“Okay. We’ll leave it. Tell me about Radulf though.”
Ben swallowed. “He lost the sight in one eye completely and can’t see much out of the other they think. His lung was punctured by a rib. He’s out of the hospital and home with Ingrid.”
“Okay.” He was silent for a time, his bandaged fingers picking idly at the sheet, processing this news. “At least we’ve maybe now discovered why he couldn’t be rehomed, yes?” He rubbed his own throat thoughtfully. He closed his one good eye, then swung his arm and smashed the water glass off the table. “That fucking cunting fuck of a whore.”
“Nikolas!”
Nikolas shrugged. “It’s only you who I don’t like to hear swear.”
§ § §
Four days later, they removed the bandages from Nikolas’s face. He wasn’t given any pain medication for this procedure, which he tried to remedy—forcibly. When they’d finished, Ben was allowed in again. He helped him to the bathroom. It was almost recognisable as his face now. It was still very swollen and beautiful shades of blue and purple, green and yellow, but it would heal. Everything would heal.
Nikolas turned to Ben and took his face in his hands. Very carefully he kissed him. It was the gentlest kiss they’d ever shared.
Ben then took over, cupping Nikolas’s face like a precious thing, butterfly-kissing his warm lips, kissing over his good eye, even placing the lightest of kisses on the fracture across his nose, and then pressing harder into the places that could take harder kissing, his neck, his throat, some of the bruising on his collarbone. Very carefully, Ben unbuttoned Nikolas’s shirt and kissed his healing shoulder wound, licking it gently, returning to his neck, licking and sucking. Ben’s hand strayed down to Nikolas’s jeans, and he grunted, clearly pleased and relieved at what he found, but when Nikolas pressed the hand on firmer, Ben eased away and shook his head. “Later.”
“Then let’s go.”
“You need to—”
“I need you, Benjamin. Everything else in this world I’ve discovered over the last few days is unnecessary to me. I need life, and I need you. Now, we’re leaving. Make yourself more useful than you usually do and pack my bag.”
§ § §
On the car ride back to the lodge, Nikolas cranked up the heat in the vehicle to almost unbearable levels, and this was to be a feature of their lives over the next few days. He wanted the cabin heated to tropical temperatures that forced Ben outside for frequent relief breaks. Ben went through the woodpile at twice the previous rate, keeping fires high and roaring all day. Ben would’ve let him burn the place down if that was what he needed.
Ben would never forget what he’d found in the snow that day when he and Squeezy followed the sound of the barking. It looked as if someone had been fed through a wood chipper. There was blood everywhere, sprayed out around the three bodies. Seeing Gabby so obviously dead, her throat ripped out and dragged across the snow, he knew all three of them were equally gone. It was not possible anything could have survived that bloodbath, and it didn’t occur to him to think it could be otherwise. It was Squeezy who’d found Nikolas was still alive. Just. It was Squeezy who immediately stripped off his own warm clothes and dressed the naked body as best he could then stripped Ben of his outer layers to use them as well, at the same time calling for an air ambulance and shouting at Ben to make him repeat it all in Danish. He’d made Ben sit with Nikolas, cradling him, protecting him as best as he could from the snow, while he ran into the shed and found the blankets and brought them out, wrapping up the unconscious man and the dog. When he could do no more for the injured, he’d covered the staring face of the dead. He was the one who drove one of the snowmobiles a little way away and set fire to it, sending up a whoosh of black smoke and orange flame into the blank, white landscape. He was the one who’d taken the unconscious dog to the vet while Ben travelled in the ambulance with Nikolas.
On the second day home, Nikolas was well enough to be helped down to the sofa. His skull fracture was still making him nauseous. He was weak and cranky. He complained about the almost constant pain from his cheekbone and broken nose. Ben suspected this last had far more to do with the fact they couldn’t kiss than it really did about pain, so he let him whine; he wanted to whine about the no kissing, too.
He eased onto the sofa as close as Nikolas could tolerate and handed him some coffee. Nikolas smelt it and turned his face away. “Coffee’s lost its appeal, I think.” He slid his hand into the back of Ben’s T-shirt, and down onto the warm skin beneath the waistband of his jeans. “So, it’s time to talk, maybe?”
“Are you sure—?”
“Just tell me. No one will tell me anything.”
“It was Gabby.”
Nikolas frowned, something he constantly did before remembering he had a broken nose. He then winced and seemed to regret that as well. “Gabby? Anna was your friend Gabby from…” He stopped for a while, thinking. “Ben, are you telling me I was taken out by a middle-aged, female librarian?”
Ben bit his lip. It wasn’t fair to laugh at Nikolas under the circumstances, and he hadn’t laughed much in the last few days; it felt strange now. Instead, he poked him very gently. “If you’d described her better, I’d have known who she was immediately.”
“I described her exactly.”
“Yourantedthat a woman with huge boobs and almost no clothes on told you she was pregnant with my baby. I didn’t think that described Gabby, who usually wore flannel and was old enough to be my mother.” Ben didn’t often deflect his own guilt by accusing Nikolas of failings—that was Nikolas’s trick with him—but the guilt and humiliation he felt at not seeing Gabby for what she was tore at him. He’d spent his adult life relying on his ability to judge people, and the one time he needed this skill to save Nikolas he’d abandoned it in favour of motherly hugs and the need for a grown-up to be there for him if he failed. He was pathetic. Self-hate gnawed at his belly.
“She saw us, you know. She was watching us when—”
“When we fought.”
“I was going to say when I hit you and—Hey, what’s wrong? Ben, don’t…”
Ben raised his eyes to the ceiling to try and regain some control. “I’m sorry, Nik. It was my fault. I can’t believe I said that to you—that I accused you of—If I could take it back—”
“Ben. Stop.” Ben could feel Nikolas’s thumb stroking the base of his spine. Nikolas appeared so pale, so tired, his eyes staring vacantly out over the snowy landscape, that Ben was sure Nikolas didn’t even know he was doing it. Ben was about to tell him again that it was his fault, about to try assuage some of the awful guilt he’d been living with for so many days, when Nikolas avowed quietly, as if he’d been asked a question he was determined to answer, “It was the afternoon before he shot Sergei. He saw us together in bed. Sergei and me.” He then looked straight at Ben. “You must have realised by now, Benjamin, after so many years this was not so repugnant to me. I was seventeen. If I’d wanted it stopped, I’d have stopped it. Tell me you understand this, because it’s very hard for me to admit this to you at last.”You are the only man I have ever willingly given my body to.
Ben put his hand to Nikolas’s bruised neck and cupped it lightly. Nothing else mattered except the thumb stroking on his warm skin and knowing Nikolas was here with him.Nothing.
