Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Sam took up his position on the bed. Justin was sleeping again, or unconscious, and his leg was elevated on pillows.

Aaron had sliced into the leg through pus and blood, and finally eased out the smallest sliver of bullet. Aaron said he'd seen that kind of thing before, when wounds were dealt with by people with no experience. Clearly, Justin had dug the bullet out, and a piece had shattered inside, and he'd left that part behind. Aaron called it "battlefield medics," and Sam was in awe that Justin had somehow managed to get most of the bullet out. Unfortunately, Sam had to stop himself from being sick as Aaron expertly dealt with the resulting gape in Justin's skin, stitching it a little and then bandaging it. Sam tried to leave on several occasions, but each time Justin gripped him, or lay on him, or just touched him, and Sam couldn't go.

Apparently it was now a waiting game, one that Sam had decided he could best help by sitting exactly right there.

Of course, that meant he also had to deal with various others, who felt they didn't want to leave Justin. His dad and brother for two, who hovered and talked in low tones. None of them seemed to have a problem with Justin clinging to Sam, or at least no one said anything, and Sam was convinced he was right about his earlier thought: the family needed that barrier between Justin and themselves; they could handle the shock if they had space.

Marcus was a hundred percent behind getting Justin to a hospital, but Ethan came down very firmly on the side of whatever Justin wanted, added to the whole "being wanted by the law" and the witness protection issue that were primary concerns.

Ethan had called his partner in Missoula to try and find out what was on record, but between them they decided that red flags would pop up if they opened active inquiries. So they were stuck not knowing a thing.

Ethan said he'd give it some time, and if Justin worsened, then he would be the first person to take him to the closest medical help he could find.

"I don't like it," Marcus said for the thirtieth time—or that was what it felt like to Sam.

He shifted a little, his forearm against Justin's hot skin. Aaron suggested the fever was part and parcel of the infection and that time would tell. He was coming back with other meds, and had rigged up a makeshift drip on the bed, which fed into Justin's body.

"Dad, we have to be patient." Ethan was trying to be the settling influence, but Marcus didn't seem to be listening.

"Where has he been?" Marcus slumped to the chair, looking tired.

So many people were asking the same thing. The same question had occurred to Sam, but he was more focused on the here and now. After all, he hadn't known the Justin from before.

The shifts changed. Ethan, Adam, Marcus, Jay, Gabe—all of them respectfully quiet but still talking over the same questions. The only constant was Sam, who hadn't left Justin's side for the longest time. He guessed it was because he didn't have a side in this battle of wills; he was just here for the semiconscious man he'd found in a cabin.

"You can go if you like." Ethan said to Sam at just before ten. The absolute darkness beyond the window underlined how late it was.

Sam decided that being held at the end of a gun and looking out for the mysterious man who'd done that was enough to keep him here. "I'm fine right here."

Ethan looked torn. Right then it was just Adam and him, along with Sam and Justin, of course. Adam looked tired. Sam had caught him more than once pressing his fingers to his temple. He suffered from headaches at times, and hell, this was stress city.

"We're taking the other bedroom," Ethan said. "If you need us."

Sam nodded. He wasn't leaving Justin, almost felt tied to the man. "I'll wake him like the doc said."

Not that Aaron was a doctor as such, but he was ex-Army, a field medic who knew his stuff, working as a paramedic since then. Sam thought Justin was in capable hands, as did Ethan. Only Marcus disagreed, but Marcus was still in shock.

"Dad said he'll be here early," Ethan continued, "I sent him home to Sophie. Nothing he can do with Justin asleep, and he's struggling at the moment."

Marcus was undergoing treatment for cancer; of course he was struggling. But clearly Ethan thought Sam needed to know why he was the only one there with Justin.

Sam didn't. "I want to be here," he said, firmly. "Get some sleep, and I'll wake you if he needs anything."

Ethan nodded. "Thank you, Sam. For calling Gabe, for not listening to my brother, for not giving into his stubbornness."

Sam nodded. "No one can out-stubborn me," he joked.

That was clearly enough to break the weirdness, because Ethan took Adam's hand and led him down the small corridor to the other bedroom. Sam wondered if they had blankets and whatever else they needed in there, and then decided it wasn't his place to worry.

He put one of his earbuds in and cued up season two of Game of Thrones on his phone, watching on the tiny screen, and being thoroughly confused by two episodes, before switching back to his Kindle and reading his book. He woke Justin at twelve and again at two. Then turned out the small reading light and settled down in the pillows. He'd set the alarm for four, ready to wake up Justin, and with his head full of the spy thriller he was reading, he attempted sleep.

When he woke, it wasn't to the alarm, but to a warm body spooning him from behind. At some point Justin had moved to lie on his side, and Sam must have scooted back into the space.

Should Justin even have moved? What about his drip?

Carefully, Sam felt for Justin's hand. The drip was still there, and Justin didn't react to the touch. He wasn't as hot as he'd been yesterday; maybe everything was working out and his fever had broken. That was a good thing, right? So they could check better on the concussion worries. Despite being wrapped up awkwardly in the sheets, Sam turned in Justin's hold to get a better look at the patient.

Justin was sleeping peacefully, his forehead smooth, looking much younger than his twenty-eight years—the same age as Adam and Gabe.

Every exhale of breath was warm on Sam's chest, and he reached out to smooth Justin's hair back from his skin. Justin's eyelids flickered and Sam pulled his hand back like he had been burned, waiting for Justin to wake up and call him on his creepy staring.

Justin didn't move, though, but Sam needed to wake him up. "Justin." He spoke firmly, adding a little shake to Justin's shoulder.

Justin opened his eyes and looked right at Sam. Then he smiled, a sexy, sleepy curve of his lips.

"Sexy blue," Justin murmured. And then his expression changed, his eyes widened, and everything went to shit.

In one smooth move, Justin had Sam flat on his back. But it wasn't defense; it wasn't beating the shit out of Sam.

It was sucking on the skin at his throat, and rutting, and murmured words.

And Sam was right there with him. Justin was so into this, praising Sam's body, his kissing, and the fact that he was warm?—

And then as abruptly as it started, it stopped.

Justin closed his eyes, rested his forehead on Sam's, and moaned low in his throat. "Want this so bad," he mumbled. "Wish it was real." And he rolled off Sam and back to his side of the bed.

Only when Sam lay fighting to get rid of his erection by thought alone did it cross his mind—he hadn't asked the standard questions to check Justin was okay. Somehow he didn't think there was a point.

What was that about?

Justin had clearly been dreaming, but the weight of him, the reality of him; the rutting was enough for Sam to stay hard for too fucking long. Part of him, the part wrapped up in self-preservation, thought maybe he should get out of the bed, but what would that serve? He'd just be uncomfortable on a chair somewhere. If only Justin had seen a toothbrush recently then Sam could have stolen a kiss. But the frotting was enough to have him in serious need of finding a toothbrush and paste right the hell now .

Because, hell, maybe Justin would roll over and do all of that again, and add in some kissing?

A man could hope.

Sam woke to Ethan's voice speaking quietly in his ear. "Sam, breakfast, if you want some?"

Sam groaned and rolled over, immediately looking to his left and finding an empty space. He panicked and sat bolt upright. "Where's Justin, is he okay?"

Ethan nodded to his right and Sam peered around him. Justin sat on the windowsill staring out at the trees. Clearly he was okay, and he turned slowly to see Sam and Ethan looking at him. He looked wrecked, but no longer scarlet with heat.

Was it just Sam, or was Justin avoiding making eye contact with him? What happened in the night flooded back to him and abruptly Sam was happy Justin wouldn't look at him.

Sam used the bathroom, seeing several new toothbrushes and toothpaste on the side. He unwrapped a brush and used it; another was open and maybe Justin had used it. Sam had to work hard to keep his cock in its place as he imagined a minty-fresh kiss added to the rutting from last night.

I will not go there. He's an injured man. Get a life, Sam.

Sam ate breakfast—toast and cereal bars—and drank coffee, and longed for his kitchen during the five minutes it took to eat what he had. He imagined eggs, and bacon, and proper coffee, not this crappy instant shit.

Nevertheless, it woke him up, and through all of the eating and drinking, he watched Justin out of the corner of his eye.

Justin had taken out the drip. Likely there was nothing left in it anyhow; he certainly looked steadier in the seat, not leaning on the table but sitting back at ease—or at least not falling sideways.

Only when Ethan went out to the kitchen to sit with Adam did Justin talk. "I'm sorry," he said.

"About what?"

"I thought it was a dream, but as soon as you woke up and wouldn't look at me, I knew. I was obviously dreaming. I wouldn't have jumped you otherwise."

Emotions tumbled over themselves until Sam rationalized that Justin didn't really mean that he would never have jumped Sam, just not in that circumstance.

Well, that was how he was going to take it.

Justin stood from the windowsill, looking dangerously unsteady on his feet. Sam was there in an instant, helping him back to bed.

"Feel so fucking fragile," Justin cursed.

"You probably need sleep."

"Ya think?"

Sam shook his head at the sarcasm and helped Justin get his legs straight, pushing a pillow under his left thigh to elevate it. "You hungry?"

"I ate some toast."

"I mean proper food. Like eggs, bacon, that kind of thing."

Justin paled and pressed a hand to his stomach. "Not sure about that." Then, with a small frown, he lay back on the pillow and closed his eyes.

And suddenly, Sam didn't know what to do with himself. He waited until Justin was asleep, and then opened his book to read, stopping when he realized he'd been staring at a single page for the longest time.

He looked down at Justin, wondering what was going on in his head. What kind of life had he lived to become so stubborn and focused?

Justin moved in his sleep, curling closer to Sam. The fingers of one hand gripped Sam's jeans briefly, and then lay flat and unmoving; Justin relaxed and his lips parted as he breathed softly in sleep. The pain meds must have kicked in now because Justin looked incredibly peaceful.

And gorgeous.

Sam was connected to the man. He felt it in his gut, his head… and his heart. After the last couple of days, Justin had become part of his life, for better or worse, but Sam couldn't figure out how much he wanted from Justin.

Maybe it was simply to see him better; maybe it was for some more grinding up against each other. Maybe it was for even more than that.

Who knew?