by Gregory Ashe
“She wants to have a relationship with me,” Hazard growled to Somers.
“Sweet baby Jesus,” Somers said, eyes turned to the ceiling. “Deliver me.”
“Mostly, though,” Pauline said with a hint of a smile, “this is an opportunity for you to ask me questions.”
“What’s your training?” Hazard said.
“I studied at UNC-Chapel Hill, and I did a fellowship at McLean Hospital in Boston.”
“Why do you live in the asshole of the Midwest?”
Somers groaned.
Pauline, on the other hand, just belted out a laugh. “Local girl. Grew up in Osage Beach.”
“Give three examples,” Hazard said, “of people you’ve helped.”
“You know I can’t get too specific,” Pauline said, “and I can’t name names, but I’ve worked with several soldiers from the region.”
“Which war?”
“Your pick,” Pauline said, adjusting herself in the seat. “Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan. I even worked with a trauma nurse from the Korean War.”
“And?”
“Several people who survived childhood abuse and wanted to escape the long-term effects it was having on their lives.”
“And?”
“She, uh, tried to help me after Cora,” Somers said. His face heated when Hazard looked at him. “I only came a couple of times, and I fully recognize that I was the problem there, so don’t hold that against her.”
Pauline’s expression softened. “You know that’s not how we talk about ourselves, John-Henry.”
He shrugged and leaned into Hazard’s shoulder; for the first time since they had stepped into that room, Hazard squeezed his hand back.
“May I ask a question?” Pauline said.
“Here we go,” Hazard said, glancing at Somers. “No, I do not want to kill my father and marry my mother. No, I do not have sexual fantasies about being choked or dominated. No, I am not coping with childhood trauma by sexually gratifying John.”
“You did give me a squeezer in a hospital bed the other day,” Somers put in.
Hazard’s face went scarlet. Pauline put a hand over her mouth and gave Somers a look. He shrugged and poked Hazard.
“Let her ask a few questions before you start answering this time.”
Face still flaming, Hazard nodded.
“Why do you want to deal with this right now?”
“Because it’s messing up my relationships. I’m lashing out.” When Somers poked him, Hazard growled and added, “More than usual. And it’s beginning to affect my work. I still consult for the police, and I can’t afford to be paralyzed every time the light flickers or I smell moldy carpet or there’s a sudden noise.”
Pauline nodded. “What have you been doing to cope with the effects up to this point?”
“What do you mean?”
“Most people dealing with PTSD find some way of numbing themselves: drugs, alcohol, sexual excess—”
“Let’s hear more about that one,” Somers murmured into Hazard’s shoulder.
Hazard pinched the inside of Somers’s thigh, and Somers yelped.
“—while other people depersonalize and dissociate. They often describe it as feeling dead inside, unable to connect with other people, unable to experience pleasure or love or affection, even with the ones who are closest to them.”
Hazard’s breathing roughened. He ran this thumb under his eyes and shook his head. “No, it’s not . . . it’s not any of that.” He kissed Somers on the temple, looked back at Pauline and said, “I drink a little.”
“One beer a week,” Somers said.
“But mostly,” Hazard said, “I’ve just been trying to control my breathing when I panic. That’s an easy hack for putting the parasympathetic nervous system back in charge. I also focus on immediate sensory details: where I am really, instead of where I am in a . . . flashback.”
“And you just figured that out on your own?”
Red bloomed in Hazard’s cheeks again. “I may have done some reading.”
“Well, you should be very proud of yourself. It’s not often that I have a client who has worked so hard to help himself.”
Hazard looked down. He brushed his fingers along the length of Somers’s arm.
“That’s also good for me to know,” Pauline said, the bob of iron hair swaying as she leaned forward. “I think you’ve already laid a strong foundation. Obviously we can reevaluate as we work together, but I envision a plan with a clear deadline. I’ll provide you with a few supplementary strategies for panic attacks, flashbacks, and nightmares. We’ll practice the techniques that work best for you. And we’ll work on training your body to recognize that you’re safe again.” She offered a brief smile. “It sounds very New Age, but I can show you the science behind it if—”
“Yes,” Somers said. “Please, God, make him read a manual.”
Hazard took a few deep breaths. Then he turned and looked Somers in the eyes. “I, uh. I think I’d like to give this a try.”
Somers nodded.
Hazard squirmed a little, squeezed Somers’s hand once, and said, “Maybe you should, you know—”
“Oh, no, I’m not going anywhere. I want to be here when she makes you talk about your first sexual fantasy about me.”
Hazard’s brows lowered. “Go wait in the car, John.”
“And, of course, I want to know all about your secret fear that sometimes you worry you love being the center of attention so much because you’re afraid you’ll disappear if no one is looking at you.”
“I’ll see you in fifty minutes. Go buy yourself a candy bar or something.”
Bussing Hazard’s cheek, Somers stood, looked at Pauline, and added, “I’ll be on window duty. Sometimes he tries to sneak out.”
“Get. Out.”
Pauline must have had a lot of experience hiding her reactions, but she was covering her mouth again when Somers left.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
OCTOBER 24
THURSDAY
7:58 AM
IF YOU’RE GOING TO take a day off work,” Hazard said, “you can finish the patio you started in, oh, August.”
They were sitting at the kitchen table; Evie had been with Cora the night before, and Hazard’s case load was light, and Somers was sloughing work.
“It wasn’t August,” Somers said.
“It was August 10th,” Hazard said.
“No way.”
“This is why I made you take a picture holding the newspaper.” Hazard pulled up the photograph, with Somers in booty shorts and no shirt, holding the August 10 edition of the Courier in one hand and a sledgehammer in the other.
“I thought you were ransoming me.”
“Nobody would pay.”
“I thought I was being sold into sexual slavery.”
“You’re past the expiration date.”
Somers’s tropically blue eyes widened.
“I’ve spent the last two months in mud up to my ankles,” Hazard said before draining his coffee. “Every time it rains, I’m in quicksand when I have to take out the trash. Go finish the patio.”
“I thought we could,” Somers shifted in the seat, playing with the hem of the ratty Imagine Dragons t-shirt he was wearing, lifting it up just enough to expose enough ink and abs and golden skin. “You know. Just kind of enjoy a day together.”
Hazard picked up Somers’s mug. “Patio, please. I keep you around because you’re handy for things like this.”
At the sink, though, Somers pressed up against Hazard, his chest to Hazard’s back, and his hand ran down Hazard’s stomach, undid the button on his jeans, and slid past the waistband. Hazard tried to set down the mugs carefully, but one of them rattled against the sink. Somers’s mouth traced a line of kisses down Hazard’s neck. His hand moved slowly and steadily inside Hazard’s compression shorts. Now Hazard groaned, leaning into the touch, and Somers pulled back until only his fingert
ips made contact.
“This is coming off,” Somers whispered, tugging on Hazard’s Death Cab for Cutie tee.
Hazard had never taken off a shirt that fast before, he was pretty sure.
Somers turned him around, his free hand and his mouth running over Hazard’s chest: little kisses and bites and caresses, still offering nothing more than his fingertips below the waist. Part of what made their lovemaking so exciting was the way the dynamics shifted. Hazard’s legs were shaking, and even though he’d healed nicely after the gunshot, he still had to lean against the sink.
Somers’s last kiss landed on the trail of fine, dark hair above the elastic of the compression shorts. Then he grabbed the elastic, went to his knees, and pulled the jeans and shorts down together. He went to work, and Somers, for a guy who’d been supposedly straight until a couple of years before, had a pretty good idea of what he was doing.
All too soon, Hazard’s fingers caught hard in Somers’s hair.
“John,” he whispered, trying to pull Somers off. “John, I’m—”
Somers shook his head and kept going, and a moment later, Hazard groaned. His knees buckled, and he closed his eyes as the world crested and broke over him: the textured heat of Somers’s mouth; Somers’s hands on his thighs, on his belly, on his balls; but more than anything, feeling loved and cherished by someone who saw him and knew him, the good and the bad. He caught himself on the sink with an elbow and managed, after another moment, to stand.
Somers was still on his knees, his face flushed, wiping his mouth and chin.
When Hazard held out a hand, Somers didn’t move.
“I want to take care of you,” Hazard whispered.
Somers just smiled, cocked his head, and said, “I love you.”
“I know you love me. Why are you still on the floor?”
“I love you so much that I don’t even understand it sometimes. It’s like this thing that’s bigger than me and I just get to . . . be part of it, I guess.”
“I love you too, John. What is going on? Why are you still on the floor? You already proposed to me, so what is this?”
“This,” Somers said, leaning forward to nuzzle Hazard for a moment, “is me seducing you.”
“I did kind of get that point.”
“And now that you’re putty in my hands, I’m going to ask you for something, and you won’t be able to say no because I just gave you the best blowjob of your life.”
“Well, it wasn’t—uh, yeah. Yes. What?”
“I want to go look at one more wedding venue.”
“But we picked one out.”
“I know.”
“We looked at places and we sorted places and you had that ridiculous idea about a pie chart, even though they’ve got low information density and don’t organize numbers along a visual dimension—”
“Good Lord, Ree, a chart is a chart.”
“—and we agreed on one that we both liked, and we had to go walk around and talk to that horrible woman in a hairpiece—”
“That was a man.”
“—and try the food and try the cake and then you didn’t like the cake so we had to try another one and then you weren’t sure so we had to go back the next weekend and—”
Somers’s eyes were wide and blue, and his lower lip was trembling. “Please?”
“You are a bad person,” Hazard said, stabbing a finger at him. He was vaguely aware that his being naked was undermining his moral high ground. “This is where Evie gets it from, by the way. Fine. We will go look at another venue.”
“I just love you so much and want to make you happy.”
“I assume this is why you took a day off work. You didn’t just want to tell me?”
“You’re all I think about. I just want everything to be perfect for you on our wedding day.”
“Which we’ll have to move back now because venues book up so quickly,” Hazard snapped. “And you seduced me completely wrong, by the way.”
“Wrong?” Somers said. “Hey!”
Hazard dropped to his knees, forced Somers backward until Somers was sitting against the cabinets, and straddled his legs. He yanked down Somers’s jeans and underwear; Somers was hard and wet. Hazard took him in hand. He knew what Somers liked, and he gave it to him, watching as Somers’s lips parted, as his pupils dilated, as another flush ran through his face. Hazard stopped, his grip locked tight.
“Tell me again,” Hazard said quietly.
“I just thought you’d like this place—”
“Not that.”
Somers’s eyes were glassy, and he bucked, trying to move in Hazard’s grip. Hazard held him too tightly. He caught Somers’s chin with his free hand and held his gaze. He could feel the tremors running through the blond man.
“Tell me again,” Hazard whispered.
“I love you.”
“Good,” Hazard said, still locking gazes as he began to pump his hand. When Somers tried to throw his head back, Hazard clutched his jaw and pinned him against the cabinets. “Right here,” he said. “Stay with me.”
It was intense, even for Hazard. He could imagine what it felt like for Somers—the eye contact, the stimulation.
“Tell me again,” Hazard said.
“Oh Christ, I love you so much.”
“Good boy.”
Somers whined.
“Tell me again.”
“Ree, I love you. I love you. I love you.”
“Very good boy.” Hazard’s hand was moving faster: the pressure in the right places, the tightness, the slight rotations and twists he knew worked best. “You love me?”
“Uhhh.”
“You love me, John?”
“Yes, God, yes.”
“You love me so much you won’t make me go to another venue after today?”
“Yes, I swear to God, yes.”
“Good boy, really good. And you love me so much you’ll finish the patio this weekend?”
Somers was trying to nod, but Hazard’s vise grip prevented him.
“Words,” Hazard said.
“Yes,” Somers moaned.
“Good boy. I think you need to come. Do you need to come?”
Another frantic attempt at nodding.
Hazard moved his hand faster. “Come.”
Somers rutted up into his touch and came.
The blond man was still gasping, slumped against the counters, when Hazard scooted closer and kissed him. And then kissed him again. And then again, turning Somers’s face lightly with one hand, kissing every inch he could reach. When he got to Somers’s ear, he whispered, “Very good boy,” one last time, and then he stood.
Somers groaned; it sounded like pure satisfaction.
“And that, John, is how you seduce someone: make your demands before you get them off. Now get up and let’s shower so we can go see this fucking venue.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
OCTOBER 24
THURSDAY
10:13 AM
WHERE THE FUCK are we?” Hazard asked as they drove mile after mile along a state highway he’d never taken before. Oaks and maples and pines whipped past on either side. The leaves were bright this year: vibrant reds and oranges, the result of the long, hot summer. The windows were down, and the day was perfect: cool, but just warm enough with the sunshine. The fragrance of sap and balsam and crisp autumn leaves drifted through the car.
“It’s just a little farther.” Somers showed his phone. “The next right.”
“And we are going to choose a completely new venue because, let me see if I understood this correctly, Hershel Gromman, your father’s ninety-seven-year-old accountant, who is retired and whom I did not even know we were inviting to our wedding, needs a special pureed diet that the last place cannot accommodate.”
“He’s my father’s favorite accountant. Oh, and because it’s bigger. My parents brought me another hundred names they insist we include at the ceremony.”
>
Hazard wasn’t normally given to screaming, but he thought by the time he finally got married, he was going to be pretty much an expert at it.
At the next right, they turned. The drive was long, taking them through the growth of old trees until they found a neat, new asphalt parking lot and a chapel. It had a cross, but nothing to mark a denomination, and the design was pleasing, although Hazard couldn’t quite match it with any particular style: energetic lines racing up to the sky; long walls of windows that looked out on nature; every surface, where possible, treated to look raw and natural: unpainted timber and cedar shake. A handful of cars were parked outside.
“Damn it,” Somers said. “We’re late. If they’re showing the place to someone else, we’re going to have to wait.” He looked at Hazard and said, “This is because you had to get handsy.”
“Excuse me?”
“Uh.” Somers’s expression shifted into a disarming smile. “Thank you?”
They approached the chapel. Hazard could see a deck that extended off the back of the structure. “I thought we said no chapel.”
“I know, but let’s just look.”
“And you want to do the reception here?”
“I don’t know.”
“I thought you said this place was bigger.”
Somers was scrubbing the back of his head. “Yeah, well, I guess I got it wrong.”
“So why are we even here?”
“Ree, let’s just please take a look and see.”
“Ok,” Hazard said, raising his hands. “Whatever you want.”
“This is what I want.”
“I’m easy to please. I just want you to have whatever you—”
Somers grabbed his hand, tugged him toward the building, and muttered something about murder under his breath.
When they stepped inside, Hazard had to blink. Autumn sunlight filled the space—he had a vague impression of pews painted farmhouse white, a long nave, and what he had mistaken for windows from the outside were, he realized now, French doors, standing open now to admit the soft cry of a warbler and the sweet smell of crushed acorns and goldenrod. None of that held his attention, however. His gaze was fixed on the far end of the nave, where his mother was standing.
