Tormented by Darkness by Claire Ashgrove

I didn’t even know what a base was. That whole summer I stood out in right field, wearing these stupid tight-ass pants, feeling like a fag. That was after he cut my hair. Buzz cut. Like I’d just enlisted in the damned military.”
    At Rhiannon’s light laugh, Mick found a grin. He shook his head, bringing his gaze even with hers. “But I was at every damn game.” More quietly, he added, “So was he. Right there cheering me on, even as I swung at air and missed every pitch.”
    He took a deep breath and focused on the way her thumb stroked the back of his hand to keep the encroaching melancholy at bay. “I hated him, Rhiannon. It was like that all the way through high school. I came home ten minutes late for curfew, I lost the car for a week. I came home drunk? Yeah well, we had a great fist fight over there.” Mick nodded at a tall oak tree, its withered leaves barely hanging on. He let out a low whistle. “That man kicked my ass. But I swear, it was heaven planting one in his face.”
    Again she laughed, and the same lightheartedness swelled inside him. He turned to face her more fully, took a step closer. One leg brushed against hers, striking the sudden need to hold her close. Feel her body against his. Absorb all the goodness she possessed.
    He pushed his free hand through his hair and looked away from the uncomfortable understanding in her clear blue eyes.
    “When did it change?” she asked, perceptively.
    Mick shook his head, unable to recall a precise time or place. “Sometime during my first year on the force. I was grown. I’d moved to Augusta. And coming here now and then to help with yard work Steve couldn’t do on his own anymore, just stopped being a chore. I saw what he’d tried to do, what he did do, though I fought him every waking day. He made me into something. If he hadn’t, I’d be the one facing down me in an interrogation room at the station.” He paused, emotion clogging him up. Looking over her shoulder, he swallowed it down, but his throat remained tight. “I never thanked him.”
    Rhiannon lifted her free hand, gentle fingers settling on his cheek. “I’m sure he knew, Mick.”
    Gritting his teeth against a wave of sadness, he nodded. Then, in an effort to escape the uncomfortable realization he’d bared his soul, he forced a tight laugh. “I’ve stared down loaded guns, and I’m more afraid of going back into that room.”
    “Then don’t.” She shrugged her shoulders, her hand falling away.
    “I have to. I’m the host. It’s a wake; I’m not supposed to be gloomy. I’m supposed to celebrate his death.”
    “His life,” she corrected gently. “Are you Catholic?”
    Mick shook his head. “Not anymore.”
    “Then I say death is personal. Approach it how you’re comfortable. If that means skydiving at midnight, then go for it. If you want to stay out here, it’s your choice. Your guests will go out the same door they came in.”
    He couldn’t help but chuckle. She had a point. Still, all the lessons he’d been taught throughout life about manners and etiquette demanded he attend to the roomful of mourners across the hall. Yet as he opened his mouth to point that out, the breeze stirred, shifting overhanging branches, and moonlight bathed across Rhiannon’s face. Like someone had sucker-punched him, his lungs seized. She wasn’t merely pretty. She was beautiful. The intricate tattoos that adorned her high cheekbones only added to that beauty, giving her a mystical allure. The slight upturn to her nose spoke of playful nature, a touch of devilishness that contrasted with all he knew her to be.
    There was something about Rhiannon he couldn’t resist. Something he couldn’t name that drew him in until he’d swear he was drowning, and still he wanted more. She made him laugh when he least expected it. Made him unashamed to set aside the cop and become the man. One who felt far more than he should, and right now, that unacceptable feeling had a hell of a lot to