by Austin Bates
"He said—“ Damien had to clear his throat when his voice broke. "He said he went for help."
"Twelve teachers heard him screaming for help. The doctor said that if you hadn't been found until after lunch, you would have bled out." She sniffed, the flutter of a tissue as loud as a shot across the line.
"Fuck," Damien said, tucking his head between his knees as the world spun. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, everything looked different. It was all new and clean in a way it hadn't been since the last time he'd lain on the worn boards of the tree house with Tommy next to him, kissing and watching deer. "Tommy's pregnant," he said, and she gasped. "I'm an idiot," he added.
Maria laughed, slightly waterlogged, but lighter than she had been. "I knew that."
"I'm going to be a dad," he whispered.
"I won't tell Mom that you told me first," Maria said.
"Thanks. I have to go," he said, stuffing his feet back in his shoes. "I've got something I need to do."
"Okay," she said. "But Damien?" He could hear her struggling to find the words. "Be careful with him. He took that stand, and he never even batted an eyelash, but when they brought out those pictures of you... He cried so hard they had to carry him out of the courtroom."
Damien swallowed hard, his dry throat clicking. "I'll do my best. Love you," he said, hanging up before she could make them both cry again.
***
Somehow, Damien wasn't surprised to see Tommy's old Dodge parked at the pull off near the creek. He let his feet guide him, stepping automatically to avoid the overgrown roots and eroded sections of the path. It wasn't until he rounded the bend and saw the outline of someone sitting on the platform of the tree house that he realized he still didn't know what he was going to say.
He leaned against the big oak staring across the water at a pair of beavers trundling along the bank. His mind was blank and overstuffed at the same time. He could come up with a dozen things to add to a list of things they'd need for the baby, but not one way to say he was sorry for being an asshole for an entire decade. How did he fit something so big into words that were so small?
"I expected this place to have rotted away," Tommy said, his voice seeping down through the boards. He sounded exhausted, like he'd aged another ten years in the last hour.
"It pretty much was when I came back a few years ago." Damien climbed up the ladder, expecting Tommy to protest at every step. There was nothing but silence as he settled down on the platform. He let his eyes trace Tommy's profile, aching to soothe the tear-stained cheeks with his lips.
"Why did you come back?" Tommy asked, still staring across the creek.
Damien hadn't had an answer when Mica had asked that question, but now it was so obvious that he didn't even have to think about it. "To face what happened," he said, his hands shaking a little as he ran them over his face. "It was tearing me up inside, and I felt like I was a coward for hiding in California." He looked away, following the flow of the river. "I went to the reunion, but you weren't there."
"I burned the invitation," Tommy said, sighing as his hand stroked over the bump of his belly, "turned my phone off, and spent the weekend drunk."
"So did I." Damien watched those delicate hands smooth the fabric. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you for so long." The words were too small, too simple, for how sorry he was. They were a start, though, and they got Tommy to look at him. "I wish..." He shook his head, laughing mirthlessly. "I wish a lot of things."
"I wish Coach Miller had gone to prison the first time he beat a kid half to death," Tommy said, the words bitten off. "I wish this town wasn't full of bigots and bullies."
"I wish," Damien said, catching Tommy's hand and squeezing it, "that I hadn't sent you away. We could have taken on anything together."
"You were in the hospital," Tommy muttered, ducking his head. "I don't think you get to blame yourself for this one."
"Yes, I am." Damien caught his eye and said seriously, "You have taken the blame for something that wasn't your fault for years, and I've let you. It's my turn to take the blame for something. At least this one was all me."
"I lied," Tommy whispered, his voice shaking a little as his eyes welled with tears.
"I should have known you would never toy with me like that," Damien said. "I forgot the most important thing. You were my best friend."
"To be fair," Tommy said, a tentative smile crossing his lips, "you had a concussion at the time."
Damien laughed loud enough to startle the beavers. "Are you saying I've been non compos mentis for over a decade?"
"If the shoe fits."
Dragging Tommy into his arms, Damien laughed until he cried, and cried until he could smile again. "Can I tell you a secret?" he said when the sun started to dip behind the mountains leaving a chill in the air.
Tommy nodded, his cheek rubbing against Damien's.
"I'm really, really happy about the baby," he said.
Tommy smiled, more tears rolling down his cheek. Taking Damien's hand in his, he pressed it gently against the hard lump of baby pressing out from his previously toned abs.
Cupping his hands around that tiny bulge, Damien felt something bitter inside him drain away.
Chapter Fourteen
Tommy stroked his hand along the seat of his motorcycle, picking at the fraying seam. He'd have to replace that before he went riding again.
Settling one hand over his bulging belly, he wondered ruefully if he was ever going to be able to do that again. It seemed like his stomach was getting bigger every day, and he was still months from being due. The baby shifted, and he smiled. He stroked the firm curve, settling the oversized t-shirt more evenly over his bulk. He was going to have to go up a size soon.
He sighed and bypassed the bike for his car. Even that was getting to be a tight squeeze these days, and he wondered how much longer he'd be able to get to work at all. He'd been tattooing a guy yesterday who had freaked out every time Tommy had accidentally brushed him with his belly.
And he wasn't even going to think about how stretched out his tattoos were getting. He'd given the speech about how aging and body changes affected ink for so many years, but he'd never understood it quite as much as he did now, watching the red ribbons of fate that he'd carefully positioned across his body distort in unpredictable ways.
His phone rang as he finally got the seatbelt buckled, and he grumbled as he dug it out of his pocket.
"Hi, babe. I just got off, and I'm headed your way. Did the car start?"
Tommy smiled, Damien's voice making the little annoyances of the day fade away. "I haven't tried it yet."
"I figured I'd pick you up from the shop so that we could go to dinner."
"Sounds great," Tommy said, his stomach rumbling. "I'm already starving."
Damien laughed. "Doesn't Anne keep granola in her filing cabinet? You should borrow some when you get to work."
"How do you know about that?" Tommy had only found out about it because he'd needed a copy of some receipts for his accountant.
"I have my sources," Damien said. "Eat something, and I'll be there in a little bit."
"I will," Tommy said. He hesitated for a moment, but he couldn't stop himself from adding, "I love you."
Damien hummed. "See you soon, babe."
Tommy stared at the phone in his hand for long enough that the screen turned off. He'd been saying it a lot lately. Ever since the first time he'd said it, after sex like some cliché high school virgin, he'd been almost incapable of holding the words back. It was like there was some wicked witch's curse overriding his common sense.
Damien hadn't said it back. Not even during sex.
The baby rolled over, and Tommy shook himself, trying to throw off his bad mood. He was going to go to work and have a good day. He turned the key in the ignition, and the car started on the first try. He took it as a sign of good things to come.
Staring at the blood red “whore” painted across the front window of
Vivid Ink, Tommy rested his forehead against the steering wheel and contemplated going back to bed. He dug his phone out of his pocket again.
"Hi, boss. What's up?" Anne sounded entirely too cheerful when he knew she'd had an early morning class.
"Emily set up the security system so that the camera feeds can be monitored from anywhere, right?"
"Not anywhere, anywhere, but almost anywhere. Mostly just places where she and I are logged in and have the right software. And you, of course, boss. If you want to." She stumbled to a stop.
"I don't," he said, struggling his way out of the car.
"Did it happen again?" she asked in a small voice.
"Yeah," he said, swiping a finger across the paint and grimacing when it left his finger smeared with red. "Recently, too. The paint isn't quite dry."
"I'm on it, boss. We'll nail that asshole to the wall. I'll call Detective Williams, too."
"Thank you," he said, hanging up before she could work herself up any more.
Hands on his hips, he tilted his head back to stare at the sky. It made his neck pop, and he groaned. He didn't want to deal with this today, but he didn't want Anne or Carlos to have to, either. Despite two security videos of a guy in a ragged hoodie painting the window, the police weren't any closer to catching him. They'd increased patrols for a while, and it had cut down the frequency, but as soon as the patrols stopped, it happened again, without fail.
He took some pictures just in case the police needed them, taking the opportunity to check around the shop for any other damage. Nothing looked out of place, but he took pictures just to be safe.
Carting the bucket of soapy water made his back ache, but it would be easier to take off the paint before it dried fully. Within minutes of starting, he was soaked with soapy water and red paint, his belly pressing against the glass and smearing things around no matter how hard he tried to keep it out of the way.
He couldn't remember scrubbing the window ever taking quite so much out of him, and he took a break after getting off what he could reach of the first letter. He broke into Anne's stash of granola and petulantly stuffed his face with handfuls at a time while glaring at the section at the top of the window that he couldn't reach now that he was hugely pregnant.
He felt better with some food in him, but his arms were still shaking with strain by the time he got through half the graffiti. The bottom half of the window was streaked with belly marks, like a giant had been finger painting. He was reluctant to admit it, but he kind of liked the effect.
By the time Damien drove up, he was taking more breaks than he was getting work done, his arms and back complaining painfully. He'd had to stop to pee two dozen times, and the shirt he was wearing was completely ruined.
"Let me get that," Damien said, crouching down to give the baby a hello kiss.
Tommy sighed in relief. "Yes, please and thank you," he said, slumping on the front step. "I hope that new hardware store is finished soon."
"You think it will help the neighborhood," Damien asked as he scrubbed the paint off the top edge of the window without any apparent effort. Tommy was tempted to flip him off.
"A new, well-liked, and much-needed store like that? It can't hurt." Tommy rubbed at the ache in his back. "Besides," he said, groaning as the muscles relaxed a little, "it's a 24-hour chain, so maybe that will deter some of the nighttime crime, at least."
Damien nodded. "Good point. It'll be nice if it helps. This is, what? The fourth time?"
"Something like that," Tommy said, too tired to think about it. "Too many. Even the pawn shop has gotten hit a couple times." He gestured to the well-lit intersection down the street. "They've added cameras, too."
Damien shook his head. "That's terrible." He dropped the sponge in the bucket and rinsed his hands. "All done."
Tommy slowly turned his head to examine the window. It was spotless. Damien's shirt had exactly one drip mark on it, too. He flipped him off with both hands, smiling slightly as Damien laughed. "I really hate anyone who can see their toes right now," he said, rubbing harder at his back.
Sliding in behind him, Damien dug his fingers into the small of Tommy's back. Tommy couldn't help it; he melted. It was like his entire skeleton had been removed and replaced with gelatin.
"Never mind," he moaned, curling forward to give Damien a better angle. "You can live."
"How generous," Damien said in his ear, his deep voice making Tommy's toes curl. "Can I take you to dinner, too?"
Tommy frowned at his shirt. "I'll have to go home and change," he said, picking uselessly at a flake of paint embedded in the fibers. "I wouldn't even feel right going to dive bar in this thing."
"Do you have any appointments today?"
Thinking about it as he tried to drape himself over Damien's hands, Tommy shook his head. "No. Today was just going to be a cleaning and paperwork day. That's why Anne isn't here yet."
"What do you say you close up the shop and play hooky?" Damien hit a particularly good spot, and Tommy nodded, anything to get him to keep going.
"After we get you changed, we can go to dinner, have a nice dessert, and then I'll run you a bath in that big tub of yours and massage all the knots out of your back." He kissed the nape of Tommy's neck, sending a shiver down Tommy's spine.
"I love you," Tommy breathed.
Damien laughed, but he didn't say it back.
Chapter Fifteen
"Is it a straight or a flush when the cards are all the same suit?" Kieran asked, moving cards around in his hand with a confused frown.
Damien snorted. "You can't fool me, Kieran McConnell. You're a card shark, through and through."
The redhead blinked, a sly smile creasing his lips. "That's a dirty slur against my honor, lad." He smiled when Rafe burst out laughing.
"You ain't got no honor, man," the Cuban said, leaning back in his chair. "These cards are crap." He threw his hand down on the table. "I fold."
"Statistically speaking," Elijah Jakobson said without looking up from his book, "there's no chance he has either a straight or a flush."
Hiding his grin behind a drink of coffee, Damien shook his head. "You two have got to stop counting cards, or Captain Brant is going to ban poker night again."
Matthias, sitting stiffly on the edge of the chair opposite his brother, shrugged. "He was only mad last time because his wife found out how much money he was losing," he said in his rough voice. "Damien's eaten more candy tonight than he's lost in the pot, and the only danger there is to his dental health."
"You guys are a barrel of laughs, you know that?" Rafe said, getting to his feet to refill his drink.
"No," the twins said together.
Damien laughed, popping another handful of candy into his mouth. "I'll call your bluff," he said, scooting what was left into the middle of the table.
Kieran sighed, throwing his cards down on the table. "I fold," he said, glaring at the twins. "It's no fun to play with you two around."
"We can't take credit for that," the twins said together. It really was creepy as hell. "It wasn't working, anyway," Elijah continued, "and Damien had a full house."
"How the hell do you do that?" Rafe asked. "I can understand playing the probabilities, but there's no way you could have figured out his exact hand."
Elijah shrugged, but Matthias looked thoughtful. "Our mother always did say that Elijah was psychic."
Kieran leaned forward in his chair, his eyebrows raised. "Really?"
"No," Elijah said, braying with laughter.
Matthias smiled, the tiniest curve of his lips. "I was being funny."
"You're doing it wrong," Kieran retorted, but Matthias just shrugged.
The door to the lobby swung open, and Mica shuffled in, water running off him in rivers.
"Still raining, huh?" Rafe said as the tall omega grabbed his coffee mug and took a long drink.
Shooting them all a dirty look, Mica wrung out his shirt with his free hand. "Yes. It is still raining. What was your first clue?
" He shoved the mug back into Rafe's hands. "Not only is it still raining, but the wind has picked up, so my umbrella was absolutely useless."
"You're the one who wanted to take a walk," Damien said, leaning back in his chair.
"I was bored," Mica snapped. "I don't understand how the rest of you aren't going stir-crazy."
Damien had to concede the point. It had been raining for days, and the most exciting alarm they'd had all week was a kitchen fire at the retirement home. It had been out before they got there.
"Talent," Rafe said, filling his mug for the third time.
"Booze," Kieran added, yelping as Mica dripped on his head.
"Knitting."
Everyone turned to look at Matthias. Damien tried to imagine the broad shouldered alpha picking painstakingly at a ball of knotted yarn. He couldn't get the picture to come up.
"What do you knit?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
Matthias glanced up, his eyebrows creased in surprise. "Baby blankets, why?"
Raising his hands, Damien shrugged. "I was curious. You guys don't talk about your hobbies much."
The twins shared a glance. "Nobody finds our hobbies interesting," they said.
"That never stops Kieran," Mica said, dodging the lazy swat the Irishman aimed at him.
"Golf is fascinating," Kieran protested, glaring when Damien laughed.
"Sorry, man," he said, smiling unapologetically. "I'm with Mica on this one." His phone buzzed, scattering candies as it rattled along the tabletop. "Oh, look. An excuse to get out of this conversation." He retreated to the locker room before accepting the call, hoping it was far enough away that Tommy wouldn't hear the things being shouted at him.
"Hey, babe," he said.
"Hi," Tommy said, sounding out of breath. "I couldn't remember... Why is Rafe shouting about black lights?"
Damien rolled his eyes, letting his head fall back on the cold tile wall with a thud. "It's Rafe," he said, his lips stretched in a smile. "Science has stopped looking for ways to explain his behavior.
