Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Channon liked flying. He didn't care for airports, particularly, but that feeling of the plane taking off, the sudden change between ‘plane on the runway' and ‘plane definitely in the air' made his gut tingle.

When he expressed this to Nate on their flight to Dallas, however, Nate said, "You could take flying lessons."

Channon stared at him. "Me? Why?"

Nate grinned. "Because you can afford it and it sounds like fun. You could buy a Cessna."

It sounded absolutely ridiculous. Channon's chest ached at the thought of it. "Ewan would make fun of me forever."

"Sure, but he's not the boss of you." Still, Nate let it go. "Excited about the conference?"

"Not excited, really," Channon confessed. "Nervous, I guess."

"About what? Worried people won't like you? Won't make any friends?"

It gave Channon an involuntary shudder. "Well, I wasn't before," he said. But then he shook his head. "I just…sometimes I want to ask questions, but I don't want to risk sounding stupid. You know."

Nate nodded. "Relatable."

"I can't imagine you ever worrying about that," Channon said, eyeing Nate sidelong. "You don't seem worried about anything."

"I have absorbed a lot of California chill, that's true," Nate said, seemingly unaffected by this statement. He'd stowed his phone and laptop, and now his fingers tapped restlessly on his leg. "But I remember the first few times Jack and I tried to talk to investors, way back when. I was worried they'd think I was a hack, or a fraud."

"So what happened?"

Nate flashed him a white, shark-like grin. "I realized I wasn't the only one. It's like masculinity," he went on, absently doing hand stretches Channon recognized from the OSHA card at his own desk. "We're all out here putting up this front, terrified of being found out. But if everyone's pretending, there's no use in worrying about it. Anyway, now I let Jack do all the blustering. He enjoys it."

It didn't seem like bluster to Channon, but Jack certainly projected a sort of confidence that was bigger than any one man could really be. Channon couldn't deny that he found that attractive, but more than that, Channon loved seeing the Jack that existed in private, a different sort of confidence. Sir, Channon thought, smiling to himself over it. His Sir, and his alone.

Or not entirely his alone. There was a part of Jack that belonged in some way to Nate. Channon was aware of this though he couldn't fully articulate it—Jack and Nate were a unit, an entity that existed in conjunction with what Jack and Channon were together. Channon tried to picture a Venn diagram of it, but it didn't quite work. Still, it was true. Nate had access to parts of Jack that Channon didn't.

He wondered if that should bother him. The fact that it didn't felt oddly unsurprising. In much the same way that Jack encouraged Channon to have sex with people who weren't Jack, Channon realized that he wanted Jack to have this thing he had with Nate, a closeness and understanding that was different from the one between Jack and himself.

And it was fine because Nate wasn't a threat to him. Channon couldn't imagine Nate ever being a threat to what he had with Jack. But then, Channon couldn't imagine himself being a threat to what Jack had with Nate, either, so that seemed fair enough.

When they landed in Dallas, there was a driver waiting for them. Nate chatted breezily with the guy, finding out all the best places to eat or drink or see live music as if he really was on holiday. Channon played Yankai's Peak on his phone, not really listening.

At the hotel, after check in, Nate said, "Are you headed to the dinner tonight?"

Channon shook his head. "Isn't that for, like, VIPs?"

"It's for whoever can afford a ticket," Nate told him, grinning. "But I guess you're on a budget, huh? Maybe you don't have a nice enough suit."

"Oh, sure," Channon said, trying to keep a straight face. "Yeah, I can't afford stuff like that."

Nate nodded sagely. "Too bad. But I'm guessing you aren't allowed to eat half the things on the menu anyway."

This was actually true. "I hear room service has green juice," Channon said, which made Nate chuckle.

They were on the same floor, but when Channon went to go on down the corridor, Nate stopped him.

"Jack wanted me to give you this," he said with a wolfish grin. ‘This' was a long box with a plain, black exterior. It felt hefty and sort of solid, nothing rattling inside.

Foam padded, Channon decided. He eyed it doubtfully. "Do I even want to know what's in here?"

Nate laughed. "Oh, I bet you do. Don't open it yet," Nate warned, mock serious. "I was told you had to have permission."

A familiar prickle of anticipation sparked in Channon's belly. Whatever it was, Nate knew. And Nate thought he'd like it. Or hate it. Either way, it wasn't going to be something insignificant. Channon had his suspicions, but he just nodded and asked if Nate needed him for anything.

Nate dismissed him with a wave. "No, you go have fun."

That really didn't ease Channon's suspicions. He took the box to his own room and set it on the bedside table, where it taunted him.

Channon's room was a suite of rooms, actually. Not fancy enough to make him super uncomfortable, but enough that he called Jack straight away, while he was still unpacking.

"Hey, sweetheart. How was the flight?" Jack asked.

"Good. They had kale chips," Channon told him, hanging up his jacket to keep it from wrinkling.

"A-plus service," Jack said with amusement.

Channon went to the window and looked out. The sky was dark already, but the city was lit up like Christmas. "Sir," he said deliberately. "When you said Cynthia would book my room for me, did you get her to upgrade it?"

"Do you like it?" Jack asked, a smile clear in his voice.

Channon picked up what he thought might be a fig and sniffed it. "There's a fruit basket."

"You're allowed to eat fruit."

It deserved an eyeroll. Channon bit his lip. "I don't think fruit baskets are, like, a standard part of the employee training accommodation package."

This made Jack laugh softly. "No, they probably aren't. Send it back if you don't want it."

Well, Channon wasn't going to do that, even if he wasn't sure how to eat fresh figs in the first place. "I'll keep it. Thank you, Sir. Um…" He hesitated.

"Yeah?"

"Nate gave me something. He said I had to ask you for permission to open it."

This time, Jack's laugh was deeper and a fair bit more suggestive. "You don't have permission yet."

Oh god, that made it so much worse. But Channon knew better than to argue. "Okay, Sir."

"What are your plans for this evening?" Jack asked.

"I was going to have a shower, get a chicken quinoa salad from room service, and, um, maybe watch something?"

"Wanna watch a movie with me, sweetheart?"

Channon really did. "Yes please," he said.

"Okay, well, go order dinner and get ready, then call me back. I'll see what's good on Netflix."

"Yes, Sir," Channon said, grateful and satisfied.

?

Day one of the conference passed almost entirely without incident. It was like all the other conferences Channon had been to before, slickly corporate and tending toward snobbish. Being a tech conference, however, the attendees were a mix of conservative office types, tech bro entrepreneurs, and programmers in jeans and graphic tees. Channon had worn a blazer and jeans. Nate looked disarmingly casual in a button down with the sleeves rolled up. Everyone treated Nate like royalty, which Channon found amusing because Nate hadn't even shaved for this.

They were offered coffee and pastries—Channon refused a croissant because it was a not-without-permission food—and then Nate had to shake hands with a lot of people who seemed to think Channon was his PA.

Nate didn't let them get away with it for long. He introduced Channon as, "One of our juniors. Channon started out as an intern, but he's a fully fledged member of the team now. Our internship program has an excellent retention rate," he added, going into a well-rehearsed spiel about JNNS that Channon guessed Jack had had a hand in.

For himself, Channon shook hands, smiled politely, and pocketed business cards. Jack had told him to photograph and annotate the cards at the end of the day to remind him who he'd met and why they might be useful in the future. While this seemed like good advice, Channon had to wonder if it was really necessary. When was he ever going to call any of these people for a favor?

Nate wasn't speaking until after lunch, so he kept Channon company for the morning. Or maybe it was the other way around; Nate suggested Channon come with him to the elective sessions he'd chosen, and Channon was happy to oblige. Two of the sessions were interesting enough, and Channon took notes. One seemed very impressive until Channon noticed Nate had got his phone out and was furiously texting. When he saw Channon watching he angled the screen so Channon could see: it was to Ewan, outlining the basic premise of what the presenter was saying in blunt, dismissive terms. Ewan's response was a lot of angry cursing. This seemed to have been the point, because Nate smiled indulgently and tucked his phone away again.

There was a buffet lunch. Nate silently handed Channon a single piece of lettuce with a pair of tongs, which Channon accepted with equal solemnity. When Nate saw how much actual food Channon put on his plate, he laughed at himself.

"Well, you're not starving," he said.

"Protein," Channon told him, "is important for building muscle."

Nate grinned. "Mmm, well, whatever you're doing is working, so I'll mind my own business."

And then it was time for Nate"s keynote, which meant they had to split up.

Nate handed Channon his phone. "Hang onto this for me, will you? It's on silent, but I have this recurring dream where it starts ringing in the middle of a speech, and then I realize I'm wearing assless chaps." He grinned. Channon didn't know if this was actually true, but he pocketed the phone and found a seat in the back of the hall where he was out of the way.

It was one of those typical conference halls with a stage at one end and round tables ringed with chairs. Channon's table slowly filled with people he didn't know, which meant he had to introduce himself.

He did it the way Jack had drilled into him: eye contact, firm but not jerk-ish handshake, confident smile. "Channon Beaumont, JNNS Tech."

"JNNS?" said one of the women, perking up. "Do you work directly with Nate Scott?" She had the program of events open to the page with Nate's corporate headshot on it.

"Not directly. But he's at the top of the reporting chain," Channon clarified.

The woman seemed disappointed. "So there's absolutely no chance you can introduce me?"

"Uh…I mean, what for?" Channon asked, a little confused.

The woman gave him a wry look. "Networking," she said. "Isn't that why you're here?"

"I'm fulfilling my professional development hours," Channon told her. "HR gives us a quota to meet every year, so I'm trying to get it out of the way."

The woman leaned in, smiling. "Ooh, tell me more."

It was clear that she was interested in working for JNNS. Channon gave as good a summary of what that was like as he could.

"Does Jack Nash ever come down to the dev pen?" she asked eventually.

Channon felt his face heat. "Not often. But he drops by sometimes. He's, uh, pretty busy."

"I'll bet!" She looked like she was about to say more, but then someone stepped up to the mic and began welcoming them all to the conference.

Channon was used by now to dull or trite industry speeches. He braced himself for the potential tedium. The man at the lectern was reproduced at 10x scale on the screen behind him, and Channon found his attention distracted by the guy's novelty tie. It had little colorful computer chips on it. The computer chips had big cartoon eyes. Channon tried to imagine Nate or Jack wearing it and couldn't. Ewan, though…

He had to wipe the smirk off his face. Ewan would hate that tie. Channon should get him one for Christmas.

The guy at the lectern was now introducing Nate, listing Nate's history and accomplishments. It was nothing Channon hadn't heard before, but there was a kind of pride in hearing it again. Not quite the pride he felt when someone did the same thing for Jack at one of his speaking events. But still, there was a sort of possessiveness in hearing it now, about Nate. Our Nate, Ewan called him sometimes, and while Channon was fully aware that (as much as Nate belonged to anyone) Nate belonged to Ewan, Channon still felt some kind of satisfaction in hearing him lauded like this.

When Nate walked out onto the stage, the room erupted into applause. It made Channon smile a little, because Nate looked…well, he looked good up there. He was handsome, well-groomed, his gold stubble rakish rather than sloppy. He'd had a haircut recently. And he matched the audience's energy with a bright, white grin.

"Wow," Nate said into the mic. "Thanks, Dave. You know, whenever someone introduces me by listing stuff I've done, it feels like they're talking about someone else. Because, sure. I did all that, it's true. But it's in the past, and honestly, I find it hard to live in the past. I'd rather focus on the future."

Channon dutifully made notes. Nate seemed to be a good public speaker, for all he claimed to leave that kind of thing to Jack. He had a nice voice. Channon imagined Nate would make a good narrator. Maybe reading dirty books. He grinned down at his notes; he could suggest it as a backup plan in case the billionaire thing ever fell through.

His pocket began to buzz angrily—not the single buzz of a message but the persistent throb of someone calling. He tried to ignore it, but then he realized that wasn't his phone. That was Nate's phone.

He hesitated. Should he check? Was that invasive? What if it was important? An emergency? What could either of them do if it was an emergency? Nate was on stage. Whatever it was would have to wait, right?

Thankfully, it went still. Channon breathed out.

The phone started buzzing again. This time, he couldn't ignore it. He pulled it out of his pocket to check the caller ID and…

Ewan? Why would Ewan be calling right now? Didn't he know Nate was busy?

A shot of cold dread lodged in Channon's gut, and he pushed himself up from his seat, quietly slipping out of the hall and into the corridor outside. He made apologetic eye contact with the staff at the door and picked up the call.

"Ewan?" he said.

"Channon?" Ewan sounded upset. "Why the fuck do you have Nate's phone?"

"He's giving his speech right now," Channon said, walking away from the doors to a large window overlooking an ornamental lawn. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"Fuck!" There was a sound like something thumping into something soft, like Ewan had just thrown himself onto a couch. Where was he right now? Nate's office? That would make sense.

Channon tried to sound calm and confident, the way he figured Jack or Nate would. "What happened? You can tell me."

"Nothing. It's nothing. It's just…just an email."

"What, like, from the IRS?"

Ewan made an exasperated sound. "Christ, no! From my ex."

It took a moment for Channon to make sense of this. "Your evil ex?"

"He weren't evil," Ewan said miserably.

Channon privately thought that he really was but didn't say it because Ewan never liked to be told that. "What did he want?"

"Just to catch up," Ewan said, and Channon could hear the strain in his voice. Whatever the evil ex had actually said, it was hurting Ewan. Channon clenched a fist, his impotence in this moment painfully obvious.

What could he do? Ewan needed Nate, and Nate was going to be on that stage for another forty-five minutes. Channon took a deep breath. "What did he really say?"

"It doesn't fucking matter," Ewan said acidly. "God, I don't…I'm gonna just…"

"Don't hang up!" Channon gripped the frame of the window, trying to think. "Please don't hang up."

"I'm not a fragile fucking flower," Ewan snarled. He sounded off kilter, falling out of orbit. Angry, miserable, frightened. Channon remembered what Ewan had been like that time he'd bumped into one of the evil ex's friends, how distressed he'd been then. Channon had had to call Nate for help.

But Nate was on stage, and after his speech he had a panel, and Channon needed to come up with something quick before Ewan hung up on him.

"Okay, just hear me out." Channon licked his lips. "Can you go see Jack?"

There was a deathly silence on the phone. "What," Ewan said flatly.

"I'm serious, just…go talk to Jack. You don't have to tell him what happened, but just tell him…tell him you need to…I don't know." Channon took a deep breath. "He'll help. He always helps me."

"You're his fucking sex toy," Ewan said with so much venom that Channon recoiled. "Of course he helps you."

Channon took a moment to respond. "I'm gonna give you a second to walk that back," he said firmly.

Ewan made an anguished sound. "Sorry. You're right, I'm sorry."

"I mean, it's true," Channon said as casually as he could. "But, like, say it nicely."

This seemed to break the tension. Ewan laughed, a strangled sound. "Aye." Channon heard him breathing, shallow and ragged. "I can't just waltz on up to the top floor and knock on your old man's door like I've got any right. What if he's busy?"

Channon relaxed. Ewan was coming around, he could feel it. "Just ask Cynthia if you can see him."

"Who?"

"Jack's PA."

"What if she says no?"

"Then you're right back here again, and you can call me to bitch about it," Channon said. "But Jack said he'd take care of you, so…so you do have the right."

It would take some guts, Channon thought, but Ewan was all guts. Too much guts, sometimes.

After a moment Ewan said, "All right."

Channon relaxed, letting go of a breath. "Okay. Text me?"

"I'm hanging up."

The call went dead. Channon stared at Nate's phone for a long moment and then tucked it back in the pocket of his blazer. He pulled out his own, tapping out a short message.

Whatever Jack did, it could hardly be worse than Ewan brooding by himself. Right?

?

Client meetings had their irritations, but something Jack particularly enjoyed about them was forcing a certain kind of man to show him respect. Today he'd met with exactly that sort of client: an older man with old money and old-fashioned values, exactly the kind of person who wouldn't have given Jack the time of day had things been different. But instead, he'd had to play the game, had shaken Jack's hand and thanked him for his time with all the sincerity Jack could have asked for.

Even after all these years, that was extremely satisfying. Respect was something he felt particularly important, vital to his sense of self. He'd worked so hard for it, after all.

Which was probably why he found Ewan so aggravating.

Ewan McKinney was the least respectful submissive Jack had ever met. Not content merely to be a smartass masochist, Ewan was an out-and-out brat. Apparently, Nate loved this—it meant he got to beat the sass out of Ewan. Jack found it grating and tedious.

And, of course, there was the fact that Ewan had stolen Nate's attention.

No, that wasn't fair. Jack's own attention had already been firmly fixed on Channon by the time Ewan slunk into their lives like a stray cat. Nate had simply found a way to occupy his time, and then discovered that Ewan was, somehow, as vital to his happiness as Channon was to Jack's. If Jack wanted to keep Nate's friendship, then he was going to have to get along with Ewan. He knew this. He just didn't know how to make it work.

Now, with Nate and Channon away, Jack wondered if he ought to seek Ewan out. Nate wanted Jack to take care of Ewan. Should he then take Ewan out to dinner? Make sure he was eating properly? Sleeping? It wasn't immediately obvious what Jack should do with him. What did caring for Ewan look like, in this case?

Jack thought with amusement that he would have had a better idea of what to do with Ewan if he really were a stray cat, hissing and spitting and hiding under the sofa.

He had to do something. He feared there had been a distance growing between Nate and himself for some time, and he'd missed it. He hadn't felt Nate pulling away, and now there was this…tension. Jack's first instinct was to blame Ewan for that, but when he was honest with himself, he knew who was truly to blame.

I did that to him. I pulled away first. I just didn't realize I was doing it.

Jack considered this on his way back from the client meeting, and thought, Fine. Let's get this over with.

He would take Ewan out to dinner. With any luck, Ewan would say no, and he would himself be absolved of all responsibility.

Jack resolved to find Ewan just before the end of the work day to issue the invitation, and then he put the whole thing out of his head, settling in at his desk to go over the operational reports. Generally, he only needed to read the executive summary, but he liked to skim the rest just in case anything jumped out at him, and he was about halfway through when the intercom chimed. Jack hit the speaker button.

"Go ahead, Cynthia," he said.

The crisp tones of his PA's voice seemed a little strained. "I have Ewan McKinney here to see you, if you have a moment."

It was so unlikely that Jack needed a moment to parse the request. Ewan? To see him?

On the desk, his cell phone buzzed. Channon had messaged him.

sorry 2 bother u Sir but ewans freaking out n I told him 2 go c u sorry

And then: please can u take care of him Sir?

Well. Jack told Cynthia, "Sure thing. Send him in."

With an air of tense reluctance, Ewan slunk into the room. He closed the door behind him and leaned on it, grimacing at Jack miserably.

"I don't want to be here," he said. Then he shivered, folding his arms tight across his chest and scowling. "You're busy. I should…fuck this, I'm gonna just—"

Jack stood up. Ewan was…disheveled, certainly, but at work he always resembled a diminutive Columbo with his ill-fitting, rumpled suits and equally rumpled hair. Today, however, he looked almost ill, too pale and tight-lipped for everything to be all right.

What could have gone wrong to make him brave the elevator to the top floor and present himself to Jack like this? Why would Channon have suggested it?

"What happened?" Jack asked, lowering his tone to something he might have used on Channon at a time like this.

Ewan shook his head violently, like he was trying to shake off a persistent fly. "Nothing. Just. Nothing."

The thought of trying to drag it out of him made the back of Jack's neck itch. "It can't be nothing or you wouldn't be here. I imagine you'd rather eat glass than come to me for anything."

As he said it, Jack realized there was more truth in the joke than he'd intended. This had to be serious.

In any case, it made Ewan laugh, a sour, bitter sound. "Oh, aye," he agreed, rubbing his upper arms like he was cold. Jack examined him and tried to look past his prickly exterior. ("He's like a cactus," Nate had said once. "You can't grab hold of him, but behind the spikes he's all soft, gooey center.")

Jack beckoned him over with one hand. "Sit down," he said, pitching it like a firm suggestion rather than an order. As much as he wanted to gain control of the situation, he suspected Ewan would respond poorly to orders from him.

After a long pause, Ewan pushed off the door, slouching across the carpet to throw himself messily into the chair facing Jack's desk. He hunched his shoulders and ran his hands through his hair. "This is fucking daft," he muttered. But then he looked up, and Jack could see he was upset and trying to hide it. "I got an email from my ex," he said, almost sarcastically. Jack nodded, expecting him to go on, but he didn't.

"Not a good ex, I take it," Jack said, and the sound Ewan made was dismissive, but the way he looked…Jack realized he was more than rattled. Ewan seemed almost frightened. Or lost, perhaps, untethered from his usual self.

"The ex you remind me of," he said. It sounded like it was supposed to be an insult, so Jack read it as such.

"A very bad ex, then."

Ewan nodded. "The worst." Then he seemed to reconsider. "I mean, he could have been worse. He wasn't…you know. Abusive."

Jack thought about some of the things Channon had hinted at with regard to Ewan's past. The math was pretty easy to do. "Are you sure about that? Abuse can look like other things when you're too close to it."

Ewan made a frustrated noise, scrubbing his hand through his hair and curling his fingers into a fist to tug against his scalp. "Christ, you sound like Nate."

So Nate, at least, thought Ewan's ex was abusive. And I remind Ewan of him. It was an unflattering thought.

It also put some things into perspective.

"What did the email say?" Jack asked, low and quiet.

"Oh, fuck, it just…he asked how I was doing, if I was seeing anyone. If I wanted to catch up next time he's in town." Ewan dragged a hand over his face and pressed his knuckles against his teeth to chew on them. "It's nothing. It's fucking nothing, but…"

Jack waited, watching Ewan's agitation and feeling strangely displeased.

Eventually Ewan said, "It's just that he said, ‘next time I'm in Santa Rita'. And he sent it to my work email. So he knows where I am. He knows I'm here, and that I work here, and…I don't know how he knows that." Ewan looked up again, and Jack could see his chest rising and falling too fast, his breath too shallow. Distressed. He was distressed, and the part of Jack that knew the difference between a sub under stress and a sub in trouble kicked in automatically.

"It's okay," he said, crouching down so he was eye level with Ewan. He held out a hand but didn't touch him. "Take a deep breath. Then let it go, slowly."

Surprisingly, Ewan did it, inhaling deeply and holding the breath for a count of five before letting it go. Then he did it again, unprompted, and fixed his eyes on Jack.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then Ewan made a grumpy noise. "I'm not having a panic attack."

"No, you're not," Jack agreed. "But you're obviously upset. Your ex isn't supposed to know where you are, then?"

Ewan shook his head. "No fucking way. I thought…I never thought I'd hear from him again. Not after the way he ditched me."

He sounded hurt. Usually, Jack would have enjoyed seeing Ewan hurt, but this wasn't the way it was supposed to be. Ewan tied to a Saint Andrew's cross and bawling his eyes out because Nate had flogged him to breaking point was a different creature than Ewan looking like his world had been upended.

Jack itched to do something about it. It's what Channon would want. Nate told me to take care of him.

So he had to. "How do you think he found out where you are?"

"I don't know." Ewan scrubbed a hand over his face, visibly calmer now but still distressed. "I must've…left clues."

"You tweet a lot." Jack didn't follow Ewan on Twitter, but Channon did, and sometimes Channon showed Jack the tweets. Ewan wrote them in an incomprehensible dialect that Channon found hilarious. Jack didn't get it. Anyway, it was possible that Ewan had left clues to his whereabouts on social media. "Do you have Instagram?" Ewan nodded warily. "Maybe you geotagged something or posted a photo with a traceable landmark. And I know Nate has his dev team listed on the company website. It wouldn't be hard to google."

Given that employee emails were their first and last name at the company domain, it also wouldn't take a genius to work out how to contact Ewan that way.

Ewan shuddered, rubbing his eyes. "Fuck. Fuck. I saw one of his friends last year. That fucker probably told him…Christ, I don't even know what." He gave Jack an anguished look. "He works in tech. He's probably got contacts here."

Jack put his hand on the arm of the chair, close to Ewan but still not touching him. "What's his name?"

It took Ewan a moment to unstick his teeth from his grimace. "Gary Caldecott." The name seemed to make him feel sick, he was so pale.

"I'll tell security not to let him into the building," Jack promised.

Ewan's face scrunched up. "Fuck, it's not as bad as that, is it?"

"Probably not, but better safe than sorry." Jack hesitated, thinking about the implications of everything Ewan had said. "Are you worried about your physical safety?"

He watched Ewan's expression crumple and had to force himself not to lift his hand from the arm of the chair and wrap it around Ewan's shoulder to steady him. "No…no, that's not it. I just wish he didn't know anything about me at all."

Jack made a mental note to make sure the concierge of the building Ewan lived in also knew not to admit Ewan's ex. Then he focused. Ewan was the most important thing right now, and Jack felt compelled to care for him in the ways that he could. "We can block his email. We can scrub you from the website, and anywhere else you are online for that matter. There are services to handle this."

"You don't have to," Ewan said miserably.

"I do, actually." When Ewan looked up, surprised, Jack fixed him with a serious look. "Nate asked me to take care of you, so I intend to do exactly that."

It seemed to shock Ewan out of his misery. He blinked, looking around Jack's office as if for the first time. Whatever he saw, it made his lip curl—whether from disdain or discomfort, Jack couldn't tell. "Naw, you're too busy for this shite. You don't hafta do anything for me."

"I know I'm the last person you'd want to help you," Jack said, unable to keep all his frustration from his voice, "but I'm what you've got right now. You can hate me all you want, but I'm going to do this anyway."

Ewan looked shocked. Then he frowned. "I don't hate you."

"Strongly dislike, then."

This made Ewan shake his head. "No. You're, you know, you. Channon likes you enough."

It was better than Jack would have expected. "Faint praise, but I'll take it." He leaned away, wondering how hard Ewan would bite if Jack offered him a hug. "I'll make some calls. How are you feeling?"

Ewan took a shuddering breath. Then he shrugged. "Like pish. Better than before."

"Good." Jack stood up and leaned back against the desk. "I'd like to check up on you later. Have dinner with me."

Ewan's eyes just about bugged out of his skull. "What, at some fancy fucking restaurant?"

He sounded so scandalized. It made Jack smile. "Or at my place."

Ewan made a face. "Is this a come on? I'm not sucking your dick."

God, he was so…prickly. "It isn't. We can go to Nate's if that makes you feel better." Jack had a key, after all, and he was pretty sure Ewan did too.

Ewan regarded him suspiciously, but in the end he said, "All right."

"Good. I'll meet you at your desk at half past five." Jack regarded Ewan narrowly. He looked better, a little less like he might be going to faint or puke. Still, he'd clearly been shaken. "You can stay here as long as you like. But if I get a phone call, I'll need you to be quiet."

This triggered a sound halfway between a snort and a snicker. "Naw thanks." Ewan shoved himself out of the chair and backed away, eyeing Jack as if Jack were the feral one. "Uh…see you at half five."

And he went, closing the door behind him with a soft snick instead of a bang.

For a moment, Jack simply wondered at the universe for putting him in this position. Ewan. Relying on him. What were the odds?

But he had to do this. He had no choice.

He reached for his phone to message Channon back. Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll take care of him.