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Bronson turned to watch him approach. As he passed each window, the rising sun bathed him in a misty, dust-laden light. Showered him in a peach glow. The effect was nothing short of stunning. A radiant god walking toward him as though a predator stalking his prey.
Either that or Bronson was projecting.
Again.
The khaki T-shirt he wore fit his slim, muscular torso to exquisite perfection, the sleeves tight around his biceps. His faded jeans sat low on his hips, molding to his body like a well-worn glove. He was still so young and yet he’d aged. Matured. Not unlike a fine bourbon.
“I didn’t figure you’d want a reminder of that night,” Shane replied. “And communication works both ways, believe it or not.”
There were a thousand reasons why Bronson hadn’t gotten in touch with the guy he’d fallen in love with all those years ago, not the least of which was that night. He’d naturally kept tabs on Shane as well, but doing anything more than that was too much for him. He’d never forgotten their stolen kisses. Their chance meeting in the barn. Their planned meetings every night thereafter. His body betrayed him in the worst way every time he thought of Shane Crews and he would inevitably find himself in the arms of a stranger. Then there were the awkward mornings after and his lame excuses as to why he couldn’t see them again.
It was overwhelming. A rollercoaster of one-night stands. But wanting Shane was worse, so when he found out Shane’s company had been hired to demolish the building, he doubled his efforts to procure the place and, hopefully, run into the man himself. He was done running from the past. If Shane wanted to accuse him of something, he would have to come out and do it. He wasn’t going anywhere. Not this time.
Shane stopped beside him to study the markings again. He toed a piece of mattress stuffing aside for a better look. “You gonna explain how you came back from the dead?”
Bronson walked to a window and looked out across the bosque. The Rio Grande was fuller than usual and the morning light shimmered across its surface, calming him just a little. “The first responders were very skilled, I suppose.”
“Nobody is that skilled. It took them twenty minutes to get here.”
Bronson lifted a shoulder. “Maybe you miscalculated the time.”
“And the fact that you were up walking around before they arrived?”
Right. He forgot about that part. “I guess the rumors of my demise were greatly exaggerated.”
The cot springs squeaked under Shane’s weight as he sat on the edge of the metal frame. “Since I was the one who started them, I don’t think so.”
Bronson clenched his teeth together so tightly, his jaw ached. There it was, staring him in the face. The real reason he’d never gotten in touch with Shane. Not directly. He knew if they ever talked, it would come down to this. He’d never forgotten the look on Shane’s face that night when he’d walked out of the supply closet. Covered in blood, yes, but alive. Very much alive with a dead night guard sprawled out behind him, his throat shredded.
While the other boys ran, pounding on the doors until someone opened them, Shane stayed glued to the spot. He’d stared at him, his tear-filled eyes widening with, at first, an almost joyful surprise. Then reality sank in. His joy turned to something akin to horror, an emotion Bronson couldn’t take at that moment in time. Not after everything else that had happened. He nodded, accepting his friend’s revulsion, and walked out of the room. Out of the detention center. Out of Shane’s life.
It took the cops two months to find him and that was only because he let them. He could’ve run forever, but he still had a life to live and he didn’t want to be looking over his shoulder for the rest of it.
But he’d had a decision to make. Should he tell Shane the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth or not? What if he outed him? What if he told the world what he was? Then again, even if Shane did tell someone, who’d believe him?
No, that wasn’t the real dilemma, though he thought it was for a very long time. The real dilemma, the true risk, was how Shane would take it. Would he believe him? And if he did, would he run? The true risk was losing Shane forever and that was simply not a risk Bronson was willing to take. Not until he realized he would never get over the guy. He would never be able to move on until he knew how Shane felt about him come hell or high water.
Bronson filled his lungs but still couldn’t bring himself to explain, so he hedged yet again. He folded his glasses, put them in his breast pocket, scrubbed his face, and said from behind his palms, “It’s a long story, Crews.”
“What do you know?” Shane said a little too cheerily. “My calendar recently opened up. I have some time.”
Bronson turned, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned a shoulder against the window frame. Shane gave him a lingering once-over. Bronson let him, basking in his attractive gaze. They’d been lovers. Clearly, at least a hint of those feelings still remained.
When his perusal ended with a long analysis of Bronson’s mouth, Shane’s tongue moistened his lips unconsciously. It was almost Bronson’s undoing. His slacks tightened and he was thankful for the jacket he wore.
“We’re burning daylight,” Shane said, attempting to spur Bronson forward. The blond leaned back against the metal frame, one leg outstretched, his hands resting on his thighs. He looked far too much like a cover model for Bronson’s comfort.
He closed his eyes and rubbed them, unable to believe he was actually doing this. Nobody knew. Not his parents. Not his siblings. Certainly not Mrs. Acosta. After another moment of contemplation, he recrossed his arms and found himself unable to look at Shane as he spoke. “It was the energy. The fear. The hatred. The ever-alluring promise of violence. All of that drew it here.” When Shane only looked at him, he added, “The beast.”
In an almost imperceptible shift, Shane stiffened. His cobalt gaze hardened. His fingers curled into loose fists. “How could you possibly know that?”
“How can you not?” Bronson countered. “What else would lure something like that out of hell?”
Shane scoffed. “The beast wasn’t real.”
Bronson’s gestured toward the claw marks on the floor.
“And?” Shane asked as though amused. “This was my bed, remember?”
