Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

"He's hurt bad," Sam half whispered. He pressed a hand to Justin's chest, reassured by the steady breathing.

"What's he trying to say?"

Justin was mumbling words about people wanting to kill him, but they were incoherent. Sam wished he could help Ethan figure them out.

"He was scared." Sam tried to recall the exact words that Justin had used. Had he actually said he was scared? Or was that what Sam thought? And not just scared, but hopelessly terrified of something.

"Okay." Ethan looked to Sam. "If he has warrants out for his arrest, we have to assume—" Ethan inhaled sharply and bent at the waist as if sudden comprehension had cut him off at the knees.

"Assume what?" Gabe asked.

"That he's one of the bad guys," Sam simplified.

"So what?" Gabe asked urgently. "Are we listening to him, or are we getting every freaking medical expert and law enforcement officer within a twenty-mile radius descending on this cabin?"

Sam looked at Marcus, gray and unmoving; at Adam, who had gone abnormally quiet; and at Ethan, who wanted to call everyone he could to save his brother. Marcus and Adam had come up to the cabin at Ethan's insistence as soon as Justin collapsed. To Sam, it looked like Ethan expected his brother to die, that there wasn't time to wait about.

Marcus was in shock and Adam was stuck in a cycle of confusion and horror, so it was up to Sam and Ethan to make the decisions.

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "He said you were all in danger. Someone was out to kill him, and you're all in danger."

Adam leaned into Ethan, who wrapped his arms around his partner. "What kind of danger?" Adam asked, his voice broken.

Sam pressed fingers to his temples. "He kept saying witness protection, but I don't fucking know," he snapped.

"WITSEC? What else did he say?" Ethan demanded.

"I don't know."

"You're the one who found him, you're the one who talked to him," Ethan accused.

"I said I don't know anything," Sam snapped back. For a few seconds, they faced off. Ethan finally subsided with a mumbled apology. Not that Sam felt any better after, but he hadn't really talked to Justin, and no one was hearing him when he said that.

"He needs a doctor." That from Adam, who then slipped back to staring at the unconscious Justin, his eyes narrowed and his forehead creased in a frown.

Was Adam remembering things he didn't want to? It seemed to Sam that Ethan didn't know what to do with himself, whether he was supposed to be with Justin or supporting Adam. He held Adam tight and wasn't letting go; that was kind of telling. As much as Justin coming back was probably everything Ethan had once wanted, he had Adam to care for and to love. And there was nothing stronger than the connection those two men had.

Marcus spoke next. "Aaron, we should call Aaron. Sheriff Carter's brother."

Sam was glad it was Marcus who suggested that, and not himself, given the temper that sparked in Ethan.

"What?" Ethan raged. "You want me to bring one of the Carter brothers here?"

"Well, why not?"

Ethan shook his head wordlessly, so it was up to Sam to fill in the obvious blanks. "Because Justin says he's in protection because people want to kill him, then in the same breath he says he has warrants out on him."

Ethan nodded. "We bring a medic here, one that is the big brother to the freaking sheriff? Shit, it would be like pouring fuel on fire. Jesus."

Marcus wasn't done. "Aaron's a professional medic, Ethan. Surely he's bound by patient confidentiality? We have to do something. Justin needs help."

"It's a bullet wound, Dad," Ethan cursed. "He doesn't need a paramedic, he needs a fucking surgeon."

Sam shrank back. Things were getting out of hand, and in the middle of it, Justin lay on the bed pale and clammy, his breathing steady, but his body was throwing off heat. "Anyone. He just needs help," Sam insisted in his best controlled, loud voice, snapping into the standoff between father and son.

Finally, Adam made the decision. "Call Aaron. If Justin's a criminal, then better a live criminal than a dead one."

Everyone fell silent. Then Ethan, who stared at Adam with disbelief at first, relented and hugged him. "I'll make the call."

He went outside the cabin, holding up his cell and finding bars, placing a call. All the time he paced, and every single person in the cabin watched him.

"I said I'd meet Aaron at the ranch road," Ethan announced as he came in.

"I want to come with you," Adam said. Sam saw the panic in Adam's eyes, and the way he reached for Ethan.

Almost as an afterthought, Ethan picked up Justin's gun from the cabinet. He hefted the weight of it, looked it over dispassionately, and checked for bullets. His expression didn't change; was that the kind of gun a criminal might use? Was that even a question? It wasn't like cops used good guns and criminals used bad ones.

Ethan slid the weapon into the top drawer of the solid wood unit, gesturing to it and facing Sam. "You know where it is, in case he needs it. Because I don't like this, any of it. Okay?"

"You think you should call Ryan as well as Aaron?"

The sheriff was all up in the ranch's business, a liaison between the Department of Justice guys and the family. The DOJ men had been there a few days before Sam left for the funeral, asking Adam more questions, none of which Adam could answer. That was what Ashley told Sam as they prepped for service. She'd said Adam had cried and how she couldn't imagine what he was going through.

Sam had no idea at all. Sometimes he wished he could forget some of the shit in his life, but not if it meant being as lost as Adam appeared at times.

"No," Ethan said. "I don't want to ask him to—Look; I'll take the heat on this if it comes to it. No point in adding in another person to get crucified for harboring a fugitive." He pulled himself tall, pushed his shoulders back. "Please watch him, Sam. Don't let him leave."

"Promise."

Ethan gripped his upper arm tight in a gesture of thanks, and with one more look at his sleeping brother, he went outside. Ethan crouched by Gabe, and they talked a little. Sam and Marcus watched until he and Adam mounted horses and disappeared down the trails.

"Did he mention anything about—" Marcus paused to press the back of his hand to Justin's forehead. "—any of it," he finally finished.

Justin moved, turned a little to his side, exposing some of his scars.

Marcus paled, then tears coursed down his face, and he pressed a fist to his chest. "I need some air," he muttered.

Which left Sam on his own with Justin.

Marcus stood outside next to Gabe, but it didn't seem like they were talking. Sam understood why they couldn't stay in the cabin; everyone was in shock.

Sam's stomach growled. He rummaged in his backpack, pulled out a fruit juice and a packet of chips, bemoaning the fact that this was his second main meal of just snacks. He could feel his nutritional standards falling almost by the minute, not to mention his taste buds, which were dying one by one.

Then he considered where to sit and decided the best place would be as close to Justin as he could manage. He dragged in a chair from the dining area but gave up when it was hard and unyielding to his ass. Instead he climbed onto the bed and made a nest of pillows. There he was between Justin and the gun, and also, more importantly, he would be a friendly face if Justin woke up.

Unsettled, he climbed down again and went into the bathroom to wet a small towel with cold water, considering how the hell he could make it any colder. He switched on the small fridge at the wall; they needed it if this was going to last for days.

He pressed the cloth to Justin's forehead and held it there. Justin muttered something under his breath. Sam listened but couldn't make out anything past a single word: blue .

What that meant, he had no idea. Maybe he should ask Justin when he was lucid again.

Talking of which, he should wake Justin up right about then if he was going to follow the whole concussion protocol. Sam placed the juice and chips on the nightstand and shook Justin gently, then more forcefully until Justin opened his eyes, blurred and unfocused.

"Hey, who is the president? What's your name? What day is it?"

Justin blinked, rattled off the answers with no small amount of sarcasm, and stared right up at Sam. "Hey, sexy blue," he slurred and closed his eyes again.

At least he wasn't dead, or dying, or whatever. But he was clearly delirious. Not that Sam didn't think himself sexy. He felt sexy most of the time. But Justin was off his head with pain, so Sam ignored him. Still, at least he had a concept of the word blue as Justin used it, and he guessed—or was it hoped?—it could have something to do with his eyes.

He picked up his juice again, checked the battery on his phone, and opened his Kindle. He was currently halfway through a Grisham book, all spies and twists, and he couldn't fail to realize that the book was an awful lot like real life.

Grisham's words didn't distract him from worrying; from this vantage point, he could see Gabe still sitting on the ground, but there was now no sign of Marcus. Sam wriggled a little; enforced sitting was not his strong point.

And then Justin moved, turned onto his front, moaning in pain, and then a few seconds later onto his side. He was clearly asleep rather than unconscious, and evidently looking for something to hold onto.

Like Sam's leg, for instance.

Well, the material of Sam's jeans, at least.

Then Justin murmured something and curled up a little, resting his head in Sam's lap and snuggling around him.

Sam held his hands up and out of the way, and then realized he couldn't do that indefinitely. He attempted to be good and move away, but Justin mumbled his dissent and gripped the denim hard.

"Okay, buddy," Sam said, settling himself with his phone in one hand, the book still open, and his other hand having nowhere to rest except on Justin's head.

Justin's hair had dried, soft and fluffy and a lot blonder than Sam had first thought it was. Ethan's hair wasn't that blond; in fact, Ethan's hair had a hint of red in its darker blond—not that Sam had spent a long time staring at Ethan's hair. Or Nate's ass. Or Jay's pretty face.

Yeah, right.

He moved his fingers a little, stroking them through Justin's soft hair, and without consciously realizing it, he was massaging Justin's scalp, trying to avoid the lump that had to be painful given that Justin gasped whenever Sam inadvertently ran a finger over it.

Justin appeared either not to have any idea of what Sam was doing or actually to like it. He murmured something again and snuggled into Sam's lap.

"Sexy blue," Justin muttered, rubbing his face in Sam's lap, and then stilling.

Dangerously close to Sam's cock, actually. Which, for once, was behaving itself around a good-looking man. Because Sam wasn't the kind of person to get hard over an unconscious man, right? Even a man that close to his groin, moaning about Sam's eyes.

Possibly.

Justin was hot, burning up. He was delirious, this was stupid, and Sam really hoped Aaron got here soon.

The door opened and Gabe stepped in, looking a little disheveled and still clearly in shock. Evidently he'd decided to confront the situation instead of sitting outside. Although, Sam couldn't blame him for his distance so far: this must be one hell of a shock.

"Is he okay?" Gabe asked, his voice low.

"Sleeping," Sam answered, not stilling his gentle massage.

"That isn't good." Gabe closed the door behind him and crossed to the bed. He sat on the other side of Justin, resting a hand on Justin's back on the material of the T-shirt.

Under that cotton was a horror Sam couldn't quite get his head around. "The scars," he murmured.

Gabe nodded, biting his lower lip, his eyes bright. "I've never seen anything like it." He bowed his head. "What do you think…? I mean…." He didn't finish, but Sam ended the sentence in his head.

What do you think happened?

"I don't know, but to have survived that, can you imagine the hell he must have gone through?" Some protective urge had him twisting his fingers in Justin's hair for a brief moment, reassuring himself that Justin was still alive when Justin reacted, grunting in his sleep.

"What do you think he meant? That he had one more man to kill?"

That must have been what Ethan said to Gabe out there; telling Gabe exactly what Justin had told him. No wonder Gabe had finally come in looking like his world was ending.

Sam didn't answer. He didn't have anything to offer, so he merely shrugged at the question.

Gabe sighed. "I wish Ashley were here."

"I don't," Sam joked, "because then we'd have to close Branches."

Gabe frowned. "I don't think that?—"

"I was joking," Sam interrupted. "Inappropriate-Sam, that's what they call me."

"Who?" Gabe asked, confused.

"That was a joke as well. Shit, just ignore me." No one actually called him that, but people who knew him did call him the King of Sarcasm or Master of Flirting. Those were labels he was happy to have for most of the time. Until, of course, he'd gone home for the funeral and slipped back into Sam the Gay One, Sam the Troublemaker, Sam the Loser.

And there I go, back to the shit in my head. When the guy with his head in my lap is a hell of a lot worse off.

Gabe went to the kitchen and pulled out a glass from the cabinet, running the water for a little while before filling the glass and sipping as he watched them from the kitchen.

"Did you wake him up to check he's okay?"

Sam nodded. "He knows his own name, the president, the day of the week, and he told me to fuck off." The last he lied about, because "sexy blue" wasn't exactly like fuck off, but he wasn't going to tell Gabe the whole truth there.

Sam had been aiming to get Gabe to crack a smile, but Gabe leaned on the work surface and shook his head. "He was sixteen when he left, you know. Adam was only fifteen but really close to his sixteenth birthday."

Sam nodded. He liked Gabe, and if Gabe wanted to talk around this, then Sam was happy to listen. Justin moved in his lap; he was so hot—this was getting stupid. Sam checked his watch. He'd give Ethan another half hour and then he was calling a doctor himself.

"I was the baby of the three," Gabe continued. "Nearly a whole year younger, but in the same classes at school. The three of us were real close. I recall laughing, teasing, pulling pranks, Justin riding Easy… I remember all that. But that man lying there, that's not the Justin I knew."

Sam looked down at the sleeping form. "He's older now," he offered, even as he thought it was a lame thing to say. "It must be hard for Ethan, and for you, with Adam as well."

Sam felt like he was the barrier between Justin and the family, almost as if the rest of them could learn to handle Justin being back if they didn't need to confront it all in one go. Sam was torn. That was a position he would gladly take, but at the same time it scared him. Everyone else was looking to him for answers, and Sam didn't have them.

"I'll wait outside, if that's okay?"

"It's fine."

"I would stay, but I can't get my head around this. I need…"

"I said it's okay, Gabe."

Gabe's eyes brightened and he pressed his lips together hard, evidently fighting tears. He nodded, but didn't say anything as he topped up the glass of water. "Call out for me if you need me," he murmured, and with one last pointed look at Justin, he left, closing the door behind him.

"Has he gone?" Justin murmured.

Sam startled. Had Justin been awake through that? "Yeah, he's gone outside."

"Okay, I need you to go talk to him, distract him." Justin coughed. "Give me time to get out the back."

"No," Sam said. "Hell no." He tightened his grip in Justin's hair, and they had a small tug of war as Justin attempted to extricate himself.

Only, Justin was as weak as a kitten and Sam wasn't entirely a pushover, despite being shorter and less muscled than Justin was. Justin struggled, but his bad leg was entangled in the sheet and Sam was holding all the winning cards.

"I told you," Justin bit out and then groaned. "It's dangerous."

Sam didn't give in or release his hold, only this time he gripped more T-shirt than hair.

Finally, Justin stilled and let out a loud sigh. "I need the bathroom," he said, his tone sharp.

"Yeah, right." Sam was disbelieving. "I'll go with you."

Justin shoved at him, and Sam released his hold. Justin snapped back and away from him, falling sideways on the bed and groaning at the movement. For a while he cursed through the pain but lay still, gripping his head with one hand, his thigh with the other.

"What the fuck?" Justin snapped once his breathing was back to normal.

Sam simply looked at him with what he hoped was an implacable expression. "Ethan is coming back. Your dad is out there somewhere, and he and Adam know."

"I heard," Justin snapped. "I fucking know that."

He rolled to the left a little, putting weight on his wound, and he swore and spluttered through the process of standing up. Shakily he managed to get upright at least, although he took so long about it that in an instant, Sam got between him and the bathroom door.

"Leave the door open," Sam said.

"No. Where's the gun?"

"In the drawer." Sam indicated the unit, and Justin limped around the bed, opening the drawer and pulling out the weapon. With smooth movements that belied the fact he had an infection and a possible concussion, he checked the bullets and held the gun with practiced ease.

Sam wasn't the biggest fan of guns; his dad had a huge collection in a special display unit for firearms, one of the last things Sam saw when he was being kicked out of the house, given the guns were on display in the last room off the entrance hall. Not to mention that one of those guns had been removed and pointed at Bryan to get him to leave the property.

Justin didn't point his gun at Sam, but he did keep hold of it as he stumbled past Sam on his way to the bathroom, cursing under his breath the whole way. Words like asshole , bastard , fucker , and quite a few others Sam hadn't heard since he watched the last season of Game of Thrones .

Justin shut the door, though, but luckily the bathroom window opened onto where Gabe was sitting, so he guessed Justin wouldn't be climbing out anytime soon.

Sure enough, Justin used the bathroom and soon came out. "I'm going now."

"Ethan wanted you to stay here."

"Do you know what it will do to Adam and my dad if they talk to me? If they even get an ounce of what I'm holding inside? After all this time?"

Sam considered the question even as Justin made to move past him. Sam stepped in front of him, and Justin bumped into him enough that the gun was pressed between them. Justin jumped back as if he'd been burned, then stumbled when all his weight balanced on his bad leg. He fell back against the wall, his reaction implying the pain was much worse than it had been a few hours before. None of it was good.

"I think they'll be relieved," Sam finally said after Justin found his center with the aid of the wall to hold him up. At least Sam hadn't reached for Justin. Clearly the last thing he needed at the moment was to be touched.

"They'll be sickened," Justin snapped. "And they'll be in danger, so I'm going. And this time I will shoot you to get past."

Sam tilted his head a little, staring right into Justin's eyes. "And Gabe. You'd have to shoot Gabe, and of course, Ethan, when he catches up with you, because you can't walk properly."

Justin deliberately pushed himself away from the wall. "I can walk," he lied.

Sam stepped into his space and pressed gently near the wound on Justin's thigh. Then he held Justin when he doubled over. "Yeah. Right."

"You fucking asshole," Justin snapped, breathing harshly with pain that evidently wasn't easing however much he seemed to be attempting to get himself under control.

"You try and leave, and I will call the cops," Sam threatened. "Maybe there's a reward on the warrants out for you? I could get a new bike."

He was teasing, but Justin was evidently past seeing that.

"And I'll shoot them all," Justin snapped. Despite the fact he was finding standing difficult, he appeared to be able to throw sarcasm into the mix. He held up the gun and pointed it at Sam. "You don't get it, do you? I shouldn't have come home." His eyes were a little glazed; he pressed the fingers of his free hand to his temple.

Sam moved sideways, a little out of range of the gun. Justin wasn't steady on his feet. Then he took the weapon gently from the disoriented Justin, and helped him back to the bed. Sam assisted him in getting under the covers and felt his head. Justin was burning up again, and he closed his eyes.

And that was it: he was gone.

For a few seconds, Sam watched him, seeing the rise and fall of his chest, reassured at that if not anything else. Maybe he shouldn't have poked him in the thigh.

"Sam?" Justin called him from the bed. "I think… I'm gonna…."

Sam didn't quite reach him in time as Justin hung half out of the bed and was sick on the floor. None of it reached Sam, and he changed course to come at Justin from behind, supporting his limp body and calling for Gabe.

Gabe came in, took one look at the situation, and shook his head. "Jesus, Sam."

Sam didn't answer. He did his best to clean Justin while avoiding the mess on the floor and making sure Justin was back in bed. Dizziness, sickness, was that just him riding a concussion? And was it just Sam's imagination, or was the wound on his thigh even redder?

He hoped to hell Aaron was coming, because if someone didn't get here soon, Sam was shoving Justin on his bike and taking him out of there. Assassins waiting in dark corners be damned.

Sam wiped the floor with the cleaning supplies from under the sink, and pushed the bucket he used into the bathroom to deal with later. He didn't want to take his eyes off Justin for long. Something about him made Sam protective and angry all at the same time.

"Aaron is about thirty out," Gabe announced, his phone in his hand. "He's visiting privately, no record of it."

Justin groaned in the bed, his eyes closed and his breathing shallow. Restless and ill, he kept reaching for something, but Sam didn't know what. The gun, probably. The gun Sam had put back in the drawer.

Sam didn't know what was worse, Aaron being thirty minutes away or Marcus and Adam being two more added to the list of people who knew Justin was there.

But whatever he thought, Justin needed him, and Sam scrambled onto the bed, taking up position next to Justin and encouraging him to lay his head in Sam's lap. When Sam massaged his head and tugged his hair, it settled Justin immediately.

Sam waited for the inevitable questions and anger to wash over Justin from everyone who wanted a piece of him. And although he couldn't figure out exactly why, he knew he wouldn't be moving.

"Justin?" The voice was breaking into his dream. That was new, as well. "It's Aaron. I'm here to help…. Hey, Justin, can you open your eyes?"

No.

"My name is Aaron."

No.

"Listen to my words, Justin. Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?" the voice continued.

Who the fuck is he talking to?

"I need to get some fluids into him and check the wound. Fuck, who dug that bullet out?"

"You don't think he did it himself, do you?"

"Fuck knows. Pass me my bag. This is ridiculous. He needs help I may not be able to give him."

There was some movement and more talking.

"What is your full name, Justin? Can you tell me? Do you remember me from school? Aaron Carter?"

The voice was asking so many questions. School? He'd never dreamed about school before. He'd never finished it, not past sixteen. "Aaron?"

"Hey, buddy, good to see you. Can you keep your eyes open? Justin? Come on, let's get some antibiotics and fluids into you sorted out."

The words faded away and the buzzing in his head intensified, and then it was blissfully silent as he blacked out again.

Justin felt himself move back into the room, not from on high in an out-of-body experience kind of way, but in that slow way when you wake up and begin to realize people are talking to you, about you, around you.

"…Remains of the bullet. I'll come back in the morning."

"Thank you for coming here, for doing this."

Justin recognized Ethan's voice. And then an older voice said some words, but they were distant. They sounded like thanks, maybe. Justin made sure to keep his eyes shut so that no one spoke to him, because what the hell could he say?

Ethan was talking to someone else, asking questions, passing over information; he could be on the phone because no one in the room was answering.

Then Sam's voice. "Concussion?"

"I want it on record that you'll get him to the hospital."

That's Aaron.

Sam sounded a little desperate. "I want to give it at least a day. He seems so scared. Can we do that?"

"He needs an MRI if he does have a concussion," Aaron warned.

"I know. Just, can we wait until he wakes up and we'll talk to him?"

Aaron sighed noisily. "I don't feel right not telling Ryan. He's not just the sheriff, he's my brother. He should know."

Aaron Carter, the sheriff's older brother. The name came with a face in his memories. I remember him.

"No involving him yet," Ethan said. "Please. And if there's fallout, then I'll take the hit."

Justin heard Ethan's impassioned statement. Thank you, big brother.

Sam kept on talking. "Please, Aaron, just twenty-four hours."

I'll have to put my trust in Sam and Gabe, and hope to hell Ethan keeps his cool. Too many people in danger here…. Nothing I can do to help….