Whiteout Conditions Page 2

  He froze when he realized what it was and looked around. “I wish I wasn’t here,” he said as he glanced at his sanctuary. “I wish I was out there…with him.”

  Wanting to be somewhere besides the only place he’d ever felt safe was…..different. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

  But he sure knew how he felt about him.

  And he damn sure knew who the him was.

  Grainger Peele.

  “God,” he said with a sighing moan as he plopped down on his couch.

  The man was so virile and strong and beautiful and…. so normal.

  One of the monitors to his left pinged and he glanced at it. He saw that his mother was up and moving around in her kitchen.

  With another sigh, he pushed up off the couch and walked up the stairs.

  He pushed open the door to the kitchen, stepped inside and was quickly greeted with one of her familiar glares.

  “Good morning, Mother. How are you feeling today?”

  “Like shit, how do you think I’m feeling?” she snapped.

  “How about something to eat, Mother? Would you like some oatmeal?”

  No matter what time of day, she always loved her oatmeal.

  “What I’d like is a son who isn’t a fag.”

  Sylas squeezed his eyes shut as he repeated his mantra in his head, “This isn’t her, this isn’t her, it’s her disease talking.”

  “Where is that faggot son of mine anyways? He needs to pray with me. He’s probably off doing unmentionable things with other men. He doesn’t give a shit about me anymore.”

  He looked over at her and tried to see some recognition in her eyes, some spark of the sweet woman that she used to be. She used to love him. Oh, she had struggled a bit with him being gay because of her religious upbringing and beliefs, but she had eventually come to terms with it and he had hoped that someday, if he’d ever gotten better and found someone, that she would embrace not only him but his boyfriend too.

  But then the dementia came, and it began to take her away. Piece by piece, it stole her from him until she was now this bitter, cruel shell who hardly ever recognized him and when she did, it was with hatred in her eyes.

  “I’m right here, Mom,” he said with a sigh, “I was at a therapy appointment. I was not out with other men.”

  I wish, he thought.

  She squinted at him and for a moment he thought he saw recognition in her eyes but then it was gone. She shook her head and sat down in the chair at the table, “Why can’t I have a son who’s normal? Why is God punishing me with a freak, an abomination?”

  Sylas sighed again. There really wasn’t any point in answering her. She’d just forget this entire conversation in a few minutes anyways, if she hadn’t already.

  He stepped over to the fridge, “Maybe some lunch then, Mom? Grilled cheese?”

  She didn’t answer him and then he heard a sniffle. He turned around to find her crying. He slammed the fridge door shut and walked over to her. He knelt down next to her chair, “What’s wrong, mom? Are you hurting? Do you need a pain pill?”

  She shook her head as she brushed a tear away, “I’m so sorry, Sy. I hate that I can’t stop hurting you.”

  He lifted up to hug her, “Oh mom. This is not your fault. It’s the disease that’s making you say those things. I know that’s not what’s in your heart.”

  She quietly cried on his shoulder for a few seconds and then she yanked her head back. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him and then her hand lifted, and she smacked him across the cheek.

  He cupped his face, “Ow, mom, why did you do that?”

  “Don’t you mom, me. I don’t know who the hell you are, but I did not give you permission to grope me.”

  Sylas pushed to his feet, wiping away his own tears as he walked back to the fridge. He pulled out butter, bread and cheese and began putting together sandwiches for them.

  He was so lost in thought as he cooked them that he didn’t hear his mom get to her feet.

  It wasn’t until he sensed movement behind him that he started to turn around but by then it was too late. His mother had the knife in her hand that he’d used to slice the cheese and she sank it into his chest.

  His breath left him as he tried to whisper, “Mom” and then his knees gave out and he sank down to the floor.

  Three

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Vaughn

  Vaughn Kepler sank deeper into the shadows in a back booth of the dive bar he was currently in, his eyes never leaving the back of the man who was the lone figure occupying a stool at the bar.

  The bartender stopped in front of him, leaning forward to show him more of her cleavage and said something to him.

  Whatever he replied made her frown in confusion and then just shake her head as she wandered away.

  Caysun Rourke.

  Vaughn couldn’t believe he had eyes on the man.

  If he could get him alone, if he could turn the man, if he could convince him that the Marshal service would keep him safe……

  If. If. If.

  He needed backup.

  With a sign he pulled out his phone. He really, really didn’t want to do this but…..

  He scanned through his contacts and pulled up the one man that he knew was in the immediate vicinity.

  JD Preston.

  Or make that JD Preston Whitman. Or Whitman Preston. Who the fuck knew what he went by now that he was a happily married man.

  Not that Vaughn was bitter or anything. Their relationship, if you could call it that, had never been about that. They’d never felt permanent. Just more convenient than anything. JD always knew that Vaughn wasn’t in it for the long haul. And Vaughn always knew that JD would leave.

  Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when he did, though.

  Because they worked….for a while.

  “Preston.”

  Vaughn smiled at JD’s answer, “I thought your name was longer now.”

  JD was silent for several long seconds, “It is, but not when I answer the phone, especially when ghosts call.”

  “Ghosts? I didn’t ghost on you, babe. You ghosted on me.”

  JD sighed, and Vaughn could just picture him running his fingers through his hair in frustration.

  “What are you calling for, Vaughn?”

  “Caysun Rourke.”

  “Hmm, doesn’t ring a bell. Should I know him?”

  “Does Grady O’Toole ring that bell for ya?” he snapped.

  Vaughn knew he was being an asshole but he didn’t have time to be nice.

  Silence answered him, and Vaughn frowned in confusion. Of course, JD knew who Grady O’Toole was. His case file had crossed their desk in some way or another back when they were partners. Several times.

  JD sighed into the phone. Not a tired sigh. Not a confused sigh.

  No. This was a ‘you’re not going to like this,’ sigh.

  Vaughn knew. He was familiar with all of JD’s sighs and this was the one he hated the most.

  “Vaughn, you know that we do a lot of business with Doyle Global Securities, right?”

  Vaughn’s frown deepened, “Yeah, I’ve heard of them. So, what?”

  “Doyle was started by and is owned by Morgan Doyle.”

  Vaughn could almost feel the wheels turning in his brain as he tried to put together why JD was telling him this.

  “He’s married to Luther Santiago, right?”

  “He is.”

  “I know Luther used to be sort of in the same line of work as Grady O’Toole but he’s not anymore, correct? I’m not seeing what this has to do with Caysun Rourke.”

  “Morgan Doyle is the nephew of, well, the very estranged nephew of Grady O’Toole. He and his family haven’t spoken in decades, not since Morgan came out when he was sixteen. I just thought you should know that before you tell me anything else.”

  Vaughn weighed his options as he stared at Caysun and, in the end, he only came up with the same answer.

&n
bsp; “I still need your help, JD.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Nearby.”

  “What do you need?”

  “Men.”

  JD snorted a laugh, “I know of a few clubs I could tell you about.”

  “Funny. No, I need backup and I need it like ten minutes ago.”

  JD sighed again, “Okay, let me see if I can pry my husband’s mouth off of my dick long enough for us to get dressed.”

  Vaughn nearly swallowed his tongue, “Jesus, man. You’ve been getting blown the entire time you were talking to me?”

  “That’s our rule.”

  “Your rule is to blow each other whenever you’re on the phone?”

  JD snorted again, “No, asshole. Our rule is nothing and nobody interrupts our sexy time. If the phone rings and one of us has to answer, we don’t stop. We just slow things down a bit until the call is done.”

  Vaughn reached down to adjust his plumping dick, “I did not need to know that, Preston,” he said with a growl. “Look, are you going to help me or not?”

  With a sigh and a growl that most definitely was not JD’s voice, “Yeah, we will. Where do you need us?”

  “Do you know the Middle of Nowhere pub off route three?”

  JD huffed a laugh, “Yeah, that’s about ten minutes from our place. What’s the plan?”

  “I’m going to send you a picture. I need someone to cover both the back and front to keep Caysun from leaving. I’m hoping he’ll come with me willingly, but I have no idea what his intentions are.”

  “Do you have reason to hold him, Vaughn? Is he wanted for questioning?”

  “Yes, but…..not by us.”

  Vaughn could pretty much hear JD rolling his eyes, “Jesus, dude, whose toes are you stepping on?”

  “FBI.”

  JD growled, “Vaughn.”

  “He wants to turn, JD. I know he does. And I want O’Toole. You know why.”

  JD sighed, “Yeah, I do. Okay, we’ll leave now. Ouch! Five. We’ll leave in five, Vaughn. I’ll text you when we’re outside,” he said and then he ended the call.

  Vaughn couldn’t help the grin that he wore. He’d never met JD’s husband, but it sounded like the guy was perfect for him. That made Vaughn happy. A little wistful as he thought about his own pathetic, lonely life, but happy for JD. The man deserved that. He’d put up with enough from Vaughn for a long time, longer than Vaughn deserved.

  It wasn’t easy to be the boyfriend of a man entirely focused on his brother, both caring for him, protecting him when they were together and watching over him when moved away from Vaughn and stopped talking to him. That didn’t leave a lot of room – or time – for anyone else.

  Now with him being truly missing, it was now Vaughn’s mission to find him - alive or dead – and get his revenge on whoever hurt him.

  Four

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Sylas

  When Sylas first began to wake up the first thing he noticed was the smell. He wasn’t home, he knew that for sure because everything smelled…..antiseptic. That was his first clue that he was in the hospital. His second was the steady beep, beep of a heart monitor…..the sound of which sped up the moment his eyes flickered open and he saw Grainger Peele asleep in the chair in the corner. What the fuck was he doing here? Sylas took a deep breath to slow down his heart and then he took a few quiet moments to study the man.

  He was a study in contrasts: big, strong, confident and yet worry lines framed his beautiful eyes. Sculpted, chiseled muscles that spoke volumes about his discipline and yet the smirk that kept gracing his lips showed a man who liked to have fun. An obviously caring heart who yearned to help, to heal and yet, in sleep he looked like someone who longed to be loved.

  Could someone like him love a fucked-up mess like Sylas Thorne? Why would he? Why would anyone?

  Grainger suddenly jerked and moaned in his sleep. He gasped once and whispered out, “No!” and then his eyes fluttered open. He scraped a hand over his face with a muttered, “Bloody hell.”

  Normally, Sylas would close his eyes and pretend he was still sleeping so that he didn’t get caught staring at someone and risk ridicule or anger or more. But something about Grainger made him feel safe. So, it was with his eyes still open, staring back at him, that Grainger’s eyes found his after he managed to shake off sleep.

  “Bad dream?” Sylas whispered.

  “More like reliving a nightmare,” Grainger said with a sleep weary voice. “How are you? Are you okay?”

  Sylas sighed, “I guess? I don’t really remember much after she, after she…..oh god, my m-m-m-m-my mother stabbed me,” he said with a sob as the memories flooded back.

  Before he could gather himself together with his standard, “I’m fine,” facade, Grainger was by his side, one hand brushing the hair back from Sylas’ forehead while the other gripped his fingers tight.

  “Shhh, you’re safe now, Sy. You’re safe now.”

  Grainger’s forehead came down to rest against Sylas’. Fuck, the man was so comforting that Sylas knew he could wrap him up in a cocoon of security that Sylas could hide away in for the rest of his life and be happy. But he was done hiding from the world. He was so done with that. With a sigh, he gripped Grainger’s huge bicep and pushed him back a little so he could look into his eyes. He needed answers and he needed to ask his questions now before he lost his nerve.

  But those questions flew from his mind like pigeons off a windowsill when he saw that Grainger was crying too.

  He brushed a few tears away with his thumb as he whispered, “Why are you crying?”

  Grainger squeezed his eyes shut as his head tilted into the palm that was resting against his cheek, “You died, luv, you bloody died.”

  “What?”

  Grainger sighed, “That’s what my nightmare was, Sy. I was reliving the moment you stopped breathing after I pulled you out of the fire.”

  Fire??? Wait, what?

  Grainger must’ve seen the confusion in Sylas’ eyes. He turned away and pulled the chair closer to the bed then he sat in it and clasped Sylas’ hand in both of his, “How about you tell me what was going on with your mother and then I’ll tell you everything that happened, okay?”

  “Yeah, okay but can I ask something first?”

  “Of course.”

  “What, um, why are you here? I don’t mean to sound rude but, I’m just so confused.”

  Grainger smiled, “My sister got a call from, um, I think she said his name was Cole?”

  “Yeah, Cole is my best friend but how???”

  “Just before you passed out, you managed to call him. The call was left open and he could hear your mother talking to herself and he could tell the situation was bad. He’s the one who recommended my sister as a therapist and he knew she was in the area, so he called her and asked her to check on you. She asked me to go with her. I,” he whispered, his cheeks turning pink as he blushed, “I, uh, rode in the ambulance with you.”

  “Oh.”

  “Tell me about your mum, Sy. How long had she been violent?”

  “She hasn’t. She’s been suffering with dementia for about two years now and recently she was becoming verbally abusive towards me but there was never anything physical.”

  “Do you remember if anything set her off before she hurt you?”

  “No. I mean, she made some of the derogatory comments about me being gay but those had unfortunately become normal for her with her disease. But it was nothing out of the ordinary. Why? Can you please tell me what happened? Where’s my mother now, Dr. Peele?”

  Pain washed across Grainger’s face, from what Sylas wasn’t exactly sure.

  “I know we’ve only spoken a couple of times but I’d really like it if you called me Grainger, if you’re comfortable with that.”

  Sylas nodded, “Okay, G-g-g-Grainger.”

  Grainger smiled sadly and squeezed Sylas’ fingers, “Do you remember anything after getting stabbed?”


  Sylas shook his head, “No. I don’t even remember getting my phone out and calling Cole.”

  “Cole could hear your mother. He said it sounded like she was pacing and agitated, mumbling a bunch of nonsense. He borrowed his husband’s phone and called Cecilia to let her know what was going on. She told him she’d go right over and then she called me to go with her because she wanted someone to subdue your mother while she checked on you. What we found when we got there was even worse,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut as he turned away.

  “Grainger, please,” Sylas pleaded, because as much he as didn’t want to know…..he needed to know.”

  “The house was on fire, Sy. It looked like it had started in the back because the flames hadn’t made it to the kitchen yet. But the smoke. There was so much smoke, Sy. Your mother was….she was lying on the floor next to you, holding your hand. I,” he hiccuped, “I checked her pulse and she was gone. I had no choice, Sy. My sister never could’ve carried either of you and you were still alive. I had to try to save you and in doing so, I had to leave your mother behind. I’m so sorry, Sy, so fucking sorry.”

  Sylas squeezed his hand, “It’s okay, Grainger. I understand.”

  “But it’s not. It’s not okay, none of this is okay,” he said with a sob, “Bloody hell, Sy, your mother hurt you, your own fucking mother! I can’t stand that you’ve been dealing with this by yourself. You should’ve had somebody there to help you. I should’ve bloody been there,” he said as he pounded his palm against his chest.

  Sylas’ eyes went wide, “Why?”

  “What?” Grainger said, his chest heaving as if he were out of breath.

  “Why should you have been there, Grainger? We just met.”

  Grainger’s eyes went wide and then he pushed to his feet and began pacing by the edge of the bed, mumbling as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Bloody arsehole.”

  Sylas snickered and the sound made Grainger freeze and look over.

  He tried to cover his mouth with his hand but it got tangled up with the wires and IV tube in the back of it. “Ow, sorry, sorry, I don’t mean to laugh but, okay, I did mean to laugh. Bloody arsehole?”

  Grainger grinned and it lit up his entire face, “My British comes out when I’m stressed or agitated. I’m, shit, I’m totally screwing this up.”