Lang Downs

by Ariel Tachna

“I never wanted it any other way,” Thorne said, “but I’m not going to listen to homophobic bullshit.”

  “You think that’s what this is about?” Walker retorted. “I don’t give a shit who you fuck. I’m pissed because you didn’t tell me the truth. I went out with you. I watched you pick up girls. Hell, we shared those twins in Saigon. That’s not omission, like your boyfriend said. That’s an outright lie.”

  “A necessary one,” Thorne insisted. “You weren’t the only one watching all those nights. Maybe you wouldn’t have cared, but you know we served with men who would have, and stories like the twins in Saigon made sure I was safe from the rest of them.”

  “Any other secrets you’re keeping from me?” Walker demanded.

  “No,” Thorne promised, “this was the only one. I mean, there’s stuff we haven’t talked about since I’ve been out, stories we haven’t had time for me to tell you, but nothing secret.”

  “That’s something, anyway,” Walker grumbled. He turned to Ian. “Sorry about the outburst. It’s not about you. You get that, right?”

  Ian didn’t look convinced, as far as Thorne was concerned, but he nodded and gave Walker a halfhearted smile.

  “So tell me about East Timor? Are things getting any better?” Thorne asked, hoping to change the subject.

  They spent the rest of dinner trading stories of shared and separate missions, reminiscing and remembering lost friends. Thorne worried Ian would feel excluded, but he hoped it would give him some insight into Thorne’s past. He didn’t feel comfortable trying to recount his service in any kind of coherent fashion, but this rambling walk down memory lane served the same purpose in a far less studied fashion. Ian laughed at the funny stories—and Walker made sure to drag out every story that made Thorne look like a Galah—and squeezed Thorne’s hand beneath the table when the conversation turned to lost friends and dark missions. By the time they left the pub to return to Walker’s apartment, the tension between Thorne and Walker had dissipated, leaving them laughing like they always did when they were together for any period of time.

  “You want another beer?” Walker asked when they got back to his apartment. “Tomorrow is my day off, so I don’t have to get up early.”

  “You don’t, but we do,” Thorne reminded him. “We have to drive back several hours past Boorowa tomorrow instead of lazing around in bed all day. We can’t afford to be hungover.”

  “Has your tolerance really dropped that much in a few months?” Walker teased. “You used to be able to drink me under the table without even trying.”

  He could probably still fake it, like he had all those years in the military, but Thorne had told Walker no more secrets. “That’s because I was really good at making it seem like I drank more than I actually did. Most of those nights I drank you under the table, I’d only actually had one drink. Everyone just thought I’d had more.”

  “More secrets?” Walker asked, but he didn’t seem as upset as he had earlier, so Thorne just shrugged.

  “Sleight of hand. My best friend in high school was the son of an alcoholic, often an angry one. We swore we’d never be like him,” Thorne explained.

  “You can drink without getting drunk,” Walker said.

  “And he can choose not to drink if that’s his preference,” Ian interrupted. “If you want us to stay longer, we can, but we can have coffee, or water, for that matter. We don’t need to keep drinking to have a good time.”

  “Kitchen’s in there,” Walker said to Thorne. “If you want something, help yourself. I want a word with your boyfriend.”

  Thorne tensed, but Ian waved him toward the kitchen, so Thorne went to put on a pot of coffee. He’d been here enough times when they were still serving together to know where everything was.

  IAN TENSED when Thorne left the room. He didn’t think Walker meant him any harm, and even if he did, Thorne was a shout away, but it didn’t make the moment any less nerve-racking.

  “I’ve known Lachlan for a long time,” Walker said.

  “I got that impression,” Ian said wryly.

  Walker grinned, although the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “Smartarse. I like you already. In all that time, I’ve never seen him happy. Satisfied with a mission well done, relieved to be alive, replete after a night of fucking, even excited about the prospect of leave—and doesn’t that make more sense now—but I’ve never seen him happy. Too much shit in his past for that. Has he told you about his parents?”

  “Only a little,” Ian said. “I know they’re deceased.”

  “That’s not my story to tell, but ask him about them at some point. You’ll see what I’m talking about with the whole happiness bit. You, however, make him happy. I’m not quite sure how I feel about that, to be perfectly honest, but he’s my brother-in-arms, and nothing changes that.”

  “That’s good to know,” Ian said, relaxing a bit. “I want him to be happy.”

  “So do I,” Walker said. “I grew up on a sheep station, you know. Not in NSW, but enough to know what it’s like and the kind of prejudices he could be facing.”

  “Not on Lang Downs,” Ian said immediately. “Not with Caine and Macklin owning the place and Neil running it. I know that doesn’t mean anything to you, but I watched Neil fire a man last summer because he wouldn’t let up on the comments about the bosses. If he’d kept his mouth shut after the first time, or probably even after the fifth, Neil might have let it go, but he’s loyal to the bone, and he won’t stand for any kind of ignorant comments about the bosses or any of the other couples on the station. The same will apply to Thorne and me. Not that Thorne can’t look after himself; I’m pretty sure whatever he’d choose to do in his own defense would be far worse than losing a job.”

  “He could, but he won’t,” Walker said, “not unless he’s attacked physically, or maybe if you are. He’s trained enough to kill in his sleep, but he’s disciplined enough to keep all that under wraps unless there’s a bloody good reason to let it out.”

  Ian thought about the moment in the paddocks with Laura and the times since then when he’d seen Thorne come close to reaching his breaking point. He wondered how aware Walker was of Thorne’s current condition, but before he could ask for clarification or advice, Thorne came back in with two cups of coffee—one black, one light and sweet, just the way Ian liked it—and a beer for Walker.

  “Everything okay in here?” he asked as he set the drinks on the low table in front of the couch.

  “Everything’s fine,” Ian said, realizing as he spoke that he actually meant it. “Thank you for the coffee.”

  “I know how you get,” Thorne said with a grin, and Ian couldn’t help his answering smile. Thorne did know him after a month spent together working and living on the station. Judging from Walker’s expression, that was another sign of something different—something good, Ian hoped. He took a sip of the coffee and swallowed hard as an epiphany struck him with all the subtlety of a stampede: he’d fallen in love with the burly wounded warrior sitting next to him on the couch.

  Thorne and Walker kept the conversation going, thankfully, because Ian was too shell-shocked to do anything but sit there and stare blindly at the wall of Walker’s apartment. He couldn’t be in love with Thorne. Thorne didn’t deserve someone who couldn’t even contemplate taking his shirt off in the same room with another man. He deserved someone who could love him without reservation, but the thought of what that might entail still left Ian feeling sick to his stomach. His hands trembled as he sipped his coffee, nearly sloshing the hot liquid over the rim of the cup. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the shaking got worse, and he had to put the cup down before he spilled it all over himself and the couch.

  “Ian?” Thorne asked when the cup clattered against the table. “What’s wrong?”

  Ian shook his head and tried not to hyperventilate.

  “Ian, you’re scaring me.”

  “Can it, Lachlan,” Walker snapped. “You’ve been around enough blokes straight
out of the field. You should recognize a flashback when you see one.”

  Ian wanted to deny it, to insist he was perfectly fine, but he couldn’t form the words. A moment later, he felt Thorne wrap a thick blanket around his shoulders. It should have been stifling in the mid-December heat, but Ian felt frozen all the way through, even with the blanket encasing him. He didn’t protest when Thorne pulled him onto his lap and added his own body heat to the mix. The circle of Thorne’s arms did more to steady him than anything else. He was safe with Thorne, safe in his arms, safe with those big hands covering his back and shutting out everything that might come to hurt him. All he had to do was relax and trust them and he’d stop shaking. He’d be able to breathe right again. He’d be able to smile and assure them it wasn’t anything serious, just a bad memory. They might even let it go at that. They had moments they didn’t want to relive. Surely they’d understand Ian just wanting to put this behind him.

  In the seventeen years since he’d escaped, he still hadn’t put it behind him.

  Bile rose in his throat. He buried his face against Thorne’s neck, letting the smell of cedar and granite remind him where he was. His foster father had always smelled like cheap pomade and often of whiskey, never like this, and he’d never worn a beard, so the familiar rasp of Thorne’s facial hair against Ian’s forehead was another layer of reality separating him from the past. He had to get himself under control or they’d ask for explanations he couldn’t give. He couldn’t admit to what had happened. Shame roiled through him, choking him with its intensity.

  He had to get out of here. He had to get somewhere safe.

  “—safe. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

  Thorne’s words finally penetrated the panicked haze of Ian’s mind.

  “Look, Walker is standing guard at the door, and I’ve got you in my arms. Nobody’s getting anywhere near you. You’re safe.”

  Ian wanted to tell them he’d never be safe again, but he forced himself to picture his foster father realistically. Compared with a sixteen-year-old boy, he’d been large and intimidating, but Ian wasn’t sixteen anymore, and the men in the room with him towered over him. They were close to the same age his foster father had been then, which meant they were fifteen or more years older than him, powerful, highly trained soldiers in the prime of their lives. Even if somehow his foster father found him again and tried to take him, he’d stand no chance against either of them, much less against both of them. He was safe.

  He slumped in Thorne’s arms, all tension leaving him as that feeling settled into his very bones. As long as Thorne was there, he was safe.

  “Sorry about that,” he said sheepishly.

  “Don’t apologize,” Thorne insisted. “You helped me the last time I nearly lost it to flashbacks. I can help you in return.”

  “We’ve both been there,” Walker agreed. “We might not have the same nightmares stalking us, but we’d be lying if we said we slept easy at night. Lachlan, take him back to the hotel and make him forget everything but your name. That’ll help him feel better.”

  Ian shuddered. He wished that were a possibility. He’d love to be able to forget, but it wouldn’t happen the way Walker suggested, not when that was the cause of his nightmares in the first place.

  “I’ll take care of him,” Thorne promised. “I was going to pack up the ute tonight so we didn’t have to come back in the morning, but now I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

  “It’s just a few boxes,” Walker said. “I’ll carry them down now and that way you can sleep in and get on the road tomorrow when you’re ready.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ian said again when Walker had left with the first of the boxes. “I’ve spoiled the evening.”

  “You haven’t spoiled anything,” Thorne insisted. He nuzzled Ian’s cheek, the tickle of his beard another reminder that Ian was safe and protected. “Walker is right. We’ve both been there. I wish you’d tell me what caused it, but I won’t push. I know talking about it doesn’t always help.”

  “Not now,” Ian said. “Maybe… maybe someday, but not tonight.” Not here.

  Thorne nodded and held him a little tighter. Ian closed his eyes and just breathed in the scent of safety. Eventually the blanket became overly warm, probably a good sign, given the ambient temperature, so he shrugged it off his shoulders, but he made no move to escape Thorne’s embrace. He couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be than snug in Thorne’s arms.

  He’d have to deal with both the immediate and underlying causes of his panic attack at some point, but for right now, he could pretend Thorne’s care meant he felt the same way Ian did. Ian didn’t delude himself into thinking that would last beyond the revelation of his past, but he would take what he could get. Memories of his time with Thorne would keep him warm through the winter of his future.

  He heard the door open and shut several more times as he sat there with Thorne murmuring in his ear, but he didn’t look up. Thorne wasn’t worried, so the sounds had to be Walker coming and going with Thorne’s boxes.

  “Everything’s loaded,” Walker said eventually, breaking Ian’s reverie. “I’ll see you next time you come to town.”

  “Don’t expect it to be soon,” Thorne said.

  “I won’t,” Walker replied. “It doesn’t matter how long it is. Just keep me posted.”

  “I will. Thanks, Walker.”

  “Take care of him, and let him take care of you.”

  “As much as he’ll let me.”

  Ian felt like he ought to say something, but the panic attack had left him exhausted. He rose at Thorne’s urging, but it took Thorne’s arm around his waist to keep him steady. They made it down the stairs and into the ute, but Thorne had to fasten the seat belt around him. He fell asleep before they’d even left the car park.

  Eighteen

  THORNE HATED to wake Ian up when they got to the hotel, but he didn’t think carrying him inside was really an option. Fortunately, Ian woke without fuss or fear, even summoning a genuine smile for Thorne.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that.”

  “No worries,” Thorne said. “Are you feeling better?”

  “A little,” Ian said. “I just hope my impromptu nap doesn’t keep me from sleeping tonight.”

  “Let’s get checked into the hotel and you can go straight to bed,” Thorne suggested. “If we hurry, maybe you won’t wake up all the way and can fall back asleep easily.”

  Ian nodded and followed Thorne into the lobby of the hotel. The clerk gave them two keys and directions to the rooms. They were on the same floor, but on opposite ends of the hall, which made Thorne uneasy. If Ian had nightmares, Thorne wouldn’t be close enough to hear him.

  He paused at the door to Ian’s room. “Are you going to be all right by yourself? I don’t like leaving you alone after a panic attack like you had earlier.”

  Ian hesitated for a moment before replying. “I think a spot of company would be good. If you don’t mind. I can’t… what Walker said—”

  “Not like that,” Thorne assured him before he could even finish his sentence. “Just to make sure you can sleep. He meant well, but he doesn’t understand.”

  “And you do?” Ian asked.

  “Enough to know that making love to you would hurt more than it would help,” Thorne replied honestly. “No matter how much I might like the idea, I’m not going to do anything to hurt or upset you. Ever.”

  “I… thank you.”

  Thorne wasn’t sure he’d ever been prouder of hearing those two words. He was only doing what any decent man would do, but it seemed Ian hadn’t known many decent men before now, at least not ones who were interested in him. To have earned Ian’s trust to the point that he would believe Thorne’s assertion felt like a feat far more worthy of praise than anything he’d done with the Commandos.

  “I’ll step out while you get ready for bed,” Thorne said, “and then I can sit with you until you fall asleep.”

  “Like a chil
d afraid of the dark,” Ian said bitterly.

  Thorne caught Ian’s arms and pulled him into an embrace. “No, like a man who just had a panic attack and is now having to sleep in an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar city without anything to ground him if something triggers another one.” He tipped Ian’s chin up so he could meet his stormy green gaze. “You’re not the only one who has them. You saw me barely fight one off the first night I spent at your place, and believe me, the only reason I managed was because you were there keeping me steady and giving me a place to feel safe. If I can do the same for you now, I’ll count myself lucky.”

  “I don’t know how to handle it,” Ian admitted. He pulled away and Thorne let him go, watching helplessly as Ian started to pace. “I thought it was all behind me and then….”

  “If you want to talk about it, I’ll listen,” Thorne offered quietly. “Whatever haunts your nightmares, it might be an easier burden if it’s shared. I know it helps sometimes just to remember that I’m not alone, that whatever nightmare I’m dealing with, Walker was there with me.”

  “Not tonight,” Ian said. “All I want tonight is to sleep. Ask me again after Christmas, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  Thorne frowned. Christmas was only a week away, so that was hardly so far in the future that it would make much difference in the grand scheme of things, but Thorne hated the idea of Ian suffering alone even that much longer. He’d known Ian had a rough past. Kami had told him that much, even if he didn’t know details, although Thorne could guess at some of what that was, given Ian’s hesitancy where anything sexual was concerned, but he’d thought it was limited to that. Whatever had triggered his panic attack tonight, it hadn’t been sexual. They’d been sitting on Walker’s couch talking, not even close enough to touch, and for once, the conversation hadn’t been laced with innuendo. Walker had used the word “boyfriend” a couple of times, but not immediately before Ian’s meltdown, so that wasn’t it. Ian’s fears clearly went beyond the scope of what Thorne had guessed.