Copper and Salt, page 8
Finally, though, Alex broke away, his breathing ragged, hand still cradling the back of Oren’s neck, and Oren pressed their foreheads together.
“Okay,” he finally said. “So that happened.”
“I’m sorry,” Alex whispered.
“For a kiss that incredible? Why?”
Alex sat back, mouth unhappy. “You said—and then I kissed you even though you don’t want—”
Oren took his hand. “Sex and kissing don’t have to go together. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a long time. And I mean… I do want sex, sometimes, but… you’re not ready.”
Alex tilted his head. “You do not want sex—but you want kiss—to kiss me?”
“If that’s okay with you,” Oren said, smiling at him.
“Da,” Alex whispered. “You are… good kisser.”
“Only when I have a good partner,” Oren murmured, turning his head to kiss him again and something that had been niggling at him since Nikolai’s visit slotted into place as neatly as a puzzle piece.
He jerked away, making Alex flinch. “The dishes!”
“What?”
“The dishes,” Oren repeated. He lunged, scooping Alex off the couch in one smooth motion and turning to run for the stairs as Alex clung to his neck. “There aren’t any signs of you in the house, except the kitchen,” he panted as he pounded up the steps. “Two plates, two bowls… two—cups…”
Alex’s eyes went wide. “You think—”
“Yeah,” Oren gasped. He nearly dropped Alex on the bed in his haste, tripping over an apology, but Alex waved it off.
“Get what you need,” he said, his eyes huge with fear. He wrapped his arms around himself. “Where… will we go?”
“Into Cheyenne,” Oren said as he flung the wardrobe open and grabbed a heavy backpack from it. He stuffed a sweater and Alex’s pills into it, cramming the first aid kit on top and slinging it over his shoulder. “We have to go right now. They could be back at any minute, there’s no telling when they’ll realize what they saw.”
“What if they don’t?”
Oren stopped for a second. “Do you really want to take that chance?”
Alex hesitated and then shook his head.
“Me either. Let’s go.”
He bundled Alex into his arms again, hating the way he was trembling.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said as they put coats on and he carried him down the stairs to the garage. “I won’t let them touch you.”
Alex said nothing, holding onto Oren’s sweater with an almost desperate tightness.
But when they got to the garage, it was to the sight of the jeep with all four tires slashed, sitting on its rims.
Alex made a quiet noise and put his head on Oren’s chest as Oren stared blankly at his vehicle.
“Plan B,” he said finally. “We hike to town. Maybe hitchhike, if we can find someone dumb enough to be out in this besides murderous Russians.”
“You cannot carry me all the way to town,” Alex protested. “It is too much, Oren, you must not!”
Oren grinned at him, baring his teeth. “Fucking watch me.”
He dropped the pack on the floor and set Alex on the hood of the jeep. “Piggy-back,” he said, turning around.
“Piggy-what?” Alex said, sounding on the verge of a breakdown.
“Sorry,” Oren said. “Get on my back, sweetheart, just slide right on, there you go, like that.” He guided Alex into position, keeping him in place, and then bent and picked up the pack. “Can you put this on your back?”
Alex wriggled awkwardly into the backpack, struggling to keep his balance as Oren held still. When he was ready, Oren strode out of the garage, the cold hitting him like a slap in the face and making him gasp. He felt Alex huddle against his back, tightening his grip.
But as he turned to make his way down the driveway toward the road, the unmistakable rumble of an engine floated up through the trees below them and they both froze.
“It’s them, it’s him,” Alex said urgently against his ear.
“Probably,” Oren said. He began backing up the slope toward the tree line, watching the road. Their only chance was if he could hide them in the trees, get them out of sight and make a run for it. Even weighed down by an extra hundred and fifty pounds, Oren liked their odds. He’d seen the dress shoes the Russians had been wearing, and he hadn’t spent two years lumberjacking in the north for nothing.
Alex was clinging to him so tightly Oren’s oxygen was threatened. He patted Alex’s thigh as he climbed. His thighs were burning, his lungs aching, but everything in him howled hurry, hurry, they’re coming back.
“Need to be able to breathe, babe,” he said, keeping his voice light.
Alex loosened his grasp instantly, babbling an apology.
“You watch the house until we’re out of sight, tell me if you see them,” Oren told him, and began to climb in earnest.
The tree line wasn’t far—he’d built his house in the middle of the forest very deliberately, after all. But every nerve twitched as he covered the open ground, knowing they were exposed to anything and everything like this.
“I see—” Alex said just as a gun barked and a half-second later, a bullet zinged past their heads.
“Fuck.”
Oren started running in a zigzag pattern, bobbing and weaving as someone fired again and then a third time. Both bullets whined harmlessly off into the forest, a man shouted, and then they were under the trees and Oren was taking them deeper in, ducking branches and skirting trunks as the world grew dark around them, the sun blotted out by the branches above them.
Alex held on, his head down and legs wrapped around Oren’s waist, sticking like a burr.
Oren kept going, the burn in his thighs settling into a steady ache. He hadn’t pushed himself this hard in years, but it wasn’t something the body easily forgot. He found himself falling back into the regular breathing, in-out-in with his footsteps, moving like a shadow through the trees without making a sound.
He climbed for several hours before he stopped, even though there hadn’t been any sounds of pursuit.
Finally, though, he found a small clearing that fit his purposes and he knelt, easing Alex to the ground.
When Oren turned to face him, Alex was unsuccessfully trying to wipe tears away.
“Is it your ankle?” Oren asked. “You should take a pill—I don’t know how much longer I’m going to hike, but it’ll be awhile, and you’re going to be wiped.”
Alex shook his head, gulping air, and pointed at the valley. Puzzled, Oren looked where he was pointing.
A huge, black plume of smoke was billowing lazily up from below them. There was only one structure large enough to create a pillar of smoke that big, Oren realized, his stomach turning over. His house.
“Oh no,” he whispered. His house, his house, the one he’d built himself from scratch, fueled by determination and dollar store noodles and endless sleepless nights, was going up in flames right now, with all his beloved creations inside it. Turned to ash, destroyed in an instant.
Alex buried his face in his hands. “I am so sorry, Oren,” he sobbed.
“We need to keep going,” Oren heard himself say, as if from a great distance.
Alex dropped his hands and drew a deep breath, squaring his shoulders and nodding. He got to his knees and Oren helped him climb back into position.
Oren stood and began walking again without looking behind him.
He climbed for several more hours, numb with grief, but by the end of it, he was beginning to put things in perspective. He’d built it once. He could build it again. He was still healthy, still young and strong and talented, not to mention good at what he did and in high demand. He didn’t have to survive on dollar store noodles this time when he was rebuilding—he could make it better than it had been before. That one basement door that had always hung a little crooked could be fixed. The plate glass windows he’d wanted but hadn’t been able to afford last time were within his reach this time. And his fireplace—he almost smiled to himself. His fireplace with its one crooked stone would still be there.
Alex was silent, still holding on but saying nothing, and finally Oren decided they’d gone far enough.
He chose another small clearing and stopped, kneeling and letting Alex slide to the ground.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
Alex lifted a shoulder. “It matters not.” His voice was small, defeated, and Oren realized he’d spent the last several hours blaming himself for everything that had happened.
He took Alex’s hands in his, startling Alex into looking up. Oren was smiling when he did.
“How are you feeling?” he repeated.
“I—” Alex closed his mouth and hunched his shoulders.
“You’re in pain,” Oren guessed.
Alex hesitated and then nodded jerkily, and Oren let go of him to pull the backpack off his shoulders and rummage in it for the bottle. He handed Alex a pill and waited for him to swallow it before beginning to unpack the rest of the bag.
“I don’t have a tent, unfortunately, and my go bag is geared for one,” he said as he set out items. “So we’ll have to share the sleeping bag, and I’ll either have to fish or scavenge food for us, because the MREs I brought won’t feed both of us for long. Luckily, I do have a fishing line and hooks in here.”
Alex watched him, clearly puzzled. “What is… go bag?” he asked.
Oren hesitated in shaking out the waterproof sleeping bag. “I guess it was bound to come out sooner or later. Let’s have dinner and I’ll tell you, okay? I don’t think it’s safe to have a fire yet, they could be out looking for us.”
They sat down cross-legged on the sleeping bag and Alex chose the chicken alfredo MRE. Oren opted for the lasagna, and they both began to eat.
“I’m twenty-six years old,” Oren said between bites of lasagna. “And when I was seventeen, I killed a man.”
8
He was aware of Alex’s eyes on him, but he kept his own gaze fixed firmly on his meal as he spoke.
“His name was Ben. We were… best friends.” Golden, laughing Ben, star of track and field, charming and funny and guaranteed to have anyone smiling within minutes of meeting them. So different from Oren, with his strange sense of humor and gangly limbs, ears that stuck out and hair that wouldn’t lie flat.
“I don’t know what he saw in me. Maybe it was just that I was a good foil for him.” Oren shrugged, stabbing a bite of pasta.
Alex tilted his head. “Foil?”
“Uh… I made him look better. He was tall and handsome and smart, I was short and awkward and weird. Puberty wasn’t very kind to me, and I wasn’t exactly popular in school. I have no idea why he decided to be friends with me.”
Alex took Oren’s hand, his fingers warm and solid. “He was… good person?”
Oren nodded, his throat closing up. “The best person,” he managed.
“That is why,” Alex said simply.
It was a minute before Oren could speak again. Finally he drew a breath.
“The night before we graduated high school, we went to a party. Everyone was there, it was nuts. There was a lot of drinking, of course, but I was driving, so I didn’t have any, I stuck to the juice. Only I didn’t realize it wasn’t just juice—someone had spiked it.”
Alex opened his mouth but Oren beat him to the punch.
“Spiked—they’d put alcohol in it. I didn’t taste it, it was really sweet, and I didn’t realize.”
“Oh,” Alex said softly, putting his food on the ground and wrapping his arms around his midriff.
“Yeah,” Oren said. “I knew something was wrong, but Ben was even worse off than I was. He was in no condition to take the wheel. I was taking him home, and he lived way out in the country, about fifteen miles outside town. I used to complain about how far out he lived, and he’d spend the night at my house more often than not.” Sleeping on my bed, his hair tickling my nose, his arm draped across my waist in a careless sprawl—
Alex shifted a little closer. His eyes were luminous in the moonlight, his skin almost translucent except where the bruises still mottled the surface, an ugly reminder of what they were running from.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I wrecked the truck,” Oren said bluntly. “I was wearing my seatbelt. Ben wasn’t. I don’t know how fast I was going, but I wrapped the truck around a tree. Killed him on impact. Broke my leg in three places, my wrist, collarbone, a few ribs.” He closed his eyes.
“How long were you… with him? Until found?” Alex asked.
“It was around three AM when it happened,” Oren said. “My phone was smashed, and I couldn’t get to Ben’s. It was probably busted too, considering what had been done to him. We were found by someone going to work, around eight.”
Alex shivered, sliding another inch nearer. “All that time, alone with….” He hunched his shoulders. “I am sorry, Oren.”
“Are you cold?” Oren said abruptly.
“A little,” Alex said. “It matters not.”
“No, come here.” Oren pulled Alex into his arms, opening his jacket, enveloping Alex’s slender frame in its downy warmth. Alex shuddered and relaxed against him with a shaky sigh.
“Oh. Thank you.”
Oren pressed his cheek to Alex’s silky hair. “Anyway, Ben’s parents pretty much owned the town. They had businesses all over, Ben’s dad was running for office, they were heavy hitters, and they’d never liked Ben being friends with me.”
“They blamed you.” Alex’s voice was soft, beginning to slur with exhaustion and the drugs kicking in.
“Yeah, they did. Convinced the DA—sorry, district attorney—to throw the book at me. Try me as an adult, get every single charge levied against me they could think of. My parents weren’t rich, they couldn’t afford a decent lawyer, so I took a plea deal.”
“What is plea deal?”
“I basically pled guilty to all the charges and they gave me a reduced sentence—twenty years. Because I was a juvenile, and I didn’t cause problems, I was given parole in a little over a year. I was home before I was nineteen.”
Alex had relaxed against him, his limbs sleep-heavy and loose, his breathing slow and steady, and Oren held him and gazed up at the stars, cold and frozen above them.
“I miss you, Ben,” he whispered. “I couldn’t stand it. It was like being flayed alive, every time I went outside, every look I got, every whisper, every turned shoulder and hissed comment. I wanted to die too. I wanted to be with you, I didn’t want to be alone anymore. You’d left me, just like you’d promised you’d never do.”
So he’d left too. Kissed his mother’s cheek as she dozed in front of her crossword puzzle, the television flickering silently over the room, and shouldered his bag.
He’d caught a ride out of Texas on the first semi that was willing to take him, uncaring where it was going, just needing to go, to get away.
Alex stirred, rubbing his nose against Oren’s arm. “Mihai,” he whispered, and squirmed into a more comfortable position.
Oren held him a while longer, but finally his back began to protest, and he sighed, maneuvering Alex upright.
Alex blinked at him, his eyes drowsy, and Oren fought the urge to kiss him yet again.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “But we need to actually get in the sleeping bag or we’ll freeze to death before the night’s half over.”
“Alright,” Alex agreed, dreamy and placid, and allowed Oren to help him into position inside the bag.
“Lucky for you I got the roomy bag,” Oren said, sliding in next to him and zipping it up. It was snug, but they both fit.
Alex made a drowsy noise and turned toward him, pressing his face into Oren’s collarbone. His breath tickled Oren’s skin and Oren was pretty sure he was already asleep again.
Oh help, Oren thought yet again, and fell asleep himself.
Oren woke up alone in the sleeping bag. He jolted upright, adrenaline flooding his system in a sickening rush as he looked wildly around the clearing, but there was no sign of Alex.
Oren scrambled out of the bag, swearing under his breath. Alex didn’t even have his crutch—how far could he have gotten?
The ground crunched beneath his feet and Oren’s breath hung in front of him in tiny, frozen clouds as he cast around for footprints. He found Alex’s trail easily enough, striking out to the south and east, back toward Cheyenne.
“You brave, stupid—” Oren set his jaw and plunged down the hill, slipping and sliding on the icy patches, his arms flailing wildly as he struggled to keep his balance.
Alex had gotten farther than Oren had expected, simply by peeling a piece of bark from one of the trees outside their camp and using it as a sled. Unfortunately for him, it had overturned into a snow bank and he was struggling to drag himself out and get back on it when Oren caught up to him.
Oren lost his balance and nearly fell headfirst into the snow next to him, managing to stop himself by hooking an arm around the trunk of the nearest tree. His fall aborted, he dragged himself back to his feet and spun on Alex.
But his anger evaporated when he realized that Alex was on his knees, both arms over his head, braced for a blow.
“Oh no,” Oren said, going to his knees himself. “Alex, no. Look at me, sweetheart, can you do that?”
Alex lowered his arms slowly, tears streaking his cheeks. He was trembling, and Oren had a feeling it was only partly to do with the way his clothes were thoroughly soaked.
“Oren,” he whispered. “He will kill you. I had to go.”
“You left for me, didn’t you?” Oren said gently.
Alex nodded, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Andrei is… evil, Oren. He will—I had to.”
