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invitation, and his stomach somersaulted at the added heat of his
proximity. Though Rafe didn t break from his prayers, Sullivan
saw the faint flicker behind his closed lids, an acknowledgment of
his awareness to Sullivan s new position. He finished as he always
did, but this time, when he reached for the tinder to light the next
candle, he held it out for Sullivan to take.
Sullivan s hand shook as it folded around the fragile piece of
wood. The question as to why Rafe would give him this, why he
would invite Sullivan in on what was obviously a privately
meaningful ritual, poised on his tongue. He hated stealing it away.
But as he met Rafe s eyes, he realized he wasn t. This was a gift,
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an invitation to share and understand, and though Sullivan didn t
even come close to the latter, he could accept with grace and thank
Rafe afterward.
From that point on, they alternated. Rafe would light a candle,
and then Sullivan would take his turn. He even took to bowing his
head when Rafe did, though his prayers had to be different. And
when Rafe rose that night to leave, he touched the back of
Sullivan s hand. That was it. Between that and the smile,
Sullivan s pulse refused to slow and his cock refused to go back
down until after he d locked himself back in his apartment and
beat off.
When Sullivan showed up on the eighth day, he had yet to
speak another word to Rafe. He longed to. His questions were just
as numerous as before, but the interest Rafe had seemed to have in
finding answers was gone. None of the candles were lit, however.
Instead, Rafe leaned against the rear pew, his long legs crossed at
the ankles in front of him, his hands braced against the wooden
back.
He smiled when Sullivan entered. How tired are you? he
asked.
Why?
Because I have a job for you if you want it. But it means you
don t get to sit all night.
The darkness of the church s interior blinded Sullivan to the
nuances in those dark eyes he was coming to know so well, but the
teasing lilt in Rafe s voice was impossible to resist. I only sit
because you sit. I d hate to make you feel bad because I could last
longer on my feet than you do.
Rafe s surprised laughter rang throughout the building,
warming Sullivan s skin. For that, I m not giving you a choice.
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There s a bucket next to the door there. Pick it up and let s go.
He had to wait until he was outside again to see what the
bucket contained, but the only item immediately recognizable was
the paintbrush. Where are we going?
You ll see, came the cryptic answer.
They fell into step next to each other, in the same comfortable
silence that always typified their nights together. Occasionally, his
arm would brush over Rafe s, only a glance but enough to hint at
the solid body moving so gracefully beside him. Scents from the
restaurant were erased by the cool wind rustling down the street.
He missed them. He was coming to associate the rich spices with
Rafe s skin, which made eating dinner with Luther increasingly
embarrassing.
Rafe took him down the same path he d first entered Chadwick
on. Now that he d been here a week, some of its mysteries were
now gone. Like& now he understood the odd dichotomy of old and
very old. When the plagues had hit, the buildings had been left
behind, derelict, waiting for someone to come along again and fill
them with life. Without support from the outside world, the
survivors had little choice but to resort to more rudimentary
methods wood for fuel, growing their own food. There wasn t
time or means to tear down defunct technology. Life went on, even
when the rest of the world thought them dead or worthless.
Sullivan was quickly learning Chadwick was anything but.
They stopped at the signpost marking the edge of town. Rafe
took the bucket out of Sullivan s grip, their hands brushing for the
most fleeting of moments, and stepped closer to the placard. He
traced the broad paint strokes with his fingertips, over and over and
over again, like a lover caressing a sleeping partner in the moments
before he woke up. Each touch sent a corresponding shiver through
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Sullivan.
There s some matches in the bucket, Rafe said without
turning around. Can you light one so I can work, please?
There was a candle, too, along with a small, sealed Mason jar,
and a long-handled blade of some sort. Sullivan tamped down his
curiosity about the other tools and concentrated on the task
requested of him, holding the lit taper aloft when he was done.
Rafe picked up the blade first, which, in the pale yellow light,
Sullivan could better see wasn t sharp at all. He set the blunt edge
to the tip of the last number in the population and carefully scraped
the bottom half of the three away. The top half followed, crinkling
into shiny shavings that rained to the ground.
He had noted the newness of the numbers when he d arrived,
but now, knowing Rafe was the one who maintained it, that
awareness took on new meaning. With it, though, came dread, and
a sickening lurch of his gut.
Did someone have a baby? he said, deliberately asking about
the positive possibility in hopes it would be true.
No. Rafe gave him a half-smile as he traded the scraper for
the paintbrush. You re here now.
He was locked frozen while Rafe set to work unscrewing the
paint jar. Him? This was about him? But why now? Had he passed
some unknown milestone without knowing about it? Wouldn t
Rafe have told him?
They hadn t spoken, though. And he hadn t sought Rafe out at
any time when they could actually talk about it. He couldn t
complain about the lack of foreknowledge when it was just as
much his responsibility to find out as Rafe s.
Rafe worked with precision, the strong lines of the four slowly
replacing its predecessor. The paint glistened in the weak
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illumination, though it was thick enough not to roll or drip after
each stroke. He had the sudden urge to reach out and touch it, to
confirm it was real and not a figment of his imagination, but he
focused on keeping the candle steady, even after hot wax dripped
over his fingertips.
There. Rafe lowered the brush and returned to Sullivan s
side, cocking his head to survey his work. Now it s official. You
can t leave.
Such a simple gesture shouldn t have struck him as hard as it
did. His throat closed, and his heart thundered, and all he could
manage was a soft, As it should be.
Rafe glanced up at him once, but the curious glint could have
been a trick of the light. Sullivan didn t have time to analyze it,
because Rafe was already cleaning up, screwing the lid back onto
the jar, dropping the supplies back into the bucket.
Come on. Pursing his lips, Rafe blew out the candle,
shrouding them in darkness again. There s a little stream behind
the houses I can wash up in.
The darkness was better. It hid emotions that refused to stay
down, unexpectedly unleashed by Rafe s actions. He could pretend
Rafe didn t know how hard he fought not to jump at the touch of
his fingers when he pried the candle away, and then picked off the
hardening wax. He could focus on putting one foot in front of the
other and walk like everything was normal, like his entire world
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