Charlie’s Not Sorry
CHARLIE GRACKLEhad been a beat-down punkass kid—but he’d never run from a fight.
Eric Christiansen had one foot out the door.
I should leave him sleeping and steal a car—
From whom? Your friends? The only people on the planet you’ve been able to call your friends since Jayanne?
I could go to the crossroads and hitch a ride—
And leave the kittens?
I could take him to Ernie’s, get the kittens, and leave him in Ernie’s guest room. Then I could get in the RV and drive off to—
Where? Eric, where on the planet would you fit in, with your past and your set of specific skills. You have found the one group of people in hell or on earth who are both decentandefficient at killing. You’re going to run away from them now?
But he trusts me!
Oh.
He blinked in the dark, the thought unifying his thoughts in one solid punch.
Trust. That was what had him on the run.
Eric gazed down at him in the darkness, seeing the solid dependability, the humor.
The valor.
The damned motherfucking valor that had him ready to face down the armed unknown by himself, when backup was just a dream of a perfect world.
You’re afraid of letting him down.
Well, he’d let down Jayanne, hadn’t he?
That thought almost had Eric vaulting out of bed, but he drew up short, forgetting for a moment that the kittens were at Ernie’s. While he fished around with his toe, Brady grunted a little in his sleep, like a puppy, and turned toward Eric’s body, seeking heat.
“Shh…,” Eric murmured. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here.”
Brady settled down, and Eric pulled his foot back under the covers and curled up, holding Brady close.
God, he was sweet. When would Eric have a chance to be holding somebody this sweet in his bed after this?
Every choice he’d made since defending Jayanne had taken him away from sweetness, and every choice he’d made after refusing to take the contract on the kitten-saving law firm in Sacramento had led him here.
He’d vowed to be new, to start again, to look for haven and make it stick.
Haven didn’t come with words, he realized, his eyes burning.
It came with change, and change was hard. Holding Brady, living up to that trust, and then letting him go—as he had to eventually; Eric wasn’t stupid—these were his dues for living in a community, afamily, that didn’t expect anything from him except not to kill when he wasn’t defending his own life.
“What’s wrong?” Brady mumbled, and Eric smoothed his hair back from his eyes again.
“Nothing,” he said hoarsely. “Get some sleep.”
“What are we doing tomorrow?” Brady asked, and Eric could hear the despair in his voice, wondered for the first time how this earnest boy from Idaho had ended up out in the middle of the fucking desert.
“Tomorrow we’re making love some more,” Eric told him.
