Redemption (9 page)

God how Lucky loved the man, but nothing in the departmental training manual covered how to deal with someone who ran hot one minute and cold the next. And slept so much.

Locking up and curling around Bo for the night made weathering the storms worthwhile. He’d give all he owned to get through to the man.

Sooner or later he’d be forced to face his own issues, but until then, he’d worry about Bo.

Chapter Seven

Lucky parked his car and glanced toward his landlady’s side of their shared duplex. Yep, there she was, just like always, and no sign of Bo peeking out the window. A day filled with worrying meant talking to her sooner rather than later.

Still, better make it quick. He tromped up her steps, scaring off a few cats. Oops. Better tone down his bad mood since he had a favor to ask. “Hey, Mrs. Griggs.”

“Hello, Lucky, what’s up? The kitchen sink isn’t leaking again, is it?”

“No.” But a leaky sink might spur Bo into action. Lucky would keep it in mind. “Everything’s fine with the house, but I need a favor.”

“Are you going away again? Need me to watch your cat?”

His cat? Well, yeah. It had once been Mrs. Griggs’ before moving next door. Pushy little fur ball.

“It’s Bo I’d like you to keep an eye on if you don’t mind. And without being obvious if you get my drift.”

The bathrobe-clad woman narrowed her eyes. “Trouble in paradise?”

Trouble in… Oh. “Nothing like that. He’s just not… hasn’t been feeling like himself lately. I worry about him when I’m at work.”

“Sure, I can do that.” Mrs. Griggs ran a weathered hand up and down a tabby’s back.

“Thanks.” If Bo wouldn’t let Lucky take leave and do the job himself, he’d settle for the next best thing.

Now, to break other news. Lucky took a deep breath. “I’m buying a house.” And leaving her in need of a new tenant.

She’d been a good landlady, except for not noticing when he’d gotten kidnapped, but hell, he couldn’t hold that against her.

“I wondered when you and Bo were gonna settle down.” She smiled and placed her hand over Lucky’s. “I’m sorry to see you go, but I’m happy for you.”

“Um… I haven’t told Bo yet.”

“I won’t spill the beans. But don’t you think you should if y’all are moving soon?”

“I will. When the time is right. I’m saving it for a surprise.” If Lucky told him now, no telling what Bo might say. It might make him happy—or piss him off.

“Don’t wait too long. You don’t want a good surprise to become a bad one. I don’t usually give relationship advice, being a single lady and all, but you can’t hide things from each other. That’s a surefire way to lose his trust.”

“I’ll tell him.” If only she knew how close her advice hit to home.

How would Bo take the news?

***

“What you want for dinner?” Lucky strode through the front door and placed his laptop bag on the floor by the couch. Bo didn’t appear to have moved all day.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not hungry.”

“You want to go get something?” At one time Lucky cringed at the prospect of them being out together and folks figuring out they were lovers, but now considered setting the house on fire to get Bo off the couch. He’d place a banner ad in the local newspaper if it brought Bo back to him.

Maybe Lucky should take leave. But then he wouldn’t be able to slip out to the hardware store on lunch breaks and price out remodeling projects without Bo’s knowledge. And Bo wouldn’t like it. Damn.

Bo made no move to get up.

Cat Lucky, curled up in Bo’s lap, wasn’t helping matters. He should unsheathe those claws and stick them in Bo’s leg. That’d get him moving.

Lucky’s morning coffee cup sat on the kitchen table, a tell-tale ring around the edge. Cold coffee remained in the pot. Had Mr. Clean not noticed or did he not care?

“How about I make bacon and eggs, with lots of grease, and something with tons of white flour and sugar?” That ought to get a rise out of the man.

“Whatever.”

Fuck. Who was this guy who didn’t give a rat’s ass about anything, what had he done with Bo, and how could Lucky get Bo back?

Lucky threw together soup and sandwiches and brought them into the living room. “You ready to…”

No Bo. Snores came from the bedroom.

***

Lucky brought home supper the next night. “Have you talked to your brother or aunt lately?” As far as he knew, Bo hadn’t used his cell phone to call anyone but Lucky since moving in.

“Was I supposed to?” The snarky tone wasn’t necessary. Bo picked at his pizza without eating.

“Well, Thanksgiving’s coming up. I thought you might want to go home and see them.” Lucky took a big bite of veggie pizza, trying to tempt Bo.

Bo shot off the couch. “You trying to get rid of me?”

Where the fuck had he gotten such a stupid idea? “No! But the holidays are ‘bout here, and well, usually folks get together with family.” And the comments Bo made about reconnecting with family hadn’t been the words of a man with no Thanksgiving plans.

“I don’t see you planning any family reunions.”

Ouch!

“Oh, my God.” Bo’s eyes went wide. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I said that.” He dropped back beside Lucky on the couch. “Look, I’m not in the mood to face kinfolk and all their nosy questions, okay? Give me a little more time.”

While Bo showered, Lucky checked Bo’s phone. He’d deal with the guilt later. Twenty-seven unanswered messages, all from the same Arkansas number.
Bo Schollenberger, phone home!

If Lucky could, he’d call his folks in a flat minute. Bo ignored a perfectly good family, a family that wanted him.

Oh, the running thing. Bo ran from problems, kept them inside, tried to deal with them on his own. Fuck. If Bo wouldn’t even text a response to his own family, what hope did Lucky have of Bo opening up to him?

***

“Bo?” Lucky climbed beneath the covers and turned off the light. Bo lay curled up facing the other way on the far side of the bed.

“Yeah?”

Lucky worked his way over, wrapped an arm around his man, and brushed his lips along the back of Bo’s neck.

Bo stiffened. “I’m kinda tired. Let’s go to sleep.”

Oh well. Back to cold sheets and the edge of the mattress. Even from his side of the bed Lucky sensed the tension bristling off his lover. “Can I do anything for you? Fix you a cup of tea?”
Stay awake all night and keep watch? Hunt down whatever demons plague you?
Johnson had stopped bringing over her magic elixirs once Lucky passed the drug test, but he still had some of her special tea blend.

“No. I just want to sleep.”

As far away as he was, he might as well have stayed at the center. But no, Lucky wanted him here, however much of Bo
was
here.

After a while Bo’s breathing leveled out. Lucky turned on the light. In sleep, the man appeared peaceful, like he never did during the day. The dark circles under his eyes remained. What did he need? How could Lucky help the man if Bo kept everything to himself?

He’d ask Charlotte, but Bo might take Lucky consulting his sister as betrayal. No, whatever Bo wrestled with he wanted to handle on his own. Bad enough Lucky confessing personal problems to Dr. Libby, but hell, a sledge hammer couldn’t break through the walls the man built. Sometimes, he locked down tight. Other times, like at the center, he at least showed Lucky a glimpse of his former self. A door to get back inside.

Now if only Lucky had a key.

Sleep wasn’t happening. No need to toss and turn and still wake up tired. Lucky padded out to the kitchen, easing the door closed behind him.

He settled down, cup of coffee in hand, cat beside him on the couch, to research PTSD on his laptop.

***

“No!”

Lucky jerked himself awake. “Bo?” He dropped his laptop on the coffee table and raced down the hall.

“No!” Bo moaned, thrashing about on the bed.

“Bo! You okay?” Lucky flipped the switch on the bedside lamp.

Bo fought the covers, twisting this way and that. “No! Alan, no!”

Lucky grabbed Bo by the shoulders and shook him. “Bo. Hey, wake up.”

Eyes flying open, Bo swung.
Crack!
Lucky grabbed his face and toppled off the bed. Holy fuck! That hurt!

“Oh my God!” Bo landed on the floor and pulled on Lucky’s hand. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Let me see.”

Lucky dropped his hand. He’d have a humdinger of a bruise come morning. The red-hot agony eased. “You were having a bad dream. I tried to wake you up.”

“Oh.” Bo hung his head. His hair stood up at odd angles. “Yeah. That’s been happening lately.”

Really? “Who’s Alan?”

Bo jerked up his head. “How do you know about Alan?”

Oh great. Another old boyfriend. Probably a saint, nothing like Lucky. “You called his name in your sleep.”

Turning to prop his back against the bed, Bo sucked in air and let the breath out in controlled measures. “Remember me telling you about the guy I fell in love with in the service?”

“Yeah. Wasn’t he straight?”

“Questioning. In the end he broke my heart and married his high school girlfriend while on leave.”

“You were lovers?” Jealousy rose in a surging tide. Now wasn’t the time.

“Not in the physical sense. Mostly we talked. He was the only one who understood me. He was cool, hadn’t yet figured himself out, though I think in other circumstances we’d have hooked up. His marriage put a damper on our friendship. He said hanging around with me was too much like cheating on his wife.”

“Did you look him up after you got out?” Down, jealousy, down!

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” It would rip Lucky’s heart out for Bo to smile and show The Dimple to someone else.

“He’s dead. We took enemy fire. One minute he was sitting beside me, the next… he died in my arms.”

Fuck. Lucky maneuvered around and yanked Bo to his chest. “And you lived his dying all over again in your dream.”

Bo nodded against Lucky’s shoulder.

“I’ve got you now. All that’s over.”

“It was until Stephan’s wonder drug. The nightmares, the fear. Everything I’d tried so hard to put behind me is back now.”

One more reason to hate Stephan Mangiardi.

Lucky planted a kiss on Bo’s forehead and added rocking to the holding. When Bo shook he tightened his hold, ignoring the moisture on his chest.

***

Lucky woke in the early morning hours but lay still. With any luck he hadn’t woken Bo. Bo lay plastered against Lucky’s back, his snores a steady
snerk, snerk, snerk.

Easing over so as not to wake the man, Lucky wrapped an arm around his sleeping lover and drew him close. For a few moments, until the alarm clock sounded, he’d pretend things were back to normal.

Last night the horrors attacked Bo and not Lucky. What a fucked up pair they were.

***

“Bo? You up?” Normally Bo would have beaten Lucky out of bed by a good hour, yet here Lucky was ready for work and his partner hadn’t budged. Damn. He must be exhausted after last night.

Close enough to reach out and touch, and still so far away.

Jacking off in the shower didn’t help much; a hand was no match for a lover. And Lucky waking up with his erection nestled between the cheeks of Bo’s ass sent him running the other way.

Bo grunted and cracked open one eye. “Is it morning already?” At least he’d slept. No morning erection tented the sheets.

So in this, Lucky suffered alone. But if Bo woke up horny too…

Was it wrong to want sex? To need Bo so badly?

Lucky shifted to hide his rising cock. “Yeah. I’m heading to work. I’ll check in with you later. Umm… you got a letter from the SNB. Better see what they want.” The post office forwarded Bo’s mail, but sooner or later he’d have to put in a change of address at work. Let the gossiping begin. Damn, not knowing the contents of the letter ate at Lucky’s innards.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Lucky sat down on the bed. “Are you okay?”

The shimmer in Bo’s eyes cut off any more questions. Plus, the clock ticked off the minutes.

“I can call in. Stay home with you.”

Bo faked a smile that wouldn’t fool anybody. “No, you don’t have to. I’m okay. Go on, and don’t work too hard.” He dropped his gaze.

What? That kind of bull shit came out of asshat Keith’s mouth, not Bo’s. Not the pharmacist who got out of bed at four a.m. to compound meds for sick kids. Not the agent so deep under cover he’d spend a year of 24/7 cracking his case. This man didn’t know what working too hard was. But that’s not what Bo really said, was it?

Don’t get killed today.

What had he said last night? “
One minute he was sitting beside me, the next… he died in my arms.”

Millions of ways to die in war. No telling what images plagued Bo’s sleep. Maybe, like in Lucky’s dreams, the dead man wore his lover’s face.

He had to lighten this. “Today’s biggest danger is finger strain. Gotta learn to type faster than seventeen words a minute some year.”

Bo stared at something weird or invisible on the far wall. “Then don’t get finger strain.”

“I won’t.” Lucky pulled Bo to his chest. Too much had gone unsaid between them already to leave this hanging. “I’m real hard to kill. Ain’t you learned that by now?” He dropped a kiss on top of Bo’s head.

“You can’t know that. No one can. Look how close we both came in Mexico.”

If Lucky never heard “Mexico” again, he’d be a happy man. “Say somebody did get me, I’d come back and haunt their sorry asses.”

Bo snorted. “Now
that
I believe.”

For one long moment nothing happened, then Bo brought his arms up and crushed Lucky in a hug.

With a little squirming, Lucky lay back on the bed, taking Bo with him. No words passed between them. What could either of them say? The possibility of dying on the job ebbed and flowed, but like an unwanted houseguest, never completely went away.

Lucky rose up and eyed the bedside clock. Screw it. Bo came first.

After a while Bo struggled out of Lucky’s embrace. “Go on, you’re gonna be late.”

Running. When he needed someone the most, Bo ran. Or rather, sent Lucky away.

“I can still call in.”