D.V. Patton - Fire and Rain Page 6

  Chris winced inwardly. He hated bingo. Chris paused, then smiled, and held out his hand. “Thank you,” he said, with real gratitude. He dared not believe it, but he thought maybe he had just got a break.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “Can I have a cappuccino please…extra shot?” asked a chirpy voice that Chris recognized immediately. He looked up from his stack of invoices, a sour expression on his face. It was as if the harsh Iberian sun had blown a dust devil all the way to the rainy streets of Dublin. The tan might have faded, the shorts and t-shirts been replaced with a more northern European city chic, but a ghost stood before him, all the same.

  “I’ll make that to go,” said Chris.

  “No, I think I’ll try out the furniture in your lovely establishment,” said Ciaran evenly. Two pairs of eyes met across a table, a faded wooden worktop separated by three months and what felt like a lifetime.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chris had been half expecting something like this ever since bumping into Ciaran outside a gay bar not far from where he was working. Peter had harangued him into a game of bingo, where a very large but not convincing transvestite had taken great pleasure in mocking him most of the night.

  He had finally escaped into the night desperate for a cigarette. Chris pulled up his umbrella and tried to angle it to avoid the rain. He looked at his watch and cursed.

  He was at least fifteen minutes late for the last tram, and taxis were a devil to get on a Thursday night. Chris’ eyes narrowed as he saw the late night shop across the street. A familiar devil appeared on his shoulder, and after a short and very sharp fight, Chris found himself before a middle aged Asian woman buying a pack of cigarettes.

  He slinked back out into the rainy night, found a bus shelter with at least a little cover, and lit up. Sarah was a demon for his smoking, going as far as to smell his clothes. It was like he was a teenager all over again, eating mints to try and hide the smell from his mother.

  A group of people spilled from a music bar, and Chris found his eyes drawn almost magnetically through the crowd, and there was Ciaran. Even in a crowd he stood out, but it seemed he sensed he was being watched. His head turned as he walked, and their eyes had met for the briefest moment.

  Ciaran had looked shocked to see him, but in the blink of an eye he had been gone, lost around a corner.

  Chris didn’t know how he felt, but he suspected one of two things would happen. Either Ciaran would avoid him like the plague, or he would seek him out, more than likely to offer some bullshit excuse as to why he had dropped him in it in Spain.

  But the truth was that Chris did want to see him again, even if it was only for closure. That time in Spain seemed like a dream, and as time went on, the memory faded and the anger receded. Chapter Thirty-Nine

  It seemed the anger had not subsided, it had merely been sleeping. Chris ignored his special customer and made the steaming beverage. He made an effort with the head of the cappuccino despite himself, finishing it with an expressive flower floating on the warm milk. He walked over to where Ciaran sat and placed the coffee on the table. After the briefest hesitation, he slipped the bill onto the side of the saucer.

  Ciaran wasn’t fazed. “So how’ve you been?”

  Chris sighed. “Are we going to play at being friends now?” Ciaran didn’t rise to the bait. Instead he lifted his cappuccino to his lips and drank. It left a little white moustache that looked cute, no matter how hard he tried to kept things neutral. “You came to Dublin then?” he said, with a knowing smile that irritated Chris no end.

  Part of Chris wanted to just let it go, let this stranger drink his coffee, say a stiff goodbye and leave. Dublin wasn’t that big, but it wasn’t that small, either, and Chris was finally thinking of setting up roots for a while. Sure he’d see the guy from time to time, on the scene, around town…but the pain would fade.

  With his back turned, Chris paused in his pretend work, surprised with himself. Who said anything about being hurt? He finally turned back to his one paying customer, and found him as he had left him many months ago—lithe, slim, graceful, tough as nails and classy in his well hidden way. “My sister lives here.”

  “I know her, remember?” “I doubt you or your family are on her Christmas card list, Ciaran.”

  The smile stayed on Ciaran’s face, but Chris felt it faltered a little bit. “So who was the old guy I saw you with the other night. Was he your boyfriend?”

  Chris turned to face him full on, his anger rising. If he said yes, it was done. The cute little holiday fling was gone forever. Cute and beautiful he might be, but with the morals of a—

  The look on Ciaran’s face stopped him in his tracks. There was a fragility in his expression that he didn’t think the man capable of. Chris wasn’t sure Ciaran was even aware of how open and naked he looked in that moment. Something had changed in him, and he knew it straight away. His own feelings were beginning to feel strangely murky. “That was my boss, asshole.”

  A familiar smile broke out. “Sleeping with the boss—I like it!”

  Chris sighed. “Ciaran, what are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  Chris was incredulous. “You think I came to Dublin for you?”

  “Did you?” “Are you that deluded?” he asked, with a hint of his former anger returning. Ciaran grimaced, but held his ground. “I’m broke. I came here because I got a job offer and my sister lives here. If you’d stuck around in Spain, you might have noticed.”

  The clink of an overhead doorbell going off distracted them and Chris was forced to lower his tone. “You left me hanging out there!”

  Ciaran looked sideways at the customers, and then conspiratorially at Chris. “It was all a bit crazy alright, but you weren’t in any trouble.”

  “Your auntie didn’t think so…neither did the police.” Chris felt the subtle glance in his direction from the couple that had come in to the cafeteria. He forced his business face on and went to serve. Mercifully they decided to take their coffees to go, but the girl had a snooty look down her nose at him, an expression that grated on his nerves—except it wasn’t really these complete strangers that were bugging him. He glanced in Ciaran’s direction, and the young man sat patiently at his table. At least he hadn’t fled this time. When the customers left, Chris reluctantly returned to the table and sat opposite him.

  “So what’s the rent around here?” asked Ciaran out of the blue.

  “What?”

  “The rent?”

  Chris was nonplussed. “I’d guess two and a half grand.”

  “Wow,” said Ciaran softly. “How the hell do these places stay open?”

  “Look Ciaran,” said Chris. “It was nice to see you again—”

  “So how much would a franchise cost?”

  “What?” “If you wanted one of your own … with that big bright shiny name above the door. How much would it cost?”

  “Twenty grand.”

  “Why the hell would anyone pay that?” Chris shook his head. “It’s not that simple, you get a shop fitter, the equipment.”

  “You could do that yourself.” Chris guffawed. “Have you seen my bank balance?” “I was never after your money,” said Ciaran softly, that strangely attractive blush returning to his cheeks. No matter what Chris thought he thought, he could not deny the basic animal attraction he felt for Ciaran. It was a living, breathing thing.

  “What were you after?” asked Chris. “I don’t know,” he offered. “But when I saw you the other night, out of the blue, it just felt like fate or something.”

  “That sounds so lame. After everything that has happened, that is just so fucking stupid.” “You don’t believe in fate?”

  “After the last year I had…no.”

  “It wasn’t all bad, though.”

  “Ciaran, you dumped me in Spain. You fucked me over.” “I can explain that…I will explain that. There’s something I want to show you.”

  Chris ran his h
and through his hair. “I don’t know, Ciaran.”

  “Please,” said Ciaran, more forcefully this time. “Don’t make me beg.” Ciaran reached across, and slipped a pen from his apron. He scribbled an address on a piece of paper. “Just come see this…anytime you’re free, okay?”

  Those beautiful gentle mocking eyes seemed to almost glisten. Ciaran reached across the table and squeezed his hand gently. “It’s great to see you again, Chris,” he said, and before Chris could even reply he was out the door.

  Chapter Forty

  Chris sat at the table for a long time after the man left. Something was bugging him, and it took him an age to figure out what. Eventually it came to him, on top of another revelation, like two buses coming at once. The first was when Ciaran mentioned the old guy, aka Peter. Ciaran had only seen him at that taxi rank. How had he known about Peter?

  The second revelation was a little more of a punch to the gut. He was in love with Ciaran, and probably had been for a long time. He wondered sadly if Ciaran even knew what that meant, and how, if placed in the wrong hands, love could destroy a man.

  Chapter Forty-One

  “Hmm,” sighed Sarah as she lay back on the big couch. “I don’t know if that’s a great idea.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Chris, leaning across, and trying to look directly at her face. He nearly managed to spill his wine on the carpet as he did so, and got a withering look in return. One thing he had learned very quickly was that his sister was very houseproud. He had already been relegated to smoking out in the small garden at the rear of the house. He guessed he was about one week from the cobweb-ridden garden shed.

  “Haven’t we had enough of that whole family?”

  “That’s not much of a reason!”

  Sarah scoffed. “I don’t know why you don’t go with that nice Peter.”

  “That nice rich Peter you mean.” “Is he?” asked Sarah innocently. “You could marry him, and then we could bunk him off,” said Sarah with an evil grin.

  “Sarah!” “We could make a discovery channel documentary yet—Lovers that Kill! The black widower and his twisted sister!”

  “That would mean we were caught,” said Chris morosely. “Oh, why so glum?” she asked. “It sounds like you have two men fighting over you.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said. “But this one, I don’t know. There’s just something about him. He makes me feel things I’ve never felt before.”

  “Between your legs, you mean.”

  “No,” said Chris very softly. “It’s more than that.”

  “You came to Dublin after him?” asked Sarah. There was a tinge of sadness in his voice, but he picked up on it. “No, I came to be with my family.”

  “Then why were you telling Connor you’re thinking of going back to London?”

  That caught him off guard. He vaguely remembered saying something along those lines to Sarah’s son, but he was sure it was in an offhand comment. He guessed kids didn’t differentiate things like that. He had said it after he had seen Ciaran through the crowd, but he couldn’t admit as much. “I can’t stay as a coffee shop boy forever. I have contacts in London. We have to be realistic. I love it with you and Connor, but we have to be…”

  “Realistic,” Sarah finished for him. Chris looked at her guiltily. Sarah looked at him. “He’s a bit young for you.”

  “He’s twenty two, but I guess you’re right. He’s immature in so many ways.” “Are you in love with him?” “What?” he asked, as if it were the stupidest question in the world. “I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him”

  Sarah sighed, seemingly reluctant to say what was on her mind. He stared at her, kind of hoping she wouldn’t say whatever it was she was thinking. “Chris, you always need to be in love with someone.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s not your fault, but some people just don’t like being alone.”

  “That’s not true,” he retorted a little too tartly. “Put on the movie!” Chris sat back in his seat, and drew his knees up. Sarah eventually wormed herself against him. “Sorry, pipsqueak,” she said reverting back to his childhood nickname, but he didn’t reply. Instead he watched the screen blankly, as frame after frame of the movie passed him by. He sensed how Sarah watched him from the corner of her eye, a worried expression crossing her face.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chris found himself standing at the crossroads of a junction in downtown Dublin. He looked up at the corners of the buildings and read the faded sign that gave the street names. He looked at the hastily scrawled address that Ciaran had given him.

  The smell of exhaust fumes filled his nose, and the constant sound of traffic rang in his ears. Although the street name wasn’t identical, this was definitely the right street, he thought, so he hooked a left and began walking up the road. He thought he recognized a few shop fronts until it struck him why he knew the place. Chris could have laughed. This was the street where he was forced to endure Peter’s occasional bingo sessions. Sure enough, he soon saw a couple of the gay bars he had been in.

  Chris spied the mall he was looking for about five hundred yards ahead. He increased his pace, and once he reached the big open entrance he ducked inside.

  Even on a midweek afternoon, the place was pretty full, an array of people tottering around the mall, ambling from stall to shop and back again. It was comprised of a dozen or so shops, with the whole open floor space in the middle comprised of stalls. The Mall smelt of old leather and ripe fruit. Chris immediately liked the vibe of the place—it reminded him a little of home. He searched deeper into the mall, and found what he was looking for.

  He nearly burst out laughing. It seemed Ciaran had opened some sort of comic shop in Dublin. It was a surprise, but other thoughts began to evolve in his mind, and a vague sense of unease grew in him. Chris took a deep breath, surprised at the butterflies in his tummy. After the briefest of hesitation, he pushed the door open and stepped inside the small shop.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Ciaran was hunched over the counter, his blond mop of hair obscuring his face from view. He looked lost in whatever he was reading, and Chris was struck with the urge to simply turn around, hail a taxi, and book the next plane back to London. Ciaran had always managed to have an extreme effect on him, and it seemed nothing had changed in their time apart.

  Ciaran seemed to sense his presence and he looked up from whatever he had been reading. Chris doubted it was Dostoevsky but before he could make a quip, Ciaran’s blue eyes seemed to pierce through him. Chris put up his hand noncommittally. “Hey.”

  Ciaran walked from around the counter, and hugged him. It was an unexpected and very uncharacteristic show of affection. Ciaran looked relieved.

  Chris could feel the imprint of the man’s body against him. He clearly felt the mound hidden in Ciaran’s shorts push against him. He even recognized the smell of him. It left him unsure, but Chris had long since worked out that Ciaran was a drug. He had simply forgotten how potent he was. “Wow, a hug!” he managed to blurt out, all the time thinking, best to keep the physical contact to a minimum.

  Ciaran looked at him strangely. “Of course,” he said. “Do you want a drink…coke…beer…we can go get a coffee, if you like.”

  “I’m not staying that long, man.”

  “Oh, okay,” said Ciaran, looking disappointed. In so many ways he was easy to read, but when push came to shove Ciaran was hard as nails. He covered it well enough, but when you peeled back the layers of the rose, it was easy to get pricked. Chris was living proof of that. “It must of cost a lot to set this up,” said Chris, strolling into the middle of the floor for dramatic effect. He could feel the emotions bubble in side of him— pain, anger, confusion…and something else, both skittish and unexpected.

  “Not that much…well,” said Ciaran, faltering a little when Chris stared directly at him.

  Chris walked around the shop, with its neat little shelves, packed with Ameri
can comics and graphic novels, toys, and paperback books. It mightn’t look like it, but Chris figured the stock in this place was heading for five figures. “You took the money from the shop, didn’t you? The money those cops were looking for.”

  “Mattie owed me,” said Ciaran in a voice he had never heard before. He had been expecting guilt, or least embarrassment. Instead he got this cool reply. It felt like he was seeing Ciaran for the first time, with the panache of his façade all stripped away.

  “And what about me?” asked Chris in that same offhand tone. At least this time Ciaran had the good grace to look guilty. “I panicked when I heard Mattie had died, but I thought it was best to leave you out of it…to protect you.”

  “Protect me?” said Chris. Ciaran walked over to the shop door and flicked the latch. He kept his back to Chris the whole time. “I made a mistake, Chris…okay?”

  Chris rubbed his hands through his hair. Every part of him told him to leave, to walk away…every part of him, but one. Yet as he watched Ciaran, he felt his treacherous hands want to massage the man’s shoulders, run his fingers through his blond hair. “What the fuck are you doing to me?” said Chris, his inner monologue finding a voice.

  Ciaran didn’t turn. “I know you still want me,” he said. Chris could see his chest heave and release as he exhaled. He looked like he was hyperventilating. Ciaran looked like a coiled spring. “It’s why you came here.”

  Chris found himself in turmoil. He wanted to kiss Ciaran, hold him, fuck him. “Yes,” he said finally. “I want you, but it’s not enough.”

  “Everything’s changed, Chris,” said Ciaran.

  Chapter Forty-Four Ciaran turned suddenly, and marched straight towards Chris. Chris wasn’t sure what was going on anymore.. He felt two powerful hands ram into his chest, forcing him back into the flimsy plasterboard wall. A plume of long settled dust descended on them, as Ciaran’s blazing eyes glared into his.

  “I didn’t ask for this…I didn’t ask for this!” he kept repeating in a voice barely above a growl. Ciaran’s hands had turned to fists, wrapped in his shirt. Chris could feel his knuckles rotate directly in his chest, leaving imprints in his skin. In one fluid movement he spun them around, and pushed Ciaran roughly back towards the doorframe of a stock room. Chris barely noticed where they were. He grabbed the younger man by the throat, not holding him in a full throttle, but enough to hurt. Their faces were bare inches away. “You left me,” he hissed.