A Cowboy's Home (16 page)

“Dad said he’ll be here early,” Ethan
continued, “I sent him home to Sophie. Nothing he can do with
Justin asleep, and he’s struggling at the moment.”

Marcus was undergoing treatment for cancer;
of course he was struggling. But clearly Ethan thought Sam needed
to know why he was the only one there with Justin.

Sam didn’t. “I want to be here,” he said,
firmly. “Get some sleep, and I’ll wake you if he needs
anything.”

Ethan nodded. “Thank you, Sam. For calling
Gabe, for not listening to my brother, for not giving
into
his stubbornness.”

Sam nodded. “No one can out-stubborn me,” he
joked.

That was clearly enough to break the
weirdness, because Ethan took Adam’s hand and led him down the
small corridor to the other bedroom. Sam wondered if they had
blankets and whatever else they needed in there, and then decided
it wasn’t his place to worry.

He put one of his earbuds in and cued up
season two of
Game of Thrones
on his phone, watching on the
tiny screen, and being thoroughly confused by two episodes, before
switching back to his Kindle and reading his book. He woke Justin
at twelve and again at two. Then turned out the small reading light
and settled down in the pillows. He’d set the alarm for four, ready
to wake up Justin, and with his head full of the spy thriller he
was reading, he attempted sleep.

When he woke, it wasn’t to the alarm, but to
a warm body spooning him from behind. At some point Justin had
moved to lie on his side, and Sam must have scooted back into the
space.

Should Justin even have moved? What about his
drip
?

Carefully, Sam felt for Justin’s hand. The
drip was still there, and Justin didn’t react to the touch. He
wasn’t as hot as he’d been yesterday; maybe everything was working
out and his fever had broken. That was a good thing, right? So they
could check better on the concussion worries. Despite being wrapped
up awkwardly in the sheets, Sam turned in Justin’s hold to get a
better look at the patient.

Justin was sleeping peacefully, his forehead
smooth, looking much younger than his twenty-eight years—the same
age as Adam and Gabe.

Every exhale of
breath was warm on Sam’s chest, and he reached out to smooth
Justin’s hair back from his skin.
Justin’s eyelids flickered
and Sam pulled his hand back like he had been burned, waiting for
Justin to wake up and call him on his creepy staring.

Justin didn’t move, though, but Sam needed to
wake him up. “Justin.” He spoke firmly, adding a little shake to
Justin’s shoulder.

Justin opened his eyes and looked right at
Sam. Then he smiled, a sexy, sleepy curve of his lips.

“Sexy blue,” Justin murmured. And then his
expression changed, his eyes widened, and everything went to
shit.

In one smooth move, Justin had Sam flat on
his back. But it wasn’t defense; it wasn’t beating the shit out of
Sam.

It was sucking on the skin at his throat, and
rutting
, and murmured words.

And Sam was right there with him. Justin was
so into this, praising Sam’s body, his kissing, and the fact that
he was warm—

And then as abruptly as it started, it
stopped.

Justin closed his eyes, rested his forehead
on Sam’s, and moaned low in his throat. “Want this so bad,” he
mumbled. “Wish it was real.” And he rolled off Sam and back to his
side of the bed.

Only when Sam lay fighting to get rid of his
erection by thought alone did it cross his mind—he hadn’t asked the
standard questions to check Justin was okay. Somehow he didn’t
think there was a point.

What was that about?

Justin had clearly been dreaming, but the
weight of him, the reality of him; the rutting was enough for Sam
to stay hard for too fucking long. Part of him, the part wrapped up
in self-preservation, thought maybe he should get out of the bed,
but what would that serve? He’d just be uncomfortable on a chair
somewhere. If only Justin had seen a toothbrush recently then Sam
could have stolen a kiss. But the
frotting
was enough to have him in serious need of
finding a toothbrush and paste
right the hell now
.

Because, hell, maybe Justin would roll over
and do all of that again, and add in some kissing?

A man could hope.

Sam woke to Ethan’s voice speaking quietly in
his ear. “Sam, breakfast, if you want some?”

Sam groaned and rolled over, immediately
looking to his left and finding an empty space. He panicked and sat
bolt upright. “Where’s Justin, is he okay?”

Ethan nodded to his right and Sam peered
around him. Justin sat on the windowsill staring out at the trees.
Clearly he was okay, and he turned slowly to see Sam and Ethan
looking at him. He looked wrecked, but no longer scarlet with
heat.

Was it just Sam, or was Justin avoiding
making eye contact with him? What happened in the night flooded
back to him and abruptly Sam was happy Justin wouldn’t look at
him.

Sam used the bathroom, seeing several new
toothbrushes and toothpaste on the side. He unwrapped a brush and
used it; another was open and maybe Justin had used it. Sam had to
work hard to keep his cock in its place as he imagined a
minty-fresh kiss added to the rutting from last night.

I will not go there. He’s an injured man. Get
a life, Sam.

Sam ate breakfast—toast and cereal bars—and
drank coffee, and longed for his kitchen during the five minutes it
took to eat what he had. He imagined eggs, and bacon, and proper
coffee, not this crappy instant shit.

Nevertheless, it woke him up, and through all
of the eating and drinking, he watched Justin out of the corner of
his eye.

Justin had taken out the drip. Likely there
was nothing left in it anyhow; he certainly looked steadier in the
seat, not leaning on the table but sitting back at ease—or at least
not falling sideways.

Only when Ethan went out to the kitchen to
sit with Adam did Justin talk. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“About what?”

“I thought it was a dream, but as soon as you
woke up and wouldn’t look at me, I knew. I was obviously dreaming.
I wouldn’t have jumped you otherwise.”

Emotions tumbled over themselves until Sam
rationalized that Justin didn’t really mean that he would never
have jumped Sam, just not in that circumstance.

Well, that was how he was going to take
it.

Justin stood from the windowsill, looking
dangerously unsteady on his feet. Sam was there in an instant,
helping him back to bed.

“Feel so fucking fragile,” Justin cursed.

“You probably need sleep.”

“Ya think?”

Sam shook his head at the sarcasm and helped
Justin get his legs straight, pushing a pillow under his left thigh
to elevate it. “You hungry?”

“I ate some toast.”

“I mean proper food. Like eggs, bacon, that
kind of thing.”

Justin paled and pressed a hand to his
stomach. “Not sure about that.” Then, with a small frown, he lay
back on the pillow and closed his eyes.

And suddenly, Sam didn’t know what to do with
himself. He waited until Justin was asleep, and then opened his
book to read, stopping when he realized he’d been staring at a
single page for the longest time.

He looked down at Justin, wondering what was
going on in his head. What kind of life had he lived to become so
stubborn and focused?

Justin moved in his sleep, curling closer to
Sam. The fingers of one hand gripped Sam’s jeans briefly, and then
lay flat and unmoving; Justin relaxed and his lips parted as he
breathed softly in sleep. The pain meds must have kicked in now
because Justin looked incredibly peaceful.

And gorgeous.

Sam was connected to the man. He felt it in
his gut, his head… and his heart. After the last couple of days,
Justin had become part of his life, for better or worse, but Sam
couldn’t figure out how much he wanted from Justin.

Maybe it was simply to see him better; maybe
it was for some more grinding up against each other. Maybe it was
for even more than that.

Who knew?

Justin woke to a lighter room, then faked
being asleep for a few minutes to avoid anyone who might want to
talk.

Clearly big brothers could still see through
that shit, even after all those years, because Ethan called him on
it.

“I know you’re awake, Justin, and we need to
talk,” Ethan said from beside him.

“No.” Justin deliberately tensed and released
muscles, and his leg was less painful, a lesser throbbing than the
raging fire from before. “I need a car. Can you get me a car?”

“What? No way. I won’t let you leave without
telling me why you have to go, and where you’ve been, and why you
think there are warrants out for your arrest.”

Justin opened his eyes, blinked, then focused
on Ethan. His big brother looked so intense, like he was the one in
charge here and Justin would do as he said.

That was not happening; Justin was a grown
man now and could make his own decisions.

“There’s no way you’ll be
letting
me
do anything, Ethan. I will not put you or my family in danger.”

“From whom, Justin? Exactly what side of the
law are you on?” Ethan scrubbed his face with his hands. “Fuck’s
sake, at least tell me you’re one of the good guys?”

Justin wanted to laugh, but it would have
hurt too much. Hadn’t Sam asked him exactly the same question? Did
saving lives make him the good guy? Did killing make him the
villain? Fuck if he knew anymore, but nothing was black and white,
so he changed the subject. “Where’s Sam?”

I want Sam here; he’ll stop you asking
questions. He’ll hold me, and I can smell him and have something
nice to hold
onto
for a little while.

“He left us to talk.”

“Fucker,” Justin cursed, then realized he’d
used a teasing tone.

Seemed Ethan didn’t feel that lighter tone,
though.

“You had to have a reason to stay away. There
must be something….” Ethan trailed away. “Adam said he saw you
before, when you knocked out Cole in the woods, a trained SEAL. I
assume that was you, anyway. You spoke to Adam; you called him
‘A.’”

The sound of the name had unexpected grief
twisting inside Justin. “I thought Adam was dead.” He wriggled to
sit up, waving away Ethan’s help when he made to move. “They said
there was a man the Unit had been protecting for years. I didn’t
know they meant Adam.”

“You were sent to Crooked Tree to kill Adam?”
Ethan asked, ominously still.

“No. Jesus. No. It was my fault he was in
Chicago,” Justin admitted. “But I didn’t realize he was alive. You
have to know that.” He could hear his own words, knew that he was
rambling, that the narrative was hardly cohesive.

“Tell me the whole story.”

“Intel crossed our desk, the Unit I mean.
Alleged domestic terrorism passed to me, and suddenly there was
Adam. I didn’t recognize him at first. He wasn’t a kid anymore, but
there he was, alive. This explanation won’t make any sense to you,
but I the documents said he was a threat, something about his
memories returning, and I knew Adam was in danger and I decided to
get him away.”

“From where?”

“A ranch in Wyoming. But it all went to shit
when one of my team realized I’d seen the report before him.
Saunders—you know him, he came to the ranch.”

“The DOJ guy? The one who said he liaised
with WITSEC for Adam?”

“DOJ, huh? He used that one?”

“Said Adam was in witness protection,” Ethan
insisted.

“He was, but I didn’t know that. They told me
he was dead.”

“So you said. Who is it that you work for,
Justin? Why would they lie to you?”

Justin sighed noisily. “I can’t tell you
that.”

Ethan stared at him, his
expression
unchanging; he lowered his voice.
“Tell me.”

Justin hesitated. He’d been working secretly
for so long that he’d even begun to believe his own lie that he
worked alone.

“Ethan, please.”
Please don’t ask any more
questions.

“Justin, tell me, or I’ll call Saunders
myself and get him here to explain.”

Justin laughed, dry and bitter, and shook his
head. “He’s dead.”

Ethan stared at him. “Dead how?”

“I killed him,” Justin said bluntly. What did
Ethan expect? Some story about having them arrested to face the
music? They’d threatened to kill Adam. Hell, they’d nearly
succeeded in killing Adam at the ranch in Wyoming, and then again
in Chicago, calling him a loose end, more focused on Adam than on
the fact Justin knew he’d been lied to.

“What was Saunders to you? Do you work for
the Department of Justice? Are you wanted by them? What?” Ethan
looked like he was going to cry, or shout, or punch Justin. His
expression twisted with emotion. Justin couldn’t get a read on his
brother, but all he could see was that there wasn’t love or
affection in any of those reactions.

Inside his chest, Justin swore he felt his
heart shatter. He had to be honest, if only with Ethan.

“Four of us,” Justin said softly. “You met
Saunders; he was responsible for putting Adam into WITSEC. Then
there was me, Webb, and Rob, we were the blunt end of a covert
team. Since 9/11 there has been… shit, I don’t know how to explain
this.” Justin scrubbed at his eyes. “The government set up
autonomous teams, okay, to work undercover and surgically remove
domestic terrorism threats from the inside.”

For a few seconds, Ethan stared at him. Did
nothing faze his brother? “Black ops,” Ethan finally said. “Are you
a soldier? A cop? Special Forces? What? How did that work? What
happened when you left here?”

Justin listened to the questions and chose
his first answer carefully. “I’m not a cop, or anything formal,
just someone with no name who can work from inside domestic
terrorist cells,
grass-roots
terrorism, cut the cancer out at the heart.”