by A. Nybo
“Sure.” Birch shrugged with a faint smile.
Henri waved a dismissive hand at Birch and spoke to Jason. “He’s obviously not up with the latest trends.”
He couldn’t resist glancing at Birch to see if he was being facetious, but Birch continued to eye him with interest.
“Henri!” Jason’s demand made him realize he’d forgotten to look away from Birch, effectively leaving him staring. The grin they exchanged in the face of Jason’s anger felt to Henri as if he and Birch had shared a fabulous secret.
“What?”
“How long have you been drinking?” Jason snapped.
“A few hours. Or more.”
“Ever the fucking comedian. You know what I mean.”
“Today.”
“And exactly how long has today been?”
Jason clearly remembered Henri’s inability to sleep, sometimes over several days, and how he counted days on those occasions by how often he’d slept. “Well, there were a few minutes this afternoon that went on for fucking hours.”
“Don’t be a smartarse, Henri.”
Henri’s smile withered, and standing, he walked to Jason. “I’m not being a smartarse, Jason.” Loud enough for Jason only, he continued, “There were hour-long minutes this afternoon, and vodka was so much more fun and far less dangerous than a razor’s edge.”
“Don’t do this, Henri.” Jason matched the quiet tone. “You can’t afford to do this now. Not while he’s out there.”
Henri took the bottle from Jason. “This afternoon I couldn’t not do it.” He uncapped it and swallowed the dregs. “Because he wasn’t just out there. He was in here.” Henri tapped his head.
Jason tore the empty bottle from Henri’s hand, but he kept his eyes averted. And there it was. The guilt that Jason couldn’t seem to let go of. Jason finally dragged his gaze up, but the internal battle was obvious to Henri. “So that’s it?” Jason demanded. “You’re just giving up?”
“Tomorrow’s a new day.” He tried for a smile. “And maybe tomorrow I won’t wake up cringing from life.”
“Feeling sorry for yourself now?”
Henri waggled his head as if trying to find the balancing point. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m tired of trying to psychoanalyse myself. There’s an opening if you’d like the job. Although let me warn you, the professionals couldn’t seem to manage more than a belly flop, so if you’re thinking of plumbing the depths, you’d best put on your diving suit. And on that nautical note, I might go and water the lawn.”
“You know it’s night, right?” said Nate.
Oops. Maybe he hadn’t been as quiet as he’d thought he had. Oh well. “It’s true that night usually coincides with darkness, but I’m feeling rebellious, so it might be light out. Who knows?” Finding absurdity still buried somewhere within gave Henri some relief. If only he could bring it back to the surface without the aid of alcohol. One day.
“Maybe you should go and sleep it off,” growled Jason.
“And waste this buzz? Not a chance.” On his way out the door, Henri realized he’d managed to escape without having to eat all his meal. That would make the buzz last even longer, although he’d probably pay for it tomorrow.
Outside, Henri searched for a tap, hoping a hose would be connected to it. He found one around the side of the house. With the tap turned on and the hose unreeled, he crouched on his haunches, and by the lights from neighbouring houses watched the water droplets sparkle as he waved the hose about.
The sound of the door closing alerted him to someone coming out. Soft footsteps on the patio, and then shushing through the grass, came to a stop beside him. He looked up at Birch. “Pulled the short straw, did you?”
“In what way?”
“You got to come and babysit the drunk.”
Birch chuckled. “I’ve seen drunk, and you aren’t it. But I’m interested in why you’re so keen on winding Jason up.”
“Yeah, I wondered that myself before I even did it. I didn’t reach a conclusion. But,” he said as he rose, “I did it anyway.”
“Did you spare a thought for how he came from however far away to help you out?”
“Can we not go there?”
“Don’t you think it’s worth examining?” asked Birch.
“It’s been examined and studied. Conclusions are somewhat varied for any given day, but the components include friendship, guilt, and work. The smallest percentage is for work.”
“So which part were you trying to wind up?”
“Does it matter? It all ends up with me being an arsehole.”
“You’re quite right. It does.”
Henri chuckled. “Being right isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” He paused for a moment. “How are you so well versed with drunkenness?”
“A father who fed his addiction every opportunity he got—which was too often.”
“Have you rebelled and become a teetotaller?”
“No. But I don’t drink to excess either.”
“Is that a judgment?”
Birch’s dark eyes gleamed with amusement. “Would you like it to be?”
“Why would I want that?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t know why you would want to wind Jason up either. And given Jason’s reaction to your drinking, he obviously thinks it’s a problem.”
Henri wouldn’t deny a lot of self-medicating, but whether it could be considered a problem was debatable. Then again, he was currently flapping three sheets to the wind while Russell was on the loose. “Fair call.”
“You said part of Jason coming to help was guilt. Why do you think that?” Birch asked.
“Because he’s admitted that’s how he feels. And I have to say, after this afternoon, I understand how he might feel that way, but that doesn’t make it true.”
“Why after this afternoon?”
“I started feeling exactly the same guilt for bringing Russell into your life. And for that, bringing Russell into your life, I mean, I apologize. Admittedly, any apology for that is pitiful. He destroys everything and everyone around him.” He didn’t know why he was telling Birch what he was already well aware of, but he went on anyway. “Jason told me about him doing your house over. You’ve never even met him, and he’s destroyed your car, your house, and put you in hospital.” Henri exhaled at length. “But, I haven’t the shoulders Jason has. I can’t carry that guilt.”
“And you shouldn’t. It wasn’t your doing.”
“The same with Jason. Just because he introduced Russell to me doesn’t mean he’s guilty for Russell’s actions. But try telling him that. Especially when he can’t look you in the eye. Although he’s usually only like that when I do stupid shit—like drink.”
“Wouldn’t that then suggest his guilt has more to do with your actions than Russell’s?”
Henri stared at him as realization dawned. “Oh.”
“What?”
“Jesus,” Henri muttered. “I’m a fucking idiot. Why didn’t I see that?” He turned to reel the hose back in and turn the tap off.
Jason didn’t feel guilty for introducing him and Russell to each other; he felt guilty because of how Henri was handling it, or more to the point, not handling it. But then didn’t that amount to the same thing? Henri’s inability to cope was a direct result of Russell’s actions. He wasn’t thinking straight enough to sort it all out. He needed a clear head. “I’ve got to go to bed.”
“Okay, well, I think I’ll turn in too. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Night, Birch. And thanks.”
“Not sure what for, but you’re welcome anyway.” He turned towards the house and took a couple of steps before turning back. “And Henri?”
“Yeah?”
“Whether alcohol was responsible for it or not, that grin of yours is beautiful.”
Lips parted, Henri watched Birch’s retreat all the way into the house. Had he really just said that?
Chapter 6
AS HENRI rose from the depths of sl
eep, memories of the previous night began to ascend. He winced as he recalled telling Birch about Jason’s guilt. It wasn’t his place to tell anyone how, or what, Jason felt, but he wasn’t sorry Birch had voiced the thought that it was probably Henri’s actions, not Russell’s, Jason had difficulty coming to terms with. He needed to be more mindful of that. And he needed to apologize to Jason for breaking his confidence.
When he recalled how he and Birch had parted, he couldn’t stop smiling. Birch had warmed him so much by telling him he had a beautiful grin. Possibilities began forming deep inside him, stemming from one thing among many he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. Hope.
He was too emotionally messed up for there to be anything between them, but that didn’t keep him from dreaming, fantasizing. He ran a hand over his chest. God, what would it feel like to have Birch’s hands on him? The thought of being touched like that again was enough to start his cock filling, something else that hadn’t happened for a very long time.
After the Russell incident, one of the self-soothing techniques he’d tried was masturbation, but all he had managed to do was create a new form of frustration when he wasn’t able to reach completion. The problem had been so insidious, he hadn’t realized he’d awoken a new hell of sorts.
He ran a hand beneath the waistband of his sweats and caressed himself to the memory of Birch’s amused expression and the moment they’d shared after Birch revealed he was gay. The man was arousing as hell—all that wiry strength, topped by eyes sparkling with mischief that would shame an imp. He managed to calm and excite Henri all at the same time, or maybe his excitement overrode all his anxieties, giving the illusion of calm. Either way, Henri wanted to jump aboard the Birch train.
After throwing back the blankets, Henri pulled his sweats down a bit, and his caresses turned to strokes. The fantasy of Birch’s touch caused Henri to throb with want. He reached the edge, but that old familiar frustration kept him from tipping over it. Although anger began to rise, he was able to follow Birch’s smile with barely conscious effort. That crooked tooth. Those full lips. Henri rocked into his hand, and when he found release, a small chuckle escaped him. Apparently a crooked tooth and full lips really did it for him.
He couldn’t stop grinning.
He might have to face an angry Jason this morning, but at least he no longer had to worry whether his crotch luggage would ever be unpacked again.
After he’d showered and dressed, he went to the kitchen. He bent to get a bowl from the cupboard, and when he straightened, his eyes locked on to Birch’s where he now appeared frozen on the other side of the kitchen counter.
They stood transfixed, and for a moment it seemed they silently conversed in the unspoken language of emotion. The fact Henri had just got off to memories of the man’s smile caused that wordless conversation to become far too deep and personal. He cleared his throat. “Do you, ah, want a bowl?”
Birch hesitated for a moment and then blinked. “What for?”
“Cereal?”
“Oh. Um, yeah, thanks.”
He handed Birch a bowl, pulled cereal from the cupboard, and set it on the counter.
“How do you feel this morning?” Birch asked.
“After my radical night in?” Henri poured a bowl of cereal. “A bit of a headache and seediness—nothing I didn’t earn.”
“You didn’t stay in all night. There was that point when you went out to water the lawn.” Birch laughed, and the sound more than the teasing drew an answering chuckle from Henri.
“I remember. How are you feeling? Your head,” Henri clarified, pointing to the stitches on Birch’s forehead.
“Oh, it seems fine this morning. I don’t think I’d like to run a marathon, but I don’t feel the need to hunt down painkillers either.”
“That’s always a blessing.”
“I’ve still got a few if you need them for your hangover.” Birch splashed some milk over his cereal.
“Nah. Thanks, though. I think I need to ride it out as penance.”
“I’M HEADING off. Do you need anything in town while I’m out?” asked Nate.
Birch looked up from his horse magazine. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
“Okay, well, I’ll see you when I get back. You’ve got my number in case you need anything.”
“Yep. Thanks.”
Birch wandered into the kitchen to get a drink and saw Henri and Jason sitting out on the patio, Jason with his back to him and Henri in profile. The way they leaned in towards each other suggested they were having a deep and meaningful conversation. Perhaps Henri was apologizing for last night. He smiled at the memory of Henri trying to keep his grin under wraps when Jason had announced Henri was drunk.
He knew he shouldn’t, but he had to admit he’d liked the “drunk” version of Henri—relaxed, free with his expressions and his emotions. He would have happily stayed outside talking all night if Henri hadn’t experienced his revelation and decided he needed to go to bed.
His attention was instantly drawn back to the interaction outside when Jason gave Henri a friendly pat on the arm. Henri drew away, but he was clearly fighting to remain still and endure the discomfort. He was so tense, his posture had frozen.
Birch had never really had cause to consciously apply the skills he had learned working with horses to people, but he was now seeing an advantage. Either Jason was purposely ignoring Henri’s dislike of being touched, or he was oblivious. From what Henri had said last night, it was doubtful Jason was oblivious.
Seeing the interaction was over and Henri and Jason rising, Birch turned from the window and leaned against the breakfast counter to finish his drink.
“It must be your turn to organize lunch,” Jason told Henri as they entered the house. “I’ve got some calls to make to see if there’s been any progress.”
“How long has Mike cut you loose for?” Henri asked.
“He hasn’t. He’s in on this.”
Henri stopped abruptly in the kitchen doorway. “What?”
“You know how it is. No one wants to be the lead agency or be associated unless they absolutely have to. Mike’s organized for us to work as an adjunct agency.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Jason shrugged. “Does it make a difference?”
“It does to me.”
“Why?”
“Although he may still do it, he’s less likely than any of the others to abandon this as a resource sucker.”
Birch didn’t know what that meant, but Henri looked relieved that this Mike person was taking the lead in what Birch assumed was hunting down Russell Andrews. Since they made no attempt to make the conversation a secret, Birch decided to test the waters.
“Who is Mike?” he asked.
“My boss,” replied Jason.
“And he does what?”
“Runs a string of guys like me,” Jason said with a grin.
“You haven’t told him?” Henri accused. Jason shrugged. “Jesus, Jason! The guy has had his house and car wrecked. Russell has hospitalized him, for fuck’s sake! Don’t you think it’s time he knows what he’s up against?”
Jason folded his massive arms, and his undertone carried a challenge. “Are you going to tell him?”
Henri turned to Birch. “Russell isn’t just a prisoner who escaped supermax, he’s ex-SAS and—”
“What’s that?”
“What? SAS?”
“Yeah.”
“Technically it’s SASR in Australia, as in Special Air Service Regiment. Think of it as the equivalent of any Special Forces unit, trained in unconventional tactics, extractions, recon, and all that bloody military stuff.”
The strange numb sensation starting in his cheeks alerted Birch that the blood was draining from his face. This thing had taken on a whole new scary dimension. “And who are you?” he directed at Jason.
Jason turned his scowl from Henri to Birch and thrust a thumb at Henri. “He’s telling the story. I’ve got phone calls to make.” J
ason left, leaving the door to slam behind him as he went out to the patio.
“Why is he so angry if I know what’s going on?”
“That’s not angry, that’s mildly pissed off that I’ve breached some weird merc code.”
“Merc code?”
“Mercenary code.” Henri began moving around the kitchen collecting bread, plates, and other items.
“As in soldier for hire?”
“Well, yes and no. I call them mercs because they hire out their soldiering skills, but they don’t actually fight in wars for other countries. Well, not that I know of. Actually, for all I know they could be fucking mouse-wranglers. Jason doesn’t seem to do much, and then he’s gone for some unspecified time, and then he’s back not doing much. So your guess is as good as mine since he won’t talk about what he does while he’s away. But he hates me calling him a merc. I do it mostly in revenge for him refusing to tell me what he does. But I know what it is he does for me, so he’s kind of stuck.”
“And he uses his soldiering skills for you?”
“He has done. He’s ex-SAS to be exact. Both he and Nate are. I don’t know about Nate, but Jason and Russell were once colleagues.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on here. Surely mercenaries don’t exactly get along with governments?”
“For the most part. Who do you think has the money to hire them if not governments? Obviously it’s not all government work—hence the bodyguard stuff. But even some of that is government, like protecting visiting politicians, dignitaries, etc.”
“So they really are specialized bodyguards?”
“From what I can piece together, they do whatever is needed if their skill set is required. They don’t tie themselves to anything in particular, hence the mercenary title. Why be a GP when you’re a trained neurosurgeon? Or in his case, why be a crowd controller when he’s an ex-SAS?” Instead of verbalizing the acronym, Henri said it as a word.
“A SAS in?”
“Don’t think the thought hasn’t crossed my mind, but I’m never going to know, so I don’t think about it anymore.”
Birch had never had reason to think about it before, but on the surface he’d just assumed mercenaries were kind of like rogue soldiers. Clearly that was not the case.
