Atticus scoffed. “Of course, it’s about feelings. My father loves Aiden. He loves us all.”
Jericho’s lips twitched at Atticus’s indignation. “Yeah, I get that, but does he love you guys the same way he loves Aiden? Sounds like he’s grieving the loss of more than a family member he barely sees. He sounds…heartbroken.”
“Well, he needs to get the fuck over it because they can’t just…be together. Right? Like, that would be a huge fucking scandal. My father hates unplanned scandals.”
“More than he loves your brother?”
That seemed to bring Atticus up short, leaving Jericho to listen to him breathe heavily on the other end of the line for a solid minute before he finally muttered, “Fuck if I know. I never thought we’d be a family whose family tree doesn’t fork.”
Jericho snorted, a smile crawling across his lips. “You’re being a little dramatic, Freckles. None of you are blood related. It’s definitely not ideal, but I don’t think you can help who you fall for. It’s not like your brother’s a child, right?”
“My brother and I are almost the same age. He was the sixth adopted but the second oldest.”
“So, everybody’s a consenting adult. He didn’t raise your brother. You said they’ve barely seen each other over the years. If it’s been over a decade and there’s still something there that is making your brother want to run and your dad want to drink…I don’t think outside opinions should matter.”
“Okay, yeah, but most families aren’t hiding a literal graveyard worth of bodies behind their facade of one big, normal family.”
Jericho chuckled. “Normal? You’re all living out the musical Annie, a bunch of overachieving orphans raised by a billionaire. That’s only normal for you.”
Atticus made a noise of frustration. “Stop making so much sense.”
A smile spread across Jericho’s face, but it quickly died as the reason for their road trip punched him in the gut once more. “What do you think my odds are of ever knowing what happened to my sister, Freckles?”
Silence stretched between them for a long moment before he said, “On your own? Thirty-five percent, at most. With my family and maybe yours…I’d say your odds double.”
Jericho’s stomach churned. “That’s still only seventy percent.”
“But it’s not thirty-five.”
He couldn’t argue with that. He honestly didn’t want to. He’d take his seventy percent and be grateful. He knew, in real life, there were thousands of people desperate for answers about loved ones, answers they’d waited on for years. Answers that would never come. It wasn’t hard to believe he might end up being one of those people.
Atticus’s voice disrupted his downward spiral. “Are you coming back to my place?”
Jericho’s gaze flicked to the rearview mirror reflexively. “Do you want me to?”
Once more, there was a pause, and Jericho knew it wasn’t because Atticus wasn’t sure but because it pained him to say it. Finally, he said, “Yeah, but I need to make a stop. I have to drop off the truck at the garage and grab the Volvo.”
“Get in front of me, and I’ll follow you there.”
“You don’t have to. You can just wait for me back at my place. I can give you the codes to the door.”
Jericho rolled his eyes. Atticus was the world’s most self-sacrificing psychopath. “I’m going with you, Freckles. Not up for negotiation.”
“Okay, fine,” Atticus grumbled, but beneath his words was just the slightest tinge of relief.
If Jericho was being honest, he was relieved, too. He didn’t want to be alone right now. He didn’t want to be away from Atticus right now. Or ever, really.
* * *
Jericho jerked awake, his heart racing, gaze darting around the shadows as he tried to remember where he was. His shoulders sagged when he saw Atticus starfished naked on his belly, snoring softly, back rising and falling rhythmically.
He’d been dreaming. He didn’t remember the specifics, but it had definitely been about Mercy. She haunted his thoughts. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying to rub away the remnants of uneasiness still remaining.
They hadn’t made it home until well after midnight, showering and then collapsing in bed without eating. In their exhaustion, they’d left the bathroom light on and its faint white glow cut directly across Atticus’s waist, highlighting the deep dip just before the generous swell of his backside. Jericho couldn’t drag his gaze away. He laid back down, rolling onto his side before allowing himself to reach out and trace the steep curve of his ass, continuing his caress upwards along the knobs of his spine, then back down again.
Jericho smirked as Atticus made a happy noise in his sleep. He loved being touched, craved it even. He’d never fucking admit it, but he couldn’t hide the way his body responded when Jericho so much as brushed up against him, always wanting more, even if he refused to admit it.
In sleep, he couldn’t deny it. His brain wasn’t reminding him of all the reasons he shouldn’t want Jericho’s touch; it only reacted. Once more, Jericho traced the lines of Atticus’s body, letting his fingers traverse the dark furrow between his cheeks, fingertips teasing against his hole before dipping lower to graze his balls. Atticus sighed, parting his legs.
