

Copyright
Dedications
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
About the Author
Also by Amberly Smith
Science Fiction Romance from Dreamspinner Press

Published by
Dreamspinner Press
4760 Preston Road
Suite 244-149
Frisco, TX 75034
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Rinse and Repeat
Copyright © 2011 by Amberly Smith
Cover Art by Anne Cain annecain.art@gmail.com
Cover Design by Mara McKennen
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 4760 Preston Road, Suite 244-149, Frisco, TX 75034
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
ISBN: 978-1-61581-697-2
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition
January, 2011
eBook edition available
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-698-9
To Heather,
shocked, surprised but always, always supportive
To Tarence,
because everyone deserves the right to love
Jake Schwinn had plenty of first-person, hands-on, defining-moment levels of experience with funerals. When it came to saying goodbye to the dead, he'd seen it all. Unfortunately. But this one felt different.
Looked the same: flowers, crying people, conservatively dressed funeral director. Even the rows of uniformed police officers, supporting one of their own in his time of need; been there, seen that. The mourners, mostly college students, wore somber faces.
Was the difference the person who had died or the people he had left behind? And what the hell was the matter with Jake today if he couldn't even think of his best friend's name? Had to refer to him as the person, the departed, his loved one?
But Geo's name had always been powerful, just like the man himself. People would argue that at nineteen he wasn't a man yet. Wrong. George Noble, or Geo, hadn't been a kid, not really, since his mom died.
The speaker finished his talk and turned away from the podium. No applause. The church thought it disrupted the spirit. The bishop had spoken of Geo's commitment to serve his church. That he'd just received his mission papers to serve in Brazil, that he was a righteous brother. Minus the gangster slang on the last bit.
The bishop spoke about eternal families and Heavenly Father's promise that they would all be able to see Geo again. It gave comfort. That was the difference. Maybe.
At Grandpa Johnson's funeral, Jake'd only thought of the past. At Grandma Sara's, how there would be no future. And at Uncle Nik's, Miss Karen's, and Granddad Max's, he'd just been angry. When his sister Eugenia had died, he felt denial and despair.
It was Jake's turn to speak. It said so on the printed program. He stood up, feeling the theater-style seat flip up behind him, and took the necessary steps forward to look at the crowd, more than two hundred people packed into wooden pews and standing along the back wall. He began to sweat. His heart spun like a loose wheel, wobbling about his chest, ready to fall off its axle.
They didn't approve of him standing before them. He wasn't a member of their church. He was that "faggot" friend who'd corrupted Geo.
A mechanical buzz sounded as the podium rose, lifting the mike closer to Jake's six-foot-four-inch height. Geo would start his talk with a joke: Gee, Bishop Oliver, how short are you? Except Geo wasn't as tall as Jake. Hadn't been as tall.
Jake swallowed.
He cleared his throat and looked down at the open casket in front of the stage, then jerked his head away from the sight. He felt the moisture gather at the corner of his eyes. That would so help this situation. To look like an emotional drama queen in front of these people.
"Geo once explained to me about Heavenly Father. He said it was God's other name. Like Santa Claus was really Kris Kringle. Of course that was when we were just kids. Fifteen or sixteen." They might have smiled or chuckled at his attempt at humor, but he didn't hear it. He zoned a bit, still talking but immersed in his memories.
"The last funeral I was at was for my Grandma Frankie. Geo, being a good friend, he was...." He stumbled over, paused at the word, so final. "Everyone's friend, he came with me. And I got all crazy Texan, and he asked me what was wrong, and I said that the speakers had gotten it all wrong."
"Grandma was Catholic and that priest didn't know her from Eve. He asked me that day to speak at his funeral. I said he'd be seventy-five and his grandchildren would need to talk. That the people from his mission would travel across the world to speak on how he'd saved them."
Jake's voice broke. The bright lights of the Sacrament Hall blurred and elongated as he blinked back the tears. His chest ached, and he wanted to press his hand over his heart to keep it in place, make sure it didn't become a projectile weapon as his body splintered from the pain. "He said he wasn't going on his mission to save people." Jake swallowed, sniffed as quietly as he could, and found a box of Kleenex pushed at his elbow. "Thanks." Jake took a few and held them in his fist.
"He said he was going on a mission to share the gospel. And I said, 'You can do that here.' And he said, 'I do do that here.' He explained it was like sharing a musical talent, or art. He'd been given this amazing knowledge that made him happy, and he'd share it. Baptisms or not."
He snorted at the memory, then swiped at his nose. "Then he was, 'So will you do it?'"
Jake had joked back that, no, he wouldn't marry Geo, but that type of humor wouldn't be understood here. "'Will you talk at my funeral?' And I said absolutely not. I'd stand up here and bawl, and his family would pitch me off the stage." He saw a few smiles this time. Either his idea appealed to them, or they understood how Geo would dig in and make him promise, determined, as always, to get his way.
"Geo was a great student. Not only because he got good grades; lots of people do that. But he liked school. Liked challenging himself and his teacher to make every class an opportunity to be better. He was a great example. Morally steadfast. He was a decent skateboarder, and he could kick your---" Jake caught the word and altered it with little disruption "---butt at Guitar Hero."
Jake had written all that down and said it easily because it was prepared. The next came from his gut. "He didn't agree with my choices." He let that stand. Either people would understand or they wouldn't. He didn't say it for them. "But he didn't judge me." He closed his mouth, shifted his chin, trying to keep the tears back. "I was his friend and that friendship was unconditional, both ways." Jake turned his head and blew his nose. He turned back to the mike.
"Geo died because of hate. Because someone put a condition on his further existence. You're not allowed to live unless you live my way. They killed him thinking he was different." Were you allowed to say gay in a place like this? "Geo was straight, he always did the right thing, and had a great capacity to give.
"Not because it was required of him. Not because it was easy or expected. But because he was happy. It felt right and good and made him happy."
Tears dripped down Jake's face, and he knew squelching them would make his face red and blotchy, but they made him vulnerable, so he locked them back. Locked them in. "He's in that Celestial Kingdom he told me about, hunting down all the recent arrivals from Brazil, and teaching them how to be happy. I know it's true because Geo wouldn't settle for anything less. Stubborn."
Jake folded his hands into fists, a slow curl inward. How to end this speech? The church said, "Amen." Like they were finishing a prayer, and he couldn't say it. He wasn't a hypocrite. Jake believed in God and in heaven and that love was forever. He knew that love for him would be with a man, and God would not only understand, he would rejoice.
"For George." He returned to his seat. He nodded to Officer Noble, Geo's dad, or rather the grief-stricken, stone-faced man who had lost both a wife and a son. A man who had no one else to sit beside, hold him, grieve with him. The sight cut at Jake's stomach, and he swallowed back the hysteria, the wail of longing for his best friend. He, at least, still had family, was still alive, and he'd keep reminding himself until the despair dissipated, until he could breathe again.
He knew why this funeral didn't feel like the others. Geo had been murdered.
Monday, September 7.
Of course the man had a name, but suffice it to say, names didn't come into play when saving a life. At least not the first couple of times Peat Harris saved them.
Peat rammed the minivan into the side of the speeding truck. Once again the truck's brakes were out, and it was about to slam into a wall. Major crunch and goodbye driver. The van absorbed the impact that the wall couldn't.
The first time he'd saved the guy, Peat had prevented the brakes from being cut. But now he realized that hadn't been the correct solution. The crime had to be committed so the perp could get his sunny day in prison. Or three to five years for attempted murder. Whichever.
As a Repeater, Peat relived the same day until he got it right. He wasn't looking for perfection, wasn't out to get the girl or to improve himself. He helped people, all kinds of people. Sometimes, like today, Seattle bankers.
The airbag exploded, smacking Peat in the arms and upper chest. Mental note to self: disconnect the airbag. The seat belt tightened painfully into his gut, and he kept his foot on the gas, spinning the truck and finally pushing them both into parked cars along the north side of the street. More air bags, and a few car alarms. Peat's airbag started to deflate. He flicked open his knife and slashed it to hurry the process, released the seat belt, and tried to get out. His driver side door was mangled and he had to push with both feet to get it open. Or rather the minivan's door. It wasn't his vehicle. Something he hoped to avoid, explanation-wise. The door swung out and tilted down like a drunken, boneless body.
Peat's arms hurt, and his chest hurt, but if he didn't stop, his body wouldn't figure out who hurt the most and award the prize of unconsciousness.
Seattle's monorail rattled a block away and tall, white buildings shadowed the street. Every viable square inch of the buildings had windows. All the white helped with the dreary, bleak, rainy days but the windows were beacons of hope. Hope for sun. Like today.
The driver sat, white-knuckled and red-faced in the blue truck like a patriotic statue. "Mister? Are you okay, mister?" Peat said.
The windows had broken as the body of the truck twisted and contoured around the minivan. Though the damage was extensive, American steel workers countrywide would be proud. The two fiberglass compacts the truck had pushed into were crumpled in shame.
Had Peat hit him too soon? Would the man know today that Peat had saved him? It sucked when he got his timing off. "Sir?"
"My brakes. They weren't working."
Not too early then. "Are you hurt?"
"What?"
"Are you hurt? I saw you trying to stop, and I was hoping you wouldn't.... Are you hurt?" Peat said.
The man turned his eyes toward Peat and blinked. "What?"
Peat surveyed the damage around him. He counted the cars involved and sniffed the air for a gas leak. The owner of the car alarm came running, his arms up and yelling. Yeah, good indication that the cops had been called. Hopefully the irate car owner had thought to ask for a paramedic as well. A matter of priorities.
He almost apologized, the proper course of action. His British parents would approve of being proper, polite. But he couldn't promise to never do it again, and the housekeeper would say that meant he wasn't really sorry.
Peat reached in and touched the man's throat. It felt like modeling clay. Cold, smooth, gray. The man's heart raced. Shock.
Peat didn't have anything to help with that, no blanket or jacket. The temperature was in the eighties and for once the Seattle skies were clear of all clouds. "Mister, are you hurt?"
"I'm okay," the driver said to himself. He flexed his hands on the steering wheel. "I'm okay."
"Can you move your legs?"
"Yeah." He looked as he said it to double-check.
Okay, so this had some real potential. Peat just needed to cinch that noose around the perp's throat, and Peat would be on his way. "What's wrong with your brakes?"
"They weren't working. I tried to stop at that light back there. Ran right through it. Thank God I didn't hit someone." He released the steering wheel and ran a hand over his face. "Shit. I could have died."
Peat could hear sirens. Time was up. He used his belligerent tone to push the issue. "You should take better care of your car. Shit. What's it been, five years, since you had your brakes replaced?"
"No. I got new ones last month...." Peat could see the change in the man's face, the raised eyebrows, the change in tone. Perhaps the idea, still vague, circled his subconscious. The firefighters were the first to arrive, hoping for a jaws-of-life situation. Not today, boys. Maybe tomorrow.
Until the clock struck twelve and it became Tuesday the 8th, Peat wouldn't know if his actions today were successful. Midnight could come and, with a massive shift of time gears, it would be Monday. Still.
"Could it be foul play?" This part was hard. How much did you push and still stay out of the way? But the guy needed to get the rest of those clues without Peat spelling it out for him. That would mean answering questions, and Peat needed to get back to college, not testify at a trial.
The man looked at him again. He'd looked at his legs, flexing them. He'd looked at his truck, body shaking. He'd looked at the street they were on, thanking God. But when he looked at Peat, it was with an absent jerk of the eyes, not registering him. Until Peat said foul play.
Then he focused. "You saved my life."
"That's why I'm here."
Tuesday, September 8
Four days later.
Peat knew he was in the right place. His hands vibrated like tuning forks. They didn't visibly shake but the fibers under his skin were alive with first sense.
He'd been relieved when Seattle had been a fairly quick turnaround and the day didn't repeat. Monday went, and Tuesday started, and he answered a few police questions, mapped out his journey home and took in some shopping. But as midnight approached, his hands grew restless.
The skate park in this small city surprised him. Perhaps it was a Northwest thing. Skaters back home skated illegally, and signs of "No skateboarding" were vandalized. But here they had a clean, maintained-by-the-city, cement, metal, and wood park dedicated to skating.
Peat tipped the cab driver. It had been a short ride from the bus stop, but the cabbie had been full of useful information, and he hadn't taken offense to Peat's sudden, "Stop. Stop here."
Never before had his first sense been so precise. This Repeat had been like that, though. When Tuesday happened for the second time he woke up knowing he was going to Boise. Not a, gee I think Idaho is my next stop, which he got on occasion, but a sharp conviction of what came next. Most Repeats were blind fumblings along the chicken coop floor.
The minor psychic ability, or heightened sixth sense came first in his decision making. When he used it, it was his only sense, his first sense. It muted sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell.
Peat walked into the park with his backpack on one shoulder. A skater did a complicated twist midair and landed with a stuttered smack on a ramp.
The boarder stopped at the top of the tall U-shaped ramp and yawned, puffing out white steam and rolling his shoulders. A white cloud in September? Go fig. California never got this cold. And though it rained in Seattle, it didn't feel like it would snow before November. Of course maybe Idaho got snow by Halloween.
A fence separated a warehouse alley and the park's basketball court. Peat leaned against the chain-link fence, his ankles crossed, his shoulders pressed back, enjoying the view of the sexy skater.
The blond pushed his long bangs out of his eyes and looked over at Peat. Peat nodded once in greeting, not expecting a response. His gay little life didn't make every other man gay.
He realized the guy was about his own age, twenty to twenty-five. Even from this distance the man's eyes looked intense. Dark. In sharp contrast to his golden skin and sun-lightened hair.
Hello, Mr. Hottie, something's come up, and I need a helping hand. Stand over here with your board and look sexy. Peat's heart did a dance in his chest.
The skater flipped the board, planted his feet as it headed down the ramp and sailed at a dizzying speed straight at Peat. Aggressive and intimidating, his kind of man. Peat maintained his ground, and the guy did a sharp turn to skate past, then did a board-wheelie or whatever it was called to come back.
Surely Peat had time to flirt, be himself, until he found his next damsel or dude in distress. What would a little extended eye contact with a man whose very presence made him smile and warmed his blood harm?
"Hey."
Peat just smiled and nodded. He felt his dick stir in appreciation, and he resisted the urge to adjust.
"New?"
"Just got into town," Peat said.
"Do you board?"
"I'm thinking about learning." Oh yeah, he was thinking about it. About the tight ass on display as he moved with his board, about the masculine, arousing scent of sweat and the heady drug of laughter as they joked around.
The guy smirked and gave Peat the once-over. He had this slightly crooked, adorable grin. Ah, his heart would be reading more into that look for many days to come. "Get a board, and I'll show you the basics."
Without waiting for a reply, the hottie serpentined back toward the U ramp. The first gunshot pushed him off his board. The second gunshot knocked him down to a knee. The board rolled to a stop against a metal rail.
Peat just stood there. What? What was happening? Neither his body nor his mind could process it. The edgy dullness of shock flushed his skin. No warning. No sign.
He'd seen more than his fair share in the three years since he became a Repeater. He'd seen the results of death, a few times self-induced. He'd seen sickness and despair. Human depravity. Houston, two Repeats ago, had been the worst. But this?
Please say this isn't my next Repeat. But please God, let me fix this if it is. No more Houstons. No more letting the right thing happen because it was destiny.
Peat felt the guy's pockets for a cell phone. He didn't remember walking from the fence, only shaking loose from his trance as he knelt. He pulled out a shirt from his bag and pressed it to a wound. The guy grasped Peat's hand. Peat didn't speak, not even to hush the gasping pleas for help. He couldn't speak. Couldn't think. Knew he should get them out of firing range. Knew he should get help, the police, something. React, do.
The hand in Peat's went slack and the ragged breathing stilled as the guy died a fourth time. Four Tuesdays. It had taken Peat two days to get here and the initial day before it repeated. How many more before Peat found the right combination of events? How many more before he stopped the loss of this beautiful, young life?
Tuesday, September 8
Sixty-two days later.
Peat would take that Seattle airbag any day over the cement of the skate ramp that rushed up to meet him. Over and over again.
He flexed his legs and hopped, finger grabbing his skateboard as he reached the large ramp's side platform, called the hip. Peat stood and looked at the skater standing next to him.
The guy had a board in his hand and yawned, mouth wide, back jaw cracking as he looked over the skate park. Peat could see all his straight white teeth.
Boise's morning commuter traffic on the overpasses above them chilled the air. A morbid chandelier made of a dozen sneakers hung from a light off the freeway twenty feet above them.
"Cold this morning," Peat said as he rubbed his fist into his eye socket. A deep ache pinched along his shoulders. The ache had a lot to do with trying to learn to skate for the first time in his life. Then there was the lack of sleep. Oh, and that other thing that kept happening. Was going to happen again today. Peat hunched his shoulders. His cold weary skin hung on his body like a blue, yellow, and occasionally purple towel on a rack.
He'd learned the dress style and had it down. Jeans, neither loose nor tight, but in the realm of baggy. This pair was ripped. The holes showed his plaid boxers, damaged knees, and a good portion of one shin. He had on a long-sleeve knit shirt and a T-shirt over that proclaiming "Position of Girlfriend: Vacant." He made even this look good or could if he wasn't so battered.
The boy next to him wore the same style. Colors were different. No holes in the pants, and his shirt had a spinning, coiled, deadly looking bunny. The bunny gave the world the finger. But the rest was the same.
The guy didn't look at him, dropped his board and sailed down the U ramp and back up the other side. He flipped his board 360 degrees, leaned back on it, and sailed back toward Peat. Not sailing, though; they called it skate. But it had helped Peat to think in sailing terms. He'd known how to sail yesterday. But today he needed to know how to skate. The guy didn't do anything fancy on Peat's side of the ramp but then did an excellent grind along the ramp's rim on the other hip.
"Sweet, man." Did they say sweet? Excellent? He'd never get this one right if he didn't start paying closer attention. Of course, he didn't think he'd ever get this one right.
The guy came in tight. And gave Peat a look. "New?"
"Yeah, just moved here," Peat said.
"To boarding?" the guy clarified.
"Obvious, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
Ah, the joys of conversation. Some mornings Peat would ask for lessons, but he had passed the amateur state. He just didn't have the etiquette down, like giving fellow boarders room.
Peat dropped his board and followed it down, did a clean grab on the other side, nothing fancy but done right. He picked up speed, crouched low, and spun the board twice before going back down again. He stuck it, but roughly. Wait, stuck it was a gymnastic term. Groan.
He took the low dip out of the U-shaped ramp and tried some pole grinds.
They were the only two in the park. It was a school day and early enough that the homeless people were still warm in the shelter a block from the park. The ice company and fish market had already dispatched their delivery trucks. Bright primary-colored murals on the pillar overpasses framed the view of condominiums under construction. Their plastic windows rippled in the breeze.
Peat clipped the edge of the raised pyramid to pick up speed then cut across the park toward the ramp where the skater put on a good show. He grabbed serious air with each trick. Seeing Peat head his way, he grabbed board and stood on the hip to give Peat room.
Peat grabbed board next to him and said, "Before you give me the skate park polite-use-of-right-of-way or whatever the hell you're going to call it, I want to ask you something."
"It's too early to talk."
"It's too early to do a lot of things." Like die. "But here we are, and I'm anxious to know." The adrenaline from caffeine and lack of sleep mixed like oil and water in Peat's belly. "You've ever been in love?"
"You drunk? Shouldn't skate hammered, man."
"Me? Nope. Before today I've never been in love. But who knows what today will bring," Peat said.
"How about we get you some coffee?" The guy stared at Peat, wary of the possible drunk. "If you're strapped for green, Bernie's is good about free coffee to us boarders. Just don't tell them---"
"Don't need coffee. Bloody hell. What are you, my granny? Coffee doesn't fix shit," Peat yelled.
"Step off, asshole. I'm just trying to help." He dropped his board, but Peat grabbed him to prevent him from following it. Lacking the mass needed to propel itself, the board skated halfway up the other side then back to the center where it flipped over, wheels spinning.
It was time. And on this side of the ramp they were safe.
"'Bout made me wipe, man. What's your problem?"
"You've got to stop coming here." Peat's voice shook, and his body tensed, fighting what came next. "It's not safe."
"Are you threatening me?" The guy sounded surprised. Tightly toned twenty-somethings with killer moves and a six-foot-four-inch frame didn't get threatened. At least not this guy.
"Nope." Peat dropped his board and followed it down into the crosshairs. The bullet penetrated his right shoulder and the cement smacked him in the back as he hurried to meet it. Again.
"Fuck. What the hell?" The guy crouched down on the hip. Safe for now. The rifle continued to fire, hitting Peat in the gut as he tried to stand. "Stay down."
"That's my line, Jake," Peat said. He hadn't meant to use the name, had purposely kept it out of his thoughts.
Peat had tried to keep his distance. He was only in Boise for the day. Tomorrow, the real tomorrow, he'd be back at college, groin-deep in guys and senior projects.
Reliving the same day was par for the course as a Repeater. And if he'd come from a long tradition of Repeaters, if the Powers That Be had sent Doyle to tell him of his new calling, hell, if he'd walked into a science fiction portal, then it would be easier to accept. But the why behind it, the who that resided behind Dorothy's black curtain, was unknown. Peat had no fucking clue why him or why them.
He did it because he had no choice. He did it because he had only hope. Hope that it was good or right. That it would make a difference. That the days would stop.
And maybe one day he would know the why. Why Jake and why him.
Peat watched as Jake vaulted over the side of the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the hip. He dangled from the rail to break his momentum before dropping to a crouch. The U ramp provided a barrier between Jake and the shooter. He crouched low and pulled Peat by his armpits out of the danger zone.
Peat moaned. "Ah, that hurt. It burns, you know? Like the bullet is still hot or something. Too bad it doesn't get hot enough to cauter---" Peat coughed, tasting blood in his mouth. "Cauterize."
"Are you crazy?" Jake asked, then talked to dispatch. So far it had always been a woman. Janis. Five years with Ada County Sheriff and her second month as a dispatcher. "Yes, that's what I said. The Rhodes skate park on River and 15th. Beneath the connector. This guy's been shot." Jake took off his T-shirt and pressed it into Peat's stomach wound. Jake always picked the stomach, probably because it bled more than the shoulder wound and he couldn't apply pressure to both.
"My name's Jake Schwinn," he told Janis. On an earlier day, Peat had listened to the dispatch recording after Jake died and before midnight when the day began all over again. Those early days he had allowed Jake to die in the hope that he could solve the crime and then repeat the day to fix it. He'd learned instead a lot about Jake and his family but nothing about the shooter. But the worry, the guilt, had taken over, and he'd started dying for Jake.
Now with each repeating day Peat knew that Jake would never look twice at him romantically and felt just as determined to save him.
"Get off the phone, Jake. I need you to listen to me."
"Don't worry, man. They're sending help," Jake said.
One twisted day the cell phone had been damaged and the shooter came over to finish them both off. Peat had damaged the phone on purpose so he could see the shooter, Jake died, and the shooter, masked, could only be described marginally. Not a total waste.
Different times Peat had waited for the shooter at the sniper point. Those times the shooter had taken up position somewhere else. Peat had tried to involve the authorities. No gunman those days, and though Jake had lived, the day repeated.
"Jacob Donovan Schwinn, get the hell off that phone and listen to me." Peat put as much sternness into his tone as a mouthful of blood would allow.
Jake's eyes widened, looking deep into Peat's. "How did you---?" He got a bit lost in those beautiful dark brown eyes, the intense color of ebony wood, surrounded by steel gray eyelashes. Eyes he'd become ridiculously fond of.
"Jake. They thought they were shooting you. They want you dead, Jake."
Jake wasn't ever quite surprised. Disbelief. Peat saw a bit of that in the twist of his mouth but not surprise. "Tell me all your enemies." Yesterday they'd done family, as much as the three-and-a-half minutes would allow before the paramedics showed. Tomorrow maybe they'd do ex-girlfriends. And there were girlfriends, plural, and even a pregnancy scare that ended up being a jilted girl seeking revenge. "Who'd want you dead?"
"What?" Jake said.
Okay, so no talking this morning. It happened. Plus, Jake was still on that cell phone. Peat reached up with his bloody fingers and took the cell phone out of Jake's hand. Time to lay on the emotions. "I'm scared, man. Talk to me." The gasps and body jerks as he flinched away from death were real. He didn't need to fake that. "Who'd shoot at us? I'm the newbie, remember?"
"It's just a rough neighborhood. Probably a gang---"
"Nope. I've checked that. No gangs claim this park. In fact, this is neutral. Nobody's land." Peat's vision faded to monochrome gray on black. He pushed deep for enough strength to bring himself back to the surface.
"Doesn't mean that there couldn't be---"
"Come on, man," Peat said, interrupting him again, "I've not got the time."
"Stop talking like that. The parameds will be here short-like. I can hear the sirens."
He was too tired, the bullets too effective today. He'd have to wait until tomorrow. Today, rather. And from the way his vision blurred, black on black, he would lose consciousness soon.
He loved the clean slate at times like this. He could be himself, pure. Say what he felt because it wouldn't stick. It would wipe clean with the rest of the day. Midnight or death, and he would get a fresh start. "I admire you, Jake."
"I'll teach you to board. Just stay with me, asshole."
Did Jake honestly think Peat was saying his goodbyes? That he would be envious of something stupid like boarding? Peat scrunched his eyes tight and opened them to see Jake, hand still staunching the blood.
"Straight A's. Great athlete. Community service awards. That shelter you work at...." Jake got really pale, and Peat stopped talking. But Peat had never been one for quiet. "You deserve to live. You'll do great things."
The paramedics arrived. The first time Peat crashed, they used the electric paddles to revive him. Paddle marks were always fun. His skin looked like a Ruffles potato chip for almost a whole day. For the most part, only the bullet wounds lasted more than twenty-four hours. That's why he'd faced the gunner today rather than with his back turned. He had a nice square pattern, one on each hip and each shoulder. Nice in a totally gruesome, gnarly, not-nice way.
The gunshot wound in his left shoulder had shortened his time, and he didn't make it past the ER exam room. He died, and it was midnight. He lay on the cold tile floor. The lights bright above him but the room empty. One time he'd not made it this far, appearing suddenly in the middle of the road. At least that time he had his jeans on and thus his wallet in his back pocket. He frantically looked around him but other than blood and dirt, he wore nothing.
Everything but Peat was affected by a Repeat. His immediate self, what he wore, the things in his pockets or hands, stayed the same as the day repeated. So, since he had died naked, he started the day naked. Early on he'd questioned why things like IVs didn't follow him into the new day but now he was just glad he didn't have to remove probes, needles, or catheters from his body. Peat shuddered at the thought.
He was so tired of this. If it didn't involve a death, if it didn't involve Jake dying, he'd take a freaking day to recoup and try again. But he couldn't function knowing the pain that Jake would go through.
He couldn't actually remember sleeping, let alone the last time he had slept. He needed to keep Jake from getting hurt and get some rest. The bullet holes were closed, but the internal damage would take several hours to mend. Meanwhile, his energy level was as low as his blood level. He needed a list. He sat up and looked around him for paper. Okay, make that a mental list. He needed clothes, money, and drugs. And he needed to save Jake. Less important, but something that would make all this nonsense work, he needed to catch the killer.
The clothes solution presented itself sooner than Peat would have hoped. "What the heck?" A nurse or orderly in pink scrubs came into the room. She walked in far enough that the door swung closed behind her. He wished it had been a guy. Not so the clothes would fit better. But because hitting women, erased magically at midnight or not, still went against the grain. He clipped her chin---if you did the nose you might get blood on the clothes---and she crumpled at the knees.
He stripped off the shirt and pants but couldn't put them on. They were a whole lot cleaner than he was. He took a hospital gown out of a drawer and grabbed an IV stand. He walked away from the noise in the corridor, passed people that he didn't look at and read the doors.
He came to an empty patient room. He closed the door but left it unlocked. He didn't know how long it had taken to find the room, but the nurse would be found any minute. He searched the drawers until he found a body wash. His hair missed good product.
Almost a hundred days since he'd used his own. He had always had at least three weeks or more between Repeats. Once a full school semester. But in the three years he'd been a Repeater, he hadn't done three different Repeats consecutively. Before the cut brakes in Seattle it had been a missing child in Houston.
He had a wallet back at the dorms with his ID and credit cards. It reappeared on the nightstand each day. But getting that from California would be difficult. He'd pick a pocket today, and the wallet would reappear when the day repeated. Knowing this, that his actions today wouldn't influence anyone but himself, had a macabre power.
The newer bullet wound wouldn't let him raise his left arm all the way. He used his right hand to lather the soap into his hair. Once clean and dry, it would look closer to its natural brown. But with blood, dirt, and grease to wash out it might take a few washings for it to shine. He rubbed the soapy hand across his face, rinsing it in the hot-as-lava stream he stood in. The soapy hand continued down over his tight, sore chest. With his eyes closed, he imagined he soaped a different chest. His hand stilled at his hip as he felt his erection grow, but he just didn't have the energy.
If the water was cooler, if he was sitting down, if he kept his eyes closed any longer, he'd be asleep. He snapped his eyes open and swayed, put his forehead on the cold tile, and let the stream hit his back.
But to be honest, he knew he had not stroked himself into a happy ending because his relationship with Jake was complicated enough. Being in a sexual relationship with someone during a Repeat was the worst possible thing he could do. Had done.
He finished his shower and got dressed.
Maddie, another Repeater, had warned him to steer clear of relationships. She had saved his butt a few times, taught him a lot. Too bad her warnings had come post-facto, after a year of Repeats. Still, it was nice to know he wasn't the only one. Maddie had the attitude and look of a streetwise Chicago native. Curvy brunette dish with a side of wise-ass.
Peat made it out of the hospital with forty bucks in cash, some white powder, and no shoes. He gave the cabbie Jake's address.
The huge, old trees in this part of the city draped over the sky like thick curtains, blotting out the stars and hiding the shadows from the street lights. The back sliding-glass door opened with little noise, and he pushed past the vertical blinds. His bare feet were dirty from the asphalt and wet grass. He would get a pair of shoes when he went "shopping" before midnight. When he had his wallet he paid for things. Even though the money spent reappeared in his account and the items reappeared in the stores. Paying felt honest and it was a hell of a lot easier than stealing. He'd get a board, the required Henley and jeans, but he might stick with the scrubs shirt. Pink looked good on him.
He waited, listening for a noise. Jake's parents were out of town and Jake was a heavy sleeper. Peat's eyes adjusted to the dark, and he saw the outlines of furniture and an odd collection of plants. It looked like he'd stepped into a florist shop or rainforest. Which made sense since Jake's parents had green leanings. Bert and Molly Schwinn. Straight but not narrow. Slightly on the granola side.
The microwave said it was 2:19 a.m. Less than eight hours until Jake was scheduled to die.
Peat opened drawers in the kitchen, a quiet check of the contents. When he found washcloths he pulled out a soft one and used the faucet. The sound of blasting water made his heart jump. He silenced it and held still, listening again for noise. A ticking and eerie shuffle echoed in his head, had since he'd repeated in Houston. He didn't want to think about Houston.
He listened to his hands as he walked down the hall. One gripped the wet cloth. The other held the small bottle of white powder. When they tingled, even slightly, they were speaking loudly. Right. Tingle. First door. Silent. Second door, ajar to an office. Silent. Before he even reached the third door, his hand itched with the running tingle. Jake's room.
Jake lay sprawled over his bed, the sheet still tucked in underneath him. His bare shoulders rose in a deep sigh, and Peat froze to stare. Calendar models slept like that. Only in his boxers, Jake slept stomach down, one leg higher, his hands and arms claiming as much space as possible. It surprised Peat.
Sexy Jake turned him on as quick as a power switch. But from everything people said of Jake---the good grades, the good Samaritan, the good son---Peat hadn't expected boneless on top of the sheets. He'd expected Jake to sleep on his back, covered to the chin, maybe curled innocently on his side.
You can stare once it's safe. His stomach rolled, and he ignored the sign of hunger. Maybe later. After some sleep. He activated the chloroform powder on the wet cloth and reached around to put it in front of Jake's face. A drop of water dripped onto Jake's cheek and slid along his cheekbone, following the curve down to his lips. Peat groaned and held the cloth closer. Jake stirred, perhaps to roll away from the smell. Peat's hand followed him. And when Jake's breath deepened, when his body stilled even further, Peat's body followed. He didn't remember falling on the bed. The only thing that saved the rest of the powder was that he had already corked it.
Hours later his empty stomach woke him. A hot, strong, rough hand slid across his abs and pulled him further onto the bed. The scrubs weren't cut to accommodate morning wood. Scratch that: afternoon wood. The rough hand drifted a bit lower across his hip. Peat jerked out of bed, his mind still back in the warm embrace. Jake's embrace. Jake's arm swung out and pulled the bedding from Peat's side of the bed toward him, perhaps searching for heat.
Peat rushed out to the hall and into the bathroom. Even the bathroom had live plants. Ignoring the need for silence, he grabbed a large towel off the rack and got a corner wet. He dug around the bottom of the bed looking for the powder. It had fallen and rolled under the bed.
"Don't," Jake groaned. Peat ignored him.
He pressed his belly into the floor and stretched his hand out as far as it would go. He yanked a board minus wheels, a photo album that looked like a rock album, and a nasty pair of crunchy socks, yuck, out of his way and pulled out the bottle. He carefully measured the amount. He saw Susan's eyes as he pressed a wet cloth to her nose back in Houston.
He shook his head and focused on Jake. Jake had rolled over onto his back, his nipples taut and tiny, and his dick huge and tenting his boxers. A little tug at the hip and it would slide out of the fly.
Peat swallowed, recapped the bottle, and pressed the cloth to Jake's mouth and nose. This time his eyes fluttered, and he lifted his hand to push Peat's hand away. "Shh. It's okay. I just need the day. Shh." His own erection strained the seams of the scrubs.
Peat's body shook with need. Need for food. Need for sleep. Need for touch. Jake's touch. But by all indication Jake was straight, and Peat didn't want to get physically involved. It was bad enough to sleep with a boyfriend, someone already emotionally invested in a relationship, who didn't remember the sexual encounter. Worse when you made an emotional connection with a stranger, physical or not, and they didn't remember you at all the next day.
Peat took care of the pressing need to his bladder in the bathroom then went to the kitchen, ate three slices of bread straight from the bag and two fingers full of peanut butter from the jar. He chugged half the bottle of milk. Glass bottle of milk? Definitely granola.
The first dose of powder had kept Jake asleep for over twelve hours. Part of that had more to do with Jake's already tired body. The second dose wouldn't last nearly as long.
Peat got an apple out of the crisper and sat at the kitchen counter. The hunger and panic eased, he ate slowly and listened to the house around him, felt his body heal. He went back and lay next to Jake, watched him breathe.
The afternoon sunlight glowed behind the closed venetian blinds. He could see everything but the deepest shadows clearly. Jake had a few days' growth. The stubble made him look older. Peat lifted his hand and ghosted it over Jake's face. Then, pulling the hand back, he tucked it safely beneath his chin and fell asleep, curled innocently on his side.
Something had changed. Peat opened his eyes. Then closed them and reopened them to make sure they were open. It was pitch black. He reassessed his opinion as his eyes adjusted to the minimal light sources. Including the alarm clock: 12:00.
The day had restarted without Peat needing to use more of the chloroform. Light filtered through the window from the street lights. Peat got out of bed silently and opened the bedroom door, only stubbing his toe once on the dresser. The hallway light coned out on Jake's floor and lit the room. Jake's empty room. Bed, dresser, Peat, all there, but no Jake. What the hell? Had the day not repeated and Jake had left, leaving Peat... alone in his room? No. Having a strange guy in Jake's bed would not be something he just didn't notice.
Which meant only one thing. Jake started each day, each Tuesday at midnight, somewhere other than home. Sixty days and counting, and Peat hadn't known this. Was it important? Was he somewhere that made the killer focus on him? If Peat could change where Jake was now, would that change the day? He'd worked under the belief that the shooting was the thing he needed to change, but what if it wasn't? Or worse, what if what needed fixing wasn't Jake's death?
Day 64. Probably. Same date. Same Repeat.
Peat skated toward the U ramp where, seeing him coming, Jake grabbed his skateboard and stood on the hip.
"Hey, got a minute? I want to ask you something," Peat said.
"It's too early to talk," Jake said. He yawned into his hunched shoulder instead of covering his mouth with his hand.
"It's too early to do a lot of things." The differences between now and the last time Peat had this same conversation were drastic. Peat didn't tremble from exhaustion, and though he was bruised and sore, he wasn't weak from hunger. "Where were you this morning? Early?"
"What's that to you?"
"It could be important. Did you go to the movies last night? Were you on a date?" Peat said.
"How 'bout we start with names. I'm Jake." Jake didn't offer his hand, just raised an eyebrow in question for Peat to introduce himself.
"Peat Harris." Jake nodded then dropped his board. Peat grabbed Jake's arm to prevent him from following it.
"'Bout made me wipe, man. What's your problem?"
"Can't let you do that. Just can't."
"Are you threatening me?"
Peat swallowed, braced himself for the impact. "Nope." Peat dropped his board and followed it down into the crosshairs. Nothing happened. Or, rather, not what he expected to happen.
The clack-clack of boots on cement bounced off the overpass's legs. Peat looked, turning his head, glad he could turn it today, and watched a lady run toward them. He did a nosedive as his board snagged on Jake's discarded one. He pitched forward and caught himself on his elbows, rolled over. He looked up to find Maddie, his fellow Repeater, leaning over him.
An unexpected turn in the day's plot. A surprise. Peat had mixed feelings about surprises.
"Hey," Jake said, talking to Maddie. He walked down the ramp to retrieve his board, leaning back against the steep pitch of the ramp to keep himself upright.
Peat started to introduce them, saying, "Maddie this is Jake," but they both ignored him. Perhaps he hadn't spoken.
Maddie's eyes scanned the roofline of the warehouse and, before Peat could decipher her meaning, she shoved into Jake. The first bullet grazed her bicep.
"Maddie!" Peat yelled. He tried to scramble to his feet, but with Maddie and Jake a twisted pile on top of him, he got nowhere fast. Maddie shoved Jake in the shoulder and stood to take the second shot.
No, no. This wasn't happening. She didn't look right! It worked for Peat to take Jake's place because they were dressed the same, were the same build. Why would the shooter shoot Maddie? Once might have been an accident. But the second shot?
"Fuck. What the hell?" Jake, staying low, pulled Maddie off the U ramp, and Peat crawled after them. Peat's blood pounded in his eyes. If she died and the day didn't repeat, he'd kill someone.
Jake dug out his cell phone and dialed 911. Peat removed his T-shirt and pressed it into Maddie's stomach wound. He glanced up to make sure the U ramp covered their position from the shooter. Maddie's eyes were already glassy, and her breathing sounded like a ragged, braying moan. The lung must have been punctured. Damn it.
"Yes, that's what I said. The Rhodes skate park on River and 15th. Beneath the connector. This girl's been shot," Jake said to the dispatcher.
"Maddie, why are you here?" Peat said.
Her rich brown hair twisted and curled to her shoulders. Her deep eyes and full lips pressed tight in pain. "I'm taking your place." She didn't smile to reassure him. She didn't grimace or shudder from the pain. She just laid there and looked up at Peat.
"No. I've never given over an assignment."
"Assignment? This isn't homework, Peat. There is no supervisor doling out missions." She gasped, and her face twisted.
"No. You can't. No way." He placed one hand behind her head, providing a cushion against the cold cement. "Absolutely not."
"It's not your choice." They heard the paramedics swing past them headed for the small parking lot. They were here faster than normal. Was that Maddie's doing as well?
"Please, Maddie. I can't let you die. This isn't yours. If you die... that's it. No clean slate." He didn't know if it was true. But the possibility scared him worse than dying himself ever did.
"How many times have you died for him?" Maddie asked. Jake jerked his head around to look at them.
"Ten less times than I'm willing to," Peat said.
Maddie blinked and focused on Peat's face. "You owe me. No way is this a freebie."
The paramedics came around the cement pillar. Their black boots pounded in short bursts. Peat stood out of their way as they started working on Maddie's body. Maddie, now trapped at Death's door. He stumbled a bit as fear and anger washed through him, tilted back his head and yelled. A shout to the hell that was his life.
Jake's body shook. The ice of the cement soaked into his ass as he and the strange guy, Peat, sat on the sidewalk waiting their turn to speak to the cops. The cops had asked them a few questions then sat them on the curb as they photographed the area and sectioned off the road. The police had figured out the origin of the bullets, the roof of the ice factory, and the Special Operations Unit was searching the building. It felt a hell of a lot later than eleven o'clock.
"It stays cold under here because it's in shade from the other overpass until...." Jake heard himself talk about the weather, and the ambulance's shrill siren still echoed in his ears. What was wrong with him? He needed to pee, he'd just seen someone get shot, and the person next to him knew more than he said. And Jake talked weather.
Peat pressed a thumb to the M-dip at the top of his own hot, full lips. Jake jerked his head away from the sight. He did not want to be riding a boner when talking to the cops. No, Officer, I'm not happy to see you. This is for the great-looking brunet.
Jake shifted on the cement, rolled his skateboard out and back with one foot. Think of something else.
Not that. But too late. Shit.
A year ago he'd found his best friend George Noble bleeding out from a gunshot wound here at Rhodes. Little waves of blood pumped out of his body with each heartbeat. When he had stopped breathing, Jake began CPR. Jake liked to believe that he did the right thing: first aid rather than calling for help. Help had come. He liked to believe that since Geo had been alive when he arrived he knew that Jake was there to help. That he wasn't alone. He liked to believe a lot of things about the day Geo was shot, but sitting on the cold cement, staring at a new blood stain, it was hard to believe in much of anything.
The memories stabbed him, quivered in his stomach. He stood, paced two steps away and back in a spurt of energy. He pressed heelside on the board so it would pop up and he could grab the top. Feeling the sandpaper texture of the griptape grounded him.
"Do you think she crashed before they reached the hospital?" Jake looked at Peat, watching for a reaction.
Peat sat with elbows on top of bent knees, legs slightly spread. Peat looked up at him, eyebrow quirked. "I don't know."
"So you know her."
Peat stilled. Human, breathing muscle turned to stone. "We work together." Guarded. The Henley fit snug to his solidly built chest. His dark hair and eyebrows contrasted with his pale skin and wicked gray eyes, like wet cement that flashed and burned.
"What's her name?" Jake asked, though he already knew her first name. He sat back down next to Peat.
"Maddie."
"Last name?"
"We work together. We don't date."
Peat had a pretty sick board for a new skater. It looked like a display item from Newt's, the board shop over on 9th, and it wasn't even broken in. "How long have you known Maddie?"
"Why the hell do you care?" Typical defensive attitude. Definitely not stone. In fact the whole package, body language and tone, was aggressive. Aggressively hot.
There was no way this guy didn't know more. He'd just watched his friend, possibly a girlfriend, get shot. That haunted look in his eyes was one Jake had seen before. It did something to your vision to watch death slip in. It altered your cortex. It changed the retina permanently. No longer were angles simple lines. No longer were shadows gray. It both sharpened and muted your sight. And then to add touch, the cream of blood over skin....
He stood again but did not pace. "Christ." He'd have to tell his parents about the phone calls now. If Geo's stepdad, Detective Noble, didn't think there was anything to them, then there was nothing to worry his parents over. But if this shooting was somehow connected, however unlikely, he'd regret it later if he didn't fess up now. This was his shitty luck. Nothing more. People died. Just more so around him.
The officer in charge came over. "Hey, Jake. I'm sorry to see you mixed up in stuff like this." Detective Barnez was Detective Noble's partner. He had a round face and with his pale skin he looked a bit like the Pillsbury Doughboy. Until you saw the tight sinews in his forearms, then you realized his bulk was the standard-issue bulletproof vest under his navy blue polo. As a detective he didn't have to wear a uniform. His brown hair was buzzed tight to his scalp to hide the gray.
"Wrong place. Wrong time," Jake said. He let his board bounce against the toes of his DC Pures.
"Sure. Come on over here and let's talk." Barnez turned to Peat. "Son, if you'll answer Officer Kirkpatrick's questions, we'll try to figure out what happened here." Kirkpatrick stepped forward to interview Peat.
Jake felt Peat's eyes on him as he walked away with Barnez. Barnez sighed and did a pretty good impression of I care about others. But Jake knew better. Geo had told him what a prick Barnez was. Total racist. Not a problem for Jake since his skin was the same white as Barnez. But often one prejudice kept company with others. "So, were you fighting with this kid and things got out of hand?"
Typical Johnny-Law bullshit. They knew where the shots had come from. "No, sir. We were just skating." Jake straightened from his slouch, having a height advantage.
"Yeah. And after you shot her where did you toss the gun?"
Jake weighed his options. He couldn't use the questioning-a-minor-without-an-adult-present loophole. It was the first loop Geo had taught him back in junior high. He could ask to be read his rights and ask for a lawyer, but if he cooperated he might get to ask some questions of his own. He knew Barnez was just trying to rattle him with unexpected questions.
"I hadn't seen her before." He flexed his hand on the board and kept his voice calm but dropped the polite sir shit.
"And this guy here?" Barnez nodded toward Peat.
"Total newb to Rhodes." He turned toward the officer and did some acting of his own. I'm willing to share information. "Then he starts chatting me up and midsentence drops off the hip, and the girl just steps right into his path. He tried to bail out of the way when the shot was fired and...." He swallowed, looked over to Peat. Kirkpatrick wasn't buying Peat's story. The officer's face was blank, and he didn't bother to write down what Peat said.
"Like I told the first officer on scene," saying, I know the jargon, I'm one of the good guys. "I think the shots came from on top of the---"
"I know all that, Jake. I want to know why." Barnez pulled out a bloody wallet and flipped to the ID. It was empty. Which he knew without looking, prick, had it in his notebook already, but wanted to rattle Jake with the blood. Asshole. "She was covered in bruises, defensive wounds."
Shit. Jake searched Barnez's eyes. The man wasn't lying. But was he using this as an angle? "I hadn't seen her before this morning."
Barnez nodded a few times. "Body like that probably a pretty tough character. Dying is part of that lifestyle."
Part of what lifestyle? Did he assume that she was a prostitute or an addict? Was this another way to bait him?
Then Jake registered Barnez's words. "She didn't make it to the hospital?" He kept the tone neutral, but Barnez wasn't stupid. He'd gotten to Jake and would twist the point.
"We can't share that information at this time. I know how to find you. Stay available." Barnez walked toward Peat. Good to see that they were putting a high priority on this case. Prick.
Jake stayed far enough away to give the officers room to question Peat, but he heard a snippet of sound. "You don't know who the victim was?" Kirkpatrick said.
Peat raised his shoulders and gestured with his arms while leaning forward with his head tilted down, whispering. The officers bought the line, and the shoulders went back to casual.
Jake hadn't given Barnez the name Maddie because he didn't know if it was real or not. Plus, with Barnez's "where'd you toss the gun?" garbage, Jake wasn't all that stoked to share.
Geo had been shot once at close range, over by the pyramid. This was two shots from a distance, and it wasn't like this was a safe neighborhood. It was only blocks away from multiple homeless shelters, a biker bar, and an all-age dance club. And, as evidenced by the shoe chandelier, you could score any drug available within a one-block radius. The location was just a coincidence, and he'd keep telling himself that until he could add it to his beliefs.
Peat's number one rule in traveling during a Repeat? Don't fly. Trying to fly at the last minute is not an easy process since 9/11. The 9/11 terrorists bought their tickets the day of, did not take any luggage, and all of them were one-way flights. Add to this profile Peat's often battered appearance and age, and each and every step through an airport required his ID, a double-check of his ticket, and often a pat-down. So he usually rented a car, which only lasted until midnight. Then it poofed back to the rental car lot. But it got him across the country.
Another option was hitchhiking. You just didn't want to fall asleep and poof out of the semi's cab into the middle of a busy highway or miles from anything. It took timing. Luckily the money spent on rentals reappeared in his bank account. The money used on non-Repeat days returning home didn't. Two summers ago he'd ended up in Chicago because of a Repeat and decided to stay and work. It had been nice to be in a new city for fun rather than playing hero.
It wasn't like he was a Touched by an Angel type. He saw it more as being karma's tool in balancing the universe. He'd figured most of this out on his own. But meeting Maddie made it less crazy. She'd taught him a few tricks and let him vent his frustration. Knowing her, that there were more like him, made it bearable. That, just maybe, there was a purpose to what he did. God, he hoped she was okay.
Peat took a bite of his sandwich and swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. Jake paused and stared. Crap. Did he have something on his face? Peat grabbed a napkin to wipe his mouth, the whole time looking at Jake across the table from him.
Bernie's Trailer Park Cuisine shared parking space and an alley with the condos across the street from the skate park. It had menu items specifically for boarders and it made a great hand-pressed burger.
Jake shook his head with a bemused expression. This was the first time Peat had seen Jake out of the skate park. His weird trip to the morgue didn't count; dead bodies no longer contained the person. And yesterday's sleep marathon wasn't exactly kosher for getting to know someone.
"So, Peat, when did you meet Maddie?" A weird question to ask a guy that just witnessed a shooting. Of course Jake had asked him to lunch, with, "Want to grab a burger?" But okay. He knew that Jake was smart. Mensa smart. Straight-A's-in-high-school-and-so-far-in-college smart. If Jake wanted to play amateur sleuth, Peat would use it to their advantage.
"When did we meet?" he mused to himself. He didn't consider lying. At least not for more than a second. He sucked at it. "In prison."
Jake had just taken a drink of his soda. It got caught up in his nose, and his next couple of breaths were ragged.
Peat just smiled. "I'd been nicked for breaking and entering, something that I was right guilty of, and Maddie came to see me. I was stuck in there, and she helped me get out."
"Get out? Like, with a good lawyer?"
"I know a few lawyers, but are any of them ever good?"
"I meant...." Jake shook his head and let Peat eat for a second. "You said the shooters were after me." He lowered his voice and stared at his basket of sweet potato fries. Peat wished Jake would look up so he could read his eyes.
"And yet that never surprises you. Why's that?"
"Never does?" Jake said.
"All the times I've said that to you." Peat's words pushed the safe zone, but he wanted to see where it went.
"I only met you this morning." Jake dipped a couple of fries into the sweet sauce, gave Peat a measuring look, chewed. He had a lovely chin. The eyes told him nothing. Except that Peat was lost. Screwed. In absolute freaking love with those eyes. And those shoulders and those hands and that chin.
Peat sighed and adjusted his dick in hopes it would behave. He needed a plan today. When the day repeated, they needed to make sure Maddie didn't sacrifice herself again.
"Jake. Who's trying to kill you?"
Jake looked at him for a minute. Maybe star gazing into Peat's eyes. Yeah, right. Jake continued to eat his fries, absentmindedly dipping and chewing.
They sat at the front of the restaurant. A set of mechanical doors had been converted to glass. It was a nice use of the existing structure. The whole neighborhood showed an urban-development effort to remodel old warehouses. If he had time, he would track down the developers and harass them with questions. They had maintained the aesthetic appeal of the area while mixing tenures and land assets. It was worth a paper. His architect professors would be pleased.
"Jake?"
"How about you telling me who you are first?"
"I'm someone you can trust," Peat said.
"Oh, well then, let me share my life secrets with you. Now that you've made me feel so comfortable." Jake picked up a fry then dropped it back into the basket, pushed the container away.
Peat leaned back in his chair. "So there is a secret."
"Not much of a secret. At least not to people from around here," Jake said.
"I'm not from around here." Peat smiled at the understatement.
Jake picked up his napkin and brushed crumbs off his palm. There must have been a lot because he kept swiping, back and forth, staring at the white napkin as it brushed his skin.
Peat, if you find that erotic, you're in a world of hurt. Peat shifted in his seat, willing his body to stop before he had a full raging erection. Too late.
When sharing secrets, Peat had found that people trusted him if he shared first. "I have a minor psychic ability that helps me find people I'm supposed to help." Peat waited for a reaction. "I'm supposed to help you."
"Help me how?"
Recalcitrant, much? Christ. If Jake was any less trusting he wouldn't be an Idahoan. "Well, you did get a B-in Trig."
Jake looked surprised but said nothing.
Peat sighed. "The shooting, of course. We need to catch the bad guy and make sure no one dies."
Again Jake didn't saying anything. At least with his vocal cords. His hands and shoulders were screaming, I'm hiding something and I'm not about to share.
Time for the belligerent tone. "Do you want Maddie's death to be for nothing?"
The waitress placed their separate bills on the table. They paid. Peat used the last of the money from his stolen wallet. Good thing the police had taken his license number verbally when he couldn't find his ID. It was actually Zen's cousin Peter's number, memorized for just such occasions.
When Jake still didn't say anything, Peat said, "Spill."
"Geo, my best friend, was killed a year ago. I think it's the same killer." Jake took a deep breath and looked at Peat.
Peat had read about George's death. Shot and found with the word faggot sprayed in blue paint next to him. The police thought it was a hate crime. And the media said that Geo had been openly gay. Peat came across the articles while searching for Jake's name in the local newspapers. Jake spoke at the funeral. Newspaper-search-day had been Peat's third day in Boise. The first two he'd looked through police and school records.
Peat had suspected they had been friends. One more thing for Peat to admire: straight Jake stood by his gay friend.
"So, any guess on who the homophobic bastard is?"
Jake said, "Geo wasn't gay."
"Having a friend who is gay doesn't make you gay too." Peat tried to measure Jake's reaction, but his eyes stayed silent.
Epiphany, complete with light bulb. "Where was Geo killed?" The articles only said he was killed in a shooting downtown, and Peat hadn't gone looking for more information.
"Rhodes."
"Crap." Big huge freaking clue Peat had missed because his blood took too much vacation time in his dick. "What else?" He grabbed Jake's arm. Jake didn't shrug him off. "Have you been threatened?"
Jake stood and walked out of the restaurant, past the mannequin with the flamingo on her head, past the clothesline with shower curtains that sectioned off the parts of the restaurant, past the height of trailer-park décor. Peat followed him, fumbled his board, and ran to catch up.
"Yeah, avoidance is so going to help." People stopped on the sidewalk to stare. Must have said that too loud. The sun-baked sidewalk felt hot under his feet.
"Yes, let's bury our heads in the sand and ignore the fact that four hours ago Maddie was shot at Rhodes. Let's just pretend, shall we?" Peat said.
"Okay, something is happening... but, I've got to be somewhere right now."
"You can't leave. He'll know it wasn't you he shot and come looking. You need to get home or go to the police and tell them why you think it's connected."
Jake scrubbed a hand through his hair. "They won't listen to me. No. I'm leaving."
"I'll come with you." Peat paced Jake as he walked away from Bernie's.
"I'm not inviting you to tag along. If the shooter is still after me, what will he think about you?" Jake turned green and started to shake. "I've gotta get out of here. I've got to...."
"Okay, don't freak out. Breathe. We'll do it your way." Too bad Peat had no clue why Jake was freaking out. "But meet me. Tonight at the skate park. Just to talk. Just to figure out what to do next."
Jake gave a sharp nod and took off on his skateboard, using his long torso in a swaying motion to propel himself forward. With the added board height, Peat had no trouble watching Jake for several blocks over the heads of pedestrians.
A Repeater had died and the day had not restarted. Peat hoped that it didn't mean anything. He hoped that at the end of the day, Maddie would be back asking how she could help. But he didn't know. He just didn't know.
He stared as Jake disappeared. George. It was a new angle to pursue. Next stop would be the library and their computers.
Two months was a long time for a Repeat, but not his longest. His longest had been three months. He'd worked with a research and development techno-geek solving an algorithm problem. Peat had no idea why such a thing would be important enough that it had to be solved by a Repeater. He'd gotten the sense that Mickelson, the said techno-geek, had been suicidal and solving it gave him something to live for. One hundred twenty days of convincing the guy he was there to help, working the problem, learning what he could about computers, and then rechecking into his hotel room. Repeat the process.
Mickelson never remembered him but was desperate enough to let Peat help, despite Peat's poorly delivered lies.
Peat had learned a lot of very useful, if not legal, computer tricks. Like how to hack into Boise Police Department's database and read the murder report on George Noble. Now if only he had time to get a degree in cop-speak, perhaps he'd know what the heck it said.
In a separate window, he brought up all the articles he could on George's shooting. He'd already read the funeral report. It sounded like Geo had been a proper Boy Scout and pillar of the community, a community that supported his gay lifestyle. Yeah, right. Boise was a live-and-let-live community, but Boston's South End it was not. Plus, without a single quote from the accepting society, Peat figured it was reporter's license.
And though the articles exalted Officer Noble's exemplary record, ten years on the police force after serving in Desert Storm, it didn't speculate on the possible connection to revenge-seeking criminals. Perhaps the idea was too sensational for the small city newspaper.
A police officer's son? And there wasn't a public outcry for blood? Strike two against the likelihood of said community supporting their gay and fallen son.
Peat had tried the "Aunt Muriel" angle. You discovered just enough about the other person to say there was a family connection. It worked well in Italian communities and small towns, but Gladys, the record clerk at the police station, had never fallen for it, and because he didn't have ID or money to pay for copies, he was out of luck.
Perhaps a different tactic this time. "I have information concerning a murder and need to speak with the officer in charge of the case."
Gladys stared at him, blinked. Surely she'd blow a pink bubble, snap it, and then push up on her tortoiseshell glasses. That had always been Peat's mental stereotype of secretaries. But she wasn't chewing gum, and she didn't wear glasses. She looked nondescript, in muted colors, no makeup, and small features. She would make a great criminal. She could be anyone or no one.
She stood from her desk and walked to the counter. Peat tucked his feet under the counter, leaning closer to her. The cabbie had exchanged a ride to the station for information on the shooting. Peat had stuck close enough to the truth to sound convincing.
"Which case?" No smile. No question clarifying what he wanted. How many nut jobs came in saying they had evidence? Though Boise was smaller than New York, it was big enough for homeless shelters. There must have been a few feet-shuffling, North by Northwest, paranoid-schizos to warrant skepticism on Gladys's part.
"The victim's name was George Noble." She'd turned toward her desk, perhaps to enter the name to get the case number. But as he said Noble, she turned back to look at him. She just stared. It unnerved him. "Noble. George No---"
"I heard you." She studied Peat then picked the phone up on her desk and dialed a number. She turned away from him and hunched her shoulders. Secretive. When she hung up the phone, she told him to wait then she sat at her desk and returned to her file. Real friendly-like.
He waited, shifting his weight, people-watching for three minutes before a suit came through the security doors. The officer didn't shake his hand. "What's your name?" he asked Peat. His badge said Clairemont. He wore dark olive, tailored slacks and a white button-down with a tie. By far one of the sharpest dressers Peat had ever seen, for a cop.
"My name is Peat."
He looked at Peat for a minute and then asked, "Got any ID?"
"I don't. I've... misplaced it."
The man waved at Gladys, who pushed the hidden switch to let him back through the security doors and held it open for Peat. Not being polite, but being cautious.
In Houston, he'd gone through a security point like they have in airports, complete with metal detectors. In Chicago, they'd asked his permission as they frisked him. Here in Boise, going in first wasn't nearly as intimidating.
The room had carpet. Nice carpet with no vomit or blood stains. Plush, swivel office chairs circled a conference table the size of a small kitchen table. Peat had expected folding chairs and one-way mirrors. Instead security cameras hung from opposite ceiling corners. Clairemont pointed him into a chair but continued to stand himself, so Peat waited.
"This isn't like L.A. Law, we don't have paid informants. If you're hoping for a reward then you should try our Crime Stoppers program. It's set up to work completely anonymous." He handed Peat a brochure about Crime Stoppers, just shoved it into Peat's hand.
Peat handed the brochure back. "I don't want money."
Clairemont measured him with his eyes. Not exactly a staring contest, just making a decision. The man finally offered his hand. "I'm Detective Clairemont. I'm with Internal Affairs, but before IA, I was assigned Noble's case."
Peat shook his hand. "It's still open, isn't it?" He sat in the indicated seat and resisted the urge to fiddle with the levers.
"Yes. We work it when we can. But this many months later, with no suspects? Have you come to confess?"
Peat almost laughed. He choked it back to a snort then a cough. Clairemont wasn't joking. "No, sir. I didn't know Geo, and I was in California when it happened. I'm here because I believe there is a connection between his death and the shooting that happened this morning at Rhodes."
"That's it?" Clairemont said. "Hell, son, we're the police, we think there's a connection too. What else do you got?"
Peat needed information and anything he provided Clairemont would be forgotten the next day. He had to be careful, he didn't want to be admitted for a psych evaluation. But Clairemont wouldn't share without a reason to. "I have something I think will be helpful, but I want to make a deal."
Clairemont sighed in a knew-this-was-coming sort of way. "If you are looking for amnesty for a crime or involvement, you should obtain a lawyer."
Peat waved his words away even before Clairemont finished speaking. "Thank you, but no. I have some questions. It was my friend who was shot today. If you answer my questions, I'll answer yours."
Peat had a natural habit of overanalyzing every possibility. It made him a good student, one day a great designer, but it made Repeats hell. He often thought about a Star Trek episode he had seen once. Hundreds of dimensions connected to show the slight and great differences small decisions made. He tried just working with his gut, but it was a struggle. He'd rather take six years and analyze all the outcomes before making the big decisions. People refused to wait that long. Go figure. Horses for courses.
Clairemont rubbed a hand across his face. "Sure, kid. Why the hell not? But it better be worth the time."
"It is to me," Peat said.
"You are under no obligation to speak with me. Our conversation, to protect your legal rights, is being recorded." Clairemont took a digital recorder off his belt. It looked like a beeper. "Any information pertaining to an illegal act revealed during this proceeding can still be pursued. Again, I advise you to seek legal counsel."
"Done?" Peat asked.
"I'll go first," Clairemont said. Peat gestured to him to go ahead. "How did you know about this morning's shooting?"
"I was there when it happened."
"Did you see---?"
"My turn," Peat said, speaking over him. "Was it the same gun that shot the Jane Doe this morning that shot George Noble?"
"How did you know we haven't identified the body yet? And if she is your friend---"
"Is that your question?"
Frustrated, Clairemont stood, crossed his arms.
"Look, Officer Clairemont, I really want the police... you to catch this guy." All the glory to you, Career Man.
"Noble was a cop's kid. That's personal." Peat tried to hide his surprise at Clairemont's sincere concern. "We've put more man hours and gotten less results on this than any other case in the history of this department. If you string me along, your ass will be in jail faster than you can beg my pardon." Clairemont leaned into Peat's personal space, with his hands on the table. Giving a very good imitation of intimidating. His eyes darkened. No imitation.
Peat leaned back. "Yes, sir."
Clairemont sat back down, and Peat repeated his question. "It was a different caliber. Geo was shot with a handgun."
"Your turn," Peat said. He scrubbed a hand over his forehead. His head hurt, and he felt grimy and exposed. Being in someone else's clothing wasn't conducive to feeling secure. His ID, his clothes, hell, even his moisturizer was body armor. An image of self that protected him.
"Who was shot at Rhodes this morning?"
He didn't ask, "What's your friend's name?" Perhaps with Peat's calm demeanor, Clairemont didn't believe the friend angle. "Mathew Lyn Kowalski, Jr. She goes by Maddie. Double Ds rather than Ts. She said once that the name was her father's doing." The detective pulled a notepad from an inner pocket and a pen from his shirt pocket. Peat spelled it for him and gave Maddie's Social Security number. The officer only raised his eyebrows. "Were you able to trace the spray paint back to the place of purchase?"
A new gleam shone in Clairemont's eyes, possibly respect. "Common brand bought at Walmart. Probably with cash, since credit purchases have led nowhere." He didn't wait. "Did you see the shooter or know who it is?"
"No." But rather than a wasted question, Peat added, "I know where he shot from. On top of the ice warehouse, and that he was up there less than a half-hour before the shooting, indicating he knew the victim and the area. If I tell you what the two victims had in common could I see Noble's murder book?" Detectives used three-ring binders to track large cases like homicide. They contained every detail and nuance, a hard copy or the originals of all computer files. The official file only contained the items later used to prosecute the suspect.
"No chance in hell, and if you don't give me that information I'll arrest you on obstruction." Clairemont flexed his hands into fists.
"Fine, then, my question is---"
"That counts as your question."
Ignoring him, Peat said, "Were drugs present in Noble's system?"
Surprisingly, Clairemont didn't hesitate or argue the point. "The toxicity report came back negative. He died of the gunshot."
He didn't wait for the question because Clairemont hadn't quibbled over the extra question. "Maddie is gay." Which she wasn't. Not even kind of. But it opened up the line of possible hate crime, and it was, Peat believed, why the shooter targeted Jake. Because the shooter believed Jake and Geo had been lovers.
Clairemont shook his head. "Noble wasn't."
"The news---"
"He was a week away from going on an LDS mission."
"LDS?"
"Latter-Day Saint. Mormons."
"So?" Okay, and? What did that even mean? Some prerequisite to being a priest or something? Were there actual vows taken?
"We found no evidence that he was." Clairemont didn't feel the need to clarify about the mission.
What kind of evidence were they looking for? A Pride flag? Peat did a mental headshake. Yeah, did Peat look gay?
"But the shooter thinks he was," Peat said.
"Yes, but---"
"That isn't the connection." Again Peat waved away his words. "Not really. Because this morning the shooter wasn't aiming for Maddie. That was an accident." Peat sat, letting his mind process for a moment, eyes unfocused. He didn't look at Clairemont to see how he took that information. "If Geo didn't have any enemies, did his father? Could it have been done for revenge?"
When Clairemont didn't respond right away, Peat looked at him.
"Could it? Yes. But I don't think so. Geo was shot at close range. He knew the attacker." The detective's eyes were doing their measuring again. Making his choice, he leaned forward. "A felon out for revenge wouldn't have gotten that close."
"Was Jake Schwinn a suspect?" The turn-taking had broken down, but neither commented. They were willing to allow the brainstorming if it brought answers.
"He did CPR for five minutes until the paramedics got there. Plus, his alibi is tight. Who was the real target this morning?"
"His real target was Jake Schwinn." Peat felt the blood leave his face, and his hands shake. Five minutes of doing CPR on his best friend. That would have broken Peat's freaky-shit meter.
Clairemont questioned Peat for several hours, and Peat let him. He knew that it was a possibility. Long term it would do Clairemont no good and Peat no harm. But perhaps an angle, a refraction of light, and the shooter would be revealed. He negotiated a cup of noodles in exchange for a description of the perp. Though if he didn't see this guy, how he knew what he looked like was highly suspect, but the vague height and weight and skin color wasn't anything great anyway.
Starting to loop in circles, Peat decided they were done. He had allowed the questions because of the brochure. Clairemont would use the brochure to run his fingerprints. Smart. "I don't have a record." Peat pointed to the brochure on Crime Stoppers, the one he'd touched had been sent to the lab when Clairemont went to get the cup of noodles. "But my prints will bring up a file."
Clairemont drew in a breath, shook his head, and blanked his features. "How is that different?" He didn't deny his plan. A good cop. Worthy of Peat's respect.
"You have a file. Yet you don't have a criminal record."
"So you've been bonded or work for the government?" Disbelief in the tone but not the face.
"Neither. I'm just telling you so you know you'll find me. Put your mind at ease. Perhaps you'll actually let me go sometime today." Peat pressed his hands flat onto the table, pressed, then raised them straight up. They'd been sweaty from the constant verbal battle, and clear prints were left behind. "Just in case the brochure doesn't work."
"Okay. I'll walk you out."
The skate park looked different at night. Still some of the heat from the day but cool, almost chilly. Peat wore borrowed jeans, tennis shoes, and blood-coated Henley. He'd hidden the blood by tucking it in when he'd gone to the cops. He ducked into the restroom, there on the corner of the park, and stripped off the shirt to wash his upper body. He used the gross powder-turned-to-paste they insisted was soap, running his clean fingers through his hair to hide how filthy it really was.
He'd worked up a sweat walking from the police station to the skate park. He had no skateboard. He'd left it in the cab. Never take stolen loot into a police station. So he sat on a bench with his knees up, waiting. They hadn't said a time, so he wasn't surprised that Jake wasn't there.
Peat had been listening for the roll and click of wheels over the sidewalk, the click as they covered the cracks or divisions. But Jake walked into the park, and Peat didn't hear him until he stood in front of Peat. Peat lifted his head off his knees and followed his eyes up Jake's body.
Jake had changed his clothes. The crisp blue jeans actually fit, low and snug, and the collared shirt was tucked in. He even had on a belt and matching shoes. Date clothes. Was that where he had gone? Peat was tempted to ask him to turn around so he could get a good look at Jake's ass. Now that it wasn't covered in baggy jeans.
But a brief look at his face, and Peat knew humor of any type wouldn't be welcome.
"Where've you been?" Peat said.
"Around," Jake said. He looked better, calmer, less ghostly white.
"Around suits you."
Jake slid his hands into his front pockets, leaving the thumbs out. He turned his head away. Peat said, "I went and spoke to Detective Clairemont; he's in charge of Geo's case."
Jake didn't say anything, continued to stare at the U ramp.
"The police think it's connected. Maddie's shooting." There was blood, still. They'd sandblast it off but meanwhile.... Peat had avoided looking there.
"Who the hell are you and what happened this morning?" Jake bit out the words and turned hot, angry eyes to Peat.
Peat felt his stomach roll and heat flush his skin.
The park was the same as it had always been. Of course. But he noticed things he hadn't before. Someone had started an alphabet math section, one of those AB+RLS=TL. Though under the pile of other initials, it was hard to say who went first. It was on the underside of the half-ramp. All other graffiti had been removed. Either teenage love garnered more respect, or the city workers hadn't seen it before, either.
Peat couldn't speak. Nothing came out.
"The only reason I came tonight was you said you'd explain all of it. Right now. Or I walk," Jake said. He took a step toward Peat, bunching his hands in his pockets.
"My name is Peat Harris. I'm a Repeater." Now the words poured forth, the off switch broken in his hand. "Ever seen Groundhog Day?" He didn't wait for an answer. "But rather than repeating a single day to help ourselves, we repeat different days to help others." He pointed down at the cement beneath him. "I'm repeating this day to help find out who killed Geo, who is trying to kill you."
It sounded rehearsed, but after explaining it a hundred times, with no expectation of being believed... well, it was hard to sound any other way.
"That's so full of shit." Jake pointed to the ramp, his voice came in angry gasps. "She died, you know?" He rubbed his hand up and down his forearm. "Barnez came to my house to question me. Told me."
"She'll be okay," Peat said. Yes, it sounded idiotic, but they were comfort words offered as a programmed response.
"Are you crazy? She's dead. I know dead. You don't come back from that."
Peat dropped his legs and leaned back on the metal bench. "I'm telling the truth about...." The switch was fixed, and suddenly all the words dried up in his throat.
"Why the hell would someone...." Sounded like Jake had found his own switch. Jake shivered and grabbed at his elbows to restrain himself. "Tell me what is going on."
Peat sighed and brought one knee up, hooked his elbow around it. "The guy who shot Geo is trying to kill you."
"Why does he want to kill me?"
Peat just shrugged. He had theories, but that was all they were.
"Do you know who it is?" Jake said.
"If I did, I would've stopped him before he shot Maddie."
"How do you know they're connected?"
"I guess I don't, not for sure. But the same skate park? Who else could it be?"
Jake, suddenly deflated, sat next to Peat on the bench, just on the edge, leaning his forearms on his thighs. "My sister Eugenia died when I was twelve. Leukemia."
"How long had she been sick?" Peat knew about Eugenia in a list-of-facts sort of way.
"Forever. Six years. It was in remission for a while, but it came back. I shaved my head both times she went through chemo. Like that somehow shared the pain. I was such an idiot."
Unable to stop it, Peat placed his hand on Jake's shoulder. Brief. "I'm sure she thought it was pretty awesome of her big brother to support her like that."
"A couple of years ago my grandmother died. My last grandmother. Frankie. She played the accordion and ate ginger snaps constantly. I knew then that at the rate I was going, my whole family would be dead before I was twenty-five." He hung his head. Just a swishing drop at the neck. "Why the hell am I telling you this?"
"I'm sorry you've lost so many." Peat had seen loss but always as a third party. His own family maintained a proper distance.
"Part of having is losing. I guess I'm glad to have had. You know?" Jake turned his head to look at Peat, shook his blond bangs out of his eyes. Peat only nodded. He didn't know what else to do. He would rather be battling Jake's physical demons than these intangible emotional ones.
"Which is total bullshit." Jake spit the word out. "I'm angry. But I'm working on the being grateful."
"Good." Peat's heart did a ridiculous thrum, and he squeezed and released Jake's arm again.
Jake nodded to himself. "Yeah, good." He silently stared around the skate park, and Peat let him have his space. The long silence sat like a peaceful friend between them.
"How about we go for coffee? You can tell me about Maddie," Jake's tone was back to normal.
"He'll try again. We need to figure out how to stop him."
"We can talk about it over coffee."
Peat held the eye roll in check. "Jake?"
Jake exploded off the bench, a violent flash of temper, and he stomped across the skate park, arms spread wide. "Step off, asshole. A simple yes or no." He kept walking away from Peat.
"Jake, wait," Peat stood to follow.
Someone stepped toward them from the restrooms on the corner. He wore gray sweats and a brown hoodie, homeless clothes. He even carried a tatty-looking bag over one shoulder. He raised his arm as if to call out to them, to get their attention.
Jake yelled, "Gun," as the first shot exploded through Peat's chest. It felt like someone had taken a wrecking ball to his ribs and spine. He jerked backward. His hands and feet were slow to follow so it felt like being folded in half. When he landed, his head banged a staccato beat off the foot-high grind rail.
"Run," Peat tried to yell. "Run, Jake." But instead Jake stepped in front of Peat, hands out and open at his sides, part shield, part surrender.
Peat couldn't see the shooter. His body refused to move the way he wanted it to. He tried to scramble to his feet but made no progress. His whole left side felt heavy, empty.
"Run, please run." Maddie was dead. If Jake and Peat died, would there be anyone to restart the day? He pointed the police in the right direction, lead the perp out into the open. That morning's surprise had messed up the possibilities. Maddie was no minor change. This was Seattle and Houston. The bad guy, as the king chess piece could only be taken after sacrificing the pawns.
Jake finally crouched by Peat. "He's gone." He lifted Peat's head from its odd angle against the rail and helped him to lay flat. "Hold on. I'll get help." He pulled out a cell phone and once again called 911.
Interesting, really, which would take him tonight. The gunshot or the strike of midnight? As the day restarted, his wound would seal and begin repairing from the outside in. The shot had struck a lung. His voice burbled a bit. He opened his mouth, and blood splashed out like a shaken soda can. The warm liquid moved down his chin. Ah, sexy and alluring. Not.
"Don't leave." Peat's hands searched in a widening arch for Jake's hand. "It'll be over quick this time." He said the words, but he doubted they were coherent at all.
"You've been shot." Jake trembled. He wiped the back of his fist across his dry eyes. "She was shot this morning... and...." He couldn't finish.
"Shh. Don't worry, Jake. It's almost midnight." Peat finally found the hand and grasped it, the finger and palms lined up wrong. But he didn't feel the touch. Peat knew from the pressure that his hand had encountered another person, but the texture of skin, the heat or cold from flesh, were gone. Numb.
"It'll be soon, and we'll have another chance." Peat swallowed back the blood.
"Shh. Don't talk." Jake's hand pushed Peat's hair out of his face.
"You're still alive, and that's all that matters," Peat said.
Jake shook his head and blinked rapidly.
"Almost time." Peat closed his eyes, waited for it. His cheek depressed as warmth and smooth skin touched him. Fingers? Brushing his hair away? But he felt the presence, weight, heat of Jake's body leaning over him, and he opened his eyes and looked directly into Jake's eyes. Inches away. Jake kissed his cheek again.
Almost Day 65.
As Jake lifted his mouth, still close enough that Peat felt it in his stubble, the day restarted. Still midnight. Still pitch black. Still lying on the cold cement of the skate park. But no puddle of blood below him. No Jake, sexy, hot, alive, leaning over him. No gaping wound still smoking from the gunshot in his chest.
Was Jake gay? Peat wanted him to be. But Peat had found no indication that Jake was. No boyfriend torn apart by mourning. No rainbow flags in his room. Nothing in the school reports, medical records, or police reports. Perhaps it would have come out later. With the one-day time frame, his parents got back from vacation early evening, grief-stricken and in shock.
Peat was okay. Maddie was too.
He raised his hand and smoothed it across his cheek where Jake had pressed his lips, wiped his chin clean. Straight American men didn't kiss cheeks in farewell. Even dying farewells. Okay, maybe the Italians.
Had Jake figured out Peat's secret crush and was humoring him?
Of course, how secret was it when he'd walked around fluctuating between partially and fully aroused all day? He'd managed to keep his hands to himself, just not his thoughts.
Peat heard the skateboard sound. The wave like swoosh of wheels over cement, the click over gaps. "Oh, man, did you wipe?" Jake said.
Wait a minute. Jake was at the skate park at midnight? This was where he was when the day started?
"Shit. That's a lot of blood." Jake moved Peat's shirt to look at the wound. His fingers brushed against Peat's heat-sensitized skin. "I'll get help. Just hang on."
"Jake. I'm fine. I'll be fine." He touched Jake's wrist before he dug out his cell phone.
"Do I know you?" Jake moved his shirt aside again, looking for open wounds, torn flesh, finding only bruises, tattered skin.
"No. Just. I've seen you around." Peat watched Jake's eyes. Interest, if it was there, he would see it once Jake looked at him. Peat lay on the cement, content to wait.
Jake's eyebrows creased together, and he leaned back, making eye contact. "I feel.... Are you sure we haven't... I just have this...."
"What?" Peat said.
"Déjà vu. Like I know we haven't met, but this---" he pressed a palm to Peat's stomach "---feels familiar." Skin to skin. Flesh, glorious bare flesh.
Peat pressed his palms into the cement and raised himself up to a sitting position, into Jake's personal space. Ow! Major ow. But Peat wanted to be closer, needed to see Jake's eyes. "I can honestly say I've not had that pleasure. Of your touch."
Heat. Bloody hell. Smoking heat. The fire department was sure to come running just from the look Jake gave him. But then, perhaps because it was so intense, Jake removed his hand, grabbed Peat's as he stood, and pulled Peat to his feet.
Peat wasn't ready to stand. His inner fibers still worked to mend the damage. But Peat didn't want to break physical contact a second before he had to. Jake released his hand, and Peat placed a hand on Jake's shoulder to steady his legs. To make sure Jake didn't leave.
"Are you sure you're okay? What happened?" Jake said.
"It's a bit of a story. One you have yet to believe," Peat said.
Jake shifted his weight, pushed his hands deep into his front pockets but pulled his shoulders back and up. Peat kept his hand on the shoulder. "Want to get some coffee? You could tell me that story?"
Jake asked him to coffee, and his body reacted like Jake had asked him to strip and ride him naked here in the park. Definitely no problems down south.
"I can't go out like this." Peat gestured to his clothes which were torn, bloody, and ragged. Why in the world would Jake be interested in him looking like this? And if he was interested when Peat was this way, boy howdy, clean, dressed to impress, and with decent product in his hair, and the sexy man next to him would be panting at his ass for a ride. Okay, mental shake.
Perhaps this was just a hallucination induced by pain, and Jake's interest would leave once Peat had his head on straight.
Jake said, "Right, sorry. Uhm. We could meet up later. Where do you live? Or is that pushy? I'm the worst signal reader. All signs say yield, you know?" Jake brushed a hand down Peat's arm. And when Peat looked at him, his surprise must have shown.
"Right. Yield," Jake said. "Or maybe a bit of Warning: Danger." Jake dropped his board and took a step, but the board sailed away on its own. Peat had grabbed Jake's shirt. He twisted the material in his fist to bring Jake closer. They were different clothes. A red tee and black cargo pants. Nice.
"I know you just met me and everything but... want to take me back to your place? I clean up really well." When Jake hesitated, Peat added, "I'm not from St. John's Homeless Shelter. I'm not some psycho killer. I'm doing my best to signal Jake's welcome here. Muddling it, perhaps." He leaned into Jake and breathed the air around his neck. Jake leaned his head to the side.
"This is crazy," Jake whispered to himself. "What's your name?"
"Do you remember? Can you guess? As part of the déjà vu?" Maddie said if you were on a Repeat long enough, people started to think they had dreamed of you the night before. Like bits and pieces of the Repeat were lingering in their subconscious. When enough bits layered up, they got a sense of déjà vu. "Come on, Jake. Remember for me." He whispered it into Jake's ear, leaned a bit closer, still only touching the other man's shirt. He scraped his stubble along Jake's cheek, a sexy rasp that had both of them shivering.
Déjà vu never happened to Peat, not even the three months with Mickelson, the computer nerd.
"Is it Peat? Peat Harris."
"Thank God." Peat kissed him. It felt amazing, hot, incredible, and a thousand other over-used adjectives. Jake's mouth engulfed Peat's fuller lips. He held Peat's neck and tilted his own head to better the angle. Peat slid his tongue into Jake's mouth. Peat grasped Jake's arm to encourage rather than pull away and felt Jake's hard erection press into him. Incredible.
A car swung around the corner of Grove Street. A horn blared and loud laughter could be heard over the stereo system.
Jake pulled back. His breath was jagged, and he shook a little, but he kept his hand on Peat's cheek. Peat held Jake at the wrist, stroking a thumb over his pulse. Peat's other hand gripped Jake's T-shirt. While staring at Jake's mouth, Peat scraped his teeth across his own lip.
Jake moaned, "Peat."
"Yeah?"
"How do we know each other?"
"Emerald Club?" Peat said, referring to one of Boise's gay night clubs.
"Never been," Jake said.
"That's right. You won't be twenty-one until November." Peat let go of Jake.
Jake pulled back even further. "Seem to know quite a bit about me."
"Not as much as I'd like to know. Didn't know you were gay until about five minutes and one amazing kiss ago."
Jake shivered from the cold. Peat's nipples tightened as a harsh wind blustered under the overpass. Well lit but surrounded by darkness, like an island stage, night cast long shadows across the skate park. A dangerous place to make out. The spotlights hid any possible audience.
"Let's go to my car. You can explain what happened to you, and we can get out of this cold," Jake said.
"Car? Since when do you have a car? I've only ever seen you with the board."
Jake started walking, and Peat followed. Jake flipped his board with a tap of his foot, and palmed the side as they walked out of the park. "It's my parents'. I borrow it to come down here at night. Too many of the streets from home to here don't have street lights."
"Why are you even downtown this time of night?" Peat stopped walking but adjusted his feet to maintain his balance. The throbs in his body had their own set of aches. He had the urge to fall spread-eagle onto the pavement, little bits of gravel pushing into his skin, and sleep.
Focus. "Why are you here? Why...." Peat noticed again that they were the only ones in the small corner park. "Why aren't there any homeless? A block from St. John's. A nice restroom on the corner. Cover from the elements." He listed them off like homeless hotel accommodations. "Why aren't there people here? It makes sense that they'd sleep here when there's overflow from the shelter."
Jake, now several steps away, walked back when Peat spoke, making hushing noises. "Your voice carries under here."
"Jake." He always avoided Peat's questions. Didn't he understand this was important? "Why?"
"It's not safe here. Not anymore."
"Yeah. I got that feeling." He gestured to his bloody clothes. The momentum of his arms unbalanced him. He swayed, and Jake gripped his arm.
"Are you sure---?"
"I'm okay," Peat said.
"Is this blood yours? You don't have any open...." He stopped, flexed his fingers along Peat's arm. "What happened?"
"I'll answer if you will."
Jake smiled. "You're about to drop from exhaustion. Let's get you to the car."
It was an old Toyota Corolla, blue, and though undented, its age was visible in the fading paint. Jake unlocked the passenger side and helped Peat in. His movements were slow, halting like an old man folding himself into a rocking chair on some back porch. He pressed his shoulders back, tense until he was in place, then a sigh of relief and a boneless melt into place.
Jake put on his seatbelt and locked the automatic doors. But he didn't start the car. "This feels beyond insane."
"No it doesn't." Peat stretched his hand across the car and did a slow downstroke on Jake's thigh, hip to knee. "It feels good. Your head says it's insane."
"Perhaps." Jake took Peat's hand, possibly to stop it from stroking back the way it came, but he didn't let go. "What happened to you?"
Not today. He wasn't going to tell the truth, not all of it. He was going to say whatever it took to stay in this car, to continue holding hands with this man, to see that smile again. "Someone threatened to kill you. They did this to me. I'm trying to prevent them from hurting anyone else."
"Them? More than one?"
"I don't know. But I think you do. Why is the park empty?"
"Because of the threats. I've told people to stay away."
"Then you've known. You've...." The clarity with which the idea hit him had him gasping, and his chest squeezed like a fisted metal grip. "You're bait. You've been trying to capture him."
Jake nodded. His free hand palmed the steering wheel and slid back and forth over the top. His eyes were checking the mirrors, the windows, the mirrors, in a constant motion. "I think he killed my best friend Geo."
"Was he your lover?" Peat hadn't meant to ask that.
"We were best friends. And he was straight. He was---" Jake's voice broke. He blinked rapidly and cleared his throat. "He was my beard."
Peat laughed. "What?" How would a man posing as another man's false public relationship hide the fact he was gay?
"There was this Boise State football player that I met at a party. He was all over me and not taking 'Get the fuck away from me' for an answer. Geo had to be heroic. Asshole. Idiot." More hand sliding, but he also turned Peat's hand over so he could stroke Peat's palm. He seemed unaware of either movement and instead kept his eyes in the distance.
"He got up in the guy's grill and told him to back off. This ass was his." Jake smiled, but it was an I-thought-it-was-funny-but-now-nothing-is-funny smile. Short. Empty. "He said he didn't care what people thought after that, but.... We fought about it." His hands stilled. His eyes stopped their constant checking, and Peat broke a little for George. "He'd come down here looking for me. Probably to make me apologize. Got shot. What if it was me? Their target? What if---?"
"He was your friend," Peat interrupted. "He loved you like a brother. He would have still taken the risk."
"Who fucking asked him to play hero?"
"Heroes aren't asked." And didn't that sound like a Die Hard movie sound bite. Peat didn't know how to fix it, but he wanted to.
"Sorry." Jake darted a look at Peat, looked back outside. "For unloading like that."
"It helps to talk." The crux of it was, though it sounded trite, Peat was sincere. "Who was it? Did the police investigate this football player?"
"Wasn't him. He was at practice."
"Who else?"
Jake's body shifted, and Peat knew he was about to change the subject.
"Don't. Don't back down from that thought. Just say it. Like, what, I'm not going to believe you? I'm the one that looks like hell," Peat said.
"Did you see his face?" Jake asked. Once again not answering Peat's question. Surprise, surprise.
Peat spoke over him. "No. I didn't see who it was. Guy, masked, dressed in dark blues. White guy. Which doesn't actually narrow it down."
"How tall?"
"Shorter than both of us but not by much."
Jake nodded
"So say it. Who do you think---?"
"Geo's dad knows something is going on."
"The cop?" Peat asked.
"Yeah. He won't tell me. I don't know if it's some kind of lead in the investigation...." Jake continued talking, but Peat didn't listen. He saw all the pieces of the puzzle. So many different angles of the same day. But most pieces were unneeded to solve the bigger puzzle. Useless in the deciphering of the pattern they needed.
"Did you hear?"
"What?" Peat said. He realized he'd closed his eyes, but he didn't have any luck opening them again.
"Sorry. I know you're tired. Let's get you home." Jake squeezed Peat's hand and started the car.
"I don't want to go." Peat knew he mumbled but didn't worry about it for long.
When Peat woke up, he was standing in Jake's hallway. "Peat?" Jake asked again. Okay, not upright so much as leaning heavily against Jake.
"Should of woke me." Peat tightened his legs to stand on his own.
"Uhm, tried. Lots. I'm okay with just laying you in my, er, the bed, but...."
"Nope." Peat straightened. "Shower." He sucked his cheeks in. "Toothbrush? Please."
Jake laughed. "I still can't believe I brought a stranger home."
"I'm not going to attack you. Unless you want me to. And not until I no longer feel gritty. Everywhere." He'd woke to the same dream so maybe it was real, and Jake really was gay, and he just might get laid sometime before Christmas.
Jake leaned into the open bathroom door and turned on the light. "I'll get you a toothbrush."
"Um, could I maybe...." He pulled the T-shirt way from his skin. "Washing machine won't repair the holes but...."
"I've got some stuff that'll fit." Jake cleared his throat. "Tell me you don't need help getting undressed."
Peat laughed. "You're going to ruin my pride or wound my pride or whatever." He yawned. "I'll save the clothes stripping for another time." He didn't bother covering his mouth, too busy stripping off his shirt. He left the bathroom door open and turned on the hot water before removing his jeans. He toed off his shoes as he pulled the jeans down his thighs. He thought Jake finding a naked man in his bathroom would be sexy. A turn-on. Peat's vanity had always gotten him into trouble.
"Holy shit." A cool hand smoothed over his sore shoulder. "FUBAR. Seriously."
"I'm a quick healer. I'll be back to my sexy self in...." His breath hitched as Jake's hand slid down to the base of his spine, curving against the top of his butt. His dick twitched. Quit it. Jake's just surprised how Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition you look. Jake leaned in to whisper in Peat's ear. The wave of desire fogged his brain, and it wasn't until Jake removed his hand and walked away that Peat heard what he'd said: "Get clean."
He was thorough with his bathing, made sure to clean under his nails, scrubbed his crack, and brushed his teeth twice. His hair follicles practically cheered, and when he got out of the shower there was a bottle of his favorite moisturizer on the counter and an as-yet-unused stick of deodorant. He felt human. Real. Strong. He wrapped a large towel around his waist and went out to the hallway, listening for Jake.
The house was quiet. A hall clock ticked. The thwip, thwip of the ceiling fan. No Jake. His heart caught in his chest, ready to pound out an SOS. He found Jake spread-eagle, face down on top of his bed, snoring softly. He lay exactly as Peat had seen him two, no, three nights ago. Except for the clothes.
He'd pulled on pajamas, just the bottoms. Next to him lay another set of flannel pajama bottoms. Peat put them on then returned to the bathroom to hang up his towel. He pulled the covers down on the free side of the bed, then firmly rolled Jake into the opening, pulling the covers over Jake as he mumbled in his sleep.
Peat climbed in next to Jake. The clean sheets smelled whole and safe. Jake reached out his hands and pulled Peat into the crook of his arm. Their long frames pushed the blankets out of their tucking at the bottom of the bed. All those long limbs pressed against Peat. It was a whole new dynamic from last time, when he'd avoided any thought that this could be possible.
"I sleep on the top so then I don't have to make the bed," Jake said. Peat laughed and snuggled closer to the solid, half-naked man. He wasn't used to being the short side of the couple, and being tucked under Jake's chin was new. He liked it.
"Go back to sleep," he told Jake.
"Am."
I love you. Peat felt the words. Formed them in his head and in his heart but didn't say them. He'd known Jake for two months, though really it hadn't taken him that long to fall in love. But Jake had known him for... he looked to the bedside table to the digital alarm clock. Two hours and fifteen minutes. No more.
It couldn't continue. Today would end today. Tomorrow Jake would know him twenty-five hours, then twenty-six, and, if Peat had his way, twenty years.
"Your stomach is growling." Jake rubbed a hand over Peat's bare stomach, sliding his pinky finger along the waistband of Peat's pants but not dipping underneath.
"So," Peat mumbled.
"It woke me up. Again."
Peat blushed and rolled over to face Jake. They'd managed to pull all the blankets out.
They ignored Peat's stomach in favor of cautious kissing. "I don't do this," Jake said.
Peat just lifted an eyebrow.
"Bring guys home."
"Never ever? Like, this is the first time?" Peat was unsure how he felt about that possibility. But it wasn't good. How new was Jake to being out? Was he out?
"I'm just saying I'm not casual about sex," Jake said.
"You never directly answer questions. Did you know that? Like you're a lawyer. I've met a few, and you sound like you're answering a question but you're not." Peat lay motionless. He enjoyed the notion that Jake was sexually interested, the evidence quite unapologetically apparent. And Jake was alive and remembered him. A bit. Happy day.
Jake nudged his chin out of the way and slid down Peat's side enough to scrape stubble across Peat's neck. Like a thousand little touches. Combined with the heat and heaviness of Jake's arousal against him, Peat was no longer groggy. His dick pressed back against Jake, and Peat moaned, "Feels good."
"Slight bit more than good." Jake added teeth and lips to his ravage-Peat arsenal, following Peat's skin vibrations. All roads led to his dick.
But his body didn't cooperate. His stomach growled, and his bladder twisted. Jake lifted up on his elbow, inches from Peat's nipple, and looked him in the eye. Jake had amazingly beautiful eyes. And there was always such kindness, such peace in them. Except when they were empty. The thought of Jake lying dead had him soft much faster than he'd gotten hard. Damn it.
"Let's get you fed," Jake said. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, his steps awkward because of his hard-on.
Peat smiled and enjoyed the view. Nice ass. Jake's loose pants were held up by the dick of Peat's interest. As he turned to smile at Peat, the bottom cut of his abs and hips were visible over his waistband.
Out in the kitchen, Peat took up space against the kitchen counter as Jake opened the fridge and peered in. "It's lunchtime. Want a salad?"
Peat laughed. "This hunger needs some serious protein."
"We're vegetarians."
"No way." Peat snorted his amusement. "Didn't know that." Jake pulled out the bottle of milk. "But not vegans."
"Naw. Milk and cheese are fine. And occasionally we'll have fish." Jake snapped his fingers. "Eggs. Protein, and we've got plenty."
"Great. Can I help?" The morning-after awkwardness was absent, but perhaps it didn't apply yet. "I can't cook, though. Not even Ramen. When I fend for myself, it's peanut butter and jelly."
"Well, I know the basics, I guess. Haven't thought about it much." He cracked some eggs into a bowl. Peat pushed up on tiptoe so he could place his chin on Jake's shoulder, then leaned forward, pressing Jake into the waist-high counter.
"Thanks. For letting me come and stay. For...." He inhaled Jake's scent and stepped back, shaking himself a bit.
Jake turned his head and grinned at him, his eyes hooded. He pulled his top lip in, drawing Peat's eyes there, and then released it. It gleamed. "Welcome." He straightened his shoulders and nodded toward a cupboard. "The plates are up there." He focused on scrambling eggs, adding a bit of milk and pepper, heating the pan.
Lots to talk about but neither said anything. Stuff like, were there any condoms in the house? That was at the top of Peat's priority list.
They also needed to talk about the skate park. But this bright, shiny moment deserved a bit more time in the sun.
"You said that you're vegetarians." Okay, Peat, don't mess this up. "Do you live with your parents?" It seemed like an appropriate get-to-know-you question.
"Yeah." Not self-conscious about it. "I lived in the dorms the first year, but after my roommate, Geo, died...." He made eye contact with Peat to see if he remembered who Geo was. "It was hard to live on campus after that." He put some crunchy-looking wheat bread into the four-slot toaster.
"So where are they now? Your parents."
"My mom works for the Co-Op. She's one of their buyers, and they sent her out to Napa to check out a new vineyard. My dad goes with her when he can. Which he could this time." He scooped over half the eggs onto Peat's plate.
"Ta, mate."
Jake looked at him askance for the oddly worded reply but nodded and dug in the fridge for jam and butter for the toast. Peat got another plate and stacked the hot bread on it before placing it on the counter. There were two bar stools at the kitchen counter, and Peat had set it rather than the table.
"What does your father do?" Normal question and, bonus, not asked while one of them bled out.
Jake sat at one of the stools then realized he'd left the juice by the stove. He half rose out of his chair, and Peat put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll get it."
"Thanks." When Peat turned back to his own stool, Jake smiled. And he knew that Jake had watched him walk across the room. "Dad's a librarian."
"Really? That's so normal."
"Is that California slang for lame?"
"No. But having grown up in California I know more producers than librarians." Jake remembered that he was from California. He remembered Peat's name. What else did he remember?
"Dad works for the state law library. Which is just a library to the tenth degree of boring. But he likes it." Jake shrugged his shoulders and shoveled in egg.
Relieved, Peat followed suit. He didn't know how to make eggs, but he knew his useless manners and couldn't eat until his host did. And he couldn't eat without at least a paper towel over his knee. Unless he was alone and could eat out of the peanut butter jar.
"What about your parents?" Jake asked.
Peat stabbed his eggs, the fork's tines tapping the glass plate. "My mum's a corporate type. Da is an entrepreneur."
"Which means what?" Jake asked.
"See." Peat pointed at Jake with his fork. "Such a lawyer." He ate his eggs then cleared his throat with juice. Stalling. Jake had turned toward him, leaning his forearms against the counter, munching toast.
Peat sighed. But this was good. Better to have Jake back off because of who Peat was before they got physical, or more physical. He watched as Jake licked crumbs off his lip, watched as his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.
"My mom works in the porn industry. Owns a pretty high-class, small, film company. That's how she sees it. But it's just porn. Classy porn."
Jake's eyes were huge, and he coughed a bit, diving for one of the paper towels Peat had put out in lieu of napkins. "Wow."
Peat shrugged, shoveled more eggs, swallowed, and put the worst out there. "Me da, I don't know what he does. On purpose. So if I'm ever asked, I can say I don't know. But after twenty-two years, I figure it's half-mercenary, half-investment expert." He kept his eyes on his own plate. The eggs were gone and so was his toast, and his stomach still felt empty. "Thank you for breakfast. Can I have some milk?"
"Sure. Help yourself." Jake nodded toward the fridge, and Peat pushed back his stool. He listened for Jake to say something. Anything.
"How come I expect to hear cockney pop out of your mouth? I mean you use all the British words but...."
"Sound like a Valley boy?" Peat smiled, he couldn't help himself, and turned to look at Jake with the bottle in hand. He laughed and let a bit of London out. "I do it on purpose. Tosh, it's not cockney, luv. Just a bit of me mum's dulcet estuary. Much more posh. She and Da are British-born, moved to the States the mo' I was born. But I have full US citizenship."
Jake laughed, and Peat forgot why he stood in the middle of Jake's kitchen. Time to find out about those condoms. Keeping the accent in place, he said, "I want to shag you nice and proper." He leaned across the counter and did a bit of eye gazing until his body pumped heat to all the right places. Three seconds, maybe four. Back to his own voice because he could barely think. "Need to cover a few things first, though. Condoms?" They both smirked at the idea of what condoms covered.
Jake's cheeks reddened. "Nightstand."
"Past sexual partners and level of experience?"
Jake's cheeks darkened, but he leaned forward and brushed his lips over Peat's. "Had a fuck buddy, a girl, in high school. Two casuals since then. Just rubs and tugs. I've...." He shifted his weight but kept eye contact and said, "I've never... I still have my cherry. And I'm not losing it today."
"Fair enough." Peat couldn't get anything further pass the thick heat lodged in his throat.
"You?" Jake said.
Peat thought about the painfully beautiful memory of his own cherry picking, the first time he'd been fucked. He was the only one who remembered that day. "My first time, for anything, didn't happen until I was in college." He leaned on his right forearm so he could lift his left hand and stroke Jake's cheek, push his tousled golden hair out of his face. "Have never barebacked, and I'll not start today."
Jake swallowed again, and Peat could feel it beneath his fingers. Peat slid his hand forward to bring Jake's mouth to him. The first initial slide of lips was careful, gentle. The second was full, raging hunger. Jake jerked his head back and glared. "I don't share."
"That would make this more than casual, then." Peat still held Jake's chin in his hand. "I share, but only with my lover. My time, my bed, my heart. I share all of that. But only one at a time," Peat said.
Peat felt Jake shiver. "So there isn't anyone else?" Jake's eyes were intense, and he'd scrunched his eyebrows forward a bit.
"No." But Peat could tell that something bothered Jake, possibly a memory. But of what?
Who the hell was Maddie? And why did kissing Peat make Jake think that name?
Getting laid was going to be a great way to spend the day, and he didn't want to mess this up. And, okay, it wasn't just his dick he was worried about. He didn't want his heart to get screwed. Peat made him smile and made his blood pound with little effort. Jake was all for being the focus of all of Peat's efforts, but he couldn't wrap his head around this sudden feeling of knowing Peat. Who's Maddie? But instead he said, "I don't feel that déjà vu when we kiss."
"I hadn't ever kissed you before today."
Jake searched Peat's eyes then reached his hand up to cover Peat's. To stop the movement along his chin. Peat's eyes fell, perhaps thinking Jake was stopping him. It doesn't have to make sense, he told himself. "It's enough."
"What is?"
"Knowing that I'm safe with you," Jake said.
"Safe? I was hoping to instill a lot of lust and a bit of excitement. I can work with safe, though," Peat teased. They headed for the bedroom, Peat led the way. "So, some get-to-know-you questions. Favorite color?"
Jake ran his nails along the back of Peat's neck, and knuckle deep into Peat's dark hair. "Brown."
Peat turned to flash a grin at Jake over his shoulder. Damn, he was so sexy.
"Favorite nonsexual activity?" Jake asked.
"Dancing. Though, if done right, that can be pretty sexy. For you it's boarding, ya?"
"Karaoke." Jake laughed at Peat's surprise. "Yeah, boarding."
Peat reached a hand behind him, still walking down the hall, and grasped Jake's. Jake's heart hammered in his chest. He was hard, heading toward painfully so, and he wanted to be touching Peat everywhere. Peat headed straight to the nightstand and counted the condoms. "Thirteen?"
Jake laughed, feeling embarrassed again. "My mom keeps bringing me home some."
"Your mom?"
"Serious poster mom for PFLAG." Yeah, that's what he wanted to do right now, talk about his mom. He turned Peat toward him and kissed his lips. A press, a slight suck, no tongue.
"Lucky, that. My mum's---"
Jake interrupted him by adding his tongue to the kiss. Slid across, dipped inside. Peat tasted amazing. "What's with the chattiness?" Jake asked, his voice husky.
"Nervous, aren't I? Tend to talk too much when I'm---"
"Relax. Or better yet, let's find a way to keep that mouth busy." He spread his hands over Peat's chest with a brief pause to flick the tiny hard nipples with his thumbs, cupped his hard shoulders, and pulled him closer. Jake skimmed his hand down Peat's back. In no rush, yet. He spread his fingers to cover as much of Peat's ass as he could and lifted Peat to press their heat together. Peat's eyes darkened and he moaned.
"That's better," Jake teased.
There were two patches of square skin that were darker than the rest of Peat's chest. When you twisted off a bottle cap, the rippled and puckered skin of your palm, that's what the patches looked like to Jake. "What happened here?" Jake put his hand on the bottom one, just beneath and to the side of Peat's left pectoral.
Peat stilled and looked down where Jake looked. Surprised. The rest of his body was battered, like the early marks of bruises about to rise to the surface. They had made it to Jake's bed and kicked the bedding to the floor. Hot hands caressed bare flesh.
"You have another one here." The twin mark was above Peat's heart. Jake watched Peat's eyes. "Trying to decide on which lie to tell me?" He tried pulling away, but Peat was strong and he wasn't going anywhere.
"I can't lie worth shit. I totally suck at it." He sighed, looking down to the left, possibly at Jake's shoulder, but Jake doubted he saw anything. "I was trying to decide if I should tell you or shrug it off."
"Lying by omission?" He teased a bit. "Just as long as it's not something kinky." He pinched Peat's nipples and smirked further when Peat's hip jerked up.
"It's not."
Jake braced himself on his forearm and leaned over Peat. "Tell me later?"
"Yes."
Jake took Peat's nipple in his mouth, swirling with his tongue, scraping with his teeth.
"Oh, yes." Peat threaded his fingers into Jake's hair, not forcing his head to remain, more like looking for a handle. Peat groaned then rolled Jake beneath him and pulled his pants down, careful with the waistband so it wouldn't catch on Jake's dick. As Peat pressed kisses along Jake's hipbone, Jake nudged Peat's own pants down.
Peat climbed down the bed, taking Jake's pants with him. He didn't stop to admire, his whole focus on the red cock bobbing in front of him. He spread Jake's legs so he could lie between them. Jake brushed a hand through Peat's hair then leaned back on his elbows to watch.
Peat locked a single finger around the base of Jake's hard shaft, unable to meet forefinger and thumb, the rest of his palm and fingers pressed flat to Jake's pelvis. But he did not stroke. He did not squeeze and release. He just maintained his grip while he lay on his stomach and looked over the erect member into Jake's eyes. Jake brushed his cheek, reaching to bring Peat to him. Peat ignored the urging and rolled on a condom. As he reached the bottom of Jake's dick, Peat let go, allowing the blood to surge forward.
"Peat!" Jake's hips came off the mattress, and the muscles in his back clenched so he was still arched when he lay back down. "Peat," he said again, breathless.
Peat grinned, evil, mischievous, then took Jake into his mouth, returning the single finger grip to the base. He slipped Jake in under his raised tongue, keeping pressure on the head, then with a powerful jerk pulled his tongue down to the bottom of his mouth.
"Holy shit." Jake moaned and said a few other incoherent things. "Do that again."
Peat grinned. Again he put Jake's penis under his tongue, extending his lips to pull Jake even further in, then the tongue jerk down, and Jake tightened his fingers in Peat's hair.
Frustrated, Jake didn't know if he wanted to pull Peat up for a kiss or push his head down to take more of Jake's dick into his mouth. With Peat's hand firmly gripped around Jake's base, he wouldn't be able to come until Peat let go. The third tongue flick caught him by surprise, and he babbled. He could admit to it, especially if it got him another tongue flick. He was babbling.
Peat's eyes were so unbelievably hot. His beautiful face watched Jake react. Intense. Peat took several long strokes, swallowing Jake almost to the hilt. Then he sucked and swallowed. It was a totally different feeling. The tongue flicks sent burning flashes through his body but the full dick presses made the fire build and stay and build further. Jake's hips jerked and twitched, trying to find release. "Peat."
Peat just smiled. Bastard. Then Peat closed his eyes, and Jake watched, transfixed, as Peat slid his hand down his own torso, shifting to his side to lean on a hip. Peat bobbed his head over Jake's erection then placed his tongue over the tip, and Jake's eyes closed in anticipation. He snapped them open, wanting to watch that second hand.
Peat fisted his hard, glistening penis. Knowing that Peat was getting off on this as much as him, tossed Jake over the edge, and he would have come except for that grip at the base of his shaft. "Peat." He didn't care that it sounded pleading, desperate.
Peat nodded, pressed firmly with his tongue, stroked his own dick, and just as he released the base, he flicked down on Jake's head.
Things got black. Jake's muscles contracted from the arches in his feet to his shoulders pressed into the mattress. Tight. Even his hands fisted in Peat's hair. He was coming and coming and coming.
His body shook as Peat released him and crawled up Jake's body to press his hard shaft into Jake's hip.
Jake kissed him. Peat tasted like candied strawberries and musk. Jake slid his hands down Peat's back, scraped his nails, and pulled Peat hard against his hip, helping with the friction.
Peat arched and gibbered. Jake felt the muscles in his lower back turn to steel.
Both of their chests were covered in sweat. Peat did some more of the incoherent mumbling. "I think I was clearer than that," Jake said.
"And?" Peat lifted his head, but it looked like it took all his energy; bunched resolve and ungraceful. "Just means I enjoyed it more."
"Whatever. I came the hardest."
"Having you in my mouth as you pulsed? Best thing I ever felt."
"I'm totally amped. You're just...." Jake realized they were arguing about who came harder. Jake laughed. "I'm going to Ninja-fuck you into the mattress, Peat Harris." He rolled Peat back so he could lean over the shorter man.
"You said you didn't want to...."
"Lose my cherry today." Peat's eyes lost their glaze. Jake could feel Peat harden. "Wow, great at giving head and resilient."
Peat blushed. "I'm definitely... wanting to. But this time, no coming with your hands in my hair. I think you pulled clumps out." He ran his hands through his hair, and Jake laughed again. This had to be the most he had ever laughed in bed, let alone during sex. It freed him, added another layer.
"Did it hurt? Sorry."
"Course you are. Not," Peat scoffed.
"I couldn't help it. That was fucking amazing."
In a sudden move to reverse their positions, Peat used his legs and hands to lean over Jake. "Why?" He searched Jake's eyes. "Why do you want to fuck me, but you don't.... Like, what? It's okay if I trust you, but you don't---"
"Whoa. Slow down, Peat." Jake lay back, comfortable beneath Peat, in his arms. "I want to." His cheeks heated. "But I made a promise that...." He mumbled the rest. He clenched his jaw, and the muscles in his cheek jumped.
"What?"
Jake sighed and looked over Peat's shoulder. His hands stilled, and he realized that he'd been stroking Peat's back in a lazy sweep to keep him close. "I promised that I'd save that. That I'd be careful." He looked at Peat and said, "Use protection," then he looked over the shoulder. "But also I'd wait until it was with someone special."
"Oh." Peat rolled to lie back on the bed, half his body over the edge.
"You're going to fall." Jake slid over to make room and turned up on a hip to look at Peat. Peat just stared at the ceiling, his eyes unfocused. Jake brushed a hand over Peat's chest, avoiding the sticky patch. They both needed a shower. Jake grabbed some tissues to remove the red condom. His dick was sensitive, and he hissed through his teeth as he cleaned himself off. He then took a tissue to clean Peat's chest. Peat jerked as if Jake had punched him. Jake felt sick inside.
Peat watched with empty eyes as Jake cleaned off his chest and stomach. "Come here," Jake said and gathered Peat close. "Don't tell, but I'm a cuddlier."
Peat laughed, but it was short and hollow and caused a sharp twisting pain in Jake's chest. Was he remembering a former lover, a better lover? And then Jake felt the need to beat the shit out of himself. It wasn't about him. Jake didn't know a lot about Peat, but from what he'd seen and more, from what he felt, he knew Peat's life wasn't Xbox and pizza.
They shifted a moment, finding a comfortable place for all of their limbs, settled with Peat against Jake's chest, legs entwined.
"Usually I'm the tall one," Peat said.
Jake figured that opened the subject and went with it. "When did you...?" Saying "cherry" sounded girly, forgetting he had used it, and "fuck" sounded too harsh to use on Peat. He didn't think Peat would fuck, except in the technical way. "Bottom for the first time?" He felt Peat smile against his chest. The oddest little flutter echoed inside Jake when Peat brushed his eyelashes against his bare skin.
"It wasn't with a stranger." Peat shook his head. "That sounded...."
"It's okay. Go on."
"My first semester in college I dated this guy named Pierce. It was my nineteenth birthday and... it was nice. Really, really... freaking amazing, actually."
Okay, Jake was man enough to identify that hot burn in his chest as jealousy. He gripped Peat's ass to remind them both who was with who now. Peat placed a kiss to Jake's chest.
"But...." The sigh rattled, and when Peat spoke again his voice was filled with pain. "He didn't remember it later. Made things awkward. We stayed friends. We see each other on campus." The last of it, he rushed.
"Was he drunk?" Did he hurt you? Was it forced?
"No. Another of my rules. No alcohol, no drugs, and always use a condom," Peat said.
"What the fuck was wrong with him if he couldn't remember that? Shit, I'm not going to forget today. This was amazing. And you put your trust in someone? Do that with them? It's got to be vulnerable and the bastard forgets." He pulled back from Peat, wanting to look in his eyes, but Peat continued to stare at his chest.
"It wasn't a big deal. It happened three years ago, and it's enough that I remember."
"You're right. You suck at lying. Look at me," Jake demanded.
Peat swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. "It wasn't his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault."
"Yet, you obviously blame yourself. I said look at me, damn it!" he yelled. Jake climbed off the bed as well and stood naked and awkward next to Peat.
Out came aggressive Peat. Damn, he was sexy. "Step off, asshole," he mocked. Peat continued to look anywhere but at him. "Shit. If I'd known sex made you bossy...."
Jake took Peat's hand and placed it on his own jaw. The reverse of what he wanted to do. But his anger simmered at the surface, and he didn't want to prove Peat right. Surprised, Peat looked up into Jake's eyes. His thumb, perhaps without realizing it, stroked Jake's stubble. "Why didn't he remember?" Jake asked.
The words burst from Peat. Loud. "Because it wasn't special enough. Because I was so bad at it that...." He couldn't finish. His eyes swam, and Jake felt like total shit. He pulled Peat to him.
"No. It wasn't---"
"It was. Mostly. My fault. I should have... but I didn't know what I was then. I didn't know he'd forget."
"Of course you didn't. And just because some toe crack said he forgot doesn't mean.... He was messing with you, Peat. Trying to hurt you," Jake said.
"No. It wasn't like that." Peat and Jake stood at the end of the bed, arms wrapped around each other. "I like your arms," Peat said. He pulled back enough to slide a hand over Jake's forearms. "Defined, powerful. Very sexy."
"Don't change the subject," Jake whispered.
"Do you lift weights or is it all from boarding?"
"Peat."
Another rattling sigh. His eyes darted around the room, and then focused on the door over Jake's shoulder. "Promised who, Jake? Promised George that you would wait?" Aggressive Peat, with less sexy and more mean.
"So what." He dropped his arms away from Peat's waist.
"When you were promising to wait, did you think he was asking you to wait for him?" Peat crossed his arms across his chest. "Did you hope---?"
"Hell no." Why was Peat trying to pick a fight with him? "He was my brother in every way but name."
"But you don't have brothers, Jake, do you? Just sisters. Or rather, sister," Peat said.
"How. The hell. Do you know that? I never told you that."
"Never? Like sometime today?" Peat said. Neither one yelled but their breath came and went with heavy pants.
The feeling, half-déjà vu and half-epiphany, returned full force to Jake's head. "I've known...." He tried to remember when he and Peat had met. "We met... I've seen you around the skate park." He shook his head. He felt more comfortable about his explainable anger than the unexplainable feelings he had toward Peat. "How do you know about Eugenia?"
"How do I know she died of leukemia? That you cried at her funeral? That you wore something black every day for a year?" Peat's words hit like hot sledgehammers.
Jake gripped Peat's shoulders, not caring that his nails cut into Peat's skin. Aware, but not caring. "Stop. Stop. Okay?" He let go of Peat's shoulders, angry at the marks he left behind. When the anger exploded, he scrambled for a grip on the cliff, holding onto the gritty edges to keep himself from physically using his anger.
To Peat it looked like a dam exploding. Solid, cement wall, calm. Then torrential waves burst from rippling muscles and seething eyes. Peat's gut twisted, and his body flooded with adrenaline, ready to fight. Jake gestured with large arm movements. "What. The. Hell?" Then pointing right into Peat's face, he said, "Don't you dare talk about her."
"Or what?" Peat pushed the stiff hand out of his face and yelled right back.
More words were on the tip of Peat's tongue. He realized how hurtful they were and thought about using them anyway. What was he doing?
Peat tried to bury his hands in his front pockets and realized they were both still naked, still flushed from their first time together. He rolled his shoulders forward and stared at Jake's feet.
Jake's body hunched a bit, quivering from his anger. He looked where Peat looked. "Impressive, aren't they? My feet."
Peat snorted and then reached a tentative hand out to touch the curve of Jake's hip. They both lifted their heads and looked at the other's eyes.
Jake looked at his alarm clock across the room. "Look. I'm going to shower. I volunteer at a soup kitchen on Tuesdays. Come with me if you want."
"Yeah, I'll come with." Peat felt his arousal stir. Naked, hot man standing in front of him? Said man panting slightly with a pounding heart? Yep, major turn-on. Jake shivered as he kissed Peat.
Peat could relate. The absolute wave of desire knocked him on his butt. But it wasn't a desire to be touched and to touch. Wanted that too. Boy howdy. But he also wanted Jake. Jake to smile at him. That slightly crooked smile that made Peat's head fuzzy and the world feel good. Right.
"Jake." Peat put as much emotion behind the single word as he dared. Jake stopped at the bedroom door, a guarded look in his eyes. "I'm sorry."
Boise High School had just let out, and Peat had to follow Jake through a sea of teenage bodies. Jake lifted his hand in hello or called out greetings. Peat tried not to fall off his board and embarrass them both.
Several of the old homes in the area had been converted into offices. High-end lawyers mostly. Peat had to remind himself not to rubberneck at the buildings while navigating through the bodies. The area was full of old architectural history like the row of American Craftsmans and then bam, a beautiful Romanesque Catholic Cathedral, followed by a Queen Anne that had been slaughtered into apartments.
He fell off his skateboard but caught himself before hitting the sidewalk. Jake came back to see what was up, and Peat waved him off. Peat flipped his board up from the gutter and motioned for Jake to lead the way.
"Are you missing classes?" Peat skated just behind Jake. He pitched his voice forward. "You're going to BSU, right?" They hadn't talked about school since midnight, so he clarified his knowledge.
"Yeah. But no classes on Tuesdays or Thursdays."
"Sweet. How'd you manage that?"
"I picked classes that way." Jake smiled a crooked grin. "I haven't chosen a major yet so I'm just taking general. I'm a sophomore in CCMM." Jake slowed because traffic on the sidewalk had picked up. "Can't Choose My Major."
Peat laughed.
That morning had been cool enough to see his breath, but the afternoon heat warmed their skin. It wasn't California hot. But the high school kids wore shorts, and convertibles had their tops down.
St. Vincent's was in an old, single-story office building between a seven-floor bank and a sixty-four-slot parking lot that charged by the hour. In front of the kitchen was a six-lane street that headed only west and connected to the freeway a few miles later. On the sidewalk, men of varying ages and dinginess smoked cigarettes and talked in hushed tones.
Jake pushed through the front door and lead Peat straight back to the kitchen, apologizing as he went to everyone that he was late.
"Hey, Cody, I'm sorry, man. Lost track of time."
Cody was elbow-deep in potatoes, sharp knife flying. He didn't glance up. Jake gave him a one-arm hug and said, "Peat, this is Cody. Head cook. Cody, this is Peat Harris."
Cody looked up at the introduction, and Peat couldn't hide his surprise. Cody had Down syndrome.
Cody said, "Looks are deceiving."
"Aren't they at that?" Peat shook his hand and offered to help.
At one point, a man by the name of Mitchum came in to check how things were going. He seemed to be the actual runner of Vincent's but all cowed to Cody. Mitchum fit the out-of-life, ragged look of a Vietnam vet. Army surplus clothes, long hair, faded tattoos. He had the loudest voice Peat had heard outside of a lecture hall. He sounded like a drill sergeant.
Jake laughed, joked with Cody, and danced through the kitchen as he prepared dinner. Peat hadn't seen him this carefree. But the display felt a bit forced to Peat. When Cody went into the freezer, Peat asked Jake about it.
"This was Geo's haunt. He and his mom worked here once a week until she died. I came with him after that."
"That boy was a wonder," Mitchum shouted. "He took time to listen. Made a mean pot pie."
Apparently, Jake hadn't been accepted yet. Twice a week instead of one, and he wasn't an inside man. He didn't realize that his insecurity was picked up by the patrons.
"Out," Jake said.
"No diplomatic 'thanks but we can manage?'" Peat said.
"You destroyed this pan." Cody scraped the pan's black sides.
"Destroyed is a bit of an exaggeration, if you ask me." Peat washed his hands at the sink, then removed the white apron.
Cody put his hands on his hips and scowled. Holy crap, that was a powerful look. "Out," Cody said.
"Okay, I'll go." Maybe he could set up the tables or something. "Just, Jake?" He touched Jake's arm to make sure he listened. "Don't leave without me."
"I'm not kicking you out of the kitchen to get rid of you. It's for your own safety. We don't want the place to burn down around us." Jake laughed and gave Peat a shove toward the door.
Peat didn't buy his false happy-go-lucky tone. It bothered Jake that Peat would ask him to stay put. He tried to convey the very real danger. Jake could hear it in his voice, even if he didn't understand.
Peat rubbed his hand over Jake's bicep and turned back away.
Out in the dining area, they had everything ready. Several of the early birds had helped out. Against the far wall two long tables were set up for a children's craft project. Mothers helped children create fall leaves with paper. They could have been a group of moms and kids anywhere. They didn't look like they belonged here. Though what they would look like if they did, Peat didn't know. What did other people think when they realized he was gay? Did they think he didn't look gay?
A dozen bottles of glue, their orange caps all pointing up, stood like lit candles. Their tips the same level. But below them a confetti of construction paper, glitter, pipe cleaners, cotton balls, and little hands.
Peat headed over to see if he could help clean up, but they weren't done yet. Hesitant of a stranger, the kids wouldn't accept his help, so he started building.
Jake found him later wrapped up in his creation. Peat had finished a replica of the Boise Capitol building, fuzzy pipe cleaners for pillars and carefully folded construction paper for the dome. Now he worked on the skate park. Like someone had removed the overpass and shrunk the park, the dimensions were ruler-precise. Even the colors were right.
Peat was folding a piece of paper like an accordion, back and forth strips, stacking on top of itself rather than folding it up. A few of the kitchen workers had come to check out the capital building and watched the new project form in front of them. He'd used pipe cleaners to prop the ramp up. His eyes were glazed and focused inward, perhaps to the mental image he held. But the half-lidded focus made Jake remember their time in bed.
He shouldn't be sporting a hard-on in the middle of Vincent's.
Peat opened the accordion and folded it in half across the diagonal, creating a triangle, and in half again. The newest folds created the pitch of the roof of the park's restrooms. As Peat set the roof onto the square building he paused, surveying what he'd done, deciding what to do next. He rubbed the side of his left thumb back and forth across his full bottom lip.
"Hey, kid?" said a boy of maybe four or five, the oldest of the non-school-age children. "Kid." He poked Peat in the arm, but Peat stayed buried in his own mental image.
Jake bent down to the boy's level. "His name is Peat." And as if to prove the fact, Peat's head jerked up at Jake's voice, and he blinked a couple of times, looking over his audience.
"Hey, Peat?" the child said.
"Yeah, Mark?" Peat said.
Mark was so pleased that Peat remembered his name that it took him time to remember what he meant to say. "How'd you learn to do that?"
"Legos. And lots of hours of being lon---only child. I'm an only child." He smiled at Mark. "I'm in school to be an architect. Architects design and build buildings," Peat clarified. Jake realized he hadn't known Peat's major. Hell, he'd just assumed Peat was a college student too. But he hadn't known.
"You don't have to go to school for that. My dad does that. They pay him under the table." Mark's mom shushed him and turned to apologize to Peat, but Peat stopped her.
"Hey, Mark, can you help me with the grass?"
"There ain't no grass at Rhodes," someone else said.
"You forgot one of the basketball hoops. I can make it for you."
"What about the sign? The one that's says Rhodes?" Chairs scraped back, and bystanders became participants. Peat looked at Jake and smiled. Peat's eyes darkened.
"Did you save dinner or is it irrevocably destroyed?" Peat said.
"Someone destroyed dinner?" Mark asked, worried. "I got brothers coming, once school's out. We got to feed them." Someone ruffled Mark's head and told him to hush.
Jake looked again at the skate park and capitol building. "How'd you get the Capitol dome to look right?"
"Origami," Peat said.
"That's pretty cool."
Peat shrugged. "Can I help?"
"Naw. Cody's finishing up, and now it's just a matter of waiting for the timers to ding." Jake shifted his feet. He wanted to sit next to Peat. Hell, he wanted to sit on Peat's lap but knew his welcome here was iffy. Jake didn't want them to have another reason to dislike him. Peat had gained a welcome.
"I didn't know Boise State offered an architect program."
"They don't." Peat averted his eyes and grabbed a bottle of glue to fix the roof on the bathrooms. "I'm a senior at California Polytechnic. Cal Poly. It's in San Luis Obispo."
Jake needed to sit. He scraped out a chair across from Peat and took a couple of pipe cleaners off the pile, then began twisting them in his fingers. "Do you like it there?" Bravo, Jake thought, hurt feelings concealed behind laid-back tone.
Something brushed Jake's thigh. He looked at Mark next to him but it wasn't Mark. Jake looked up and made eye contact with Peat. Peat had great eyes. His foot, shoe and all, perched on the edge of Jake's chair between his legs. Peat rubbed down Jake's inner thigh. Jake could feel his dick tighten and heat.
"Yeah, I like it there, and I only have a year left."
"But you're not in school now?"
"They run on a trimester system. I have this semester off. I start again in October. It makes finding summer jobs hard, but I can travel a bit." He lied. He tilted his head to the side when he did it and the words sounded tinny; as if spoken into an empty metal can. But Jake couldn't tell which part was the lie. Instead he gave Peat incredulous, eyebrow raised and lips scornful.
Peat sighed. "Suck at it," he whispered to himself, then said, "Monday. I start again on Monday." Less than a week? Five days, and he'd be back in class?
Fuck that. Jake stood, pushed the chair back under the table. "I'll be right back."
Peat's eyebrows quirked, not understanding Jake's sudden movements. Jake headed back into the kitchen, taking off the white apron as he walked. "Cody, dude, I'm leaving. I'll make up the time end of next week." After Peat is gone and not before. George wouldn't have left a second before they no longer needed him. George would have come back the next day to make up missed time. But Jake had lived too many years doing what George did. Only Jake's fuck-buddy relationship with Amanda had been Jake and only Jake. He wanted to spend time with Peat, and that's what he was going to do.
Cody giggled and shooed him to the door. "Thanks, Cody." Jake hugged him.
He flipped his board from under the reception table and turned to see Peat at his elbow. "I'm coming with you." Peat's tone was worried. Was that what this was all about? He knew how short their time together was.
Jake smiled at Peat, tried to let him know that he wasn't letting Peat out of his sight. Jake let his eyes linger way longer than necessary, then looked down at Peat's mouth so he'd know Jake wanted to kiss him. "You're goin' to get your stuff?" Jake nodded at the craft table. Peat glanced over at the table and shrugged.
"Hey, Mark? Make sure you put them some place to dry. 'Kay?"
Mark nodded, and Peat grabbed his board. Taking out class time and sleep, Jake figured they had about sixty hours. Not nearly enough.
Peat pressed in front of Jake. There was a slender, single glass door that pulled inward with a step up to the cement sidewalk. Jake gripped Peat's elbow as Peat caught his foot on the transition. "Careful." Peat didn't thank him. He thanked him automatically for everything.
Peat straightened and walked on the outside of Jake, doing a quick two-step to put himself between the road and Jake. He scanned the opposite buildings, the sidewalk ahead, and the one behind. His foot caught on another variant in the sidewalk.
Jake realized that Peat was scared. Oh, sure, he'd tone it down to just being nervous or apprehensive, but it was fear. Peat had said it was just a thug in the skate park last night, and Peat must have given much better than he got because you couldn't even tell he'd been in a fight now, despite the large amount of blood.
"Peat." Jake grabbed his elbow again and stopped walking. When Peat turned a look of horror flashed across his face. "Chill---"
"Don't just stand there. Moving target. Moving target." The last he said to himself, back to scanning the road.
"What the hell?"
Then Peat did the weirdest thing. He looked down at his hands, his eyes widened, and wrapping his arms around Jake, he tried to push him into a gap between the buildings. It wasn't exactly an alley. More of an only, only one at a time instead of all at a time. No time for humor. Peat was seriously freaked. A car pulled to the curb, tires bumped against the sidewalk, and he heard the motorized sound of a window.
Peat gave him a shove. "Run." Then he turned to face the car, arms spread, taking up as much of the space around him as he could. Or rather as much of the view blocking Jake. Peat was protecting Jake.
"Jake!" At the sound of his mom's voice, Jake released a breath. Peat lowered his arms but stood between Jake and the car. Jake used his skateboard and pressed it against Peat's side to push him playfully out of the way. His mom leaned across the front seat of the car.
"It's my mom," he told Peat. Then, louder, "Hi, Mom." He walked to the curb, shaking his head at his mom's parking job. The soup kitchen was on Front Street, a straight connection to the freeway and busy with five o'clock traffic. Another car zoomed right up to his mom's bumper then jetted into the next lane, cutting a truck off. "You're going to get hit."
Molly Schwinn was pale, and her face surprisingly stern. "Get in, so then I don't have to sit here and risk the chance...." He'd already opened the passenger side but turned to Peat, who stood several feet back. Peat's face changed rapidly, only the confusion when he looked down at his hands could Jake read.
"Peat?"
Peat looked at Jake.
"Are you coming?" He realized how exposed asking made him and stepped away from the open car door. "Jus' sec, Mom." He pushed his hands deep into his jean pockets and stepped close to Peat. Peat's eye's blazed with anger. "Are you mad? I wasn't going to leave without...." God, that sounded desperate. "Do want to come back to my house?"
"You didn't run."
"What?" Another participant in the nightly hunt for head-on collisions zoomed around his mom's car with its horn blaring. "Look." Maybe he was nervous about his reception. "My mom's cool. Remember, poster mom for PFLAG? She'll keep the awkward questions---"
"What?" Peat looked over Jake's shoulder and, brow furrowed, raised a hand to return Molly's greeting. "Yeah." He nodded, a forced movement of his head, picked up his board from where he had dropped it, and walked with Jake back to the car.
Peat knew he worried too much, but this could not be good. Sure, Molly and Bert came back early every time Jake was shot, but he hadn't been shot today, and they'd still come back. How had it altered the day? Would the day repeat because they weren't supposed to be here? Would it continue to repeat indefinitely because Molly would wake up with dreamlike memories of her son's death? Which is what happened.
"I had this horrible dream last night that you died. Just like Geo did." She had shaken her head and gripped the steering wheel. "We just had to come home."
The infinite possibilities, the outcome of every scenario, the totally messed-up place his life dwelled, all of it made Peat's head hurt.
Peat had been invited to dinner and shooed into a chair when he tried to wait for Molly to sit first.
Jake was alive and that was all that mattered. Goal number one: keep Jake alive. Goal two, and only if it allowed the first goal: find the killer.
In the past Peat had little say in which goals were accomplished. In Houston he'd allowed the unimaginable to happen so the day would stop repeating. But it wasn't unimaginable, having watched. The young girl occupied his nightmares just as much as Jake's death. But the universe, or God, or the district attorney, needed evidence.
"You're worrying about something." Jake reached up and pulled Peat's hand away from his face, where Peat subconsciously rubbed his thumb over his lip. He stared at his plateful of food. Nope, still not hungry. Still totally freaked out.
Jake gave his hand a tug, and Peat shook his head and focused on the other people in the room. His cheeks heated with a blush. Amazingly, Jake had no qualms touching him in front of his parents. Peat wasn't as comfortable and, gently as he could, he squeezed Jake's hand and pulled away to pick up his fork.
Molly placed the potato casserole on the table and smiled at Peat. If Molly personified a granola-eating, co-op working, PFLAG mom, then Jake's dad, Hubert Schwinn---Mr. Schwinn is fine---was the opposite of his life role.
Bert had heavy eyebrows and droopy lids. He looked moments from waking up or going to sleep. He had a relaxed, slow tone so when he talked about DNA research, the history of search and seizure laws, or Korn, the band not the vegetable, you were surprised at how intuitive he was. Different from the previous interactions: parents mourning, torn and confused and deeply damaged.
"I called your cell phone," Molly said to Jake. She sat and picked up her salad fork.
"Yeah, sorry. I left it here," Jake said.
Part of being out and open about his sexuality had been coming out of the closet, though he'd only resided briefly in said closet. There was the big coming out, the times---yes, plural, long story---he had told his mom, and there were small coming outs. For a while it felt like a constant process, so many people to tell, so little desire to continue talking about it.
Coming out was not a big deal when you were introduced as "my boyfriend Peat" or "this is Peat. I told you about him." But introductions to complete strangers sometimes lead to the opening of the closet. They'd ask. Or Peat would say. But only when they needed to know. Gay or straight wasn't required information if they were issuing him a ticket or trying to find his dry cleaning among the turnstile.
Jake had given his dad a hug and said, "This is Peat." Peat left the closet door open and kept an eye out just in case he needed to step out properly.
"Well, you of course didn't leave us a note." Long pause from Bert. "Because you didn't know we were coming home early."
"True," Molly said. "I found your cell phone under your bed." She waited for her son's response, but Peat's was instant: unmade bed and condom wrapper. Forget stepping out, Peat had just been slingshot out, shiny-white-ass naked. The blush was the body's stupid idea of camouflage. Like, what? Red, a target color, was better than we-come-in-peace white?
Jake didn't say anything, and his face remained neutral, passing the potatoes to his father. He darted a glance at Peat and smiled, a flashy grin, then refocused on his plate.
Molly sighed. "Well, I just hope you guys are being careful."
"I'm a safety girl," Peat sing-songed, trying for humor.
Bert looked up from his plate, and Jake, eyes narrowed and fork halfway to his mouth, stared. Peat was about to explain when Molly said, "Julia Roberts?" Not asking a question of Peat but seeing if Bert and Jake were able to follow. "Pretty Woman?" Her eyebrows and tone said, "Hello?"
Peat laughed then added, "Welcome to Hollywood. What's your dream?" sounding just like a Jamaican. Molly laughed. Bert just stared.
"So... you... you're... you guys are...." Stopping midsentence, Bert resumed eating, perhaps hoping that they would ignore the subject.
"Yeah, Dad, me and Peat are sleeping together." It wasn't a belligerent tone or even pleading, just matter-of-fact. I'm okay with my choices and expect others to accept me.
For coming out moments, it was way low on the total-disaster list.
"You're worrying again." Jake took his hand across the table. His mom smiled a secretive smile. A young love, sigh type of smile.
Peat moved their hands to under the table and stroked Jake's palm to take any sting out of the action. "Someone's got to worry. You don't watch---" Your back. He bit the words off. Jake didn't need a lecture and especially not one in front of his parents.
"Fine!" Bert said. Then searched the startled faces around him. Smiling.
"Napoleon Dynamite," Peat said.
Bert pointed with his fork. Bingo. Then returned to eating.
"Hmm," from Molly. "How about, 'I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed'?"
Jake laughed then finished the quote from Say Anything.
Jake's mom laughed and covered her lips with a knuckle, her eyes crinkled. It was nothing like the robust way Peat's mom laughed, but he was swamped with homesickness. He'd talked to her the previous weekend. But with the Repeats it had been almost four months. The missing-mom was tinged with jealousy. They weren't as close as Jake and his mom.
Twenty some movies later, including a shocking reference to Eyes Wide Shut from Bert, they were in stitches. Peat rubbed Jake's hand again. It had been moved back on top of the table by Jake, but Peat hadn't realized it. If all it took was sheer force of will, Peat would hold onto this perfect meeting of his lover's parents. So much better than the actual first time. At the morgue.
Peat and Jake stood alone in the kitchen. They had done the dishes together while they talked about college.
"Okay, if it was just us, I'd have you naked and beneath me by now." The whispered words sent a shiver from Peat's ear to his groin. "But since it isn't... want to play Xbox? I've got Super Rock Star Deluxe or whatever." He made the universal sign for an air guitar. "I've got the guitar."
"I've never played."
"I'm sure you'll pick it up. It's like Tetris. Follow the pattern. Do it quick. Do it faster," Jake said.
"I've never played Tetris." Peat followed Jake into the living room. A part of the house he'd not been before, always entering through the garage or back door. There was a tattered, deep sofa that the family clung to because of comfort. The television and corresponding accessories were the latest if not the greatest. Peat had a similar set up in his dorm. It was his roommate's.
"Okay, like Dr. Mario when we were kids."
"When you were a kid. I've never played...." Peat hesitated, feeling self-conscious. "Well okay, Ms. Pacman, once, but---"
"No platform games?" Jake interrupted. "No arcade?"
"Ms. Pacman."
"That so doesn't count." He shook his head at Peat. "We've got to do this right." He dug into the cabinet and unearthed cables and an old gray box that said Nintendo on it. "Let me hook it up." With a few curses and a lovely view of his butt as his jeans slid down, Peat watched as Jake bent to attach the proper cords. Peat didn't care about video games. Wasn't even sure they'd talked about them. Was, instead, pleasantly dreaming with his dick.
Tinny-sounding music came on that sounded vaguely familiar. "Mario Brothers. The first one." Jake dropped to the ground, legs crossed lotus-style, and tugged until Peat was next to him. Why couldn't they sit on the couch? Except it looked like the cords wouldn't reach that far. "Okay so this button is left, right, down, up, yeah?" Jake said. Peat nodded. "This one jumps, and once you get a fire flower, this one shoots. Meanwhile it makes you run fast."
"Fire flower?"
"Yeah, here, I'll show you," Jake said.
"So what's the point? To the game?"
Jake laughed and shook his head, landing on a turtle shell and sending it racing in front of him. A train of death to mushrooms and turtles alike.
"Do we save a princess or conquer a world---?"
"Fun, it's for fun." Jake didn't die until level four, then it was Peat's turn. He'd forgotten how to jump and ended up dying against his first mushroom adversary. He laughed, oddly determined to go back and kick fungus butt.
Jake slid behind him and put his own controller in Peat's hands. "Here," he said, his finger's beneath Peat's, "like this." It was obviously not the best way to learn to play, evidenced by another quick death. Jake just switched the controllers and continued playing Peat's game with Peat shadowing his moves.
Neither of them pulled away, enjoying the comfort of touch, shared breath. "So how come this is your first time?"
"What do you mean?" Back to Peat's game, Jake switched hands, letting Peat play and him there stroking Peat's forearms and whispering encouragement. Jump. Don't miss that free guy.
"Video games. Was your family poor or religious?" Jake said.
"Neither. In fact, quite the opposite."
"You were serious about your mom and the porn industry, huh?"
"Yeah. Had a nanny until I was eight," Peat said.
"And after?"
"I think they both thought the other one had gotten a replacement. By the time they realized they hadn't---at some point they must have realized---they figured I was okay taking care of myself. I mean I had the housekeeper there until five every day. Oi." He missed a jump and landed in a hole. Apparently Mario could shoot fireballs out of his nose, but he couldn't fly. Jake's turn. But he didn't take the controller.
"Jake?" Peat turned to look at him over his shoulder. Jake's face was blank, static. And Peat felt an odd tingle in his chest that reminded him of their fight earlier.
"What'd they do? Forget you at eight?"
"Are you mad?" Peat asked surprised.
"No." Jake quickly reassured him, stroked a hand across Peat's cheek. "What the hell kind of parents forget their own---?" He went a little pale, and his body trembled. "You said, earlier, you said the back-assward shithead you'd slept with forgot. You said---"
He leaned forward to kiss Jake, stop his words. Jake pulled back from the touch. Peat's heart stuttered and clutched tight at the same time.
"I'm not going to forget. Peat?" Saying with his body, Are you listening? Did you hear? "I'm not going to forget."
"You can't help it." He turned within Jake's embrace and leaned forward again, hoping to capture Jake's lips and change the subject. He was getting desperate, too emotionally vulnerable to feel comfortable.
"Bullshit. I promise---" Jake sucked in a breath and shut up as Peat stroked Jake's hip, then over the bulge in Jake's jeans before he settled a hand on Jake's inner thigh. No. No promises. That would give Peat hope, the forbearer of disappointment.
"Peat?" Half-warning and perhaps half-plea.
Peat sighed and kissed his cheek. "Jake." Serious business tone. "I'm a Repeater. I relive the same day over and over until I get that day right. Or until I can help another person get that day right."
Jake blinked and crinkled his forehead.
Peat said, "It's hard to believe, of course it is. But the reason you had déjà vu this morning at the skate park was because we'd met before. Several times."
"It was last night."
"Oh, I can assure you it was after midnight. I didn't know you yesterday. Yesterday I was in Seattle helping a banker with his brakes."
"What are you talking about?" Jake asked, stiff, suspicious. Withdrawn. Which hurt more than a bit.
"It doesn't...." Peat shook his head. "You don't have to believe me." Then he kissed Jake on the mouth, putting as much passion as he could into the contact. Please, please, let me redirect your mind to my body. Look how good it feels. He leaned against Jake, pressing him into the front of the couch.
Peat had always enjoyed kissing. There was a totally different type of connection, a give and take, sure, but it was like playing with the volume control on a sound system. Turn up the volume with a jerk or slow and steady.
With Jake, Peat had access to a full equalizer or DJ mixer with bass, treble. He could turn up the heat with a scrape of his teeth or make Jake tremble and thrust with his hips. And Jake, in turn, could make Peat groan by sucking on his tongue. They built the volume, pushed all the knobs up with hot hands on bare flesh, then would pull back, press everything down so they could build all over again. They made out like totally normal boyfriends instead of two desperate guys hooking up.
"Man, you're a great kisser." Jake tilted his head so he could place kisses along Peat's chin.
"You're so hot, Jake." Peat dropped his shoulder to give Jake more access and felt Jake's hand dip under his waistband and grip his hip.
Then he remembered Jake's parents.
"Your parents," Peat said.
"My room."
Peat wasn't sure where the parents had headed off to or how long they'd been playing video games. But Molly and Bert's room could be right next to Jake's, and Peat wouldn't have cared. Fortunately it was on the opposite side of the house, separated by the kitchen.
He needed Jake. He needed to make sure his new lover had a heartbeat. He needed to burn his presence onto his lover's soul. And something in Peat reasoned that if it was powerful enough, them coming together, he'd be able to autograph his name across Jake's heart, and Jake would never forget him. Peat realized he'd never forget Jake.
They made it inside the room, door closed, but no further. "Need you," Jake said.
Love you, Peat said, with his eyes and lips and hands. The kissing turned to forceful plays for contact. How much of Jake could Peat reach with his mouth and they still be fully clothed?
Jake laughed. "Quieter. My parents."
"Quieter?"
"Yeah, you're moaning," Jake said.
Peat stepped back and pulled his T-shirt off in one motion. Jake placed his hands on Peat's bare skin and moaned himself. Peat cupped Jake through his jeans, squeezed, just past gentle. "Who's moaning now?"
Jake knocked his hand away and yanked his own T-shirt off. It left Jake's hair spiked and tousled, and Peat smoothed it, leaving his hands buried in Jake's hair, bringing him closer, back into Peat's arms. They continued kissing, enjoying the feel of bare flesh against bare flesh. Peat's nipples hardened to aching nubs.
Jake pressed into the kiss.
"You better get me out of these jeans or there might be permanent damage," Peat said. If it was anything like Jake, Peat had to be hurting. Jake's jeans were tighter on Peat. Peat's hips were a bit more broad than Jake's, and the inch or two difference in their heights resided in Peat's dick. If Jake was the self-conscious type he'd be envious of how well hung Peat was. Instead he decided he was lucky. All of that for him.
In the back of Jake's head, he thought about Peat's insecure belief that people would forget him. Comparing his life, in Peat's odd way, to the groundhog movie had been hard to follow. Jake didn't know what to say to make him believe. But he knew he'd prove it. Six months from now, he'd recount this moment minute by minute in erotic detail.
Jake pulled back a bit to rub a thumb over Peat's erection. "Let me help you out, then." The zipper strained, and when Peat sprang forth, it was with a sigh of relief followed by a gasp as Jake held him in his hand.
"Holy shit," Jake said.
"Thank you?" Peat said.
"Not yet." Jake would have sunk down to his knees and taken Peat into his mouth, but the tightness of his own jeans was not knee-bending-able. He continued to stroke Peat, a loose grip on the underside, up and release, then return to the base, pulling him close, keeping him there.
Peat's eyes rolled toward the top of his skull, and he shivered. "Stop. Or I'm likely to come here and now." Jake ignored the threat and turned his stroke into a steady grip, fumbled with his own jeans. Peat ran his hands down Jake's arms and shadowed Jake's movements like over the controller. Peat stepped away, and Jake bit down on his whimper of protest, making it sound like a growl. Way sexier than a whimper.
Peat toed off his shoes and stepped the rest of the way out of his clothes, the whole time giving big, sexy, come-hither eyes. I'm a skate ramp, and I want you to grind me into dust. Jake smirked at the silly, purple thought. Then he followed, stepped around the abandoned shoes, and added his own jeans to the pile. Then they were both naked. Their earlier hook-up had been rushed. Jake took a moment to enjoy the view and smell the musky scent of sexy, naked man in full-arousal.
Peat caressed Jake's bare flesh as he stepped backward toward the bed. Jake dropped his head back and reached out for Peat with his eyes closed. Hands stroked heated, toned flesh, and when they encountered something that elicited a sigh or a moan, their own or their lover's, the hands lingered.
They made it to the bed, and Jake dug out a condom, tore it open, and fit it to Peat. Having Jake roll a condom down his sensitive shaft was the most erotic thing Peat had ever felt. He almost came. His hips bucked and his muscles clenched. Peat dropped back to his elbows and leaned his head back, retaining control. He wanted to return the favor, but Jake, suddenly in a hurry, rolled his own on and, kissing up Peat's torso, leaned in to whisper in Peat's ear. Hot breath, a fully aroused Jake pressed against his fully aroused self... Peat didn't hear anything the first time.
"Hmm?" Peat said.
Jake smirked and bit Peat's ear. "I want to be inside you. Is that okay?" Peat shuddered and turned his head to look at Jake. Jake stroked a hand down Peat's shaft then cupped his balls, fingering them, loving the moan, and the way the moan rumbled in Peat's beautiful chest.
"No."
Ouch. "Why?" Jake felt himself pull back and knew Peat felt it too.
"Jake." Please, please understand. And he tried.
"Too soon? Too...." He didn't know what it could be. It felt right to him. How could it not feel right to Peat?
"I want to. God, I want to." He kissed Jake, finding wonderful places of his own to stroke and grip Jake. "To have you buried in me? Pounding to completion?" He shuddered. "Definitely want."
"But?"
"It's your first."
"So what?" Jake asked, defensive. "It'll be good. God. I'll make it good, Peat. Babe, let me." He cupped Peat's face and kissed him as passionately as Peat had kissed him moments earlier by the door.
Was it a memory Peat could keep on his own? Would he hate not sharing it like other memories of intimacy? Or would it be so powerful that Jake would never forget? Would wake every midnight with the certainty that this had happened? That this was not a dream or a wish but a memory?
"I'm not as experienced as you, but...." Jake pulled back, rolling away from Peat to lie on his back staring at the ceiling, exposed, unsure.
Unsure? Jake Schwinn doubting himself? It felt really, really wrong. Peat leaned over him, blocking his view so Jake would look at him. Peat's very aroused, and getting annoyed at him, dick ground against Jake's hip. See, still hot for you.
"More experienced? Dude, what about that girl in high school?" Peat said.
"Exactly, a girl---"
"Sex is sex."
"Is it?" Jake said.
Oops. That sounded bad. "Don't be like that," Peat groaned. "I meant, the mechanics, err, not that this is mechanical." He shoved a hand into his hair. "Fuck it." He wouldn't let doubt or insecurity dwell between them. This was one of the most amazing days of Peat's life, and he wasn't going to ruin it. Fuck the consequences. "Fuck me." He bit Jake's lip, gently. "Right now, Jake. I want you inside me."
Grabbing Jake's shoulders, Peat rolled onto his back bringing Jake's body with him.
"I---" love you. He bit his tongue hard to keep the words back, feeling the emotion well in his eyes. Not that. He wouldn't recover if that was forgotten. "I want you," he whispered. Their dicks lined up and rubbed against each other, restoring their high level of arousal, and Peat's mind emptied of everything but the heat of Jake's body pressed against him.
Determined and perhaps a bit apprehensive, Jake reached for the bottle of lube in his nightstand. Slicking a finger, Jake stroked Peat's perineum. He knew all the words, just like he knew all the steps, from books. Inserting a finger into Peat, his own body spasmed with awe at the tight heat. Holy shit. Peat arched beneath him, his eyes blazing with passion. Peat spread his legs wider and lifted his hips to enable Jake's second and then, God yes, his third finger.
"Are you okay? Does it hurt?"
Peat bit his bottom lip, looking sexy as hell, hair tousled, eyelids half-shut, spread out before Jake. His condom-covered dick jerked in a come-here plea. "Please," Peat whispered. Peat swallowed; his throat flexed with the movement, then he licked his lips. Jake stroked in and out, searching for Peat's sweet spot, his prostate. Peat licked his lips, and Jake, tempted, kissed Peat's mouth as he drew his fingers out and positioned himself.
"Going to make this good, babe. Promise." Jake had said the P word and life hadn't ended.
Peat chuckled and gasped at the same time as Jake thrust into him. "Already...." Jake stroked. "Good." Stroke. "Amazing." Stroke, and Peat's eye's rolled back, and he mumbled something, and Jake realized he'd found that prostate. Hallelujah. The tight amazing heat made it hard for him to breathe, and a gorgeous guy about to come against Jake's stomach because of him, because of them. But not just some guy. Peat.
Another thrust like that against his prostate and Peat would come screaming Jake's name. He felt it building inside of him, rolling toward his groin. Then there was a sudden lack of pressure, an aching emptiness as if Jake had pulled all the way out and further. Had climbed off of him. Peat opened his eyes and realized what had happened. Jake was gone.
"No." No way. Not now. He looked at the digital alarm clock next to the bed. Midnight. Not even 12:01. "No. Nonono." He let his legs drop to the sides and slid his feet down, staring morbidly transfixed at his condom-covered dick. His very deflated dick. He rolled the condom off and felt the wave of emotion---frustration, pain, anger, he didn't know which---roll through him as well.
God no, please. Not again. "I give up!" he shouted to the empty house. But then he heard something, and that betraying bastard, hope, had him jumping out of bed and looking for Jake's jeans. Which of course weren't there. Because Jake had not stripped them off as they headed for the bed, had not kissed him or moaned in pleasure.
No.
He pressed the heels of his hands into his temples. It happened. It did. He touched his puffy lips, still warm from Jake's kisses. It happened. He dug a pair of sweats out of the chest of drawers and started shouting. "Jake?" He'd be here. He had to be. Pissed that they'd been interrupted, sure, but here and knowing what Peat knew. That they wanted each other.
With each door he opened, each light he flipped, his heart shriveled more in his chest. He wasn't sure when he started to cry. The tears were a natural result of the pain ripping apart his chest.
The skate park. Jake would be at the skate park and like yesterday, earlier, he'd remember Peat. He'd just been moved. That was all. But Peat knew it wasn't true, knew he'd once again screwed up. Fucked the hell out of his life and would have to live with the consequences. Those consequences Peat had cursed when he was thinking with his dick.
Don't. He wouldn't slander it by saying it was just lust. It wasn't. Not for him.
Peat went back to Jake's bedroom, pulled a shirt on, and was digging in the sock drawer when he heard the front door open. He stilled, listening. Yes, the door. He wiped his eyes with his wrist as he ran down the hall.
Jake turned from the door and jerked to a stop to stare at Peat. Peat had left all the lights blazing, so it was easy to see each other. There was an agitated tension that poured off Jake. Jake quirked an eyebrow. "Peat?"
Peat let out his breath and his chest jerked as he pulled new air in. Jake remembered. The relief almost brought Peat to his knees as he took another two steps toward Jake. Blood flooded his body in quick happy bursts of heat. His fingers flexed, ready to embrace his lover. His eyes widened, trying to take the sight of Jake in.
"What the hell are you doing in my house?" Jake said.
Oh, please no. Peat pulled into himself, arms crossed, shoulders hunched, and turned his back to Jake. He needed out. He needed to run and hide and forget. Forget like Jake had. Forget like Pierce had. Even his parents. He'd wipe his brain clean and start over or just end. Ending might be good. A burning pain like a soldering iron pressed against his heart, heated his blood, drained it from his head. It built up power, feeding the fire of pain like oxygen.
"It is Peat, right?" Jake hadn't come any further into the room. His tone wasn't threatening, just confused.
"Yeah," Peat managed to say.
"We met at the skate park?"
This time he only nodded.
"Why are you in my house?" And then, perhaps getting past that vague feeling of déjà vu, Jake said, "I'm calling the police."
"I'm leaving." Peat headed for the garage door, unable or at least unwilling to walk past Jake to the front door. Jake's unexpected hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"Do you need help... or something?" Jake said.
Peat put a hand over Jake's and turned his head to look at Jake over his shoulder. They were touching, and to Jake it might be the first time they'd touched.
Jake smiled, and Peat's heart tightened and chilled. "Thought that was just wishful thinking," Jake murmured.
"What was?" Peat said.
"Interest. Thought maybe I remembered interest because I wanted it to be there."
"No." Not understanding Peat's meaning, Jake tried to pull his hand free. "No, you didn't imagine it. I'm interested."
Jake smiled. "Okay. So this is definitely my dick talking instead of my head, but what the hell? Want to hang? I've got soda or something. For the last half-hour or so I've been uber...." He blushed. "So, perhaps a stupid thing but... you can stay. Why ever you're here. You can stay."
"Thanks."
Jake stilled. It was odd that he did that so often. A vigorous body, breathing, feeling, then suddenly motionless. He stared at Peat's lips, his hand no longer tried to leave Peat's hand. Then he leaned forward to kiss Peat, and Peat turned his head away.
Oh God, that hurt.
Peat's heart turned to coal and dropped to the pit of his stomach. He'd never been so angry. He'd never been so completely depressed. Could he ever feel passion without fear again?
He stepped away from Jake.
Jake stuck his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders while he glanced around the room, assessing. Peat was in his clothes, all the lights were on, and Jake was absolutely alone with a stranger. Jake slid a hand through his hair. He felt sexually frustrated, like waking with a full hard-on and unable to relieve the ache. Jake's skin had vibrated with need for almost an hour and then he came home to a very sexy-looking guy who he knew from... from somewhere. He couldn't straighten out the details in his head. How long had he known Peat? Was that even his real name?
The longer he gathered up the pieces, the quicker they skated away from him like the memories of a dream. Intense and real, yet leaving nothing behind but the feeling.
"I can help you." That Peat needed help was obvious. It should bother Jake that Peat was in Jake's clothes, but instead it made him protective. Peat looked emotionally beaten, sleep-deprived and as jumpy as wheels over a sewer grate. "You don't have to face things alone. I can help you."
Peat looked at him, his gaze critical. Then Peat stuck both hands in his hair, tugged. "Okay." He turned and led the way into Jake's kitchen. He sat at the counter, half-perched on a barstool.
"Want something to drink?" Jake got glasses out of the cupboard, checked them for spots.
"Orange juice."
"Sure, if we have some," Jake said.
"You do." Peat's tone of voice was stilted and empty. The orange juice was on the top self.
Jake slid the glass across the counter and leaned on his forearms, looking at the most beautiful pair of gray eyes he had ever seen. But they weren't happy eyes. "What's going on?"
"You were at the skate park just now." He didn't give Jake a chance to respond. "Bait. Looking to catch a killer, yeah?" Not really asking Jake. "I'm trying to catch the same killer. In eight hours, give or take, he's going to kill again." Peat didn't seem to care if Jake believed him or not.
How did Peat know? Instead Jake said, "Why today?"
"I don't know. I didn't think today had a particular significance...." Peat's eyes narrowed, and his eyebrows tightened. "Is it the anniversary? Has it been a year since George's death?"
"How did you know a---?"
"About George?" Peat's tone was angry now, his movements impatient. "The man who grabbed your ass during a party and proclaimed to the world 'This ass is mine?'"
"George wasn't---"
"Into your ass?" Peat asked in a cutting tone.
Jake leaned against the opposite counter, crossed his arms across his chest. "Don't be a jerk."
"What? No, 'Step off, asshole'?"
He didn't remember saying that to Peat. But it was something he said enough to recognize.
Another wave of déjà vu hit Jake, and he chugged his orange juice to hide his surprise. What. The. Hell? "Look, I can't help you unless.... Are you serious about the killer?" Half-smeared, impressionist-painted images bubbled in the back of Jake's brain. "I've got threatening phone calls, which the police haven't been able to trace, but nothing physical. I thought it was some bastard getting a twist from messing with my head. You know?"
"How come the police haven't been able to trace them?" Peat said.
"Don't know. Noble, George's dad, checked for me. I didn't want to file a report. Make my parents worry."
"Jake, your life has been threatened, and you didn't tell your parents?"
"I didn't think it was anything," Jake said.
"You did, or you wouldn't have told Officer Noble."
"How did you know he was a cop?"
"The same way I know your mom's name is Molly. And your dad, Bert? Loves Napoleon Dynamite. Why, I haven't the foggiest. Stupid movie. They're in California right now. Buying wine for the Co-op."
Okay, this was pissing Jake off. "Quit fucking with my head, asshole, or I'll reconsider calling the cops. How do I know you're not the nut job that threatened me?"
"Yet you know I'm not. Don't you, Jake?" He rubbed at his tired eyes. "I'll stop with the cryptic references." He slid his thumb across his bottom lip, and a foolish pang twisted Jake's heart. Jake leaned across the counter and pushed Peat's hand out of the way with his lips, sliding them across Peat. Across Peat's surprised and unresponsive lips.
"Don't worry." Jake's voice was breathy, sexy. "Together we can fix this."
Peat shivered and pulled back. "We have to. I'm running out of energy."
"If the thug"---he couldn't bring himself to say killer; it sounded so melodramatic---"is there today, we'll just not go. I've warned everyone else way."
"Nope. It has to be today. Today, today. We need to catch him. You've got any paper?"
Jake watched Peat turn the notebook lengthwise and start drawing. He drew long sure lines with the ink pen, then tiny block letters that labeled the streets, direction, and items he'd drawn.
"Rhodes," Jake said. Wow, the guy could draw. Which, oddly enough, made him think of the art table at the soup kitchen.
Peat flipped a page and started drawing the park again, but this time from a higher aerial view, including several of the surrounding blocks. Jake reached over to pull the first sheet off, out of the way. Peat jerked back. He quaked, and it reminded Jake of the kids he'd worked with, the ones who'd been abused and lived in fear and anticipation of being hit again. Because it would happen again. It always did.
Jake tore the page, laid it on the counter and looked at Peat. Peat didn't look at Jake. "Peat." Jake placed his hand on the countertop, pushed his palm flat, added his other hand. Finally Peat lifted his head. I won't touch you if you don't want. I won't do anything unless you say it's okay. Those were the words he'd meant to say, but when he saw Peat's eyes filled with such pain, he couldn't take it in. Jake jerked his head down to stare at the counter, feeling his fingers flex, as if to dig into the counter. Yet he didn't feel the counter, he felt only anger for whoever had hurt Peat.
Peat started talking, unaware of or ignoring the tension between them. "Yeah, Rhodes. It was where George was hurt, and that's where he'll attack next."
Attack. "I think I heard about some kind of beating that happened there." Nausea swamped him as a mental image of blood inundated his head. He forced himself to analyze the gruesome image, but it stood alone, just blood on cement, no body, no connection to time. Hell, it could have been his blood, but he didn't think so.
Jake rubbed his temple, let his thoughts verbalize. Maybe he'd figure out what the hell was the matter with him tonight. "Do you think the threat was from the same person who shot George?"
"I didn't at first because, well, I didn't know about George, and then I didn't realize the date significance." He pointed to several places on his second map. "These are places he sets up with his gun. He has a clear shot of most of the park, and he can get out quickly. The condos under construction. On top of the ice warehouse. On top of these buildings here, and this field."
"The field is the most exposed and the hardest to prevent him using. It's his second choice to the condos. But the condos can be blocked just by locking them up. He never cuts through the locks. I finally tethered a pit bull in the field," Peat said.
Peat pointed the direction out on the map "There's a dog that guards some...," he said, searching for the right word, "uhmm, crack house? I guess it could just be a residence, but that dog is apeshit crazy. I tether him to the center of the field, and then the perp moves to the ice warehouse. Which I can't prevent him from using."
Peat shook his head. "And the one time I waited for him there, or hell, waited for him at the condos, even, he somehow knew I was there. Just used a different spot. I never even saw him. Let me tell you, it's been a right pain in the arse." He rubbed his eyes and refocused on the paper.
"The police---"
"Pshaw, like what? You think I didn't clue them right off? Did. Several times. A 'it's happening right now' and a 'be here at this time' and then nothing would happen. Those days weren't so bad. Nobody got shot, at least not at Rhodes. Twice he got---" You at home. He realized what he'd almost said, what he had said, and looked up at Jake. Jake's hands were still on the counter, but he stood very straight, and his eyes searched Peat's.
"Say something," Peat said.
"You're not lying."
Peat looked to his sides, looking for the right words. "No?" What was he supposed to say to that? He'd meant to keep it in the "what ifs" or even outright lie. He could have said the guy had told him this was what was going to happen or even, hell, his standard "I'm psychic," which always worked better than he thought it would.
But Peat sucked at lying, and he didn't want to lie to Jake, and he was so emotionally fried and exhausted, and damn it, he still wanted that blackness of forgetting.
Sleep. He'd convince Jake this was going to happen, that Jake had to be careful, and then he'd sleep.
"So... if we can control... where the shooter is... I can't believe I'm.... Then we can, what? Catch him?"
"I haven't been able to yet. Of course. Stupid answer. But yeah, it would be my second goal to catch the bastard. Cutting his dick off and shoving it down his throat would be a bonus."
Jake jerked back from the counter.
"No, I didn't mean that." Peat tightened his hands into fists. He wanted to reach for Jake. "I just don't want him hurting... anyone, and to stop him, he needs to be locked up in jail." Peat flipped another page and wrote Goal. Then below it wrote, prove that the bad guy is guilty, and turn bad guy over to the cops. Suspects.
He tapped the pen against the paper and watched as Jake leaned forward to tear the sheet off so both maps would be showing. Peat tightened his hand around the pen; his hands flashed white.
"The football player from the party, the one George protected you from, what was his name?"
Peat looked up when Jake remained silent. Jake's mouth opened and closed a few times, then he said, "He was at practice when George was shot."
"Maybe he had a friend do it."
Jake shook his head. "The police questioned him."
Peat wrote Traits, then listed below it everything he knew about the shooter. "It's personal for him. Evident by the time he came out to shoot us each again. That was the only time I've ever seen him. And it's the reason I always block this second set of buildings. Different things work. Then I leave the ice roof open because he's contained there. It gives me more time to interact with you and limits his target zone."
"What are you talking about?" Jake said.
Peat waved him off and continued writing down the traits. Brainstorming and talking as much to himself as to Jake. "He's about five ten. White. Well-built. Has both a rifle and a handgun. Nine millimeter Glock. Probably has a police scanner. At least that would explain him being alerted the cops were coming." He tapped the paper again. "He's right-handed." Tap tap. "He knows you. Not only did he call you, but he knows where you live. How many Schwinns are in the phone book? I mean are you guys listed?"
"Are we listed?"
"Yeah."
"Are we listed?" Pissed, loud, confused.
Peat just looked at Jake. Jake smacked the counter and turned away, walking down the hall toward his room. Peat shrugged then stood from his stool and walked around into the kitchen, hollering, "I'm going to use your phone book." A door slammed. "Okay?" He of course didn't wait for an answer.
He flipped through, and finding the listings he needed, worked diligently to write down everything he needed for today. Occasionally his head would droop or his hands would hum. When they did, he focused on the feeling, centering every sense on the task at hand. He chortled and swayed at the stupid pun and looked down the hallway.
Peat's hands stopped buzzing. Perhaps they knew what he wanted more than sitting on this hard wooden stool, legs going numb, creating a list that he'd created before, adding little. This was stupid.
He slid off the stool and held onto the counter as his legs rushed with new blood. Then he walked down the hall. Had Jake fallen asleep? Was he just in there pouting? Peat didn't know how long he'd been working at it, maybe a few minutes, an hour at most. As the door swung open, Peat looked at the bed. It was made, had never been disturbed by him and Jake making love. And it was empty.
He glanced with jerky movements around the room. Where was Jake?
Then it registered in his brain that the window was open. He dived toward the window, brought himself up short enough not to bang his head against the frame. The yard was empty. The cars parked in front were dark.
He heard a noise from the front room. Peat turned and rushed back down the hall. His bare feet felt the thick carpet. His heart squeezed and flexed with a catching glug of heat in his chest. Was it the killer? Had Peat changed something that made him come here for the kill? Or had Jake run away, terrified by what was happening, terrified of Peat?
A measure of clarity went through Jake on a repetitive cycle. As it reached its peak, he was in major freak-out mode, heart pounding, moisture pooling on his palms. But as it receded, he was numb, reacting only to a distant buzzing in his brain that told him what to do next.
Jake felt rolling quicksand suck at the bottom of his stomach. Sweat dribbled down his temple and pooled in the palm of his hands. He wiped his hands on his jeans. The air rattled in his lungs. The sound stirred an image to the surface of the smudged-Impressionist-detail that was his memory.
His whole body balked. He didn't want to think. And he definitely didn't want to face the problem. Peat. Because... because his body wanted Peat. It knew if he kissed Peat, sucked on his bottom lip, how he would taste. How he would respond. But any memory of actually kissing Peat didn't exist.
A couple of hours ago he'd been over at Amanda's. They no longer did the sheet tango but occasionally they'd get together and bitch about life and men. And though they had little in common, Jake clung to her friendship because he had so few friends right now.
It was his fault. It was. When he came out, people had chosen sides. And the ones that had remained had been neglected after Geo's death. He'd been mourning, and now that he was back, at least three-quarters back, he realized his loneliness was self-induced. So the seventy-five percent wanted to meet new people, wanted to date.
But the other twenty-five percent held onto the old. No new people. No more deaths. He'd already lost so many.
Jake couldn't repress the memory any longer as he rattled out another breath. A girl lay between Peat and Jake, blood gushing, as it did in horror movies, from a chest wound. The rattling air came with the blood rather than from her mouth.
As he pushed that image away, he instead saw Peat. Piles of photo-snap images of dead Peat. Each slightly different so that they layered and blurred. Jake's head pounded and the quicksand reversed, and he heaved the contents of his stomach into the bushes in the front of his house.
Jake threaded his fingers into his hair, tugged, and kept it out of his face as he upchucked some more. Shivers ran down his spine, and he focused, narrowed his thoughts on getting inside the house. He'd gone out walking, and then, very decisively, gone to the Nobles' home. The garage had the same code, and he'd found what they needed. And now he just needed to brazen it out.
He turned on the garden hose and sprayed down the bushes. It gave him a minute to collect himself. He drank from the hose, tasting the metallic tint to the water. He stuck his face in the gentle arc and scrubbed with his hand. Two hours ago, he'd said goodnight to Amanda before heading to the skate park where he'd popped a boner like he was in Mr. Tony's junior-high health class.
When he got home there was Peat Harris. Whoever the hell he was. And what had Jake been thinking letting him stay? Not calling the police? He opened the door and set his stolen loot by the door.
"Where the hell have you been?" Peat said. He stood by the wall and held the edge of the hallway arch in a white-fisted grip. Peat's face was pale, his eyes muddy with strain.
"What?"
"Where were you? Do you have any idea---?"
"No. No, I don't. I have no fucking clue what is going on," Jake yelled. He held tightly to his control. His temper was explosive and unexpected. He knew few people saw past his laid-back attitude. The few who saw him angry were surprised by its intensity.
Peat backed off, shook his head, and opened his mouth to speak. He looked contrite, but Jake spoke first.
"Peat. God, Peat. I... I just want to stop feeling---" Jake gestured to his stomach "---this way."
The silence went on for quite awhile. Peat dug his hands into his jeans, tightened his arms, raising his shoulders, which pushed the pants down enough to show the top of his happy trail.
Jake jerked his eyes away and sighed.
"Where did you go?" Peat asked. He spoke slowly and softly, as if talking to a child. A timid, frightened child.
"I needed out. Needed... to think. I...." He picked up the bulletproof vest. "I went and got this. Thought it would help." Jake put the vest back down and stepped further into the room and a step closer to Peat.
"Where did you get a vest at two in the morning?"
"The same place I'd get one at two o'clock in the afternoon. It was in Geo's garage. Well, his dad's, actually. It expired, and he got a new one. Kept this one."
"Expired?" Peat leaned back into the wall.
"The manufacturers only warranty up to five years, but tests show that the armor is effective for ten or more years. Still good. I figured you can wear it this morning, after... after...." Jake gestured toward the kitchen counter, where Peat had his list.
"You believe me." Peat walked away from the wall but kept his shoulders taut and his hands buried in his pockets.
Jake nodded. His head kept going, up and down. His breath hitched, and the sting of tears pinched at the side of his eyes. Peat touched his arm. Just fingertips to his bicep. And it felt like he had climbed out of the swimming pool and laid flesh to cement onto the hot ground. Jake wrapped his arms around Peat and pulled him close, bent his shoulders a bit so he could hide against Peat's chest. Pathetic. But he didn't care.
"What the hell is happening?" Saying it didn't seem to help, but he had no other words. Jake kept his eyes wide open, stared at Peat's shirt.
"I'm a Repeater. I relive certain days over and over until... well, until I can fix them."
"And you're fixing this day?"
"Yes."
"And you're going to let me help? You're going to wear this vest so when you get shot you don't die this time?"
Peat gasped, and his embrace constricted to pull Jake closer. "You remember?"
"Are they memories? I don't know. If you're here, they didn't happen. Did they?"
Instead of deciphering Jake's mumbled words, Peat said, "I think you should wear the vest."
Jake didn't see any point in arguing. Peat would wear the vest. And that was that. "How long have you been a... a Repeater?"
"Since I turned nineteen. The day after my birthday, actually. It was a Saturday, and I spent it studying. Then the next day I didn't realize that it had repeated. Figured it was Sunday. It wasn't until I tried to go to class on Monday.... Oh, and the fact that my research paper kept disappearing. I thought I was going insane."
Jake squeezed his arms, a flex and release to anchor him to Peat. He breathed in Peat's smell. It was there, buried below Jake's laundry detergent. "So you've been stuck at nineteen for how long?"
"What? No, this isn't that day. Hell, it's Tuesday. No, I'm twenty-two. This is a different day. I've done over fifty Repeats."
"Over fifty?"
"Stopped counting, didn't I?"
Jake yawned. His stomach had settled, and his mind had quieted. The silence just sharpened his physical awareness. As his arousal stirred, so did his exhaustion. "We need sleep."
"Hoping you wake to find it all a dream?" Peat pulled out of his arms.
"Maybe." Jake led the way to his room, holding Peat's hand. He suddenly felt a ghost touch of Peat's hair through his fingers. It startled him. And he realized he was leading this strange man to his bed. It just seemed... normal. And boy, was he struggling to put thoughts together. "Is this okay?"
"What?" Peat said. His beautiful eyebrows quirked in confusion.
"I'm leading you to my bed. Like, of course we'll sleep in there. We've hardly kissed. I don't really know you."
"We've kissed." Ouch. Peat tried to pull his hand out of Jake's, and Jake wouldn't let go.
It hurt that he didn't remember. He could see the pain in Peat's eyes, and an echoing pain twisted his gut. Jake didn't move. Couldn't. No longer trying to pull away, Peat reached an arm around him and guided him toward the room.
"Actually, well, actually we've done a bit more than kiss. I think we can handle the whole sleeping thing." With a nudge he directed Jake to sit on the bed and squatted down to take off his shoes. Then he gave Jake a push at the shoulder, came around the other side.
They lay next to each other, facing but not touching. Jake's eyes were huge, he felt the ache of keeping them wide open but couldn't close them. "Tell me about that first Repeat." If he closed his eyes... well, he didn't know what would happen.
Peat brushed a hand over Jake's hair but didn't comment on how wet it was. "I thought I was going insane. And my boyfriend didn't...." Peat closed his eyes. "I got out the phone book to look up a psychologist. Though I didn't know if I'd find one who'd see me on a Saturday. And how the hell did you make an appointment for the same day?" His eyelashes formed thick fans of color across his pale cheeks.
Peat took a breath then continued talking. "I've never tried to explain this before." Again he stroked a hand over Jake's head, and finally Jake closed his eyes too. He tilted his head to press into Peat's caress. "My hands, well, they vibrate. They tingle. And the frequency changed as I thumbed through the phone book. The most rapid when I was over the funeral homes."
"That must have freaked you out." Jake's voice was sleepy, though he felt awake.
"It did. I turned up at a funeral home with only one guest in attendance. A recent suicide. And I thought, 'Okay, this is it. I'll stop her, and the day will stop repeating.' I'm outside her house, waiting for midnight. It was raining. Hot rain. And...." He stroked a hand down Jake's neck to his shoulder.
When the silence grew, Jake encouraged Peat to continue. "I'm listening."
"She'd killed herself twenty minutes before midnight. I couldn't save her."
Jake opened his eyes, squinted in defense of the harsh light. "I'm so sorry."
Peat nodded; his eyes remained closed. When he spoke again, his words were whisper soft. "They couldn't find the suicide note. I found it and... got it to the right people."
"Bit more to the story. Isn't there?"
Peat wanted to climb to the roof of the house and yell and curse karma. Shout himself hoarse. The summer heat would be caught in the roof shingles, and he'd be able to look at the immense life around him. Then he would kneel under the stars and weep in gratitude. His body ached as if he had already done both.
Jake was alive. He was alive, and he hadn't run away. He believed Peat. No one but Maddie had ever believed Peat. His emotions were shredded, and his body had decided he wasn't worth the effort and taken his energy and control and gone home.
"It took four times of getting the note and passing it to different people before I figured out that they took it, and then kept it to themselves. Perhaps to protect the others feelings but more likely to be petty, selfish. I finally just read it aloud to her whole family. I know it word for word."
That was the day after he died for the first time. The only time he'd taken his own life. He'd jumped from a bridge, desperate just to stop, and in all honesty extremely pissed, drunk. He'd woken with the sun, battered and cold, but alive, and over two hundred feet below the bridge. He'd never told anyone this but he described it to Jake. Quietly. Jake took his hand, threaded their fingers together, and laid their joined hands between them.
When he was silent, when the words stopped, Jake said, "Tell me something happy. Something good that has come from the Repeats."
He didn't give Peat a peptalk or poor baby him. Thank God. "You. I met you."
"Nice one, Casanova. Try again."
Peat laughed, surprised that he could. His eyes roamed the room mimicking his search for the right memory. "Last summer I did a Repeat in Chicago. Prevented a bank robbery. Which sounds much bigger of a deal than it was. And didn't want to go back right away. So instead I got a job interning for Hoffman, Brinin, and Clark."
"Law firm or something?" Jake said.
"No a... oh, um. I'm an architect major down at Cal Poly...." His voice trailed off, and he sighed. "It's an architect firm in Chicago. Really big into green methods. They did a bunch of reconstructs on alleys. Chicago is the alley capitol of America. It was a great job, and I was there for three months and not a single Repeat. That was good."
"I'm glad." Jake had closed his eyes again at some point, and he murmured the words, already half-asleep.
"You're exhausted."
"So are you."
Peat just nodded. "Go to sleep, yeah?"
"If you kiss me." Peat searched his face then leaned in, pressed his lips into Jake's, pulled back a bit. Jake smiled and leaned forward in pursuit. He kept his lips soft but closed.
"I might not remember much, but I like you. I know I like you."
A rough hand slid across Peat's stomach, and moist lips pressed into his neck. Peat woke, disoriented. Where was the chloroform? No, he didn't need that today. The last several hours pieced together in his head, and he squinted at the alarm clock. They'd managed to sleep for a few hours and didn't need to get up yet.
Jake snuffled in his sleep. The hot air stirred along Peat's throat, and Jake's hand drifted to Peat's hip. Peat arched back into Jake's heat. His mind knew why he shouldn't, but his body didn't listen. No surprise there.
He turned around into Jake's arms, and the other man woke, sleep-heavy eyes blinked. Jake smiled and slid his hand past the waistband of Peat's sweats. And blood rushed south to Peat's dick.
Jake teased the hair around the base of Peat's shaft. Just that bare hand on his bare stomach was so sexy. Electric and tentative, as only early relationships could be. Powered by discovery. Peat's abs flexed and released, and his heart thumped faster.
"Hey," Jake said by way of greeting. He wrapped his hand around Peat's shaft and smirked when Peat groaned. "You're so hot." Jake began to stroke. Up and down. It felt incredible. Shivers of heat raced over him, and he bucked his hips up.
But his mind rebelled. This wasn't right. "No."
Jake didn't have a chance to respond.
Peat rolled on top of him and pulled Jake's cargo pants open, then he had them both fisted together in the next instant.
"Dag sick," Jake groaned and arched, the real meaning to the words evident by the tone. Jake took the two dicks and control back into his own hands. Peat let him.
Jake gathered the pre-cum by running his hand over the tops then went back to slowly jacking them both off. It was such a power trip, having someone else trust such a fragile part of their body to you. And with all that heat and hard length, it wasn't long before Jake was coming. Peat came the next moment, shouting incoherently and twitching as he came down from his orgasm.
They ignored the sticky mess between them as Peat lay boneless over his lover. Jake breathed in the musky scent and rubbed a hand down Peat's sweaty back. Cold air rushed across his wet chest as Peat rolled off him. Peat pulled the rest of the way out of his sweats and used them to mop the worst of it off them both.
Jake felt unsure what to do next. With Amanda, they'd always been limited on time and they'd dress quickly and go their separate ways. His other times hooking up had been at parties. A quick rub and tug to the benefit of both without more than pleasantries exchanged.
It wasn't like they were on a date and needed to get home or go to work or whatever. And really, he didn't want to go anywhere.
Peat curled into his side with his head on Jake's chest, and it felt so right, no shifting for position, that Jake knew they'd lain like this before. He stroked Peat's back, keeping him close, and tried to calm his racing heart. He didn't want to freak right now. This felt safe. Good.
"Who's worrying now?" Peat said. He lifted his head, and Jake could just make out a smile on his lips as the first rays of dawn streamed into his room. The moment seared into his body: Peat with his brown hair sticking every which way, a smug, satisfied look in his eyes, and his heavy warmth pressed against Jake. Wow. The intense emotion knocked him down and knifed his heart. It felt like he'd hit his first Ollie. Nailed it. Solid.
He leaned forward and kissed Peat, soft and warm, letting the emotion inside him peak and roll. Peat scooted forward and leaned in to deepen the kiss.
Though the kiss was passionate, it seemed to only warm and connect them. They kissed, learning each other's mouths, nipping and sucking gently on lips.
Peat pulled back and laid his head on Jake's chest. Jake squeezed his shoulder.
"We've some time. Let's get some sleep," Peat said.
"I'm not wearing the vest," Jake said.
"You bloody well are." They had just finished putting the dog, a hostile Heinz 57 mutt, in the field and were walking toward the park. They'd made toast and juice for breakfast. That combined with the few hours of sleep they'd managed, and Jake felt less shitty.
"What's with the way you talk? You British or something?" And at some point Jake would realize he'd already asked all of these questions and would keep his mouth shut. It clearly bothered Peat. Jake fisted his hand at his side and bounced his board off his thigh.
"My mom and dad were born and raised in London. Moved to California when I was born."
"Sorry."
Peat sighed. "It's not your fault."
Peat would use Jake's old cell phone, which would dial 911 even though it didn't have minutes through a service provider. That way they both could call for help.
"You're wearing the vest," Peat said again. He opened the Velcro straps and stepped toward Jake.
"Fine. But then I'm taking the shots." Jake dropped the board and kept a foot on the heelside while he crossed his arms and glared at Peat.
"Bollocks." Peat stuffed his fingers into his hair and tugged. He looked so totally hot. He'd forgone the Henley and put on a tight T-shirt that showed off his broad shoulders and emphasized his beautiful skin. Jake reached across and ran a thumb over his full bottom lip and smirked as Peat's body shivered, and he stopped talking.
"I don't want either of us to get shot, but if one of us does it should be you," Jake said, switching tactics, staying close.
"Don't be gallant," Peat scoffed.
Jake just laughed. "You know when it'll happen. You'll know better when and how to stand so he actually hits the vest." He whispered the last. "And I want them to stay nightmares and not become memories."
Peat sighed and scanned the area.
"Do you think he's here?"
"Who? Oh, not yet. But no, I was looking for...." Peat stopped talking and tugged at the Velcro on the vest.
"For Maddie?"
Peat gaped at Jake. "You remember Maddie? She only helped us once."
"I remember the name but nothing more." Jake wasn't about to describe the bloody mess her name made him see.
"Yeah, I'm looking for her. She showed up that one time, and I haven't seen her since." They were at the edge of the park, the ice warehouse between them and the shooter's perch. What would happen if they just went and confronted him?
"And she's...?" Jake asked.
"A Repeater." Peat rubbed at a scratch he'd gotten while they stole the dog. He rotated the vest in his hands as he talked. "She would say she lives in the murky position of supervisor to other Repeaters. She's a little older than me. Been at it longer."
"Let's stick to you for now, and to today. I don't think I can take much more." He now regretted eating. The contents of his stomach wanted to splatter the sidewalk. Always a surefire way of impressing the hot dudes.
"I need you to wear the vest, Jake." Peat held up a hand to forestall any protest. "I'm trying really hard to be all logical and professional about this, and I wish I could tell you it had nothing to do with the fact that I just can't watch you die. We both know it's mostly that but also... I know the area the best. As far as the gunman goes. I know which path he'll take to come off the warehouse roof. I can lie in wait. I can get the cops here. But I can't do that knowing you're in here, and in danger. So yeah, you have to wear the vest, and you have to take the shots."
Did it mean Jake was twisted if Peat's speech made his heart flip over? Jake swallowed. "Okay."
It was retribution. He would finish and achieve a degree of inner peace.
He had killed Jake Schwinn at least twenty times, in the stark reality of his dreams. But he'd put it off, procrastinated the actual kill too long, and his dreams tormented him.
A fake, a bad copy, tried to take Jake's place, and his dreams were filled with the copy's death. He couldn't allow that to happen. If he killed the copy, would the original make more copies?
Then, in his latest dream, he saw the copy and the original talking. Flirting. Geo had been tarnished by the vile touch of the filthy queer, who now made eyes at another. Geo paid a high price because of his abhorrent love of the original. Jake should be suffering. He should be in hell. Because no matter how hellish his afterlife, and surely it would be hellish, he deserved more. Retribution.
The bolt-action rifle in his arms was warm, sighted, and ready for the shot. The latest dream was still fresh in his mind, he had determined that today justice would be dealt, but first he would kill Jake. Finish his plan. There was no second boy, like in the dreams, as he knew there wouldn't be. That had just been his guilt, stress over waiting so long. In fact, the whole area was deserted.
Jake was just out of sight, using the pyramid to practice, to warm up. But he wouldn't be able to resist the U ramp long. A true vert skater at heart.
The shooter had already marked in his notebook the date, time, temperature, wind direction, and wind velocity, as he did any other time he took a sniper shot. The gun was different than the one he'd used on Geo, but he was doing this at a distance. He'd send Jake on his way peacefully, a single shot to the forehead. He would be compassionate.
Jake walked the steps of the U ramp and then stood, board gripped loosely at his hip, and looked blankly at the skate park spread out before him. He'd do it now, before Jake moved. A moving target would be harder, and he'd have to alter his target point to guarantee he hit his mark.
But he couldn't. Jake was too calm. He was too at ease. He wasn't cold in the ground. He wasn't suffering. The shooter sighted slightly in front of Jake, waited for the twitch of muscle in his scope to indicate movement, and squeezed the trigger. He hit the torso, and with an odd sense of reservation, as if a wounded doe had been taken down carelessly with a hindquarter shot, he bolted the next round into the chamber and fired again.
The scrub grass of the alley was brown wilt and had yet to green with the cool and moist weather. Though this really wasn't much of an alley. In Chicago the alleys were an intricate maze with high-building walls. They were narrow with only two outlets, one on either end. This was a dirt and pavement one-lane road with driveways and footpaths into unfenced yards.
Peat stood by an old shed across from the ice factory. The shooter would have to come into the alley at this point or venture into the open by scaling one of the outer fences. Peat would hide once the first shot was fired, but until then he had immeasurable minutes to dread the outcome.
His hands were quiet. He rubbed them briskly up and down his thighs, palm down, then flipped over. He raised them, opened and closed the fingers to work out the tightness of his knuckles. They were silent. He didn't know if that meant he was getting it right or wrong. In Boise, seven people died today. Seven people. Two were from car accidents. Besides deaths, there was an attempted robbery at a convenience store that would send the fifteen-year-old girl to juvie. And that was just Boise. Yet he ignored all those possibilities. He would help Jake. If that wasn't the reason that he was here, then he didn't want to help anyone else.
"911 Dispatch. Please state your emergency." They had decided he'd place the call early. Perhaps the cops could catch the shooter before he left the area.
"There's been shots fired," Peat said.
"You've heard gunfire?"
"Yes."
"Can you state your location?"
"I'm across the street from Bernie Mac's on Front Street. I think it's coming from the skate park. Ah, crap," he said and disconnected the line.
The noises from the streets and overpass were dialed down. The houses acted as filters. One block from St. John's Homeless Shelter, two from the subsidized housing, this area of downtown was as close to the projects as Boise got. There were streets that were less safe, whose dark, abandoned looks warned the people away better than any police statistics could. But other than some debris in the corners of the fence and in the tall grass it was surprisingly nice.
He rechecked the camera. Film, batteries, check. When he heard the first shot, his thumb jerked across the button and the flash reflected against the Dumpster. His heart rate kicked up, and he tried to slow his breathing down from the level of sheer panic. He turned the flash off.
He crouched around the side of the shed as the second shot popped. It was louder and more startling than the first, though he'd been expecting it.
He breathed and waited. Jake would be fine. He lifted the camera and looked to check the focus.
When the man came out around the fence, Peat almost discounted him for a dock worker at the ice factory. He took a picture anyway, a witness if nothing else.
As the camera clicked silently for a second time, the man turned to walk oh so casually away from Peat's hiding spot. Peat saw a gun case strapped guitar-style to his back. And he saw the man's familiar face.
Peat took several more pictures, then turned back to the gate. He took a shot or two of the heavy boot footprints left behind. The man turned down a side exit. The first set of sirens followed by the sound of rushing tires, and Peat took off running for the skate park.
He popped through a row of hedge and waved his arms to get the police's attention. He pressed flat-out for the skate park. "Jake," he yelled.
There was blood everywhere. Surely the blood was a memory. The cement had soaked it up and was spewing it forth like Jake's memories. Surely it wasn't Jake bleeding out.
"Jake." Peat dropped to his knees.
"Peat?"
"I'm here. I'm here." The police were running toward him.
Thank God it was me and not him. Thank God it's me. Jake had been waiting for this day for many years. He was dying, and not from giving up. He couldn't help it that the vest hadn't worked. He'd been to twenty funerals. He'd watched his sister get sick and die. Now he could rest with her. He missed her. Had it really been ten years?
He lay on the cement, felt the skateboard roll back from the ramp. He would lie here and wait until his time was up.
"Jake!"
Just a fucking minute, Eugenia, I'm coming. Hold down your skirt, I'm coming.
"Jake."
"Peat?" Peat couldn't come with him, and that was kind of sad.
Maybe he could stick around for Peat. No sense leaving when he'd finally landed such a hottie. Even Geo would approve of Peat.
"Geo. I want to stay, Geo." Geo would send him back to Peat. That's the way it'd go. But Geo had never been prompt, and Jake was okay with waiting. He'd get there eventually.
It had been less than forty-eight hours, and Peat was back in the plush conference room waiting to be questioned by Clairemont. He'd refused to speak to anyone else. There was no blood on him. How odd was that? He wasn't even really dirty. He'd managed to crouch in that alley without picking up filth. He had desperately wanted to help Jake, apply pressure, hold his hand. Instead he'd been cuffed, read his rights, and carted off to a squad car. Any debris his face had picked up from being pushed into the ground was gone. They'd let him use the bathroom before processing him. Even the ink on his fingers from the fingerprinting was gone.
If the day repeated, and he was stuck in prison, without an explanation how he got there, Maddie would have to break him out again.
If the day didn't repeat, he'd need a lawyer to help explain why he'd been involved in a major serial rape case in Houston, Texas, and forty-eight hours later an attempted murder in Boise, Idaho. He'd also need a psychologist so he could have his head examined.
When he entered the room, Clairemont didn't tell him about Jake. He didn't have to say what his eyes were saying on their own. "Bullshit," Peat muttered.
Clairemont raised an eyebrow. "I'm Detective Clairemont. I was told you wanted me to take your confession."
"Jake? What.... Is he okay?"
"No. He died." Matter-of-fact. Blunt. Alarmed, he grabbed Peat's shoulder and shook him.
Peat gasped air in and righted his body; he'd been about to topple out of his chair. "I'm sorry," Clairemont said.
"Bull. Shit." Peat shook his head. "He has to be alive. I'm not telling you who the shooter is unless he's alive." Catch the bad guy and the day stopped cycling. Houston all over again.
He kept shaking his head, almost a diagonal jerk back and forth. "You catch the guy and the day'll...." Some long-developed sense of self-preservation stopped him from speaking. He'd explained, justified his actions to others. An outsider would never understand.
"Do I need a lawyer?" Peat said.
"You wanted to speak to me. Talk." That was a thin line Clairemont walked. Though Peat had been advised of his rights, he would need to actually ask for a lawyer before the questions stopped.
"You guys have my camera," he said to himself, reasoning out his options.
"Yes, we do. Too bad it's not a digital camera. We'll have the film developed within the hour."
"So that'll connect the shooter to this murder. But if I'm...." Peat rubbed at his lip, all the various possibilities running through his mind. Why wasn't there ever a clear right and wrong? Hell, he'd settle for multiple choice.
Clairemont pulled out a chair and sat down, undoing a jacket button of his suit as he did so. "What the hell's going on here, Peat?" He had a great interrogator's voice, friendly yet authoritative.
They knew his name. He'd given it, knee-jerk like, as they'd processed him. Had his prints brought up Houston?
"Is he really dead?" He whispered the words. It couldn't be true. He trailed circles on the table with one hand and pulled at his lip with the other. He could feel the well of sorrow build inside him and didn't hear the words that Clairemont spoke. His tears and the wail inside his heart blurred out the world. He didn't sob, just dripped tears and breathed harsh, even breaths.
He realized that tissues had been shoved into his hands, and a box of them sat on the table before him. "Help us, Peat. Help us catch the guy who did this to your friend."
"Not my friend." He swiped clumsy, thick hands at his cheeks, pressed sharp into his eyes to try and regain control.
"Family?"
"We're lovers." He dropped the wet tissues on the table and pulled out three more and blew his nose and then did it again.
"Lovers?" Whether Clairemont was shocked or disgusted, Peat couldn't say.
He raised his head and used his belligerent tone. "Yes, Officer Clairemont. Lovers. As in fucking each other. You got a problem with that?"
Up with the eyebrow again. He'd like to tear that eyebrow off. "Let's start at the beginning, and maybe you can explain why Jake was wearing a bulletproof vest to skateboard." Clairemont, after getting the Kleenex from somewhere, had sat back down.
"We knew it was going to happen. That's why I was in the alley. And that's why I'm talking to you." He pulled a few more tissues and wiped at his eyes. He felt a quiver in his lungs and stomped down on it. It would wait. It had to wait because he couldn't deal with it right now.
He held up his hand and ticked the points off on his fingers: "One year ago today, George Noble is shot at the skate park. The word Faggot spray-painted next to him. Jake, his best friend, gets threatening phone calls that escalate. I'm attacked at the skate park." The bruises were still evident, and if he didn't have to say the precise date this would help establish the need for the vest.
"He thought I was Jake. I got a bad feeling about today, and Jake said he'd wear the vest. We'd seen someone messing around the alley on the way into the park, and I went back with my camera thinking I could get my attacker on film." He kept closing fingers.
"I heard gunshots and called the police. I took his photo...." That quiver was back, and oddly, he'd run out of fingers. The muscles in his forearms jumped as he tightened his fists. He said the name. Repeated it and looked up into Clairemont's eyes.
Clairemont staggered to his feet, shaking his head, and opened his mouth. But nothing came out. Peat could follow the process on Clairemont's face as he stared inward, connecting the dots. Then the dark intimidation look was in place, and he was very calm. Eerie, horror-movie calm.
Peat nodded his head. Up and down but still that slight, awkward, diagonal jerk. "Yeah. Him."
They had him do a formal statement, then typed it up, and he signed it. All of which took place with a blue uniformed lackey because as soon as the photos were processed, the department emptied and went on the hunt.
At some point they brought Peat food. He may have eaten it. Then finally with no reason to hold him and with the place swarming with suits and uniforms, they turned him loose.
He gave Jake's address as contact information. He knew from the murmurs, as officers came in and out, that the Schwinns had been notified and were on their way home. Hopefully they'd sent a squad car or a victim witness coordinator rather than giving the news over the phone.
Peat went to Jake's house and sat on the front steps, waiting. He could surely explain to Jake's parents why he'd died. Answer their questions. They'd have questions. Like how long Peat had known Jake, and was it true what the police said that they were boyfriends. They'd want to reminisce, share stories, mourn together. And surely they'd let Peat be part of that.
He couldn't bring himself to go inside. When the fourth neighbor came to see the grieving parents, he left. Molly and Bert must be at the morgue or traveling or... no, he didn't know where they were, and he was tired of saying it.
He started walking to the skate park. His body ached from sitting on the cement steps for so long and the first few steps were clumsy. The last neighbor said the police had made an arrest but weren't saying who. So that was it, then. Houston all over again. The crime committed but the culprit caught, so no Repeat. Where was the fucking balance in that? Another jag of breath and the tears started again. Peat hunched into his shoulders and kept his eyes down. He wasn't going to share this with the world. This pain was all he had left of Jake, and he was keeping it.
Huge old trees covered the sidewalk and street with their canopy of autumn leaves, and their old roots pushed up the cement, causing cracks and gnarled bumps.
He should have learned with Houston and not trusted that right would be the good or happy ending he wanted.
They had crime-scene tape up around the park, but no longer was there a police officer patrolling the area.
They had shared their first kiss here. Lying on the cement, he had felt the press of Jake's lips on his cheek. He fisted his hands deep into his pockets so he wouldn't touch that cheek.
His gut clenched as he remembered waking up to Jake, feeling him come, every sense battered as they tangled in the sheets on Jake's bed.
Traffic drove past quietly, no blaring horns or loud music. It was the same. Two months and nothing had changed. He just saw it through different eyes.
How had Jake come out? When? So much Peat would never know. And more he'd never know again. The feel of his lips, the caress of his hand.
Jake's smile as he'd told his parents that they were together.
Peat couldn't sit within view of the ramp. The blood made him sick to his stomach. Instead he sat on a bench over by where he'd been shot and waited for midnight. He waited because, crazy as it seemed, he still held out hope.
As the night chilled and quieted, he realized he had no idea what time it was. He'd lost his watch at some point, cut from his wrist by a paramedic. It would be back in his dorm room, if he was ever inclined to go back to school. Midnight could have come and gone, and he wouldn't have even known it. It had been dark for at least two hours.
He tried to remember the things that had happened as the day repeated but he'd been lust-dazed and losing blood.
The blood would be gone. If the day repeated, Jake's blood would disappear. He couldn't look. And the longer he sat, the icy cold seeping deep in, his skin numb, the more certain he was that it was after midnight. That the day hadn't repeated. Because Jake would be here if it had. The longer he waited the easier it was to not look. He would live in the now, the bliss of delusion.
Peat had made a promise to himself not to jump off any more bridges, and he was resolved to keep it. But pain would be his daily existence. He pulled his legs up and sat in a lotus position. He wrapped his cold hands around the back of his neck and pulled his elbows together. The desert climate held none of the day's heat.
He would go back to school and ignore the Repeats. Even if that meant repeating the same day for a hundred years. He could lose himself in library books and learn to play video games. He would take up skateboarding and learn what the difference was between a backward smith grind and a crooked grind.
The connector above him was silent. The lights overhead had that bug-zapper hum of fluorescents, and the only other sounds were the rumblings of a sleeping city, distant cars, closing doors, and shuffling feet.
He should get some counseling, and he wanted to track down Susan in Houston and help her now that she was safe again. Maybe he'd get to a point where he didn't feel like such a failure.
How pathetic could he be? He jerked to his feet and walked with a determined step to the ramp.
As he looked at the blood, felt the pain pinch tight at his heart, it disappeared.
Peat turned in a circle. The lights blurred, but whether from his quick movement or the tears in his eyes, he didn't know. "Jake!" he yelled. He hadn't spoken in hours, and his voice was rough with it. "Jake!"
Then Jake was there, staggering forward, clutching at his shoulder where the bullet had hit him. He gasped for air as if surfacing from water and stumbled toward Peat. Peat reached for him. He grasped Jake's arm and wrapped his other arm around Jake's waist. They folded under the unexpected weight.
"Peat. What happened, Peat?" He grasped at his chest as if he remembered the bullet even if there was no physical evidence left.
"I've got ya. It's alright. Shh. Luv. I've got ya," Peat said.
"The vest didn't work." It wasn't until he said this that Peat remembered that Jake might not remember. He'd thought only, Thank God.
"I thought you had died. I thought...." He pulled Jake in for a tight hug. "The vest did work. But the second shot caught you in the armpit and ricocheted in your chest. Destroyed a lung."
"But the day repeated like you said it would." He shivered. "Let's not do that again. I feel like I schralped my chest." He dropped off his knees to his ass and scrubbed a hand over his face. He looked at Peat, eyes wide, lips trembling. "I remember... you. Leaning against the fence. You were flirting, and I thought you looked damn hot but a bit stiff, and I wanted...." He covered his mouth as the words died and just stared.
"That was the first day."
"How many days have there been?"
Instead of answering, Peat stroked Jake's cheek and watched the dark eyes dilate with desire. He needed to see for himself that Jake was whole. He doubted he'd make it back to Jake's house, let alone the car before he did so. They couldn't even kiss out here on the street.
His jeans cut painfully into his erection. He wanted out of them now. "I need you." He breathed the words onto Jake's neck, stood, and pulled Jake toward the bathrooms.
"Where? No. I'm not that... okay," Jake adjusted himself but stopped following Peat. Unwilling to let go of his hand, Peat stopped too. "Yeah, I'm uber hot and want to fuck you six ways into the mattress. Mattress being key." He shook his head at Peat and tugged him closer. "But not in the bathroom."
"I need to see." Peat pushed Jake's T-shirt up and, maybe caught up in Peat's panic, Jake yanked it off. Peat smoothed his hands from his shoulders down across Jake's unblemished pecs, nudging his arm out of the way to check that there really was no entrance wound. Peat's hands trembled as if first sight guided his touch. Peat stepped close and pressed his lips to Jake's shoulder. His sensitive lips searched the same places his eyes and hand had just looked.
The island of light in the darkness was not a place for sexual displays. The cars were infrequent, but all they needed was a homophobic biker to cruise past, and they would get the shit beat out of them.
Jake took Peat's hand and pressed it to the bulge in his jeans. "Want you, Casanova. Let me take you home."
They didn't make it. Not really. Peat stroked Jake's thigh and kissed his neck, feeling safe enough in the dark car. "You're going to make me crash," Jake said but didn't stop him. Jake pressed Peat against the front door as soon as it was closed. Jake removed Peat's shirt and then Jake pressed kisses down Peat's throat. His mouth lingered over Peat's collarbone, sucked and nibbled as they ground their bodies together. Jake flicked his tongue over Peat's left nipple. Peat gasped, "Like that."
"Can tell." He flicked his tongue again then pressed his teeth together and tugged.
The pleasure pain shot right to Peat's dick, and he moaned, "Jake."
Jake laved the nipple and soothed it with his mouth before switching to the other one and repeating. Flick, flick, bite, soothe. Peat growled and reversed their positions and kissed Jake, his tongue worked across blunt teeth as he tweaked Jake's nipples with his thumb and forefinger. Peat pressed his hips forward, rhythmically swaying into the hard bulge in Jake's jeans.
More. He needed more. He dropped to his knees and opened Jake's jeans. His swollen cock sprung forth, gleaming and hard. He licked the underside. Peat loved the spongy texture and heat of the hard length.
"Condom," Jake murmured, digging for his wallet. Peat darted his tongue out into the tiny slit and tasted Jake's cum. They both moaned. With trembling hands they got the wrapper open, and after a false start---it unrolled the other way---it was on, and Peat had him in his mouth, his cheeks hollowed with the suction, and Jake came, gripping Peat's shoulders to stay upright. "So good."
Jake's legs quivered. He pulled Peat into a hug to allow himself another minute to regroup. Peat led him down the hallway. Jake grabbed tissues from a box on an end table and pulled the condom off, hissing quietly. He stuffed it into his pocket and ran his fingers through the back of Peat's hair. Emotion knifed into his heart, and he realized two things: he was more than half in love with Peat, and they'd walked like this before.
He pushed the door shut and pushed his jeans down and stepped out of them, and his shoes in one motion, the benefit of wearing boot-cut jeans. Peat pulled him close and pressed his still-very-erect dick into his hip. They kissed, lingering over the connection, being alive. He loved kissing Peat.
Peat opened his own jeans with a sigh of relief, toed his shoes off, and Jake helped him tug the tight denim over his hips and down his thighs. He knelt at Peat's feet and helped him step out of his pants. Peat balanced on the opposite foot, and Jake removed his socks then slid his hands up and down Peat's thighs before pressing a kiss to his hip and standing.
Their mouths fused together. When they finally pulled up for air, Jake pressed into Peat's neck and asked, "Can I fuck you?" He felt the tense of muscles and knew the cause. "I remember we---" He stumbled for the right words. "But not if we.... Did you come?"
"No." Peat mimicked Jake's press into the neck.
"I remember," Jake said firmly. "And the day won't repeat for another twenty-three hours."
Peat chuckled and started pressing kisses across Jake's collar bone.
That felt good. "I want you to be my first. Both ways."
Peat pulled back and looked at him. When Peat wasn't surprised, another memory fell into place. "I told you. That I hadn't before?" If you're going to fuck the guy the least you could do is form complete sentences. "I'm a virgin, and I want you to be my first."
"I won't top you, Jake."
"Not your thing?"
"Oh, I'm up for it." He took Jake's hand and guided it to cup his leaking cock. Jake's own erection hardened even further in response, and he clenched his jaw to stop his moan.
He slid his thumb across the tip then brought the moisture to his mouth. It was salty and sharp and different in a wonderful way. And the move made Peat go a little crazy. He wrestled Jake to the bed, where he pinned Jake down, tongue-fucked Jake's mouth, and that glorious cock pressed into Jake's heat. Jake bucked up, loving the full-length press and weight of his lover. But he wanted to give this to Peat.
Jake hooked his ankle between Peat's knees and twisted them around so Peat was on the bottom. He kneeled between his lover's spread legs and slid his hands flat over the tops of Peat's thighs, past his erection and over his abs. "Please?"
"Yes. Please," Peat gasped and twisted and thrashed. He took the lube out of Jake's hand and prepared himself while Jake put on another condom. Jake would have liked to do it himself but knew how desperately close Peat was. Peat gripped the base of his shaft to hold off his orgasm, and Jake, tempting the devil, slid a single finger into Peat's slick hot hole and across his prostate. Peat came calling Jake's name, his hips bucking a foot off the mattress, his heels pressed down.
"Jake," he whimpered. Jake stroked his thighs, hips, and abs until he'd stilled. Jake took some of Peat's come to slick his shaft. Peat moaned, and his happy dick twitched in permission.
Peat darted a look at the clock. "Shh," Jake whispered. "Nowhere near midnight. I'm going to make this good." Peat pulled his knees to his chest.
Jake pressed against Peat's hole, and as he pushed past that first ring of muscles, Peat groaned. "It's perfect. Beautiful." He reached up and stroked Jake's cheek, then ran the hand down his neck and shoulder.
The tight sheath was so hot. It melted the condom to Jake's skin, and he felt every single ripple and flex of Peat's passage. "Gad sick. This is so wicked hot, Casanova." He pressed further and felt his balls press against Peat's ass. He clenched his jaw and breathed through his nose. "You okay?"
"You're so beautiful, Jake." Peat tweaked his nipple, thrust his hips. "Come on, luv. Move." It was slow at first, neither in any particular hurry. Long. Slow.
Sweat gleamed over toned muscles. The pants for breath were in time to the steady in-and-out thrust of Jake's dick in Peat's ass.
"You're alive," Peat whispered. As if he suddenly believed that it was true.
"Yeah. I'm going to stay that way." Peat clenched around him, and the rhythm was thrown off. Jake's thrusts became frenzied as he tried to regain that rhythm, but Peat had other ideas.
He scratched his nails down Jake's chest. "I want to see you come inside me. Now, Jake." Jake hooked Peat's legs around his waist so he could get in closer to kiss Peat. The angle was perfect, and Peat came, every muscle squeezed from knee to belly. He bit Jake's lip and his ass clenched around Jake's heat in pulsing vibrations that had Jake's eyes rolling up in his head and his climax rolling down his spine. "Peat."
Peat had the presence of mind to reach between them and grab the base of the condom. He nudged Jake's shoulder. Jake pulled out and climbed off him. Peat used tissues to remove the condom and cleaned both of their chests. He tried to settle into Jake's chest, but Jake wasn't having any of that. Jake nudged and wiggled until he had his head on Peat's chest, right over his heart. He lifted his head enough to press a kiss to Peat's nipple, then lay back down. "I'm starving."
Peat felt the vibrations of Jake's stomach rumble through him. "You know what causes hunger after sex?"
"No, what?" Jake asked.
"Being hungry before sex."
Jake pinched his hip but continued to lay spread halfway over Peat. Peat lay back on his bent arm and played with Jake's hair with his other hand. Rarely had he had the chance to dwell in afterglow, and he knew it was new to Jake as well.
"If we're going to eat, I'm going to need heavy protein. Bet there isn't a pizza place open this late?" Hoping he was wrong.
"Not this late during the week. You've got maybe two fast foods and a couple of all-night diners to choose from. But if you want beef, Shari's got a decent steak," Jake said.
"And some fries," Peat added.
"And a milkshake."
Peat's stomach rumbled. "See what you've done?" He felt Jake raise his eyebrows against his chest.
Jake laughed and kissed the same nipple. "We can sit in a booth and play footsies and hold hands under a menu."
They showered, soapy hands and wet kisses, and didn't make it to the diner until almost three. Maddie was there waiting for them.
As they walked through the parking lot, their shoulders brushed and they smirked at each other. Silly, young, cocky grins. Then Peat saw Maddie, and he wanted to turn back around and retreat. At the same time he was relieved. The day repeating had cleared up any doubt that she was dead. Now one more person knew what was going on and could help fix it. Plus, though he didn't know what she was, he knew that Maddie wasn't just a Repeater.
Jake noticed something was wrong. He lifted his head to look questioningly at Peat then turned to look at Maddie. His steps faltered and Peat grabbed his elbow to steady him. Aware that the restaurant was a busy and public place, he quickly let go.
Maddie stepped toward them, out of earshot from the people going in and out of the diner. "I'm not sure I want to know how you did that," Peat said, referring to her being there.
"I followed you from Jake's house, and when I realized where you were headed, I cut through the parking lot."
"You followed us?" Jake said.
She gave Peat a meaningful look, though he didn't know what it meant, and then smiled tentatively at Jake. "Hi. I'm Maddie."
Jake paled. Peat squeezed his arm then pushed his hands deep into his jeans.
"Maddie, if you were at Jake's you could have just come to the door," Peat said.
She blushed, which shocked Peat. He shifted his feet and studied her. Was she embarrassed?
"I didn't want to interrupt." She pressed her thick hair off her shoulder and looked around the parking lot. With her more characteristic attitude, she said, "Look. I didn't want to... I don't have a manual here on what to say when your friend is gay, and he and his boyfriend look sex-tousled and cat-in-the-cream full of themselves."
Peat laughed. "Jake Schwinn this is Maddie Kowalski."
"You met in prison," Jake said, both sure and unsure.
"You told him that? That took balls." She had on a pair of tight-fitting black cargo pants and a red V-neck T-shirt. Peat envied her use of her own things. "Wait, when did you have time to---?"
"I didn't tell him," Peat said, talking over her. "Not today."
"He remembers?" And then, perhaps realizing that Jake could answer for himself, she said, "You remember?"
Jake nodded. "Parts."
"Hmm." She hummed to herself for a minute. "Hmm."
"Has that ever happened before?" Peat asked.
"Not that I'm aware of," she said.
Jake reached out and stroked a hand down Peat's arm, his eyes lost in the distance. Maddie blushed and twitched.
"You're that Maddie," Jake said.
Crap. He finally had a team to work with and one was freaking out and the other was embarrassed about him being gay. Go team.
There were trees even here, carefully cared for in the middle of cement. Boise, the city of trees. There was nothing but square-cut commercial properties for several blocks, and the diner was the only open business for miles.
"Let's get inside and get me fed. I'm starved." Peat led the way.
"So. What are you doing here?" Peat said.
"Ah, gee, thanks, Maddie, for coming and saving my ass once again," Maddie said, sarcastic, glaring from under her eyebrows at Peat. She looked back down at the menu.
"Thanks for coming. I hope it helps. What's going on?" Peat said.
Before she could answer, the waiter came over to take their order. He was a skinny, tall Goth dressed for work. The tattoos strategically covered, the holes evident even if the hardware was removed. He reminded Peat a bit of his roommate Zen until the guy grinned at Jake and gave him the once-over. Peat refrained from kicking the waiter in the shin, but took Jake's hand and held it on top of the table while he placed his order. The waiter smiled at Peat but nodded. Message received. Maddie coughed and the three guys turned to look at her. She placed her order and then told the waiter to get lost, and not just with her look and body language.
Jake laughed and stroked a thumb over Peat's hand before moving their joined hands under the table.
"Actually, I think I rather know where you've been." Peat lowered his voice. "Since you were shot."
"I don't repeat days like you do. At least not when I'm helping out. This is just my fifth day." She sat in the middle of the booth, arms along the back, looking very relaxed and absolutely deadly at the same time. She had a tattoo on the edge of her bicep that flashed from below her shirtsleeve, a jewel glinted from her nose, and small silver hoops hung from her left eyebrow like quotation marks.
"How many has it been for you?" Jake asked Peat.
Peat shifted in his seat.
"Don't lie," Jake said.
"More than five."
Jake just shook his head at Peat's evasion.
"Maddie?" Peat prompted her to continue.
"I had some errands to run." She reached into one of her thigh pockets and pulled out his wallet. "I brought you this for one."
"Dog's bollocks." Totally pleased, Peat took it and opened it to check the cash.
"Hey!"
"What? No, I know you didn't take anything. It's just been...," he said, glancing at Jake, "a while. A long while." He couldn't hide the weariness in his tone. "I don't even remember what's all in here." He held up a couple of condoms for Jake to see then counted the cash. "Looks like I'm buying breakfast. Sweet." With a deep sense of gratitude, he leaned across the table to press a kiss to Maddie's check.
Maddie, in true Maddie style, turned her head and grabbed the back of his head to press in for a full kiss.
"Hey!" Jake said and pulled Peat back to his side of the table.
"You can't blame me. You both are damn sexy." She laughed, this full, booming laugh, opened another pocket and pulled out a set of car keys. "In the car I got us some equipment. Two new vests."
The laugh made Peat's heart lighten. It reminded him that he had allies.
"I don't think it was the expiration, more that it was the wrong size." She assumed they knew she was talking about Jake's death. Peat gripped Jake's hand a bit harder.
Their food arrived, but Maddie ignored the waiter and kept talking. "I've got camera equipment and maps of the area. We just need to decide on a plan."
"Thank you," Peat told the waiter, partly ingrained manners, partly to get rid of him.
Peat watched the very precise calculation of Maddie inspecting her food. "What's your cover for coming to Boise?"
"Chocolate. Boise has excellent chocolate makers."
Jake nudged Peat for an explanation, his mouth full of food. "Maddie owns a restaurant in Chicago. She's a food fanatic," Peat said.
Maddie shook her head and corrected him. "My family owns restaurants. I'm their buyer." She sliced into her steak, checking that it had been cooked to her specification.
"It works as a cover story for why she's always popping off to other cities," Peat chewed on his fries.
"What do you use as a cover?" Jake asked once he had swallowed.
"Architectural history."
"And a lot of impromptu bullshit." Maddie chewed, shrugged at the taste as if to say it would do, and took another bite.
They ate in silence for a while, and Peat stared out in space and tugged at his lip. Jake squeezed his knee to get his attention. "Let's hear what you're thinking," Jake said.
"I have an idea. I don't want to just get proof. I want to wrap the shooter up with a bow and hand him over." Peat sipped his milkshake.
"You didn't say. Did Johnny Law catch the bad guy... yesterday? Today?" Unsure how to refer to the same day that happened the day before, he finally settled on, "When I was shot."
"Yeah. They did." Peat stared at his empty plate, wished he had food he could push around or away.
They both stared at him. He felt their eyes, the crown of his head burned with it. When he didn't say anything, Maddie said, "Well, spit it out. Who's the heavy hitter?"
He sighed and fiddled with his straw then turned in his seat to look at Jake. Right in the eye. "It was George Noble who shot you."
Jake's brows pulled together in confusion. Then they smoothed, and his jaw muscles tightened. "Geo's dad? Well, stepfather, really, until the adoption went through. Why would he do that? You're wrong."
"I'm not."
"But I didn't kill Geo. Why would he want revenge?" Jake's voice was deep and quiet.
"It wasn't a revenge killing." When Jake didn't see the outcome of logic that Peat had, that Clairemont had, he felt a pain deep inside his chest. Way worse than being shot. He pushed his glass away and looked around the diner, hoping to grab the waiter's attention and get the check. "Maybe we should wait until we're some place more quiet."
"Peat."
"I mean it, Jake. Wait."
"You don't have to buy me breakfast," Jake said. He'd followed Peat and Maddie to the counter and rose out of his numb haze to register that Peat paid with plastic rather than cash.
"Oh yes, he does. Besides, platinum boy here can afford it," Maddie said.
"She's right. I can." Peat signed the receipt and turned to follow them out. "Maddie, you've still got my card?" Jake thought they meant a business card or, like some boarders had, a contact card with their digits, MySpace page, and artwork, but she nodded and said, "Yep, and I went shopping with it."
"Credit card?" But what he really wanted to ask, to yell perhaps, hid deep inside him. Beyond denial. He wasn't floating that river at all. He was bailing into the black hole of oblivious and letting his subconscious face what he couldn't yet.
"Trust fund. Here, they gave me a card for expenses last time we worked together." Maddie pushed through the double glass doors ahead of them, without catching the doors for them. Jake, on autopilot, held the doors for Peat.
"Thank you," Peat said to Jake. Then, speaking to Maddie, "With your contacts you could have bought that rocket launcher rather than---"
"Holy shit." Jake looked at both of them and tried once again to realign his thoughts to this new reality.
"That's right, gorgeous gay man. You're dating a fucking millionaire." She pushed her hair off her shoulders as she looked at him over her shoulder.
"It's my parents' money. And it isn't that much."
Jake raised his hand for them to stop talking. They'd reached his parents' Toyota, and he dug the keys out of his pocket. "Not holy shit, Peat's rich. But holy shit, she helped you out of prison. You vague, elusive, bastard." He gritted his teeth in sudden anger. Anger was much easier to deal with.
"I'll meet you at Jake's place," Maddie said, then she headed for the rental car she'd spoken of.
Jake unlocked Peat's side of the car and went around to the driver side. "Maybe I should drive," Peat cautioned.
"Maybe you should fess the fuck up and tell me what the hell you know." Jake didn't bother to lower his voice.
They both slid into the car and slammed the doors. "Like what? You're so forthcoming with information? I wouldn't have repeated this fucking day so many times if you'd told me about Geo sooner," he said, fucking with a bit of hesitant force as if it was a word his mouth wasn't use to, "or mentioned the fact you were getting calls or---"
Having started driving, Jake veered into another parking lot and slammed to a stop, jarring his body and gripping the steering wheel with iron-tight arms.
Peat's eyes were wide. "Oh, God, Jake. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like th---"
"How many times?" Jake enunciated each word.
Peat leaned an arm along the passenger door and stared out over the empty parking lot. It was just another strip mall. "Over sixty. I've lost count a bit these last few days."
"I di... you died, how...." The fear and anger were clawing up Jake's throat with razors for nails.
"No." Peat shook his head but looked at Jake. "There were days when no one died. I'd try to involve the cops and nothing would happen those days. Now we know why. The day would still repeat, and I gained little or no information on those days. I couldn't just let you die, though, because... because...." He raised a knee from where it was stretched out in front of him and played with a seam, pulling at the threads. "I didn't know what would happen if you died."
"The day just repeats."
Peat shook his head and snorted, a sad kind of laugh. "Not always. Usually. But sometimes I'm not meant to save them. Like my first Repeat."
Jake remembered Peat telling him about a suicide, but it felt like he'd read it in some book. And since it was like required reading for high school English, he'd forgotten it, no longer needing it for the test.
"The suicide note?" Not asking, "Is that what you mean?" but more "Is this real?" Jake turned off the car. They didn't need a cop coming to investigate why a car sat with its engine running in the middle of the night. Or worse, a drug dealer thinking they were looking to score a hit.
Peat nodded again. "I was in Houston a couple of days ago. Calendar days." He looked at Jake, making sure he understood, and Jake nodded. "This guy was kidnapping children and...." He swallowed. "Hurting them." He pushed the words out as if talking through mud.
"You saw it?" Jake watched Peat's face.
"Yeah. Worse. I let it happen." Peat stared at his raised knee. Pick. Pick.
"You thought the day would repeat."
Peat nodded. "Everything I tried: stopping the kidnapping, alerting the authorities before he got too far away, revealing his connection to the past crimes, rescuing her before she was hurt---did no good. I thought if I got evidence...." He swallowed again. Jake saw the muscles in his neck flex.
Jake looked at his fisted hands around the steering wheel. He tried to imagine what it would be like to go through such painful shit alone. His parents had always been there for him. But he knew Peat hadn't had that type of support, even if he couldn't currently say how he knew. He didn't want to hear the messed-up details, but he knew Peat needed to say them, that it would help him move past that day. "What happened?"
Peat breathed in, his whole body shook, and Jake released the steering wheel so he could hold Peat's hand.
"He took her to a warehouse. I had a video camera set up. I thought I could record what happened, then the day would repeat, and if I kept the tape with me.... Everything else resets but me. Everyone poofs back to start, but I... I stay." He gestured with his free hand, perhaps unsure of the right words. "My clothes, injuries, anything on my personage, like my wallet, stays. So why wouldn't it work with the tape? But the day didn't repeat." He rubbed his hand along his eyebrow, and Jake reached up and took his chin in his hand, making Peat look at him.
"Did she die?"
"No. No. She has to live with the memory of that day. The things he did to her. Almost better if---"
He gripped tight with his thumb and fingers, giving Peat a bit of a shake. "That's not true. People are strong. Resilient. I used to think my sister Eugenia would have been better off not fighting the cancer. We even talked about it. When she would get so sick from chemo?" He didn't remember talking to Peat about his sister. But Peat would have learned about her in the two months he'd been working on solving Jake's death.
He shivered a bit and eased up on his grip of Peat's chin. "But she was in remission. Three great years she wouldn't have had otherwise. Three years we, her family, would have missed out on." He stopped, startled by his own words. He'd been avoiding new friends, new relationships because that would just add to the list of people who could die on him. Yet he wouldn't trade the time he had had with those who had died. Stupid. He missed out on the chance to have more. Wasting time.
He focused back on Peat, startled to see a tear run down his cheek. "Figures you'd be sexy even when you cry. I cry, and I get all red and produce enough snot to fill a bathtub."
Peat snorted, laughing when a bit of his own snot left his nose. He sniffed it back and blushed. "Not crying. Got something in my eye." But he smiled to show he was teasing.
"Peat, you didn't know what would happen. I bet that tape will prevent him from ever getting out of prison," Jake said.
"Yeah." He nodded. But he pulled away from Jake's touch altogether and turned, tucking a leg underneath him so he could face Jake more. "I almost destroyed the camera yesterday. When I knew you got shot, I wanted to smash it. But I didn't---"
"Trying to do the right thing," Jake interrupted.
"Bollocks the right thing. I do that every single time. I would have smashed it but the cops took it from me, and they told me you were dead, and I wasn't going to tell what happened." The words rushed out. "How it was all connected and... and.... Oh, Jake, you died." He pulled Jake into his arms and held him tight across the center console. Their very long bodies and the small car didn't allow much room to move, but they found each other's lips and kissed. It was tender, sweet and almost bitterly sharp.
Peat thought the day would stop repeating. That must have sucked. That feeling. "I'm still here," Jake said. When they came up for air, he pressed his cheek against Peat's, his hand knuckle-deep in Peat's dark hair; it was long and soft, and he loved the way it felt.
"Did Mr. Noble kill Geo?" Jake said the words without realizing that the thought had long since surfaced in his head.
"Yeah, I think he did."
"Oh, Geo, man." His best friend, utterly betrayed by his father. The man Geo loved, emulated, trusted. How much more painful his death to know he was being killed by his own father. It was too much.
Jake wrenched out of Peat's embrace and jerked his car door open. He was out and yelling obscenities before he even had the door closed. Those razor claws had heated and were shredding his nerves and heart.
Peat had seen Jake lose his temper before, but it still startled him. Okay, it freaked him out. For someone who, by all accounts was comfortable with and open about his homosexuality, Jake wasn't very in tune with his emotions. He expressed the positive emotions just fine, but everything else was displayed by anger. Very violent anger. Boys.
Peat climbed out of the car and leaned against the trunk, arms and ankles crossed, watching the traffic pick up as dawn approached. Delivery trucks and construction workers and maybe even hospital staff, all off to work. Later, as the sun rose, it would be school buses, minivans and office professionals. Did any of them remember that they had already done this sixty times?
It was cold. He rubbed his arms through the Henley. The temperature would drop even more before sunrise.
He waited until Jake wound down, then, looking over his shoulder, he asked, "You okay?"
Jake's chest shuttered with a deep breath and stuck his hands in his hair. "Will be." Peat nodded, and they both got in the car and headed for Jake's.
Maddie had made coffee and didn't comment on how long they'd taken. She had spread out one of her maps of downtown Boise, and Peat added little notes to it: Whacko Dog. Homeless shelter. Ice factory.
He thought about Houston. In some ways it was so fresh, and yet it had happened three months ago. It wasn't something he could fix now. Maybe there had been nothing he could have done differently. But he would always carry the image of Suzy's rape. It was stored next to the suicide note, under "What the fuck was karma thinking?"
Peat's idea was to rig the condos being built to trap Noble. The condos were always the shooter's first choice. It was on the opposite side of the ice warehouse and had several unobstructed views into the park. Since the construction crew wasn't working, the site allowed minimal exposure. Jake and Maddie shot the idea down. They were limited on time. Plus, it would be hard to come up with a convincing reason how they knew someone would be there. A reason, sure. Just not a convincing one.
Finally, they all agreed to use a camera phone. Maddie, an innocent bystander, would see Noble poking around the condos looking suspicious and film him going into the condos. Then call the police. This would get help there sooner just in case the vests didn't work.
"What are the chances---?" Jake said.
"Don't jinx us!" Maddie cut him off.
Then they would use the digital camcorder Maddie had brought to catch Noble on film in a window. They'd film their skating. It was part of the skating culture to tape your tricks. Like coaches do for their athletes, to analyze technique. Of course, it was also for bragging rights. If no one sees the hole-in-one, did it really happen?
"Jake should do the camcorder," Maddie said. "Let him do the talking too. When the cops come."
"Why?" Peat said. They were standing around the counter in Jake's kitchen.
"Because he can lie." Maddie crossed her arms and straightened from her hip-lean against the counter.
Jake snorted. He took a watering can and watered the plants, pushing back big leaves and testing soil with his fingers.
"Okay, so I can't lie. Any other complaints?"
"You snore." Jake put the watering can under the sink and washed the dirt off of his fingers.
"What? No, sir!" Peat said.
Maddie laughed and folded up the maps. They had a couple of hours until it would be time to go to the skate park because they didn't need the extra time to set up the site.
They put Maddie in Jake's oldest sister's room. Then, setting the alarm, they shucked their clothes and fell into Jake's bed. Jake kissed Peat's forehead then curled around behind him and went to sleep. Peat lay awake, warm in his lover's arms, and tried to forgive himself for past failures. Before the alarm went off, he climbed in the shower. He wanted to look good for Jake.
Jake padded barefooted into his kitchen, following the sounds. He'd stuck an ear to the bathroom door and figured it was Peat he heard cussing a pink streak so it must be Maddie in the kitchen.
"I helped myself." Not really apologizing. She looked up and leered at his bare chest, and Jake thought about going back to his room and putting a shirt on. But his curiosity won out.
She was frying eggs and buttering toast, pinching dried herbs off the hanging baskets and tossing them into the pan. All with a fluid grace and a casual air. "You're really a chef?"
"No," Maddie said. "I just know how to cook."
"What's the difference?"
"Chef's have big vocabularies and snooty attitudes."
Jake laughed and said, "Put an extra egg in for me." Not really asking.
Maddie added bread to the toaster and got a few more eggs out of the fridge.
Jake watched her for a moment, an edgy, hard-ass female, who looked totally comfortable in his mom's green-friendly kitchen. "Mind if I ask you a few questions?"
She cracked an egg too hard against the pan and had to fish out a shell. "Sure."
"Why did you become a Repeater?" Jake leaned a hip on the counter and crossed his arms over his bare chest, watched her face for a reaction.
She laughed, and he saw her shoulders relax. She pointed to a cupboard and told him to get plates down. Like he didn't know where things were. "No one would choose to be a Repeater."
"So it's a genetic thing or---"
"Haven't you asked Peat these things?"
"I don't know what I have and haven't asked. You know, over the last two months." He set out three place settings, though he doubted Peat would be hungry after how much he ate at Shari's the night before. "It bothers him when I've asked more than once."
"Forget that. The man's totally sauced over you." She dished out eggs and toast, and Jake got the forks while puzzling over her words.
"I'm not saying he's mad, just unsure---"
"About what you're unsure about?"
"Yeah." Jake poked at his eggs and waited for her to say something.
After several bites, Maddie said, "Neither of us knows why we became Repeaters, or how. We just did. Nineteenth birthday, and suddenly the days start getting jammed. Like a stuck record looping on the same track. But who the bastard is behind the fucking curtain? I'm still trying to find Toto." Her face remained expressionless.
"You said that you've only repeated this day five times. How did you---?"
She stood suddenly but gestured for him to continue.
"Uhm. How did you know Peat needed help?"
Maddie handed him a paper towel for a napkin. She sat back down and ate while she studied him. Then she said, laid-back, no hype, "I'm psychic."
She seemed serious. "Care to elaborate?"
"No." She ate some more and then said around a mouth full of toast, "How did you know you were gay?"
"How did you know you were straight?" It was his quick, knee-jerk answer and it came out before he thought about it.
"I just always was," Maddie said.
"I just always was," Jake repeated and grinned. "I realized that my liking boys was considered a bad thing in fourth grade, but I didn't realize it meant I was 'gay' until at least sixth grade."
"When did you come out?"
He thought about making an issue of it. Why answer if she wasn't answering him? But perhaps talking about it would ease her awkwardness around him and Peat. "I think my parents knew something was up when I wanted to take Allen to the sixth-grade sock hop. Though me covering everything in male popstars in fifth grade probably tipped them off. Allen broke my heart, and well, I started...." Jake swallowed and shifted in his seat. How did he explain Amanda? Or meeting Geo? But really, before all that, when Eugenia had died.... The eggs tasted like dust, and he had trouble keeping them down.
His parents had thought he had a crush on his new friend. Almost no one believed they had just been friends, but it was true. Geo was his brother; his mom just couldn't have them both so Geo had come a different way. "I rented space in the closet for several years. Made junior high easier."
He took his plate to the sink. He'd heard the shower turn off, and he wanted to fix his spare skateboard for Peat to use today.
Before he left the kitchen, Maddie said, "I have dreams." He turned back to look at her. She fiddled with her eyebrow piercing. "I dreamt about Peat a week ago, and then the day started repeating for me. So I came here." She left her plate on the counter but went to put away the eggs and butter. "Any other questions?" Her tone was confrontational. Her hostile movements: quick jerks and slamming cupboards---warned him off.
He realized he had stopped halfway out of the room and turned around to look at her. "What kind of music do you like?"
When Peat got out of the shower he heard a wailing noise, some would call it music, coming from Jake's room. He toweled off, shaved and moisturized, then pulled on his borrowed boxers.
He knocked as he entered Jake's room. Jake sat on the floor, dressed only in jeans, fixing wheels to his second board for Peat to use. He'd done this yesterday, minus the music, but it had undone when the day repeated.
He lifted his head when Peat shut the door and smiled at Peat. This huge, happy smile, and Peat's heart lifted in his chest. He smiled back.
"What are you listening to?"
"Freak in a Jar," Jake said. He turned the stereo down a bit. "They're an old Boise group. At least fifteen years ago. Way ahead of their time."
"This is classic Punk?"
"Don't diss it, man. Listen to this part." He turned it up to earsplitting level, and Peat didn't hear any difference from the way it sounded two seconds ago.
Peat just shook his head and asked, in a shout so he could be heard, if it was okay to once again wear Jake's clothes.
Jake turned the music back down and watched unabashed as Peat got dressed. Peat felt the need to flex but quelled it. Jake had seen him naked, and recently. "I called the soup kitchen. Left a message that I couldn't help today. I didn't think of it yesterday. Too freaked, I guess." Jake finished the toe side wheels.
He started on the heelside, or back wheels. "What do you wear normally? I mean, like what are you like when you're not saving the world."
"Well, I'm fond of Dolce and Gabbana. They know how to show off the male form. I'm sure it's helped that they are both gay, it's given them an appreciation---"
"Who?"
Peat blushed. "I also like DKNY."
Jake just shook his head. "You're not one of those preppy guys? With the coordinating socks and belts and... and...." He gestured at his chest, looking for the right word. "Sweater vests."
Peat finished pulling the T-shirt down and smoothed it across his chest. He gave Jake his best sultry look. "We can't all look good in DC, luv," referring to Jake's predominate, and only brand preference.
Jake groaned. "I'm dating a fashion hound."
Peat leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead then sat on the bed to put on his shoes. "That's Vain Fashion Hound to you, mate." After a pause he asked, "Are we dating?" He hated how unsure his voice sounded.
Jake looked up again from his task. "Aren't we?"
"Well... not officially or anything."
"But you're exclusive. Didn't you say that?" Jake said.
"Yeah. It's you. Until we both say otherwise. It's... just... we've not talked of it."
"Oh." Jake seemed to be struggling with laying his memories right in his head. "I had a dream." He finished tightening the wheels and set them spinning.
He thumbed them again. Spin. He sighed. "He shot you in the head and---"
Peat knelt next to him and took his face in his hands. "He's never done that. He always takes chest shots. Always."
"So it wasn't a memory?" Jake's eyes were bright. The closest Peat had ever seen him to tears.
"Oh, luv. No. Chest shots. Promise."
Jake nodded, and Peat stroked along his jaw. The bristles of hair scratched the sensitive skin of his palms. He let all the love he felt for Jake shine in his eyes, then leaned forward and kissed him. Jake's lips were soft and warm and so tender that Peat's whole body ached with wanting more. He sometimes thought he could get high off Jake's kisses.
"So, will you be my boyfriend?" Jake said.
Peat laughed. "Yeah."
"Good. Now that's settled," Maddie said from the bedroom door. "Let's rock. We've got a Repeat to finish."
Peat didn't remember when his classes were or if there was homework due. Yet it had only been five days since he'd been in class. Calendar days.
He went to school in central California, so he'd seen mountains, but the mountains here were different. More stark because they rose suddenly out of valleys or plains. Autumn was more colorful in other places. Here the trees, especially along the mountains, were evergreens. They looked like olive-green smudges against the brown earth. It was only in the city around him that autumn leaves were changing colors, trees of red and orange. Something that wouldn't happen back home for another month or more.
The skate park was the same. The same Dumpster with the same trash, trash that should have smelled strong enough to bring a flock of seagulls after two months sitting in the sun. The same chill to the air. The same rushing traffic above them.
That morning neither Peat nor Jake could skate worth a damn. Too distracted. Jake panned the camera, following Peat's moves but trying to keep the condos in view. The camera was a high-quality piece of equipment and any forensic lab could enhance the digital picture to see who was in the window shooting them. Not that either of them had seen anyone. If Noble saw the camera he might bug out. Or he might deviate from past behaviors and do something unexpected. Peat didn't want to be surprised. They should have had Maddie call them once she saw anything.
Peat attempted an indie tweak and missed his footing. His board smacked him in the arse. Jake laughed, and Peat flipped him the bird. "Hey, now, you've got to be more careful with that equipment. I'm partial to it," Jake said.
Peat popped the board up and made a grab, flipping it over in his hands to stare at the deck, or underside. "It is nice." The top of skateboards were left blank, covered in sandpaper-like tape that allowed traction. But the bottoms were decorated.
Keeping the camera on him, Jake said, "Wasn't talking about the board, Casanova."
Peat shot him a conceited smirk then looked back at the deck. "What's with the smiley faces?"
Jake cleared his throat. "I added a face for each family member who died." They were stickers, every color of the rainbow with a layer of lacquer over the top.
"I'm sorry," Peat said, about to drop the board and skate again.
"When Geo died I couldn't add him. You know? It just was too weird. With him dying here. I had the board with me when it happened." He shrugged and straightened the camera that had dipped with his inattention. He heeled his other board and flipped it one-handed to show Peat. Its deck was plain but heavily scored from the grinds he had done. "I haven't decided what to put on this one."
"So... what the hell is the difference between a smith and crooked---?" The first shot hit Peat in the back. The force made him stagger forward toward Jake. When the second shot hit him, he realized something was wrong from the reaction on Jake's face. Peat had been shot in the leg.
Peat fell toward the cement and desperately tried to break his fall with his hands but they didn't seem to work. His cheek hit the ground like he'd been punched. His jaw knocked together and his teeth cut into his lip. Another shot hit the asphalt, and little chunks of gravel flew up into the air; one sliced across Peat's eyebrow.
Peat covered his head and yelled for Jake to stay back, but even as the words left him, he felt Jake trying to pull him to safety. A fourth shot sounded, and Jake's right arm dropped from underneath him. Peat pulled deep for strength and used his hands and uninjured leg to help Jake scramble to safety behind the Dumpster.
He didn't feel the pain. Not yet. Adrenaline pounded through his heart like the whole percussion section of a marching band. Blood filled his mouth from the split lip, and his leg flopped to the side. The fifth and sixth shot thumped into the Dumpster behind them, vibrating the whole thing and sounding like cannons as it echoed inside the metal.
Jake ignored them. "Help me get your shirt off." Peat pulled it off his head and, realizing what Jake wanted, ripped it into strips starting at the bullet hole in the back, its weakest point. There was a minor scuffle as Peat tried to staunch Jake's bleeding arm, and Jake yelled for him to take care of his leg first. He heard sirens, but at a distance.
Jake talked him through putting pressure on his leg and checked it with his uninjured arm. When Jake stuck his finger under the strip of shirt, that was when the pain kicked in. Peat swore and thumped his head back against the Dumpster. God, it hurt.
"Stay with me, Peat. I want you to check for an exit wound." Then he had Peat wrap a strip of T-shirt around his leg.
Jake's blood had reached his wrist, where it dripped to the cement. Noble continued to fire in their direction. A bullet hit the ramp, several feet away. The impact sounded different on the wood than it had on the metal Dumpster or the cement ground.
"Are you okay?" Peat asked, mostly to say something. Jake nodded then leaned back into Peat's chest so it would be easier for Peat to reach his arm, and Peat pressed into Jake's wound. God, there was a lot of blood. But Peat couldn't tell if it was his or Jake's. Here he was, once again, holding his dying lover in his arms. He was so bone weary of this crap.
But it felt good holding Jake. If they had to die, why not in each other's arms? Of course he'd rather they both be in their eighties when that happened. Old enough to have a fifty-year anniversary but young enough to still live on their own. Drama, anyone?
"It's going to be okay, Casanova. Stay with me," Jake said.
Peat absorbed the heat of Jake's body into his cold skin. The cops were coming. This was going to be okay. As long as Noble didn't leave his perch and seek them out. They would be relatively safe behind the Dumpster. Now if medical attention could just reach them before Peat bled out. As the lights from the sirens touched them, the world blurred into a kaleidoscope and Peat passed out.
Jake felt the swirl of disturbed air as a bullet thunked into the Dumpster just above their heads. This shot had come from the other direction, and he looked toward what he'd hoped was a police siren. Detective Barnez stood next to the U ramp, his Glock palmed between his two hands, his steps steady and slow.
Jake didn't have a moment where he sighed in relief. He wasn't confused. He knew where Barnez had his gun pointed, and it sure as hell wasn't at his partner, the psycho shooting from the condos.
But shouldn't he be confused? Shouldn't he be surprised or shocked? Then he remembered Barnez shooting Peat when it was dark, the park's spotlights acting as skipping stones of interest on the calm night. Jake remembered Barnez's face, yet he couldn't remember if he'd done anything.
"What have you done now?" Barnez asked him. "You queer fuck. He's up there," he pointed to Noble's vantage point, "because of you." He spit out each word like he had a mouthful of shattered glass. "He'll get arrested now because of you."
Jake straightened and spread out, trying to cover as much of the unconscious Peat with his body as he could. Please just be unconscious.
Jake shielded Peat. Just like before with Barnez. His current actions shook the dust off his memories. That time he'd been shocked, that time he was confused. He knew then, standing in front of Peat's body, that Barnez hadn't shot Maddie. Barnez had shot Peat. Peat and only Peat.
"Why did you shoot Peat?" Jake asked.
"Peat? Is that the shitty little fairy cowering next to you? Never seen him before."
The siren of Barnez's car was still trilling in the distance. The traffic on the connector rushed on, waves of noise. Jake's heart pinched tight in his chest as it tried to process the adrenaline and ripping pain. Barnez pressed forward, breathing hard, taut.
A noise was missing. Noble was no longer firing. Perhaps he'd run off once he knew the police had arrived.
Jake took Peat's wrist and felt for a pulse, maintaining pressure with his other hand on Peat's thigh. The pathetic punch of blood through the pulse worried him.
"Look at me, damn it." Barnez fired again, and bits of cement flew into the air next to Jake's feet. Jake looked at Barnez.
"Is he the reason, this Peat?" He pointed with his gun. "Did he corrupt you and Geo? He looks like a soft sissy boy."
Peat did not look soft, and he was far from sissy. Peat was one of the bravest people Jake knew. But a verbal throw down over his boyfriend in the middle of a gun battle, with said hottie bleeding out next to him, was not solid.
"I was born gay," Jake said, surprised he could say anything with his mind divided between so many immediate dangers and worries.
"Are you saying Geo was born wrong?" Noble asked as he stepped around the Dumpster. That's what Geo would have looked like in twenty years. Just under six feet tall, goofy ears that stuck out too far, jet black hair starting to thin. His best friend, his brother. But then he saw the differences and remembered that Mr. Noble was George's stepfather. Once the adoption went through, Geo became "Junior" and Mr. Noble became Dad. Noble's nose was bigger. His eyes a different color and shape. Not Geo, not Geo. Not his friend pointing a gun at him. Trying to kill him.
Jake could see the hate underneath. The quiet, malicious anger was rigged into the body of a totally hacked-off asshole.
"Growing up, you and he were the same," Noble said.
They had been the same growing up. Boys into Scouts and band and video games. "You mean we were both normal. Yeah. We were kids. But we were different. Geo wasn't gay," Jake said. He was getting tired of repeating himself.
Noble nodded. "He tried to tell me that he hadn't chosen that path the day he died. I'm afraid I frightened him with my gun. I feel bad that he was scared. I never liked it when he was scared. So much harder to get him to tell the truth."
It was creepy as hell to hear such whacked words said calmly. "It was the truth. He loved girls. Buffy, Lisa Kudrow, funny, slightly ditzy blondes. If they were short, all the better." The words fell out of Jake's mouth. He pressed his lips together.
"George, let me help you." Barnez kept his weapon aimed at Jake's chest as he pleaded with his partner. "We can get rid of this trash. I'll say I was under attack, and you came to help me."
"That would be wrong." Noble sounded like a boy talking to his priest, calm, resolved. His shirt was untucked on one side. In sharp contrast to his standard sharp-dress style---missionary, military, business-sharp---it exposed him.
"And killing Geo wasn't wrong? And Peat?" Jake's own voice was smooth; he had no energy left to yell or fight. "Killing Peat isn't wrong?"
"Oh, no. It was a crime." George Noble, Sr. nodded again. And not in a psycho, broken-marionette way, either. Normal, aware and in control. "But I loved him. Once I have finished killing you and your copy here, I will turn myself into the authorities." Bless me, Father, for I am about to sin.
Bile choked Jake; he coughed to clear his throat then yelled, "You're messed up."
"Shut up," Barnez screamed and tightened his hands on his gun to fire at Jake. The hole just above Barnez's left temple seemed to appear after Barnez hit the ground. The 9mm clattered to the cement and spun once, pointing away from Jake.
"I couldn't let him do that. He was doing it out of hate, not love. Not right. Not just. See, I'm compassionate. He was a good partner." As he spoke, he guided the bolt back to load the next round and turned the rifle back on Jake.
"Hate? The way you hated Geo for being gay? He wasn't gay."
"He was, damn it. He was. He was, and after I waited, he chose you instead."
What the fuck?
"Society doesn't understand. The church thinks my love was wrong. But it was pure. I raised him to be ready. I encouraged him to befriend you so when it was time he would understand his feelings, the pleasure I would give him."
Ooh, ick. And what was this sniper-from-the-tower bullshit? An anniversary celebration? So Romeo and Juliet. "You were in love with Geo?" The idea made Jake nauseous.
"He was chosen for me. Even the names. George. And his mother loved me, which was enough for her." He steadied his rifle, tilted his head to line up the crosshairs. "Time to finish this."
"How about we get a before-and-after shot?" Maddie asked. Jake hadn't even noticed her approach. Noble turned, and she stepped in close to push the gun to the side. She landed an upper thrust with the heel of her hand to his nose. A beautiful fountain of red spurted from his face. Slow. Wide. He staggered back, trying to swing the gun around. She stayed tight to his body, smashed his instep, and kneed him in the groin.
As he dropped to the ground, Maddie walked back several feet and laid the gun down out of reach. She picked her cell phone up from the ground as the cops poured around them. She held the phone in front of her, the camera eye pointed toward Noble.
"You had no business being somebody's father," Maddie said.
Jake was thinking about adding those fake bullet holes they had for cars to the deck of his new board. One for every shot fired that day.
"Name?"
"Jacob Donovan Schwinn."
They'd already stated that the conversation was being recorded. "Thanks for talking to us, Mr. Schwinn." They'd offered to wait until the meds had caught up with his pain level or at least until his parents had arrived from California.
He could have been released, since his arm required only stitching. But with no one to help him at home, and due to the seriousness of the incident, the hospital wanted to monitor him while they prevented an infection. An IV of antibiotics dripped from the metal stand into the back of his hand. Both arms had limited motion. Which sucked.
"No problem. Under one condition," Jake said.
The two officers, an Ada County Sheriff and Detective Clairemont from the Boise Police Department stood at the side of his bed. Because it was an officer-involved shooting, they were covering their asses with multiple departments present. Jake didn't know either officer. "After we're done, you make sure I'm transferred into Peat's room."
"That would be Peat Harris? The other victim?" Clairemont asked.
"Yeah. My boyfriend. He doesn't have family in the area, and I don't want him to be alone." They exchanged another look, and the sheriff said, "We'll see what we can arrange."
"I'll wait here." He tucked his uninjured arm behind his head, careful of the IV, and crossed his ankles under the thin blanket, trying to look relaxed and patient.
Clairemont sighed and whispered briefly to the sheriff before he headed out of the room. It took two nurses and the doctor on call thirty minutes to agree to the move.
"He's just now out of surgery, Mr. Schwinn," the doctor said. Jake liked all this "Mr." shit. "He's not likely to realize you're even there."
"I'm more than willing to sit next to his bed where he is now but if you want me bed-bound, you'll find us a joint room." All the officials left to discuss the situation in the hall, and Jake sighed.
He wondered where Maddie was. Though they probably would only allow family members in. She might be at the station answering questions or buying that chocolate.
"Okay. They're getting the room ready. Let's hear what you've got to tell us."
They already had Noble in custody. Fairly easy to do when the guy was unconscious. Go Maddie. Much longer, and Peat would have died from blood loss. And it didn't matter how many times he tried to tell himself the day would repeat. He sure as hell wasn't going to rely on something so fucked over as Repeats.
Jake told the officers about the phone calls. He had kept a type of log in his school day-planner after the second call. They could use it for evidence. Ada County said, "Why didn't you go to the police?"
"I did. I called Officer Noble. He was my best friend's father. I've known him for years," Jake said. "We've gone camping, man."
"Why didn't you recognize the voice?" Ada said.
"He used something electronic to distort it. Didn't sound human at all."
He explained about Peat being attacked at the skate park and that, on top of everything else, made them use the vests. He was vague about the time. If they tried to verify that Peat had been anywhere near Boise more than twelve hours ago they'd be screwed.
He then described the shots and hunching over his bleeding lover behind the Dumpster, praying that the cops would come in time. He asked for water at that point. He didn't need the water. He needed a minute to pull himself together. He wasn't about to be all teary in front of the two Johnny Law freaks.
He told them that Noble had shot Barnez and then Maddie had kicked the shit out of Noble. As to why Noble shot Barnez or how he knew Maddie? He left that open. They'd ask if they wanted to know.
"What's happened with Noble?" He drank the tap water. It tasted metallic, like drinking from a water fountain.
"He's confessed to his son's murder," Clairemont said. Clairemont's suit jacket was off, his tie stuffed into a pocket, and his eyes had a bleak, tired look.
Jake's hand shook and water sloshed over the blankets. He nodded his head, hoping the cops would continue. Ada said, "He's refused legal representation and has asked only for a swift trial so he can pay for his crime." The only noise for several minutes was the heart monitor and muted sounds from the hospital hallway.
"He said...." Clairemont cleared his throat. "It was justice. He was responsible and would pay for his sin."
Peat was in the hospital. There was something so distinctive about the smell, or maybe the very stillness of the air, that his location was obvious even before he opened his eyes. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that it would be okay. He'd repeated the day before. Hell, he'd been in the hospital with nothing and restarted the day before. He could do it. He could.
But his leg hurt. He tried to move it, and it wouldn't move. Maybe it wasn't quite midnight. If it was after midnight, his leg would be healing faster than modern medicine could explain.
His cheek depressed, and he realized someone was kissing him. Jake.
Peat opened his eyes and tried to focus in the semi-darkness on the tall, good-looking man leaning over him. Jake stroked a rough thumb over that same cheek.
"How are you feeling?"
He opened his mouth to respond, and the rough pull on his throat was too much. He coughed. Jake reached for a cup of water by his bed. The hand he extended had a coil of clear tubing extending behind him. An IV.
Peat sipped the cold water and handed the glass back. "Are you okay?"
"I asked you first." Jake smiled and brushed a hand over the top of Peat's head.
"What---?" He coughed again but waved the water away. "Time?"
"11:48."
Oh. Jake took his hand. He could see now that Jake's other arm was bandaged, and that, more than all the rest, cleared his mind of the extra layers of debris. Noble had gone nuts and opened fire on the skate park.
"Noble?"
"Prison. He confessed about... about Geo," Jake said softly. "He isn't a phobic nut. He was in love with Geo." Jake explained what happened after Peat passed out. Not in a whisper but in the tone used in the dark to show that you're not afraid.
He told Peat about Barnez. "I think he shot you the first time because he saw us together. You touched me that night, in the park, and...." Jake's voice trailed off while he searched for the right memory. "I shielded you but I don't remember what else. Didn't I say who it was?"
"No. And I didn't think to ask." Peat squeezed Jake's hand, hated that the simple motion took so much effort.
"So is it done? Are we going to...? I mean, how do you know?" Jake said.
"I don't. Until it happens."
Jake looked up at the wall clock. 11:52.
"It could be wrong," Peat continued. "A few minutes fast or slow."
Jake just nodded. He told Peat about getting them in the same room and answering the police's questions. Peat slid over in his bed, though Jake protested, and Jake climbed in next to him. Jake turned a bit on his hip to fit in the twin next to Peat. He laid his injured arm carefully across Peat's stomach. 11:55.
"I'll be at the skate park. Right? You'll come find me?"
"Yeah. But it might take me a bit. Got to give the leg a chance to heal." Peat watched the fast tick of the second hand click through the numbers. "What if you don't remember?"
"I will," Jake said. 11:57.
Peat stroked a hand over Jake's exposed arm, elbow to wrist, feeling the fine hair. "Thanks for saving me," Peat said.
Jake laid his head on Peat's shoulder, and Peat tipped his to lean against Jake's. "What's your middle name?" 11:59.
"What?" They had less than a minute before Jake's memory could be totally swiped, and Jake wanted to know his middle name.
"You know mine."
Peat closed his eyes, no longer able to watch the second hand's slow descent around the face of the clock. "McKinley. Peat McKinley Harris."
"Not Peter?"
"No, Peat, as in peat moss, peat fires." He spelled it. "It's a British thing." He felt Jake nod against his shoulder.
"It could be fast," Jake said.
Past midnight, though Peat still couldn't look. "Yeah."
"You'll have to do physical therapy for the leg." Jake's voice had changed. Hope did that. "The doctor will be in at some point to give you the long medical spiel, but basically six months, and you'll be good as new."
Peat breathed in Jake's scent, letting it linger like tasting wine. Then he turned and pressed his lips to Jake's forehead. "Where are your parents?"
"Not here yet. They missed an early flight by just a few minutes, and the next one doesn't arrive in Boise until eleven fifteen. Didn't arrive until then. They might be on their way now."
His leg still hurt. Jake was still here. He opened his eyes and looked at the clock then closed them quick. His breath evened out. "I think---"
"Don't jinx it." Jake nudged his leg with his knee.
Peat laughed and stroked Jake's arm again. "Where is Maddie?" Peat asked.
He felt Jake shrug, and Peat stifled his own yawn as his body relaxed. "She is rather superstitious. She always goes to a bar and has a drink after a successful Repeat. She says it's tradition. She'll wait to go with us, though," Peat said.
"As long as we can pick the bar." Jake sounded sleepy, and he shifted for a better position, lifting his top leg over Peat's safe one.
Peat smiled at the idea of dragging Maddie through the Emerald Club.
"I couldn't give them any of your emergency information. I'm your boyfriend, and I didn't even know your middle name."
"It's alright, luv." Peat slid his tongue over his battered lip. He must look a sight, torn lip, puffy eyelid, and attached to all this medical equipment.
"Do you want me to call anybody?"
"I'll have the doctor call the Dean to excuse me from classes." Neither of them talked about calling Peat's parents. Though he would probably call his mom. He missed her.
"Ah, this worked out just fine, then." Jake stroked his hand over Peat's stomach.
"How's that?"
"I'll have more time to woo you before you leave. Convince you to come visit for Thanksgiving."
"Is that an invite?"
"I'll have the engraved invitation sent to you later," Jake said.
"What do vegetarians eat instead of turkey?"
"Spaghetti."
Peat laughed, then coughed, his throat still sore from the tube they'd stuck down it during surgery. Jake helped Peat take another swallow of water then got comfortable against Peat's side again. The night nurse would be in soon enough to take their vitals and would likely kick Jake back to his own bed.
"It could be fast," Jake said again. But there was no conviction in his voice.
"Do you want it to be?" Peat started playing with Jake's fingers, sliding his fingers in between. He felt his dick heat and stiffen. Behave.
"No." Jake shook his head.
"I do, man. This leg is going to be a bitch." Jake lightly smacked him on the stomach, then slid his hand up over Peat's chest until he cupped Peat's cheek. Peat opened his eyes and looked into Jake's deep, expressive ones. So sexy. Jake kissed him. Peat's lips were dry and sore, and his mouth tasted of cotton, but the kiss was friendly, comforting. Wonderful.
Jake pulled back and looked at Peat.
"Twenty-four hours and counting."
Amberly Smith didn't learn to read until the fourth grade, when she was placed in special tutoring. At eleven she read her mom's romance novels, pausing every other page to have her mom read a unknown word to her, so she could memorize it. Back then, authors were mythical creatures and like unicorns, only existed in people's imaginations. It never occurred to her that she could be a writer.
Amberly lives in the Northwest with her husband, two children, mother-in-law, and a cat named Cat. She has a bachelor's in communications and works for a telecommunications company. She likes to read in bed, lurk in bookstores, and cuddle on the couch with her kids to watch TV, just to hear the beautiful sound of their laughter. Her husband is a computer addict who she lures away from the latest PC game with promises of a good story, sex, or food that she hasn't made.
After many years and a lot of hard work, Amberly is an author. Now, to find that unicorn.
Visit her at http://amberlysmith.wordpress.com or connect with her on Facebook as Amberly Smith.
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Science Fiction Romance from Dreamspinner Press
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

