by Trina Lane
Matt smiled, “I can hear how excited you are. You must want the job pretty bad.”
“Are you kidding? This is a once in lifetime opportunity. Aside from the prestige, to be given the chance to challenge my skills with a subject matter like this is incredible. The entire mood of a sculpture can be changed depending on the composition of the shot, what kind of lighting is used or what filters I put on the lens. My fingers are itching and my brain is already spinning a thousand cycles a second with ideas and possibilities.”
Matt glanced around the walls of the condo. “So all these are yours?”
“Most. I have a handful that I picked up from a gallery here and there because I loved them so much.”
Niall watched as Matt’s eyes landed on the most personal photograph displayed. Niall knew the black and white image was dramatic. A man’s torso from the neck down stood out in stark relief from a black background. A pair of sculpted arms rested on the back of his neck. The cavity of his chest was expanded, taut with sinuous muscle. Two raised white scars curved from just above and just below the left nipple across the chest to stop in the centre. The lighting hid nothing of the puckered skin. In fact when you looked closely, the slash of light actually highlighted the evidence of violence.
Matt turned his head towards Niall. “I thought you said…”
Niall set his glass on the coffee table. He slowly undid a few buttons on his shirt and spread the material wide enough to expose a pair of scars identical to those displayed on the wall.
Chapter Three
“That’s you?”
Niall nodded. He let his shirt drop but didn’t redo the buttons. “Happened when I was twenty-two. I’d been at a club with friends and got jumped on my way to the ‘T’. These are the only physical scars I have, but the emotional ones lasted a lot longer than the stitches.”
“That’s why you got involved with the trauma recovery group.” Matt pointed to the photo. “Who…”
“A colleague of mine took that about six years ago. He’s the one who was finally able to show me that despite the scars there was still beauty in my body. Until that time, I’d refused to let anyone see the evidence of my attack. I didn’t want them to perceive me as weak. I didn’t want their pity. However, with that photo he showed me that the terror and pain I endured, the shame I’d been living with, didn’t overshadow who I am.”
“And now you pay that forward. You share that lesson with other survivors.”
Niall shrugged then reached for his wine glass. He took a healthy sip and the alcohol helped soothe his anxiety. He’d come a long way, but sometimes talking about the effects of the attack still left him flustered. Niall set his glass back on the table and looked at Matt, getting lost in the forest green eyes that were now only inches away. Eyes like that should be illegal. Their warm intense stare could pull a person’s deepest, darkest secrets from their soul. Matt’s long brown lashes slowly closed and warm lips sealed over Niall’s. The connection was gentle as they learned the texture of each other’s mouths. Matt’s tongue flicked across the seam of Niall’s lips and he opened. Matt moaned. One hand came up to tangle in Niall’s hair as their chests collided together. Oh, Niall was in so much trouble.
The first possession of Niall’s mouth by Matt’s tongue sent a bolt of lightning streaking through his body. Desire flooded his senses, hot and sharp.
The softness of their kiss fell away and all that remained was pure lust. Matt devoured Niall, and he loved every second of it. Niall fell back on sofa and the momentum pulled Matt on top of him, as they refused to relinquish their connection. Matt’s weight atop him was decadent. Niall was no string bean, but a gym rat he wasn’t. After a few moments Matt broke the kiss, bracing his hands on the sofa on either side of Niall’s head he pushed up, panting lightly, hunger evident in the hard cock Niall felt against his thigh.
“Wow.”
Niall smiled. That was a good thing to hear from your soul mate. Even though Matt didn’t know it yet, Niall’s dream had told him he and this man were destined for one another. He ran his palms up Matt’s chest then circled his arms around Matt’s neck. When his eyes landed on Matt’s lips, swollen and damp from their kiss, Niall wanted to dive right back into another. Niall arched his chest against Matt’s while pulling down with his arms and their bodies smashed together once again.
Matt moaned and his arms gathered Niall close as he kissed him back. Niall responded by opening his legs to make space for Matt. It was a good thing his sofa was wide, otherwise they would’ve fallen to the floor by now. Their hands explored each other’s bodies as much as their perch allowed them to. Niall’s body was on fire. His cock ached for release, one brought on by Matt’s touch. Niall arched his hips and ground against Matt’s hip.
Matt’s hand slid inside the open buttons of Niall’s shirt. Long fingers unerringly found his nipple and tweaked the tightened nub. Niall groaned and dragged up the back of Matt’s shirt to find his own patch of bare skin to stroke. He mentally cheered when Matt shuddered. Their lips separated with both men breathing harshly as they stared into each other’s eyes. Matt’s head dipped and Niall gasped as soft lips landed on his scars, kissing the hurt away. It was the first time a lover had ever touched the long lines willingly—most avoided his chest entirely.
Matt’s raised his head and Niall smiled. His hand cupped the side of Matt’s cheek as he placed a soft kiss on Matt’s swollen lips.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“For setting free the last part of the pain hidden within my body.”
Their foreheads touched and Matt’s hand squeezed Niall’s hip.
“It’s getting late,” Matt said softly.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“Niall, before we go any further, there are some things I need to tell you.”
Niall stiffened. Those were foreboding words that had a whole list of implications.
Matt sat up and moved to the end section of the couch. Niall sat and turned so he could see Matt better. His body was suddenly cold without Matt’s heat pressed against him, and a little shiver raced down his spine. Niall had been so sure Matt was meant for him. Niall had seen Matt in the dream and knew that Manto had sent him the vision to let him know his soul mates were ready for him. But Matt’s posture was resigned and partly remorseful, as if he regretted their kisses.
That would not do. Whatever it was that Matt felt the need to say, Niall had to convince him it wouldn’t matter. He had to convince Matt to give them a chance, at least until they found the blond with the delicate features and lithe body. When all three of them were together, Niall knew they could overcome anything. It was written in the stars.
Matt looked at Niall, waiting for him to start. “I don’t know where this thing between us is leading, but I have a feeling you’ll be more important to me than a casual lover. I’m actually beyond the casual part of my life. I’m thirty-eight years old, and I’ve known what I wanted for a long time.” Niall tried to speak, but Matt held up his hand. “Wait till I finish, please. You see, I’ve known what I wanted but had a hard time finding the right fit with anyone I’ve dated.” He took a deep breath. “There just aren’t very many men who are willing to share their partner.”
Niall sat stunned, processing what Matt had said. Could Matt possibly mean that Niall wouldn’t have to talk him into believing in their destiny? Niall wouldn’t have to tread the waters so carefully and hint at what he wanted? What they needed?
“Niall?” Matt cursed. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.” He stood and turned to leave.
“No!” Niall exclaimed. He stood and quickly closed the distance between him and Matt, inwardly cursing the ottoman that prevented him from heading Matt off at the pass. “Wait Matt, don’t go.” He reached for Matt’s hand and stopped his soon to be lover from leaving. “Please turn around and look at me.” Matt did and Niall tugged Matt’s arm to get him to sit next to him. “You took me by surprise is all. I’v
e been trying to figure out how to tell you that very same thing.”
Apparently it was Matt’s turn to be shocked, because Niall watched as Matt’s eyes went wide.
“Maybe I should start at the beginning. I’ll explain to you why I want to share my life with two men, then if you want you can tell me.”
“Okay.”
Niall stood and paced a few feet away before turning to see Matt settled back into the sofa cushions, waiting with a sceptical look on his face.
“I never knew my father. He was killed before I was born. When my mom was notified of his death, she moved in with her in-laws. That’s the way things were done in our tribe.” He stopped pacing and looked over at Matt. “In case you hadn’t figured it out, I’m Native American. A member of the Mohegan tribe to be exact.”
Matt nodded. “You have darker colouring and your facial structure is similar to native ethnicity, but with a name like Niall I admit to a few moments of uncertainty.”
Niall smiled. “Yes, it is unexpected I know. I happen to take after my father’s side of the family. I’ll get back to that in a moment. Where was I? Oh, right…so mom moved in with my grandparents while she was still pregnant with me. However, right before my first birthday she took off. They told me I reminded her too much of my father or something. Who knows? I never saw her again. From that moment on, I was raised by my nokunáhsak and nánu, my grandfathers and grandmother.”
Niall saw Matt’s eyebrows slant with his use of syntax.
“My two grandfathers and grandmother. Who all lived in the same house…and slept in the same bed.”
“You mean they—”
“Were a threesome?” He nodded.
Matt appeared interested but Niall wanted to make sure Matt wanted the full story. “You want the full story or just the abstract?”
“Are you kidding? This is great stuff. Not only do I get to learn more about Native culture, but I get an insider’s guide to the building blocks that shaped you as a person. You have to know the psychiatrist in me is all but salivating right now.”
Niall rolled his eyes. “Okay—you asked for it. Despite Ireland’s neutrality, my grandfather, Patrick Farrell, was one of thousands who volunteered for the British Army during World War II. My grandmother, Bridget, was a civilian volunteer who went to Britain to fill manpower shortages during the war. That’s where they met. After the end of the war they married and immigrated to America. They spent several months in New York City, but the exploding population and hectic pace were too foreign for them. They both originally came from Dublin which had maybe a half million people to New York’s seven and half million. After several months, they made their way north out of New York. They settled in the small river town of Montville, Connecticut. As fate would have it, they both fell in love with a sculptor named Greg Roberge who lived on the reservation.”
“Patrick and Bridget moved onto the reservation with Greg, since with other tribe members they were less likely to run into trouble over their living arrangements. You see, in the Native American tradition, gay men are termed two-spirits. Traditionally, a two-spirit was one who had received a gift from the Creator—who we Mohegans refer to as Manto—to house both male and female spirits in their bodies. It is believed that a two-spirit has the ability to see the world from two perspectives at the same time. This greater vision is revered by their tribes, and often two-spirits hold crucial leadership roles in the tribe. They are treated with the greatest respect, and hold important spiritual and ceremonial responsibilities.” Niall looked over at Matt to see if he was following along.
“I had heard of the two-spirit tradition before, but never had it explained to me quite like that. It’s a shame the traditions and beliefs of your people did not survive once the Europeans took over. Society would be a lot different today.”
Niall nodded, “Sorry I went off on a bit of a tangent. Back to my grandparents. For the most part, the Mohegan tribe members considered my grandfather to be a version of a two-spirit. His love for both a man and woman were needed in order for him to find peace. My father was the biological child of Bridget and Greg but all three were his parents.”
“So you grew up in a home where love was shared between three individuals, and as an adult now seek what is familiar.”
“Yes and no. It’s more than a child searching for his security blanket. I am a two-spirit, and Manto has given me more than the gift of greater vision. Manto has answered my prayer, and shown me my destiny.” Niall then told Matt about his entreaty as a child and his dream of several weeks earlier, then sat while Matt processed the fact that Niall believed they were destined soul mates—who only needed to find their third before their lives were made whole.
Matt stood and walked over to the windows looking out over the Boston downtown skyline. Niall’s condo was in a converted warehouse dating back to 1895 in the Seaport District near his gallery. Matt’s finger followed the trench of mortar sandwiched between the red bricks, his mind sorting and filing all the information Niall had presented. While Matt had never entertained the thought of having a soul mate out there in the universe waiting for him, he couldn’t deny the instant connection he’d felt with Niall. While many would call that animal lust, Matt knew there was more to it than that. He looked over at Niall, who stood with his hands shoved in his jeans, obviously trying to give Matt space despite the fact that Matt saw Niall stood on the balls of his feet, waiting anxiously for Matt’s answer. Did Matt believe in Niall’s Manto or the vision? He didn’t know, but he wouldn’t deny Niall’s heritage or the long held beliefs of his people. The bottom line was both he and Niall wanted the same things in life, so what did it matter?
Matt opened his arms, and Niall rushed into them. Niall’s dark head fit perfectly against his neck. His black hair ran through his fingers as if it was cool silk, and Matt sighed with pleasure.
“Do you think we’ll find him?” Matt asked.
“Yes. I’m not sure when or how, but I know he’s out there waiting for us.”
* * * *
Trevor stepped off the elevator and showed his ID badge to the officer posted near the entrance to the lab. It was crucial that the area remained secure due to the evidence being processed. The Boston police headquarters—where Trevor worked—had a forensic DNA lab, a trace evidence analysis lab, the ballistics lab where Logan worked, and across the hall was Trevor’s little slice of heaven known to the plebeians as the flick shack. Trevor paused in the glass doorway to survey his kingdom.
There were fifteen monitors ranging in size from seventeen to twenty-eight inches. Some sat side by side and some were set up on isolated stations. Each station had its own CPU tower that was capable of speeds the average household user would gawk at, and had software that would cause a sci-fi geek to drool. He kept his audio analysis stations on the left side of the room and the video analysis in the centre. The right side of the room was reserved for a nine foot by twelve foot rear projection, wall-mounted screen. When he chose, Trevor could send any image from one of his linked stations up onto the wall with the click of a few keys.
Three walls of the room were covered in a dark grey soundproofing material that served two purposes. The first was to corral the sound when Trevor was working on detailed audio analysis and had to use the installed surround-sound speakers, and the second was that the dark grey colour prevented any glare on his monitors when looking at video. The room was kept from being too cave-like by the glass wall on the hall side.
“Trev, do you need a moment with your toys, or is it safe to come over there?”
Trevor turned and saw Logan leaning against the doorframe to the ballistic lab with a cocky smile on his face.
“Laugh all you want, but I’ve seen you caress those guns of yours when you think nobody’s looking.”
“Touché. Are you still trying to clean up that video from the double homicide the other day?”
“No, I got that over to the captain last night before I left. Today I’m gonna work on th
e analysis of the audio caught by the tourist’s video camera from the shootout in Chinatown the other night.”
“I’ve got to work on the same case, looking at the collected rounds and trying to get a match in IBIS. Then I need to test fire all the weapons confiscated in the drug raid last week and enter them in the system.”
“Wanna do lunch? We can go to Eli’s,” Trevor finished in a sing-song voice.
Logan moaned and rubbed his stomach. “I wish I could, but I promised Clay I’d meet him over at his station for an in-office picnic.”
Trevor closed his eyes with a sigh, clutching a hand over his heart. “That’s so damn cute I may puke,” he said, deadpanned.
“Shut up, runt.”
Trevor stuck his tongue out at Logan. “It’s just as well. I made a detour and picked up some barbeque last night on my way home. Can’t blow my budget on any more take-out till payday.”
Logan’s stance became rigid and a scowl crossed his face. “Did you walk home last night? I thought you said you’d get a ride from Carmichael. Trevor, it was thirty degrees when I left and hardly any moon out. I know you’re a self-sufficient kind of guy, but I’ve talked to you about taking stupid chances. You could catch pneumonia or get mugged or worse. I would think with all the shit we see every day you would know better—”
“Logan! Chill, man. I did ask Carmichael, but he was going to the opposite side of town to see his folks. I was here until eight o’clock. What was I supposed to do? Call you up and interrupt your and Clay’s night to beg for a ride?”
Logan raked his hand over the top of his head. “Yes! We’re your friends, Trev. That’s what friends do for each other.”
Trevor was a little surprised by Logan’s vehement declaration. Trevor thought of Logan as a friend, but more of the work-friendly variety. Not the ‘I can call you up in the middle of the night because I’m scared’ variety.
