Wild Angels

by Bethany Brown

  Reseating himself at the table, Brad grabbed Patrick’s free hand with his and gave it a squeeze. He released his hold on Patrick when the other man squeezed him back, and turned his attention to the omelet. As he ate, Brad kept stealing looks at him. He liked having Patrick in his kitchen in the morning. It warmed up something inside him that he hadn’t know was cold until Patrick walked into his life.

  And he was going to hang on to it for as long as he could.

  Chapter 11

  Brad finally gave up attempting to decipher which of the plants in the backyard were legitimate flowers and which ones were weeds and slumped on the steps to the back deck, head resting against the railing. He’d thought he should probably clear his mind, do some mindless task to keep himself from thinking too much, and since his neighbor, who normally took care of his plants, was gone for the weekend, he’d decided to chance it. Now he was more confused than ever, and judging by the rainclouds that were threatening, his bad mood was about to get a lot worse.

  “This a private sulk, or can anyone join?”

  Brad opened his eyes, startled to see Jack lounging by the corner of the house, Robot at his knee. She never seemed to be on a leash, but she was so attached to Jack it hardly seemed to matter. “What are you doing here?”

  “Well, your car’s here, but there was no answer at the front door. It was nice out until a few minutes ago, so I thought to myself, ‘Jack, I’ll bet he’s in the backyard.’ And here you are.”

  Sighing, Brad rephrased, “No, I mean, why are you here—” before he realized that Jack was having him on.

  Jack gave him a half-smile. “Stay, Robot.”

  The dog panted at him a little, chased her tail in a circle, and flopped over in the grass. Jack wandered over and leaned against the house, hands in his pockets. “I came to talk to you. Well, that’s not it exactly. I came to talk to you, and I figured you could probably use an ear right about now. So here I am.”

  Brad’s conscience lurched with guilt and shame. He couldn’t believe Jack was here after what had happened yesterday at hockey. After spending the night with Patrick, Brad had been—angry, yes, but also hurt—by whatever had passed between Julian and Patrick. Somewhere down the line, Patrick had learned that he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t worthy enough, for a relationship. Brad figured that, in this case, Julian definitely was not helping. Once he’d managed to make sure he and Julian would be on opposing teams, he had spent his ice-time head-hunting the older man. Julian had never once made a noise of complaint about the hits—though most of them had been illegal, and they had to have hurt—but Jack, who’d been playing on Brad’s team, had noticed, and in the first minutes of the second period had boarded Brad so hard he’d seen stars. “Save it for the locker room,” Jack had advised and skated away, leaving both teams vaguely mystified.

  “Are you going to say something, or should I start?”

  Brad wanted to growl at him, but he didn’t have it in him. He was in deep water here, and he knew it. This thing with Patrick—it should have been a casual fling, knowing that Patrick would soon be recovered and leaving again. But the way Patrick looked at him, the way things sparked between them when they touched, the way he’d felt when they had—well, anyway, the word casual didn’t enter his head when he thought about it. Nothing about what he and Patrick had was casual.

  Jack sighed. “You could at least move over. Don’t make me do this standing up. It’s embarrassing enough that I’m here in the first place.”

  Brad shoved over, making room on the step above or below him. Jack squeezed through the gap and sat with his knees splayed just slightly. “You’ve got to stop blaming this on Julian. And I’m not just saying that because I’m the one who has to be careful of the bruises.”

  Brad snorted. “You would take his side.”

  “There aren’t sides,” Jack snapped back just as sharply. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You want to blame someone? Tough, because there were three of us in the bed that night, and let me tell you, everyone was there by choice. If you want to be angry, be angry at me, because it was my idea in the first place.”

  What? Why would Jack invite Julian’s ex-lover into their bed? How was that in any way a good idea? “Why?” he asked stupidly, before he could stop himself.

  “Because they needed it,” Jack said simply. “You haven’t been in the house much since Patrick got here. They have a lot of history, and they’ve never talked about any of it.”

  “You thought throwing them into bed together was the best way to get them to talk? Man, you are even crazier than everyone seems to think.”

  He sensed more than saw the muscles in Jack’s legs tense. “Don’t judge what you don’t understand.” His tone was cold enough to make the hair on Brad’s neck stand up.

  “How am I supposed to understand if no one will tell me anything?!” Brad was shouting before he even realized he was speaking.

  “I am trying to tell you, but you aren’t listening.” Jack huffed in frustration, jumping back to his feet. “Or you’re listening wrong. Stop using this”—he poked Brad in the forehead—“and start using this instead.”

  Brad looked down at the finger sticking into his chest and then back up at Jack. He was serious. This was important to him. He wanted to help.

  God, relationships did stupid things to people. Brad would have to be careful or he’d end up as bitter and jaded as his brother Isaac. “Sorry,” he said finally. “I really do want to understand. But it’s not easy for me.”

  Jack sat down again, half-turned on the lowest step this time. “It’s not exactly a walk in the park for me, either, knowing the love of my life still has feelings for his ex. I know he loves me, but he’s always going to feel a little bit responsible for Patrick and his multitude of issues, and they needed to talk about that.”

  “Why?” Brad repeated. He was starting to think he wasn’t going to like the answer.

  Jack scratched the back of his neck. “Because they, especially Patrick, needed to know—I needed to know—that what Patrick and Julian had was really over. Now that he’s seen us together firsthand, he can start to heal.”

  Oh, my God. “You really are one crazy sonofabitch.” The words came out sounding almost reverent. Brad had always sort of thought of Jack as the book-smart, not people-smart, type. Apparently he was a lot more intuitive than anyone gave him credit for. And now Brad had to ask the question he had sworn to himself he wasn’t going to ask. “So you and Julian… and Patrick….” Brad didn’t even know where to start.

  Thankfully, Jack took pity on him. “We didn’t touch him, I promise. Besides, I’m a possessive bastard. Patrick was broken up about it because he had to face up to the fact that it was really over. That’s not easy, especially after ten years of waiting and hoping. Julian had it a little easier, since he’d already moved on without realizing it….” Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. “But the guilt just about killed him. You know he wouldn’t hurt a fly, Brad. That’s not the kind of guy he is. He’s used to being the one to make things better, but he can’t, because this time it feels like it’s his fault. Please don’t make it any worse for him than it is already.”

  Fuck. Fuck! Now Brad felt like an asshole. How screwed up was this? “Please tell me relationships with other guys are not always this complicated.”

  Jack snorted in laughter and looked up at the sky. A raindrop landed between Brad’s feet. “They’re not always this complicated,” Jack said, standing and offering Brad a hand up. “Only when they’re worth having. By the way….”

  Brad noticed the lightening of his tone and met Jack’s gaze again. His eyes were laughing. “What?”

  “That bruise you left on Patrick’s neck? That’s some quality work. Very professional. What did you do, try to eat him?”

  Brad felt his cheeks flame as his mind suddenly supplied a whole lot of other, very graphic examples of things he could do to Patrick with his mouth. He remembered how Patrick had moaned when he’d
bitten him, how he’d pulled Brad’s face closer to his neck. “I, uh, um….”

  “Relax.” Jack put a hand on his shoulder. “I get it. Now stop trying to outshine the sun; you’ll give us all radiation sickness.” He whistled, and Robot stood, wagging her body over to his side. “I think we’d better go before the rain gets any worse. I’ll see you on Saturday.”

  When Jack walked in the door, he made sure to stay on the mat. Water ran down his hair and face, soaked his jeans up to the knee, and saturated the jacket he’d been wearing. Grimacing, he peeled off most of his clothes, toed off his shoes and socks, and tossed the whole lot back out onto the front porch. They were pretty muddy.

  Then he picked up Robot and carried her into the laundry room, passing Julian in the kitchen as he went. Julian gave him a small smile. “Look what the dog dragged in.”

  Jack made a face and then grabbed a towel from Robot’s expanding collection of second-rate linens and gave her a firm rubdown. When he’d finished, her fur was sticking up all over, giving her a strange resemblance to an oversized porcupine, and the towel was hardly worth washing.

  “Must’ve been a long walk,” Julian commented. He’d pulled himself up onto the counter to watch the show and was swinging his bare feet back and forth.

  He always looked about ten years old when he did that. It drove Jack crazy, because it should not have been such a huge turn-on, but it was always so easy to just step up to him like this, and insinuate himself between Julian’s legs, and lean forward and capture that mouth—

  “You’re all wet,” Julian pointed out, hands underneath Jack’s sticky T-shirt. He didn’t sound like he was complaining.

  “I’m dirty too,” Jack said helpfully, relieving Julian of his pullover. “You wouldn’t want to get any on you.” He ran his hands up the smooth, creamy skin of Julian’s back, bending his head to kiss him again.

  He pulled back when Julian made a noise in the back of his throat. That was not one of Julian’s normal make-out noises. It sounded like he was in pain. “What’s wrong?”

  Julian shook his head, trying to draw him back in. “It’s nothing. My foot’s just asleep.”

  Jack didn’t buy it for a second. Using his larger size to his advantage, he scooped Julian up off the counter, deposited him back on the floor, and then spun him around. What he saw made his stomach clench. Julian’s normally pristine skin was blemished with a dark bruise on his right shoulder blade. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed earlier.

  “Julian….”

  “It’s nothing,” Julian protested, reaching for his shirt again.

  Jack stopped him. “It’s not nothing.” It was normal for Julian to have bruises after hockey—he was an aggressive player, and often exchanged hits—but the majority of those bruises were to his chest, shoulders and arms, and they didn’t look anything like this because he was protected by his pads. “Julian, is this from last night?”

  “It’s fine,” Julian reiterated. “I’ve had worse bruises. Hell, I think I’ve given worse bruises. It’s just that this one’s in a really inconvenient place.”

  It was, in Jack’s estimation, nowhere near fine. He tugged Julian by the hand and led him upstairs. “Come on. I am wet and dirty and you’re sore. Let’s go soak in the tub.”

  Jack traced the bruise while Julian filled the tub with hot water. He didn’t understand. Julian should have been protected by his hockey pads, unless he’d gone on the ice without them. But Julian wouldn’t do that, not even if he were still feeling like he needed someone to beat him up. He was a doctor, for God’s sake; he had to know what playing without the proper equipment would do to him…. “Julian?”

  “Hmm?” Julian was unfastening his jeans. Jack did his damnedest not to get distracted. “What?”

  Jack swallowed hard and tried not to watch him pull the zipper down, but the sound drew his eyes like a magnet. “Why weren’t you wearing your pads?”

  Julian flushed. “I was.” He stopped fiddling with the zipper on his jeans and looked up from under the mop of hair in that way that was so irresistible. “I noticed last week that the fastenings on my shoulder pads were loose. When Brad checked me the first time, they broke completely. I just didn’t notice until the second hit.”

  Jack winced. Loose shoulder pads could be worse than no pads at all. Now that he knew what had happened, he could see that the bruise was shaped like the edge of Julian’s hockey pads. “I guess we need to go shopping.”

  “Yeah.” Julian stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “Can I finish getting naked now?”

  Julian answered the frantic pounding at the door with wet hair and a towel wrapped around his waist. If it was Patrick having forgotten his key again, he was going to be pissed. He’d been sharing a bath that had been extremely relaxing, if not particularly good at getting anyone clean.

  It wasn’t Patrick at the door. It was Roy, and he looked terrible. He didn’t even seem to notice that Julian wasn’t dressed. “Julian. Hi. Is Jack around?”

  “He’s upstairs,” Julian said, deciding for the time being to leave out the part where he was also naked and in the tub. He stepped back from the door. “Uh, do you want to come in?”

  Roy didn’t answer him directly. He said, “Listen, have you seen Hallie?”

  The hair on the back of Julian’s neck stood on end. “Not since Jack brought her home. Why, is she missing?”

  “She was in the yard,” Roy said. “She was just playing in the tree house while I washed the dishes. I went out to tell her to come in from the rain, but she wasn’t there. Can I talk to Jack? I need to ask him if he’s seen her.”

  Julian was dripping into a small lake on the floor now, but he barely noticed. “I’ll ask him. He’s sort of… anyway, I’ll ask him. Did you call the police?”

  “I looked everywhere,” Roy said frantically, as if he hadn’t heard the question. “All of her favorite hiding places. In closets, under beds, behind the couch, in the cupboards. I called her for almost an hour. She’s gone. I haven’t, I couldn’t call yet, I wanted to make sure she wasn’t over here, I wanted her to be over here—” Roy shut up when Julian handed him the phone.

  “I’ll be right back.” Julian fled back up the stairs, let the towel fall to the floor beside the bed, and frantically opened his dresser drawers until he found a clean pair of jeans. “Jack!”

  “What’s the holdup?” Jack complained. He was standing in the bathroom doorway, wet and naked. “I thought you were coming right back up.”

  Julian grabbed a pair of jeans from his side of the wardrobe and then threw a pair at Jack. “Change of plans. Hallie’s missing.” He shoved his legs into the jeans, heart beating way too fast to be healthy.

  “What? Since when?”

  “I don’t know, I didn’t ask for details. When’s the last time you saw her?”

  “When I dropped her off,” Jack said, buttoning his fly. “She went right into the house; dinner was ready. Where’s Roy?”

  Julian headed for the stairs. “He’s in the living room, I gave him the phone and told him to call the police. I’m going to—”

  He stopped and listened. Downstairs, he could hear voices talking to each other. He looked at Jack. “Do you hear…?”

  Jack nodded, quiet.

  “Jack?” The more Julian listened, the less he liked what he could discern of the tones coming from downstairs. Ice formed in his stomach. He’d heard that tone an awful lot lately. Oh, shit. “Patrick!”

  Julian bolted for the stairs, but Jack caught him by the back of his jeans. “Thirty more seconds,” Jack said firmly, dragging him over to the closest wardrobe. He pulled out a T-shirt—Jack’s, it happened to be his closet—and unfolded it, tugging it neatly down over Julian’s head.

  “What?”

  Jack traced the edge of the bruise on his shoulder-blade gently through the soft cotton. “You don’t really want Patrick seeing that, do you?”

  What? Julian must still have looked confused, because Jack said, “He’
s going to ask you how that got there, Jitterbug, and you’re a shitty liar, especially when it comes to Patrick. He and Brad are going to have enough problems as it is; we’re not going to add to their troubles. Now let’s go.”

  They thundered down the stairs just in time to see Roy brandishing the phone at Patrick. “You stay right there until the police get here! Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  “Is this guy for real?” Patrick asked out of the corner of his mouth. He was white-faced and white-knuckled. Julian knew he’d really connected with Hallie, as he tended to do with kids. Just a few days ago they had bonded over popcorn and cheesy movies.

  “Unfortunately,” Julian answered. Once upon a time he would have curled his hand up into Patrick’s for mutual support. He never got the chance, though, because Patrick beat him to it.

  “You know that’s a phone and not a gun, right?” Jack put in.

  Roy didn’t seem to notice them at all. “Who is this man? He shows up here out of nowhere and suddenly the whole town is under his spell. Now my daughter is, is gone, and where the hell has this vagrant been all day?”

  Screwing Brad, probably, Julian thought.

  “This is ridiculous.”

  “I’ll say,” Patrick snarled, bristling. “I’m a cop, asshole. Here’s a statistic for you. Seventy-five percent of child abductions are by family members or close friends.”

  Without speaking, Julian went for Patrick’s arms as Jack restrained Roy. It was a good thing Patrick’s shoulder was injured, or Julian would have had no chance at holding him back. Julian didn’t hear Roy’s angry retort, but he didn’t need to. Patrick was snarling and struggling against his arms, and he needed all of his concentration and strength just to keep him from lunging across the room at the other man.

  “Patrick! You’re going to set your recovery back by weeks! Stop struggling; it’s not worth it!”