The Parable of the Mustard Seed Page 12

  John lifted a hand and traced a finger down the side of Caleb’s temple. “It’s a thunderstorm happening in there, huh?”

  “Sometimes,” Caleb said. He smiled, but it couldn’t hide the worry in his eyes. “But mostly it’s just overcast with a chance of scattered showers.”

  John’s heart ached for him. Caleb carried wounds that nothing would ever heal. They were a part of him now. They were scabbed over, but they would never go away, and he and the people he loved could only hope to move through life without tearing them open again. It wasn’t what Caleb deserved, but it was his reality.

  “I love you,” John said. “And I know that’s not a cure, or an answer, or the part that comes at the end of a story. But it’s a promise. Whatever happens between us, I will always love you and I will always be on your side. You won’t ever have to be alone when the rain comes.”

  Caleb’s expression was soft and vulnerable. His eyes shone, and his answering smile was wobbly. He swallowed, his throat bobbing, and slid a hand to John’s shoulder. Curled his fingers around the curve of the muscle there. “I know. I’ve always known.”

  And then the spaghetti in the saucepan began to bubble, and John had to take it off the heat before it boiled over and left them with no dinner and a hell of a mess.

  Caleb showered while John unpacked his bag in the guest room. He unzipped his bag and dug his phone charger out, then plugged it in at the bedside table, and figured that counted as settling in. Then he pulled his clothes out and put them in the top drawer of the empty dresser. He stared at them a while before sliding the drawer shut, and then sat back down on the bed.

  The guest room was sparse and utilitarian. A bed and a dresser, and a bedside table with a lamp. The walls were painted a light blue that John knew from experience was almost eggshell when the sunlight hit it in the mornings. The wooden blinds were a little dusty, but the sheets on the bed smelled fresh and clean.

  This had been Jason’s room once, Darren had told him years ago. It had been so long ago that he’d said it that he’d still been having trouble remembering to refer to his son as Caleb. It had come easily enough with the teenaged stranger he’d taken into his house, but a lot longer for Darren to remember to call the son of his memories that name as well. The baby’s name had been Jason, and Darren had fumbled the transition more than once before it finally became second nature.

  From the other end of the house, John heard the shower shut off. A few minutes later, bare feet padded down the hardwood floors, and then:

  “Hey.” Caleb leaned in the doorway wearing only a pair of boxer briefs.

  Jesus.

  John almost tore his gaze away out of habit, but then his fast-beating heart skipped a joyful beat and he remembered that he was allowed this. He was allowed to look at Caleb, and he didn’t have to hide his appreciation. Caleb was lean. He didn’t have a lot of muscle definition, didn’t have any bulk like John did, but he was lean and lithe and beautiful. He had faint tan lines on his arms, beginning where the sleeves of his T-shirts normally rested, and around his throat. John wanted to trace the lines with his blunt fingertips, and with his kisses. His torso was a shade paler than his arms and his face. He was almost hairless except for a few outliers in the slight dip between his pecs, and in the treasure trail that started at his navel. His nipples were pink, and tight under John’s gaze. A bead of water slid down his skin, leaving a gleaming trail down his abdomen.

  He was beautiful.

  His dark hair damp and mussed from the shower, his sharp jawline, his inviting mouth, and his slate-grey eyes. There was more beauty behind those eyes than in any other part of him, John thought, because he knew Caleb, and he loved him.

  “Look at you,” John said, his voice low with wonder. He’d seen Caleb hundreds of times wearing nothing but boardshorts at the beach, but this was different. This moment wasn’t casual and carefree. It was laden with meaning. “Shit, Caleb, look at you.”

  A flush rose of Caleb’s face, and stained his throat pink too. He shifted, a hand twitching in front of his boxer briefs in what might have been an unconscious and futile attempt to hide his growing erection. “Hey.”

  “You’re beautiful,” John said, and the words felt insufficient.

  Caleb smiled and ducked his head. “So are you.”

  John laughed, because the idea was ridiculous.

  Caleb raised his head. “You are. Don’t fish.”

  John laughed again, the tension in the moment flooding away. “I’m not fishing.”

  “You are.” There was a teasing note in Caleb’s voice, and his smile was brighter and less self-conscious. “You want me to tell you that you’re tall, dark and handsome.”

  John hummed. “Two out of three, maybe.”

  Caleb rolled his eyes. “Fishing.”

  John snorted, and shook his head. “Hey, do you want to watch a movie, or is it getting too late for that?”

  Caleb shrugged. “I can stay up for a bit. I don’t have work again until Monday, and a movie won’t screw up my sleep schedule that much anyway.”

  Caleb’s sleep schedule was vital. When he didn’t sleep, it threw him off kilter enough that other things slipped too: he forgot to eat, forgot to take his meds, or he decided it would be okay to go out and drink and socialise, and maybe pick up. Which wouldn’t have mattered too much, except for the inevitable fallout. There were highs where Caleb was hyped up like a little kid on sugar, bouncing off the walls and loving it. He talked too fast, he had a million things to say, he was the life of the party. People loved that about him; the high before the crash. And it usually started with a lack of routine.

  “Sounds like a plan,” John said. He raised his eyebrows. “But do me a favour, huh?”

  Caleb looked at him questioningly.

  “Put some bloody clothes on,” John said, “or I won’t be able to look at the screen at all.”

  Caleb laughed, and blushed, and headed for his room.

  “I don’t think I’m the one fishing here!” John yelled after him. He was about to head out after Caleb, when his phone rang. He grabbed it and checked the screen before answering,

  “Ma?”

  “John!” It sounded like she was crying.

  “Ma, what’s happened?”

  “It’s Jessie! The police just called me! She’s been arrested!”

  Caleb sat in the passenger seat, drumming his fingertips on his knee as the motorway lights slid up the windscreen. “So this is how it feels when you get the call to come and get me in the middle of the night, huh?”

  John snorted. “Not likely. I’ve never felt the burning desire to wring your neck for anything you’ve done.”

  Caleb shifted, and tugged the sleeves of his hoodie down over his wrists. Balled his hands to keep them there. “Is she going to be in trouble?”

  John sighed. “Yeah. More with the family than she is with the police though, I think.”

  Jessie didn’t have a criminal history, so John figured with what he’d been told that she’d get off tonight with a caution. It was better than a court appearance, and hopefully it’d have the desired effect: Jessie would clean up her act. Though John had seen plenty of kids who hadn’t, and who’d just aged up into the adult justice system. And the last thing he needed right now was another potential conflict of interest he’d have to disclose to the inspector.

  Hey, boss, what do you want to talk about first? The fact I have a family member who’s been arrested, or that I’m in a relationship with a former complainant whose case I investigated when he was a kid?

  John was probably not going to get Christmas Day off this year.

  “I just don’t know what to do with her,” John said, shaking his head.

  Caleb pressed his mouth into a worried line.

  John huffed. “It’ll look better in the morning, right? Things always look better in the morning.”

  Caleb nodded.

  They spent the rest of the drive in silence. When they reached the Beenleig
h Police Station, John pulled into a parking space out the front. They were mostly empty due to the late hour. He and Caleb got out of the car and then headed for the front doors of the station. The doors rolled open, letting a wave of cool air out.

  John strode to the front counter, his ID at the ready. He didn’t work out of this station, and he didn’t recognise the constable on the counter. “John Faimu,” he said. “I work out of Logan CPIU. I got a call that my sister’s been picked up in a stolen car.”

  “I’ll buzz you through,” the constable said.

  Caleb stuck close to John as the constable showed them through to the dayroom. There were three kids scattered around the room, each sitting a long distance apart from the other, and each accompanied by at least one uniformed copper. John could hear faint yelling from somewhere in the distance too; someone in the cells wasn’t happy.

  Jessie was in the middle row of desks in the dayroom, sitting sullenly in a chair while a female constable talked to her. She straightened when she saw John approaching. “John!”

  “Not a bloody word,” John told her. He introduced himself to the female constable, and they left Jessie slumped in her chair and moved to the other side of the dayroom to talk.

  “The driver’s nineteen,” the constable said, “so he’ll be going to court in the morning. Jessie and the other girls are all underage.”

  John didn’t know what was worse, that Jessie was hanging around a nineteen-year-old car thief, or that he knew exactly what that nineteen-year-old car thief would be expecting from a sixteen-year-old girl in return for his company. He shot a look in Jessie’s direction; she was chewing her thumbnail and scowling, as though this was all an inconvenience to her. John tamped down his rising anger.

  “Did they know it was stolen?” he asked.

  The constable’s expression was too neutral to be anything but carefully schooled. “They say they didn’t.”

  Which meant, of course, they did.

  John sighed.

  “My sergeant’s happy to let the girls go with cautions,” the constable said. “Just so you know, though, the driver’s a real grub. He’s got a bunch of property offences and DMA stuff.”

  John shook his head. “Yeah, I figured.”

  “I’ll go get her paperwork,” the constable said, “and we can sort out a time later in the week to do the caution.”

  “Thanks.”

  The constable headed back over toward Jessie.

  “What’s DMA?” Caleb murmured.

  “Charges under the Drugs Misuse Act.” John tore his gaze from Jessie. “You okay waiting in here for a bit longer?”

  Caleb had his hands jammed into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. He nodded. “Yeah. Not really a huge fan of police stations, but I’m okay.”

  John squeezed his shoulder.

  It took about half an hour for Jessie to get processed. John hung back and let the constable do her job. He read the notice board a bunch of times. It was no different than the one in his office. Crime bulletins and wanted persons mixed in with flyers for birthday parties, retirements, and kids’ school pie drives.

  By the time they left the station it was almost two in the morning.

  Jessie was pissed off when John directed her to the back seat of his car, and she huffed and tossed her hair like a brat.

  “You want to tell me what happened tonight?” John asked on the drive to Ma’s place. “Like who the fuck this guy is you’re hanging out with who steals cars?”

  “No!”

  “You pull this shit again, and you know you’ll end up in court,” John said. “And then in a detention centre.”

  Jessie glared at him in the rear-view mirror. “Like you care!”

  “I do bloody care, actually,” John said, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “And if you could see past your own bullshit, maybe you’d realise you are surrounded by family who cares!”

  The tears came after that, but John knew Jessie too well. They weren’t tears of regret or sorrow—Jessie was angry as hell. She glared at him, her mouth set in a line, her jaw clenched even as the tears slid down her cheeks.

  When they pulled up outside Ma’s house, she was first out of the car.

  “You spend more time with Caleb than me!” she yelled as she slammed the car door. “You wouldn’t even care if I tried to kill myself like he does!”

  John felt as though she’d thrown a bucket of ice water over him.

  Selfish little bitch.

  John had never hated her like he did in that moment. Who the fuck did she think she was to compare herself to Caleb? She had no fucking idea what Caleb faced, every single day of his life. Every day.

  He got out of the car.

  His anger was fast, hot. He took a step toward her, his hand raised, before he even realised he’d done it.

  What the fuck? Are you going to hit her?

  Jessie must have thought he meant it. She shrieked and ran toward the house.

  John uncurled his fingers. He hadn’t even known he’d made a fist.

  Fuck. He would have hit her as well. A part of him still wanted to.

  “John,” Caleb said, and John realised he was standing beside him on the footpath. “John?”

  The front door slammed shut behind Jessie.

  John’s face burned. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to hear that.”

  Caleb shrugged.

  “Hey,” John said. He pulled Caleb into a hug and pressed his mouth to the top of his head in a soft kiss. “I’m sorry.”

  Caleb’s fingers found his own, and his thumb rubbed a circle against John’s palm.

  “I’ve never hit her,” John said, his voice catching. “I’ve never let her push me like that before.”

  “I know,” Caleb said. “I know you wouldn’t do it.”

  John wasn’t sure he had the same faith in himself, but he was selfishly glad that Caleb believed it. He never wanted Caleb to think he could be capable of hurting someone in anger.

  He looked up as the front door opened again, and saw Sepela silhouetted there in her dressing gown.

  “Come on,” he said to Caleb. “Ma won’t let us leave without feeding us coconut slice.”

  They held hands as they headed for the house and Sepela stepped back to let them inside.

  It was late by the time they got home again, and John didn’t even think twice about stripping down to his underwear and tumbling into Caleb’s bed with him. They were both too tired to do anything more than sleep, though it still took John a long time to doze off. Ma was upset with Jessie, and had spent a long time crying on John’s shoulder, asking him where she’d gone wrong. And by the morning David and Tee and Mary would know, and John’s phone would blow up. At least he was on leave and didn’t have to juggle all this bullshit around his regular work schedule.

  He and Caleb lay facing each other, and John watched the faint moonlight falling over Caleb’s face. Caleb’s dark lashes fanned out softly as he slept, and his mouth was open. His tousled hair tempted John to run his fingers through it, and smooth it down.

  Caleb’s hand lay in the small place between them, his fingers spread over the cool sheet. John shifted his arm up so that he covered Caleb’s hand with his own, and linked their fingers together.

  Caleb’s mouth twitched.

  “I love you,” John whispered to him, and watched his face until sleep took him.

  Chapter Eleven

  The hospital room was dark. The blinds were closed even though it was the middle of the day, the lights were turned down, and the television was off.

  “You okay, mate?” John asked from the doorway.

  Caleb barely glanced at him. His pale fingers were curled around the cover of a book. John took a step forward.

  Fuck.

  It was a Bible. Who the fuck had given Caleb a Bible? And then John realised that maybe nobody had, and maybe they were just stashed around the place like they were in hotels and Caleb had found one in the cabinet beside his bed.


  John reached Caleb’s beside and put a hand over his. Wriggled the Bible free, and then tossed it into the bin beside the bed. Thanked fuck that Ma wasn’t here to see him do it.

  Caleb’s eyes widened, and he sucked in a shocked breath.

  “You want to read it, you read it in the light,” John said. “You understand me? You don’t just lie here in the dark and read the parts that make you feel like shit. The parts that Ethan Gray twisted up and lied about. You and Simon never deserved what happened to you, and Ethan Gray is not God. He’s not powerful, or strong, or all-knowing. He’s just a sad little man sitting in a prison cell right now, and I’m going to make sure he stays there for a long fucking time.”

  Caleb’s breath shuddered out of him. “You will?” For the first time since John had met him a new expression stole cautiously across his features, softening them. It looked almost like hope. “Do you promise?”

  John blinked awake, awareness slowly trickling into the places that sleep retreated from. His gaze went to the window first, and to the golden light slanting through the wooden blinds. Then it went to the man whose bed he’d been sleeping in, and his breath caught. They’d shifted in their sleep, and Caleb was lying on his side now, his back pressed against John’s chest.

  If it was just this moment, just now, if time could stop right here, it would be perfect. Lying curled up with Caleb in the cool morning light of his room, breathing against the back of his neck and making strands of his fine hair dance. One arm under Caleb’s head, one hand resting on his hip. Perfect. If there wasn’t work, and bills, and family, and all that shit that came between them before they even opened the lid on Caleb’s issues. Perfect.

  John eased his arm out from under Caleb, and rolled away from him. God. Falling asleep with Caleb might have been a mistake, because in sleep they were close. He could still feel the warmth of Caleb’s body, and his cock stirred. Caleb, still sleeping, wasn’t immune either. There was a bulge in his boxer briefs that with anyone else John might have teased into a decent erection: Good morning, beautiful. But he couldn’t go there with Caleb. Not without clear and explicit consent all the way, every time. John couldn’t afford to make assumptions about what Caleb wanted, or about what he was ready for. He couldn’t risk overstepping. He wouldn’t hurt Caleb.