A Silent Song - 7. Speaking

Huck nodded in greeting at the church-going regulars and took his habitual seat near the front. His hip was flush with the end of the pew, and nobody took up the few feet beside him. That was reserved for the family Huck used to come with.

He looked over at the empty spot, his eyes a little lost.

Then Huck's attention went back to the front of the room. Pastor Rogers slowly walked across the slightly elevated stage, a sheaf of papers in his hand. Huck straightened, preparing to hear the words delivered by the pastor. He knew there would be hard lessons ahead, and he didn't know if he was strong enough to act on the pastor's words.

"Give me strength," Huck whispered as he watched the pastor. "God, please, show me the right thing to do."

Pastor Rogers stood behind the pulpit. Huck watched as he shuffled his papers, then Rogers looked up. His eyes locked onto Huck.

He's pale. Huck noticed that the pastor was almost white. He looked as if he'd had a scare. Huck looked back at Pastor Rogers who nodded once, almost to himself.

Folding his prepared notes, the pastor slid them closed onto the lectern. He looked out over the gathered congregation. "I have been inspired by God to talk tonight about a very godly virtue. Because even the best of us make mistakes. All of us err. So, tonight, I want us to consider the merits and the goodness that is wrapped up in the power of forgiveness."

♬♬♬

Harlan was pleased. He had left the little Baptist church shortly before Pastor Rogers ended his sermon. He'd worn a pair of dark glasses during his visit and took a seat in the far back corner of the room. The eyes of the pastor had landed on him multiple times through the delivery, and Harlan got a little thrill from the way the man's voice wavered in fear. There was something satisfying about tormenting a tormentor.

It was now just after eight p.m., and Harlan pulled in at the campground. He was tired. Anytime he worked outside the lines of the law he was on alert and rode a knife-edge of hyper-awareness. That sort of focus maintained for hours at a time wore him down.

He hadn't eaten anything for dinner. Harlan walked through the foggy night toward the camp kitchen. There was a low flame flickering in the brick-lined firepit. Harlan wasn't in much of a mood for socialization, so he walked behind the kitchen counter instead of to the fire. He glanced over at the benches that lined the pit once he was behind the counter.

Bailey sat there. He held that same green ceramic mug that he liked, with both hands wrapped around the cup. Steam rose from it, and Bailey stared into the flames. His blue eyes reflected the light, reminding Harlan of jewels sparkling. He was dressed warmly in thick pants, and a comfortable-looking high-necked, gray thermal shirt.

He looked deep in thought, so Harlan let him be and instead bent to look into the fridge. "Ah. Good." There was some leftover chili from the night before in a small pot. Taking it out, Harlan put it on the gas burner to warm up.

Then he walked over to the fire. As he did, Bailey's head came up, and he gave Harlan a little smile and wave.

Harlan waved back and sat on the opposite bench. "How are you?" Harlan signed. He'd been practicing basic phrases and memorized the possible responses.

Bailey blew air out of his nose as he reacted to Harlan. His smile grew a tiny bit. "I'm ok." Harlan knew what he signed, but Bailey's face didn't quite match up. Unfortunately, Harlan was at the end of what he could communicate via ASL, and he cocked his head at Bailey.

"Really?" Harlan pursed his lips. "You don't seem okay."

Bailey sighed. Taking his phone out of his pocket, he typed out a message. Then he got up, walked around the warm fire, and handed his cellphone to Harlan.

I'm just feeling sorry for myself. I miss talking to the deaf people in San Diego.

Harlan read the message, and his eyes came up to Bailey as he stood there. "Yeah. I can see how it'd be hard." Harlan stood. "Hang on. Let me check on my chili."

The food was bubbling and warm. Shutting off the heat, Harlan scraped the chili into a bowl. As he did, Bailey stepped over to the donation jar. The mute man dropped a $5 bill into the pot, and looked at Harlan.

"Cheap date." Bailey signed and smirked, again expecting Harlan wouldn't know what he'd said.

This time Harlan was ready. "Not a date without a kiss," he signed, while staring at Bailey, a little smile and a challenge on his face.

Bailey's jaw dropped. Harlan loved how Bailey flushed a bright pink with embarrassment. Fuck, he's handsome. Realization began to sink into Harlan's mind. Is he actually interested?

Biting his lip, Bailey stepped back over to the bench. This time he picked the one Harlan had sat on earlier. His eyes once again found the fire, and he sat with his mug.

Harlan settled in beside him, feeling the silent companionship from Bailey. He began to eat, genuinely hungry. The chili tasted even better tonight than it had yesterday.

Harlan glanced at Bailey's face. It was in profile as he looked forward at the fire, and a dreamy, content expression rested there. Then Bailey blinked and looked at Harlan. His eyes roamed over Harlan's face, his damaged throat moving as he swallowed. He looked almost nervous.

Finishing his bite, Harlan washed it down with a swig of water. "What are you thinking, Bailey?"

The saddest, most forlorn smile crept across Bailey's face. Standing, he shook his head and signed something. Harlan was beginning to more clearly see the signs as individual words. This time, Bailey used six of them, motioning at himself twice during the exchange. Though Harlan didn't know the vocabulary used, so he had no idea what the man had said.

Bailey patted Harlan's shoulder, then he walked away, that same sad expression on his face. Harlan watched his back as he disappeared into the fog. Turning forward, he put his bowl down. He went through the same motions he had seen Bailey use, then he repeated them twice more. Confident he had captured the signs, he quickly finished his meal.

Harlan cleaned up and put out the fire. On a mission, he entered his cabin. Now armed with Mirabell's number, he called her.

She appeared over the video chat, smiling at Harlan. "Hello, Harlan!" She smirked. "I trust this call isn't simply to see my lovely face. Is that mute man still vexing you?"

Harlan smiled. "Hello, Mirabell." He considered. "And I wouldn't say 'vexing.' But yes, this does concern him." He propped up the phone, so it focused on his head and torso. "Can you tell me what this means?"

He chained the signs together for her.

"Hrmmm. Again, please. I want to be sure."

Harlan signed again, uncertainty creeping in. "I think I got them right. Does it not make sense?" He picked up the phone.

Her dark eyes looked a little pained. "It does make sense. I must be missing some context, but the sentence makes sense."

"What does it mean?"

"It means, 'I'm a broken man, dreaming I'm whole.'" She smiled sadly. "Your mute man, he seems to suffer."

Harlan nodded slowly. "He does seem to suffer."

Harlan simply wasn't used to sharing much of anything with anyone else. Mirabell was a woman he knew only through Family connections, and work he had done while in Italy. Yet here he was, sharing these very personal moments with her. It wasn't like him. He also had a fearsome reputation in Family circles. He knew this might make him appear soft in the eyes of Mirabell. But he had to know, and she was his best resource.

It was almost as if Mirabell could sense Harlan's thoughts about involving her. "I am at your disposal, Harlan of Family Reina." She smiled. "And what we do between us here will remain between us." She held up her right hand so that Harlan could see the silver ring on it. "Giuro sulla Famiglia." Her voice changed to a reverent and serious tone.

Harlan gave her a grim smile. "Grazie, Mirabell."

A short time later, he hung up. Harlan sat at his desk, looking down at the wooden surface as he thought.

Opening his little laptop, Harlan navigated quickly to the ASL lessons he had saved and began a targeted search for a particular group of signs.

♬♬♬

The next day seemed to pass in a blur to Huck. He was thankful for the busy time at his work, as it helped him keep his mind off of things. But now he was home and had a lot of time to think. He needed guidance, so he called the only man he knew who could provide it.

"But Pastor Rogers, I don't understand." It was Thursday evening. Huck spoke on the phone and shook his head. "I really need to speak to someone. And I don't—"

"I'm sorry, Huck." The man interrupted him. "I really am. But I can't help you anymore." The pastor took a breath. "Look, I think you should contact an expert. Maybe a psychologist, or a therapist for Rayne."

This was a complete 180-degree turn. It was only last week that Pastor Rogers had railed against mental health professionals from the pulpit, and their definition of homosexuality as "normal." Huck felt as if he had whiplash. "I ... really?" Sitting on the couch, he put an elbow on the end table and propped his head upon his hand. "But what if they tell me he's okay? That being gay is okay?"

"Huck, that's between you, Rayne, and God. I've got to go. Good luck." And with that, the pastor hung up.

Huck stared at the phone in his hand. He blinked and let his arm fall into his lap. He breathed slowly, then closed his eyes. What feels right? God, I can hardly even tell anymore.

He had spent so long trying to do the right thing in the opinion of his pastor that it was a novelty for him to rely on his own feelings. Huck opened his eyes, and they slid over to Rayne's chair. The old, overstuffed thing looked so empty and forlorn. He longed to see his son there—bundled in a blanket, wearing his flannel pjs, reading one of his books.

"I want my son back." Huck's voice wavered. "I want my son."

Setting his jaw, Huck stood up. He checked his phone for the time; he had a couple of hours before the stores closed. He walked to his door, put on his jacket, and went out into the night.

♬♬♬

It was Friday. The three boys at the campground had just finished their school day, and they got off the bus. Rayne was supposed to go home today, and he clung to the dim hope that his dad would talk to him.

Rayne felt almost as if he were a wrung-out rag. Like he couldn't squeeze anything else out of himself, like he had nothing left.

Elias tried to help. He was so sweet, and Rayne had actually fallen asleep against the blonde boy's chest when they'd sat on the futon together last night. Elias had let him sleep there for over an hour, until Rayne woke, drooling on them both.

It was nice to feel human contact and touch. Rayne's emotions were so raw, and he was on edge. Being with Elias helped calm him.

As he walked to the cabin to pack, Mason approached him. He had a strange look on his face, and Rayne frowned.

"Hey, Rayne." The tall guy smiled at him. "I need to talk to you real quick, okay?"

Elias cleared his throat. "I'll talk to you later, Rayne." He smiled at the boy. "Come say goodbye before you leave, okay?"

Rayne nodded at him. Avery peeled off, going into the cabin he shared with Rayne. He, too, was scheduled to leave today, back to his foster family, and he had to pack as well.

Mason put an arm around Rayne's shoulders and walked with him. "Come on. Let's head to my cabin."

Rayne took shuffling steps. He sensed something wrong, and he didn't know if he could take anything else. Finally, Rayne stopped a few feet from the cabin. The boy looked at Mason and shrugged. "Just tell me. What is it?" His voice was flat as he tried to conjure that dead, numb feeling inside—just so he would hurt less.

Looking at him, Mason swallowed. "Ah, well, your dad. He called. He wants to pay for the weekend, for you to stay."

Rayne's lip quivered. He blinked, and tears rolled down his face. He soundlessly nodded.

Mason gripped his shoulders. "I'm sorry." He knelt in front of the quiet boy. "I'm sorry. What can I do? Rayne, tell me, what can I do?"

Rayne swallowed and gave a shake of his head. He didn't trust his voice. He only shook himself and made Mason release him. Then he turned to head back to his own cabin.

The hatchback entered the campground. Their family's little red car drove up until it was even with the Airstream, stopping there. Mason walked past Rayne. "I'll be right back." He loped away and stopped at the side of the car.

Rayne watched as Mason talked to Huck. He couldn't hear what they said, but Mason turned, pointing at Rayne's cabin.

Hope, despair, and pain burned in Rayne, and his soul jerked like a wounded butterfly in his chest. The car continued along the loop and parked beside the cabin. Then Huck got out.

Rayne stared at him. His dad shut the door and walked straight toward him.

Stopping in front of Rayne, Huck looked down at his son.

The tears had continued to fall, and Rayne's cheeks were a web of shiny tracks from their passage. Stepping close, Huck knelt in front of him. He reached up, placing one palm on either side of Rayne's face, and wiped tears away with his warm, callused hands and thumbs.

"I love you, son." Huck's own eyes glittered with unshed tears. "No matter what. I love you."

Rayne hadn't heard those words for months, and he laughed. It was the sound of a mind unable to process the information given. "Really?" Rayne took a shaky breath and shook his head. "Even if I'm gay?"

"No matter what," Huck repeated and gently shook him by his shoulders. "I won't pretend to understand what is happening to you, and maybe that's not my job. My job is to love you. I know how to do that. I've never stopped doing that; I just needed to show you. And I will." Huck took a deep breath. "I thought we could spend the weekend here—together."

Rayne put a hand over his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut, and tears streamed from him. But he nodded.

"Aww, come here." Huck's voice was raw as he pulled Rayne in. He hugged his son tight against his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, boy."

Rayne squeezed him, his face against Huck's neck.

Further up the loop, Harlan stood just around the corner of one of the cabins. His expression as he secretly watched Huck and Rayne never changed.

That is until Huck hugged him. And then the devil smiled.

♬♬♬

It had seemed like a very long week to Bailey, but finally, Friday rolled around. He left the worksite with a wave and a weary smile at Shawn.

Bailey drove to the campground. He'd had to work a little late today, and he arrived rightas Greg and Clay started to work in the camp kitchen for the dinner crowd.

Today there was a new person gathered with the others at the picnic table. The boy, Rayne, sat beside a dark-haired man, tanned from years working in the sun. The fellow had his arm around Rayne's shoulders, while the boy leaned against him, his eyes closed. They looked similar. Ah, Rayne's dad. It was as if Rayne were starved for touch and love, and now he couldn't get enough of it. Bailey saw that need and its fulfillment on the boy's face as clearly as if Rayne had announced it.

Bailey smiled as he approached. He knew Rayne'd had some problems with his dad, but now things looked as if they were going to be okay.

As Bailey sat, Greg looked up from cutting up an onion. "Hey, Bailey!" He grinned, then looked at the new fellow. "Huck, that's Bailey." Greg motioned with his knife, and a small chunk of onion flew. "He's the one who rescued Rayne." Greg caught Bailey's look. He shrugged. "Rayne told him already, and he wanted to meet you."

Huck disentangled himself from his son and stood. He walked around the table, and Bailey stood to meet him. Huck hugged him.

It was a real hug, and Huck held on. The man breathed against Bailey. "Thank you for saving my son." He squeezed, and Bailey grinned against him. He patted Huck's back.

Finally, Huck released him. He nodded once more at Bailey, wiped his face, then went back to his spot at the table beside Rayne.

Bailey's mood rose just from the proximity of the emotions around him. Mason soon had a good, warm fire burning in the pit nearby. And the group milled and flowed between the picnic table, the kitchen itself, and the benches around the fire.

Harlan. Bailey looked around. Where's Harlan? The brown-haired man wasn't with the rest of them, and Bailey felt disappointed. Then he frowned at himself. No. Stop it. Don't even think about it. Why would you do that to someone normal? Someone whole?

The heaviness of his situation weighed on Bailey like an anvil. His gaze found Orson as he laughed along with his tall, handsome officer, Joseph. Orson's prosthetic was almost invisible in the growing darkness, though it reflected light here and there as the fire grew.

Is Orson selfish? Is that how you think of him? Is he selfish, for being with Joseph? Bailey's brow furrowed, and he looked down at his hands in his lap. He finally shook his head slightly. No. It's not the same. Orson functions out in the world. And I need help to. I need someone's help, all the time. Without Shawn, I wouldn't even have a fucking job.

Ever since the accident, Bailey had struggled with negative thoughts. He had learned to recognize when it started, but there were times when he didn't care. There were times when he wanted to be miserable—when he felt he deserved to.

"Hey."

Bailey jerked. Harlan stood beside the bench where he sat. He hadn't even realized that Harlan was there.

Harlan smiled, and despite his earlier spiral, Bailey returned it. The light of the fire played over Harlan's face, and at that moment, Bailey found him to be a handsome sight.

He tried to reign in his emotions. No. Just go. Go to your cabin.

Standing, Bailey tried to give Harlan a reassuring smile, and he shook his head. Pointing at himself, he made a shooing motion and started to leave.

As he stepped away, Harlan gently grabbed his wrist. "Wait." He looked over the small crowd of people at the fire and near the kitchen, then his eyes went back to Bailey. "I want to talk to you," he murmured. He motioned with his head at the asphalt loop. "Will you walk with me? Just for a little?"

Bailey wanted to, and he hated himself for it. He sighed and nodded.

The two walked a few feet over to the paved loop that circled the campground. Harlan set a slow pace. Bailey felt a strange contentment with Harlan. It was as if he embodied safety and calmness. So absurd. Bailey looked at Harlan. He's a small guy. I could probably take him. Why does he make me feel safe?

Harlan saw the glance. "Hey. So, I wanted to tell you something." They continued to walk, passing beneath the lights mounted on one of the cabins. Harlan stopped in the brightness. "It really bothered me—what you said. About how you're broken."

Surprise flashed across Bailey's face. Harlan must have memorized the signs, after seeing them once. Impressive. But it doesn't change anything. He shrugged his shoulders. Why?

Harlan stared at Bailey. "It bothers me because you seem to be making a choice for me." Harlan lifted his chin and drew himself to his full 5'10" height. Which was still short next to Bailey's 6'2". Regardless, Bailey noticed the change in Harlan's posture and the seriousness in his eyes. "And before you do that, I wanted to tell you something."

Bailey swallowed. He eyed Harlan then slowly nodded. He motioned. Go ahead.

Harlan squared his shoulders and faced Bailey head-on, so there'd be no mistake what he signed. "Sometimes, a broken piece is the only one that will fit."

Dropping his hands, Harlan stared at Bailey. He said nothing, waiting with a hopeful, earnest look on his face. Bailey couldn't ignore that. As much as he wanted to write off what Harlan had said, he couldn't.

Bailey's face twisted in anguish. Before he could stop himself, he signed, "Why? What do you want? Do you want a project?" His hands flew as he let his emotions rear up. "Do you want to feel good about yourself? That you took pity on a poor mute man?! Is that it?"

Harlan's tracked Bailey's hands as they moved, at least at first. Then his gaze came up, and he just looked into Bailey's face.

Working his mouth, Bailey stopped. He huffed out a breath of air, one of the only sounds he could make now. He turned to go.

"Bailey." Harlan's voice stopped him. "I don't know what you said." Harlan's warm hands gripped his shoulders, and he let the man turn him around. Harlan looked up into Bailey's blue eyes, his hands still resting on him. "But I'm willing to learn. If you let me, I'll learn."

With a deep sigh, Bailey shrugged. Why?

Harlan smiled. He gently pulled the high neck of Bailey's shirt down until the wide, terrible scar was exposed. Bailey swallowed as Harlan laid a warm hand against the skin there. "Maybe it's not obvious to you," Harlan's voice dropped until it was almost a whisper, his smile vanishing, "but I'm broken too." Harlan's fingers lightly traced the mark on Bailey's neck, and the tall man blinked slowly as Harlan caressed him. Harlan's eyes again found Bailey's, while his hand rested against the scar, hiding it. "I thought maybe, we could be broken together."

Harlan was very close. Bailey's body broke into goosebumps as the man's arms slid around to hold him. Harlan's hand stroked up and down Bailey's back, from his neck to his rump.

Bailey's eyes closed, and his body responded to Harlan. It had been too long since he had been held that way.

Harlan continued for a couple of minutes. Then he leaned back a little. Bailey opened his eyes, and the men looked at one another.

The choice happened for both of them, almost at once. Each put a hand behind the head of the other, and they drew in, meeting in a kiss. The decision-making center of Bailey's brain quieted, and along with it, his uncertainty. This was right. This was good.

After a moment, Harlan pulled away and grinned at the stunned, addled look on Bailey's face. "I'd like to continue this inside." That hopeful expression was back on Harlan's face.

After Bailey nodded, Harlan turned and opened the door they stood next to. Bailey hadn't even realized that they were next to Harlan's cabin. Tricky man. He smiled as Harlan shut the door behind them.

Harlan pulled off his shirt, and Bailey did the same. Then they continued to kiss one another. Bailey's hands were all over Harlan, and he loved how the shorter man made approving little sounds every time Bailey did something that he liked.

Harlan's hands slid to Bailey's waist. He looked down as he unfastened Bailey's jeans and unzipped them, making an appreciative sound at the bulge in Bailey's briefs. Bailey's mouth opened when Harlan rubbed his covered erection. Then Harlan pulled him back in, and they kissed while he teased Bailey's cock through the material.

Fuck, you need to be naked. A desperate need for Harlan made Bailey impatient. He began to pull the clothes off his chosen nightly companion. Soon, they were both undressed by the bed. Bailey pushed Harlan onto his back then climbed on top of him.

Harlan's arms circled him. The two men lay kissing, while Bailey ground his long, proportional member into Harlan's.

Harlan frowned and pulled back. "Uh, you need to stop."

Bailey stopped moving and cocked his head, the question evident on his face? Why?

Harlan grinned sheepishly. "I'm gonna get off if you keep doing that."

Smiling evilly, Bailey shrugged, then very slowly started to grind again. Harlan laughed and laid his head back on the pillow. Kissing and nibbling on Harlan's neck, the skin moved under his lips as Harlan swallowed.

Bailey's hips picked up in speed. His breathing began to come faster, and Bailey made small, breathy sounds as he neared orgasm.

Harlan's jaw dropped. "Ah, ah fuck." His arms were tight around Bailey's torso as their bodies pressed together. Harlan pulled on Bailey's neck, and the two men again kissed.

Breathing hard around Harlan's mouth, Bailey came. Harlan followed only a moment after and groaned while Bailey continued to buck his hips. Bailey off-handedly noted that Harlan was a lot stronger than he appeared. His arms were very tight around him, though Bailey liked how it felt to be held that way.

Bailey finally relaxed, his body limp. Harlan breathed quietly, his hands stroking, very lightly, up and down Bailey's back.

This is nice. Bailey smiled and pushed himself up a little to look at Harlan.

The green-eyed man smiled at him. "You don't have to get up." Harlan pulled him back down. Bailey sighed contentedly, and Harlan's hands resumed their gentle stroking of the skin on his back.

Bailey's eyes were heavy. He felt safe, comfortable, and warm against Harlan, and piece by piece, he relaxed.

Without even knowing it was happening, Bailey slid into a comfortable, peaceful sleep, wrapped in the arms of one of the most dangerous men alive.