Giving Up the Ghost Page 18

  “You’re mean,” Nick said, going to find his shoes. “Trying to make your friend jealous. He’d never do that to you.”

  John just snorted.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A little more than an hour later they were on the beach under an umbrella, sitting on thick towels and holding sweating beer bottles ‑‑ without paper umbrellas, but John hadn’t complained. The beach was crowded, and most of the people were tanned and toned.

  Nick grinned at John. “This was a good idea.”

  “I feel like I need a label around my neck telling everyone I’m from a place that hasn’t seen the sun in the past three months,” John said ruefully. “I’m all patchy.”

  He wasn’t, but it was true that he didn’t have the smooth, cultivated tan of most of the people around him. Nick really didn’t care. John’s body was strong through hard work and it showed in the way he moved with an unhurried, economical grace. And when last summer had come and John had peeled off the layers that had kept him warm through the winter and the chilly spring he’d tanned to golden-brown in what seemed like a matter of days. Nick didn’t doubt that by the end of the week, if they were still here, John would turn that shade again.

  “At least you have some tan,” Nick said, digging his toes into the hot sand just outside the shadow of the umbrella. “I’m as white as a…well.” They both knew how that sentence ended, and he didn’t want to say it out loud right now. Now, they were on vacation. They were relaxing. They were drinking beer and watching people fifteen years younger play Frisbee, and Nick felt unbelievably peaceful. “Anyway, there are some people who are almost as pale as me. I’m sure they’re on vacation from somewhere like the Arctic, but…”

  “Just don’t burn,” John said lazily, taking a long drink from the bottle he held. “You won’t want me touching you if you do, and I’d hate for that to happen.” He squinted up at the cloudless sky. “God, this place is just unbelievable. Do you think we could move over here?”

  There wasn’t a chance in hell of that happening, or that John was being serious, but Nick was willing to play along. “Sure. We’ll get a condo by the beach and I’ll write my book while you…” He thought about it. “What would you do? Back home you sort of, well, you do everything.”

  “Have to,” John said. “There’s not that much work going; if you’re not flexible, you go under.” He shrugged, emptying the dregs of his beer into the sand and putting the bottle down. “So I fish when the fish are running, drive the taxi when it’s tourist season or I’m picking up the man of my dreams…”

  “Very funny.”

  “I wasn’t joking…and the rest of the time, I do what needs doing. I could find work here if I had to.” He stared out at the blue water, his expression unreadable. “I’d leave the island if you wanted that. I love it there; it’s my home, but I’d never put it before you.”

  Nick thought about taking his hand, but settled for patting his knee instead. “I love you even more for making an offer like that,” he said. “But I’d never ask you to. I wouldn’t let you.” There was a confidence in his voice that felt right, like the little switch in his head that had been flickering back and forth between on and off had settled on a position for a while. “Besides, I love Traighshee. It’s my home, too. It’s our home.”

  He rested his hand on John’s thigh, rubbed it a little, feeling the muscle relax. The water was an incredible shade of blue, and the air was warm enough that every breath made Nick’s chest feel heavy.

  “It’s pretty, though. We should come back in a couple of years, when all this is behind us and we don’t have to worry about anything but having a good time.”

  John nodded. “Just because we live on the island doesn’t mean we’re tied to it. I’d like that.” He stretched, the movement lazy and sensuous, utterly relaxed. Nick liked seeing him like that, free of the tension that had plagued them both recently. “Well, if I’m going to swim, I’d better do it now before I fall asleep.” He stood, shading his eyes with his hands as he looked at the waves, rolling in majestically and crashing onto the white sand with a sound that ended in a soft, bubbling hush. “Sharks. They have sharks here, don’t they? Oh, well. I’ll take my chances. Are you coming?”

  “Sure.” Nick wasn’t much of a swimmer, but the ocean here didn’t look any rougher than it was back home, so he figured he could hold his own. They started down the beach toward the water, feet stinging on the hot sand as they dodged sunbathers. “We should have brought sunglasses. I forgot how bad it is. If I ever knew.”

  They reached the hard packed sand closer to the ocean, damp and cool. It was a relief to the soles of Nick’s feet, and the water was warmer than he’d expected as it washed over their toes.

  “I’ve had colder baths,” John said wonderingly, kicking his foot through the water and sending up a fine spray, dazzling in the sunlight. “And it’s still winter…doesn’t seem real, somehow.”

  The current didn’t feel as strong as it did in Scotland; the sand pulled away from underneath Nick’s toes gently, tickling his feet, and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. He’d never have mistaken it for home ‑‑ the smell of it was thick with civilization, hundreds of different scents combined together. At home the air smelled wild, clean.

  Nick opened his eyes; John was walking backwards into the water, watching him. He bent down, cupped water in one hand, and flung it at John, splashing him. “I thought you were swimming.”

  John’s eyes widened with an outrage Nick was completely certain was fake. “You splashed me!”

  “Yeah.” Nick grinned and did it again. “You look good wet.”

  Shaking the droplets from his hair John bent and scooped up a double handful of the ocean. “So do you.”

  He aimed low, for Nick’s chest, but some water still reached Nick’s mouth, warm and salty. He licked his lips, tasting it, and eyed John warily, both of them having trouble keeping the smiles off their faces.

  “Tell you what, I’ll save you the trouble of retaliating,” John told him, falling backward into the next wave and sinking under for long enough to get completely wet. He popped back up, spluttering and wiping his eyes. “God, it feels…” He shook his head. “Let’s go deeper. It’s barely up to my knees here.”

  “Okay.” Nick wished they were alone and could indulge however they wanted to, without worrying about what people would think. At home there were miles of beach where they could have kissed without being seen, but the water was almost always so cold, even in the summertime, that you had to keep moving or risk turning blue.

  He followed John out into the deeper water until it reached his armpits, marveling at how warm it was and still eyeing John, waiting to see what they’d do.

  “Is this where we decide to either shove each other under or give up?” he asked, running a hand across his chest in a way that might ‑‑ just might ‑‑ have been a bit calculated.

  “I don’t mind calling a truce. We’re both soaked now, anyway.” John looked…interested, tempted, his eyes holding the blue of the sky and the ocean, his lips curved in a smile of pure happiness. They were far enough away from anyone else that they could talk without being overheard but Nick wanted to do more than talk. He thought about sinking down under the water, out of sight and finding John waiting to kiss him, their eyes closed against the sting of salt, their mouths sealed together, tongues touching, hands gliding over wet skin.

  Nick sank down into the water and paddled over to John through the big, gentle swell of the waves. “So what do you think?” he asked. “I guess it makes sense that people like to come here on vacation. Especially at this time of year.” He reached a hand out and touched John’s hip just above the waistband of his newly bought and slightly too large swim trunks. “Thanks. For coming with me. I don’t think I could have done it without you.”

  “Well, I’d sooner be back home, shivering in an empty house, going to bed alone, and missing you ‑‑ that goes without saying ‑‑ but I
don’t mind suffering like this. It’s good for the soul.”

  John sounded abstracted, Nick noticed, hiding a smile as the next wave washed past and somehow left John a foot closer, his fingers hooked inside the waistband of Nick’s shorts. To anyone watching ‑‑ if there was anyone who cared ‑‑ they were still a respectable distance apart, but under the restless water their hands were on each other and John’s foot was sliding up Nick’s leg, caressing it as gently as the waves.

  “Oh, so I should try to line things up so that you’ll suffer more often?” Nick asked, moving his hand to John’s inner thigh. He felt buoyant in the salt water, the top of his head was hot from the sun, and he wondered if this was the way people’s brains got baked. He was pretty sure he didn’t care.

  “Depends on your definition,” John answered. He shuddered and Nick knew, without looking, without moving his hand, that John was hard and Nick’d done it to him with no more than a touch. “I’d say feeling like this and not being able to do anything about it qualified, mind.”

  “Does it?” Nick felt surprisingly playful; he loved knowing that he could arouse John with so little effort. Hell, he loved being able to arouse him, period. And knowing that John was hard was enough to make Nick’s cock stir, too. “Maybe we should stay out here for a couple of hours. You know, since it would be good for your soul.”

  John grinned mischievously and moved back, so that Nick’s hand fell away. He gave John a surprised look as John lay back, his hands sculling the water to keep him afloat, and then gasped as John’s foot rubbed across his groin, John’s toes curling and uncurling around the hardening length of his cock.

  “Something wrong?” John asked innocently. “Maybe a wee fish nibbling at your toes?”

  “I don’t know. It feels bigger than a wee fish,” Nick said. “Maybe it’s one of those sharks you were talking about.” He caught John’s foot and held it by the ankle, pressed it against his shaft. “Hm. Nope, doesn’t feel like a shark.” Licking salty water from his lips, he ran his other hand up along John’s calf, massaging the muscle and helping keep the man afloat in the waves at the same time.

  John’s eyes were alight with amusement. “Sharks bite. Aren’t you worried?” His heel ground down gently, giving Nick just enough stimulation to bring him fully erect, which felt different under water, somehow, the sensations slightly distanced

  “Me? Worried?” Nick was aware that there were a couple of people edging closer off to their right, but not close enough to worry him. He couldn’t reach much higher than John’s mid-thigh without altering their position fairly drastically, and he was enjoying the way John’s foot was rubbing against him too much to do that. “Besides, I think you’d protect me, wouldn’t you?”

  “With my life,” John promised. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s not a shark.” How John was managing to wiggle his toes that accurately, curling them around the head of Nick’s cock, Nick didn’t know, but it was getting hard to stop his emotions showing on his face. “Maybe it’s a lobster. Aye. With nippy claws.”

  “I like lobster,” Nick said, grinning and pushing John about six inches away, then holding him there. “For dinner.” And, with John’s ankle firmly in his grip, he started to tickle the sole of John’s foot mercilessly.

  The water churned up around them as John began to flail his arms, shouting out with laughter as he tried to squirm free and getting in a few kicks with his free foot. “Nick! Stop it! Och, you daft bugger, you’ll drown me!”

  He got more Scottish when he was worked up, Nick reflected, easing up a little. It was enough. John snatched his foot back, flipped over, and planted a kiss on Nick’s nose. “You daft bugger,” he repeated, the words loving.

  “More than you know,” Nick agreed, pulling him close and not caring who saw. He kissed him, ran a hand from the top of John’s head down to the back of his neck, wiping water through John’s hair like it was a seal’s pelt. Pressing their noses together, he added, “Good thing you’re daft enough to put up with me.”

  “That’s not daft,” John said. “It’s the most sense I’ve shown in years.” His hands came to rest on Nick’s shoulders, warmer than the water. “And now I’m wishing this water was a bit colder because I don’t think I’m ready to go back to that umbrella just yet.”

  “We’ll have to distract you.” Nick did his best to sound solemn, as if the problem were John’s alone. Then he gave John the quickest kiss ever, said, “Race you to those kids on the red raft,” and whirled and took off toward the raft. He knew he had no chance of winning ‑‑ John was a far better swimmer than he was ‑‑ and in fact he’d barely gone twenty yards when John shot past him, arms moving in smooth, efficient strokes. By the time Nick reached the raft, John was already talking to one of the kids.

  “He won!” the little girl told Nick as he joined them. “By kind of a lot.” She seemed pleased, as if she’d already decided to adopt John as a friend.

  “He always does.” Nick smiled at her; her dark hair was pulled back in two tousled pigtails and she was missing one of her front teeth. “He grew up near the ocean. I think he might be part fish, actually.”

  Her eyes went round. “Like Ariel? You’ve got a tail?”

  Nick had been volunteered for babysitting duties for John’s nieces and nephews, not to mention Michael and Sheila’s kids, often enough to know who she meant; he’d sat through every Disney film available at least six times, it felt like, and from John’s snort of laughter, he knew, too.

  “No, pet, he’s just teasing you. But I do live on an island.” He waved his hand at the horizon. “Way, way on the other side of the ocean.”

  “Is that why you talk funny?” she asked.

  “Me? I talk just fine,” John said indignantly.

  She giggled. “No, you don’t, but you sound cute.”

  “Cute? Och, that’s terrible.”

  “Men don’t really like to be told they’re cute,” Nick explained.

  “My daddy doesn’t mind. My mommy calls him that a lot.” The little girl pushed her bangs out of her eyes and glanced behind her, where three other children were laughing and pushing each other off the raft into the water. “Where are your kids?”

  “We don’t have any.” Nick felt pretty neutral about that; he’d never thought it would be an option for him, more because of his psychic abilities than because of a lack of a partner with a womb.

  That got a disappointed “oh” and Nick felt a pang of sympathy because she’d probably been hoping for someone new to play with; the other children, one of whom looked enough like her to be her brother, were older and seemed to be doing a good job ignoring her.

  “But I’ve got a niece about your age,” John offered.

  “Back on the island?”

  “Aye.”

  “Maybe I can visit and play with her.”

  “Maybe,” John agreed.

  The sun went in, lost behind a cloud, and a gust of wind, warm and stale swept across the bay.

  “Another storm coming…” John said, squinting up at the sky. The clouds were massing on the horizon, ominous and heavy. John patted the edge of the raft. “You and your friends had better get back to shore, pet. It’s going to get rough out here soon.”

  “Okay.” The girl turned, treading water, and shouted, “Come on, you guys, it’s gonna rain!” Then she turned back toward Nick and John and said, “Bye.” Her hand brushed Nick’s shoulder briefly, and

  Lily, her name was Lily ‑‑ only that was short for something longer and spelled funny, like Lilibeth or Liliana ‑‑ paddling through the waves from shore out into deeper water. He could see through her eyes the small pink beach toy floating just out of reach, the raft to her right but ignored because she knew that if she could just…reach…just a little bit further…

  “Nick?” John said, close at his side.

  …And then the water choking her, salty, burning in her nose and lungs, bubbles all around, her legs feeling heavy and useless as she fought her way b
ack toward the surface, and ‑‑

  Nick gasped, tearing himself away from the flash, and looked around wildly. Lily was swimming toward shore, moving steadily. “There’s a toy,” Nick said. “It’s pink, and ‑‑” He saw it floating in the water not far from the raft and swam to it, grabbed it. “Lily!”

  She turned and he saw recognition in her eyes as he held up the pink plastic dolphin.

  “No, stay there,” he called. “We’re coming in.” And John unquestioningly followed him toward the sand, at his side as their feet touched solid ground under them and he handed over the toy.

  “Thank you,” Lily said, smiling her gapped smile at him.

  “You’re welcome,” Nick told her. He was starting to feel the reaction now, and although Lily had turned away without noticing, running over to her parents who were already starting to pack up towels and the remnants of a picnic, he knew John was giving him a worried look.

  “Nick? Love, are you all right?” John said quietly. Nick felt John’s arm slip around his shoulders and let John lead him back to their umbrella. The sand was gritty, clinging to his wet feet in a thousand sparkles of white and gold, making them heavy, each step an effort. “Here, come this way, that’s right…Sit down for a bit; catch your breath, we’ve time yet before the rain comes.”

  “I saw her,” he said, knowing he shouldn’t, people might hear, this wasn’t the time or place, but unable to stop himself. “She went back for that toy…” John lowered him into a sitting position on one of the towels and sat beside him. “She was drowning.” Nick looked up and found John’s blue eyes on him.

  “You saw her?” John asked, putting a careful emphasis on the middle word. “Like Sandy, that time, you mean?”

  Nick nodded, knowing he didn’t need to do more. John knew what it was like for him when this happened, when a possibility, a future that was going to happen, was spread out for him to read.