Ghosts of The Heart -- Ch. 8 is up.

I reference a trilogy of novels in this chapter (it’s come up before, too) by a woman named Storm Constantine. The novels are called The Sea Dragon Heir trilogy. They’re fucking BADASS, my third favorite trilogy ever, full of magic and boy on boy love, incest, intrigue, and lots of other fun business! (my firstfavorite is The Dark Angel by Meredith Anne Pierce and second being the Threshold/Low Red Moon/Daughter of Hounds books by Caitlin R. Kiernan). These books are fantastic. The other set of stories by Storm that I mention, Wraithu, are HIGHLY RECOMMENDED. Come on, MPreg, Slashy goodness, and sex that involves rave-like lights shooting out of people’s nether parts? You know you wanna read it! Go buy it!

On a more serious note, I’m sorry it took so long for this chapter. My boyfriend bought me Sims 3 and I’ve been sucked in… *facepalm* I’ve also been working crazy hours like a mofo, and my nephew’s birthday needed planning. But you’ll all be happy to know that I’m back on track, keeping my Sims 3 addiction in check, and the chapters should be coming just as regularly as before now.

This one’s a little longer than normal. Enjoy!

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Lucas was sitting on the top of the staircase, his arms around his knees, watching as the last patron filed into the movie theater. The lobby was empty, save for Anna and a couple workers. She was directing them on the clean up and restock process, so they would be ready for intermission.

The man near the door had caught his attention earlier, but he’d thought nothing of it. A man waiting for his date. But as Lucas watched him now, he realized he wasn’t displeased by the fact that no woman had met him there and it was already time for the show to start. Upon closer inspection, Lucas realized the man was watching Anna carefully, clocking her every movement. Lucas realized with a start that this man was here for Anna, had brought those flowers for Anna…

As he watched, Anna noticed him and dropped her clipboard. Even from up here he heard it clatter, and then she was across the lobby like a shot, her arms waving. Lucas finally put two and two together. Something in him, some buried maliciousness, made his feet move, made him stand and hurry down the stairs. As he got near them, and neither of them noticed him, he heard Anna whisper hoarsely.

“…just show up without telling me. You said you were busy all week!”

“That’s what I was going to tell you, sweetheart.” The man said anxiously. He opened his mouth to continue, but Lucas stepped almost between them, grinning broadly. The man took a startled step backwards.

“You must be Patrick!” Lucas crowed loudly, grabbing the man’s hand, the one not full of chrysanthemums, and shaking his wildly. He heard the high, gasping shriek that Anna made, and ignored it.

“Lucas.” Patrick responded, and forced a nervous, confused smile. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Lucas laughed at this, as though Patrick had told a very clever joke. “It’s such a shame I can’t say the same thing about you. Isn’t it, Anna?” he turned his head to smile at her. She wrapped her fingers around his arm and pulled him back so he was standing beside her, and had to let go of Patrick’s hand. “Come to congratulate Anna on the opening, have you?” he asked loudly. He knew he was being a dick, and it made him feel good.

“Actually, I was…” Patrick trailed off, looking perplexed. “Well, these are for you, Anna.” He thrust the bunch of purple and yellow flowers at her, and she took them with the hand not currently trying to bruise Lucas’s arm. Patrick rubbed his hands down his sides in a nervous gesture and tried to smile again.

“Well, it certainly is very good to finally meet you.” Lucas told him, grinning like a madman. He felt Anna’s hand spasm around his arm and almost winced.

“Lucas, could I speak to you in private?” Anna asked, her voice sugar coated poison. “Patrick, would you excuse us?” he didn’t wait for either man to answer, she simply turned and started dragging Lucas towards the staircase. He waved wildly at Patrick, still grinning.

Once they were upstairs and in the office with the door closed, Anna went nuts. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” she screamed, poking him painfully in his chest with the tip of one fingernail. “How dare you-“

“Anna, you need to shut your fucking mouth.” Lucas snapped, and she did without question, her eyes wide. “You deserved that. One, for being a fucking liar, and two, for the way you acted when Deacon approached me.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “What do you expect, Lucas?” she asked, her face a mask of pain and fury. “Every time I get anywhere near a guy, you turn into a psychopath. Do you want me to let you run off every single person who shows any interest in me?”

“No.” he said honestly. “I got rid of the others because they were all assholes, Anna, and I have the fucking right to know if you’re seeing someone. For fuck’s sake, you’ve been seeing THIS one for months, and you never told me. Don’t pin this on me because I try to protect you.”

“From what? Life?”

He shook his head. “You’re delusional, and a hypocrite. I have spent years putting up with your bullshit because you are all I have. But it gets old, Anna. It’s been old for too long. If you could treat me like a fucking human being instead of a little boy made out of glass, maybe things wouldn’t have ended up this way.”

She looked either on the verge of bursting into tears or reaching up and clawing his eyes out. Her hands were shaking fists at her sides. “I tried to give you what you needed.” She whispered.

“You did what you could to keep me. Let’s not turn this into a noble, selfless act, sweetheart.” He said this last word scathingly, mocking Patrick intentionally to get a rise out of her.

It worked.

She backhanded him, his head snapping to the side, a bright flare of agony racing up his cheek and making his eye water. “You son of a bitch.” She snarled at him. “I spend fifteen years of my fucking life taking care of you, being there for you, and the first time I show any sign whatsoever of wanting something more, you turn it around on me. You ungrateful, selfish prick.”

“I never said I was ungrateful.” He told her, surprised at how calm he sounded, despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze until her eyes bulged. “I said you were a liar.”

“You know why I lied.” She told him flatly.

“Yes, I do, and your reason is bullshit. If you stopped and thought about anyone other than yourself-“

“All I do is think of you!” she screamed at him.

“All you do is control me.” He clarified. “For fuck’s sake, Anna, we’ve built a life together, and you’re going to throw all of that away because you want to get laid?”

“I’m in love with him.” She whispered, and started to cry.

He looked at her, his face blank. “That makes what you’ve done even worse.”

“I know it does.” She sat down on the edge of the desk and wiped at her cheeks. “Everything got so fucked up, Lucas.” She said softly. “I kept meaning to tell you. At first, I didn’t want to because I thought I was protecting both of us. But as it went on longer and I started caring for him more, I was scared that if I told you, you would be angry that I hadn’t when it started. The longer time went on, the consequences kept looking bigger and bigger.” She looked at him. “Can’t you see I was scared?”

“Nothing changes it.” He told her. “You can’t just whine and try to explain your way out of it. You fucking lied to me, Anna. What else don’t I know about?”

Something flickered on her face, some deep rooted guilt that made her look old and tired. He studied her, wondering just what she was thinking of. She stood up abruptly. “I need to go downstairs.” She said, and when Lucas started to yell again, she held up a hand to silence him. “There are things that need to be talked about, but you have to understand that I can’t leave Patrick sitting down there.”

Lucas glared at her. “That’s your decision?” he asked. “Patrick?”

She sighed and nodded. “Yes, Lucas, I’m afraid it is.” She touched him arm, and he surprised himself by not pulling away. “I love you. I really do. But what needs to be said, this secret I’ve been keeping, also needs to wait a while. I need to think. Please understand.”

“How long has this secret of yours-“

“Always.” She said, and he stopped. “It’s always been going on. You’ll understand, but I need to think it over. I need to decide how to do this with the least amount of collateral damage.” She paused, thinking. “Can you give me a day?”

“Tomorrow night, we’ll have this out.” He clarified, and she nodded. “What is this about?”

She smiled at him, and it was sad, miserable smile. He might have hated her then, but he felt sorry that something would make her smile that way. “I think you know, very deep down, exactly what all of this is about.” She told him. “I’m leaving. I know it’s opening night, but right now I don’t think you and I-“

“No.” Lucas said, and she stopped, frowning. “I’m leaving. You fucked up, you stay and deal with the rest of opening. I have to get out of here.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to be around anything that reminds me of you.”

“Lucas-“

“Tell Patrick to wait at the fucking diner for all I care.” He brushed past her and stomped down the stairs.
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Deacon watched Johnny disappear into his house before pushing the visor on his helmet back down and heading off. He was feeling good; the movies were awesome, razzles were disgusting, and he had the entire rest of the night alone. No squabbling siblings (blondes OR redheads), no school tomorrow, nothing. He could do whatever he pleased.

Of course, he ended up at the 24 hour coffee shop by his loft. He had an idea that he would end up on the outskirts of the city, probably by the lake, but for now, he wanted some coffee. He parked his bike, yanking his helmet off and smoothing his hair with the palm of his hand. As he walked into the coffee shop, he saw a very familiar someone; narrow face, long hair, nose buried in a book. He smiled softly and walked over.

“Truce?”

Lucas jumped at the sound of his voice and his head snapped up, and Deacon offered his free hand, the one not cradling his helmet against his chest. Lucas’s startled expression dissolved into one of distrust and behind that, fear. He eyed Deacon’s hand as though it were a particularly venomous snake, poised to strike.

“Come on, I’m sorry about earlier.” Deacon assured him. “It was out of line. I was just joking. Truce?” he asked again, wiggling his fingers. When Lucas very slowly shook his hand, Deacon grinned and dropped himself into the seat across from him. “Good stuff. What’re you reading?”

Lucas eyed him, wary and a little annoyed. He tipped the book up so that Deacon could see the cover, and the delighted, surprised look on the kid’s face made him almost smile, despite his hesitance. “You’ve read it?” he asked.

“Are you fucking kidding?” Deacon crowed. “That trilogy is my life.” He held out his hand, and Lucas handed him the book, after a brief glance at the page number. Deacon took, his grin wider than ever. “I just recently finished a painting of the scene where Pharinet and Ellony are out on the rock.”

“When they see the dragon?” Lucas asked, and Deacon nodded. “I’d love to see that.” He said, and smiled. “Khaster’s my favorite character, though.” He shrugged. “Well, Taropat, really. I like him better after he becomes Taropat.”

“I’m a Tayven fan myself.” Deacon said, and shook his head. “I’ve never met anyone else who’s even heard of these.”

“Have you read her other one? Wraithu?” Lucas asked, and Deacon shook his head. “You need to. It’s weird, but it’s really good.”

They fell into a conversation about the novels, talking over each other, pointing out favorite parts, discussing characters. Lucas found himself laughing, actually enjoying himself, despite the voice in the back of his mind telling him to keep his guard up, to keep the boy at arm’s length. Neither of them noticed the full hour that passed as they slipped from talk of Sea Dragon Heir to Lucas’s embarrassing obsession with Gregory Maguire novels, which Deacon admitted to enjoying as well. This led to talk about musicals, which they both liked. Deacon recommended Lucas watch something called Dr. Horrible, and Lucas told him about The Evil Dead Broadway. Deacon started talking about horror movies, which Lucas admitted to being completely ignorant about, unless you counted Hellraiser and Evil Dead.

Lucas glanced at his watch as Deacon tried to explain the plot of Freddy Kreguer movies (when Lucas had said he’d never seen them, Deacon had practically screamed), and saw that it was nearly one thirty in the morning. He winced, and Deacon stopped in midsentence.

“Something wrong?” Deacon asked.

“It’s really late.” Lucas told him, and Deacon grabbed Lucas’s hand. Lucas almost pulled away, but then realized Deacon was just turning it so he could see the face of his watch.

Deacon scoffed. “It’s not late.” He said. “It’s not even two.”

“I’m usually asleep by now.” Lucas told him.

Deacon laughed. “Old man.” He muttered. “I wish you wouldn’t go. I’m having fun. I like talking to you.”

Lucas suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable, half because of the look on Deacon’s face, like the idea of Lucas leaving was the worst news ever, and half because Deacon was still holding onto his hand. He pulled his hand away, and Deacon leaned back against the booth, clasping his own hands together in his lap.

“I really should get home. I have a lot of work to do tomorrow, and I’m hungry.”

“I’ll buy you something to eat here, they’ve got awesome sandwiches. When you’re done eating I’ll stop bothering you.” Lucas sighed, and Deacon gave him his best smile. “Please?”

Lucas nodded after some consideration, and Deacon looked around for their waitress. He signaled her over.

“Order whatever you like from here, and we’ll split it.” Lucas suggested, and Deacon did just that. He ordered a spicy crab sub and a chocolate milkshake, which made Lucas smile. “You don’t have to get home any time soon?”

“Nah.” Deacon lit a cigarette. “The twins went off with some other friends, and neither of the Archers can come out to play for the night.” Lucas raised an eyebrow at this, so Deacon explained himself. “I’m dating this girl, Jessica Archer. She’s okay, I guess. Kind of stupid, but she’s sweet. She bores me, though. I’m sleeping with her brother, Johnny.” As soon as it was out of his mouth, he realized just how bad it really sounded. He also couldn’t make himself shut up. He just kept talking; explaining how he’d met them, how he’d gotten involved first with the sister, then with the brother. He didn’t try to justify it, or even rationalize it. He ended with the kiss that sent Jess running out of the theater, and dropping Johnny off at his house.

Lucas just stared at him, completely at a loss for words. He’d never heard anyone talk about their sexual promiscuity like that; it hurt a little to hear this kid. He cleared his throat, but still couldn’t find words.

Deacon was staring at his hands. The food came, and it sat between them. Neither of them moved to consume it. Deacon lit another cigarette, not remembering when the last had gone out. “Jess is sweet, like I said.” He went on, and bit his lip. “But she just… she’s so much work. She wants to be around me all the time. She bothers me about my art, about not doing more with. Johnny understands. He doesn’t pressure me. Not really. I mean….” He laughed and looked out the window. “he’s got a fucked up fetish, so it’s not like he really minds that I’m nailing both of them.”

“What the hell do you mean?” Lucas asked, confused and a little worried that the answer to his question would gross him out.

Deacon shrugged one shoulder. “He’s got this habit of showing up right after Jess and I have sex, and he always finds a way to get her to leave so he can have me. It gets him off, you know.” He waved the hand holding the cigarette.

Lucas put a hand over his eyes. “Deacon, that is without a doubt the most fucked up thing I’ve heard in a long time.”

Deacon grinned, but there was no humor in it at all. “Tell me about it.”

“Why do you do it?”

Deacon shrugged. “Why not? They pass the time.” The subject died with that, and after a few moments of awkward silence Lucas changed the subject. They talked about his fight with his parents for a while, then about the theater. Lucas told him about Anna a little bit. They got around to eating, which Lucas enjoyed immensely; the sandwich was delicious, and the milkshake, which they shared, was almost perfect.

“Do you want the last?” Deacon asked him, pointing at the half inch of milkshake in the bottom of the glass. Lucas shook his head, and Deacon went at the remaining milkshake with a vengeance. Lucas watched him attack the thing, his lips working against the straw. There was a loud sucking sound as he finished.

“I’m sure the fact that he gets to eat off his sister’s plate, as it were, isn’t the only reason Johnny likes you.” Lucas commented without thinking about it. As soon as it was out of his mouth he regretted it. Deacon’s eyes flew up to look at him and he choked, spraying chocolate all over the front of his own shirt as he burst out laughing. Lucas turned bright red and looked away, shocked and disgusted with himself for the comment.

Deacon cackled and shook his head, wiping at the chocolate on his shirt with a napkin. “Goddamn, Lucas.” He grinned.

Lucas attempted a smile, despite his embarrassment. “Food’s gone.” He said. “I should go.” He pulled out his cell phone.

“Are you calling a cab?” Lucas nodded, and Deacon slapped the phone closed, pinching Lucas’s thumb. “I’ll give you a ride.”

Lucas glanced at the helmet sitting on the booth beside Deacon. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Oh come on. Don’t tell me you’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before.” Lucas shook his head. Deacon grinned and got to his feet, holding the helmet out to him. “You’ll love it.”

“There’s only one helmet.” Lucas pointed out. “That’s illegal.”

“So what? We’ll stop at my loft. It’s right around the corner. I’ll get my other helmet and then I’ll take you home. You can see the painting.” He flashed Lucas another one of those crooked grins that reminded him of David.

Lucas found himself agreeing, although most of him had no idea why. He had an idea, though, that it was because he knew just how much it would bother Anna, that he’d spent most of the night hanging out with Deacon, and that he’d let him take him home. On the back of a motorcycle. Anna had an unnatural fear of anything that didn’t have a top and went faster than twenty miles an hour; she wouldn’t even ride in a convertible, even if the top was up. He followed Deacon out to the parking lot, accepting the helmet carefully. He pulled it on, and it pressed the ponytail painfully against the back of his head. Deacon straddled the bike, motioning for Lucas to climb on behind him. Lucas did, a little scared, and put his hands on Deacon’s shoulders.

”Around my waist.” Deacon told him. “I need my arms free to steer.” Lucas adjusted, slipping his arms around the younger man’s waist, his hands lacing together above his belt buckle. “Ready?” Deacon asked, and Lucas said yes.

The bike rocked up off it’s stand, and Lucas’s heart sped up. For a moment he was fighting down panic; motorcycles were dangerous. Then Deacon started the bike, and the high, whining engine was so loud Lucas jumped. But the throbbing pulse of it under him was amazing; it was like a wild animal. Deacon twisted the throttle and the bike lurched forward, making Lucas clamp his arms tighter around the younger man. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to have a heart attack.

Lucas felt the bike shift and tilt, felt the wind against his neck and arms, and realized that the panic was gone and the fear was fading. He opened his eyes slowly and looked around. The street was pretty much deserted, and it looked so much different from the back of a bike than the back of a taxi. He smiled, realizing he was enjoying himself.

The ride wasn’t long; Deacon’s loft was only a few blocks away. When he parked the bike, Lucas noticed the vague pull of disappointment and was amazed by it. He realized he wanted to do it again.

They rode up the elevator in silence. Once they were on the right floor, Deacon unlocked the door and let them inside. Lucas looked around, appreciating the sparse furniture, the piano, the art on the walls. As he followed Deacon up the stairs to the bedrooms, he looked closely at the painting hanging on the wall. It was beautiful, a long low swamp scene full of cranes. It was almost surreal, the colors too pronounced, the angles a little skewed. Lucas noticed the scrawled signature on the bottom, saw that it read ‘Deacon Carter ‘07’ and was impressed.

Deacon opened the door on the far right of the upstairs area and went inside. Lucas stepped just into the door way and looked around carefully, taking in all of Deacon’s bedroom. The kid had an obvious obsession for his art; paint was everywhere, splashed on the floor, the window panes, the ceiling… there was even a hand print, in a jarring shade of bloody red, wrapped around one of the bedposts. He wondered if that was intentional or not. There were also books everywhere, not on shelves, but in huge waist high towers on the floor. They reminded Lucas of Dr. Seuss buildings; narrow, tall, and dangerously close to falling over. They also reminded him of David’s bedroom when he was in high school. The walls themselves were a very dark olive green, the floor a honey colored hardwood. The room was actually very big. The bed was seated in the dead center of the room, on a raised platform about a foot and a half off the ground. There was a foot wide space around the edges, and a step on either side. The bed was big and comfortable looking, unmade, the sheets gray and blue. Deacon’s easels (he had three, a table top, a standard sized, and one large enough to hold a painting ten feet wide) were situated by the window, beside a long, narrow butcher’s block topped table, which was covered in paints, jars, and cloths. There was an armoire in the corner, a cherry colored wood monstrosity that looked antique, with its doors open and clothes spilling out into a pile on the floor. There was a massive, expensive stereo system beside the armoire. The only other things in the room were the paintings; leaned against the walls, hanging on the walls, in stacks in the corners.

Lucas leaned against the door frame, taking all of this in, as Deacon moved off towards the armoire. “Is it always like this?” Lucas asked him, walking slowly over to the easel currently in use; the standard sized one. On the canvas there were sketched shapes; the form of a person, what looked like a cliff, loops and tangled swirls up near the top. Deacon hadn’t started painting yet.

“What, my room?” Deacon asked from across the room and behind him, and laughed. “You should’ve seen my room at my parents’. I lost count of how many times they replaced my carpet.” His voice was muffled for a moment. “You’d think they’d have given up, or put in hard floors.”

“Parents can be-“ Lucas turned, and the words died in his throat. Deacon’s back was to him, his arms above his head, showing off the long, slender line formed by his chest and hip. His shirt was on the floor and he was working another over his head. The tattoo on his back, though, that was what got to Lucas; a huge dying tree, it’s branches more like skeletal fingers than anything plant-like, but done all in shades of red, as though the tree were engulfed in fire. It was beautiful, and hard to look at because of its beauty.

Deacon turned, his shirt only half pulled down, and raised an eyebrow. “Parents can be what?” he asked, and Lucas caught a brief glimpse of another tattoo; a curling design, something like a compass rose, circled around his belly button.

“Stupid.” Lucas said vaguely, and turned back to the sketch. “When was the last time you spoke to them?”

Deacon made a grunting sound and Lucas could hear him moving canvasses around behind him. “About two months ago. Gerald came to my school. They send me money twice a month, but other than that, I avoid them.”

“Why?” Lucas asked, and moved to sit on the step of the bed. “Because they lied to you?”

“No.” Deacon stopped searching and looked at Lucas. “It’s not that they lied, I understand why they did. When I found out, though, they refused to tell me anything.” He snorted. “They have my real mother’s address, for fuck’s sake, and they won’t give it to me.”

Lucas stared at him, shocked. “They have her address?” he asked, sounding stupid. Deacon nodded. “How is that possible?”

The younger man shrugged and went back to his canvasses. “I don’t know. They won’t tell me anything at all. It’s bullshit. They said they know all about my mother, but not about my father. But they won’t tell me who she is.”

“Not even her name?” Lucas asked.

Deacon looked up. “Not her last name. Her first name, though, is Katie.”

Lucas felt sick. He didn’t believe in coincidences. The fact that Deacon looked so much like David, and his mother’s name… “It has to be.” He muttered. “You have to be his.”

“What, the guy in the photo?” Deacon had apparently found what he was looking for. He stood up, canvas in hand, and came over to stand beside where Lucas was sitting. “You really think so?”

Lucas nodded. “David was really young when he got Katie pregnant.” They stared at each other for a long time. Neither of them could think of anything to say. Finally, Deacon shook his head and set the canvas down in front of Lucas, holding it upright with one hand.

“What do you think?” he asked.

Lucas studied the painting, smiling despite the sick, churning feeling in his stomach. “It’s beautiful.” He said, reaching out to trace the line of the dark haired woman’s shoulder. “Perfect. Just like I always imagine it.”

“I want you to take it.”

Lucas stood up. “You know I couldn’t-“

“Really.” Deacon insisted. “If you don’t, it’ll just rot here, like all my other work.” He touched Lucas’s arm. “Please.”

Lucas nodded slowly. “Thank you.” Deacon smiled at him, that crooked grin that made Lucas’s heart hurt. “I need to go, Deacon.”

“I’ll get my extra helmet and-“

“I’m going to sleep at the theater.” Lucas told him. “Anna and I are fighting again.” He was amused and a little worried at the feeling in his stomach; he wanted to ride Deacon’s bike again, and he really was enjoying having someone new to talk to. But he knew better; he’d spent too much time with Deacon as it was. He had to get out there.

Deacon narrowed his eyes. “You two don’t seem to have a very good relationship.” He said, not caring about whatever boundary he was currently stepping over. “I mean, every time she gets brought up, you get this look on your face, like you’re thinking about punching people.”

Lucas surprised himself by laughing. “Things are difficult between us.” He admitted.

“Then why do you stay with her?”

Lucas frowned. “We aren’t together, Deacon. Not in any intimate sense.”

Deacon looked surprised. “I just thought-“

Lucas shook his head. “No. Maybe, if I’d never met David…” he trailed off. “No.” he said again.

“So there isn’t anyone at all?” he asked.

“There hasn’t been for a long time.” Lucas studied the younger man for a moment. “You aren’t one to talk, you know. It’s pretty obvious how you feel about that girlfriend of yours. Why do you stay with her, when you could be with her brother?”

Deacon shrugged his shoulders. “Neither one of them is right for me, I guess. But they’re fun, most of the time. I like Johnny more, but if I let whatever we have between us get more serious than it is, he’d go crazy. And Jess…” he laughed. “She’d go crazy if I broke up with her.”

“What about that kiss?” Lucas asked. “Isn’t Jess going to know something’s up?”

Deacon shrugged. “I kiss everyone.” He said vaguely. “It’s not a big deal. She’ll think it was a joke, or that I was just mad at her. She’ll get over it.”

“You shouldn’t use people that way.” Lucas told him.

Instead of getting mad, like they both expected him to, Deacon felt a stab of guilt. That Lucas would look down on him bothered him greatly, and he didn’t know why. “I know.” He said softly. “I don’t know why I keep it up.”

“Then stop doing it.” Lucas suggested. “Take the consequences and move on.”

Deacon shook his head. “I can’t.” he said, unable to explain that the idea of being alone was scarier than the idea of what would happen should the truth about his relationship with both Archers ever got out.

Lucas was looking at him curiously. Deacon shifted his feet, uncomfortable under his careful look, and cleared his throat. Lucas looked away. “I should go.” He said again, and picked up the canvas. “Thank you, Deacon. Tonight was fun, surprisingly. I needed that, after everything that’s happened.”

“Any time.” Deacon assured him. “I mean that.”

Lucas gave him one more smile and left.

Deacon laid down on his bed, lacing his hands together behind his head. He’d expected tonight to go very differently. It both surprised him and made him happy that Lucas had apparently gotten over whatever fear he had of him; the guy was too interesting to let go, so it made it easier that he could hold still long enough to have a conversation.

Across the street, Lucas stretched out as much as he could on the couch in the office. He stared at the ceiling, sleep very far off, and wondered about today. The argument with Anna, and the impending secret she would reveal tomorrow, had his stomach in knots. He hated fighting with her, hated the way they’d grown apart. Anna was the only constant he had, aside from the grief he carried around with him. He didn’t want to lose that. He wanted the gap between them bridged. He wanted his best friend back. Deacon worried at him, too. The kid was fiercely intelligent, and they had so much in common. He brought something out in Lucas that he’d forgotten. His sense of humor, his want for new things, for new experience. One night sitting in a coffee shop with him, and Lucas already knew he was on his way towards a dangerous friendship. He closed his eyes, willing his mind to relax, to let him sleep. Just before he finally nodded off, his eyes opened enough so that he could look at the painting propped against the desk. He smiled softly, and dreamed of sea dragons and magic and betrayal.