Solace (12 page)

The walk of a man who’d already let his hopes rise too high.

S
hane’s palms
pressed against the slick tile of the shower wall. His head was ducked below his shoulders, and nearly-scalding water ran over his scalp and down his neck, sluicing down his shoulders and back.

It hadn’t helped.

Oh, he felt better physically. That tight, gnawing knot of want had simmered into a dull hum. His body was deliciously sore and exhausted. But his mind was as active as ever. Even more so now.

Why hadn’t it helped?

It had never been a complete fix when he was overseas, but he at least felt better for a couple of days afterward. More in control of the shit that was going on. Able to deal with whatever was thrown his way.

This time, though, he’d felt that sinking pull of regret almost immediately. Not for what he’d done—he’d wanted to fuck Aaron, and Aaron had clearly wanted him back—but maybe for the way he’d done it?

He wasn’t sure.

All he knew was that not ten minutes after Aaron left, he was back to thinking about the fact that he was going to lose his daughter for good, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

A black rage built inside Shane, clawing into a deep, endless pit. It coiled in his muscles until he had no choice but to release it. With a loud, low growl, he thrust his fist against the tile.

It didn’t shatter like it would in a movie. His hand didn’t gush with blood and turn the water in the bottom of the tub red. Instead, stinging pain shot through the bones in his fingers. He knew he hadn’t broken them, but he’d done a damn good job of coming close.

Prickles of blood dotted his knuckles. The beads of red washed away, and Shane could see the small patches of torn skin beneath.

It was just another diversion. When fucking hadn’t done the trick, Shane had resorted to fighting.

But that didn’t help now, either. That left one last option.

Climbing out of the shower, Shane toweled off and dressed quickly. He found his phone where it still lay on the floor, then stabbed at the screen to hit the speed dial.

Denise picked up after one and a half rings.

“What’s up, soldier-man?”

He wanted to embrace her carefree, teasing tone. He wanted to fall back into old habits. But right now, he couldn’t even remember how to joke.

“You and Robbie doing anything tonight?”

“Is this where I’m supposed to tell you we’re having an orgy with your mom and a group of Canadian Mounties?”

His lip twitched, but the smile refused to land on his face.

“Probably.”

Denise knew him too well not to pick up on his mood. “What’s going on? I can come over if you need.”

That was the last thing he needed. He wanted out of this house. Now.

“Feel like heading out to Stokey’s?”

The line was quiet for a moment, and Shane held his breath. He’d go on his own; it was better than sticking around here. But if he was honest with himself, he was a little afraid of what might happen if he did that.

“Yeah, sure. Robbie’s stuck at work anyway. Give me twenty minutes, I still smell like the gym. Don’t start without me.”

Shane couldn’t make any promises.

He grabbed his keys, and at the light jingle of metal, Buttercup came running.

“You’re not coming with me,” he said, pulling open the door. When she tried to follow, he said more firmly, “Stay.”

She did. Shane couldn’t meet her gaze as he shut the door. He should take her along. And if he didn’t take her along, he should crate her. Aaron said it was important that she feel safe and not have her routine disrupted.

But Shane had fucked up everything else today. What was one more thing? It wasn’t like he was going to get his daughter back no matter what he did, so why should he bother trying?

Those were the kinds of thoughts he’d hoped to drown out with a copious amount of tequila. And since Stokey’s was closest—and the place he and Denise had visited before, back when they’d first met—it had first dibs.

By the time his rickety truck pulled into the parking lot, it was what society would probably have called a reasonable hour for getting shit-faced.

Not that Shane gave a shit about being reasonable right now.

He waited until he saw Denise pull up, not trusting himself to go in alone. Cigarette smoke rose in a plume, curling around the side of the building where Stokey’s received their deliveries. When the door was opened, the scent of stale beer wafted out, hitting him straight in the gut.

And every single person who walked in and out of the door seemed to be looking at him the same way. That way that always set his nerves on edge.

He’d known this was a bad idea. But he didn’t get in his truck and drive away with his tail between his legs. He stayed, and when Denise made it through the parking lot and up to the little ramp, he inclined his head to her.

“How’d the orgy go?” he asked.

During the drive, he’d thought of all the things he could say that would make him seem like his normal self. That was the closest, but it still fell flat.

Denise noticed. Concern flickered in her eyes.

“Oh, you know. At some point the guys just start sucking each other off and it gets boring for the rest of us.”

“Been there,” he said darkly, unable to keep from thinking about the mistake that had led him here. “Come on. I’ll pay for the first round. If you can keep up, I might pay for the second, too.”

With Denise at his back, he didn’t feel quite so much like he was going to get jumped at any second. But every time someone drifted too close, his heart rate shot up. He found the path of least resistance and clutched the bar once he made it there, drawing in a gulp of air.

“Set us up with two shots. Tequila. Leave the bottle.”

Graham “Stokey” Stokes gave a gruff nod and palmed two glasses from beneath the bar. They had that scummy tint to them that said they hadn’t been washed very well, but Shane didn’t care.

“What are we drinking to?” Denise asked, having to almost yell for him to hear her.

“To being back on friendly soil,” he said automatically.

Even if it didn’t feel that friendly right now.

“Well shit, I can drink to that,” she said, raising her glass and clinking it against his.

They both downed the first shot without any trouble. The liquid burned in the back of Shane’s throat, and he felt that sudden rush of energy. Figuring that was a good sign, he poured them both another. Then another once that was gone.

“You’re falling behind, Sanderson. What kind of soldier can’t hold her liquor?”

“The kind who wants to actually be able to do something tomorrow,” Denise murmured.

To her credit, she’d had three shots, all in quick succession. Shane could tell they were catching up to her. They were catching up to him, too, but he was already working on the interest.

“You know the last time you did this, I had to scrape your puke off the ground with a plastic knife. I’m not fucking doing that again, Carter.”

Shane suspected Denise wanted her tone to come across as playful, but the look of alarm in her eyes cut through that tipsy little haze.

She’d already figured him out.

“That’s what mop jockeys are for,” he said, making a sweeping gesture toward the yellow mop bucket parked behind the bar.

He finished off the bottle with two more shots.

“Okay, what the fuck is going on with you, Shane? Did something happen?”

Shane could hear what she didn’t say loud and clear:
You’re scaring me.

He was scaring himself. He was rubbing right up against blackout drunk, or he would be soon. And still the ache hadn’t gone away.

“Nope. Everything’s fine.”

“Bullshit everything’s fine.” Denise looked around. Shane had to close his eyes to keep from feeling sick. “Why isn’t the dog with you?”

He didn’t answer that.

“Did something happen with the trainer?” And then, “Jesus, Shane. You fucked him, didn’t you?”

Oh, she knew him too well.

Shane just raised his glass, then made an obnoxious dinging noise, like she’d just won some game show. “So what if I did? In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m divorced.”

“Shane…”

“Just let me fucking have this,” he snapped. “Just one fucking night, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, putting her hands up defensively. “Okay.”

She didn’t leave him there. Of course she wouldn’t. She’d stay to make sure he didn’t get himself killed, and then she’d clean up his mess in the morning.

She was a good friend. She always had been. Shane was the one who was lacking in their relationship, and they both knew it.

She didn’t prod him anymore, beyond getting him to switch to beers instead of breaking into a second bottle of Patron. After a while, Shane found himself zoning out, listening to the droning sound of the TV.

That was until someone else drowned even that out. An unfamiliar masculine voice, too close for his comfort, and out of nowhere, too.

“Hey, beautiful. Buy you a drink?”

Shane’s gaze narrowed. A man in his thirties was hovering near Denise, his arm draped “casually” over an empty stool beside her.

“Sorry, sweetie,” Denise said in her most patronizing voice. “If you’d used that line five years ago, it might’ve worked. I married the last guy who said it.”

She lifted her hand, and Shane caught the glint of her wedding ring. It was a not-so-subtle call for the guy to fuck off.

“Oh yeah?” The man drawled. “Well what kind of line would get you to forget about your husband for a few hours?”

Shane knew Denise could handle herself. She could probably bench press his scrawny ass. But the guy leaned closer, and that switch flipped in Shane’s head again.

His hands slammed down on the bar and he pushed up to his full height. “Why don’t you take a fucking hike.”

“If she wants me to leave, she’ll say so.”

“I want you to leave,” Shane growled.

“Well I’m not into sucking dick, so why don’t you—”

It all went to hell from there.

He threw the first punch. And the second. The rest of it happened in a blur. Wood splintered. His hand hurt. And by the end of it, the only thing that stopped him was Denise pulling him back.

Back from the edge. Back to reality.

He didn’t want to be back, because once everything came into focus again, he saw broken furniture, scattered patrons, and a man curled up against the wall, blood pouring from his nose and lip.

“You don’t have to call anybody. We’re going. I’ll… settle up tomorrow,” he heard Denise say.

She had to forcibly yank him away from the scene. Time slowed, and Shane felt like he was moving through a thick bog. Denise didn’t say anything. She just took him a good five minutes from Stokey’s before a cab showed up. She must have called one, but he didn’t remember it.

The last thing he really saw was the ripped up faux leather interior, and the glare of streetlights overhead. Denise kept him propped up, but before long, blackness clouded his vision.

H
e’d gotten
the call only fifteen minutes ago.

It had gone to voicemail the first time. Aaron had been at his computer, playing Shield and Sanctuary and trying to put off making sense of the evening’s events and what they meant for he and Shane, as well as his future with Paws For Hope. When Shane’s picture popped up on his phone, he’d at first felt a shot of pure joy. Then he scolded himself for it and kept his hand wrapped firmly around his mouse.

He couldn’t talk to Shane right now. He was afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he did, and he had the very real suspicion that what had happened between them didn’t mean as much to Shane as it did to him.

After all, Shane had told him he fucked men overseas, probably as a way to forget his problems. Aaron just happened to be the most convenient hole, and thinking about himself that way…

No. That was exactly why he’d started playing.

When his phone rang again, though, Aaron began to grow anxious. A thousand “‘what if’s” ran through his mind, and he swiped to answer before he could talk himself back out of it.

Instead of Shane’s voice, he heard someone new.

“Hey, is this Aaron Hayes?”

She didn’t sound like Shane’s ex. God, did he already have someone new at his place? Aaron’s heart thumped treacherously in his chest.

“Um, yeah.” He maneuvered his character back to a safe area. “Who is this?”

“Denise, I’m a friend of Shane’s.”

Oh, right. They’d served together. Denise had been Shane’s commanding officer once upon a time. He’d told Aaron about her.

But why would she be calling him? And from Shane’s phone, no less?

This time when his heart sped, it was for another reason.

“Is everything okay?”

“Not really. He’s had a rough night, and I’m guessing you know something about that.” Aaron flushed. “I hate to ask this, but I think it’d be good for you to be here when he wakes up.”

“Is he… Where’s ‘here’?”

“Shit, sorry. That sounded worse than I meant it to. I took him back to his place. He’s passed out on the couch right now.”

Aaron swallowed back the dread that had risen in his throat, nodding. “I’ll be right over.”

He didn’t know what he was to Shane, but he knew he was already in too deep to turn his back on the man. It was going to get his heart ripped straight out of his chest, he was sure of it. But he couldn’t live with himself if he ignored this plea.

* * *

D
enise wasn’t
what he’d expected.

Not that he’d seen many women who’d been in the military, but he expected her to look a lot… tougher than she did. With her arms folded over her chest, he could tell she worked out way, way more than he did, but she was a good four or five inches shorter than him, and probably ten inches shorter than Shane. Her dark hair spilled in loose curls over her shoulders instead of being pulled back in a severe collection of lines. And he could even see the hint of makeup from her night out with Shane.

Well. His mother had always told him not to make assumptions. Though he thought his assumption that Denise could easily fuck him up was still very valid, as she looked at him dubiously.

“Sorry it took me a bit. I forgot there’s construction on Parkway.”

“Ugh, yeah. You can take 13th north and bypass most of that. It’ll save you ten minutes at least.”

She hadn’t threatened to kill him with her pinky yet. So far, so good.

“He called me a few hours ago wanting to go down to Stokey’s,” Denise started, jerking her head toward the entryway before heading inside. Aaron followed. “Put away most of a bottle of tequila and a few beers.”

He cringed. That much alcohol would… well, it would probably make sure Aaron slept for a good few days. He wasn’t sure what it would do to a man who was built like Shane.

“Then everything just went to hell. He got into a fight, and—”

“He got into a fight?” Aaron asked dumbly.

“Yeah. Guy isn’t pressing charges, thank fuck, but it was one hell of a scene.”

Denise had brought him to Shane’s living room and there, just as she said, was Shane. He was laying on his stomach, the couch muffling his snoring. He looked… terrible. God. Really, really terrible. Aaron’s heart ached.

Buttercup lay on the carpet between the couch and the coffee table, as if she didn’t want to risk Shane possibly getting by without her knowing it.

“What did Buttercup do?”

“He didn’t bring her,” Denise said with a slight shrug. “I’m not sure she would have helped. Once he gets like that it pretty much takes a brick wall to stop him.”

Aaron frowned, but he kept his mouth shut. Buttercup could help. He knew she could. But she couldn’t help if Shane didn’t bring her along.

“Look,” Denise started, and her tone—something so close to vulnerability—made Aaron turn to face her. “I don’t really know what’s going on between you two. All I know is since you’ve been working with him, he’s made progress.”

Aaron’s brow furrowed and he looked back at Shane. That was Buttercup’s doing, not his. If anything, he’d probably helped cause whatever this was.

“Find out what’s eating him, because this self-destructive bullshit? There’s always something behind it.”

Aaron’s hand came up to his face, the pads of his fingers scraping over the light dusting of stubble that lined his jaw.

Shane was distant during the best of times. He’d be surprised if he even wanted to talk at all once he got up. But when Aaron looked at Denise again, he saw the worry in her eyes. It was an echo of his own concern, and he gave her a slow nod.

“I’ll do my best.”

* * *

I
t took
Aaron some time to figure out how best to help Shane, and he still didn’t have complete faith in his plan. Unfortunately, it was all he had, and without one he was going to be reduced to a useless, stuttering mass of apprehension.

So he gathered the materials he needed while Shane slept. A bottle of Gatorade—Shane liked the light blue one, apparently—two Excedrin, and a bottle of water just in case the Gatorade didn’t do the trick. Those he set up on the end table next to Shane.

Then he fetched a trash bag–lined bucket—again, just in case—and some wet wipes. He also grabbed a change of clothes from Shane’s room, trying not to feel strange about rifling through his drawers.

At around four in the morning, he decided to make a pot of coffee. Partly for Shane and partly for himself, because he was having trouble keeping himself from dozing.

But all of that was just damage control. His real plan didn’t come to him until closer to five, when he realized Shane actually had two laptops. An older one he’d used in the service, and a newer one he used at home.

He penned a note, writing and rewriting at least six times before he was satisfied, and placed it very deliberately underneath the Excedrin.

Standing over Shane, he read it one more time:

He hoped that would be enough to get Shane talking. He didn’t know what else to do, and so he took Shane’s old laptop and shut himself up in the spare bedroom to wait.

It took another two hours before Shane woke up. He could hear his feet shuffling over the floor as he made his way to the bathroom, then a curse once the light was flicked on. Likely he was getting a glimpse of just how bad he looked; he’d developed some nasty bruises and puffiness while he slept.

Aaron held his breath as Shane passed, almost afraid to be discovered. He needed this to go a certain way. He’d convinced himself he’d done all of this for Shane, but really, he wasn’t sure how to talk to him without the aid of a screen right now.

And so he waited. He waited almost to the point where he thought Shane was just ignoring him. But finally, after another hour or so, he saw Shane log in.

Anticipation filled him. They were only separated by a hallway and a door. Shane was probably sitting on the couch out in the living room right now.

But Aaron had a feeling they both needed that hallway and door.

His fingers itched to type; to offer something witty that would instantly make Shane feel better. But he wasn’t sure talking was the immediate answer. So he opened up his quest log, found a stash of group quests he hadn’t done yet, and sent an invitation to Shane.

After a few minutes, Shane accepted. He didn’t say anything, and neither did Aaron. Their characters met up in town, and they worked on quests in complete and utter silence.

By the time Shane finally said something, the sun was already rising halfway through the morning sky.

Aaron felt his breath catch. His fingers poised over Shane’s old keyboard, but he waited. He’d learned last time that Shane was a staggered typer, unlike Aaron who dumped everything at once.

When Shane’s character moved to sit off in a safe area, Aaron did the same. It was strange looking at him through this lens. Shane’s character didn’t look like him—not really. But Aaron wondered if he’d chosen the avatar to represent some part of himself.

Aaron finally typed when it was clear Shane wasn’t going to say anything else

That stole the breath from Aaron’s lungs. He had no idea what to say to that. Had sleeping with Shane destroyed things between them? He hadn’t let himself think about it yet.

Fortunately, Shane kept going before he had to come up with an answer.

Shit. That was why Shane had missed their training. That was why he’d acted so strange. It made perfect sense, and Aaron’s heart ached for him again.

Silence. But Shane’s character wasn’t flagged as being away from the keyboard, and he didn’t hear him moving about. He strained, and finally did hear the clacking of a keyboard.

That ominous comment was left for a time before Aaron once again heard Shane typing in the other room.

Aaron swallowed hard. He could imagine Rebecca’s fear, but he could also imagine the part Shane left out: his own fear. It must have been terrifying for him to realize he’d been separated from his daughter.