Accidental Roots The Series Volume 1: an mm romantic suspense box set

by Elle Keaton

  I am in way too deep, he thought. Way too deep.

  That night they left the connecting door between the bedrooms open. Regardless of Joey’s banter earlier in the day, there was no suggestion of sexy times, no talk of the crazy day or how it had ended. They were too wrung out, too tired, too overwhelmed. Instead, they quietly tucked Kon in together and waited for him to fall asleep with Xena curled protectively at his feet. She eyed them with suspicion. Apparently, the day’s antics had gotten them on her shit list. Who knew a dog could hold a grudge?

  With the light off, they padded back into their room, and fell quickly into bed, letting sleep claim them. Buck had a nightmare in the dark hours, and Joey roused enough to caress his cheek and wrap himself tightly around Buck’s big body, doing what he could to protect him from invisible fears. Morpheus kept his tight hold on them until early morning when two more bodies joined them. They had been forgiven, by the boy and the dog.

  Thirty-Four

  When he tried to stretch out, Buck discovered he was pinned against the bedroom wall, and not in a good way, either. Sometime during the night he had switched to the inside spot, and Joey was dead asleep, sweaty, crushed against him. Xena lay splayed out at their feet, and Kon was curled into a little ball on the other side of Joey, under a blanket he must have dragged with him from the other room. The dog somehow had the best spot. Buck tried not to groan, but now that he was fully awake he could swear he felt each of his muscles cramping one by one from the ridiculous position he had slept in. He didn’t want to wake Joey or Kon, but this bed was going to be the death of him.

  After waiting as long as he could—probably only a few minutes—he tried to sit up without waking the bed’s other occupants. No such luck. Xena popped up to stand on the bed, stepping on someone (not Buck) in the process. There was groaning. Joey whimpered into his pillow and Kon rolled onto his side, staring at both of them grumpily. The sleepy glare was pretty cute. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “waffles” and plunked out of the bed, taking his blanket with him.

  Maybe Buck was getting better at this stealth stuff. After setting Kon up in the kitchen with Brandon, the self-appointed waffle king, he gathered his coat and car keys before stepping quickly outside. Sheila was parked in front of the house. As quietly as possible, he unlocked the car, put it in neutral, and released the parking brake. Once the car was rolling down the incline he jumped back in and started it at the end of the drive.

  Turning the corner onto his block, Buck felt an enormous sense of relief as his house came into view. He needed to be home so he could think. His home had been his sanctuary ever since he purchased it. Parking Sheila on the street, because he had managed to amass several cars in his driveway over the past weeks, he gratefully let himself inside.

  He’d been awake less than two hours, but Buck was exhausted, physically and emotionally. He divested himself of his coat, boots, wallet, and phone as he walked toward his bedroom. By the time he reached his room he had his socks off and jeans unbuttoned. He may have heard Miguel call down the stairs asking if he was okay, but he didn’t reply. Shutting his door, a universal signal for his housemate to leave him alone, he collapsed onto his bed, pulled the covers up and over his head, and closed his eyes against the world.

  He drifted along in a waking dream state for nearly two days. Miguel tapped on his door a couple of times but respected Buck’s grunts of “Go away.” He’d sunk to a low of sneaking to the bathroom in the dark of night to avoid conversation. He knew he should eat; he wasn’t hungry. There was too much crap floating around in his head.

  A nonstop loop of his fist smashing against Andriy’s face played when he shut his eyes. When he slept he dreamed of his father, of things forgotten or not thought of in years. In the kitchen or garage, his father bellowing at him, red-faced and venomous, looming, holding him against a counter and punching him in the stomach, twisting his arm until Buck cried out, proving he was a crybaby after all. All these things he had tried to forget lay in wait for him awake or asleep. He wished he could drink to forget, but he couldn’t even do that, he didn’t like the way it made him feel.

  The cruelest memories involved his mother. Her vacant face, vacant body. Vacant self. In his head he railed against her, demanding an answer for her ennui. Why had she stayed to watch his humiliation, then left once they were safe from his father’s anger forever? Buck tried to remember her as something other than a pale shadow, a wisp of a human being, a wraith. He couldn’t. The oldest memories he conjured were washed out, overexposed, false smiles and mocking laughter.

  The loop would restart. He would see his fist morphing into his father’s fist and hitting both Andriy and his mother.

  Nothing screams “broken” like a grown man who can’t get out of bed and deal with real life. A dead man had broken him; he was damaged goods. He stayed in bed. But he tried not to sleep. The dreams about his father were bad enough, but there was worse.

  Dreaming about Joey was excruciating. In Buck’s dreams he kept trying to explain that he was damaged, a coward, no good, useless, good for nothing. Joey wouldn’t listen. He kept saying Buck was beautiful, Buck was everything he wanted, Buck was brave and strong. Buck became more and more agitated. Joey wouldn’t listen, didn’t understand how important it was for him to listen, to hear him. How afraid he was of hurting Joey.

  The sound of his own sobbing woke him up.

  Thirty-Five

  Wow, now Joey knew what betrayal really felt like. By the time he got downstairs, after a much-needed shower, Buck had left. Left without saying goodbye. Just left. The day, which had started out hopeful enough, turned as dismal as the clouds snagged along the horizon. Yesterday’s sunshine, today’s monochrome filter. Yay, and all that shit.

  Kon was beside himself. In just a short time the boy had become very attached to Buck. Joey didn’t know how to explain why Buck had gone when he didn’t understand himself. Trying to hide his own disappointment at the turn of events, he concentrated on trying to distract Kon as well as help Brandon clean up the waffle explosion.

  He’d always liked Brandon. A few years older than Joey, his practical jokes had been legend at their high school. Joey’d even heard a rumor that he was bi. Not something you went around asking, but Joey thought it rang true. There was something in the way he watched people, all people, that pinged Joey. Like there was a light in everyone only he could see. Stephanie had snagged a good one.

  “He didn’t say anything?” Joey asked again.

  “Nope. Hung out for a few minutes, then he was gone.”

  “Oh. Okay.” He turned to go, maybe call someone to come and get him. Who, he didn’t know. Someone.

  Brandon stopped him. “He didn’t hesitate, you know.”

  “What?”

  “When that guy grabbed you. By the time we got into the building, he must have had you in the car. Buck didn’t stop; he searched the whole building. If he’d known where you were—well, he would have gotten there first.”

  So much had happened that it had slipped Joey’s mind he had been abducted. In retrospect it seemed like the least important thing that had happened over the last few days.

  Eventually he called his mom to come and pick him up. She wasn’t worried; someone from Adam’s team had called to let her know Joey was all right. He still didn’t know what story they had concocted. He was ridiculously glad to see her bright-red CRV turn up the driveway. He and his mom were close; it had always been the two of them causing havoc. His poor dad must have felt he was trying to plug a leak with tissue paper when Joey and Maureen devised a plan together. She had always been one of his closest friends.

  And then there was Kon.

  While Xena whirled around like a dervish (Joey couldn’t help but wonder why she was allowed in the house while the other canine thugs weren’t), Kon stood shyly in the kitchen doorway. The other kids, long tired of kitchen shenanigans, had gone out to the barn to play with the big dogs; Stephanie and Sammy had promised
them some sort of game. Sveta pretended reluctance, but Joey noticed she didn’t lag when they all trooped out the door.

  “And who is this handsome young man?” Maureen asked Joey, looking at Kon.

  Kon seemed to be sizing up Maureen. He looked at Joey and then Maureen and asked a question Joey didn’t understand, but judging by the way Kon was looking at the two of them Joey nodded; he hadn’t fallen far from the tree.

  “My mother, Maureen. Mom, this is Konstantin.”

  “Hello, Konstantin, it’s lovely to meet you.”

  So, in the entranceway of Brandon and Stephanie’s farmhouse, Maureen learned the sordid story behind Kon and the other kids. Joey tried to leave out the worst details and did not add his suspicion that a local church was involved, although knowing his mother she would come to that conclusion on her own. He also skirted around how he’d gotten involved, just mumbling something about work.

  They moved to the kitchen table so Joey could finish his tale of seeing Andriy at the old Hansen place and how Buck had been a hero and stopped him from hurting anyone else. He didn’t think the finer details of that part of the day needed to be repeated anytime soon. Kon listened the entire time, his head cocked to the side like he was trying to translate what they were saying. Joey suspected he understood enough.

  It was Maureen who solved one of Joey’s concerns.

  “Konstantin, may I talk to Joey for a moment?”

  And that was how Kon, Xena, and Joey ended up together in Joey’s childhood home.

  “Sweetheart, I have a foster-care license; surely if there was ever a time to use it . . .” she’d said. Joey had no argument. Brandon had called Micah, who put Adam on the phone. Who then had Brandon put Maureen on the phone. It was a circus. Then Adam’s boss was roped in and he, too, had to talk to both Maureen and Joey about safety, how Kon might eventually have to testify, how this would have to be classified as “emergency placement” for now. Mohammad had an incredibly sexy voice; Joey wished he had a reason to talk to him longer.

  His mom and dad had gotten foster-care certified while Joey was in high school. With Joey finally leaving the nest they had wanted to provide shelter for kids with no resources. Obviously his dad was no longer able, but Maureen hadn’t let hers expire. After hearing about Buck’s childhood Joey was more thankful than ever for the care and acceptance his parents had showered him with, and doubly glad Kon would get some of it, too. By the time all the discussions were complete and they got home it was evening and they were all tired. Maureen had Kon pick one of the rooms on the first floor, close to her own, promising through words and gestures that Kon would be safe in the house and yes, Xena could sleep with him.

  Regardless, Joey felt nervous being two flights of stairs away, so he set himself up on the sofa in the living room. The thing had been in the family for years; some of the lumps dated back to when his sisters and brother were in the house. Comfortable or not, after they ate a makeshift dinner of leftover vegetable soup and sliced ham, Joey sacked out.

  Sleep did not claim him as he’d hoped. As soon as the house was quiet around him his brain shifted into overdrive. Why had Buck left like that this morning? Joey thought they’d had a connection. He knew Buck had a connection with Kon, and yet he’d left. Like a thief in the night, except it had been broad daylight as Brandon watched him coast down to the main road. Had Joey pushed too hard?

  The word boyfriends slithered into his brain. Guys he’d dated in the past had complained he expected too much, too soon. Wanted too much. He didn’t think it was too much to want what his parents had. What his mom had encouraged him to look for.

  “Jesus, Joey, why are you pushing so hard to fit the heteronormative mold of what a relationship is? It’s a trap. Us gays, we’re lucky; we practically have an obligation to keep it wild,” Marcus had said as he walked away from Joey for the last time.

  His words had cut deeply. Joey hated the stupid homonormative what-the-fuck-ever that many gay men accepted; he thought they were the ones missing the fucking point. Romantic relationships could be whatever the participants wanted. Being forced to live outside of accepted society for so long had created a culture where gay men were only allowed to want one thing. Wasn’t that the same kind of pressure there was on straight couples to get married and have kids?

  The next day he borrowed his mom’s car. First, he replaced his cell phone, feeling a glugging sound from his savings, and then he checked in with work only to discover he wasn’t expected in for another three days and, somehow, this time off was fully paid. What kind of magic wand did Adam Klay—or, maybe, Adam’s boss—have? After chatting with his charge nurse for a few minutes he hung up, feeling at loose ends. He drove by Buck’s shop, the excuse that he needed to ask about his car rattling around like dice in his head. Even if they weren’t seeing each other, he needed to sort that out, right?

  The shop was dark. Joey parked in front of the garage and got out to peek in the window. There was no note on the door saying “Back soon”; the place was quiet and undisturbed by any human activity. Where were Buck and Miguel? Joey had some pride; he wasn’t going to chase after someone who disappeared without saying anything. But . . . why would the shop be closed?

  Before he talked himself out of it, he got back into his borrowed car and drove to Buck’s house. The house was almost as dark as the garage. Trying, but failing, not to feel like a stalker while driving past at five miles an hour, Joey gleaned nothing from the outside except that the holiday lights Buck had put up were still hanging from the eaves.

  He drove home.

  He sat in the driveway listening to the tick of the engine as it cooled, feeling frustrated and . . . angry. Angry with himself; once again he’d fallen into his own honey trap. Except, Jesus, he hadn’t had time to do anything stupid. He’d been running all over town and the county at the beck and call of a bunch of mobsters. Joey wanted to bang his head against the steering wheel, but he didn’t need another bruise on his face; the black eye was just reaching its peak of rainbow hues.

  “Hey, Mom.” Maureen was in the kitchen with Kon. Xena was on the outside of the sliding glass door looking wistful, her tail wagging slowly. “What are you two up to?”

  “We are teaching each other words.” She picked up the teaspoon sitting in front of her. “Spoon.”

  “Spoon,” Kon repeated. Then, “Lozhka.”

  Maureen repeated, “Lozhka.”

  Joey rolled his eyes. He could see they were fully engaged, with no interest in his input, not that he had any. He let Xena in and they left the two in the kitchen, his mom’s soft voice and Kon’s higher-pitched one following them as they tromped upstairs.

  Still restless after a steamy shower, some sulking in his room, and changing into something less “I feel pathetically sorry for myself,” Joey snapped Xena’s leash on. She danced with joy. They both needed to get out of the house. So what if the walk took them in the direction of Buck’s home.

  Even as he turned to walk down Buck’s street Joey knew he was being pathetic and that the best course of action would have been to stay home. If Buck wanted Joey, he knew where he lived and worked.

  Miguel was dragging a huge green trash can from the street to the side yard. One-handed. Joey dashed over.

  “Let me help you with that.” Joey grabbed the handle of the wheeled monstrosity and pulled it to the fence. “How’s the hand?”

  Miguel looked at his still-bandaged hand in disgust. “Fine, I guess. Itches like fuck.”

  Xena pulled toward the house; she remembered being there. She probably smelled Buck. This had been a worse idea than he’d considered. Miguel scratched her on the head.

  “You here for Buck?”

  “Uh, I was just kind of out for a walk?”

  “Are you asking me? Looked like you were out for a walk that ended up here. Come inside.” Joey and Xena followed Miguel inside. Why not?

  Miguel turned to him, a serious expression shadowing his handsome face. “Look, I don’t int
erfere, but Buck’s been holed up in his room since he got back. Somebody needs to talk to him. As far as I can tell he hasn’t even left for food. I’m gonna try and cook something, and you’re gonna try and get him to come out of there, all right?”

  Joey’s inner turmoil vanished. His mom constantly harped on him; her favorite phrase was “Don’t borrow trouble.” He had been borrowing it for so long he was going to have to pay a late fee. For almost two days he’d been sitting around imagining why Buck had gone AWOL, now was his chance to find out.

  He left Xena in the kitchen sniffing around and cleaning invisible morsels off the floor.

  “Buck is second door on the right, past the bathroom,” Miguel called after him.

  He tapped softly on the door, and when he heard a quiet mumble he pretended it was an invitation to come in. The room was dark; the heavy curtains shut out any light January might have brought to the day. Buck’s bed, a huge king-sized island, was shoved into the far corner, leaving a modest amount of floor space.

  Buck himself was a lump, his back to the door. Joey wasn’t certain Buck had heard him knock after all. Maybe it had been his overactive imagination. After toeing his shoes off and tossing his jacket onto a chair next to the closet, Joey sat carefully on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly beneath his weight.

  “Hey,” he whispered.

  Buck didn’t answer. Reaching out, Joey ran his hand along the back of Buck’s shoulder and neck. Buck’s body trembled beneath Joey’s light touch.

  “Hey,” Joey repeated.

  A deep sigh escaped Buck. He turned onto his back, and Joey could see the toll of the past few days, of whatever had been eating at him. His face was gaunt and pale; exhaustion haunted his eyes. He may have been in bed, but he hadn’t been sleeping. Joey’s body grew hot. God, he was pathetic, getting worked up over a visibly upset, unwashed man.

  “I think I need to talk to somebody.”