The Obsidian Collection Read online

  “This might be a little cold,” he chuckled. I watched as he squeezed some lube onto the tips of his fingers, pushing them inside of me.

  Holy mother of God. I groaned, the feeling of him moving inside of me indescribable. He gripped hold of my waist and pushed himself inside of me, pounding himself against me as I rocked against his rhythm.

  “You like this? Do you like me inside of you?” Eric panted, riding me harder and harder. I grunted in response, my own grip on my shaft moving faster and faster. I was almost there—we were almost there. I fisted my cock with fury as I began to release.

  “Oh, fuck,” I grunted, my body convulsing. Behind me, Eric groaned, thrusting inside me as he released. Drenched in sweat, he collapsed onto the bed, besides me. I rolled over so I was facing him, and kissed him.

  “Wow,” he mumbled, exhausted. “That was…” He simply shook his head. I grinned and nodded as he gently stroked my hair. We lay in bed, tangled in each other’s arms, both too worn out to move.

  “So…” My voice trailed off as I realized I had no idea of what I was going to say. No, that wasn’t completely true; I wanted to ask what this meant for us now. Was this a big deal for him, or was I just another ‘friend’ in his line up?

  “So what?” he asked. Before I could reply, the bedroom door burst open. I flew up, covering myself with the sheet as Lucinda stared at us, her mouth open.

  “I…uh, I knocked. I didn’t think you were home…” She shook her head and backed out of the room. “Holy fuck,” she muttered.

  “What are you doing here, Lucinda?” I demanded, throwing on a pair of track pants. I followed her out into the living room. She turned to me, her expression incredulous.

  “Are you for real? You’re gay?” Her face screwed up as anger took over her delicate features. “You didn’t think that might have been useful for me to know, say ten years ago?”

  I winced. She was yelling now. She was seriously pissed off, and I didn’t know what to say to calm her down. Deep down, I knew she was right. I was a coward for letting our relationship go on as long as it did, and even more of a coward for not having the guts to tell her the real reason our relationship had ended.

  “Lucinda, I’m sorry. I get that you’re angry right now—”

  “Do you?” She laughed. “Well, how fucking thoughtful of you.” She shook her head and ran her hands through her hair. “I can’t handle this.” She ran for the door, completely forgetting why she was even here in the first place. I let her go, because there was nothing I could say that was going to diffuse the situation. I’d give her a few days and then try and talk to her.

  I walked back into the bedroom.

  “Sorry about that,” I muttered. I sat down on the edge of the bed, next to Eric. He’d gotten dressed. He reached for my hand and squeezed it.

  “Your ex, I’m guessing?”

  “Yep.”

  I arrived at work the next day; my head still absorbed in the previous day. Every time I thought back to her walking in on us, I wanted to be sick. Shoving my things into my locker, I sighed as I changed into my scrubs. Erin sidled up to me and gave me a nudge.

  “Haven’t seen you around in ages. You always go right after work and god knows where you spend lunch.”

  I grinned, thinking back to yesterday in the supply closet, the day before in the men’s toilets, last week in the rest room….well, you get the idea.

  “Yeah, I never seem to get a break,” I fibbed.

  Erin laughed. “Ooh, Eric must be riding you hard.” I held back a laugh and nodded. God, if only she knew how true that was.

  “Something like that,” I murmured. As if on cue, Eric wandered in, catching my eye.

  “You ready, Fletcher?” he all but shouted. I nodded.

  “Noah will be discharged today,” he informed me quietly. Something about the tone of his voice told me that wasn’t a good thing. Leaving hospital didn’t always mean you were getting better. Sometimes, it meant there was nothing more that could be done.

  “So, that’s it?” I asked. I couldn’t help it. I felt so bad, like I’d let him down.

  Eric shrugged. “We can offer him just as much support from home.” He shot me a look. “Nobody wants to die in a hospital, Cam. At least at home he will be surrounded by his family who loves him.”

  “How long?” I asked, my voice catching in my throat. Jesus, I couldn’t even say the word. How the fuck did I expect to make it as a surgeon?

  “A few weeks. Maybe longer.” Eric sighed. He stopped suddenly and yanked me inside a cleaning room. “Listen, Cam. You can’t save everyone. You have the potential to be an amazing doctor, but you need to realize kids are going to die. What makes it worthwhile is for every one that dies, because of you, two might live. We do what we do because this isn’t about saving everyone. It’s about making a difference.”

  I dropped my head, nodding slightly. I knew he was right.

  “Hey, Look at me.” My eyes met his. He smiled and stroked my cheek. “You care too much. And I guess that’s one of the things I love about you.”

  One of the things he loves about me? My eyes widened. He chuckled as he leaned in to kiss me.

  “Don’t over think it, Cam,” he muttered as his lips caressed mine.

  I was getting worried.

  I’d told Mom about our break up, and not once had she mentioned trying to set me up. More than that, she’d actually understood. What if Lucinda had told them?

  That is ridiculous. Firstly, she wouldn’t stoop that low, and even if she had, my parents would’ve been on my doorstep the same day, demanding answers.

  On Friday, I called my mom.

  “Oh, hey, Cam. How’s work?” she asked. Did she sound different? Like she knew something? No, you’re being a fucktard.

  “Good, Mom. Busy, but I’m enjoying it.”

  “I’m so happy. And your workmates? Everyone friendly?” she asked eagerly. I glanced over at Eric, who was lying on his sofa, reading a magazine.

  “Very friendly,” I chuckled. “Listen, I have someone I want you to meet.” What the fuck was I doing? This wasn’t what I had in mind ten minutes ago when I’d decided to call her to ‘check in’.

  “Oh?” she said, her tone curious. “Are you seeing someone?” she asked.

  “Kind of. He’s really nice. I hope you and Dad will give him a chance.” My hand flew to my face as I slid to the floor beside the fridge in Eric’s kitchen. His head shot up the second the words left my mouth.

  What. The. Fuck. Was. I. Doing.

  “He?” If I wasn’t mourning the death of my life, I would’ve laughed at how strangled and confused Mom’s voice sounded. “He, Cam? What are you saying? Are you…Do you…”

  “Like men? Yeah, Mom, I do. I have for a while now, only I was too concerned with how you and Dad would react. But I’m sick of hiding who I am.” My voice was surprisingly even.

  Eric had since entered the kitchen and was sitting on the counter in front of me. He looked amused. And impressed. He was as shocked as I was about my revelation. Not as shocked as Mom though.

  “Mom?” I asked warily. God, she’d hung up. Why had I thought this would be a good idea—

  “I’m here,” she said hastily. “I’m sorry, Cam. I don’t know what to say. I’d love to meet your, uh, friend.”

  “And Dad?” I asked nervously. That was one conversation I didn’t want to have. Mom must have sensed it, too.

  “I’ll talk to him. It’ll be fine. Come over Sunday for lunch?”

  “Okay.” I hesitated. “Mom? I love you.”

  “I love you too, baby. I’ll always love you.”

  Hanging up the phone, I released a big sigh.

  Holy shit.

  “I can’t believe you just came out to your mother.” Eric put his hands out and helped me off the floor.

  “Me neither,” I admitted. I still had no idea where that had come from. “She is looking forward to meeting my friend,” I said with a grin.

  �
�Friend, huh?” Eric’s lips moved toward my neck. “That’s what I am?”

  My heart raced. We hadn’t had the ‘conversation’ yet. I smiled as his lips moved to mine, kissing them in a way that made my blood race.

  “You tell me,” I said, shrugging. “I’m not the one with ‘go to’ friends.”

  Eric laughed. “You sound jealous,” he teased. “But let me assure you, I’ve not so much as thought about any of my ‘go to’ friends since meeting you.”

  “So, what are you saying?” I pressed.

  “I’m saying, I hope I’m not introduced to your parents as your ‘friend’.”

  Twelve o’clock, I stood on the doorstep of my parents’ home, Eric by my side. He smiled at me, his green eyes twinkling. He looked gorgeous in a pair of faded jeans and shirt. His dark hair had been styled carefully so it looked effortlessly messy.

  “You can do this,” he murmured as I rang the doorbell.

  I wish I felt that confident.

  The door opened, and Mom beamed at me, enveloping me in a hug.

  “Cam,” she said. “How are you?” she straightened up and looked at Eric.

  “You must be Cam’s boyfriend,” she gushed. Boyfriend? Hearing Mom say that made me chuckle. One thing was for sure; she was trying. Eric laughed as she hugged him too.

  “Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Fletcher,” he said in his sexy voice. She ushered us inside, her hand resting on Eric’s back. Glancing over her shoulder at me, she raised he eyebrows.

  My mother thought my boyfriend was cute.

  We walked through to the kitchen, where the table was set for three. My heart sank. Mom wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “No Dad?” I asked her evenly. I already knew the answer.

  “Just give him time,” she said, reaching for my hand and squeezing it.

  “What did he say?” I asked. I just couldn’t let it drop. Not yet. I’d disappointed him by becoming a doctor, and now I was doing it again by being gay.

  “Cam, please.” Mom’s eyes pleaded with me. I relented, knowing how hard she was trying. I loved the fact that she was here, welcoming Eric into her life, even in my father was not. Going against his word would have been a hard thing for her to do.

  “I’m sorry. It’s fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “Anything I can do?”

  “You can get the wine if Eric can carve the chicken.”

  Eric smiled and rolled his sleeves up. “I’m one of the top surgeons in the country. This chicken doesn’t stand a chance,” he joked.

  I smiled as I listened to his and Mom’s chatter. This was going well. Much better than I could have expected. I just hoped eventually Dad would come around. I wasn’t sure if Eric was going to be it, the one. It was too early to tell, but either way, it felt so good to be myself for the first time in my life.

  There are things in life that require no explanation. One of them is that green shag carpet only belongs at Graceland, immortalized on the walls and ceilings of the Jungle Room. Anywhere else it provides a sense of desperation. Suffocation. Yet here Kent sits, in a government waiting room, straight from another decade—no century. That’s how bad it is. From the wood paneled walls, to the puke green, vinyl-covered chairs, it’s like a time capsule of tacky-terrible furnishings. Sitting in one of the aforementioned (yet surprisingly comfortable) chairs, Kent keeps one eye on the receptionist and another assessing the room. At least, he notes, the phone and computers mounted on the desk are from this decade. He does keep his attention focused away from the chair adjacent to his own. Not that it matters.

  “Are you really planning on ignoring me? Or, like, not even ask me why I’m here. Or why we’ve both been called here?” Maya Clarke asks from her seat across the room. Since he is ignoring her, he then ignores her comment. Instead of answering, he checks his watch, wondering why they asked him here for a 9 AM meeting and haven’t called him in by 9:05. Unprofessionalism is a big no-no as far as he’s concerned.

  Persistent as ever, Maya continues, “I’ll take that as a yes, then. Real mature. I’m glad that you’ve decided to take the high road here.”

  Kent stands and walks across the room to the receptionist’s desk. The sleek lines of his suit accentuate his fit body. He arranges his face into his most charming one. “Hi,” he says, glancing down at the name plate, “Nicole. Do you have any idea how long it will be before I can go in? I have another meeting at ten and want to be able to give Agent Carson my full attention.”

  Nicole’s cheeks flare red, flustered, like all women, at Kent’s good looks. She pushes a stray hair behind her ear. “Let me go find out what the hold-up is all about.”

  “Thank you,” Kent says, with a smile. His eyes remain glued to Nicole’s backside as she knocks and enters Agent Carson’s office.

  “You’re such a cliché.”

  The muscle under Kent’s eye twitches. Barely, but it happened. Twice even, and he considers a retort. Something that will make Maya shut the fuck up. But he’s here to work, not bicker with a two-bit thief. Thankfully, Nicole opens the door and gives him a dazzling smile. “Agent Carlson will see you now.”

  “Thank you, Nicole.”

  She glances behind Kent. “You too, Ms. Clarke.”

  Kent swings his head and makes eye contact with Maya for the first time that morning. She’s got on her standard fits-like-a-glove sweater, black stretchy pants and heeled-boots that go up, over her knees. Add all that to her dark black hair pulled up in a pony-tail and chocolate eyes that match her smooth mocha brown skin. She’s gorgeous. And strong. Through the sweater he can see the lean shape of her muscular arms. From the outside she has the presence of a goddess. On the inside, Kent knows too well, she’s got the mind of a techno-wizard. A genius.

  He grimaces. Yep. Looking at her is a bad idea. It makes him have feelings. Kent tries not to deal in feelings.

  “So you finally figured that one out, eh?” she asks, striding past him. “We’re both going in for the same meeting. Good thing we got our stories straight.”

  “Shut up, Maya.”

  “Kent—”

  They pass by the middle-aged man, dressed in a standard suit and tie. Government man, Kent mused, eyeing his cheap shoes and receding hairline. For the millionth time, Kent appreciates his job and the lifestyle it affords him.

  “Ms. Clarke and Mr. Kent.” Agent Carlson pauses and looks between the two of them. “Oh, I just noticed that—”

  “Yes, together our names are Clarke Kent. Hilarious,” Kent says, dropping into a seat. “Let’s get straight to business. What did you ask me, or rather, us here for today. It’s not every day two professionals of our caliber are invited to the FBI office.”

  Maya’s eyes shoot up when Kent calls her professional. That’s a first.

  “Are you aware of the Obsidian project?”

  “Yes,” Maya replies.

  At the same time, Kent offers an aloof, “Should I be?”

  “Jackass,” Maya mutters under her breath. “It’s the name of the project to locate pieces of artwork stolen during World War II. You know, like the movie Monument’s Men. Did you see that?”

  “I only watch porn,” Kent replies, scanning the room for something that resembles a bar or cabinet that contains liquor. Even a bottle of cheap whiskey would take the edge off this increasingly annoying meeting. His survey comes up empty. Fucking government.

  “Of course you do.” Maya rubs her temples, which elicits a smug grin from Kent.

  Agent Carson ignores their exchange and continues, “Ms. Clarke is correct. Although a specialized team with the Allies located the majority of the artwork, the Nazi’s were able to hide a handful of priceless works of art. With the fall of the regime and Hitler’s death, the Army stopped looking for the remaining pieces, satisfied with what they’d found. We do have a list of pieces owned by the United States that we follow up with when we have a lead.”

  “And you got a lead?” Kent says, a hint of interest in his voice.

  “Yes. A painting,�
�� Carson says, holding up a black and white photo of a generic landscape.

  “That’s—” Maya begins, narrowing her eyes in an attempt to figure out if the gray blobs were, in fact, trees.

  “Unimpressive,” Kent concludes, the boredom back in his tone.

  “It’s not for us to judge the value of the work, Mr. Kent. It’s for us to take back what is ours. This one, in particular, was and is owned by the Smithsonian. It was on loan to France at the time of the theft.”

  “So what do you need us for?” Maya asks.

  “We’ve found the painting. It’s being held in a private home in Portofino, Italy.”

  “So you want me to steal it back?” Kent asks.

  “We’d like you both to work on this mission together. The FBI is well aware of your particular skill sets. You’re each the best in your field.” Agent Carson rubs his hand over his gray flecked beard, obviously having a hard time praising criminals for their excellent criminal behavior.

  “Impossible. We don’t work together,” Maya replies through clenched teeth.

  Agent Carson leans casually against his desk. “For this, you will.”

  “Why would we do that?” Kent asks, ready to walk out the door. There’s not much that could convince him working with the government is a good idea. His rap sheet is a mile long and even though they can’t tie him to anything, everything about this smells like a trap. Maya must know this, too.

  “There’s a five million dollar reward for the painting. If you successfully return the artwork, in the condition in which you found it, you keep the money.”

  Except that.

  Maya and Kent glance at one another as they run the numbers. He gives an almost imperceptible shrug.

  “When do we start?” Maya asks, speaking for the both of them.

  Agent Carson grins. “Immediately.”

  “So this is where our government dollars are being spent,” Maya says, entering the private jet.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty swank,” Kent says, no longer wearing the suit from their earlier meeting, but a black V-neck sweater and slate gray pants. He’s lounging in a seat by the window, drink in hand.