No Shame: The Complete Series: Including exclusive bonus materials and deleted scenes

by Phoenix, Nora

  But fuck, he should have thought first. You couldn’t say shit like that without people thinking you meant it as an invitation. Best case scenario, you were considered a damn cocktease and worst case scenario, well, he’d lived through that already, hadn’t he?

  He couldn’t understand how so much had changed in such a short time. Only weeks ago he’d been living as a woman, focused on staying alive, and he had shrunk away from anybody touching him. Now he was living with two guys, and he craved touch, Noah’s above all. It was as if his mind and body had been awakened, set free after a long imprisonment. He felt so alive with Noah, so fucking wanted and safe. And horny.

  Holy fuck, he’d never been so horny in his life. He was hard half the day, just thinking about Noah or being in his presence. Those powerful muscles, that big, dominant body, the way he saw straight to Indy’s soul—it all turned him on.

  Yet he’d kept Noah at a distance until today, at least physically. Every time he was tempted to give in, to crawl on Noah’s big body and give in to that maddening desire to be fucked by the beautiful man, he held back. Noah wanted him something fierce, Indy didn’t doubt that anymore. And the man clearly didn’t give a shit about the scars on his back.

  But the scars on the inside, that was a different story. Once Noah found out how fucked up Indy was, the things he had done, what he was running from—there was no way he’d still love him.

  Wait, love? Want. Noah wants you. He hasn’t spoken of love, has he? You’re delusional if you think this man could ever love a fuck-up like you.

  Indy studied Noah, who was lying on the couch, engrossed in something he was watching on his iPad while Indy was pretending to read in one of the chairs. Did Noah love him?

  The thought froze his veins. Nobody had ever loved him. That wasn’t a whiny I-feel-so-sorry-for-myself assessment. It was the fucking truth. His mom had been too fucked up to be capable of love, a fact he’d known since he was young and had seen confirmed when she’d handed him over to Duncan.

  And Duncan, that fucking piece of shit, had no idea what love was. Had he given Indy a sliver of warmth, of attention, of kindness, Indy would have done anything for him. Even after all the shit Duncan had put him through, he would have stayed had Duncan appreciated him even a tiny bit. But even that had been too much to ask. The guy had sold him out to the devil without a hint of remorse.

  Nobody else had even come close to caring, not until he’d met Josh and Noah. He found it difficult to believe their kindness had no ulterior motive, that they weren’t after anything else, wanted nothing back in return. But even though he still didn’t understand, he realized it was true. Josh had selflessly given him a blow job, and Noah had jacked him off, not even attempting to fuck him. Indy had sat on his fucking lap, naked and talking dirty, and the guy had still not made a move.

  Could someone with that much honor and discipline ever love a fucked-up, broken kid like Indy? No fucking way. Noah loved Josh and he might be a basket case, but they knew each other before Josh got messed up. There was no way someone as strong as Noah would ever understand how seriously fucked up Indy was, and how he made the choices he had.

  No, if Noah loved him, or was starting to love him, it was because he didn’t know any better. Once he discovered what Indy had done, who he truly was, that love would be gone in an instant. Fuck, nobody wanted to be with a son of a whore who’d turned into a whore himself. Because that’s what he had been, Duncan’s whore. Except he hadn’t gotten the money that was paid for him—his mother had. No, Indy was fucked up beyond restoration, and nowhere near good enough for a man like Noah. Noah deserved better, so much better.

  Which is why Indy couldn’t let him come any closer. And he certainly couldn’t let Noah fuck him, because he’d be so screwed after that. How could he ever walk away after sharing what was bound to be such an incredible experience? He couldn’t, he wouldn’t be able to.

  One day, he'd have to. Someday, somehow, Duncan would find him, and Indy would have to disappear all over again. There was no way in hell he was getting Noah involved in this. If Duncan ever found him, he would take down anything and everyone near Indy. Every day he stayed with Noah and Josh, he was putting them in danger.

  Soon. He'd have to leave soon. Oh, God. All he wanted was a little more time to feel seen, cared for. Loved.

  “Indy?” Noah asked, yanking Indy from his thoughts. “You okay?”

  Indy focused. Noah was looking at him with concern. “Yeah. What’s next, boss?”

  13

  Noah’s body was draped in a comfy chair in the doctor’s lounge. He was bone-tired after a long and busy shift, rubbing his eyes furiously. Thank God he only had half an hour left. Kneading the sore muscles in his neck, he sighed. He was so tired of this. All of it. It wasn’t just his stump—though that was still bothering him way more than he’d hoped—but the constant adrenaline that came with working in the ER. It had bugged him in the army, driving him to drink way more than he should have, and it took a toll on him here as well. Plus, the situation with Indy didn’t help his mood, either.

  Four weeks.

  It had been over four fucking weeks.

  He’d never been the most patient guy on the planet. He was a diagnose-it-and-fix-it guy who preferred to tackle problems head-on and kept pushing until he'd found a solution. But he was getting a crash course in patience now.

  Four weeks, Indy had been staying with them. A full month and Noah still didn’t know jack shit about him. To be more precise, he didn’t know jack shit about Indy’s background or what or whom he was hiding from.

  He’d learned tons of other things, like Indy being passionate about football—he’d let loose a string of imaginative curses last Sunday when the ref had made a call against the Pats that had cost them the game. He was eager to learn how to cook, following Josh like a little puppy in the kitchen whenever Josh was fixing something. Noah had found out how disciplined Indy was. Once his cast was off, Indy had resumed a full workout regime including 10k runs and as many jiujitsu training sessions as he could fit in. Josh had driven him to the studio when Noah was at work since Indy had indicated he preferred not to drive himself. Noah had asked Josh how Kent had acted, but after the initial surprise that Indy had shown up with another guy, the man had been okay.

  He’d discovered tons of small things, like that Indy was ticklish, hated broccoli, didn’t drink coffee, and loved country music. But he had made no progress in getting Indy to trust him. He’d hoped that day of bossing him around had helped, but even after sharing that mind-blowing experience in the shower, Indy had stayed aloof.

  Indy hadn’t so much as kissed Noah again, though his eyes always followed him, studying him—and more than once Noah had found Indy looking at him with clear desire in his eyes. Something was keeping Indy back, but what was it?

  Noah had done everything in his power to show him Indy could trust him, that he had a tight grip on his control. What the fuck did he want before deciding to trust and take the next step? He’d hoped that Indy would feel safe enough by now to share something, anything. Where he was from, for instance. Noah’s money was still on Boston—Indy’s accent was undeniable, and it was getting stronger by the day.

  The door to the lounge burst open and Owens, his attending, dashed in. “Flint, incoming trauma. Shooting with multiple victims, including two cops.”

  Fuck. Excellent timing, as always.

  “On my way.”

  The adrenaline blazed through him as he made his way through the hallways. In the distance, multiple ambulances wailed, rushing to deliver their loads at the hospital.

  “Where do you want me?” he asked.

  Owens, a blunt, but highly skilled ER doctor, pointed. “Trauma 2. You run the protocol. Winans will assist you.”

  “You want me to run the protocol?”

  “That’s what I said, isn’t it? You’ve seen more trauma and gunshot wounds than all of us combined, Flint. You could do this in your sleep.”

 
Noah nodded, squaring his shoulders. It felt damn good to be trusted like this, even if he had to take that arrogant shit Winans as an assistant. The guy was an intern, but he still thought he was way above Noah because Noah was ‘only’ a physician assistant. Luckily, Owens didn’t care much for Winans either.

  The doors to the ambulance bay opened, and EMTs wheeled the first stretcher in.

  “GSW to the chest and abdomen,” the EMT announced. A young guy thrashed around, restricted by the handcuffs that bound him to the stretcher.

  “Trauma 1. I’ll take this one, you take the next,” Owens ordered Noah. “Have them come get me if you need help.”

  “They’re right behind us. Police officer,” the EMT shouted over his shoulder, hurriedly wheeling the stretcher into Trauma 1.

  “Okay guys, get ready,” Noah said, stretching his neck and shoulders. Fuck, despite the adrenaline he was still dead tired. This had better go well. Especially with a cop. No room for errors there.

  The doors slid open.

  “GSW to the left shoulder. He keeps passing out. BP low, but steady,” a female EMT called out.

  Noah pointed. “Trauma 2. We’re ready for him.”

  She wheeled him in, assisted by her partner. Noah and his team followed.

  “On my count,” Noah said, grabbing one corner of the sheet. His intern and two nurses grabbed the other corners. “One, two, three.”

  They transferred the man onto the bed. He was Latino, fit, late twenties.

  “How are you doing there, Officer?” Noah asked, his hands immediately exploring the gunshot wound to the guy’s shoulder. The man was pale. Sweaty, but awake. For now, at least. Figueras, his name tag said.

  “Did someone call my wife?” the cop grunted, his voice barely audible.

  Noah looked at Maddie, one of the nurses, for confirmation.

  “I don’t know. His partner came in with him,” she said. “I’ll ask him to step in for a minute.”

  “We’ll get right on it,” Noah said to Figueras, but the cop had passed out again.

  “Linda, cut off his uniform so we can see what we’re dealing with and run a trauma panel after that. Winans,” he barked at his intern, “Get his vitals hooked up. I’m not liking his color, so get me some info.”

  The door opened behind Noah, but he didn’t look up from his patient, studying him. They’d hooked up a large bore IV in the field, but he might need another one.

  “Isn’t that a nurse’s job?” Winans objected.

  Noah was so done with the kid’s attitude. “Get out,” he ordered without even looking at him.

  “What?”

  “I’m not gonna repeat myself.”

  “Listen, you’re just a PA. You can’t boss me around,” Winans said with an arrogance that made Noah’s blood boil. An asshole like him wouldn’t have lasted a week in the sandpit, let alone in the CSH—the combat surgical hospital Noah had spent a lot of time in.

  “I know you’re some army veteran or something,” Winans continued, “but that doesn’t mean you can treat people like this. I’m a doctor, and I don’t do nurses’ work.”

  Noah’s vision went red, but before he could do anything, Winans was taken by his coat lapels and half lifted off the floor.

  “Listen, you arrogant little shit. That’s my partner bleeding out on that table, and instead of doing your fucking job, you’re complaining. And that army veteran you insulted is a decorated war hero who saved countless lives until he paid the price. Show him the fucking respect he deserves. He gave you an order, now get the fuck out of his trauma room.”

  Everyone watched in stunned silence as O’Connor—Noah had recognized his voice even before he had seen him—dressed down Winans. When O’Connor let go of his coat, Winans whimpered and ran out of the room.

  O’Connor had looked Noah up, huh? How else would he have known all those details? Why would he have been so interested in knowing more about Noah? There could only be one reason. Josh.

  Noah had done his own little digging on O’Connor, of course. Sergeant Ignatius Sean O’Connor had quite the career in the Marines until he’d received an honorable discharge after an incident that was kept under wraps. Not even his former CO had been able to get the records on that one—and Noah had damn well tried.

  “Thanks, sergeant,” Noah said, turning back to his patient. His hands checked the bullet wound, probing the entrance site for shrapnel. “Linda, can you hook up another large bore IV? We may need to get more fluids in.”

  “Pardon my language,” O’Connor said.

  “It’s nothing we haven’t heard before,” Linda said with a sideways glance at Noah, while preparing the IV.

  Noah shrugged. “The military isn’t known for its delicate way with words. Turn him on his side. I need to see the exit wound.”

  Hands reached out and Figueras was lifted. Noah’s fingers probed the exit wound on his back. It felt clean.

  “His BP is dropping, but slowly. Pulse is thready,” Maddie said.

  “How is he?” O’Connor asked, his voice dripping with concern.

  “He asked for his wife. Has she been informed?”

  “Her escort is under way. She shouldn’t drive.”

  Noah nodded in agreement. He studied his patient again. Something was off. “The wound looks like a through and through, but I don’t like his vitals, and he’s too pale for the amount of blood he lost. Are you sure he was shot only once?”

  “No. We were ambushed and bullets were flying everywhere. It was like being down range.”

  “Did he lose a lot of blood before the medics got there?”

  “No. I put pressure on the wound almost immediately.”

  Noah eyed O’Connor for a second, noticing a faint trace of blood on the man’s bulging neck.

  “Bring in the portable. I want a full set of scans: arms, chest, legs, everywhere,” he ordered the nurses. “We’re missing something.”

  He stepped back as Linda strode into the connecting trauma room to get the portable and rolled it in. He studied O’Connor. The slow trickle of blood on the neck didn’t worry him, but O’Connor looked tense and pale. His uniform jacket was sieved with small holes.

  “O’Connor,” he said. “You got grazed in the neck. Anywhere else?”

  O’Connor’s mouth set. “I’m fine.”

  “I didn’t ask if you were fine, I asked where else you got hit. Your uniform looks like a fucking target practice sheet.”

  Their eyes met, a wordless battle of two strong minds. Noah would win, he had no doubt, as he had never backed down when someone was hurt.

  O’Connor finally surrendered, his jaw locked tight. “My chest and back. Probably fragments of concrete from the pavement when the bullets hit.”

  “Step out,” Noah ordered.

  “I’m not leaving my partner.”

  Noah raised his eyebrows. “That was an order, sergeant.”

  When he saw O’Connor’s honest concern for his partner, he softened his tone. “You can’t be in the room when they run scans, you know that. Radiation. Step outside with me.”

  They walked into the hallway, O’Connor moving with care. Noah rubbed his leg, leaning against the faint yellow wall. Too many hours standing again. The stump was throbbing and burning like a motherfucker right now underneath the liner and prosthetic sock. Didn’t matter, he had a job to do.

  “What’s Officer’s Figueras’s first name?”

  “Manuel.”

  “You guys been partners long?”

  “Little over a year.”

  O’Connor was not exactly a chatterbox, was he? Well, he was hurt, worried about his partner, and probably half in shock from the shooting. Noah would give him a pass this time.

  “We’re done,” Linda announced, gesturing for Noah to step back in.

  Noah moved close to O’Connor, deliberately getting in his face. “You can go back in, but you’re parking your ass in a chair. I can appreciate that you’re not leaving your partner. You’re a tough
S.O.B., and I respect that, but you’re more hurt than you let on, and there will be no passing out in my trauma room. So hang in there, and I’ll check you out when I’m done.”

  “Yes, sir,” O’Connor answered without hesitation.

  Noah smiled.

  That smile was immediately wiped off his face when he walked back in and saw the scans. Well, fuck. At least his instincts had been spot-on.

  “Page vascular, surgery, and call the OR. Tell them we’re sending him up right now,” he ordered, his face tight.

  Shit, this was going to be close. He unhooked the man’s monitors himself when Maddie and Linda didn’t respond right away.

  “You’re supposed to wait for the surgery consult. As a PA you can’t sign off on surgery,” Linda said.

  “We don’t have time. A bullet fragment traveled down his bloodstream and has nicked an artery in his abdomen. He’s bleeding out on the inside. He’s going up, now!”

  Linda and Maddie looked at each other, then apparently decided obeying would be the wisest course of action. Noah kicked the bed brakes loose and wheeled the guy out of the room. He stumbled when his prosthetic leg hit a chair, cursed as he managed to stay upright. Motherfucking leg.

  He spotted an ER resident, Dave, in the hallway. He was a good guy, always willing to lend a hand.

  “Dave, can you bring him up?” he called out, pointing to Figueras. “I have another patient.” Dave nodded, came running, and Noah let go of the bed. Thank God he didn’t have to do the run upstairs, because he wasn’t sure his leg would have held him.

  He half limped back into the trauma room, where O’Connor was still sitting in the chair, sweating profusely by now.

  “Is he going to be okay?” O’Connor asked.

  “I hope so. I think we caught it in time.”

  “You caught it in time,” O’Connor said.

  Noah held up his hands. “Don’t go there. It’s my job. Let’s find you a bed so we can check you out. You’re not looking so peachy, O’Connor.”

  “Connor. Call me Connor.”

  Noah nodded. He checked his watch. Damn. His shift had been over half an hour ago, and he wasn’t anywhere near done. Josh had been wiped after his therapy session today. Noah had heard it in his voice when they’d spoken on the phone earlier. Josh needed his sleep, but he couldn’t sleep until Noah got home. Another reason why Noah resented this job. He needed something with more regular hours, so it would be easier on Josh.