I park in the spot allocated to me and turn toward my unit. It’s not quite dark yet, but the twilight gloom is thickening—and the smoke haze doesn’t help. It’s actually not as bad as it could be, because of the sea breezes. I hate to think how some of the towns further inland are doing.
Something moves on my tiny front porch, and I stop dead. Is someone there? Who would be there? Fuck, I should have fixed the sensor light.
I edge closer, trying to see who—or what, because wildlife. We’ve been getting a lot of animals in town, what with the fires—it could be without getting so close I cut off my chances of escaping an axe murderer. (What? It could happen.) I widen my eyes as far as I can…
“Archie?” Shock is apparent in my voice, and Archie moves a little further out of the shadows.
Even in the poor light, he looks wrecked. I hurry up onto the porch and grab him into a hug before I can think better of it. Even though ours isn’t really a hugging friendship, he holds on tight, burying his face against my hair. He smells like soap, with a whiff of smoke under that, and I want to cry, I’m so glad to have him here.
“Charlie….”
His whisper cuts through the confusion and relief in my brain. I step back.
“Come inside. What are you doing here?” I fumble with my keys, almost dropping them twice before I manage to get the door open. He just watches, his eyes a little glazed. “Have you slept?” I demand, ushering him inside.
He shakes his head. “Twelve hours off” is all he says.
And he came here. I try not to think about what that might mean.
“Sit.” I push him toward the couch. “I’m going to get you something to eat. Have you eaten?”
“Yes. I think. Hours ago.” He sinks down on the couch and looks around. He’s only been here a few times, and only to meet up before we go out, not to just hang out. I’m not sure how much he’s really taking in, though.
I round the counter the separates the kitchen from the living room and open the fridge. Just as I suspected, it’s all but bare. A quick hunt through the cupboards nets me some cans of soup and half a loaf of bread. Soup and toast it is, and once Archie falls asleep—because no way am I letting him drive all the way out to his house at the resort when he’s this exhausted—I’ll run next door and beg my neighbour for some eggs or something so he can have a proper breakfast before he has to go back.
Although…
“Archie, have you called your family?”
He looks at me blankly. I try again.
“When was the last time you spoke to your family?”
He shakes his head as though to clear it. “Uh… yesterday, maybe. Or the day before? I had six hours off and I called them while I was eating. It must have been the day before yesterday.”
They’re probably worried sick. “You should call them. Do you have your phone?”
He nods. Then he blinks. Blinks again, for a little longer. His eyes drift shut.
Okay then.
I could go through his pockets and find his phone, but… that’s a bit skeezy, right? Also, what if he locks it like most people do?
I put the soup on to heat and pull out my phone to call Aunt Hannah.
“Hello?”
“It’s me. Um, do you have Mrs Tucker’s phone number?”
Silence.
“Is everything okay, Charlie?” She sounds worried, and I rush to reassure her.
“Yes, it’s all fine. Archie’s here, and I thought his family might like to know he’s okay, but he’s fallen asleep. Could you maybe call her?”
“You should call her. Here, I’ll give you the number. That poor boy must be exhausted.” She recites a landline number, and I scramble to find a pen and write it down. “Call her now so she can get a decent sleep tonight.”
“I will,” I promise. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” We trade goodbyes and I end the call, then stare at the piece of paper. Aunt Hannah didn’t seem surprised that Archie is here, but I’m sure Mrs Tucker will be.
But she’ll also be worried about her grandson, and she’s an old lady who, though scary sometimes, has always been kind to me.
I dial the number. It rings twice before it’s answered.
“Hello?”
I would recognize that voice anywhere.
“Mrs Tucker, it’s Charlie Madden. From the shop? The fabric store, I mean. For quilting fabrics. Hannah’s nephew?” Oh, holy mother of fuck, what’s wrong with me?
“Yes, Charlie, I know who you are,” she says dryly. “Is Hannah all right?”
“Yes, ma’am, she’s fine. Everything’s fine. I just… Uh, I wanted to let you know that Archie is here and he’s fine, but he’s asleep. But everything is fine. You don’t need to worry.” Could I possibly have said “fine” any more times? Why have I suddenly lost the ability to talk like a normal person? After all, I’m only telling the grandmother of the man I love that he chose to come to me during his short respite from fighting deadly bushfires, instead of going home to his family.
She draws in a sharp breath. “Archie’s there? And he’s well?” Her voice becomes muffled. “David! Ella!”
“He’s fine, Mrs Tucker.” Oh, hell, that word again. “He’s exhausted and he’s fallen asleep on the couch, but he’s healthy. Uh, he said he has a twelve-hour break, but I’m not sure when it started.” Fuck, he’ll probably need to be up at sparrow’s fart to get back.
I hear a man’s anxious voice in the background, and then Mrs Tucker says, “It’s Charlie Madden, Archie’s friend. Archie’s at his house.”
The next thing I know, I’m talking to Archie’s father, a man I’ve never officially met, believe it or not. “Hello? Charlie? David Tucker here. Archie’s with you?”
“Yes, sir.” I break out in a sweat. “Uh, he’s asleep on the couch. He’s exhausted—was barely coherent when I got here. But he’s well. I’m—I’m going to make him something to eat and then just let him sleep until he has to go back. I just thought you’d like to know….”
“Yes, thank you for calling. It’s good to know he’s safe. Could you…. When he wakes up, could you tell him we love him and we’re proud of him? His mother and grandmother and me.”
Tears prick the backs of my eyes. “Yes, absolutely,” I assure him. “Uh, do you want me to tell him to call you? Or I could wake him—he needs to eat something anyway and move to a bed. The couch is kind of uncomfortable.” I’m babbling.
“No, no. Let him sleep as long as possible. If he has time to call in the morning, that would be great, but we understand he’s busy. Thank you again for calling, Charlie. It means a lot. Do you need anything? Is there anything I can get for you?”
I’m beginning to feel somewhat… guilty? After all, it’s not like I’ve done anything special. “That’s very kind of you, Mr Tucker, but I’m just going to make something simple for Archie to eat and then let him sleep. I’ll be sure to pass on your message. I hope you all rest a little better tonight.”
He thanks me again, and then Mrs Tucker (Amelia, the grandmother) gets on the line again and thanks me as well. I haven’t seen her this week, what with Archie being away and not able to bring her to the shop, and I impulsively offer to bring some fabrics out to her if she wants. She accepts delightedly, calls me an angel, says we need to renegotiate our deal, and hangs up, leaving me wondering exactly what she means and how worried I should be.
I check on the soup, get the toast started, and then study Archie, chewing on my lip. My first thought was to make up the daybed in the second bedroom for him to sleep in, but he’s awfully tall. He’s not going to rest much better there than he would on the couch, which is an instrument of torture to sleep on—trust me, I know.
No, he’ll be best off sleeping in my bed.
I blush hotly just thinking it.
I’m not planning to take advantage of him. Banish the thought. I’ll take the daybed. He needs a proper night’s sleep before he goes back to fighting fires.
The toast pops, and I butter
it, serve up the soup, and put it all on a tray that I carry over to the coffee table. Then I sit beside Archie, lay a hand on his arm, and shake gently.
“Archie? You need to wake up for a few minutes. Archie? Come on, you have to eat something.”
He rouses gradually, then just blinks at me for a few seconds. A slow smile spreads across his face. “Hey. Pretty.”
I smile back. He’s really out of it. “Hi. Can you sit up? I have dinner ready for you.”
He wakes up properly then, shadows filling his eyes as he blinks away the last remnants of sleep. Groaning, he hauls himself up from his semi-recline and looks around.
“Sorry for barging in on you,” he mutters. “Ah, what time is it?”
I glance at the wall clock. “Nearly nine thirty. And don’t be sorry. I’m glad to see you. Do you think you can manage some soup and toast?” I gesture to the tray on the coffee table, and he looks at it.
“That sounds perfect. Thanks.”
I leave him to eat in peace, pottering around cleaning up the kitchen while I eat my own toast, then going to change the sheets on the bed. When I get back, he’s finished eating and is washing his dishes.
“You don’t need to do that,” I chide, and he flashes a smile over his shoulder, looking much more himself than before.
“You cooked. The least I can do is clean. Especially since I’m going to be a really awful guest and go right back to sleep. Uh, if it’s okay for me to stay?” He seems uncertain, and I hate that. I never want him to be anything but completely confident about his welcome with me.
“Of course it is. I just changed the sheets, so the bed is nice and fresh.”
“I can sleep on the couch,” he protests, just like I expected him to, and I snort.
“Believe me, you do not want to sleep on that couch. You have to be fit and able tomorrow, and you won’t be if you sleep there. I’m convinced the designer was a sadist.” I don’t give him time to argue again, taking his arm and steering him into the tiny hallway. “This is the bathroom, clean towels under the sink, and here’s the bedroom. What time do you need to be up tomorrow?”
“Five,” he murmurs, and I wince.
“Okay, well, my phone charger is plugged in next to the bed, so go ahead and use it and don’t forget to set an alarm. Do you want something to sleep in? A T-shirt or boxers or whatever?” I tingle all over at the thought of him wearing my clothes… and then realize there’s no way he could wear my clothes. He’s five inches taller and a lot broader.
He smiles at me in a way that sends those tingles racing, then says, “I’ll just sleep in my jocks.”
I think maybe I have some sort of neurological event thinking about him in his underwear, sleeping in my bed, because next thing I know, he’s saying my name with a concerned look on his face.
I stretch my mouth into a semblance of a smile. “Right. Great. So… I’ll leave you to it. Oh—I hope you don’t mind, but I called your family and let them know you were okay. Your dad says if you have time in the morning, please call them, but they love you and are proud of you.” I almost tear up again just saying it. It’s worth it, though, because from the look on his face, it means a lot.
“Thanks,” he says quietly. “I didn’t think to call them before, but I should have. I’m glad you did.”
“You’re problem,” I reply, then close my eyes and slam my hand to my forehead. “I mean, no problem, you’re welcome.” My face is burning hot. This is ridiculous. Archie and I talk all the time without me making an ass of myself.
It must be the thought of him + underwear + my bed.
I mumble something and make my escape back to the kitchen. He did a great job cleaning up the last of the mess, so I find my Kindle and curl up on the couch to read for a bit. I hear him moving around in the bathroom, then he goes into the bedroom and silence ensues.
Now that he’s settled, I sneak out of the house and race next door. My neighbour, a single mum of two, is amused when I ask her for “anything that could make a decent breakfast,” but obligingly provides eggs, bacon, potatoes, and tomatoes. I tell her she’s amazing, promise a week’s worth of free babysitting, and race back home.
The unit is still silent, Archie obviously sound asleep, so I put the groceries away and settle back with my Kindle again, my ears pricking up at every tiny noise in case Archie needs anything.
I finally manage to focus, and my book turns out to be better than I thought. It’s nearly midnight before I put it down, and I take a moment to wish that this new year won’t continue the same way it’s begun. I check the doors and turn off the lights in the kitchen/living room. Trying to be as quiet as possible in the bathroom is a shocking failure, because every tiny noise seems magnified. I think it’s like a law or something that when you’re trying to be quiet, you end up being louder than usual.
I swear, it’s only because I’m afraid I might have woken him that I peek in on Archie. Normally I would never look in on a sleeping guest, because can you say creepy? But I was like a herd of elephants in the bathroom, so I just pop my head around the door to make sure he’s sleeping peacefully.
“Charlie?” he mumbles sleepily.
Well. That answers that.
“Sorry I woke you,” I whisper. “I’m just heading to bed. Sleep well.” I draw back and start to close the door.
“Charlie? Where are you going?”
“Uh…” I stick my head back in. “To bed?”
The sheets rustle, and in the faint light from around the curtains, I can see the shadow of him sitting up.
I swallow. Hard.
“You can’t sleep on the couch,” he says. “You said it was uncomfortable.”
“Oh, no. I’m not going to sleep on that thing. I wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow. There’s a daybed in the other bedroom.”
There’s another rustle, and then the bedside light clicks on. I squint in the sudden brightness. He does the same. And then my gaze drops from his face to his chest.
His beautiful, sculpted, amazing chest.
I’ve seen his bare chest before. We’re friends, remember? We play sports together. (Well, he plays, I watch.) We’ve been to the beach together. His bare chest is not new to me.
But it still gets me every time.
“Why are you sleeping in the other room?”
I’m still blinking, because of both the light and his sleep-rumpled awesomeness. “Because you’re sleeping in here.”
He sighs. “Yeah, I get that. What I mean is, why aren’t I sleeping in the other room? I never meant to kick you out of your bed.”
“Oh, I know,” I rush to assure him. “But the daybed’s kind of small, and I wanted you to sleep properly. It’s fine.” Fuck, there’s that word again.
His sigh this time is long-suffering. “Charlie, I’m not going to sleep well knowing I’ve stolen your bed.” He flips back the sheet, and my breath stalls.
Swimming before. Friends. Seen him. Etcetera.
But holy fuck.
Because his underwear isn’t boxers. It’s boxer briefs. And they cling to… everything.
I’ve never seen him like that before.
This poor little gay boy might just be having another neurological event.
Then he swings his legs over the side of the bed, and I snap back to reality.
“What are you doing?” I rush into the room and stand there, waving my hands. “Get back into bed. You need sleep.”
He looks up at me, his grey eyes warm and heavy-lidded, and I take a deep breath.
“I can’t sleep in your bed knowing I’ve turned you out of it.” He stands, and I involuntarily take a step back, because that big, tanned body with so little on is overwhelming.
“Well… what did you think was going to happen?” I scramble to gather my thoughts. Was he so tired when he got into the bed that he just didn’t think it through?
He shrugs, and oh my god, the muscles moving and the skin and he has nipples.
Nipples!
; “I figured you’d just sleep in the bed with me. It’s big enough for us both.”
I.
What.
Me.
Bed.
How.
Unggggh.
There are no words. Where are the words? He’s looking at me, waiting for me to say something, but there are no words coming. Speak, Charlie! Dammit, speak!
I open my mouth… and whine.
Yes.
Whine.
An actual whine.
I sound like a chastised puppy.
My face goes so hot, I’m convinced the blood vessels in my cheeks are going to rupture.
“Charlie?” He looks kind of amused now, which is just embarrassing, but he’s also thoroughly awake, which is what yanks me back to some semblance of human behaviour.
“You need rest,” I declare. “Get back into bed and go to sleep. Please, Archie.”
He crosses his arms over the wiiiiiiide expanse of his chest, and I resolutely keep my eyes on his face. “Only if you sleep in the bed too.”
Eep.
Me, sleep in the same bed as Archie?
It can’t be done.
It’s just… not possible.
I open my mouth to say so, then see the stubborn set of his jaw and slowly close it again. Because I know that jaw. It only looks like that when he’s determined to win. And when he sets his jaw like that, he always, always wins.
So I sigh. “Okay, fine.” I walk around the bed to the other side and climb under the sheet, then look up at him. “What are you standing there for?”
Chuckling, he gets back into bed, then turns off the lamp. The mattress shifts a few times as he gets comfortable, but within minutes his breathing is deep and even.
After the Blaze Page 2
