Let It Go (17 page)

“Damn, Creed, I’m hot. I know this about myself, but that’s no reason to choke on your tongue, buddy.” The prick winked and then leaned inside the refrigerator. Creed had to stifle a groan. In twenty-four fucking hours this went from sex to something dangerous.

“You are such an asshole.” He washed another bite of pizza down with soda.

“I have a well-fucked asshole, thanks to you. Ooh, look at you blush.” Eli put a slice in the microwave and turned to face him, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“Shut up or I’ll start calling you Red. Because not that long ago you were the one blushing.” And moaning and, oh shit, Creed wanted more of that. Eli Mason riding his dick, flushed with pleasure, begging him. He shook his head to clear the image but it didn’t work. The real Eli flushed from his cheeks to his chest and not from passion.

“Why can’t people stop calling me that? I get the whole red hair thing. But it’s not funny, and I hate it.” The microwave dinged and Eli took out his steaming slice of pepperoni and tried to bite into it.

“Your hair isn’t why we call you Red, Red.” Creed watched him lift a bright ginger brow in question as he blew in and out to cool his tongue down.

“Then why the fuck if not my damned hair? It’s not even all that red. In the summer I can go almost blond.”

“I know.” It was Creed’s turn to blow out a breath. Blond streaked the man’s hair now from all the time they’d spent in the sun these past couple of weeks. The straight mop had grown out enough to hang in his face and Creed wanted to smooth the strands back. He caught himself wanting to taste the strawberry patches on the man’s chest at the most inappropriate times. Especially that gorgeous trail running from his belly button to the curls beneath his shorts.

“Stop looking at me like that or I’m going to bend your ass over the table,” Eli growled, his face growing redder.

“That’s why, Eli, your face right now.” He laughed when Eli picked up the chrome toaster to look at his face.

“What the hell is wrong with my face?”

“Nothing, it’s gorgeous. All red with embarrassment or passion, or anger. When you get mad it shows on your face. And that’s why. Your temper and your complexion.” Creed finished off his pizza; swallowing slowly, he enjoyed the play of color on his friend’s face.

“I’ve often wondered who first called me that. I mean I didn’t have it before I turned pro. And a certain someone in this room turned pro at the same time. And that’s when it all started.” Shrewd eyes focused on him and Creed swallowed.

“Hmm, I wonder,” Creed said evenly, trying to keep his lips from twitching into a grin. “I do believe I am going to go feed the horses. I’m sure they must be starving by now.”

“Not with all that grass out there to graze on. Dammit, Creed, come back here,” Eli shouted just as Creed reached the door. He struggled with the lock for a minute and was halfway across the paved drive before Eli made it out. “When I catch you I’m going to—”

Creed didn’t hear the rest of the threat as he plunged into the stable, laughing. He could hear Eli laughing behind him. It felt so good to laugh with someone. The bedroom conversation came back to him then, knocking the wind from his gut.

He could stay. He could stay here with Eli.

Eli caught him around his waist; his chin bounced off Creed’s shoulder when he stopped cold. “You should have kept on running.”

“Where’s the fun in that? If I’d made it into the field you wouldn’t have been able to catch me.” Creed couldn’t breathe and it had nothing to do with racing the short distance from the house. He turned to face his former rival. “What if I stay?”

“What if I don’t want you to stay anymore?” Eli walked him backward until he was pressed against the high railing. “Wait, what?”

“What if I stay?” Creed worried his bottom lip. His brain swam with hope and a need to belong somewhere. “What if I stay, Eli, realistically? How long before we go back to the way it was? Hating each other. Always competing against each other.”

“Did the name Red originate with you?” Eli cinched his wrists, dragging his arms over his head. Creed couldn’t stop the gasp that rushed from his belly. He couldn’t stop this dizzy, whirling, world-spinning-on-its-axis feeling either. “Just tell me.”

“So you can kick my ass?”

“There are so many more interesting things to do to your ass.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that rumor.”

“So you either did or you didn’t?”

“That would be correct.”

“Which is it, Creed? And don’t lie to me. I can tell when you lie to me.”

No one could tell when Creed lied. Not one soul. He was too good at lying. He’d done it all his life. “I might have been present when it started. I might have even been the first to say it. But I can’t confirm that. Because I was sort of high at the time.”

“Oh my God, Creed, do I need to give you a drug test?”

“What? I tried pot once. Once was enough to know it wasn’t my thing. The occasional beer. That’s about all I’ll drink. I don’t want to be like him.”

“So pot wasn’t your thing and beer isn’t either. Exactly what is Creed Dickson’s thing?”

Eli’s mouth was so close Creed could smell the pizza on his breath. He held him tight, his body not quite touching, lips out of reach. Creed would have to lean forward if he wanted those lips against his. “You are. My thing. Watching you ride. Watching you, always watching you. Wanting to have you. That first day we met. I was crushing on you so hard. I only wanted to talk to you for one minute.”

“And I was an ass to you.”

“And you were an ass to me. For ten fucking years. I could spot you in a bar and know almost to the second when you spotted me. I knew it was coming. For ten years fighting with you…” He leaned in for a kiss. Eli’s lips claimed his first; he released his hands and started pulling the snaps on Creed’s shirt open. “What if I stay?”

Eli panted against his mouth, his hands inside Creed’s shirt, pulling it over his shoulders. “Do you want to stay?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” Eli whispered. “I want you to stay. For however long you want to stay. Can’t let you go now. Not after this. Do you want to stay?”

“Yes.” Oh God yes. He wanted to stay, more than anything in this damned world.

“Good. Now shut up so I can kiss you.” Eli closed the small distance between them, his hands pushing Creed’s arms above his head again. The erection pressed against his made Creed whimper with need. “For a guy who doesn’t like kissing, you sure as hell know how to suck my damned soul out my mouth.”

“Never said I didn’t like kissing,” Creed whispered as Eli’s hot mouth moved to his neck. Kissing Eli was something he’d fantasized about for years. “The horses, Eli, we need to feed them.”

“They’ll wait five more minutes.” Eli locked his mouth over Creed’s and moved between his legs, forcing Creed to wrap one around his thigh. “Going to make you come first.”

The agitated nickers coming from the enclosure were so easily ignored as heat and pleasure enfolded him. Eli’s hot, hard body, rocking against him, his mouth holding him captive, sent him spiraling out of control. “That won’t take five minutes. You make me so—” Creed looked up and froze.

He stared into a pair of livid ice-blue eyes. Ice wrapped him in fear. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t think, he could hardly breathe. Rage contorted the man’s features, transporting him back three years. Where the hell had he come from? Owen Mason was always a big man. Handsome in a rugged way. He looked nothing like his nephew. Blond Viking bearing, he wore a beard now. His red lips stood out from the pale hair, like blood when he sneered.

“Creed?” Eli stopped moving; he hadn’t seen him yet. He didn’t know. He wouldn’t know. He couldn’t know. His uncle … his uncle … his worst nightmare. Eli followed his gaze to the blond giant and he froze just as Owen reached for him.

Eli didn’t make a sound when Owen slammed him into the pole in the middle of the room. His head snapped back against the wood. Owen held him against the pole; Eli reached up to pry the hands that locked around his neck, his toes barely touching the floor. One week ago Creed had been the one to hold him like that. In anger. Just one week.

Eli didn’t fight him. He didn’t say a word or make a sound. Owen raged enough for them both. The words
faggot
and
lesson
used more than once. When he ran out of words he threw Eli across the hard-packed floor. His bare chest bled from scraping the rough wall that he bounced off of. Owen caught him as he crawled toward the rail; he held Eli by his hair. “Goddamned faggot,” Owen growled as he raised his arm to strike. And again. And again. And Eli took it. He didn’t cry out. He didn’t beg. He took it, without raising a hand to defend himself. Until Creed saw red.

The bullwhip hung from the hook high up on the pole. Creed had picked it up earlier in the week and looped it there. Eli sagged against Owen, his eyes closed. Blood poured from his nose, his ear. Creed moved off the railing as if he were on autopilot. He couldn’t feel the handle of the whip in his hand. He couldn’t feel anything; he just moved. Slashing the leather through the air. His aim impeccable, hitting Owen’s cheek. A second slash to his shoulder. He aimed for his face but the bastard turned away. His hands came up to protect his tender flesh. Over and over Creed whipped the leather through the air. Forcing the man to move away from Eli and into the stable yard. “Get away from him. I’ll kill you if you touch him again.” He heard the words screaming from his lips. “I’ll kill you if I see you again. I’ll kill you.”

Owen shouted obscenities in return. Calling him the truth of what he was. Warning Creed that he’d be back. He’d make Creed pay. This wasn’t over.

Creed watched as he drove his white pickup down the drive, and when the dust settled on the dirt road he went back into the stable. He dropped the whip on the floor beside Eli. He lay so still. His eyes fluttered open, pain and fear shining there. “Eli, Eli, don’t move. I’ll … I need help, Eli.”

“Phone—pocket—Randy,” Eli said, blood trickling from his mouth. He rolled his eyes and went limp.

Creed held him in his arms as he fished through his pockets for the cell phone. Thanking the God he didn’t believe in that Eli never left the house without it. Randy was in his directory as Deputy Dickhead. Not far from Judge Dickhead. Creed waited for what seemed like forever for Randy to pick up. What the hell was he supposed to tell him? “Need help, Eli’s hurt.” It was all he could think of. “Unconscious.”

There was a long pause before the deputy spoke. “Can you get him to town? Can you get him in the truck? Is his neck hurt?”

“I think his neck is okay, head injury mostly. Scrapes and bruises.”

“Okay, Creed, I’m on my way. The ambulance company is nearly an hour from the ranch. Get him in the truck. I’ll meet you at the highway and get you to the hospital.” Creed could hear the siren on his cruiser before he disconnected.

He tucked the phone into his shirt pocket and tapped Eli’s face. “Eli. Eli. Wake up, baby, come on, wake up. I need to get you to the truck. I need to get you help.”

Eli didn’t move. His eyes rolled behind the lids. His breathing harsh. Possible broken ribs. Had Owen kicked him? He couldn’t remember. “Okay. Okay,” he whispered, trying not to panic. After laying Eli back down on the ground he ran to the house for the keys and he drove the truck into the stable. Front passenger seat laid down, he tried to pick Eli up but he weighed a ton. Somehow, and he had no idea how, he managed to get him on his feet. With one arm slung around his neck he more or less dragged him to the truck and onto the seat. Too much time passed while he buckled Eli in. He didn’t lock the house. He didn’t check the horses. He backed out of the stable and drove, skidding in the loose dirt when he hit the road.

“Shit,” he shouted to the steering wheel. He hadn’t driven in so long he couldn’t remember what the hell he was doing. Just keep it steady and remember the rut.

He could hear the siren in the distance when he reached the main road and turned toward town. Creed had no idea where the hospital was located. He barely knew where the town was located. Hell, he didn’t even know Eli’s address. He was so fucking clueless.

He pulled over to the side when Randy came up beside him. “What happened?”

“Attacked. He’s bleeding pretty badly. Still out. I’ll tell you at the hospital,” he told the deputy, aware that Randy probably had him as the attacker. The bad blood between them was legendary.

“Fine, you stay right behind me. Don’t stop for anything.” Randy sighed, and then turned around and headed back to town. Creed followed, driving faster than he ever had before. Eli groaned with each sharp turn, each rut. At least he was alive. That was all that mattered.

They were met at the door of the ER by a team of scrubs-clad people who took Eli from the truck and into the building, Creed and Randy following. After a few basic questions they wheeled him away.

“Come with me.” Randy clamped a hand on his shoulder and shoved him toward a set of doors. “We’ll talk when Dad gets here. Now sit.”

Creed found a seat in the corner of the nearly deserted waiting room and he sat. It wasn’t until he pulled his knees up to his chest that he realized he was shoeless. And covered in blood. Eli’s blood. He sat, because he was told to. He sat because he couldn’t stand anymore. He sat and quietly fell the fuck apart.

Chapter 13

He lay on his side in ICU, tubes and all kinds of things sticking in him. He had no idea what time it was. Or even what day. He’d made the one call he never expected to have to make. The call for help. He couldn’t feel anything. That was the drugs. In and out of reality. He thought it might be night. Could be days, several days. Who the hell knew? Nobody came. Just doctors and nurses. They talked softly but he could still hear them. His ribs were bruised, two fractured. His back…

Mr. Buchanan walked into the room and Eli broke. “Find my horse. Please, just find my horse. Opie. Make sure Opie is safe.”

* * * *

Tom Buchanan stormed into the ER. Randy’s call had caught him out with the horses. Eli had been attacked. And all he could think of was the first time he’d received that call. Eli was nineteen then. He hadn’t seen him in years. He didn’t know if the boy even remembered him.
We’re calling to inform you that Elijah Mason has listed you as next of kin. He’s in surgery now.
He’d flown all the hell the way to Oklahoma City that night scared out of his mind.