Chance to Be King (16 page)

Kneeling in front of Thomas, Eric took both of his hands in his. "I know I've only known you for two weeks but the one thing I do know is how much Laura's death shaped your whole life."

"What do you mean?" Wayward's question stopped Thomas as he went to deny Eric's allegation.

Letting go of Thomas' hands, Eric stood up and said, "I need to show you a couple of things. We need to go to the sunroom."

Wayward stared at him suspiciously.

Eric held out his hands. "I only want to show you something in there. I can bring it out here if you like."

"No. We'll go but you lead the way and your boyfriend comes with me," Wayward gestured with the gun.

Eric pulled Thomas up and they went to the sunroom, Thomas and Wayward bringing up the rear. In the large room Wayward pushed Thomas down onto one of the low sofas and indicated a chair for Eric to sit in.

"When your sister died, Thomas and Kes were on their way to a gig. Thomas played guitar in a band they'd formed." Eric started.

He handed Thomas the guitar that sat in the corner of the room. "Play the guitar, Tom. Show him what you used to do."

Thomas stared at him helplessly, his fingers curled around the guitar, unmoving. "I-I-"

His mouth worked but nothing came out and then anger replaced the confusion and longing as his fingers clutched onto the guitar.

"What are you trying to prove, Eric? I play and sing."

Kneeling in front of him again, Eric stroked his face in a conciliatory gesture. "For yourself. I heard you once. I thought it was the radio. When was the last time you performed in public?"

Thomas swallowed and for a minute Eric thought he wasn't going to answer, then "The night before Laura's death."

Wayward looked at him sharply. "Why'd ya stop?"

Thomas turned to him. "Every time I pick up my guitar it reminds me a young girl died because I wanted to play another gig." He put the guitar down and wrapped his arms around himself in a defensive gesture.

Then Eric asked another question. "How often do you leave Grafton?"

"Why are you doing this?" Thomas, asked, his large, hurt eyes pleading Eric to stop the
questioning.

"Because he may see the man who killed his sister but I see the kid who never leaves home because somewhere out there he had to sit holding the hand of a dying eighteen year old girl and he's petrified he might have to do that again.

"I'm asking you again, how often do you leave Grafton?"

"This is bollocks." Wayward exclaimed impatiently. "I saw you on that publicity tour."

Eric kept his eyes on Thomas. "Tom?" he prompted.

Thomas sighed. "I was made to do the tour but they organized it so I could fly home between appearances. I don't normally leave Grafton."

"Ever?" Eric asked.
"Ever."

"Why not?" It was Wayward's turn to question him.

"Because this is the only place where I have some control over my life." Thomas looked a heartbeat away from tears and Eric prayed that he could keep it together long enough to finish the questioning.

"Who drives you round?" Eric asked another question.

"Me," Thomas said promptly, "No one else ever drives me. I stopped letting people drive me the second I got my license."

"Why?"

 

"For fuck's sake, 'Ric, you know why!" Thomas snapped.

"Because the last time you fell asleep in a car, a girl died." Eric looked over at Wayward. "You see? I'm not saying he's suffered more than your family but I am telling you he was affected as well. And there's something else."

"No!" Thomas stood up, pushing Eric away. "This is pointless. Just shut the fuck up!" He glared at Eric, his expression hurt and angry. For a moment they both forgot the danger present.

"What else were you going to say?" Wayward's British accent cut sharply across the tension between the two men. They looked up to see him, an expression Eric couldn't recognize on Wayward's face. The gun though, was still firmly pointed at Thomas.

Eric swallowed as he looked down the muzzle of the gun. When the bullet erupted from the muzzle of this weapon there would be no one calling 'Cut' or donuts and coffee to follow. One of them would be dead or injured. He was going to die at the hands of a madman during his vacation. The irony was overwhelming.

"Well?" Wayward said impatiently.

Pointing to the pile of books on the shelf, Eric said, "Top book, by Ross Smith. Have you read any of them?"

"All of them," admitted Wayward. "They were in the prison library."

"Then you know the Shane Cole books were about a man seeking justice for the death of his sister."

Wayward nodded, his eyes lighting up. "It kept me going, made me think how I could get justice for Laura."

Thomas snorted. "So I wrote my own death warrant?"

Eric scowled at him for the interruption, although he appreciated the irony. "He wrote about his own feelings at how your family was treated, and more than that, he did something positive to help. Look inside the front cover.

Opening the book, Wayward read the words and looked up at them both. "I had no fucking idea."

"I had no other way of doing something other than donating money to organizations trying to help families like yours. It was a small thing, but once I started I didn't want to stop." Thomas told him.

"Ross Smith donates money from every book he sells. His donations helped fund some of the campaigns regarding road traffic deaths."

For a minute Eric thought it had worked, thought his arguments were enough to convince Wayward. The man was staring down at the book, chewing on his lip as he thought about what he'd learned. Then, just as a small ray of hope began to form in Eric's heart, his face changed and the cold sneer was back. It wasn't enough, was it? All the man really wanted was blood, and Thomas was expendable.

Wayward opened his mouth to say something, but Eric stepped forward. The man flinched and Eric knew that despite the gun, Wayward was afraid of Eric's size. He must have been nearly a foot taller than him. Even Thomas topped him by at least six inches.

"Stay back!" Wayward ordered harshly, pointing the gun at Eric.

Stepping in front of Thomas, Eric ignored the "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" from behind him. He raised his hands in a nonthreatening gesture.

"Look, I know you're angry that John Hayden didn't go to jail for life for Laura's death or even have the guts to apologize, but Thomas wasn't the driver, he was just was a kid asleep in the car and he's spent years trying to help families like yours. You kill him and that support stops. Think of your parents; killing both of us just means your parents lose both kids instead of one.

"No one paid!" Wayward spat out. "Mum and Dad spent years trying to increase his sentence and no one listened, no one cared."

"John Hayden died early and I've told you about Thomas. He cares. He makes a difference."

Thomas stepped around the shield of Eric's body. "I've had enough. Just shoot me and get it over with. Jesus Christ, if it means you feel justice has been done then that's enough. Get on with it."

"Tom!" Eric pulled at his arm but Thomas remained firm.

"No 'Ric, if the man has to spill blood, let him finish the damn job." Thomas stood away from Eric and held his arms out to the sides.

"This is not the time to be a fucking martyr." Eric shouted at his lover.

"And you trying to play a caring/sharing Sky Davies is different, how?"
Touché
. At a stand-off, they glared at each other.

"Jesus, are you two bloody daft? You're arguing who gets the first bullet? Christ, I knew Yanks were morons but I never expected to see it."

"Says the idiot wanting to kill an innocent man. Son, drop the gun."

If he'd still been a churchgoing man, Eric would have dropped to his knees and thanked God for the sight of Ted and Mark in the doorway, their weapons aimed unwaveringly at Simon Wayward. The Englishman took one look at both weapons and dropped his gun. Ted moved forward to kick it to one side and cuff the man. When he was secured, Mark moved forward to pick up and empty the gun.

"You boys all right?” Mark asked, not taking his eyes off his target.

 

"We're fine," Thomas said, "How the hell did you get in here?"

"We were here all the time. Your door that was unlocked, remember? We just couldn't work out how to get to you before Wayward got in a potshot."

Thomas stared at the policemen. "It took you that long to work it out?" he asked incredulously.

Ted shook his head. "He was in sight of the doorway. We needed him to move a little. Back-up wasn't going to be here for hours so we decided to lay low and not provoke him into using the gun. We got a confession about the fire and Wayward got to hear some things that needed to be said. So did you, Thomas." He gave him a hard look. "Like how you've been moping here for far too long and need to get your ass back into the world."

Catching sight of the outraged expression on Thomas' face, Eric gave a satisfied snort, earning himself a glare from the man.

"So, what now?" Eric asked, nodding at Simon Wayward who was being propelled out of the door by Ted.

"He's going away for a long time. We can get him for attempted murder and a whole host of other stuff." Mark looked at Eric quizzically. "You look like you feel sorry for the guy. He tried to kill you twice remember? There's no way Wayward can claim this was a spur of the moment thing."

"He lost his sister, Mark," Thomas pointed out, moving to Eric's side. He seemed to have gotten over his huff. "And he just wanted justice for her. He didn't turn bad, he was pushed."

"He got justice through the law. Now, don't you go feeling sorry for him. Eric was damn lucky to survive that fire, and if he hadn't been here tonight things might have gone very differently for you, Thomas."

Taking Eric by surprise, Mark stuck out his hand. "Thank you," he said, looking Eric straight in the eye, "You're good for Tom. Anyone can see that."

Eric clasped his hand and shook it, the unspoken communication settling the tension existing between them. "You're welcome," he said simply.

Mark reached forward and hugged Thomas. Eric caught Thomas' eyes, wide and surprised, as he tentatively returned the hug.

As the policemen stepped back he said, "We'll need you down at the station tomorrow morning. But tonight, go fuck each other senseless and then get some sleep." He grinned at the astonished looks on their faces. "You mean, you're not going to do that?"

Thomas pointed at the door. "Don't you have somewhere better to be? Like with your husband?"

Eric's jaw hit the floor. Mark was married to a man? But Thomas had said he was a good straight boy. And what about Ted? Although Ted seemed very relaxed about him and Thomas; perhaps he'd mellowed over the years.

"Perhaps we could double date one night?" Mark suggested as he left the room.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me he was married to a man?" Eric turned on Thomas as soon as he had gone.

Thomas looked confused. "Not sure. I guess we were talking about the past, not now."

 

"It explains why Ted was so relaxed about us."

"Oh yeah. He's a lot more chilled since Mark told him to stop shoving girls in his face and hooked up with Brian instead. Brian's a good guy, you'll like him. Perhaps now you can stop feeling so possessive."

Eric tried to look innocent but judging by the look on Thomas' face, he was failing.

They were interrupted by the sound of
scrabbling claws as two dogs hurled themselves into the room, jumping at the two men, barking joyfully.

"Hey, kids." Eric immediately knelt down so his dogs could crawl all over him, thrilled when Thomas got down on the floor, too, and for ten minutes they played rough and tumble on the floor by way of an apology for shutting Toby and Millie out. In the end they all lay panting on the floor in a puppy-pile, the dogs half over each other and half over the two men.

Turning his face, Eric found himself almost in touching distance of Thomas' mouth. As he watched, Thomas' tongue flickered out and moistened his lips and then they were touching, the dogs shifting unwillingly as they reached out for each other. He didn't know who made the first move. It wasn't important. All that was important was that they were connected, so fucking
connected it was unreal. Hands, lips, skin; Thomas needing to be penetrated, Eric needing to clutch and hold tightly enough to bruise. Pale skin against tanned, pressed blood-warm and sweat slick to each other.

Afterwards, there was the relief of lying in each other's arms, exchanging lazy, sloppy kisses as their breathing returned to normal

"I could have lost you," Thomas murmured in his ear. "If he'd shot you it would have been my fault. The fire…"

Eric turned on his side to face Thomas, one large hand splayed possessively on his hip, fingers covering the finger marks already there, '
mine'
. "I'm here, I'm yours, forever," he whispered before he leaned forward and bit a mark over Thomas' nipple, enough to sting, enough for Thomas to know he had been claimed.

"I am yours." Thomas kissed Eric's hand, his knuckles, his fingers, a kiss pressed into his palm so sweet it brought tears to Eric's eyes.

It wasn't going to be easy, coaxing Thomas back into the world, and Eric still had to deal with the effect of his new relationship on his career; but tonight had made him realize he wasn't letting go of the one thing that really mattered, come outraged public or gun-toting madman.

Thomas settled into his side with a comfortable sound of happy possession. They would have to move off the floor sooner or later but for now it was the only place Eric wanted to be.

Chapter 7

Eric arrived in Grafton late one Friday night. He was tired and his muscles ached from the long drive sitting in one position. This time he didn't miss the turn to the lake but purposely drove past it to Cowboy Bob's. He had a need for a cool beer and some good conversation, followed by a long night of loving with his man.

The parking lot was full and with a sinking feeling Eric realized it was karaoke night.

The conversation was going to be out of the window anyway. He just hoped there weren't going to be too many liquor-fueled idiots trying to take on Sky Davies. He doubted Bob would take kindly to his bar being wrecked Eric's first night back in six months. Bob had only just finished the repairs from the last brawl. Why did alcohol bring out the Rambo in people?