Chapter Two #2
Michael didn’t need him judging him. He was already the harshest critic of his past.
Seeing he needed a break, she pointed toward the back of the pub, and let the man go.
When he did, she focused on her fiancé.
“Fineas.”
He sighed.
“I know Michael is your friend,” he said, “but Graham is my best friend, Gabriella. I love Graham, and he’s already at rock bottom. I’m scared I’ll lose him, and this man…”
She touched his cheek.
Oh, she knew what he was saying.
Only, she knew Michael would never hurt someone intentionally. He was kind and sweet under the body armor when he was working.
He was a good person.
Genuinely.
“We don’t know all of the details of what happened between them,” she admitted.
Her fiancé was aware.
“Graham deserves a second chance, or at least to defend himself. That’s all,” Finn admitted.
“I don’t know what he saw in this man, but I know we’re fighting to save Graham.
You’ve spent every day for four weeks with him to make sure he’s whole.
I know my best friend. Had he told him it was a military assignment, this would have ended differently.
He didn’t trust the man he was sleeping with to break that confidentiality—so is this really Graham’s fault? Or his?”
That wasn’t for her to decide, or for him to decide. Everyone made mistakes.
“To err is human, but to forgive is divine,” she admitted. “Isn’t that what you told me to do about that trashy ex-girlfriend of yours when I wanted to beat her head in with a clog?”
He stared at her.
“A clog? That’s your weapon of choice, Lass? Really?” he asked, amused.
She kissed him.
“Yes, because I couldn’t think of an appropriate weapon at the moment.
As for Graham, he’ll be okay. I’ve known Michael for a couple years.
He’s a really good guy. He’s sweet, gentle, and kind.
You’re seeing him being caught off guard.
He’ll figure it out. We just have to wait for him to understand. ”
Only, Finn wasn’t sure that would ever happen after seeing the seething rage just under the surface.
Michael was well beyond being angry at the situation. It was clear he’d carried this rage for a long time.
Like Graham.
And angry people didn’t listen. Instead, they did stupid shit that normally got them in trouble.
Yeah, this was out of their hands for now.
It looked as if ‘the hand of God’ was going to have to figure this out himself.
Hopefully, he didn’t regret the choice he was going to make because Finn didn’t believe it would be in Graham’s favor.
That would take an intervention from God.
Clearly.
* * * The Ravensmire Castle * * *
The Pub Bathroom
Breaktime
For His Sanity
Michael needed a moment to regroup and think about what he needed to do, in order, to get past all of this.
This whole weekend had been a lot.
Oh, and that was an understatement.
He’d been on duty, and then he’d learned that Riley was trying to stalk the shit out of him.
Then, he’d been forced to leave home to heal.
Now, he was in a foreign country, and he was face-to-face with his ex—the ex who he’d given his whole heart to ten years ago.
It was a weird day.
Really.
As he leaned on the sink, another man was nearby taking a leak in the urinal.
His back was to him, and the guy had to have been drinking a gallon of beer.
It was an impressive leak—if Michael did say so himself.
Staring into the mirror, he wanted to believe everything Finn had said. He wanted to believe that Graham had never gotten over him—the same thing Callen had admitted.
Was this one of the signs he’d prayed about?
Was God giving him a warning or a path?
He’d yet to figure that out.
When the door opened, another man came in, and saddled up in the next urinal. It was clear they knew each other, since they began talking.
Of course, the Archangel in him made sure to listen as he washed his hands for an extra long time.
Like OCD long.
“Did you call him and set up a cum dump?” the guy whispered, but it was loud enough over the piss stream that Michael could hear him.
Old habits die hard, and now, he really had his attention with that one sentence.
He was a watcher and guardian for a reason.
He was always aware of his space.
“Yeah, but there’s no callback. Are you sure he’s into getting plowed? I’ve called a few times, and it goes to a mailbox that’s full. I can’t even set up a date to get off. My balls are blue, Lad. I need his ass.”
The other man shrugged.
“I fucked him so hard in that alley that one time. He was a submissive cunt. He got on his knees, and the whole time, he cried like a pussy. Keep calling him. He’ll get back to you once he empties his mailbox. He’s likely getting laid by all the desperate men in the whole village.”
The two men laughed.
“Lucky them. I was thinking of heading up the hill to knock on the gate if I don’t hear back from him.”
The mad pisser snorted.
“It’s worth it. You buy him a few pints to loosen him up, and he hates himself so much he’ll let you do anything you want to him. You’d swear he wants to die.”
Michael didn’t look up.
When they both zipped up, they headed for the sinks to wash their hands, and he pretended to be checking out his teeth in the mirror.
And they kept talking, as if they were oblivious to a whole-ass person standing right there.
Some people had no survival instincts—drunks being at the top of the list.
“I’m jealous that you got to have him. He’s the talk of the whole place. His friend, the cop, has been rousing us all and telling the menfolk to avoid him or he’s booking us on charges. In fact, he’s out there now, so don’t say shit out there!”
The other man agreed.
“I won’t, but you’re still lucky.”
The pisser nodded.
“Lad, his ass is spectacular. All those tats. Fuck the polis. I don’t listen to them. You aren’t the only one wanting to go knock on that gate. I was also thinking of heading up to the castle to see if he’d see me tonight. My balls need to unload, and his ass is perfection.”
Michael could feel his heart racing.
Gate?
Castle?
Wanting to die?
Oh, no.
Were they talking about Graham?
As they kept talking, Michael was putting the pieces together.
“Are you talking about the brown-haired guy with the green eyes?” he finally asked, jumping into the conversation as he tried to get information.
The one man grinned.
“Oh, even the Americans have had his ass—or want it. That’s how good it is,” he said, patting Michael on the back.
Oh, and it took all Michael had not to break his hand off and feed it to him.
As for having that ass…
Yeah, Graham’s ass had been all his.
“I have,” he said, not lying because again, at one point, no one came in him but him.
“Well, Lad, you can attest. He’s on a collision course with whatever demons chase him, but until then, I’m pumping my load into him. He’s absolute rubbish, so why not have some fun? We’ve all been sharing him. Did you get his number from the loo wall too?”
Michael didn’t like this.
Not.
At.
All.
In fact, he was horrified that this was the choice of destruction Graham was choosing to take. It was dangerous, and could literally kill him.
With HIV.
A part of him wanted to not be shocked that Graham was sleeping around, but that part of him was also hyper aware that he, too, had done the same thing. He’d tried to escape until he found Riley.
Then, he’d been okay.
Until he wasn’t.
It wasn’t like he could blame him or fault him for doing everything he could to find some peace or to silence the demons. God knew it had eluded him these last years.
“Are you saying he hates himself?” Michael asked, continuing to do recon on his ex.
He snorted.
“He begged one guy to just end him. He was so drunk, but if that’s his kink, whatever. One of the lads said he was crying and begging for forgiveness from some dude named D’Artangnan. He’s got a book fetish, clearly.”
Michael’s heart thumped out of control.
Oh, Jesus.
He was trying to die because of what happened between them. Callen had said that, but this was more confirmation.
The Scottish man pointed.
“If you need to get a hold of him, you can go into that stall there, and get his number,” he stated. “He don’t give a shit if you’re straight or gay. He wants a daddy to give him what he needs. Someone has men issues.”
The two men laughed.
Only, Michael wasn’t amused.
Not.
At.
All.
As the men headed out, he went into the stall they’d told him the name and number were, and inside, he closed the door.
That’s when he saw the number.
Above it was Graham’s name.
His full name.
Oh, Jesus.
‘Call for a good time. He’s a cum dumpster and a faggot. He’ll kneel for beer and abuse.’
Under it was comments from all the men who used the number, rating him. They ranged from ten to eight, and all had disgusting comments about Graham, his body, and his ass.
Immediately, it sent his blood pressure through the roof.
Some of the things that were there…
It was disgusting what they’d done to him, and worse, what they wanted to do to him. They were making plans to grab him off the street and assault him.
Oh, hell, no.
Taking out his knife, he started scraping the paint from the stall wall, and removing Graham’s name and number.
Would it solve the issue?
No.
But it made him feel a little better that he’d not left it there. The man was a human being, and the bottom line was that he deserved at least basic decency.
What they were saying about him as a gay man, while using the gay man, was foul.
Not on his watch.
It was clear that someone didn’t care about his well-being anymore. That was definitely rock bottom, and for some reason, that made Michael’s rage soften.
He’d been the other guy during his self-imposed breakdown. He’d fucked everything he could, while Graham had been the victim of their abuse.
His heart hurt again, but in a different way.
When he finished decimating the phone number, he headed out.