Missing in Action - Excerpt

COMING THIS SPRING

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

Tyler

 

The nightmare was the same again. The dust, the blood, the screaming. Then his own cries as he looked beyond his knee and saw nothing but torn and charred flesh. Tyler awoke with a start, dazed, sweating, disorientated. He thrashed on the bed before he took in the small bedroom, the sun streaming through the open curtains. He fell back with a gasp. The nightmares even invaded his afternoon naps now, while the flashbacks were at times near damn continuous. A sudden thud on the door sounded like a gun firing and startled him. He didn’t get visitors, who could it possibly be? He shuffled to the edge of the bed and put his feet down, relieved he’d kept his leg on to sleep. Down the short hallway, he saw a shape behind the frosted glass of the door. He only wore shorts, but he didn’t stop to pull on a T-shirt. He swung it open.

A man stood there, shorter than Tyler, maybe five feet ten and lean, wearing faded jeans and a white open-necked shirt. He was maybe twenty years older than Tyler, his dark hair streaked with silver, and handsome, with dark eyes.

Very handsome. For a moment, Tyler couldn’t speak. With a sinking feeling, he thought he knew who this was.

“Mr. Lockhart?”

“Yeah,” Tyler said, waiting.

“I’m Holden Maddison. Your new landlord.”

Tyler’s heart sank. Yeah, it was who he thought it was.

The guy’s gaze flickered down Tyler’s body, glancing at his prosthesis and moving back up again with unease written on his face. Tyler was used to the reaction. A twinge of pain just completed his misery.

“You’ve been expecting me, right?”

Tyler said nothing. He had nothing to say.

The man looked irritated. He sighed. “I sent you notice to leave over two months ago, Mr. Lockhart, and now I’m here moving in, and I find you’re still here.”

Tyler swallowed. “Look, I don’t have anywhere else to go. I’m not causing trouble here. I’m not in your house, I keep myself to myself. Why do you need me gone?”

Holden Maddison looked wrong-footed for a moment. “I need quiet to work.”

Tyler frowned. “And your house is there and mine is here. I don’t play loud music; I don’t have parties. Why exactly are you throwing me out?”

Holden stared at him for a moment. “You have till the end of the week.” He turned and walked away, across the driveway, away from the annex and into the main house, where he closed the door.

Tyler slammed the door. Prick. He had a feeling he knew the guy’s name and face, and had done when the letter of eviction had arrived. Was he famous? Had Tyler seen him on the TV? He couldn’t place him. Maybe he was, and that was why he was such an asshole. What did it matter who lived in the little cottage on his land? Tyler was paying rent for fuck’s sake. He never went anywhere or saw anyone, how exactly could he disturb Holden? He went back into the bedroom and sat down. His leg was hurting; his stump was shrinking and resting too hard into the prosthesis. He should have taken it off to sleep. He grabbed a jacket from the chair in the corner. He should have rested his leg and he should have applied more socks to the ever increasing layers that he was always fucking about with, sometimes five times a day, but instead, he slammed the door behind him and set off down the rutted track. Walking would help him clear his head, help him think what he was going to do when he became homeless.

The day was too hot, he realized belatedly. Too hot when the end of your has-been leg was jammed too deep into the prosthesis and sweating made it worse. Too fucking hot for limping along the fucking road in Clear Water fucking Creek like he had somewhere to go. He had nowhere to go and no one to see.

By the time he made it to what passed for the town square, with the doctors’ clinic, the bakery, the diner and Bluey’s bar, he was in agony. Why the fuck hadn’t he added extra socks? What the hell was the matter with him? Was he some sort of masochist?

He’d only been in the diner once. He could hardly afford to eat, never mind dine out, but if he didn’t sit down soon, he’d fall down. He was sweating profusely and his leg was all sorts of misery that threatened to undo him. Even worse than the usual phantom limb pain. He didn’t know how much money he had in his pocket, but they couldn’t refuse to serve him a glass of iced water while he rested, could they?

He climbed the steps to the diner torturously and pushed open the door. The blast of cold air that hit him almost made him groan in pleasure. He limped inside. It was a small, homey place, with only a couple of patrons enjoying a drink. Behind the counter stood a lean dark-haired man of average height in his thirties, wearing a black T-shirt and jeans and polishing steamy glasses fresh from a dishwasher. Tyler had intended to go straight to the counter and order the water. Instead he fell into the nearest booth, almost collapsing onto the padded couch.

He heard running footsteps as he sat with his eyes squeezed shut, breathing hard. “Are you okay, Sir?”

Tyler cracked open his eyes. The guy had come out from behind the counter. He stood there with the cloth twisted in his hands, concern written all over his pretty face. For a moment, he looked like water in an oasis, the nicest thing Tyler had seen all day. Well, that was apart from the silver fox at his door not so long ago, but he didn’t need to think about that asshole.

“I’m okay,” he managed to say. He saw the guy glance down. “It’s hurting.”

“Take it off,” the man said. “I’ll get you a cushion and a cold cloth.” With that he hurried away, leaving Tyler looking after him in admiration. With relief, he unlocked the prosthesis. It wasn’t every day he got invited to take his leg off in public. Most people would have been afraid to look. He guessed this guy wasn’t most people. He took off the two layers of stump socks. He was wearing more socks and thicker plys as the stump shrunk and the socket was getting looser and looser. He needed a new one; that much was obvious. Easing the liner off his stump was a welcome balm. The air felt great; he needed to air the flesh and cool it down. He looked around and saw the other two patrons were engrossed, one on their phone, the other staring at a book.

Tyler turned sideways on the couch so he could rest what remained of his leg and concentrated on taking a few slow, deep breaths. While it helped to remove the leg, it didn’t help the phantom pain and sensation he still had in his non-existent foot.

He heard the guy come back. Setting a bowl on the table, he held out a cushion to Tyler. He glanced at his stump but Tyler didn’t see any revulsion in his eyes. When he took the cushion, he saw something on the inner side of the man’s right arm—a pink ridged scar that wound its way right up under the sleeve of his T-shirt. He was intrigued. Maybe it was the reason he was so sympathetic to Tyler’s plight.

He wedged the cushion under his stump, noticing the red raw skin along its edge.

“Cool it down now,” the guy said.

Tyler nodded. A cloth floated in the bowl. He dipped his hands in, wrung it out and patted it along the edge of his stump. It felt great, as he had known it would. He smiled at the guy. “Thanks, man.”

The guy smiled in turn. “I’m Finn Austen.”

Tyler held out his hand. “Tyler Lockhart.”

“Nice to meet you, Tyler. Have you got any pain relief?”

Tyler shook his head. It was a sore point, no pun intended. He was scared shitless of taking opiates, because he had seen other guys hooked on them.

“I can offer you a couple of Tylenol?”

“That would be wonderful, Finn, thank you.”

“No problem. And to drink? We have some iced tea.”

“That sounds great.” Tyler would need to check the coins in his pocket, but hopefully he could stretch to that.

“Coming right up.” Tyler watched him walk back to the counter. Another guy came out of the kitchen at that moment and they exchanged a few words. He was a young man, ten or fifteen years younger than Finn with cropped black hair and a lip-ring, wearing a T-shirt with a heavy metal band’s logo on, someone Tyler liked to listen to. It made him remember long ago nights in sweaty mosh-pits, the music making him feel so alive. Now if he wanted to go to a gig, he guessed he’d have to have a seat, in the disabled access. He wouldn’t trust the prosthesis to hold him up in a rough environment.

He wet the cloth again and tucked it around his stump. A bell rang over the door and Tyler lowered his head as a tall man entered. He didn’t want a stranger staring as he walked past the booth. Once the guy had passed though, Tyler followed his muscular figure to the counter. He wore a sheriff’s uniform. Anxiety fluttered through him. He didn’t want to meet the local law enforcement for fear the silver fox back at the house had already asked the guy to throw him off his property.

To his surprise, the guy leaned right over the counter and kissed Finn on the lips. Finn smiled, put a hand up to stroke the guy’s cheek. They were comfortable lovers, their body language told Tyler that. He felt embarrassed and looked away. Of course someone as physically blessed as Finn would have a significant other, even if Tyler hadn’t expected that someone to be a man. He glanced up as Finn approached the table once more. He placed the glass of iced tea down along with a small saucer that held two white pills.

“Thanks, man.” Tyler saw the cop had approached behind Finn. And he wasn’t any old deputy, but the head honcho, the gold star on his chest told Tyler that. He groaned inwardly, wanting to be anywhere but here.

“This is Brandon,” Finn said, putting his hand on the sheriff’s arm. “He can give you a ride home when you’re feeling better.”

Oh God, no. A ride home to the house he was illegally squatting in, for the silver fox to see and tell the sheriff all about Tyler refusing to leave? Stop calling him the fucking silver fox, he’s an asshole!

He tried his best to smile at Brandon as he held out his hand. “Tyler.” He didn’t give his last name, as though somehow that would keep him off the sheriff’s radar.

If Finn was handsome, Brandon was startlingly so. Christ, what was with the hot men in this town? If Tyler hadn’t been so incapacitated, his cock might have started to take notice. He was all chiselled jaw and dark, soulful eyes, around six-two with that worked out body straining his uniform.

“Hi there, Tyler.” He shook Tyler’s hand with a cop type of grip. “Sorry to hear you’re having some problems.” He barely glanced at Tyler’s stump. Tyler wondered if Finn had had the scar before he met Brandon or if it had happened while they were together.

“Thanks.”

“You take your time. I’m going to grab a coffee. When you’re ready to go, I’ll give you a ride home.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I think I’ll be okay,” Tyler said. Why the fuck did you say that? If you have to put that prosthesis back on today, you’ll end up crawling home on your hands and knees.

“Sure,” Brandon said, looking like he didn’t believe him. “See how you go.” He smiled. It wasn’t exactly a smile that meant Brandon felt sorry for him, more that he understood that Tyler was trying to act the big man. Either way, he suddenly wanted to cry. Brandon walked back to the counter and Finn smiled at him too and that was Tyler’s eyes full to the brim. He lowered his head, blinking back tears furiously, giving a little moan when he heard the bell ring again.

Please, nobody else. I can’t face anybody else seeing me like this. But the day was only going to go from bad to worse. He glanced up and locked gazes with the goddamn silver fox.

The guy looked startled when he saw him. His gaze fell to Tyler’s cold cloth covered stump and he looked away again quickly. He approached the counter and sat down. The young lad with the black hair moved up to serve him, then spoke in a voice so loud, the whole diner couldn’t help but overhear.

“Oh my God, you’re Holden Maddison.”

Tyler stared. Was the guy some kind of movie star? He didn’t hear the low reply the man gave. Maybe he was trying to keep his fame under wraps. Tyler had seen him somewhere before, after all.

“I have one of your books right here.” The lad pulled out a paperback from under the counter and waved it at Holden.

Ah, that was where. He was an author and now Tyler knew where he’d seen him. He’d been all over the news for the last few weeks. His agent had defrauded him of thousands of dollars and disappeared off the face of the earth. The last he heard, Holden Maddison had disappeared too. Now Tyler knew where to. To reappear as his landlord. He wondered if the tabloids knew. It sounded like a good bargaining chip.

“Will you sign it for me, please,” the young man begged. “To Jordan.”

Still he didn’t hear the soft answers the guy gave. He watched Holden take the pen with his left hand and scribble in the front of the book.

“Thank you so much, you made my day. What are you even doing here, dude?”

Tyler smiled viciously to himself. He was glad Holden Maddison’s day was turning out to be as shit as his own. He popped the pills in his mouth and took a long drink of the iced tea, then dipped the cloth in the cold water again and rested it along his stump. He leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes.

Footsteps sounded again and he looked up, expecting it to be Finn or his boyfriend. Instead, Holden stood there holding a cup of coffee. “Can I join you?” His face was carefully controlled, but he still looked pissed off with Tyler.

“No,” Tyler said. “Go away.”

Holden ignored him. He slid onto the couch opposite and faced Tyler over the table. He didn’t speak and Tyler became annoyed. “I’m not in the mood, man.”

“Look…” Holden said. His tone was soft.

Tyler hated the idea so much that the guy felt sorry for him, that he burst in. “Does the press know you’re hiding out here?”

The author’s face turned cold as stone.

“Would they be interested to know?”

Holden stared at him. Between his teeth, he said, “What do you want?”

“To keep my home.”

Holden looked at him for a long moment, those dark eyes locked on his, sparking with anger. “Sure,” he said. “Why not? You look like you need the charity.”

He rose from his seat leaving Tyler open-mouthed. He had returned to the counter before the anger and humiliation had risen in Tyler to boiling point. He sat with his fist clenched in impotent rage, cursing the bastard. A year ago, before his injury, he would have taken the puny old dude down with one fucking punch. Now he was apparently relegated to dealing with these insults from a guy twenty years older than him. He swallowed. Once more, tears of self-pity burned his eyes.

He looked up as Finn slid into the seat opposite. “You okay, man?” His face was filled with concern. Maybe he could see how close to breakdown Tyler was.

“Yeah.”

“You know that guy?”

Tyler lowered his voice. “He’s my landlord.”

“Oh, right. Is that a bad thing?”

“He wants me out.”

“Shit. Sorry. He’s new in town. I’ve got a couple of his books at home. He’s good.”

“Did you hear what happened to him?”

Finn frowned. “No. what?”

Maybe folks in Clear Water didn’t watch the news so often. Tyler felt bad for gossiping, but he couldn’t forget what Holden had just said to him. He leaned over the table. “His agent ran off with all his money. He’s bankrupt.”

Finn opened his mouth, glancing at Holden. “No! Poor guy.” His sympathy seemed genuine and made Tyler feel like a shit. Finn was a good man. Tyler had been once. Now he was too bitter and self-obsessed to give a shit, looking to blame everyone else for the IED that had taken his leg.

He gulped some iced tea and fished in his pocket for some change. “I’m going to get going. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem, man. And it’s on the house. Put your money away. I’ll tell Brandon you’re ready.”

“No, it’s fine.” Tyler pulled the sweat soaked liner over his stump. He meant both the iced tea and the ride.

“No, it’s not. He’ll…” Finn looked toward Brandon as the sheriff hurried past with his cell glued to his ear.

“I have to go, love.” He kissed Finn as he passed, stroking his hip briefly in a gesture that spoke of deep intimacy between the two of them. “Call Tyler a cab.”

Bracing himself, Tyler clicked the prosthesis in place. Money for a cab he definitely didn’t have and he wasn’t sure his few coins added up to the price of the tea either. The pain of the prosthesis overwhelmed him, but he shoved to his right foot and leaned on the table. “I’m fine,” he told Finn. “Thanks for everything.”

He locked gazes with Holden Maddison as the writer turned away from the counter and slid from his stool. “I’m just leaving,” he said. “I’ll give you a ride.”

“No, thanks,” Tyler said. He grasped Finn’s hand and shook it, then set off to the door, limping even worse than he usually did and cursing himself.

Finn called his name, but Tyler didn’t look back. The door swung shut behind him and he breathed easier even though the pain threatened to overwhelm him. He set off across the square in the blinding afternoon sun.

Take your time. One false foot in front of the other. You can do this.

He couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. He reached the dirt track leading away to his home and wished for not the first time, as the sun beat down on his head and the prosthesis rubbed his stump agonisingly, that he had died in Afghanistan.