Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Justin moved a little and nudged at the hand that lay on his head, enough to have the fingers work their magic in his hair again. He hoped that Sam wouldn't give away that he was awake.

"I can't wrap my head around this." That was his dad, Marcus; Justin would recognize the voice anywhere. "Did you do enough, Aaron? Should he be in a hospital?"

Someone touched Justin, just on his thigh. A firm pressure, but it didn't hurt as much as it had. He'd lost consciousness a while back, or fallen asleep, or a bit of both, as soon as Aaron began poking at his thigh.

Actually, probably not sleep at all.

Aaron had explained he needed to check the wound and the dressing, and he had brought more antibiotics to deal with the infection and the fever.

Justin didn't care. He was too tired to care.

"There you go, all done. He seems to be doing okay. Keep an eye on his temperature. Call me if anything changes."

"Thank you," Ethan said.

"I want this on record that under duress I'm keeping what is going on here from Ryan. He's the sheriff, and he needs to know," Aaron said. "You understand that this isn't ethical and I'm breaking a hundred rules."

"I'll owe you," Ethan said. "I'll tell anyone who wants to know that I made you do it."

Aaron sighed, noisily enough for Justin to hear. "Call me, okay?"

The door opened and shut; another voice added to the cacophony of sound in Justin's head. His ears were ringing, loud and constant, and he had to focus on the words to understand them at all.

"How is he?"

"Did you remember anything after seeing him here?" Marcus asked.

"Nothing." The new voice— Adam —held so much sorrow in it. "I didn't see him properly that night in the woods. I was sure it was him, but to have him here… I want to say it's all flooding back, but I just remember swimming, nothing else."

"It's okay," Ethan said.

Then there was silence. Was Ethan hugging Adam? Reassuring him that everything was going to be okay? If he was, then he was saying it without words.

Ethan spoke again. "Dad, you need to sit down. You look gray."

"I'm okay, son," Marcus said gruffly.

The noise of furniture scraping on the floor.

"Sit, you stubborn old fool," Ethan said, but with a teasing tone, without heat. Ethan wasn't angry or controlling; he was concerned. "You can go, Sam, I'll stay."

The body Justin was against, Sam , moved as Ethan spoke. Sam's chest rose, his words a rumble. "Okay," he said.

Dread flooded Justin. He moved a little and gripped leather as Sam made to move. No way was he letting go; Sam was his last barrier between himself and his family and having to talk.

"Looks like he wants me to stay," Sam said.

"Justin?"

Ethan's voice was closer, right next to Justin's ear, and he couldn't fake it any longer. He opened his eyes, blinking in the half-light, and for the first time in a long time, was lost for words.

"Son," Marcus said, tears rolling down his face. "Son…."

His dad could only say the one thing, and he reached over to touch Justin's hand. So gently, a nothing touch, but it clearly meant everything to Marcus.

A sob left his dad's mouth, and corresponding guilt and self-hatred flooded Justin. He looked at his father, at the gray in his hair, at his eyes bright with tears, at how he was touching him, and Justin felt like the lowest of the low.

He'd destroyed everything and regretted it all, then made peace with his actions. Now he had to open the box and let that all out. He couldn't look his dad in the face, so he closed his eyes, but Sam was moving away and Justin had to open them again to see Sam twisting off the bed to stand, then stretching tall and yawning widely.

"I'm going back to Branches, okay? I'll bring some food back later. I won't be gone long."

"I'll go with you," Gabe said. "I need to talk to Ashley and the kids. She knows something is up."

"You can't tell anyone," Justin said.

"Ashley isn't just anyone," Gabe snapped. "She's my fiancée, and we don't have secrets." Gabe was angry and confused, and Justin would give anything to explain everything to one of his oldest friends, but that wasn't happening yet. There was way too much anger and frustration in the room, and it all merged into a kind of chaos that Justin couldn't handle.

Justin coughed. "Too many people," he managed.

He couldn't say any more, because what little energy he had slid away from him, and all he wanted to do was sleep.

"What happened?" Marcus asked, his voice cracking. "You can't keep fobbing us off, Justin. We need to know."

"Dad," Ethan warned. "Maybe now isn't a good time."

Justin could have kissed his brother. "Witness protection," he mumbled.

Marcus stared right at him. "Really? Like Adam?"

Justin's chest tightened; he couldn't think about Adam yet. How was he going to look him in the face?

"Dad, could I talk to Justin alone for a while?" Ethan asked.

Justin wanted to shout no to that. He wanted Sam to come back. He didn't want his dad to leave, but damn if his dad didn't ease up out of the chair and pat Ethan on the back.

"We'll talk in a bit," Marcus said, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Justin's forehead. His eyes were damp and he clung to Justin's arm for the longest time. "I love you son," he murmured.

It took everything Justin had in him not to shrink away. He didn't want to be touched, cornered like this. Of course he should love his dad, who wouldn't love their dad? Except men like him with ice instead of hearts, maybe? It would be so easy to say I love you, to let Marcus have that moment, but he couldn't. Because he wasn't the son any man would want. Not anymore.

"Thank you," he forced out and waited for Marcus to leave the room.

Ethan remained, watching him with a thoughtful expression. "Whatever happens, whether you stay or leave, I love you, little brother," Ethan said. His eyes looked suspiciously bright, and Justin wished he could get in touch with his feelings like that. Wondered if he had feelings at all. Sometimes he wondered if the hate, the bitterness, and the anger had burned away all the good emotions, like hope, happiness, and love.

"Thank you" was all he could think to say. Should he add that every time he thought about home it tore him apart, and after a while he'd stopped thinking at all? That even the love and the grief wasn't enough to keep him connected to his family?

So why come home to die? Why did I even think that would be okay?

Ethan asked carefully, "Can we talk about Adam?"

"I can't talk to him," Justin said, and immediately he was on the defensive. "I won't talk to him about any of it." Talking to Adam might just push him over the edge of the fine balancing act between guilt and hate.

Ethan sat on the bed, close enough to rest a hand on Justin's knee, but Justin wriggled away. Ethan looked hurt but didn't say anything about it. "I wasn't asking you to see him, but he needs to know what happened."

"No, he doesn't." On that, Justin was firm. "I told you, I came home to die." Justin had to be honest. "No one was ever supposed to find me."

Ethan blanched. "Jesus, Justin, you need to stop saying shit like that."

"You wanted to know," Justin snapped. His meds started to work their magic; the pain was easing again, and sleep began to tug at him.

"What happened to you that you can talk about dying like it doesn't matter?"

"Stop asking me."

"Please talk to me," Ethan entreated. "I'm your brother."

Justin needed Ethan to go, to leave him alone. He didn't want to talk to him or listen to his questions. "You don't have a brother," he said as cruelly as he could. "He died in '04, and he's not coming back."

Ethan recoiled, his expression a mixture of shock and hurt. "That's complete shit. My brother is sitting on a bed in a cabin on Crooked Tree. That's the very definition of back ."

"And as soon as I can, I'm leaving."

Ethan reached for him again, clamping a hand on the knee of his good leg. No way was Justin wriggling free from that. "You remember the toy soldiers? How you put them in my shoes, and my cereal, and under my pillow?"

Grief stabbed at Justin. He'd been the king of practical jokes, but that had been a long time ago now. "I'm not sitting here fucking reminiscing with you." He didn't want the whole psychological bullshit move of being reminded of his childhood.

"And remember that time we went up to Silver Lake and decided we were going to live in the water, like mermen? You were only eight, and you thought it was such a good idea."

"Leave me alone," Justin said in a flat tone.

Ethan squeezed Justin's knee again. "No, because I missed out on so much, and I want to have someone to share memories with, and that person is you."

Justin stared at him, wanting to feel affection, love, a connection, but all he saw was danger. They shouldn't be talking; he shouldn't be here, and he needed to protect everyone.

He wanted Sam back as a buffer between him and everyone else. Wanted Sam's nails scratching his scalp, Sam's fingers curling in his hair and tugging it.

But most of all, he just wanted to leave. "I'm going to sleep."

"Okay." Ethan moved to sit on the chair that Marcus had used.

"On. My. Fucking. Own," Justin snapped. "I don't need watching."

Ethan stood, nodded, and left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

Justin immediately attempted to roll off the bed. It took him three tries to be able to stand up without holding onto something, and a further minute or two willing away the nausea, and then he moved to the window. He opened it and let in air, and for a second he could even visualize himself climbing over the ledge, dropping to the ground outside, and making his way into the forest.

But he couldn't. Hell, he couldn't even stand up unaided. His thigh burned, his head hurt, and he was a pathetic mess of shit that couldn't even face talking to his brother.

"Okay, son?" Marcus asked from the doorway.

Justin hadn't even heard his dad open the door, so how the hell was he going to be safe out there beyond the borders of Crooked Tree? "What?" he snapped. Clearly he'd sunk into being-shit-to-everyone mode to deal with things.

"Ethan said you were sleeping," Marcus stepped into the room, a glass of water in one hand and something wrapped in foil in the other. "I wanted to bring this in, in case you woke up hungry or thirsty. PB emotion was a trap waiting for him to fall into it.

"For giving up, for thinking you were dead. Ethan tried to tell me, but I couldn't believe. If you were watching and you saw me give up, then I'm so sorry."

Something deep inside knotted hard and Justin was completely lost for words. "Ethan!" he called, hoping to hell his brother wasn't too far away.

The door flew open and Ethan was in the room in an instant. "What?" he asked panicked. His gaze darted around the room, looking for danger; his hand had gone to his weapon.

Justin simply pointed at his dad. "He's crying." Then he turned to look out at the trees.

He couldn't watch Ethan supporting their dad, or listen to the words that might be enough to get Marcus to stop with the emotions.

The door shut. Cautiously Justin turned to face whoever was left in the room.

But there was no one. Dad and his tears, Ethan with his frustratingly strong emotions, had both gone. Justin was alone.

That was just how he wanted it.

Except… it would be better if Sam was there, just sitting and not asking questions, and playing with Justin's hair.

Much better.