Page 11 of A Gathering Storm
Hearn’s expression was all disgusted misery. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Just go,” he spat. “Go on, fuck off back to your wife.”
“Why can’t you forget about her?” Gabe demanded, his voice edged with frustration. “If I can, you should be able to. Jesus, Nick, it’s not as though she’d care! She doesn’t want me anywhere near her since the baby came.”
Hearn gave a bark of laughter. “Ah, now I see why you followed me up here. Jenny’s not letting you tup her, so you’re looking for another bed to warm?” His lip curled up in a sneer. “Not even that probably—it’s not as though we ever needed a bed before, is it?”
“Christ, Nick—”
“Tell you what, if you want it so much, I’ll let you suck my cock. You can do it here, on your knees, the way I used to for you. You spilling down my throat while I spilled in the dirt.”
Hearn’s vitriolic words shocked Ward, so much so he felt physically winded by them, as though he’d been thrown by a horse and had all the air knocked out of him. He had to lay his hand on the tree beside him to steady himself, taking in a shaky breath as quietly as he could manage. He heard the pain in those words, registered Hearn’s hurt, accusatory tone, but even as he did so, his mind was supplying vivid images of this Gabe—or was it himself?—dropping to his knees while Nicholas Hearn unbuttoned his trousers . . . and God, but it was a picture that made his cock stiffen and throb. The thought of that fierce face staring down at Ward as Ward leaned forward, opening his mouth . . .
Ward swallowed thickly, blinking the fantasy away, focusing his attention back on the two men facing each other.
Hearn glared at Gabe, those silvery eyes burning a cold fire as he waited for some kind of response, but Gabe said nothing and eventually, after long moments of silence, Hearn gave a mocking laugh. “I thought not.”
He turned away so he faced the stream, giving Gabe—and Ward—his back.
When next he spoke, his voice was low and weary. “Go back to Truro, Gabe.”
“Nick—” Gabe’s voice cracked with some emotion, and behind Hearn’s implacable back, he lifted his hand, as though to touch him. He never made contact though. His hand hovered there, trembling in the air while Hearn stood, unmoving, looking out over the water.
Eventually, Gabe sighed and let his arm drop.
“I’m sorry,” he said, with what sounded like real sorrow. “I shouldn’t have followed you here.”
“No,” Nick said, without turning. “You shouldn’t.”
Unseen by Hearn, Gabe nodded, shoulders slumping. Then without another word—not even a farewell—he turned and began to walk towards Ward. Towards the path that led back to the village.
Alarmed, Ward drew further into the shadows of the dense copse. He was standing off the footpath itself and well hidden by the trees; nevertheless, he couldn’t help but worry he’d be seen. When Gabe passed him though, just a few feet from where Ward himself stood, he didn’t so much as glance Ward’s way, merely trudged away down the footpath.
Heart thudding, Ward watched him leave. He watched till Gabe had turned off onto the bridle path and vanished entirely out sight, and he kept watching for several minutes afterwards, all the while staying as still and silent as he could amongst the shadowy trees.
When finally he looked back at Nicholas Hearn, he saw that the man hadn’t moved so much as an inch. He stood in the exact same spot he’d been in when Gabe had left, still staring out over the little stream.
Heart thudding, Ward considered the best way to extricate himself from his predicament—he’d given up on the idea of talking to Hearn as soon as he’d realised what he was witnessing. Best to slip away and never speak to anyone of what he’d seen and heard this evening. The prudent thing to do would be to wait for Hearn to leave, then give it a few minutes before making his own escape. The only trouble with that plan was that Hearn was showing no sign of going anywhere. In fact, now he was sitting himself down on the grass and there was something about the set of those broad shoulders, and the stillness of his lonely figure, that made Ward suspect he was settling in for a while.
At last, deciding he had no choice but to try to sneak away as quietly as possible, Ward took a deep breath and stepped carefully back towards the footpath—immediately cracking a stick loudly beneath his boot.
Hearn whirled round at the sudden sound, scrambling to his feet. “Who’s there?” he cried. He glared into the shadowy area where Ward stood, and suddenly Ward felt like the worst sort of creeping voyeur—he’d known from the beginning he should’ve walked away as soon as he’d realised what was going on, but instead he’d let his curiosity about Nicholas Hearn take over.
Now he would have to own his shameful behaviour.
Ward forced himself to step out of the shadows—to walk past the line of trees that disguised him and meet Nicholas Hearn face-to-face. His cheeks flamed with heat as he saw the expression on Hearn’s face: wary fear and incipient fury.
“What were you doing? Were youhidingin there?” Hearn demanded. He stepped forward, and Ward immediately took a step back, stumbling a little. Already he was regretting his brief moment of courage—Hearn wasn’t much taller than Ward, but he was broader, and right now, looked very fierce. What’s more, he wasn’t as alone as Ward had initially believed. The ugly white dog that had been with him in the inn was here too. It trotted over from wherever it had been nosing around to stand beside Hearn and stare at Ward with its single baleful eye.
In the face of Ward’s stumbling retreat, Hearn halted, pulled back a little, and the dog glanced up at his master as though for instruction.
“Well?” Hearn demanded. He seemed to find an answer to his question on Ward’s face—perhaps in the intensifying heat that Ward felt flare on his cheeks—and added more softly, more dangerously, “How long were you there?”
Ward coughed—a nervous habit of his. Trying to clear a throat that could never be cleared.
“A while,” he admitted at last in his usual rasping tone.
Hearn studied him, his face oddly expressionless. At last he said flatly. “I don’t know what you heard, but—”
Ward interrupted. “It’s none of my business.” His throat ached, the way it sometimes did when he’d overused his voice, which was ridiculous when he’d barely spoken to anyone all day.