SafetyInNumbers-Final (3 page)

All the assurances were nice, but trust was impossible. Just minutes after Jared showed them around the halfway house and Bull handed them some money, they ran right out the door. They had no place to go, no way to get there, and only the clothes on their back, so it wasn’t like they wanted to run. But they needed to know free meant free and the only way to know was to put it to the test. It was wishful thinking, but it was the only test they had.

After hours hiding behind a dumpster in the hot sun, they were tired, hungry, and ready to grudgingly accept that the three men might be legitimate. As the days in lockup turned into months, the things they missed, the things they couldn’t wait to do when they got out, dwindled drastically. Their love of Publix fried chicken had not, however, and they’d been staring at the grocery store most of the afternoon. They brought their feast back to the halfway house and Jared thanked them as they walked through the door. It would be months before they realized he was thanking them for their trust.

Chris thumped a hand on the table, jerking him back to the present again, and Liam rolled his eyes. “I’m trying, man, but you’ll never convince me that you’re not getting sucked in too.”

That silence hid a lot from their friends, but Liam knew Chris was plagued with memories far worse than his. That’s why they decided not to celebrate alone this year. Billy and Owen were expected any minute and it was the first time they invited anyone to join them. The anniversary was bittersweet for them and they chose to celebrate it because becoming brothers meant that much to them. “Do you think they’ll find it stupid?”

Chris just shrugged as if it was no skin off his back what they thought and Liam knew that was just bravado. Fact was, they both very much cared what the two men thought. “Liar.”

His brother sighed and dropped his head back. As if shit wasn’t fucked up enough, they fell for two bastards just as fucked up as they were. “I know you’re worried about Owen. The business with Colin is growing out of their control and I’m not sure why he thinks it’s a good thing. Is he trying to prove something? And the middle of the night phone calls from the FTR? He’s looking more and more fragile every day.”

Liam knew he wasn’t stating anything new. What he didn’t know was what Chris intended to do about it. Lately, when it came to Owen, Chris conveyed zero intent and seemed to be waiting for Owen to read him as effortlessly as Liam did. Their brother bond had been forged through blood and he was afraid Chris’s expectations of Owen were unreasonable. “Do you see his face every time he thinks he’s failed to understand you? The weight of it is crushing.”

Instead of regret, all Liam saw was anger in Chris. It wasn’t a common emotion for Chris and Liam could name every time he saw it. The fact that Chris knew what he was capable of if provoked had made him extremely conscious of that emotion and he often went to great lengths to contain it.

Owen was the very definition of insecure. Just the type to inspire Chris’s protective instincts, which Liam knew for a fact Owen did. Hell, he inspired Liam’s protective instincts. Owen was stubborn though and he often distanced himself, keeping things bottled up until they manifested elsewhere. Like in panic attacks that felt like heart attacks, which he also tried to hide. Liam nearly lost it when they found out that Billy was keeping Owen’s secret.

Chris nodded slowly, as if he completely followed Liam’s train of thought and waited for him to connect the dots. And just like that, Liam understood. “You’re pissed because he doesn’t come to you when the panic sets in. That he hides it from you and they hide it from us.”

It made total sense, but he had to wonder if they were expecting too much. After all, they couldn’t call what was going on with either man a relationship. No, they were four fucked up bastards trying to come together in some romantic
—
what? Not a foursome,
eww
…he loved Chris, but yeah, that just wasn’t happening. And Owen wasn’t his type any more than Billy was Chris’s type. But—
always with the fucking buts, right?
—what was happening was very definitely happening to the four of them, and Liam now had to wonder if that was the problem, because trying to come together was definitely not the same as being together.

Chris shook his head and shifted in his seat. No, he was right. It wasn’t just their brother bond that made it impossible to move forward as two separate couples. Billy and Owen had formed their own unique friendship in prison and were no more likely to move forward without the other one either. “Just once, couldn’t we have done something the easy way?”

The fire door banged open and Liam turned to see Billy and Owen, arms full of brightly wrapped packages, struggling to pull a huge cluster of balloons through the door. It was a shocking contrast to their dark thoughts and so uncharacteristically sweet of both men. Billy caught their surprised stare and yelled, “Is this where the party’s at?”

“It is now.” It might seem silly, but it was exactly what they needed and exactly who they needed it from. Maybe they hadn’t been expecting too much at all. Liam rose to give them a hand and glanced down to see the look of longing in Chris’s eyes and thought maybe it was time they all expected more.

Chapter 2

Owen

There were only three options in Florida State Prison for a man with a target on his back—raped, beaten, or killed. Actually, there was a fourth option—all of the above—but he had been ready to fight and determined to win. All of Billy’s training kicked in when he heard the click of the door, and the rush of adrenaline had been so powerful, he barely remembered what happened next. Still, it didn’t seem to matter that he survived because it was the memory of the click of the door that woke him every night.

The first instinct was to fight, but Owen forced himself into consciousness and focused on taking measured breaths. He reminded himself that he was in Saul’s house, not prison, and that Chris was right downstairs. The men sleeping peacefully in their beds might be unaware of the nightmares that plagued him, but they protected their own. Hadn’t he moved here for the safety they represented? Whether they knew it or not, they were his haven. It took several repetitions, but it was those reassurances which slowed his racing heart and allowed him to open his eyes.

What twenty-seven year old man needed a night light? It was childish and embarrassing but, god help him, he was grateful for the muted glow that let him see every inch of his empty room. No one was waiting in the shadows to hurt him. No one would be. With his eyes open and the fear receding, he had visual proof that he was alone, could feel it in every cell in his body. He’d won and he was safe, so why did his brain insist on holding him hostage with that one memory?

Bull had asked him once if he’d consider getting help. Owen played dumb, not wanting to admit that he’d failed at that too. The highly recommended shrink had been a quack who wrote more on her prescription pad than her notepad. Catchphrases like “these things take time” and “it will get better” left him feeling helpless and stupid. He’d finally gotten up the nerve to talk to someone and walked away with a lighter wallet and a prescription for some fukitol that made him feel more out of control than he already was. Like some zombie just going through the motions. If his options were being a zombie or losing sleep, he’d lose the sleep. At least he could fix that with a lunchtime power-nap. Nothing but going cold-turkey fixed the zombie effect.

And nothing but physical exertion would expend the rush of adrenaline that accompanied the nightmare. With that thought in mind, he threw off the covers, grabbed his iPod, and headed for the door. He eased into the hallway, carefully closing his door behind him, and looked toward Billy’s room. There was a time when he would have crawled into the big bear’s bed and let those muscular arms protect him. His friend had saved his ass too many times, from threats both real and imagined, and he was grateful. Their sexual relationship had been a matter of convenience and comfort, nothing more, but they weren’t those people anymore. More importantly, he wouldn’t fuck up what they both wanted just for a few fleeting minutes of security.

He tiptoed down to the second floor and looked at Chris’s door. That was the bed he wanted to crawl into, but he hadn’t been invited yet. It seemed like they’d been dancing around it forever and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do to move things along. Bull suggested he ask Chris out on a date, but the idea terrified him. What if Chris said no? What if he’d misread the man’s intentions? Billy thought his fears were unfounded—insane, actually—but since he couldn’t seem to find his way out of a paper bag as far as Liam was concerned, Owen didn’t put much stock in his opinion.

With a shake of his head, he continued down to the basement. The construction work was good for his body, but he had to stay focused on the task at hand. The circuit in the home gym was great for working through the shit in his head and god knew there was plenty of it.

He was so tired of being the victim, of allowing it to rule his life. Even more tired of waiting for something to happen with Chris. It was too simple to think that the man was just waiting to be asked out on date. That was surface crap, formalities. A date wasn’t going to get him under Chris’s skin or make him vital in Chris’s life. What would get him an invitation into Chris’s secret world? Owen knew he was selfish and self-absorbed, and had let them all down too often, but he was trying to change, trying to be a better man. Did that even count or did it just make him more of a failure?

Aww, is baby Connor gonna cry to his big brother, huh?

No, damn it, he wasn’t that kid anymore. He refused to be the type of guy who needed to run to anyone, including his big brother, for help. How many years had he resented Bull because of those tormentors? Bull, who’d loved him despite being pushed away time and again. Bull, who’d ridden to his rescue even when he hurled hateful words at him. At Red.

Look at the little fag. Are you crying again? How pathetic can you be?

Fuck, no, he wasn’t that pathetic crybaby anymore. Somehow he had to find a way to put the past in the past and stop letting it rule his present. He wasn’t the little kid everyone bullied, or the stupid teen with something to prove, or the fuckup who went to prison with a target on his back, or the jealous brother who tried to hurt the only person who steadfastly stood by him. Whatever it took, he’d find a way to be better. There was no other acceptable option. If he didn’t, he’d lose his family, the men in the house, and Chris.

“I’m not pathetic.” Saying it out loud helped, as did hitting the punching bag, so he did it again and again. Each word was punctuated with a punch, hammering the point into his brain until his hands screamed in pain. The pain was fuel, Billy would say. So he used it, hammering away, repeating his mantra, in a desperate attempt to believe. If he believed it, then they would believe in him. Wouldn’t they?

“Stop.” Stuck in a loop of his own making, Owen turned and swung toward the voice. Chris did nothing to block the blow, taking his bloodied knuckles across the chin without flinching. It was like hitting a wall.

“Chris?” All the rage and hate drained away, and he staggered without its support. The vision before him was blurry and its voice was all garbled. Was he hallucinating? He rubbed his eyes and tugged at his ears, but distorted Chris didn’t disappear.

Chris was finally talking to him and he couldn’t hear it, could barely see it. The pain of this failure was breathtaking, taking the legs right out from under him, and Owen’s last coherent thought was of strong arms catching him before he fell.

Chapter 3

Chris

On some level, Chris knew it was only a matter of time before he caved and took matters into his own hands, he just didn’t think it would be like this. He raced down to the basement and found Owen hammering away at the bag, blood dripping down his arms, and voice raw from screaming. It never even dawned on Chris to dodge the blow, and in the seconds that followed the hit, Owen went from startled to terrified to devastated before his body shut down completely.

Catching him was instinct, despite being stunned himself. Chris knew all about the demons that made you want to bash your head into a wall until they shut up, but he never gave in to it. How could Owen find this more preferable than asking him, or any of them, for help?

“Take him upstairs, I’ll clean up this mess.” With Owen secure in his arms, he turned and found Liam standing on the bottom step. “You know he can’t go on like this. None of us can.”

Liam had said similar words before, but with Owen passed out in his arms, he couldn’t ignore them. It had felt so important that Owen come to him first, but that was his own insecurity holding him back from going after something he wanted and taking care of someone who needed him desperately.

So many people saw his physical strength as some kind of fix for the pain David had put him through. He would never be anyone’s punching bag again, but the damage went far beyond the physical. Bones heal, bruises fade, but words…those words were etched in his mind forever. He’d gone into the Ellis household believing so many things that weren’t true and he came out of it knowing he wasn’t worth the dirt beneath his brother’s shoes.

Because of David, it wasn’t even possible to believe that Owen really wanted him. It was obvious that he needed him, but Owen rejected that so often it only made it harder for Chris to believe that he mattered at all. Chris thought that if Owen made the first move, then he would have irrefutable proof of Owen’s interest and they could move forward. Unfortunately, Owen didn’t believe in himself enough to take that first step.