Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Justin placed the gun on the floor next to him. What now? Sam said he'd be back, but what if he brought Ryan with him? Or Gabe, or Nate… or Ethan?

What would Justin say to any of them? How could he find an end to his guilt when he couldn't believe anyone would accept what he'd done, what he'd needed to do?

He curled up on himself and managed to get onto all fours. Pain lanced through his thigh, but he'd been through worse. He'd endured years of skin grafts, an agony he never imagined he'd live through. He was hardened to it all.

He hadn't died then because he had a job to finish. All those years, and always unspoken was that the department's blunt instrument, the man with no past, would die before revealing who he was or that he was still alive. That was the deal he'd made to keep his family safe, a devil's bargain he'd accepted long ago.

Because I saw Adam die…. Because it was my fault and I couldn't live with myself.

But… he's not dead.

Justin settled his breathing and willed away the nausea, reached for the gun, and pushed himself to his feet, using the wall for balance, swaying into rotting wood and corrugated iron even as he got upright.

I've gone through worse. I can move. Fucking stupid to come here.

He took a few steps toward the door, shaky footfalls on an uneven floor. The world was slipping away from under him and he stopped dead still, waiting for his vision to stop spinning.

The scent of the forest in my nose, cold of steel in my fingers, metallic taste of blood where I'm biting my lip.

Justin collapsed to his knees when what little energy and focus he had left disappeared in a rush.

Blackness stole his breath, and he fell all the way to the ground.

"Wake up," a voice instructed. Not softly, but stern and to the point. "Wake. The. Fuck. Up. Or I will call the cops. Worse than that, I'll get Ethan up here, and he'll just arrest your ass for trespassing and you'll never get out of prison, like, ever. Wake up, Tom, wake up ."

Justin opened his eyes. Sweat collected in them. He blinked away the sting and looked right up at a very pissed Sam.

He woke up just to stop Sam shouting at him. "No," he bit out. "Nobody else."

Sam sat back on his haunches, stern expression giving way to relief. "Thank fuck for that," he muttered. "Thought you were dead, you asshole."

"I tried," Justin mumbled and then bit his bloody lip again to ground himself. He was still sprawled on the floor, pretty much where he imagined he had fallen, but his head was on something soft. He attempted moving to see what it was but winced at the pain inside his skull.

"Stay still," Sam ordered. "I need to check your thigh."

Justin reached for his jeans, wanting to help Sam, and found bare skin. Hell, he hadn't even bothered to pull his pants up before attempting to leave the shack. No wonder he fell on his ass.

Light filled the room. Sam had brought a flashlight, and Justin shrank back away from the light. He reached around, locating the gun he'd dropped and wrapping his fingers around it. He pulled it close to his chest.

Sam huffed and pushed Justin's hands out of the way.

"Okay, this is fucked," he prodded the thigh wound again, and Justin couldn't help the soft curse. "I googled this, and we just need to make sure the wound is clean and there is no infection."

"You read all that on the Internet?" Justin asked.

"Yep. Google is my friend." Sam helped him to sit a little and then moved whatever soft thing was behind him to make him more comfortable. "But the sheriff's brother is a paramedic and a friend. We could get him up if you insist on staying here."

Justin simply glared at Sam, which gave him a complete response about how he felt on that matter. The word paramedic was bad enough, but add in sheriff ? "I'll burn off the infection," he said defiantly, although the pain, on a scale of one to ten, was heading upward rapidly.

Sam muttered something under his breath. "Look. I brought up blankets, this coat that will keep you warm, and some other things."

Sam stood and shrugged off his thick coat, a sweater—or was that two?—and three separate T-shirts. He laid everything in a pile. "For you," he said. "We need to talk, Tom."

Justin winced at the tone. "No, we don't."

"Yes. We. Do. We need to get you to a doctor. Hell, at least get you a shower. You stink like a jock's locker, and that shit all over you can't be good for the infection."

"I'm okay."

"Says the man I found face-planted on the ground."

"I was sleeping," Justin defended.

"You were unconscious."

"I don't need a doctor. I just want to go."

"Like to see you try," Sam pointed out.

"Leave me your bike, then." Justin had thought about that. Sitting there on Crooked Tree land was asking for trouble. He shouldn't have come, but he had, so he couldn't have regrets now. The ranch was part of him, and he'd wanted to die there.

Only it appeared he wasn't going to die, and hell if he was going to eat the barrel of his gun right then. He'd already tried that once, and he hadn't been man enough to go through with removing his sorry self from around normal people.

"My bike," Sam said flatly.

"Leave it, walk back to whatever you do. I'll get on it and leave, and you'll never have to see me again."

"Okay," Sam agreed and held out the key. "Take the key from my hand, make your way out of the tangle of trees to the bike, manage to start it, and then stay on it without passing out. Then you can take it."

Justin stared at Sam for a second. He reached for the key but couldn't quite get there; he was dizzy and sick and beyond movement. He flopped back on the soft cushion, wincing in pain. "Fuck you," he said, with force and feeling.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Sam pressed a hand to Justin's arm, running it the full length of it.

"Stop fucking touching me."

Sam sighed. "I brought wipes with me, if you want to clean off. You want my help?"

"No."

"Jesus, you are one idiot patient."

"You're not a doctor."

"Yeah, you're right. So what's to stop me getting on my bike and just going to get a doctor, or calling the paramedics?"

"You haven't already."

"Because I'm clearly fucked in the head," Sam cursed. It sounded wrong coming from his lips. "But you haven't shot me yet, so I guess I can do what I want."

Justin played the only card he had, gripping the gun tight. "You're worried about me dying? Tell you what, then. You tell anyone I'm here, and I'll kill myself."

Sam sat back on his haunches, his eyes wide in shock. "What the hell? What kind of sick fuck would…? Why would you…?"

"Stop talking," Justin snapped. "And go away."

"And leave you wallowing in your own shit?" Sam wrinkled his nose. "Literally? Look, do you think you could move? We're about a mile from some cabins on the ranch. I checked, and there are three empty ones. You could get a bed and a shower."

Justin knew the cabins like the back of his hand. The closest were the Forest Cabins, spread apart, a mile from the ranch itself, along an old loggers' road. He'd discounted them. They were too close to his family, to normality. Because even a mile was too close. "No."

"Jesus, this is fucking ridiculous! I live over Branches. I'll take you back to mine."

"Hell no. Just leave me alone."

"You are one stubborn fucking asshole of a freaking stupid idiot."

Justin simply stared at him, counting down to the moment Sam left. Which, inevitably, he would do.

His head pounded with pain and he closed his eyes. His throat was raw, his eyes ached, and he was freezing. Half turning on the soft pillow, he found the wood floor was hard, and he cursed as he cuddled his gun close. "If Rob knew I'm here then he'd kill me, and anyone that knew I was here. 'S what we do," he muttered.

Please, just leave me alone.

The bile deep inside him bubbled up, acid in his mouth, and he lost everything he'd eaten onto the floor right beside him.

And Sam, holding Justin's hair, his head, reassured him and cursed at him in the same breath. "That's fucking it ," Sam was saying. "You'll choke on your own vomit."

Sam rolled him a little more, bending Justin's knee and putting him into the recovery position. Before darkness swallowed him, Justin could swear he heard Sam say he needed help.

And Justin couldn't stop him.