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CHAPTER TWELVE
Dave wiped away steam and studied his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The insect bites glowed across his face, neck and arms like the worst acne outbreak he’d ever experienced. It was like he was going through his teenage years again, only five times more itchy.
If he was honest with himself, he deep down felt like a teenager again, unsure of his place in the world and swamped by every emotion he experienced. And over the last couple of days, he’d been experiencing a lot of emotions.
The blank spots in his memory were the worst part, though. Even worse than the itching. As a data analyst, he liked things to line up: numbers totaling correctly, information presented logically in columns and rows with a pie chart for visual clarity. That chunk of lost time when he’d been under the Vixen’s spell, however, shattered every perfectly arranged part of himself. He wasn’t a rigid person, not by any means, but he was logical as well as loving. It was the logical part of him that was having the most difficulty coming to terms with what he’d been through. What they’d both gone through.
Scratching idly at a bite on his upper arm, he thought back on his last clear memory. He’d been sitting in the one stable chair, listening to Oliver’s gentle snoring and looking out the window at the woods. A bright white light filled his vision, and he had wondered if it might be lightning, the brightest he’d ever seen, before every thought cut off. After that, he didn’t recall anything until he’d come to, confused and terrified to find himself lying in the mud and hogtied with duct tape as a strange woman stood over him.
And he’d not been at all surprised to learn Cody had come up with the idea to hogtie him. Leave it to an older brother for something like that.
That panicky feeling of terror still lingered in his chest. It wasn’t as big and powerful as it had been when he’d first come back to his senses, but now and then it expanded and pressed against his heart and lungs, making it difficult to breathe as his pulse raced. Like it was testing its boundaries, seeing if it could creep out into more of him. Dave kept a tight hold on it, though, thinking of it like a basement door with a deadbolt, keeping those feelings locked down deep.
There was a lot he was still trying to come to terms with about their trip to the Morelock Motel, but one of the best things to come out of the mess of it all was the newfound closeness with Oliver. Or maybe it was a closeness coming from Oliver himself. No, it had developed between them both.
When Dave had heard what Oliver had gone through in order to save him, a flood of emotion had washed through him. He’d known Oliver loved him, but to hear that Oliver had risked his life fighting off a vengeful ghost to bring him back to the land of the living had surprised Dave. And then he’d felt ashamed that it had surprised him. He would have done the same thing for Oliver if the tables had been turned, so why had he been surprised to learn the lengths Oliver had gone to for him?
Because deep down, Dave hadn’t been certain of the depth of Oliver’s feelings for him. Not that Oliver didn’t say he loved him, because he said it often. But the little things might have been missing that Dave had expected: like knowing he’d played baseball in high school and college; or knowing his favorite sandwich; or that Dave liked it when Oliver nibbled on his ear lobe.
And yet, Oliver had allowed Cody to lower him into an old well where he’d tussled with a skeleton that came to life and attacked him. Not to mention digging into local history and figuring out the real ghost that haunted the motel, and the way to banish her once and for all.
Maybe the little affections in Oliver’s heart had all built up to one great big declaration, but Dave hadn’t been able to hear it.
And Dave realized he needed to let Oliver know the things he liked so Oliver could do them for him and not have to prove his love by risking his life. Yeah, that’s all.
The last few days, Oliver had holed up in the apartment while Dave recuperated. In between writing stints on his blog piece, Oliver had checked on him and brought him food or tea or water and dabbed calamine lotion and Benadryl on the numerous welts that covered him. When Oliver had been in the feverish throes of writing, the words pouring out of him as his fingers flew across the keyboard of his laptop, Dave had returned the favor.
He draped a blanket around Oliver’s shoulders at night, and left him a sandwich and chips on a plate along with a cup of tea, giving him space to focus and write and caring for him from a distance. Oliver had finished a first draft in record time, immediately read it through and polished it, then sent it off to a couple of bloggers he trusted and requested fast feedback. After incorporating their suggestions into the post, he had invited Dave to sit with him on the living room couch and Oliver had read it aloud.
Dave had experienced a number of emotions while Oliver had been reading to him, but the most prevalent of all was gratitude. He was grateful he’d met Oliver, even if it had been one of the most dangerous and crazy nights of his life. He was grateful Oliver had agreed to go out with him, and for the love that had grown between them.
While listening to everything they’d been through at the Morelock Motel, Dave had trouble believing it had all actually happened. It felt like some kind of fantastical story. Or something Cody and Demetrius might get roped into.
He loosened the towel from around his waist and hung it on the rod, then stepped out of the bathroom into the bedroom. Grabbing a pair of cotton shorts, he stepped into them, then went in search of Oliver. He found him sitting in a corner of the living room couch, his legs drawn in tight and his gaze locked on the phone in his hand. A NASCAR race zoomed around a track on the TV, the volume turned down low.
“Hey,” Dave said, leaning against the hall entry.
Oliver looked up and smiled. “Hi. How do the bites feel after your shower?”
“Itchy.”
“So, the same.”
“Pretty much.”
Oliver made a face. “Sorry to hear that. Want me to put stuff on them?”
“Later, maybe,” Dave said. “Going to let them air out right now.”
Oliver nodded and looked back at his phone.
Dave sat on the other end of the couch and half-turned to face him. “What are you reading?”
“I posted my story this morning, so I’m checking the site visits.”
“Oh, wow. It’s up already? That was fast.”
“Yeah, crazy, isn’t it?” Oliver flashed him a smile. “Guess I was inspired.”
