Welcome to Blissville

by Walker, Aimee Nicole

  I dropped in the nearest chair as all the air whooshed out of my lungs in relief. Damn, I worried that the day might never come when I heard those words. “Thank you, Gabe. This means so much to me.”

  “You’re welcome, Silver.” I expected him to hang up right away, but he surprised me. “We host a dinner every Sunday for our friends. There’s always more than enough food, and you’re welcome to join us anytime.”

  “I don’t know how to respond to that,” I said honestly. Was I the kind of man who gathered with friends every Sunday for dinner and chatting about the things going on in our lives? I didn’t use to be that kind of man, but could I be?

  “You don’t have to respond,” Gabe said casually. “Just know that our door is always open.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Take care, Silver.”

  I sat there for several long moments after we hung up. I didn’t care that I was getting my sweat all over the leather sofa in my home office. I cared about the fact that Nate was going to get his justice after all. I was curious as hell to know who was arrested and the kind of evidence the cops had, but I knew Gabe would tell me as soon as he could. I hoped like hell that Rick’s name would get cleared in the process.

  It took a few more days for the information to cycle around. Attorney Rylan Broadman from Goodville, which was a neighboring community to Blissville, was arrested for the murders of Nate, Owen Smithson, Lawrence Robertson, and Rick Spizer. Broadman had been Robertson’s attorney at the time the casino consortium tried to buy the farmer’s land to build a casino. The local county commissioners shot the casino down, so the wealthy consortium CEO pulled strings to get the issue on a statewide ballot. The initiative failed, the casino was never built, and that appeared to be the last of it until Rick pitched the idea to my brother.

  That one conversation most likely led to all of the deaths. Was that why Rick said he was responsible? He didn’t physically kill anyone, but did he feel those deaths on his conscience just the same? The police released frustratingly few details in the early days, but I knew they didn’t want to risk fucking up a trial. That, or they still only had pieces of the puzzle—enough to arrest him, but maybe not enough to get a conviction. As much as it pained me, I knew I’d have to wait it out.

  “You’ve waited this long, what’s another few weeks?”

  Those few weeks turned into months. The next thing I knew it was June and I was still stuck in a fucking rut. I tried to avoid restlessness by going to the club more and getting involved in the Queen City initiatives I started to honor my brother. I did things like attend weekly Rotary meetings and clean parks at the ass crack of dawn on Saturday mornings. I attended ribbon-cutting ceremonies at new outdoor sports complexes for kids. Oddly, the more I was around people, the more isolated I felt.

  Every Sunday, I remembered Gabe’s invitation to their weekly dinners. Every Sunday, I was tempted to get in my car and drive to his house, but I stopped just short of doing it. I didn’t want to see Emory. I couldn’t get him out of my mind, and he chased me in my sleep. Of course, it didn’t help matters when I continuously searched for more articles about him or watched the episodes of the psychic detective show that featured him. I had it bad, but I wasn’t quite sure what it was. Lust? Obsession?

  Toward the end of June, I couldn’t take it any longer. I had to see him again to know if the pull I felt toward him was real or imagined. Was he as gorgeous as I remembered? Were his eyes the lightest shade of green I’d ever seen before or was that me just being fanciful? Did he still wear that sadness around him like a cloak? Were his lips as full and plump as I recalled, and why did I want to kiss them until he smiled? Since when the fuck did I start thinking like some sappy-ass, bodice-ripping, romance hero from a Harlequin novel? Yeah, okay, maybe I read of few of my mom’s books when I was a teenager, but I treated it as a How Not to Act guide. Yet, there I was taking a page from one of those books.

  I tried losing myself in someone else’s ass once, and I was miserable afterward but couldn’t understand why. I owed Emory Jackson nothing. He was no one to me. But he could be everything to me. I hated that voice in my head that was always right. It had never led me astray in any situation or on a mission. That voice told me to get in the fucking car, drive down the fucking interstate to some town named Fucksville, and spend time with Emory. I noticed that my little voice didn’t say spend time fucking Emory. Spend time with him. Like how? Gaze into his eyes across the table? Hang on to every word that left his lips? I wasn’t that guy! That same little voice that told me to go to Emory also informed me that Emory required more than I could give. Wanted to give.

  I got in my fucking car and drove down the interstate toward Fucksville to see Emory. I had talked myself in and out of going so many times that there was no way in hell that I would make it to Gabe’s house in time to eat. I’d settle for Josh’s cold leftovers in place of most people’s hot cooked meals any day. I questioned my actions every mile that I drove because Emory and I had nothing in common besides heartache. We both survived losing people that meant the world to us. I wasn’t sure that was the best kind of foundation to build a relationship on and I…

  That thought almost shocked me enough to pull off at the next exit and turn around. I didn’t do relationships. That wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t need to sleep with the same person each night and wake up next to them the next morning. I didn’t need someone to anticipate my desires or finish my sentences for me. That was the last damn thing I wanted. Liar, that little voice said.

  I pushed on and arrived at Gabe and Josh’s well after the party started. They were playing some backyard game where they threw bags at a board with a hole in it. They were so into it that they didn’t notice my arrival, so I just stood there for a few seconds. I couldn’t deny the disappointment I felt when I didn’t see Emory, but it was brief because I knew where he lived from one of the conversations at Easter dinner. There were several more people there than the last time, and I felt guilty for just popping in unannounced.

  My stomach started growling when my nose picked up the scent of delectable grilled meats in savory sauces. Gabe told me I was welcome anytime and I was there to collect. “Hey, everybody. Sorry I’m late,” I said, waving awkwardly. I was so fucking clueless how to behave properly in social gatherings. Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at me. “Maybe I shouldn’t have dropped in on you guys,” I said, sounding as embarrassed and uncomfortable as I felt.

  I looked around the crowd hoping to see a welcoming face. All I saw was curiosity from the guests who hadn’t met me on prior occasions and surprise from the ones who had. Then my gaze locked on a pair of particularly green eyes that looked irate that I had showed up. My first thought was, why the hell does Emory look so angry? Unfortunately, I blurted out my next thought. “What the hell did you do to your beautiful hair?” And what was with the designer beard he’d grown? No wonder I didn’t recognize him until his eyes met mine. I wanted the old Emory back. I needed—not wanted—to run my fingers through his hair, tangle my fists in it while he sucked my dick.

  Emory narrowed his eyes, sat straighter in his chair, and lifted his chin proudly. “Josh cut it for me.” He ran his hand over the shorn locks and smiled smugly. Well, he’ll just have to grow it back out.

  I pinned the hair stylist with my meanest look. How dare he? Was he getting back at me for flirting with Gabe? Don’t be ridiculous, dumbass.

  Josh didn’t look one bit intimidated by me. “Hey, I do what my clients ask. Emory wanted the Bieber special, and that’s what he got,” he announced. I had no idea what the fuck a Bieber special was, but I didn’t like it.

  “Not that it’s your business,” Emory said icily.

  I made a beeline for Emory, ignoring his standoffish tone and demeanor. I sat in the vacant seat beside the man and kept staring at him until he couldn’t ignore me any longer. “What?”

  “It makes your eyes look even bigger and greener,” I told him.

  �
�I don’t have to sit here and listen to this,” Emory replied as if I’d just insulted him. He jumped to his feet and practically stomped across the yard in the direction of his house. Although I couldn’t say why I did it, I jumped up and followed him.

  “What’s your problem?” I demanded to know. I had never done anything to him to deserve such blatant animosity from him. Sure, my question about his hair was rude, but then I followed it up with a nice compliment. Emory didn’t reply; he walked faster, and so did I.

  He turned around when we reached the steps at his back door. “Leave me alone, Jonathon,” Emory whispered in a voice thickened by tears.

  I wanted to walk away from him and just forget I had ever met him, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen. “I don’t think I can, Emory.”

  I swallowed hard to dislodge the lump of panic that formed when I laid eyes on Jonathon. I hadn’t seen him in two months and had convinced myself that the magnetic pull I’d felt toward him was born out of loneliness, not reality. Damn it; I felt the air crackle around me when he walked into Josh’s yard. I didn’t even have to look to confirm he had arrived because I felt it. My dreams about him didn’t stop completely during his absence, but they were fewer and less intense. I expected them to stop completely over time, but then he showed up, and I knew they’d start all over again.

  I worried that I would start craving the sound of his voice and the feel of his arms around me while he slid in and out of me. I couldn’t allow that to happen and needed to shut him down before I did something I knew I’d regret for the rest of my life.

  “Well, try harder,” I said then turned to open the door. I expected Jon to back off, but he didn’t. I felt the heat of him as he stepped up behind me.

  “If only it were that simple. Do you ever get the feeling that something is destined to happen, even if you don’t think it’s the best thing for you? That’s how I feel right now, Emory.”

  “I can’t give you what you want.”

  “How do you know that when I don’t even know what I want?”

  I snorted then said, “Keep telling yourself that and maybe you’ll believe it.” I remained standing with my back to Jonathon, hoping I would be stronger if I didn’t look into his eyes. “I want you to leave. That’s what’s best for me and if you care for me at all, even the tiniest amount, you’ll leave here and never look back.”

  “I can’t do that, Em.” I closed my eyes but not before hot tears slid down my face. “I’m going to come inside, and we’re going to talk. I promise that I will not touch you.” He sounded like he was coaxing a wounded animal out of a corner, but damned if it didn’t work for me too.

  Even though I knew it was a mistake, I nodded my head. Jon followed me into the kitchen. I watched him as he looked around the room. What did he see? What did my belongings say about me?

  “How long have you lived here?” he asked me.

  “I moved in right before Easter.”

  “I moved to Cincinnati a year ago, and I’m still not as settled as you.” He finally looked back at me and gave me a tight smile that showed how tense he felt. Why was he nervous? He wasn’t on the brink of betraying his husband. Or was he? I knew nothing about the man.

  “I’m particular about my space,” I lamely answered.

  The truth was that setting up my house gave me something to do. As much as I resented the visions at times, they gave my life a purpose. Without them, I was flailing about, untethered to anything or anyone. It wasn’t a feeling I liked or wanted, but I didn’t know how to change it. I didn’t want to move on from River; I wasn’t ready to find another man to fill my bed and life, but I couldn’t deny how lonely I’d become. I might not have known what the answer was, but I knew what—or who—it wasn’t. Jonathon Silver was nothing but trouble for me.

  He stood in my kitchen with his legs slightly apart and squared shoulders like he was bracing himself for a fight. He wasn’t wrong either; I would fight with everything in me to prevent my premonitions from coming true. His expression wasn’t as easy to read. His face was a mask of indifference, but his light-blue irises burned hot. Lust? Anger? Regardless, I would not be the moth to his flame.

  “I think we need to clear the air,” Jonathon said in a calm, rational voice.

  “There’s nothing to clear,” I countered. “I’m nothing to you; you’re nothing to me.”

  “You think it’s that simple?” Jonathon took two steps toward me. I took three steps back. Jon jerked to a stop when he saw my reaction. “Emory…” He broke off and ran both his hands through his hair. “I know you felt it the night we met. I saw your eyes widen in surprise when the electricity shot through our bodies.”

  “So.” Denying it existed wasn’t working. It was time to change tactics. “That doesn’t mean I want or will act on it.” I ran my hand over the infinity tattoo I had inked over my heart. It felt like River’s name was burning my skin like he knew the truth and was calling me a liar. Or, maybe it was anxiety that gripped my heart in its tight fist. Whatever the reason, I felt lightheaded and dizzy. Suddenly, my body felt cold and hot at the same time, and tiny little needles pricked my skin from head to toe. I licked my lips that had suddenly gone dry and numb.

  “Emory?” I heard Jonathon’s voice, but it sounded like he was calling to me at the end of a very long tunnel instead of five feet away. He walked toward me, but I kept backing away. I hoped he would stop, but I saw the determination in his eyes. “Emory, I just want to help you.”

  “Then leave,” I wheezed between gasps.

  “I’d never leave anyone alone in this condition,” Jonathon said angrily. “Now be quiet and let me help you.” He gripped my bicep firmly, but not painfully, and guided me to a kitchen chair. He gently set me in the chair then placed his hand on my stomach beneath the center of my ribs and the other on my chest. I burned beneath his touch. I wrapped my hands around his thick wrists and tried to push his hands off of me. “Stop it, Emory,” he said firmly. “You’re hyperventilating, and I can help you. I. Will. Not. Hurt. You.”

  Hot tears of humiliation flowed freely down my face. No one had ever seen me in the midst of a panic attack and I’d always been able to pull myself out of them on my own. That one was different, and I knew I needed help.

  “Ignore my hands on your body, but look into my eyes and listen to me.” His demanding, deep voice was nearly hypnotic. “Inhale deeply through your nose, Emory. Hold it for a count of three and release it slowly. When you do, you’ll feel my hands moving up and down with your lungs, and your brain will recognize you’re breathing even before the fresh oxygen pushes the carbon dioxide out of your body. Do it with me, Emory.”

  I breathed in slowly, held it for three seconds, and released it. I focused on the way his hands moved up and down with my breathing and pretended that I expelled all the bad energy with every exhale. I repeated the process ten or twelve times before I was completely calm again.

  Jonathon pulled his hands off of me and balled them into fists. He didn’t look angry or like he wanted to hit me. It looked like he needed to do something with his hands but wasn’t sure what. He lowered himself into a chair beside me.

  “What caused your panic attack?”

  “You,” I replied sullenly.

  “Emory, I haven’t done anything to you so why would the sight of me cause you to panic?” Jonathon sounded truly baffled and a little insulted.

  I knew it would take drastic measures to push him away, so I let him have it with both barrels. “I had a psychic vision about you—well. Us.”

  I expected him to look wary or alarmed, but he squinted his eyes and asked. “What kind of vision?”

  “I tell you that I’m a psychic and you don’t question it?” My voice had risen by the time I finished my question. I’d never had someone blindly accept my confession. The announcement was always met with a variety of emotions, but acceptance wasn’t one of them. “You’ve searched my name on the internet.” Somehow, Jonathon knowing my story felt more p
ersonal. I didn’t want him to know anything about me, but I was powerless to prevent him from reading about my history.

  “I did,” he admitted. “I would’ve believed you if I hadn’t.”

  That comment piqued my curiosity. “You would?”

  “I’ll share a little bit about my history so that we’re on a level playing field.” I shook my head because I didn’t want to know a single thing about him. Liar. Jonathon ignored me and continued talking. “I was a soldier in one capacity or another from the ages of eighteen to thirty-eight. There were too many times on a mission that one of us had a strong feeling that we needed to veer from our plan. We were never wrong when we listened to our instincts.”

  “And when you didn’t?”

  Sadness washed over his face. “Lives were lost.”

  “I’m not sure it’s the same thing,” I replied.

  “Perhaps not, but I’m willing to concede that the brain is capable of things beyond my grasp and that life isn’t all black and white. There are many shades of gray.”

  “And silver,” I added. I could tell by the crooked smile that he thought I was doing a word play on his last name, but I wasn’t. “Your aura is many shades of silver.”

  “What does that mean?” he asked uncertainly.

  “Silver signifies a person’s physical or spiritual awareness. The brighter the silver, the more abundantly the person is in tune with those things. Pure silver usually signals a spiritual awakening.” Jonathon snorted skeptically. He could doubt all he wanted, but my eyes clearly detected bright shades of silver mixed in with the darker, murkier tones. “The darker tones result from a person blocking energy. It means they’re skeptical, guarded, and not open to new ideas.”

  “I’m surprised you don’t see pure black,” he responded.