Stray Fears Page 10

  Gone.

  I moved toward Dag, still making those little circles, waiting for the thing to show itself again. When I reached down, Dag took my hand; he was a big guy, and I probably wasn’t much help, but we got him onto his feet. Blood stained his shirt along the chest and sleeve.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I said.

  “My gun,” he said.

  “Fuck. It’s here somewhere. Just keep your eyes open.”

  “That thing is gone.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s gone. You shot it twice in the chest.” With his good hand, Dag mimed two shots. “Center mass. Great job.”

  “My dad,” I said, fighting a giggle. “My dad would be—” A laugh, really a cackle, slipped free. “My dad would be so fucking proud.” Another of those awful laughs escaped me, and I had to gasp for air again. “Oh my God, I think I’m having a breakdown.”

  “Let me find my gun,” Dag said, “and then you can have your breakdown.”

  This time, of course, it was easy to find the gun. Dag grunted as he bent to pick it up, and we started for the house. He was limping pretty badly, so I got an arm around his waist. He smelled like pine sap and sweat and Gain.

  Emerging from the woods was like stepping into another world: the bright exterior lights painted everything gold and silver, and the house glowed like something out of one of those cozy domestic magazines where everyone uses white towels and linen place settings.

  “Inside,” I said.

  “Just get me to my car,” Dag said. “I can drive.”

  “You can’t even walk,” I said. “Richard’s a doctor. He can decide if we need to get you to an emergency room.”

  When the wind picked up again, flattening the blades of St. Augustine grass, it smelled like the Okhlili and stone and cypress. Branches clattered behind us, and we spun together, Dag swearing under his breath.

  Nothing moved in the forest.

  “Inside,” I muttered.

  This time, Dag didn’t argue.

  DAG (8)

  My chest and arm were on fire, and I’d done something to my ankle when I fell. I had to lean on Elien more than I liked as he helped me through the French doors at the back of the house.

  “Sit,” he said, pressing me down onto a leather couch. “I’m going to get Richard.”

  “I’m bleeding.”

  “I saw that.”

  “I’m going to ruin this couch.”

  “It’ll make a great conversation piece.”

  He darted upstairs before I could answer, and after a moment of struggling, I gave up and sank back into the cushions. The leather was buttery, which was a term I’d heard used to describe leather before and which hadn’t made any sense until right now. But God damn, this leather was buttery. And it smelled like leather too. I was pretty sure I was currently bleeding on a piece of furniture that had cost more than my car.

  The rest of the living room looked equally expensive and tasteful: a few abstract sculptures in dark metals, driftwood art pieces on the walls, a single, monochromatic painting in blue that accented the rest of the room. I’d already known Elien had money when I’d seen the house from the outside, but now I was starting to understand from the inside. I was starting to understand why he always dressed movie-star casual when I saw him: joggers and t-shirts that draped his lean frame elegantly, tennis shoes that probably cost a few hundred dollars.

  The soft, padded sounds of his steps made me look back toward the stairs. Elien appeared first. An older man in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms came after him, coiling a pair of earbuds around one finger.

  “—listening to Tchaikovsky,” he was saying, “but I still can’t believe I didn’t hear—” He stopped and drew a sharp breath. “Elien, you didn’t say he was bleeding. What in the world happened?”

  “I said he got hurt.” Elien was lugging a black bag. “What did you think I meant?”

  “I’m ok,” I said.

  The older man—Richard, I assumed—gestured for the bag, and Elien set it on the coffee table.

  “I’m really ok.” I held out a hand. “No offense, but I’d rather go to an urgent care.”

  “I’m a trained physician. Let me at least take a look. Elien, call the police. Was this an animal attack? What did you—”

  “I’m fine,” I said. Ok, I shouted. More calmly, I repeated, “I’m fine. I’m going to leave, and I’m going to—” I had reached the end of rational thought, so I repeated, “I’m going to leave.”

  Richard glanced at Elien, and Elien shrugged.

  “Great,” I said. “Now that we’ve got that settled—”

  “Let me talk to him for a minute,” Elien said.

  Frowning, Richard said, “The police—”

  “Go upstairs.” Elien nudged Richard. “I’ll handle this.”

  “He really needs attention, Elien.”

  “I know. I’ll call up to you if I can get him to change his mind.”

  With another frown, Richard trudged back upstairs, putting in his earbuds again as he went.

  In his absence, I was suddenly very aware of Elien, the perfect brown lines of his arms, the way he pulled on his shirt with one hand, drawing it tight against his chest. The silence rang in my ears.

  “Richard’s your boyfriend,” I said.

  “It’s like you’ve been trained,” Elien said. “It’s like you’re professionally suited for putting clues together to unravel impossible riddles.”

  “Mostly I unravel domestic disputes.”

  “I’m going to cut your shirt off and see how bad those cuts are,” Elien said, dropping to sit on the coffee table. “And if you tell me one more time that you’re fine, I’m going to scream.”

  He looked serious, so I said, “Ok. But I don’t think you have to—Jesus Christ!” I had tried to peel off the shirt, but the blood was already gumming, and it pulled on the wounds on my shoulder and chest.

  Elien held up the scissors.

  “Yeah,” I said. “That’s a great idea.”

  “You’re going to want to practice saying that,” Elien said. “I like being right.”

  He snipped away the shirt in pieces, using warm water and a clean cloth to loosen the fabric and work it away. His movements were slow and sure and steady. This wasn’t the worried kid pacing outside Ray Field’s apartment. This wasn’t the kid who had fallen down the stairs outside DuPage First Methodist. This wasn’t the kid who had been hyperventilating in the woods.

  This was the guy who had come back for me.

  “You’re staring,” Elien said.

  “Sorry.”

  A tiny smile pulled at the corner of his mouth; he was still intently working a piece of my shirt loose. “Do you still think I have nice hands?”

  I swallowed. “Yes. Ow.”

  “Don’t be a baby,” he said gently. “That was the last one.”

  For the first time, I risked a glance. It was worse than I’d thought: four deep cuts that ran from my sternum across my chest, curving around my shoulder and upper arm. They were still bleeding.

  “These need stitches,” Elien said. “And you probably need antibiotics. I don’t know what that thing was, but I don’t think it was clean.”

  “Do you have gauze and tape?”

  “Of course.”

  “Just tape me up, please.”

  “You didn’t hear me: these need stitches. Richard can—”

  “No.”

  Frustration twisted his features. “Then I’ll get Richard to drive us to an urgent care.”

  “Yeah, well,” I said, squirming to the edge of the couch, biting back a gasp at how much it hurt. “I can’t afford an urgent care.”

  Elien put a hand on my belly and forced me back down. What happened next wasn’t my fault: I still had adrenaline pumping through me, and a hot guy had just cut my shirt off and had his hands all over me. Now the twinkie was
manhandling me.

  He noticed, of course. I waited for the smile, the jab, the dismissal.

  Instead, he slid off the coffee table and straddled me. It sent a wave of pain through me, but a wave of something else too.

  “What are you—”

  He kissed me.

  When he broke for air, he brought my hand to his crotch. He was hard under the denim. He rocked slowly into my touch. He made a low noise in his throat and thrust harder.

  “Am I hurting you?” he whispered.

  “I can . . .” I gulped. “I can handle it.”

  “Yeah?”

  “God, yes. Yeah.”

  “I want you to fuck me,” he whispered. “Please fuck me. I could come like this, I’m about to come just like this, but I want it to be more than that. Please?”

  “Elien, stop. Hey. Stop!”

  It was hard to pull my hand away, but I managed to slide my grip up to his hips and force him off my lap. For a moment, he stood there, his face twisted with anger. And then he walked out of the room.

  He wasn’t the only one who’d been right at the brink. I thought about the Saints. I thought about pass-completion percentages. But then I started thinking about Elien in nothing but football pads.

  “It’s just a fuck,” Elien said, marching back into the room. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s just a fuck. I think you’re hot. I want you to fuck me. I’m hard for the first time in a fucking year, and I want you to drill me, and we both practically died out there. It’s a fucking biological reaction, ok? It’s a survival-mode fuck. So get off your high horse and let’s go upstairs and you can fuck me.”

  I managed to get out of the buttery—there it was again, that word—couch’s embrace. I gave Elien a smile and one-sided shrug.

  “Sorry. It’s not personal.”

  “It definitely is personal.”

  “I really appreciate the interest, but I think I should pass.”

  “Am I not being clear? Am I not speaking loudly enough? Go upstairs. We are going to fuck.”

  “Probably a bad time to ask,” I said, “but do you think you could help me to my car?”

  Elien screamed.

  “Ok,” I said. “I’ll make it on my own.”

  “No,” he said, moving into my path. “Absolutely not. Give me one good reason. I know you’re attracted to me. Is it because you’re in too much pain? Is it because you’re all sliced up and you need stitches?”

  “It’s definitely not helping.”

  “Are you worried I’m crazy and I’ll get clingy?”

  “Well, I am now. Just a little bit.”

  “I have a boyfriend.”

  “Yeah, that was one of the big hang-ups for me.”

  Crossing his arms, Elien said, “It’s an open relationship. I can fuck whoever I want. There, now that your conscience has been soothed—”

  He reached for my arm, and I angled my body away.

  “What the actual fuck?” he asked, his eyes wide.

  “You seem like a very nice guy—”

  “No, I don’t. Don’t give me that. I don’t seem like a nice guy right now. I’m an asshole, I know I’m an asshole. I know I’m being a total shit to you, and you’re hurt, and you saved my life, and I just want—” Elien took a breath. “Let’s start over. You sit back down. I’ll make you a drink. We’ll just talk for a little bit.”

  “Elien, it’s ok. We all strike out every once in a while. And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I think you’re a really good guy, I promise.”

  “This is crazy. You’re crazy. You hit your head when you fell, and you have a concussion.”

  The house creaked around us.

  The poor guy looked so confused I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.

  “So,” I said, “I’m still bleeding and only have half a shirt. I think I’m going to go.”

  “No.”

  “Elien.”

  “No, just—” He seemed like he couldn’t quite connect the words. “Just sit down and I’ll bandage you.”

  “That’s probably not a good—”

  He pointed a finger at me.

  “Ok,” I said, raising my good arm in surrender. “I can sit down.”

  The gauze rasped between his hands as he unrolled it. His fingers were soft and cool against my chest.

  “You’ve got a thing for older guys,” Elien said quietly.

  “Not really.”

  “It’s bears. You’re only into bears.”

  I laughed and then winced.

  “Well, come on,” Elien said, and his face softened as he grinned suddenly. His gaze stayed on the tape and gauze. “I just humiliated myself. You can at least tell me why.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “It’ll make you feel better?”

  “Just don’t tell me it’s because I’m fat. I know I’ve gotten tubby; I don’t need any more reminders.”

  “Uh, is that a joke?”

  “No. Trust me: I did not used to be disgusting like this.”

  I tried to think about how to answer that, but his hand kept brushing the trail of hair low on my belly, and it was like someone playing with the switch on a live wire. The words escaped before I could stop them.

  “I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

  “Oh.” His hands stopped. “Um. Thanks.”

  “Number one is because you’ve got a boyfriend.”

  “I told you—”

  “I know, but it’s still a big deal for me. I’m not into that.”

  Elien nodded as he pressed more tape into place.

  “Number two is—hey, watch it.”

  His hand skimmed the inside of my thigh, slid over my dick, squeezed.

  “Sorry,” Elien said, eyes coming up dark and innocent. “Slipped.”

  “Number two is I’ve done this before, ok? You’re a ten. I’m a six. Six and a half if I’m not on carbs. And there’s some reason, like you’re both wasted, or the guy who’s a ten is a closet case, or you just got chased through the woods by a monster, and it seems like hot, frantic, immediate sex is the obvious choice.”

  “I like where this is going.”

  “Well, I guess I’m too old to keep embarrassing myself like that,” I said. “It just hurts too much.”

  “That’s it?” Elien said. “Two reasons?”

  “That’s not enough?”

  “Not even close. The second one is bullshit anyway. You’re not a six.”

  I laughed again. “Number three is that every gay guy who’s found out I’m a cop has wanted to play badge buck, and I just . . . I just get tired of it.”

  “So, what’s your game plan?” Elien said, sitting back to examine his handiwork.

  “My game plan?”

  His eyes came up again. “Long term?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you going to have a secret identity or something? You can’t automatically dismiss every guy who’s interested in you just because you’re a cop. Yeah, the job gets fetishized. Yeah, that’s not cool for you—not if you want to be treated like a human being. But I mean, at some point, you’re going to have to tell a guy, right?”

  I guess I don’t have a very good poker face, because Elien frowned.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s not any of my business.”

  “No, it’s . . . it’s why I’m twenty-seven and have never had a boyfriend last more than six months, so I mean, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it.”

  Leaning back, Elien ran a hand through that long, windswept hair. The white tee had ridden up to expose the light brown skin of his belly.

  “I’d like you to call Guinness,” he said. “I think I just got the world record for worst seduction ever.”

  “I’ll let them know,” I said.

  “I guess we nee
d to talk about what happened out there.”

  Shaking my head, I managed to get to my feet. “Nope. No way.”

  “What?”

  “No way. Not tonight.”

  “What?”

  “I need a drink. I need to sleep on this. I need to feel like I’m not totally batshit insane. End of discussion. Sorry.”

  “But I need to talk to someone about what’s been going on.”

  “And I feel like I went through a meat slicer. Goodnight, Elien. Thanks, you know. For the bandages. And for trying to seduce me. It really made me feel better about myself.”

  “Oh my God,” Elien said, covering his face. “I think I just figured out why you’re single.”

  “No, it did. It was really endearing how you kept yammering and throwing yourself at me.”

  “I’m feeling the urge to do some more yammering right now.”

  With a small sigh, I said, “Pen? Paper?”

  He grabbed them from the kitchen.

  “My phone number,” I said, scribbling. “And my address.”

  “Why do I need your address?”

  “Do you want your boyfriend to be part of this conversation tomorrow?”

  “No, I guess not. Wait, tomorrow?”

  I nodded.

  “Just hold on before you go.”

  He sprinted upstairs and was back again in a minute. As he walked me to the door, he held out a wad of cash.

  “I’m not a gigolo,” I said.

  Grinning, he said, “Trust me, this wouldn’t even start to cover all the things I want to do to you. This is for stitches. You drive straight to an urgent care, and you get them to clean you up and get you on antibiotics.”

  “I’m not taking your money.”

  “Sure you are,” Elien said. “Or I’m going to call the DuPage Sheriff’s Department and explain that a crazy deputy was here firing his gun outside my house.”

  I stared at him. “That’s blackmail.”

  “So simple,” Elien said to himself. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” Then he waved the money.

  After a moment, I snatched it.

  “Goodnight," he said.

  “Thanks,” I said. “For blackmailing me, I guess.”

  Laughing, he shut the door.

  I drove to an urgent care on the outside of Bragg, and while I filled out paperwork, I tried to figure out how being chased by a monster and almost killed had been one of the best, most romantic evenings of the last five years.