Loose Cannon Page 20

  So he’d never told either of them about the tiny, perfect hum he’d felt that bright day, because he couldn’t bear to hurt them, couldn’t stand to think of losing them, not over...not over a theoretical argument about other people kissing. He’d lost his mother already, and that had driven such a gaping black wound into him that it was all he needed to know of losing family.

  He’d thought, going forward, that his dealings with the church for his father’s sake were a kindness. Keeping his mouth shut about things that would’ve driven his father to fury and despair was another kindness.

  Now he wasn’t sure if kindness was the word for it.

  His erection was gone. He got up to shower.

  In the living room, he kicked the couch to wake Church up, who flipped him off and rolled over with a groan.

  “You don’t have to come.” Miller’s heavy mood shifted toward amusement. “You can spend your day off doing day-off stuff for once. Really, I don’t mind.”

  Church said something garbled by the cushion.

  “What?”

  Church repeated it without moving his head or talking any louder, so of course it was still unintelligible.

  “Did you say that you want to make me some pancakes? Is that what that was?” Miller asked, and Church flipped him off again before burrowing deeper into the covers.

  Miller laughed and started making breakfast. The scents of coffee and bacon lured a grumbling, sleep-heavy Church to the table by seven, where he sat there yawning.

  “Your morning breath—” Miller started.

  “—is doing your ass a favor,” Church muttered. “Some people should shut up about it.”

  Miller couldn’t hide his grin as he shoveled eggs onto Church’s plate.

  They were almost done eating when someone knocked on the door, startling both of them. Church said, “It’s early for visitors.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Expecting Shelby?”

  “No.” Miller got up, only to pause when Church put a hand out like he might touch Miller’s arm.

  “Let me.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I’m the one wearing a shirt, dude.”

  Miller glanced down. He hadn’t realized. “Oh. Good point.”

  Church rolled his eyes and went around him to the door. Whatever he’d said about Miller’s wardrobe, though, his shoulders were tense as he checked the peephole.

  Every line in Church’s body relaxed at whatever he saw, though, and he quickly thumbed the locks and pulled the door open.

  For a second, Miller couldn’t do anything but stare at the perplexing, heartbreakingly beautiful boy on his doorstep. His gender was undeniable in certain respects—the small Adam’s apple contradicting the graceful line of his throat was a dead giveaway—but he was also delicate and ethereal, and surprisingly, terrifyingly young. He looked defenseless as a baby deer or a fairy princess.

  The baby-deer princess said, “I need nicotine or I’m gonna pull a Dahmer on someone, so if I can’t smoke in here, you fuckers have to come outside,” before sticking an unlit cigarette between his teeth.

  This would be Ghost, Miller decided.

  The boy wore black from tip to toe—tight jeans, tight T-shirt over a thick thermal, and big boots with the laces untied. He was winter-pale in the wash of early, blue morning light bathing the doorway, and he pinged some nerve deep inside Miller, some unexamined, electrical pathway that Miller hadn’t known he possessed. That nerve had Miller wanting to stare at the chipped black fingernail polish, at the eyeliner dotting those pale lashes, at the pretty rosebud mouth. That nerve was telling Miller that Ghost was wrong, fundamentally wrong, but something else, a louder voice, maybe, one capable of words these days, asked him to define the wrongness.

  Not supposed to, was all Miller could think.

  Why?

  He didn’t know.

  “Um, Miller?” Church asked, and it took Miller a second to wrench his attention away from Ghost to Church, who was frowning at him with that pressed-closed tilt of his lips that only showed up when he was about to do something he really didn’t want to do.

  Miller was suddenly flooded with shame. Church would be hurt or angry at him on his friend’s behalf, and Miller was sorry, he was, because he wasn’t sure why he’d reacted that way.

  “Can you give us a minute?” Church asked.

  “What?”

  “I need to talk to Ghost alone.”

  Church didn’t look angry. Maybe he hadn’t seen the creeping worm of...of awful that Miller had been indulging. Miller glanced over and yes, Ghost had seen it. Those green eyes were shrewd on Miller’s face. Ghost knew exactly what’d happened in Miller’s head, and the shame only grew.

  “We’ll go outside.” Ghost brandished his cigarette, his voice smooth and deep. Another contradiction, and the nerve pinged again.

  Stop it, Miller told that nerve.

  Nothing about Ghost’s manner suggested he would call Miller out for it, though. He sounded perfectly normal when he added, “You don’t have to kick him out of his own living room. Manners make the man, Churchy.”

  “Don’t be mean to me, I’m tired,” Church said petulantly, making Ghost snort.

  Miller stopped worrying about Ghost at that point, because he’d finally caught on that Church didn’t want him here for this conversation. “Is everything okay?”

  Church swallowed. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

  Miller was sure that was a lie. He wondered if this was related to that day when Church had come to his office upset, the day that they’d first...well. Better not to think of that. “I don’t care if it’s bad, you know that, right? It doesn’t matter what it is, you don’t have to hide it from me.”

  “I’m not hiding anything.” Church’s voice went thick.

  Miller reached out for Church’s hand only to freeze. He didn’t—they weren’t doing that anymore, so he lowered his voice instead. “If you want privacy, that’s fine. But nothing could make me...” He couldn’t think of anything good enough, nothing that didn’t also have some loaded, second meaning. He settled for “Nothing could make me step away from you.”

  Church’s eyes softened and he said quietly, “Sure. I know that. We’re good. It’s just like you said. Private.”

  Also probably a lie, Miller decided, but he didn’t want to embarrass Church in front of his friend, so he nodded.

  Now Ghost was the one staring. His gaze moved from Miller’s face to where his hand hovered in the air because he wanted to touch Church but didn’t dare, then traveled up to the pained, almost helpless expression Church was wearing. Miller could see the gears working, could see Ghost putting something together, although Miller couldn’t have defined it if his life depended on it.

  He yanked his hand back to his side before he gave something away.

  Ghost’s shoulders dropped. “All right,” he said. To himself, Miller suspected. “All right.” He cleared his throat. “Get your skinny ass in gear, Church. I’ve got places to go and people to do.”

  Church glared at him as he shoved his feet into his sneakers. “Yeah, all right, already.”

  Miller stayed still after the door closed behind them.

  * * *

  “Has he figured out that he’s in love with you, do you think?” Ghost asked idly, and Church almost kicked him.

  “What the hell is that?” he asked instead, because those words were both unfair and wonderful. Ghost pulled this crap all the damn time, saying things that both tempted you and terrified you at once. One of these days, Church was gonna strangle him.

  Ghost leaned against the porch balustrade and lit his cigarette. He took a long drag, closing his eyes as he exhaled. For a minute he smoked in silence, and Church wondered if he had time to get a coat before Ghost got the
lead out.

  “So,” Ghost said.

  “So. What did you do?”

  Ghost opened his eyes. They were steady and hard to read. “I made a phone call.”

  “Fuck, you didn’t. You little—”

  “Careful or I won’t tell you all the hot gossip.”

  “For the love of God.”

  Ghost waved a lazy hand in his direction. “She was reasonable. She made a request. I refused. She claimed that neither she nor her sons were behind what happened to the truck, but that if it was someone in her camp, it’d be dealt with. I’m not sure I believe her, but I refuse to feel guilty for my cynicism in this case. One unfortunate side effect of being a crime matriarch is that people will not give you the benefit of the doubt.”

  “It had to be him. No one else...” He paused, remembering the busted window on Halloween. That’d happened before Church had seen Vasily’s buckets o’ meth, so either the window really had been random teenagers being dicks, or...or Church had no idea. “Who else could it be?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine, chief.”

  Church’s head whirled. “What was the request?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I said no.”

  “It matters a lot. I can’t watch your back if I don’t know—”

  “You’re not watching my anything.” Ghost’s tone went flat in a way that made Church uneasy.

  “The hell I’m not. I’m not letting you do this alone. I got you into this. I’m going to do—”

  “Nothing.”

  “What?” Church said, stunned. “You need help!”

  “You’ll do nothing,” Ghost said, the barest trace of urgency in his voice. “That’s what I need from you. Are you listening? I need you to do absolutely nothing.”

  “Fine. Fuck. All right.”

  “And now we’re done.”

  Church went still. “Done?”

  “You’re a liability,” Ghost replied. “And this is as far as I’m willing to stick my neck out. Keep your shit together and you’ll be fine. But we’re done.”

  Church opened his mouth then shut it again. He stumbled backward and sort of fell to sit on the porch steps. A breeze whistled through the orange oak leaves, but he wasn’t sure that was what had him shivering, because Ghost seemed fine. No big surprise. His skin might’ve looked soft enough to bruise like a peach, but his skeleton was steel, not bones.

  “I don’t understand,” Church said finally.

  “You’ve always needed a lot of help. It didn’t cost me anything in Woodbury, but it’s starting to get weighty. I’m not going down with you.”

  Church flinched. A second later, the front door opened.

  “Sorry,” Miller said, sticking his head out. “Still want privacy?”

  “Yes,” Ghost said.

  “Wasn’t talking to you,” Miller replied politely, crouching at Church’s side. He put a tentative hand on Church’s arm, and it was so good, so much more than he’d expected to get in this moment, that he leaned toward Miller without thinking, resting his head against Miller’s shoulder. He was wearing a shirt now, but Church could still feel his warmth through the material. Miller murmured, “Church. Hey.”

  “Eavesdropping isn’t classy, you know,” Ghost said, and Church couldn’t breathe, or he’d tell Ghost not to talk to Miller that way.

  “I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was watching. And when Church makes that face, it’s because someone’s being a dick.”

  Ghost lifted an eyebrow. “Well, aren’t you the white knight?”

  “Stop it,” Church managed. To Ghost, he added, “This isn’t—I don’t understand.”

  “We’re not friends, Church,” Ghost said, not unkindly. “We used to be roommates. The job was a favor. For old times’ sake.”

  Church stared at him, and Ghost’s expression turned regretful, like he was trying to break up with a clingy fling. Which was humiliating, but not as humiliating as the way Church couldn’t help saying, “I know you don’t mean this.”

  “Because you have such a good track record for making people care about you?”

  Miller lunged to his feet, cursing, and Church rocketed upward too, shoving Miller back because he knew how that’d end. He couldn’t let Ghost hurt Miller, he couldn’t. “Don’t,” he said to Miller, whose jaw was set. His eyes were shards of flint. Church swallowed hard, not looking at Ghost as he said, “Fine. We’re done. Fuck off, then.”

  Ghost hesitated for the briefest instant before flicking his cigarette butt out into the yard. “I’d appreciate it if you’d take me off your contacts list.”

  “I said fuck off.”

  Ghost shrugged a single shoulder in acknowledgment and set off down the street, walking like he had all the time in the world. Once he was past the yard, Miller’s arms wrapped around Church like an octopus. They watched Ghost until he was a dot in the distance.

  “Do you think he meant it?” Church asked. His voice sounded thick.

  “That you’re not friends? I can’t think why he’d do this if he didn’t mean it. But you know him better than me, Church.”

  I’m not sure I know him at all, Church thought. I sure wouldn’t have thought he’d do this.

  Church coughed. “Fuck.”

  “Want me to beat him up?” Miller wasn’t joking. It was written in every line of his body.

  “You couldn’t take him,” Church said quietly. “I couldn’t take him.”

  Miller was petting the back of Church’s neck like he was a cat or something, trying to soothe, trying to help, and Church was tempted to spill the whole story for a second. But he imagined Miller looking at him the way Ghost had, patient and disdainful and a little condescending, telling Church that he was such a fuckup that he should’ve known better than to expect someone to care about him, and Church’s mouth clamped shut. He dragged a hand hard over his cheeks, wincing when his fingers found wetness under his eyes.

  “You don’t deserve to be hurt like this,” Miller said.

  That seemed pretty rich, considering that Miller didn’t want Church either. Not...not the way Church needed him to, anyway. He laughed, low and ragged, and disentangled himself from Miller. What did it matter if he had to crack his chest open to do it? He headed for the door.

  “We should finish eating,” he said over his shoulder. “We should get to the workshop.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Later, after a morning taking care of inspections and permits, Church got a text from Tobias: Can I come by? I need to talk to you.

  Church sighed. Three guesses what this was about. He wasn’t sure he was up for more drama today. Tobias wasn’t one for conflict, but when it came to Ghost, he could be fierce, so Church sent him the workshop’s address and started trying to come up with an explanation.

  On the verge of putting his phone away, he hesitated, his thumb hovering over the button that would delete Ghost’s number. The whole thing seemed so...off, like he’d been looking at a book written in another language. So even though he’d read Ghost’s words as true at the time, maybe that was a mistake. Maybe in six months or a year, when Church figured out how to get away from the bakery, it’d be different. Maybe Ghost would take it back.

  And maybe Church was in denial, but he put his phone away without deleting anything.

  By the time Tobias pushed the door open, his brown curls windswept, his cheeks ruddy from the cold, Church still didn’t have any idea what to say. He interrupted Miller where he was laying vacuum ductwork to make introductions, and all the while he tried to send Miller telepathic signals that he should keep Tobias from getting Church alone.

  Turned out Miller wasn’t even part mutant. What a disappointment.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Tobias said to Miller, shaking his hand. “I’ve heard a lot
of good things about you.”

  “Oh,” Miller said, visibly flustered. “That’s, uh, nice. I’ve heard nice things about you too.”

  “That’s so nice of you to say,” Tobias replied, smiling, and Miller smiled back.

  “Yes, you’re both very nice people,” Church intoned, rolling his eyes.

  Tobias gave him that admonishing glower he always wore when Church’s social skills were lacking. It was the same one Miller was giving him, actually.

  “Whoa.” Church looked between the two of them and shuddered. “Stop doing that with your faces. You look like teachers.”

  Tobias shook his head and started hauling him out the door, waving over his shoulder at Miller and calling, “I’m only going to steal him for a little bit.”

  “Take your time,” Miller called back.

  The afternoon was crisp, heavy with exhaust and loud with the rattling of the Union Pacific coal cars rumbling down the rail on the other side of the chain-link fence at the edge of the property. Church huddled in his hoodie as Tobias nudged him to sit on the low brick wall that separated the sidewalk from the parking lot.

  “I don’t care what else happens in my life,” Church said, “you two are not allowed to gang up on me.”

  Tobias ignored that. “Why is Ghost breaking up with us?”

  “What?” Church swallowed. “Shit. I didn’t know he was cutting you out too. Maybe if you talk to him?”

  “I tried. He was implacable.”

  Church kicked at a loose pebble. “I don’t know that word.”

  “It means unbending. Talk to me, Church. Tell me how to fix this. I’m... I’m freaking out a little.”

  “Hey, it’s not your job to fix things, you know. Don’t put this on yourself.”

  “No, it’s not... I know. Just. Why is he doing this? He won’t even talk to me. What happened?” His voice had gone thready and his hands knotted together at his waist. His expression was—Jesus, he looked like the sun had gone out and he thought that somehow Church could make it come back. Church leaned away, abruptly struck by a terrifying thought.