Faith and Fidelity by Tere Michaels Page B

ago, he thought. Not as much since Evan and he started this friendship. Their relationship brought back that old familiar sense of security cradling Matt as he went about his life. No worries, because in the end he could wind up here, in safe silence.
    Matt laid his head on Evan's pillow, practically touching his mouth to the back of the sleeping man's head. He inhaled the male scent— Matt's soap on new skin, the smell of sex— and closed his eyes. Hushed his overactive brain and let himself fall under the seductive sound of Evan's rhythmic breathing until he felt himself drifting off.

    * * * *

    The dream was always the same. He walked down the corridor behind his stepfather Buddy— his first stepfather, the one who taught him about being too afraid to breath— numbly listening to the recitation about Sherri being dead. Evan was too frightened to speak. He just wanted to find his wife and take her home because she shouldn't be here with Buddy and she couldn't be dead... no, no, no.
    They turned a corner and Evan gagged— the smell of death overwhelmed him. He grabbed his throat, unable to breath through the stench. Suddenly she was there in front of him on the gurney, the wound on her head so vicious, so cruel... so clean.
    It enraged him because he knew it was a lie. Death wasn't so neat and tidy, so politely civil. He'd seen it enough to know that. He turned to Buddy, that disgusting leer permanently etched onto his face.
    “Where did you put her blood?!” he screamed. “Where is it all?! Why are you hiding it?!”
    And then it was there— all of it— all the blood he could have ever imagined on his hands, on his clothes, in his eyes, and he started to shriek in terror because he thought he might drown. He could hear Buddy laughing, telling him to be a good boy or else...

    * * * *

    He clawed his way back to consciousness, moaning and flailing desperately. He had to escape Buddy... had to escape the blood. Had to escape the look of his wife's corpse. Evan fought off the covers which were weighed down much heavier than usual. And he heard someone calling his name.
    “Hey, hey, easy, I'm here— calm down.” Matt.
    Evan gasped, sitting straight up, shivering with nausea and fear. He felt Matt's hands soothing him gently, like that first night.
    Felt his mouth close, whispering in his ear, “It's okay. I'm here.”
    Oh thank God , Evan thought.
    “Sorry,” he managed to get out. But Matt stopped him immediately.
    “Come here.” He pulled him back into his arms, lowering them both back onto the mattress. “Are you okay?”
    Evan shivered. “Yeah.” He buried his face into the pillow, unable to look Matt in the eye. Always the same goddamn dream. Always about the two things that Evan hated most in the world— Buddy, the predator that stalked his childhood, and Sherri, dead, taken away from him too soon.
    “You want to talk about it?” Matt asked softly, stroking the back of Evan's head and neck, comforting him.
    “No.” Evan swallowed hard. “Talk to me, just talk about anything for a few minutes okay?” He needed a few moments to pull himself together.

    * * * *

    “'Kay.” Matt felt like sharing something with Evan, to make him feel less alone. “I used to have nightmares all the time— after Tony died.”
    “Your first partner?”
    “Yeah. I heard the shot, turned my head and he was on his knees. Already dead. After his funeral, every time I closed my eyes I'd hear hear the gunshots. Knowing over and over again there wasn't anything I could do but watch Tony die.” Matt sighed. “You become a cop and they teach you about protecting people and keeping them safe. But they don't tell you how it rips your heart out when you realize you can't do it. You can't save everybody.”
    Evan said nothing but leaned a bit closer to Matt.
    “I couldn't protect Tony. I tried to but I couldn't.”
    “I know how you feel.”
    “It was a car accident, Evan. There was nothing you could have done.”
    Evan