Closer by Morning (20 page)

“Dad,” he squealed excitedly, rushing down to meet him.

“Hey, take it easy. You'll fall.”

Then the boy, dressed for bed in pajamas, was wrapping his arms around Dale's waist and pressing the side of his face into his stomach. The worries that had plagued him all the way here were forgot in that moment. He put his arms around his son's shoulder. Jack was warm and his damp hair smelled of shampoo. Dale cherished each second. The six-hour drive had been worth it.

“Have you eaten?” Henry asked.

Dale shook his head.

“We made you a pizza,” Jack said excitedly. “Ham and mushrooms.”

“Wow, my favorite. Did you make it yourself?”

Jack nodded. “Mum bought the base but I put all the toppings on. We've already had ours so it's all for you.”

“All for me? That's great. I'm
starving
.”

Jack giggled. Taking Dale's hand into two of his own, he dragged him toward the kitchen.

Laura met them halfway, carrying Emily, her wide-eyed little girl, in her arms. She leaned in, turning her cheek for a kiss. Laura had blossomed into motherhood in the years since they'd separated. Her face and figure were fuller than before, but there was a contentment about her that he couldn't ever remember in the years they were together. She was finally happy. It was only through distance and time that he was able to see how wrong they had been for each other. Laura had fooled herself about him just as much as he'd fooled himself.

“She's grown so much,” he said, planting a soft kiss on the baby's chubby cheek and stroking her blonde hair. “How old is she now?”

“Nineteen months,” Laura said, stepping back to look him over. “You look tired.”

“Long journey. The traffic was a nightmare.”

“Mum,” Jack wailed. “Let's put the pizza on.”

“Why don't you and Dad do that?” she said. “Henry and I are going to put Emily to bed.” She looked at Dale with understanding eyes. “Go ahead. We'll see you in a while.”

Dale followed Jack into the kitchen. The oven was already preheated and on the counter, ready to go, was the most top-heavy pizza he'd ever seen—tomatoes, mushrooms, ham, onions and a ton of cheese. Jack pulled on a pair of oven gloves.

“Let's go, Dad, you get the door and I'll put the pizza in. It's gonna be delicious. I know it.”

Dale smiled. “If you ever decide to make a living of this you may need to cut back on the toppings. You'll be out of business before you get started.”

“Mum says you're too skinny,” Jack said, sliding the tray into the oven.

“She does, does she?”

Jack nodded, pressing the buttons for the timer. This kid was a real pro.

“How come you don't cook like this when you come to visit me?” Dale asked.

“'Cause you like to live off takeaways.”

Dale laughed. He suddenly felt very calm and sure of his future. Jack was a great kid. He didn't know why he'd been worried for so long.

“C'mon, let's sit down. While this monster pizza of yours is cooking, your old man needs to tell you something.”

****

Matt got home around eight-thirty and ate a solitary supper at the kitchen table before watching television. He went to bed at eleven. Clint Dexter saw all of this through the kitchen windows. It was remarkable how much could be seen by a stranger hiding outside a well-lit window, especially when it was dark outside. Because the house was not directly overlooked at the rear, Matt rarely closed his curtains or blinds.

Clint watched, expecting the American to show up at any time. When Matt turned off the downstairs lights and went upstairs alone, Clint smiled. No Yank in the bedroom tonight. Good. It was a comforting thought, knowing Matt was alone in the house. He could go in there if he wanted. It would be easy. Creeping around the house while its occupant slept. Standing over his still, softly breathing form.

The idea made him hard.

He could end it all tonight if he wanted to. Slip silently in and take what he wanted. Destroy the younger man in the most depraved manner. Ravage him. Hurt him. Matt was strong but Clint was stronger. One punch would take him out, long enough to tie him down. And once he was bound… Clint could do what the hell he wanted. Make use of that heavenly body—corrupt and defile it. Torture and fuck him.

God, how badly he wanted that.

But not yet.

He was playing the long game. The time was not right.

But it would be soon.

Chapter Eighteen

For most people, as the week reached an end, the urge to exercise weakened. The turnout for Friday's boot camp proved the theory. Dale was not the only regular who was absent that morning. Matt made it through habit rather than willpower. A mindless autopilot kicked in when his alarm went off, getting him from his bed to the park without too much effort.

Thinking about Dale was the biggest incentive. He wanted to look good for his return and intended to work out every day till he came back. He wanted to be in the best possible shape to please him. Thighs, bum, abs, chest—he would be the best version of himself he could be. Dale deserved it.

He missed him so much already and he'd only been gone a night. He'd been sleeping on his own for months now, for far longer than he'd known Dale, but going to bed alone, he felt his absence enormously. Without him in the bed, the sleepy smell of his hair and beard in the night, just didn't seem right. He was like a child, denied his favorite teddy bear or comfort blanket. He woke several times, reaching into the empty space, rolling onto Dale's pillow to breathe the scent that still lingered there.

He understood Dale's reasons for going away—it was a massive moment in his life—but selfishly he hoped he would come back soon.

So he'd decided to exercise. Boot camp this morning and maybe a run or a session in the gym after work. He would make himself so exhausted that he'd have no option but to sleep tonight, however lonely and unwelcoming the bed felt.

These were intense feelings. Especially for such a short relationship. But they didn't scare him, he embraced them. He loved Dale and wanted to be with him. There was nothing scary in that.

Matt pushed hard along the course. Clint barked orders from the front, blowing his whistle. “Thirty squats.
Now.
”

Matt dropped into the squats without a pause, performing them with steely determination. His thigh muscles screamed their protest but he didn't break form. He took all of his frustration out on his body. Off again, running hard, embracing the pain. It was insignificant compared to being without Dale.

Dale had sent a text before bed last night. Everything was okay. By all accounts, Jack wasn't fazed in the slightest by his dad coming out. No reason why he should be. Kids were often a lot more relaxed than their parents when it came to issues like that, but it was a big deal to Dale and he appreciated that. With Jack on side, Dale was ready for anything.

He hoped Dale was wrong about the oncoming media storm. Surely an actor's sexuality wouldn't cause much of a scandal these days. He would like to think so, but if Dale was right, they would know soon enough.

He warned him it wouldn't be pretty. If the press got wind of their relationship, they would drag Matt into it.
Big deal
, he thought. Bring it on. He had nothing to hide. He'd already made up his mind to handle any press intrusion with quiet dignity. They'd get nothing from him because he had nothing to give. If it was scandal they wanted, they would have to source it elsewhere. Matt's slate was clean.

“You pushed it again this morning,” Clint said at the end of the course. “Well done, my friend. I like to see commitment like yours. You have everything it takes.”

Matt was knackered.
Shit.
He fell forward, gripping his thighs, sucking in air, the coldness of which was painful against the back of his throat. He'd pushed it harder than he'd thought. The muscles in his legs trembled. But despite the exhaustion it felt damn good.

“Take it easy,” Clint said, a hand on his shoulder. “Get your breath back. It's good to work it hard, but not if it kills you.”

“I'm fine,” he gasped at last. “But maybe not quite as up there in terms of fitness as I thought.”

“You're getting there.” Clint squeezed his shoulder.

Eventually Matt straightened up. Clint was looking straight at him. Matt laughed. “Don't worry, I'm not going to have a heart attack. It just looks that way.”

“I'm not worried about you. You're one of my best men.”

What was it about Clint this morning? The vibes he was giving off were very different to his usual no-nonsense demeanor. The way he was looking at him and how he'd touched his shoulder just then, sustaining the contact for longer than necessary. Did old Clint fancy him?

Matt laughed at the idea as soon as it occurred. No way. Clint having an eye for him—it was ridiculous. There was just no chance. He'd never met a guy who was so determinedly straight in body and character as Clint. He made guys like Gerard Butler and Colin Farrell look effeminate.

Maybe it was him. With Dale away, he was horny. Seeing sex in the most improbable places.

“Clint, before you go, can I ask a favor? I've got this friend, Conrad. He does a lot of work for charity. He's got a big event this weekend and he's looking for prizes that can be raffled or auctioned off on the night.”

“Prizes?”

“Yes. Anything. I wondered whether you'd be in a position to help out. It doesn't have to be much. A free month's membership to the gym, or a couple of free boot camp sessions. Anything you can afford, really. I wouldn't ask but it's a great cause and it means the world to Conrad.”

He looked Matt carefully in the eyes. “Tomorrow, did you say?”

“Tomorrow night, yes. It's short notice, I know.”

He smiled. It looked uncomfortable on him. “I'd love to.”

“Brilliant. You're a great guy, Clint.”

“Why don't you call round later and I'll see what I can come up with? Can you stop by the gym tonight?”

“Absolutely,” Matt said. “I'll call on my way home.”

Clint slapped him on the shoulder again and walked away.

Matt chuckled. Clint fancying him—the idea was insane. Maybe he'd pushed it too hard after all. His head was cracking up.

****

Clint watched him walk away. There was no trace of the excitement he felt inside visible on his face.

Matt's jogging bottoms clung to his sweaty ass, dark and damp in the cleft between those firm mounds. His T-shirt was soaked, clinging to the contours of his torso like a second skin. His hair was also wet, plastered in delectable curls to the skin of his neck.
What I wouldn't do to that body
. If he allowed his iron control to waver for just a second, he would drag that ass into the woods and brutalize it. Fuck it without mercy. Piss in it, come in it, make it bleed.

Clint turned away from the stragglers in his group before any of them could see the protrusion of his massive hard-on.

Matt was coming by the gym tonight. It was too good an opportunity to pass up. He'd been playing the long game, teasing himself with the belief that he would take Matt sometime in the future. By why wait? Plans could change and he was adaptable. It was a skill that had kept him at large and functioning all this time.

No, he couldn't let this one go. Matt was coming to him tonight. He would be ready.

****

That morning, Dale had a rare opportunity to experience what it was like to be a regular dad. He was there for breakfast with his son, over which he helped Jack complete the homework he'd been too excited to do the evening before. He got to nag him gently about loading the dishwasher afterward and about brushing his teeth properly. The icing on the cake was Laura asking him to run Jack to school.

“You'd be doing me a big favor,” she said, getting her youngest ready for the child minder. “I've got a meeting at nine. There's no way I'll make it.”

Dale was delighted. “Go ahead. I'd love to do it.”

In the car, Jack jabbered excitedly about the football match he was due to play that weekend. “Can you come to watch, Dad? It would be so cool if you could.”

Dale was overwhelmed with love for his son. Last night he'd made the big announcement, telling Jack just who he was, and the kid had taken the news without a trace of misgiving.

“
I knew that already,
” Jack had admitted. “
I've been waiting for you to tell me
.” All of this time he'd been worrying—for nothing.

“I can't make any promises,” Dale said regretfully. “I'd love to be around to watch you play, but the truth is, I don't know what today is going to bring. If things kick off, like I suspect they might, then I want to get as far away as possible from you guys. I don't want awful reporters stalking out your house, or your soccer game. You understand, don't you?”

“How many times, Dad? It's football,” Jack said with a playful groan, “
Football
. Nobody calls it soccer over here.”

“When I get off this show, I guess you'll just have to take me to a few games and educate me all about
football
.”

They both laughed.

Dale's good mood lasted for all of five minutes. Until he said goodbye to Jack at the school gate. His phone rang as he navigated the traffic back to town. It was his British agent, David. A straight-talking Londoner who'd been in the business over forty years.

“Where are you?” David barked through the car's speakers.

“On a school run. Heading back to my ex-wife's house.”

“Well, I guess you probably know this already but the shit has hit the fan. I've had reporters on the phone since I got in at seven. All they want to ask about is you.”

“Fuck!”

“It's a fucker all right. But what do you want to do about it?”

“They're asking the obvious question?”

“Obviously,” David drawled.

It was finally happening. The moment he'd dreaded for his entire career. Surprisingly, Dale was okay about it. There was nothing to fear. No humiliation. He'd cleared things with the people who were important to him. What was the worst that could happen now?

“Okay, tell them the truth. Let's put out a statement. Tell the world Dale Zachary plays for the other team.” He laughed. “Wow. It feels good to say it after all this time. I am gay.”

“Want me to do it? All official.”

“Shit, no. I'll do it myself. Is there anything in today's papers?”

“No. But there will be tomorrow,” David said.

“Okay. I'm going to head back to Durham. If they come chasing me for a picture or a story, I don't want my family caught up in it. I'll decide how I want to word it and make a statement on Facebook this afternoon. Do you mind holding them off until then?”

“Not a bit. If you ask me, you should have done this years back,” David said confidently.

“Why are you telling me this now?” Dale laughed.

“'Cause you never wanted to hear it before.”

****

“
Someone must have seen something
.”

What was wrong with these people? Didn't anyone have eyes? Keeley had never encountered a film crew so short on gossip, so oblivious to what was going on right beneath their noses.

She met with Donna Bradey and Luisa Capaldi, two of the main makeup assistants on
Blood Falls on Stone
at the Honest Lawyer Hotel, a couple of miles south of Durham. She had promised them a full three-course lunch with wine in exchange for a shitload of gossip from the set. Two courses into the meal and the painted dollies had failed to deliver anything she didn't already know. These bitches had better sing before lunch was over or they'd regret it.

Donna was in her early fifties but dressed like a woman thirty years younger and five stone lighter. Her hair was a dyed red-brown color and bolstered by dozens of hairpieces in shades that no way matched. She put her orange foundation on with a trowel, before caking various shades of red, purple and gold on top. Spidery eyelashes and glossy purple lipstick completed the look. The average drag queen would think she had gone too far.

Next to her, Luisa looked like full-on tranny road kill. Her hair was white blonde, with cheap extensions that had also been embellished with awful hairpieces to create a shoddy bird's nest look. Her makeup comprised of shades of red, white and blue. With an emaciated frame and horsey features, she looked like a juvenile Russian hooker.

Keeley surmised they had made the effort to look
nice
on her account. If they turned up for work looking like this, no sane actor would let them near their face with a makeup brush.

“Well, I guess, like, Aaron did spend a lot of time in Dale's trailer around lunch,” Donna said in a ghastly Geordie accent.

“He was Dale's assistant,” Keeley pointed out. “Was there anything unusual in that?”

“Suppose not.”

“Did anyone ever comment on them spending time together?”

“Not really.”

Jesus. What a fucking waste of time this was turning out to be
. “Did either of you know Aaron personally?”

“I worked with him before,” Luisa piped in. “Couple of years ago on a movie.
The Passion of Rosemary.
Did you see it?”

“Never heard of it. Tell me about Aaron.”

“Oh,” Luisa said vaguely, pouring the last of the second bottle of wine into her glass. “He was all right. A nice guy. He was seeing one of the department heads back then.”

“A man?”

“Yes, a fella.”

“You never told me that,” Donna said, wide-eyed, as if she'd just been privy to a huge revelation.

“Well, there was nothing much to tell. They came to a couple of crew meals together and the wrap party and that was about it. I didn't have anything to do with them.”

“Ladies,” Keeley said firmly. “This isn't enough. I'm writing about Dale Zachary and you're not giving me the slightest scrap to go on.”

She saw the sudden panic in their eyes as they realized a refill on that empty bottle of wine might not be forthcoming. They looked at each other, searching their tiny minds.

“What was it Jess from wardrobe said the other day?” Donna asked Luisa.