Deacon's Law

by RJ Scott

  Silence again.

  They stopped at a diner with a little over ten miles to go to Cambridge Falls, a small, out-of-the-way place that had seen better days. Deacon opened the door and gestured for Rafe to enter first, then he chose a table in the corner by the exit with his back to the wall. Rafe wasn’t ready to have his back to anything, and he wriggled into the other seat. Then he imagined having to make a quick exit with his leg in plaster, wedged in so tight, and panic snagged in his chest. He began to move to get out, but Deacon laid a hand over his.

  “Sorry,” he murmured. “Force of habit.”

  “You’re freaking me out,” Rafe said under his breath. He tried to get out again, but this time Deacon’s touch was firmer.

  Rafe relaxed a little as the waitress made her way over with mugs and a jug of hot coffee.

  “Coffee?” she asked, and filled both mugs when Rafe nodded and Deacon gave a low yes. The outside of the diner looked dated, but the service was quick and friendly, and the coffee hot. “What can I get you?”

  “Pancakes, bacon, eggs,” Deacon said, “and toast.”

  The waitress looked at Rafe expectantly. “Toast,” he said, to placate her and to rid Deacon of the worried frown. Sue him, but he wasn’t hungry at all.

  She took the order, bustled back with a basket of condiments and jellies, and left.

  The toast arrived, and the scent of it was enough to have Rafe buttering it and adding jelly, but then he stared at it, even as Deacon ate his huge plate of food. Not even the scent of bacon was working for him.

  Rafe bit a piece of toast and chewed it thoughtfully. It tasted pretty good, and he felt a little hungry. Maybe it was because he was getting closer to home that he was so nervous. He finished the toast, washed it down with coffee, and waited for Deacon to finish.

  Abruptly, he wanted to see his place, his home, and he wanted to show it to Deacon.

  “I can’t wait for you to see Cambridge Falls,” he said as they rose to leave. Deacon threw down some money to cover the check and held open the door to let Rafe out first. “I feel like the only thanks I can give you for all this is for you to see me back home safe where I belong,” he added as soon as they were out in the chilly Fall air.

  Deacon shrugged into his jacket and gently patted Rafe on the chest. “You don’t ever have to thank me, but I can’t wait to see your town and your place.”

  They were back on the road within seconds, and the general feeling of wellbeing that Rafe had felt disappeared quicker than ice in the sun when Deacon swore with feeling.

  Deacon slowed up and indicated. “Seems like we’ve got company,” he said.

  Fear gripped Rafe as he twisted in his seat to look behind them. “Who is it?” How long would it be before fear wasn’t his constant companion?

  “Local PD.”

  Rafe didn’t feel much less concerned by the news. Cops meant questions.

  “Let me handle this,” Rafe said, and Deacon didn’t answer, although he lowered his window and had his documents to hand.

  A man Rafe recognized leaned down to the car. “License and registration, sir.”

  “Bill, hey,” Rafe said, like it hadn’t been a while since he’d been in town and the last time he’d been there he hadn’t been driven away in an ambulance.

  “Craig,” Bill said in surprise, and rested his hands on the roof of the car, peering in. “That you?” It was weird to hear his fake name. Both he and Deacon would have to be careful to use it when they were in town.

  “Sure is,” Rafe said, not letting one iota of his worry into his tone, and slipping back into his witness program name easily.

  “Heard you left the city hospital AMA. We were all kinda worried.”

  “You know how it is,” Rafe said, thinking on his feet. Deacon shot him a look that spoke volumes. You know how it is, what?

  “How you doing?”

  “Better, thank you. Bill, meet my friend Deacon.”

  Bill extended a hand. “Welcome to Cambridge Falls.”

  “Sir,” Deacon replied, and shook his hand. He was formal and polite, but Rafe could see the tension radiating from him. Surely that was something that Bill would pick up on.

  “You boys drive carefully now.” Bill puffed himself up importantly, “See you at the town meeting tomorrow at the school. Bring your friend.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Good to have you back, Craig.”

  “Good to be back.”

  Pleasantries exchanged, Bill returned to his car, waving as he drew out and passed them.

  Was it just Rafe, or had there been an emphasis on the word friend, and a sly wink from the crusty old cop? Everyone in town knew he was gay. He’d told the school principal at his interview, and it seemed like by the first day on the job everyone had known he wasn’t interested in Betsy’s cousin Katie, and would probably prefer her other cousin, Tad.

  When they got into the small town, Rafe felt as if he’d been away forever, when in reality it hadn’t been long at all.

  “We’re here,” Deacon said, and slowed up for the one set of stoplights.

  Rafe glanced up and realized where they were. To the left led to his house, to the right took you to the school where he taught

  Rafe’s apartment was over a bakery, Carter’s, and sandwiched between a diner and a grocery store. Seems as Deacon knew exactly where he lived. Of course he did.

  “This is home,” he said needlessly, and waited as Deacon pulled up farther along the road and killed the engine. Deacon helped him out of the car, and together they managed the iron steps up the side of the café to his front door.

  Nothing had changed, the door was still red, but things should have changed. He’d been away for a while now, not been back since the hit-and-run had put him in the hospital. He didn’t have a key, it wasn’t as if Deacon took any personal belongings from the hospital along with Rafe. Still, Deacon managed to get inside with a collection of keys on a ring. The smell inside was better than he would have imagined. A couple of the plants he’d been nurturing were long since dead – no one else had a key to his place, part of his WitSec agreement. Mail had piled up at the door, a lot of it junk mail, some bills, but utilities were all paid monthly direct, so he knew there wouldn’t be any letters demanding money. Hell, he didn’t even have a credit card. Craig Jenkins lived within his means and didn’t draw any attention to himself, until of course he did with the article. So stupid.

  “Nice place,” Deacon said, and closed the front door behind him. He looked so big in this place, but he looked right, as if he fit into Rafe’s idea of home. The drapes were open, just as he’d left them to go to work that morning, and his small kitchen still tidy, his bed made. He knew his DVR would be full of recorded shows from his favorite Discovery Channel.

  Nothing had changed.

  Just him.

  First thing he did was flick on the hot water; he needed a shower. Then he thought about what Deacon might need, and set about making coffee. And through all of this he didn’t say a word, and Deacon just watched him.

  “You okay?” he finally asked.

  Rafe wasn’t sure where to start; this place was more his home than any he’d had since his dad had died. He felt secure here, safe, and he loved this town, and his job. In fact, what he wanted to do was smile, so he did. Deacon tugged him close and they kissed, right in the middle of the tiny sitting room.

  Now all Rafe had to do was convince Deacon that this could be his home as well.

  Where did that thought come from?

  But Rafe knew where it had originated. Right from inside his heart.

  Chapter 16

  In his house, with the door shut and Deacon making breakfast, Rafe could almost forget that tomorrow he was going back to work. They’d made love last night, slow and gentle, and afterward they’d laid for the longest time, just talking. Deacon told him all about being a cop, Rafe explained how much he loved teaching.

  They were like a normal, everyday kind of
couple.

  “How do you want your eggs?” Deacon asked, pulling him from his memories of the previous night.

  “Scrambled. Thanks.”

  The conversation was that simple, and when they sat next to each other on the sofa, plates piled high with eggs and bacon, Rafe wished he could capture this moment forever. Soon Deacon would have to leave to go back to real life. Didn’t matter how much Rafe wanted him to stay and make something of what they were, he would have to go. Rafe was going to miss him. Or at least miss the sex. That was what it was—just the sex.

  Who was he kidding? Deacon leaving wouldn’t be good.

  “Why did you stop being a cop?” He asked the question that had been bugging him for a while. When they’d first met, Deacon had been undercover. Now he wasn’t anything, and in his words it had been a few months since he’d resigned.

  “I already told you.”

  “Yeah, you said about the shooting, but you were doing your job, right? A career you were good at. Why would you leave? Couldn’t you get support, help to keep on working?”

  Deacon swallowed the mouthful of bacon and scooped up some eggs, chewing and swallowing them as well. He did everything deliberately and slowly, and Rafe wondered if he was ever getting a real answer.

  “Honestly, I was already on the edge after being undercover. I’d lost part of my identity doing that.” He stopped, ate some more, and Rafe didn’t interject with any more questions. He knew Deacon wasn’t done yet.

  Deacon looked at Rafe. “When we took Arlo in, and his sons, I’d done my job, you know?”

  “Yeah,” Rafe murmured.

  “But shooting you, and watching you afterward, when you struggled at first with what had happened—”

  “Wait, you watched me?”

  “No, that sounds like…no, I wasn’t watching you, but I knew where you were, and Evie kept me in the loop as to how you were doing. The town was a good match when you got here, but before you settled here, I know you were left with a lot of questions.”

  Rafe put his plate on the small table, turning to face Deacon. “Like how was it the man I saw with compassion in his eyes had to kill me? That was my biggest question back then. The answer you gave me, about the others that died, and how you wanted to protect me? I get that. I understand that.”

  Deacon put his plate on the table and sat back on the sofa, cupping his coffee. His hazel eyes darkened, and he half closed his eyes in thought. “Some of the things I saw…” he began slowly. “You’d put yourself right in the middle of it all, and I was growing to care about you. I wasn’t just guarding you, I was falling for you, and I saw vulnerability and a good heart, not blackness and poison. I didn’t want to shoot you, and right after we arrested Arlo and his sons, I wanted to wake you up in the hospital and tell you everything. But I couldn’t.”

  Rafe scooted forward a bit, just needing to touch some part of Deacon. He had just as much that he needed to get off his chest.

  Deacon leaned into him, and Rafe pressed back, and like that they slipped into an easy silence. He was going back to work in the morning, and after a while lost to sitting on the sofa, he pulled himself together and sat at the small kitchen table. He lost himself in coloring in and laminating all kinds of things to do with the letters B and C for his five-year-olds tomorrow.

  Deacon came to sit with him, and without prompting he sat there and cut out letters, placing them in a neat pile. He didn’t complain even though there were fifteen of each letter, not to mention fifteen bears and fifteen cats.

  “What made you want to teach the little kids?” Deacon asked, frowning when he couldn’t get a proper hold of the tiny scissors they were using.

  “I didn’t have a lot of choice. It was the only vacancy, and I’d done early years as an elective at college. Two weeks of intense training, and I joined the school as Mr. Jenkins, teacher to a class of five-year-olds.”

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  Rafe nodded. “It’s important to me.”

  Silence for a while, but when Rafe finished cutting out the last B, he sighed and realized he had one hell of a lot of questions.

  “I’m not in normal WitSec, am I? Not as when the government knows where I am. I mean, there was no need for me still to be in Cambridge Falls. Arlo was dead, Chumo as well, and Felix in a psychiatric hospital. My part was done. Right? Any typical person would have been back to their normal life.”

  Deacon put down his laminated teddy bear and unhooked the scissors, flexing his fingers. “You had to stay dead until I thought it was safe. If Felix had ever realized…”

  “Which he did.”

  “He was ranting about you being the murderer, about how without you everything was okay. He blamed you. But you were okay; you were dead and out of his way. I didn’t have to worry.”

  “Okay.” Rafe went back to cutting, but Deacon clearly had something else he wanted to say, because he didn’t pick up the scissors.

  “But yeah, the WitSec you were in wasn’t sanctioned. With all three of the Martinez family away, I couldn’t swing getting you protection, not officially anyway. So I pulled some strings and we got you here. Can I ask you something, though?”

  “Sure.”

  “Are you happy here? Is this the life you’d want if you could choose it?”

  That was an easy question to answer. “I love this town, the apple Danish and coffee in the morning, the hellos you get from everyone, the love of the kids, the school and my work colleagues. I have friends. I would never have looked at teaching as a career, but I love it. I just wish I hadn’t made such a fuss about the LGTB group, otherwise I wouldn’t have been in the paper and Felix may never have seen it.”

  “Rafe—”

  “But then I would always have been thinking, why did Deacon hurt me, and where was Felix, and were more people dying because of that family?”

  Deacon looked down at the pile of teddies and shuffled them with his hands. They looked so tiny against his fingers, and Rafe could only imagine what was going through Deacon’s head at that moment.

  “I wouldn’t have let him hurt you in that hit-and-run if I could have got to you first,” he said finally. He sounded so serious, so focused and determined, that for the first time in the last few weeks, Rafe felt completely safe.

  “Thank you,” he said, and went back to crafts, and for the longest time they sat quietly, the only sound the scissors in the card.

  “My teacher in first grade was this really old woman who smelled of peppermint,” Deacon cut into the silence with a brand-new subject that wasn’t about death and fear. “Probably in hindsight she was thirty, but she seemed old to me when I was five.”

  “One of the kids in my class wanted to know if I’d met any dinosaurs, so I know they all think I’m old.”

  Rafe picked up the letters and the bears, placing them in a folder along with some worksheets he’d printed out, and then he was done.

  They made dinner together, watched crappy TV, and halfway through a rerun of some godawful soap, Rafe switched off the TV altogether.

  “You could go now if you want. No sense in dragging this out if you want to get back to your own life,” he blurted into the otherwise silent room. There, he had it off his chest.

  He had a hundred reasons in his head for why he’d said what he had, but they were lost when Deacon hauled him in for a hard, desperate kiss.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  They stumbled back at the force of the coming-together, but Deacon didn’t let him fall. Instead, with heated kisses, he encouraged Rafe backward to the bedroom, assisting him even as they kissed so he didn’t fall over his damn cast.

  Gently, Deacon laid him on the bed, but there was still fire in his eyes, and the kisses went back to being determined and focused.

  “I’m not leaving,” he repeated between kisses, and carefully eased Rafe up the bed, not touching the tender area in his side or his leg. He was impossibly gentle, but wouldn’t let Rafe move.

  How
is he even doing that?

  “You and me,” he whispered, “we’ve got a long time to figure us out.”

  “Deacon—”

  “Things are not ending tomorrow, or the day after. I want more than this.”

  They kissed again, and something about the desperation and tenderness made Rafe melt. He forgot his leg ached and his side hurt, and he was finally at peace.

  Chapter 17

  When he woke up at the alarm the next morning, Deacon was gone, but he could hear him on a conference call with various voices, and Rafe wasn’t ready to hear anything else about what was happening in Deacon’s real life. Not yet. He showered, shaved, and dressed in neat pants, a shirt and tie, and for the longest time he stared at himself in the mirror, wondering if people would notice any change in him when he got to school. Only when he was sure that Rafe Martinez had been pushed back and Craig Jenkins was at the forefront of his thoughts did he leave the bedroom. The conference call was done, Deacon dressed in his usual jeans and a tee shirt.

  Rafe wanted another kiss, needed it more than the next breath. He slid his hand up and laid it against Deacon’s cheek, looking into his hazel eyes, and then in a smooth move he kissed him. There were no walls to press him against, no chance of friction or more than just a kiss, but all he needed was one taste of Deacon and everything would make sense. At least for a while.

  Deacon rested his hands on Rafe’s hips and held him close as they kissed – lazy, searching kisses that were everything that Rafe needed right now. When they eased apart, Deacon was smiling that enigmatic half smile that sent shivers down Rafe’s spine.

  Abruptly, inside him, all the hidden secrets and everything he hadn’t felt he could say spilled out in a hurried, blurted, “I love you.”

  He waited for Deacon’s smile to drop, for him to become all business and dismiss his feelings as a link they had because of proximity, or danger, or some other nonsense that Rafe had been thinking himself. Instead Deacon kissed him again, and when they parted it was Deacon’s turn to say something.