by Sidney Bell
“Oh, joy,” Ghost said, and Church could practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Here, get in the back with him. I’ll drive.”
“Do you even have a license?” Church asked suspiciously.
“I have several,” Ghost promised, smiling sweetly, the picture of innocence, fake as all hell.
Church glared at him. “Fine. Whatever. Call Tobias once we’re on the road, would you? You single-handedly destroyed his faith in the universe, you bastard, did you know that?”
“He’s made out of rainbows; he’ll recover,” Ghost said, climbing behind the wheel as Church slid in beside Miller.
Ghost headed for the highway, digging out his phone and dialing one-handed. Tobias answered with a loud, shocked “Ghost?” that Church could hear from the backseat.
“I’m fine too,” Church called. “Don’t send cops.”
“Did you catch that?” Ghost asked. This time Church missed Tobias’s response in favor of wincing when Miller’s breath hitched as the SUV rolled over a divot in the road. Church held on to him tightly, keeping him as still as possible.
“Are you all right?” Miller asked. Well, slurred.
“I can’t believe you’re asking me that,” Church said. “Are you all right?”
“Maybe. Those pills helped. A lot.”
“Yeah, you sound pretty doped up. Better than being in pain, though. Your poor hand. Fuck.” Church kissed the top of his head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, idiot.”
“Didn’t check the peeper.”
Church blinked. What the hell had been in those pills the old lady had given Miller? “The peephole?”
“Yeah. Didn’t check it. You did good, though.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You saved us,” Miller muttered, his eyes heavy. “Vasily was planning to kill us after you gave him Ghost’s number, I could tell, but you figured out all the right things to say and now we’re alive. You did good, Church. You were really smart.”
Church’s heart rolled over in his chest warmly. “Thanks, but not really.”
“No, it’s true. You’re smart. You could do anything. You should go to college.”
“College?”
“You could take math,” Miller said, sounding awed.
Church laughed. “You are so fucking high right now, man.”
“Or geography. They teach geography in college, right?”
“I don’t know.” Church nuzzled Miller’s sweaty hair. “Maybe—you think maybe I could take Spanish someday? I mean, you have to be smart to learn a second language—”
“You could do it,” Miller said, and even in pain and high and exhausted, he sounded so certain that Church’s heart rolled over in his chest all over again. “Yeah, you’d be really good at Spanish, Church.” Thick with sleepiness, he added, “They called you my boyfriend.”
Church winced. “Oh. Sorry. Are you mad?”
“No.” Miller’s head dropped to Church’s shoulder. “No. It was nice.”
Church held Miller tighter, letting the last of his tension evaporate.
Later, when Miller had fallen into a quiet, pained stupor, Church asked softly, “What did you give them?”
Ghost checked his blind spot and changed lanes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about whatever you did that made them let us go.”
“I’m inordinately selfish,” Ghost pointed out. “I would hardly sacrifice anything to help you.”
“I don’t believe you. I don’t know why you ditched me and Tobias—and I’m still mad at you for that, don’t think otherwise—but it was to keep us safe, somehow. I know it.”
“It was to keep me safe, actually.”
“You saved us. You saved Miller,” Church said, frustrated that Ghost was fighting it so hard. “Just shut up and let me be grateful, all right? Thank you.”
Ghost didn’t meet his gaze in the mirror, but Church could see the mask slip all the same. The nonchalance vanished, and Ghost looked suddenly exhausted and—Church wasn’t sure of the word. Shaken, maybe. Ghost looked shaken.
“Don’t thank me,” he said quietly. “Please don’t. I didn’t do anything. You don’t owe me a damn thing, Church.”
Church wanted to ask a million questions, but he’d never managed to push Ghost into saying or doing something he didn’t want to before, so he doubted it’d be different now. Besides, according to the hospital symbol on the approaching green highway sign, their exit was coming up. So for now he pressed his cheek to the top of Miller’s head and let his eyes close, trusting Ghost to get them to their destination safely.
Epilogue
Four months later
Miller was in an utterly shit mood by the time he got home from physical therapy, and there was no end in sight, because that appointment was the scheduled high point of the day. It didn’t help that he found Church sprawled out on their bed, snoring like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“It’s ten in the morning, Church,” Miller snarled, kicking the bed.
“Take a pill,” Church replied, not opening his eyes.
“I don’t need one.”
“Oh yes you do.”
“I don’t want to get hooked.”
“Doctor Stull said you can take one after your physical-therapy sessions for one more month and you know it. Take the damn pill. Today’s gonna be hard enough without you being in pain all afternoon.”
“I don’t want to go,” Miller said, bending to retie his boot. When his hand cramped, he got frustrated and kicked the boot off instead. Francis Bacon slunk out of the bedroom, and he sighed. Now he was scaring his poor cat. On the plus side, feeling like a jerk did a lot to kill his temper. After taking off his other boot, he went into the bathroom to take his pill, popping the bottle open with his right hand. It was always his right hand these days, to strengthen it, no matter how much it ached.
When he came back, he slumped onto the mattress, somehow tired and nervy at once.
“It’s going to be fine,” Church said, and despite having said this about a million times over the past few days and weeks, he didn’t sound at all impatient. Miller rolled over and shoved his face into a pillow.
“They’ll murder us,” he told the pillowcase.
“They won’t.”
“They’ll use us to fuel the barbecues.”
“They aren’t going to set anyone on fire.”
“Clearly you know nothing about Catholics,” Miller snapped. “We love setting people on fire when we don’t approve of how they live their lives. It’s kind of our raison d’être.”
Church chuckled. “I don’t even know what that means and it’s funny. That’s how ridiculous you’re being. Your sister’s still sort of Catholic, and she’s not so bad. My mother’s Catholic and she’s never set anyone on fire. I liked that aunt I talked to who called while you were in the hospital.”
“Aunt Maxine is the kind of Catholic who smokes a lot of pot. She doesn’t even go to these reunions. And you’re only saying that about Shelby because she’s letting you and Em pick the music on the way to the airport later.”
“See? Not so bad.”
Miller sighed. “Church.”
Church rolled over and flicked Miller on the shoulder until he lifted his face out of the pillow. “Dude, how many times do I have to explain it? I am fine being your friend.”
“You’re not my friend,” Miller replied. “You’re my boyfriend. I love you.”
“Well, I know that, ass-face, but there’s no reason they need to. It’s not gonna hurt my feelings. I get it. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready.”
“I am rea
dy.”
“All that talk about Catholics burning the gays notwithstanding.” He used a lot of emphasis on the last word and lifted his eyebrows.
“Hey!” Miller exclaimed, smiling despite his bad mood. “That’s a new one. Nice.”
“I know,” Church said, preening a little, and Miller had to admit that happy was a good look for him.
Fortunately, that look was around much more frequently these days.
Church worked at a diner in LoDo since leaving Moe’s, frying up eggs and tuna melts for college students and businessmen, and though he came home smelling like grease, none of his coworkers were related to drug dealers, so it was a definite improvement. Besides, it was only until they could get the workshop going again. As soon as Miller was done with his physical therapy, they’d be able to make some real progress, and once everything was done, Church would join the Quinns in the family business.
Because they all knew by now that Church was family.
Plus, at Miller’s urging, Church had started taking an introductory online class in Spanish. Now he spent half his time with his nose buried in the Spanish/English dictionary that Em had gotten him, and he’d developed a cheeky habit of steering conversations in ridiculous directions so he could dive-bomb an unsuspecting conversationalist with a weird word or five in one language or another.
“Ready for another one? Indoctrinate. To teach someone a series of beliefs in a way that rejects all other beliefs as unacceptable. As in, your family indoctrinated you into some completely butt-munching attitudes.”
“Butt-munching? Consider the context.”
“Oh, I did,” Church said in an extra-deep voice. It was really obnoxious, and Miller shouldn’t have been smiling.
He cleared his throat. “You’re getting word-of-the-day toilet paper for your birthday.”
“Cool.” Church sounded like he meant it. “But seriously. About your family. Some of them will be assholes. Some of them will be awkward and uncomfortable. And some of them will be fine right out of the box. Sometimes it’s a fight, yeah, but not all the time.” He glanced at Miller’s hand, at the still-livid scars from the surgery, and murmured, “We’ve been through worse.”
There’d been some question at first about how much use of his hand Miller would get back, but after a couple weeks of physical therapy, it’d become clear that he’d regain almost full strength and flexibility. The muscles still cramped up a little when he used it too much, but his doctor was convinced that it wouldn’t impact his ability to produce detailed work.
They lay there for a minute, feet tangled together. Miller added, “I don’t want to hide you. You’re the most important person in my life. You’re my best friend. You’re my family. They don’t matter, not next to that.”
Church’s dark eyes softened, and he leaned over to kiss Miller. Miller kissed him back, not minding the morning breath when it came with morning-Church, who was sleep-warm and clingy and sappy. Especially not when Church grinned and slid down Miller’s body, thumbing open his jeans and dragging Miller’s cock out. He licked straight up the underside before Miller was fully hard, then took Miller deep, working him with his tongue and lips until Miller ached. Of course, that was when the punk lifted his head. “We were done, right? Or did you want to talk about this some more?”
“Your mouth is way too busy for conversation,” Miller said pointedly—and a little breathily, if he was honest.
“Gimme the lube.” He rubbed his hand over Miller’s thigh, and added, more quietly, “Let me fuck you. I want to feel you.”
Miller’s hips jerked with embarrassing eagerness, and he rolled over to fumble at the bedside drawer, pulling out the lube and tossing it over. Church somehow managed to slick up his fingers and get out of his pajama pants without getting the stuff everywhere. Miller hurried out of his own clothes and sprawled facedown on the mattress, spreading his legs. Church opened Miller up slowly, brushing his prostate with teasing rubs that sent shocks of need up his spine until Miller finally had to groan, “Come on, that’s good enough, come on, get in me.”
The bottle of lube fell off the bed with a soft clatter, making Church mutter, “Whoops,” and Miller would’ve teased him for being a klutz if he weren’t already stealing Miller’s last three functioning brain cells by lining his cock up and pushing in.
Miller would never get used to the sensation of Church inside him. His cock was hard and demanding, and that was good, God, it was overwhelmingly good, absolutely, but it was more than that. It was the way Church breathed, and the way he held Miller so close, like he was afraid Miller would somehow slip away, as if Miller could ever want to. The way Church nuzzled into the side of his neck and made those helpless little punched-out moans, the way he took and took and took from Miller’s body as if fucking Miller was the only thing keeping him alive—but gave endless, overwhelming pleasure back in return.
Church fucked him until he was a sweaty mess, begging and rubbing himself against the sheets, the sensation of Church pounding inside him making his thoughts short out. Church’s mouth was open and hot against his throat, Church’s hands hard and demanding on his hips, keeping Miller where he wanted him, and Miller thought, Here. Let me stay right here forever.
He came with a groan that he didn’t bother trying to muffle, and an arch of his back that had Church’s hips stuttering against his ass as he came too. After a long minute, Church kissed his ear and whispered, “Thanks for letting me.”
“Yeah, it was a big favor. I didn’t get a thing out of it.” Miller’s sarcasm was weak in the face of his afterglow.
The truth was that he didn’t let Church do anything to him these days. These days, he and Church did things together, decided things together—sex, dates, kissing, whatever. These days, he let himself want Church back. He’d promised himself months ago that Church would never again reach out to find Miller pulling away, and he’d stuck to it. Those dark years of secrets and shame were over.
He wasn’t hiding anymore.
Spending Christmas in the hospital had sucked, but Church had made those first few days bearable. He’d handled the questions from the docs and Shelby and Em when Miller was too exhausted to lie anymore about how he’d gotten hurt—changing a tire on the rental car, they’d claimed. In the pain-racked aftermath of Miller’s surgery, Church had brought fresh ice packs and cut Miller’s food and opened his drinks. He’d rubbed and stretched Miller’s fingers for hours when they cramped into an agonizing fist after therapy. When Miller had been angry at the constant ache or scared that he’d never turn wood again, Church had taken Miller’s harsh words and his later pleas for forgiveness with equanimity, and he’d been patient the whole time.
Miller wasn’t ashamed to have a man like Church love him. It was an honor.
“I’ve been thinking about your mom,” Miller said, his brain still half-gone with orgasm. Not that it was a problem. He’d been meaning to find a good time for this conversation anyway.
“Um, I hope you weren’t.”
“Not while we were... God. You’re such a pain in my ass. Oh, ha ha, stop snickering. It’s been bugging me, that’s all. It doesn’t bug you too?”
Church’s amusement subsided. “Of course it does. When I have a little more money set aside, I’m going to see if I can’t find her a place. But it’s not your responsibility.”
“You are, though. And through you, she’s...”
“Miller, where are you going with this?” Church didn’t seem upset so much as confused.
“Well, we have the empty bedroom.”
Church froze while the words sank in, then turned his face into the pillow. His shoulders heaved a couple of times as he got control of himself, but his hand fumbled through the sheets and clamped down tightly onto Miller’s forearm.
“Be sure,” he said through the bedding. “We can’t take it back. Don’
t take it back. But don’t say it if you don’t—”
“I’m not saying it’ll be easy to talk her into it,” Miller replied. “She’ll be scared. But we have to at least offer. I know you were afraid to ask.”
“You’ve given me too much already. I’m barely paying my share of the rent.”
“Stop.” Miller reached out to coax Church’s face out of the pillows. “It’s not about who owes who. She’s your mom. And I think, maybe... I mean...” He trailed off, suddenly shy. “Am I getting ahead of myself?”
“Not even a little bit. She can be your mom too.”
“In a completely non-incestuous, in-law kind of way,” Miller added, making Church laugh. It was a damp laugh, although Miller didn’t point it out because Church would cut off his foot before he’d admit to getting choked up, even with happy tears, and it was too nice a moment to tease him about.
“Yeah,” Church said. “That’s—that’s a good use for that bedroom. I could never thank you, though.”
“You don’t have to.” Miller frowned, his brow creasing. “When have you ever thanked me for anything anyway?”
Church grinned. “Well, su casa es mi casa.”
“That’s not how that saying goes,” Miller said, and Church just laughed in his face some more. He gave Miller an awkward, awful kiss, because he was grinning too widely to make it work. But that was part of why it was an excellent kiss too.
Miller kissed him back over and over.
And later at the reunion picnic, among family and strangers, no matter how kindly or unkindly those people might respond, Miller would kiss Church again.
In the sunlight.
* * * * *
To purchase and read more books by Sidney Bell, please visit her website at www.sidneybell.com.
Now available from Carina Press and Sidney Bell
Sidney Bell’s debut male/male romantic suspense BAD JUDGMENT delivers an emotionally charged and adrenaline-packed story perfect for fans of Josh Lanyon’s FAIR GAME.
Read on for an excerpt from BAD JUDGMENT.
