In last week's episode of No Way Out, Shy was tempted into behavior he knew was not what he was supposed to do, but he did it anyway. But then he received a call... can Wyatt talk him into staying, or does he really have to go... to be with Sir? Find out in this week's chapter. And don't forget to visit the other Briefers, whose links follow my tale. Enjoy!
“I have to go.” Shy
could not meet Wyatt’s eyes. Shame burned brightly in his heated cheeks. Randy
was coming home for lunch and had told him in no uncertain terms to be there.
Which meant he was hungry. Or horny. Or both. And looking for a little
afternoon delight from Shylor.
Shy didn’t want Wyatt’s questions. He wasn’t sure he could
answer them, or even handle hearing them. He was grateful that Randy had
detected nothing amiss in his own responses to his questions. If Randy ever
suspected that he and Wyatt... He left the thought unfinished.
Besides, there was
no him and Wyatt. That was a delusion, nothing more.
A pipe dream. He’d read about pipe dreams once, in a play. The Iceman Cometh. Shy enjoyed reading
plays. Luckily, Randy didn’t object, and he owned an impressive collection of
them, along with novels and assorted volumes of non-fiction. Most of it was for
show. Randy read little fiction, mostly Tom Clancy or W.E.B. Griffin. Or books
on chess. He played the game through email, and had an expensive chess set in
his study. Woe betide Shy if he should ever—God forbid—knock a piece off the
board, even accidentally.
That had happened only once. Shy had been about ten at the
time. He hadn’t meant to. But his protests had fallen on deaf ears. Both Randy’s
and hers. Shy had worn the resulting welts for many days afterward. They were a
badge of shame, and a reminder to do better in the future.
“Let me come with you.”
Shy finally raised his eyes, panic stricken at the very
idea. His mouth dropped open but he couldn’t seem to speak. Consternation
crossed Wyatt’s face.
“Just to the checkout,” he hastily added. “That’s all, that’s
all.”
Shy’s relief was palpable. Even so, it wasn’t a good idea
and he knew it. “I can manage.” He always had before.
He moved toward the shopping cart. To his dismay, Wyatt
moved in tandem with him. “Noooooo.” His
command came out as an anguished moan.
“I just want to help,” Wyatt tried again.
“You can’t help. No one can help. I have to go.” He turned
resolutely away. This had been a mistake, and he’d known it before he even
came. But at least it would be a memory he could hold onto, something to think
about at times when reality was too much and he needed mental relief from...
things.
“I want to see you again.”
Shy’s eyes went wide and he turned back to Wyatt. “You don’t
understand! I can’t!”
“Then make me understand,” Wyatt challenged him. He reached
for Shy, his hand ringing Shy’s wrist. Shy looked from Wyatt’s grip to the
other man’s intense gaze.
“I can’t,” he said dully. “I’m not yours to touch. I’m his.”
He yanked himself forcefully out of Wyatt’s grasp and began to push the cart toward
the front of the store, as if all the demons of Hell were hot on his heels.
* * * *
Wyatt didn’t move. He wanted to. God, how badly he wanted
to. But he was afraid he’d only make matters worse, even if he didn’t
understand what matters there were to make worse. But there was something
wrong, something seriously wrong here.
Wyatt was in over his head and he knew it.
Despair filled him as he stared helplessly after Shy’s
retreating figure until he turned a corner, out of sight. Shy needed him, he
knew it. But he was deliberately keeping
Wyatt at arm’s length. Why?
And why did he make himself sound like he was a possession?
Something to be owned, not loved. What was going on, and how long had it been
going on? Wyatt ached to know.
He resisted the impulse to follow Shy to the checkout,
afraid he’d push the frail young man over the edge of some awful abyss. Before
he made another move, he needed to talk to someone, explain the situation and
get his take on it. And he knew just the man to call.
He slid back into the cheap plastic bench seat, pulled out
his phone, and punched in Lukas’ number.
* * * *
Half of Shy was afraid Wyatt had followed him to the
checkout lanes. The other half was afraid he hadn’t. He told the second half to
shut up. As the checker scanned each item, Shy kept his attention riveted on
the terminal in front of him. He punched in the PIN of the card he used for purchases
made on Randy’s behalf. He gave Randy each receipt so he could tally it against
his bank statement. Randy knew about every purchase Shy made. And he gave
strict injunction against using the card for any purpose other than those he
sanctioned.
As the checker finished his order, Shy held his breath and
turned his head. He scanned the aisles, panning along the length of them. From
his vantage point, he could see most everything, but his field of vision didn’t
extend to the back and he saw no sign of Wyatt. Shy breathed a mixed sigh of
relief. He finished his transaction and pushed his cart to the long counter
beneath the plate glass windows that overlooked the parking lot, where he
carefully loaded everything into the bags he’d brought from home—Randy’s
mandate. And something Shy agreed was a good idea. Not that Randy had asked him
what he thought.
He forced himself to focus on Randy, on his detailed
instructions, what he’d told Wyatt to have ready when he got there. Once the
groceries were in the car and the cart pushed into the closest corral, he slid
into the driver’s seat. A twinge of regret pierced his heart, one he could not
properly define.
Wyatt would quickly forget him. Shy would just be an odd
tale to tell his friends, someone to laugh about. A joke. A nobody.
Shy couldn’t stop thinking about Wyatt.
So not good.
i love this story. Poor Shy. It's distressinly easy to make someone believe themselves to be a possession.I wonder what happens next.
ReplyDeletePoor Shy, he's had such a horrible life. I hope Wyatt can help him somehow... Looking forward to see what's going to happen.
ReplyDelete