Ghost of a Chance

by Kris T. Bethke

  “Good, that’s good. I… wait. What? How did you already work a case?”

  Blake understood Sam’s shock. As he navigated the car over the Front Street bridge and onto Water Street, he told Sam about his ill-fated attempt to get Derek to turn tail and run. Sam listened intently, and by the time he’d finished, Sam was shaking his head.

  “That was kind of shitty, assuming he’d be like your last couple of loser boyfriends. Not all guys are like that, you know.”

  “I already apologized,” Blake assured him. “But you have to admit, it was a valid worry.”

  Sam shot him a look that said he didn’t agree. “Not really. Hey, why are we going this way?”

  While the route Blake had chosen would take them to their complex, it was not the most direct. This one would, however, take them past the tea shop on the waterfront. In less than a minute they came up on the shop, and Blake pulled the car into the small lot of Tea and Sympathy.

  “I want to get Derek a gift.”

  Sam’s cackle was loud in the confines of the car, and Blake rolled his eyes as he popped open his door. “You don’t have to come in.”

  “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this.” Sam quickly got out. “Do I detect a little crush, brother mine?”

  Yes. “No. Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “That’s a lot of protesting.” Sam’s tone was still filled with amusement.

  Blake gave him the finger. “It’s just a housewarming slash welcome aboard kind of thing. It’s a nice thing to do. Stop reading into it.”

  Sam held up his hands in surrender. “Whatever you say.”

  Blake purposefully ignored his brother and strode toward the front door. They entered the shop, and Blake was immediately overwhelmed by a scent of citrus that overlaid something earthier and woody. He inhaled deeply and let it sink into him. It was a comforting aroma—soothing—and Blake could have stood there all day just inhaling.

  “May I help you gentlemen?”

  Blake turned a wide smile on the short, spritely woman who had wandered over. She had a serene look about her that was somehow enhanced by the wispy wraps that swaddled her shoulders and the many silver bangles that adorned her wrists. Her warm brown eyes twinkled with merriment.

  “Thank you,” Blake said. “I’m looking for a gift for a tea drinker, but I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Wonderful.” She clapped her hands, and her face lit up. “Do you know what kind of tea the recipient prefers?”

  “Well. Uh.” Blake rubbed the back of his neck. “He had this one that smelled like lemon and, uh… something else. Earthy, maybe? And another one that looked like blood.”

  She laughed and moved toward a display about halfway down the length of the shop. “The latter sounds like hibiscus tea. Some of them do rather look like blood. My guess is the first one is probably an oolong with lemon verbena.”

  She picked up a tin, pried off the lid, and held it out. Blake took it and inhaled. He smiled.

  “Yes. That’s it.”

  “I thought so.” She covered the tin again and gestured to another display. “We have some lovely gift sets over there. Perhaps you’d like to select a teapot, and then we can put together a few teas you think he’d like? I can make some suggestions based on what you already know he drinks.”

  Blake blew out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. That would be awesome.”

  The woman nodded and then turned to select several other tins from the shelf in front of her. Blake moved toward the selection of teapots, Sam close at his heels.

  “Did you get Katy a gift when she started working with you?” Sam whispered in his ear.

  Blake checked his brother with his shoulder, forcefully moving him. Little jerk. Blake hadn’t teased about King, and Blake opened his mouth to point that out, but then realized his brother was deliberately trying to get a rise out of him.

  “I was too young to know any better when Katy and I started working together. But she’s taught me well in the meantime. Knock it off, all right?”

  Sam studied him for a moment, and whatever he saw in Blake’s face must have been serious because his smile turned from gleeful to apologetic, and he nodded.

  “Which pot you gonna get?”

  Blake looked them all over. He immediately passed over the delicate-looking ones with dainty spouts or handles and flowery patterns. They didn’t seem like Derek at all. Then his gaze landed on a sturdy teapot. It was a deep cobalt blue, the glaze thick and vibrant. He reached out a finger, traced the edge, and lifted the lid. Heavy. Solid. Yes. That was exactly the kind of teapot he could see Derek using. He picked it up and carried it to the counter.

  “Beautiful choice,” the woman said. She bent and rummaged under the counter for a moment and emerged with a basket that already had straw in the bottom. “Put it right in here. Now, I’ve picked up several choices of tea. The lemon verbena and the hibiscus, of course. Based on that, I’ve selected a couple of tisanes infused with herbs and a couple of rooibos.”

  Blake blinked. It was like she was speaking a completely foreign language. He took in the vast selection—ten in all—and shook his head. He didn’t know the first thing about tea. He was a coffee drinker and not even a particularly picky one at that. He just liked what tasted good.

  “Umm.”

  Sam laughed, and the woman smiled.

  “Here.” She opened a tin right in front of her. “Smell this and tell me what you think. Half of what we taste comes from our sense of smell.”

  Blake leaned forward and was immediately assailed with the scent of thyme. He reared back. “No. Tea should not smell like Thanksgiving.”

  Her chuckle was warm as she quickly covered the tin. Blake gave her a sheepish grin. He hadn’t meant to be offensive, but her smile told him she didn’t mind.

  “I really don’t know anything about tea,” Blake admitted.

  “Does he have any allergies that you know of?”

  Blake shook his head. “No allergies.” They’d had that discussion, so he could answer with confidence.

  “Then how about I just pick a few for you?”

  “Would you? Thanks. Maybe four? Is that a good number?”

  Sam chuckled again, and Blake shot him a look that would have withered anyone else. Sam just shrugged and grinned.

  “I’d be happy to.” The woman reached under the counter again and began to pour different tea leaves into plastic-lined canvas satchels. A few minutes later they were all in the basket with the pot and the whole thing was wrapped in clear cellophane and tied with a dark blue bow.

  Blake paid for his purchase, thanked the woman profusely for her generous help, and took the card she offered. He’d give it to Derek with the gift. If Derek liked what he found in his basket, then he’d probably want to stop in and make his own purchases.

  With the basket in hand and his brother in tow, Blake left the shop. He knew Derek would be touched by the gift. That pleased him more than he was willing to examine, so he didn’t. Instead he put the basket on the floor in the back seat and got into the car.

  “What is with you?” Sam asked quietly. “That smile is creepy.”

  Blake laughed, feeling lighter. He ignored his brother’s question and drove home, imagining how Derek would look when he presented him with the gift basket in the morning.

  Chapter Eleven

  IT was still disconcerting to sit idly by while Blake had a sword sticking out of his chest, but Derek couldn’t stop smiling. It felt kind of sleazy, but it was impossible to stop. And that was all down to the gift that was currently residing on the small table in the corner of their office.

  He’d chatted a little with Blake the night before, just to check on him, and he was pleased when Blake responded immediately. The conversation was short—a few quick texts—but knowing Blake was well and happy went a long way to easing the ache in his chest. After the conversation Derek planned to arrive at the office early so he could put his new chair in place. He’d bou
ght the lounger from Ikea when he moved into his rental, but it would be more useful in the office. Between the more comfortable chair and a Bose speaker that was linked to his phone to play soothing music, Derek wouldn’t have a problem passing the hours while Blake lay dead before him. It would make the time more enjoyable than it would be if he just wrote his reports.

  He packed the chair, speaker, an electric kettle, and several books into his car that morning and headed out, sure he’d have time to set everything up before Blake got there. But when he arrived, Blake was already puttering around in their office, and there was a cellophane-wrapped basket sitting on the table. Immediately Derek knew it was for him, and he was beyond touched that Blake had been thoughtful enough to get it.

  Blake looked pleased when Derek couldn’t stop exclaiming over it.

  They’d settled into work, went through the case files on their tablets, and read over each one until they decided where Blake would go that day. Derek was surprised that Blake wanted his input. There were plenty of spirits who needed help moving on, and the number continued to grow with each passing day. Any time a medium encountered a trapped spirit, he or she compiled a report, and the ghostwalkers used the reports to choose their assignments. Some were months old. One Derek encountered had been written nearly a year before. If a spirit was content to hang out and didn’t tend to go dark, it often got shuffled down the order to make room for more pressing cases.

  As sad as that was, there just weren’t enough ghostwalkers to go around and help every spirit. So they had to pick and choose.

  In the end Blake felt connected to a young man who’d lost the battle with leukemia. He’d been barely twenty at the time, but by all accounts, he was ready to move on. Why he hadn’t actually crossed over on his own was a mystery. But two different mediums had encountered him over the past several months, and Blake thought he’d be able to help the man finally rest. So they’d called in King, who shoved a sword into Blake’s chest and left Derek to clean up the mess.

  So he sat, his gaze bouncing back and forth between the dead man in the chair and the beautiful teapot on the table.

  Derek tried to remind himself not to read too much into it. Blake made it clear it was a welcome gift and nothing more. But Derek couldn’t help but feel like there was more behind it, based upon the way Blake smiled at him when he gave it and the way Blake’s entire face lit up when Derek told him how touched he was by it.

  Blake’s reactions went far deeper than just a coworker offering a welcome gift, even if they had spent the past few days constantly in each other’s space. They had definitely become friends, but that was too weak an explanation for both his and Blake’s reactions to the gift.

  For his part Derek was sure of the truth. He wanted Blake in every sense of the word, and he decided right then and there that if Blake was the least bit receptive, he was going to have him.

  There were all sorts of reasons why it was smarter to refrain from taking their relationship to that kind of level. Derek was well aware just how bad it could get if things went wrong between them. At the same time, Derek was sure it wouldn’t go bad, that if they gave what was brewing between them a real chance, if they were smart and careful, he and Blake would find something real and lasting.

  He knew it deep down in his bones.

  It was obvious Blake felt the attraction too. At first, he was afraid he’d been reading too much into it, seeing things that weren’t there because of what he wanted. But no. He was sure Blake wanted him just as much. If the lingering looks and quiet moments of affection weren’t enough, the innuendo and wicked grins clinched it. Not to mention Blake’s reaction when he pulled Blake down to sit between his legs while meditating.

  Yes, Derek was certain it would work if they kept the lines of communication open between them. If they listened to each other’s wants and needs, fears and hopes, they’d be fine.

  Better than fine.

  A quick, loud rap on the door startled Derek, and he barely had time to stand before the door opened and King sauntered in. He cast a glance at Derek, narrowed his eyes like he was contemplating something, and then his lips thinned. Derek braced himself, certain King would say something about where his thoughts had been, but to his relief, he didn’t. He just gestured to Blake.

  “He’s ready.”

  Derek nodded and quickly gathered up his supplies so he was ready when King pulled the sword from Blake’s chest. A moment’s scramble, and then Derek nodded, pads at the ready to staunch the bleeding. King’s motions were sure and smooth as he pulled out the sword and walked out of the room, taking his instrument of death with him. Derek held his breath and waited for Blake to suck one in.

  Blake’s eyes snapped open, the blue instantly awash in tears that quickly spilled over. Blake sobbed, not yet able to move his body. The hysterical crying took him over, and Derek turned him on his side so he wouldn’t choke on the tears and mucus and put his lips right to Blake’s ear and held him tightly.

  “You’re fine, B. Just fine. Breathe through it. I’m right here. I got you. I got you.” Derek kept it up, murmuring the same words over and over until the hiccups started and the crying eased. Derek checked the wounds, saw they’d stopped bleeding, and straightened just a bit. He didn’t want to put any distance between them, but he had to ease the cramp in his back.

  He readjusted his stance and leaned down again to rest his forehead against Blake’s temple and breathe slowly and steadily against Blake’s cheek. It took Blake a moment, but his breaths matched Derek’s, and soon he was almost calm again.

  It took a few more minutes before Derek could move Blake to the bed. Then he got him water and a shot for the pain, settled him down, covered him up, and smoothed the sweaty hair back from Blake’s forehead. He loved that part of his job. Not that Blake was hurting and upset, of course. But caring for him, seeing to his needs, making sure he was safe and comfortable gave Derek a deep sense of satisfaction. It was bigger and deeper than anything he’d ever felt before, and he knew it was because of Blake.

  Derek sat at the table with his tablet and opened the app that led to the reports he needed to fill out. With constant glances at Blake to make sure he was sleeping comfortably, he began to fill in all the necessary information. At the hour mark, Derek took Blake’s vitals and was pleased to see they were all in normal range. His temperature was a tiny bit low, but nothing worrisome. Derek added that information to the report and then closed it. He’d write up his impressions once Blake was sitting up and filling out his own report.

  Like a magnet Derek’s gaze was drawn back to the bed. Blake had started to fidget, though he seemed more restless than uncomfortable. Without pausing to examine his motivation, Derek stood and crossed the distance. He followed his gut instinct, toed off his sneakers, and slid into bed next to Blake.

  Instantly Blake’s agitation ceased. Derek gathered Blake to him and kept his hold loose in case Blake wanted to pull away. But instead Blake pushed back against Derek, snuggled in and fit his body right against Derek’s. For just a second, Derek froze and wondered if Blake even knew what he was doing. But then Derek decided it didn’t matter. Blake obviously needed the comfort, and Derek needed to give it to him. With a sigh he wrapped Blake up more tightly and wound his arms around Blake—one under his head, the other around Blake’s waist. Blake gave a deep, contented sigh, and his entire body relaxed.

  After a moment Blake turned his head and placed a quick, gentle kiss on Derek’s biceps. Another breath, and then Blake murmured, “Thank you.”

  Derek buried his smile in the back of Blake’s hair and relaxed completely.

  It was everything he wanted.

  IT was easy for the pair of them to fall into a rhythm. Without even trying they worked seamlessly together—picking cases, making sure each had what they needed, and Blake submitting to Derek’s care without objection or complaint. Derek loved how pliant Blake became under his ministrations, and he always seemed to know exactly what Blake needed the mom
ent he needed it.

  Blake’s recovery time was quicker and easier too. After a week it was clear Blake’s crying jags lasted less time and were less violent. At first Derek thought he was just becoming used to them, so they didn’t seem as jarring and painful as they had. When another week passed, Derek knew he wasn’t imagining it, so he brought it up.

  “You think?” Blake toyed with his turkey and swiss cheese sandwich, pulling off the top layer and removing the romaine lettuce.

  “You should eat that. It’s good for you.” Derek pointed his fork at the plate, not caring that they were in the middle of a cafeteria and anyone could hear them. Everyone was too busy with their own lunches to pay them much attention. Besides, Blake didn’t mind when Derek gave him food advice. “And yes. I really do.”

  Blake wrinkled his nose. “It’s wilty. I think they had it on with the mayonnaise too long. I don’t want to.”

  Derek chuckled and grabbed up the offending lettuce. It was indeed limp and unappetizing. He wrapped it in an extra napkin and tucked it onto the edge of his tray to throw out when he got up.

  “Thank you.” Blake sighed contentedly and reconstructed his sandwich. “I’d really love it if that were the case. It’s hard to judge when you’re the one crying your guts out. But why do you think it’s happening? I’ve been this way ever since I started. If anything, coming back has gotten harder as I’ve gotten older.”

  Derek took gentle hold of Blake’s wrist and stroked the inside with his thumb. “Maybe it’s me?”

  Blake’s gaze darted down to where they touched and gave a small, almost dreamy smile. Derek had been getting a lot of those lately, as he’d become freer with his physical affections. He was judging Blake’s receptiveness, and Blake seemed on board. But Derek knew he had to tread lightly and ease them into intimacy. Otherwise Blake would run.