11
Sleep was elusive, and after tossing and turning for several hours — and dozing, only to awaken to nightmares — Hunter gave up the effort.
Beside him, Payne murmured a protest when Hunter moved, but Hunter smoothed Payne’s hair back gently. “It’s okay, go back to sleep,” he murmured, then waited until Payne’s eyes closed again before getting out of bed. He picked up the jeans and shirt he’d had on the previous night, then went into the bathroom to dress.
It was still a couple of hours before dawn, but Hunter left the house, welcoming the darkness. There was nothing to fear in the area where Payne lived, the widely separated residences each tucked onto several acres of land, most of them well set-back from the road. The few houses he passed were dark, the inhabitants finding the rest Hunter couldn’t. As he walked aimlessly along the winding road, Hunter’s thoughts stayed on the same mental gerbil wheel they’d occupied since Jen’s phone call — a call that had shattered the first peace he’d found since Mark’s death.
He was caught between reason and emotion, between logic and guilt. He knew Jen didn’t blame him for Mark’s death, and she truly meant it when she said she loved him and wanted him to see Jake. For that matter, Hunter was sure Mark would kick his ass for feeling guilty for something he neither caused nor could have changed, but it didn’t make it any easier for Hunter not tofeelthe guilt. To feel thatheshould have been the one to die, because, unlike Mark, he’d had nothing much to live for in the grand scheme of things. Sure, his buddies would have missed him, and his parents, whom he wasn’t particularly close to, would have grieved, but they would all have gone on with their lives after a few days or weeks. Jen and Jake would never completely recover from Mark’s death, which had left a hole in them nothing would ever fill.
In a way, the guilt was so much worse now because he thought he had a chance to experience what Mark had with Jen. Even though Jen had no way of knowing it, her call was a reminder that he had stolen the life Mark should have had. His mind told him it was bullshit, but it did nothing to ease the weight in Hunter’s stomach. A weight that grew so much heavier when he realized if hehaddied and Mark hadn’t, he never would have met Payne.
He walked until the sun rose, then headed back toward Payne’s house, not having found any relief from his tormented thoughts. The scabs on his wounds had all been stripped away, and he knew, no matter what Payne had promised, there was no way he could face Jen and Jake, because seeing their pain would destroy him.
He hadn’t taken his phone or watch, so he had no idea what time it was when he finally reached Payne’s house again. He realized he’d locked the door when he’d left — too many years of security procedures had been drilled into him to have ignored something so basic — and he hadn’t taken his keys or his wallet either. Payne was probably awake by now, so Hunter rang the doorbell and waited, feeling as hopeless as he had right after Mark’s death.
Only a few seconds passed before the door opened, and Payne stood there with a cup of coffee in one hand and his cellphone in the other.
“Welcome back,” he said, moving aside to let Hunter in.
“Sorry. I should have left a note. I… I didn’t know I’d be gone so long.” Seeing Payne made Hunter’s heart lurch painfully, and once again he felt the horrible guilt of knowing he’d never have met Payne if Mark hadn’t died.
“It’s okay.” Payne held up his phone and waggled it back and forth. “I put a GPS tracker in all your shoes, and since there aren’t any drugs you could OD on in the house and you don’t know the code to my gun safe, I figured you would be okay.”
Hunter scrubbed his face with one hand. “Probably a good idea,” he said. He knew why Payne had done it, and he wasn’t upset. But he was reminded that just because he had feelings for Payne didn’t mean Payne had feelings for him. Payne might be attracted enough to sleep with him, but Hunter couldn’t imagine Payne wanted a relationship with someone as fucked up as Hunter.
“Herc’s paranoia rubs off on all of us to some degree,” Payne said, smiling wryly as he tucked his phone in the back pocket of his jeans. He clasped Hunter’s hand and tugged him toward the kitchen. “Come on, I’ll make you some coffee and breakfast if you want it.”
The thought of food made Hunter grimace. “Coffee is fine, thanks,” he said. Part of him wanted to pull his hand back, because having Payne touch him, even in such a small way, felt so good and right, and he didn’t deserve it. But a bigger part of him needed simple human contact to keep him from becoming mired in a swamp of guilt and grief the way he’d been for months.
Once they were in the kitchen, Payne shooed him into a chair at the table and prepared a cup of coffee the way Hunter liked it.
“Here you go.” Payne set the mug in front of Hunter and kissed the top of his head before dropping into the chair adjacent to him.
The simple kiss made Hunter’s eyes sting, and he had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Thanks,” he murmured, focusing his attention on the coffee cup. He didn’t want the coffee either, but he knew he had to keep himself going somehow, so he took a sip of the hot liquid.
Payne leaned forward and rested his hand on Hunter’s arm. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”
Hunter couldn’t meet Payne’s gaze. He knew Payne was doing everything possible to help him, but Hunter had to give to get anything in return. It was so hard to open up, to admit his despair to anyone, even Payne.
“I… don’t know if I can,” he said finally. “Part of me wants to run away from all this. I thought I was doing better, but I was wrong.”
“Youaredoing better,” Payne said, squeezing his arm tightly. “When we first met, you were completely shut down. But you still have a lot of shit to face, and I want to get back to it starting today.”
Hunter shuddered. He didn’t want to face it again, but what choice did he have? He could face it or run, but running meant leaving Payne. He didn’t think he could do that, not yet. No matter how guilty he felt.
“I can’t stop thinking about it anyway,” he admitted dully. “Whatever you think is best.”
“In that case, finish your coffee if you want it,” Payne said, the familiar edge of authority creeping into his voice as he sat up straight. “Leave the mug on the table when you’re done. Take a bathroom break if you need it, and then go straight to the playroom and strip.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, keeping his eyes on the coffee mug. He tried to empty himself of everything, doubt and fear and hope. Better to feel nothing than to dread what was coming.
Payne pushed back his chair and stood up, but he didn’t move away from the table. Instead, he stood next to Hunter for a moment, and then he hooked his fingers beneath Hunter’s chin and lifted it. He bent and captured Hunter’s lips in a kiss that was lingering but not deep, seeming infused with warm affection.
The kiss surprised Hunter, so much so he had no defense against it, and he groaned softly, kissing Payne back, needing the connection. Instead of feeling empty, he felt warm. He shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help it, as Payne’s touch anchored him, made him feel real again. Payne drew back slowly and stroked Hunter’s cheek, and then he left the kitchen and headed upstairs.
Hunter drew in a deep breath, then gulped down the rest of the coffee. He left the mug on the table as Payne had instructed, then pushed back his chair and headed for the stairs. Obeying Payne was easier than thinking for himself at the moment, so he did as he’d been told, stopping in the bathroom, then going to the playroom. He stripped, folded his clothes neatly, and then knelt on the floor as he had before, bowing his head and waiting for Payne.
It wasn’t long before he heard footsteps entering the room behind him, no doubt because Payne wanted him to hear them. He knew how quietly Payne could move, even in boots. Payne walked past Hunter and stopped beside the St. Andrew’s cross. He was wearing the black and white camo pants and a tight black t-shirt again.
