CB_Potts_-_Rockhounds_06_-_Cut_Diamonds.pdf

More Rockhounds 3: Cut Diamonds

by CB Potts

Torquere Press

www.torquerepress.com

First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2008

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More Rockhounds 3: Cut Diamonds

by CB Potts

Prologue

Matt was losing it, losing it bad. He'd never admit it, of

course. I'd heard "I'm fine" more times than I can count.

Mind you, I can count pretty high. Even for a Jarhead.

Course, it was probably to be expected. My Rockhound had

never killed anyone before, and he had to go and start by

taking out his former lover.

I'd been dreading Sean's death, knowing the arrogant

bastard's demise was inevitable. I'd played the scene—and its

aftermath—out in my mind a hundred hundred times, trying

to find a way it wouldn't wind up a royal clusterfuck.

Never did manage that.

Course, I never once considered the possibility that Matt

would be the one doing what needed to be done. I'd never

envisioned his finger on the trigger, Sean on his knees, the

whole thing going bad faster than I ever imagined possible.

But that's what happened.

It happened. Sean was dead, and now it was killing Matt.

* * * *

Guilt's a bitch. Any soldier knows that, knows the way guilt

never manages to wholly get off of you. It's always there,

slung round your shoulders like an invisible rucksack full of

lead, constantly weighing you down.

Soldiering teaches you, by and large, how to shrug off that

weight. Matt, though, didn't have that technique at his

disposal. I could see that, see the weight rounding his

More Rockhounds 3: Cut Diamonds

by CB Potts

shoulders down and forward, subtly

pushing his spinal column

down toward his ass.

Course, it changed the way he moved. Maybe you wouldn't

notice if you hadn't been keeping tabs on Matt the way I do,

but if you did, there's less than no chance of you missing it.

You see, my Rockhound's always been light on his feet. He

moves fast—his whole body drawn to whatever idea has

captured his attention. I don't think his heels ever hit the

ground before—he lived constantly on the balls of his feet,

propelling himself forward on his toes.

Now, though, he was worse that flat-footed. His steps

were slow and heavy. Each stride seemed to take more

energy than the one that preceded it—energy that was being

drawn from a clearly not-inexhaustible store.

Watching him maneuver along the coastline, as we made

our dogged progress south, was agony upon agony. Matt was

dying by inches on me, one African mile at a time, and there

was nothing I could do to stop it.

It's a good thing I had no idea where the hell we were

going. Otherwise, I'd have to own up to the obvious and

admit there was no chance of us ever making it there.

More Rockhounds 3: Cut Diamonds

by CB Potts

Chapter One

"Come to bed, Rockhound."

"I'm gonna keep watch for a while," Matt replied. His was

crouched by the fire, his back to me. "I'm not ready to sleep

yet. You go ahead."

I had some sharp words for that, but luckily they crashed

into the back of my teeth, melting into a sour puddle on my

tongue. I swallowed them, thinking maybe my Mama was

right: you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

"You kept watch last night. Night before that, too." I

tapped my palm against our bedroll. "Besides, who said

anything about sleeping?"

"Hmmmph."

"Come to bed, Matt." Maybe there was a sharp edge to my

words. Maybe there was something in my tone that wouldn't

be ignored. I don't know, and honestly, I don't much care.

I'm just glad it was enough to get Matt to look away from the

sickly yellow sprawl of the fire and turn toward me.

Seeing his eyes—his flat, black, haunted eyes—was like

looking into the coldest corner of his soul. There was nothing

there but pain. I couldn't see my Rockhound. I was facing a

stranger.

Goddamn if we were gonna keep going that way. Not if I

could do anything about it.

"I want to hold my husband." It was a statement, a plea—

the truest words I'd ever said. "Please, Rockhound."

He sighed. "All right."

More Rockhounds 3: Cut Diamonds

by CB Potts

I've seen men walk into interrogation chambers, knowing

they were about to undergo excruciating pain at the hands of

sadistic torturers, with more enthusiasm.

Still, it felt good to have him next to me.

And if I was going to get my Rockhound back? Well, I had

to start somewhere.

* * * *

"Come here, babe." He'd lost weight, a lot of weight. My

arm always seemed too heavy to rest on his waist, but now

the difference between the two of us was more pronounced.

Matt was bony, almost gaunt. I mean, he'd always been kind

of thin, but this was different. I could feel his ribs,

individually, through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, a skeletal

latticework against my forearm.

He was a bundle of thought, an idea, a memory clad in

flesh. I wanted to squeeze him tight, crush him against my

chest and just hold him until he was better—but if I did that,

and did that now, Matt was going to shatter. I could feel it.

Too much pressure, and he'd explode into a million little

fragments.

There'd be no putting him back together after that.

So I had to go slow. Slow, slow, slow. This was going to be

hard—I'm not a slow kind of guy. I like to make simple

decisions, and implement them yesterday. But slow it had to

be, and slow it was going to be. Slowly, slowly, slower than

mankind's progress toward world peace.

I could do this.

I had to do this, if I was going to save my Rockhound.

More Rockhounds 3: Cut Diamonds

by CB Potts

* * * *

Matt's hair had grown some, feathering out in a fine spray

at the nape of his neck. It tickled my nose, silken threads

teasing as I sought out the softer skin beneath to plant a

gentle kiss.

"I've missed you, babe."

He was stiff in my arms, rigid—and not in that good way.

"I've been right here."

"I know. I just..." He couldn't see my shrug in the dark,

but that didn't stop me from doing it just the same. "I just

love you, babe."

He relaxed a little, then. "I know." He sighed. "I love you,

too." And then he started to cry. "It's

just so hard, you

know?"

I pulled him close, then, just rocking with him as he

sobbed. "I know, honey. I know."

More Rockhounds 3: Cut Diamonds

by CB Potts

Chapter Two

"We need a plan." Matt had woken before I did, managing

somehow to slide out of my arms without me noticing. He'd

rustled up a little bit of grub, and brought me a steaming mug

of tea. "After your breakfast in bed, that is."

The tea was perfect, but it wasn't the bout of morning sex

I'd been hoping for. "A plan for what?"

"We can't keep going like this." Matt waved his arms,

taking in the entire continent with one dismissive sweep.

"Just trudging along, nowhere to go and nothing to do."

Making plans is a positive action. I'm all for positive action.

"So what do we do instead?"

"I think we should set up camp, maybe stay here for a

while." Matt grinned. "Play house."

"That sounds good." I looked out at the ocean, watching

the waves catching the sun's glare for shimmering seconds

before letting it loose again. "Here, on the beach?" It wouldn't

be too bad, I figured. I could spend the mornings fishing...

"No." Matt pointed inland, toward the towering, treecovered

mountains. "In there. There's gold in them there

hills, Parker. I can smell it."

I smiled. Maybe I couldn't pull Matt out of his funk, but a

good set of stones never failed to do the trick. Who knows? It

could be that getting out in the field again and hunting was

exactly what he needed.

"All right." I reached out and took his hand in mine. "But

we've got to do something first."

More Rockhounds 3: Cut Diamonds

by CB Potts

"And what's that?" There was a little glint in Matt's eye

that let me know he was thinking exactly what I was thinking.

At least, I hope that's what that glint meant.

"Celebrate our new adventure," I replied, pulling him down

to me, "with a little romance."

* * * *

I've kissed Matt maybe two, three thousand times. I've

kissed him in Africa. I've kissed him in Afghanistan. I've

kissed him in Ecuador, and Costa Rica, and aboard a ship in

Boston Harbor. I've spent days doing nothing but kissing him,

ensconced in a cozy New England cottage.

Still, I've never gotten tired of it. The way that man's lips

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