Authors: Mercy Celeste
“You have got to be the most self-centered person I have ever met, Eli. How could you not remember my name? Is that even possible? Of course this is Elijah Mason we’re talking about: selfish, egotistical, prick. You made me your enemy and you can’t even remember my last name,” Creed more or less snarled, his fingers shaking as he started pulling at the little pearl snaps on his plaid shirt, and Eli forgot to think of a comeback when he tossed the beer-soaked garment on the floor near the bathroom door. All that golden skin, smooth and freckle free and … fuck.
“But now I do know your last name. Dick-son … seems so fitting a pussy last name to go with your pussy first name,” Eli said to cover the moment of stunned silence. He smiled, knowing what he’d look like to the other man, and was rewarded with a flash of anger in those haunting eyes.
“If only I could wipe that shit-eater grin off your face, Eli, I would. Can’t stand you. Never could. I’d rather eat dirt than work for you, but since I have no choice until your godfather decides you’ve been punished enough, then I’ll do it. Stay the hell away from me and maybe we’ll get through this.” Creed reached down, tugged off a boot, and tossed it beside the bed, and the only thing Eli noticed was the black band around his ankle and the hole in the toe of his sock. When the other boot hit the floor Creed turned and went into the small bath and closed the door, leaving Eli standing there feeling like a fool.
Creed hated him. Really hated him. Eli had never considered that in all these years. But there it was, clear as day in Creed’s eyes. Pure, unadulterated hate. Somehow, after all these years of letting the kid get to him, he’d thought maybe it was all a game. Now he knew. For Creed this had never been a game. For him this was war. But then again, this had always been war, hadn’t it?
Eli turned slowly and closed the door behind him.
Chapter 3
The linen in the small bathroom closet had a mild perfumey odor indicating they’d been washed sometime recently. Creed pulled out a large towel and went to the shower. He hadn’t grabbed his toiletry kit, but right now all he wanted was to stand under a steaming hot shower. His neck ached like a bitch from sitting against a hard wall all night. Sleeping sitting up was always hell, but he’d learned how to manage on little to no real sleep years ago. The stress that was killing his neck came from Eli Mason and his constant need to call him out.
Every goddamned time their paths crossed it was the same. Even after Eli switched to bulls, even when they stopped competing against each other, he still forced this damned conflict. And now Creed was stuck with him. Alone, it seemed. Out in the middle of fucking nowhere Florida. It was still hot for late September. And dry; dust everywhere. Miles from town. With Eli. Alone.
Creed groaned when the hot water slammed against his skin. He leaned against the wall, letting the pulsating showerhead pelt his neck and shoulders. He was alone with his worst enemy. With about a hundred dollars to his name, no means of transportation, no connection to the outside world. Yeah, he was about as fucked as fucked could get.
He straightened; letting the water pour over his head, he pushed his hair out of his face. The smell of beer began to ebb along with the ache in his neck. There was an unused bar of soap in the dish; Creed swiped it up and rubbed it over his body. Winced when he hit the band around his ankle. He’d actually forgotten up to that moment that it was there. He remembered how Eli had smiled in the back of the cruiser. The image felt like a fist to the gut. Eli’s face relaxed, a few freckles spattering his nose, those mean as hell brown eyes closed, a real smile on his face. There was the feeling again. Creed grabbed the wall to keep from doubling over. What the hell?
He was hungry. It was hunger. That’s all. This swirling, churning feeling. Or vomit. Just thinking about Eli being un-Eli-like. Like out in the living room when he’d stopped to look around. His gaze on the portrait over the mantel. He’d gone so pale his freckles had stood out in stark relief. His bright eyebrows became brighter against his pale skin. And then the mean came back. Eli fucking Mason had no goddamned heart. Two minutes of him acting as if he was more than plain evil was nothing to get worked up about.
Creed fought to put things into perspective. Eli with the pretty strawberry blond Mohawk standing beside that old paint pony all those years ago. He’d just had to ride over and talk to him. Eli was the star. Eli, nothing but Eli for as far back as he could remember. Eli was the best pole racer. Eli was the best calf roper. Eli was nothing but a freckled-face ginger tomcat with a square jaw and a chip on his shoulder a mile wide. He remembered feeling like one of those prepubescent bunnies in training as he rode up to Eli. Eli was agitated. His uncle was saying something Eli didn’t want to hear. Creed remembered watching him turn a deep shade of red, and he decided he’d probably better ride on by. He’d wanted to see him up close. He’d wanted to let him know he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant to beat him. Eli was supposed to win that race, not Creed. But he hadn’t, and he was a sore loser on top of everything else. Still beautiful. But Creed knew from hard experience that beautiful men were a dime a dozen, and Eli wasn’t worth one red cent.
Creed cleared his mind, turned off the water, and stepped out of the shower. The air in the house was cold and a little musty. The bathroom was spotless like the other rooms he’d walked through, but Creed couldn’t help feeling desolation in the place. He’d tried to shrug it off. But it was there. Old furniture. Old memories floating on the air. He’d heard through the rumor mill that Eli lost his parents when he was young, but he’d never known he had a brother until he saw the younger version of him with an even younger double standing behind a dark-haired mother and blond father. Two little Elis smiling and happy, and now there was only one angry Eli left behind.
Until that moment, Creed had never thought to wonder why Eli was the way he was. Maybe he wasn’t the golden boy with the best gear and the best trailer and the best horse. Maybe he was an angry kid dealing with loss and trying to find a place in the world, and Creed had taken it from him.
Creed opened his suitcase and dug through for his last pair of clean jeans. His work jeans. He grabbed an old T-shirt from a country music station back in Cheyenne and dragged the clothing on. Shoeless, he let himself out into the quiet house and retraced his steps back into the open living area. He’d resisted opening doors on his way past mostly out of fear of finding Eli in some sort of compromising position. He’d just as soon (A) not see Eli naked and (B) not piss Eli off. He wanted to live to see the next sunrise.
The room was pretty much how he’d remembered from the brief stop here. Faded pastel painted walls. Vivid mosaic-tiled floor in several shades of pink and blue and green. The furniture from the late eighties. The mementos on the wall from then as well. There was nothing of Eli here. Not one thing that screamed a twenty-eight-year-old bachelor lived here.
He tried not to meet the eyes of the younger Eli in the oversized oil painting. Not a photograph as he’d first thought. Probably painted from a photograph. Something in his chest wanted to thud loudly, but he stopped thinking about whatever it was that haunted him. He followed the tile almost like Dorothy on the yellow brick road and wound his way through the maze of house until he found a kitchen. Looking out the French doors he noticed that the house was actually in an L-shape with the bedroom wing on one side of the living area and this kitchen on the other. Out back was an overgrown jungle of a tropical flower garden surrounding a pool.
The kitchen was as outdated as the rest of the house. An old enamel amber refrigerator and matching gas stove. Butcher-block counters and dark wood cabinets. Unlike the rest of the house it was dark; the only things saving the room from being dreary were the overabundance of windows and the doors leading out to the patio.
Creed’s stomach rumbled painfully, and without waiting for Eli to show up he went to the refrigerator hoping to find something to eat. There wasn’t much. Condiments, some cans of soda, and bottles of beer. A plastic container of cold cuts was hidden behind a package of hamburger buns. He shifted things around as he pulled the container out and sniffed. Not rancid at least. He set that on the counter and pulled the drawers open, where he found sliced American cheese and a whole tomato. Well, that was something at least. He assembled all the elements for a sandwich and grabbed a can of soda.
Movement out of one of the windows drew his attention to the stable yard. Horses meandered in the small pasture. His boy Kip stood silent as if waiting for permission to mingle. Creed unlocked the door on that side of the kitchen and stepped out onto a small concrete porch with rocking chairs and a wrought-iron table. Making sure he wouldn’t lock himself out, he took his lunch and went out to offer Kip some comfort in this strange new world they found themselves in.
* * * *
The rank combination of beer, sweat, and vomit taken care of, Eli left his old room to take care of a more pressing need. Food. Light coming from the end of the dark hallway drew his attention to the fact that Creed was out and about somewhere. But where, was the question. He roamed through the quiet house, much as he did every day he was home, listening for sounds of another human. And just like every day before, there was nothing to hear except his own footsteps. Creed was quiet, but not that quiet. Nobody could be that quiet.
He found a knife in the sink, the only sign that his guest had found something to eat. Eli fished through the refrigerator and pulled out the last of the ham and turkey and made himself a sandwich. Water instead of beer this time. He went to the pantry and stood looking at the shelves of food. He didn’t have much. Some boxed mac and cheese and a few canned vegetables. There were the mystery jars of stuff his mother had canned a couple of decades ago that he should probably get rid of. But he couldn’t any more than he could bring himself to go into his parents’ bedroom to start clearing out their things.
He found a box of something hiding behind the pasta that looked edible. Scalloped potatoes. Eli read the ingredients list and shrugged. Butter and milk—water would have to do. He grabbed a couple of steaks from the deep freezer and left everything on the sink counter in the kitchen for later.
Creed was still nowhere to be found. He couldn’t have left. Eli saw the horses move outside the window and went to investigate. Creed was standing in the middle of the pasture, sandwich in one hand, the other on the very pregnant belly of one of Eli’s mares. She snuffled his head as he moved around in front of her, rubbing her muzzle and between her ears. Eli could tell he was talking to her; her ears were twitching. Creed’s horse, what had he called him in the trailer, Kipper? Stupid name for a horse. Kipper, not to be ignored, put his head over Creed’s shoulder from behind and Creed wrapped his arm over his neck, patting him with his now empty free hand.
Eli laughed. He’d never seen anyone attract horses like that. Stepping out onto the porch, he pulled a chair up to the rail and sat down to eat. While he watched he could hear Creed’s soft voice on the hot breeze accompanied by the horses’ nickering replies. “Want to run, Kip, yeah, been cooped up too long? Me too, boy.” Creed grabbed a handful of mane and launched himself off the ground onto the horse’s back. The idiot was barefoot in a pen with horses. He laid his long, lean body over the horse, his arms around Kipper’s neck for a moment before he sat up straight. One hand loosely holding a tuft of mane, he dug his heel into Kipper’s flank and they took off at a trot in the pasture. Bareback, no bridle, just man and horse. Eli could see Creed’s thigh muscles bunch and relax under the thin jeans every time he rode by, guiding the horse with his legs. Eli shivered in the heat. Sweat formed between his shoulders. Jesus.
After a few minutes of trotting, Creed slowed the horse to a walk around the pasture, cooling him down. Eli expected him to dismount after another round of patting. “Good boy. Steady,” Creed called out. “Steady, Kip.” He eased one leg up onto the horse’s back, followed by the other until he was in a crouch. His commands became louder, non-words, just sounds that Eli didn’t understand but the horse did. Then Creed stood up tall, letting the horse walk him around the enclosed area one more time. Almost as if he were surfing on horseback. “Good boy. Steady,” he said one last time before he did a backflip off the horse’s back, landing squarely on the ground.
“Shit,” Eli said, loud enough for Creed to hear him. And again Creed hung his head, his chin touching his chest. Almost as if he was embarrassed to be caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do. Creed placed one hand on the fence and vaulted over in one clean jump. He retrieved a can of soda off the post and ambled across the driveway to the house.
Eli propped his flip-flop encased feet on the middle rail and waited for his guest to join him on the porch. He had to avert his eyes. He’d never actually watched the man walk before. Sinuous. Was that the right word? Almost as if he was a dancer or something. Long, lean, and graceful. It wasn’t right to look like that and move like that. Why the hell hadn’t he noticed before?
“The gray mare is having twins,” Creed informed him from the other side of the porch railing.
“Did she tell you that?” Eli fell back into his old ways with the man. Guarded. Intimidating. Whatever the hell it was about Creed that made him act like an asshole, yeah, that’s where he went. Every damned time Creed came around.
“In a way. There are two heads.” Creed flicked his chin with his thumb; he looked the other way, off toward the cattle pasture. “The other one is going to be breech. But she’s only having one.”
“So my vet tells me.” Eli sighed as Creed fell silent, his jaw tight, lips compressed. Hate. He’d seen that in his eyes. Creed was trying to get along at least, or maybe not jump over the rail and beat him to death, Eli decided. He closed his eyes and willed away everything he’d harbored over the years. “Fresh start. It’s probably going to kill me. I’m trying.”