“Promise me.”
“I-I-I promise.”
“Three days, that’s all. You’ve got three days, and then I want your ass back here.”
Tears sprang to his eyes and he stared at Clay. Shivers of fear raced down his spine so quickly, his body gave an uncontrollable shudder. I fucking hate you! He swallowed the words that would only incite more pain.
Clay’s eyes squinted, then widened. The grip in his hair abruptly eased and Triton found himself pulled into the man’s arms.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Hot breath rushed over his skin when Clay’s face buried against his neck. Triton shuddered, standing stiffly, locking his knees to keep from sinking to the floor.
“It’s hard here without you,” Clay said, his voice muffled.
Triton shook and his mouth couldn’t even form words.
“What’s for dinner? I’m fucking starved,” Auto said in an ugly tone from the doorway.
“Get cooking, Tri.” Clay turned his head and caught his mouth in a sloppy kiss that made his stomach queasy.
“Yeah, get cooking,” Auto snorted and left the room.
Triton stepped away and turned to the sink, clutching at the cracked porcelain.
After a moment, Clay left the room.
Triton let the tears fall and shuffled toward the refrigerator, feeling like an old man.
When the food was ready, he called from the hallway and went into the bedroom and closed the door.
Taking a quick shower, he crawled into bed and huddled beneath the covers, staring at the wide open closet door. Shear exhaustion forced his eyes closed, but he still couldn’t sleep.
Much later, the bed shifted and Clay crawled in beside him.
“When do you go?” Clay pulled him into his arms.
Triton tried to relax, but every muscle in his body tensed, waiting for the next blow. “Tomorrow.”
Clay stiffened and then huffed, “Three days, Triton. I mean it.”
He nodded, laying there and waiting until Clay’s snores filled the room. Inching out of the man’s arms, he huddled on the far edge of the bed.
Tears wet his pillow from his silent crying.
He’d go to the ranch for three days. A break was what he needed. It would give him a chance to plan and make sure he was perfect. If he was perfect, it would solve everything, and things would be different when he returned.
It had to be.
He couldn’t survive much more.
Diesel
He gulped the tail end of what he suspected was a snore and groggily opened his eyes.
Rolling to his side, he blinked several times. Across from his bed sat a small sofa. Like many of the bedrooms at the Triple R, each one was designed for guests.
On that small sofa sat Triton, curled up, golden hair gleaming in the soft morning light. In the slender man’s lap was a small black kitten playing with a string.
Last time he’d seen Triton, the boy’d had brown curls, now they were blond. Brighter than a dirty blond, they were bleached, but it only enhanced the young man’s gorgeous features. Light blue jeans torn at the knees showed skin poking through. A baggy t-shirt hung on his frame and if Diesel wasn’t mistaken, it was one of his.
He grunted, bringing those blue eyes on him. For a whole year, he’d tried to forget that summer sky color.
His cock twitched.
Okay, this had to stop. He wasn’t some randy teenager who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. He was a guy who had goals and plans. He even had a plan for retirement for fuck’s sake. He was a seasoned adult looking at forty in a couple years.
Not to mention, those blue eyes were filled with shadows. Haunting shadows that made Diesel’s gut sour.
“Oh!” Pink lips rounded in an O and the young thing set the kitten on the floor and then jumped up on bare feet.
He had to admit, having Triton wait on him did cut down on trying to hobble back to the room with a plate of food. “Your physical therapist is coming at ten. I thought you might want to have breakfast before he gets here.”
Slender fingers constantly moved, fixing things on the dresser, rubbing down his pants, fingering his shirt.
“Is that my shirt?” Come to think of it, he’d seen Triton in the same jeans since he’d gotten there.
“Yeah.” Triton stumbled over the word, fear in his eyes. “I have to do laundry. I didn’t bring enough to wear. I can wash it and put it away.”
“Triton.”
“Yes?” Teeth worried the boy’s bottom lip and trembling fingers pulled at the t-shirt’s long sleeves.
‘It’s okay.”
Relief welled in Triton’s face and his hands twisted together.
Diesel scooted over, gritted his teeth, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“Frank is making a full country breakfast with eggs, potatoes, bacon, pancakes, and fresh orange juice.” Triton rushed closer and dropped to his knees at Diesel’s feet, making his cock twitch again. He glared at his traitorous pajama-covered dick.
“I remember I hurt my ankle once and it took forever to mend,” Triton whispered.
That got his attention. “How’d you hurt your ankle?”
Triton wore the same terrified expression as the one he’d held in the abandoned mine. A mine he’d rescued the boy from when Triton had been used for leverage in a drug deal. Of course, he and Infinity had shut that fucking shit down, but trauma had a tendency to linger.
“It was nothing.” Triton shook his head and lifted each foot and tucked on his slippers as if he’d been doing it for years instead of days.
For the past three days, Triton had flitted around his room, dodging the ranch hands and staff’s attempts at conversation, fear flashing in his pretty eyes.
“I need to make a phone call,” he rasped. “Can you give me some privacy?” His tone could have been a hell of a lot nicer.
“Oh.” Triton’s brow furrowed in confusion. Then that damned fear appeared again. The boy scrambled back so fast, his ass hit the ground and pain lanced through his eyes.
“Triton.”
Triton scrambled upright, plucked up the tiny kitten near his foot, and cuddled it close as he rushed from the room.
The boy had been abused and it showed. Not that he could tell by appearances because Triton kept his body covered up, but it showed in the harried and desperate mannerisms.
Diesel sighed and ran a hand over his head. He was worried about the level of stress Triton appeared under, but he gave a sigh of relief when the boy left the room.
He tossed the pillow—which he’d grabbed and used to shield his crotch with—on the other side of the bed. That was all Triton needed, to see his hard-on every time he came near. His dick was out of control, and that was a fucking problem. He needed to get his other head in the game. Getting mobile was a priority and he’d do well to remember that.
Even if the military was no longer an option—and he didn’t know if it was or not—he had a home in Oregon to get back to. A place where he’d created a peaceful life after last year’s fucked up complications.
Diesel yanked out his cell phone. He took a deep, slow breath and released it. His cousin was expecting him home tomorrow and he needed to stop procrastinating and call to make arrangements.
“Diesel?” His cousin’s husband answered the phone on the first ring.