Morgan opened his eyes on Monday morning with a smile. He was probably going to die soon. It probably wouldn’t be pretty. . He hadn’t thought of any new ways to fend off Collins, or even put a new roof over his head in the next few days; but today he was going to see Jamie again. That buoyed him more than he had words to say.

He might die, but he’d go out happy.

It wasn’t rational. He and Jamie weren’t a thing. They had no real chance of being a thing. They had fucked once. That was it..

One ejaculation did not a relationship make, and no one knew that better than Morgan. How many former partners had he hit up, trying to keep body and soul together just a little bit longer? He’d have been ashamed at that number when shame had been an option. .

Jamie, though; Jamie had called! Jamie had made some effort to track down Morgan’s contact information, just so he could make sure Morgan was okay after his mugging. Jamie had heard about his mugging.

That meant someone in Jamie’s life (a cousin, because Roscoes were everywhere, kind of like the KGB) knew Jamie would have an interest in Morgan’s wellbeing. And then Jamie had sought Morgan’s information, and he’d reached out.

Jamie hadn’t had to do that. He could have just kept rolling on with his day. Instead he’d taken the time to get the information, he’d called, and he’d checked on Morgan.

It wasn’t necessarily love, but it was concern. It had been over two years since anyone had shown any concern for Morgan, at all. That little bit of interest, of consideration, was enough light to keep Morgan going.

He looked out the dirty window. He’d need light today.. The good thing about today was that Collins probably wouldn’t send anyone after him for at least 24 hours. The less than spectacular part was that a storm was rolling in over all of Culver County.

Morgan had gotten an emergency alert on his phone, warning of sudden storms, flash floods, and soil instability. Storms out here weren’t frequent, not like they were up in Chicago, but they did happen and they were a major force of nature when they hit. Morgan could already see the lightning, bright against the inky black clouds.

Maybe they’d get hail. If he had a car to be damaged, he’d worry about that. Heh. Sometimes not having any possessions worked out okay.

Morgan went about with his morning ritual. He cleaned all traces of his presence from the house. There probably wouldn’t be any issues with law enforcement or realtors, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

People who took chances got caught a lot, and Morgan couldn’t afford that. He couldn’t hide his belongings in a bush outside, not if the area was going to get as much rain as it looked like they were due for, but he could find someplace to stash them indoors.

The kitchen had some cabinets that didn’t look too mouse-infested. Maybe he could stow them in there. Jamie wouldn’t show the inside of a cabinet unless Morgan asked to see it, so he wouldn’t ask. Since any reasonable buyer would probably plan to tear down a place with no water or plumbing, it shouldn’t be too hard.

He hid his things in the cabinet and called it done. Part of him didn’t care if Jamie did figure out he was squatting. . The part of Morgan that still had a flicker of pride strongly disagreed.

If Jamie decided to go snooping, then Morgan’s hand would be forced and he’d have to cope. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, for Jamie to know what was really going on. He’d be mad, but he might have some advice to help with the Collins situation.

It would be awkward, but Morgan would have a good opportunity to bring up possible job opportunities. The Roscoe organization would never take him on — although it would be a great “fuck you” to Roman, which would benefit both the Roscoes and Morgan on a number of levels — but Jamie had to know someone who would be hiring.

And hey, if he didn’t, then life would go on, until it didn’t. Morgan was starting to enjoy the freedom that came with knowing nothing mattered anymore.

Outside, the wind picked up. Morgan glanced out the window. He didn’t see any witches riding bicycles being swept along with the occasional leaf, piece of trash, or bit of sand.

If he had, he wouldn’t have been surprised. Maybe the wind would pick him up and move him to Kansas, far away from Collins and his lackeys. The storm brought some rain with it, battering against the walls of the ancient structure.

The place had probably survived storms like this and worse over the long decades. That didn’t mean someone coming up from town would be able to make it, though.

His stomach sank. He couldn’t, in good conscience, want Jamie to come out here today. He wanted to see Jamie, but he didn’t want Jamie to get hurt in the process.

He checked his phone. It was getting almost no reception. He didn’t get greatest signala up here on the best of days, but the storm was really interfering with things. Morgan had no idea why that would be the case, but he couldn’t do anything about it either way. The important thing was he couldn’t reach out to Jamie to reschedule, and Jamie might not be able to reach him.

It was a little bit after noon by now, and Jamie had said he’d be out here in the early afternoon. Morgan figured he’d better wait out on the porch. That way, Jamie wouldn’t realize he’d been inside the house the whole time.

He might have a plan for what to do if Jamie caught him here, but that didn’t mean he wanted Jamie to figure it all out. He sat down with his back against the wall, safely dry, and watched the rain come down. A clap of thunder boomed out, followed by a bolt of lightning, and it shook the whole house.

Morgan hadn’t ever been much of a camper, growing up. He’d been a real city boy. He’d liked a solid roof, four walls, flush toilets, and air conditioning.

He hated bugs. He hated snakes. Scorpions were the worst. Being caught out in the rain had always been like being stuck in a dirty diaper or something — it just hadn’t been something he’d been willing to do.

He’d never taken the time to sit there and watch rain wash a channel into a dirt road. He’d taken the required earth science classes in middle school. Morgan knew the words for what he was seeing. He knew it was a natural process, and blah blah whatever. He also knew it was beautiful, so long as he didn’t have to deal with it.

He watched as water trickled down the side of the mountain. It made a lovely little channel, like a small stream, that carried little sticks and leaves down with it. The rain didn’t show any signs of letting up anytime soon.

Was this a prelude to a mudslide? Those were a thing, he knew. They happened in big storms. If there was a mudslide up here, would anyone know? Would anyone care he’d been up here, or come looking for him?

He laughed at himself. The thought alone threatened his good mood. No one came looking for squatters, for crying out loud. No one cared what happened to someone like him, either.

When he’d been on Jamie’s side of the fence, when he’d been someone, he hadn’t cared about the small people in life. He wouldn’t have even considered the possibility of squatters, if a mudslide had happened. If a mudslide had destroyed a derelict structure on a property, he’d have done a little dance to celebrate the liability’s disappearance from the company’s books. No one liked an attractive nuisance, after all.

It occurred to Morgan, just as he saw a pair of headlights in the distance, that he couldn’t use the excuse of the driver being gone on errands this time. No one in their right mind would send their driver away at a time like this, not even for the most amazing booty call ever. He panicked, even as the rain came down in sheets.

He could try to claim he hadn’t expected the storm, but who wouldn’t just call their driver back? See, I get that the mountainside might wash away entirely, but I was hoping you’d fuck me into the countertop again, so I decided the risk to life and limb was worth it.

Sure, that would go over real well.

The vehicle, which turned out to be a pickup, pulled up to the house. Not Jamie’s Audi, and Jamie wasn’t the driver. The man running toward him, with a briefcase over his head, was far too short to be Jamie.

Also, Jamie would never try to turn a briefcase into an umbrella.

The stranger turned out to be a man in his mid-thirties, with dark hair and a little beard. He ran to the porch faster than Morgan had seen anyone move in his life. Morgan figured the guy had incentive.

When he got up to the Jamie, he offered a sodden handshake. “Hi, I’m Robbie Thompson. I’m an agent for Roscoe Real Estate. Pleased to meet you.”

An agent. A fucking agent. Morgan had offered that option yesterday, but he hadn’t thought Jamie would take him up on it.

Jamie hadn’t even sent him a text to say he wouldn’t make it. Morgan had been cast aside and dismissed. Jamie didn’t care after all.

Bile rose in his throat. Let Collins send his worst. Morgan didn’t give a shit anymore.

“Morgan Patrick,” he said, and shook hands.

“It’s really coming down, isn’t it?" Thompson licked his lips. “Are you from the area?”

How could this doofus work for the Roscoes and not know the Patrick name? “I grew up in Vegas. I’m just looking to have a place to get away.”

“Ah. So, the weather never really affected you much.” Thompson smiled and looked back out at the storm. “It’s interesting you’d want to live way the heck out here, then. I mean, you can’t get much farther from the Strip than this place."

He glanced over at the one tree on the property, an old thing Morgan thought might be part cactus, and shuddered. “Maybe we should do this another time. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not get caught up in a mudslide.”

Morgan hummed. Truth was, he wanted to get Robbie Thompson from Roscoe Real Estate, away from him as fast as he could. If he couldn’t have Jamie, he’d rather be alone.

“That sounds like a good idea. You go on ahead and have your people contact me, okay?" He smiled and put as much skill as he could into the acting job. Hopefully, the guy would buy it.

Thompson took a step toward the edge of the porch, and the open air between the house and his pickup truck, before looking back. “Can I give you a ride somewhere? I don’t want you to be stuck up here. I don’t see your car — how did you even get up here? It’s a two-hour hike!”

Morgan tilted his head to the side. “How do you even know that?" he asked, then held up a hand. “Don’t answer that.

"My driver’s on his way back here. I forgot some paperwork, and asked him to go back and collect it for me. The rain kind of caught me by surprise. He’ll be back soon."

Morgan pulled out his phone. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not getting much of a signal up here. I don’t want to risk him coming back up here and looking for me, you know?”

Thompson looked troubled, but finally nodded. Self-preservation for the win, Morgan thought, and tried to pretend it wasn’t cynical. “Okay, if you’re sure,” Thompson said. “I’ll be in touch in a couple of days.”

“Good deal." Morgan smiled and waved as Thompson ran to his pickup. The guy fumbled for his keys, ensuring he was soaked to the bone, and climbed into his truck before speeding away.

Once the agent was out of sight and earshot, Morgan retreated to the privacy of the abandoned house. It was funny that everyone thought they needed a key to get in and out of the place. Sure, the front door locked. The back door didn’t even have a lock.

He headed into the room that had been a kitchen once. Kitchens were for families, places to gather and make meals. No one had made a meal in a long time, but some enterprising soul had left a full bottle of gin in the back of a cupboard.

It hadn’t even been opened. Morgan had ignored it up until now, but today seemed like as good a day as any to drown his sorrows.

It wasn’t like he had many days left to work with. Maybe Collins would bring him a bottle, just to be nice? I know I’m about to blow your brains out, but you might as well anesthetize yourself before you go.

Morgan laughed at himself. Collins wasn’t known for being nice.

He opened the bottle, which had an actual cork because it was about a thousand years old, and took a swig. Christ, the stuff went down like paint thinner. Well, people who stashed full bottles of gin in abandoned houses didn’t exactly spend top dollar on their booze. He took another swig and let his head sag back.

He’d been happy to drink top-shelf booze when he’d been riding high on his father’s money, but it hadn’t been the most important thing in his life. His only real criteria had been “not made in a bathtub." He didn’t think he was being snobbish.

He also wasn’t a big drinker. Morgan liked to be in control of his wits, and he’d never been too deeply into parties — unless, of course, it involved Jamie Roscoe in some way.

Knowing your life would be over if you slipped up and someone found out you were gay kind of put a damper on cutting loose.

But now, now it didn’t matter. The worst had happened. He’d been found out, kicked out, and his last-ditch effort to get on his own two feet and build a life for himself had failed.

He probably wouldn’t have to live with the consequences very long, though, and the thought was oddly comforting. If even the last guy he’d slept with didn’t care, maybe it was okay. Maybe it truly didn’t matter anymore.

A noise reached his ears from outside, something beyond the howl of the wind and the steady driving rhythm of the rain. He paused, the bottle halfway to his mouth. What could it possibly be?

Something banged, loud enough to make him jump.

Morgan stood up, slowly so he didn’t make any noise. His heart raced as his brain helpfully called Collins and his cold, dead eyes to memory. He could imagine all too well all of the big, bruiser lackeys Collins would probably use to do the deed, because firearms were too traceable.

Ordinarily, Morgan had no issues with big bruisers. On the contrary, he could enjoy himself for quite a while with a few bears here and there. He was fairly certain that these guys wouldn’t have his pleasure in mind. That said, Collins wouldn’t waste resources by sending them up the hill on a day like this.

Who, then, could possibly be up here?

He crept into the front room as quietly as he could. Maybe the intruder was another squatter, looking to take shelter from the storm. Why would they be all the way up here, then?

People could probably ask the same thing of him, but of course Morgan had come here with the intent to sell drugs. Another squatter coming all the way up here would almost certainly have equally illegal intent, or worse.

He had a hammer. He hadn’t brought it with him, but he’d found it in a closet, and he kept it close by just in case. He wrapped his hand around the handle and reassured himself with its heft. Then he kept moving into the front of the house.

He inched toward the front door. The old thing squeaked something awful, probably because the hinges hadn’t been oiled in seventy years. In this wind and rain, though, no one would ever know the difference. He opened it as quietly as possible.

A bolt of lightning landed. Its light let Morgan see a man on the porch, tall and wild-haired. The man stood slightly hunched, doing something with his hands.

Morgan raised his hammer and approached. This might not be his property, but he wasn’t about to go down without a fight, either. He had the right to ask who this guy was and what he was doing here.

The man turned, midway through wringing out his sodden raincoat. Are raincoats supposed to get soaked through? Morgan’s brain asked. The man standing before him, in all of his soggy, beautiful glory, was Jamie.