Lang Downs

by Ariel Tachna

  “I’ll let him know,” Chris said. “Sleep well. You doing okay in your old room?”

  “I’m fine.” It was a bald-faced lie, but the problem wasn’t in the room or in anything Chris could change. The problem was in his head, and nothing could fix that.

  “Let me know if you need anything. G’night.”

  Seth waved in reply and fled toward his room. He’d have to be quiet until he was sure Chris was asleep, but Chris had never come into his room without permission. Even if he came knocking, Seth could ask to be left alone and Chris would respect that.

  He shut the door and leaned back against the solid wood barrier. He could flip the lock and keep the world away, but it wouldn’t do anything against the nightmare he carried inside him. His razor glistened on his dresser, drawing his attention. His gaze flitted around the room as he tried to find something else to focus on. He’d already busted his knuckles yesterday. He didn’t need to do anything else today. It had only been twenty-four hours. He’d never had it happen that fast. He was an adult now, not some kid without enough sense to cope with life normally.

  The razor beckoned, a siren’s lure he didn’t know how to resist. He could pick it up and make one or two little cuts where no one would notice. It would settle him enough to sleep tonight and to get back up tomorrow and do whatever Caine and Macklin asked him to. Or he could stand here and pretend he wasn’t falling apart at the seams for the next eight hours and be so tired tomorrow he ended up getting injured.

  He couldn’t do that to Chris. He had to get it together so he didn’t get hurt. It didn’t matter what it took. A few slices to his skin were a small price to pay to protect Chris’s sanity.

  Before he could talk himself out of it again, he grabbed the razor, his towel, and the first-aid kit. Fortunately the towel was black. Chris had bought it saying it wouldn’t show the dirt stains. It wouldn’t show blood either if Seth cut a little deeper than he meant to. He hadn’t lost control like that in years. He wouldn’t start now.

  He spread the towel out on the bed with the razor on top, set the first-aid kit next to it, and stripped down to his underwear. The question now was where to cut. It was too hot for long sleeves—even if Ian always wore them no matter how hot it got—so his arms were out. He didn’t know what Macklin would need him to do in the morning, so he couldn’t cut the inside of his thighs because he might have to ride. He’d have to cut along the top of his leg and bandage it tightly in the morning so it wouldn’t bleed through if he spent the day on horseback. It would be unpleasant, but having someone see the marks would be worse.

  He tested the razor with his thumb, even though he’d shaved with it a few hours earlier. Then he hadn’t wanted to cut himself. Now he did. Satisfied it was sharp, he wiped the razor and his leg with an alcohol pad. He’d had a cut get infected from a dirty blade once, and only some quick talking had kept the nurse from figuring out what he’d done. He didn’t intend that to happen again, because Chris wouldn’t be mollified with weak excuses and him walking out the moment he had medicine for it.

  The rhythm of his preparations lulled him enough that he considered setting the razor aside and seeing if that would be enough, but he wouldn’t get another chance before tomorrow night if it wasn’t, and he couldn’t crack in front of the others. He hadn’t known Taylor well enough to use that as an excuse, and while he could pass off some of his unease as worry for his own brother, it wouldn’t be enough to fool anyone for long.

  He took a deep breath and slid the razor across his skin, a paper-thin slice a couple of millimeters deep. He hissed as the familiar, welcome pain arced through his system. He controlled this, not anyone else. He decided when it hurt and when it stopped. And he determined the placement, depth, and number of cuts. The knot of tension inside him uncoiled a little as he focused on the blood that welled up ruby red against his white skin. His face, hands, and arms were brown with the time he spent working outside, but his legs never saw the sun, encased in dungarees to protect them from sharp tools and anything else he encountered in the tractor shed or out in the paddocks. The contrast pleased him in a twisted sort of way. He ran his finger along the cut, smearing the blood beyond its borders. He winced at the sting but didn’t stop. Instead he pressed a little harder, letting the alcohol that lingered on his fingers add to the discomfort. He’d have to clean the cut again when he was done, and that final burn would push him all the way back to sanity again for a while. He could do it now, and then if it wasn’t enough, he could do a second cut and have double the burn when he cleaned both of them at the end. Yes, that would be better than making the second cut right away. If he could find his balance with just one cut, it would be better than having two.

  He wiped the blood away with sterile gauze and reached for the bottle of rubbing alcohol. He could use an alcohol pad, but it wouldn’t go as deep or burn the same. He bit his lip to smother the yelp he inevitably let loose when alcohol hit an open cut.

  He let it sit as long as he could stand, burning its way into his bloodstream, down to his very marrow. The first time he’d done this, he could barely stand to wipe the cut with an alcohol pad, but now he relished the waves of pain. They whited out all the noise in his head until he could breathe again. Only then did he use the gauze to dab up the alcohol. He put a couple of butterfly bandages along the length of the cut to hold it closed and taped a gauze pad over it to keep it free of dust the next day. He’d been careful and not cut too deeply, so the bleeding would stop quickly and it would be mostly closed in the morning probably, but better safe than sorry.

  He cleaned and sterilized the razor and put everything away. He blew his nose and hid the bloody gauze inside the used tissue so Chris wouldn’t see if it he emptied the trash. Seth didn’t think Chris would stoop to poking through his garbage, but this way he didn’t have to worry. Everyone had used tissues in their trash can. Chris wouldn’t think anything of that. Bloody gauze would be a different story entirely.

  He lay down on the bed and let the throbbing in his leg lull him into sleep.

  JEREMY LAY in the hotel bed staring at the ceiling as the light filtering in around the curtains grew brighter. Sam slept on next to him, undisturbed by Jeremy’s wakefulness. At least one of them had gotten a good night’s sleep. Jeremy had fallen asleep quickly, wrung out from the emotionally trying day and the relief of knowing he hadn’t so alienated his brother that Devlin had written him out of the will. For better or worse, Taylor Peak was his now.

  The alarm on Sam’s phone went off. He rolled over and turned it off. “How are you feeling this morning?” he asked as he rolled back toward Jeremy.

  “Tired,” Jeremy admitted. “I’ve been awake for a while.”

  “I’m sorry.” Sam pushed up on one elbow so he could peer down at Jeremy’s face in the low light. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Jeremy shrugged. “Nothing to talk about. Devlin is gone, and Taylor Peak is mine. Neil and Molly will be waiting for us to have breakfast. We should get ready.”

  “Pretending nothing has happened won’t make it easier to deal with.” Sam stroked Jeremy’s face as he spoke.

  Jeremy pulled away and sat up. “I’m not pretending.” His voice sounded harsher than he’d intended, but sometimes Sam drove him crazy. “My brother is dead. I inherited his station, something I never wanted, and especially not in these circumstances. All the talking in the world won’t change that. I’m doing the only thing I can—trying to figure out how to do the job he left to me. I’m going to take a shower.”

  Sam didn’t call him back, making Jeremy hope he’d gotten the message. He went into the hotel bathroom and turned the water up to scalding. He stripped down and climbed into the tub. The hot water stung his skin, but he didn’t step back. He needed something to penetrate the fog that hung around him. If the hot water could do that, he’d relish it for as long as he could stand it. A rush of cool air into the tub signaled the door opening. Jeremy rested his head against the ceramic tiles for a mom
ent, praying for the patience not to snap at Sam for invading the few moments of privacy he’d managed to get since they heard about Devlin’s accident.

  He heard rustling and then Sam climbed into the tub behind him. Jeremy braced himself for more questions, but Sam didn’t say anything. He just wrapped his arms around Jeremy and held him tight. Jeremy relaxed into the embrace and let Sam support him. After a moment Sam reached for the shampoo and poured some into his hand. Jeremy tilted his head and let Sam wash his hair. Sam massaged his scalp as he worked the gel into a lather. Jeremy leaned into the caress—because he had no other word for it despite the practicality of the gesture—and let Sam’s care for him surround him, insulating him from the world outside the tub. Everything could go to hell for all he cared. He had Sam in the tub with him, taking care of him despite his surliness. Nothing else mattered.

  “Rinse off,” Sam murmured. Jeremy stepped completely under the spray and let the water wash away the suds and some of his tension. When the water ran clear, he stepped back toward Sam, intending to return the favor, but Sam shook his head. “Nope, not done with you yet.”

  Jeremy subsided and let Sam continue as he pleased. Sam ran a soapy washrag over Jeremy’s chest and shoulders and then down his torso to his hips, legs, and feet. “Turn around.”

  Jeremy did as he was told, but he couldn’t stop from looking over his shoulder with a grin. “You missed a spot.”

  “I’m not done yet,” Sam replied with a matching grin.

  Devlin was probably rolling in his grave, but Jeremy found he didn’t care. Devlin was gone, and Jeremy was still here… with Sam. And Sam’s love was the only thing keeping his shit together right now. If flirting with Sam was wrong, Jeremy would gladly be damned.

  Sam worked his way up Jeremy’s legs to his back and then his shoulders and neck. He stepped in close behind Jeremy, fitting their bodies together perfectly. Jeremy closed his eyes and leaned back against him, enjoying the way they complemented each other. The plop of the washcloth was his only warning before Sam reached around and stroked his cock with soapy hands. Jeremy moaned softly. They didn’t have time for shower sex, but fuck, it felt good to have Sam’s hands on him. Maybe they could just jerk each other off before they met Neil and Molly for breakfast. Surely they had time for that.

  “Stop thinking and relax.” Sam’s breath tickled his ear and sent shivers down his spine. Jeremy tried to do as he was told and block out everything but the sensations evoked by Sam’s hands. Warmth pervaded his body, warmth that had nothing to do with the water still running over them both or with the lust Sam’s hands usually evoked. No, this was different, tender and compassionate and supportive, more about affirming the soul-deep bond between them than about either of them getting off. Jeremy wasn’t even fully hard, but he didn’t need to be. He just needed for Sam to keep touching him and loving him. He could deal with everything else as long as he had Sam to keep him steady.

  He gave Sam his full weight, knowing Sam wouldn’t let him fall.

  “That’s better,” Sam murmured. “Think you can face the day now?”

  Jeremy nodded. “What about you?”

  “My brother is meeting us for breakfast. I’m not the one we need to worry about today.” Sam kissed the side of Jeremy’s neck. “If you’re feeling steady enough to go meet him, then I have what I need.”

  The reminder of Devlin’s death—not that Jeremy really needed reminding—stung, but he wasn’t alone. Neil and Molly were as close to family as the law would allow and closer in their hearts. If he said the word, any of the year-rounders at Lang Downs would do everything in their power to help him. He wasn’t facing this alone, whatever “this” turned out to be.

  “I’m ready.”

  Sam turned him around so they could kiss properly. When he pulled back, he turned off the water and threw a towel at Jeremy’s head. “Dry off. I’m not your personal servant.”

  Jeremy chuckled. “Could have fooled me when you were washing me.”

  “Just keeping you on your toes,” Sam retorted.

  Jeremy smiled all the way through drying off and getting dressed. “Let’s go eat and figure out what happens now.”

  Sam reached for Jeremy’s hand and together they left the hotel room to go in search of Neil and Molly.

  They found them in the hotel restaurant, looking over the menus.

  “About time you got here,” Neil said. From the way he winced, Molly had kicked him under the table. The thought made Jeremy smile.

  “I took a long shower,” Jeremy said. “After two days at the hospital, I felt grimy.”

  “You’re entitled,” Molly said with a pointed look at Neil. “And if you decide what you want to do today is go back upstairs and sleep, no one will blame you.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “There’s too much to be done. I have to arrange for transportation to take Devlin home. I have to find someone to have the funeral. I think he still went to church in Boorowa, so maybe the minister there would be willing to come say a few words in his memory. And then I have to figure out how I’m going to run a station as large as Taylor Peak with no time to learn the ropes. I can sleep later.”

  “I can’t do much about the transportation or the minister,” Neil said, “but if Taylor didn’t have a coffin or anything picked out, Ian could make you one. He made Michael’s when he died. It wouldn’t be anything fancy, but it would be personal in a way a purchased one never could be. And as far as the station is concerned, you know all you have to do is ask. I can be there in a couple of hours. Hell, if you asked, I’m pretty sure Macklin would come take a look at things for you and help you get everything sorted. You can’t ask for better advice than he’d give you.”

  “I know,” Jeremy said. “And I appreciate it, but Devlin had his own way of doing things. I didn’t do a lot right as far as he was concerned, but I’d like to try to do right by his legacy.”

  Sam frowned. “You were always complaining about how badly he ran things. Are you sure you want to keep doing things the way he did them?”

  “I don’t want to make mistakes, but I need to understand what he was doing and why before I just go changing things left and right. Devlin ran Taylor Peak for a long time, and he learnt from our father who learnt from his father. There must be some wisdom in the choices he made, even if I can’t see it from where I’m sitting now. It’s all I have left of him. I have to try.”

  “Whatever you need,” Neil said. “Even if that’s for us to leave you alone to do it. We’re here to support you, not to make your life more difficult.”

  Eight

  JASON LOOKED up when Caine walked to the front of the canteen and whistled to get everyone’s attention.

  “I spoke with Jeremy this morning,” he said. “The funeral will be on Tuesday at Taylor Peak, and Devlin will be interred in the family plot immediately after. I’ve made adjustments to the shift rosters in order to allow those closest to Jeremy to attend. I realize this means some of you will sacrifice your day off this week, but we will add an extra day’s pay to this week’s payroll to make up for it if you’re in that situation. We appreciate everyone’s hard work in keeping things running despite the uncertainty of the past few days.”

  He posted the new shift rosters on the bulletin board and then returned to his seat. Some of the seasonal jackaroos rose to look at it, but none of the year-rounders bothered. Caine would have arranged for them to be free to support Jeremy. Jason would check on his way out, not sure if he counted as a year-rounder as far as this was concerned. He’d spent enough time with Sam and Jeremy to want to go to the funeral, but he also understood the reality of running a station, and he hadn’t been here for the past seven years. If Caine needed him to stay, he would, and he’d find another time to go down to Taylor Peak to speak with Jeremy and Sam.

  “I’d better get started tonight, then,” Ian said, bringing Jason out of his thoughts.

  “Started on what?”

  “On the casket,” Ian said. “Sam
texted to ask if I’d make it, but they didn’t know when the funeral would be. It’s the least I can do for Jeremy after everything he’s done for us. I just wish it weren’t necessary.”

  “Don’t we all,” Chris said from next to Jason. “I wish I had something that concrete I could do for him. I’ll have to settle for offering to help them move whatever they want to take with them.”

  “Are they really going to move to Taylor Peak?” Seth asked.

  Jason could sympathize. Sure, he’d gone away to uni, but the idea of leaving Lang Downs for good didn’t sit well with him.

  “They haven’t said,” Chris replied, “but how else is Jeremy supposed to run the station? It’s an hour and a half in ideal conditions to get to the main house at Taylor Peak. If the weather’s bad, some days you can’t get there at all. I don’t see how they can live here and work there. It’s just not feasible.”

  “I can’t imagine them not being here,” Jesse said. “Who will ruffle Neil’s feathers if Sam isn’t around to tease him?”

  “I’m sure we can take up the slack,” Ian replied, “but you’re right. They’re as much a part of the station now as any of us. Bloody hell, why did Taylor have to get himself killed? Bad enough when Michael died, but at least he was old and had lived a full life. We’re losing two year-rounders in one blow because Taylor was careless.”

  “We’re not losing them,” Linda, Kyle’s wife, insisted. “No, they won’t be here every day, but you don’t lose friends like that just because they don’t live as close anymore. You all have days off, even if you only take them half the time. You could spend your days off at Taylor Peak helping out if Jeremy needs it, or just visiting if he doesn’t. Maybe not every week if he doesn’t need help, but often enough that you’d still see him. We all know Taylor had an odd way of running things. Jeremy may get in there and realize the whole system needs an overhaul, and if that’s the case, he’ll need all the help he can get. And who better to give it to him than the men who understand the way he’s lived since he got here? If anyone knows how to run a station, it’s the lot of you. If you alternated your days right, you could each give him a day a week and he’d have an extra set of hands he trusts and someone who thinks the way he does every day. Think what a difference that could make to him.”