Outcome (Aftermath #2) (11 page)

Chapter 13

Numbness had set in by the time Chase entered the cabin, both from the cold shower and the events of the day. He set his boots to the side of the door to dry then opened his saddlebags for new clothes. Remy stood a few feet away, his back to Chase, busy cooking something in the miniscule kitchen.

Whatever it was on the stove smelled good.

"There're towels by my bed."

Chase muttered a thanks and crossed the small space to grab one. Back by his inflatable bed, he got outta his soaked boxers and into a new pair.

"Nice ass." Remy whistled. "Not gonna lie—I peeked."

I'm not surprised
, Chase thought. And he liked it. Pulling on a pair of sweats, he looked at Remy over his shoulder, but the kid had his back to him again.

After everything that had happened today, Chase was sick with loneliness. He was left emotionally drained by the flashback, brief as it had been, but they didn’t happen often anymore. Like he'd told Remy, it had to have been at least a year since the last one. So when they did happen, they were all-consuming and exhausting. The fact that he'd hurt Remy filled him with remorse and guilt, too.

If he was honest with himself, he wanted closeness with Remy—at least for the moment—but it freaked him out.

With Remy, it was probably easier to get a blow job than a hug.

Chase should want neither. He'd shut that part of him off, partly because of how he'd been kidnapped, and partly because of the pity he felt toward his pops. He had his desires and wants, but they hadn't been this demanding in the past ten years.

Six months after his father had died of cancer, his mom got closer and closer to mourning herself to death. First, one heart attack.
"You do your father proud,
ciccio
. I know you will."
Pat, pat, her frail hand on his. And the second heart attack had finished the job.

Some said hope was the last thing that died. Not Pops, though. No, it was pride. Which, for most of his dad's adult life, was all he'd had.

What kind of bastard would Chase have been to take that away?

Dragging a towel over his upper body, he watched as Remy brought two plates of food over to the nightstand by the bed. Sausage, scrambled eggs, muffins, and toaster waffles. In a second trip, where Chase tried not to get distracted by the gleaming silver barbells in Remy's nipples, Remy put coffee, sodas, chips, and a bowl of grapes on a tray that he set down next to his pillow on the bed.

I want him.

Remy smiled sheepishly. "Once I get under the sheets, I'm not going anywhere until I've defrosted from that shower." Fiddling with the ring in his bottom lip, his gaze flicked between the bed and the round kitchen table. "Um. You can eat at the table if you want—obviously. I just figured this was more comfortable."

Chase ran the towel over his head, hiding his face, and went with a blatant lie. "I don’t have a preference. The bed's fine." Okay, the last part was true.

Knowing that it'd be hot soon enough, Chase decided against putting on a shirt.

He hung his towel over the open window by the door, the rain still coming down hard outside, then joined Remy on the bed. One man on each end and a bunch of food between them.

They ate in silence, the first bites of food only fueling Chase's hunger. Aside from a few dinners at Austin and Cam's place, Chase didn’t exactly eat well. Microwave dinners and ramen, shitty coffee and snacks from the bar. But this…? Hot damn, this was perfect. Especially the waffles and the coffee.

"This was…goddamn delicious." After they were done, Chase leaned back against the wall and let out a sigh of contentment. "Thanks for the grub." He tilted his head in Remy's direction and found him dozing off with the bowl of grapes in his lap.

The sight was fucking adorable, and it made something snap inside of Chase. The past blurred into nonexistence, effectively silencing any voice that would prevent him from taking the smallest step outta line.

Tired and temporarily stripped of his internal defenses, Chase cleared the bed of food. He put away almost everything in the kitchen then returned for the bowl still in Remy's lap. The guy sat in the corner, his chin nearly touching his chest. Eyes closed.

"Wake up, Remy." Chase spoke quietly as he set the grapes on the nightstand. "That doesn’t look very comfortable." Remy raised his head and blinked drowsily. "You should lie down."

Remy blinked again, gaining his bearings, then suddenly jumped up. "Shit!" He spun around on the floor as if expecting something to be missing. Adjusting the towel around his hips, he faced Chase again and squinted. "That was the weirdest fucking dream."

Chase's eyebrows rose, and he chuckled as he sat down on the edge of the bed again. "You were only out for a few minutes."

Remy huffed and sat down beside Chase. "Don’t you ever have dreams when you're half awake? Like, you know it's a dream because you're not completely out of it yet."

Chase nodded slowly, not a stranger to any kind of dream. "What was yours about?" Sitting this close to Remy, Chase had to physically restrain himself to keep from reaching out. Instead, as he listened to Remy talking about a dream where a storm washed away the cabin, Chase let himself drink in the sight. He bit his tongue when his gaze fell to the damn Joshua tree on Remy's ribcage, but in the end, the temptation was too much. "Is there a significance to that tree?"

Guess the question didn’t feel too personal anymore.

Remy's brows furrowed, most likely 'cause Chase had interrupted his storytelling about a dream, but the instant he was caught up, the light in his pale green eyes dimmed.

He looked down and brushed a hand over the large tattoo. "I stopped covering it up because I thought maybe you'd forgotten." His voice was barely audible. "Or that it didn’t matter. I don’t know." So it was connected to Chase? "You really want to know?" He seemed reluctant to share, but yeah, Chase wanted to know.

"Spit it out." He was on edge suddenly.

Remy blew out a breath and shifted, facing Chase a bit more. "You only gave one interview after you guys got back to freedom." Chase wasn’t about to forget. "I remember the reporter asked you when it really hit you—that you were free again."

Chase didn’t need to hear anymore. It had been a week after they'd left the desert. Chase had been released from the hospital, and he'd given his statements to the police. The only thing he'd wanted was to go home with Ade, who'd been left mostly alone during those five months—only eighteen years old at the time. Those days were still a haze, and when Chase was approached by a reporter, he hadn't been prepared, nor eager, to take part in a damn interview. But he'd dutifully answered a few questions, and when he'd gotten that question… He could give a wry chuckle about it today, though the significance remained.

"When did you realize that the horror was finally over? Was it immediately or did it come later?"

Chase had scratched his head, thinking back, and then blurted out some stupid shit.
"I saw a tree. We were sitting in a rundown barn, and I looked out over the flatlands and saw a Joshua tree. That’s…yeah, I think that’s when it started to settle."

The tree had happened to stick out like a sore thumb. A sign of life in the middle of nothing, just sand and rocks.

Somehow, that fucking tree represented freedom to Chase.

Now the symbol was inked on Remy's ribcage. A dark silhouette with ominous shadows hugging the contrasts, and a hint of barren landscape in the background.

"Why?" He had to ask, because freedom couldn’t possibly be Remy's reason. "Why the tattoo?"

"I wanted a reminder."

Chase sensed there was a lot more to it than that, but he couldn’t tear his focus away from the art on Remy's body. And it was without permission that Chase's hand inched closer.

He caught himself and looked tentatively at Remy. His eyes asked the question.

Can I?

Remy nodded hesitantly and lowered his head as Chase ghosted his hand over the ink. Pale skin and all that black and gray. Flawless, beautiful. Smooth aside from some goose bumps appearing.
How will I fucking stop?
Chase applied the barest amount of pressure, his hand warmer than Remy's skin, and brushed the pad of his thumb over the knotted design of the Joshua tree's branches.

The way the tension crackled and thickened made it impossible for Chase to look past it and pretend to be ignorant. Nevertheless, the last thing on his agenda was walking out. He shifted closer instead, more drawn than ever to Remy's body.

In return, Remy released a shaky breath and twisted his upper body more in Chase's direction. By placing his hand on the mattress behind Chase to support himself, Remy also drove Chase mad with lust, because there was no escaping Remy when he was this close. The feel of him, the smell of him, his shallow breaths hitting Chase's neck and shoulder.

"I did the stencil," Remy blurted out. Quick breaths. "I drew it and Andy filled it in."

Chase didn’t reply. He was too far gone. The top branch of the tattoo teased the underside of Remy's pec, only a few inches from one of those nipple barbells that had haunted Chase for weeks now. His fingers traced the ink slowly and didn’t stop at the end of the tattoo.

"Oh, fuck." Remy panted out a breath as Chase swept a digit over the piercing.

Chase's move had ended all pretense; this wasn’t about the tree. Maybe it'd started that way, but… Now, Chase touched him on purpose.
With
purpose. When Remy's forehead landed on top of Chase's shoulder, Chase glanced down to see a prominent bulge under Remy's towel.

Jesus Christ, I need more.

Remy's erection rivaled his own, currently pressing against the fabric of his sweats.

The way this guy could intensify everything for Chase, turn anger into rage, want into need, heat into fire—

"Please stop." Remy's words worked like a cold shower.

Chase sat back in stunned silence, the desire nearly brimming over. Every muscle in his body was taut, and he couldn’t clear the haze enveloping him. In the meantime, Remy stood up a few feet away and kept his back to Chase.

"You can't do this." Remy hissed. "Any of it—barge into my life and turn it upside down.
Fuck
." He kicked at a kitchen chair and tightened the towel around his hips. "I can't have you changing things, and that’s what you're fucking doing."

Chase swallowed hard and rose from the bed. "Changing things?" He had to force his fists to unclench, but it was no use trying to relax completely. His mind was swimming with images of Remy, and they weren't going anywhere.

"Don’t get any closer, asshole," Remy spat out over his shoulder.

But like a man possessed, Chase continued. "What's changing?" As Chase reached the middle of the floor, Remy turned and glared at him.

"
I
am." Remy went on to speak through clenched teeth, taking a step back for every step Chase took forward. "With you…being here, being all—" He cursed and waved a hand at Chase. "It makes me…it makes me…" His back hit the door, to which he shot Chase another withering look. "It makes me want things, goddammit. It makes me hopeful—Stop moving!"

Chase stopped.

Could this be it?

Could Remy be ready to accept help?

"What do you want?" Chase asked, his voice like gravel.

Remy let out a humorless laugh, hollow and pained, then ripped the door open and walked outside and into the pouring rain.

Chase stared after him, an invisible band stretching further and further with every foot of distance Remy put between them. He felt the phantom pain as Remy paced in a circle, muttering to himself—too quiet for Chase to hear—pinching the bridge of his nose, then scrubbing his hands down his face…some cursing, more pacing.

Ignoring his boots, Chase stepped outside and hoped they were near a breakthrough. He'd finished running a while ago, and now it was Remy's turn.

"What do you hope for?" He blinked against the downpour, raindrops trickling down his face and torso.

Remy groaned, and he was the picture of defeat. Shoulders sagging, face buried in his hands. "Don’t start."

Start?
Chase walked closer and shook his head. "We started this weeks ago."

"Then end it!" Remy exploded. Fury radiated off of him, but it was thin. Breakable. He was holding on to it for all he was worth. "I'm done!"

"Bullshit!" Chase shouted. Remy's anger was evidently contagious, and it caught on quick. "I'm right fucking here, Remy!" He threw out his arms. "You think I'm blind? You think I can't see right through you?" Seething, Chase wiped at the raindrops rolling down his forehead and walked closer. "You don’t want this anymore than I do, and you can't even lie about it anymore." Only a couple feet separated them as Chase leveled Remy with a furious stare. "Tell me. Tell me right now you don’t wanna get better."

Remy opened his mouth, fire in his gaze, but he had
nothing
.

Another foot vanished between them, and Chase struggled to contain his frustration. "Come on." He lowered his voice. "Tell me you don’t want help."