Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

RYAN

Ryan parked and hesitated for a moment before getting out of the car. He wasn’t technically on duty or on call, but this wasn’t exactly an official visit anyway. Aaron had phoned him after Jordan called for paramedics at Crooked Tree.

He climbed out of the car and pulled on his thick coat. Aaron had said he should go to the Allens’ house, which was where Adam was after he’d collapsed. He hadn’t done that in a long time—months.

Ryan knocked on the door and walked right in, the warmth of the cabin making his cold face prickle, and shrugged off his coat.

“In here,” Sophie said.

Marcus stood behind her, looking like he’d rather be anywhere other than here. He wasn’t the best at dealing with the whole Justin-Adam missing/returned/lack of memory situation. But Marcus had not long finished his first rounds of cancer treatment, and he was constantly tired.

Ryan tipped an imaginary hat to Sophie, who offered him a small smile in return. Hell, how bad was this if all Sophie could muster was a lackluster half-smile? He hadn’t spotted Aaron’s ambulance in the parking area, so clearly this hadn’t been a medical emergency where he’d needed to stay.

He walked into the front room and everyone turned to stare at him. Adam on the couch, Ethan next to him, with an arm over Adam’s shoulder. Sam and Justin by the window— Justin looking like the world had been knocked out from under him. No sign of Jordan, but that was okay; this was clearly a family thing going on here.

“Ryan? Why are you here?” Ethan asked. He wasn’t accusing; he sounded genuinely confused.

“Aaron said I should come over,” he said by way of getting someone, anyone , to talk to him.

“We’re okay,” Ethan said.

“No, we’re not,” Justin said. “It’s a good thing Ryan is here, maybe he can mediate?—”

“He’s a sheriff, not a counselor,” Ethan pointed out.

Justin shook his head. “He’s a neutral party.

“Justin—”

Ryan interrupted as everyone began to talk. “Will someone tell me what happened?”

“I freaking collapsed again.” Adam said tiredly. “It’s as simple as that.”

“But there’s more,” Ryan prompted.

Justin scowled at him; Sam looked like he was going to full-on cry, and Adam like a stiff wind would blow him over.

“I remembered kissing Stretch, okay!” Adam snapped, holding his head and wincing.

“Who is that?” Ryan asked.

“The tattoo artist who did the horse on his back,” Ethan offered, supporting Adam with a hand on his arm.

Adam leaned into Ethan. “I remember a man killing him,” he began. “And there’s something else.” He looked at Ethan and swallowed.

“Tell him,” Ethan encouraged.

“Yeah, tell him what you remember,” Justin snapped, derision in his tone.

“Shut up, Justin.” Ethan made to stand.

Adam stopped him. “It’s okay. I remember Justin being there both times.”

“I wasn’t there,” Justin declared. “It wasn’t me who killed them.”

Sam placed a hand on his arm, as though holding Justin in place.

“Then how do you explain me recalling you there?” This time Adam sounded broken, and he hid his face in his hands. Ryan got the impression that he didn’t want those memories in his head, or if they weren’t memories, then images, or whatever you wanted to call them.

“I didn’t know you were alive! I would have seen you if I’d been there.”

“You were there, and you left me,” Adam said. “At least, I think you did.”

Silence.

Ryan had walked into the shitstorm of all shitstorms. “Guys?—”

“Justin wouldn’t ever have hurt you,” Ethan reassured Adam, holding him closer.

But evidently it wasn’t hard enough. Adam yanked free and stumbled to stand. “ Hurt me? ” he shouted. “He put me in danger and left me for dead when we were kids. Why stop there?”

And then he ran, before anyone could get ahold of him, and way before Ryan had the presence of mind to catch him as he dashed past.

The slamming of the door was a resounding stop to whatever had been going on in the room.

“Does someone want to explain?” Why was Ethan just standing there? “Ethan, aren’t you going after him?”

“He won’t talk to me,” Ethan said. And to Ryan’s horror, Ethan’s eyes teared up. “He thinks I’ll always choose Justin over him.”

“Well, he’s fucking wrong,” Justin shouted. “You shouldn’t ever choose me over him. I’m toxic.” He grabbed Sam’s hand, and for a second they looked at each other, Sam with a look of understanding, Justin with determination and a plea in eyes that were filled with pain.

As they left, Justin pressed a hand to Ethan’s shoulder. But Ethan didn’t look up at him.

There was damage being done here.

Finally it was Ryan and Ethan alone.

“Ethan, this has to stop,” Ryan murmured. He didn’t know what to say for the best, but this thing was spiraling out of control. Maybe there was value in Justin’s idea that he should leave for a while.

Ethan shook his head, as if he’d reached the end of things and couldn’t see what to do next.

Ryan knew one thing: Adam had run out of here without a coat, with pain etched into his expression, and Ryan had to find him. he pulled on his own coat, grabbing another from the peg, and left the cabin. There was no sign of Justin and Sam, no sign of Adam. Then inspiration hit and he half-jogged to the stables. And there was Adam, in with Easy.

Ryan slung the extra coat over Adam’s shaking shoulders.

“Do you need to see a doctor?” he asked carefully.

Part of him was expecting Adam to turn around and punch him in the face. He didn’t. He buried his face in Easy’s mane, and he was definitely crying. Ryan was a sheriff, he was supposed to take away people’s fears, make them feel safe, but he was doing a piss-poor job of it right then.

“Justin loves you…,” he began. “If he’d realized you were alive?—”

“I know ,” Adam sobbed. “I didn’t mean what I said. He didn’t leave me, and I know in my heart he wasn’t there at the ranch to try and hurt me. But my head won’t shake what I keep seeing.”

“You should tell him that, Adam.”

“He knows, but he just takes it when I shout at him, and when I say these things, he just stands there and takes it all, and I want him to shout back and defend himself and he doesn’t!”

Ryan reached out a hand and touched Adam’s shoulder, and Adam turned and curled into him.

“I got him,” Ethan said from his side.

Ryan was happy to see him. Adam needed Ethan, not him, so he passed him over into his keeping.

Adam didn’t argue, he just held Ethan tight, and Ryan backed away a little. Then he turned on his heels.

Next on his list, Justin.

Ryan found him with Sam, outside of Branches.

“I’m not good for him,” Justin said simply when Ryan came to a stop next to him.

“You need to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk,” he snapped. “I make it worse every time.”

“Justin—”

“I’m going.” Justin indicated the bag at his feet. “I need to give Adam some space here to heal, and I’m making things worse by staying. When my head is so messed up anyway, I need to go.”

“You’re running away,” Ryan said.

Justin shook his head. “I’ve tried, but I’m no good for him like this. Okay? It’s not running away—it’s giving him time.”

Ryan’s gaze flicked to Sam and the bag he held in his hands. “Jesus, Sam, you’re really doing this?”

“I’m going with Justin,” Sam said without hesitation. “Nate and Marcus know, and I organized a manager. I go where Justin goes.”

Justin glanced at Sam, and there was such need and love on his face that Ryan’s chest tightened.

“What will you do?” Ryan asked. Because hell, this was their home.

“I have some money,” Justin said. “We’ll be okay, and we’ll come back. For now, though, we need to let Adam heal, and I’m just fucking things up when he sees me every day.”

Ryan held up a hand. Since when did he become the mediator here? But all he could think was that Justin and Adam needed to talk. Really talk. “That’s not true?—”

“This is a burner cell.” Justin handed over a handset. “I’ll call in every so often, but if you need me, if Adam needs me, then call. Tell Ethan I’ll be in touch.”

“Justin, this is stupid. He says he wants you to argue back, to make him see?—”

“I can’t, Ryan. I’ve done enough damage.”

“Justin, you have to see that Adam is transferring all his anger and loss onto you because he absolutely trusts you love him unconditionally. Because you let him.”

Justin half smiled. “I’d take it all if it meant he was okay. And I will always, always come back for him. Just let him have this time.”

Ryan pocketed the cell, and watched as they walked over the bridge to the parking lot and climbed into Justin’s car. He waited until the car vanished around the corner and into the night before letting out a noisy sigh.

Shit.

“He’s gone, then.” A voice came from behind, and Ryan turned to see Gabe. “He said he might, just to give Adam some space.”

“That’s stupid,” Ryan snapped. “If Justin told the truth about what happened, and Adam could listen to him, and then they clear the air….”

Gabe shrugged. “It’s not that easy. With Adam recalling all this information and not being able to get a clear head? I don’t blame Justin for leaving for a while. I think it’s very brave of him, actually.”

“This is fucked up,” Ryan said with feeling. “I’m the sheriff here, yet I have no control over anything.”

Gabe clapped him on the shoulder. “Sheriff or not, Ry, there’s nothing else any of us can do tonight. Night.”

“Night,” he said by rote, then walked back to his car and belted up, giving the engine time to warm up the cab. And he considered just how close he was to Jordan here. He could follow the track down to the Forest Cabins; he knew which one Jordan was sharing with Micah and Angie.

Would Jordan want to see him? He was undoubtedly holed up running lines, or whatever actors did on their downtime, and anyway, they were due to see each other tomorrow at eight at Ryan’s place.

Still, he guessed it wouldn’t hurt if he drove down there and parked. Then, after pulling out his cell, he sent off a quick text.

At Crooked Tree after some drama. Need coffee.

There, that was okay, wasn’t it? Or was it too demanding? He backspaced, paused, then retyped the exact same message. But would Jordan get that he was here at Crooked Tree, with the shitty cell reception? His cell only had two bars as it was.

He amended the text and considered it, realizing he was channeling his inner teenager and angsting over a simple message. In the end he pressed Send and waited. Thank God for two bars.

The answer was quick and to the point. I have coffee, get down here.

Sighing with relief, Ryan drove down the narrow track and parked by the cabin they were using as a set. The place was in darkness, but the tents were still there, empty of people. Evidently the evening shoot had come to an end. A security guy sat in a car, drinking coffee, and after a quick check, waved Ryan past.

This wasn’t a Hollywood movie set with tons of security, but Ryan was pleased to see someone down here keeping an eye on the set-up.

He walked the short distance to Cabin 8. As Ryan stepped onto the path to the front door, it opened and Jordan came out. He wasn’t wearing a coat, but that didn’t stop him meeting Ryan halfway and kissing him in the dark.

“Come in,” he said when they separated.

“Is this okay? I was just up at Crooked Tree and?—”

Jordan cut off the question with another kiss and then tugged him inside, shutting the door behind them, then helping Ryan out with his coat.

They kissed again by the coats, again in the hallway farther in, and by the front room door. They only separated when Jordan pushed open the door.

Micah and Angie were curled up on the sofa, and in the background, an old episode of Friends was showing on the TV.

“Ryan’s here,” Jordan announced. “We’ll be in my room.”

Micah sketched a wave and then, with a raised eyebrow in comment, picked up the remote and turned up the volume on the television.

“Ass,” Jordan said, good-naturedly.

He grabbed two beers and headed along the long corridor and opened the last door. Jordan flipped on the light, and it revealed a large bedroom with a half bath leading off it. The bedding was navy, the furniture sturdy, the drapes pulled, and Jordan turned on a small bedside lamp before turning off the main light.

“Is Adam okay? He just crumpled to the ground and fell like a sack of potatoes. I called a paramedic.”

“He’s okay, sometimes…. It’s a long story.” Ryan couldn’t contemplate where to start explaining all of this. “Let’s just say the whole story would make for an intriguing screenplay.”

“You want to watch something? I have my laptop.”

Ryan slipped off his shoes and then gathered Jordan up in his arms. Stepping back, he allowed his weight to tip them onto the bed. Jordan sprawled across him. “No,” he said. “I want to just lie here and kiss you. A lot.”

“I can get with that plan,” Jordan murmured against his throat.

And they kissed for the longest time, talking between kisses until the kissing became more urgent and Jordan slid down his body. Abruptly, Ryan couldn’t think of anything he wanted to say, and lost himself to making love.

After, they lay in each other’s arms, conversing quietly. Ryan loved this part of sex, and he didn’t get it very often. Just lying with your lover in your arms, chatting about everything and nothing. Somehow they’d landed on talking about films, a nice safe subject that Jordan was passionate about and one that Ryan was happy to know more about.

“What happens after you’ve shot all the separate scenes like the one I watched?” Ryan asked. “Do you have to sit in a room and splice together all the bits of film?”

“No, everything is digital. I mean the rushes—the separate parts are digitized.”

“And then what happens?”

“You get an editor, and he or she takes all the bits and creates an edit decision list. They’ll read the script, look at the rushes, and from that information, cut the movie according to their opinion of what makes the story better.”

“They mess with your story? Doesn’t that piss you off?”

“No, they make it better. Well, mostly they do.” Jordan chuckled and pressed his face into Ryan’s neck.

“Shouldn’t an editor be telling you what to shoot in the first place?”

“Oh, he did. We had a whole list of the kind of things he wanted filmed from the script.”

“Like?”

“We have a fight coming up—the cops arrive at the ranch and they have an arrest warrant for my character, and he doesn’t take it well. Gets into a fight with one of the cops, who has a thing for the heroine. They end up in the water.”

“The water? Here? In this temperature? Fuck, Jordan, you’ll kill yourself.”

Jordan looked up and smiled, pressing a soft kiss to Ryan’s chin. “Anything for my art.”

Ryan grunted his displeasure and then decided to change the subject. Jordan wasn’t his to worry about. If he got hypothermia, it wasn’t on Ryan.

Please don’t get hypothermia.

“How long does it take to edit?” he asked to stop himself getting lost in worrying.

“Ten weeks or so, and they make different drafts: the rough cut, the answer print. When you’re happy with the visuals, you need a sound editor.”

“It’s kind of complicated.”

“Yeah.” Jordan shifted a little so they were face to face, and then he wriggled into what seemed to be his favorite position, lying half on and half off Ryan’s chest. Ryan moved his hands and rested them on Jordan’s ass, and Jordan smiled up at him. “Very complicated,” he continued. “Two months after we finish filming, music has to be added, and we cut dialogue tracks, sort out sound effects, make cue sheets for the mix, that kind of thing.”

“And then you’re done?”

“No. Sometimes we have to go back and lip-sync and loop dialogue that wasn’t sharp and clear. And the Foley artist puts things like the noise of footsteps and certain other sound effects into your movie.”

“Wait, you have someone in charge of footsteps?” The filmmaking process sounded way too complicated to be fun, but Jordan seemed to thrive on it if the grin he wore was anything to go by.

“And doors, and hooves, and crunching snow, and oofs and punches for the fight scenes.”

They kissed, and Ryan had the feeling he could get used to this, lying in bed, loose from making love, just chatting about his man’s day. He hadn’t mentioned his day, nothing past the word drama , but he didn’t want to bring his thoughts about all that here into their bed. Not yet. He just wanted hugs and loving.

I want that so bad.

“There’s more,” Jordan said. “Am I boring you? I can stop.”

Ryan didn’t want to admit he could listen to Jordan talking all day, but sue him, he did. Stopping meant that they might have no reason to be snuggled under the covers and holding each other close. “No, go on.”

“A musician composes music—the score—for setting the mood or foretelling a change in scene. Music is really important because it can change the way a person connects to the story, the emotional responses they have.”

Kind of like how angels were singing when I was inside you, Ryan thought fancifully. He didn’t say that, though; he wasn’t an idiot and he didn’t want to be laughed at. Big, strong, and tall sheriff getting all soft and mushy over good sex. Nope, not happening.

Jordan continued his explanation. “We put everything together. All the tracks of sound are layered to create a feeling of depth. Then there are the main titles, and the crawl titles at the end are all added to the master file, and finally you end up with a digital cinema package. There’s also marketing, stills work, posters, sound bites, plus the inevitable interviews and trailers.”

“So basically what you are saying is that the process is a long one and I have severely underestimated what goes into making a movie.”

Jordan chuckled and moved a little again. All the wriggling was making Ryan hard, and when he realized Jordan was just as interested, it was like he was eighteen again.

Only as he was holding Jordan to him and they were kissing did he realize two things: Jordan had made him forget everything, and he wanted Jordan in his life on a permanent basis.

Which meant he was opening himself up to heartbreak when Jordan and the crew left.