The Long Fall of Night: The Long Fall of Night Book 1 (5 page)

Elliot stared, trying to decide if what Ash said was really profound or the musings of an impatient jerk. But Ash didn’t give him a chance to figure it out.

“If you’re done freaking out, we need to get moving.” With that, he sprang to his feet and left Elliot in the grass.

What an asshole.
Elliot was torn between taking the time he needed to calm down—although he didn’t seem quite so ready to shatter as he had minutes ago—and stomping back to the car, grabbing his shit, and hitching a ride back to the city. Ash could have the fucking car.

Instead, he stomped back, flung himself into the passenger seat, and sulked out the window, seeing only the faintest reflection of himself in the glass. Ash was right. Again, dammit. Not that Elliot would tell him that.

Not that he’s waiting around for your approval, the way you fall all over yourself for his.

Whatever was going on with the power, no one was going to pause reality so he could acclimate. Worrying would only stress him, and if he got too stressed, he’d be in much more trouble.

Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, Elliot changed his breathing pattern. Two short breaths in through his nose, one long exhale through his mouth. The cadence soothed his nerves and the knot of tension in his shoulders loosened.

“Are you doing Lamaze breathing?” Ash was clearly amused.

Elliot glared. “Well, I could always throw up on you. It would be fun, but then I’d have to smell you for the next—toll booth.”

“Huh?” Ash looked at him like he’d grown boobs, a mix of incomprehension and hilarity.

“Toll. Booth.” Elliot’s patience was gone. He pointed through the windshield as they neared a completely dark structure blocking their way to I-80.

“Aw, fuck,” Ash snapped.

They slowed as they approached the gate. Elliot squinted to see if anyone manned the booth, but it was too dark. With no one in front of them, they couldn’t tell if anyone was getting through.

Ash advanced cautiously, unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning forward.

“What are you doing?” Elliot asked, vaguely alarmed.

“Just getting ready in case…. I need to check the booth for an emergency lift for the gate. Relax.”

He didn’t look relaxed to Elliot, especially since he kept flexing his right hand, though his posture screamed calculated nonchalance. Elliot didn’t bother to hide his confusion.

“Hello?” Ash called through his open window. No answer. “Anyone?” His hand flexed and clenched, flexed and clenched. Elliot held his breath. “Hey!” Ash hollered, and Elliot’s eyes widened when the twitchy hand eased backward and beneath the sweatshirt bunched at the small of Ash’s back. Elliot had seen enough cop shows to recognize the movement for what it was. Ash was armed.

The toll booth, and the entire plaza beyond, lit up as though the sun decided to randomly blink back on after its bedtime.

“Sorry ’bout that!” a portly man called in a friendly voice, stepping from behind the main building and into the booth in their lane with familiar ease. “Stupid battery backups are supposed to last up to seventy-two hours until the generator kicks on, but that genny ain’t been serviced in a couple years, so it’s on the fritz. Backups are never as good as they promise, or you’da never noticed a problem.”

Ash practically melted into his seat, smiling at the man and calmly draping his right wrist at the top of the wheel. Elliot remembered to breathe.

“So you got it working?”

The man smiled, his jowls rippling with his friendly nod. “I’ve been limping ’er along a while now, so I got it figured out. All you need to do is hit that button.” He pointed to the red knob on the ticket machine. “And you can be on your way. Thanks for your patience, boys.”

“Any idea what road conditions are like?” Ash asked, inching the car forward to reach the knob.

The guy shook his head. “We got two-way radios, but they don’t seem to be working right either. Not much traffic, I can tell you that. Slow night.”

“Thanks,” Ash said, punching the button with the side of his fist. He set the ticket on the dash and powered up the window, shifting in his seat to settle in for the long drive ahead, apparently comfortable enough despite a weapon digging into his back.

“You have a gun in your pants,” Elliot stated stupidly.

“We still don’t have time to fuck,” Ash said with a grin.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Of course I have a gun. People aren’t civil for long in a crisis. Words won’t save us when someone pulls out a firearm. And it’s going to happen whether you want to face it or not.”

“But that guy was fine!”

“Turned out to be, yeah,” Ash said. “What if the looting had already started? Those booths are full of money, and anyone could have been inside, waiting for some hapless shmoe to come along with a car so they could jack it and leave us bleeding on the road. I’m not taking chances. We don’t have much, but we need what we have, and I’m not risking losing it to someone who thinks a bottleneck like a toll station is a good place for an ambush. Not that that flimsy little gate will stop people from driving through at speed when money no longer matters.”

“You’re crazy,” Elliot said incredulously.

“We’ll see if you’re singing that same tune the first time someone comes at us,” Ash stated.

“Paranoid. Delusional.”

“What are you, a closet therapist?”

Elliot slumped, glowering. “I didn’t sign up for a cross-state crime spree.”

“Look, we don’t know when the situation will get desperate or what people will do once it does. I’m just prepared for it. If I’m wrong, the worst is I get a backache from having this gun poking me for a five-hour car ride. What does that matter to you? If you can’t deal, you should go back after I’m at Charlotte’s. Whatever you decide, dude.”

“The sooner this is over, the better,” Elliot grumbled noncommittally, though he knew he was too far in to get himself home on his own.

“That’s the first thing you’ve said tonight I agree with,” Ash said grimly.

K
nowing
your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darkness of other people.

—Carl Jung

T
HE TINY WHITE CLAPBOARD
house stood ghostly in the moonlight when Ash pulled into the driveway. He was always shocked at how small the house he grew up in seemed from his adult perspective. His eyes burned from driving for so long with very little to break up the monotony. As soon as Elliot had drifted off to sleep—which truthfully surprised Ash, given how tightly wound the guy was—slumped against the window and emitting tiny, childlike snores, Ash had switched off the iPod to preserve the battery. It wasn’t lost on him how much the music had soothed his lab partner’s agitation after learning Ash had a gun.

The miles of dark road, encountering few cars, had left him nothing but time to think, and he’d come to the conclusion he needed to ease up on Elliot. Ash had grown up with preparedness as one of life’s lessons, thanks to a marine for a father, and after his father’s death, Uncle Marvin had stepped in. Ash wasn’t in entirely unfamiliar territory.

Elliot, however, had obviously grown up with a silver spoon in his mouth. Not that that wasn’t without its own stresses, as Elliot had explained, but he wasn’t used to moving on the fly. Careful and methodical probably served him well with the heavy expectations of his family, but careful and methodical in their current situation could get them killed.

Or he’s right, and you’re a deluded, paranoid idiot.
Ash turned off the engine and shook his road trip buddy on the shoulder. Elliot snuffled and raised his head, his hair matted in the back and his glasses askew. He blinked owlishly as he righted the frames and smacked his lips. Ash had to fight a smile at how appealing Elliot was.

“We’re here?” he asked, still fighting sleep cobwebs.

“Yeah, and they left a light on for us.” He pointed to the flickering in the front window, the curtains drawn back just enough to not be a fire hazard, making the candle visible from the street. He’d have to yell at Charlotte for calling attention to herself for him, even as it warmed his heart to know she expected him despite her directive to stay put.

Elliot glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly three in the morning. She’s not going to be mad at how late we are?”

“She knows I’m coming. Plus I have a key, so we can be quiet and get some sleep before we bugout again.” It bothered him, Elliot hinting at going back to the city, but his sister’s old minivan sat under the carport, so if Elliot left, Ash still had legal wheels.
Even if hers is a piece of shit compared to this beauty.
He let his fingers linger on the leather-covered steering wheel.
He’s weird for never driving it. I’d be driving it everywhere if it were mine.

Elliot seemed to be waiting for his lead, so he got out and stretched, looking up and down the street for signs of movement. Other than the rhythmic shuffle of the few spring leaves in a light breeze, there was nothing. He dug in the trunk for their meager supplies, feeling itchy about how poorly provisioned they were despite having decided getting out of the city was a better plan. Well, Charlotte would have some stuff, and they could hit up one of the lakes’ many sporting goods stores and the grocery before the shit hit the fan. There would be better equipment up here anyway.

The door creaked lightly when he unlocked and opened it, the tiny living room to the left a mix of shadow and light from the lone candle. They shuffled in and stood briefly to let their eyes adjust.

Quietly removing his shoes, Ash looked around, memories rushing at him from the years he’d lived here. He supposed he was in a reflective mood as they stood on the cusp of possibly leaving this house for good. The wall over the couch bore the enormous portrait of their family taken just before their father had left for Afghanistan the second and final time, and while the furniture was different, it was laid out the same as it had always been. Only their dad’s recliner had remained untouched, the perch from which he’d read to them at bedtime or pulled them into his lap to explain the ways of the world, outdated in style but not worn. No one sat in it now.

All that was missing was the chug-chug of the ancient fridge, making and dropping its load of ice and waking the dead.

“Everything okay?” Elliot whispered, pulling Ash back to the present. He realized how long he’d been standing there and shook himself mentally. Now was not the time to get maudlin.

“Yeah.” He moved into the hallway to the right of the front entry, toward the bedrooms. Charlotte’s door was cracked only a sliver, but Riley’s was wide open. He peeked in and saw a neatly made twin bed with a solar system pattern on the comforter in the dim moonlight through the window. Figuring Riley had gotten scared and bunked with his mom, Ash stepped into the room and set their bags on the floor. Elliot shuffled in behind him, looking about ready to drop on his feet.

“You take this room. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Elliot looked…disappointed. “But won’t your nephew freak if there’s a stranger in his bed?”

“Nah,” Ash said, scrubbing his face, stubble rasping on his palms. “It’ll be fine. Go on.”

Elliot hooked a thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the living room. “But there’s a recliner. I could sleep there.

Ash went rigid. “No one sits in the recliner.”

“Is that like no one puts Baby in a corner?”

“Fine. Sleep on the fucking floor or in your car. I don’t care.” Ash turned on his heel and moved to the hall closet. He pulled down a small lockbox and went to the living room, snagging his grandmother’s afghan from the back of the couch and tossing one of the throw pillows flat on the cushion. He stowed the gun, a Colt .45, in the box, the key for which hung on a chain around his neck, along with a dog tag. The locked box went inside the drawer of the small table between the oversize chair and the beloved recliner. After peeling off all but his briefs, he threw himself on the sofa, turning to face the wall and drawing the afghan around his shoulders, fighting its short length to cover his feet, too.

What was that about cutting Elliot slack?
his traitorous brain asked. Jesus, even his inner voice was a sarcastic shit. He scowled at the couch cushions. Elliot was only trying not to scare Riley. Or Charlotte, if she decided to move her son from her bed to his own. Ash should be making sure his guest was comfortable, not biting his head off. Perhaps the outage had him more unsettled than he cared to admit, and fatigue from a pitch black five-hour drive wasn’t helping. He’d just decided an apology was in order when Elliot shuffled into the living room, his socked feet whispering against the bare hardwood.

“Do you at least have a blanket I can use?” Elliot’s whisper was frosty as he threw Riley’s pillow on the floor as far from Ash as he could get.

Ash sighed and sat up, elbows on his knees, hands hanging toward the floor. “I’m sorry, okay? You can have the couch, and I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No, no.” Elliot waved dismissively. “You don’t care where I sleep, so I’ll make do until the morning, when I can get out of your hair. But I’m not going to freeze my ass off all night. Blanket?”

Ash was silent as Elliot shucked his jeans and sat on the floor in his boxers and t-shirt. Going to the hall closet, Ash pulled a sleeping bag and two blankets from the top shelf. When he returned to the living room, he unzipped the sleeping bag to turn it inside out so the soft side faced up, and spread it beside Elliot, closer to the couch. Then he laid out one blanket, yanked the throw pillow down, and settled onto the pallet. He left the other blanket for Elliot.

“Take the couch.” Cocooning beneath the covers, he tried to drift off as Elliot finally bedded down on the sofa, but his mind wouldn’t wind down. Instead, he thought of the last time he’d seen his father, lacing up his steel-toed combat boots in preparation for deployment. Was the ghost of the man hovering? Did he check on them? Ash had spent many of his teen years looking around corners, hoping to see the man walk in the door, well aware it was impossible. Even when Uncle Marvin had darkened their doorstep, the irrational ten-year-old boy inside him hoped those chiseled features would belong to his dad, not his dad’s best friend. He’d grown up feeling if he ever sat in Dad’s chair, that would seal the deal, and the man really wasn’t coming back. How stupid was that?

“It belonged to my father,” he spoke into the silence of the room. “We haven’t sat in it since he died. It’s his chair.”

Elliot could have been asleep and missed the confession, but it was impossible for Ash not to explain, despite rarely explaining himself to anyone.

“My mom died five years after my dad. Cancer. It’s been me and Charlotte and Riley ever since. I’ve spent so much time looking after them, I didn’t have time to make friends or need anyone else.” He kept his volume low, in case Elliot was sleeping, but once the gates opened, he couldn’t close them again. “I apologize if my protectiveness of my family makes me gruff, but they’re all I have.”

There was nothing from above him on the couch, so he rolled away, facing the front window and the little candle still burning in its dish on the wide windowsill. He’d just about convinced himself Elliot hadn’t heard when a whisper drifted over.

“You don’t have to explain. I just didn’t want to scare your nephew.”

Ash grunted. “I wanted you to know I’m not a total dick.”

A few moments passed, then, “Ash?”

“Hm?”

“You didn’t have to give me the couch. I would have been okay on the floor.”

“Well, if you don’t want it,” Ash sat up, grinning in the dimness to show Elliot he was teasing.

“Too late,” Elliot said quickly. “Mine now.” He fell silent as Ash lay back down, then asked, “Do we have any bottled water from the car? I could use a drink.”

Ash started to say no, they needed to conserve, but thought better of it. They could get more when he went to the store, though that mindset would only be okay for a couple more days.

“Check the fridge. Might still be cold. But don’t use tap water for drinking. Who knows when the treatment plants will stop working?”

Elliot gave him a strange look, shuffling into the kitchen before he disappeared into Riley’s room, then the bathroom, before returning to the couch. He brought the water, offering it to Ash.

“I only had a couple sips.”

Ash smiled and hiked himself up on one elbow to take the water, nodding his approval. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Elliot surprised him by lying on the sleeping bag beside him, his head pillowed on his bicep, his brown eyes nearly black in the dark. Ash could only blink at him as he fought the immediate urge to pull the boy close. They didn’t seek comfort from one another. That wasn’t their agreement, but when Elliot scooted over and put a tentative hand on his side just above his waist, Ash shifted in silent invitation for him to do just that. Elliot immediately buried his face in Ash’s shoulder, burrowing beneath his chin like a puppy seeking warmth. His breath smelled minty, and when Elliot bumped a knee against his thigh, Ash wrapped his arm around him and yanked him so their bodies were flush. He hooked his leg over Elliot’s bony hip and tangled them further together.

“You sure?” he whispered.

“No,” Elliot said simply.

Trying to soothe him, Ash rubbed circles on Elliot’s lower back through his t-shirt. “What can I do?”

Elliot answered by licking his neck, then whispering, “Make the dark not matter. Just for a few minutes?”

Ash stopped to consider the wisdom of getting physical on the living room floor with his sister and nephew a couple doors away. If Charlotte and Riley had slept through their arrival, they’d sleep through this. He threw his blanket off and rolled to cover Elliot’s slender body, dropping his face into the crook of Elliot’s neck. Elliot immediately spread his knees so Ash could fit into the
V
of his groin, and his hands landed on Ash’s ass, squeezing and pulling him in tighter, Elliot’s hardness very much in evidence.

Ash gasped. Elliot wasn’t usually that aggressive, though Ash couldn’t deny the zing it sent through his bloodstream, rapidly plumping his dick. Their underwear was all that separated their erections, and he didn’t move to change that. Rutting slowly, he pulled up to his elbows, planted on either side of Elliot’s head.

“Better?”

Elliot nodded and closed his eyes. The play of the candlelight on his smooth skin made Ash want to kiss him. His hips stuttered at the realization. They didn’t usually kiss, the heated one after class earlier that night notwithstanding. Most of the time, it was a few tugs, or a few sucks, and once or twice, a fuck, but no real intimacy. The goal was pleasure, in the quickest and dirtiest sense.

That’s not what he wants now,
Ash thought. After a brief hesitation, he closed his parted lips over Elliot’s, testing his partner’s reaction to see if the change was welcomed. Elliot’s eyes flew open and he froze, but when Ash moved to pull away, Elliot palmed the back of his head and held him there, opening his mouth to invite him in. His grinding changed tenor, too. Not faster, but bigger, more aggressive, more insistent.

Ash didn’t end the kiss until he needed air, and even then, he turned his face an inch to the side, keeping them cheek to cheek. Elliot’s harsh breathing tickled the hair hanging along his jawline, and he shivered, more turned on than he’d been in a long time, and they weren’t even skin to skin yet.

“Ash,” Elliot whispered shakily. “Fuck me. Please fuck me.”

Gritting his teeth, Ash grunted a negative. “No lube or condoms.” He was always happy with blowjobs or handjobs or a good old fashioned frot session, but this time, he cursed the lack of supplies, and for the flicker of a moment, almost wondered what it would be like for Elliot to fuck him, a desire he hadn’t had since the first time he’d tried it with a one-night stand who hadn’t been gentle.

“In my bag,” Elliot said into his ear, sucking Ash’s lobe between his lips to punctuate the point.

Their hips had taken on a pace of their own, however, and Ash wasn’t so sure he wanted to stop. He could easily keep going like this, it was so unexpected, so
hot.