by May Archer
Uh, what?
“Bullshit.” Cain threw him a scowl. “Driver is the DJ. Everyone knows this. It’s road trip law.”
“Well, you lost your opportunity the first two times this song came on and you did nothing. You’re fired.”
“Fired… as DJ?” Cain clarified.
Damon shrugged and spread his hands out in mock apology. “Cain, I don’t make the rules.”
Cain burst out laughing and shook his head. “By all means then, please make a selection.” He waved his hand at the radio like a game show hostess.
Damon scrolled through all of the pre-set stations on Drew’s satellite radio, his frown getting deeper each time. “Drew listens to Sports Radio, NPR, and classical music?”
Cain shrugged. “This doesn’t surprise me.”
Damon kept punching buttons, and the sound of classic rock filled the car. “There we go,” he said.
“Aerosmith?” Cain said dubiously, and Damon turned to look at him.
“Okay, pause. Whatever you’re about to say right now, I want you to think about it carefully,” Damon warned. “This could have a significant impact on our… friendship.”
Cain’s lips quirked. He’d almost swear that Damon had been about to say relationship, but honestly, friendship was pretty fucking cool too.
“Nothing wrong with Aerosmith,” Cain allowed. “If it makes you feel comfortable.”
“Comfortable?”
“You know, older people need their routine. They like things a certain way. It’s cool,” Cain said quickly, loving the scowl on Damon’s face. “We can totally listen to this.”
“Listen, sonny, respect your elders. These are the Bad Boys of Boston. They’re kings.”
Cain rolled his eyes. “I mean, they were,” he agreed. “Two decades ago.”
“Oh, tell me you didn’t just say that. Tell me you did not just shade Aerosmith.”
Damon sounded truly shocked, and Cain bit his lip. In truth, he probably owned every Aerosmith album available, but the opportunity to needle his navigator was too good to pass up.
“Don’t get agitated, Big Daddy,” Cain said in his most placating tone. “I’m not arguing with you.”
“You know,” Damon said, and despite having his eyes on the road, Cain could feel Damon’s gaze burning his cheek like a laser-beam. “You’re right. I really shouldn’t be selfish. I’ll pick something you’ll like better, kid.”
“Oh. Well thank you! That’s thoughtful,” Cain said. “I like Alt Nation, or maybe…”
The strains of children’s voices shrieking tepid pop filled the speakers.
“What the fuck?”
“It’s the kids’ station,” Damon said, his growly voice placid and his face blank.
Cain gasped. This was war.
“I wish I had my phone,” he grumbled, giving a look to the backseat, where he’d stowed the bag containing his dead cell. He’d have to try to find a charger when they stopped for the night. “All my music is on there. I could find you some screamo you’d love. Reminds me of you when you’re cranky.”
“Oh, check it out. Opera.”
“What? I don’t like opera!”
“When they hit the high notes, it reminds me of you when you’re cranky,” Damon countered.
And Cain couldn’t help but laugh.
The whole world - well, his whole world - was burning. The past two days had been a shit-show from start to finish, he had a gunshot wound marring the tattooed sleeve on his arm, he had no idea what the hell this evening’s search of his father’s office would bring, and for over twenty-four hours, his mind had been dancing around the knowledge that someone - probably his own father - had sent men to track them down and shoot at them – himself, Damon, Chelsea, and a three-year-old, for God’s sake.
It was pretty fucked up that at this precise moment, he was still happier than he’d been in months.
And then Damon had to go and open his mouth. “So. Tell me about you and Jack.”
Cain flinched. He couldn’t help it. He’d actively avoided thinking, let alone talking, about the fact that both he and Damon had been involved with that asshole at roughly the same time. He focused on the road in front of him for a silent moment, then exhaled a long breath.
Yeah, okay, so maybe this issue was like a splinter beneath the surface of his friendship with Damon, just sitting there festering.
“What about him?” he asked flatly.
“How’d it start?” Damon’s voice was gentle, and when Cain darted a glance in his direction, he was steadfastly looking out the window.
“Can we turn Aerosmith back on instead?” Cain pleaded.
Damon didn’t reply.
“Fine.” Cain took a deep breath. “I guess… I guess it started maybe three years ago?” He tried to do math in his head, and shrugged. “Something like that.”
“Christ, Cain! You were, what? Twenty-two?” Damon’s outrage made him smirk.
“Still twenty-one,” Cain corrected. “I remember because one of the first and only places he ever took me was to a rodeo on my twenty-second birthday.” He shot Damon a glance. “For the record, I do not enjoy the rodeo.”
“Noted.”
Cain shrugged. “He just… started being friendly to me, you know? He’d been working for my dad for years, and he had to know I was gay. I mean, I never officially came out to my parents, but I never hid my sexuality among my friends. Not when I was younger. It was kinda like my family’s version of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, but anyone who looked at the pictures on my bedroom walls had to know.” Cain gripped the steering wheel more tightly. God, he hated talking about this stuff.
“Yeah? Hot guys?” Damon asked.
“Mmm. Gerard Way.” When Damon stared at him blankly, Cain added, “My Chemical Romance? Helena? I’m Not Okay? No?” Damon shook his head, and Cain pressed a hand to his chest. “You’re breaking teenage Cain’s emo heart here, you really are.”
Cain shifted in his seat and continued, “Anyway, I dated a couple of guys. Had a boyfriend for a while.” He didn’t want to talk about Jesse right now. He couldn’t. “But then my dad’s political ambitions became a thing, and suddenly I was back in the closet. Got a respectable haircut, the posters came down, and I moved to Nashville where I didn’t date. At all. But then the summer after my junior year in college, Jack started paying attention to me.”
He swallowed, sickened by his own stupidity. “He’d smile at me, laugh at my jokes, ask about the classes I liked and what I wanted to do after graduation. My family was… I dunno. They never gave a shit how I felt about things or what I wanted, and I felt like… like I could be myself with Jack.” He chanced a glance at Damon’s profile. “Dumb, huh?”
“Not even a little,” Damon said sadly.
Cain drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. The last thing he wanted was Damon’s pity, for fuck’s sake.
“Anyway, I was a dumbass. He would blow hot and cold, all over me one day and then cold-shouldering me the next. It was one of those things where he was happy to ignore me until the second he had any inkling I was going to hook up with someone else, and then suddenly he’d call me again, or stop by my apartment at school out of the blue and we’d end up sleeping together. I always… I always just assumed it was because of my dad. He didn’t want to get too close because he was worried about getting caught.”
Damon frowned. “Don’t you think it was?”
Cain shook his head and finally put words to the thought that had been nagging him more and more often these days, as he realized just what his father was capable of. “I think he was getting close to me because my father asked him to. To keep me quiet and contained, just in case I ever considered doing something truly terrible, like defying the family and coming out.”
Damon inhaled sharply, and Cain noticed that his hand was clenched into a white-knuckled fist. “Jesus. Just when I think I understand just how awful your father can be…”
Cain shrugged, because what wa
s there to say?
“It was never a dating thing. Looking back, after the first initial bit it was just a series of hookups. We never went out, we never talked about anything serious. I was naive, and Jesus, I was lonely.” He laughed. “I made it into something it wasn’t.” Cain raised an eyebrow at Damon. “Guess Jack was getting his needs met elsewhere, too?”
Damon rolled his eyes and gave an exaggerated shudder, and suddenly it was okay again. Not quite funny, but… less awful. Not the shameful, horrible thing he’d tormented himself with.
Cain ran a hand through his hair before putting it back on the steering wheel. Eli’s shampoo smelled like mint and medicine, and now Cain’s hair had the same scent. Damon’s too. Was it weird to be excited because he and Damon smelled the same?
God. Would he ever learn not to make things into a bigger deal than they were?
He cleared his throat. “So, uh. Maybe you can tell me your shitty story now and make me feel a little less stupid?”
Damon huffed and reached over to run his knuckle down Cain’s cheek. No doubt Cain’s face was tomato-red.
“You weren’t stupid, baby” Damon said, and Cain glanced at him. “Believe it. You were young and he took advantage of you. I didn’t have that excuse.” Damon’s hand dropped to the center console, and he wiped absently at a line of dust there. “You know I’m a pilot and a mechanic?”
Cain nodded.
“I worked at Central, the little regional airport your dad liked to fly into whenever he came to Boston on business, and I flew most of the charter flights. Jack introduced himself to me as your dad’s pilot, and we became friends. We’d go out for drinks whenever he was in town, which was pretty often. Hell, we’d commiserate about how shitty our employers were. It took a month, or maybe a little longer, before we slept together.”
From the corner of his eye, Cain could see Damon darting a glance at him.
“I’m sure he was working on your father’s orders, then, too. But I was almost forty, so if either of us should have known better, it was me.”
Cain’s heart twisted at the pain in Damon’s voice.
“He’s a shithead who knows how to say exactly what you want to hear,” Cain spat.
“Well, if that’s true for me, it’s gotta be true for you, too.”
“Both of us just got played by a pro, then?” Cain mused. “Yeah. I guess. I can accept that.”
“He was the last person I had sex with,” Damon said. “Until the other night with you.”
Cain’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yep.”
“Me too,” Cain admitted, then he started laughing again and Damon joined in. “This is so fucked up.”
“So fucked up,” Damon agreed, rubbing his fingers across his eyes. “But you know what? I don’t give a shit.”
Cain kept his eyes on the road. “You don’t?”
“I don’t,” Damon said. “I’m done thinking about him.” He reached over to squeeze Cain’s hand where it rested on the steering wheel.
Cain grinned and put the directional on, pulling into the parking lot of a fast food restaurant and sliding the car into Park.
“What are we doing here?” Damon asked.
“We’re getting close to the city,” Cain told him. “And it’s time to finalize our plan.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” Cain repeated, biting his lip. “So, my dad has an official office downtown. It’s relatively new. He has staffers who work there full-time, doing fundraising and handling calls from his constituents and stuff. I-I mean, I guess it’s possible that he might have kept things there, but I really doubt it. It’s not nearly private enough, and he doesn’t have enough control over it.”
Damon frowned. “What’s the other option?”
“His home office,” Cain said promptly. “I mean, I would think that’s where things would be since it’s more private. Nobody’s there except when he is. Also, I’ve gotta say, it’s gonna be easier to get in there, since I have the access codes.” He rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly exhausted and unsure. “Or, Jesus, I don’t know, Damon. Maybe he’d keep the stuff at the public office, just because no one would think to look there? I’m like that guy in The Princess Bride who keeps overthinking which cup is poisoned. I’m trying to outsmart the master plotter, and I’m really not sure I’m up to this task.”
Damon’s hand slid over once again to touch Cain’s, but this time he threaded their fingers together, and held Cain’s hand on top of the center console.
“Trust your instincts, okay? Because, I trust you, Cain,” he said slowly.
Cain’s throat went tight. He hadn’t realized just how much he needed to hear those exact words from him. He looked into Damon’s bright hazel eyes.
“You sure? Remember, the guy in the movie ended up dead,” Cain deadpanned.
But Damon just squeezed his hand again and smiled. “Positive.”
“The home office,” Cain said more confidently, and Damon’s smile turned into a grin.
“Then that’s where we’re going. But first we’re going to get a hotel room. And before we do that, we need to stop at the pharmacy to grab some supplies.”
“Supplies?” Cain repeated in surprise. Like, condoms and lube? Not that Cain had any objection, at all, but he’d really expected they’d talk more first, or…
“Bandages for your arm, Cain,” Damon said, shaking his head. Little laugh lines exploded from the sides of his eyes when he smiled and Cain would gladly be embarrassed a million more times if he got to see those crinkles again.
“Right,” Cain agreed. “Totally. I knew that.”
Chapter 13
“What’s 089208?” Damon asked, watching as Cain put a passcode into the keypad that controlled the massive black iron gates outside Senator Shaw’s sprawling suburban home. “Anniversary? Birthday?”
After Cain had made a quick stop at a pharmacy and another at a hotel where they’d rented a room, dumped their meager belongings, and quickly changed Cain’s bandage, they’d gotten back on the road to the senator’s house, about thirty minutes outside of the city. When Cain had turned onto his street, Damon’s eyes had widened. He’d seen mansions before, but the concentrated wealth of the area, literally glinting in the setting sun, was pretty stunning.
“No. Neither,” Cain sighed, turning to give him a look as the gates slid smoothly open. “It’s the date they broke ground on the headquarters at Seaver Tech.”
“You’re kidding,” Damon said, but Cain shook his head. “You’re telling me your father types that passcode in every time he comes home?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m telling you,” Cain agreed, but he shook his head again. “I’m not saying I understand it.”
God. Damon’s stomach clenched at the idea of someone who could murder his best friend, but still use the date they’d co-founded a company as his security code. Were there any limits Emmett Shaw wouldn’t go to?
Cain pulled the car around the semi-circular brick-paved driveway and parked directly in front of the house. “You ready?”
“I guess.”
Cain jogged up a short flight of stairs to the front door and paused to wait for Damon. Though not quite as bad as it had been yesterday, Damon’s leg still hurt like a bitch whenever he put weight on it. Still, when Cain had suggested buying a pair of crutches at the pharmacy, Damon had refused. Coddling himself wouldn’t speed his recovery, and it sure as fuck wouldn’t make him feel better either.
When Damon got to the top step, Cain entered another passcode. “This one’s the date my father was elected, with the numbers 9–4-9 at the end.” He looked over his shoulder at Damon and explained. “It spells out W-I-N.”
Damon wasn’t sure what expression he had on his face, but whatever it was made Cain laugh softly. “I know. I know, it’s gross.”
They stepped into the house, which seemed unnaturally hushed.
“Nobody working?” Damon whispered. “No staff?”
C
ain shook his head and answered in a hushed voice, “My parents are gone on a fundraising tour for various politicians for a couple of weeks. Because nothing says Happy Holidays like promising millions to your local politicians, right? Usually the staff stay here to take care of the house, but not this time. My parents gave them the week off for Thanksgiving.”
“No security guards? No cameras?”
“No guards when my dad’s not here, which means the outside cameras are recording, but aren’t being monitored. Unlikely anyone would check them unless an alarm was set off. And there are no cameras inside the house at all. That’s one thing my mother put her foot down about.” Cain rolled his eyes. “She’d rather be caught dead than have someone leak a photo of her in her bathrobe, sans makeup.”
Damon nodded. “So, if no one is here,” he muttered. “Then why are we whispering?”
Cain shrugged. “I don’t really know, except… I think I’m conditioned not to attract notice in this house.” He grinned. “Hard to break the habit.”
He led Damon up an enormous curved white staircase to the second floor, and then to an imposing set of double doors. “This is his office,” Cain said.
Damon wrapped his t-shirt cuff around his hand then pushed at the knob. Locked.
“No worries,” Cain told him. He went to the doorway of the room across the hall and stood on tiptoe so he could run his fingertips along the top edge of the doorframe. “Aha. Gotcha.”
“That’s where he keeps the key?” Damon demanded.
Cain chuckled. “Nah. That’s where I keep the skeleton key.” He jimmied the locked door, and a second later, the latch popped and the door swung inward. “I had to rescue my cell phone on more than one occasion when I was younger,” he said. He took a second to put the key back atop the door, and Damon smirked. Putting everything back in its proper place was such a fucking Cain thing to do.
“Lead the way then, Secret Agent Shaw,” Damon told him.
Cain rolled his eyes and shouldered his way past Damon into the office.
Dark wood and brown leather were the first things Damon noticed, as though it was an old English hunting lodge. The air inside the room was still and chilly, with an air of disuse. Damon limped forward, being cautious not to leave fingerprints on anything.
