Bad Habit Page 4

  “So, where you know Jamie from?”

  “Socially.” Gavin’s faint smile said he knew what the question really meant. “We met while swimming.”

  A loud snort of laughter in Scott’s ear had him turning to see that Jamie had decided to actually show up.

  “Here.” He shoved the threadbare shirt at Scott.

  Scott immediately grabbed for the half pack he’d had in the chest pocket and came up empty.

  “Don’t worry,” Jamie said. “They didn’t fall out. I chucked ’em.”

  “I suppose it’s no good saying you owe me eight bucks.”

  Jamie made like he was pretending to think. “Uh—no.”

  “Christ. Ex-smokers and their fucking self-righteous bullshit.”

  “I’m not entirely sure the self-righteous bullshit is a result of him having quit smoking. I see it as more of a fixed character trait,” Gavin said.

  “Nobody asked you, Montgomery.” Jamie’s familiar snarl was all bark, though the goofy half smile on his face as he said it left Scott stunned. The expression darkened as he turned on Scott. “And you. You are one lucky son of a bitch.”

  “Really? Where’s my winning Powerball ticket?”

  “You must have dropped it when you punched your ex in the face. Settle for being lucky he’s not pressing charges.”

  Scott squared his shoulders. “What did he say?”

  “For fuck’s sake. Do I look like a sixth-grade girl?”

  Scott thought about pointing out that yeah, there was a lot of sixth-grade puppy love in the look Jamie had given Gavin, but that wouldn’t get Scott the information he wanted.

  Jamie shook his head. “He said he must have got hit with one of the canopy poles. Your name didn’t come up.”

  Scott gave in and bit at his dirty thumbnail. That didn’t mean anything. It wouldn’t be the first time Liam had lied to cover Scott’s ass.

  “So I guess that leaves you free to go kiss and make up or whatever.” Jamie made exaggerated kissy noises.

  “Yeah, thanks.” Scott glanced at Gavin before stuffing as much of the shirt as would fit in a front jeans pocket. To Jamie, Scott said, “And thanks to your boyfriend for thinking to grab my shirt.”

  Jamie’s heavy brows lowered to intensify his glare. “What makes you think my boyf—Gavin was the one to pick it up?”

  “’Cause he seems like a nice, thoughtful guy.”

  “And I’m not?”

  Scott smirked.

  “Maybe I’ll drag you to the tank anyway.”

  “Sure you will. And spend the rest of your Saturday off doing paperwork.”

  Jamie sighed. “Jesus, McDermott, maybe you wanna learn to back down.”

  “And maybe something”—Scott flicked his eyes to Gavin—“has turned you mellow. I’ll text if I spot another Galaxie.”

  MUCH AS Scott hated to admit it, Jamie was right. Scott should leave. He had his shirt back. He needed smokes and to figure out how close he was to being evicted and if he should take the thirty-two grand that Galvez guy had offered him for the Mustang. He absolutely shouldn’t be headed back through the fairgrounds toward the administration building. Toward Liam.

  But Scott couldn’t just leave. Couldn’t do to Liam what Liam had done to him.

  Scott couldn’t just disappear into smoke.

  Thanks for not having me arrested. That was all he was going to say. The words sounded casual enough in his head.

  Then it would be up to Liam. If he wanted to talk or explain, Scott would listen. And Scott wouldn’t be the one who’d walked away.

  He heard Liam’s voice before he rounded the building corner to the back.

  “…busy today. Got more paperwork to fill out.”

  “I can see you were busy,” a high, soft masculine voice answered.

  As Scott rounded the corner, he saw the man reach for Liam’s bruised face.

  The guy was bigger than his voice made him sound, tall, with a deep chest, but Scott zeroed in on the light brown hand on Liam’s face. Tall or not, Scott could take the ratfucker. Him and his hand that was now cupping Liam’s face. It was only those long black braids that made the man look bigger than he was. Get your fucking hand off Liam’s face.

  Liam flicked one of those braids over the guy’s broad shoulder. “Tell you about it later.”

  “I’ll come in and wait for you.” The handsy bastard turned to look at Scott. “Can I help you?”

  “Scott?”

  Fuck. Now Liam had seen him. Liam jerked away from Braids.

  The guy grabbed Liam’s shoulder as he stumbled but kept staring at Scott. “Scott? The Scott?” He looked down at Liam. “I guess ‘busy’ is one word for it.”

  Liam had his balance now, but Braids didn’t let him go. “Uh.” Liam’s throat bobbed. Then he smiled, his old fool-the-social-workers smile. Did Braids know how fake that smile was? Did he know Liam could use that smile to sell shoes to a snake? “Scott. This is Deon. He’s—” Liam used the pause to give the smile another boost. His teeth were still bright and perfectly even. “—my physical therapist.”

  Deon wrapped his arm around Liam’s shoulders. “I was his physical therapist. Now I’m his boyfriend.”

  Like he hadn’t been making that obvious from the second Scott rolled around the corner. “Right.” Scott looked at Liam. “Well, I only”—he swallowed the came back here, no point in giving Deon extra information—“wanted to say thanks.” He jerked his chin at Liam’s face and the building behind him. Liam would know what he meant. Thanks for covering my ass with the cop.

  He backed off a step and got a hand on the corner of the building. It was cheap aluminum, baked to a shimmer in the sun, and it sizzled the skin off his fingers and palm. He kept his hand there, focused on the pain he could control. A pain he could use to push down the tearing in his gut that told him to punch that smile off Liam’s face.

  Scott kept his path close to the building as he made his escape back the way he had come.

  “Nice to finally meet you.” Deon’s words followed him.

  It took everything Scott had to keep walking, to not turn and find out how many punches would put that big guy down. Scott settled for the satisfaction of picturing how that would look, nose smashed and those stupid braids spread out on the dusty patches of earth.

  “Scott, wait.” Liam’s words should have made Scott take longer strides, but the lurch in the steps that came after him wouldn’t let him.

  Six years of distance between them, and he still felt that impossible pull anchored somewhere under his ribs. Same old ache. But not the same Liam. Not that short hair, the clean jaw, or some motherfucker in braids with an arm around him. And not that metal leg.

  “Scott.” Liam had cleared the corner now.

  Scott shouldn’t turn back. Because if Deon and his braids were there with Liam, Scott was definitely spending the rest of the weekend in jail.

  “It’s just me,” Liam said, like he still could guess what Scott was thinking.

  Usually with Liam, Scott didn’t feel that itch behind his shoulder blades, the need to protect his back. But right then he wanted to press it into the melting aluminum as though that would offer him any protection from the kind of damage Liam could inflict.

  Liam shook his head. Not in a no; it was the motion he’d always used to shift the wave of hair off his face. Except there wasn’t any need for it now. Scott’s fingers twitched remembering the feel of the thick silky strands, dragging Liam up for a kiss with the taste of his own dick on Liam’s tongue. C’mon. Want to fuck.

  “I looked for you. I mean, after I got out.” Liam’s voice was low.

  Out of the Army? Out of the hospital? How fucking hard had he looked?

  “What for?”

  “Same reason you came back here.”

  “Doubt it. Like I said, just wanted to say thanks for not having me arrested.”

  Liam smiled. His real one was crooked, and it made his muddy eyes as light and clear as good whi
skey. And just as dangerous to Scott’s sense of self-preservation. “Yeah, right.” The smile faded. “You haven’t changed.”

  “You have.” But that wasn’t exactly it. Liam was the same. The space between them wasn’t.

  “Ask me.” Liam threw it at Scott like a challenge. “Go ahead. I can see it on your face.”

  Why did you leave? What really happened to you? Are you actually in love with that man-bear in braids? What came out was “What the fuck was up with that kiss?” He barely stopped himself from licking his lips. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed anybody he’d hooked up with. He’d been turning his face away from that kind of vulnerability for years. If dicks got sucked right, no one complained.

  “I had to.”

  “Right. And I’m the one with impulse control issues.” He’d read his own therapy reports, the whole long list of what everyone thought was wrong with him. Why no family even took him as a foster kid for long. Oppositional-defiant disorder, attachment disorder, poor impulse control, conduct disorder, intermittent explosive disorder, irritable mood disorder. As if irritable mood disorder didn’t apply to every fucking shrink or therapist who’d sat across the table from him with that constipated expression, lips shriveled like a cat’s asshole.

  “God, I missed you.” Liam took another step toward him, eyes showing more hints of gold in the bright sunlight. Even with a foot of space still between them, Scott’s skin buzzed with awareness, the memories etched into his nerves.

  Bastard could work the knife right down to bone. “Yeah? I can tell.” Scott’s control shattered. Must be that old intermittent explosive disorder again. He shoved Liam back a step. “How fucking hard did you look? I’ve never left.”

  He walked away while Liam stumbled for balance against the building. Guilt—he’s only got one leg, you dick—gnawed fresh holes in Scott’s chest.

  “Scott, wait.” At least Liam was smart enough to not touch him. “I meant it. I still—we’ve been through so much together, can’t we—”

  Scott stopped but didn’t look back. “What, be friends? No. We can’t.” I can’t.

  He started walking again while he still could.

  Chapter Five

  DEON STOOD next to the picnic table, in the same place Scott had stood when Liam kissed him. Liam had barely taken a few steps back around the corner before Deon started spilling apologies.

  “I was a dick, I know, sorry.” Deon put his hands up. “Running into the former love of your life turned me into a possessive little bitch.”

  “I don’t know.” Liam forced himself to smile. His nose throbbed like hell. He bet he’d have two black eyes. Scott had never been one to pull his punches. Not even with Liam. To Deon he said, “Kind of alpha dog of you.”

  “Woof.” Deon laughed. “But, Li”—Deon started to put an arm around Liam, but must have read his rigid posture and let the arm drop—“are you okay? And what the hell happened to your face?” He shot a look in the direction Scott had taken.

  Liam couldn’t blame Deon for the suspicion. For one, he was right, and for two, Scott had always vibrated belligerence—especially around people he didn’t know. Liam wasn’t thrilled at Scott’s version of hello, but Deon wouldn’t understand any better than that cop had.

  “It was a circus. Guy took out one of those canopies when he passed out from heat exhaustion. His boyfriend—”

  “Gay day at the car show?”

  “Just like Disney World. Seriously, they were in a pack like a bunch of lesbians.”

  Deon had minored in sociology. That should give him something to chew on.

  Liam squeezed Deon’s arm. “Anyway, just let me finish up the paperwork and I’ll be ready to go.”

  “Not so fast, Superman. How does any of that add up to your face looking like you took a softball to the nose?”

  Shit. So much for Deon wandering off with the sociology distraction.

  “Too many bodies in a small space plus loose canopy poles equals a whack to the face.” The best lie was an almost truth.

  Deon cupped the back of Liam’s neck and scrutinized the damage. “Looks pretty bad for a random shot from unanchored aluminum. Someone must have got you with an elbow.”

  Liam upped the distraction level. “Wasn’t my favorite part. Check this: Kishori did a domestic abuse eval on the guy.”

  “What?”

  “Gets better. I mean, her instincts are right. The boyfriend is hulking around like a bodyguard, but then I see the leather cuffs on the patient, and they aren’t for decoration. Not with those D-rings.”

  “Fifty Shades of Gay.”

  “Yup. A little on the freaky end for me, like the guy wasn’t allowed to blink unless his Daddy told him to, but definitely into it, not abuse.”

  “How are you going to write that one up?”

  “Carefully.”

  Deon wrinkled his nose as he followed Liam into the cool air of the first aid station. “Who was smoking?”

  “Uh—Scott.”

  “Oh.”

  Any hope of pushing Scott’s appearance to the back of Deon’s mind had vanished with that whiff of mentholated tobacco. At least Deon wouldn’t chase him into the office demanding an explanation. Confrontation was Scott’s style. Deon would wait.

  The waiting lasted until Deon’s Honda had turned out of the lot and they were stuck in traffic in front of the shopping plaza. “It must have been weird, seeing him. After all this time.”

  That neutral, pleasant tone pissed Liam off more than an accusation would have.

  “Are you asking if I knew he’d be there?”

  “No.” Still patient. Calm. “This isn’t about me. I’m asking if you’re okay.”

  Because Deon knew Liam wasn’t. Which stupidly drove him to deny it. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  The light changed. Deon’s hands tightened and then relaxed on the steering wheel as they moved forward. From one heartbeat to the next, exhaustion slammed Liam flat. He wanted this conversation, this whole fucking day, to be over.

  “Yes, Scott was important to me. We went through a lot together.” Like having to go with Scott when they found his sister’s body, thinking he’d never be as terrified again as he was that night when Scott fell apart, the shell of angry protection dissolving in agonized sobs. And then finding himself twice as scared when he found the pills. Fear and love and belonging in a messy tangle Liam didn’t think he could ever sort out enough to explain.

  “I still care about him. But I haven’t seen him since we broke up six years ago. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t ever want to see me again. ’Specially after the way I ghosted him.”

  Deon nodded and put on his blinker, gliding into the left-turn lane.

  “You think the back way will be worth it?” Liam stared at the brake lights ranging ahead of them.

  Deon’s apartment in Towson was a straight shot down York Road, less than ten minutes away once they got through the traffic. Fucking MVA was holding Liam’s license hostage until he either got a car refitted with left-foot driving pedals or took a rehab course. Not being able to drive left him feeling as helpless as if he were in a chair again.

  “Not really.” Deon brought them onto a tree-lined road. “Thought you’d rather just go home, but if I’m wrong—”

  “No. I’m—no. I think I need to crash.” His mom would be at an NA meeting. His stepdad and stepbrothers were at some sports thing. Liam could pass out in his room and not have to answer any questions about his face.

  Fuck Deon for being right. Fuck him for being so goddamned understanding. Fuck him for being a wonderful, considerate boyfriend. Fuck it all.

  “Sunday dinner tomorrow?” Deon asked as he stopped in front of the three-bedroom ranch Mom had moved into after marrying Greg.

  “Yeah. I’ll be out by five.” Liam took off his seat belt, then pushed off on his good leg to lean over and give Deon a quick kiss. “You’re really kind of awesome, you know that.”

  “I try.”

>   LIAM TOOK the bowl of potatoes off the counter and carried it into the dining room.

  Deon winced. “Damn, Li, now that I see it in the light, it is bad.”

  Liam put the potatoes down in front of his stepbrothers and reached for his nose. Purple-red spread from the bridge of his nose under each eye, worse on the right side where more knuckles had landed. He’d had a headache all day, and the hot, heavy rain that had been falling since early afternoon hadn’t made it any better. At least that made the car-show crowd leave early. Not that it did much good when Liam was stuck without a ride.

  “Are you sure it’s not broken?” Deon asked.

  Liam’s mom came out with the chicken. After sliding it onto the table, she rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure if it was, Liam would know.”

  “Nothing they can do if it doesn’t need to be set.” He sounded like an adenoidal fourteen-year-old. And felt about that mature. His leg hurt too. Hot needles jabbed bone-deep from his hip to his no-longer-there toes. He resisted the urge to shrug his mom’s hand away.

  He patted it and moved stiffly around the dining table to his seat next to Deon.

  “Bad PLP?” Deon murmured.

  Liam managed a curt nod.

  “It’s the weather,” Deon said, which Liam knew already, thanks.

  “What is?” Mom eased the potato bowl away from Kevin, Liam’s eleven-year-old stepbrother, and passed it to Deon.

  Deon scooped out two good-sized potatoes. “Phantom limb pain. It can be triggered by barometric pressure changes.”

  That pulled nine-year-old Justin’s attention away from where he was drowning his despised spinach in gravy. “Cool. So you have, like, a ghost leg?”

  “If I kicked your foot, could you feel it right now?” Kevin peered at Liam from across the table.

  “No one is kicking anyone,” their father said firmly.

  His prosthesis was the only source of conversation Liam had with his stepbrothers. As repulsively fascinating as they found both the leg and the stump of his thigh, they still grumbled about being shoved together in one bedroom in order to give Liam his own space when he’d moved in ten months ago. “I’d feel it in my stump like always, from the socket,” he told Kevin. “This is just my brain getting the signals screwed up somehow.”