Welcome to Blissville

by Walker, Aimee Nicole

  “Oh, I hate that you’re leaving so soon,” Josh said. He rose to his feet and offered me a friendly hug. “Thanks for coming tonight, Emory.”

  “Thanks for the invite. You’ve all been wonderful company. I’ll see you at my appointment in a few days.”

  “I’ll be sure to sharpen my scissors,” Josh replied then laughed evilly.

  “Goodnight,” I said with a wave.

  “Goodnight, Emory,” they all said collectively.

  When I got downstairs, Jon was still talking to Gabe at the door. “I am sorry that I disrespected your relationship with my flirting. It won’t happen again.”

  “Thanks,” Gabe told him. “I’ll be in touch if I learn anything else.” Jon nodded his head and walked out the back door.

  Gabe turned when he saw that I’d come downstairs too.

  “Man, I feel terrible that I ran your friend off, Gabe.”

  “You didn’t run him off,” he replied. “His loss was recent, and he’s still coming to terms with things.”

  “Still, I didn’t help matters any.”

  “You can’t be blamed for what you didn’t know, Emory.” Gabe tipped his head to the side, and I could tell he was deliberating if he should ask me a question.

  “Go ahead and ask me,” I told him.

  “Did you have a vision or something when you shook Silver’s hand?”

  “Yeah, you could say that,” I replied dryly. “He wasn’t in danger in my vision, if that was what you were concerned about.” Gabe looked relieved. “Thank you for a lovely evening,” I said. “I’ll see you around the neighborhood.”

  “Take care, Emory.”

  I held my shit together until I got home then I did two things I hadn’t done in quite some time. I got rip-roaring drunk and prayed for a night without dreams. I didn’t want to see Jon Silver again in my sleep, and I sure as hell couldn’t face my husband.

  I didn’t leave Gabe and Josh’s house because I was upset; I left because the evening stirred feelings inside me that I didn’t want or need in my life. I still felt out of place in the sit-down dinners with fancy china, real silverware, and crystal drinking glasses, because until I met Nate, I was a takeout food and paper plate kind of guy. I was slowly becoming acclimated to the finer things in life, even though I tried not to get too dependent on them. I didn’t want to become too soft, in case I needed to uproot my life and start all over again someplace. It wasn’t the dishes or silver that had me on edge; it was the people—or their close relationship to be specific.

  I had two best friends that I would lay my life down for at any given moment. We forged that bond while under fire in the heat of battle. I knew that Beau Rossi and Corbin Bouchard would do the same for me too. Still, what we shared was nothing like Josh and Gabe had with their friends. I couldn’t complete Beau’s sentences or anticipate Corbin’s next move outside a mission. I wouldn’t be able to jump in and start quoting lines from their favorite television shows or movies. Hell, we never had time to watch movies or television. Our life was one mission after the other. What little downtime we had was spent fucking, although never with each other. Nothing would screw up a camaraderie quicker than fucking, sucking, or jerking each other off. Were we tempted? Hell yeah, but we made a pact to let nothing come between our brotherhood, and we stuck to it.

  I was flattered by Gabe’s invitation and appreciated his kindness, even if he extended it out of pity, but I felt like a fish out of water. I wouldn’t say that all of them were on the same page because Emory seemed a little out of place also. Emory. Damn that long, beautiful brown hair that hung to his shoulders, luminous green eyes that showed his every emotion, and lips made for kissing revved me up. I wondered if his fair skin felt as soft as it looked. Kissing? Since when did I look at a man’s mouth and think about kissing?

  I was ready to fist his long strands of hair and kiss him until we were breathless. Hell, I didn’t even like long hair on a man, so what the fuck was it about Emory? The sadness I saw in his eyes called to me. I wanted to ease his pain and maybe find a way to lessen mine in the process. What would it be like to wake up one day and not feel the burn of heartache and sting of disappointment? It wasn’t something I ever entertained until I looked into his green eyes.

  Hell, I was randy and ready to fuck before he even introduced himself. When our skin touched during the handshake, it felt like I’d stuck my dick in an electrical outlet. I knew that Emory felt it too because his eyes widened before he closed them for a few seconds. When he reopened them, I saw so much grief and pain that I wanted to do anything to make him feel better. I’d never reacted to anyone as I did him. I never wanted to pull someone into my arms just so I could tuck their head beneath my chin and hold them. I had this intense feeling that Emory needed me and that I needed him just as much, but he shut down right before my eyes. A cool distance replaced the sadness and awareness I saw moments earlier. I felt his silent rejection like a slap in the face.

  My gut instinct told me not to back down, so I sat beside him to eat dinner. Josh served some of the best dishes that I’d ever had, but even that wasn’t enough to diminish my awareness of Emory. When the conversation turned to getting to know both Emory and me, we both seemed a little reluctant to divulge information. Hell, most of my locations and activities were top secret, and I couldn’t share with the group, but what was Emory’s deal? He seemed more mysterious than any spy I’d ever come into contact with during my years in covert ops.

  I chastised myself the entire meal for even thinking about chasing a guy who clearly didn’t want my attention. He sat ramrod straight next to me throughout the dinner until he learned that my brother was one of the murders in Carter County. Then he turned his luminous eyes on me, covered my hand with his, and sincerely apologized. It was that moment that I was certain of two things: I hadn’t seen the last of Emory Jackson, and I would one day know if his lips were as soft as they looked.

  Maybe that knowledge was what pushed me to my feet and out the door so quick. Perhaps it was the culprit for my restlessness and the feeling that something important like a vital organ was missing in my life. I resented the images of Emory that popped up in my head like fucking screenshots on a cell phone. Oh look, here’s Emory smiling across the table at something Chaz said. Oh, wouldn’t I like him to run his middle finger along my dick like he did the water goblet? How the fuck did I even know it was called a goblet? For fuck’s sake, I was losing my ever-loving mind pining over a man I didn’t even know.

  Get to know him, Jon! I ignored that damn thought the first million times it crossed my mind, but finally gave in a few days after the dinner. I didn’t have a lot of expectations, but I sure as hell didn’t expect what I found. A psychic? He didn’t advertise his abilities or have his own business. He spent his time traveling around the country helping state and local law enforcement agencies solve crimes. He even appeared on a few psychic detective shows, but he didn’t seem to profit off his work. His story about writing a book was the shittiest cover story I’d ever heard. I didn’t know jack about writing a book, and it was obvious Emory didn’t either. How did he pay his rent or buy groceries? His clothes were casual, but they looked expensive to me.

  I scrolled further down and clicked on an article that discussed when and how his abilities began. Then the reason for his sadness became crystal clear to me. Emory was still devastated by the loss of his husband, River. Was he living off his husband’s life insurance money? Wrongful death lawsuit? I wasn’t sure why it was important for me to know; it just was.

  I kept scrolling through the pages until I finally found an article that included his surname, Emory Connor Whelan. The psychic articles shocked me, but the ones that came up when I googled his surname knocked me for a loop. Emory was the son of Donovan Whelan and Audrey McIntire-Whelan, which didn’t ring any bells, but I sure as hell recognized his grandfather’s name. Emory was the only grandson of Connor Morgan Whelan, CEO of Whelan Whiskey. Fuck, that was my absolute favorite and
some seriously expensive stuff.

  I saw an article where Whelan Whiskey welcomed Emory on board as Director of Research and Development. They included a picture with the article and Emory couldn’t have been more than twenty-one or twenty-two at the time. His smile was broad and confident, and there were no signs of the sadness and disillusionment I saw a few days prior. Of course, who wouldn’t look confident in a suit that easily cost nine thousand dollars? I couldn’t take my eyes off his smile though. That was Emory before life kicked him in the balls. That was the Emory I wanted to kiss awake after a long night of loving so I could do it all over again.

  Wait! What? Oh, hell no. I didn’t do sleepovers and slowly kissing a lover awake. You will with Emory, my mind whispered. I wanted no part of the protective feelings that surged through me every time I thought of how much he hurt or the desire that hummed through my body when I pictured his face and remembered the way he made me feel alive for the first time in… ever. Emory Jackson was a broken man who would require a lot more than I had to offer him. Besides, most days I felt just as shattered as he did. What kind of help was half of a man to another who was also missing huge pieces of himself? Two halves make a whole.

  “Shut the fuck up!” I said out loud. Fuck, what I feared had come true. I had gone soft.

  Quick! I needed a diversion! I looked at my watch and saw that it was only ten o’clock. I could get dressed and head to the club to pick up some action. Maybe fucking someone else would wipe out Emory’s face every time I closed my eyes. Maybe I could sink my dick in a tight, welcoming hole and not picture fisting that glorious mane of hair while I rocked in and out of Emory. I rose to my feet and headed to my bedroom to give it a try when my ringing cell phone stopped me.

  I walked over to the hallway table where I laid it and saw that Beau was calling me. I smiled because I was certain that talking to my best friend would pull me out of my funk.

  “Howdy, Deputy,” I said into the phone. In a surprising move, Beau had retired from our unit first and moved to Big Timber, Montana, to pursue a career in law enforcement. He’d taken a lot of ribbing from us about his decision, but he held firm. He had said that it just felt right. I always suspected there was a bigger reason, but I decided to wait until he came clean on his own.

  “That’s Sweet Grass County Sheriff to you, asshole,” Beau said into the phone. I heard the smile and pride in his voice.

  “Sheriff? Hell, you’ve only been there a year. Who’d you have to fuck or kill to get the job?” I pondered out loud.

  “I didn’t fuck or kill anyone, but the old sheriff went boots up a few months back, and they held a special election. Yours truly won in a landslide,” Beau replied.

  “Again, who’d you fuck or kill?”

  “You just jumped to the top of my shit list,” Beau replied sarcastically. “I haven’t had a moment to catch my breath since the election, and I’ve missed talking to you. How’re things going?”

  “Nothing as exciting as winning an election.”

  “Let me be the judge of that,” Beau told me.

  “Okay, but I’ll probably bore you to death,” I warned. I told my friend about the suspected theft in the club and the latest development in my brother’s case. “I just can’t believe that Rick was involved.”

  “Then he probably wasn’t. I’ve never known anyone as intuitive as you are when it comes to reading people.” You should meet Emory. I tried to stop the snort that left my mouth but couldn’t. “What’s that snort supposed to mean?” Beau asked. “You know damn well that you’re a human lie detector.” He got quiet suddenly then added, “I could use a guy like you on my team.”

  “Not gonna happen, my friend.”

  “It’s fucking beautiful here, Jon. The clear blue skies, lush grass, breathtaking mountain views, and the people are as friendly as can be.”

  “If it’s so peachy then why would you need a human lie detector?” I inquired.

  “There’s this cold case that I’m working in my free time. A ranch hand went missing ten years ago, and no one seems to know what happened to him.”

  “Do you suspect foul play locally?” I asked.

  “Man, I don’t know. Big Timber was his last known whereabouts. The rancher who hired him admitted that there had been a big fight amongst his ranch hands and this guy quit. He demanded his last paycheck and another ranch hand drove him to the bus station north of Big Timber. The rancher said he could’ve gone anywhere.”

  “Well, he had to cash his check,” I replied. “Did the rancher provide a copy of the canceled check? I mean, it’s been ten years, but he could still get a copy.”

  “He doesn’t use checks for payroll; he hands them cash each week,” Beau replied.

  “Well, that right there sounds suspicious.”

  Beau let out a frustrated sigh. “Yeah, I thought so too. The family hasn’t given up after all this time, and I’d love to be able to give them some closure.”

  “I know how they feel and my brother has only been dead a few months. Nate’s murder was a horrible shock, but not knowing what happened to someone you love has to be the worst kind of torture.” I knew all too well that emotional torture was far more harmful and painful than the physical kind.

  “Man, I’m sorry,” Beau said. “I didn’t mean to be so damn thoughtless.”

  “Nah, I don’t want you tiptoeing around me or treating me like fragile glass. Neither applies to this battle-hardened bastard.”

  “I know what a badass you are, Jon, but that doesn’t mean I just run roughshod all over your feelings,” Beau replied.

  “I don’t have feelings.”

  “I remember you singing about them in a bar in Albuquerque.”

  “I lost a bet and was forced to sing karaoke,” I fired back.

  “Mmmm hmmm. That’s what I’d say too.” Then he started humming the tune to Barbara Streisand’s “Feelings.”

  “Shut up, man.”

  Beau’s laughter cheered me up, and I felt better than I had in months. “You seemed to know the words pretty well, buddy. You didn’t stumble and stutter while you read the words on the screen like everyone else. In fact, I seemed to recall you not needing to read the words at all.”

  “You were too drunk and fixated on that little blond bit of a waiter to even notice what I was doing up on stage.”

  “I’m a multitasker, and I wasn’t even close to drunk. You knew the words and sang from the heart.”

  “It was one of my mom’s favorite songs, okay?” I groused.

  “Finally, the truth comes out.”

  “Five minutes ago I would’ve said that I missed you, but now I’m hoping a coyote eats your sorry ass,” I said. Beau heard the laughter in my voice, and he only chuckled more.

  “Not a chance, my man. You take care of yourself and don’t be a stranger. Seriously, come see me in Montana if you need a break or some fresh air. There’s nothing more beautiful in the world than drinking a cup of coffee while watching the eagles soar over the mountain ridge.”

  Emory’s image rose up swift in my mind, and I knew that Beau was wrong. I could think of something—or someone—more beautiful, but I kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t ready to acknowledge the emotions Emory stirred inside me, let alone speak them out loud to my friend. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said instead.

  I felt marginally more settled after I got off the phone with Beau, but I still thought about going into the club. No sooner had the thought left my mind, Michelle called me. “Everything okay?” I asked her.

  “I don’t think so,” she replied nervously. “I hate to bother you at home, but we’re having a staffing issue.”

  “Don’t apologize, Michelle. I’ll be right there.” She was a very capable woman so it must’ve been a pretty big deal. It looked like I was destined to go to the club after all. At least I wouldn’t be sitting around my house thinking about a guy that wasn’t meant to be mine.

  If I were writing an autobiography about my early days in my new t
own, I would title it Blissless in Blissville. Yeah, there were some high points like meeting Josh, Gabe, Chaz, Kyle, and Meredith, but the rest wasn’t nearly as pleasant. Restless on Elm St or maybe Crushing Heartache in Carter County would also be suitable titles. I hadn’t eaten or slept much in the days that followed, and I was in a downward spiral ever since the first night I dreamed about Jon… Jonathon Silver. Shortening his name to Jon was a familiarity that I didn’t want or need.

  Your vision indicated you get pretty damn familiar with all of Jon Silver. I wanted to deny what I saw was a snapshot of a future event. I needed it to be nothing more than my deprived sex drive conjuring up dreams of faceless men followed by my tricked-out psyche filling in the blanks. I knew for a fact that I wanted absolutely nothing to do with Jonathon Silver and there was zero chance of us developing the kind of relationship where he would whisper love words in my ear. No fucking way. My heart rejected the idea outright even though the rest of my body, especially my brain, said he was the key to… something.

  I tried not to sleep, but the body could only be deprived for so long before it started making the decision for you. One minute I was watching television and the next I was sound asleep experiencing a new dream with my unwanted lover. In reality, he was unwanted, but in my dream world, I was all over him like a bear on honey. The more dreams I had, the sicker I got inside until I worried that I would fall into a pit of depression so deep I wouldn’t be able to climb out of again.

  I lost track of time and even the day of the week while I wallowed around in self-pity. Life—like it always did—reminded me that I wasn’t the one steering the boat. I sat at my kitchen table staring into my cup of coffee trying not to recall my most recent dream of piercing blue eyes that seemed to look into my soul and touch me in ways that I didn’t know I wanted when someone knocked sharply on my back door. Oh my God! It’s him! So much for not thinking about it. I froze in place, afraid to move or even breathe. He’d leave if I didn’t answer the door. Instead of leaving, the knocking became more persistent.