North on Drummond

by K. C. Burn

  “But,” Cliff continued, “I think I would have remembered protecting you, even if you were shorter and had, what, strawberry-blond hair?”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t me; it was Kyle.” Drew hadn’t needed Cliff’s protection, because Wyatt and Rob had done a…well, he hesitated to say a good job of protecting him. It was rare that anyone had bullied Drew a second time, that was for sure, but his brothers’ methods had tended to be a little more crude than Cliff’s. Drew’s fate had been sealed when Cliff protected Drew’s best friend. The puppy love had strengthened and taken root in his heart. From that day on, Drew had done his best to be in a position to observe Cliff from afar the rest of the school year.

  Drew had a front-row seat to the phenomenon that was Cliff and watched when he intervened on behalf of other kids. He stood up for what was right, he told the truth, he narced on kids—often Wyatt and Rob—who stole, he practically had a shiny gold halo over his head, and according to the teachers, Cliff Garcia could do no wrong. It probably didn’t hurt that the entire town thought the Drummonds were troublemakers, and any nemesis of theirs was automatically going to be a golden child.

  By all rights, Cliff should have been anathema to Drew, every bit as much as he was to Wyatt and Rob, but Cliff could do no wrong in Drew’s eyes. Kyle had quickly picked up on Drew’s preoccupation, and it wasn’t long before Drew confessed to being gay. Kyle hadn’t cared and had helped him hide both his orientation and infatuation.

  Drew’s crush had made him reevaluate his participation in his brothers’ schemes. They were more forgiving of his refusal to help once his growth spurt hit and his hair color changed in sophomore year. He’d become too distinctive, too clumsy, and not nearly sweetly innocent enough to assist them.

  Doing good deeds and being a nice person had begun originally as a way to ape the boy who never noticed Drew existed. It wasn’t long before being a good person had made Drew feel better about himself, and even when Cliff moved away to attend college, Drew had continued being the oddball in his family. His grandmother had noticed, and they’d grown closer from that point on.

  Once his brothers had figured out he was gay, he’d been not only useless for their petty theft but in dire need of more protection.

  Cliff moved in closer, eyes darkening, touches becoming firmer and with more intention behind them.

  “Yeah, there’s no way I could have forgotten you.” Cliff punctuated each word with a kiss to his throat, and a frisson of desire woke up his satiated cock.

  Cliff’s cock had already recovered, nudging Drew’s hip and leaving tiny wet marks on his skin.

  An alarm went off, but it wasn’t Drew’s.

  “What is that?” Drew looked around, annoyed at the interruption.

  “Fuck.” Cliff craned his neck to see Drew’s clock. “I gotta get going. Shit.”

  Drew fell back against the pillow. Shit indeed.

  With a little eyebrow wiggle, Cliff gave him a kiss. “Maybe we can pick this up later? If I can get a long enough break?”

  Like he was going to say no to another orgasm with Cliff Garcia. Not a fucking chance. “Sure thing.”

  “As much as I’d love to shower with you, I’d rather be able to take my time.”

  “Go on, shower. I’ll shower after.”

  Cliff frowned suddenly. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable with you showering while no one is here. Not for the next couple of days anyway. What if you get dizzy or something?”

  Drew almost rolled his eyes again but remembered just in time not to. “I showered while you were sleeping.”

  “Not the same thing at all.”

  Stern Cliff made Drew shiver. How long was he going to have to wait until Cliff’s break? Too long, that was for sure.

  “Fine. I’ll just wipe down.” Thank God he’d taken a shower earlier, because he’d felt so grimy before, he would have been too self-conscious to have sex.

  Cliff gave him an assessing look, as though trying to determine if he was telling the truth.

  “I promise. No showering without you.” Drew’s voice lowered before he’d even realized how suggestive those words could be, and it brought back that hot look in Cliff’s eyes.

  “Good.”

  Drew listened to the shower, imagining Cliff all soapy and wet. He languidly stroked his cock, but he’d spent way too much time with his right hand over the years, fantasizing about Cliff. The next few orgasms, at least, he wanted to occur because Cliff was touching him, kissing him, fucking him.

  He was going to have to open the reading room for a bit today to keep himself occupied. Otherwise the only thing he’d be able to think about would be Cliff’s gorgeous naked body.

  Cliff returned to the bedroom, skin still damp, and flashed him a quick smile before dressing all too quickly. The uniform, though, was fucking hot.

  “You make sure you rest today, and call if you need anything, okay?”

  Drew nodded. Fortunately, doing readings wasn’t that stressful and didn’t require any physical exertion. He wasn’t lying if he said he was resting. Not really. Especially if he had a nap first. Drew fell back against the pillows, letting the unfamiliar sound of someone else puttering around his house lull him back to sleep.

  * * * *

  Orgasms flooded the system with endorphins, right? After a spectacular and unexpected orgasm with Cliff—mmm, no, North—he napped for a long time.

  The nap and the orgasm left him feeling good enough that he could go back to work. It wouldn’t quite be the intense level of Haunt Fest, and it would let him get back on his feet. He’d had lots of experience doing readings, but the past couple of days had been so unusual that it almost felt like he’d been away from his normal life for weeks.

  Nevertheless, his energy levels weren’t nearly as good as he’d hoped. Still, he wasn’t complaining about expending maybe more energy than he should have in bed earlier. He didn’t think he’d ever complain about that. The faint ache in his head reminded him he probably should be resting, but he’d never had a proper vacation, and lounging about before his busiest week was only going to stress him out.

  His turban rode low over his eyes, creating a distracting shadow, but he didn’t have a choice. If he put the turban where he normally did, the bandage was visible. It was bad enough that he’d had to cake on makeup to hide the bruising in his eyelids. Sadly, he had the supplies on hand. He’d met the wrong end of his brothers’ elbows and fists more than once, all accidental or when he’d stupidly tried to break up fights. Rob and Wyatt were much more rough and tumble, even now, than he’d ever been.

  He took a quick peek around, checking his stock of candles, incense, and herbs. He had a bunch of extras stored in his pantry. After all, who needed or could afford food? At least he was prepared for Haunt Fest.

  As he unlocked the door, he pulled down the sign Kyle had posted informing his customers of his temporary closure. But when he tore it away, it wasn’t clear glass left behind. There was another piece of paper stuck to the outside of his door.

  Why would Kyle stick two signs on his door?

  Drew pulled the door open, and his ears heated as anger gripped him. With a snarl, he ripped down a poster encouraging people to visit Eddie Price, medium extraordinaire. Bastard extraordinaire, more like. He was always trying to steal Drew’s business, even though there was enough for both of them, and if his brothers ever found out, Eddie would be in trouble.

  Swearing under his breath, Drew tore the poster into shreds and dumped it into the garbage can under the cash register.

  The sudden rush of anger left him a bit light-headed, and he rested a hand on the edge of the counter to steady himself.

  Through the window, he saw a plump woman in her sixties pause on the sidewalk, tilting her head as she stared up at the sign over Drew’s door. Keeping his movements smooth and small, Drew backed out of the room, closing the velvet draperies behind him. He much preferred to make an entrance with new clients, if he could, rather than waiting to ambus
h them the second they walked in the door. It meant he couldn’t keep as many of his new products in the front room as he’d like, but at least the fake security camera his brothers had installed kept too many things from walking away in tourists’ pockets, and his brothers’ reputation kept locals from stealing from him.

  Drew counted to thirty after the tinkle of the bell signaling the client’s arrival before he swept through the curtains with what he hoped was a mystical flourish.

  “Good afternoon,” he greeted the newcomer, a tourist as far as he could tell.

  The woman, who’d been poking about his selection of wares, turned to face him. Although no frown was visible, Drew sensed the woman’s disapproval. Her oddly uncreased forehead and substantial makeup application spoke of a never-ending battle against the ravages of time.

  “You’re Malachi?” There was no mistaking the disdain in her voice.

  With effort, Drew kept a placid look on his face, the one he wore when he didn’t dare roll his eyes. This wasn’t the first time someone had asked the question and wouldn’t be the last, because he did look younger than his twenty-two years. But seriously, shouldn’t the outfit give it away?

  “Yes, I am. Malachi the Mystic.”

  Her frown deepened. “You’re awfully young, aren’t you? My son is older than you.”

  Drew filed the tiny bit of personal information away. He didn’t know who her son was, but anything could be of value during a reading. The Botox paralysis was going to make this reading extra difficult, since so much of his “talent” relied on expressions combined with comments or questions that unwittingly provided information. Not the best choice for his first dip back in the work pool, but with any luck, she was just a snowbird passing through and wasn’t accustomed to the whole tarot-reading thing.

  He smiled widely. “Well, now, there’s no age of majority on psychic powers, ma’am. My granny had the second sight, and not only did I inherit the gift from her, but she trained me to use it before she passed on, God rest her soul.”

  His potential client weighed that information for a moment, and Drew waited for her to make up her mind. He narrowed his eyes a bit so she wouldn’t notice his perusal, but he had to take this time to assess the woman because if she did decide to get a reading, he’d be hobbled by her lack of expression.

  Her clothes and shoes were good quality, but not upper-crust designers. Her handbag was a Louis Vuitton, with very little wear, which Drew took to mean she’d bought it recently. Out of necessity, he’d become expert at recognizing designer handbags because he found he could discern bits about a woman’s personality from her purse, but he’d not had the time, energy, or inclination to recognize specific designers of clothes or shoes.

  Between the purse and the Botox, he surmised she was probably well off but not crazy rich. Maybe had a winter home in Florida to escape the cold of the north. It was probably time for her to lighten her dye job from raven black to something a little less harsh, a little less obviously unnatural. The gem on her ring finger was large, sparkly, and ostentatious, much newer and less scuffed than the simple wedding band that lay beneath. Married, for a long time to the same man, who hadn’t always been well off. And more than likely just a little sentimental. Good. Sentimental he could work with.

  If he could figure out if she was trying to stave off the years due to simple vanity or in an attempt to corral a wandering husband, well, that would make his job easier. But there would be time for that during the reading. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d dealt with a client wondering about an unfaithful spouse.

  While he made his quick assessment, she had apparently been assessing him right back. Her distrustfulness disappeared, and she smiled back, although without any discernible creasing on her forehead.

  “Did you want a reading? I can sense you’ve got something weighing on your mind.” Drew was careful to modulate his voice, lowering his tone and speaking slower than normal. He’d always found the lower tones soothed wary clients, and he almost laughed when he realized Cliff had done the same thing to him in the hospital.

  Her blue eyes widened. “I do. Please, I’d like a reading. I’m Mrs. Gillespie.”

  “Mrs. Gillespie, it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Mrs. Gillespie nodded and Drew ushered her into the reading room.

  With aplomb, Drew took the deck she’d shuffled and cut, then laid out ten cards in a Celtic pattern. Generally he preferred the three lines, but the Celtic layout was usually a hit with the tourists. He asked and commented and probed in the subtle way he did every time, along with his introductory patter for brand-new clients.

  The damn death card showed up, and his client couldn’t quite take her eyes off it. He really needed to take it out of the deck.

  Before he’d even finished discussing the first card and what it meant, he discovered that Mrs. Gillespie was wondering about her husband’s fidelity and also about her son’s sexuality. Drew would at least do his best to make sure Mrs. Gillespie’s son didn’t lose his family, if he was indeed gay, as his client suspected.

  Next he tapped the death card, preparing to reassure her it didn’t mean what most people thought it meant, when a flash of pain flared in his head. Mrs. Gillespie and the cards faded away while what looked like a movie clip played in front of his eyes. A large silver car, with Connecticut plates, driving on a busy highway lined with Floridian vegetation suddenly swerved into oncoming traffic, right in the path of an oncoming eighteen-wheeler. The subsequent crash, car parts flying, tractor-trailer jackknifing, cars piling up on either side as they were unable to avoid the sudden collision, was terrifying despite the silence.

  “Malachi?” Mrs. Gillespie tapped his hand. “Are you okay?”

  Drew blinked at her. And blinked. What the fuck was that? But his client appeared worried, and worrying clients wasn’t part of Drew’s business plan. He shook himself.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Gillespie.” If it hadn’t been the death card he’d stumbled over, he wouldn’t have bothered with any explanations, but he felt he owed it to her to ease her mind. He slipped his turban up. “I had an accident, and a side-effect is sudden headaches.”

  In a blink, Mrs. Gillespie’s demeanor changed to a mother hen, just like Kyle’s. “Oh, you poor boy. You shouldn’t be working at all with that. Have you seen a doctor about it? My husband is picking me up soon. We could take you to a clinic or a hospital.”

  Drew smiled faintly even though he wasn’t interested in seeing the inside of another hospital anytime soon. “I’m fine, Mrs. Gillespie. I was treated at the hospital. Just some side-effects that will go away soon. Don’t worry about me.”

  With only a slight hitch, because he couldn’t quite shake that weird vignette that had appeared so clearly, Drew continued on with his reading, giving as much comfort and guidance as he could. It sounded like Mr. Gillespie was a homophobic, cheating bastard. Mrs. Gillespie and her son were going to need to be strong.

  At the end of the reading, Mrs. Gillespie was smiling, and despite his increased fatigue, Drew was able to swipe her credit card without a cringe. Accepting credit cards allowed him to bring in more business, since people carried less cash all the time, but if his brothers were more tech-savvy, he might have continued with grandma’s cash-only policy. Between the credit cards and the personal information he gleaned over the course of a reading, he could easily delve into a spot of identity theft, as Cliff had suspected earlier.

  If his brothers knew of the possibilities, they’d be harassing Drew on a daily basis, never mind that identity theft would put them in the same league as their cousins Jake, Nick, and Donnie, who were currently cooling their heels in a state penitentiary for the next ten to fifteen years. Or his dad, serving a sentence for manslaughter. So far, the only crimes his brothers had committed were misdemeanors, but something like identity theft? No way. Wyatt and Rob were mostly good brothers, but Drew didn’t have any illusions—they weren’t quite bright enough to hide their tracks for somethin
g that significant anyway.

  Drew was also incredibly thankful he didn’t have any misdemeanors or felonies he had to try and hide from the suspicious and observant Northcliff Garcia. Especially after the incredible morning of sex. He wasn’t sure if they were heading to something relationship-like, no matter how much Drew wanted that, but if he was involved in criminal activity, Cliff would drop him like a hot potato. No doubt about it.

  “You take care of yourself, dear.”

  “I will. Thank you, Mrs. Gillespie.”

  Mrs. Gillespie left, accompanied by the tinkle of the bell over his door. Drew entered the payment into his database and glanced up just as Mrs. Gillespie got into a large silver car…exactly like the one he’d seen in his weird hallucination. His breath escaped in a whoosh as a chill swept him from head to toe.

  What the hell was going on?

  Despite the low-level pounding in his temples, Drew ran outside, but the car turned off the main road before he could see if the plates were from Connecticut or not.

  The pounding accelerated from a minor thrum to a full-fledged steel band. With a shaking hand, he grabbed a nearby light standard.

  “Drew, are you all right?”

  He glanced up to see Lisa Watson rushing toward him.

  “Oh, hey, Lisa. Yeah, I’m fine. Are you here for a reading?”

  Lisa had gone to school with him and Kyle and was assistant manager of the big bakery at the end of Main Street.

  She snorted and wrapped an arm around his waist, then helped him to the front door. “I know it’s my normal day, but shit, Drew, you’ve got a concussion and stitches. You shouldn’t be working. You probably shouldn’t be outside at all in this heat.”

  “I’m fine. Just a bit woozy.” Woozy. That was all it was. His imagination and an aftereffect of getting clobbered by his brother.

  “Right. You’re whiter than the meringues I’ve got in here for the recovering victim.” Lisa lifted up one of the teal boxes that were a hallmark of Mysteriously Good Confections.