Page 111 of Natural-Born Cullers

Jack kicked the peg again.

Still nothing.

“What the fuck are you trying to do?” A warm breeze ruffled his hair, shifting down his neck, but—

But?

Nothing.

No breath off Martin.

The manor sat behind him, the maze off to the right, the summerhouse just ahead, but he stood there, unable to move forward because he needed the safety of his past to make any kind of future. Only… only?

“What the fuck?What the actual fuck?”

His look rested on the summerhouse, and damn his soul, he infused panic, he forced fear, trying to make Martin do what he was born to do, to step in, to protect. The summerhouse was just over the green, and it was there, how he stood in cement, heart beating faster and faster, heat infusing his body with a rush to run, to really push the fears. But a thick headache came in as blood pressure shot up then instantly took a dive, as though something sounding so tired in his system called…

No, Jack.

Jack let out a cry, covering the drop rushing in his ears.

Hurt finished its echo across the green, bringing with it such a flat quiet, and head down, Jack was forced to follow the familiar. He walked over to the bench at the side of the maze past the halfway point, left neither here, there… anywhere. Back to sitting outside as a teen, listening to his mom drag out the pans for tea, to the whispers, to facing everything… alone.

The morning sun warmed the pathway over the grass, and Jack dropped onto the bench, taking on crash position: head down, hands covering it as he tried to force calm.

Everything felt the same: the grass under his feet he’d walked for years, the maze behind him, the scent of the woods ahead, yet it was twisted into different shades in the next breath.

He knew what Martin was doing. Always head games. Always manipulating players into the right position to get life to bend to how he wanted to burn through it. Only this time, he chose to step back, to try and bury himself so deep he couldn’t come in and fuck things up for him again when it came to Gray… to Jan. This was his…My fault, not theirs, so hold on to themmove off the chessboard. Only it felt like Jack’s skin was ripping away, leaving him open to the elements, all the dirt and microscopic dangers that came on the breath of it.

“Christ… no.”Giving a long groan, he eased back and tugged the cigarettes from his pocket. After he lit up, all he was left to do was watch smoke be pushed about in the building heat.

The shuffle of work boot through grass came from behind, then a moment later, someone took a seat on the bench, beside him. Jack tried to bury everything so bloody quickly as he took another drag on his smoke.

Sixties… leather jacket, jeans, the man was more built for the outdoors, packing muscle that would make most twinks dream of climbing. But hair was silver, bringing in that toughened silver-fox daddy in work boots that favoured off-road driving to the fast lane.

So this was Cal.

All family together.

Gray’s.

“Jack.” Cal stretched out a leg, then rubbed at his knee, giving a slight groan with it. “Jan mentioned you and Gray like to share a smoke. Martin just likes the matches to burn skin….” A look came Jack’s way. “So I’m kind of hoping I got it right that it’s you with me.”

Jack frowned, then took another pull on his cigarette.

A peacock chased nothing on the green, tail spread and showing off its full sexual beauty despite calling out for someone to see it, and Jack watched its play. “Really wrong person to talk to. Gray’s back in the manor with Light. Fuck off in there.”

“Yeah?” Cal didn’t get up. “I don’t think it’s really Gray or Light who needs the company now, right?”

“Wrong.” Jack looked at him. “If ever I needed company, it wouldn’t be yours. I have a father for that, one who doesn’t have an MO of walking away from his kid and then also helping to fuck up his grandkid’s life as well.”

Cal nodded. “Not as bad as I expected, all things considered. And I’ll give you that one because it looks like you really don’t need my aggravation.” A rub came at Jack’s knee. “You okay? You didn’t sound it just.”

Jack flicked ash off his cigarette. “Fucking peachy, mate. Now leave me the fuck alone, yeah?”

Cal snorted. “Don’t take up lying for a hobby, son.” He frowned, then gave a long sigh as he looked over the green to the peacock. “You know, I sat on a bench just like this a long time ago, trying to find something to hold on to.” A snort came. “Gray always bit deep. But you’ve got Jan in the mix too, and, damn, that lad’s got some heat in his head all of his own. He needs it to survive here.” Cal fell quiet for a moment. “Can I make a suggestion, though, from someone else who looked like they were ready to walk away…?”

Jack drew in another pull of smoke.

---