by TJ Nichols
It would be weird to call Will, to pick up as though twenty-five years hadn’t passed. He’d promised to call, and goddammit, he wanted to see Will again. They were adults, and if they wanted to see each other, they could.
Another jogger ran toward him. Tom nodded in greeting the way he usually did, but the jogger stared at him, her face weirdly blank, and cold rushed down his spine. They passed, and Tom glanced over his shoulder. So did the jogger, but her smile was pure malice.
What the hell?
He pushed on, adrenaline pumping and giving him speed. He knew that look. He didn’t want to remember it, but the fragments were there, refusing to reassemble. Last night there’d been the same looks.
A peloton of five cyclists raced down the street three abreast. Their loud conversation stopped as they drew close to him, and then they slowed. Tom’s breathing came in hard pants.
He was wearing clothes, so it wasn’t some kind of nightmare. Why were strangers stopping and staring at him with such naked hate?
As soon as the cyclists were past him, they started to chat again as though nothing had happened. For another three steps, Tom resisted the urge to glance at their backs. Then he turned and jogged on the spot, watching. Sure enough, the last two of them glanced back at him, their faces blank and cold, and he stared back. Although their gaze never left him, they kept peddling forward without crashing or weaving.
He shivered despite the warm breeze.
When they rounded the corner, Tom resumed his run, but this time he couldn’t outrun the memories of last night. Something had happened, and the reunion had gotten screwed up and he’d left with Will. The hairs on his arms prickled, and he couldn’t shake the sensation that he was being watched. He’d forgotten an important detail, and it put him in some kind of very strange danger.
Was that what Will had been trying to tell him? Did he have a target on his back? If he did, one sniper would be simpler than involving all these people.
His heart drummed as he ran along the sidewalk. He wasn’t going to turn for home, not yet. He hadn’t been running long enough, and he needed to sort out his head before he made a rash decision that made it, whatever it was, worse.
He slowly went through the night and tried to pull together the pieces Will had explained to him, only to realize Will had barely said anything.
Miracles, gods, and possession.
Tom had pieced it together between kisses, and Will had confirmed.
But none of that shit existed. He didn’t believe in miracles or gods or demons or any of that mystical bullshit. But if he didn’t believe, how could he explain the cyclists or the jogger?
He couldn’t.
He turned the corner toward the park. An old man was walking his equally old yellow Labrador. He often saw them and usually said hi, but today the man scowled and the dog’s hackles lifted. Tom swerved to go around them, but not far enough. The dog lunged for him and almost bit his calf. Saliva flicked against Tom’s skin as he sprinted past, the old man’s laughter following him down the street.
Fuck this. He would go home, incomplete run or not, and call Will.
By the time he got home, last night was crystal clear—as though a curtain had been ripped away. Will had dragged him into this by putting his name in some kind of out clause in some kind of contract. Having sex hadn’t released Will, which meant he was still up to his armpits in demons, judging by this morning’s antics.
Was it demons? If Will worked for God, then maybe it wasn’t demons, but angels. It was troubling that he was even debating the point. He didn’t want to believe any of it was true.
He’d been on the ground in Afghanistan, so he knew it was almost impossible to fight an enemy who didn’t want to be seen. This was no different. He couldn’t tell the possessed from the unpossessed until it was too late, so he was going to have to assume that everyone was watching and reporting. When he’d thought about seeing Will again, this paranoia hadn’t been part of the fantasy.
There had been a time when he’d hoped that Will would write him another letter. Maybe he would call him a dick for not replying to the first letter and give him a second chance. That had never happened, and Tom had never had the balls to admit he’d fucked up, not back then, anyway. Will wouldn’t be the one to call him this time either. Couldn’t, because Tom hadn’t given him his number.
It was once again up to him, and he wasn’t going to walk away from Will a second time.
Still sweaty, he rummaged through last night’s clothes, but he couldn’t find the business card Will had handed to him. It wasn’t in his wallet either.
He drew in a breath that wasn’t at all calming. Then he grabbed a piece of paper and pen and closed his eyes. He’d had a few drinks, gotten laid, and been evacuated from the hotel, but that didn’t stop him from recalling the card and the phone number. It had been drilled into him to remember details, and his brain had fortunately acted on training. He wrote down the number.
Now all he had to do was call and ask what was going on, and this time he wanted the truth. If they were going to fight what was going on, Tom wouldn’t do it blind.
If.
What if he just shrugged and moved on? This wasn’t his problem. Will wasn’t his boyfriend, had never been his boyfriend. They’d been… they probably had been dating, but Tom’s fear of his parents and everyone else had stopped him from treating Will the way he deserved to be treated.
He’d been so young and dumb, thinking there’d be others who could take Will’s place and that he’d feel the same for them. He’d tried, and sometimes he got close, but in the end, there was always something missing. He sighed because he knew he was going to call and he was going to help Will—in part because he owed him, because they had been everything to each other at one point, but also because Tom wasn’t the kind of dick who left a friend in trouble. And despite everything that had happened, they were still friends… and maybe more.
Maybe the love he’d had for Will had never died.
WILLIAM LINGERED in bed until midday, because he had a headache with a side of he-was-fucked. If he was anybody else, he would’ve considered last night a good night. He’d caught up with people, seen the man he really wanted to see. He even got laid.
But that all meant nothing, because nothing had changed. He was still trapped, stuck in a web of his own making with no idea how to get free. In need of a piss and coffee, he forced himself out of bed.
The marble in the bathroom gleamed in the sunlight, and the kitchen was bright, and the expensive and seldom-used stainless-steel appliances shone. Everything about the place said money in the understated way that people with money usually went for. At first he’d loved it. He could finally buy whatever he wanted—no scholarship, no penny-pinching. He wasn’t poor anymore.
The machine spat out his coffee, and he drank without tasting as he walked onto the balcony. There were people out on the river, sailing and rowing and doing what normal people did on their Saturdays. He usually spent his at the office.
He was rarely at home, and he wasn’t sure what he did in his spare time. Work was his life. And if he thought about it too much, his job was to ruin lives.
Fuck. He hated his job and his life.
He tightened his fingers on the cup. If he worked for another company, he’d have a midlife crisis. He would quit, buy a motorbike—learn to ride a motorbike—take a trip to Italy to find himself. He didn’t even know who he was anymore. He wasn’t sure he even liked himself. What kind of man dragged his favorite ex into trouble?
He should do something dumb. Do lots of dumb things.
And he still could. There was nothing stopping him from taking up skydiving or rock climbing. He was sure accidents happened, and maybe that would be the end of him. No more contract. Though he had a vague memory of helping litigate a case about nonaccidental death when he first started. Centuries-old established law excluded suicide as a way out of a contract. Nonaccidental death, which was doing a deliberately stupid a
ct with the hope of death occurring, was newer. He should research that case.
Maybe he couldn’t do something dumb, but he also couldn’t quit or jump off his balcony. That would just cause grief for his mother and the people who had to clean up.
His only way out involved Tom, and last night hadn’t been enough. William wasn’t sure what was left to try. From the back of the freezer, he pulled out a piece of foil. Folded neatly inside was the list he’d made. It was well hidden because he was more than a little paranoid. It certainly wasn’t the kind of thing he left lying around the office. He unfolded the cold, stiff paper.
The first few things on his list had been obvious and had failed. He should’ve known it wouldn’t be anything as simple as an apology or a kiss—though those things had worked for other people.
He put the paper under his cup on the kitchen counter so it couldn’t be snatched by a shadow and went to his study to pull out his contract. He was very familiar with it, but he hoped for some new insight now Tom was back. Maybe the clue he needed was buried in one of the other clauses.
Still in his pajama pants, he sat and started to read and make notes, trying to work out what had gone wrong last night… aside from the fact that he’d used Tom for sex in an attempt to break the contract. Not that Tom had been reluctant. A small smile formed. Older Tom was no less headstrong that the younger version had been.
Where he’d had to write in his biggest regret, he’d simply written Thomas Langford. That was stupidity on his part, but he hadn’t thought it would actually matter or that he’d want to leave. If he’d been more specific, he wouldn’t be guessing now. Clearly it wasn’t sleeping with Tom that he regretted. He tapped his pen on the piece of paper where he’d detailed last night’s activities. The kiss. William paying for their fun for a change, sex, and the way he couldn’t act without burning his fingers.
Tom could do whatever he wanted. That hadn’t changed.
What had he wanted from Tom back when he signed the damn thing? What had Tom wanted before they faded away to nothing more than a pleasant summer memory to be dragged out in lonely winters?
Twenty-five years was a bit far back for him to remember the details, so he added two more lines to his list.
Tom wants?
Tom has to act.
Was the regret Tom’s? That didn’t make any sense. He scowled at the papers, willing the parts to come together. He picked up his cooling coffee and took a sip, nose wrinkling. What he needed to do was spend some time reviewing similar cases, not just the ones that crossed his desk. He hadn’t actively researched, because he hadn’t wanted to alert his boss. That no longer mattered.
When he’d written Tom as his regret, it had been years after their relationship ended. What had he thought he could fix? That was all he had to do to get free—fix his regret. Not even the coffee was helping his brain pull the threads together. What they’d had had been close to perfect… except for the bit where Tom wasn’t out, even to himself.
If he could go back in time, there were things he’d do differently. Who didn’t have moments like that? He certainly wouldn’t have argued with Tom about money so much, but that wasn’t it, or the buying of drinks and the room would’ve been the end of his contract. He didn’t regret letting Tom be his first. He smiled. There was a lot that he didn’t regret. But he was smart enough to know that he and Tom wouldn’t have worked out back then.
And now they were older and wiser and a little more scarred?
His phone rang from the kitchen, and he was tempted to ignore it. He didn’t want to talk to anyone today. Wallowing in self-pity and confusion was a much better way to spend a beautiful sunny day.
With a sigh he got up, and his phone went silent. If it was the office, he didn’t care—well he did, because he didn’t want to piss anyone off—but he didn’t want to work this weekend.
Maybe he wanted to start taking weekends off.
Maybe he’d use some of the leave he had saved up.
He hadn’t surfed in years, hadn’t had time. He could go to Hawaii, or even start with a weekend down south. What exactly was he saving his leave for? If he became permanent, he didn’t know if he was even going to be able to use it. His boss was permanent, and he seemed happy and mostly human. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad being completely soulless.
Maybe he wouldn’t even miss his soul. There wasn’t much left of it anyway. He folded his list as he walked into the kitchen and carefully put it back in the freezer before checking his phone. The list never left his sight when it was out.
His mother had left a message. His stomach took the hit, and he winced.
“Dammit.” He didn’t need to listen to it to know what it was about. He’d promised to take her out for lunch today. It was the anniversary of his father’s death. William never knew his father because he was still in nappies when he died. All he’d known growing up was his mother struggling. She never dated, and he’d only realized not everyone was like them when he went to school.
He sent her a message that he was on his way. A small lie, but it would only take him minutes to shower and dress. He didn’t need a booking at the restaurant, because the company had tables everywhere.
THE JAGUAR cut through traffic like a wolf through a herd of sheep, and nothing impeded his drive. Last night the shadows hadn’t wanted him to reach the reunion. They’d known what he was up to, or were worried he might get free by accident. He wished it were that easy. But they hadn’t been able to stop him. Perhaps there was only so much they could do to get in his way, free will being what it was.
His mother had a big beachfront house, the kind of place she’d always talked about owning. It had been the second piece of real estate he bought, the first being an apartment for himself. It was worth several million now and had been an excellent investment. The memory of his mother’s look of surprise had been worth it. Her happiness still made him smile. He could’ve been a lawyer with another firm—he’d have found a job eventually—and still made money, but not as much. That was the lure they caught him with. Now the hook was in his cheek, and he was being reeled in.
He parked in the driveway, but before he could get out, his mother was at the front door and locking up. His heart sank. She’d been waiting. How could he have been so wrapped up in himself that he forgot?
She kissed his cheek. “How was your reunion?”
That she’d remembered his big night only made him feel worse. “Good. I saw Tom.”
He doubted she’d remember his passing fling with a guy who thought he was straight, the guy Will tutored through his final year of school.
“How is he? He was always so polite.”
And William had always been so ashamed when Tom came around. He tried to keep tutoring to the school library or Tom’s place. But when they started spending all their free time together, Tom visited more frequently. He was interested in where William lived and who his parents were.
The first time Tom came over, he’d seen why William didn’t talk much about himself. He lived in a tiny house an hour from the school in the completely wrong suburb. There was no big-screen TV or latest-model gaming console, and his study space was the dining table. But Tom hadn’t laughed. He’d understood money wasn’t just tight, but every cent was accounted for.
They had their first argument when William was invited out as part of the group but declined because he had no money for drinks or cover charges. Tom insisted and offered to pay, but William refused. His pride unable to bend.
“Still the same Tom.” A smile formed. He was the same—wanting to help, even though this was a mess no mortal could fix. “He’s out of the Army now.”
“Single?”
“Mum.” It would’ve been better if Mum hadn’t remembered Tom.
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“It doesn’t matter if he is or isn’t. It’s not going to happen.”
“Why not? You two were so good together.”
He stopped at the red light and
glanced at his mother.
“What? I want you to be happy.”
Would being with Tom make him happy? He didn’t know. He wanted to break the contract, but he couldn’t deliberately act to break it. That meant he couldn’t pursue Tom, and even if he could, he knew he shouldn’t drag him deeper in. He’d lied last night when he said Tom was involved anyway. He was only involved because William had made the effort to run into him. If he hadn’t, his employer would have no reason to think he wanted to break his contract.
“Yeah. That’s what I want too.” Having a bank balance that would make lottery winners envious hadn’t brought the happiness he expected. He’d been happy that summer with Tom. That couldn’t be the last time, could it?
He parked near the restaurant, and they went in. William only had to walk up to the maître d’ and the man’s expression changed. That had been awe-inducing the first time he saw it. Now it was terrifying. They were shown to a table with ocean views, and his mother smiled as though he’d arranged it all in advance. He wished he had—he wished he didn’t need the services Miracles provided.
For a while she chatted about her book club and her plans for the garden, and he was happy to listen. Would he still be able to do this after his soul was used up? Maybe being permanent wouldn’t be all that bad. A job for life….
A job he hated.
He didn’t want to use his legal skills to damn people. There were too many tricky clauses designed to catch people out. The house always won. For the gods, it was all a game.
“You’ve made me proud with all the work you do. When you were small, I used to pray you’d never struggle.” She smiled. “God must have heard me.”
William almost choked on his drink. The wine went up his nose, and he coughed and spluttered and drew far too much attention.
“I’m sorry… what did you say?” he gasped.
“Just that I hoped you’d do well in life. Now all you need is a husband. It’s legal now, you know.”
