Love in Xxchange: Miles to Go

by Bailey Bradford

  MILES TO GO

  Bailey Bradford

  27

  Any normal inquisitiveness a child might have had wasn’t allowed in his house, and since Max had plenty of older brothers to learn from, he’d buried every trace of sexuality as deeply inside himself as possible. More than one of his brothers had been brought before the family for masturbating. His father always made the guilty boy strip then proceeded to beat him sometimes to unconsciousness with his thick leather belt while the rest of the family was forced to watch.

  Well, not forced, not all of them, Max admitted to himself. His ma had always ordered the number of strokes, and his oldest brother had frequently cheered and jeered. Sometimes Max thought it was a miracle he was still alive and as sane as he was. And he couldn’t go there, hadn’t ever really been able to and probably never would.

  Max stirred the pot of chilli on the stove. The cornbread was done, nice and golden with just that hint of a sweet taste he loved. Hopefully Annabelle would, too.

  “Sup’s on,” Max called out, hoping she’d hear him now the shower had stopped.

  “Be there in a sec,” came her faint reply. The bathroom door opened minutes later as Max was filling the two bowls with the fragrant chilli. “Oooh, corn bread, too! Tell me it’s the sweet kind…”

  Max chuckled despite the tension that had been eating away at him for hours now.

  “Yep, it is. Got you a chunk right there at the table.”

  “Oh, yum!” Annabelle took her bowl and grabbed a spoon from the silverware drawer, thanking him as she did. She pulled out her chair and plopped down. “I haven’t heard from Rory yet.”

  Max stirred the chilli in his bowl, wondering if he could even keep it down. What the hell is wrong with me? The swirls in the orange-red stuff seemed particularly fascinating. “Him or Chance’ll call as soon as they’re able. They ain’t thoughtless jackasses.” Which meant that whatever happened to Bo, it must be really, really bad to have kept them from calling.

  Or maybe it meant it wasn’t serious, and that’s why they didn’t feel the need to call and let him know if Bo was okay—it was confusing and frustrating and Max felt a rare surge of temper. He excused himself, ignoring Annabelle’s concerned expression, and put his food away.

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  Stepping into the bathroom, he shut the door and leaned against the sink. He’d felt such a sudden burst of anger that it left him shaking, his fingers trembling even as he tried to grip the cabinet. The urge to throw his bowl, smash it against the wall and do the same with anything else he could break, had come and gone in a flash, but damn, it had scared him.

  There were too many memories of his pa’s violent temper that Max carried around with him—he wouldn’t add his own.

  He wouldn’t be his pa, not once, not ever. He’d put a bullet through his brain before he ever hurt people like his pa had. Same went for his ma and most of his older brothers—he would never be the hate-filled monsters they were.

  “I ain’t him, I ain’t any of ‘em!” Max forced himself to look in the mirror. He tried to find any signs of the cruel people who’d raised him. Not in his features—he looked how he looked and that was all there was to that. No, what he was looking for was in the eyes, that spark in the depths there that was just… off, intense in a way that was terrifying and full of the promise of pain and punishment.

  Max could see nothing like that in his eyes, but that was little relief. He’d felt that surge of anger—what if he’d been able to see his eyes then? What if—

  A tap on the bathroom door startled him so badly that his hand slipped and he barely missed slamming his face into the mirror. “Hey, Max, you okay in there?”

  Max’s sense of humour tried to kick in, but he kept it quite a bit cleaner than he would have if Annabelle had been a man. If that made him sexist, well, he was sorry, but he couldn’t bring himself to be crude around any woman.

  “Showerin’ ain’t the only thing to do in here, you know,” Max pointed out. If it’d been Rory or Chance, he’d just have yelled that he was taking a shit and leave him alone. He just could not do that with Annabelle, though he suspected it would embarrass him a lot more than it would her if he did.

  “Well, duh, but I didn’t hear any—”

  “Jesus, Annabelle!” Max choked out. “What are you doing, sitting out there listening?

  Go away and leave me to take care of my business!” Though at this point, he thought he may never be able to do his business again, not with Annabelle in the bunkhouse.

  “Relax, I’m just teasing you!” She thumped the door for emphasis. “I pick on Rory and Chance the same way—all three of you are easy prey, so worried about offending the girl.”

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  Max didn’t have an answer for that. “Annabelle…” His cell phone vibrated at his hip, saving him from digging himself into a deeper hole. From the other side of the door he heard Annabelle’s phone chime as well. Surely it was Rory and Chance calling. Max snatched the phone up, a glance at the screen confirming the call was from Chance. He tapped the button to take the call as he brought the phone to his ear, his palm slippery with sweat.

  “Chance, what’s going on?” Max glanced at his reflection. He looked pale and stricken and he couldn’t stand to see himself, so he studied the sink instead.

  Chance sounded exhausted and disgusted when he replied. “Rory told you we got a

  call from a nurse at St. Joseph’s earlier. She told us that Bo had been brought in yesterday, unconscious and damn near beat to death.”

  Max felt like an elephant sat on his chest. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, and something inside him was threatening to burst.

  “He didn’t have any ID on him, nothing, he was…he…” Chance’s voice hitched and

  Max gripped the phone tighter as he began trembling. He clamped his teeth to keep them from chattering or biting his damn tongue in half. “Someone beat him and dumped him out in a field on the southern outskirt of San Antonio. It’s…he’s…fuck!”

  While he’d known Bo had been beaten, hearing even those additional details made it so much worse. It hit him like a physical pain, ripping him open. Max’s legs gave out and he landed hard on his ass, the wood floor ensuring that a solid thunk would be heard throughout the bunk house. “Is he…” Max swallowed and forced the words out. “Are you telling me he didn’t make it?”

  “No!” Chance nearly shouted. “Oh God, Max, that isn’t what I meant! He’s…he’s in bad shape—I mean, he looks like shit, but he’ll be fine. Someone delivered a fierce beating on him, and he looks like…like death warmed over, but he isn’t going to die.”

  Max closed his eyes and leant back against the toilet, trying to get himself under control. His eyes burned and the tip of his nose tingled, but he managed to keep it together, except for the shaky breathing and the tremors that still shook his body. “That’s…that’s good then.”

  “Yeah, it is,” Chance agreed. “Anyway, when Bo woke up today, he managed to give them his name, and mine for the emergency contact. Rory and I kind of freaked when we got that call. I’m sorry you didn’t hear from us again sooner. We wanted to wait until we knew MILES TO GO

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  something, and frankly the staff here has been reluctant to tell us much of anything. If Rory hadn’t managed to charm one of the nurses, we might still be waiting for information.”

  “No, it’s fine,” Max assured him. “Is Bo’s family coming up there?”

  “He doesn’t have any family,” Chance said. “None that will claim him. Bo doesn’t really have anyone.”

  “Not having family ain’t always a bad thing,” Max said, shocking himself with that slip of personal opinion. He tried not to let anyone ever see anything more than his laid-back persona and the hard work he did. Still, it was already done. “You’re bringing him here
, ain’t you?”

  Chance was silent for a solid minute during which Max tried not to beg. “He’s being released in a couple of days, and he’s going to need some friends, and some help, too. Rory and I already went to his place and packed up as much as we could fit in Bo’s SUV and our truck. Is it okay with you if we bring him home?”

  Max nearly rolled his eyes. “Chance, you’re the boss, you can bring home whoever you want to.”

  “That doesn’t mean I have to be an ass, though. I just wanted to check, I thought you and Bo got along fine, but…”

  But WHAT? Max wanted to shout it. He wished Chance would just say whatever it was he wanted to say and be done with it already so Max could shower and collapse into bed. His body ached like a bitch and he’d been through the emotional wringer twice today, at least.

  “But what?” He finally asked when Chance didn’t seem inclined to continue.

  “I guess…” Chance sighed, the sound whooshing into Max’s ear with the force of a small tornado. “You seem all right with me and Rory. I guess I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t have a problem sharing the bunkhouse with a gay man if Bo decides to stay once he’s healed. We’re going to try to talk him into it, if you and Annabelle are okay with that.”

  Oh God! Max’s dick hardened so fast he felt light-headed. Having Bo here would be hell, but not for any reason other than the fact Max felt things for the man he just hadn’t felt for anyone.

  “Max?” Chance’s voice sounded a little louder, a little harder. “Is that going to be a problem?”

  “No, you know I ain’t one of those bigots,” Max snapped, then cringed when he

  realised what he’d done, but damn it, Chance should know him better. “And I ain’t one of MILES TO GO

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  those dumbasses who thinks every gay man is out to take my ass, either, so you can quit painting me with that homophobic brush!” Fuck, he was going to get fired if he didn’t get his mouth under control!

  “You’re right,” Chance surprised him by saying. “You’ve never done or said anything to make me think you’re like that, and I apologise.”

  Max liked the fact Chance didn’t make any excuses, no ‘I apologise, it’s just been a shit day and the stress got to me, blah blah blah’. A straight-out apology had always meant more to Max than one followed by excuses.

  “Apology accepted, and I’m sorry for snapping and talking to you—”

  Chance cut him off with a sharp, “Don’t even.” Max heard Chance exhale and waited, felling sure there was more to be said. There was, but not on the subject of Max mouthing off.

  “Can you and Annabelle handle things there if Rory and I stay in San Antonio? We’d like for Bo to have someone here at least.”

  Max wanted to be there himself, but he couldn’t say that without Chance asking him questions he didn’t really want to answer. “Yeah, we got everything under control.” He told Chance about the tree and repairing the fence and assured him once again everything was fine before they finally ended the call. Afterwards, Max sat on the side of the bathtub and rubbed his temples. He was so confused. These feelings for Bo were just so alien to him. If he were normal like everyone else, he wouldn’t be experiencing what he suspected was his first crush at the ripe old age of forty-three.

  For all of his adult life, he’d kept people away, afraid to let anyone to close lest they find out what a mess he was. And he had feared for years he’d turn out like his parents and siblings. Even though he hadn’t so far, and he didn’t truly believe he ever would, sometimes the doubts would creep in, especially when he got angry.

  Max groaned and rubbed his temples so hard he got light-headed. He wished he could scrub all those memories away. What he wouldn’t give to be able to go back in time—

  “Idiot.” Stupid to even think like that. He’d learned a long time ago that imagining a happy childhood only made the reality of his abusive one hurt worse. A sound in the hall alerted him just before there was another knock on the door.

  “Just a minute,” he called out as he stood up. “Almost done.” Annabelle grumbled something he couldn’t quite hear clearly as he walked over to the sink. He turned the water on and cupped his hands under it. A couple of splashes and he finally dared to look in the MILES TO GO

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  mirror. Other than dripping wet, he looked the same as always. Max tried smiling, relieved when it didn’t appear strained. As long as he could keep that smile in place, Annabelle shouldn’t be able to tell his insides were churning almost as much as his mind was.

  As Max laid in bed staring at the ceiling an hour later, he tried to imagine what it was going to be like having Bo around, possibly even right here in the bunkhouse. His dick had been hard since firming up in the bathroom earlier, and Max was beginning to ache with the need to come. It infuriated him that he still felt too inhibited to masturbate most of the time.

  Twenty-six years he’d been gone from his parents’ house, and his head was still fucked up.

  Groaning, Max ignored the throbbing erection tenting his boxers and rolled onto his stomach. The wrinkled sheets felt good against his aching shaft, and if he rubbed a little as he drifted off to sleep, well, that was his body taking over, wasn’t it? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d woke up stuck to the sheets.

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  Chapter Three

  Max and Annabelle both were waiting on the porch of the bunkhouse two days later when Chance pulled up into the drive. Rory parked behind him, having driven Bo’s SUV.

  Max let Annabelle rush down the steps in front of him, not wanting to appear in a hurry to see Bo. He just hoped the need he felt to do so didn’t show in his expression.

  “He’s asleep in the back seat,” Chance said as he got out of the truck and gently shut the door. “I almost hate to wake him, he hasn’t been sleeping much. The doctor said he had nightmares most of the night—”

  “They know who did this?” Max asked, tamping down the anger beginning to boil in his stomach. As much experience as he’d had with that emotion the past few days, he figured he should be able to control it better.

  “No,” Rory said as he walked over. “Police have no clues who the guy is who did this. ”

  “Well, they have Bo’s description of the asshole,” Chance corrected. “At least that’s something for them to go on.”

  “What does he look like?” Annabelle asked before Max could, which was okay with

  him because somehow he’d moved over to the passenger door—and when had he grabbed the door handle? Max peered in the window. He sucked in a breath at all the bruises on Bo—

  and that was just the ones he could see on his face and arms. Bo was too still and that glow Max always saw around Bo, that he always imagined when he thought of the man, wasn’t anywhere in sight. It was wrong, more wrong than just about anything Max could think of.

  He listened to Chance’s answer while he wondered if Bo would ever recover the aura-like essence that had both fascinated and intimidated Max.

  “Big, about six-three Bo guessed. Plain features, blond,” Chance said. “And a real sick bastard to pick on someone Bo’s size and kick his ass like that.”

  Max glared at Chance. “That in there? Ain’t no ass-kicking, that’s a beating some chicken-shit motherfucker delivered likely without giving Bo a chance to fight back.” Fired, I am so fired. Max felt a hand on his shoulder and turned his head to find Annabelle smiling at him, her eyes shining. Shit, I cussed and cussed in front of a woman! Sure, he’d slipped up before and he really did try not to treat Annabelle any different from the men he worked with, but MILES TO GO

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  this time just seemed worse, and his upbringing came slamming back into him. Max opened his mouth to apologise.

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” Annabelle snapped. “And if my brother and his
love toy give you any shit about it, I will handle them. Maybe permanently.” She winked and patted his shoulder before stepping aside so he could open the door.

  “Holy—” Shit, Max finished silently, because Bo had looked bad through the tinted window, but without that dark shield? Both eyes were swollen, bags and dark blue and purple bruises surrounding them. Some kind of bandage was strapped over Bo’s nose, setting it or holding it on for all Max knew. The right cheek had a long gash closed with several stitches, and there was another right by his earlobe. His lips were split, the top sporting a few stitches, the bottom painfully huge with a deep cut in the centre. Even Bo’s chin was bruised, and another strip of stitches ran in a diagonal across his chin.

  All of it fed Max’s fury, but what really made him want to kill whoever did this with his bare hands, was the bruises and stitched gash on Bo’s throat. Bo had been choked by his attacker, from the front obviously, as Max could clearly make out the blue-black thumbprints left behind on Bo’s skin. The guy must have really been trying to kill Bo; the bruises were so deep, and there was another set right above the first that Max had noticed. Those swollen eyes moved slightly and he realised Bo wasn’t asleep after all. How much of the conversation had Bo heard?

  “Come on.” Max gently reached for Bo’s hand, intending to take it and tug slightly. The bruises and gashes—defence wounds? He wondered—stopped him flat. Max glanced back at Annabelle’s gasp and shot her a look that he hoped said ‘Cut that out’. She nodded and Max looked at Chance.

  “Where ain’t he hurt?”

  “Ah…” Chance looked chastised rather than angry, so Max had hope he hadn’t got

  himself fired with his little tantrum. He really needed to get his easy-going persona firmly tacked into place.

  A grunt from the truck drew Max’s attention back to Bo. He leaned in and offered his hand to the injured man, unsure if he was awake or not after all. His eyes could have just been moving around while he dreamt—and maybe Bo hadn’t heard any of that conversation then. Max hoped Bo hadn’t heard it, he didn’t need to think about the sick fuck who had beaten him and tossed him out in a field like a bag of trash, especially not right now.