they’d gone for drinks. Adam had needed more than one drink to answer them.
“Yeah, is that cutie joining us? If you don’t get a move on, I’m going to join the other side and ask him out myself.” Don cackled with glee at his joke and took a big swallow of the beer he was holding. Adam shook his head. These guys were amazing. Clearly the thing holding him back from whatever he did or did not want with Micah was not his dad’s old friends.
“Ya know, Adam, we weren’t born yesterday. There was this era called the 1960s, and most of us were young men then. We may not all play for your team, but we’ve been around.”
Adam did not want to know what kind of “been around” Tim was referring to. Miguel chuckled, while Buck shook his shaggy blond head.
The door to the pub swung open and Micah walked in. All the guys catcalled him and whistled. Adam wanted to crawl under the table. For some reason this behavior only made Micah laugh, not melt into a puddle of embarrassment. He made his way to their table he high-fived the guys and sat down where he belonged, next to Adam. It felt weirdly like a family dinner. It felt scarily perfect. It felt scary.
His phone vibrated. This was the other thing. If it wasn’t a woman walking her dog it was his fucking phone ringing. For some reason, Adam knew this wasn’t going to be Ed McMahon or whoever had taken over, calling to give him a big fat check.
Thirty-Four
Conversation continued to flow around the table after Adam left. Focus turned to Jessica Abrahams and the guy’s various theories as to what was happening around Skagit. All the older guys remembered when the Green River killer had roamed the region’s highways killing vulnerable women. Ted Bundy, too.
Micah sat and listened, texting Adam a couple of times and then tried calling only to have his phone go to voice mail. He threw enough cash on the table to cover the check. “I’m taking off, guys. Sorry to eat and run.”
Buck stood, too. “I gotta go; Miguel and I have actual work to do tomorrow, unlike you old retired folks.”
The older guys all huffed and whined about all the work they did even though they claimed they were retired.
“Retired from what?” Don asked Ed. “You never did an honest day’s work in your life. I should know; I was there.” Raucous laughter followed that quip. Good lord, these guys were still trouble.
Buck, Miguel, and Micah headed to the front door, where Miguel said goodbye to them. Buck gave Micah a knowing look. “If you’re going to the Wagon Wheel, I’m headed that way. Got to pick up some paperwork from the shop.”
Micah gladly accepted. The ten-minute ride was quiet, seventies rock playing softly from the console in Buck’s beautifully restored Mustang. Micah had seen him driving this car before. Even though he wasn’t a car fanatic this was a beauty, he caught himself stroking the soft leather interior. Buck caught his eye, smirking at Micah’s embarrassment.
A few minutes later Micah was striding along the cement walkway leading toward the rooms. Adam’s car was in the lot and there was light shining from behind the curtain, he hadn’t explicitly invited Micah to randomly stop by, but Micah decided he was going to take the initiative. Merely thinking about Adam got him worked up, it was as if his body was trying to make up for not having sex for so long. Micah seemed to be walking around with a permanent semi.
Thirty-Five
Adam opened the door to find a slightly irritated Micah and he walked right in, asking why Adam had ditched him at the bar. It hadn’t been intentional, he’d gotten lost in his own head thinking about everything Mohammad had told him. Inappropriately, Adam found Micah to be incredibly hot when he was bossy. He gestured to the hideous couch. “Take a seat. I need to finish working on some paperwork.”
Micah squinted at him. “Do you sound that arrogant all the time, and I somehow missed it?” Instead of letting Adam go back to brooding, Micah pulled him down onto the couch with him. Adam didn’t resist.
“You owe me for dinner by the way.” He groused.
“I’m pretty fucked up. Not really sure what you see in me.” Adam wasn’t fishing; he honestly didn’t see what he had to offer Micah. Micah, who was tracing Adam’s hand with his own. It felt soothing and made him very aware of that appendage, as well as another one.
Micah lifted their linked hands and threw his leg over Adam’s thigh, pulling Adam’s hand down onto his crotch. Micah was hard, too, the heat of his erection burning through the heavy denim of his jeans. It was beyond erotic to sit in the half-light of his shitty motel room and fond
le Micah’s cock. Micah’s little sighs killed him. Adam had about ten seconds before coming in his pants if he wasn’t careful. He’d never known it could be like this.
He didn’t stop. He continued tracing the outline of Micah’s cock and nothing else. Over and over, up and down, back up and over the not-insignificant wet spot that had formed where Micah was leaking. Adam was, too; he didn’t care. He wanted to sail this easy river of want and desire, of give and take, of Micah offering his body to Adam unconditionally. The smell of Micah’s sweat and need mixed with Adam’s own. Micah groaned deep and long and jerked his hips forward into Adam’s hand, pressing against it, no longer passive; demanding that Adam make love to him.
Turning his head to watch Micah, Adam leaned forward, gently sketching out the contour of Micah’s lush lips with the tip of his tongue. He sucked Micah’s bottom lip into his mouth, using his free hand to flick open the button of Micah’s jeans so he could get to the silky skin he craved, loving the way a penis was soft and hard at the same time. Loving the way the skin moved up and down over a hard core. He loved the warmth of them against his hand, and in his ass. He kept sucking on Micah’s lip and pumping his hard shaft until they were both mindless.
Micah had Adam’s pants open and was jacking him slowly. Micah’s long, delicate fingers, slick with precome, slid down behind Adam’s blue fucking balls to his hole. Adam slumped forward to make it easier, then had to concentrate to keep working Micah. When Micah moaned again and pushed up, Adam almost lost it. He felt his balls pull up, and Micah must have felt it, too, because he slid his finger away from Adam’s hole and grabbed them, squeezing just hard enough.
