The casual way he once again expressed his belief in Miles’ character hit him deep. “How can you say that, yet not believe I have feelings for you?”
“Holy fuck, can you let it go?” Brad snapped. “Let’s focus on the problem at hand, okay?”
“You wanna watch your tone there, Brad. I’m getting mighty tired of you taking my head off all the time.”
“Fuck you. You’re not my dad!”
Max woke up from his slumber on the floor and raised his head to check what was happening. Brad jumped off the couch and stormed off into the bedroom, though still managing to open and close the door quietly because of Charlie. Max got up, seemed to shake his head at Miles, then followed Brad to the bedroom, softly howling until Brad opened the door to let him in.
Miles leaned back, rubbing his neck. One step forward, two steps back.
“He’s a good kid, deep down,” Connor remarked.
“The best,” Miles agreed. “You should see how tender he is with Charlie. It’s me he graces with his lethal defenses.”
Connor leaned back in his chair. “Sometimes we hurt the ones we love the most to see if they’ll stay.”
Miles sighed. “Yeah. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking hurt, though.”
They shared a comfortable silence for a bit.
“I was surprised to find you here when I arrived,” Miles changed the subject. He’d been dying for a one-on-one with Connor to put his feelers out, and here was finally his chance. “Last thing I heard you were in Boston, recruiting, and weeks later I find you back here with your man. Or men, I should say.”
Connor smiled. “The Feds keeping tabs on me?”
“You knew we were. Anyone connected to Indy was being watched, but you were of interest especially.”
“I’m flattered.”
Miles smiled. The guy was a Marine and a cop—and it showed. He was every bit as cool as Miles under pressure. “You wanna fill me in on the truth?”
Connor got up, slapped him good-naturedly on his shoulder, which left him reeling. “Nah. You’re a wicked smart man, Miles. You’ll figure it out.”
Miles mulled it over, as Connor walked off. He’d gotten to know all the people that had once been names in a file so much better. Indy, the ultimate survivor who hadn’t merely build a new life here, but was thriving. He was at the very center of this house, keeping everyone together with sheer love.
Then there was Noah, whose love for Indy was palpable. He came across as aloof and stern, until Indy entered the room, and then that face lit up like a Christmas tree. Miles had heard of the expression being the light in someone’s life, but he’d never seen it in reality, until he’d seen how Noah responded to Indy’s presence.
Added to the mix were Josh and Connor, the sweet introvert and his bossy cop who knew exactly what Josh needed. And who, apparently, seemed to accept that Josh and Indy had a special relationship as well. If Noah and Indy together were light, Josh and Connor were fire…but Josh and Indy were like the wind. You couldn’t quite catch it, but boy, did it have power.
It’s why the whole story didn’t make sense to Miles. Connor in Boston, cozying up to criminals with a known hate for the Fitzpatricks. Him breaking up with Josh, who was clearly the love of his life, on the same day Indy was taken into FBI custody. Josh, who by all accounts suffered a brutal mental breakdown in the veteran hospital he’d been admitted to. Miles had seen the file, courtesy of his boss, and the list of meds Josh had been administered would knock an elephant out.
Then there was Noah, still physically recovering from his amputation surgery, when he was dealt a severe blow by Indy’s departure. Noah and Josh back together according to the file, Indy in Kansas, Connor in Boston. What were the chances that these four who were more intimately linked than any men he’d ever met before had been truly apart? He didn’t buy it.
He’d looked over the files and reports of the shooting in Boston. The cops had worked with the Feds and other experts to determine what had happened. They’d figured out where the shots had come from—an apartment building across the street—but that was it. Speculation was rife, with theories ranging from the CIA’s involvement to Russian sharpshooters being hired by a rival mobster family.
One fact had puzzled everyone on this case: the accuracy of the shots. The shooter had nailed them in rapid successions with shots straight to the heart, and all that from a long distance, with a standard military issue rifle.
A standard military issue rifle. The one army snipers used, like Specialist Joshua Gordon. His army file had been thick with praises about his accuracy as a sniper. The same Joshua Gordon who’d been drugged out of his mind in a mental health care facility, all documented, yet who had shown up here doing remarkably well for someone who had a complete breakdown weeks before.
It had to have been Josh who shot them, somehow aided by Connor. The fact that Connor had been on an undercover job with the Boston PD and had been in Boston when that shit had gone down? Too much of a coincidence. The FBI had thought he’d been recruiting for the Fitzpatricks, but Miles’ suspicion was that he was the guy who had managed organize a mutiny against them—and handed them all on a silver platter to the Boston PD.
Miles had no idea how they had pulled it off—Connor and Josh, because Indy had not been involved, that much Miles was sure of, and Noah probably neither—but he would bet all his money on Josh being the shooter. And now he was living in his house, enjoying his hospitality. It was crazy as fuck, wasn’t it?
Miles should care, on some level. He was a federal agent, and he had no business condoning vigilante justice, not even implicitly. And yet he had felt zero urge to report his suspicions.
Instead, he found himself admiring the sheer balls of this particular operation. And having read the bulging file on the crimes of the Fitzpatricks, especially the vicious attack on Stephan Moreau and the brutal murder on DA Merrick and his family, Miles couldn’t say he was sorry these men were dead. The legal system had failed Stephan and others, but in the end, justice had been served.
It had truly been the only solution to bring Indy freedom. Even if the justice department had succeeded in getting a conviction for the top Fitzpatrick leaders—and that would have taken a year at least—Indy would’ve always had to look over his shoulder. He was truly free now. Plus, three of the lowest lowlifes were dead. Miles could not have a problem with that, as much as he maybe should.
Maybe it said a lot about his motivation, or lack thereof, for his job. He’d loved it at first, but the last few years had been tough. It was a somewhat sobering realization he’d made since staying in this house, how fucking lonely he’d been. He’d kept people at such arms’ length that he’d been starving for contact, both emotionally and physically. Being here, in this house, with all these men, it was like water for his barren soul. And fuck, the physical contact…people touching him, hugging him without caring that he’d get hard. It brought tears to his eyes at times.
It was the first time as long as he could remember that he’d felt truly accepted. Even with Casey, he’d always had to hold back. Here, he walked around with just PJ bottoms on, no double tight boxers, and no one gave a shit of they saw his pants tent. It was a freedom he’d never had.
And interestingly enough, he could already sense a difference in himself, even physically. At first, every casual touch had gotten him hard, desperate as he’d been for human contact. Now, it had become easier. He was still hard half the time, but not as quickly.
More important were the friendships and of course, Brad and Charlie. Miles had no fucking idea where the three of them were headed, but he wasn’t ready to walk away. And as soon as he was back on the job, he would have to walk away. Aside from the fact that the FBI might not tolerate a ménage relationship, Miles himself didn’t want it. If nothing else, his failed relationship with Casey had taught him that his job didn’t mesh with a relationship. Maybe it was time to start looking for something else.
So yeah, he did value the f
riendship with all of these men over doing his duty, especially when that duty would bring nothing good. The Fitzpatricks were dead, justice had been done, and those that remained in the organization would get their day in court. Case closed, as far as he was concerned. Maybe in a few years time, he could ask Josh and Connor how the fuck they had pulled it off.
But right this moment, he had two more pressing problems. Well, three actually. The most pressing one was that he needed to come, since the pressure in his balls had been building up to a damn uncomfortable level. Then there was Brad, who needed a good night’s sleep, a solid meal or two, and a massive orgasm. After that, they had to come up with a plan to keep Charlie safe from his ex, because the kid hadn’t left the house since he got here, and that couldn’t continue.
Miles nodded. Now that his priorities were sorted, he knew what to do.
13
Fuck, he was tired. As much as he enjoyed cuddling with Charlie after he’d just woken up from a nap, Brad’s head throbbed with a nasty headache brewing behind his eyes. He hadn’t slept well for weeks, but the last three nights had been particularly restless, courtesy of the two men he’d been sandwiched between.
He was so on high alert to make sure Charlie was okay, that he couldn’t fully surrender to sleep. And Miles’ presence was…unnerving, to say the least. He saw so much. Too much. It was only a matter of time until Miles figured it out, figured him out, and then he’d dump Brad for sure. Fuck, he wanted to run, wanted to preserve what little dignity he had left, but at the same time couldn’t drag himself away.
“Do you need anything?” Brad asked softly, kissing Charlie’s head that was resting on his shoulder.
“No, he doesn’t,” Miles said, jolting Brad. He hadn’t even heard him come into the room. “You, however, need a good meal, some decent sleep, and an orgasm. You look like shit.”
Brad almost laughed at the brutal honesty Miles threw at him. Almost, because he wouldn’t give in that easy. He turned his head to face Miles, who was watching him with more kindness than he’d expected considering his tone.
“I wasn’t asking you,” Brad pointed out. “I was talking to Charlie. He can damn well answer for himself.”
Charlie untangled himself from Brad’s arms, pushed himself up carefully. “Miles is right. You look pale and tired.”
His tone was much nicer than Miles, but that didn’t make the stab in Brad’s heart any less. “You’re choosing his side?” he asked, incredulity lacing his voice.
Hurt flashed over Charlie’s face. “No, you idiot. I’m choosing your side.”
Brad’s eyes darkened. When had Charlie ever taken a stand against him? Had the two of them been talking about him behind his back? Maybe they’d come to the conclusion that three was a crowd, that they really didn’t need nor want him. They’d be perfectly happy with the two of them, without his fucked-up problems.
“What are you, my dad? Fuck off. I can take care of myself,” he fired at Miles, his heart painfully contracting. He was losing them, even Charlie. God, what would he do now? He’d known he would fuck up. He always did.
“Fucking hell, Brad, we’re trying to take care of you! What the fuck is wrong with you that you won’t let us?”
Charlie’s eyes were full of hurt as he hurled the words at Brad, and he flinched. His shoulders sagged and he closed his eyes for a second. He was so tired. Exhausted, really. Fuck, his head hurt.
“Brad, you have five seconds to get off that bed and move your ass to the kitchen, where you will sit down and eat.”
Miles’ voice was deceptively calm, but Brad recognized the steel underneath. His eyes flew open. Miles meant business. What would he do if Brad refused? He wouldn’t really spank him, would he? There was no way the serious FBI agent was that kinky and stern. No, he was bluffing.
“Five…four…”
Brad found himself scrambling off the bed, angry with himself for responding to Miles’ tone. It reached somewhere deep inside him, made him want to obey as much as be even more of a brat, as Miles had called him.
Miles took his arm with enough force to make Brad wince. “Let’s go. Now.”
He let himself be dragged to the kitchen, where he discovered Blake and Aaron hanging out with Indy and Noah. Oh, hell no, he was not doing this in front of his brother.
Blake’s eyes fell on Miles’ hand and became ice daggers. “You wanna remove that hand from my brother’s arm,” he said coolly.
Pandemonium ensued as everyone started talking at once, Aaron saying something to Blake, and Indy asking Miles what he was doing, and Charlie telling Noah it was all right, and Max was barking his head off, which he never did, and Brad couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Shut up!” he screamed, his voice breaking with the force.
All that was left was his own ragged breath, as every face in the room turned to him in shock. Max whined, and came over to rub his head against Brad’s legs.
“Bradford, what the hell?” Blake snapped.
A sob worked its way up, escaping before he could force it back. “I’m leaving. I’m going home.”
He yanked his arm free with more ease than he’d expected, realized Miles’ hold had been more in his mind than in physical force.
“Brad…”
That was Charlie, his face pure shock. Brad swallowed. “You should be with Miles. He’s good for you. He’ll make you happy. I…I can’t, Charlie. I can’t do this.”
“Brad, talk to me…” Blake got up out of his chair, but Brad stepped back.
“No. These are your friends, Blake, not mine. I don’t belong here.”
He walked out before the dam burst, as he knew it would, his loyal Max on his heels—the one being in his life who would never choose someone else over him.
Five seconds after he walked in the front door of his own house, his hold on his emotions broke under the pressure. He let himself drop onto his bed and gave up, cuddling Max in his arms and crying hot tears into his fur.
* * *
Miles’ first impulse was to stop Brad from leaving, but he held himself in check. He’d seen the pure terror on Brad’s face. The man had somehow reached a limit, and he needed to walk away. Didn’t mean Miles wouldn’t bring him back, kicking and screaming if he had to.
“What the fuck did you do to my brother?” Blake asked, stepping into his personal space. Behind Miles, Charlie whimpered in fear.
“Blake, sit down. You’re scaring Charlie,” Indy said, his voice calm and steady. He put a hand on Blake’s forearm. “Walk away if you have to, but you can’t do this.”
Blake was so close, Miles felt his breath on his face, before the man stepped back. Blake swallowed, turned to Charlie. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He opened his arms and offered Charlie a hug, which he accepted after a slight hesitation.
Miles breathed out in relief. Phew, that was a close call. He would’ve needed Indy’s help to keep Blake at bay had the man decided to get physical, that much he knew. He was no match for a black belt, especially not in his current condition.
“I apologize,” Blake said, his voice stiff and formal as he faced Miles again. “I usually have a better grip on my temper, but I’m protective of my brother.”
Miles nodded. “Accepted. I understand, but I need you to know I wasn’t hurting him. Not like that, anyway.”
Charlie stepped forward until he stood beside Miles, their arms touching. “It’s true, Blake. We’re trying to take care of Brad, but he won’t let us.”
Blake sighed. “Yeah, he sucks at that. Always has, even as a kid. He’s always taking care of others, but he finds it hard to accept it when others do the same for him.”
“He doesn’t want to be a bother,” Charlie said, moving toward one of the chairs and sitting down.
Blake took his spot at the table again, but not after kissing Aaron on his head. As soon as he sat, Aaron reached for his hand. “I’ve told Brad multiple times
he should see a shrink, but he refuses.”
Miles frowned. “Why would he need to see a shrink?”
“To talk about what happened with our parents. The abuse, my mom dying, I’m sure it’s what’s messing with Brad’s head. I did the best I could, but I don’t think it was enough.”
Miles’ head reeled. Abuse? What the hell was Blake talking about? His confusion must have shown, because Blake sighed. “He didn’t tell you, did he?” Blake turned to Charlie. “Did you know?”
“Not the whole story. Brad only talks when he’s drunk, so he’s shared tidbits, but never the whole story.”
Miles found a seat as well, his legs suddenly rubbery. “Look, you shouldn’t say anything if that means breaking his confidence. I didn’t know, but then again, there’s very little I do know about Brad, because he doesn’t talk to me.”
Blake’s eyes were sad. “It’s not a betrayal of his confidence. It’s what happened to us, to him. He doesn’t want to talk about it, and if you ask me, that’s the whole reason he’s struggling.”
“What can you tell us?” Charlie asked, seeking Miles’ hand. Miles loved that he spoke of “us”, that there still was an “us.” Somewhere, somehow, they had failed to make Brad safe and secure enough in their threesome, but they’d correct that. They belonged together, and they’d figure out how to fix them.
The room got quiet as Blake spoke, his voice filled with pain. “My dad was an abusive drunk, always has been as long as I can remember. He hit my mom, and us too, if he got really angry. Mostly her, but as the oldest two, me and Burke got slapped around every now and then as well. He mostly ignored Brad and my youngest brother Benjamin, but that was also because Benjamin was mentally handicapped and Brad was really adept at being invisible. He did anything to avoid getting my dad angry, including helping my mom in the house and taking care of Benjamin.”
Miles’ throat closed as he thought about the little boy Brad had been, always afraid he, too, would get beaten up.
No Shame: The Complete Series: Including exclusive bonus materials and deleted scenes Page 97
