Loose Cannon

by Sidney Bell

  “I’m sorry,” Church said again. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “It was the right choice,” Ghost said. “I’m fine. You didn’t screw me over. Stop being a pain in my ass and go home. I need to get some more sleep.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  Church didn’t want to leave. He wanted nothing more than to stay right there, where Ghost was flesh and blood and safe, but he knew that tone in Ghost’s voice.

  Besides, once the door had closed behind him, he realized that there was one place he’d rather be.

  He walked back toward the bus stop. He wanted to go to Quinn’s. He wanted Miller.

  * * *

  When his cell rang, Miller checked the caller ID, grimaced and shoved it back in his pocket. He’d been hoping it was Church, but no such luck.

  Shelby, watching from her chair at the other desk, said, “Grover again?”

  “Hmm.”

  “You going to call him back of your own free will this time?”

  Miller stared hard at the packing slips in front of him. Maybe if he ignored her, she’d go away.

  “I’m guessing no.” She tapped her pencil on her keyboard. “Because you’d rather take five years to do this instead of one. For reasons that make sense to you in your little squirrel brain, but which aren’t actually logical.”

  She was watching him, but he didn’t look up from his work. They still hadn’t received the back-ordered case of epoxy putty sticks. He resigned himself to an uncomfortable chat with a sales associate later.

  “I need you to do something for me, Miller.”

  He lifted his head. “If it involves calling Grover back about signing the contract for the property, it’s not going to happen today. I’ve got to get this delivery manifest cleared up before the backlog gets worse.”

  And he needed to find out what was up with Church. He wasn’t ready for the fight he’d get if he said that part, though, so he kept it to himself.

  “You’ve got to talk to me,” Shelby argued. “That’s what you’ve got to do. Do you want to manage the new store instead of this one, is that it?”

  “No.”

  “You worried about the up-front costs?”

  “No, that seems handled.”

  “It is.” She bit her lip. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  After a hesitation, she murmured, “All jobs suck. That’s the way it goes. You think this is what I wanted to do with my life? I know you wanted something else too, but this is what we’ve got, and it’s not bad. Neither one of us has a college degree. You’ve never worked anywhere else, and all of my other job experience comes with making tips or getting fondled by gross, drunk men. We could do worse.”

  Miller reluctantly swiveled to face her. She didn’t mention her brief stint dancing (he couldn’t think of it as stripping, not when his sister was the woman in question, no way in hell) unless she was really upset, and he couldn’t tune her out now. He wasn’t sure what’d happened back then, but whatever it was must’ve been bad if she’d come crawling back to their dad after swearing she’d never talk to him again, a five-year-old Em in tow. To his credit, their dad had only said “I told you so” about a dozen times before letting it go, and he’d welcomed his granddaughter with open arms.

  For Shelby the store was an opportunity.

  For Miller it was something else.

  “You’ve got to concentrate on your motivation,” she added. “Like, it’s worth it to me because I’m providing for my daughter. Even if she’s a mouthy shit these days.”

  “Em’s perfect,” he said. “Leave her alone.”

  “I adore my daughter, but she is not perfect.” Shelby rolled her eyes. “Now she’s on an anti-dating kick, which I wouldn’t complain about if it didn’t come with a lecture every three days on the foolish importance that women place on male approval and the social consequences of falling prey to it. I swear, you get knocked up at fifteen and have an abortion once, and you never hear the end of it.” She tossed the pencil on the desk. “At least her lecture doesn’t include calling me a whore.”

  Unlike Dad’s, she didn’t add. Not that she needed to.

  “It was brave of you to tell her,” Miller said.

  “Only way I know how to keep her from making my same choices.” She stared at the ceiling, her tone taking on an air like she was speaking to herself more than Miller. “You want to protect your kids, you know, keep all the harsh realities of life from them, but they’re inevitable. I’d rather she learned from my mistakes than have to experience them for herself.”

  He didn’t know why he asked. He didn’t want to know. “Do you regret it?”

  “Every day.” She laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “And never, at the same time. It was the right choice for me, but that doesn’t mean it was an easy one. I couldn’t have carried that baby for nine months, not with Dad looking over my shoulder, making it clear what he thought of me every second of every day, and things at school were bad enough when I was just the slut who got nailed by one of the football players. I’d have gone crazy. Like, eating-the-wallpaper crazy.”

  Miller’s hands clenched into fists. The thought of his sister walking the halls of that high school alone, humiliated by the things that asshole had said to everyone, dealing with the abuse of the other kids afterward, when her only mistake had been trusting the wrong guy when she was grieving after her mother died? It drove Miller crazy. “I wish I’d known more back then. I’d have—”

  “You were ten, idiot. What were you gonna do, beat up an eighteen-year-old? Besides, you don’t have that kind of violence in you, Mill, and I wouldn’t want you to.”

  She sounded far too much like Church, calling him soft, and though he knew she was right, it pissed him off anyway. He was supposed to be a foundation for the people he loved, not someone to be protected.

  “I should’ve done something,” he insisted. “Set his car on fire, maybe.”

  “If anyone was going to, it should’ve been me. Would’ve hit that loser where he lived, at least, though God knows why he cared so much. It’s like, hello, it’s a Pontiac Fiero, dipshit.”

  That made him laugh, and she looked pleased. She tipped her head to one side, her red-brown ponytail swinging. “Is that why you’ve always been so determined to take care of Church? Needed to help someone since you couldn’t help me?”

  Miller ran his hands through his hair, wincing. He wished he had a beer or ten—this was not the kind of conversation he should be having sober. Or ever. “In all honesty, I didn’t think about it that hard.” It said something that talking about the expansion seemed like the safer topic at the moment. “Look, I’ll call Grover tomorrow, okay?”

  She continued to study him. “You don’t want this, do you? Well, obviously, but I mean you really don’t want it. I knew you’d hate the stress and the process, but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.”

  “What are you doing here? I mean, I’m here for Em, but why are you?”

  “You think I’d walk away from my responsibilities?”

  She was still watching him. He swiveled his chair back toward the desk, which only made her get up and perch on the arm of the crappy couch so she could see his face. “What responsibilities? You don’t owe me this.” She nudged him with her elbow. “You don’t owe Dad, either. I know he pressured you to choose the store over college, but I don’t think he’d have wanted you to stay if you were this unhappy.” Her mouth twisted. “He thought the sun shone out of your ass.”

  “Only because he didn’t know me.” Miller’s chest felt tight. “There were a lot of things he didn’t...he wouldn’t have approved of me either. I couldn’t say it, though, because he...he needed me. Without me, he would’ve b
een alone, so I couldn’t... I don’t...” The rest of the words got lodged in his windpipe.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing. I don’t know.” He cleared his throat and went back to picking at the laminate. His fingers fumbled.

  “You didn’t have to compensate after I screwed up.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if he put that on you or if you did, but the fact that he could only love one of us doesn’t mean you had to make up for it.”

  “He loved you, Shel. Losing you hurt him in a way that even losing Mom didn’t. He woke up old the day after you left, and I didn’t have it in me to kick him while he was down.” He glanced up at her and instantly felt like dog shit. “I’m sorry. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

  She was blinking hard as she edged away from him. “No, it’s fine. I have to, uh... Look, make a decision on the expansion, okay? One way or another, I’ll figure it out. I don’t want you to be miserable, not... Um, yeah, I need to finish this later.”

  She hurried out of the office, ignoring him when he called her name. His stomach hurt; this was why he never said things. He sat there feeling like an asshole for a few minutes, then kicked the leg of the desk when the guilt still hadn’t gone away.

  “Bad time?”

  When Miller saw Church hovering uncertainly in the doorway, something low inside him lurched. Objectively, yes, it was a bad time. All the things that Miller never said were bubbling far too close to the surface and adding Church’s presence to the mix was a recipe for trouble. But Church was practically vibrating. He kept shifting his weight and his fingers rubbed the hem of his T-shirt compulsively. There was something pinched and fragile around his eyes, and it was so unlike him that Miller’s worry took over.

  Miller said, “What happened?”

  Church looked away. “Nothing. Just people being dicks. I’m okay.”

  “That’s it? You sure?”

  Church nodded, fiddling with the door handle—click, click, click. “Shelby looked upset.”

  “Yeah. I said something stupid. I do that sometimes, as you’ll recall.”

  “That’s going around,” Church muttered. Click, click, click, click. The lines of tension around his mouth deepened. Concerned, Miller rose and touched Church’s shoulder. “Hey.”

  Church suddenly turned and wrapped Miller in his arms. Miller startled but didn’t protest. How could he? Church’s face was hot where it was tucked against Miller’s throat, his body solid against Miller’s, and it was hard to mind any of it.

  “You’re making me nervous,” Miller pointed out.

  “No, I’m good. Just let me stay like this for a second. Can I?”

  It was a little hard to understand him, but Miller got the gist. The movement of Church’s lips sent a strange tingle zipping along his skin, which prompted a faint sense of discomfort in his belly. It was overridden by his sense that Church needed him, though, and that felt good. Providing for Church felt good.

  “Yeah,” Miller murmured. “As long as you want.” He realized he was rubbing Church’s back, and he hesitated, wondering if he should stop. Church only burrowed closer, his arms tightening around Miller’s waist, so Miller kept going. Church was warm and firm under his fingertips, and one of Miller’s hands somehow found its way up to the nape of Church’s neck, petting the buzzed hairs there. It was nothing like the sensation of burying his hands in a woman’s hair, but it was nice all the same. The rougher texture was sort of fascinating.

  It would be easier if his heart would stop pounding. It wasn’t like Miller was doing something wrong. Church was going through a hard time, that was all, trying to make himself into someone better, and there was nothing shameful about needing support in that. Miller shouldn’t be worried about this, no matter how electrified his skin, no matter how tight his stomach, no matter how loud the roaring in his head was getting.

  Church shifted against him, then froze. There was a long moment of silence, and Miller couldn’t breathe, not when Church was lifting his head. Jesus, it was almost painful, this twisting feeling—

  “Miller,” Church said, his eyes wide and shocked.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Miller said quickly. He would’ve backed away, but his body seemed locked in position. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, not past the roaring, which was beginning to drown out everything else. His hands were still on Church, still holding him close, and he wanted to tell them to let go, but he didn’t.

  “Miller, you’re—” Church’s brow creased as he shook his head once. “I should go. Um, sorry.”

  “Wait,” Miller said, before Church could pull away. “That’s nothing. That just happens sometimes.”

  “When you’re hugging other guys,” Church said tonelessly, his confusion written all over his face.

  “No, I mean...” Miller wasn’t sure what he meant. Theoretically there was nothing wrong with someone...well, reacting when Church was close by, but that wasn’t Miller, it wasn’t, so this was something else, and Church was just confused. Miller was too, if he was honest, because the roaring made it hard to think, and it was all a muddle anyway.

  Church took a step back, like he meant to draw away, and Miller followed, holding on to him, because Church couldn’t leave yet, not while he didn’t understand. He’d think it was something it wasn’t, so Miller had to explain, and that meant Church had to stay. Miller had to hold on, Miller had to keep him here, keep him close, so it’d still be safe.

  It happened again—Church stepping away, Miller following, and Church’s back fetched up against the wall, Miller’s palm forced flat between his shoulder blades and the drywall. Miller tried to think, but his mind was a loud cavern of nothingness. There was no room for words or explanations or definitions, only the way Miller found himself pressing closer, and closer still, because Church had to understand.

  Church made a sound, low and thick, helpless, and it was good somehow, in a way that it wasn’t when Church was saying the other things, and Miller’s breath caught over and over. He dipped his head, squeezing his eyes closed, pressing his forehead against Church’s collarbone until it hurt. Maybe he should be mad at Church, maybe he should be scared, but he couldn’t possibly imagine why, and it didn’t matter much anyway because he...he was biting down gently at the bend of Church’s neck. He tasted salt and sweat and clean skin, and Church cried out, soft and shocked, his whole body jolting, his fingers knotting in Miller’s shirt. His hips jogged once against Miller’s, rubbing against him, and it set loose a cascade of sensations that Miller was far too weak to fight.

  He was moving, somehow, rocking against Church, who moaned and shifted, his hands dropping to Miller’s hips to correct the angle, pulling him to the left so they lined up, and the hardness against him lit him up full of sparks. He was pushing against Church, shoving against him, the tightness building in his gut, and he didn’t know what was happening, didn’t know the word for this, because this was like nothing he’d ever felt. This wasn’t sex, or at least this wasn’t what he’d thought sex was, this was something else, something that swept through him like wildfire, and he clung to Church, the lone stable spot in the universe.

  Church’s hand wedged between them suddenly, shoving Miller’s hips back.

  Miller couldn’t quite believe that the desperate begging noise he heard came from him. It was too unfamiliar, too needy, he never sounded like that, but it must’ve been him, because it was the auditory equivalent of everything his body was experiencing at the idea of Church pulling away.

  But he didn’t pull away—he thumbed open Miller’s jeans, and that...that was almost enough for the roar to come back, but then Church slid inside, circling him, his hand big and strong, tugging with the kind of determined, knowledgeable grip that Miller had only ever known from his own fist. He bucked against Church, groaning, biting down once more, an
d Church’s free hand grabbed one of Miller’s, drawing it down to where Church’s jeans were somehow open too. Miller fumbled blindly for a moment, wondering what he was doing, it was bizarre and backward and he wasn’t sure, but Church was still working him and that was enough to make the roar subside once more. Church’s cock landed against his palm. Miller’s fingers closed instinctively around it, learning what it felt like—thick and blood-hot and silky-smooth, and Miller lost the thread completely.

  His hips were rocking, he was fucking into Church’s fist, and Church was doing the same, shoving against Miller’s grip, and there was nothing but their panting breaths and the vicious rocket of Miller’s heart and the way the pleasure climbed inside him, undeniable, voracious. Everything was hyperreal, vibrant in a way nothing else had ever been, it was fast and frantic and Church growled against his jaw a split second before wet warmth spilled over Miller’s fingers.

  Church’s grip tightened almost painfully, and Church pushed them together, cock to cock, and the contact was like lightning, like a key sliding into a lock, a sense of balance reasserting itself, and even as the heat shuddered furiously through him, even as the tension peaked, a hot mouth pressed against his throat, open and wet and eager, and Miller came so hard his knees gave out. Church had to catch him as it spread throughout his entire body, liquid and heavy and clenching, and by the time it passed and he’d found his feet again, all he could think was This is what it’s supposed to feel like.

  For several long moments, it was just him and Church, breathing the same air, skin to skin, pulse to pulse. There was no noise here, and no deafening roaring to block it out. Blissful quiet.

  It didn’t last.

  Miller pulled back, looking down at the white come—yes, that was come, another man’s come—dripping from his fingers, and Church hadn’t tucked himself back in yet, so yes, that was his cock there that Miller was touching. Church was still cupping him too, his thumb stroking gently along Miller’s softening shaft, affectionate, maybe, and Miller was dizzy all of a sudden, sick and confused, because that wasn’t right at all, that wasn’t what it was supposed to be, not that big hand with the prominent veins and the faint dusting of dark hair above the wrist, and Miller stumbled backward.