Bad Habit Read online

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Author’s Note

  More from K.A. Mitchell

  Readers love the Bad in Baltimore series by K.A. Mitchell

  About the Author

  By K.A. Mitchell

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  Copyright

  Bad Habit

  By K.A. Mitchell

  Bad in Baltimore: Book Six

  Life is always looking for ways to screw you over. Scott McDermott survived the foster care system and knows better than to let anyone close, but Liam Walsh is his one vulnerability.

  Twice Scott let down his guard, and twice Liam vanished from Scott’s life.

  So when Scott comes face-to-face with Liam for the first time in six years, he punches Liam in the nose. Only after Scott’s friend—and Baltimore County police officer—Jamie reads him the riot act does Scott discover that in the intervening years Liam has been to war and lost his leg.

  Liam hasn’t had the easiest life either. He took care of his drug-addicted mom when she was unable to take care of herself. He’s fallen in love with Scott twice, but when Liam saw Scott going down the same path as his mother, he left. The lesson that he can’t save everyone has been a painful one for Liam to learn. Maybe what he and Scott had can’t ever be fixed.

  Scott and Liam have never fallen out of love—which becomes obvious when they start working together—but what will make this time any different from all the others? Will the third time really be a charm?

  For Andy, who kept asking for their story.

  Acknowledgments

  THANKS ALWAYS to Erin, fic midwife extraordinaire, Jenna, and B.F.S. Thanks to the guys at Collar City Guitars for answering all my weird questions. Thanks to Erika for an excellent macro edit.

  Chapter One

  Twelve years ago

  THE NEW kid, Liam, was a fucking punk. Everyone knew not to touch Scott’s stuff.

  Scott ran his tongue on the inside of his fat lip. He’d won anyway. Hit the motherfucker in his eye, mouth, and gut before Derrick pulled them apart. Scott shot a look over at the chair three spots away where Liam sat. Fuckface smiled back at him.

  Scott rolled his eyes and went back to staring at the door to the conference room. Some social worker was supposed to show up and counsel them on resolving their issues. Scott had been through the drill before. He thought things were pretty simple. Don’t touch me or my stuff and there won’t be any fucking issues to resolve.

  But Scott had done a few stints in the hole, which was what everyone at St. Bennie’s called the lockdown rooms over the gym. A mattress and a bucket to piss in and food when someone got around to bringing it. He’d play the game with the social worker. Anything beat what had happened to him when he first got here, being held down for a shot of Haldol in his ass to turn him into a zombie for forty-eight hours.

  “Hey,” the Liam-ratfucker said.

  Scott stared at the wood grain of the door. Part of it looked like a freaky skeleton with a big alien head.

  “Let’s just settle this now,” Liam-can’t-buy-a-clue went on.

  Scott dragged his feet in from his sprawl to get ready. If he had to go to the hole, so be it. Rep was all he had. “You wanna go again, bitch?”

  But Liam didn’t make any moves toward him. “No. I mean, I’m sorry I touched your box of whatever.”

  There wasn’t much in the old shoebox. Two fading pictures, a Batman valentine his older sister had given him, and a Rugrats washcloth—though where he’d gotten that, he couldn’t remember.

  “You put it in the fucking trash.”

  “I said sorry, okay? I didn’t know it was important.”

  That was a problem. As soon as people knew something mattered to you, they could hurt you with it. Scott shrugged. “Just don’t touch any of my shit, and it won’t be a problem.”

  “Okay.”

  Scott stared at Liam. He wasn’t acting scared of another beatdown, didn’t sound sarcastic. He sounded nice, and not even fake nice like a new social worker. Liam had been at St. Bennie’s for a month and people liked him. Reason enough for Scott to hate him. Not that he needed a reason.

  The social worker finally showed up. Shit. It was that bitch Kristin who hated Scott. His and Liam’s hall staff Derrick was with her.

  She started in on him before she even opened the conference room door. “I’ve told you before, Scott, violent behavior is not going to help you get out of here. A foster family is not—”

  “It was my fault, Miss Kristin,” Liam-can’t-keep-his-mouth-shut cut in. The number-one rule of survival here was Don’t volunteer information.

  That stopped her midbitch, though. “Liam? Derrick, let me see the incident report.”

  “Put it in your mailbox an hour ago.” Derrick leaned against the wall behind Scott.

  “Well, can you at least tell me what it said?” Bitch Kristin sighed like Derrick should have been able to whip the paper out of his ass.

  “Eight twenty, Scott came into the common room, hauled Liam off the couch by his left arm, and punched him in the mouth. Liam swung back, striking Scott in the face. I initiated a restraint on Scott. Gerry restrained Liam.”

  Derrick was big, solid muscle. If he took you down, you didn’t get back up. Gerry was big too, all of it in his gut. Scott wondered if that was the first time Liam had been restrained and how he liked three hundred pounds pressing into his back.

  “So it was unprovoked.” Bitch Kristin was happy about that.

  “I did provoke him.” Liam must have wanted to spend a couple days in the hole. “I threw his belongings in the trash.”

  Belongings? Who the fuck said that kind of shit?

  Kristin deflated. “Why would you do that to your roommate, Liam?”

  “Someone dared me to.”

  “Who?”

  Liam was smart enough to shut his mouth then. Henry, Scott bet, or Curtis. They’d both been laughing next to Liam on the couch.

  Liam turned toward Scott. “I’m sorry, Scott. I promise not to touch your stuff again.” Liam stuck his hand out.

  Scott felt the adults’ eyes burning into him but concentrated on Liam’s. They were a mud-mix of brown and yellow-green, one swollen from where Scott had punched him, but the other looked friendly.

  What the fuck. Guy like Liam would probably be out of here in a couple months. Scott flexed his sore knuckles and slapped at Liam’s hand in a brief shake.

  They’d missed the main lunch, but Derrick took them down to the cafeteria so they could make sandwiches before going to class.

  “Jesus, that Kristin has it in for you.” Liam reached in front of Scott to grab a giant scoop of institutional peanut butter from the can. “Whadja do?” He licked the knife and stuck it back in, barely missing Scott’s belly.

  He curved his spine out to avoid the touch, but it still made the hair on his arms stand up.

  “Got born, I guess. Plus I’m unplac
eable.”

  Liam dropped a dab of jelly on his mountain of peanut butter and folded the bread over, then repeated the process on the other half.

  Scott had never seen anyone make a sandwich like that, but it looked like a good way to get some extra food.

  “My mom will probably get clean in a couple of months, and she’ll petition to get me back.” Liam folded his second slice. “At least this place is better than the one I got sent to in Florida.”

  They hadn’t said more than ten words to each other since Liam had been shoved into Scott’s room a month ago, just when he’d been hoping they’d given up on sticking him with a roommate.

  “What’s so better?” Scott said, slapping margarine on a slice of bread.

  “Smaller roaches.” Liam laughed.

  But Scott remembered there was more of an issue to resolve. They grabbed juice cups and the least soft apples from the bin before they sat at a table and ate slowly to kill more time.

  “Who dared you?” Scott muttered low enough that Derrick couldn’t hear.

  Liam wiped his face on the back of his hand and shook his head. He moved his eyes toward where Derrick was leaning on the counter, peeling an orange. “Later.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” Scott could find out himself. He didn’t need Liam and his fake niceness.

  “No. Really. Promise.” Liam tried a big smile, then winced.

  Fuck it. Scott wasn’t apologizing for hitting him. Ratfucker had it coming.

  In their room that night after showers, they had about twenty minutes before bed check. Scott shot a quick look to make sure nothing had been disturbed in front of his new hiding place, hauled up his boxers under his towel, then tossed it away before getting in Liam’s face. “Who the fuck dared you to mess with my shit?”

  “No one.”

  “I swear to God—”

  “No one. I did it on my own.”

  Scott was so surprised, he sat down on the bottom bunk. Should have known better than to believe Liam was anything but another asshole trying to fuck with Scott.

  “I wanted you to talk to me.”

  “You’ll be talking to my fist again in a minute.” Scott jumped back up.

  “You never talk to me, but I’ve seen you shoot me looks. When you think I don’t notice.”

  Scott froze. Liam couldn’t mean it like that. No one could know that. Not ever. Scott had that safely locked away. Safer than the shoebox, safe as it could be, deep inside. Even he only let himself think about it late at night, staring at the ceiling and hating it even when it made him so fucking hard he ached. Liam had been the first one with a face. Before it had just been pieces. The curve of some guy’s ass. The cut of a hip. Width of a shoulder. Mouths. Dicks.

  “In your dreams, queerbait.” Safest thing was to throw it back on him.

  Liam rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I am.”

  Scott’s mouth went dry. This little fa… he could just say it?

  Liam put a hand on Scott’s chest.

  Hot. Shivery. Terrifying.

  Scott’s muscles locked down under those sensations, which was how Liam managed to shove him back onto the bunk, so hard Scott bounced against the bolted furniture and thin mattress.

  It was why he still couldn’t say a word when Liam knelt in front of him.

  Barry, the night staff, yelled for everyone to get in their rooms.

  Liam winked his unswollen eye. “Fifteen before bed check. Wanna fight some more or want me to blow you?”

  TEN MONTHS later Scott stared hard at the filthy ceiling through dry eyes as Liam wiped some snot on his shoulder.

  “I’ll write you. And remember the email address I told you to get so I can find you when you get out.” He pressed quick short kisses along Scott’s collarbone.

  “Yeah. I got it.”

  “I love you.” Liam’s tears made their kiss salty. But that wasn’t the reason Scott couldn’t make himself kiss back. Or say what Liam wanted to hear.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Scott.”

  “What?”

  “Can’t you, like, even agree that this sucks?”

  Scott’s lips cracked as he opened them. “It sucks.”

  But he’d known this would happen. Hadn’t hoped for one fucking second that things would stay like this. Happy was for people too stupid to know better. And Scott sure as shit knew better.

  But it would have been nice to get more than ten months of this. Of Liam. It wasn’t only the blow jobs and quiet, frantic grinding that Scott kind of liked even better than when Liam sucked him. It wasn’t just having a body to hold, the idea of having contact that wasn’t meant to hurt but to make him feel better.

  Together they were more. No one dared start shit with them because it meant taking both of them on. Scott might be good at landing a punch, but Liam was sneaky and mean. He could twist staff around his finger, and no shit ever stuck to him. The other assholes could call them fairies and cocksuckers, but when Liam laughed at them, Scott didn’t care as much either.

  He swallowed. “I’ll miss you.”

  Liam lifted his head from Scott’s chest. “Holy fuck. Did it actually hurt you to say that?”

  “Yes. Like someone punched my nuts. Kiss ’em and make ’em better.”

  Liam shoved at his shoulder. “Say it first.”

  Scott sighed. “When we get out of here…,” he forced out in a monotone.

  Liam took the next line. “We’ll get a place.”

  “And you’ll go to college.”

  “And you’ll be a fireman.”

  “You’ll go to med school.”

  “And become a doctor and buy you your own Batmobile.”

  Scott had to laugh. Liam always jacked up the game till it was stupid.

  “And while I’m driving in my Batmobile, you can give me road head, Robin. Better get your practice in now or I’ll never let you in the Batcave.”

  Chapter Two

  Now

  MAYBE THE first weekend in August was a great time to stand out on an open field with hundreds of shining steel heat reflectors. In Antarctica. At the car show at the state fairgrounds in Timonium, Maryland, way too fucking far from anyplace to catch a decent breeze, it was hot as fuck.

  Which was exactly what Scott said to Jamie as they both studied the ’65 Ford Galaxie Jamie had his eye on.

  “And how hot is fuck, ya think?” Jamie said.

  Scott leaned over the engine as he inspected the connections on the plugs. “Don’t know about you but for me, depends on how tight his ass is.” He kept his voice low enough only Jamie could hear.

  They’d waited until the owner had gone to lunch, not wanting to show too much interest, but some things didn’t mix with the car-show crowd. Openly gay guys talking about ass fucking was high up on that list.

  Jamie snorted a laugh and lifted his head out from under the hood. “Ain’t that the truth.” He wiped his face on the sleeve of his T-shirt. “At least this is a dry heat.”

  “Yeah, only about ninety percent humidity today.” Scott squinted around the popped hood at the glare on the windshield where the For Sale sign was. “So what’s he want for it?”

  “Seventeen fifty.”

  Scott whistled. Christ, what he could do with a spare grand, let alone almost two. Not have to sell his Mustang for rent money for starters.

  Jamie pointed out the features. “The interior’s okay, so’s the frame, and it’s one hell of a shiny paint job.” They had both admired the two-toned red-and-white style. Nothing like classic Fords.

  Scott straightened from his lean into the engine. “Engine’s clean enough to eat off. You been under her?”

  Jamie nodded. “Exhaust needs an overhaul. I’m not giving him more than twelve hundred if I decide to take it. Wanted a second opinion.”

  Scott dropped his overshirt on the dusty pebbled ground and scooted under the frame. Damn. The seller obviously thought no one would bother getting a look from underneath. Good thing Jamie had sent him a text. Wi
th the light from his phone, Scott scanned the transmission housing. “Fucking bastard.”

  “What?” Jamie squatted.

  Scott wiggled out, and Jamie gave him a hand up.

  “Sorry, man. You were right on the exhaust. Probably seizes up like a virgin. But there’s an oil leak between the engine block and the transmission. Slow enough that you wouldn’t know from starting it up, but I’m betting the main seal is going.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Jamie sat and ducked under.

  Scott passed him the phone for light.

  “Right at the transmission bell housing.”

  As Jamie muttered under the car, Scott bent back over the engine to check the manifolds.

  “What do you want the Galaxie for?” Scott said to the beam of light flashing up through the engine. “Thought the truck was fine now.”

  Jamie had been working—mostly adding features—on a ’68 F-100 for almost as long as Scott had known him. Back in May, Scott had spent most of his free time helping Jamie take out the door motors and fixing it up after it rolled into the bay. Jamie hadn’t wanted to talk about how, but since there was another guy involved, Scott bet a friends-with-benefits situation had gotten complicated.

  “The Galaxie’s not for me.” Jamie’s voice drifted back up. “What a fucking bitch.”

  “You see it?”

  “Yeah.” Jamie wriggled back out and sat there. “What did you want with Galvez this morning? You looking to sell your Shelby?”

  It choked him to admit it. “Maybe.”

  “Ha. Warned you Mustangs were pussy magnets. Unless that’s what’s making your dick hard these days.”

  Scott made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “No.”

  Jamie patted the red- and white-walled tires. “Damn shame.” He looked up at Scott. “You know, if I find another one and you put in some work with me, you can drive it sometimes. I mean, check that sweet interior. You can actually fuck a guy in it. Unlike your bitch Mustang.” He pushed to his feet. “Even with room for your pathetic hair, punk.” Jamie jabbed at Scott’s shoulder.