A Cowboy's Home (20 page)

“I brought food.” Sam tossed a wrapped
package at Ethan, then grabbed plates from the cupboard and
plated
up chicken salad for
Marcus. He did the same for Justin; without knocking, he entered
Justin’s room.

Justin was sitting on the chair by the open
window, just to one side so that he could see out without Ethan
seeing him. He turned
slowly
when
Sam shut the door behind him.

“Thought you’d like to try eating.”

Justin closed his eyes and nodded, opened
them, and
stared
right at Sam.
“What did you bring?”

“All kinds of things, but we’re starting with
chicken and rice. It’s kind of bland, but that should be good for
you.”

He passed the plate and a fork to Justin and
then sat on the windowsill and waited for him to take the first
bite.
Bruising was more evident on
Justin’s neck, likely from where he was hit or had fallen or
something.

“How long is it since—When you…?” Justin
closed his eyes again.

“Are you okay?”

“Just a headache. It’s actually better. Just
feel dizzy. How many days has it been since the cabin? I feel out
of control, like I can’t get a handle on time.”

“It’s Wednesday, and I found you Sunday, so
three days. Aaron came to see you again last night, and you slept.”
Sam gestured to the salad. “And now, you’re eating.”

Justin got the hint, forked chicken into his
mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “’S good,” he murmured.

“When are you leaving?”

Justin looked up at him. “As soon as I
can.”

“What about your dad, and your brother, and
Adam?”

“Don’t,” he said with heartfelt emotion.

Sam didn’t push it. Instead he watched Justin
eat, categorizing each mark on his skin. Justin’s stubble was more
a short beard now. The T-shirt he wore showed enough of the burn
scars to make Sam recall everything he’d seen earlier, and of
course there was the head injury, which was sore. “How’s the
thigh?”

Justin winced. “Couple of days and it should
be on its way to healing.”

“And your head?”

“I feel better, not so unsteady.”

Sam noted that the answers given were simple
but full of optimism that everything was going to be okay. Was
Justin trying to convince himself or Sam? “You don’t have to
pretend with me.” Why he said that, he wasn’t entirely sure.
Probably a mix of never having someone to talk to, and feeling
somehow connected to Justin, like he was responsible for him.

Justin finished the chicken and rice, and put
the plate on the sill, next to Sam. “Why do you think I’m
pretending?”

“Because you don’t strike me as someone who
is a cautiously optimistic kind of guy. You’re fixed and focused,
and you have a handle on all the variables in any situation.
Agreed?”

“Uh-huh,” Justin sounded like he wasn’t sure
which direction Sam was going in.

“So let’s get the variables all laid out, and
you can see what matters and what doesn’t.” And then Sam leaned
forward, right into Justin’s space, and delivered what he hoped was
the killing question that would snap Justin out of his isolation.
Maybe even make him lose his temper. At least that would be an
emotion Sam could deal with. “First off, tell me why you were okay
with dying.”

Justin coughed, probably a combination of
surprise and recently swallowed chicken.

Sam waited until he stopped coughing and then
asked him again. “Why, Justin?”

“I got hit on the head,” Justin said. But he
wasn’t looking at Sam; he was looking out of the window, staring
into the distance. “It made me confused.”

Now it was Sam’s turn to be skeptical.
“Uh-huh.”

“What do you want me to say?”

Sam paused and then held out a hand to help
Justin up, which he took, and then they walked to the bed. Justin
climbed in, Sam next to him, and as though it was the most natural
thing in the world, Justin leaned on Sam.

Sam played with his hair. “I don’t like to
think that you can’t see a way out of wherever you are.”

“What are you? Some kind of spy whisperer?”
Justin stiffened against him.

“Is that what you are?” Sam asked cautiously.
“A spy? Because that would explain a lot of things.”

Justin was quiet for the longest time. A spy
might imply some kind of network of other spies, with
accountability and a hierarchy of responsibility. Nope, he
certainly wasn’t a spy. “No.”

“What are you, then?”

Now that was a leading question. “I don’t
expect you to understand any explanation I could give.”

“You could try.”

“I just clean up messes no one else wants to
handle, stop people getting hurt on US soil.”

Justin held his breath, hoped that this was
enough to stop Sam asking questions. Sam tugged a little at the
simple statement, and Justin nearly whined at the way the sharp
pull of pain grounded him.

“You weren’t in witness protection, were
you?” Sam whispered. “Not like Adam, I mean.”

Grief sparked inside Justin. All those years
thinking Adam was dead, while all that time he’d been hidden away.
“In a way, I was.”

“You either were or you weren’t, which is
it?”

“No one knew who I was or that I had a family
somewhere. I didn’t use my own name, spent years working on single
cases.”

“A lone wolf?” Sam said. “Sounds like it to
me, all covert and spy-like.”

Justin sighed and closed his eyes. He could
get used to laying here, with no one to deal with, no one to
kill.

Sam was quiet too, and they lay there, still
and silent.

Then Sam asked a question, and just the words
were enough to have Justin’s chest tightening.

“You have faint track marks on your arm,
Justin. Aaron didn’t notice them, I know they are old, but, maybe…
do you want to talk about that?”

No!
He
did not
want to talk
about it. He wasn’t built to talk things through. Sam was right; he
was a lone wolf, but at the same time he was tired of it, done with
it. Done with the lies and the hate, but still he couldn’t stop,
because he had unfinished work to do.

And there it was. The moment everything
crashed back at him. He shoved himself away from Sam, his hair
catching in Sam’s fingers, but still he pulled until he had
distance between them.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it,”
Sam said, as if he was attempting to gentle him with words. But his
voice was distant and distorted, even though Justin could see his
lips moving.

Justin scrambled back, grasping at
bedclothes, rolling to his knees on the floor. Fight or flight
kicked in, and Sam was right there, talking at him, inches
away.

Justin’s fist flew, connected with Sam’s
face, and the shorter, slighter man flew backward. Justin
crab-walked until his back hit the wall. He used the wall to stand,
stumbled to the door, and opened it. Someone blocked his exit.

Justin shoved and punched. Strong arms held
him; abruptly, a voice broke through his panic.

“Justin, listen to me, breathe…
Justin
.”

Ethan’s voice.

And Justin was being laid down, and fingers
tangled in his hair, and he turned toward the person who was
talking to him.

“He’ll be okay,” the voice said.

Sam.

“You’re bleeding, Sam,” Ethan said.

“I’m okay,” Sam answered.

“He didn’t mean it, I’m sure. It’s just a
panic attack,” Ethan explained.

Ethan was defending him to Sam, and a flicker
of warmth curled inside Justin to hear those words. Justin screwed
his eyes shut tighter; he couldn’t breathe, his chest was tight,
and his head hurt.

“I know he didn’t mean it,” Sam said. “He’s
not well, and Ethan, it was my fault. I saw something… I asked him
if he wanted to talk about something I saw.” Justin felt Sam’s
touch on his arm, but he didn’t fight it.

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” Ethan snapped. “What
happened?”

“They’re faint, but my brother, he…. It’s a
long story, but d’you think Justin’s coming off something? Some
kind of drug?”

“Fuck,” Ethan said, the word sounding more
tired than spoken with fear. “Why do you think that?”

“Because he might be dealing with addiction,
and even though it’s not injections, he could be…” Sam massaged
Justin’s scalp as he spoke next. “You think we should call Aaron?
Get him back here? Get methadone or something? I don’t know, he
might not have been…. I don’t know.”

Ethan closed his eyes, and went utterly
still, clearly thinking about what to do. He opened them again.
“Just give him five minutes to calm down, and we’ll ask him.”

Justin’s panic eased a little and the
conversation around him became more intense, with words like
medics
and
rehab
, and a tone of resignation in
Ethan’s voice.

“That explains a lot,” Ethan said. “If he’s
dealing with addiction, I mean.”

“No,” Justin snapped, although his voice
sounded weak and just this side of freaking pathetic. “Not using
anything.” He kept his eyes shut and his face buried against Sam,
inhaling his scent and using that single sense to focus himself.
What had Sam asked him? Something about working on his own… being a
lone wolf?

The panic pinched at him again, like it
wanted to take him back down. But he wasn’t going to let it. Justin
had spent twelve years pushing every reasonable, considered emotion
down under the focus to kill. He wasn’t letting himself feel
anything, not just yet.

He settled his breathing, focusing on the
in-and-out of his chest, listened to the rhythm of his heart, and
finally he opened his eyes.

Justin had things to say, and he might as
well say them right there and then, with Ethan, Gabe, Adam, and his
dad.

And Sam.

Justin rolled away from Sam, this time
leaving him enough time to unravel his grip on Justin’s hair. He
sat up on the bed and looked at the man who had somehow become his
focus on getting over the panic.

Sam had blood trickling from a gash in his
cheek, a livid mark where the skin had parted a little.

“Fuck, Sam, I’m sorry,” he said.

Sam just smiled at him. “It’s okay. No harm
done.”

Justin reached out and wiped the small amount
of blood, smearing it on his T-shirt to get it off his fingers.
He’d seen a lot of blood in his life, but this was different. “I
made you bleed.”

Sam wrinkled his nose. “Guys dig scars,” he
teased.

Guys?
Other guys who wanted Sam close,
with Sam’s fingers playing in their hair.
Not good.

“Justin? Do we need to get Aaron here for the
drugs?” Ethan interrupted, and Justin realized his brother’s hand
was on his shoulder.

“Aaron? The paramedic?”

“Yeah, I don’t know what he has access to,
but if you need anything for….” Ethan waved his free hand at
Justin’s arm.
Then he sat on the edge of
the bed, and he looked so serious.
“I don’t have a lot of
experience with detox, but cold turkey isn’t the way to do it.”

Justin processed the words and stared at his
brother. Ethan was still the older one, the boy who’d been Justin’s
hero as he grew up, and the one who knew just how to build a tree
house or exactly how to catch a fish. His face was older, but his
eyes were still those of the young boy who’d loved Justin.
“Ethan…”

“It’s okay,” Ethan reassured. “I’ve seen a
lot of things. I don’t judge you for whatever choices you made. I
don’t know how you lived through everything.”

Ethan looked like he was near to tears again,
so Justin caught his hand and held it tight.

“I’ll be outside,” Sam said. “This is
private.”

“No,” Justin said. “You can stay.”

Justin looked at the men around his bed, all
focused on him with expressions ranging from sad to expectant, and
he realized he had nowhere to run. “The drugs were a short-term
thing,” he began. Because ripping the bandage off the wound was
always the best way to do it.

“Drugs,” Marcus said faintly. “Son, do we
need to get something for you?”

Marcus looked utterly determined despite his
soft voice, and Justin imagined his dad hooking him up with drugs.
The thought of that made him smile, and how
fucked up
was that?

“That’s what I asked,” Ethan said. “Maybe
Aaron can help?”

Justin shook his head. “No, I promise you,
there’s nothing Aaron can do to help.”

Ethan nodded, his lips thinning, his eyes
glassy. Then he drew back his shoulders. “Is it heroin? Are you
taking something to help you?”

Justin glanced down at the inside of his arm,
at the faint marks there, which only someone who knew what they
were looking for would even see. He couldn’t believe Aaron hadn't
picked up on it, but then, maybe the paramedic had and hadn't
called it as important as the scars were clearly old.

How could he tell his family that he’d
deliberately become a heroin user as a cover, to get close to a
target? That coming off the drug had been hell, and that being on
it had been the closest thing he’d had to peace since the fire?

Like that
, he thought.
I should say
it exactly like that.
How could being honest put his family in
any more danger than they were already in?

Justin looked at each man, finally his gaze
rested on Sam, and he felt immediately, stupidly focused. He
couldn’t look his dad in the eyes, and he didn’t want Adam to
remember anything or feel guilt while Gabe and Ethan looked like
they wanted to cry.

Sam was safety.

“I didn’t want to use,” he said and then
stopped.

That wasn’t the story he wanted to tell. That
was nothing more than about how he felt, nothing about the
reasons.