Chapter Fourteen
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Big Hair, Bigger Feelings: Our Favorite Empaths of the Eighties
—FEATURED STORY FROM THE DECEMBER ISSUE OF EMPATHY MONTHLY
With Reece’s car out of commission anyway, he directed Grayson to park in his spot in the high-rise’s garage. The giant truck was such a tight fit that Reece had to get out before Grayson pulled in, because otherwise he wouldn’t have had enough room to open his door.
He stood in an empty parking space, arms folded, as he watched Grayson crack open the driver’s door and awkwardly lever his bags out of the truck and onto the concrete.
“Just one more reason I should do all the driving tomorrow,” he called, as Grayson had to contort all six feet and five inches of himself sideways to get out of the truck.
“Try all you want, sugar, but I will crawl in through the bed before I give you these keys.”
They rode up together in the elevator to the fourth floor, Grayson with a duffel on one shoulder and a messenger bag on the other. “How’s the new place?” Grayson asked.
“A lot of people around.” A few months ago, Reece would have loved it; now the pleasure of others nearby was sabotaged by anxiety, because all of them were in danger. From him.
He hesitated, his eyes going to their reflections in the elevator’s mirrored wall, to Grayson standing tall next to him, hat in one hand and unsurprisingly fixing his hair with the other.
Except the Dead Man was here. And he’d promised he was even more dangerous than Reece. So maybe tonight, Reece could listen to everyone outside the studio—and even better, someone inside it with him—and not be afraid for them.
The constant knot in his chest loosened, just a little, and he let out a quiet breath.
Grayson met his eyes in the mirror. “What?”
Reece cleared his throat. There would be absolutely no feelings, not in an elevator with a man without them. “Could I touch your hair without passing out? Hypothetically, obviously,” he quickly added. “Do you even let other people touch your hair?”
“Some people,” Grayson said dryly.
Reece clasped his hands together behind his back, casually and not at all like he was suddenly imagining running fingers through Grayson’s hair. “That only answers one of my questions.”
“Sure does,” Grayson said unapologetically. “Almost like the Dead Man’s limit against empathy is one of those national secrets you’re not supposed to be guessing.”
At the end of the hall, he unlocked the door to the studio, only for Grayson to reach over his head to hold it open for him.
“You know I’m the host,” Reece said, as he ducked under Grayson’s long arm and into the studio. “Are you ever going to let me act like it—actually, never mind, I already know the answer is no.”
“You want to be a host, you can let me borrow your shower.”
“Sure.” It came out as a high-pitched squeak. Reece quickly cleared his throat. “Sure,” he said, forcing a much more normal tone. “And before you make any cracks, yes, I do use it.”
“I’m a guest and you’re letting me stay in your place. I appreciate you being a sweet Share Bear. I’m not gonna make any cracks about Unwashed Hair Bear.”
Reece narrowed his eyes.
“Right back to Glare Bear, huh,” Grayson said.
“Take your shower, asshole.”
“And now it’s Swear Bear.”
Grayson set his bags down on the end of the couch. Reece belatedly realized the gift basket was still on the coffee table, now empty except for wrappers. And oh shit, he’d also left out—
“I think I know that hoodie.”
“I was leaving it out so I’d remember to return it to you.” Lie. Well, luckily Grayson was looking at the hoodie, not him. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed the flinch.
“Are you wearing it?” Grayson glanced back at him. “I figured you’d burn it to keep the bogeyman away.”
Reece shrugged, trying to look nonchalant and not like he wore it every day. “It’s a lot nicer than any of mine.”
“Then you should keep it.”
“What, really?” Reece said, eyes widening. “Is it from your college?”
“Yeah,” said Grayson. “But it’s not like I’m gonna be sentimental about that.”
“Right,” Reece said, nonchalant, because he was definitely way too cool and collected to have his own sentiments over getting Grayson’s hoodie to keep.
Or any sentiments over having Grayson finally here with him again. There wasn’t much space in the studio’s living area and they were only about three feet apart, close enough their size difference was even more noticeable than usual, as was the easy strength that practically radiated off Grayson. Reece would have to climb him like a tree to kiss him, but Grayson would probably barely notice his weight. And yeah, it’d be different without the map of emotions to guide his mouth and hands, would be a new challenge to figure out how Grayson liked to be kissed, to get him wrecked and sated.
But damn. They could have a lot of fun.
Reece quickly turned away, walking over to the thermostat. “Towels are in the bathroom. I feel pretty confident in guessing an obscene amount of that duffel is devoted to shampoo and haircare products, but help yourself to anything of mine.”
He turned the heat up as Grayson pulled a few things out of his bag and then disappeared into the short hall that led to the studio’s minuscule bathroom. A moment later, he heard the shower start. It was nice, knowing he wasn’t alone. The studio felt smaller with Grayson in it—in a good way, a cozy way. Maybe he could think about a roommate when the sublease was up. He could put up an ad.
Twenty-six-year-old terminally single empath seeking roommate. No drugs, bad drivers, or movies rated higher than PG. Must be open-minded about bisexuality and sadistic superhuman monsters.
Maybe not.
He walked over to the double bed along the far wall. He didn’t have much in the way of blankets or pillows, but Grayson hadn’t seemed concerned about his accommodations, had said he often slept in his truck.
Apparently lived out of his truck.
Reece frowned. He didn’t know what to do with someone who’d bought a house to keep him safe but didn’t have a home for himself.
A few minutes later, Reece had turned the couch into a bed best he could, with his comforter and one extra pillow. He heard the shower turn off and the bathroom door open, and turned before he meant to.
Grayson had poked his head out of the bathroom, a towel draped around his neck, covering his visible shoulder. A mesmerizing flush deepened his shower-warmed skin. “Can you pass me my bag?”
If Grayson had still had emotions, he probably would have felt refreshed and calm, maybe even languid. All that height and breadth would mean endless inches of skin to explore and map, so that Reece could fall into him and lose himself until the world had disappeared.
“Care Bear?”
Reece shook himself. Grayson, of course, didn’t have emotions. But his fingers twitched at the sight of wet, bare skin, because he might enjoy touching him anyway.
“Bag. Coming right up.” He grabbed Grayson’s duffel off the couch and nearly stumbled. “This weighs almost as much as me.”
“Then you already know it’s not enough for a workout.”
“Show-off.” Reece held the bag out.
Grayson took it, his hand brushing Reece’s glove. “You can take the gloves off if you want. I mean, up to you, but you can’t accidentally read me and I’m not the one who’ll get knocked out if we get too close.”
He disappeared behind the door with the duffel. Having transformed the couch into a bed, Reece shucked his sweatshirt and swapped his jeans for a pair of threadbare flannel pajama pants. He grabbed Grayson’s hoodie—his now—and hopped up onto one of the bar stools. He tugged off his gloves and tossed them on the counter, flexing his fingers.
It had been months since he’d read someone. He’d be lying if he pretended he wasn’t craving it more desperately every day, to finally get out of his own jumbled-up, spiky feelings and into someone else’s.
He glanced at the hall that led to the bathroom.
What had Grayson’s emotions been like before he’d lost them? Had he always been stoic and distant? Cold, even? Or was the dry sense of humor the lingering ghost of a man who’d liked to laugh, who’d liked to make others laugh too? Had he always watched sports in silence, or had he been the type to jump to his feet in euphoric cheering when his team scored? Had he always been hard and tough, or had he had soft spots before, let people in close to his heart before it had been taken away?
Was there really nothing left to feel? If Reece could get used to his touch, the way he’d gotten used to Grayson’s voice and face—would he be able to find any traces left? Echoes of who he’d been?
Finding out might be worth getting knocked out however many more times.
You do realize every empath on this planet has a million reasons they don’t want even hate-sex with the Dead Man? No matter how hypothetical?
Reece shook himself again. Yeah, he’d definitely gone too long without reading someone if he was sitting here bargaining with himself over repeated unconsciousness versus touching Grayson.
Reece pulled on the giant hoodie. The sleeves came down far enough to offer some protection to his hands. Could a hoodie save him from Grayson’s Vulcan nerve pinch equivalent? Seemed unlikely, but wearing it gave him an excuse to ask.
A moment later, Grayson emerged from the hall in generic sweats and a plain white T-shirt that he could have bought on the road. His feet were bare, and Reece had a moment of vertigo with the surrealness of it all. “Okay if I get some water?”
“You literally came to my rescue like a guardian angel—well. Guardian enemy, maybe.” Reece put his chin on his sleeve-covered hand. “But help yourself without asking, is what I’m saying. I’m a little off my hosting game, finding out the Dead Man is not only real, he also does things like shower and go barefoot.”
“Be a peach and ignore it, won’t you?” Grayson said. “You’re gonna get the idea that I’m human and we already talked about this.”
As if Reece would ever be willing to think of him as some kind of robot. Even now, as Grayson passed him on the way into the small kitchen, he could see the shifting of his muscles under the slightly sheer T-shirt. Could smell the faint scent of something so stereotypically masculine he could have walked out of a cologne ad. Could feel a hint of the warmth of his big body as he passed Reece’s hand where it rested on the counter.
It didn’t matter what he was called or what he said. Grayson wasn’t dead.
“I just moved in a couple days ago, so I don’t actually remember where I put the cups,” Reece admitted. “You might have to dig.”
Grayson began opening cabinets, and Reece was going to sit on his stool and pretend he wasn’t watching the bizarro sight of the Dead Man rifling through his kitchen.
“Can’t help but notice all your top shelves are empty.”
Reece rolled his eyes. “Maybe I’m planning to bag someone tall and saving that space for them.”
Grayson had his back to Reece, his hair damp and short enough on the back of his head that his neck was bared. A lot of people were sensitive on the back of their neck, or behind their ears, or on their throat. You could skim that skin with kisses and feel the shift of their emotions as excitement grew.
Grayson was pulling a cup off a shelf and turning around. Reece quickly tried to smile like his thoughts were completely innocent. Platonic, even. It wasn’t like he was thinking about kissing Grayson’s neck. He was just—thinking. It could have been about anyone.
Grayson filled the glass under the tap, gaze flicking over Reece. “That definitely fits you better.”
Reece held out his arms pointedly, the sleeves flopping all the way forward to hide his hands.
Grayson turned off the tap. “Isn’t there a saying? It’s not the size that matters, it’s how you use it?”
Reece snorted. He folded his arms on the counter, his hands still tucked inside the sleeves. “If it covers my hands, could I use it to protect me from that knockout ability of yours?” he said casually. “How does it work, anyway?”
Grayson raised an eyebrow as he took a sip. “I already told you that you don’t get that kind of answer.”
“But we’re sharing a one-room studio . Shouldn’t I know the limits?”
“No.”
“Come on,” said Reece. “Is it just your touch? Or will I pass out if I make contact with any part of your body?”
“Empaths don’t get to know the limits of what the Dead Man can do. Especially the ones who keep trying to guess national secrets.” Grayson leaned back against the counter behind him. “And you know those big eyes are never gonna work on me.”
Reece leaned forward, putting his chin in his hand again. He studied Grayson for a moment, considering. “Oh, of course,” he said, in sudden realization. “It’s so obvious now that I think about it.”
Grayson raised an eyebrow. “You think you figured out when you’d get knocked out?”
“No,” said Reece. “It’s just obvious that you don’t actually know the exact limits of your ability.”
Grayson stilled. “How do you figure?”
“Because finding out would have required you to conduct tests on an empath. Knock them out again and again,” said Reece. “And you would never agree to put one of us through that.”
The kitchen was silent for a moment.
“You are so much more intuitive than anyone gives you credit for,” Grayson finally said.
Reece waved it off. “Not at all. I’m not smart like Jamey. She got all the brains in the family. And the looks.”
“Nice try, deflecting like that,” Grayson said, raising his glass for another sip. “But not only does no one give you credit, you know full well everyone is underestimating you. And you let them.”
It was Reece’s turn to still. After a moment, he scoffed. “I don’t know what you—”
“Drive like an empath?” Grayson said pointedly, meeting Reece’s eyes over the glass.
“It doesn’t matter how people interpret that,” Reece said, dodging his gaze. “All that matters is they drive safer.”
“But you know they think it means drive like a cute little pacifist carefully following all the rules . Not drive like a professional joyriding my truck like he stole it—because he did .”
Reece huffed. “Are you ever going to stop being mad about that?”
“I don’t get mad,” said Grayson. “I’m just not gonna forget. Just like I’m not gonna forget that the first day we met, you looked me right in the eyes and lied and I fell for it. You think a lot of folks can pull that off?”
Reece tried not to squirm as his conscience prickled. “You know most folks think I’m an annoying useless basket case?”
“They couldn’t be more wrong,” Grayson said. “Empaths might be sweethearts but y’all are also masters of human nature. You’re circus ringleaders where the rest of us are monkeys, and you always secretly think you run the show.”
“How could I run any shows?” Reece protested. “I’m barely functional. I’ve never been able to do the things other empaths do, like therapy. I get so anxious and upset people are hurt that I’m useless—”
“No,” said Grayson. “You get overwhelmed by your own empathy because it’s more powerful than what other empaths are wrangling. Maybe you haven’t figured out yet how to fully control it, but that’s not because you’re weak. It’s because you got a Doberman where other empaths have a Chihuahua. And because that empathy’s strong, I suspect you already know this about yourself, but you just let people see the anxiety and think what they want.”
Reece pursed his lips.
“That’s right. I’m onto you now.” Grayson set his glass down. “Because I promised you that there’s nothing you can do that I can’t stop, and I’d be pretty bad at that if I hadn’t learned my lesson about underestimating you.”
They were quiet again for a moment. “I’m not sure whether I’ve been complimented or called out,” Reece finally said.
Grayson shrugged. “A little of column A, little of column B,” he said, which made Reece snort. “Not like you’re obligated to correct anyone. If they can’t see past their own biases about you, that’s on them.” Then he added, “And that’s not the first time I’ve heard you call yourself annoying. When are you gonna learn that I don’t ever think that about you?”
Reece’s lips reluctantly quirked up.
A couple of minutes later, Grayson was stretching out on the couch. Reece made one last effort to get through those manners. “You sure you don’t want to switch?” he said, pointing at the bed. “This was Liam’s; the mattress is all fancy and squashy. And you can’t even lie flat without hitting the arm.”
“How can you be so smart and intuitive and yet not realize I need to be the one between you and the door?” Grayson pulled the comforter over him. “Oh, that’s right: because when it comes to danger, your common sense pulls a vanishing act.”
Reece blinked. “Did you really just call me smart?”
“And once again, when I’m talking about your safety, I might as well be talking to a rock.”
“You did call me smart.” Reece paused for a moment, still standing, lingering by the end of the couch. Screw it; they were friends—frenemies—complicated—but the point was this was all platonic and he could tease Grayson. Platonically. “And somewhere back around your circus analogy, I think you said I was cute.”
Grayson seemed to hesitate. He looked up at Reece, his head on the pillow, damp hair a deeper brown against his forehead. He looked younger than usual, his real age, same as Reece’s. And for just that moment, Reece thought maybe he wasn’t seeing only the emotionless void but Grayson’s real eyes, the red threaded around hazel, the bags underneath. Not a scary urban legend; just a tired man with too much weight on his shoulders.
“Maybe I did,” Grayson finally said. “Maybe you deserve to hear that your sister’s not the only one in your family who got brains and looks.”
Reece let out a surprised laugh. That was not the response he’d expected.
And that was a compliment.
He climbed into the bed and flipped off the last light. He didn’t have a lot of blankets, but he had the soft sweatshirt, and had turned the heat up enough for Grayson to be comfortable, which had made the studio cozy and warm. The city lights were sparkling through the big windows, those pinpoints of red, yellow, orange, and blue. “I bet you say that to all the empaths.”
“All the ones who have my number.”
Son of a bitch. Reece fought off the pleasant shiver that had just danced over him, light as a caress. Grayson’s voice was softer and quieter, the lack of emotions camouflaged, and in the dark the deep drawl seemed so intimate it had left goose bumps on Reece’s skin. “How many is that?”
There was a beat.
“One.”
One.
“I’m the Dead Man,” Grayson said. “Empaths don’t want my number. Most empaths, at any rate. The ones with sense.”
Reece bit his lip before he could smile.
Having Grayson only feet away made him feel better all the way to his bones. Grayson wouldn’t let him hurt anyone. Grayson would keep everyone safe. For the first time since March, Reece felt like he could actually sleep.
He cleared his throat. “So then I’m also the only empath with your number and your hoodie? Does that mean we’re going steady? Because if we’re going steady, you should let me drive your truck tomorrow.”
“Good night, Reece,” Grayson said pointedly.
Reece let out a soft breath and closed his eyes. “Thanks, Evan,” he whispered, knowing Grayson would hear it and understand.