The Long Way

by May Archer

  Damon nodded. “Yeah, that’s probably better,” he agreed, taking a sip of his drink.

  “You’re fucking him.”

  Damon nearly choked. “What?”

  “Come on, Damon. Don’t bullshit me. I can tell just by the way you look at him. And I can sure as hell tell from the way he looks at you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice? Boy was flaying me with his eyes every time I said your name.” Eli arranged himself on the sofa more comfortably and chuckled in a satisfied way. “It was fun messing with him.”

  Damon stared at him blankly. “I don’t get it. Messing with him how?”

  “He thinks you and I hooked up,” Eli said. Smiling mischievously, he added, “Which is funny as hell.”

  “Since you’re straight as hell.”

  “And ain’t that a sad loss for the gay men of America?” Eli teased, patting Damon’s good leg. “But the boy looked like he was gonna have kittens every time I laid a finger on you. Seriously, how’d you end up with him? He’s young enough to…”

  “Be my kid? I’m aware.” In fact, there was roughly the same age difference between the two of them as there was between Chelsea and Molly. Big Daddy and kid, indeed. Damon chuckled ruefully as he stared at the drink in his hand. “But apparently that doesn’t matter to my dick.” He looked back at Eli. “And I like him.”

  Eli shrugged noncommittally. “Seems a little bratty to me, but okay.”

  “Nah, he’s not. I mean, he is.” Damon laughed again, thinking of the way Cain had acted in the dressing room at the fundraiser, and the little temper tantrum later in his apartment. “Sometimes. But in a good way. He’s… good for me.”

  Eli’s brows went up. “You think?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” He stole a glance up to the loft area, wondered whether Cain would be able to sleep or whether, despite the long day, he was as keyed up as Damon. “He saved me,” Damon said, thinking back to yesterday morning… and then further back to the fundraiser. “Actually, twice.”

  “Huh. Wouldn’t’ve pegged him that way. Kid seems a little… entitled.”

  “Well, he’s not,” Damon said sharply. “And he’s not a kid, either. There were bullets flying yesterday morning, and that kid jumped on top of me and Molly. Then he drove us here over two days, with zero complaints.”

  Somehow it was fine when he called Cain a kid, but that was different… or something. In any case, he’d be damned if he’d let Eli do it.

  “Bullets?” Eli leaned forward and slammed his empty glass on the coffee table, his eyes sharp. “You’re kinda burying the lede here, chief.”

  “Yeah. I guess I am.” He took a deep breath and told Eli everything that had happened over the past few months - Jack Peabody and his confession, the fundraiser with Senator Shaw, the threats against Chelsea, and the incident the previous morning. By the time he was done, he was rubbing his stiff leg and wishing he’d taken one of the pain pills Cain had grabbed off the kitchen counter because Damon might need them.

  It was a tiny thing, but Damon couldn’t remember the last time someone had thought of his comfort that way.

  “Fuck, Damon,” Eli whispered, pushing to his feet and running a hand over his thick black hair. “You’ve got some asshole, power-crazed senator after you, and you brought those girls here?”

  “I’m sorry, Eli. I really didn’t know where else to go,” Damon told him. “I didn’t know who else would keep them safe while I figured out how to stop this.”

  Eli grunted. “And the kid? Jesus.” He blew out a breath, obvious disgust on his face. “The senator is his father.”

  “Yeah, and my father is an asshole who threw me and Chelsea to the wolves at every opportunity,” Damon reminded him.

  It was funny how Eli’s thoughts so closely matched Damon’s own doubts, but when Eli voiced them, Damon felt compelled to defend Cain.

  “I’m not gonna judge him based on his father,” Damon told Eli - told both of them, really. “And once again, don’t call him kid. It really pisses him off.”

  Eli gave Damon a pointed glance, clearly indicating that Cain’s feelings weren’t his priority.

  “Can you protect them?” Damon asked. “I’m gonna leave in the morning with Cain. But I need to know Chelsea and Molly are safe.”

  “I’ll take care of the girls,” Eli said with a nod. “Don’t worry about that. Fuckers better not show up here, or they’ll find out exactly what I’m capable of.” He hesitated, scratching at his beard. “You really trust the ki-, uh, Cain? You really trust Cain? Think, Damon, and not with your dick. How did they find you in the middle of Pennsylvania so quickly when you didn’t use credit cards and didn’t leave a paper trail? A hit like that, with pros like them… it’s not the kind of thing they can just set up on the fly. They had to know where you were going practically the second you did.”

  “You’re right.” Damon let his frustration show. “And I don’t fucking know how they figured it out. Hell, as far as I can tell, they didn’t know I was alive until two days ago, and now suddenly…” He shook his head. “But it wasn’t Cain.”

  Even from the first confused moment, he’d known that. The look of shocked horror on Cain’s face, the determination in every line of his body as he’d shielded Damon and Molly.

  Eli sighed. “I get that you don’t want to believe it. He’s cute, if you’re into that kind of thing. But how else…”

  “Those guys were shooting at him, same as me, E. He’s the one who got hit with the flying glass or whatever in that shit-show.” Even now, the very idea of it pissed him off - that Cain had been the one to get hurt, that Damon hadn’t been able to protect him. “I don’t know who they were, I don’t know who sent them, but I don’t believe Cain contacted anyone. Hell, his cell phone’s dead. He’s as much a pawn in all this as Chelsea and Molly and me.”

  “Alright, fine. Have it your way.” Eli shrugged. “But what are you and Cain gonna do while the girls are here?”

  “Cain had an idea that we could head to Nashville. We could search his parents’ house, his dad’s office. Apparently, the senator’s a stickler for keeping physical records of things. Maybe we can find some evidence tying his father to the Seavers’ plane crash, or some indication he knew what Jack was up to that we can present to the authorities.”

  “You’re wading into a lion’s den so you can steal its tooth? You hobbling on one leg, while he’s got a bum arm. Christ.”

  “If you’ve got a better idea, I’m all ears. I’ve considered and rejected every other possibility, and this is pretty much the only option I’ve got now.” He rolled his eyes and tossed Eli a smile. “You remember my motto? Hard and easy don’t matter…”

  “Yeah, yeah. When there’s no plan B. I remember.” Eli sighed. “And you think he’s going to turn that evidence over to the authorities, even though he won’t go to them on his own?”

  Once again, Eli’s thoughts lined up exactly with Damon’s own fears. Was he just being stupid here? Eli was rational, removed from the situation. If he really thought this was a shitty idea, should Damon listen? He glanced up at the loft once again.

  Eli didn’t know Cain. And yeah, maybe Damon didn’t know him very well yet either, but everything he learned about the man made him want to know him, and want to trust him.

  “I don’t claim to understand all his reasons, Eli.” He chuckled shortly. “Frankly, I don’t understand my own fucking reasoning half the time. But my gut tells me I can trust him, so I’m choosing to do that.”

  Eli shifted his neck back and stared at the ceiling, one hand braced on his hip. “Alright,” he finally said with a shake of his head. “You feel that strongly about it, I’ll reserve judgment.” He turned and speared Damon with a glance. “But promise me you won’t let your guard down completely, Damon. Cain might be a pawn, but he’s his father’s pawn. And it won’t matter what his intentions are when his father moves him around the chessboard
.”

  Chapter 12

  “Just out of curiosity, how long is this silent treatment going to last?” Cain demanded as he negotiated the car down a twisty two-lane highway. They’d left Eli’s cabin before daybreak, after saying a surprisingly emotional goodbye to Molly and Chelsea and obtaining Eli’s promise to purchase a burner phone as soon as possible in order to stay in contact with them. That had been nearly two hours ago, but other than a few brief, barked directions and one stop to take a leak, Damon had been completely, stubbornly silent the entire time, which was not helping Cain’s own mood. Not one little bit.

  “Maybe when I stop being pissed at you for going to bed last night without letting Eli check your arm.” Damon folded his arms across his chest.

  Cain exhaled sharply as he pulled around a minivan full of children and got them back in their lane. “And how was I supposed to know it was a bullet wound? I figured it was a rock or glass or something, just like you.”

  “You weren’t supposed to know!” Damon exploded, turning in the seat to face Cain. “That’s the whole point of having someone trained in first aid checking out your injury, so you can have it treated properly before the whole fucking thing gets infected and your fucking arm falls off!”

  Cain’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head. “Right, of course. Not that Eli is a doctor or anything, but apparently his magic powers extend to medicine. If my arm falls off, why don’t you just bring me back to Eli and he can reattach it?”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Damon cried, throwing his hands in the air.

  “Not a damn thing! That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” Cain roared back. His chest heaved, his breaths nearly audible in the sudden silence that rang through the car. He tried to regain his hold on his temper.

  It wasn’t Damon’s fault that he and Eli were… whatever they were. Or, more to the point, it wasn’t Damon’s fault that Cain’s stupid crush on him had grown all out of proportion. Be an adult about this, Shaw. Hooking up means nothing.

  “Damon, chill,” he said in a calmer voice. “The great and powerful Eli said I just have to keep it bandaged and cleaned.”

  “Chill? Are you kidding me? You were shot, Cain!” Damon crossed his arms and went silent again.

  Cain didn’t get Damon’s mood at all. But then, the whole morning had been pretty fucked up, starting from the moment Eli had barged into his room - well, into Eli’s own room, really, where Cain had finally fallen into a fitful sleep - with a glint in his eye, demanding to see Cain’s injury.

  “Damon says he wants me to look at it,” Eli had told him when he’d refused. “And frankly, I don’t give a good goddamn what you’d prefer.”

  After a quick assessment of Eli’s height, bulk, and proximity to the door, Cain had grudgingly relented. Eli had pulled off the bandage Damon had placed there yesterday and whistled through his teeth, his eyes briefly lifting to Cain’s. “How’d you say you hurt this again? Cause this wasn’t caused by some chunk of glass, kid.”

  Because Eli was a wound-detective, too. Asshole.

  “How do we even really know it was a bullet?” Cain asked Damon now. “Eli’s not psychic, or anything. It just looks like a big cut.”

  “Really?” Damon shook his head in disgust. “Eli was in the service, remember? He knows what a gunshot wound looks like.”

  Cain pressed his lips together. He wanted to fire back with something snarky, like “Is there anything Eli doesn’t fucking know?” He mentally patted himself on the back for withstanding the temptation.

  Last night, he’d tossed and turned for hours, listening to the indistinct hum of the conversation happening downstairs while his arm had burned like fire and his mind had whirled. He’d had no idea where things stood with him and Damon, but that was fine. Really.

  He was here to help Damon get his sister and Molly to safety, and then to help bring his father to justice. The stupid crush he’d developed on Damon Fitzpatrick had nothing to do with it. And so what if he and Eli were fucking downstairs? Damon hadn’t made him any promises, after all, so he was free to do whatever he wanted. Eli was enormous and gorgeous, and some kind of superhero. He wasn’t a kid.

  So, fine. Apparently there was no way for Cain to win here. His father was an asshole, which made Cain’s every thought and action suspect. It fucking sucked, but Cain could almost understand it. Damon was making it quite clear that whatever they’d had two… or was it three? … nights ago, and whatever strange emotion he’d seen in Damon’s eyes in the parking lot the other morning - had been a momentary blip.

  Cain could hardly abandon Damon on the side of the road, but he wasn’t going to take another mile of Damon’s silent-treatment bullshit, either. He put on his blinker and pulled onto the grass verge at the side of the road.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Damon demanded.

  “Stopping.”

  Damon glared at him. “Any particular reason?”

  “I’m on strike,” he said coolly. “Until you explain to me exactly what you want me to do here. Am I supposed to apologize for being shot? I am truly sorry, if for no other reason than because it hurts like a bitch. But I sure as hell didn’t do it as a personal insult to you, so could you maybe stop being an asshole?”

  Damon blinked, scowled, then blinked again.

  “I didn’t say you did it as an insult to me,” Damon said, though his peevish tone indicated Cain’s words hadn’t been too far from the truth. He darted a look at Cain. “I’m pissed that you got hurt. And I’m more pissed that I didn’t insist on you having it checked last night.”

  “But it was my choice,” Cain reminded him reasonably.

  “A stupid choice.”

  “Fine.” Cain rolled his eyes again. “But it’s my arm, and my stupid choice, right? You’re not responsible for me.”

  Damon’s jaw locked and he looked stubbornly out the windshield, like he wouldn’t argue the point.

  “Right, Damon?” Cain persisted.

  Damon turned to face him. “I feel pretty damn responsible. Why wouldn’t you let Eli look at it last night?” he demanded before Cain could reply.

  Cain’s teeth clacked together, and it was his turn to look at the endless blue sky and road laid out before them. “I was tired. I… didn’t feel like it.”

  “Really? That’s why?”

  “Of course. Why else?”

  “I dunno.” Damon shrugged. “Eli seemed to feel there was some personal issue.”

  Cain glanced at him quickly. “No.”

  “It wasn’t that you thought there was anything happening between Eli and me?”

  “I-I mean, no. That’s not… It’s none of my business if there is,” Cain said adamantly. “That had nothing to do with… anything.”

  “Huh.”

  “Huh? What do you mean, huh?”

  Damon shook his head, but Cain could see a strange light dancing in his eyes.

  “Eli is straight,” Damon said.

  Cain scowled. “Yeah, well, so am I if you go by popular opinion.”

  “No, Cain. Like, we’ve had a conversation about it. He has zero interest in men. And there has never been anything between us but friendship.”

  Cain blinked. Alright, well… Good. That was good.

  “None of my business,” Cain said dismissively, but Damon reached over and grabbed his chin, turning Cain’s face toward his.

  “Isn’t it?” Damon asked.

  “Is it?” Cain whispered, and Damon shrugged, but the smile on his face made something bright and warm flare to life in Cain’s chest. Oh, this was dangerous. This was so, so dangerous. He was way too happy about the fact that Eli and Damon had never been anything but friends, and way, way too happy about the idea that Damon thought this was his business.

  “I don’t like you being hurt,” Damon whispered. “Just… for fuck’s sake, don’t get hurt again.” Damon moved his hand from Cain’s chin to cup the back of his neck, his thumb dragging along Cain’s jaw.

  C
ain laughed shortly. “Oh, says you, Mister Drop-and-Roll with the fucked-up leg.”

  “That’s different,” Damon insisted.

  “Sure,” Cain said, but he glanced at Damon and both of them burst out laughing.

  Damon dragged his hands up and down his face, and Cain could hear the scratch of stubble against his palms. “Alright. I’m sorry. I’ve been an asshole. I’ll be better, okay?”

  Cain nodded shortly. “Apology accepted,” he said magnanimously. “And I guess… I guess I haven’t been particularly mature, if we’re being honest. Now we can—”

  But before he could move to shift the car back into gear, Damon was reaching a hand over the console, dragging Cain toward him by the back of the neck. Their lips met in a drugging kiss.

  Momentarily startled, it took Cain a second to respond, but when he did, he surged forward, pushing Damon back against his headrest. Cain poured every ounce of his hurt, frustration, and annoyance into the kiss, and Damon took every bit, threading his long fingers through Cain’s hair and groaning into Cain’s mouth. It was hot, frantic, and perfect - tongues dueling, teeth clacking. But then Damon tugged his hair and pushed back, taking the kiss deeper and gentler - calming, soothing, and reassuring.

  When they broke apart a minute later, Cain’s head was spinning and his breath was coming in pants.

  “You… you apologize well,” Cain told him, and Damon grinned.

  “Drive, Cain,” he said, shaking his head.

  And after a deep, steadying breath, Cain did.

  ******

  The morning passed quickly, and despite Damon’s insistence on backtracking and taking detours at every opportunity, they found themselves an hour south of Nashville shortly after lunchtime.

  “Oh, shit, not this song again,” Cain complained.

  “Thought you Nashville folks lived for country ballads.”

  Cain gave him side-eye. “There are so many things wrong with that statement.”

  He reached for the radio control, only for Damon to bat his hand away. “Navigator picks the tunes,” he said.