Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Adam followed Ethan past the Allens house and up the slight incline, following a path that was nothing more than compacted dirt and stones in among the bushes. He didn't know where they were going, but trusted that Ethan had some kind of plan and that he would answer Adam's question when they arrived wherever the final destination was.

He stopped as another man walked down the hill, a man who stopped but couldn't quite look Adam in the eye.

"This is Henry," Ethan said, shaking the old man's hand and stepping back to allow Adam to do the same thing. "He's worked at Crooked Tree for many years. How many is it now, Henry?"

"Too long to count now." Although Henry was talking to Ethan, he was staring at Adam like someone had said there was a unicorn on the property, with shock and disbelief in his eyes.

Adam held out his hand but Henry didn't immediately take it.

"They said you were here," he began, his tone gruff. "I can't believe it."

"Henry was the last person to see you and Justin," Ethan explained.

Adam understood then why the man was staring; he'd probably been asked the same questions over and over about what he'd maybe seen. "Hi, Henry."

Finally, Henry took his hand and gripped it, not shaking it but holding on tight.

"Oh," he said, and his voice was choked. "It's the best thing to see you here." He dropped his grip, which Adam was pleased with because boy, the old man was strong, and it belied his more fragile looks.

Henry turned to Ethan. "You done finding Adam, now you find young Justin, eh?"

Ethan nodded, and Henry tipped an imaginary hat before continuing down the path.

Adam concentrated on the view of Henry leaving, willing a memory to happen. He had to know Henry, had to have the man in there somewhere. But there was nothing except a strong feeling of déjà vu. Not at the man, but the voice, the scents in the air, and the way the trees bent to form a canopy over the path.

Was déjà vu the first sign he was getting memories back?

They went on up the hill and came to a stop outside a house very similar to where they'd just eaten dinner.

Ethan waved a hand at the wooden structure. "This is yours."

Adam cast a critical eye over the construction: wood and stone, with a massive chimney and a front porch. He felt like he had to correct Ethan and wasn't sure why.

"Mine and Cole's," he half whispered.

"Yes, it's half yours, half Cole's," Ethan took the steps to the porch and pushed open the front door. Then he turned back to Adam. "Do you recollect anything, standing here?"

That question was starting to piss Adam off. He knew he'd be asked it over and over again, but from Ethan it was something he wished didn't need to be said. He stared at the wood, following the grain of it, the smooth railing that ended close to a small stone wall. Stepping up to the porch, he ran his hand over the wood, stopping when his fingers encountered bumps in the smoothness.

Initials carved into the softwood, which he traced with touch. CS , AS . That made sense; this place was where he and his brother lived. Pain snapped through him, but not a grief; this was visceral, like the smack of a hand on his face, and he winced. Pain connected to those carved letters.

"I don't think your dad was over happy you and Cole did that, and me and Nate felt so guilty."

"Why?"

"We dared you to do it. You were only a kid, and you and Cole were always so good, never broke the rules, y'know."

The picture Ethan was painting was one that sent the cold dread of fear through Adam. "He hated that we did it," Adam said. "Not so much a memory," he added before Ethan could show relief that Adam had recalled something. "Just another feeling."

He touched his fingers to his cheek, traced the split on his lip, and traveled over the bumps and lumps on his broken face. The pain he felt as he touched each one seemed the right thing to be feeling as he stood here. His eye was the most painful, the swelling still pressing his skin and leaving him unable to open it.

"I need to talk to Cole," he said, his voice low. "I need to tell him—" Nothing. An absolute blank in his head.

"Tell him what?" Ethan pressed gently.

"I don't know." Adam sighed and moved away from the railing, crossing to the open door.

Another feeling washed over him, maybe an instinct? He didn't want to go in. He never wanted to go in. But he would. He needed to see what ghosts were inside this place, so he moved past Ethan and stepped inside.

"Anything?" Ethan asked.

"I was expecting something to happen," Adam confessed. "A memory, or a scent."

"But nothing's there."

"I know… my bedroom was this one?" He pushed open the door to the front bedroom and stepped inside. Critically he examined the contents. One small double bed—the iron bedstead and mattress, with dark blue bedding. He guessed someone had taken the time to do that when they found out he was coming home, because the room smelled of laundry detergent. The drapes on the window were sapphire, the walls held no posters, no sports trophies or toys from a forgotten childhood. But he instinctively knew one thing: this had been his room.

Ethan said nothing to confirm or deny it, just waited at the threshold with a carefully blank expression on his face.

"This window looks out on the path," Adam murmured, leaning against the window frame and looking beyond to the path that wound past the house. "I wanted the back room, but Cole was the oldest and he chose that room. He's a big guy, my brother, and he never hurt me. He looked out for me. My dad… he hated us." He had no idea where each word he spoke came from, but he knew that truth was in every syllable. "I remember one time, I tried to climb out this window—anything to get away—but I could hear Dad hitting Cole, so I stayed."

Ethan crossed to stand next to him, placing a hand on his arm. He didn't show surprise or elation that a memory—albeit just the one horrible one—had filtered into Adam's head.

"I'm so tired of remembering the shit things," Adam admitted.

"I get that," Ethan said. Then he looked determined, like he wanted to replace the bad memories with good ones. "You and Justin, you were alike in so many ways, then sometimes so different. I remember when you told him you had feelings for me. It was a Friday, and you and he had this camping trip all planned out for the weekend."

"To the lake." He said this like it was fact, then shook his head. "No, I don't know how I know that."

"You loved it up there. You and Cole would spend hours away from the house, as many hours as you could, really. Oliver Strachan was a man who was grieving, and turned into a mean and moody drunk who used his hands more than his words."

"No surprise I wanted to escape, then. How did Justin take the news about us?"

"Justin saw us kiss that one time—and you told him you wanted to kiss me some more. I don't think he hated what you told him. I think he felt… I don't know… betrayed that his brother and his best friend had somehow wanted to kiss without him even realizing. I tried to talk to him, but he said it was okay, and he walked back to the house. I knew there was something not quite right…."

Ethan didn't finish the sentence but that was okay, Adam knew what he meant. If Adam and Ethan had been a thing behind Justin's back and then Justin found out, he would have been pissed.

"And was that what caused Justin to argue with his dad?"

"No, he was already pissed with Dad. I followed him home and caught the tail end of it. I heard Dad tell him to leave, that he'd had enough of Justin. He threw the Mom-dying-for-Justin crap at him."

"Dying for Justin? He didn't mean it, did he?"

"Fuck no. He and Justin had a fiery relationship at the best of times, and when Mom died… well, she refused treatment for cancer because she was pregnant with Justin. Didn't matter that Dad loved us, he always wanted more from Justin, as if Justin was a miracle baby, a replacement for Mom. I know he didn't mean to send Justin away. In here." Ethan placed a hand over his heart. "And what I said today was old hang-ups. I just have all this shit in my head, and a lot of personal stuff I need to work through. I hear Dad say he wants his son back, and I rise to it every time."

"He already has a son in you. So it hurts."

"Yeah. Stupid, isn't it?"

"Not at all." Adam sat on the edge of the mattress and then raised his legs to lie on his back. "Come here," he said, hoping that Ethan would just come sit with him so they could talk in comfort. Seemed to Adam that they both had a lot to get through.

Ethan went around the bed and lay down next to Adam, putting his hands behind his head and staring up at the ceiling.

For a while they lay in silence, and Adam tried all his relaxation techniques to try and recall some other memory. Everything was there, he knew it, but it was all just out of reach, like a cloud or something. "I have a head full of smoke," he announced, then realized he had just vocalized what was in his head.

"Yeah," Ethan said. "I feel like that sometimes."

"Maybe if I don't concentrate so hard. Tell me something."

"Like what?"

"Um… being a cop, tell me about that."

"I catch the bad guys if I can, and then spend hours writing up reports."

"You make it sound so glamorous."

Ethan huffed a laugh and turned his head to look at Adam. "I love what I do. I was always meant to be a cop, I think. And what about you? You said you work with horses."

Adam hated that Ethan had deflected away from himself. Adam didn't want the focus back on himself so soon. He didn't answer at first, only stared into Ethan's eyes. Something told him he'd done this before, way back when he'd first thought about boys, but he wasn't pushing that memory by asking. He wanted everything he'd felt as a teenager to come back by itself.

"Did your partner find anything on my tattoo?" Adam changed the subject. He knew Ethan was trying to track who did the tattoo, to find out who Adam had become after he'd left Crooked Tree.

"Some leads she's tracking down."

"Then I'd know," Adam said. "I'd be able to have someone else tell me everything I've forgotten about the last twelve years. You know what I could do, though?"

"What?"

"Well, my life didn't come flooding back to me when I kissed you, and it was a really nice kiss, so maybe I should do it again."

Ethan's lazy smile vanished. His open mouth and wide eyes screamed shock. "I don't think we should?—"

"Hush," Adam said, "I was only teasing. Whatever we had back then was only as kids, right?"

Ethan's shock subsided. "Yeah," he finally said. "Just kids."

"So I wonder what I did after I left. Working with horses… maybe I'm a horse whisperer, or a mounted cop."

"Or you gave lessons?"

"Or maybe I was just around horses. Like I was rich and owned them."

"Maybe."

"And I had a horse here, Smoke, but he's gone now."

Ethan hesitated before answering. "Yes."

"Sad," Adam offered. "Not that I feel sad. I don't remember him, actually. Just that I think he was gray. Tell me something about Cole and you. A story."

"Cole knew I was gay before I did," Ethan said.

Now that was a comment out of left field. Adam hadn't expected the conversation to center on the whole sexual-orientation thing. "How?"

"Said he knew when he and I were seven, but he never explained how. He was my biggest supporter. Of course it helped he was the odd one out, being that Nate was gay as well."

Adam smiled over at Ethan. "There's something in the water. The three of us, me, you, Nate."

"Well, kind of."

"Kind of what?"

"Justin was always loose with his affections. He had a girlfriend called Maisie, and then went to a dance with a boy called Colin. I never did find out if it was teenage rebellion or if he actually was dating the guy."

"You can ask him when we find him," Adam stated firmly.

Ethan scrambled to sit up, bracing himself on his hands. "You don't even know if he's alive." He sounded stressed again, and Adam hated himself for suggesting they would find Justin. "Shit, I know he's alive. I don't know what I'm saying."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to start something."

Ethan closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. Fuck, all I seem to be doing today is apologizing. I know he's alive and out there somewhere, and I believe I'll find him. I don't even know why I snapped at you."

Adam sat up and swung his legs to the floor. "Because this is the stressiest fucking situation I have ever been in, and it can't be a walk in the park for you either. I'm not Justin, and it must seem so cruel that it's me you found." He stood up and stretched tall, then left the room.

"No," Ethan said from behind him, "that's not right."

He caught up with Adam at the door and gripped his arm. It hurt, but Adam didn't give away a reaction that would make this situation any worse. Of course Ethan would prefer it was Justin here; he was Justin's big brother.

"It's okay?—"

"Don't," Ethan said. He didn't snap the words; he didn't sound angry, more tired than anything. "You're alive, you're here. Don't ever feel like I sit there wishing you weren't here and it was Justin instead."

"Ethan—"

"I've held hope for so long, and I'm not stopping now." Ethan released Adam's arm as if he'd just realized what he'd done. "Sorry."

Adam smiled at him. "All we do is apologize. Do you realize that?"

"Yeah." They stared at each other for a bit, and then Ethan appeared to shake off the connection. "We could stay in a cabin or something instead of your place?"

"We?"

Ethan shrugged and dipped his gaze. "Thought you'd like company, in case…."

"In case?"

"If you needed anything."

Actually, the idea of sleeping in this place with the oppressive feelings of long-forgotten issues was something Adam had hoped to avoid. But with Ethan here as well, maybe he could get some sleep.

The meds had edged off, his back and chest were sore, his head ached, but he was home.

He just wished he could remember home.

They went down to Sophie and got some extra blankets, the bedrooms cooler than they'd experienced in the hotels. Adam said he didn't want to shiver and Ethan agreed. There was no sign of Marcus, and Adam was relieved at that. He wasn't sure he could be the person Marcus needed right now. Marcus asked questions Adam couldn't answer.

Sophie made them promise to get breakfast at Branches in the morning, assuring them that she would make sure no one else would be there, and that they should come to the house afterward if they wanted to.

"She's nice," Adam said, more to say something than anything else.

"Yeah, she is. Sophie and Dad have been together a long time now."

"But not married?"

Ethan didn't answer vocally, but his shrug spoke volumes.

To Adam, the sense memory of Cole's room was so different to his own. He felt safe in this room. Perhaps running to his older brother was something that happened a lot. Maybe Cole protected him.

"You mind if I sleep in here tonight?" he asked. "I know this isn't my room—" Then he realized he was being stupid asking that. This was his house; he could sleep wherever he wanted.

"Cool with me." Ethan didn't seem to have picked up on any of the internal concerns that Adam had.

Ethan's cell began to ring and; as soon as he could fish it out from his pocket, he answered it. "Hey. … Yeah, okay. … You want to come here? … No, nothing. … Thanks, Ryan."

"Everything okay?"

"It was Ryan—Sheriff Ryan Carter. Says he needs to interview you officially."

"Okay, yeah, I guess that will need to happen. Not that I can tell him much."

"He asked if you recalled anything. I told him nothing. He's coming out tomorrow afternoon around two. We can meet here or…."

"Here is fine."

Adam glanced around the small kitchen. Everything looked so clean, and there was even food in the fridge. Apparently Nate coming back first had given people time to sort out enough food to keep Adam happy.

"Why did they make up both beds?" he asked out loud.

"Sorry?" Ethan was looking in the fridge, and he pulled out sodas.

"Sophie put food in the refrigerator, or I assume it was Sophie. Everything is so clean, but they—whoever did it—they made up both beds."

Ethan frowned. "Everyone took it on themselves to keep this place tidy, check it over every so often, and Sophie would have immediately considered food a priority the minute she heard you were coming home. As to having both beds made up, maybe they imagined you wouldn't want to sleep alone in this place."

Resignation made Adam slump into the nearest chair, a hard wooden one at a scarred wooden kitchen table. Ethan slid a cold Coke toward him and waited patiently for a response. Adam didn't have one. Instead he watched the rhythmic movement of Ethan's fingers as he moved the can in small circles on the table, spreading the damp condensation from it in an ever-widening wet spot. The table had seen a lot of action, it was old and worn. He and Cole and their father had likely sat around it at some point.

"Did you take your pain meds?" Ethan finally asked.

"Not yet."

He yawned. "I think I'm going to go to bed."

"Good idea."

Adam swallowed his pain pills and made his way into the back bedroom. It was dark, but not much past 8:00 p.m. Still, it was late enough for Adam to consider getting some sleep. The tablets would help with the pain, and he really needed sleep. As he settled against the cool pillow, Adam realized that the wounds on his face didn't hurt quite so much. His cheekbone didn't feel so raw and his lip cut hadn't opened all day. Tenderly, he pressed a hand to his chest, but let out a sharp yelp when it was obvious his ribs were far from healed.

"Everything okay?" Ethan was at the door, calling through the wood. "I heard you yell out."

"My bad," Adam said, dismissing it. "Nothing to worry about, just the ribs."

There was a distinct pause before Ethan said, "I'm next door, Adam, if you need me."

"Thanks. Night."

He wanted the conversation to end now. The idea of needing Ethan filled him with half interest and half avoidance. Instead, he closed his eyes, shuffling a little on the unfamiliar mattress and hoping to hell he'd sleep.

The flames licked at his skin and he could hear the screaming, but it wasn't him. Justin was there, lying silent now, his clothes burned away, his face flat in the dirt, his back blistered with the heat and chemicals.

"You fuckers! What the fuck did you do?"

The words slammed into his head, the ice of water a shock to his heated skin, and Justin still hadn't moved.

Justin, please. Just breathe.

He looked down at his hands, reddened from where he'd protected his face. He'd been back from the blast, but the flames had shot up and into Justin, bypassing him by inches. Only Adam's neck was burned, only part of his body hurt.

But Justin…

Was gone.

The screams started up again, but it wasn't Justin. It was him as the acid of pain and grief crippled him and he fell to his knees. They held a gun to his head and he closed his eyes. They were going to kill him.

He didn't care.

His last thought was that Ethan would never know they'd tried to go home… that Ethan would think he meant nothing….

And he woke to the darkness of his brother's room with Ethan sitting next to him, murmuring words of sympathy and support, trying to calm him down.

He was crying. That was more than his imagination in a nightmare. It was real.

Ethan gathered him close, supporting the precarious balance of him, and kept on talking, telling him to breathe, demanding that he listen to the words.

Was Justin really dead? Had a memory slipped in through the iron wall his mind had built around everything that had happened to him over the missing years? He had scarring on his neck. It wasn't that obvious, but the skin was darker there and rough to the touch.

Had that been from what happened in the dream?

"Scoot over," Ethan said.

Adam didn't argue. This bed was bigger than the one in his old room, and there was enough space for him to lie back and allow himself to be held. Ethan was a strong solid presence, but for the longest time Adam lay there staring up into the darkness.

Staring at the ceiling long after Ethan's breathing had evened out and he was asleep.

Dawn painted the room with a soft hue before Adam finally closed his eyes. And in all that time, thinking, considering, he had made a decision about what to tell Ethan.