Chapter 19

_________

JOHN

JOHN FINALLY got up from his desk when his screaming bladder could no longer be ignored.

He muttered curses under his breath as he stormed into his private bathroom, even though it was a relief to get out of that damned chair for a change. John had been trying to get caught up on emails and other winery communications. Just another thing on his seemingly endless to-do list.

It didn't help that he felt exhausted right down to his core. He'd slept every night that week at Adam's place, though slept was being generous. Each night, he'd lain awake for hours, seeing ghosts in the dark corners of Adam's bedroom, only finally crashing into sleep when the exhaustion became too powerful to fight. Even then, he barely snatched a couple of hours at best. A far cry from his usual eight or nine.

He was running on fumes and he knew it. It was making him slow and foggy, so his focus and productivity were way down. John braced a hand against the wall as he emptied his bladder, needing the extra stability. He almost felt as though he could fall asleep, standing right there.

John flushed the toilet and went to wash his hands, scowling when the water ran cold. He cranked the valve all the way to hot , but even after a full minute of waiting, the water wasn't even remotely lukewarm.

"Christ," he muttered. "Now what?" John grabbed a towel to dry his hands, then crossed to the far corner of the bathroom, reaching for the door that hid the water heater. He didn't even make it that far. A light splash sounded beneath his feet, and when John looked down, he saw water flowing under the door and into the bathroom.

He yanked the door open and put a hand against the water heater. The unit was cool to the touch.

John whirled around, blindly pacing the room as he clenched his jaw, then turned and threw a punch at the wall.

Except he completely miscalculated, smashing his hand into the mirror over the sink instead. The thin glass shattered, raining down shards all across the counter.

"Fuck!" John shouted. He cradled his hand against his chest, eyeing the blood spilling over his knuckles.

" John? " Ward called. Footsteps crossed the office, and Ward knocked on the door. " You okay? "

"I'm fine," John snapped, shaking out his hand. He cranked on the sink and ran his knuckles under the cold water, clenching his jaw when it stung. There didn't appear to be any glass in the wounds, so John snatched the hand towel down off the hook and wrapped it around his hand to stop the bleeding. He huffed out a breath, then yanked open the door. "Sorry," he muttered, edging forward, waiting for Ward to get out of his way.

Ward eyed the glass and John's hand. "Can I help with anything?" he asked, finally catching on and stepping aside so John could get out of the room.

John hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Water heater quit. I'm gonna go shut off the main." He trudged outside, found the building's water main, and turned it off. "Damn it," he muttered. This was just what he needed.

He turned around and leaned back against the wall with a heavy sigh. John closed his eyes and fought for calm.

Except his entire body felt strung tight. The lack of sleep was one thing. The lack of sexual relief was only making it worse. He still couldn't bring himself to fuck Adam in the boy's bed—hell, it took everything he had just to kiss the boy anywhere in that apartment—so they'd lain beside one another, night after night, with John resolutely keeping his hands to himself despite the utter temptation of Adam's body.

And having Adam beg for it certainly wasn't helping matters. The poor boy was missing it just as badly as John was.

But every time John thought he might be on the verge of giving in, he'd spot that damned urn and immediately shut down, hearing Frank Barnes's voice, his memory playing that same line over and over.

"Touch my son again, and I'll kill you."

John cursed and shook his head. Even knowing that Frank wasn't there, he couldn't shake the feeling of being judged for wanting the boy. Of betraying Frank somehow by daring to touch Adam at all after that ultimatum.

So John had resisted. He'd even forgone jerking off in the privacy of the shower. Since Adam still couldn't shower with him, it wasn't like he didn't have ample opportunity to find relief there.

Except, even alone behind that curtain, the specter of Frank Barnes haunted him. John had gone all week without an orgasm, and it was starting to make him go a little bit crazy.

The obvious solution was to drive all the way home before coming back into town. Or to shower there at work before heading to Adam's place for the night, giving himself privacy and a chance to get off, far away from ghostly eyes.

John glanced down at the water main and sighed. So much for that idea .

He pushed off the wall, his body weighed down with stress and exhaustion as he trudged back inside, escaping the heat. John found Ward in the bathroom, sweeping up the shards of glass, while a pile of towels covered the floor in front of the water heater.

"You didn't have to do that," John muttered.

Ward shrugged. "Just thought I'd help." He tipped the dustpan over the garbage bin. "I called the plumber. He said he can be out here tomorrow."

John gave him a nod in acknowledgment.

"How's the hand?" Ward asked.

John shrugged. He couldn't stop staring at the floor. How he'd missed the water there—just inches from the toilet—was beyond him.

"John?"

"Huh?" John gave a start. He looked up to find Ward eyeing him with amusement.

"Go home," Ward said.

John blinked. Ward's tone didn't sound remotely like a suggestion. It was a flat-out order. Full-on dom voice. John cocked an eyebrow at him.

"I mean it," Ward said, not backing down in the slightest. "You look like you could sleep for a week, and it's almost quitting time, anyway. Go home. This will all be here tomorrow."

John inwardly groaned. That was exactly what he was afraid of. He wanted some sense of completion or closure. His damned to-do list seemed to keep growing instead of shrinking, and then problems like the water heater kept cropping up, putting him even further behind. And despite Adam's cheerful progress on downsizing his belongings, there was still all that underlying tension. That desperate, clawing need for them both to let go of something, yet every time they got two steps forward, it felt like they got dragged a step back.

Or maybe that was just all him. No matter how much time John spent in Adam's apartment—in Adam's bed—he couldn't shake the sense that every time he felt like he was making progress on letting go of his guilt, it would come slamming right back into him.

John shuffled over and dropped into his chair, still cradling his wrapped hand against his chest. A part of him really wanted to do as Ward said. Home sounded wonderful right about then. Familiar, uncluttered space. A bottle of wine, even if he did have to dig one out of that locked filing cabinet. Maybe even a chance to finally sit down with his guitar.

He hadn't had time for that, either. Other than scraps of moments, like driving to and from work, John hadn't had so much as a free second to work on Adam's Song , and he was starting to feel something like withdrawal symptoms. An itch under his skin that couldn't be satisfied.

Christ . Maybe he really should go home.

But then Adam would be alone. Granted, John still had Adam's car keys, but if the isolation and even the tiniest sense of abandonment got to Adam, there wouldn't be anything to stop the boy from finding a way to a liquor store.

Besides, John was bound and determined to keep showing up, like he'd promised. He would keep spending the night, facing that damned urn, and prove to Adam that he'd never leave him again.

But— Christ— he needed a break.

"Okay," Ward said, dropping into the chair across from him. "Talk."

"Huh?"

"I've never seen you like this. What's going on?"

John opened his mouth and almost blurted everything out. Almost. Except he had to have better control than that. He couldn't let go of the boundaries he'd set between his personal life and work. John snapped his mouth shut, shook his head, and sighed. "Sorry. I'm just tired."

"So go home," Ward said simply.

"I've been staying with Adam," John countered, then frowned at himself, wondering why he'd admitted that.

"So go pick him up and take him to your place," Ward said in a tone that indicated the idea should have been obvious.

John blinked dumbly at him. "Christ," he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. He was officially more tired than he'd thought if he couldn't have come up with that solution on his own.

Ward stood up. "Goodnight, John."

"'Night," John managed.

He waited until Ward walked out, then slowly got to his feet and shuffled into the bathroom, unwrapping the towel from his hand as he went. John checked the cuts, which had mercifully stopped bleeding. He went to rinse his hand again, only to remember that he'd shut off the water. John muttered a curse and slammed down the light switch, then strode through the office, snatched up his keys, and headed out the door, barely remembering to lock up before he went to his truck.

He climbed in, slammed the door shut, and cranked over the engine. John rubbed his eyes, then put the truck in gear and drove out of the vineyard, leaning slightly forward in his seat as he navigated the country road, heading towards town.

John got to Adam's apartment and let himself in. He found the place eerily silent. No music blaring. No chaos in the kitchen like he'd seen every other night that week. "Adam?"

Adam gasped from somewhere down the hallway. " Oh, thank fuck ," the boy muttered right before rapid footsteps thundered across the apartment. Adam appeared and ran right up to him, throwing his arms around John's waist for a second before quickly pulling back and tugging on the hem of his shirt. "You're early. I'm sorry. I haven't started dinner yet. I was trying to make myself start going through that third bedroom but I kept getting that feeling in my gut and I couldn't wait for you to get here so you could tell me–" Adam broke off, and a frown started to crease his brow. "What's wrong?" he asked cautiously, then gasped. "What happened to your hand?"

"Small accident," John said, taking his hand back before Adam could fuss over him. "Listen. What do you say we go to my place tonight."

Adam blinked at him. "But it's Thursday."

"So?"

"You never let me sleep at your place unless it's the weekend. Then again, you've slept here every night this week and–" Adam broke off and waved his hands. "You know what? Never mind. I'm gonna shut up now before you take it back. I'll go pack a bag!" His grin was almost manic—the expression full of desperation and relief—as he whirled away and raced to his bedroom.

John waited, eyeing the growing stack of boxes in the dining room. Shit . That was another thing he needed to take care of. Those boxes would easily fill the bed of his truck and then some. He'd have to make time to haul that load away so Adam could start staging the next load there.

"Okay, ready," Adam announced, darting towards him with his overnight bag in hand. He jammed his feet into his shoes and gave John a smile.

John ushered Adam out the door and locked it for him, then found himself able to smile back as they headed down to his truck, leaving the apartment behind. He already felt the haunting presence slipping away. Christ . He couldn't wait to get home.

They started across downtown, the ride oddly silent other than the sounds of traffic all around them. John eyed Adam in the passenger seat. The boy fidgeted, his hands pressed between his knees as he stared out the window.

"Baby?" John stopped at a red light, then turned to give Adam a proper look. "You okay?"

"Fine," Adam said, nodding insistently.

"You don't want any music?"

Adam hesitated only a second before he said, "You look like you needed some quiet."

John's heart clenched, and a genuine smile took over his face. He reached out and brushed his thumb down Adam's cheek. "I'm sorry you have to see that, but yeah. I do. Thank you." He pulled his hand back and rubbed his eyes. "I'm just tired. Maybe after I've had a shower, we can put something on while we make dinner, okay?"

Adam beamed at him. "Okay."

John glanced at the intersection, watching the perpendicular lanes slow and finally stop, then saw his light turn green. He let off the brake and started to accelerate forward.

From his left, a car blew through the red light and came flying across the intersection, heading straight for their path.

Adam!

John flung out an arm to protect Adam as he slammed on the brakes, bracing himself for impact. Everything moved in slow-motion. He saw the other driver's eyes go wide as the guy wrenched the steering wheel. Then saw the car veer away, missing the front corner of John's truck by inches before speeding off and continuing down the road.

"Fuck!" John gasped. He clenched the steering wheel hard with one hand, bending forward as he tried to catch his breath. John shook his head and straightened up, then looked at Adam. "You okay?"

Adam didn't answer. The boy sat utterly still, eyes wide as he stared straight ahead.

"Adam?" John demanded, his slowing heartbeat going right back to racing with worry. "Baby? Are you hurt?"

The boy slowly shook his head but otherwise didn't respond.

Somebody blared their horn. John muttered a curse and crossed the intersection, then pulled over to the curb. He thrust the shifter into Park , jammed down on the emergency brake, and turned to face Adam, grabbing the boy's head with both hands. "Baby? Talk to me. What's wrong?"

Adam let out a tiny sob, his entire body trembling where he sat. "You–" Another sob tore out of him. "I know it was an accident and you didn't mean to do it but–"

"Do what?" John demanded. What the hell had he done? Had he inadvertently injured Adam somehow?

Adam's breath hitched and his eyes began to fill with tears as he lifted one shaking hand and made a quick gesture at his chest.

John blinked, then muttered a curse. He must have grabbed Adam inappropriately when he'd flung out an arm to shield the boy. "Fuck," he bit off, then gentled his voice. "I am so sorry, baby."

"It's…okay," Adam managed to get out even as he hugged himself.

Obviously not . John sighed and ran a hand back through his hair. "You're calling a surgeon tomorrow."

Adam tensed. "John–"

"You said you wanted me to make you, so here's me making you. Tomorrow. No excuses." John straightened in his seat, put the truck in gear, and checked for traffic before he pulled back onto the road.

He watched Adam cry silently the whole rest of the way home. Christ . So much for two steps forward, one step back.

It felt like they'd just damned near started completely over.