It had been at least five minutes since they’d kissed, so Isaac jumped on the bed, almost propelling John right off. They grabbed onto each other just in time. “Yes. I remember.” He kissed him—and kissed him some more.
They had spent the entire weekend having sex, eating French pastries, and drinking coffee—because John was back and no one made coffee like John. No one made love like John either. Isaac didn’t even shower after. They’d had a long talk about that, but in the end…
“Do you feel bad about having sex with me?”
“No.”
“Does it feel like a sin?”
“No.”
“Do you think God is angry with you for loving me?”
“I think God brought you into my life.”
They had then kissed for an hour.
Sunday afternoon, Isaac gave John space to write. There would be off days—days when he didn’t trust himself, when the words were gremlins tearing his skin—but he was creating, and his therapist believed John was happiest when creating. That was part of why he’d resigned from Hambden; he wanted to write full-time. His agent was supportive, as was his publisher, but Isaac was ecstatic. Another John Conlon book? He would have given his big toe.
THEIR SWEATY CHESTS separated with a slurping suction cup sound as Isaac leaned up on his elbows above John, face turned to the side, mouth wide open. Isaac swept a couple curls behind his ear. “Wow, you look fucked out.”
“Mmph,” John muttered and wrinkled his nose.
Isaac sucked the side of John’s neck. “Seriously, you look like someone who just took a ride in a washing machine.”
“Well, I definitely took a ride.” He dug the side of his face farther into the pillow and sighed out two big breaths like he’d been saving them.
“Be right back.” Isaac rolled off his lover and did an awkward walk to the bathroom where he tossed the used condom in the trash and washed his hands. While drying off, he stared at the two toothbrushes on the counter. A slight tremor ran up the backs of his legs that had him clawing at the wall for balance.
Isaac had experienced a couple of those moments—moments of panic over reminders that John was back but that he had also been gone. Two toothbrushes instead of one indicated in some dark corner of Isaac’s brain that it could be just one again. He could be alone in John’s house again.
Naked, he rushed back to the bedroom but stopped in the doorway. John was still there, half lit by the antique table lamp, not a ghostly manifestation but the man himself. On his side with his knees curled up, John rested with his mouth open, still panting out hurried breaths as he recovered from their lovemaking. John was there and safe, so Isaac took steps forward and reached for him. He dove under the expensive sheets and took hold of John with one hand on his shoulder, the other on his hip. The sudden movement startled John, big eyes open, suddenly awake and staring at Isaac.
“Hmm.” John’s fingertips rubbed over Isaac’s lips.
“Have I mentioned I missed you?”
John gifted a sleepy smile. “Every day since I’ve been back.”
Isaac nibbled his fingers before pressing a kiss to each one. “Promise you’ll never go away again.”
John’s legs straightened, and his eyes, drowsy a moment ago, burned with an almost manic alertness. “I can’t promise you that.”
Isaac’s breath trembled on an inhale as he pulled John close with his hand on the back of his head. He pressed kiss after kiss to his forehead and to his eyelids, and John let him, the tension mostly gone but lingering below the surface like contained electric current.
A few hours later, something woke Isaac: a sound, a whimper. He reached for John’s hand but found nothing but tense muscle, so he turned on the light. John was rolled into a small ball, hands covering his head. Isaac tried to touch him, and he screamed.
“John.” He reached for him again, and John pulled his knees in tighter.
He mumbled, “No, no, no…” Soaked tendrils of hair covered his cheeks like claws.
“John. Please.”
He shouted and hit himself in the head.
Isaac caught his flailing wrist. “John!”
John shuddered and sat up, gasping for breath like a man half drowned. His wide eyes took in his surroundings and landed on Isaac before he bent forward, sobbing. Isaac pulled him into his arms and held tight enough to leave marks.
“I’ve got you,” he said.
John huffed and puffed, sucking air. His entire body quivered from fear and from the cold sweat that covered his skin.
“Stay with me, John.”
“You were dead,” he whispered. “You were dead.”
“I’m not dead. And neither are you.”
Eventually, they lay down again, arms and legs tangled beneath sheets. John fell asleep quickly, face against Isaac’s bare chest. Isaac stayed awake, focused on the sound of John’s breath.
“What dreams may come,” Isaac mumbled, and they would come, wouldn’t they? No matter how many demons they had faced, there would always be more. Memories would linger in the dark corners of their minds as healing turned to happiness. But even happiness hid its face some days. One step at a time, they would walk together, even as the dead walked among them, too—even when the dead sometimes clung to their shoulders—because, no matter their losses, they still lived.
About the Author
Sara Dobie Bauer is a bestselling author, model, and mental health / LGBTQ advocate with a creative writing degree from Ohio University. She lives with her hottie husband and two precious pups in Northeast Ohio, although she’d really like to live in a Tim Burton film. She is author of the paranormal rom-com Bite Somebody series and Escape Trilogy.
Email: [email protected]
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Other books by this author
Escaping Exile
Escaping Solitude
Escaping Mortality
Also Available from NineStar Press
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We Still Live Page 21
