In Strange Woods - Claire Cray Page 0,50

intimacy grew with every hour they spent together. When James slid down to lie on his back with his head in Hunter’s lap, it felt as natural and right as if it had already happened a million times.

James let out a long, comfortable sigh, his eyes closed. “What was the first music you ever loved?”

“Nirvana.” Hunter was slowly combing his fingers through James’s hair. “My sister used to burn CDs at school and sneak ‘em home. Turned me onto punk rock when I was like, seven.”

James opened his eyes, smiling a little. “Sounds like a good sister.”

“The best. Taught me right from fucked up. Always had my back.”

“Were your parents there for you when she died?”

“Not really,” Hunter answered slowly. This was an understatement. “They’re hardcore fundamentalists. Things kinda went haywire.”

“That sounds hard.” James’s eyes had that keen, sensitive look again, examining Hunter’s face. “Did you have any idea it was coming?”

“Well…I dunno.” Hunter paused. He hadn’t talked to anyone about this since around the time it happened. “Church like that, it’s hell on women and kids. Amy always had a hard time going along with it. But then she went and told on one of the preachers for messing with some of the girls. Everybody took his side, came down on her. Gave her hell.”

“Fuck,” James muttered grimly.

“Yeah. Can’t say that’s the only reason, ‘cause I don’t know. But from that time on, she just kinda sank. Everybody knew she was in a dark place, and didn’t help her. I mean, they were the ones that put her there.” Hunter focused on his own hand moving through James’s hair, the dark locks slipping through his fingers. “After she died, church people were in the house all the time, praying about it. Crying and wailing all day and night.”

“Jesus, how did you handle that?”

“I was pretty numb at first, honestly. But then on Sunday…” Hunter felt his lips curl faintly, still sickened by the memory. “Sermon was all about her. Couldn’t take it. Stood up and walked out, said I wasn’t going back.”

“What did your parents do?”

“Everything they could. Beat the hell out of me. Sent me to camp. Eventually I just left. Dropped out of high school, came down here, stayed with my grandma awhile. Then up to Portland for a few years.”

James listened closely, a faint crease between his brows. “Camp?”

“Where they pray the gay away.” At this James sat up to look at him in horror, and Hunter shook his head, embarrassed by how bleak it all sounded. “Wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. Not as bad as home, honestly. That’s probably why I still turned out wrong.”

“That’s not funny,” James said sharply, his gray eyes darkening with anger.

Hunter raised his eyebrows at the ferocious reaction, but he knew James was right. “No, it’s not funny,” he admitted. “I know. Believe me.”

“I do.” James’s intense stare didn’t waver. “And there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Well, I appreciate that.”

“I mean it.” James spoke more quietly now, his eyes flickering over Hunter’s face. He looked intrigued, almost at a loss, like he was standing in front of a painting he couldn’t interpret. “I can’t find a single thing wrong with you.”

“I live in a trailer,” Hunter offered, and had to laugh at James’s affronted scoff. “I’m boring,” he tried again. “Kind of a hick.”

“Shut up,” James complained, even as a smile threatened to appear. “You’re not even trying.”

“My truck’s not that fuel efficient.”

James burst out laughing, a rich, velvety sound that enveloped Hunter like a full-body caress. God, he was done for. He straightened from his lazy sprawl and framed James’s face in his hands, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “You’re a real sweetheart, James,” he murmured, still holding his face close. “Nothing wrong with you, either.”

James opened his mouth to make some wry remark, but Hunter shut him up.

Chapter 21: For Real

A low, pleased sound escaped Hunter as James deepened the kiss, their tongues slipping deliciously against each other. He dragged his palm down James’s throat, his chest, his ribs, relishing the way James pushed into the touch.

“I thought about this the first time I was here,” James breathed against his lips, his slim fingers making fast work of Hunter’s shirt buttons. “You were sitting here, and I was standing there, and I wanted to be right next to you. Wanted it so bad.”

“I thought about it, too.” The second understatement of the evening. Hunter shrugged his shirt off and pulled James’s tee over his head,