The Grave Between Us by Tal Bauer

Prologue

Cole scrapedat the dark soil, fingers sliding through the dirt. His breath fogged in front of his face, puffs that kept time with the frantic, terrified pants he couldn’t hold in. Mist hung between the thick tree trunks, wet, frigid claws that scratched down his spine. “Please, please…” he whimpered. “Please, no.”

His fingertips hit cold skin. He stilled, breath sliding from him like the blade of a knife.

His trembling hand brushed the loose earth away from the man’s face. He knew this face, knew it better than he knew his own. Dirt was clumped in the corners of the eyes and stuck to the cheekbones in long, slender lines, clinging to tear tracks. The blue lips were parted, the tip of the tongue jutting outward.

Cole held his breath and pushed two fingers into the man’s mouth. He knew what he’d find.

There. Pinching, he drew back. His vision blurred as he stared at the folded paper crane.

He screamed as he fell forward, crumpling the crane in his fist as rested his cheek against Noah’s cold lips. How many times had Noah lain against him, and he’d felt the rise and fall of Noah’s chest or his warm exhales against his face or his hair? Now, Noah was still, and nothing was coming out of his lips ever again.

Bugling honks broke through the woods. He turned his head and gazed right. Nestled in the fog was a lake, as still a mirror, almost black beneath the leaden fog. Cranes crossed the surface, flying in a V, their silent wings slicing the heavy forest air. He opened his palm and stared at the paper crane he’d crushed.

He turned back to Noah. Cradled Noah’s cold cheek in his palm. Wiped the dirt away from Noah’s tearstained temples. He pressed his lips to Noah’s, his tears falling on Noah’s frigid skin as he wished, with everything he had, that Noah would kiss him back, that his arms would rise out of his shallow grave and wrap around Cole, hold on to him like he used to.

Nothing.

“I’m so sorry,” Cole whispered against Noah’s death-pale skin. “It’s my fault—”

Cole’s eyes burst open as he sucked in a short, sharp breath. He was flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, at the slow circles the ceiling fan carved through the midnight stillness. He reached to the right, groping between the bedsheets and across the mattress for his lover.

Noah snorted as Cole grabbed his hip. He reached for Cole in his sleep, tangling their fingers together and tugging Cole toward him. Cole went, rolling and melting into Noah’s back, burying his face in the short strands of hair behind Noah’s ear. His heart was galloping, beating so hard he thought he’d wake Noah.

Noah murmured some nonsense and kissed Cole’s hand. A moment later, he snored, boneless in Cole’s trembling hold.

Cole waited, counting the seconds and then the minutes as he stared at their bedroom wall, not blinking. If he blinked, if he closed his eyes for even a moment, he’d see the grave again. The woods. The lake.

He lifted his hand, staring at his palm. He could still feel the paper crane tickling his skin.