Love in Xxchange: Miles to Go (6 page)

and that was just the ones he could see on his face and arms. Bo was too still and that glow Max always saw around Bo, that he always imagined when he thought of the man, wasn’t anywhere in sight. It was wrong, more wrong than just about anything Max could think of.

He listened to Chance’s answer while he wondered if Bo would ever recover the aura-like essence that had both fascinated and intimidated Max.

“Big, about six-three Bo guessed. Plain features, blond,” Chance said. “And a real sick bastard to pick on someone Bo’s size and kick his ass like that.”

Max glared at Chance. “That in there? Ain’t no ass-kicking, that’s a beating some chicken-shit motherfucker delivered likely without giving Bo a chance to fight back.”
Fired, I
am so fired.
Max felt a hand on his shoulder and turned his head to find Annabelle smiling at him, her eyes shining.
Shit, I cussed and cussed in front of a woman!
Sure, he’d slipped up before and he really did try not to treat Annabelle any different from the men he worked with, but MILES TO GO

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this time just seemed worse, and his upbringing came slamming back into him. Max opened his mouth to apologise.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Annabelle snapped. “And if my brother and his love toy give you any shit about it, I will handle them. Maybe permanently.” She winked and patted his shoulder before stepping aside so he could open the door.

“Holy—”
Shit
, Max finished silently, because Bo had looked bad through the tinted window, but without that dark shield? Both eyes were swollen, bags and dark blue and purple bruises surrounding them. Some kind of bandage was strapped over Bo’s nose, setting it or holding it on for all Max knew. The right cheek had a long gash closed with several stitches, and there was another right by his earlobe. His lips were split, the top sporting a few stitches, the bottom painfully huge with a deep cut in the centre. Even Bo’s chin was bruised, and another strip of stitches ran in a diagonal across his chin.

All of it fed Max’s fury, but what really made him want to kill whoever did this with his bare hands, was the bruises and stitched gash on Bo’s throat. Bo had been choked by his attacker, from the front obviously, as Max could clearly make out the blue-black thumbprints left behind on Bo’s skin. The guy must have really been trying to kill Bo; the bruises were so deep, and there was another set right above the first that Max had noticed. Those swollen eyes moved slightly and he realised Bo wasn’t asleep after all. How much of the conversation had Bo heard?

“Come on.” Max gently reached for Bo’s hand, intending to take it and tug slightly. The bruises and gashes—defence wounds? He wondered—stopped him flat. Max glanced back at Annabelle’s gasp and shot her a look that he hoped said ‘Cut that out’. She nodded and Max looked at Chance.

“Where
ain’t
he hurt?”

“Ah…” Chance looked chastised rather than angry, so Max had hope he hadn’t got

himself fired with his little tantrum. He really needed to get his easy-going persona firmly tacked into place.

A grunt from the truck drew Max’s attention back to Bo. He leaned in and offered his hand to the injured man, unsure if he was awake or not after all. His eyes could have just been moving around while he dreamt—and maybe Bo hadn’t heard any of that conversation then. Max hoped Bo hadn’t heard it, he didn’t need to think about the sick fuck who had beaten him and tossed him out in a field like a bag of trash, especially not right now.

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Max squinted as he tried to figure out whether the injured man was awake or not. Bo’s eyes were so swollen, Max wasn’t certain he’d know if Bo was peering at him or not, although he thought he saw a sliver of hazel under there. “You awake, buddy?”

Bo grabbed Max’s wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. He half-pulled half-pushed himself up as Max held his arm steady, allowing Bo to dictate how much to exert himself.

God, just watching Bo move made
Max
hurt. Chances were, Bo wasn’t just beat in the face and arms, his body had probably—

Max’s blood chilled in his veins. Chance had said Bo had been dumped in a field—

nude. Did that mean…? Max wasn’t going to ask. He couldn’t bear to think of someone hurting Bo, especially not like that. But surely Chance would have mentioned—or maybe not. Max knew enough about male pride and egos to think being raped was something most men wouldn’t want to talk about, much less admit to.

Bo grunted and tugged, and Max forced away thoughts that were guaranteed to drive him insane. “I take it you mean move, huh?”

At the slight nod from Bo, Max stepped back, slowly helping Bo from the truck. His arm slid around Bo’s waist as the injured man’s feet touched the ground. Max told himself the reason it felt so good to hold Bo like this was from relief that his friend was alive, even if he was battered all to hell.

The problem with telling himself that was, he couldn’t make himself believe it. Not when Bo fit so perfectly against his side. Not when the touch of Bo’s hands brought such peace and joy to Max’s heart that he felt almost whole for the first time in his life. Not when parts of his body were starting to rise inappropriately—and not when all he wanted to do was take this man home and wrap him in the softest fabrics and keep him safe from all the evil shit in this world.

The only thing Max could believe was that he…was…so screwed.

Bo felt like shit. Just about every part of him hurt, and all he really wanted was to lie down and sleep until he was healed. Maybe forever, even, since he wasn’t sure he’d ever be completely well again, at least not in his head. The physical injuries would be gone in no time MILES TO GO

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compared to that; the mental recovery seemed insurmountable. He didn’t know if he’d ever feel safe or happy again.

Rory, Annabelle and Chance were huddled together whispering and gesturing. After a minute of concentrating on hearing what they were discussing so intently, he thought he knew what they were trying to figure out—where to put him up. The issue seemed to be whether he’d be better off on the couch or in the guest room. Frankly, Bo didn’t care just then. He wanted to lay down somewhere and go back to sleep, or pretend to, at least. The nightmares made actually sleeping kind of difficult. He started to turn away and crawl back into the truck since nothing had been settled yet. Standing up was just too exhausting at this point.

“Stop before you hurt yourself worse,” Max whispered when Bo started to pull away.

“We’re all being a bunch of dumbasses, ain’t we? Should have had this figured out before you got here. ”

Bo looked into Max’s warm brown eyes and could have wept at the compassion and

regret he found there. Sure, Rory and Chance had been kind, had come when he needed them and been better friends than Bo had a right to expect, but they hadn’t looked at him with such tenderness, only pity, which made Bo want to curl up and die. It almost made Bo wish he’d had the nurse call Max instead, but as awful as Bo looked now, he’d looked even worse then, and he might have been beat to hell but he still had his pride. The idea of the man he was sort of infatuated with seeing him lying bloody and damn near broken in that hospital bed had been too much. Although, what with the kind look in in Max’s eyes, and not a hint of revulsion at Bo’s appearance anywhere to be seen in his expression, maybe he should have just had the nurse call Max instead. It’d have been comforting in a way having Chance and Rory there hadn’t been even though Bo was grateful they came.

“Where do you wanna sleep?” Max asked. Something in his tone made Bo think it

wasn’t the first time Max had asked.

Bo wondered what Max would say to ‘with you’, but since he couldn’t speak without it feeling like his throat was being ripped to shreds, he settled for tipping his head towards the bunkhouse. It was a little further away than Chance’s house, but Bo had just realised something. He didn’t feel nearly as scared standing there with Max. And after all, Max was the only one who’d thought about him, really thought about him just now. The other three MILES TO GO

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were still in there little huddle. There was also the fact that Bo didn’t want to intrude on Chance and Rory any more than he already was.

Max looked past him. “Y’all okay with Bo making his own decision?”

The other two men inclined their heads, and while they didn’t look happy, they didn’t object when Max led Bo to the bunkhouse. The woman—Annabelle, he assumed—started walking towards him and Max.

“We should probably put Bo in the middle bedroom, the one with the pair of twin

beds,” Annabelle said as she stepped up to Bo’s other side. “We could take turns sleeping in there, or I can do it.” She paused as they helped him up the steps. “Or maybe Bo would be more comfortable if you stayed with him.”

Bo felt Max tense beside him. Was it fear, or something else that made him do that? Bo glanced at the man and saw the blush that had darkened his cheeks. Max didn’t look angry, or scared. Maybe it was the pain meds that Bo had taken, but he thought Max would look just like he did now if he were a little turned on. Of course, he’d probably never get to know what Max in the midst of arousal looked like. The man hadn’t responded to any of Bo’s flirting, not the first time they’d met and not when they’d had dinner at Cowboy’s. That just sucked. Bo had taken an instant liking to Max when they’d met, but he’d assumed the man was straight. If he wasn’t, he sure didn’t seem interested in Bo.

“I’ll do it,” Max said in a rough voice as he looked at Bo. “If that’s what you want.”

What Bo wanted was to feel safe again, to not have ever been exposed to the hellish reality that someone could and would hurt him just because of who and what he was. What he wanted was to go back in time and stop himself from going to that club in San Antonio a few nights ago, to not have been so desperate to feel another man’s touch that he’d nearly been killed for it. What he wanted was to know he wasn’t damaged, but he was, and all because he’d been desperate and stupid and looking for a man who’d want him since the one
he
wanted wasn’t interested.

“Bo? You want a roommate?”

Did he? Bo thought about how scared he was now when he woke up at night, how hard it was for him to even fall asleep. Did he want anyone else around to witness it if he woke up crying or panicking, trying to escape the assault that never seemed to leave his head? He looked at Max, saw the promise in his eyes. Max wouldn’t judge him a coward if he woke up sobbing, or if he was too afraid to sleep.

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“You,” Bo whispered, the word scraping painfully over his raw and damaged throat.

“I’ll go make the beds.” Annabelle scurried inside. Bo barely noticed. He was so tired, and he hurt so fucking bad.

“I’ll stay with you until you’re ready for me not to,” Max said softly.

Bo nodded as his heart did a funny flopping thing in his chest. Maybe he’d had too many pain pills. Or maybe it was just that he thought he might very well never be ready for Max not to be there.

The dim light cast by the lamp on the nightstand softened the bruises marring Bo’s face.

It didn’t matter, though—Max could vividly picture each injury the man had. The damage was more extensive than what Max had thought. When he and Rory had undressed Bo, Max had wanted to weep. Bo’s slight body was covered in dark bruises and painful looking welts.

What had been done to him was inhumane, and the images of that battered body were what was keeping Max from being able to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Bo, imagined the man trying to escape the fists and belts—Max knew what those welts were, he’d had plenty of them himself when he was a kid. Seeing those long, cruel stripes that had been pounded into Bo’s flesh stirred up memories, which was never a good thing in Max’s opinion.

A glance at the alarm clock told Max it was time for another dose of pain meds for Bo.

Max gingerly got out of bed, trying to keep the bedsprings squeaking to a minimum. He nearly laughed at his attempt not to wake Bo—wasn’t he fixing to do just that when he gave him his pills? But it just seemed kinder to wake the man with a gentle touch rather than the sound of metal grinding together.

Max palmed the pills he’d laid out and rose, walking quietly across the few feet that separated their beds. He knelt beside Bo’s bed, worried he’d terrify Bo and bring on memories of the assault if he woke the man while lumbering over him. Max gently brushed a lock of hair off Bo’s sweaty brow, letting his fingers linger on the soft, slick skin.

Bo shifted and moaned piteously, and Max thought his heart would break right then and there. He brushed his fingers over Bo’s brow one more time then brought his hand to Bo’s shoulder.

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“Hey, Bo,” Max whispered. “Time for your pain pills.”

Bo’s breath hitched and he turned his head towards Max. He lifted his arm and flailed his hand, crying out when his knuckles smacked into Max’s chest. Max’s stomach

plummeted and he grasped Bo’s hand with his, clutching it tightly to his chest.

“Bo, wake up, it’s Max.” Bo’s fingers spasmed against Max’s skin, right over his heart, then clenched tightly, catching a handful of Max’s chest hair. Max bit back a hiss and leaned closer to Bo, trying to keep from having his hair ripped out. “Bo, it’s Max, you need to wake up. C’mon, baby—”

Max jerked back at the endearment, wondering where the hell it had come from. He hadn’t ever called anyone ‘baby’ unless there was an actual baby involved. Pain zinged out like a thousand tiny needles were spiking through his chest and calling Bo ‘baby’ suddenly wasn’t so troublesome.
I should have slept in sweats and a T-shirt! Or a damned bullet-proof vest!

This is what he got for trying to make sure Bo felt comfortable! Max had felt awkward about being in just his boxers around someone else, but he’d shoved down his reservations because Bo wanted to sleep in his underwear only. He didn’t want Bo to feel weird—or think
he
was weird. Plus Annabelle had thought the heat needed to be turned up for Bo’s sake.