Page 9 of Rebel

Chapter 3

SAM REACHED THE office early on Monday morning. He wanted to be there before Tanner, to have the bulk of his desk between him and the man who consumed his thoughts waking and sleeping.

Not that he’d slept much. Every time he closed his eyes, Nate was there, staring up at him from the grass with confession on his tempting lips.

It means something to me.

That poem. That damned poem with its wicked words about beautiful lads and desire and sin. Hellfire, the images it conjured tormented him to distraction. And Tanner had offered that to him, clear as day. Had Sam reached out for his hand, Tanner would have…

What?

He didn’t even know. But Tanner had known. His worldly, knowing eyes had been full of promises and Sam couldn’t get them out of his mind. He ached with terrible desires, needs he could barely articulate and never fulfil. It made him want to scream, to crawl out of his sinful flesh. It made him want to weep with longing.

Hehadwept, shamefully, in the dark of night. He’d wept for want of that which, if he claimed it, would cost him his soul. He’d wept because he was afraid it might be worth the price, that he might sacrifice his eternal soul for the chance to feel whole, for the chance to take what Nate Tanner had offered.

His father would have called this the devil’s work. But did Satan walk the earth disguised as comely young men with pretty smiles? Perhaps he did, but it was difficult to think of Tanner as the devil’s tool—especially when he entered the office that morning looking pale and drawn and unable to meet Sam’s eyes.

His murmured, “Mr. Hutchinson,” was barely audible, drowned by the rattle of a passing coach.

“Mr. Tanner,” Sam managed for the sake of propriety and kept his eyes fixed on his work as Tanner hung up his hat and went to his desk.

Sam tried not to look at him for the rest of the morning, not even when Reed arrived to regale them with tales of a supper he’d eaten with neighbors on Saturday. Yet, no matter how much he didn’t look, he could feel Tanner’s presence like the heat of a fire, and like a moth he found himself drawn in.

He risked a glance, tried to trace the devil in Tanner’s face, but saw only tight lines around his eyes and a mouth that was no longer pretty, pinched as it was into a thin line of tension. Tanner looked nervy as a stray cat, and when Sam got up to consult with Reed at his desk, he was very aware of Tanner’s hot gaze on them. Glancing over, Sam saw him turn quickly to his work with a look of alarm in his dark eyes.

It occurred to Sam that Tanner was afraid. Did he think Sam would betray him? He felt a flash of dismay from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes; it was intolerable for Nate to be afraid of him. Hell, he couldn’t stand it.

So, when Tanner left to take his lunch, Sam followed swiftly and caught up with him as he crossed the street to the bakery. Tanner started when he realized Sam was at his side, his eyes going wide. Such beautiful eyes, haunted now in a way that made Sam’s guts squirm. He looked down, concentrating on where he was putting his feet so that he didn’t have to see the wariness in Tanner’s face. “I want you to know that I’d never say anything about…about what we discussed at the river.”

Silence, then a rush of breath from Tanner. “Thank you. I didn’t think you would, but…”

“Well, I wouldn’t. I— We were friends. I’d never betray you like that.”

“Were?” Tanner said softly. They’d reached the far side of the street and stood outside the bakery amid the rich cinnamon scent of honey bread. Tanner’s favorite.

Sam swallowed, looked at the loaves piled high in the window. “I don’t think it would be right to continue our…” His chest squeezed his lungs so tight it was hard to breathe. He couldn’t say it, couldn’t say the words.

“I’d never—” Tanner cleared his throat, his voice rough in a way Sam had never heard. “I’d never impose on you.”

But that was hardly the point; even standing with him there on the street, knowing that Tanner wanted the very thing that was burning Sam up from inside, was almost too much temptation to resist. If they were alone together in Sam’s house, or in Nate’s rooms? Well, it would be like holding a lighted splint over a tinder box. “I’m sorry,” he said thickly. “I can’t.”

Tanner didn’t answer, simply gave a jerky nod, and walked away. He didn’t go into the bakery, walked straight past it towards the church. Sam watched until he turned a corner and disappeared, telling himself he had no choice. He was saving Tanner as well as himself from sin.

The rest of the week passed in a polite silence so terrible it forced Sam to howl at the moon when he got home each night, knotted with frustration and grief and anger. He couldn’t bear the way Tanner didn’t look at him, but worse were the times when Sam looked up to find Tanner’s gaze slipping away, his sad eyes downturned.

Sam was making Tanner unhappy and he couldn’t stand it. But he had no choice. Friendship between them was impossible, and they both had to accept it. What they wanted was wrong, they had to resist. They must.

To that end, on Friday morning, after another sleepless night, Sam gathered up all of Nate’s books that were still at his house. His heart felt like a great stone in his chest as he did so, piling them into a neat stack and tying them together with string so he could carry them. There were eight in total, each one precious—each one full of memories.

He traced every spine, the leather smooth under his fingers, and bit back an unmanly desire to weep. But, oh, those nights by the fire. Tanner’s voice, his laugh, their sparkling discussions. He’d never again feel so alive as he’d felt basking in Tanner’s brilliance.

They could have continued like that forever had Tanner not read him that damned poem and thrown a light across everything that should have remained in the dark. Damn him. Damn them both for being unnatural men. Damn the devil for making them so.

If he’d found taking the books from his shelf painful, it was nothing to the anguish of returning them. Tanner looked up from his work with a flicker of hope as Sam approached his desk, but when he saw what Sam carried all artifice fell away. Hurt shadowed his eyes, lips parting in a silent protest as Sam set the bundle down.

“Thank you for the loan.” The rehearsed words fell like pieces of lead, cold and lifeless. “I enjoyed reading them.”

Tanner laid his ink-stained fingers on the books and murmured, “You’re welcome.” His pen lay discarded on his desk, irretrievably blotting whatever he was writing. Tanner didn’t seem to notice, not even when he looked down with a sweep of lashes and a tight press of his lips. “If you ever want to…” But his voice trailed away, leaving the thought unfinished. They both knew Sam never would.

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