Hell and Gone

by Tal Bauer

He always liked how his name sounded from this man, full of warmth and with enough space between the letters to fit a smile inside.

All rootless things are grabbed by the wind, and so was Everett Dawson.

Everett was a product of the United States Army, though, and he excelled at investigating crimes, three-hundred-fifty-yard takedown shots, and being a stubborn mother fucker. When he dug his heels in, the earth rotated around Everett.

There were canyons between those vowels, lingering spaces where Lawrence’s voice lengthened and spread like warm honey. His accent was as thick as the forest on the mountains and rolled like the wind, on and on.

There was something about the man, an intensity. It was like trying to stare at the sun.

Track, locate, secure, preserve. Prosecute. Through the law or through a bullet.

you may not yet have the cowboyin’ all squared away, but you got a dangerous mind on you, Army.

Everett’s eyes strayed across the fire, watching him, watching his lips move through the smoke. He forced himself to look away.

That deep timbre, that rich, rolling voice, reached back into the center of his chest and squeezed.

Rationalization, he knew, was what came after a shitty decision.

Excruciating, torturous bliss. He clung to Lawrence, to his powerful body, his thick muscles flexing beneath his flannel button-down and his corduroy jacket. He tucked his face against Lawrence’s shoulder blade, keeping low and away from the brim of his cowboy hat. His blood sang, burning, craving.

He needed some crazy in him.

felt Lawrence embedded to the hilt.

He looked at Everett like he was something worth looking at. Like he was something Lawrence wanted.

Lawrence whispered, “Let go, Everett. I got you.”

Kissed him like he was special.

Trying to understand Everett Dawson had been like trying to cage the wind.

“Please, God.” “M’name is Law,”

Grunting, he shoved his thumb in deep, felt the jelly of his eye slip and slide over his skin, burst apart and leak down his hand.