Page 153 of Hush

“’Course I am, marshal. You think I’m dumb enough to give that up? Nah. Hell, I’ve expanded.” Willy waved for them both to follow him around his porch and down a set of old steps made of half-rotted railroad ties, built into the hillside. They descended into a grove on the far side of Willy’s house, shaded with thick branches. A leaning shed in bad need of a coat of paint squatted in front of two rusted-out trucks, their hoods gone, engines exposed, and tires long since rotted away.

Willy disappeared into the shed and reemerged carrying two mason jars of crystal-clear liquid. “This is the good stuff, marshal. You paying?”

“Of course.” Mike pulled out his wallet and forked over forty dollars. Willy passed him the jars. Mike unscrewed one. He sniffed it, and then pulled back, blinking. “Youhaveimproved.” He held the jar out for Willy to take a sip.

Willy downed a hefty swallow, like he was gulping water, and passed it back, smacking his lips. Mike took a much more delicate sip, and then handed the jar to Tom.

Tom felt the fumes before he took a drink. His eyes watered, and as the moonshine passed his lips, liquid fire bloomed over his tongue, through his mouth, and down his throat when he swallowed. He coughed hard, fighting his body’s reaction.Get it out, get it out!Mustering his dignity, Tom managed to keep the moonshine down. “That’s strong,” he croaked.

Willy laughed. “Your folks bought two jars each summer, every year. Lasted them the whole season.”

“I can see why.”

Pocketing the money, Willy sent them away. “Go away, boys. Go get to fishin’ or doin’ whatever you came up here to do. I ain’t needin’ any feds in my business.” He smiled, but there was a weight to his words, an underlying tension that Tom couldn’t remember from his boyhood memories.

Mike guided him back up the rotten steps to the gravel road. Willy was a little over a hundred yards away from Tom’s place, around the bend in the old mountain track. It was far enough away to feel like they were the only two people living in the forest, and might as well be a hundred miles apart.

They spent the rest of the afternoon hiking down the creek, passing between hazy shafts of sunlight as they made their way to the meadow. Woodpeckers drilled for bugs in the fallen trunk of an oak, and buckeyes grew in scattered copses, their branches filled with twittering birds and fragile nests of newly-hatched babies. Sun-dappled wildflowers grew next to golden threads of wispy, waving weeds. Hickory trees shivered in the light wind, branches creaking far overhead. Etta Mae sniffed and sniffed, and then napped at the base of a sugar maple.

There was only one rule for the day: no talking about the trial.

That evening, Mike grilled burgers as Tom tried to drown a shot of moonshine in a quart of tangy juice. It still burned going down, but they shared the drink and a plate of burgers on the back porch by the glow of the old buzzing porchlight, its yellow gleam droning away and pushing off the impenetrable darkness of the woods. Etta Mae lounged on the deck, eyeing the plate of burgers before she fell asleep and started to snore.

Eventually, they made their way inside.

Mike guided Tom to the bedroom. He spun Tom into a slow dance, cheek to cheek, humming an old-time love song as he sneaked kisses. They stripped slowly, trading clothes for long, lingering kisses and soft caresses, the feel of fingers ghosting over each other’s skin. Mike trembled as Tom wrapped his arms around him, swayed him gently, and kissed the skin beneath his ear.

They ended up in the sheets, silver moonbeams falling through the pine branches and leaving trails of light on their skin. Ribbons of cream and scattered starlight flitted through the bedroom, curled around their arms, legs, faces. In the whole world, it seemed like all the light had fled, vanishing from the hushed forest, and leaving only the twinkling stars and the occasional firefly.

A glow curled over the bed, tickling toward Tom’s cheek, and Mike reached for it, for him, the pads of his fingertips shaking against Tom’s skin. He was buried inside Tom, making love to him slowly, slower than they ever had before. “Tom…”

There was something in Mike’s eyes, something that looked like a dam was cracking in half. Something was pouring out of Mike, something he’d held back.

“Tom,” he breathed, wincing. “Jesus, Tom… I love you. I love you.” He surged against Tom, kissing him, whimpering, trembling. “I love you.”

The last piece of Tom’s broken heart and broken life slipped back into place, finally finding a perfect alignment. His soul caught fire, bursting with too much love, too much joy, too much happiness that had suddenly flooded his existence. Mike, and everything that he was, swinging into his life from out of nowhere. Rewriting his entire world. “Mike, I love you, too.” He grabbed Mike, trying to pull him closer, deeper. Tried to wrap his arms and legs around him so he never had to let go. “Iloveyou, too.”

Mike’s smile could have blinded the sun, and said more to Tom than Mike ever could. He cradled Mike’s face, trying to show him how he felt, trying to pour every dream, every hope, every moment of happiness Mike had given him, into his touch.

He loved Mike, in every single way. Would love him, for every single day. “I will never stop loving you.”

Chapter 38

July 31st

Tom woke to the sounds of birds chirping in the trees and fluttering behind the cabin. He opened his eyes, and saw Mike already awake, watching him with a soft smile.

“Hey. Morning.”

“Morning.” Mike ran his finger down the side of Tom’s face, a featherlight touch. “How’d you sleep?’

“Perfectly.” Tom scooted closer and reached for Mike’s hand. “You?”

“Pretty good.” He kissed Tom’s hand, his knuckles. “About last night…”

Tom frowned.

“I meant it. I really love you.” Mike licked his lips and tried to hide his crimson cheeks. “I didn’t just say that because we’d been drinking and were—”