The Easy Way

by May Archer

  When he felt a warm hand on his naked back, he stiffened in shock and looked up to find Cort, his eyes still half-slitted and glazed with sleep, shifting to sit behind him in the bed. Cam hadn’t even realized where he was, hadn’t remembered Cort was also there.

  He wasn’t alone after all.

  He had someone after all.

  Cort didn’t say a word. He shifted one leg around Cam’s back, and pulled Cam to lean against him. The scruff of Cort’s beard was rough on Cam’s shoulder as Cort pressed small kisses to his skin and ran his hand through Cam’s hair.

  Without thinking, Cam twisted to bury his face in Cort’s chest as the sobs came faster and harder. How could one person have so much grief inside them? Had it been there all along? Right now, it was expanding like a living entity inside him, threatening to split Cam’s skin, fragmenting him into a million pieces.

  Cort didn’t waver. His grip around Cam tightened, holding Cam’s pieces together with the strength of his embrace, and he began rocking, almost imperceptibly at first, then faster, the motion comforting and sure.

  “I’ve got you,” he whispered. “Let it go, baby. I’ve got you.”

  And Cam took him at his word, allowing Cort’s soft kisses to push comfort into his skin, trusting Cort to care for him.

  When his tears finally slowed, hours or minutes later, Cam noticed the room was lighter than it had been, warmer, though perhaps it had more to do with the way Cort had wrapped him up completely, arms and legs and chest, all buffering him against the world.

  He swallowed, not sure how to feel once his sanity returned somewhat. Should he be embarrassed? Should he move away? Last night with Cort had been incredible, but there had been no promises between them. And still, he couldn’t summon the energy to respond at all.

  Cort’s lips moved against his hair, his hands stroked over Cam’s arm. His eyes held affection, concern - a dozen different emotions Cam could read, clear as day, because all along they’d been doing that wordless communication thing, hadn’t they? And Cam hadn’t even noticed.

  This giant, crazy, secretive, wonderful Viking, with his green eyes and his just-fucked hair, knew exactly what Cam was thinking. He always seemed to know.

  Cort frowned as Cam stared at him silently. “Can I get you anything? Water, or—”

  “I love you,” Cam blurted, stunning himself. Stunning Cort, too, by the way he tensed around Cam, squeezing him tight before lessening his death grip somewhat.

  “You—” Cort stumbled.

  Cam pulled in a deep breath and moved his head from Cort’s chest so he could look directly into his face. Cort didn’t look horrified or concerned, or any of the other things Cam had worried he’d find there, just completely surprised and maybe a little unsure of how to respond.

  Cam shook his head. “I didn’t say it for you to say it back,” he told Cort. “In fact, I definitely don’t want you to repeat it to me. Not now. I just… I was thinking about my parents. Dreaming about them actually.” Cam’s voice broke and he cleared his throat. “I miss them.” It was so stupidly obvious, but Cam didn’t think he’d ever said it aloud before. He wasn’t certain whether he’d even admitted it to himself, because admitting it would mean contemplating everything he’d lost and he still wasn’t sure he was ready to do that.

  Cam shook his head. “Believe it or not, I’ve talked more about them with you this week than to anyone else in the entire past year. Maybe it was wrong or disrespectful of their memories. It’s just so hard.”

  “Yeah,” Cort agreed ruefully. “Really damn hard. But maybe it’s time to talk about those hard things.”

  “Maybe it is,” Cam said. He paused for a moment, then continued, “I never doubted they loved me. And I know they knew how much I loved them too. But I just sort of wished I had the chance to hear it from them one last time, to tell them one last time, so… I wanted… you to… know.”

  “There’s no right or wrong way to grieve and process,” Cort said after a short while. “They’d be so proud of you. I know I am.”

  His hands sifted through the hair on Cam’s head, and Cam fell into a pleasant kind of exhaustion, like he’d done hard labor.

  “Cam?” Cort said a moment later. “I want you to tell me these things. I want you to know, you can talk to me.”

  He said the words solemnly, as though he was making a promise. Cam sat up, twisting around to look into Cort’s serious green eyes.

  “Okay,” Cam responded. Cort seemed hesitant, an unusual look for him, which made Cam need to ask, “Are you okay?”

  Cort nodded, and his hand reached up to stroke Cam’s cheek. “You have so many heavy burdens and I want… I want you to give them to me. Not because you can’t handle them - you’ve already shown you can, maybe better than me. But you shouldn’t have to handle things alone. I want you to trust me with this, the same way you trust me with your body.”

  Cam blinked, but didn’t interrupt.

  “You’ve shown me so much trust already,” Cort continued. “It’s time I did the same for you.”

  Cort reached over and grabbed the small flip phone from the nightstand, placing it on his thigh where Cam could see it. His arms tightened around Cam, as if he was afraid Cam was going to escape, to run from him once he began talking. Cam tensed, his heart beating faster. How bad would this be?

  “Damon Fitzpatrick is my foster brother,” Cort said, and Cam frowned. He remembered feeling the faint niggle of familiarity when Cort had said that yesterday. Cam hadn’t paid attention to it then, but this morning, he focused on it. Damon Fitzpatrick… Damon…

  “The pilot who caused the crash?” Cam whispered, feeling his entire body grow cold.

  Cort shook his head, his arms still holding Cam tight. “He didn’t cause the crash, Cam.”

  “The NTSB said differently,” Cam said stiffly. His breathing was ramping up, and suddenly Cort’s comforting embrace felt restrictive. “What does this have to do with anything? With the case you’re working on?”

  “I’m not working on a case,” Cort said softly. “You accused me of it yesterday, and you were right. I’m here because Damon is alive, and I need to help him.”

  Cam sat up, pushing Cort’s arms aside. “Alive? Cort, it’s not possible. There were no survivors.”

  “It’s possible. I have photographic proof in my bag,” he said. “But you can take my word for it. Damon survived somehow.”

  Disbelief warred with hope in Cam’s chest. “Were there other….?” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word survivors, but Cort understood.

  He shook his head quickly. “I don’t… I don’t think so. Nothing identifying Damon was ever recovered,” he reminded Cam. Whereas Cam’s parents’ remains had been found at the crash site.

  Cam ran a hand through his hair. “He’s alive? And he wants you to help him do what?”

  Cort winced, then his jaw hardened. “I’m not a hundred percent sure, but the things they say he did - getting drunk before a flight, failing to do the pre-checks, that’s not Damon. It’s not the kind of man he was… is.” He laid a hand on Cam’s thigh, holding him in place, while he explained the clues Damon had been sending him, the facial recognition picture he’d got from the security camera which had led him to St. Brigitte, the way things had gone down with his superiors, and the burner phone he’d got through the mail on the morning they left.

  The words flowed into Cam’s brain, but he could hardly make sense of them. His whole body was being pricked by pins and needles, like a numb limb coming back to life. Cort had lied, outright and by omission, to Cam, to his FBI teammates, to everyone.

  “I still don’t understand,” Cam whispered when Cort finally fell silent. “He sent you pictures of Sebastian and me, things about Seaver Tech. Why?”

  Cort hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

  “Oh, bullshit,” Cam sneered, pushing up off the bed. The phone clattered to the floor, but Cam left it there and reached for his clothes, which still lay where he’d dro
pped them the previous night, before everything had changed. “You clearly suspect some conspiracy or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “I don’t have any proof,” he hedged.

  “I haven’t heard proof for any of this,” Cam retorted. “So why stop now?”

  “Because I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Hurt me?” Cam echoed. “How could you possibly hurt me more than you already have?”

  Cort swallowed. “Damon didn’t cause the crash, so, who did? Who benefited most from your parents’ deaths, Cam?”

  Cam frowned. “Nobody.”

  “Is that really true?” Cort stood and grabbed Cam by the upper arms, forcing him to look at Cort, forcing him to listen. “Your brother inherited the company. You told me about it the first night we met, remember? A very wealthy, powerful company.”

  Cam’s eyes widened as he finally understood. “And you think Bas…” His eyes hardened. “But why not me? I’m the president of the company, after all.”

  Something flickered in Cort’s eyes. Cam barked out a laugh. “Oh, Jesus Christ. You actually did think I might have had something to do with my parents’ deaths!”

  Cort shook his head emphatically. “I thought so at first but after the first night we talked, I knew better. I knew you couldn’t have.”

  “How did you know?” Cam demanded. “How do you know I didn’t just off them so I could have more money, since money is obviously the only motivation anyone has for doing anything in your world?”

  “Stop!” Cort said, shaking Cam slightly. “I just know better.” He lifted one hand to cup Cam’s chin. “I know it or I wouldn’t be here now, I wouldn’t be telling you all this.”

  Cam shook his head and huffed out a laugh. “But you still think it was Sebastian?” He broke away from Cort, paced away from the bed. “You’re crazy.”

  “Sometimes you think you know people,” Cort ventured, but Cam whirled to face him.

  “Listen to yourself. The NTSB investigation concluded your brother was at fault, but I’m supposed to believe he didn’t because you know your brother better than that. Meanwhile, you’re trying to convince me that my brother is a murderer, because that helps to sell the story you’ve been telling yourself. But you don’t know Sebastian. You’ve never even met him. So, what will you do if I tell you I know my brother, and I know it would be absolutely, positively against his nature to do anything like this?”

  Cort hesitated, and Cam could see the pain and indecision in his eyes. He wanted to believe Cam, but if he did, it would mean he didn’t believe Damon.

  They were at an impasse. Cam had no idea what it meant for him and Cort. Had this all been part of some larger game? Cam’s head hurt from crying, his entire body felt wrung out. He wanted space and peace.

  “If you really believe Sebastian is involved in this? Why isn’t the FBI here officially?” Cam demanded wearily. “Why isn’t there an open investigation trying to prove his innocence?”

  “How would that go, Cam?” Cort took a step toward him, then stopped, running both hands through his hair. “After the crash, Sebastian ran Damon’s name down in the press so badly, he became a punchline. How could Damon possibly get a fair shot? You might like to believe the FBI investigations are fair and impartial, but I know better.”

  Cort leaned against the end of the bed and folded his arms across his chest, totally unconcerned by his nakedness. Despite everything, Cam fought not to react to the sight of him.

  “If I tell the FBI he’s alive, they will open an investigation, but with the intent to charge him with manslaughter if nothing else. Then it will be out of my hands, and out of his hands too.”

  “So you’re waiting for him to call you? And then what?”

  “I don’t know,” Cort said, his eyes burning into Cam’s. “I’ll talk to him and then… see.”

  See if he had enough information to investigate Sebastian, he meant.

  Cam shook his head. Oh, Cam. You are an idiot who will never, never learn.

  “You’d do the same,” Cort said, almost defiantly. “If you had to save your brother—”

  “I did do the same,” Cam agreed. “That’s how you got me to come here, in case you don’t remember. And now, by bringing you here, you’re telling me I’ve essentially fucked him over instead.” Cort frowned, as though he hadn’t considered this. “You used me. Again.”

  “No,” Cort said, stepping forward, reaching for Cam. “It wasn’t like that, Cam. I didn’t expect this. Us.”

  “Us,” Cam echoed, stepping away, holding his hands up, warding Cort off.

  He’d thought he was completely cried out, that his body couldn’t spare any more tears, but the damn things were welling up behind his eyes anyway, and this time he’d be damned if Cort saw him break down.

  “Cort, there is no us. I thought…” He shook his head, willed his voice to stay strong. “I was stupid, again. So, that’s on me, again. There won’t be a third chance.”

  “Cam, take a minute. Think. You know better,” Cort pleaded. “You said you wouldn’t run. You said you’d trust me.”

  Cam hesitated. Was he running? Was that what this was?

  From its spot on the floor, Cort’s flip phone gave a loud chirp and clatter, and Cort’s head swung toward it, then back to Cam, clearly torn.

  Cam would make the decision easier for him. “You’ll want to get that,” he said dully. He took himself off to the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

  The giant bathroom featured a large soaking tub along with a huge glass-fronted shower tiled in natural stone. Exactly what he needed - to scrub himself clean and forget this entire morning, this entire trip, every second in Kendrick Cortland’s company.

  He turned the water to scalding hot and shucked his boxers before stepping under the spray. His stomach roiled, his eyes burned, and as the stupid tears came, Cam let himself sink to the floor.

  He had to call Sebastian and warn him. He had to fly home immediately - a thought he knew would have terrified him under any other circumstances, but for now made his chest ache more intensely.

  Cam lay his forearms against his bent knees and allowed the water to wash over him. He felt a scream rise up inside him, and remembered Cort’s pool trick -how invincible he’d felt in that moment and nearly all the moments he and Cort had spent together. It had only taken one week for Cort to burrow under his skin this completely, to make him feel important. He had a feeling it would take a lot longer for the memories to fade.

  The first clue he wasn’t alone came when a chilly breeze skittered across his wet skin. He lifted his head to see Cort step inside the shower and immediately squat down in front of him, heedless of the water running over them both.

  “The door was locked,” was all Cam could think to mutter.

  “It’ll take more than a locked door to keep me out, Cam,” Cort admonished. He lifted a hand to Cam’s face. “I told you I wouldn’t let you run.”

  “It can’t work,” Cam said almost desperately. “It’s always going to be me or Damon, you or Sebastian. We’ll only end up hurting each other. Or hurting ourselves.”

  Cort shook his head. “Trust me,” he demanded, bringing his lips closer to Cam’s.

  Cam lifted his head, pressed his mouth desperately to Cort’s, wishing and wanting, but this time he wasn’t sure he had any more trust to give.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “When Damon texted, he said he wanted to meet in the hangar at noon,” Cort said, pulling a t-shirt over his head. The soft gray material slid down his body, clinging to his broad shoulders and the patches of skin still damp from their shower. “In about an hour.”

  Cam, who hadn’t been able to stop himself from watching the show, turned his focus to buttoning his own shorts as Cort slid both his phones into his pockets and turned around. He looked down at the dresser, which held an assortment of things he’d removed from his own pockets yesterday - door key, wallet, cell… Cort’s lucky quarter. Cam grabbed the coin and held it
tightly in his palm before slipping it into his front pocket.

  “You’re going to meet him,” Cam said neutrally. It wasn’t a question. From what Cort had revealed, everything he’d had done up to this point was to help his brother, so despite Cam’s hurt, this was not a surprise. It was simply the sort of person Cort was. He had a loyalty which had been embedded in him since childhood.

  “We are,” Cort said. He walked across the room and wrapped his arms around Cam from behind, leaning down to rest his chin on Cam’s shoulder. His wet hair tickled Cam’s neck as their eyes met squarely in the mirror. “You and me, Cam. From here on out.”

  It sounded too good to be true, so it probably was, though Cam figured Cort wanted to believe it. He realized intention and reality often operated on two separate planes.

  Still, he gave Cort’s reflection a halfhearted smile. “Okay.” He grabbed his wallet and put it in his back pocket.

  Cort shook his head and smiled. “You don’t believe it, but you’ll see.”

  Cam nodded. They’d see alright.

  A knock at the door had them both turning simultaneously.

  “I thought he said at the hangar?” Cam asked.

  “That’s what the text said.” Cort moved toward the door, taking up a defensive position to one side. With his hand, he motioned Cam to move back, out of sight of the door.

  Cam rolled his eyes. What the hell did Cort think was going to happen here? He shook his head firmly. Cort had never been the boss of him, and certainly wasn’t now.

  Cort gestured again, his green eyes kindling with warning, sending a thrill up Cam’s spine.

  With a sigh, Cam walked into the bathroom. From here, he could only see Cort in profile as he took a deep breath then cracked the door open an inch. His head went back in surprise at whoever was out there. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.