by Elle Keaton
“Ed told me. He was kind of worried since my dad was a county prosecutor.”
“I didn’t not tell you on purpose,” Adam protested meekly. “It never came up and, to be honest, I kind of liked that you didn’t know. Or I thought you didn’t know.” He ran his fingers through his dark hair; it still stood in wild tufts, defying gravity. “I love what I do. But my boss, Mohammad, wants me to step back. Apparently I can get a little intense. And I have a shit-ton of vacation time saved up. So I am supposed to be taking care of my dad’s estate, not interfering. Even though we are here officially now,” Adam grumbled.
The fire marshal thought the blaze was deliberately, but unprofessionally, set. The accelerant had most likely been gasoline.
“The cops want to talk to you; they’re waiting in the hallway. I don’t count,” Adam told Micah before he could protest. “Answer all their questions. I’ll wait outside.”
Two detectives Micah had never seen before, not that he was an expert on local cops, entered. They were stern but kind. One was a bit older, probably his dad’s age, and Micah wondered if they had known his dad.
It was hard sometimes. He answered their questions as best he could, but he was a terrible witness; he’d been asleep and didn’t even remember Adam leaving. He hadn’t heard or smelled anything until the firefighter had broken down his front door and dragged him out onto the front lawn, all in front of Mrs. Brower, who was now going to have gossip for a year. She’d probably been on the phone to her church group before Micah had left for the ER.
He told them about being at the Beaver for several hours because he and Adam had both been upset about Mr. Abrahams’ death. Micah hadn’t wanted to be alone or cook, so they hit the Beaver for broasted chicken and fries. Adam had driven him home and poured him into bed—well, onto the couch. He wasn’t much good after more than a couple drinks. “He stayed for a while, I’m pretty sure, but I don’t see why you’re asking about him. We’ve recently met; why would he want to burn my house down? And why would he leave through the front door if he was going to do something like that?” The pain medication was starting to wear off; even whispering hurt.
J. James must have had ESP, because he came back into the room and made them leave. They promised they would have more questions for him and told him not to go anywhere.
“Doc says we’re keeping you overnight for observation. Your boyfriend can visit for a little while, but then he’s going to need to go home. Visiting hours are over at nine p.m. sharp.”
While the investigators had been taking his statement, night had fallen. Micah felt disoriented and groggy. “He’s not my boyfriend,” he whispered under his breath. “What does the J stand for anyway?”
“Joey.” The nurse smiled at Micah. He was extraordinarily handsome. A little on the small side, short-clipped brown hair with red highlights, a narrow face, and high cheekbones. His expressive eyes were hazel-green and very kind.
“Okay, fine, he’s not your boyfriend, but your not-boyfriend sure showed up here in a tizzy wanting to make sure you were okay. Then sat here all afternoon while you got your beauty sleep. How about I let him in one last time before visiting hours are over, and you two can discuss your relationship status. He’s a hotty; if you toss him back, let me know!” Joey left the room, a mischievous grin on his cute face.
The human whirlwind named Brandon Campbell appeared in his room while the nurses were quieting patients down for the night. Micah’d spaced that Brandon was on his emergency call list but was genuinely glad to see him. One look at him and the tears and everything he hadn’t let out in front of Adam earlier burst out.
“I really thought, when they called me, that I had lost you this time,” Brandon rasped out while holding Micah in a too-tight hug. Micah squeaked at the fierce love.
“Oh, sorry, I forgot about your lungs. Stephanie is making up a room at our place. You can stay until the house is sorted out,” Brandon had said, rubbing Micah’s back, before handing him a tissue for his nose.
Right about then Adam walked in, and the look on his face when he saw Brandon was priceless. Adam had no idea he didn’t need to worry about Brandon. Or Joey. Or anyone else. If he wanted Micah. A sharp pain in Micah’s chest made him whimper. He blamed it on the smoke inhalation.
Twenty-Four
Adam could hear the blood rushing in his ears. Of course Micah would go and stay with his friend whom he knew and trusted. He wouldn’t want to stay with Adam in his shitty motel room where there were probably mold spores hiding, waiting to infect his lungs. He tightened his grip on the gym bag he had brought with him to take Micah’s stuff home and took off.
The hallway was still bustling with nurses darting in and out of rooms, orderlies with carts, and, occasionally, an actual doctor. Adam turned a random corner and stopped short. His heart was beating so fast it hurt, and his fingers were icy. He leaned against the closest wall, trying to stay out of the way, but he couldn’t move any farther away from Micah’s room.
It wasn’t a panic attack; he’d had those before. His heart felt bruised, like it had been pulled out of his chest without anesthesia and jammed back in. He didn’t know how he was still breathing. And, worst of all, he hadn’t realized how quickly he had fallen for Micah. Of course the guy had friends who would take care of him. Adam was so embarrassed he had assumed Micah would come home with him.
About a millennium later, someone tapped him on the shoulder. The irritating nurse, Joey. The one who had flounced around earlier, flirting as he took Micah’s vitals, until Adam had wanted to throttle him. He now stood in front of Adam with his hand on his hip. He was shorter than Adam, which didn’t happen too often.
“So, big bad cop guy, you’re going to belly up and run away?”
Adam sighed, running his hand across his face, feeling the stubble growing in. Why was he having this conversation? “We just met. I mean nothing. We hardly know each other. That Brandon guy knows him. He’ll take care of him. I’ll be in the way.”
A pugnacious expression crossed Joey’s handsome face. “Are you a coward, or an asshole? From here it’s hard to tell. Micah Ryan? He is gone for you. I didn’t hear him sing for—what’s that guy’s name?”
“Brandon.”
“Yeah, Brandon. That’s not who he was asking for in the exam room. He was asking for you. I wish someone would ask for me that way.”
“We just met.”
“You know what? That is a bullshit excuse. My parents—don’t get all in a twist, I’m not planning your wedding—my parents met, and within a week they both knew they were it for each other. They both felt it and accepted it and have been together for fifty years.”
Adam stared at Joey, who looked like he was about twenty-five.
“I was a late addition to the family,” Joey said wryly. “My parents were out celebrating my next older sister—and all the other neighborhood kids—graduating from college, with all their friends when they announced they had another bun in the oven. Anyway,” he shook his head, “are you going to get over yourself or let something that looks hot from here pass you by because you’re scared?”
Had Joey dared him to go get Micah?
Apparently Adam harbored an inner twelve-year-old; he turned and stomped back down the hallway, hearing a wolf whistle from behind him. He was going to kill that kid and bury him in a shallow grave. He knew how to do it, after all.
Back in the room, Brandon and Micah were chatting about Brandon’s farm and what sounded like dogs the size of Volkswagen Bugs. This further irritated Adam. Dropping the gym bag by the door, he stomped around to sit on the other side of Micah’s bed. Damned if he was going to run off. Right now, anyway. Micah’s hand was lying on the thin coverlet; he must be tired if it wasn’t flying around while he talked. Adam wrapped his hand around Micah’s, running his thumb along the tops of his knuckles.
“Wait. You had a guy over? Has the earth stopped turning? Did I miss the second coming? Did you say you had drinks with a guy and slept wit
h him?” Brandon looked right at Adam as he said it, too. Fucker.
“Shut up,” Micah huffed.
“How come I haven’t heard about this guy?” Brandon sounded hurt.
“Because. Because it’s no big deal. Because we didn’t even meet on purpose; he showed up there. Plus, because you’ve been married for a hundred years and have no life anymore,” Micah muttered.
Because it was none of Brandon’s damn business, Adam thought.
Adam tried pulling his hand away after the no-big-deal comment, but Micah suddenly had a grip of steel and Adam didn’t want to cause a scene. Yeah.
“Okay, let me reiterate from my point of view: Micah Ryan, who, as far as his best friend knows, has not dated at all since the early 2000s. As far as I also know you haven’t had sex since the first fish crawled up onto the sand. This Micah Ryan took someone home with him and slept on the couch with him?” Now Brandon, who Adam hated, was laughing so hard he was crying.
“I was drunk. I think he rubbed my feet. Plus, we did too have sex. In my bed.” The meds were taking their toll for certain, or Micah probably wouldn’t have let that spill. Yeah, and Adam had rubbed his feet and it had been amazing watching Micah relax.
A nurse popped her head in the doorway. “Even rule-bending-late-visitor hours are over, gentlemen. You can come back tomorrow morning.”
“Okay, I’ll come get you tomorrow. You need a place to stay. We still have room.” Brandon grabbed Micah and hugged him again until he was gasping for breath.
“Um, Adam said he’d be here.” Victory for Adam, who decided to brave the nurse’s wrath and stay a minute longer. He smiled his most wolfish smile right at Brandon.
“I’ll be here in the morning anyway.” With that, Brandon left the room, leaving Micah sputtering.
“You have yourself a watchdog, huh?” Adam loved making Micah blush. It was his new purpose in life. He knew what Micah was thinking about. And it wasn’t his friend, Brandon.
Twenty-Five
They let Micah go the next afternoon with strict instructions to take it easy. He was ecstatic to be leaving. Adam waited patiently, listening to the instructions Joey gave, then wheeled Micah directly to his car.
After leaving the stupid wheelchair by the curb, Adam politely asked what he wanted to do, and then informed Micah that he was not going to let him do anything but come back to Adam’s hideous motel room and rest. Micah huffed, but didn’t deny that was exactly where he wanted to be.
Micah hadn’t gotten any sleep at the hospital. For whatever reason—latent fear, anxiety, hospital noises as the staff cared for other patients throughout the night—hospitals weren’t meant for sleep. As soon as he would start to drift off, another pesky nurse would be in checking on him, waking him up. It was enough to make a generally calm man go bonkers.
Micah also wanted to pick up his cat, find some fresh clothing, and get his laptop, but he had no way to do it. He was upset and frustrated; he hated feeling helpless. Being taken care of by someone he wanted to impress was galling. He tried to pay attention to what Adam was saying on the drive to the motel. He was exhausted.
“Your car is parked at the motel. I picked it up yesterday afternoon. You can’t stay at your house for a little while, anyway. You’re going to need to talk to insurance folks and see about cleanup. I would have called for you if I could have.” Micah leaned against the headrest and shut his eyes while Adam kept talking. “You aren’t listening at all, are you?” Micah rolled his head to look at Adam. The car pulled to a stop.
“What?”
“I asked you if you wanted to stop at your house and see if you can salvage some clothes. Never mind, we’ll do that later.”
“I want a shower.”
“Okay, I can do that.” The car began moving forward again.
Adam’s motel room was so tidy it hardly looked like he was staying there. His duffel was stashed in the corner, and a second pair of boots were next to the closet. That was the only proof he existed.
After mother-henning Micah from the car to his door, Adam commanded that Micah sit on the couch while he found him something to wear after his shower.
The morning meeting between Brandon and Adam had gone as well as expected. Adam hadn’t even been too defensive about Brandon’s embarrassingly direct questions. Brandon, however, acted like Micah was a Victorian spinster who had never had dealings with the outside world, Micah had wanted to die of mortification. Adam had said something irritatingly polite about how it was nice Micah had friends to help out. If Brandon hadn’t left when he did, Micah would have soon had one less friend.
Brandon left, claiming he trusted that Adam would take care of Micah properly, but not before vaguely threatening Adam with bodily harm. Micah had pulled the thin hospital blanket over his head, groaning in embarrassment. Adam had thought it was funny.
Micah’s eyes were closed, but he wasn’t asleep yet, rolling into Adam as the couch cushion dipped with the weight of their bodies. Adam slung his arm around Micah’s shoulders, pulling him even closer. Not tight enough to hurt his lungs—tight enough to feel safe. Even if he’d had the energy, Micah wasn’t going to fight what was growing between them. Whatever it was, he was grabbing and holding tight with both hands.
As soon as he wasn’t so incredibly tired.
They sat like that for a long time, maybe an hour. Micah didn’t know or care. Neither of them said anything. Finally, Adam loosened his hold a little.
“You really need a shower,” he said, leaning close and sniffing Micah’s neck.
Micah hadn’t wanted a sponge bath from the nurse. His sputtering refusal had made Adam and Joey laugh. And earned them both a scorching glare. Jerks.
Adam helped Micah stand to peel his clothes off. Micah knew he smelled of sweat, smoke, and probably fear. He tried to pull away and do it himself, but Adam gripped him tightly, the fierce expression on his face making it clear Adam needed to do this. He ran his hands tenderly, slowly, down the back of Micah’s arms to his back, cupping his ass lightly. Tracing him with his hands. He was alive and mostly uninjured, but he could tell Adam needed the reassurance of touch, stroking and kneading his ass cheeks. Micah leaned into him, not resisting the comfort Adam needed to give. His arousal surprised him, a low hum; he didn’t have the energy to get off. But this light caress comforted them both. This was the affirmation they both needed. Raising his arms around Adam’s neck, Micah rested his full weight against him. Adam held him up.
Adam tugged Micah’s chin down; they were three or four inches different in height. He hesitated a moment, but he must have seen the answer in Micah’s eyes because he finally put his mouth on Micah’s. His lips were soft, caressing and inviting, his tongue asking for permission to enter, flicking his lips and sketching the outline of his mouth. So incredibly gentle.
Micah moaned and opened for him, greeting him, letting him in. Pressing against Adam while he was naked and Adam was fully clothed was so erotic. The rough denim of Adam’s jeans against his own erection made Micah shiver. He could smell both of them: smoke, sweat, and the sweet smell of arousal. He shuddered, longing coursing through his veins. His dick was throbbing with want and probably leaking precome. He had no idea where the energy for an erection had come from, but he wasn’t going to question it. Being alive felt so damn good.
“What do you want, baby? I don’t want to do anything you don’t want.” Adam whispered against the shell of Micah’s ear. Micah reached between them, unbuttoned Adam’s jeans, and pulled Adam’s cock out of his boring white underwear.
“Never figured you for tighty-whiteys,” Micah whispered.
Adam groaned as Micah wrapped his hand around both of them and started stroking. The pressure was exquisite as he moved the sensitive skin back and forth; he felt Adam get even harder, the soft outer skin sliding up and down against the hardness inside. Micah’s head rested against Adam’s shoulder as they both watched Micah’s hand; precome was leaking out, adding a little lube to the dry heat of th
eir shafts together. Before he meant to or could say anything more, his balls pulled up and he grunted as he came so long and hard he saw stars. He still had one arm around Adam; he opened his eyes as Adam was orgasming and his own cock made a valiant effort to shoot a little more. He didn’t think he could stand much longer. There was come everywhere, all over Adam’s shirt and Micah’s stomach. He loved the smell of them together.
They stood, plastered together, for a few more moments. Adam holding him and Micah reminding him he was alive with caresses and kisses. Micah shivered and pushed closer, pressing his lips to the crook of Adam’s neck.
Adam shifted against him. “Let’s get cleaned up, okay?”
The bathroom was tiny. No tub, a shower enclosure hardly big enough for Micah alone. He harbored a short-lived shower fantasy until he actually saw it.
Micah took a long time in the shower, the clean water sluicing away the evidence of the crime committed against him: soot, ash, the smell of fire. He washed his hair twice to get rid of the smell. Reluctantly, he turned the spray off as the water began to run cold.
Twenty-Six
Adam heard the water turn off and Micah banging around as he navigated the tiny bathroom. He thought about ordering some takeout, but Micah’s throat still had to be sore even if he wasn’t saying anything about it. Adam enjoyed cooking and regretted not having a kitchenette in the room. It had been a long time since he cooked anything from scratch—the rhythm of chopping vegetables one after the other, the fragrance of spices as they sautéed. He wanted to cook for Micah.
Wow, he’d given Micah a hand job in the middle of his motel room, right after the guy had been released from the hospital. Adam was a cretin. It had been great and maybe even necessary, but still an asshole move. He wanted to do it again, but in a bed, with condoms and plenty of time. He wanted to lie next to Micah and stroke him; he wanted to watch his face the entire time. He wanted to fuck him. He wanted Micah to fuck him, if he wanted.