Eric blew out a puff of air. “Didn’t you have anywhere else to go? What kept you there?”
Kyle stared at him. “What kept me there was his threat to harm Luce if I left him, or went to the police. He threatened to beat her face in if I didn’t stay with him. And he would have done it too. I had no doubt. He hated her, was jealous of the time we spent together. I tried to explain we worked together, so we had to see a lot of each other, but he didn’t like it. I could have gone back to my parents in Chicago, but then what would have happened to Luce? Her life was there at that club.”
“You stayed to keep her safe.”
“Not just for that, but mainly. I thought I loved the man. Each time he beat me, I forgave him. I was stupid. His uncle was telling him about the sins of homosexuality, and it was driving him crazy. Mario needed the sex, the kink, but he thought it was a sin. He took it out on me, the so-called ‘instrument’ of his failing with God. If I even uttered a swear word which he thought was blasphemous, it led to another beating. I was in over my head. I didn’t know what to do.”
Eric squinted, “What kink?”
“Huh?”
“You said he had a kink. What was it?”
Kyle’s bones chilled. “Oh, nothing, it was just an expression.”
“Kyle.” Eric’s tone was compassionate. “Speaking from experience, if you’re to have any hope of dealing with your PTSD, you’re going to have to face the demon who put it there.”
“Why don’t you tell me your story?” Kyle spat, trying desperately to head Eric off. “You said you’ve got experience—well, tell me about it.”
Eric’s face clouded over with pain and Kyle felt like a heel for causing it. “I promise I will. But first, you need to finish yours.”
The shame of Kyle’s past washed over him. “Rough sex, okay? Mario liked rough sex when he went all Avenging Angel on my arse. He used to beat me, bloody me up then fuck me—no condoms, no lube, just straight. He said it would teach me a lesson and I deserved to be hurt for what I did to tempt him into sinning. The last time he did it, I suffered a ruptured rectum and had to be rushed to hospital. He’d hurt me so badly, I was in there over a week. They said I could have died. If Luce hadn’t found me, I would have.” Kyle was hyperventilating now, his hands shaking and body trembling.
“I’m sorry, baby, so sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you. Forgive me.” Eric’s whispered anguished words were heartfelt and Kyle tucked himself into Eric’s chest, listening to the heartbeat under his ear.
“It’s okay,” Kyle murmured as tears slid down his cheeks, their saltiness lingering on his lips. “I feel better for having told you.” He brushed Eric’s jawline with his fingertips. He did feel better letting that out.
Finally, Eric looked up, eyes shining. “God, what you went through. I can’t believe it. I hope that bastard got locked up for everything he did to you. If he didn’t, I’ll hunt him down and fucking kill him.” The violence in Eric’s tones was scary, and something Kyle hadn’t heard from him before. A frisson of fear breathed cold air down his spine.
Eric would never hurt me. He saves lives; he doesn’t damage them.
“Unfortunately, no. After the ambulance took me away, he rushed home to his uncle. I assumed he told him what he’d done because when I told the police about it, they went to his house and were told he’d gone away. I think his uncle spirited him back to Italy. The cops looked for him, but he’d gone to ground. Luce said there was a rumour he’d gone to a seminary in Europe somewhere to become a priest, but that was unverified.”
“Did the police contact Interpol? He almost killed you, for God’s sake.” Eric hugged Kyle tighter.
“They did, but I think they gave up when there were no sightings of Mario anywhere. You know how it is. Something else more important comes up than a gay man being beaten by his lover.” Kyle leaned into his boyfriend’s comforting embrace. “The last time I heard from him was a crazy telephone call telling me how I’d messed up his life, that God may never forgive him, and that he was going to hunt me down and make sure I never did it to anyone else.”
“Did the cops take the threat seriously?” Eric asked between clenched teeth.
Kyle nodded. “I think it’s over, but seeing someone who looks or acts like him still triggers the trauma all over again.” The telling had been cathartic and he was exhausted. “Now you know it all. I’m sorry I ended up a whimpering mess last night.” He picked at his fingernails. “Luce has been telling me to see someone about it. A therapist. Maybe I will.” He had the number of someone she’d recommended. He thought perhaps now was a time to call him.
“I think that’s good advice.” Eric shifted away and stood. “I feel like I’ve been through an emotional wringer, so I can imagine how you feel. What say I go make some cocoa, then we can sit on the couch, watch a film and snuggle under the duvet for a while? That work for you?”
Kyle smiled weakly. “That sounds fabulous.” He hesitated. “Don’t forget you owe me some details too. Maybe when we’re in a better place, you can tell me. I think we’ve both had enough angst for one day.”
Eric nodded. “Why don’t you get the duvet? I’ll get the drinks.”
Kyle leaned back and closed his eyes, curling in the safe warmth of the spot Eric had just vacated.
Yawning, Kyle stretched and untangled himself from the duvet. Peering outside, he saw London enveloped in drizzle and mist. Dim shapes of people huddled under umbrellas were reminiscent of a painting by Rauf Janibekov, one of his favourite artists.
There was a sudden crash in the street and he jumped. Walking over to the window, he saw two people in the road gesticulating wildly as they each surveyed the damage to their cars. People passed by in the torrential rain, seemingly oblivious to the heated discussion of insurance culpability.
He shook his head and walked over to the kitchen. He found Eric in there, peering out into the road, coffee mug in hand. He turned when he heard Kyle come in. “Hi, sleepyhead.” He gestured outside. “Silly buggers playing bumper cars out in this weather. I was checking to see they were okay, but they look unharmed. I hope you don’t mind me taking over your kitchen but I needed coffee.”
“As long as there’s enough left for me.” Kyle ran a hand over his bare chest, catching a glimpse of himself in the cupboard glass. He winced. His tousled hair stuck up like porcupine spikes and he had dark circles under his eyes. He hitched up his sweatpants.
Eric nodded and took down a fresh mug to fill it with strong black coffee. “I always make loads of extra coffee,” he said as he handed the mug over. “It’s the only thing that keeps me on time for my shifts most days.”
Kyle took the mug gratefully and padded to the couch. He sat down to look out the window at the rain.
Eric plonked down beside him. “Did you have a good nap? You looked so relaxed. I didn’t have the heart to wake you. You must have been exhausted.”
Kyle nodded. “I was, a bit,” he confessed. “Baring your soul takes it out of you.” He hesitated. “Thanks for being there for me earlier. I’m not used to telling people that story. I know I’m a weakling who should have had the balls to stand up to a bully, but that’s easier than it sounds.”
Eric reached over and took Kyle’s hands in his, rubbing them gently. “You have nothing to apologise for. And I get it—truly, I do. I see people every day in bad situations just like the one you were in and you can’t judge them. No one knows what’s going on in their heads. All you can do is lend support and try and get them to take care of themselves.”
He scowled. “And you’re no weakling. You re-made your life, and not everyone can say that about themselves.”
Kyle gave a happy sigh, feeling safe and warm as he snuggled into Eric’s chest and placed a kiss against his throat. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
They sat together, Kyle listening to the beat of Eric’s heart. “What are your plans for the rest of today?”
Eric hugged him closer. “It’s rainin
g out, as you can see, so indoors sounds like a good call. Maybe you can show me some more of those tricky card games. Teach me a couple, maybe?”
Kyle grinned, feeling more relaxed. “I’m sure I have a few up my sleeve you could learn.”
“Then cards it is.” Eric went to the dresser and pulled out an old deck of cards. “Show me how you did it in Vegas, baby.”
Chapter Twelve
“Hell’s bells,” Eric muttered to Aaron in disgust. “Look at those fucking people. Like hyenas.” He scowled at them fiercely. These last three days had been a bitch, so why should today be any different? The crowd around them had phones out, taking pictures of their latest incident and Eric wanted to swear at them, run over and yank the gadgets out of their hands.
They’d taken a call out for a woman who’d collapsed during the busy Saturday morning rush hour. After fighting their way through traffic and cursing at cars blocking their way, Eric and Aaron had finally arrived at the scene.
It took all of Eric’s skills to move the man hovering over the woman’s supine body away to let Aaron look at her. His partner’s eyes conveyed the result to him even before he’d spoken the words. Aaron stood up and faced the middle-aged man in front of him.
“Sir, what’s your name?” he asked gently.
“Jeremy. Jeremy Woden. My wife’s name is Emily.”
The man clenched his hands together as he gazed down at his stricken wife. “Emily, Emily, wake up,” he sobbed, reaching down and pulling at her lifeless body. “The ambulance is here, you have to wake up.”
Aaron’s face was grave with sadness. “Jeremy, I’m so sorry to tell you this. Emily is gone. I think she might have been dead a little while. How long were you trying to wake her up?”
“Emily isn’t gone,” Jeremy spat out, tears rolling down gaunt cheeks. “She can’t be. I’ve been talking to her for the last fifteen minutes.”
Aaron threw a look of compassion at the man. “My gut feeling is she’s had an aneurysm. It would have been quick. What do you mean, you talked to her for fifteen minutes? Did she respond at all?”
Jeremy’s face clouded. “No, she didn’t answer, but I swear I saw her eyes move. I thought if I talked to her, she’d wake up.”
Eric stifled a weary sigh. The chances were that they wouldn’t have been able to do anything if it had been an aneurysm, but waiting that long to call an ambulance had certainly lessened the woman’s chances.
“Who called you anyway?” Jeremy asked wildly. “I didn’t ask for anyone to come. I was going to wake her up and take her home.”
A voice called out from the crowd. A slim Asian woman waved at them. “I did. I thought she needed an ambulance.” Eric walked over to her. She was one of the few that didn’t have a phone in her hand, merely a concerned expression on her face.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “I think it’s too late but you did what you could.”
“Oh my God.” The petite woman’s face paled and her eyes filled with tears. “How tragic. That poor man.”
The screech of absolute pain and grief from behind him made Eric’s skin crawl, and goose bumps crept over his body. He turned around just in time to see Jeremy Woden run like a scared rabbit toward the entrance to the parking garage. His face was white but determined, and instinct made Eric run after him.
“Jeremy, stop, let’s talk,” he shouted as he followed the man up the winding turns of the driveways. Jeremy seemed intent on getting as high as he could. Eric had a bad feeling about this.
The sudden constriction in his chest had little to do with the fact he was exerting himself—he was fit—and more to do with the onset of something that felt very much like a panic attack.
If Jeremy was going to do what Eric thought he was going to, he wasn’t sure he could deal with it.
I have to stop him.
Jeremy must have been a runner because he sprinted away fast, leaving Eric behind. The next thing Eric knew as he reached the fourth floor level was that he was too late. Jeremy was perched on the ledge, crouched low, muttering words Eric couldn’t hear. He swallowed as he moved toward the determined man. “Jeremy, please calm down. I just need you not to move, ’kay?”
Jeremy stared back at him with dulled eyes. “It’s all right,” he reassured Eric, his face relaxing. “I know what I’m doing.” He shrugged. “I can’t live without her, don’t you see? It’s not something I can do.”
He smiled at Eric and peace had suffused his face. “Thank you for trying to help anyway.”
Eric could see the decision in his eyes. He’d seen it before. Adrenaline, shock, whatever it was, it propelled him forward to grab at Jeremy’s arm. Before Eric could do anything more, the ledge was empty and all he held was the pale blue cardigan Jeremy had been wearing.
“No,” he screamed as he dashed forward and looked over the side. He’d never forget the sight of the broken body lying four floors down, Aaron running toward it. It bore no resemblance to the man who only a few seconds ago had been on the ledge.
Bile rose in his throat as his chest tightened. He retched over and over again. Memories of another time and another man lying broken among rock and dust blinded him and pressed shards of sharp glass into his heart.
“Fuck,” he coughed up as yellow fluid splashed onto the concrete floor. “Why did he jump?”
He dropped to his knees, uncaring of the fact he’d just coated his trousers with his own vomit as he knelt. The light around him grew dimmer; it was harder to breathe. He was dimly aware of a strong arm pulling him to his feet and forcing bottled water down his throat.
He barely registered the walk to the ambulance, supported by Aaron who murmured words of comfort in his ear. It was only when he was in the passenger side of the truck, eyes wet, chest heaving with sobs, that he realised he still held the cardigan in his hands.
Later that night, stretched out on the couch, Eric couldn’t relax. Memories of the day played in his brain in a permanent loop. Aaron had gotten him back to the station and explained to their boss what had happened—panic attack, yes, like PTSD, past loss, needs a bit of time—while Eric looked on, feeling ashamed.
His protests had held no weight with either Aaron or their boss, Jim, and now Eric found he had an unscheduled couple of days off. Taken home like a fucking damsel in distress, he thought grumpily as he tried to get comfortable. What a clusterfuck.
His mobile chirped and he glanced at it and sighed.
Kyle.
He forced a note of normality into his voice. He simply wasn’t ready to talk about the day yet. “Hey,” he said, plumping up a cushion with his free hand and leaning back on it. “Everything all right?”
He and Kyle had only managed to see each other once in the past few days, work pressures being as they were. It had seemed strange being apart so long after their last intimate conversation when Kyle had revealed all.
“Yeah, all good. I was wondering if you were in the mood for company?” Kyle’s tone was hopeful. “For some reason, Ryan seems intent on helping me with my love life and giving me more time off. I’m not complaining. He has someone else starting next week as a trainee manager. Her name’s Kellie. She’s a fun lady. I’m hopeful she’ll do well and we’ll both get some more time off.”
“That sounds so like Ryan. He’s a good man.” Eric picked a thread off the couch. “How can she not be a good fit if you like her?”
I really want to see him, but I’m in no mood for company tonight, not even Kyle. He doesn’t deserve my shit. He’s been through enough.
“Mmm, flattery gets you everywhere.” Kyle sounded as if he was smiling. “So, you up for it? Me popping round? I’ll even bring pizza. You owe me a conversation too. Fair’s fair.”
Eric chose his words carefully. There was no way he was telling Kyle about anything from his past tonight. Maybe not ever, on second thought. “Um, do you mind if I take a rain check? I’ve had a shitty day, and I’m awful company.”
There was silence.
Th
en Kyle spoke brightly. “Oh, okay. You need some time to yourself. I get it. No worries. Have a good night and let me know when you’re feeling better. See you.”
The phone went dead.
Eric slapped a hand against his forehead. Crap, had he just pissed Kyle off or not?
“Shit, shit, shit.” He threw the TV remote across the room, watching as it hit a potted plant and dirt scattered in all directions.
“Great,” he groaned. “More shit to clean up. It can wait till tomorrow.”
He sagged back again on the couch and closed his eyes.
The following morning, Eric got out of bed, determined to stop his pity party. He’d faced rough times before and this was nothing like that time.
He needed to get a grip.
His dreams hadn’t been welcome, and had involved mixed and random occurrences, some of which had featured Kyle broken on the pavement. But Eric told himself that’s all they were. Dreams. His Kyle was alive. Real.
After coffee, Eric sorted out some buttered toast then texted Kyle.
Soz bout lst nite. I wz shit comp. FanC a drink tonight?
Twenty minutes later—thinking he’d messed things up—he got a text back.
I have no idea what you said. Please translate. Queens English please. :)
Ha. The smiley face must mean Kyle wasn’t mad. Instead of regaling Kyle with text slang, he called him. The phone rang five times before it was picked up.
“I hope this is Eric and not some snot-faced teenage skateboard dude. Honestly, I have no clue what half of that message said. All I recognised was the word drink.” Kyle’s tone was dry but there was a trace of wary amusement.
Eric snorted. “Sorry, I automatically assume everyone knows text slang. I said I’m sorry about last night. I was shit company and do you fancy a drink tonight?”
I can throw this mood off and make time for him. I need to. I miss him.
Survival Game (Men of London Book 9) Page 14
