When he woke up, Quentin was comfortable and toasty. His cheek was resting on something warm and soft, while he felt wonderfully safe being held in strong arms… His eyes shot open. Where the hell was he?
Mac. He was in Mac’s arms, on the couch. He must have fallen asleep. No wonder, as his body had been about to shut down in protest at the utter torture he’d subjected it to. Even now, as he was barely awake, every muscle in his body hurt, and he let out a groan.
The hard body beneath him shifted a bit. God, what time was it? How long had he been sleeping? “You awake?” he whispered.
“I w-w-wasn’t sleeping,” Mac said, amusement lacing his voice. “You w-w-were.”
“Oh.” He rubbed his eyes, yawning. “How long was I out?”
“T-t-two hours.”
His head shot up. Mac gazed at him with warm eyes. “I was asleep on you for two hours? Why the hell didn’t you wake me, or you know, dump me on the couch and do something else?”
Mac looked almost insulted. “Why w-w-would I d-do that? I l-like holding you.”
This man. This wonderful, sweet man. “I wanna kiss you badly right now, but I really need something to drink first.”
“I d-drank your t-t-tea,” Mac said.
Quentin shot him a look of warning. “Stay right here. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
He untangled himself from the blanket and from Mac, shivering in the cold air that hit his body. “On second thought, maybe you could light the fireplace?” he said sheepishly. “I would, but I have no idea how to and would rather not set the whole place on fire.”
Mac grinned. “B-b-better not.”
Quentin quickly relieved himself, then drank a glass of water and made himself a new cup of tea. That, at least, he knew how to do. “Did you eat all the cookies too?” he called out to Mac.
“Of c-course not. I know b-b-better than t-to come b-between you and your f-f-food.”
Smart man.
When he walked back to the couch, Mac had gotten the fireplace going, the crackling from the burning wood a lovely homey sound. Quentin put his tea down and grabbed a cookie from the plate Mac had brought in earlier.
“Mmm, these are so good,” he said with his mouth full. He lowered himself onto the couch, wincing as his muscles protested.
“S-s-sore?” Mac asked.
“Yeah. My body is not used to this kind of work.”
He finished his cookie as Mac sat down next to him and grabbed his feet, turning Quentin so his feet ended up on Mac’s lap. Seconds later, strong fingers dug into the cramped muscles of his feet and calves, and Quentin moaned in a combination of pleasure and pain.
“G-g-good?” Mac asked.
“Orgasmic. Hot damn, you have magical hands. I gotta put these to good use.”
Mac smiled, but his eyes held sadness as well, and Quentin sobered. He put his hands on top of Mac’s. “But first, we talk.”
“I c-c-can t-talk and m-massage,” Mac said.
“You like doing something with your hands while you talk?”
Mac nodded.
“Okay.”
For a few minutes, they sat, Mac rubbing Quentin’s feet and calves and Quentin patiently waiting for Mac to share his story. He would, Quentin was sure of that, but he apparently needed a little time to organize his thoughts or find the words.
Finally, Mac let out a sigh. “I’m n-not good at t-t-telling stories. M-maybe you c-can ask m-me questions?”
“Hmm, okay. How about you give me the two-sentence summary, and I’ll ask about the details?”
Mac closed his eyes, and his chest rose with a deep breath. “M-m-my f-father is in p-prison for f-fraud. He s-s-swindled h-half the t-town out of m-money. I’m t-t-trying to p-p-pay back what he t-t-took.”
Quentin’s mouth dropped open. Out of everything he’d expected to hear, this didn’t even come close.
Mac sat with his eyes closed, his brows furrowed, his shoulders up to his ears, his hands still on Quentin’s feet. God, he looked like he expected a hit, like a little kid who was waiting for someone to lash out at him.
“Oh, Mac…” The words fell from Quentin’s lips in an almost desperate sigh. “Oh, baby…”
He needed to feel him, to show him it was okay, they were okay. How could they not be after Mac had just revealed what kind of man he was? One who was honorable to his very core. And so he took Mac’s hands and put them aside, then climbed onto his lap as Mac’s eyes opened wide, his mouth a startled O. He wrapped his arms around Mac, laid his head on his shoulder, and nuzzled his neck.
It took a second for Mac to adjust, and then those big arms folded around Quentin and pulled him close. Mac let his cheek rest on Quentin’s head, and for minutes they sat like that, quiet.
“How much did he take?” Quentin finally asked.
“Three hundred th-th-ousand, j-j-just in this area. But he’d d-d-done it before, we f-f-found out.”
“Oh, god. How?”
“R-r-resort. He t-told them he had b-big inv-v-vestors. They c-c-could b-buy in, m-make f-four times their m-money b-b-b-back.”
“He let them believe they were investing in a resort that was being built?” Quentin checked.
Mac hummed his affirmation.
“Why are you paying it back when he took it?”
“B-b-because m-m-my name was on the p-papers. I w-was eighteen, and m-my mom was already s-sick, and I t-t-trusted him when he t-t-told me to s-sign stuff. He s-s-said it was t-to protect the h-house if we r-r-ran into d-debt for my m-mom’s medical b-bills.”
Slowly, the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place. “But he got convicted because you could prove you acted in good faith.”
This time, it took minutes before Mac answered, but Quentin stubbornly waited, holding on to him.
“N-n-n-no. I g-got convicted t-t-too. I s-s-spent two years in p-p-prison.”
Mac whispered the words, barely audible, but they stabbed Quentin in his heart. “Why? Why would you get sentenced for something you didn’t do?”
“The p-p-people in t-town w-w-were so angry. N-n-no one s-s-stood up as my c-c-character witness. Only m-m-my mom, but the judge s-s-said she was b-biased.”
“And you’ve been paying people back ever since.”
“O-o-only t-t-ten thousand t-to go.”
Quentin did a quick calculation in his head, then frowned. “It took you twenty years, well, eighteen since you got out of prison, to pay off everything?”
“N-n-no. I had to p-p-pay my mom’s m-m-medical bills f-first. I s-started paying p-p-people off after she d-died and the b-bills were p-paid, eight years ago. H-h-he had a p-partner, so I’m only p-p-paying half of what h-h-he took.”
“But…” Quentin let go of Mac so he could lean back and meet his eyes. “Where did the money go your dad took?”
“G-g-gambling. He g-gambled it all away. H-his share, and his a-a-asshole took th-th-the other half.” Mac’s eyes filled with tears. This big, strong man crumbled before Quentin’s eyes. “M-m-my mom n-needed him, and ins-s-stead, he d-d-did this to her, t-t-to me, to us.”
“But you were there for her,” Quentin said. He grabbed Mac’s face, made him look at him. “You were the one she leaned on. What a man you are, Mac McCain.”