Over the past two weeks, Clay’s mood had been volatile, more so than ever before. As a result, he moved like a ghost, rarely ate, and barely slept.
Hearing nothing but a distant snoring, he dashed at his eyes, and with shaking hands, he yanked on his clothes. Bruises littered his forearms and he tugged down the t-shirt’s long sleeves. The marks were superficial. It was his lower back that hurt the worst. The ache from where Clay had used his belt. Also, his throat felt scratchy and raw from Auto’s continued abuse.
Don’t think about it. That only leads to doing something stupid, like leaving. He pulled on his socks and sneakers.
“Yeah, and you know what happened last time you tried to leave permanently,” he whispered to himself. Clay’s threat had made his blood run cold. Triton had never tried leaving again. He dashed at his eyes.
The alarm on his phone buzzed. Great, he had about fifteen minutes to get across the street to catch a ride with Fraser.
Snatching up his backpack, he crept through the apartment. Two of Auto’s prison buddies were crashed out on the floor, one of them snoring loudly. The room smelled of stale beer breath and body odor.
Gripping the dead bolt on the front door, he held his breath and slowly twisted the lock. The click echoed loudly, and he froze for one second. Glancing over his shoulder, one of the men grunted and turned over, and Triton eased the door open and slipped out.
Once in the hallway, he pulled the door closed and took off at a run toward the stairs. It wasn’t until he reached the sidewalk out in front of the building that he released the breath he was holding.
He sent a quick text to Fraser before jogging across the street and ducking behind the local liquor store. Tiredly, he leaned his head back against the brick wall and rubbed at his temples and the beginning of a headache.
His life was so different than what he had imagined it would be. Kicked out by his parents at the age of eighteen had been a blessing, but terrifying. One phone call later, his older cousin, Maddox, had taken him in at the Triple R.
Triton recalled the conversation he’d had with Maddox on that first night at the ranch, discussing the future and college.
“What classes do you want to take?” Maddox had asked him.
“I guess accounting?” he had said hesitantly, afraid to disappoint.
“That sounds like a great idea.” Maddox smiled. Triton had curled his lips upward in something that resembled a smile.
Accounting was just something his dad had pounded into his head. His dad had wanted him to become an accountant for his small engine repair business. More free labor. Triton didn’t want to earn a degree in accounting.
That was when the lies started.
Months ago, he’d begun to lie to Maddox. He wasn’t taking accounting courses. He wasn’t even going to college any longer.
Triton swallowed back the tears. Crying never did any good. He thought instead of the big, strong arms of Diesel in the cave. Diesel, who had held him more tenderly than he could ever remember in his life in that dark, musty tunnel during a cave-in that had almost killed them both.
For a fleeting moment in Diesel’s arms, he’d believed he could be something different, someone different. That he deserved better.
He’d been wrong.
This was his life, this was his worth. He only needed to be better and quit fucking up so much. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he wished he would have remembered to grab a water bottle. Maybe Fraser had a spare.
Tugging his vibrating phone from his pocket, he answered it on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Triton, how are you?”
“Maddox! Hey, what’s up?” At the sound of his cousin’s deep, comforting voice, tears of relief filled his eyes, and he wiped at them and moved over to stand next to an industrial sized trash can.
“Diesel got hurt. I’m sending him to recuperate for a few weeks at the Triple R. Think you can keep him company? I’d call it keeping an eye on him, but he’d kick my ass.”
“Oh my god. Is he okay?” He took a few jerky steps.
“That remains to be seen. He has a severely hyperextended knee.”
“Oh no!”
“Yeah. I need you to help him get around and keep him busy.”
“How long would something like that take to get better?”
“It could take anywhere from six to nine months, but he’s only staying on the ranch for a few weeks, just until he can get around on his own.”
“Okay, I can help.” His stomach dipped and swirled.
“There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“He’s a bad patient. He’s a grouchy old bear.”
“He’s not old!”
“He turned thirty-eight this year, but don’t tell him I told you that.”
Thirty-eight, and he’d just turned twenty-two. That was one of the things Diesel repeatedly told him when they’d talked in the cave.
“Do you date younger men?”
“I’m too old for you.”
“I’m twenty-one!”
“Way too young, baby boy.”
“Don’t you like slim boys with blue eyes?” he’d pressed because he really did like Diesel calling him baby boy.
“I can handle grouchy bears.” He swallowed with a hitch of breath and bit back a sound of pain when his back spasmed.
“What’s the matter?”
“Just stubbed my toe.” He hated lying to Maddox, but the truth of his failures was too much to bear.
“You sound like you have a cold.”
“I don’t.”
There was a brief pause. “Are you okay, Triton?”
He clenched his teeth and wiped at his eyes. “Of course. When are you guys coming home?”
“Diesel will be there tomorrow. I’m being deployed again.”
“Okay, I’ll be home.” His stomach dipped and jumped with the dread of telling Clay, but also the anticipation of seeing Diesel again.
“Thanks, Triton! I owe you one. I’ll call you when I get back.”
“Be safe.”
When Maddox rang off, Triton tucked the phone into his pocket. He moved back to lean against the building and set his head back against the brick wall. How would Clay react? Triton would tell him that Maddox had demanded it. Clay wouldn’t want Maddox to come here, that was for sure. With that plan in mind, he breathed a bit easier.
As if right on cue, Fraser pulled down the alley.
“Hey,” Triton said after he eased himself into his seat.
“Oh my god, Triton. What happened?”
The car idled while his friend looked him over and reached a hand to his shoulder. Surprised, Triton flipped down the visor. A bruise on his collar bone stood out starkly.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He flipped the visor closed and tugged his shirt to cover the mark.
“Tell me anyway,” Fraser demanded.
“Another night in the closet,” he choked out after a long, tense moment. Clay had made it a regular thing now.
“That son of a bitch!” Tears filled Fraser’s eyes before he reached over and yanked him into a hug.
Triton yelped, and Fraser gasped and drew back. “Sorry. Which one was it this time?”
“Both.” He had already filled in Fraser a few weeks ago about Auto’s involvements in the abuse, just not the part about the blackmail.