Jack slid neatly around the innuendo. “You ever want a hand, Fred, you let me know.”
“Well now, that’s going to be a bit hard, isn’t it? I hear you two are heading off soon. Leaving together once the contractor comes. Isn’t that right?” His head turned between them, and Charlie’s lips curled, his breathing getting faster. The bastard had been there listening. What had he seen?
“Why would you two be wanting to leave us, I wonder?” Doug said.
Whatever Fred had seen, he’d shared at least some of it with the others. Why wouldn’t he?
Maybe he should have let Jack answer, but Fred was looking at him, and if his silence made him look as guilty as he felt, he needed to say something.
“Jack and I aren’t going anywhere,” he said.
“Not what I heard.”
Bastard. “Then you heard wrong. I’m just getting the hang of it. Why would I leave?”
It took Fred a moment to work his soused brain through that.
“Yeah, Fred, you heard wrong,” Jack said with a sadness in his voice that the other men were too drunk to detect. It dragged hooks through Charlie’s heart. “I’m the one who’s leaving. I was chatting to Charlie about it.”
Fred frowned. He can’t have stayed long enough to hear more than their talk of leaving, not see them kiss, not see anything else. They had that to be thankful for, at least. “What? But I was listening and—”
“You know what they say about eavesdroppers, Fred.” Jack turned to his tent and began throwing things into his bags.
Charlie swallowed. Was he really leaving?
Doug and Sam laughed at Fred.
“Get stuffed, the lot of ya!” He took the argument back to Jack, even though he sensed he was rapidly losing it. “Why are you leaving? And why now? Contractor’s coming in a few days.”
Could this really only be about money? Charlie didn’t dare believe it.
“Share the sleepers out amongst yourselves.” Jack sighed. “Take my share. I’m done.”
Whether they wanted Jack to stay or not, the unexpected windfall was enough to distract the men from their questions about his sudden departure. But Charlie let himself sink onto a tree stump as he watched Jack pack.
The men gave up their arguing, distracted by drink and extra earnings, but they faded into the background as Jack continued to stuff things into his pack. He rolled away clothes and stored cooking utensils, packed up tools and axes, and strapped them to his body or to his kit. He pulled apart his bed and the tent until, all too soon, the only signs he’d camped there at all were a few slabs of wood he’d hammered into place as shelves. He didn’t say goodbye, he just walked off.
I’m done.
The whole time Charlie willed him to turn around, screamed at himself to get up, to go after him. But the clearing was a chasm he was too terrified to cross.
So, then, the giant Jack Tapper was gone and his disappearance mashed Charlie’s heart into pulp.
CHARLIE SPENT the night wondering where Jack had gone, hoping he’d come back, fearing that he wouldn’t. Examining every moment of that ugly scene in the clearing. The moon provided little light to see by, but Jack had known exactly where he was going.
Anywhere away from him.
All through the night, sleep eluded him as his mind turned over their brief time together, over what he should have done if only he’d had Jack’s bravery. He considered sneaking off, leaving everything behind. Whether he found Jack or not, it wouldn’t matter, at least he’d have done something. But the hours passed, and he stayed frozen in his bed, and finally sleep had reluctantly come.
He woke drained and hurried to dress and get out of camp before his workmates with their sore heads roused from their snoring. It was New Year’s Eve, and the contractor would be coming in two days. Then he’d get paid and plan his escape.
Then he’d find Jack again and beg forgiveness.
He worked hard through the morning, his shirt drenched in extra short time so, contrary to his normal practice, he peeled the soaked thing off, even if the flies bit him and raised small welts.
It was no more than he deserved after letting Jack leave like that.
They’d made a plan, hadn’t they? But since when did anything work out according to plan?
If it had, he’d still be in Perth and joining the police force like his father had wanted. That was a plan, sure enough. It wasn’t his plan, but it was a plan. And one that had been doomed to fail. Like the one he and Jack had made the second the men had returned from town.
Considering how much they’d drunk last night, there was a glimmer of hope they’d take New Year’s Day and return to town to celebrate with the locals. They were at least given those holidays, but that meant too much time taken off, not enough time earning, and while they loved the drink, they loved the money more.
And now he was one of them. Choosing money over love. He split another sleeper, his anger enough to make it a clear cut along the long edge with one blow.
He’d been such a fool. Still was, because there he stood, cutting away, instead of being with Jack.
His shoulders knotted, but it wasn’t from the work. His whole body was protesting his sleepless night and deep fear for his safety.
“Imagine you hope parading your scrawny body around half-naked is going to make one of us do your work for you too, Charlie?”
He froze, bent over as he was about to pick up the sleeper to cut the other side. He looked behind him at Fred, Doug, and Sam spiriting out of the trees. They each held their axes, and in Fred’s other hand, he held the Tennyson Jack had given him.
Bastards.
He straightened as easily as he could, given his body was stiff with the fear sluicing through his veins. “I’m just here for the work, Fred.”
“Looks like you’ve been doing a lot more than work, Charlie,” he said, flinging the book at him. Its pages fluttered like a startled bird and landed at his feet. He snatched it up and tucked it under his belt.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Fred. Jack loaned me the book over Christmas.” The lies came out softer and softer, like his heart was trying to hold them back. How was it possible that denying Jack hurt more than owning the truth?
“Here was me thinking it was queer how Jack packed up and left… just like that. But seeing what Jack wrote you got me thinking maybe it was both of you who were queer.”
It was wrong, almost disloyal, not to fight back a little bit. For his own sake. And for Jack’s.
“Happy to hear that you can read, Fred.”
“Shut your filthy mouth. I can imagine the disgusting things you two have been up to.”
Charlie kept hacking away, like his earliest days in the forest, not entirely sure of any stroke, but hoping to hit something.
“Oh, you’ve been imagining us, Fred? On your own, late at night? In the dark maybe? Thinking about what two men might do together? Interesting.”
Fred spat his rage outright. “Doug, Sam, and me don’t think it’s right that you stick around. With Jack gone, you’re dead wood. Or dead something, anyways.”
All three men advanced.
Jack probably would have said something heroic, done something heroic in this moment. But Jack wasn’t here, and Charlie had to face this alone. His legs lost their strength, and it was only by resting on the axe handle that he stayed vertical.
“Look, I’ll… I’ll leave. There’s no problem, you can take the sleepers, take my cut, and I’ll go.” He squeezed the handle. Would he use his axe on a human being? To defend himself, yes, but what chance would he have against the three of them? One axe, one man. Then what?
He staggered back until the tree trunk pressed into his back and he could escape no further.
“You’re filth, Charlie,” Fred spat, flourishing his axe in wide, swinging arcs for effect.
That sight should have had him trembling, but a strange kind of certainty pressed into him from behind from the trunk. Like it was Jack’s s
trong chest. It gave him courage. It gave him clarity.
“Think it through, Fred. How are you going to explain me disappearing?”
“What’s to explain? You couldn’t handle the job, so you bunked. We don’t know where you went, you did a runner in the middle of the night, ashamed. It’s happened before. It’ll happen again. The contractor won’t care. He’ll take one look at your miscuts and believe it. Or maybe we’ll say that Jack did you in, after you dropped your trousers for him. Then you’re gone, and he’ll swing for it. Two fairies, one stone.”
He should have left with Jack. He should have had the courage to go with him. Now it was too late.
“Get on your knees,” Fred sneered.
“Easy, sailor. At least buy a man a drink first—”
Fred’s dirty fist connected with his jaw at the same time that Doug kicked his legs out from beneath him. Sam yanked the axe from his hands. His knees hit the dirt and the impact jarred his spine, hammering home the message that he was going to die.
“Any last words, Charlie?”
Fred held his axe over his shoulder. Charlie quaked, forced his head down, and stared at the dirt, at Fred’s beat-up old boots. His breath shook. He was going to die. He thought his shame at his father’s hands would be enough, that imprisonment would be the worst of it, but this was much worse. Dying while Jack was out there hating him. He’d die, and Jack would go on thinking him a coward, who’d chosen money over love.
And that’s exactly what he’d done. That’s what he’d been so frightened of, love that would sour, that couldn’t survive this world. And now it was he who wasn’t going to survive without Jack’s love.
But there was one thing he could do.
He crouched down low enough, sat back on his heels, and looked up into Fred’s insane eyes and grizzled face.
“I love Jack Tapper, and there’s nothing you can do to change that, you ignorant piece of shit.”
Saying it aloud strengthened his heart. If he was going to die, it would be with honesty and with dignity. And with truth on his lips.
Fred’s eyes flared, wild.
As the axe swung, Charlie scooped fistfuls of sand and grit and flung them at Fred’s face. He roared and flailed. Charlie pitched back as the axe sailed past him and buried itself deep in the log. Doug and Sam lunged for him at the same time, but Charlie, being smaller and lighter, dodged them both, and scrambled to his feet.
He grabbed his axe and sprinted into the forest.
Fred’s bellowing and the shouts of the other two told him how close they were as he vaulted logs and dodged through the undergrowth. His only consolation was that the danger behind him was having more trouble than he was. His body, so scrawny and unsuited to felling, was lithe and responsive in flight, even as fallen branches caught at his legs and bracken ferns whipped his face. Fred’s shouts gave way to grunts and the crashing of leaves and branches, but still they were too close, and he needed speed.
The axe collected shrubs and bushes as he leaped, and slowed him down. It might be his only weapon if they came close, but it increased his chances of getting caught. He pitched the axe blindly behind him, sending it wheeling through the air toward Doug and Sam, dangerous enough to make them dive out of its range, halting them long enough to increase his lead. The distance lengthened, and Charlie made a hard-left turn, then a right—a risk that he’d cut across the path of one of them but with enough distance between them he might be able to throw them off his trail.
Either way, he had to keep going.
They charged through the undergrowth, their tread as heavy and thunderous as the beating of his heart. Charlie’s lungs hurt with his desperation for air, never having run this fast in his life, never having had to run for his life. He glanced behind him. No one there, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still following. He had to keep—
To his left, the earth shook, and his head whipped around, fearful of an ambush. A man mountain launched out and tackled him midstride, propelling him into the underbrush. Charlie yelled out, but a massive hand clamped down hard over his mouth as the other pulled him to the ground behind a nearby tree.
Jack!
Charlie’s heart lifted. Jack had come back for him.
Strong arms held him tight, both their hearts racing so fast, Jack’s hammered through his shirt and into Charlie’s slick, bare skin. Every breath was torture, so he pulled Jack’s hand down and collapsed, held from behind as he gasped against Jack’s chest.
He inhaled deeply the reassuring scent.
Shouts in the distance suspended both their breathing, but the men were moving too far in the opposite direction to worry about. Doug and Fred, maybe, but he couldn’t be sure. For now, they were safe.
With Jack by his side, he would always be safe.
“Christ, Charlie, you run like a rabbit. I almost couldn’t catch up with you.”
The terror drained out of his legs and his body, and he couldn’t hold himself upright any longer. He’d run again, if he had to, but they’d catch him the next time.
“I’m sorry,” Charlie said. “I should have come with you.”
“I shouldn’t have left. I should never have left you alone with those animals.” Jack hugged him and kissed the curve of his neck, and a shiver rippled through Charlie’s body. “I wish I’d reached you sooner. In time to stop them.”
“You came. That’s what matters.”
And what could Jack have done? Fred would have made him a murderer—because Jack would have killed to defend the man he loved, no question. Jack’s life was worth more than that, and Charlie didn’t want to see that beautiful throat tangled in a noose.
“I didn’t go far. Close enough to keep an eye on them. But they slipped off when I was refilling my flask. Took me a bit to catch up.”
He hadn’t left. Jack would never leave him high and dry.
“You mean more to me than money, Jack,” Charlie blurted. “I was scared of what they’d say if they suspected we were together, what they’d do.”
As it turned out, they’d kill. Fear knew no bounds when it came together with ignorance.
Jack shushed him. “I could see it. I thought that if I led the way, if I pushed you, that you’d find the strength to come with me. I underestimated how frightened you were, and I was hurt. And stupidly proud. I should have waited…. If I’d lost you—” His gravelly voice caught on the words.
Charlie turned in Jack’s arms and kissed the giant on the lips. “Now we leave together,” he said, “like we should have done in the first place.”
Distant shouts broke them apart. Charlie peered around the tree trunk for any disturbance, any sign that they were near, but they were alone, and the men had gone. The forest merely carried their echo, bouncing off every trunk. Protecting them with its confusion.
“I’ll kill them if you want me to,” Jack said. It was the passion speaking, no question. A man who apologized to the tree he was about to fell would not take a human life lightly, no matter the cause.
“I would never put that on you. And they know we can’t go to the police; what would we give for our reasons?”
“If there were any justice, they’d be the ones strung up.”
“They will always be miserable, drunk, and alone. We have each other and we can start our own lives together. That’s more than enough for me.”
“Does it bother you that you’re leaving the forest with even less than when you came in?” Jack said, helping him to stand.
“I’m leaving with you. That makes me the richest man in the world.”
Jack smiled and stamped a possessive kiss on his lips, enough to still the fear burbling in the back of his throat. Jack pulled Charlie to his feet, drawing a groan out of Charlie’s mouth. Concerned dark eyes searched for an injury.
Charlie reached behind him and tugged the book from beneath his belt.
“I think Tennyson might have given me a few bruises.”
Jack grinned. “Good poetry will do that.”<
br />
His hand slipped around Charlie’s, and they crept low to the ground, picking their way through the forest, far away from the camp until they reached Jack’s disguised packs.
Fred, Doug, and Sam would get away with what they did, and while it stuck in his gut, it was the best thing that could have happened. And far from the worst. The world might consider them unclean, but he’d be damned if they were going to turn into murderers and wanted men. Maybe one day they’d get justice, but for now they had their lives and they had their love and they had acres of forest to call their own on some faraway ridge.
And tomorrow was a new day, a new year and the start of a new life.
All with Jack Tapper.
DANIEL DE LORNE goes for the heart. Whether it’s irresistible vampires, paranormal paramours, or hot everyday men, he promises stories with a magic trifecta of ruin, romance, and redemption. In love with writing since he wrote a story about a talking tree at age six, his first novel, the romantic horror Beckoning Blood, was published in 2013.
In his other life, Daniel is a professional writer and researcher in Perth, Australia, with a love of history and nature. All of which makes for great story fodder. And when he’s not working, he and his husband explore as much of this amazing world as they can, from the ruins of Welsh abbeys to trekking famous routes and swimming with whales.
To get to the real heart of the matter, visit www.danieldelorne.com and subscribe to his newsletter for all the latest news and a free story.
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By Daniel de Lorne
The Faller
Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Published by
DREAMSPINNER PRESS
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
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The Faller Page 5
