by Jay Bell
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Something Like Thunder © 2015 Jay Bell / Andreas Bell
Also available in paperback, ISBN: 978-1511774932
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental.
Cover art by Andreas Bell: www.andreasbell.com
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Something Like Thunder
by Jay Bell
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Acknowledgements
Special thanks go to the wonderful Jo Sowerby for presenting me with an intriguing idea that finally found its place in the following story. I’m also grateful to my friends and family for putting up with me, and my editors for being so diligent in their work. And hey, this is my tenth novel, so thank you! That’s right! You there with your nose pressed up against this book. Without such a faithful and kind reader, I probably would have given up on this dream years ago, so thank you for all the love. The feeling is mutual!
This book is dedicated to the good people of Germany for showing me endless hospitality and for giving me a nice quiet environment in which to write. I’ll miss your pragmatism and offbeat humor. Oh, and the beer and chocolate. Thank you for letting me take one of your kinsmen with me when I go.
Prologue
When the past catches up with the present, returning from the realm of broken dreams and dented hopes, the best course of action is to roll over, expose the belly, and pray that it will be merciful. Or at least quick.
As the elevator doors slid closed behind Nathaniel Courtney, instinct told him he was trapped. And not in a good place, because the normally bright office in front of him was now dim, the overhead lights lowered, scented candles placed strategically around the room to turn the gloom into warmth. A bottle of wine attended the two crystal glasses next to it, and as Nathaniel searched the room for evidence of another living soul, he heard soft music playing just loud enough to banish awkward silences while still allowing for murmured conversation.
Oh yes, this was hell. One of his own making.
After determining he was alone, Nathaniel sighed, turned around, and pressed the elevator button. The doors didn’t open. He jabbed the button a few more times, despite knowing the gesture was hopeless. The software that ran the elevator could be remotely controlled. He had little doubt as to whom was chuckling from some distant location.
“It won’t work,” Nathaniel said, addressing a security camera in one corner. “If you have any love for me, you’ll let me go right now, because this is going to kill me.”
He swallowed and felt tightness in his throat. The camera lens remained impassive, the elevator unresponsive, so Nathaniel moved toward the two lounge couches that faced each other. How many business deals had he successfully negotiated here? Perhaps that’s what convinced his boss, Marcello Maltese, that this was the right environment to negotiate this deal, albeit for a prize far more valuable than money. The sentiment was misplaced because the battle had been lost years ago.
Instead of sitting, Nathaniel picked up the wine bottle and read the label. Another dart pierced his chest when he saw the vintage. He turned to the camera briefly, hoping the pain showed on his face. Then he set down the bottle and considered the two wrapped gifts. The first was flat and hard. He lifted the small card in one corner and read:
What was once thought lost can still be recovered. The past can be a gateway to the future. I do this for love, with love. -Marcello
Nathaniel clenched his jaw and sat. He wasn’t gentle as he tore away the wrapping paper. One swipe revealed glass, a black and white photo behind it. He stared, willing his pounding heart to stop racing—to go still as possible in the hope of tricking these feelings into thinking he was dead. Maybe then they would finally go away.
But no. With more care now, he pulled away the shreds of paper. The photo’s backdrop was a high school running track. Nathaniel was in the forefront, arms pumping as he ran. Next to him, leaning forward and so horizontal that he almost appeared to be flying, was someone he still thought of every day. A slender build with ropey muscles. Dark skin and shrewd eyes—at least that’s how Nathaniel chose to remember them. In the photo those eyes were joyful, surprisingly so, considering their owner was about to trip over a dog. The mutt’s face was just as gleeful as the runner’s, tongue hanging out one corner of his mouth as he cut across their path.
Nathaniel swallowed, his attention darting down to the mat board where in light pencil, the words Before the Fall were written. Somehow he didn’t think “fall” referred to the season, or even the inevitable collision with the ground. Next to this was a dash followed by a single letter. -K
Nathaniel felt like moaning in misery. Instead he grimaced and considered the other wrapped box, opening the gift tag only long enough to see who it was addressed to.
Kelly.
Nathaniel set the framed photo on the table and tossed the paper on top of it. Then he stood and walked around the room, extinguishing the candles. Kelly wouldn’t be happy to see them lit. He’d feel insulted that mood lighting and smooth jazz could be expected to undo what had been done. Forgiveness—if not already impossible—would take so much more than that.
Nathaniel killed the music. Then he went to the desk and called a technician who could open the elevator doors, no matter how rapidly Marcello’s fat fingers poked at the screen of his phone. Then Nathaniel waited. He sat, trying not to bite his nails. As time wore on, he began to pace. What was taking so long? He was eying the bottle of wine, wondering if he should get drunk, when he heard the elevator motor whirring. When the doors opened and a familiar figure stepped out, he stared for a moment before his need to escape returned. He leapt over the couch, an arm stretched out, reaching for freedom.
“Don’t let them close!” he shouted.
Brown eyes widened, taking him in. Nathaniel saw so much reflected in them. Apprehension, hurt, and perhaps worst of all, love. After all this time. Even though it was merely a flickering spark. Even though—like the light past the closing elevator doors—it was soon hidden again, Nathaniel had no doubt it was still there.
Fuck. That complicated everything, because now he had hope.
Nathaniel slammed into the elevator doors and felt like pounding his head against them. Too late. He had missed his chance, in more ways than one. Nathaniel jabbed at the button anyway, a growl escaping his lips. He couldn’t deal with this—couldn’t let himself believe even for a second that Marcello was right, that the past could be resurrected.
“Nice to see you too,” Kelly said. “What’s next? Are you going to try jumping out a window just to avoid me?”
Nathaniel sucked in air, using the precious substance to tell a lie. “I’m not avoiding you. I just don’t like being trapped. I called a technician over an hour ago.”
Kelly’s eyes travelled over him briefly. They were soft, not hard and criticizing. “Marcello has someone waiting at the door. He probably sent the technician away already. So where is he? Hiding behind his desk, or can he control all of this from home?”
“From his phone.” Nathaniel turned, pressing his back against the elevator doors to feel more steady. “
I don’t want to know what he’s playing at.”
“He probably thought this was the only way he could get us to talk.” Kelly crossed his arms over his chest. Now those eyes turned hard, a sight so familiar Nathaniel nearly smiled. “I saw you at the gallery. Why did you run off?”
“I had an awkward conversation.”
Kelly blinked. “That’s it? That’s why you didn’t even say hello?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“What else is new?”
Fair enough. Nathaniel had kept plenty from Kelly—from just about everyone. He had good cause, wanting to protect Kelly, to keep him safe, not just from his own clumsy attempt at love, but from life’s cruelties as well. Nathaniel had a feeling that, before the night was over, they would be forced to face some of those ugly truths.
Nathaniel headed for one of the couches and sat, resting elbows on his knees, his face in the dark warmth of his palms. What now? He listened to Kelly’s footsteps, the dress shoes clicking across the marble floor and pausing, no doubt taking in the strange scene as Nathaniel had upon first arriving. The silence grew thick. Then Kelly spoke. “I know about the prosthetics. You’ve been paying for them all this time.”
Nathaniel let his hands fall away and looked up, and for one moment, allowed himself to feel happy that Kelly seemed to be doing so well. “Marcello told you?”
“I figured it out. I’d offer to pay you back, but I don’t have any money. Maybe someday I can—”
“No,” Nathaniel said. “I want to do this. For you. Please let me.”
Kelly appeared confused. “Why? I know you promised I would never have to worry about it, but I don’t hold you to that anymore. It made sense when you loved me, but not now.”
A question. Despite being presented as a statement, Nathaniel recognized it for what it was. “That’s not fair. Don’t make me say it.”
“Why not?” Kelly said. “Is that the cure? Does staying silent keep the feelings at bay?”
“No.”
“And did it ever stop hurting? All these years we’ve been apart, can you honestly say you avoided what you fear most? Because my heart has been aching since that night. No matter how far I go and how many other people I welcome into my life, there’s always still a part of me that yearns for you. I’ve learned to live without you, Nathaniel, and I can keep on doing so. But I don’t want to, and the pain is never going to go away. I’m guessing the same is true for you.”
“Yeah,” Nathaniel said, hating that this suffering was mutual. He’d never wanted that. Ever. “I love you, Kelly. I’m a piece of shit and I ruined everything, but I love you so much that I think it might be worth the pain.”
“It doesn’t have to hurt,” Kelly said, taking a step closer. “Not all the time. I swear.”
Kelly had been right about so much. Maybe he was right about this too. That heart of his was resilient, had been dragged across more than one battlefield. Maybe it was strong enough to forgive, to shrug off the damage that had been done. To give one more chance. If so…
Nathaniel stood, eager to bridge the distance between them.
Kelly gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “We need to talk.”
Of course it wasn’t that simple. So much time had passed between them, and Kelly was just as beautiful and sharp and everything wonderful that he’d been when they’d parted. Maybe even more so. Nathaniel sat back down. “There’s someone else?”
Kelly laughed. “There’s only you. You made it so I could run again, and believe me, I’ve been running long and hard. Whenever I look back, I see you’re not there and I feel like I got away. But the truth is, you’re inside me so deep that there’s no escape. All this time I’ve been running, all I’ve been doing is carrying you with me. So no, there is no one else. I don’t think there ever will be. But I’m finally ready to get to know the man I love. All of him.”
“So what do I do?” Nathaniel asked.
“Talk to me.” Kelly sat, gingerly at first, as if not to scare him away. Then he settled in and made himself comfortable. “Tell me everything.”
“My past?” Nathaniel said, eyes darting briefly to the mess of wrapping paper on the table. He could see the partially obscured card, opened just enough to reveal the edge of Marcello’s handwriting, one truncated phrase catching his eye. –for love, with love. “It’s a long story.”
Kelly’s smile was subtle. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re both stuck here. It might help pass the time.” His face grew more somber. “Please.”
Nathaniel nodded. Then he began.
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Part One
Houston, 2004
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Chapter One
I’m on trial. The person I love most is demanding an explanation from me, but so often the truth can lead to heartbreak. Lying is immoral, but so is deliberately causing someone pain. Silence would be the best course of action, but some truths aren’t so easily covered up. Although in retrospect, a little powder and base might have avoided all of this.
“Is that a bruise? My God! How in the world did you get that?”
Nathaniel fixed his mom with a stare before letting loose a playful smile. “Paid cash for it. They had a sale on bruises at Walmart. I went there looking for a paper cut, but they were out of those. Stubbed toes were in stock, but you’d be surprised how expensive they are.”
Star shook her head, grasped his chin, and turned his face toward the kitchen light. “Who would do this to my baby?” She winced as she considered the injury on his left cheek. “It’s darkest in the middle. Did you get hit by a rock?”
Not a rock, a ring worn on a meaty fist, but Nathaniel didn’t want her figuring that out. “It was a stupid misunderstanding. During lunch we were talking about snowball fights and how rare they are down here. I took an ice cube from my drink and tossed it at a guy, making sure it was easy to dodge, but when he threw it back he wasn’t so careful. Hurt like hell.”
“An ice cube did this to you?” His mother pursed her lips. “Is that the truth?”
“If I was lying, I’d come up with something better than that.” Given more time, maybe.
Star scrutinized him a little longer. “You’re too old and too smart to start a food fight.”
But she believed him. That’s all that mattered. Already she was turning back to the steaming pots on the stove. “Maybe you could start packing my lunch,” he said. “Equip me with more appropriate ammunition. Olives, cream pies, maybe a few bananas I can use as boomerangs.”
“I’d rather you eat your food instead of throwing it. Speaking of which, could you set the table?”
The grin slid off of Nathaniel’s face. “Sure.”
He went to the cabinet and took out three plates. He could feel his mother watching him. When she spoke, he already knew what she would say.
“Four plates, honey. I want us to eat dinner together.”
“I have to get to the learning center.”
Star pulled the wooden spoon from the mashed potatoes, tapped it on the edge of the pot, and set it aside. Then she turned to him. “It’s my cooking, isn’t it?”
Nathaniel relaxed a little. “Your cooking is fine. Most of the time.”
His mother swatted at him playfully, Nathaniel leaping backward. She grabbed the wooden spoon, wielding it like a rapier, and stepped forward to jab at him. He swiped at the makeshift weapon, both of them laughing as he wrested it from her. Then he handed it back.
“Save me some. I’ll be starving when I get home.”
Star put a hand on her hip and frowned. “Seriously? You can’t go an hour later? I moved back three of my yoga classes just so we could have family dinners again. I even lost a few students.”
“I have students of my own,” Nathaniel said. “For some of these kids, having a tutor there every day can make the difference between passing and failing.” Then, in more dramatic tones he added, “Won’t someone think of the children?”
�
�It’s my own child I’m thinking of.” Star exhaled and looked toward the stove, as if no longer interested in preparing a meal. “Are you avoiding your father?”
As usual, her motherly instincts were right. Just slightly off target. Nathaniel’s afterschool tutoring job was indeed his way of avoiding someone, but not his father. And certainly not his mother, who continued to express her concern.
“He mentioned that he hasn’t seen you for weeks.”
Nathaniel shrugged. “I’ll make sure he sees me this weekend. I really gotta run.”
“Okay. I love you.”
He stepped forward for a hug. His mother was slight in his arms, her head barely reaching his chest. “I love you too.”
Once Nathaniel was buckled in his car, the tension left his shoulders. As he drove, he slowly transitioned from being on constant alert to feeling like a normal human being. He put on the debut album by Keane, and as they sang about a place no one else knew about, Nathaniel hit the gas pedal and breezed by every other car on the road. By the time he reached a strip mall and parked, he felt wrapped in a protective cocoon. He shut off the car and the music along with it.
He practically bounded into the learning center, the interior just as uninspiring as the exterior. Worn desks lined the walls. On them sat equally exhausted computers. If not for the people, Nathaniel would dread coming here every day. He loved working with the kids, especially the younger ones. Some of his fellow tutors weren’t bad either. One had even become his friend.
He scanned the room, searching for Rebecca, which wasn’t difficult considering how tall she was. Six foot one—just an inch shorter than he was. Her build was lanky, but she carried herself upright. His first impression had been of a pole vaulter, not that she was athletic, as it turned out. She was smart though. Pretty too. She didn’t wear much makeup, and her medium-length ginger hair was worn loose, never styled. Rebecca was too practical to fuss with such things. Nathaniel had once overheard two students call her “horse face” behind her back, perhaps because of her long features. He liked her face. He could stare at it all day, especially when lit up, as it was now.
