by Kathy Lyons
He loved Josh, and that was going to kill him when he reset the timeline. Because the minute he went back in time and saved his team, all of this—everything he had with Josh—would disappear. And then how the hell was he going to go on? Because somehow Josh had become as important to him as his team, and he couldn’t have both.
He was fucking tired of losing everyone he held dear.
He shoved that thought away. He had a mission here, and the deep-down ache in his soul wasn’t going to go away if he spent the miles brooding on it. Right now his mission was to get that fabric. Then he’d get Bitterroot to duplicate the shelter thing that was right now sitting in his trunk and activate the mulligan. Fairy magic couldn’t create solutions, but it could duplicate an existing design. That’s why the fae needed humans. They didn’t have the imagination humans did, but once someone thought of a solution—someone brilliant like Josh—the fae could recreate it.
He’d always known that Josh would find an answer when no one else could. The guy obviously excelled at thinking outside of the box. The thought almost made him smile, but then he saw the first exit sign for Indianapolis and felt Josh stiffen so tight, he thought the guy’s bones might break.
Five minutes later Josh turned to him, his expression stony. “You missed the turnoff to the factory.”
“We’re going to your home.”
“The hell we are.”
“It’s Sunday, Josh. Your father is at home.”
He watched Josh absorb that with the confusion suffered by all new recruits. Training occurred on a remote estate where every day melded into the next. Everyone lost track of time. And given how Josh buried himself in his work, Nero wasn’t at all surprised that the guy had no idea what day it was. He probably didn’t remember what month it was, but Nero didn’t bother pointing that out. Instead, he gently tried to bring Josh back into the real world.
“What does your family usually do on Sundays?”
“Church. Dinner. ESPN.”
Nero glanced at the clock. “So we’ll find them at dinner.”
Josh didn’t respond. His eyes grew vague as he once again stared out at the landscape, and Nero couldn’t shake the feeling that a time bomb was ticking. Reuniting with family was the hardest thing any new recruit did, which is one of the reasons Nero had avoided the whole thing. But Josh needed to do it, and Nero needed the Volcax. So off they went to Sunday dinner while Nero prayed he could find a way to defuse the bomb building inside Josh.
“Do you want to talk about—?”
“No. I want to get in and out. No talk, no food, no nothing. Beg for the fabric, get refused, and then we can leave.”
“We have to make this work, Josh. I’ve tried other ways, and they failed. You’re my last hope.”
There was silence as Josh processed that. And while Josh’s jaw hardened to granite, Nero pushed it a little further. “You said you refused to give up your family, remember?”
“You said it was a bad idea, remember?”
Nero sighed. “I might have been wrong.”
Josh glared at him. “Might?” Nero shrugged, and Josh eventually turned away. “You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”
Nero couldn’t argue. And as they did the loop around the city and headed toward the suburbs, Josh repeated his intention in a muttered growl.
“We get in, then get out. That’s it.”
That wasn’t going to work and they both knew it. In the history of mankind, no visit home ever went “get in, get out.” There were always emotional notes, but there was nothing to be gained by pointing out the obvious, so Nero said nothing.
He took the turnoff, following the GPS directions to a middle-class neighborhood that was showing its age. The houses here were generally built in the seventies. Some looked spruced up with new paint jobs or nice landscaping, and others were less well-maintained. Many had melting snowmen in the front yard and a few still had their Christmas decorations up. The Colliers’ family home was clearly the best one, with neat flower beds under the patchy snow and a US flag out front proudly waving over St. Patrick’s Day decorations. He’d bet his next paycheck that Josh’s mother had homemade treats for Halloween, Christmas gifts for the delivery people, and probably dyed eggs for the neighborhood Easter egg hunt.
They pulled into the driveway behind a big truck, and Josh groaned. “Goody. Bruce is here.” The sarcasm was heavy, and Nero wondered just what Josh’s older brother had done to earn such animosity. According to the file, Bruce was a stand-up guy: a firefighter with a commendation for bravery.
Nero pulled in beside the truck, and as he shifted the car into Park, he confessed one of his lesser sins. “You should know they’ve been told the usual thing about your disappearance.”
Josh pinned him with a heavy stare. “And that is?”
“Vague. You’ve been at a retreat center.” The exact words were specialized treatment facility, but he didn’t want to say that. Depending on the family, the words could be interpreted as a hospital stay or yoga retreat.
“Awesome,” Josh said, his tone heavy with sarcasm. Then he got out of the car and walked up to the front door as if he was facing a firing squad. Jeez, what had gone on behind the Collier family closed doors that had turned his exuberant, exasperating, animated lover into this sullen pile of anger? Once they made it to the front door, Josh couldn’t seem to ring the doorbell. So Nero pushed the button, then stepped aside so that Josh would be the one slouching front and center when the door was finally pulled open.
First thing Nero noticed was the scent of pot roast and fresh bread wafting out of the house. The second was a fit twentysomething woman with stylish short hair and large brown eyes. According to the file, Josh’s sister, Ivy, was an Army nurse on deployment, but she was obviously home now. More important, she was staring at Josh as if she was looking at a ghost.
“Josh,” she mouthed without any sound. Then she abruptly launched herself into his arms with a delighted cry. He caught her, his expression dumbfounded. And when she pulled back, she spun around and said, “Everybody! It’s Josh!”
“Ivy,” Josh breathed. “What are you doing home? You’re not due until….”
She turned back to him with a laugh and playfully punched him in the arm. “Until two weeks ago, meathead. You missed my party!”
“No, you’re back early,” Josh argued.
She snorted, but there was worry in her eyes. “Just what kind of drugs did they give you in that hospital? My party was Friday. You missed it.”
Josh frowned, clearly confused, but he didn’t have time to say more as his mother came bustling forward. Her hair was dark, but the gray roots were showing. She wore an apron over a dress, and her face was all smiles.
“Josh, you should have called! I would have made up your bed. How are you feeling, honey?” She wrapped him up in a hug that carried a cloud of White Shoulders perfume and pot roast that Nero could smell from three feet away. And when she pulled back from Josh, her light brown eyes scanned him from head to toe.
Meanwhile, the men had shown up. Bruce came first, his square frame and green eyes sharp as he lounged against the doorframe. “The prodigal son returns,” he drawled. “Guess the funny farm did you some good. You’re looking strong.”
Nero winced. Obviously Josh’s family thought retreat meant mental hospital.
Josh’s mother whipped around, casually thudding Bruce in the chest. “Stop it. We’re not teasing about his medical problem—no matter what it is. Do you understand me?”
Bruce dipped his head. “Yes, ma’am.”
Then came the patriarch. Josh’s father ambled forward, and the sunlight made his hazel eyes seem bright blue above his square jaw and thick neck. The werewolf genes were obvious to someone in the know: in his spiky hair, all a dark brown, and the toothy way he smiled.
“Don’t stand there letting all the heat out,” the man groused. “I pay good money for that. Josh, if you’re coming in, then come in. Tell us where you’ve been
and what you’ve been doing.” He chuckled as he spoke the seemingly innocent words, but Nero heard an edge of meanness there. After all, the family thought Josh had been in a mental institution, so his words couldn’t be anything but a jab.
They all hurried into the house, Nero included. There was lots of hustle as Josh and Nero shed their coats and hung them up in a tidy closet in a neat entryway of a very clean two-story house. And that was all the time it took for Josh to finally process everyone’s words. He drew in a sharp breath, then turned to Nero with an accusing glare.
“You told them I was in a hospital?”
“Nope. We told them that you were in a specialized retreat center, that you were undergoing a very specific treatment regimen and could not have visitors or outside contact of any kind.” It was the family who had gone straight to mental hospital.
Josh gaped at him, and Nero could hear the tick, tick, tick of the Josh time bomb speeding up. His eyes flashed fury, but he didn’t talk to Nero. Instead, he turned to his family and spoke slowly and clearly. “I was not hospitalized.”
“Technically, you were,” Nero added.
Josh shot Nero a glare. “I was—”
“Resting and recovering from the stresses of your program of study.”
“Bullshit!”
His mother tsked sharply. “Mind your language,” she said, though the words sounded like a reflex rather than intention.
Josh didn’t even look her direction. “I was not hospitalized,” he repeated loudly. “I was—”
“Performing a classified task in a classified facility.”
Wulf, Inc. had a protocol when a recruit was introduced back to the family. The idea was to confuse the nearest and dearest with as much bullshit as possible such that no one knew what was real and what was teasing. And this was a game that Nero usually played to perfection.
He smiled genially at everyone. “Hello. I’m Nero Bramson, and I’m Josh’s friend. He’s not ready to drive yet, so I thought I’d help him out and play chauffeur.”
“Not ready to drive!” Josh sputtered, and Nero flashed him a megawatt smile. It was the absolute truth—not because Josh was incapable but because they weren’t going to let him escape yet. Not before the demon that was eating Wisconsin was destroyed.
Josh knew this, and it clearly pissed him off. But it was also a moment for the man to choose. Did he give the truth to his family—in which case they’d all be converted to werewolves and they’d see who survived—or go with the cover story that they so obviously believed?
Tick, tick, tick.
Josh picked the cover story. “Yeah,” he said, bitterness heavy in his tone. “Nero’s my driver.”
“I prefer chauffeur.”
“I prefer asshole.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Nero teased as he waggled his eyebrows, which was a really dickish thing to say. But it was the kind of thing that guys said about one another all the time, and Josh had long since proved that he could sling the shit along with everyone else.
Except Josh didn’t react as usual. His face burned red-hot, a telltale sign of truth if ever there was one. There was a moment of stunned silence all around, and then his father abruptly growled, “It figures.”
Obviously Dad was a homo-hater. No big surprise there. What did startle Nero was Josh’s mother, who turned white as a sheet. She gaped at Josh and had to steady herself on the wall.
Ivy groaned, “Oh, great,” and then she grabbed her mother’s elbow and steered the woman into the kitchen. “Let me help you with the green bean casserole.”
Bruce was the only one who appeared unaffected. He stood there, his gaze heavy as it hopped back and forth between Josh and Nero. It was a shrewd look, and Nero became aware that Josh wasn’t the only smart one in the family. And what was Josh’s reaction to all this? Nothing except for the heat from his bright red face.
A beat. Then another. And then his father turned and thudded to his seat at the head of the dining room table, dropping into it with a grunt. Without looking up, he poured diet soda into his glass, crushed the can with his bare fist, then banged the can down on the table in one of the best displays of passive-aggressive fury Nero had ever seen. All the man had done was pour his soda and crush the can, but every action filled the air with hatred. Then he looked up at Josh with a hot stare and gestured to a seat at the end of the table.
“Pull up a chair. Tell us how the stress of not working a damn day in your life has turned you into someone who sucks dick.”
“Dad!” Bruce huffed out in a fair imitation of his mother’s admonition, but Mr. Collier turned his darkening eyes on his elder son and merely glowered. To Bruce’s credit, he held his ground with a raised chin. “That’s not how it works.”
“Really?” his father drawled. “Then tell me how it works, Josh,” he said, completely dismissing his eldest son. “Sit down at my table in my house, eat my food, and tell me how you ended up gay.”
Ouch. And didn’t that make Nero feel like shit? He’d just been stirring the pot, throwing all sorts of things at the family to keep them confused. That was protocol. But he hadn’t realized how badly everyone would react.
Hell. He’d screwed up big time. He should have realized that here, in the heart of the Midwest, Josh’s family might be more homophobic than Nero’s own relatives in Florida. And he should have realized that just because werewolves were very open sexually, it wasn’t the same among vanilla humans. That was part of the reason he avoided time among the vanilla. He forgot how narrow-minded they could be.
He had to fix this fast, and the only way he could think of to do that was to confess the absolute truth. “We’re a secret military organization, and we needed Josh’s help. We abducted him, trained him, and now he needs your help to save the world.” Not an exaggeration and definitely going to get his ass in deep shit if any of the higher ups found out what he’d said. “Everything else was bullshit. That’s the truth.”
Josh gaped at him, clearly understanding how many rules Nero had just broken. “You can’t tell them that.”
No shit. But he didn’t say that. Instead, he shrugged and tried to communicate without words how very sorry he was.
Josh understood. At least his eyes got soft for a moment before he squared his shoulders and addressed his father. “We’re not staying to eat. We’re here because we need some Volcax.” He jerked his head at Nero without looking at him. “He’ll pay you well for it, but we need it now.”
Nero didn’t miss the “pay well” part, but he had no room to argue. And though there was a limit to what Wulf, Inc. would fork over, Nero wasn’t going to quibble over a few thousand dollars. Or tens of thousands, as the case may be.
“What?” gasped Nero’s mother as she came through the kitchen doorway carrying a casserole dish. “What do you mean you’re not staying?”
Josh turned to his mother, and from this angle, Nero got to watch Josh’s profile as he all but begged his mother to understand. “I can’t, Mom. We came for Volcax. Rush order. Super secret. Have to get back to—”
“The lab. Yes, so you always say.” She lifted her chin as she set down the dish on the table. “Well, whatever the reason, your father can’t get it while he’s eating. So you will sit right down there and join us. Your… friend too.” Her voice broke on the friend part. Clearly she was uncomfortable with the idea that he and Josh could be lovers, but she was trying. And then, lest he think he’d distracted her from the main secret, she pressed ahead. “And you will explain to me where you have been all this time. Savannah came here last month worried sick. We all were.”
Mr. Collier reached out and patted his wife’s hand. “He’s here now. He’s fine. You can stop worrying.”
She turned to stare at her husband and her jaw tightened with anger. No words were spoken, but Nero could hear them, even without the sounds. He’s not fine. He’s gay.
Ivy came out with two extra place settings and quickly made up seats for Josh and Nero. And when Josh st
uck out his hand to stop his sister, she hissed to him under her breath.
“Sit. Eat. Talk to them instead of running away.”
Josh’s gaze landed heavy on his sister, but she didn’t so much as flinch. And again, the subtext was easy to read off Josh’s face. His expression said, Why? It always ends the same way.
Ivy wasn’t buying it, and as she pulled out a chair for her baby brother, Josh gave in. Then Ivy gestured for Nero to sit as well. He took the seat next to Josh and smiled warmly at Mrs. Collier.
“Thank you so much for sharing your meal with me. And to answer your question, Josh has been in a classified facility—”
Bruce interrupted. “Doing classified work. You said that before, but we need specifics. Exactly who are you and—”
“Unfortunately we can’t say, and it will do no good to press Josh. I’m here to make sure he doesn’t spill the beans.” He gestured to the spread of food. “This smells fabulous, Mrs. Collier.”
“Well, um, thank you,” Josh’s mother said. Again, it was an automatic response when her mind was clearly on Josh. But at least it got her to sit down. And as Ivy took her seat as well, everyone linked hands for prayer.
Everyone, that is, except Josh, who glared at Bruce’s upturned hand like it was a venomous snake. But when everyone stared at him, Nero included, he snatched his brother’s hand in a white-knuckled grip. In contrast, he barely touched Nero, extending his last two fingers to interlink with his. No-go. Nero used his werewolf reflexes to snatch Josh’s hand fully and hold it upright as if he was in a revival tent praising Jesus with all his might.
Mr. Collier went through the Sunday prayer, his words perfunctory, the message one of thanks done by rote instead of intention. But as he was saying “Amen,” Josh’s mother added to the prayer.
“Thank you for bringing Josh home to us. See to his health, dear Lord, and shine a light on his path so that he may walk it with clarity and joy. And maybe find him a nice young girl to help him with that task. Amen.” Clearly she was the religious force in this family, and right now she wanted Jesus to show Josh that he wasn’t gay.
