Bringing It Home (Code Of Honor Book 3)

by Reese Knightley

  “Why?”

  “B-b-because.” Teeth worried a full bottom lip.

  “You’re supposed to stay and help me for two weeks.”

  “No.” Triton shook his head, sending blond hair shifting and catching the light.

  Diesel frowned. “Maddox told me that your classes don’t start for another two weeks. Was that a lie?”

  “No.” Triton’s hands twisted.

  “Then stay. Please.”

  Triton’s blue eyes went wide and wary, as if nobody had ever said please to him. Diesel rubbed a hand at his suddenly aching chest.

  Triton wavered and then softly said, “Okay.”

  “Good.” He winked. “Now, I’m starving.”

  “Want to come down for dinner or do you want me to bring it up here?” Triton’s soft voice lapped over him.

  “Bring it up here.”

  A brief, tentative smile tipped those pink lips up and brightened those blue eyes.

  “I’ll be right back!”

  Diesel grabbed the opportunity to use the restroom and wash up.

  A few moments later, Triton returned with two trays loaded with steak, potatoes, and salad.

  “Did Frank make this?” Diesel scooped up a bite of potatoes.

  “No, I took a turn tonight,” Triton said from his spot on the small sofa.

  “Who taught you to cook?”

  “My mom.”

  Several minutes went by without talking. Diesel thoughtfully cut into his steak.

  “Where are your parents?”

  “Alabama,” Triton said, and the boy’s voice became remote, detached.

  “Do you see them often?”

  “Not since they kicked me out for being gay.”

  What the fuck? His fork hung suspended for a moment. Why hadn’t Maddox shared that with him? Probably because you shut the man down every time he tried to talk about Triton’s personal life.

  “I didn’t know.” He finished his last bite, placed the fork onto the plate, and calmly watch Triton avoid his gaze.

  “It’s okay, I came to live with Maddox. He, Bull, and River are my family now.”

  “What about Clay? He’s not family?”

  “No.” Triton jumped up to clear the plates.

  “I take it talking over dinner is over?”

  “I don’t want to talk about him.” Triton grew agitated.

  “So, how’d you hurt your ankle?”

  “I said I didn’t want to talk about him!”

  “Why would Clay and your ankle injury be the same topic? Unless you lied about that.”

  Triton stared at him, wide eyes scared, and then he moved around the room, gathering up everything. He wanted to crush something at the panic in the boy.

  “Triton, don’t leave.” Diesel held out a hand.

  Triton whirled and stared at him.

  “You promised to stay,” he pressed, reminding the boy to see if he would respond to the subtle request.

  Triton hesitated. Yeah, the submissive nature of the boy wanted to obey, but he was scared. Clay Martin had terrified Triton of his own shadow.

  “I’m not leaving the ranch,” Triton whispered, and then dashed from the room.

  Not leaving the ranch, just my company.

  He’d only himself to blame for pushing.

  Fuck.

  Triton

  Diesel is coming out of his room for breakfast.

  “Just keep it cool. Don’t mess up. He’s nothing like Clay,” Triton whispered, then clamped a hand over his mouth. He tended to talk to himself when he was nervous, and Diesel made him really nervous. Not only the guy’s size, but it was his reaction to him.

  He knew the text from Clay was coming, he was supposed to be home yesterday, but he rubbed his damp palms down his pants at the ugliness of it.

  You better get your fucking ass home by the time I get home or you’ll regret it.

  I’m helping at the ranch! he replied, and tossed his phone to the counter.

  Snatching up a small rubber ball, he squeezed and flexed, and then switched it to his other hand to repeat. Shoving Clay’s threat away, he concentrated on his exercises. Keeping his hands strong was important in his line of work. He loved what he did. Being a masseuse was fulfilling. Taking away another person’s pain gave him a sense of purpose. He sighed and placed the ball away.

  The one thing he hadn’t been able to do yet was massage Diesel. He wanted to practice his craft on the big man’s muscled back, front, and well, everywhere. Nerves and fear warred and almost made him throw up, but it didn’t dampen his desire.

  A noise drew his head up, and he turned from the living room window to spot Diesel coming along the downstairs hallway on crutches.

  “You made it!” he blurted.

  “I did.” Diesel squinted, but there was kindness in his voice.

  Suddenly shy, Triton ducked his head.

  “I’m hungry,” the soldier followed up with a grumble.

  “And you’re just in time.” Triton darted around Diesel to pull a chair out at the big wooden table.

  When Diesel lowered into the chair, Triton reached for the crutches. Diesel hung on to them for a moment, Triton tugged, and then the big man sighed and released them.

  He admitted that struggling with Diesel to get the crutches was terrifying and completely out of character for him. But for some reason, he wanted to help Diesel.

  “You don’t need to wait on me.”

  “But I like to.” Triton worried his lip with his teeth and then blushed beneath the man’s dark, penetrating gaze.

  With a pounding heart, Triton darted away. He needed to get a grip on his warring emotions or he was going to embarrass himself and burst into tears.

  Setting the crutches against the wall nearby, Triton curled into a chair across from Diesel. He shoved plates across the table and dished up his own food. He badly wanted to dish up Diesel’s, but hung back. He used to do that for Clay until he’d messed up and spilled some of the dinner on the table and Clay’s pants.

  Triton reached for his glass of milk and took several swallows. The milk reminded him of the barn kittens bobbing heads while they lapped at their first bowl of cream. Their mouths rimmed with white. He wiped at his own mouth with the back of his hand.

  “There’s nine.”

  “Nine what?” Diesel paused in taking a bite.

  “Kittens.”

  “Should get her fixed.”

  “They all have homes except for the black one,” he rushed to assure Diesel.

  The soldier only grunted and ate in silence.

  “Supposed to be a sandstorm blowing in.” Triton made another attempt to engage Diesel. “We’ve got all the barns closed up and animals tucked away.”

  “Where’s Bull?”

  “He went over to Gillman’s place with Jim to help get the animals inside.” Gillman Berk was the neighbor Diesel and his unit had helped dispose of a drug lord.

  Diesel grunted.

  “You play cards?” He bit at his lip, squeezing his fork.

  “No.”

  “You like movies?”

  “No.”

  Triton dropped into silence, willing his eyes not to burn from the curt answers. The last thing he wanted was to make Diesel mad. The food on his plate suddenly tasted like ash and his stomach churned.

  “That’s not true.”

  “What?” His breath left in a rush and he dared to lift his eyes.

  “I do like movies. Just…not now,” Diesel said, giving him a small smirk.

  Triton lifted his head higher and locked his eyes on the man’s attractively bearded face.

  “I need a shave,” Diesel grumbled and pulled a hand over his closely cropped mustache and beard.

  “I can give you a shave and clean up your lines. Maybe a trim?” What the hell made him offer to do that? He froze, waiting for Diesel to tell him to fuck off.

  Diesel stared at him so long that Triton dropped his head and squeezed his fork.


  “I’ll take you up on that. It’s hard for me to stand on my leg long enough.”

  Relief whooshed through him, making him almost lightheaded.

  “Does the shower chair help?”

  “Yeah,” Diesel grumbled as if embarrassed and continued to eat.

  Triton’s heart hurt, and he tried to ease the man’s pain.

  “I wish I’d had one of those.”

  “When?” Diesel’s razor-sharp eyes locked on him, and Triton felt like he was under the gun. Uh oh. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.

  He couldn’t know, could he?

  “When I hurt my ankle when I fell,” he said automatically.

  “Fell?”

  He swallowed and reached for his glass of milk. “Yeah, I stepped off a curb.”

  “What curb?”

  “What?” He froze.

  “What curb?”

  “Out front of my apartment, why?”

  “Just curious.”

  Triton let out the breath he was holding when Diesel backed off. The man had almost tricked him into admitting that Clay had pushed him. Diesel didn’t need to know all that. Diesel didn’t need to know how pathetic he was. He wanted that part of his life to never touch Diesel.

  He saw through the man’s gruff exterior to the gentle man beneath. He’d seen brief glimpses of Diesel’s caring nature in the big man’s eyes. Those intense greens were making silent promises that everything would be all right.

  But nothing was all right. And never would be because Diesel wouldn’t always be around. That thought terrified him, and Triton wanted to take advantage of every minute they had together.

  Diesel pushed away his plate and stood. Triton jumped up to hand over the crutches. He stood helplessly by as Diesel limped away.

  “Are you coming?”

  “What?” He gazed up blankly.

  “Or was the offer of a shave a lie, like the ankle story?”

  “No! It’s not a lie.” He gulped, pulse jumping, and hustled after Diesel to his bedroom. “And neither is the story!” But the lie sounded thin even to his own ears.

  Diesel grunted and tossed the crutches down and then lowered to sit on the edge of the bed.

  Triton hurried into the bathroom. Once there, he ran a small towel beneath the hot water and gathered up shaving items plus a bowl of warm water.

  He tugged a chair across the floor and got on to it on his knees.

  Diesel gave him a humorous smirk when Triton leaned closer.

  Smiling, he dropped the hot towel over the man’s face and then giggled when Diesel grunted. It was such a relief to laugh.

  After a few moments, he removed the towel and lathered up the strong jaw line, outlining the full beard and mustache.

  Scraping the short hairs from Diesel’s neck was one of the most intimate and erotic things he’d ever done. It even surpassed giving massages because he had a tool in his hand that was dangerous, and Diesel trusted him with it.

  With shaking fingers, he tipped Diesel’s chin up and drew the razor slowly through the creamy white, then rinsed the razor before repeating.

  Diesel’s eyes stayed locked on his face and every so often, Triton would flick his own gaze upward and bask beneath the man’s approval.

  The last white bit was scraped slowly away and he wiped the damp towel over Diesel’s neck before sliding it up and over his jaw, chin, and then his lips. He dreamily sighed and reached for a clean towel.

  The chair he knelt upon wobbled. Big, hard hands came up and cinched at his waist.

  “Be careful,” Diesel grumbled.

  Was he angry? “Sorry.” He swallowed, bracing himself for the strike.

  When after several seconds none came, he shakily finished wiping Diesel’s neck and face clean while the man continued to hold onto him, keeping him safe, saving him from a fall.

  “All done.” He smiled.

  Diesel released his grip.

  With a pounding heart, Triton scrambled from the chair.

  Handing over the hand mirror, Diesel studied his work. Triton took the opportunity to put space between them.

  “You did a good job. Where did you learn this?”

  “Thanks.” His pride swelled at the words. “I didn’t learn it anywhere, I just pick up things easy.”

  “What is it you’re taking in school?”

  “A-a-accounting.”

  He backed toward the door, twisting his hands together.

  “Don’t lie to me,” Diesel ordered.

  How did Diesel always know when he was lying? “I’m a trained masseuse,” he blurted the truth.

  “Really? Why did you just tell me you worked with numbers?” Diesel frowned.

  “B-b-because I used to, but I hated it, so I got certified last year as a massage therapist.” His voice trembled.

  Diesel squinted, looking thoughtful. “That was a very brave thing.”

  “What was?” The words confused him, but his bewilderment couldn’t stop the glow from the words of praise.

  “Becoming something you want to be and not what other people tell you that you should be.”

  He searched, but couldn’t think of anything to say in response to Diesel’s approval.

  Diesel rubbed a hand where his neck met his shoulder, and Triton’s fingers itched to massage his pain away.

  “I can help you with your shoulder and back pain.”

  Diesel abruptly dropped his hand, but said nothing.

  “If I can’t practice, then I’ll lose my skills.” He bit his bottom lip.

  Diesel narrowed his eyes.

  “If you don’t like it after ten minutes, I’ll stop. I promise.” The words came in a rush, afraid that Diesel would say no, but just as afraid he’d say yes. His hands ached to touch Diesel.

  “All right, but just for a little while,” Diesel finally conceded.

  “Take off your shirt and lay face down on the bed if you can.”

  “I can’t. I can lay on my side, though.”

  “Okay, that will work.”

  A few moments later, Diesel was stripped to the waist and on his side and Triton had lost his ability to speak. He swallowed down the moan that tried to bubble up, and his hands literally shook. Diesel’s chest was a sculpture of sleek, rock-hard muscles with a smattering of hair.

  He swallowed hard and drew on his skills. He’s hurting and you’re lusting after him. Hadn’t shitty experiences with big men been his downfall? Keep it professional.

  Pouring oil into his palms, he let it warm up and rubbed them together. Starting on the upper expanse of Diesel’s broad shoulders, he began kneading the large, tight muscles. Some of the tightness was from the injury, but a lot of it was from his touch; he could tell the difference.

  A few moments into it, Diesel groaned and relaxed beneath his palms, and Triton grew giddy.

  He loved touching this man. Diesel’s muscles flexed and bunched beneath his hands. It was so very different from Clay. While both were big men, Clay had grown flabby. Not Diesel though, the man was older than Clay, Triton was sure of it, but the soldier’s muscles felt like pure granite.

  He began to crave the low groans that came from Diesel’s mouth beneath his touch. He got up on the bed on his knees and Diesel stiffened.

  “Shhhh. It’s okay, I just need this for leverage,” he said and knelt behind the man, knees nudging into Diesel’s ass.

  He used strength, but not too much. His own back soreness pained him, but he wasn’t stopping for the world. Not if it meant giving Diesel pleasure. Diesel melted beneath his hands. It was the least he could do for the man who’d saved his life.

  “You don’t need to do this,” Diesel complained, but his voice came out groggy.

  “I know, I like to, though. I like to keep busy,” he said, partially lying.

  Diesel

  “I don’t see how one man and a techie kid can run around and save the eastern seaboard from disaster,” Triton said for the fourth time.

  “Just watch
the movie. You’ll see.”

  “Who is that old guy again?”

  His head snapped up and he squinted at the little complainer only to find a smile on those full lips. After a whole week of tiptoeing around him, Triton was finally coming out of his shell. It took a while for someone to come back from abuse; Diesel had seen it in a neighbor boy after his dad was taken away to prison for child abuse. Little by little, though, and only if Triton stayed away from abusers, he had a really good chance of recovering completely.

  Triton snicker snorted and poked a toe into his leg.

  That was another first, Triton initiating touch. And every touch shot straight to Diesel’s dick. Over the past several days, they had created a routine of sorts. It consisted of Triton driving him crazy during the day and then cuddling up in the far corner on the couch in the evening. Oh, not body touching cuddles, but Triton sure did curl his body up like a pretzel while they watched movies and ate popcorn.

  They were sitting on the couch, or rather, he was sitting on the couch—Triton was laying on his back and pushing his feet into Diesel’s leg whenever he had a question. Which made watching the movie damned difficult.

  “That’s Bruce Willis, and he’ll never grow old.”

  Triton gave him a cheeky grin. “Well, my vote is on Justin Long.”

  “That kid? He doesn’t even like Creedence.”

  Triton laughed and the sound was so surprising that Diesel gaped for a moment

  “I, on the other hand, love Creedence.” Triton’s eyes sparkled.

  He quirked an eyebrow.

  “And older men,” Triton said on a rush.

  He was way too fucking old for Triton. Not that Triton agreed. Diesel had spent a good deal of time during the cave-in trying to get the idea of them together out of Triton’s head.

  “A significant age difference causes nothing but trouble in a relationship.”

  “Are you stereotyping me?”

  Diesel frowned. “Watch the movie.”

  “Fine!” Triton huffed.

  “Someone’s approaching the ranch!” Jim’s shout from the porch cut through the thick air.

  “Friendly?” Bull shouted back.

  “Don’t think so,” Jim returned.

  Triton scrambled up from the couch like his ass was on fire. The boy pulled out his cell and checked it and then turned as white as a sheet.