The Farther He Runs: A Kick Novel

by Lynda Aicher

  He’d turned the heat up and started the fire when they’d returned to his cabin. He’d mastered Fire Starting 101, at least. One small victory he could claim in a series of seemingly endless setbacks.

  He hesitated before slipping his sweatshirt over his head. The bandage pulled on his skin when he moved, each tug another reminder of how much had changed—again. Like he needed more reminders, or more change.

  Tanner was upstairs, so he busied himself organizing the takeout containers and plating their food. The stairs squeaked their warning on Tanner’s return, but Finn didn’t look up from his task. Nerves circled in his stomach, heated his skin, and sent his thoughts fluttering.

  Scoop the rice on the plate. Add the…whatever the concoction of beef and vegetables was. Another helping from the other container.

  He sensed Tanner at the end of the counter, currents of awareness triggering a wave of goose bumps down his arms. He stayed focused on his task, worry nipping at his confidence, which was laughable considering where he’d been six months ago.

  “I’ll get the drinks,” Tanner said, sliding past him to get to the fridge. Heat washed across his back even though Tanner didn’t touch him. His proximity was…nice. Insane. Normal, despite how his body reacted to him.

  He put a plate in the microwave and snuck a glance at Tanner out of the corner of his eye. Shirtless. Broad chest. Toned pecs and abs. Golden skin marked by tattoos and scars in a silent story of his life, much like his own.

  Tanner looked over, caught him staring, and smiled. He finished pouring them water from the filter pitcher and eased past, fingers skimming across Finn’s lower back to leave a burning trail in their wake.

  He squeezed his eyes closed, breathed deeply. Tanner had to have noticed how skinny he was now. How much body mass he’d lost. Pride was a narcissistic bitch when it came to his body, but he’d worked hard for years to stay in shape. The Marines harped on the need for fitness and strength from the day they stepped off the bus at boot camp.

  Twenty years of work and dedication wiped out in a matter of weeks.

  The dinging beep signaled the food was ready and brought him out of his vanity funk. Shit. Was he really stressing over how he looked? Yes. Yes, he was.

  He switched the plates out and grabbed the forks while the second plate heated. Tanner returned—not that he’d been out of sight in the open layout of the room. He’d plugged the Christmas tree lights in, the soft glow adding to the unintentionally intimate atmosphere created by the snapping fire.

  “Did you pick out a show?” Finn asked, keeping his eyes averted. “It’s your turn.” The satellite stations and multitude of pay-per-view options had sucked up more than a few hours of their time since they’d arrived at the cabin. Stupid, brain-numbing TV was sometimes the best thing when everything else felt like too much.

  “I thought it was your turn.”

  “Nope.” He flashed a quick grin before turning to the microwave. “I picked that rotten comedy the other night.”

  “Right.” Tanner chuckled and took the plate already on the counter. “Please don’t make me watch more of that dude’s films. They’re painful in their stupidity.”

  “Agreed.” He stopped, his smile filling him when he met Tanner’s eyes. The simplicity of like tastes and the normalcy of fixing dinner wiped away his anxiousness. “So find something better.”

  Tanner’s smile spread, a full display that sucked the thoughts from Finn’s head. Beautiful in its openness. Honest in its freedom. His heart hitched, breath catching as he beat back desires he shouldn’t have had.

  But how was he supposed to stop them, now that he knew exactly how incredible reality could be?

  They ate their takeout hunched over the coffee table, unable to sit back due to the fresh tattoos on their backs. The work hadn’t been major, but its importance was enormous. He couldn’t stop himself from sneaking peeks at Tanner. The flex of his biceps as he lifted his fork. The faint covering of dark hair on his forearms that contrasted with his smooth chest.

  The hockey game they’d settled on occupied the time, but didn’t hold his attention. He couldn’t help but check out the variety of ink exposed on Tanner’s torso. He knew a lot of them, had been there for them. Like the scorpion on his right pec that matched his and Chris’s. And Korean letters that spelled out “I Lived” even though Tanner didn’t speak or read Korean. The USMC stamped on his upper bicep had been a part of the post–boot camp ritual of pride almost all of them had gone through after finally earning the right to be called a Marine.

  There were new ones, though. Ones he hadn’t seen that spiked his curiosity and left him wondering how much of Tanner’s life he’d missed. Like the meaning behind the dark lines snaking beneath the top of his jeans that Finn now knew decorated his hip and upper thigh.

  Things had changed after he and Chris left the Corps. They’d all remained close, but the lack of daily contact had separated Tanner from them. A fact that had hurt even though he’d tried to understand Tanner’s reasoning for staying in the service.

  “Do you ever regret staying in?” he asked out of the blue, unable to yank the thought back once it’d bloomed.

  Tanner closed his eyes briefly before lowering his fork to his plate. He turned his head, expression guarded. “Do you ever regret leaving?” Tanner redirected with ease.

  “No. And yes.” It’d been hard assimilating back into civilian life after fifteen years in the service. “Kick kept us—me—focused. Gave me a goal and the adrenaline release I’d become too used to.”

  “Which had been the point.” Tanner offered a weak smile. He wiped his fingers, tossed his napkin on his plate. “I do. Sometimes.” He sighed, back lifting and deflating under the weight Finn imagined there. “Fourteen years of war leaves scars on everyone involved.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, cringing. “But every time my team comes home safely I’m glad I stayed. They’re my brothers too, and I can’t abandon them.”

  But you could abandon us and not join Kick like you promised. Finn shoved the bitter thought away and nodded. Leaving Tanner and their team behind had been the hardest thing about his departure, so part of him understood Tanner’s dilemma.

  “But then I come home and find…this.” The last word came out pained and breathy. He wet his lips, eyes bleak when he looked at Finn.

  “You can’t be everywhere.”

  A burst of sarcastic laughter tumbled out of Tanner as he shook his head. “Thank fuck for that.” He sighed and started to lean back, only to catch himself before he hit the couch. “Shit.” He motioned at Finn with his chin. “We should take care of the tats.”

  Finn went with the topic change and followed Tanner to the kitchen. They set their dishes on the counter and Tanner dug the ointment and soap out of the grocery bag. They’d restocked the cupboards and picked up a few supplies while they’d been in town. The perishables had been put away when they’d gotten back.

  Finn scrubbed out the sink before filling it with lukewarm water. He washed his hands and dried them with a paper towel. They needed to remove their bandages and clean the tattooed skin. Something they couldn’t do by themselves, given the locations of the tattoos.

  “You first,” he said.

  Tanner came over and presented his back to Finn. The urge to lean in, inhale that slight vanilla scent, feel his warmth, kiss a path over his shoulder tugged on his impulse control and almost won.

  But he couldn’t let it.

  The hockey game was a garble of commentary in the background as he zeroed in on the tattoo that covered the majority of Tanner’s back. He eased the bandage away, careful to watch for sticking. He kept his touch light even though he longed to run his fingers over every exposed inch of skin.

  As it was, he couldn’t keep from tracing the image once it was revealed. Three assault rifles balanced in a tripod formation, barrels crossing over the magazines. Locking them together where they touched was a pair of handcuffs, a symbolic and literal image. It’d taken two si
ttings to complete the black-and-gray back piece, and the level of detail and skill still enthralled him.

  “The brother to my left, and to my right,” he said aloud, running his finger over the inscription arched across Tanner’s shoulder blades. Tanner sucked in a sharp breath, but didn’t comment.

  He traced Tanner’s name on the barrel of the middle rifle. Chris’s was on the left, his on the right. There had been others on their team, guys who’d also been their brothers. But none had connected like they had.

  The gruesome threesome. Ménage jokes had been rampant within the company, and they’d embraced them all. They’d had nothing to fear back then, no reason to hide their friendship when that was all it’d been.

  He soaped up his fingers and carefully rubbed them over the raw skin of the newest addition. His throat closed up, eyes stinging as he worked his way down the beaded silver chain to the dog tags dangling from the base of Chris’s barrel. The inscription on the tags had been modified from the standard military info to state his name, year of birth, and year of death.

  Chris had been born in the same year as him, and now he was gone. The magnitude of that nailed Finn in the chest when he probably should’ve been past it by now.

  He blew out a breath and dutifully cleaned the area, forcing his mind blank when he got to the new “Never Forgotten” script running up the stock of the rifle. Serving in the military during a period of war had brought home the reality of how quickly life could change, and end. Of how precious each moment could be when you knew you might not get another one.

  He let his fingers linger longer than they should, circling the areas, gently cleaning away the fluids from the injured skin. He didn’t speak, didn’t comment on the impact Chris’s death had on them. How could he, when he’d almost destroyed what was left of their friendship?

  He finished up, patting the area dry and rubbing the ointment into the tattoo. Then it was his turn.

  They switched places without a word, the moment solemn and intimate with their mutual commemoration of shared loss. Tanner’s touch soaked through him in long brushes and gentle circles. He tracked every stroke, for once forgetting about his loss of muscle as he sunk into the connection.

  Tanner’s fingers lingered on the barrel on his right, a mental image displaying the tattoo to Finn. They’d all rotated the placement of their names so they were on one brother’s left and the other’s right. Tanner traced over Chris’s name, yanking out another piece of Finn’s heart.

  “Was there ever more between you two?” Though asked gently, the question startled Finn. He stiffened, sorting through the meaning. “Than friendship?” Tanner’s fingers stilled, the air weighted.

  “No.” Finn put force behind the word. “Never.” Not even before Tanner had joined their friendship. “He was the brother I never had. The guy who shared my secrets. It was never sexual.” Ever.

  Tanner resumed his cleaning, fingers trailing over the tender skin. Finn struggled with his thoughts, new ones plunging in to chill him. He swallowed and forced out the question he almost didn’t want to know the answer to.

  “You?”

  A pause. “No.” A whispered kiss to his shoulder. “Never.”

  Finn closed his eyes, swearing under his breath as that barely-there kiss sunk to his heart. What did the kiss mean? How did he respond?

  What was happening between them?

  “How—” He cleared his throat, embarrassed by the rasp. “How come?” He regretted the question as soon as it was out. The answer was obvious and probably the same as his own.

  “I was never attracted to him that way.”

  “Sex doesn’t have to be about attraction. Especially during war.” In fact, it rarely was. Mostly it’d been about release and confirmation of life. At least for him.

  “True.” His agreement was soft, the gentle circling of his fingers soothing despite the oddity—and enormity—of their conversation. “But that would’ve cheapened what we had. We weren’t fuck-buddies. I had those, and rarely talked to them between getting off with them.”

  “Exactly,” he agreed. Which was why he’d buried his attraction to Tanner.

  The conversation stalled after that, and Finn had no clue how to broach the topic of the line they’d crossed. A part of him believed it was better left ignored than examined too closely.

  But that kiss on his shoulder…It’d been real, right? He hadn’t imagined it. Or the one on his lips in the shower. He slid his tongue over his bottom lip, wishing he could still feel that touch that’d liquefied his bones and seared far deeper with its gentleness.

  They’d all dropped kisses to temples and cheeks over the years. Ones that went with hugs and backslaps and the affection that linked them. But these latest kisses were more, right?

  Tanner finished rubbing the ointment into his back and let the water out of the sink. “So,” he said, the casual tone coming out contrived. “Why don’t we watch TV upstairs, since there’s only one couch down here and we can’t lie on our tats?”

  In other words, watch TV in Tanner’s bed.

  “Sure.” Saying no would highlight the awkwardness they were both ignoring. “Let me clean up down here.”

  “Leave it,” Tanner insisted. “I’ll do the dishes in the morning.”

  Finn paused, thoughts wavering before he let them go. “Let me grab some old sheets for your bed.” Experience had taught him how easily new tattoos could ruin sheets.

  Tanner nodded and headed up the circular staircase with the same fluid ease as always. If his ass still hurt, he wasn’t showing it. They’d both suffered worse in battle, so Finn wasn’t surprised. Just envious, maybe, of his simple grace.

  He’d get back to that. Back to his old self and the guy he used to be.

  But what if he no longer wanted to be that guy? Distant. Controlled. Focused on work and others.

  There was nothing wrong with those traits, but recently he’d found himself wanting more even as he’d closed himself off from everyone.

  What was he doing?

  Getting sheets. Turning off the TV. Banking the fire. Finding his way when he didn’t know which way to go. Meeting Tanner upstairs, in his bed, where he’d held him the other night and had dreamed of doing again every night since.

  Chapter 14

  The movie might as well have not even been on for all Tanner was paying attention to it. He’d lost interest in the antics of the characters less than five minutes in. How was he expected to pay attention to anything but Finn when he was stretched out on his stomach next to him?

  Awareness sensitized his entire side, a mere foot separating him from Finn on the queen-sized bed. He glanced over, caught a glimpse of the dip of Finn’s lower back before it arched into his tight ass cheeks. Finn might’ve lost weight, but he still had plenty of muscle tone. His flannel lounge pants were bunched low on his hips, the top of that inviting ass teasing him.

  Tanner jerked his attention back to the screen, pulse snaking higher. He’d spent the day debating what to do next. How did he proceed when his intel was faulty and full of conflicting signals, but his intent was clear?

  He flexed his ass, images springing forth of being held by Finn, jacked off and cared for afterward even as he tried to pull away. His hole was still tender, but he’d savored every pinch and burn all day.

  They were on a new path, him and Finn. One he had to navigate correctly or end up alone. Yet he didn’t want to stay on the safe road he’d been trudging down for years. Not after experiencing what he’d thought he’d never get.

  He’d crashed hard that morning. He saw that now. He should’ve recognized the sub drop while it was happening, but he’d been too deeply in it to acknowledge the scrambling emotions and physical reactions for what they’d been: the effects of the release and plunge of endorphins and other hormones in his body. But after a long nap and a little distance, he’d emerged from it calm and at peace for the first time in forever.

  The residual stress of his job had vanished. G
one was his angst over the future and the pending decision to re-up yet again or finally retire and be an active part of Kick. The expectations of his family and the military didn’t matter here. His only obligation was to the brother beside him.

  He didn’t have to hide important parts of himself. Not from Finn, at least. Not anymore. Not after every corner of him had been bared and exposed.

  Not if he truly trusted Finn.

  “I wouldn’t have done any of it if I hadn’t wanted it,” he said, letting the admission free for Finn to field. Ignoring what happened that morning would work, but would it really help either of them?

  “Done what?” Finn didn’t move, and Tanner didn’t avert his eyes from the action on the screen.

  Deliberate confusion or honesty? “This morning. The plug. You.”

  A beat. Two. “Oh.” Hesitation entwined with comprehension in that one little sound.

  Tanner held still when he longed to reach out, look over, read Finn’s reaction. He didn’t, though. Couldn’t, when so much was riding on what happened next.

  “I…uh, I didn’t know you were a switch.”

  That’s where Finn went? To kinks and sexual preferences? “I’m not.” How much did he reveal? All of it—or leave wondering what would’ve happened if he’d been stronger than his fear. “I’m not much of a Dom, either.”

  Another long pause followed. He kept silent, though his stomach was twisting around the things he’d hidden from his best friends.

  “I don’t understand,” Finn finally said. “Were you…what? Just pretending when you went to the clubs with us?”

  “Yes and no.” He couldn’t look at Finn for fear of what he’d see—again. He’d spent his entire life worried about what others thought of him. Trying to prove himself worthy of their respect. From his half-brothers, to his father, to his fellow Marines. So much of what the world saw was a finely constructed cover for the anxieties he hid and the alienation he feared. “But I only went—go—to the leather clubs when I’m with you two.”

  Finn turned his head, the movement magnified out of the corner of Tanner’s eye. Tanner took a slow breath, shored up his strength, and met his gaze, willing to accept whatever he found. A frown beneath the confusion wrinkling over his forehead. Narrowed eyes that scrambled to understand. Not anger, at least. Or scorn.