Page 39 of Leather and Longing
For a moment he wavered. It would be easier to let it go, to pretend that part of him had died with his sight. To shut the door on this room and never open it again.
But his hand curled into a fist against the cardboard.
No.
These weren’t just tools or trinkets. They were pieces of him. Every scene, every rope burn, every command had forged him into who he was.
Blind or not, that man was still breathing.
“Fuck it,” he said hoarsely, straightening. His thighs trembled from the effort, but he stood tall, gripping the cane in one hand and the box in the other.
Everything in those boxes mattered. And if he had to relearn it all by touch, by sound, by trial and error—then so be it.
He wasn’t ready to let his life be buried in cardboard. Not yet.
Paul climbed the steep driveway to Love Lane. At that point he took a sharp left and paused at the top of the steps that led down to the Lighthouse. The tide was coming in, and the waves rolled and crashed onto the rocks, edging closer to the sea wall.He could see people in the surf: families with children, people in wetsuits on body boards. Paul descended, listening to the glorious sound of that rolling expanse of water. He knew where he was headed: it was too late to go to the Beach Shack café—that closed at four—but he could sit on the low wall and stare out over the English Channel, letting that wonderful soundtrack roll over and around him. An hour or so to decompress, chill, and not think about Adam.
Yeah, right.
By the time he got down to the beach, people had already started to pack up their summer paraphernalia to begin the trek back to hotels and guest houses for their evening meals. The coffee shop had closed, the girl who worked there in the process of taking down signs and storing them inside the wooden hut. The old man who provided deckchairs was slowly folding them up and carrying them to their storage place.
Steephill Cove was closing for the day.
Paul sat on the low wall between the buildings and the sea wall with its black railings, staring out at the scene before him. The algae-covered rocks that made up most of the beach were no longer visible, hidden below the incoming tide. Waves already lapped at the base of the sea wall, occasionally hitting it with such force that they splashed up onto the promenade. The spray hit Paul in the face and on his bare legs and arms, cooling his skin.
It was going to be another hot night by the feel of it.
“It’s a pity about all the sand, isn’t it?” Sam joined him on the wall and handed him a bottle of chilled water. He smiled. “Taylor spotted you out here and thought you might want some more hydration.” Sam chuckled. “He said especially if your hangover was anything like his.”
Paul opened the cold bottle and drank half its contents, the water icy and refreshing. He shivered. “Thanks.” He looked outat the bay. “People keep saying the sand will come back some day, only they have no clue when that might be.” The terrible Valentine’s Day storm of 2014 had left its mark on the horseshoe bay: the sea had ripped all the sand from the beach, taken it with cold, wet fingers, leaving nothing but the rocks that had lain hidden beneath its golden surface. Along the road from Steephill, the road had collapsed, trapping the inhabitants of nine houses. They’d been evacuated by the army, who’d turned up to carry what belongings they could. Eleven years later, and there was still no news on when—or if—the road would be rebuilt. The road had become two cul-de-sacs, connected by a cycle path.
“Taylor says he’s had so many tourists this year who’ve come back for the first time in years and wondered where all the sand went. It’s been great for the kids who like digging around in rock pools, but not so good for his business.”
Paul sighed. “Yeah, he said.” Thankfully Taylor wasn’t about to starve, not when his husband was a bestselling author of both thrillers and gay romance.
“Why didn’t you stay until the end of the party?” Sam asked him, sipping from his own bottle. “We ended up sitting around outside, looking up at the stars. It was such a beautifully clear night.”
“I gather you stayed the night?”
Sam nodded. “Taylor had already asked us, prior to the party.” His cheeks flushed.
Paul tilted his head. “Okay, what did you do? ’Cause you’re looking awfully guilty right now.”
The nervous laugh that followed his words only served to confirm Paul’s suspicions. Sam’s face glowed. “I’d forgotten how horny Mark gets when he drinks. Add to that a warm night where it was too hot to sleep wearing anything, and…” He took aquick swig of water before continuing. “Let’s just say we were a bit… loud.”
“Loud?” Taylor’s snort came from behind them.
Paul took one look at Sam’s scarlet face and leaped to his friend’s rescue. “Leave him alone, you.” He nudged Sam with his elbow and leaned in to whisper, “Next time, gag Mark,” he said with a chuckle.
Taylor guffawed. “Oops.” He climbed up onto the wall and swung his legs over it, sitting next to Paul. “Good idea, wrong person, eh, Sam?”
Sam exploded into a cough and rose to his feet. “I think I’ll go see what Mark is doing.” He patted Paul on the arm. “See you soon, yeah?”
Paul nodded and watched him walk along the promenade to West View. He shook his head. “You can be an evil bitch sometimes, y’know.”
Taylor chuckled. “Sam’ll forgive me. He knows I love him to bits.” He bumped Paul’s hip with his own. “Anyway, never mind about Sam. What are you doing down here? Has Adam let you off the leash?” He bit his lip, his eyes gleaming. “Oh, sorry, bad choice of words.” He let out a giggle.
Paul sighed, in no mood to laugh at the situation, not when he could still hear Adam’s words, echoing inside his head.
