Room For One More: Herc’s Mercs #8

by McKay, Ari

  “I figured.” Drew squeezed Joe again as if wanting to comfort and reassure him. “You make so much about Finn and what he wants and needs. I haven’t heard you talk a lot about what you want or need. You lashed out because you were in pain. That doesn’t make you less deserving of help. It means you need it more than ever.”

  “Maybe.” Joe was glad he couldn’t see Drew’s eyes. It was easier this way, somehow. “I… I don’t know. Maybe there are things that can’t be fixed. You learn to live with them.”

  “Getting help doesn’t always mean fixing the problem. It means getting the tools you need to learn how to live with it in a way that it doesn’t fuck up the rest of your life.” Drew gave a wry little snort. “My therapist had to say that a lot before I finally believed it.”

  “That was about Stack?” Joe hesitated before giving Drew a little squeeze in return. “It must have been hard.”

  “It was.” Drew released a long sigh that Joe felt rather than heard. “I’d seen men die before, but not like that. Plus he was one of mine, you know? I felt responsible even though there wasn’t a damned thing I could’ve done. Explosives were Stack and Hunter’s specialty, not mine. If I’d been closer, maybe I could’ve done something. Taken his place. I didn’t know. I just felt like I’d failed him, or it should’ve been me because I was the XO.”

  “I can understand that.” And Joe did. He would have felt the same way. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. It sucks.”

  “I’m sorry for what you went through here the first time,” Drew said, caressing Joe’s back with long, soothing strokes of his hand. “It did some damage. But it’s not what broke you, is it?”

  Joe felt the twisting sensation he always did when he thought about his past. Normally he didn’t dwell on it, preferring to look forward, not back. He’d never told anyone—not D-Day, not Herc, not even Finn—about what he’d gone through. He didn’t want them to look at him as damaged, to see him as somehow being less than what he was now. But Drew had seen him at his worst, at his weakest, so it seemed stupid to deny it.

  Yet talking about it was hard, so hard, and he was silent for several minutes, trying to find the words. “I speak nine languages. Did you know that? Fluently. And I’m familiar enough with a dozen more to get by if I have to.”

  “I knew you were good with languages. I didn’t know you were that good,” Drew said, a strong note of respect in his voice.

  “Yeah. Not many people do.” Joe swallowed hard. “But what no one knows is that I was scared to talk for a long time. I barely said a word until I was in school.”

  Drew pulled away just enough so that he could see Joe’s face. “Why?”

  It was difficult for Joe to speak of his past, despite it having been over twenty years since it had been an issue. “I had a stutter. A bad one. And my father used to hit me every time I stumbled over a word.”

  “Jesus.” Drew’s expression darkened with anger, and he tightened his arms around Joe. “What the fuck was wrong with him?”

  Despite the remember pain, now that he started, Joe knew he had to get it out. “My mother died when I was still a baby. Cancer. My father…. He started drinking, and there was no one to help him with a kid. When I started talking, and it wasn’t perfect, I think it just… set him off. Or gave him an excuse. I don’t know. He hit me when I spoke, and when I stopped talking, he would lock me in a closet. He called me a stubborn brat and told me he wished I’d never been born.”

  “Motherfucker.” Drew’s voice thrummed with anger as he held Joe tight, almost tight enough to steal his breath. “That was abuse. You know that, right? He was an abusive asshole, and you didn’t deserve any of that.”

  “I know. And so did the teachers at school. That’s why I was taken away and put in foster care.” Joe shuddered, remembering what it felt like. “I remember being almost more frightened at being taken away than I was when I was with him. Strangers… how would they treat me, if my own father did such things?”

  “But it got better?” Drew asked, an edge of trepidation in his voice.

  “Eventually. I was sent to therapy, and it helped. But after my father went to rehab, they gave me back to him.” He shifted restlessly. “That was a mistake. I was with him for six months before he started drinking again. It was another three before they got me out. Three months of hell. That’s why seeing those kids… it just about killed me. I know what they must be going through. I know how helpless they feel. Because I felt that way, too.”

  “You’re not helpless anymore.” Drew’s voice sounded thick, and he clung to Joe tightly. “You aren’t alone either, and you deserve a lot more than you let yourself have.”

  Joe swallowed again past the painful tightness of his throat. For Drew to be so generous, after everything, was more than he felt he deserved. “Mostly, I don’t think about it. It’s been years since it really bothered me. It was just… this whole thing. The kids, the evil scumbags hitting them, raping them. Then I go home and my anchor was gone. After that… all this again. I don’t know what I deserve. I feel like I don’t know much of anything, anymore.”

  “We had shitty timing, and I’m sorry for that,” Drew said. “But Finn doesn’t have to be your only anchor. You could have two.”

  “You must be crazy,” Joe murmured. It wasn’t the first time Drew had said something like this, but that was before Joe had confided in him about these issues. “You can’t want to take on someone as fucked up as I am right now. I think the best thing I could do for you and Finn both is just… go away for a while. It would be easier with just the two of you. Uncomplicated.”

  “Oh, fuck that.” Drew fixed Joe with a stern look that brooked no argument. “Finn loves you, and as crazy as it sounds, I care about you, too. You leaving wouldn’t be the best thing for either of us. In fact, how about you stop thinking about us and think about what you want? Would walking away from Finn make you feel any better?”

  The thought of losing Finn hurt like hell, but Joe only shrugged, weariness suddenly catching him, making him feel defeated. “It’s not all about me.” Releasing a shuddering breath, he closed his eyes. “But if you don’t mind, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’m tired.”

  “Okay,” Drew said, stroking Joe’s short hair with gentle fingers. “Go back to sleep if you want to. Would it bother you if I watched something for a while? I’ve been binging on that gay fiction review show while you were out, but if the noise would disturb you, I’ll read instead.”

  “No, it’s fine.” Joe sighed, leaning instinctively into Drew’s touch.

  Drew reached for the laptop sitting on the nightstand on his side of the bed, and he balanced it on his lap and set up the show. He kept the volume low, but Joe could hear the familiar sound of Jim and Bill’s voices as they discussed the books of the week. It was soothing, being snuggled up to Drew’s solid warmth, his head pillowed on Drew’s chest. He could hear the vlog, hear the sound of Drew’s steady breathing, and it helped ground him. Hopefully it would be enough to keep the nightmares away, at least for a while. He gave in to the drowsiness that was falling over him, but he did have one final thing to say. Rubbing his cheek against Drew’s chest, he sighed.

  “Thanks for caring.”

  27

  Drew was startled out of sleep by the sound of moans, and his first conscious thought was that Joe was having another nightmare. Joe hadn’t had nightmares every night, but it happened often enough that Drew didn’t bother sleeping in his own room of their suite anymore. He wanted to help rouse Joe out of his bad dreams as quickly as possible and offer solace in the aftermath. The bed was king-sized, so even though they were both big men, they had enough space to sleep comfortably. Both of them were accustomed to sleeping in far worse conditions in the field, anyway.

  But as he reached full wakefulness, he felt a warm, solid presence plastered against his back and the heavy weight of an arm draped across his waist, and he realized the timbre of Joe’s moans was… different. He became a
cutely aware of Joe’s hard cock pressed against his ass, and he lay still, wondering what the hell he should do.

  If he woke up Joe now, Joe might be embarrassed, or even angry, that Drew knew about his erotic dreams, especially since Joe was probably dreaming about Finn. There was no way in hell he was dreaming about Drew! Drew didn’t want to risk losing any ground after the slow, tenuous progress they’d made in their relationship lately. On the other hand, if Joe somehow found out Drew knew about the dreams and hadn’t told him, that might cause problems down the road. Shit!

  He didn’t know what to do, and so he opted to do nothing. He let out a quiet, shallow huff of amusement that finding himself in Joe’s arms for the first time made him wish for the simplicity of a trauma-induced nightmare instead.

  Joe was breathing hard, and then suddenly he gasped and went still. Drew could feel a tremor in Joe’s arm as he slowly lifted it and started to pull away.

  Drew considered pretending to be asleep and letting Joe withdraw, but his caretaker instincts wouldn’t let him.

  “You okay?” he asked. He tried to keep his voice quiet, but in the still, dark room, he felt like he was yelling.

  Joe swallowed hard enough to be heard. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. Or invade your space.”

  “It’s okay. I haven’t been the little spoon in a while. It was nice,” Drew said, realizing he meant it.

  Joe was quiet for a moment and then there was a sound suspiciously like a sniffle. “I guess so.”

  Drew rolled over to lie facing Joe, peering at him with concern. His eyes had adjusted to the faint light filtering through the curtains enough that he could see Joe, but not enough to let him read Joe’s expression.

  “What’s up?” he asked softly.

  He felt more than saw Joe’s slight shrug. “I guess… I’m feeling lonely,” he admitted, his voice raspy. “Feeling like things will never be right again.”

  Drew shifted closer, his heart aching for Joe, and he rested his palm against Joe’s stubbled cheek. “Right in what way?”

  Joe didn’t answer immediately, but Drew could almost feel the weight of his gaze, as though Joe was looking for something specific. He must have found it, since he finally answered. “Like I’ll never feel normal things again. Like I can never look at Finn without feeling guilty, never be with him again because I’ll always wonder if somehow he’ll blame me.”

  “Blame you for what?” Drew frowned slightly, puzzled. “You don’t have anything to feel guilty about.”

  But Joe shook his head. “For him getting hurt. His leg… what if it doesn’t heal right? What if he has to give up his career, like Herc did? What happened was because of me, whether I intended it or not. What if… he doesn’t really want me anymore?”

  “What happened was because of those traffickers, not you,” Drew said firmly. “You don’t need to worry about Finn’s leg, either. He told us the surgery went great, remember? With some rehab, he’ll be good as new.” He stroked Joe’s cheek gently with his thumb, hoping Joe believed him, and took some comfort from the reassurance. “He misses you. He’s worried about you. He still loves you.”

  Joe’s breathing hitched again. “I’m afraid I’m going to lose him. That things won’t ever be the same.”

  Drew slid his arm around Joe to stroke his back soothingly. “Well, no, they won’t be,” he said. “The last two missions affected you in ways you’re still working through, and you’re not going to be the same man on the other side of that. I’m not the man I was before Stack died. It’s not good or bad. It just is. You’ve also got me in the picture now, but I don’t want to edge you out.” He gnawed on his bottom lip, debating how much he wanted to reveal. “I care about you a lot,” he said at last, hedging a little. Joe probably wasn’t ready to hear the full truth.

  “You do?” Joe gave a shuddering sigh. “I… I couldn’t have gotten through these last few days without you. I probably would have just curled up and died. I know you didn’t have to be here for me, but I appreciate it. I guess… I guess I care about you, too.”

  “You guess?” Drew teased, giving Joe a playful nudge.

  “Fine. I care about you.” Joe sniffled again. “Even if you can be an ass.”

  “It’s part of my charm,” Drew said with a quiet chuckle. He stroked Joe’s back in silence for a moment, wondering how much he could test the walls before Joe fortified them again. “Okay, we care about each other. What do you want to do with that?”

  Again he felt the weight of Joe’s gaze. “I don’t know. I feel adrift, I suppose. Lost. I’ve always been the steady one, the one who was sure. Now… it’s like I’m a ship without an anchor.” There was a wealth of hurt and loss in Joe’s voice. “I feel like I’m that little boy again, never sure if when the closet door finally opened I’d find myself in heaven or hell.”

  “Do you trust me?” Drew held his breath as he waited for Joe’s response.

  The silence stretched out between them for an eternity, and when Joe answered, his voice barely more than a whisper.

  “Yes.”

  “Then you have an anchor,” Drew said, tightening his arm around Joe. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

  With a low groan, Joe moved closer and slid his arms around Drew in return. He rested his head on Drew’s shoulder, the biggest sign of acceptance and trust Joe had ever given. Drew felt the way Joe trembled, as though he was finally releasing something long pent-up and hurtful. “Thanks.”

  Drew gathered Joe close and tight, wishing he could somehow alleviate all of Joe’s fears and doubts, but Joe had to overcome them himself. All Drew could do was offer support and solace when needed.

  “You don’t have to thank me, baby,” he said, pressing a kiss against Joe’s hair. “I want to be here.”

  Drew felt the damp warmth of tears against his shoulder. “I’m so cold inside. Numb. Like I’m a hollow shell.”

  “Then let me help you feel again.” The words were out before Drew even realized he was thinking them, paired with an urge to kiss Joe that was too strong to resist. He might end up getting his ass kicked, but he didn’t care. Joe needed him.

  Before Joe could respond, Drew leaned in and brushed his lips against Joe’s—offering, questioning, but not taking. Joe had been through too much, had too much taken from him lately.

  To his surprise, Joe moaned softly, and began to kiss Drew back. He tightened his arms around Drew, pulling him closer, as if Joe did want and need him as an anchor, as something to help fill up the emptiness. Echoing Joe’s moan, Drew parted his lips in a silent invitation and pressed against Joe, aligning their bodies so Joe could feel his warm, solid presence.

  Joe didn’t hesitate to accept what Drew offered, deepening the kiss, exploring Drew’s mouth with an almost desperate need. He hooked one leg over Drew’s legs and moved against him, as though he wanted to wrap himself around Drew as tightly as possible. Drew yielded to Joe’s exploration, wanting to give Joe whatever he needed to feel warm, to feel whole.

  Kiss flowed into kiss, and after a time Joe’s desperation subsided, becoming something else, less frenzied and more curious. Drew felt Joe’s big, warm hands on his back, pushing up under his T-shirt as Joe began to caress him almost tentatively, as though Joe wasn’t completely certain Drew would welcome the touch. Drew hummed his pleasure into the kiss and arched against Joe’s hands as he matched Joe’s curiosity, wanting to taste and explore as well. He reached for the hem of Joe’s T-shirt and slid it up, eager to feel more of Joe’s warm, bare skin against his own.

  Drew’s response seemed to be the right one, because Joe’s caresses became more certain. He put his hands against Drew’s shoulders, and then scratched his nails down Drew’s back, not hard enough to break the skin, but definitely sufficient that Drew would have marks. Drew sucked in a sharp breath, heat pooling in his belly.

  “You want to mark me up?” he asked, nipping at Joe’s bottom lip. “I’m good with that, but I want to return the favor, and we b
oth need to be more naked for that.”

  Joe’s eyes were dark with need. “All right,” he said softly. He grasped the hem of Drew’s T-shirt, tugging it upward. “Off.”

  Drew sat up and swiftly stripped off his shirt. He tossed it over the side of the bed. “Your turn,” he said, voice low and husky. He’d hoped Joe would let him behind the walls enough for this, but he’d thought it was a longshot. Now that it was happening, he felt like an overeager teenager.

  It only took a moment for Joe to strip off his own T-shirt, then he pushed Drew back against the mattress, rolling him onto his back and moving to straddle his hips. Lowering himself down, Joe pressed his mouth against the side of Drew’s neck, nipping at the area just beneath his ear. After a moment, he began to suck. The sting of the nip followed by Joe’s hot mouth on his skin was enough to make Drew’s eyes roll back in his head, and he didn’t bother to silence the moans that rose in his throat. He clamped his hands on Joe’s shoulders and dug his fingernails into Joe’s flesh, wanting to leave marks of his own.

  Joe growled low in his throat, arching against Drew’s hands. He moved his mouth lower, kissing his way down Drew’s neck. When he reached the junction of Drew’s neck and shoulder he bit down again, harder this time, enough that Drew knew he was going to have a livid bruise.

  “Yes!” Drew threw his head back on the pillow, offering better access. He dragged his nails down Joe’s spine in return.

  Joe lifted his mouth away, giving a hiss as Drew scored his skin. “You like it rough?” It wasn’t really a question, and Joe didn’t wait for an answer. Instead he lowered his head again, shifting his body slightly downward at the same time, and this time he captured one of Drew’s nipples between his lips, sucking it into a taut peak.

  “Fuck yeah, I do.” Drew answered anyway, wanting Joe to know without a doubt that what he was doing was welcome. Joe was harboring enough concern about too many other aspects of his life, and Drew wanted this experience to be both connecting and healing.