by A. F. Henley
"I've been through Virginia a time or two—"
"No." Lyle shook his head. "Not even close. Hey!" His eyes brightened, and then Lyle was close enough that Randy had to look up to maintain eye contact. "We should go! How about this weekend? We can hike through Bighorn. Or drive in and do the hike through Cloud Peak. You'd love it." The scarf suddenly dropped over Randy's shoulders and Lyle crossed it in front of Randy's throat. His voice dropped in both tone and volume. "You've never seen anything like the things I could show you up there, Randy."
With both hands, Randy grabbed Lyle's forearms and stopped Lyle from reaching. "You'd be surprised the things I've seen, Lyle. Please don't do that."
"What?" Lyle widened his eyes and shook his head, the illusion of complete innocence painted on his face. "You said you were cold."
Randy nodded. "Yes, I did. But I won't be out here for long." Attempting to muscle Lyle to the side would have been pointless, and the block of Lyle's body against the wind was oddly perfect. So instead, Randy trained one of his most practiced lawyer stares on Lyle's face. "What are you up to, Lyle? Why's a kid like you playing tomcat with someone like me?"
The confidence slipped out of Lyle's face. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Why would you?" Randy argued. "You're eighteen. I'm thirty-two, for Christ's sake. I'm probably going to be flipping burgers in a few months just so I can keep feeding myself, so if you think I have money or something—"
Lyle's expression darkened. "That's a shitty thing to say."
"Then be honest with me. I don't want to hear what your dad thinks, or what you think I want to hear you say. Just tell me what's going on." Randy leaned forward. "I've been there. I know what it's like. If this is a coming-out thing, or a rebellion, or whatever the hell it is, let's talk about it. I may be old, but I remember what it was like. And I don't think like these people, Lyle. I won't judge you or try and make up ridiculous excuses for you. So let me help."
Lyle tilted his head. "Excuses?"
"I don't even know," Randy shook his head. "I'm just saying that you don't have to act out if you're trying to make your dad see something that you're afraid to come right out and show him, if that's what this is. Or, if you're curious—"
He never even realized the kiss was coming, and the surprise kept him still for longer than it should have. But before Randy could react to the fact that Lyle's tongue was trying to push between his lips, Lyle's entire body twisted in his arms. Both their foreheads knocked together as they reacted to the sudden movement.
"Fuck!" Randy shouted, eyes watering. His hand went up, Lyle stumbled back, and though Randy couldn't make out what was happening, the voice he heard cleared the matter up instantly.
"Let go!" Vaughn growled. "Let him go!"
He wasn't talking to Randy but to Lyle, who had fisted the scarf so tightly that Randy staggered every time Lyle lurched.
"Let him go now!"
Vaughn's voice filled the yard, and everything, including Randy's skull, reverberated with the sound.
Lyle dropped his hands. Once they were free of each other, Vaughn tugged Lyle away as though Lyle weighed no more than a doll. Lyle hit the frozen ground hard—too hard.
Randy wiped his face. "Vaughn, relax. Don't—"
"Don't tell me don't!" Vaughn hollered. He turned to Lyle and pointed. "Get back to the house."
From around the corner of the property, Randy caught two little faces watching with wide eyes and open mouths. His jaw tightened and he reached for Vaughn's wrist. "Stop it. Your kids are watching. This isn't healthy for anyone."
By the time Lyle lifted himself off the ground, both Isaac and Hannah had disappeared. Not that Vaughn seemed to notice either their presence or their retreat. Vaughn's gaze burned into Lyle with a ferocity that managed to terrify Randy, even with it turned elsewhere. But Lyle didn't stalk away. He turned to face Vaughn, both fists tight at his sides, and scowled right back.
The yard stilled in a pause heavy enough for Randy to feel it.
Then Lyle stepped forward, his lip curled and his shoulders tense. Both Vaughn and Lyle seemed to have forgotten Randy entirely, and although Randy's brain raced through things that could be said, that should be said, instinct told him to keep his damn mouth shut.
Then Lyle stepped again, and Vaughn broke the silence with a firm but so very quiet, "You sure you want to do that?"
Randy could almost see the thoughts being weighed in Lyle's mind. Don't do it, Randy thought so hard his head started to pound all over again. Whatever you're thinking, just don't. He told himself he wasn't concerned for Lyle's safety. Vaughn wouldn't hurt his son. Not really. Not anything more than a tumble. Certainly not over something as insignificant as a kiss. He wouldn't. Would he?
"Because you better be very, very sure," Vaughn continued, "before you take that next step."
Lyle's arms began to shake, his fists clenched so hard that his knuckles were white, but anxiety was starting to cloud the rage in his expression.
Vaughn nodded. "I thought so. Go home."
For another long moment the command went unanswered, but the air between them changed—the charge that had snapped like an unharnessed current fizzled off into the atmosphere and dissipated. The wind took a cautious swing around the group and plucked at anything that hung free: hood strings, hair, the scarf still around Randy's neck.
With shaking fingers, Randy grabbed one end of the scarf and drew it off his neck. He folded it in half without looking up, and he handed it to Vaughn. Without a word, Vaughn took the scarf and held it out to Lyle. Randy expected a hostile snatch or even a refusal to take it, but Lyle merely lowered his eyes, took the scarf and turned away. He was all the way to the road before either Randy or Vaughn stopped listening for him.
"He just showed up here," Randy whispered. "I didn't do anything. I would have pushed him off—"
"I know."
"We were just talking, I swear. I didn't expect him to—"
"I know."
Randy watched Vaughn stare in the direction of Lyle's departure and his heart dropped into his guts. He heard the words before Vaughn ever spoke them.
"I can't do this, Randy." Vaughn's voice was as cold and empty as the wind. "If it was some other time, if things were different..." He caught Randy's eyes with his own. The pain, sadness, or tension that deepened the lines beside them was not allowed to seep anywhere else. His jaw was set and his shoulders were firm. "But they're not. What we did last night isn't going to happen again. I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to see you, and I don't want you coming around my family."
Randy's eyes welled up with tears even though he hated himself for it. "I had nothing to do with this."
Vaughn shrugged. "Blame doesn't mean shit. Right now I only care about making sure it doesn't happen."
"What?" Randy's voice rose. "What exactly is happening? You two need fucking help, Vaughn; this isn't normal!"
Vaughn nodded and shoved his hands in his pocket. "Well, at least you're right on something, counselor."
Watching Vaughn walk away hurt way more than it should have. It wasn't right. It certainly wasn't fair. But what in life was, after all? His ex had driven him away from the city, but it was the not-so-blind, not-so-righteous bullshit masquerading as justice that had driven him from the courtroom. No, life wasn't fair any more than it was kind or understanding. Life was a goddamn bitch.
He reached down to grab the handles of the wheelbarrow and two hot tears ran down his nose. "No!" he hissed. "Fuck you!" He scrubbed at his nose with the cotton gloves until his skin began to burn, but he didn't care. There would be no tears allowed on his face. Vaughn was just a neighbor that he happened to hook up with, and a fucked-up one at that. It was a good thing there wasn't going to be anything beyond the previous night's fun. The last thing he needed was somebody else who was going to mess around with his emotions.
He butted the wheelbarrow up against the stairs of the deck and began to toss the logs on to it. Fucking O'Connell men and t
heir fucking head games—somebody ought to tell them they weren't as important as they thought they were. There'd been better men before Vaughn. Hell, his ex had been ten times better looking than Vaughn could ever hope to be. Most of the men Randy had known even before Avery had been ten times better looking than Vaughn.
"So fuck you, Vaughn." He tossed the last piece of wood and dumped the wheelbarrow wheel side up on the ground. He stomped up the stairs and pulled the sliding door so hard it bounced in its tracks.
His coffee sat on the kitchen island, looking as cold and lifeless as Randy felt. "And fuck you too, coffee." He reached for the cup, but the moment his fingers grazed the handle, something hit the front door with enough force to make Randy shout. The coffee sloshed over his fingers and ran along the surface of the counter, but Randy didn't stop to soak it up. At that moment, the only explanation he had for the sound, the only one that made any sense, was a gunshot.
In hindsight, he'd say that yanking the door open and glaring out at the front yard was a stupid thing to do. It never crossed his mind at the time, though. If Wolf was going to play games with him, he'd play them right back. He'd sue their asses was what he'd do. They could make up all the excuses that they wanted, but he'd find a way to pin them to the table and make them squirm—
He noticed the rock on the front porch and it stopped the internal rant instantly. Had it just been a rock, he'd no doubt have been considering it for fingerprinting analysis. It would have been a stupid venture; he knew that even as he stood there thinking about it. But he was just so damn angry.
Except the rock wasn't just a rock at all. A piece of paper had been wound around it, with three or four thick rubber bands holding the two together. Randy scooped it up and bounced it in his hands. It was heavy, really fucking heavy. It would have taken a damn good arm to throw it from... well, damn near anywhere. He glanced around, trying unsuccessfully to see someone or something that would shed a light on where the rock had come from. His first thought was Isaac or Hannah, but they would never have been able to toss something that heavy from far enough away that they wouldn't be seen. For that matter, they would have been hard pressed to pick up a rock that heavy at all.
He reached for the front door and ran his fingers over the dent in the surface. Though it appeared to be a simple wooden door, the veneer that decorated it was cracked and crushed. The dent below that veneer was deep and defined, and the edges gleamed, reflecting the sunlight as only metal could do. No kid would have been able to throw something that hard. Few grown men would have.
The door whined as Randy opened it back up and stepped through it. As he walked in to the kitchen, he peeled the rubber bands away. The note was a simple one, but it made something in Randy's heart break all over again.
What makes you think that he's the one who likes you? Maybe he just plays harder at winning than I can. You should have kept the scarf. It looked good on you.
~ Lyle
FEBRUARY
Its paws were colder than they'd been in a long time. The wind and the air were so frigid that even midnight skies looked blue. Ice clung to its muzzle, and pain radiated up its legs and into its belly. Though its mind told the creature to run, that the running would speed up the blood and bring heat, the beast was too... tired? Worn?
A very human word came to answer the question... Disappointed.
He knew the meaning without being sure of the sound, and the weight of it was too much to bear. No, tonight there would be no running.
He padded through a sleeping yard, and at the midpoint of the lawn, well out of sight, he sank to the ground and curled into a tight ball. Beyond the glass a man rose and stood, staring out at the darkness, but unaware of any presence. The man's oblivion didn't stop the wolf from watching, though.
It never did.
The paper was spread open on the coffee table, the television was wobbling and sputtering its way through the news, and the coffee maker was keeping the second pot of the day warm when the power finally gave out. It was only seven p.m. but the skies had been dark since four. The snow had been falling since Randy had opened his eyes that morning.
He didn't panic. There was a generator in the garage that would run the necessities, and he had a battery-operated radio and a few flashlights. If he remembered correctly, the previous owner had left a Coleman stove, an oil lamp, and at least one container of oil. If the storm did get as bad as the TV had been saying it would, if the power did stay out for as long as one might imagine it could with such a storm, Randy would be all right. He was sure of it. Besides, he was more than used to the quiet at that point.
It took him two hours to get his ass in gear and switch the generator on, and he only did that because he'd wandered into the kitchen to get a coffee, happily poured the cold coffee into a cup, and then tried to stick the cup in the microwave to warm it up. Shock of all shocks, apparently no power meant no power in all the electrical appliances, not just some of them.
He was laughing at himself as he bundled into his coat. He was still chuckling when he stepped into the carport and cast a glance into the yard. The sound died on his tongue as he watched the snow fly. Up close to the house, where things were sheltered from the wind, fat flakes spun and drifted. Beyond that though, where the wind was free to toss at will, the sky was so full of snow it seemed like fog. Drifts had already risen halfway up the garage and over the front porch steps. The division between driveway and yard was unidentifiable, and the only reason Randy could tell where the road lie was because of the tree line on either side of it. Seeing the road itself was more an illusion of shadow and memory that an actuality. Randy doubted a person could really see much beyond a few feet if they weren't watching from a shelter like he was.
Lyle had been right. A person could easily get lost in weather like this. He grinned at the snow and tucked his coat that much tighter against him. "Good thing I'm not planning on being out in it," he said, and then instantly hated himself for saying it. That was a jinx if he'd ever heard one.
Ten minutes later, with the generator running smoothly and a light burning not only on the front porch, but in the carport, Randy hurried back into the house. He'd heard, though it could be a complete lie, that in weather that bad a single light could be seen for miles. If anyone got stuck out there, at least it would give them something to follow. He figured he could do that much at least, not that anyone in his neck of the woods would be out wandering. Not these days.
It had been almost three weeks since he'd seen Vaughn or Lyle. The little ones had dared to wave if they saw him in the window, and he'd found two homemade cards in his mailbox on Valentine's Day morning. They'd been carefully shaped, colored, and signed with hearts and Xs and Os. The one from Isaac had an image of a lion, oddly colored in grays and browns that read, 'I'm not lion... you're Grrrrrreat!' The other had been from Hannah, with two fat bumblebees on it. 'Bee mine!' she'd written with swirls and whirls and glitter. How they'd managed to sneak them over Randy didn't bother to guess on. But he was more than sure they would have had to.
Both cards were still stuck to his fridge, where Randy had no doubt they would remain until the end of his days.
With the generator gleefully lighting the outdoors and running the pumps and the fridge, with a vanilla candle lighting the pages of the novel in his hands and a fire warming the air around him, Randy stretched out on the couch and got lost in the world of Mr. King.
*~*~*
A tall, broad man stood at the wall with a cowboy hat pulled low on his forehead. His shoulders were slumped, his arms crossed in front of him, and his chest moved with the deep, regular rise that suggested sleep. At his feet, curled around one scuffed boot, rested a furry, barrel-bellied puppy whose ears flicked and ticked with every sound. It heard Randy approach but didn't lift its head until Randy was only a couple of steps away. Then, in the most bizarre voice Randy had ever heard, the puppy spoke.
"Wake up, he's here."
The tall man startled, lifted his head and lo
oked at Randy from underneath the hat. "Well, look at that," the man drawled. "Guess we got ourselves a party after all."
Randy opened his eyes, alarmed, and waited for his thoughts to adjust from dreaming to wakefulness. His heart jittered in his chest, which he knew was an odd reaction to such a simple dream, and it took him several seconds to understand why. The fire had burned down to coals that did nothing more than glow, and but for the flickering candle, the room was dark. While the fire burning down was an annoyance, it was the strange yellow blob of light bouncing in his front window that concerned Randy. When he realized the light wasn't bouncing on its own but being held there, Randy sat straight up and choked on a soundless shout. A black silhouette—whatever was holding the light—jerked back from the window and spun away.
That was more than enough to inspire Randy's throat to open. "Hey! Hey, wait!"
He leapt to his feet, kicking aside the blanket he'd pulled over his legs at some point, and cursed the coffee table when his knee caught the corner of it. He limped in the direction of the front door at the same time that the light-bearing stranger began to wade through the snow pile that had taken over his porch steps.
Randy tugged the door, and it didn't budge. "Oh, you stupid fucking..." he gritted his teeth, turned the handle, and pulled harder.
It gave way with a cranky groan that reminded Randy of opening his grandmother's ancient chest freezer, but the moment that it could swing freely, it did it without regard to Randy's hold or the wall beside it. The wind rushed into the open space, and for a second Randy thought it would be strong enough to freeze him in place. He forced himself to step through and shouted into the angry snow, "Stop! You! Hey!"
The figure chose to ignore him, trudging through knee-high snow as if Randy hadn't said a word.
Randy tried again. "Wait. Don't go out there. Come back."
He reached for his boots, set them in front of him and tried to pull them on as he kept an eye on the figure in his yard. Was it one of the O'Connells? Lyle, perhaps? Was something wrong? It couldn't be someone lost in the snow. A person doesn't run from someone if they're looking for a place to wait out a snowstorm.
