“What?” he huffed and pulled the covers over his legs.
“Come to the Triple R for a month until you can get around. Frank will cook all your meals.”
The Triple R was a working ranch out in Texas that Maddox and River owned. Diesel had made a couple of trips out there the year before. One had been to help with the kidnapping of Triton, Maddox’s younger cousin. The other had been to visit.
“No.”
Diesel yanked back the covers and reached for the ice wrap before slipping it around and then strapping it to his throbbing knee. Patting the bed, he found the remote and started the ice machine.
Here he was two days after surgery on his ACL, and he was still having trouble getting around. The doctors said he’d been lucky, it could have been a fuck ton worse. He reckoned it couldn’t get any worse, seeing as he couldn’t fucking walk, and told his surgeon that very fact.
His piss poor attitude hadn’t made him popular with the hospital staff. Not that he gave a rat’s ass about that. The only thing he wanted was to get mobile and figure out where the fuck to go from there. Between icing it, heat packing it, and elevating it, he should be up in no time. None of that six to nine months bullshit. He planned on being on his feet a hell of a lot sooner than that. He rubbed at his thigh above the injured knee.
He looked around the lonely infirmary where he’d been brought because he was too far from home to travel. On the plus side, he was close to the physical therapy building. He snatched the Jello from the hospital tray the nurse had delivered earlier and took a bite. The cloying, sugary taste had him dropping it back on the tray in disgust.
“You’ll have company in case something goes wrong.” Maddox pointed to his knee and the ice machine.
He didn’t want any fucking company. He wanted to be left alone to wallow in his failure.
Truth was, he was getting tired. Truth was, he was getting worried he couldn’t keep up with the younger ones, and the reality of it was, he couldn’t. Now, he needed to own that shit and make a decision.
“Come on, Diesel. You haven’t been back except one time since the cave-in.”
He stared at Maddox. He had to admit that he’d enjoyed visiting River’s grandfather, Bull, Jim, and the ranch last year, except it had been missing a certain someone. He adjusted the icepack.
“You can’t get around very well yet. Who do you have at home?”
“I have my cousin.”
“Who doesn’t live with you and has a family of his own.”
Damn the man for pointing that out. He squinted. He had a home waiting, filled with pets and plants and not—as Maddox had so kindly fucking pointed out—a person waiting for him. Someone to share it with.
He shook that thought off. He’d gone that route before with a less than a stellar ending. Better to live on his own and find pleasure elsewhere.
“I have my dog and my cat.”
“Molly won’t cook your meals,” Maddox said of his six-year-old Labrador Retriever.
“My cousin can’t care for them forever. I impose on them enough when deployed.”
“Have them do it for at least a couple more weeks then. There’s a local physical therapist who lives down the road from the ranch. Come to the Triple R and relax in front of the fire. I know the family would love to see you.”
Does that mean Triton? He wanted to ask, but he wouldn’t go there.
There was a shit ton of reasons why, but the main one was Triton Scott was a baby. Okay, that was a lie. Triton was twenty-two, but that was still a fucking shit ton younger than his own thirty-eight years.
“Diesel, you’ll be left alone. Bull will be there, but he’s usually out tending the ranch with Jim. Think of it as a mini vacation to give you time to recuperate. Triton will be there.”
“He wasn’t there when I visited the last time, so what makes you think he’ll be there this time?” Diesel pointed out, and then stopped abruptly. “And why the hell should I care?”
“I’ll make sure he’s there,” Maddox countered, not saying a word in response to his shitty attitude. “Besides, you still owe him a goodbye.”
He scowled at his friend. “Thanks for reminding me.”
After the cave-in at the mine, he’d left the ranch and the boy he’d rescued without so much as a word. He’d tried to rectify his error by returning to the Triple R last year, but Triton hadn’t come home. The boy had sent a text to Maddox that with finals coming up, he couldn’t get away. Upon leaving the Triple R, Diesel decided it had been a good thing that Triton hadn’t been there. After his visit, his overwhelming need to check in on Triton had diminished, and he wasn’t doing anything to jeopardize his peace of mind, damn it.
“No,” he said, grinding his teeth. It had taken months to put Triton out of his mind.
Maddox gave a hard sigh and crossed his arms. “I need you to talk some sense into him.”
“What?” he scowled, the words bringing him upright. “What’s wrong with Triton?”
“I think his boyfriend is abusing him.”
“What the fuck?” he snarled. “I’ll snap that fucking guy like a fucking twig even with a fucking gimp leg!”
Maddox smirked. “Yeah, well, good luck getting Triton to admit it’s happening.”
“Why wouldn’t he tell you?”
“Would you?”
“Nobody would be stupid enough to try that shit on me, but I can see why he wouldn’t want to say anything.”
Triton was probably embarrassed, maybe felt like he didn’t have a way out, didn’t have a choice. And that right there didn’t fucking sit well with Diesel. At. Fucking. All.
He caved.
“Yeah, okay, but only for two weeks.” He could go and check in on Triton in that time.
It was the least he could do for Maddox. And here was his chance to say goodbye to Triton for good.
Plus, he needed to figure out what the fuck to do with his life if the military was no longer an option. A medical discharge was a real possibility if he couldn’t pass the army’s physical after his injury healed. He winced, readjusting his leg on the bed.
I’m getting too old for this shit. He was a thirty-eight year old Master Sargent, an E-8. The reality of it was it made him one of the oldest in the unit. He’d had to have a waiver signed each reenlistment to let him continue in Special Forces.
Yet, as dedicated as he was—and even if he regained the full use of his knee—time was something even he couldn’t outrun.
Triton
Standing beneath the hot water, he scrubbed himself but didn’t linger. Wrapped in a towel, he darted from the bathroom and into the bedroom.
The apartment sounded empty, but he couldn’t be sure how long it would stay that way. Clay gave keys to every one of his bounty hunter buddies, and any one of them could walk in on him at any given time. God only knew how many keys Auto had given out.
Yanking open his dresser drawer, a cup holding loose change wobbled and fell noisily, scattering the coins across the surface before spilling to the carpet below.
He froze, his chest went tight, and he scrambled to pick up the coins. Oh god, oh god. Frantically, he managed to get the cup back on the dresser with the coins tucked inside. Once the cup was back in place, he stilled, listening, heart pounding. Clay hated when he dropped things, which happened frequently.